#relegated it as a given and took it all for granted

[thetruekyle]

~Like a Shakespearean tragedy . . .

i can't pretend like i understand, how did it end?

[fff777]

The more I think about it, the more frustrated I get about Winwin's situation.

Originally, my thought was that "I've been through the Exo and Lay situation, I've seen it all." But the more I think about it, Lay and Winwin's situations are very different.

Warning: This is a ramble just to get things off my chest.

At the base of it all, I think that Yixing benefited much more from SM than Sicheng ever did and ever will be able to.

Yixing did start dancing as a youngster, and his dancing ability only grew as he began training with SM. The style of dancing that he studied would have probably been more of a hip hop style, which would have been in line with Yixing becoming an idol.

During his time with SM, we know that Yixing also developed his music skills a lot, both singing and composing. By the time Yixing left SM, he was very much a well-developed idol who was proficient in singing and dancing.

Sicheng's background in Traditional Chinese dance is well-documented. He was always a top student in his dance academies. You can see here for a list of his accomplishments. SM could never have helped him improve on his skills in Traditional Chinese dance. So where could SM have helped him? In developing his other skills, while emphasizing his pre-existing talents. The way I see it, Sicheng could really have made something special if he could develop a kind of fusion style, something that could still showcase Traditional Chinese elements while still fitting with some of the popular music and dance styles.

Unfortunately, Sicheng is currently known as the neo with little to no lines. Having watched some of NCT 127's earlier videos, I don't think Sicheng was ready for NCT at debut. His language skills weren't quite there, but I also felt that his dance didn't fit the style of the other members. Later on, Sicheng's Korean improved, and he got better at hip hop. But how does that serve him? Yes, him being better at hip hop dancing is an extra skill that can be helpful in the entertainment industry, but that is a skill that many other idols have. Compare that to how many traditional Chinese dancers are known in mainstream media, and internationally. Basically, I don't think SM took advantage of Sicheng's talents, nor did they give him enough training to be a top idol? They just trained him like a regular trainee instead of using his strengths. And that's surprisingly considering what I've heard about the lengths that SM went to to recruit him.

The reason that I'm frustrated is that while Yixing has had some opportunities to shine with SM (granted, they were limited), Sicheng has had fewer.

When Yixing was finally given the spotlight in Lucky One, or even in Love Me Right, it was amazing. I was like !!!! that's the boy!!!!! He's killing it!!!!!

The only time I have felt that was during Sicheng's performance with Ten, dancing to Lovely. That's contemporary dance, not even traditional Chinese dance, but it so well showed off how elegant Sicheng can be, when most of the audience he's marketed to (idol fans) just think of him as a cute and pretty boy. Yes, he is that, but like...he'd worked his entire life in traditional Chinese dance. And it's such a waste to not show that off. That makes him special! (Like how the ballet dancers in kpop are asked to show off their skills)

Otherwise, in Winwin's performances, he's often been relegated to have few lines, to having little screentime. And I get it, his skills aren't compatible with kpop as much as the NCT golden boys. SO WHY DID SM WANT HIM SO BAD!!?!??!

The reason I'm frustrated is that I'm usually a fan of groups coming together. I would love for the Exos to express love for Yixing publicly. And I understand that it won't happen because of how Exo is.

In a similar vein, I know that the NCT members love Winwin. Because of the way that NCT is set up, even though Winwin doesn't really promote with 127 anymore, he is still technically a member of NCT, and they're still able to interact that way. But whenever Winwin is with NCT, I can't help but think about how he's going to be shafted to the back again.

I'm frustrated because I don't think being with NCT and SM is good for Sicheng anymore. Being with Exo and SM was still somewhat good for Yixing because his goals were in making music and popular style dancing, all of which SM excels at. But what can Sicheng learn from SM if they're not going to train him, or work with him to find something that works better for him?

They had years to work on that, years to showcase Winwin not only with 127 but also with WayV. But they did not use it to their advantage.

From what I've gathered, Winwin graduated from Beijing Dance Academy and then was admitted to Central Academy of Drama. So it looks like he was intent on pivoting his career from dancing to acting. And now in China, he's finally acting in dramas.

And it made me think that...in China he's more on track to reach these goals. There's little he can get from SM now, other than the international fame, I suppose. And I do admit that being with SM and NCT has brought him a fame that he probably would not have gotten even if he had become a mainstream actor in China, as the kpop global market is currently huge. But if his place in NCT isn't going to change, if he isn't going to get more lines (and singing/rapping training), if he isn't going to get more screentime, I feel like he's going to get more fulfillment from his position in the Chinese entertainment industry.

Tl;dr:

Yixing' skill set was more consistent with that of a typical idol, so he grew a lot by going through SM's normal idol training program.

Sicheng already had a pre-existing skill set of traditional Chinese dance which is very different from popular dancing, so the normal idol training program was never going to work for him. Still, SM did not work with him in a way that would show off his skills, instead just putting him through the regular idol training program and then shafting him to the back because (surprise!) the idol training program didn't really expand his skill set in a way that made him shine.

All things considered, I'm still going to follow NCT's new comeback, I'm still going to pay attention to Winwin. But I think I'm ready for the separation, whether or not it'll be officially announced.

[rabbit-head-007]

Ok, people were asking for more Encanto headcanons so here are some for the Madrigal Triplets!

-For starters, its confirmed by the director that their birth order is Julieta, Pepa, and then Bruno so we’ll go forward with that info

-that being said; BABY BROTHER IS ALWAYS IN THE MIDDLE

-Julieta and Pepa always keep Bruno in the middle of their group so as to protectively flank him on either side since he’s not the best when it comes to social situations

-if they were in modern times this means he’s also the sibling that always gets relegated to the middle seat in the car too - even as an adult

-They were all born three minutes apart (because all things come in three’s with the Madrigals) and are always very close to one another even if they get on each other’s nerves sometimes

-Pepa was the most attached to her siblings, especially when they were little, and didn’t like to be separated from them for too long - she just didn’t like change in general

-she was also the last one to get the hang of walking when they were first learning, and would pull her brother and sister back down if they walked too far away from her

-before they got their doors at 5, the triplets would all sleep in their Mamá’s room with Alma (and once again Bruno’s sisters insisted he be in the middle because he’s ‘the baby’)

-but even after their gift ceremony they still slept in there for another 2 years

-Alma can remember their gift ceremony, and wishing her kids goodnight as she went back to her room only to see the triplets come back out of their doors in their pajama’s and scuttle back to her bed

-Bruno’s room freaked them all out and it took some time for him to work up the courage to go up all the stairs

-so each day he and his sisters would see how far up they each could go before they got scared and ran back down

-the ultimate scare was making it to the top and seeing the ominous carvings on the wall

-there are markings in his room drawn by them as kids saying things like “BRUNO WUZ HERE” and “PEPA’S HIGH SCORE” and “Hi :)” (that last one was by Julieta)

-after the movie when Bruno returns to his room he can see new markings at the top with much more adult handwriting saying “Hi Bruno… please come home soon” and “Pepa’s new high score…Bruno where are you?” It was their first time ever making it all the way to the top and into the vision cave

-when Bruno first retreated into the walls it rained for three days straight and he could hear Pepa crying very loudly upon the steps leading up to his door because it upset her to see the light upon it go out. When he listened closely he could hear Julieta too

-needless to say, explaining where he had been the last ten years was even more difficult

-Julieta: “Bruno, we were worried sick, where were you? :(“

Bruno about to explain to his sisters that he had been living in the walls for the past ten years which is the most horrific thing for anyone to acknowledge, let alone your sisters who thought you had been dead this whole time: “have a drink first <:) 🥃”

-Pepa is *the* ultimate grudge holder, and Julieta and Bruno are very used to it, hence “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” (although granted the song was also probably Pepa’s only way to cope without crying and nearly flooding the town)

-Pepa on another tirade: “You thought the wedding was bad??? You should have seen our birthday when Juli-“

Julieta: “Yes, yes, Pepa, I pushed your face into the birthday cake, I know. We were seven years old.”

Pepa: “And you ruined my new birthday dress! D:<“

-because her gift is centered on healing, Julieta has a very clinical mind and is very interested in anatomy and healing

-as a child she’d often borrow books on the human body from the library and was very fascinated by all the little details and inner functions of the body

-when Alma was getting ready to give ‘The Talk’ she was very mortified when Julieta said “Don’t worry Mamá! I told Bruno and Pepa all about it from my books! :D”

-Alma was then given the most in-depth and pictorial description she had ever heard and she didn’t know whether to be proud or mortified the way Bruno and Pepa were

-Bruno and Pepa were especially weepy when Mirabel turned four because she looked so much like a little Julieta

Julieta: “Pepa, can I have my daughter back now?”

Pepa who has been holding a sleepy Mirabel for the last half hour “Five more minutes? <:)”

-Bruno and Pepa are always the last people Julieta asks for help in the kitchen because Bruno is a terrible cook and Pepa can’t resist stealing bites of food

-Julieta to Pepa as she watches Camilo steal another plate of food: “See? He learns that from you. I know he learns that from you because Félix is too polite to do something like that”

Ok if I share anymore this post will get too long, lol

Thanks again for the asks, folks! 💙🧡💚

[hellsbellschime]

I always love your takes on Dany because I think you explain her really well and was wondering what you think of this take by a Dany stan. It's got some uh... interesting ideas. Sorry too because it's quite long

The main difference in between Daenerys' political arc, and that of other "heroes" and their Houses is that Dany's is not currently a political arc relegated to fighting for Targaryen grievances and wins. Meanwhile, all other main House representatives in the narrative (Starks, Martells, Lannisters, Greyjoys, Tullys, Tyrells, Baratheons) are generally fighting precisely for nothing else but their own (and their Houses') grievances and wins.

That's where the double standards come in-

+ Daenerys is harshly and minutely judged for the quality of her every act, upon every single person in her narrative, bc her arc involves her aim to hold responsibility over the wellness of all these people.

+ Everyone else who are part of the Great Houses however are merely judged as per how they perform towards the wellness of their own Houses, because that's all they aim to perform for.

One girl dies in an act Dany is not directly involved in, particularly in intention, and the discussions are endless as per the repercussions and outrage of the occurrence. Because Daenerys took it upon herself to defend all these people, and this seems like a failure, particularlyin her POV: one girl with no other importance in the story and a few lines, among maybe millions. One girl. Hazea.

Robb Stark and his men, on the other hand, will kill, maim and rape thousands, or even tens of unnamed thousands, and there is no outrage; rarely discussed repercussions. Because Robb's political arc is not about protecting nameless people. Not about caring for the fate of one-liner non-noble characters. His arc is about the grievances of House Stark. About Ned. Readers judge him upon how close he gets to getting revenge on Tywin and Jofrrey, about how well/or bad he leads wars, not about what kind of leader he is to people, what kind of 'monster' he is to enemy commonfolk. The relevance of his eventual loss is not about the fate of his people, or enemy people, either. It's about his personal tragedy. It's about the tragedy of the remaining Starks.

There is outrage for Daenerys even killing her (leader) enemies. For everyone else, it's an undisputed aim.

Daenerys is even already judged for the possibility of a future where she will anything that concerns her actually being Daenerys of House Targaryen in Westeros. The possibility that any Westerosi people might die, while hundreds of thousands may have been dying so far at the hands of other Great Houses (directly and indirectly), and it's mostly irrelevant for them. But for Daenerys that judgement is everything. She is looked through the lense of "if she's a Queen she's meant to protect them, not kill them" tho she has not yet been granted that status, while those who have had the status of Kings, Queens and Lords of Westeros in the meantime have been responsible for the deaths of their own people all of this time.

No noble Northener really cares for a Jeyne Poole, least of all for a Hazea.

Daenerys alone is (harshly) judged as a leader of people, because that's her current actual arc. She is not Daenerys of House Targaryen currently, in a real sense, not really. Her family and House don't really matter where she is now, and to what she is doing.

Almost every other noble character (and I only say almost to partly exclude those not taking particular part in politics) is given the leniency of the tragic MC in a tragic family drama biopic. ALL THEY ARE IS X PERSON OF HOUSE Y. And in most cases nothing else matter. - end post

Well, obviously no hate to this person whoever they are and I don't necessarily think it's a bad take just because I disagree with it. I particularly DO agree on things like Jeyne Poole, and I think that is GRRM very intentionally trying to point out some huge hypocrisies with everyone in the story, even the "good guys", because it is incredibly unfair that no one will come to save Jeyne Poole while a fuckton of people will come to save "Arya Stark" just because they cared about Ned.

But where I don't agree is on that aspect in particular. Because it's not about winning or airing grievances for these great houses, a lot of their actions are largely driven by the fact that they simply care deeply about the other people who are involved in the war now or who have been hurt or killed in the past wars, and that is largely what is motivating many of them to do what they do. And in even more intense cases, they're going to war because they are in extremely immediate danger.

This is true for both villains and heroes, I mean Robb and Cat go to war against the Lannisters because there is an immediately mortal threat to their entire family, and even though Cersei and the rest of the Lannisters are clearly villains, their actions are also driven by an immediate mortal danger that their family is facing. And it's safe to say, a huge portion of what happened in the WOT5K would never have even occurred if a lot of these people weren't put in a position of "HOLY SHIT me or someone I love is about to die RIGHT NOW if I don't do something so I better fucking do something".

I feel like the story makes it clear that the wars that they are fighting are very pointless and brutal anyway. I mean FFS, GRRM does not accidentally traumatize the shit out of Arya by putting her in a commoner's position in a war that is supposedly being fought in her name. So I actually agree with the writer in the sense that there is a double standard when it comes to Dany vs. everyone else, but I feel like the double standard is valid because all of these characters for better or worse have a dog in this fight. Whatever they've done is incredibly personal and therefore pretty irrational for them.

And the fact that the men are rallying to save Arya Stark when they wouldn't rally to save a thousand Jeyne Pooles is very telling and demonstrates that they are extremely hypocritical, but it's also telling because they're not fighting for the "heir to House Stark". They repeatedly talk about how they're fighting for Ned's girl. It has very little to do with her nobility and power and a great deal to do with how these people feel about Ned not as a Stark, but just as a person that they knew and cared for who was horribly wronged.

So while I agree and recognize that a ton of the main characters have done the wrong things, often for the wrong reasons, it's personal, it's emotional, and it's irrational. And in a lot of cases it is driven by something as simple and pure as "I am about to die if I don't do something so I'm doing the first thing I fucking think of to get out of it". Even for the houses who initially got involved as a power play, it has become very much about the people that they care about and their own feelings rather than strategy and house advancement.

That doesn't magically make it moral, but it does make it hugely distinct from what Daenerys is doing. Because Daenerys doesn't have a dog in this fight at all. She has absolutely no personal ties to Westeros or anyone in it, and she is not in any danger from anyone in Westeros. Literally the only Westerosi person who has ever even really tried to kill her is a man she doesn't know and is already dead, and the only Targaryen she ever knew who even had a connection to Westeros was someone she hated who abused her horrifically and who is also already dead.

Ergo, Dany is a villain because she literally has no personal or political justification for the massive war that she's going to bring to Westeros. She is going to leave the place she's in that is a complete mess and desperately needs help even more than it did after her intervention, and she's going to invade a place that she doesn't care about beyond some imaginary concept she has about it in her head, has no connection to, has no need for her, and poses no threat to her.

She's not fighting for anything besides herself and her own sense of entitlement over Westeros. She's more harshly judged for her actions because they are completely driven by her own whims and desires and nothing more. She has the opportunity to think things through and plan and get advice and actually figure out the best way to do things, whereas every character in Westeros is reacting to something very immediate that they don't have a lot of time to consider and that is deeply emotional for them. But still, she doesn't even do that.

She's judged for all of the mistakes she makes because they're unnecessary and foreseeable mistakes. And, if she actually just waited and tried to figure out what to do instead of basically throwing herself into situations where she's suddenly overthrowing governments and ruling hundreds of thousands of people without a plan or any governing experience, then a lot of the bad things that have happened as a result of her campaign wouldn't have happened.

And obviously, I think this is a very intentional move on GRRM's part. I think he establishes that war is pointless and often outrageously hypocritical with the WOT5K, but there's a reason he gave Dany no one she loves and no one who needs her help and no one who poses a threat to her in Westeros. She's going to bring war to an already war-ravaged continent simply because she feels like it should belong to her.

That is drastically different than Robb going to war because his father has been falsely charged with treason or Cersei murdering Robert because he will try to murder her children if he finds out they're not his. And while all of the wars in ASOIAF are terrible and purposeless in the end, GRRM is going very far out of his way to demonstrate that Dany has literally zero justification or even explanation for why she acts the way she does beyond her belief in her own super-special entitlement.

[skyfire85]

-A U.S. Army Air Forces Bell XP-59A Airacomet (s/n 42-108784) at Muroc Dry Lake, California. | Photo: USAAF

FLIGHTLINE: 184 - BELL P-59 AIRACOMET

The XP-59 was the first production jet fighter for the US, but the subpar performance saw the few aircraft completed relegated to training.

Development of the P-59 can be traced back to April 1941, when Major General Hap Arnold of the USAAC attended a demonstration of the Gloster E.28/39, the first British jet aircraft. Seeing the potential of the technology, Arnold took copies of the plans for the Power Jets W.1 engine, and arranged for an engine to be flow to the US along with a team or Power Jets engineers as well as plans for the uprated W.2B/23. General Electric was offered the license to produce the engine in the US, where it was known as the GE I-A, while Bell Aircraft was granted a contract to build a fighter to use it. In order to disguise the nature of the program, the new aircraft was given the designation P-59A, making it appear to be a development of the unrelated XP-59 project developed for the R-40C competition. Three prototypes were authorized under the contract, and the design of the new plane was finalized on 9 January 1942, after which construction began.

-Orthograph of the P-59A. | Illustration: Kaboldy

DESIGN AND SPECS

The P-59A was of all-metal stressed skin semi-monocoque construction, with mid-mounted, straight wings. The GE J31 engines, developments of the I-A, were housed in nacelles under the wings and close to the fuselage. The single-place, pressurized cockpit was positioned above the leading edge of the wing, behind the armaments stored in the nose. The prototypes were armed with two 37mm M10 autocannon with 44 rounds each. Self-sealing fuel tanks within the wings, two per side, carried 290gal of fuel. The P-59s were fitted with electrically-actuated tricycle landing gear, an advanced feature for the time. The plane was 38 feet long, with a wingspan of 45' 6", and a height of 12 feet. Empty they weighed 8,165lb, while at max TO the weight increased to 13,700lbs. Maximum speed was a little over 400mph, while cruise was 375mph. Combat range was 375 miles, and the service ceiling was 46,000 feet. The P-59 was not an interceptor, as the time to 30,000 was a positively sedate fifteen and a half minutes.

The prototypes were constructed at a factory formerly occupied by Pierce-Arrow, though none of the elevators at the facility could accommodate the completed aircraft, and a wall needed to be removed to extract the aircraft. The first XP-59A was shipped by train to Muroc Army Air Field (now Edwards AFB) on 12 September 1942, and the first (accidental) flight was on 1 October during high-speed taxi tests, with the official maiden flight occurring the next day. During shipping and testing, the XP-59s wore a false propeller to disguise their true nature. By March 1943, the second prototype had joined the first, and after rains flooded Muroc it was towed, on a public road, to Hawes Field at nearby Victorville Army Airfield to continue test flights.

-An XP-59A prototype, under a tarp and with a false propeller affixed to its nose, likely at either Muroc or Victorville AAF. | Photo: USAAF

Even before the first flight of the XP-59, the Army ordered an additional 13 pre-production models, designated YP-59A, for familiarization and training. This was followed in July 1943 by an order for 100 operational model P-59A, which received the name Airacomet in a poll of Bell employees. The A model would be equipped with three .50cal M2 Browning machine guns as well as a single M10 autocannon, and would also differ from the XP and YP-59 in having improved model J31 engines, as well as squared off wingtips and horizontal stabilizers. A further 80 P-59B were ordered as well, which had two additional self-sealing fuel tanks, one in each outer wing, and provisions for two 1,590gal drop tanks.

FLIGHT TESTING

-An XP-59A with the short-lived red-outlined roundel, dating the photo to between June and September 1943. | Photo: USAAF

Deliveries of the YP-59 began in July 1943, and one aircraft was bailed to the RAF in exchange for a Gloster Meteor. British pilots were not enamored with the Bell jet, finding it underpowered and unstable compared to their usual mounts. Two other YP-59s were lent to the US Navy as YF2L-1s, but the Navy judged them to be unsuitable for carrier operations. Flight tests of the XP and YP-59s continued, but, as with the Navy and RAF, the AAF found them slow and unstable, with a tendency to "snake" at speeds over 290mph. The J31s had poor reliability and throttle response (as was typical of first generation jets), and the thrust produced was below expectations. Combat trials against P-38 Lightnings and P-47 Thunderbolts found the older prop-driven planes were faster and more maneuverable.

-The first production P-59A in formation with a P-63 Kingcobra. | Photo: USAAF

The results of these trials cooled the USAAF's interest in the P-59, and the order for P-59As was cut to 50 machines on 10 October '44, with the P-59B order cut to just 30 aircraft. Bell ceased production of the Airacomet at the end of 1944 in order to focus on P-63 Kingcobra for the Soviet Air Force, with only 20 A models and 30 B models completed. Most of the P-59Bs were assigned to the 412th Fighter Group at Muroc for familiarization of pilots and ground crews, while three aircraft were transferred to the Navy for further flight trials and training. With the end of WWII and more advanced aircraft like the Lockheed P-80 now flying, the P-59 was relegated to ground tests, and by June of 1948 the Status Prefix Z, indicating an obsolete aircraft, had been applied to the P-59, functionally ending its career.

SURVIVING AIRCRAFT

Of the 66 Airacomets built, only 6 are known to survive: a single XP-59 is on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington DC, while the only P-59A is located at the March Field Air Museum in Riverside, California. Three P-59Bs survive, one at the National Museum of the USAF in Dayton, another mounted on a pole outside Edwards AFB, and the last at Pioneer Village in Minden, Nebraska. A YP-59A has been undergoing restoration to flying condition at the Planes of Fame Museum in California for the last decade.

-The NMUSAF's P-59B, outside during a reorganization of the hangar in 2007. | Photo: NMUSAF

-The YP-59A at 2006 Warbird Airshow. As was done more than 60 year previously, a false propeller was fitted to the plane. | Photo: Brian Lockett

[arofili]

men of middle-earth ♞ house of éorl ♞ headcanon disclaimer

          Théodwyn was the youngest daughter of King Thengel of Rohan. She was close to her brother Théoden and aided him in raising his son Théodred after the death of his wife. Théodwyn was a gentle woman but a great rider of horses, and took one of the mearas as her steed. She married Éomund, First Marshal of the Mark and a descendant of Éofor of Aldburg. Their love was great, but it was cut short too soon when Éomund was slain in pursuit of a band of orc-raiders. Already weakened by grief, Théodwyn soon grew ill and died, leaving her children Éomer and Éowyn parentless.           Théoden King, her brother, took her children under his wing, where they were raised with their cousin Théodred. Éomer grew strong and tall, eventually becoming the Third Marshal of the Mark and inheriting his father’s command of the East-mark, defending Rohan from the orcs of Mordor. Éowyn grew in grace and pride, remaining in Edoras while her brother was granted a position in the king’s armies, though she was nearly as capable a warrior as he and chafed to be relegated to her uncle’s minder as Théoden was slowly overcome by the spell of Saruman.           Nonetheless, Éowyn was loyal to her king, remaining by his side and doing what she could to combat the ill counsels of Gríma Wormtongue, who had sold his services to the White Wizard. She was glad when Gandalf lifted the spell upon her uncle, but frustrated to be turned from battle once more when Théoden rode to Helm’s Deep. Instead she was given the responsibility of tending to Edoras in his absence.           Éowyn attempted to follow Aragorn into the Paths of the Dead, but was turned aside despite her pleading and her hopeless love for him. She was denied once more the chance for glory in battle when Théoden ordered her to remain behind upon his ride from Dunharrow to Minas Tirith, but this time she had taken enough. Éowyn disguised herself as a man, taking the alias Dernhelm, and rode with the Riders of Rohan to the Battle of the Pelennor Fields with the halfling Meriadoc Brandybuck, likewise barred from combat by the king but unwilling to accept such a dismissal.           Upon the battlefield, Dernhelm fought bravely to defend the King, and when he was felled by the Lord of the Nazgûl she stood between the Witch-king and her uncle. The Nazgûl boasted that “no living man may hinder me,” echoing the prophecy of Glorfindel a thousand years earlier, but Dernhelm was not deterred. She removed her helmet, letting her long golden hair fly free and declaring, “No living man am I! You look upon a woman.”           This revelation shocked her foe greatly, giving Meriadoc—a hobbit, not a Man—the opportunity to stab him from behind with a Barrow-blade, forged long ago by the Dúnedain of Arnor to fight the Witch-king and dispel the evil magic rendering him invincible. Then Éowyn slew the Nazgûl Lord, a feat which not even King Eärnur of old could accomplish, though her shield-arm was broken and she was bitterly wounded by the Nazgûl’s Black Breath.           As the Rohirrim marched away with the body of Théoden, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth recognized that Éowyn still drew breath, and took her to the Houses of Healing. There she was healed from death by Aragorn, though she did not recover in time to join Éomer in the assault on the Black Gate of Mordor. While she recovered, anxiously waiting for news of that battle, she met Faramir, the last Steward of Gondor, and found love with him.           At last the War of the Ring came to a close, and Éowyn discovered that she had wearied of battle and yearned now to become a healer, loving all things that grow and are not barren. She accompanied her brother back to Rohan and saw the burial of Théoden and Éomer’s coronation, then left for Ithilien where she wed Faramir. Éowyn kept her friendship with Meriadoc for the rest of their lives, sending him great gifts when he became the Master of Buckland, and lived the rest of her days in happiness with Faramir and their children.

[sardinesandhumbugs]

dude dude empty chairs at empty tables from les mis that line "oh my friends, my friends, forgive me that I live and you are gone" thats BADGER

A/N: asdlfjadslfjadsf your mind, nonny. This was meant to focus solely on Badger and his losing Rat Sr and Toad Sr, but then, naturally, this broadened out to Badger and grief in general.

For obvious reasons, trigger warnings for death.

(Also, yes, I am still working on these prompts, so if you are waiting on one, fear not! It will get written... just very, very slowly. @wolfiethewriter I snuck the hat story in!)

x

It had been a bitter winter that year. A selfish winter, taking so much and giving nothing in return.

And Badger is tired.

Toad Sr had been the first one to go – an impossibility to anyone who had known him, but, then again, life cared little for probabilities. It took the indomitable toad in a cascade of carriage wheels and snowblind storms and slick roads and Badger was left with nothing but a funeral to prepare alongside his mourning friend.

"It's how he would have wanted to go," Rat says in the twilight hours following the funeral.

(To many, Rat is now Rat Senior, but Badger finds the epitaph weighs heavily on his mind; it's a constant reminder that his friend (and he) are ever growing older while the generation below settle into the youthful energy that he and Rat had once enjoyed.)

"What?" Badger grumbles. "Dramatically?"

"No. Quickly." Rat sighs and readjusts the blankets around himself that are far too numerous for an armchair by the fireside, even in the bleak midwinter. "He would have hated to fade away slowly."

"One would think he'd much rather have not gone at all," Badger says.

"We must all go eventually, Badger."

"Maybe. But not any time soon. Not yet."

"We're not so young as we used to be."

"Neither are we so old as to welcome death as a familiar friend," Badger answers with rancour.

Rat gives a breathy half-laugh. "Even so, it seems like a long time since our first meeting. Do you remember it?"

"Like it was yesterday," Badger says, and he does not add that it is not long ago enough, not by half. Not by a long shot. "Toad invited us both for a meal at the Red Lion Inn. You looked like you thought I might eat you."

"Can you blame me? You were scowling at me something rotten." Rat chuckles sheepishly. "Truth be told, I'd never really met a badger before then – they always seemed to keep to themselves, and you're not the least intimidating of animals."

"I suppose we're not. We're not really Undergrounders or Wild Wooders, and we're certainly not Riverbankers." He hesitates. "We're just Badgers."

"Well, that never bothered Toad."

"No, it didn't."

A pause lingers between them, a silence for the animal who would have filled it within a heartbeat.

"Toad was the first animal I could honestly call a friend," Badger says eventually. The words sit heavily in his lungs, a truth he has been avoiding since the news came of Toad's demise. "A sorry state of affairs to reach at that age, but most other animals veered on the same opinion as you did," and he nods to Rat (not accusing nor bitter, only the lonely truth), "that we were a solitary type and best left to our own devices. And then he introduced you, his oldest and dearest friend, and I suppose some part of me felt..."

"Territorial?" Rat offers with a rueful smile.

"I suppose that is one word for it."

"And now look at us."

"How the tables have turned," Badger agrees.

Rat gives a breathy half-laugh. "We've had some times though. Do you recall the night Toad showed us the tunnels beneath the Hall?"

"I remember it, but I'm surprised you do. You were three sheets to the wind, and then some." His words are admonishing, but his tone is affectionately amused. "You and that blasted amphibian."

"If I recall correctly, you were singing as loudly as either of us."

"I wasn't the one who dove head-first over a wall in trying to catch his hat."

Rat snorts. "It was a low wall."

"Not low enough and there was a drop on the other side. I was prepared to climb over to fetch your hat back for you, but you just shouted–"

"'Grab my legs,'" Rat choruses with a chuckle.

"–and leapt head-and-arms over it without even checking to see if I was there, like it's an impromptu trust exercise."

"You did catch me though."

"A few drinks later and I might not have." Rat's humour is contagious though, and Badger finds himself smiling along at the chaotic memory. "I just turn to see a pair of legs rapidly sliding over the wall and all I can think is I'm not trained for this kind of thing."

"It was a good hat."

"It better have been one-of-a-kind for that stunt."

Rat gives a laugh that shakes at the edges and ends abruptly with a sharp, pained inhale. The smile returns quickly after, but it is watery and the carefree humour has faded.

(Badger makes no comment on the rattle in his friend's laughter, just as he has made no comment on the sudden breaths Rat takes between words, nor how the water rat has slipped quietly from captain to passenger aboard his own boat, relegating the rowing to the generation below.)

(Maybe, if he doesn't comment on it, it won't matter.)

(Maybe, if he doesn't comment on it, Death won't hear and will pass his remaining friend by.)

Rat's paw finds Badger's, and although his friend's has always been dwarfed by Badger's, it now feels frailer than before. The grip is tight though, and the fervour unnerves Badger.

"Don't retreat," Rat says. "When the time comes, don't hide back in your sett."

Badger cannot promise that. "When the time comes?" he echoes instead.

Rat smiles, but there is sadness in his eyes that tell he is not fooled by Badger's feigned ignorance. "First friends will always be special, but they're a beginning, not an end, Badge," and the smile does reach his eyes in that moment – at the nickname that had been so commonplace in their more youthful years. "And, whatever anyone else might think, you are not a solitary animal."

x

And then there is one.

Rat's passing had been as slow as Toad's had been quick, and that cruel winter had hemmed Badger and his fading friend and the barely-beyond adolescent Ratty in a house that stank of death.

(A blessing, said animals who didn't know better, that he eventually went; better for all that the suffering should finally end.)

And as he attends the second funeral in as many months, towering over the heads of the above-ground folk, he feels keenly the buffering that his riverbank-born friends had granted him. Animals who had once earnestly invited the trio for drinks now offer faltering commiserations with gazes that refuse to meet his, and there is more than the awkward shadow of grief that hound his conversations.

The Undergrounders see him as more Wild Wood than one of theirs (after all, his home is in the wood's depths; how much more Wild Wood could one get?) and the Wild Wooders regard him as one of the Undergrounders (they pay their respects, for his medical knowledge has helped more than one of their kind, but he is not one of theirs, he is of the earth) but it is the Riverbankers who break his heart the most. Their eyes flicker to the Wild Wooders, to the Undergrounders, and it is clear that he has been a visitor to their world; a tourist staying by the grace of his friendship, but that friendship is buried beneath the ground and he should follow suit.

He stays through the funeral, for respect to his late friends – and their offspring, who are too shattered to bear the brunt of well-meaning animals alone – and he stays civil, despite the keening anger that sits in his heart. Instead, he speaks in steady, unerring words of the Rat he had known, and he is too tired to correct the animals who mistake his dry eyes for detachment.

He is tired, and he is alone and his friends are gone.

So let the Badger who sung at Rat's wedding and danced at Toad's die alongside them, he decides. There is no room for that Badger anymore.

He packs up the part of him that begrudgingly endured society and the world lets him. Badgers had always haunted that sett; they are a somber, to-themselves kind of animal and the fact that the current badger had been an outlier is something comfortably and quickly forgotten.

x

Toad Jr and Ratty have yet to shed their childhood nicknames, but in time they will pick up the moniker mantels that their fathers have left in their wake – and Badger cannot watch it happen. There is already too much of their fathers in them – or perhaps not enough. In their sons are left uncanny valleys of the animals he had once known; ghosts that linger in rogue phrases and remnant gestures, echoes of a time that are forever lost to him.

And maybe there is too much of their fathers in him. For, in the wake of their fathers' passing, neither animal loiter on his doorstep for more than the acceptable allotted condolences, both given and received. There is no outreach of mutual mourning to tie them together; only the bitter memory of what has been lost to render each presence painful.

Barely beyond puphood, Badger finds himself thinking as Ratty (still Ratty, always Ratty. Rat was his father; Rat was his lifelong friend; Rat is gone) shakily takes the meal that Badger has brought. They both are grieving, but Ratty is young and hopeful and, even as the sickness had stolen more of his father away, he had never quite believed that it would do the unforgivable until it was too late.

But Badger has sat with his grief so long that it feels like well-worn slippers. Every time he had visited his friend's parlour for lunch, or by the fire with drinks, or smoked out on the jetty, his mind had whispered perhaps this will be the last time. So when he and Ratty share that meal and the conversation is a muted, disquieted thing, Badger accepts the truth that his grief has been promising.

Ratty is not Rat.

Rat is gone, and Badger remains.

When Badger leaves that once-cosy riverside abode, it is with the knowledge that he will not return to his late friend's home until its present owner comes to Badger's sett on his own terms. He will not darken Ratty's door with reminders of his grief until Ratty is ready.

(It doesn't occur to him that Ratty might be thinking the same thing; that he saw the flinch in Badger's stoic form as his turn of phrase cut too close to his father's, or the quickened breath as he for a moment – but, oh, what a cruel moment – mistook Ratty for Rat Senior.)

(It doesn't occur to him that Ratty might see his own absence to Badger's doorstep a similar kindness, or take Badger's retreat to his sett as confirmation.)

(And so the cycle continues.)

x

Badge becomes Badger becomes Mr Badger, and suddenly he is the old, intimidating animal that he had seen his grandfather and his father become. He is not quite Wild Wooder and not quite Undergrounder, and he had forgotten that in his time playing as a Riverbanker, but none have space for him now.

Rat is gone and a badger he doesn't recognise remains.

That is, until a lost mole and a water rat wander to his doorstep one cold autumn night.

There is so much of Rat in his son that, even now, the grief runs riot through Badger. Ratty is no longer the scruffy pup hanging on to his father's coattails, nor the gangly, grief-stricken adolescent shakily reheating a mourning meal, but an animal comfortably settling into adulthood.

There are differences, of course (there is a tension to Ratty that easy-going Rat had rarely possessed, and a sharpness to his words that betray a difficult time of it) but when he laughs, it is Rat's voice that Badger hears.

It is not the raucous fracas that Rat would employ (Toad Senior had laughed so loudly, so infectiously, that Rat had caught some of his careless volume) but there is enough of it. And so even when Ratty reintroduces himself as Rat, Badger can't help but stick by Ratty.

Still Ratty, always Ratty. Rat was his father; Rat was his lifelong friend. Rat is gone.

Rat is gone, but Ratty remains and he needs Badger's help.

There is enough of the Badger that once was that he rises to the occasion. He braces for that same uneasy grief he had met with in the aftermath of the funerals, but not for the almost-filial manner Ratty and Toad appeal to him with – nor for the fragment of something he hesitates to call paternal responding in kind.

It is different, but that's no bad thing.

For Ratty and Toad are not their fathers, but neither is Badger the Badger that once was.

He is different.

But maybe that's no bad thing.

[ace-oreos]

weird ask but what kind of personality do you think Jango would have? Like how would he react around other bounty hunters? Jedi? Boba? We get so little of him, its hard to think of characteristics

I thought this was a fun ask, anon! And if I were an organized, detail-oriented sort of person (spoiler: I’m not) I would have canon references for this and everything. But I’ll do what I can. 

(I had a game today and I got my first round of the COVID vaccine this afternoon, so I’m a bit tired. Bear with me here lol)

(Also, if anyone is interested in a quick analysis of other characters definitely not talking about Alpha I would be more than happy to oblige!) 

So! To business.

Based on canon (books, comics, AoTC, etc.) I generally see Jango as a very reserved person. He’s had a lot of hard knocks in life, and he’s not about to let someone get one over on him because he let his guard down too soon. He does not trust easily. 

If he does trust someone, it’s likely because they’ll serve some sort of purpose for him. I wouldn’t call him selfish per se, but I don’t think he’s above using others as means to an ends, ya know? 

He’s also very calculating. He’s been around long enough to know better than to just rush into a situation headfirst without having some sort of prior knowledge/intel. The kind of awareness that tends to come with experience. 

Going off the trust thing (sorry for the complete lack of organization) we can tell from canon that he’s not prone to displays of emotion. He tends to present himself in an aloof, somewhat cold manner. (Again, another product of experience.)

As for the other bounty hunters, I think this is definitely where we see that means to an ends attitude come into play. An ally one day could be an enemy the next with little to no warning. Generally speaking, they’re competition at best and a threat at worse. As we know, he’s widely acknowledged to be one of the greatest bounty hunters the galaxy has ever known. That being said, he knows better than to be arrogant about it; it only takes one bad shot to put him out of commission permanently.

Canon fully supports the idea that Jango has no use for Jedi and isn’t at all intimidated by them. He is fully capable of disabling and/or killing Jedi, and he will not hesitate to do so if necessary or if he deems it reasonable given the circumstances. As we saw from his interactions with Obi-Wan, Jango knows Jedi are hardly all they’re cracked up to be. 

I don’t know as much about his relationship with Boba, but it seems that overall he did truly care about him. Even if he was never completely emotionally open with him, Jango did what he could to prepare Boba for an unforgiving galaxy. Based on what we know about Jango’s character, I think it’s safe to call this a demonstration of Jango’s genuine concern for Boba’s wellbeing. And I don’t think it would be a stretch to say he loved Boba - he very clearly calls Boba his son in the Republic Commando novels.

This isn’t really part of your ask, but I felt like it’s worth including: 

When I write about Jango’s relationship with the Alpha ARCs - and granted it’s from Alpha’s perspective, who prefers to call things as they are - which makes for an unforgiving narrator at times - I tend to think of it as a very complex thing. It was never a simple “did he love them or not” sort of deal; there’s too much underneath that could never be addressed.

Canon indicates that Jango was never fully comfortable with the idea of the GAR being his clones. With the Alpha ARCs being one of the earliest batches, it’s not to difficult to imagine that they probably had something of a rocky relationship with him. Jango’s role hadn’t been fully established yet - father or overseer? - and this translated to his mindset towards the ARCs. 

As I said in the A/N before one of my fics that took another peek at Jango through Alpha’s eyes: I think there was a lot left unsaid when the Alpha ARCs were growing up, and Jango’s death came before most of it could be addressed. 

To wrap this up before I get off track any further: I think Jango is ultimately a fairly complex character who was never afforded the chance to demonstrate any of that complexity because canon repeatedly relegated him to the same role of “emotionally distant bounty hunter who cares about one (1) other human being.” 

[seizethecarpe]

Between Bookends || Dave and Rio

Timing: Currentish, during versipellis plot.  Summary: Dave knows he isn’t well, and he turns to the only scribe he knows for help. Whether that’s a good idea or not... well. They’ll find out. Content warnings: Body horror mention

Dave trembled, his muscles exhausted to the point of no return. He could barely steer the boat cohesively, except for the hunger eating at his stomach despite the pound and pounds of seal meat he’d already eaten. As he got closer and closer to the shore, the monstrous sickness became even louder, knowing its prey was nearby. He’d almost slaughtered Adam, had come close to killing several other too. Maybe he’d even drowned a couple, even if he hadn’t eaten them. Guilt tried to gnaw at him, but how could it even begin to compete with the hunger inside him? The boat shuddered to a stop, a small distance from where he’d dock it. Maybe just a small enough distance to give Rio the chance to run, or fight, or whatever the kid needed to. Dave took a last deep breath through his mouth, so that the last thing he smelled was the sea. If he didn’t talk, he wouldn’t have to breathe. He raised his hand to Rio in recognition. “You said you could help,” Dave signed. “How can you help?”

 Orion didn’t know what to do with his hands. His eyesight made Dave’s boat coming into view that much more awkward. How close was close enough to start waving? How awkward would it be for him to stand completely still while Dave came closer and closer to land? In context of exactly what Dave was going through, none of this seemed relevant or important. But as Rio’s mind raced with all the possibilities of what could be wrong and how Dave could end up hurt, these annoying little social cues that Rio couldn’t get a grasp of seemed to be the only way to distract himself from completely freaking out. As an annoying compromise, Rio swayed his arms a bit by his side until Dave motioned first. Then Rio started waving and moving to close the distance between the two. Dave’s question didn’t exactly ease Rio’s concerns. Promising help was something that Rio always did. This time he actually needed to follow through on the offer. Easier said than done when he still wasn’t absolutely positive he was right. “Right. Yeah. I have some ideas. Um- I just want to be sure about what you saw.” Rio signed as he spoke, moving closer to the boat to try to help him with anything he needed.

 “Stay back. I don’t rightly know if I have a handle on this.” Dave signed aggressively, taking a couple steps back in his boat. He’d seen Rio against the cockatrices, in tears over the thought of having to kill an aggro chicken. No matter what tricks Rio had up his sleeve, he wouldn’t do what would need doing if… well, just if. The hunger was an ambush predator, overwhelming him before because he hadn’t known it was there. That was the only way he could swallow the guilt of how close he’d come already to eating people. Now it could no longer sneak up on him, Dave liked to believe for a moment he would have control, but as Rio got closer, even without smelling the air, Dave’s mouth was beginning to salivate. “Biggest wolf I’ve ever seen in the woods. Not around a full moon, skin dangling from its back like it was wearing war trophies of something. Barely got away in time.” Dave raised his arm, showing the bandage and the angry red that had seeped through and had dried on the outside. 

 Crossing his arms in protest, Orion froze in place and kept the distance from Dave that was demanded. He didn’t like the idea of it though. Dave was clearly going through a lot right now, and what he needed was someone that could do whatever it took to help him out. Dave had given an overview of what was wrong and how dangerous he was becoming. Rio had to determine the line of separation between helping Dave and trying to keep himself safe. For as smart as he was told that he was growing up, it was just about the only thing that his parents would compliment him on, he hadn’t mastered the art of self preservation. “Jesus” Rio mumbled to himself, not wasting the time in signing it before moving on, “Right. Okay. Well, I have a theory. I think.” It wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t something he had ever come across before, but the pieces of Dave’s story seemed to be fitting together. “I have a place we can go. Nobody but me will be there. But on our way, explain what you’re feeling. Like uh- you mentioned about a hunger for…” Unable to finish the sentence himself, he dropped his hands and left it open ended for Dave to elaborate.

 “I’ll take the hint of an idea over anything swirling through my head at the moment.” Better than wondering what had broken in him, if this was the work of the Valkyrie messing with his head or a sickness Dave wouldn’t shake, or something to do with how rare Leopard Seal Selkies were, that there was something inherently wrong with him. Wild leopard seals ate the young of other seal species… maybe that was what he was relegated to, why he’d been so hungry for Ollie. Reaching out to Rio had been… desperation. Better than continuing to ignore it after nearly killing several. “People,” Dave signed, disgust curling his lips, ashamed of the admission. “I’ve almost killed… too many people, in the last few days. One of them a selkie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 It was definitely as horrifying as it sounded, and Orion could understand why Dave was so set on keeping distance from him. He wondered how strong the craving was, or how hard it had to be to hold himself back anytime he was around someone. “I think I know what’s wrong. Maybe.” He couldn’t exactly be sure, not with all of the other craziness that happened around town. At any given time there could probably be three or more explanations to some gory murder or unexplained phenomenon. In this case, all the stars seemed to align. “I have a place that we can go. I’ll have you look through a book with me and if I’m right, it should help us figure out what to do next. Follow me okay?” Rio signed and then waved him along. The trip to the Scribrary wouldn’t take too long, but both would have to be on edge the entire time, wary of what might happen if Dave’s self control wavered. Rio had strength on his side, but he didn’t have experience. Or guts. “And it’s safe there.”

 “And if you’re wrong?” Dave signed back, his hands jerking in agitation. He looked at Rio with wide, agonised eyes, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain his fears here. That even for a young man with very little meat on him at all, Rio looked delicious as a snack. It was only his breathhold that made just looking at the kid bearable. Dave didn’t want to point out that on that boat, he’d almost made a different call, not to a small scribeling with a fear of violence, but a  hunter with a certified skill at murder. He wasn’t sure he’d made the right call. “I need to know you’ll keep yourself safe.” Because Dave had seen that too, in the woods with those cockatrices - that Rio had more strength in his than his baggy sweatshirts showed. Whether the will was there was a whole nother matter. “I don’t know how much grip I’ve got on this whole situation.”

 “I’m optimistic” Orion ignored Dave’s question. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if Rio was wrong. The unknown would just induce panic that Rio couldn’t exactly afford right now. He was already panicking enough internally, a full blown panic attack would do nothing but hinder his ability to help Dave. He definitely didn’t want to think about how dangerous it was to willingly go alone to an abandoned building with a man who just admitted to craving human flesh. “I know how to get in and out of this place way better than you do. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just let you get lost in there.” Rio laughed nervously, unsure if that was actually a joke or not. They both knew that he wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to fighting or defending himself. Rio’s strength advantage probably wouldn’t go very far against Dave. 

 Orion didn’t talk much as they trudged through the woods. He was too busy forming a plan of escape in his head in case it became necessary. Dave kept his distance from Rio, which Rio knew was more in his interest than Dave’s. All Rio hoped was that he could give him some sort of hope that this wasn’t going to last forever. “Here we are” Rio mentioned nonchalantly, motioning towards the empty expanse of forest that sat in front of them. Now was hardly the time to be impressed by the Scribe’s magic, but he could never quite get over how the Scribe building would slowly come into view as if a mist was rising above it. All it took was a simple spell that Rio’s uncle had taught him so long ago. A trick built into an unassuming tree that allowed access only to those that were granted access. Within a minute, the whole building was sitting a hundred yards away, “So uh- welcome to the Scribrary. I’ll lead you back to the library. I have some books we should look at.”

 “That ain’t good enough,” Dave snapped, but his options were limited. Clearly, he didn’t have the fucking werewithal to hold himself captive. He was already thinking about hunting down Ollie again. The crunch of her windpipe if he bit through her throat, the sweet flavour of the blubber of her skin if he caught her in the water. He’d only had harbour seals so far, a ring seal would be a delicious treat. With a start, Dave realised he was staring at Rio, blood-stained drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, every muscle in his body straining. If they’d both been on land, that small lapse in concentration could have been fatal. He put his hand on the engine, tempted to steer away. But what were his choices? Giving in, or calling a hunter.

 Dave was damned if he was about to sign his own death warrant. 

 One final deep breath, and he steered the boat against the dock, and stepped on the dock, gesturing for Rio to lead. They walked quickly through the forest, Dave tapping every tree with a stick so that even when Rio wasn’t looking, he’d know where Dave was. If the tapping stopped… well. For as long as he could hold his breath, the monstrous hunger - unsatiated by how stuffed his stomach was - still craved more. He couldn’t help but stare at Rio, fantasising about how easy it would be to tear his head from his body, how the poor sweet child would probably let him rather than be violent. Dave wasn’t convinced there was much meat on him to eat, but it would be satisfying all the same. And once he’d had one…. Dave was sure it would be easier to eat the others. By the time the scribe headquarters faded into view, Dave could barely even manage to be impressed, only focused on Rio and fighting the temptation to eat Rio. “Hurry,” he signed sharply. He’d feel better if there was a locked door between them. 

 Orion wasn’t sure what to do about Dave’s apprehension. For better or worse, Rio was a lot less concerned about being attacked and eaten by Dave than Dave seemed to be about doing it to Rio. Sure, that was probably because Rio had a serious trust issue. Or rather, a trusting too much issue. He wanted to believe that Dave had the self control to stop himself from doing it. But the fact was that Rio had no idea what Dave was feeling right now. As a small measure of extra precaution, Rio reached into his bag and pulled out the knife that Athena had given him. It was silver, more specifically targeted for werewolves. But it would do fine against a Selkie if he really needed it to. Not that he had any interest or plans to actually use it. “I’ll make sure to stay on guard. Promise.” Rio waved the blade as a show before slipping it into his front pocket. Easily available. 

 Leading their way into the Scribrary, Dave was giving Orion the impression that things were becoming urgent. Rio didn’t like exploring the idea that Dave might actually take a bite out of him, but he still obliged, picking up the pace through the hallways of the Scribe building. “Stay here.” Rio signed when he got to the sleeping area. It was full of old bunks, most of them seemingly untouched for decades. In the back corner of the room was a pile filled with bags of clothes books. They laid next to the only bed with new sheets and comforters. Leftovers from the days that Rio spent most of his days and nights here. Before Winston and Ricky. “I’ll be back.” Rio jogged off as fast as he could to find the book he was looking for. It was his only theory for what was happening to Dave. It was still on one of the tables where Rio had left it and he swiped it off before jogging back. He hovered in the doorway of the sleeping area, keeping his distance from Dave. More for Dave’s purposes than Rio’s own. “Versipellis” Rio signed letter by letter, unsure how to sign it any other way. “My mom-” Rio paused, hands freezing midair before he backed up and started the sentence over again, “I learned about them a tiny bit as a kid, but I have never seen one before. Or even heard of one showing up. They look like werewolves, but they’re different. Their bite makes someone crave uh… cannibalism?” To put it simply. “How long ago were you bitten?”

 Dave looked around the sleeping area, his brows creasing in concern at the sight of the used bed in the back corner, free of the layers of dust that coated everything else. Dave didn’t have to breath to know who had been sleeping there. He looked at Rio with a flicker of concern between all the barefaced hunger. Which was when he was left alone, inhaling shakily and trying not to let the taste of young scribe overwhelm his sentences. He grabbed the post of one of the bunks so tightly it felt like the skin over his knuckles might split. He wiped at the saliva dripping down his chin. When Rio came back, he spelled back the name of the creature, but muddled up the letters. It was so hard to focus on that when he could imagine feeling Rio’s rapid heartbeat under his throat. Rio would let him, wouldn’t even mind. He paused, for a moment not sure of the answer. Maybe the answer would bring Rio closer in, to eat even more easily? Dave rolled up his sleeve, showing the angry red bite on his arm. “6 days ago,” He signed back. “I can’t become a werewolf. This shouldn’t affect me.”

 Orion didn’t like the way that Dave looked. He couldn’t describe the look either. In pain? Starving? Desperate? All of them seemed to fit in part, but none of them felt right. None of this felt right at all. This was the same man who was ready to get torn apart by the cockatrice to make sure Rio was alright. He shouldn’t have to worry about trying to eat anybody. Without knowing much about the man at all, Rio knew he was a good person. “They’re not werewolves.” Rio explained, leaning against the doorframe. He had the book open, but he didn’t need it. He had read the pages a hundred times. Memorized them line for line before even telling Dave he had an idea. He just couldn’t be sure. But he was pretty positive now. “You’re not safe from it just because you’re not human. I don’t even think-” Rio stopped himself. He almost told Dave that he wasn’t sure that he was even safe from the bite. But Rio hadn’t exactly had that conversation with Dave yet. About his hunter heritage. Right now probably wasn’t the best time, all things considered. “If you give in, you’ll turn into one of them.” Rio finished, “But there is some good news? You’re almost done. You only have to stop for like 9-10 days according to the scribe who wrote about them in this book.”

 “Not werewolves?” Dave signed back skeptically, “I saw him change. Tear right through his human skin and be a wolf. How the hell is that not a werewolf-” He crossed his arms more tightly in front of his chest, watching Rio signing, trying to take in the words little by little. He’d turn into one? Bullshit, Dave thought, and began to sign the same. That didn’t happen to selkies. They were resistant, stronger than most humans when it came to whatever magic took one from a human to a werewolf. He already had a second skin, and how they hell would that even work? He shivered when it occurred to him that it wouldn’t. Whatever that thing was, it would not fit into his pelt. He would lose the pelt along with… everything else. His mind, his control. He’d lose the pelt. Dave shuddered, like ice water had been poured down his spine, his demeanor shrinking in on himself. Almost done, the scribe said, but when he said just how long… Under the sudden despair of his situation, Dave’s self control collapsed. To endure half the time again that he'd suffered with resisting his hunger… wasn’t worth it. Not when there was such young tender flesh in front of him. Dave looked up at Rio, opened his mouth to expose his jagged seal teeth, and sprinted at the man.

 It happened quickly. One moment Dave’s facial expression looked like he thought Orion was crazy. Clearly he wasn’t convinced that he could change into such a creature. Rio supposed he understood the disbelief. The idea of changing into a werewolf wasn’t the same for a selkie as it was for a human. As far as Rio was aware, Dave was just as immune to the bite as Rio himself was. But just as Rio was trying to explain, this wasn’t a werewolf. It was another shapeshifter. One far rarer than an everyday werewolf. Rio didn’t think his own hunter genetics would protect him from this bite. But Rio didn’t get much time to think about it. Seconds later, Dave’s posture had completely shifted and suddenly he launched himself towards Rio. The only thing saving his life- and by extension, Dave’s- were the hunter reflexes. His arm shot out instinctively, launching the book he had been holding at the man’s face and then ducking falling backwards to avoid the man’s teeth. If he had been attacked, he might be able to heal. But if Dave got a bite out of him, it could all be over. Maybe. Rio still wasn’t exactly sure if a selkie feasting on a human would count as cannibalism enough to finish the curse. He wasn’t even sure it was a curse. More like some horrible disease. Either way, Rio wasn’t interested in trying it out today. The Scribe journals would have to go unanswered. Rio rolled off his back and out of the doorway, grabbing onto it and slamming it shut as a barricade between himself and Dave. “Okay, didn’t love that!” Rio yelled at Dave, trying to keep an ounce of calmness in his voice despite wanting to scream his head off. But that would only make Dave feel worse about what he had done once he was back to normal. For now, Rio needed to find a way to make sure he stayed isolated for a few more days. “Maybe you should just stay in there for awhile? It’s cozier than it looks!” He wasn’t even sure if Dave could hear him. Without the sign language and visual confirmation, Rio wasn’t sure anything he was saying was getting through to him.

 Jaw wide, intent on sinking his canines into Orion’s pale flesh, Dave barely had a thought long enough to parse the wide swing of the book before the hardback surface slammed into Dave’s face, knocking him off balance. Stunning sense into his for a split second, rubbing his face as he looked up at Rio. He inhaled sharply, and like sharks in chummed water, the split second of control was lost once more as he rushed after the boy. “No!” 

 Dave tried to force his way through the door as Rio slammed it in his face. The hinges of the door rattled but held firm as Dave slammed his body into it. “Let me out!” He barked. “Orion, let me out now!” He backed up, teeth bared, rolling his bloodied sleeves up, and barrelled into the door again, ramming his uninjured shoulder into the wooden structure, over and over, leaving more and more bloody smears on the door each time. “I’ll kill you!” He bellowed, spit flying through the air, slamming his fist on the door. “Orion- kid. C’mon. You don’t need to do this. I need to eat. I’m so hungry it’ll tear me apart. Orion.” His rage drained out of him, forehead dropping to rest against the wood. “Shit.”

 Then, much to his chagrin, Dave admitted, “Maybe that’s a good call, scribeling.”

 There was something deeply disturbing about the way that Dave shifted back and forth. One second, Orion was wincing against the assault on the door from the other side. Rio had to keep him from getting out, but the constant pounding and screaming made him want to do nothing more than cower in a corner. The next moment everything would go quiet. Suddenly Dave would be pleading to leave as if he hadn’t just been threatening the hunter’s life seconds before. Rio’s hands were shaking, an after effect of the fear he felt. Not for himself, necessarily. But for Dave. He wondered how much of the real Dave was beneath the surface. Was he able to see everything that he was doing and saying? Or was he completely taken over by this curse or disease or whatever it was? Would he even remember this in a few days, when all this was over? How did Rio even think he could feasibly keep the man completely locked up for multiple days if he was acting like this? 

 He pulled himself into a fetal position, back still resting against the door. He didn’t know what to say to Dave. Nothing felt right, not in this situation. He couldn’t even know for sure how much of the man was actually there. For all he knew, Dave’s last statement of resignation was just a ploy to get Rio to drop his guard. “My book isn’t damaged is it?” Without any other ideas, Rio settled on a pointless question, quickly following up with “Oh uh- and your face too. How’s your face? Sorry about that?”

 Dave stood, walking over to the bed where he’d dumped his phone, before returning to sit against the door, knees folded in front of him. He used the phone to text his reply. “Easier to talk like this. Less breathing.” It was an terrible way to say that he was one tiny moment away from tearing through the door with his naked teeth if he needed to. “Book’s fine. Might want to leave it in here. Keep that door firm and locked between us.” 

 Truth be told, Dave could barely process the pain. Not from the battery by book, nor the gash across his nose and cheeks - he was aware of it now, a sharb throb worsened by the assault by book, but it didn’t get through the haze of hunger. Not enough to do anything about it. “My face has had worse.” Like’ Rio’s would, if he got through the door. Dave punched the floor, grimacing at the thought. Now he recognised them, they were persistent, a constant whispering in his ears, to eat until the bones were clean. Dave started at the texts on his phone, and allowed himself one, singular moment of weakness. 

 “I don’t know if I can hold on for another 3 days.”

 Orion jumped as his phone buzzed against him. He dug it out of his pocket and checked. A text from Dave. He hated this. Really, really hated this. He had no idea that this was actually going to work, just going based off of what one scribe wrote in a journal sometime greater than forty years ago. Rio bit his lip and held his breath at the man’s text. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Right. Book can stay. Maybe you can read it? Might be some helpful stuff. The information on the Versipellis is like sixty three pages in.” He sent the text and put the face of the phone against his leg. He didn’t want to see any replies for a moment. He just needed a second to collect himself. 

 The pounding on the door shook him from that moment. Just a single jostle, probably Dave releasing anger instead of trying to break out. Rio sighed and readjusted, resting against the edge of the door frame and stuffing his body in to rest his foot against the other side. He didn’t like the vibration of his phone. He didn’t want to see what Dave had to say. He had no idea how to make this better, and just barely had an idea to fix it at all. “I don’t know that we have any other choice.” Rio finally texted back, resting the side of his head against the door. “I don’t want to keep you locked in there.” That much was true. It went against everything he believed in. If there were any other options, Rio would jump on them immediately.“But I don’t know what else to do.”

 Dave nodded, looking over at the book, but he knew in this state he was as likely to eat the pages as he was to read them, nevermind understand them. Hell, he was more likely to use the book to bribe the kid in here to eat him. The thought sent a shiver down Dave’s spine, of horror and anticipation. Hunger gnawed at his self control like a blunt knife at a fraying rope. “Got it.” He texted back, before locking his phone and curling his hands into fists. Dave had survived the maws of a mermaid, hunters bullets, spell caster magic, the chilling grip of an aipaloovik. This monster lived inside, but he could survive. He needed to, for the justice he’d promised his family so long ago. There was stuff on this earth he still needed to do. He clung to the last scraps of his sense of self ferociously. 

 Dave grimaced at the texts he got back from Rio. “Neither.” If it gets bad. Worse. You should call a hunter. Dave typed it out, and stared at the black letters on his screen, his fingers hovering over the send button. There was a long pause. He deleted the message without sending it, and stared at his phone. Eventually he settled on, “Just… keep yourself safe, kid.” 

 A lot needed to be done. Orion would need to figure out how to get food to Dave in the meantime. The scribe’s journal made no reference to the diet while waiting out the curse. Would he be able to eat regular food? Or would his body reject it? He would have to eat something eventually. Even if it had to be raw meat, at least it would be something. But he knew Dave wasn’t a pushover when it came to strength. Leaving him unattended wasn’t the best idea either. Dave could find a way out if he was desperate enough. Without Rio there to try to stop him, who knew where Dave could end up? Or who he could end up eating. 

 Dave’s texts hurt Rio. They sounded so… defeated. Hopeless, even. He couldn’t imagine the amount of stress or pain that he must be in. Rio would never understand the sort of craving that others had to go through. He hated that, wanting to understand something but knowing he never could. All he could do was try his best to do what he thought was right, “I’m going to keep both of us safe.”

[odysseywritings]

The Right Leader

A woman with dark brown hair and brown skin looked out the window in a white dome of a building overlooking the sunset-glazed green hills. Her name was Mary Rauda-Gold of the Union HQ for Earth. An ambitious, careful public servant, she earned trust from even initial naysayers. Her experience in community, business, and political spheres turned her to a qualified, eager role as the leader of the Earth Front.

She researched former presidents carefully before First Contact and after. Rauda-Gold had no special interest to bribe her, or a family in the public sphere to fear blackmail for. A rare human who achieved a bucket list full of chances early on in life. A ravenous student for history, she came into the presidency asking a question. Can one be a good leader and a good person to so many people? The books detailing the “greats” with their disconnect to the very people who elected them bombarded her with numbing dilemmas on human and alien issues alike.

Early on, she made a promise to avoid mistakes of President Grayson, whose committed attempts to be openly aggressive while privately appeasing aliens set course for turbulent relations between human and alien. This led to the first aliens invading Earth, the jellyfish-like Rizen, to learn important resources for acquiring and populated areas for destruction and enslavement.

For three decades, Earth had been the sole territory of one race. But the vastness of riches made it appealing to more. Thus, the scramble for Earth intensified as more uprooted flora and drained water. Not only the Rizen, but the cycloptic Corax, the cyborg Teknos, the coral-like Brantius, and others plundered Earth with the doctrine being that all aliens mustn't attack each other in the name of peace.

Fearing for the future of the planet, the fragmented states communicated as much as possible. This unity was a temporary yet urgent coalition of democratic leaders, autocrats, religious leaders, and researchers banded together to come up with ways to gain independence. No single leader engineered a clear path for victory, and the struggle for a constant idea made people weary and frustrated. In the midst of voices, the loudest prevailed.  

The urgent Long’s voice resonated with the crowd. Tiptoeing the wire that could lead to falling down the side of warmongering populism or tepid reforms, she raised enough fervor to unify people into tangible goals. Spy networks to spread fabricated war plans of one alien race against another. Technology taken from the slain aliens, initially unobtainable from their aerial superiority, could be learned and used against the original wielders. Within a short duration, covert attempts at fighting the invaders soon gave way to a snowball effect of more procured technology that included spacecraft. It was still lopsided, and the humans’ wit and knowledge of their home took years for momentum to fully hit the aliens’ mother planets.

A string of news carried across the stars as sympathetic aliens protested the wars and demanded Earth remain free. Opinions from the politicians carried the stench of condescension, saying humans could not rule themselves and needed assistance. But time soured that notion, with using mother planets’ money and lives to continue a hated invasion. Not long until then were other aliens combating each other for more dominance over Earth regions.

As extraterrestrial grips loosened and more technology scattered, Long and others could now engage in more significant guerrilla warfare. The snowball caused an avalanche of further embarrassment to the aliens. More were pulling out, focusing on the more dangerous alien adversaries. A galactic war broke out that involved weaponry that saw nuclear missiles being used as often as bullets. The destruction caused an alien race to force humanity to serve on their side. Long refused.

The Old World of space untangled as civilizations older than Earth’s fell in shambles. In the interim, rebellious aliens appeared on the surface to assist humans in recreating their technology. They were pessimistic of humanity, but its resolve in defying total subjugation gave them hope in toppling their imperialistic leaders.

Long succumbed to disease, but her legacy emboldened many despite her ruthlessness toward humans she thought were collaborating with invaders, real or imagined. The next successor in that region, was the soft and meticulous Slavik. Far from charismatic like Long, his calmness and stability sent a plan of continued technological learning and creation that was difficult to argue against aside from the most hawkish people or collaborators. Willing to be more trusting of alien rebels allowed him to gain more info on how they think and act, making it easier to predict further combat incursions.

This acceleration to a new space race was often narrow minded, and Slavik took other matters with apathy and relegated it to staff advisors. Still, he was honest about his goals and was wary of becoming aggressors on earth or in space. He was concerned about protection and elf-reliance, and that boosted their capabilities as aliens continued slaughtering each over for so long that Earth was forgotten about.

As a the tech boom led to force fields, anti-craft weaponry, spacecraft, and peacetime aids such as machines and medicines to repair tissues, the relative security of Earth led to various social concerns rising for people who had time to breathe and think. The foreigners who stayed and aided humans were treated with growing disdain as their efforts were taken for granted in post-war highs. Tensions bubbled as accusations of aliens taking up resources, not working hard enough to earn their stay, or dismantling the societies grew.

Various leaders like President Dickson used these tensions to distract from other matters as he benefited from rising power. Others like the dovish Jacobs made amends and wanted to pursue good relations with the now war-torn alien civilizations, yet his efforts did not go far enough to make lasting benefits due to making sure the remaining alien superpower would not see him as weak or naive.

What followed were a series of leaders who drifted further away from goodwill policies and proper rebuilding of Earth to focus on more weaponry  and acquisition of other worlds for resources, whether or not they were inhabited. Now the conquerors, humans were split between two futures. Security out of supremacy? Freedom out of trust?

At the height of Earth’s dominance, the Union’s people elected Rauda-Gold. She promised to  be firm in national and human interests, standing strong against numerous foes internally and externally. Born in a generation used to surplus, relative galactic safety, and harboring no knowledge of alien oppression, she listened to reasonable qualms without strong bias. Her values were for humanity and earth, with the rest being flexible.

Rauda-Gold steadily relinquished control of planets with native inhabitants to the detriment of the national interests of the already rich. The goodwill took years to fully settle, but it was a start toward a transparent galaxy. A rusting minority segment of the planet Teknos were given medical supplies and aid during a brutal civil war, but she denied arming them to avoid a full fledged involvement. As the Teknos government continued its atrocities, Rauda-Gold cut off trade with a grain that was only mass produced in Earth. With the civil war dwindling resources, the government called for a ceasefire and to discuss with the minority in earnest.

The most perilous occasion was when the Rizen, that old enemy of humanity, invaded planet after planet. Medicine, technology, and weaponry spread to Rizen opposition. Frozen assets and embargoes were mere dents in the war machine oiled by the lie of a former glory. She would not risk human or alien lives unless she herself would fight, yet her age and symbolic importance would make her role limited lest she be captured as a hostage. She communicated as much as possible to troops through camera drones, but it never felt close enough to being there and getting a sense of the trouble. As more atrocities continued, including the gaseous bombs that filled cities afar and at home, people clamored for war each day. She waited and talked to advisors, no matter how much time she spent grieving in private.

She would not create a draft and only allowed a strictly volunteer service to fight. With the utmost protection, the soldiers helped beat back the tide of the Rizen until they were beaten down and succumbed to treaty settling. Still, lives were lost. A fact that would haunt her even if the galaxy was spared further bloodshed. Rauda-Gold did all she could to pay for veterans and their families the same way she did with victims of natural calamities.

Earth’s respect soared, and the withdrawal of colonies led to the planet being self-reliant with a boost in trade from allied planets. The federation of planets were motivated, or goaded for some weaker tyrannical leaders, to endorse a stronger policy of life-form rights. She wanted to be inspiring like Long, prosperous like Slavik, and focused on honest peace like Jacobs. Aware of their shortcomings and their environments, Rauda-Gold knew she would be compared and dissected in the future by historians of all species.

But the issue of war always stabbed at her. At what point does a war become just? The idea of a pacifist president split by an idea of a savior president. The bloodless leader replaced by the hero leader. She planned to resign after her term ended, yet she had more time to make peace with such a choice and image. She contributed to diplomacy more than before, and made sure to rebuild bombed houses with her own hands. Rauda-Gold felt the charred substance of steel and wood and alien materials. All reminders of what a perfect leadership could have avoided. But such desires must be tempered by the environments they dwell in. New generations of alien and human children can breathe and enjoy life in a galaxy more principled against war. Yet she fears her action may inspire future leaders to ignore all that and lionize her war efforts as something to be achieved wholesale without nuance or care. An ongoing fear she must mete out as the twilight of her shining dream dims.

[theeverlastingshade]

Pitchfork Music Festival 2021 Recap

This year I finally attended the full 3 day Pitchfork Music Festival after years of deliberation. There's no way my enjoyment of the experience wasn't compounded due to live music having been on hiatus in the United States since March 2020, but I suspect that I would have enjoyed it all the same if that hiatus hadn't transpired. Pitchfork put on an impressive festival defined by  a superbly paced, and varied roster of some of the most exciting up and coming artists, legacy artists, and plenty in between. While not a perfect festival by any means, Pitchfork nonetheless showcased what was close to a small to mid-size festival ideal.

Each day was paced well, alternating between sets from acts on either the green or red stage juxtaposed with electronic or folk acts on the blue stage across the park. Friday alternated between the weirder, artier folk/pop acts and various electronic producers running the gamut from the headier, house strain of The Soft Pink Truth, to the skull rattling rush of techno from Yaeji. The pacing between sets worked pretty well, and the only substantial runoff was Yaeji's relentless low-end creeping into Big Thief's set (and again on Sunday with FlyLo's music bleeding into Cat Power's set). For the most part, nothing felt particularly overwrought or ill-considered from a booking or performance perspective, and the day consisted of the sort of purposeful curation that just isn't common at most music festivals at this point in time.

The heavier acts were generally relegated to earlier slots, (with the exception of Ty Segall Freedom Band on Saturday) while the bulk of legacy acts and zeitgeisty up and coming artists performed later in the day. It's hard to deny that many artists really brought it like Dogleg, but at this point in Pitchfork’s existence a melodic hardcore/emo band isn't going to be granted more than an earlier/mid-afternoon slot. The diversity of the artists was far more varied than could have reasonably been expected from a post-Conde Nast curated lineup, but the lack of metal, shoegaze, drone, or noise was still a bit of a letdown.

Dogleg were an exceptional early set that blew most of the following artists away. The bulk of their setlist came from their 2020 debut LP, Melee, and it all translated as well to a live setting as could have been expected from that kind of high-wire energy. They also seemed like one of, if not the closest band to exemplify aspiring rock stardom, and they delivered a raucous set filled with cartwheels and windmills, and other kinds of fun guitar antics that bands just don't seem interested (or capable) of executing. The vocals were a little rough around the edges in spots, but they played with remarkable dexterity and chemistry, making a strong case for the staying power of capital-B bands in an era where the solo artist still reigns supreme.

The first electronic act of the festival that completely blew me away was Drew Daniels, aka The Soft Pink Truth. Daniels drew the most from his latest and finest LP, Shall We Go On Sinning So That Grace May Increase, fleshing out the music with a more aggressive low-end that complemented the ambience of the songs beautifully while giving them a heightened edge. The songs continued to build to ecstatic heights without losing their shape, and each flowed superbly into the next without the stiches ever showing. Towards the end of his set Daniels began to draw more from his great 2014 black metal influenced record, Why Do the Heathen Rage? for some of the most chaotic, and eclectic mixing that transpired all weekend.

Even with the absence of founding member and guitarist Matt Kwasniewski-Kelvin, black midi were as great as they've ever sounded, this time rounding out their lineup with a keyboardist and a saxophone player, which is only to be expected given the more prog-leaning approach that they took on their latest LP, Cavalcade. Although a band like black midi is best suited for a seedy, beer stained club than any kind of outdoor festival the new material translated well to this specific context. The songs on Cavalcade are more sprawling, and lend themselves better to lengthier jamming than their earlier material. Throughout their set, black midi managed to breathe some fresh new life into these songs without ever quite extending anything past its welcome. They remain a satisfying anomaly at a festival like Pitchfork, and within the greater sphere of contemporary music as a whole.

The most unpredictable, and satisfying set of the night came from Animal Collective. They returned to Pitchfork with the full-band, four piece setup that was somewhat reminiscent of their dynamic while touring the material for their 2005 opus, Feels, with the exception of Deakin primarily playing keys and synths instead of guitar (except throughout highlights "The Purple Bottle and the "Grass" b-side, "Fickle Cycle", both from that aforementioned era). In proper fashion, they predominantly played new material, which took the form of lounge-flecked psychedelia that continues to make good on their path towards jam band ascension. Aside from the Feels era cuts they also performed Merriweather Post Pavilion cuts "In the Flowers" and "No More Runnin'", and “Unsolved Mysteries” from Strawberry Jam. It was thrilling to hear Panda Bear behind the kit bashing out tight floor tom/cymbal rolls, and Geologist occasionally abandoning his rig for some time with the Hurdy Gurdy. They capped off their set with "The Purple Bottle", and Avey was in top form singing and shrieking his way through the jubilance with tight precision. There are very few bands that continually change their setup, challenge audience expectations, and experiment with form even in the midst of live performances quite like Animal Collective, and on Friday it payed off remarkably.

There are also very few active bands that display the kind of immense inmate chemistry that Big Thief have, and it was palpable throughout their entire set. The band drew from all four of their albums, leaning heaviest on their exceptional pair of 2019 records, U.F.O.F. and Two Hands, with a few great new/previously unreleased songs thrown in. Their most stirring performance arrived with "Spun Infinity", a Lenker solo song that the band helped build into a rousing sing along. They've played it both times that I've seen them, and it's grown in potency each time that they played it (here's hoping it makes that next record). They delivered highlights from both spectrums of their sound, from the lush sway of "Cattails" to the searing eruption of "Not", with older favorites like "Shark Smile" and "Masterpiece" thrown in for good measure. They closed their set with a new song called "Dragon" that was even more intense than the songs from TH, cementing the notion that they're among the best bands active, and one that's still getting better with each record and show.

It wasn't surprising that Phoebe Bridgers headlined Friday given what a massive glow up in popularity that she experienced throughout last year, but her set couldn't help but underwhelm following right on the heels of Big Thief. Her performance was serviceable, with subdued highlights like "Scott Street" and "Garden Song" retaining the melodramatic arcs of the source material, but her set generally lacked the sense of risk, experimentation, or versatility that Big Thief and Animal Collective carried in spades. The lack of dynamics and variation doesn't necessarily hamper the cohesion of her records, but it left quite a bit to be desired from her headlining set. There’s no question that Phoebe’s a talented artist, and she’s already released a handful of good records in the brief span of time that she’s been professionally recording, but her music doesn’t necessarily lend itself to a particularly strong festival headlining performance yet.

On the whole, Saturday didn't quite match the highs of Friday, but there were still a handful of great performances. The lineup was arguably more sonically diverse than either Friday or Sunday, and it showcased the strongest balance between veterans and up-and-coming artists. Bartees Strange delivered a solid performance that exuded the soulful intensity of his recorded output, but it wasn’t quite as gripping as the searing performances early in the day that Dogleg and Special Interest delivered. Divino Nino sounded far more raw than they come off on record, delivering a solid performance only occasionally hampered by muddy basslines. Maxo Kream was charismatic, and engaging, but his performance lacked the intensity of his raps on record. Things didn't really pick up until Waxahatchee's set. Waxahatchee drew most predominantly from her terrific 2020 record, St. Cloud, with a few older highlights like "Silver" thrown in as well. Katie Crutchfield's voice sounds just as strong live, as it does on record, and what the band's performance somewhat lacked in SC's urgency she made up for in gorgeous melodic phrasing.

Aside from Kream, and a few particularly propulsive selections from Divino Nino, things generally remained in a low-key, blissed out temperament perfectly emblematic of the inoffensive chill malaise of mainstream indie up until Ty Segall and his Freedom Band took the stage, and then things took a complete 180. Ty Segall is inherently a throwback, to be sure, from the sonic parameters of his records, to the pacing of his output, to his career trajectory built on relentless touring with an indifference to the expectations of individual branding and fan engagement. All of which makes him an exciting prospect at any sort of festival; there's was some explicit potential for real spontaneity. And while the band mostly stuck to cuts from Segall's recently released, synth-heavy Harmonizer, they also performed a few of Segall's classic cuts like "The Only One" and "Love Fuzz". Everything was heavier, and more aggressive than it comes off on record, with The Freedom Band exuding an impressive level of chemistry that heightened everything that they performed. It would have been nice to hear some more range given just how disparate Segall's discography is (a cut from Sleeper or Goodbye Bread as a breather would have gone a long way towards helping smooth out the pacing), but they still delivered an exciting set with the kind of unrelenting intensity that the festival could have used a little more of.

One of the most intriguing acts going into the festival for me was the prospect of a solo set from Kim Gordon. She released a terrific record in 2019 called No Home Record, but that’s technically the only solo project to her name, and it was hard to say what else she might draw from, and how well the insular music from that record would translate to a festival setting. Gordon was backed by a standard guitar, bass, drum trio while she predominantly provided vocals, and some occasional guitar playing as well. They just played the entirety of NHR all the way through, and yet her set was still the most unorthodox and engaging of Saturday. The music was layered with the usual dissonance and distortion of all her work, but the slyly funky rhythms and jagged no wave guitars were interwoven into some new shapes that service her sparse vocal melodies well. The music translated much better to an outdoor festival space than I had anticipated, in no small part due to the versatility and straight up intensity of her drummer. It was hard to believe that Gordon was able to restrain herself from saying fuck the governor of Texas until the last 15 minutes of her set, but given everything that Gordon has ever stood for the sentiment couldn’t have possibly gone unsaid. It was a welcome reminder of her steadfast commitment to feminist ideals amidst an abrasive set that never quite buckled under the weight of her legacy.

The only mention of 9/11 that I remember was Angel Olsen claiming to have been inspired to write a new song the night prior to the anniversary only to jump into "Shut Up Kiss Me". The absurdity of the sentiment was only matched by a fan asking Olsen if they could throw broccoli on stage, and then actually delivering on the request after she gave it the thumbs up. For all the self-seriousness of her recorded output she certainly seemed to be enjoying herself far more than she generally lets on throughout her records. Her set predominantly featured songs from her last and best record, All Mirrors, with a few songs from My Woman and a handful of earlier cuts sprinkled in. Olsen's band consisted of two guitarists or two keyboardists depending on what she was playing, and was rounded out with drums, bass, synths, a violist, and a cellist. You probably wouldn't necessarily have guessed that was her first set in 2 years given how strong the band's chemistry was, particularly during the AM cuts. She carried herself with the theatricality of a natural performer completely in her element. For Olsen’s last song of the night Sharon Van Etten made a surprise appearance to join her for their collaborative single “Like I Used To”, delivering an immensely satisfying cap to just over a decade long creative and commercial ascension for both singular artists.

As expected, Jay Electronica pulled out of the festival last minute. He was replaced by RP Boo who took Jamila Woods' set time, and Woods took Jay's slot. Jamila performed a strong set, with the only misstep being her underwhelming cover of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit". She drew predominantly from her last and best record, LEGACY! LEGACY!, in addition to a few older cuts, and a promising new song. Her voice retained the understated grace, and effortless control of her recorded output, and the band behind her (particularly the drummer and keyboardist) elevated her songs with tight grooves and virtuosic keyboard vamps. Along with Waxahatchee, Jamila delivered some of the strongest melodies of all the acts on Saturday without missing a step. It was incredibly satisfying to see an artist from Chicago take a slot that late in the day, and absolutely crush it. If there’s any justice in the world she’ll be playing larger slots and festivals within the next several years to come.

Annie Clark, aka St. Vincent, is a reliably great performer, and despite the lackluster quality of her last two records her set was much tighter than they'd suggest. Aside from a corny bit where Annie pretended that her sister called her while dropping a P4K 6.8 joke, and seemingly drawing attention to the lukewarm reception of her last record, Daddy's Home (a far worse record than Pitchfork acknowledged in their review), in light of her headlining status, her set was immensely engaging. For the most part she thankfully eschewed that kind of performative exhaustion and eye-rolling by breathing some new life and renewed energy into her songs by way of tight chemistry, great harmonies, and occasionally just fucking ripping into guitar solos. Very few artists had guitarists that can play guitar like Annie, and only Dogleg, Ty Segall, and Yves Tumor seemed to match her aspiration of traditional rock stardom (and of those three, only Yves Tumor was on the same level of her stage presence). Naturally, some of the DH songs fell a little flat, while a few of the songs that predated Masseduction were transcendent. After seeing her twice now it seems pretty evident that no matter how disappointing her records become, she’s still going to deliver a pretty strong show.

Sunday was defined largely by hip-hop and r&b, but there was still some nice variation earlier on in the day. Special Interest kicked things on Sunday off with an urgent performance that retained their aggressive no wave meets four on the floor energy. Although their music is much better suited for a dank basement club, their serrated beats and overall bombast still translated fairly well to the dust-ridden grounds and dry Chicago heat. There were some minor vocal flubs, and some stiff pacing, but they brought some much needed teeth to the day's proceedings right out of the gates. Special Interest have only released two records to date, but their performance reaffirmed that they’re on to something truly singular.

Aside from Dogleg, oso oso were the only fifth wave emo ambassadors that played Pitchfork, and their set was unsurprisingly among the weekend's highlights. Still riding high from their sublime 2019 LP, Basking in the Glow, oso oso delivered a rousing performance imbued with the sugary, top notch vocal melodies that play a large role in shaping their records (oso oso frontman Jade Lilitri is still completely in a league of his own when it comes to writing vocal hooks). They played a few older songs, including Real Stories of True People Who Kind of Looked Like Monsters highlight "Where You’ve Been Hiding ", but the bulk of their set was split between songs from the aforementioned BitG, and their 2017 breakout second LP, The Yunahon Mixtape, capping it off with their great 2018 single “gb /ol h/nf”. The band backing Jade sounded tighter than any I've seen perform with him in the past, freeing him up to just deliver his infectious hooks and prance around the stage. While plenty of acts delivered great melodies throughout the weekend, no one matched the sheer immediacy of oso oso. Oso oso have been making some of the best guitar pop of the last few years, and their live show captured the spark of their records.

Choosing to see Sean Bowie, aka Yves Tumor, over Thundercat was easily the most difficult decision that I had to make that weekend. Thundercat is always great live, and the last two songs that I caught after Tumor's set ("Them Changes" and "Friend Zone" respectively) were tight performances, but Tumor has quickly become one of the defining artists of our time. Bowie’s set brought the smoldering psychedelic glam rock of 2020s Heaven to a Tortured Mind, and their recently released The Asympomtical World EP to life with finesse and ferocity. The four piece band behind them featured guitar, bass, drum, and assorted electronics freeing Bowie to freely prowl about the stage howling, crooning, and shrieking as the songs demanded. The set drew the most from those aforementioned releases (which compounded just how badly I fucked up by not traveling any distance necessary to catch them while touring their 2018 masterwork, Safe in the Hands of Love), but they still dove into "Licking an Orchid", “Lifetime”, and "Noid", showcasing how well the avant-pop of their breakthrough works within the context of their current phase. It was incredibly heartwarming to see dozens of people legitimately moshing to avant-garde music, in addition to Bowie reveling in the immense goodwill that their game changing records deserve. Most of the sets that I saw throughout the weekend were great, but Bowie’s set felt like a particularly transcendent star-making moment.

As anyone who's seen Danny Brown live can attest, it’s always a great time, but you don't exactly know how he's going to perform, and his set on Sunday was no exception. He started off strong with "Dope Song", and one for the heads with "Black Brad Pitt", but within short order Brown began to stumble through a few cuts. Brown stopped many of the songs he performed after just a verse or two since he couldn't remember the rest of the words which made for a disjointed experience, but it also meant he was able to draw from more of his catalog (if only for a minute or two per song) than he would have otherwise. His flows were as sharp and controlled as ever, and there's no denying his idiosyncratic stage presence, particularly during classic cuts like "I Will" and "Grown Up". After shouting out his Bruiser Bridge label Zelooperz and Bruiser Wolf joined his set for a few songs which gave the proceedings a nice Bruiser Thanksgiving spirit. He played only a few tracks from his latest record, uknowhatimsayin? with the bulk of his set drawing on classic cuts from XXX and the tried and true festival staples that make up the bulk of Old’s b-side. While certainly not the tightest performer of the weekend, Danny Brown was easily one of the most charismatic and engaging, and on a handful of songs, like “Attak” from Rustie’s 2014 LP, Green Language, he proved that he's still one of the best rappers alive.

Flying Lotus emerged on the red stage towards the end of Sunday evening with his mind-bending visuals and light show well-intact. He started off playing cuts from his recently released Yasuke OST from the anime of the same name before pivoting to some remixes of old classics, with “Zodiac Shit” in particular teased with its original, iconic Adult Swim visual. The mixing throughout was as remarkable as anyone who’s seen FlyLo live would come to expect, and nothing overstayed its welcome, seemed forced, or uninspired. At one point Thundercat leapt up from the side stage to deliver vocals during "Black and Gold", and the chemistry between them was almost overwhelming. At two different points during his set FlyLo descended from the decks donning his Captain Murphy alter ego which allowed for some nice variation between the dense electronic onslaughts. In a shocking, but sublime move FlyLo ended his set with "Do the Astral Plane", a highlight off of his opus, Cosmogramma, that he doesn't play often, but is nevertheless the perfect festival send off, and yet another reminder of just how far he's taken his singular beat making.

Erykah Badu was only 25 minutes late for her headlining set Sunday night, but her performance was well worth the wait. She performed alongside a 9 piece band, and delivered tight renditions of classics from Baduizm and Mama's Gun, as well as some cuts from her great 2015 mixtape But You Caint Use My Phone. Her singing sounded just as strong live as it does on record, imbuing the music with the same hazy warmth that helped shape her strongest material. Badu’s backing band retained the multi-faceted sweep of her music while subtly enlivening it, and Badu herself had a commanding stage presence that bellied the understated swagger of recorded output. Badu’s set was the perfect send-off for what was by all accounts an extremely well structured and executed festival. Within a landscape of music festivals with homogenized lineups that generally don’t even give the illusion of curation or any sense of personality, Pitchfork 2021 was a satisfying anomaly that will hopefully continue within this vein for years to come.

[calacuspr]

PR lessons from the European Super League announcement

Fans were allowed back to watch football in person for the first time this year at the weekend when the FA Cup semi-finals took place at Wembley Stadium.

In normal times, that would be something to celebrate and a key story dominating the sports headlines.

But when news broke on social media of the breakaway European Super League (ESL), fans and media alike could talk of nothing else.

Clearly some senior sports news journalists had been briefed, based on the accuracy of the financial information that they shared.

Many of the revelations, which were subsequently confirmed, suggested a tone deafness on the part of those clubs involved, some of whom have instigated redundancies, player pay cuts and even applied for staff furlough grants from the UK government, while millions have struggled during the pandemic.

The story also showed serious communications errors by the organisers and lessons that all sports organisations can learn from when it comes to issues and crises.

TIMING

The news of the proposed European Super League broke on Sunday afternoon but it was not for some hours until the official statement was released to the public.

This gave plenty of time for the news to be digested by media, fans and players alike, who almost universally expressed outrage and fury at the perceived greed and senselessness of the proposals.

Governing bodies, fan groups and politicians were united in their anger and opposition.

A plan should have been in place to ensure that a comprehensive statement was made available at a pre-agreed time to put the ESL’s views across at the point when the story was expected to break.

As it was, the official release was published late at night, ignoring one of the basic tenets of PR that you don’t leave others to fill the void with negativity when controversial developments take place.

NARRATIVE

Whether fans like to admit it or not, they love to see the top stars of world football playing for or against their team.

In the past week, seeing Neymar and Kylian Mbappe going toe-to toe with the might of Bayern Munich’s array of stars, for instance, provided a mouth-watering and engrossing tie that had everyone salivating at its spectacle.

But the Covid-19 pandemic has seen clubs lose tens if not hundreds of millions in lost revenue from ticketing, merchandise and food and beverage which have presented all sorts of financial challenges for clubs, particularly at the top of the game where salaries are sky high.

While some of this could be recovered once fans are allowed back into stadia, UEFA’s own new Champions League proposals appeared not to have convinced the 12 ESL clubs enough to gain their support when it came to it.

The initial ESL statement included: “The formation of the Super League comes at a time when the global pandemic has accelerated the instability in the existing European football economic model.

“The pandemic has shown that a strategic vision and a sustainable commercial approach are required to enhance value and support for the benefit of the entire European football pyramid.”

Given the parlous financial situation most clubs find themselves in, particularly the giants in Spain and Italy, claims that this is motivated by anything other than money lack credibility.

Florentino Pérez admitted as much when he finally spoke to a Spanish news organisation more than 24 hours after the story first broke, citing the need to recover lost earnings caused by the pandemic.

The ESL did not focus on the challenges facing the clubs and the reasons why the UEFA proposals did not make sense.

In doing so, they handed the moral high ground to their critics and rivals who themselves have not always taken into account the views of fans, players or clubs when making their decisions.

LEADERSHIP

The ESL statement quoted just three ESL executives, Real Madrid’s Florentino Pérez, Manchester United’s Joel Glazer and Andrea Agnelli, Chairman of Juventus.

When the press release was published on each club’s website, there were no individual quotes from executives of those clubs (even if they were not included in the original statement) with the curiosity of United’s Glazer even quoted on the website of arch-rivals Liverpool and Manchester City, something that would previously have been considered unthinkable.

With such considerable financial backing, why were the executives of each club not guided on the key messaging so that they could engage with fans and media who are interested in their specific perspectives the day after the announcement?

If their executives really believe in the proposals they are seeking to implement, why not have the confidence to put the ESL case forward in person?

With no Video News Release or interview opportunities – remember that Zoom has been used in these socially-distanced times to great effect – the organisation gave the impression of arrogance and hiding behind its corporate backers at a time when the clubs’ fans are confused, angry and in need of direct engagement.

ENGAGEMENT

Talking of engagement, the late, great Sir Matt Busby, who led Manchester United to the title and European Cup as it then was, once said “Football is nothing without fans.”

What the Covid-19 pandemic has confirmed is that football’s global appeal has not waned in empty stadia, despite the clear lack of atmosphere without fans cheering on their heroes.

The scheduling of matches over the past few years has made the loyal, died-in-the-wool match-going fans feel disengaged and ignored, with long journeys at inconvenient times required to accommodate television schedules in lucrative overseas markets.

Is it any wonder that in his statement, Perez said: “Football is the only global sport in the world, with more than four billion fans.” Hardly a ringing endorsement of those in Madrid who live and breathe their club and undermining his later comments that audiences were falling.

While football tourists make up an increasing number of those who attend matches in person, clubs used to rely on a loyal, mainly local fanbase, whose traditions and rituals are the fabric of the atmosphere and intensity which makes top level football such a spectacle.

Granted, fans have never been an integral part of the decision-making process for clubs and football administrators, but so many of the leaders of the ESL clubs rarely, if ever, give media interviews or talk directly to the stakeholders who should matter most.

No wonder the scenes at Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge were so dramatic, with former goalkeeper and now Technical Director Petr Cech having to plead with fans who were peacefully protesting and blocking the route for team coaches to enter the stadium car park.

The fact that fans from each of the six English clubs came together in a combined effort to thwart the ESL plans and even hold a Zoom call with UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson showed the depth of feeling and the importance fans have in the game.

Coaches of the English ESL clubs claimed not to have known anything about the plans until they were revealed at the weekend. Liverpool coach Jurgen Klopp, forced to speak ahead of the Leeds United game when his club’s owners had not yet faced the media, said: “People are not happy with it, I can understand it. I can't say a lot more because we were not involved in the process - not the players, not me - we didn't know about it. We will have to wait how it develops.”

What of the players? Threatened with the prospect of being excluded from international competitions, how would they feel about these developments that they have had no opportunity to discuss before they were seemingly confirmed?

Liverpool captain Jordan Henderson reportedly led a captains’ call before a co-ordinated campaign by him and his team-mates to express their displeasure on social media.

Liverpool sponsor Tribus pulled out of their deal before the ESL project collapsed. Time will tell how other club sponsors feel given the negative feedback towards their partners.

VISION

Football is all about entertainment, rivalry, and the jeopardy that can see a club win a trophy and be relegated in quick succession.

There is an argument that top clubs playing against top clubs in a closed format without relegation may lose its novelty, but even without engagement, the initial communications did nothing to excite and inspire the fans who loyally follow their teams home and away.

At a time when the football family should be working together to support all levels of the game from grassroots to elite level, these developments showed how little club owners care about their traditional fanbase.

The prospect of shorter games and other rule changes to suit a younger audience whose attention spans are supposedly limited added to the uproar and underlined the lack of understanding of the fundamentals that make football great.

As Adam Crafton, from The Athletic, put it: “It’s amazing. I just spent 48 hours thinking ‘surely there’s more to this? Surely they have a plan to articulate the vision?’ And then you realise, there really isn’t.”

It has been said that football clubs have been brands for some time, and if you subscribe to that train of thought, how much damage has been done to those brands and how will they recover?

***

When clubs started pulling out of the ESL on Tuesday evening, it did not take long for more to follow and forced the ESL to make a second, late statement which was so rushed, it did not even go out on headed notepaper.

Tellingly, almost 24 hours later, the ESL had not been updated to include the latest developments.

The ESL debacle raises further questions about the importance of club owners as custodians of these great institutions rather than simply using them as income-generating playthings with no consideration for culture and tradition.

While there has been widespread criticism and this has continued to be handled poorly from a communications perspective, too many organisations have been sleep walking to the point where this has now happened.

And as a result of that apathy, football’s reputation has been tarnished and it will take a long time to repair it.

[staranon95]

a little more action

a red hood au drabble

Trevor tries to get things back on track for the crew after Red’s disappearance. He starts up the plans for a job they intended to pull when Red first came into their lives.

Jeremy doesn’t blame him. He wants to get things rolling again. He wants the city to remember that the Fakes are still here and, yes, they will cause problems for the upper crust. Red or no Red, the crew needs to get back out there.

It’s an elaborate plan. Jeremy, Fiona, and Gav are dropping in from above on one of the tallest office towers in the city. Jack will be flying them in where they’ll parachute down in. They’ll infiltrate from the top where security is weakest and head down to the floor that has the information they need—bank account numbers, hidden offshore accounts, expenses. Which means they are going to make a living hell out of some very influential people’s lives.

They’re dropping in at around one in the morning. They’ve prepped this run for weeks now. With the clear skies, they’ll drop in at a high altitude. Jeremy can feel the fluttering beat of his heart. It’s all adrenaline, but he’s done this before. He gets a kick out of the high-altitude situation. He knows Fiona is ready to gun for it. She’s as adrenaline seeking as the rest of them and is always looking for a new rush to enjoy. She’s still pretty new at the larger jobs like this. This is the first time she’s going to take direct point and not be relegated to surveillance, getaway driving, or cleanup. And then there’s Gavin. His knees always shake badly when they’re attempting something like this, but when he gets into it, he gets into it. Usually screaming all the way down, but who doesn’t every now and then?

“All right,” Matt says from their earpieces, safely hidden back at his apartment and watching from his scores of equipment. “The jump zone is coming in quick. You’re jumping in at 10,000 feet. There are no approaching headwinds at this time, so it should be a fairly smooth decent. Keep your googles on because they’ll tell you where the building is so you won’t get lost and land on the wrong one.”

“Good thing that happened during the dry run, eh?” Gavin says, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, congrats. That took us some serious explaining as to why you landed in the penthouse pool owned by the mayor ten blocks away.”

“Cut the chit chat,” Jack says. “We’re heading into the jump zone. Good luck, guys.”

“Thank you, Jack!” Fiona is the first one out as soon as the green light is on. Then Gavin. Then Jeremy.

It’s always that first feeling of vertigo that Jeremy has to weather first when they make the jump. The feeling of his stomach dropping to his feet before his body gets used to falling. The display on his googles initiates at Matt’s command and Jeremy is given a digital layout of his target. The hard part will be the landing. They don’t have that much space and if they miss the rooftop, they’ll be sent drifting down the street.

“All right, you’ve entered the parachute zone. Pull now.”

Jeremy yanks on his cord and is prepared for the jerk back once the parachute fills. Now it’s just a matter of being gentle and patient in correcting his fall to the roof. Fiona lands first, carefully guiding herself to the edge of the building so she has the space to dig her heels in and drag her parachute down and clear the space for when Gavin makes a slightly less graceful landing. Jeremy watches him as he comes in at an angle and undoubtedly skins at least his arm along the ground before Fiona rushes in to help stop him.

“Okay,” Jeremy says. “You’re going to have to catch me.”

“We—what?” Gavin asks, sounding out of breath.

“I’m too high and I can’t take another lap or I’ll be too low. You guys will have to grab me.”

“You never make this easy, Jeremy.”

Jeremy kicks his legs in the air and prepares for his approach. Gavin and Fiona, free of their parachutes, come together and watch for Jeremy’s approach.

“Catch me, catch me, catch me!”

Gavin gets one of his legs first and pulls in on him. Fiona gets one of his arms and the three of them come crashing down onto the roof together, Jeremy laughing all the while.

“Oh man. Haven’t done that in a while,” he says, shrugging off his parachute and pulling in the lines to bundle up the fabric. They’ll be leaving everything here and take a basement exit if they can. The building isn’t tall enough to base jump safely, and Jeremy hates base jumping from within the city.

Gavin is quick to get his lockpicks out to open the roof access door for the three of them, while Jeremy and Fiona get themselves untangled from Jeremy’s lines.

“You do not make this any easier,” she says, letting a little of her frustration show, but she’s smiling.

“Where’s the fun in things going smoothly?”

“Door’s open!” Gavin stands and waves them over.

They descend with Matt’s instruction to the exact floor. They’re working into an office claimed by the CEO. From there they’ll have access to a personal computer and extract some encrypted emails. Then they go to the server room and wreak some havoc. Should be easy. They’ve been preparing for this run for months now. It’ll be a big pull in terms of information, intel, and so, so much blackmail material.

They get to the office. Jeremy is on point looking down the hall while Gavin gets Fiona inside so she can take direction from Matt on what to grab and what to do with the computer. They know all the security guards’ routines. There should be at least two of them on this floor. Maybe they’ve caught them at a break because Jeremy hasn’t seen a sign of them. All the better for them, but still. It strikes him as odd.

“Okay,” he hears Fiona say softly over their shared comms. “Downloading the emails. Should be done in thirty seconds.”

“Good, then you can get down to the server rooms,” Matt instructs. “Two floors down from your current location. The room is key card access only, so you’ll have to use that fun toy I gave you.”

“Oh, is that the one you have to pop the case off and plug into ports and shit?” Gavin asks.

“Oh, yeah. That’s my favourite.”

Gavin sighs, and Jeremy can’t help but smirk.

Once Fiona has everything, they leave, locking the door behind them to mask their presence. They move in a single file line, keeping low to the ground so they can get to the stairwell and head down two floors. The only thing about the stairwells is that they’re usually faintly lit. Nothing they can do about that, but there aren’t any cameras.

Jeremy, while still on point, takes the stairs first. He gets to the landing below and motions for the others to follow him. They repeat this until they’re on the right floor. The door to the floor requires key card access. Gavin makes a crouched approach to connect to the port and grant them automatic access. Jeremy is first out, peering around corners and keeping an ear out for the heavy footfalls of any security guard. He hears nothing so he heads in, following Matt’s instructions to where the server room is.

But the door is already open.

Uh oh.

Then the light from a flashlight pins him in his crouch. He rises up so he’s flat on his feet, keeping his center of gravity lower so he can’t easily be knocked onto his feet. From the corner of his eye he saws Gavin and Fiona move into similar positions. Gearing up for a fight.

“Well, would you look at that.” The familiar and cheeky voice cuts through the silent dark of the office. Jeremy has to squint against the flashlight to see who it is, but he already knows.

It’s Red. He’s wearing that familiar red hoodie with the hood pulled up. Over top is a heavy Kevlar vest. He’s wearing a slick mask with a set of goggles over top. It’s a neat looking piece that’s probably teched out. But surrounding him are five others. Dressed in black and wearing a form of tactical gear.

“You guys are a bit late,” Red says. “Decided to help ourselves to what was there. Don’t worry. You’ll get your turn. But, uh, oops! What do we have here?” He lifts what’s clearly a walkie talkie, the kind security guards usually carry. And it’s then that Jeremy finally notices the crumpled and bound form of one of the security personal on the premises. That’s why it’s been so quiet. Red and his team have already cleared the place. “You guys should know what the response time is for the police right? Ten minutes? Fifteen tops? That might be cutting it a bit close if you want to dip and run.”

He motions at his goons and they make a hasty retreat to the windows. They start stringing themselves on long run lines scaling the outside of the building. They clip themselves in and wait for Red to join them before ascending the building. Jeremy leans out to watch them go. He hears Red’s laughter as he goes—and it’s so much like Alfredo it hurts to think of him like that.

He turns back to the server room where Gavin and Fiona have gathered. They won’t have enough time to make this a clean job, and Fiona is already ripping out the drives she thinks are most important.

“Okay, we need to move,” Gavin says.

“No elevator, no stairs,” Jeremy says. “We won’t have enough time.”

“Then how do we get out?” Fiona asks. “We won’t have time to call in a plan ride out of here.”

Gavin snaps his fingers. “The roof,” he says. “I saw one of those window cleaning dealies. It can drop us faster.”

“This better fucking work,” Jeremy says.

Once Fiona has the drives in her back, they make their escape to the roof. In the distance they hear a helicopter cutting its way through the air. Likely Red’s ride out of here.

Gavin points to the lift that’s been left up at the top of the building. He vaults over the railing and waits for Fiona and Jeremy to join him. “We’ll have to do it manually,” he says. “It’ll be quicker than letting the machine handle it.” He breaks into the switch box and disables the safety features which would’ve slowed their descent. Jeremy stands next to one cable break while Gavin is at the other side. Fiona steadies herself in the middle.

“Okay,” Gavin says. “We need to be in sync with this. Hold it in place ‘round the middle. Don’t let it flip all the way otherwise the ropes go and we go as well.”

Jeremy nods. “Got it.”

“On three, yeah? One, two, three!”

Jeremy flips the gear and holds on while the lift begins a controlled fall. It’s a bit unsettling because this is dangerous. This could go so wrong. It’s dizzying, falling past the windows, down to the ground below. He looks to Gavin who looks back at him. He waits for the signal to halt their descent, and at Gavin’s sharp nod, he flips the gear back in place and they come to a jolted halt.

“All right,” Gavin says. “Go, go, go!”

The police sirens are coming from all over it seems. Fiona is already telling Lindsay where she should pick them up. Not at the agreed upon location, and their get away will be tight. Lindsay comes peeling around the corner in a snappy little hatchback. A stick shift so she can manage some tight hand-break turns if need be.

“Get in!” she says.

Jeremy dives for the back seat and barely manages to close his door in time before it’s taken off by a streetlamp.

“What happened?” Lindsay asks. “I only got bits and pieces.”

“Red was there,” Fiona says. “Either he got the drop on what we were doing or someone else wants what we were after.”

“He’s working with someone,” Jeremy adds. “He looked kitted out. Was working with some serious muscle, too.” He leans in with the sharp turn Lindsay makes as she guns for the Vinewood hills. The curved roads will work well for her car and leave the police cars far behind them.

“This is really starting to get on my nerves,” Lindsay says. “Did he look any good? He was pretty hurt when I picked him up.”

“Seemed pretty chipper to me,” Fiona says. “I have like ten hard drives in my bag right now. And we don’t even know which one has the information we need.”

“If he wanted us caught, he could’ve left the guards to grab us,” Jeremy says. “But he didn’t. He’s just making things difficult.”

“Yeah, apparently,” Lindsay says. “This is cutting it pretty close.”

Once they manage to lose the cops, it’s smooth sailing to the Vinewood house. Jeremy is too hopped up on adrenaline to feel like crashing. He is really hungry though, and usually when Michael stays behind, he cooks up a feast for when they return.

He takes a few steps towards the house with the others before he realizes Gavin is standing back.

“You coming?” he asks.

Gavin looks up with his phone in his hands. “There’s some stuff I need to deal with.”

“Listen, Gav, if this is about Red—”

“I need to do this. On my own.”

“You don’t have to. Not about this.”

“I know. But I’ve got some ghosts to bury.”

“Okay.” Jeremy knows he won’t be able to convince Gavin otherwise, so for now he’ll have to let him go. “You let us know if you need a bail out, okay?”

Gavin nods. “I know. I’ll be back. Promise.” And then he’s walking towards his motorcycle and heading back onto the streets.

[multiverseforger]

Guy was raised in Baltimore by his parents, Roland and Peggy Gardner. His father, Roland, was an abusive alcoholic who beat Guy every day. Some of Guy's injuries were visible such as bruises, cuts and bumps but others were invisible and were emotionally inflicted. Guy worked hard in school to try to win his father's approval, but Roland instead lavished attention and compliments upon Guy's older brother, Mace. Guy's only escape at this time was General Glory comic books, going so far as to model his bowl haircut on Glory's sidekick, Ernie.[4]

During his mid-teens, Guy became a juvenile delinquent. He constantly defied authority. Later, he was straightened out by his older brother, Mace, now a police officer, and he eventually went to college, supporting himself, and earning bachelor's degrees in education and psychology from the University of Michigan, where he also played football until a career-ending injury. The injury deeply affected Guy.

After college, Guy worked as a social welfarecaseworker, dealing with prison inmates and their rehabilitation. He abandoned this line of work, however, fearing it brought out his aggressive nature. Moving on, he became a teacher for children with disabilities. This job brought out the loving and caring side of himself.[5]

In September 2011, The New 52 rebooted DC's continuity. In this new timeline, Guy is now an ex-police officer and middle child of a family with a long tradition of membership in the Baltimore Police Department going back to 1860. He is the second human to earn a Green Lantern ring, after coming to the rescue of his older brother Gerard who had become pinned down during a police shootout with a street gang.[6]

In this version Guy has a strained relationship with his father Ebenezer Gardner, a decorated cop forced into disability after taking a bullet in the line of duty, for issues related to the unexplained incident which kicked Guy off the police force.[6] This was retconned in DC Rebirth which returned to his original origin of Guy being abused by his alcoholic father as a kid, which was seen during Guys fight with the Sinestro Corps member Arkillo in the present,[7] and later his father being reintroduced under his original name Roland Gardner.[8]

Green Lantern CorpsEdit



Guy Gardner's first appearance in Green Lantern #59 (March, 1968).

The appointed Green Lantern of Space Sector 2814, an alien named Abin Sur from the planet Ungara, crash-landed on Earth after being mortally wounded. As Sur died, his power ringsought and found two potential successors: Guy Gardner and Hal Jordan. Jordan was nearer to the crash, so he was chosen over Gardner.[9] In the same story, the Guardian supercomputers predicted Guy would have perished early in his career if he had been chosen first. In the later Booster Gold series it was shown that a time traveling Booster convinced Gardner to visit his dying father, thus ensuring that Jordan would be the candidate in closest proximity. Gardner was relegated to backup status should anything happen to Jordan.[10]

When Jordan became aware of Gardner's status as his backup, he went out of his way to set up a chance meeting, and the two became friends. Though Gardner was originally naive to Jordan's secret identity, he eventually assisted Jordan during his adventures.[volume & issue needed] He is later partnered with Jordan after completing his training under Kilowog.[6]

During an earthquake, Gardner was hit by a bus while attempting to rescue one of his students. During his recovery, the Guardiansrecruited John Stewart to be Jordan's new "backup".[11]

Some time later, during a period where Gardner was performing his duties as a backup Green Lantern, Hal Jordan's power battery, the source of the ring's energy, exploded in Gardner's face due to damage done to it by the Crumbler and trapped him in the Phantom Zone.[12] Jordan and Kari Limbo, Gardner's girlfriend at the time, both believed him to be dead, and the two developed a romantic relationship that ultimately culminated in a marriage proposal.[13] Gardner was able to interrupt the wedding by contacting Limbo telepathically.[14] By then, however, Gardner's bus accident, the power battery explosion, his assimilation into the zone, and the subsequent torture at the hands of General Zod and other residents of the Phantom Zone had affected his mind. When Gardner was released from the Phantom Zone, he was diagnosed with brain damageand was comatose for a number of years.[15]

During the Crisis on Infinite Earths, the Guardians of the Universe split into two factions over how to confront the Crisis. A minority faction of six Guardians emulated their former brethren, the Controllers, by recruiting a Green Lantern to directly attack and destroy the forces of the antimatteruniverse. For reasons unknown, Gardner was revived by the renegade Guardians, given a power ring not tied to the Central Power Battery on Oa, sporting a uniform similar to that worn by the Fists of the Guardians, and given a mission. He was to recruit and command the deadliest and most powerful criminals in the universe, including the Shark, Hector Hammond (left behind after trying to attack Gardner), Sonar, Throttle, Blindside, and Goldface, to launch a strike against the home base of the Anti-Monitor.[16]

Gardner's brain damage manifested itself in the form of an arrogant, violent, unstable, and often childish new personality.[3] Gardner believed himself to be the last "true" Green Lantern, superior to all the others, particularly Jordan. Five of the renegade Guardians were slain by a wave of antimatter, and the sixth eventually reconciled with the rest of the Guardians. In the meantime, Gardner succeeded in his task of recruiting powerful villains. Both Hal Jordan and John Stewart prevented Gardner from completing his mission, which would have ultimately destroyed the universe.

Following the Crisis, the Guardians, along with the Zamarons, left the universe to create the next generation of Guardians. Gardner was placed under the care of the remaining Guardian-turned-mortal Appa Ali Apsa (who later went on to become the "Mad Guardian") on the planet Maltus in order to teach Gardner the ways of the Corps, a situation which Gardner resented. Gardner eventually escaped and returned to Earth, but was recaptured by Appa Ali Apsa (with the assistance of two Corps honor guards) intending to reclaim Gardner's power ring. At the request of Kari Limbo, Hal Jordan pleaded on Gardner's behalf for his freedom, which was granted with no return of gratitude from Gardner.

As a consequence of the Corps executing Sinestro, the majority of the Corps lost their power rings; Gardner was one of the few remaining active Green Lanterns. After the defeat and death of the "Mad Guardian", the Guardians returned and assigned Gardner to be the official Green Lantern of Sector 2814 while Jordan was assigned to recruit new Corps members.

Justice League InternationalEdit

Soon after obtaining his freedom from Maltus, Gardner became a founding member of the Justice League International after the original JLA disbanded during the 1986-87 storyline "Legends". In his time with the JLI, Gardner resented Batman's leadership of the group, going so far as to challenge the Dark Knight to a fist fight; Batman downed Guy with one punch after Guy took off his ring. The other members left him lying on the floor. When Guy woke up, he banged his head on a console and knocked himself out. When he comes to, his personality has changed to kind and gentle.[17] Until he hit his head again at a later point, Guy was kind, sweet, boyishly innocent, and a perfect gentleman to the female members of the group. Guy's run in JLI was full of constant personality shifts and endless arguing between team members. This led to a fight with Lobo,[18][19] the sucker-punching of Blue Beetle during a boxing match,[20] and finally him quitting the team after being "belittled" by Superman.[21]

Gardner was romantically involved with his fellow Leaguer Ice, even learning some rudimentary Norwegian, but he is often callous to her and slow to admit his feelings.[3] Their relationship ended with her death at the hands of the Overmaster

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author: froggedstitches 

Prompt: Positions; every day the same.

Group: B

-

The Liberation of Change

No matter how life changed for everyone else, it seemed every day was the same for Belle. The sameness wore on her. She was so tired. No matter what she did, how she rested, she felt an exhaustion settling into her bones. 

Though it was mainly for the comfort, she sat with one of the penny serials that Mr. Gold left for her open on her lap. Even her favorite books had somehow lost their excitement. She had not seen a face that didn’t belong to her husband or the staff in weeks, and neither would provide her with conversation. Gaston because he was Gaston. The staff because it turned out that her husband had given them instructions to interact with her in only the most professional of ways. God, she missed the staff from her father’s house.

Frustrated with the four walls of her bedroom, she hit upon the idea to go down to the morning room. Perhaps light and green things would perk her soul up a bit. Rolling up the serial, she tucked it into her pocket.

Belle ran her fingers through the fern just inside the morning room door before going over to the settee. Her hand rested on her skirts, fingers curled over the uncoiling penny serial hidden inside, and she conjured memories of her childhood. 

Mr. Gold had been a common visitor to her father’s estate, the expansive and beautiful grounds at the time providing him with almost inexhaustible backgrounds to incorporate into his paintings. He was known as terribly temperamental and unsociable, but Nathaniel Gold had never been anything save gentle and kind to her. She had the fondest memories of following him around as a child, watching with rapt attention while he sketched out plans. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel the joy of standing quietly beside him with her hands laced together behind her back while she watched him paint.

For a moment, she truly thought his voice was a part of her daydream. She shook off memory enough to convince herself that Mr. Gold was indeed there, as though wishing had brought it to pass. 

It didn’t sit well with her that she had to essentially sneak across to the parlor. Belle loathed being relegated to listening at doorways, but her husband dealt her no small amount of misery after she joined the conversation during Mr. Gold’s last visit. She didn’t want to repeat it just yet.

Gaston made the indecisive groaning sound that so badly got on her nerves. “I’m in the midst of a critique. Traipsing out to the countryside right now-”

A stay in the country! And her husband had a mind to reject the invitation. Belle had to consciously restrain herself from stamping her foot.

“Mrs. Drake asked that I extend an informal invitation specifically to your and your wife,” Mr. Gold cut in.

“Specifically?” her husband replied after a moment.

“By name,” Mr. Gold confirmed. “She intends to remain for a fortnight, at least, to take in the country air. You and your wife have been asked to remain as long as you wish.”

Gaston wasn’t enthused about the invitation until he heard that Mrs. Drake - Mr. Gold’s primary patron - would be there, as well. He had been trying to wheedle her into patroning him for years. When her husband agreed for them both to join the retreat, her stomach flipped with the thrill of it.

She enjoyed long carriage rides. A good thing, that. The ride from the LeGume estate to the Drake country house took the entire morning. 

New scenery, the prospect of conversing with people, not being as taken for granted as a piece of furniture - it was difficult to stem her excitement. Belle felt something akin to alive for the first time in months. 

When they’d had time to recover from travel, Mrs. Drake’s cook had luncheon prepared. Food that didn’t turn to ashes on her tongue! Gaston and Mr. Gold borderline squabbled their opinions back and forth, while she could have composed an ode to the veal cutlets.

“Mr. LeGume,” their host began. “I have it at trustworthy rumor that your current project concentrates upon the Neoclassical.”

“A work well under progress,” he said proudly, puffing up.

“I wonder… My second husband left me with an Ingres that I believe the public has seen very little of. Would you care to have a look? Perhaps it might add some intrigue to your new volume,” she suggested.

“I would!” Gaston practically shouted, never one to hold back, himself.

Mrs. Drake gave a nod of satisfaction. “Let me show you. You are all welcome to view, if you like.”

She led them through a short hallway and into a room filled with art. Mrs. Drake showed her small party down to a large nude of a woman who could have been made of marble, for all the human detail left out of her flesh. It was her husband’s preferred style for depicting feminine subjects.

Belle stepped away, determined that she would enjoy more apart from him. After a little while left alone, a soft clearing of throat came from behind her. She found Mr. Gold stood near.

“If you don��t find yourself too travel wearied, I wondered if you would mind posing for me?” he asked quietly, a hopeful smile tilting one side of his mouth.

Belle looked to her husband. The very idea of posing for Mr. Gold made her happier than anything she could remember.

“I would,” she told him. “Very much so. Pardon me?”

She loathed asking permission, but if she didn’t, Gaston was liable to have a tantrum later. She went to him where he stood with Mrs. Drake.

“Gaston,” she said to gain his attention. He didn’t look. “I’ve been invited to pose for Mr. Gold.”

With an irritated expression shot over his shoulder, he snapped at her. “Go on with you, then. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Mrs. Drake gave him a bit of a funny look. “I believe I might go along. I could use a bit of outdoors.”

Turning, Belle found Mr. Gold looking on, and she gave him a nod that was perhaps more excited than she should have allowed.

There was a small waterfall on the property, Mr. Gold explained, that he wished to inspire the background for his first painting of the series. He carried his easel and Belle carried the box with his supplies, and a houseman followed carrying his canvas and stool. Mrs. Drake walked a short way behind, with a maid carrying her blanket and needlework basket. Their short journey again invoked memories of following him around her father’s estate.

Mr. Gold was quick to arrange his working set-up. “Will you stand there? Not too near the bank, but in front of the falls?”

Plucking a pencil from among his paintbrushes, he began to sketch right onto the canvas. Belle placed herself where he requested. When Mr. Gold’s eyes were on her, she didn’t feel disgusting as she did when her husband looked at her.

“Am I to be Medusa?” she inquired, grinning.

He gave her a look of teasing doubt. “And here I figured upon Sphinx.”

“I’m not that mysterious, Mr. Gold.”

“I might disagree. However, this painting is to be of Echidna.”

“I quite like that,” Belle said with a nod. “Lady monster, mother of monsters.”

Mr. Gold’s attention lingered on her. “Lift your hands, please?”

She did, but he shook his head, so she raised them higher.

“Open your fingers,” he told her. “Wider arms, as if you were embracing a great pillar.”

Belle tried her best, but had she known what he would do, she might have failed more quickly. He took his cane and left his canvas to approach her. Lifting his hand, he stopped before it met her own.

“May I?” he asked, and she nodded.

His warm hand braced the back of hers. He brought her hand higher, opening her arms more widely.

“There you go, just so,” Mr. Gold said.

Belle felt his breath on her cheek. The afternoon sun caught in the slivers of gray in his hair, and when he looked at her, his eyes were honey-amber rather than the near black they seemed in dimmer light. the urge to kiss him prickled behind her breastbone.

She could, she thought, looking to Mrs. Drake, who had already fallen asleep sitting against the silver birch nearby. The maid and houseman were down the stream a ways. She could so easily have closed the small space between herself and Mr. Gold for a kiss.

“Are we on to posing already?” Mrs. Drake asked, apparently not as asleep as she appeared.

Mr. Gold startled as though he woke, himself. With a look of apology that Belle felt unnecessary and a brief stumble on a root in the grass, he returned to his canvas.

[rohad93]

Sea Glass: Ch - 13

18+

The strong winds pushed the boat through the water at a quick clip. They had lucked out that this small sailing boat was quick and agile as it cut through the water in a spray of mist. Mercifully it had been empty as well, so they hadn't had to drop any... unwanted cargo over the side to start with. It was always easier if you didn't have to start with a mess. 

At least in Blue’s opinion. She prefered not to have to leave a boarded ship a bloody murder scene if she could help it, though it was sometimes unavoidable. 

Yellow was sitting with the map spread across her knees, the corners of the paper flapping in the breeze and doing her best to track their trajectory and estimate when they might make landfall. Not the easiest of tasks in the day with no stars to guide them or with no compass to help her accurately measure anything, but Yellow was a more than experienced sailor and navigator, as was she, but it was just easier to let Yellow do it than have a pointless argument about it when she didn’t care that much to do it anyway. 

She preferred to let Holly do all formal course charting, Blue just picked the destinations more often than not. Though when she wanted to be alone she would steer the ship herself.

Whoever this boat had belonged to had taken good care of it, she could tell just by the sheen of the deck and the intricate and well-done knots in all the rigging. By a few of them she would have to say someone who at one point had been in the navy.

Yellow grumbled to herself as she moved, the fingers of her right hand trailing slowly across the map, trying in vain to accurately plot out their course. 

Blue smirked to herself watching from the corner of her eye before turning back to look at the ocean as they sailed through the water; nothing as far as the eye could see but water and sky. 

Just the way she liked it.

This was probably the most relaxed she had been since this entire debacle had started.

The ocean was the only place that had ever really been home to Blue. She could remember quite clearly every torturous day she had spent landlocked before she had found her true calling at sea.

She stared out at the waves, the salty spray on her face, along with the sounds of the water, and the wind whipping through her hair created a white noise that pushed her mind into that quiet, contemplative place as she thought about those days that she would rather leave behind her.

Even then the sea had been her greatest source of comfort, though in a very different way.

She'd had the most spectacular view of it from one of the windows in the downstairs sitting room. From the fainting couch pushed against the farthest wall, she'd watch the waves break against the rocky shore below the ridge the house sat atop in flashes of white foam for hours. The sounds of the water rushing over the stone and sand was one of the only things that eased her mind. 

 Rose sometimes sat at her feet playing on the smooth, pale, cedarwood floor of the parlor. 

She'd smile down at her and the ten-year-old would grin back at her before going back to whatever game she had concocted for herself, totally unaware of the situation they found themselves in every day in this house by the sea. 

Which was exactly as Blue wished to keep it, though, it wasn’t to be, she simply hadn’t known it at the time. 

Sometimes they would play ‘I spy’ despite the fact that they had long ago run out of new things to spy in the never-changing room. There were other rooms, but more often than not servants would be nearby, watching, and she trusted none of them, a lesson she’d learned the hard way.

More importantly, this room offered the best view of the sea from inside its blush-colored walls

Every day here made her wish for something else, anything else, anywhere else.

Days passed by nearly unaccounted for were it not for the physical changing of the seasons she witnessed outside the windows. The changing of the leaves in autumn and the ice and snow that followed in the winter. 

She felt like a specter, moving about the houses three stories and multiple halls and rooms aimlessly, like she was lost on the other side, looking for the purpose that would finally let her rest in peace, her dark crimson gown trailing behind her wherever she went. She’d long ago stopped caring about dragging it through the dirt and dust of the floor. 

He didn’t like that, and scolded her for it whenever he caught her. 

The second-floor balcony also had a spectacular view of the ocean and the new 'lighthouse', as they called it, that had been newly constructed several hundred yards out in the water.

She was rarely permitted outdoors though, and the view was not worth the risk of what might happen were she caught. Even the two first floor porches on either side were off-limits to her.

She was to be seen only when he allowed it, which was rarely. 

Thus, she was relegated most days to the fainting couch and the window that looked out over the ocean, wondering what lay beyond the horizon line and wondering what it would be like to see it for herself. 

Ringed fingers fisted into the fabric of her trousers.

"Are you feeling ill?" 

Blue was jerked from her memories by the question. 

Yellow was looking at her with furrowed brows and dare she flatter herself by saying, worry, in those bright amber eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she assured with a smile. Yellow just stared back at her for a long moment before humming and turning her gaze back to the map in her lap with a pointed glare that made Blue grin.

Always so serious, but she had to admit, it was charming in its own way. One knew exactly what they were getting with Marigold “Yellow Diamond” Faust. She was blunt, brutal, and straight to the point. 

With hidden talents and depths that Blue had never really considered before now. 

Her smile fell away, lips pressing into a straight line as she thought about something, it had been eating at her off and on since she’d woken up but she hadn’t yet had the chance to say anything, they had been a little preoccupied after all.

While she had been out of it, for the most part, she had a very clear memory of being half-awake, and watching herself, as though she were watching someone else’s hand reach up and run their fingers over the brand on Yellow’s arm.

She’d sailed around the Caribbean enough to know that brand, but her mind had been too foggy to figure out what she was looking at at the time, much less speak. Her mind had since cleared up 

In very rare form Yellow had given where she hadn’t even been asked, granted she thought Blue was so fevered that she probably wouldn’t remember, she had still shared something with her that seemed to have incredible significance to herself and for once, Blue felt guilty.

She doubted Yellow would have ever shared that information with her if she thought she had been lucid enough to remember and guilt about it was strangely eating at her insides. 

Blue could probably count on one hand how many times she had felt guilty about something since she had first set sail, and all of them had involved her sister in one form or another. 

Not to mention there was still the matter of her damned drunken rambling and how rum made her lips much to loose for her liking. 

There seemed to be more and more unspoken things between them everyday for two people quite literally chained together.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing back at the blonde from the corner of her eye. 

Amber eyes roved over the map, glancing up occasionally to look at the sail, gauging their heading

Blue sighed to herself, leaning back as she turned her gaze back to the sea. She didn’t have it in her to start the kind of conversation any of those things would make.

There was a small island coming up in front of them, more a large pile of rocks and dirt than a true island. Past that, a barely visible smudge on the horizon.

Blue squinted into the distance.

“What is that?” she mumbled to herself, before turning to Yellow and tapping her leg. “Give me the spyglass...” She held out her hand. Yellow grunted, pulling the tool out of her coat pocket and handing it to Blue, but otherwise didn’t look up.

Peering through the glass, Blue could see that the smudge in the distance was actually a large galleon ship, at the top of its main mast was a solid white flag. 

Who was flying a flag of surrender?

A chill shot down Blue’s spine and it was an effort to make her mouth and lips do what she wanted.

“Marigold…,” her voice came out barely above a whisper, the lump in her throat blocking most of her breath.

Yellow’s head jerked up, hearing not only her name but the dramatic shift in Blue’s tone.

“What is it?” Her face contorted into concern as she rolled up the map and slipped it back into it’s bottle. 

Blue swallowed thickly and simply held the spyglass out to Yellow.

The blonde took it and peered out at whatever had made Blue turn so pale. 

Her spine stiffened as she spotted the ship sailing the white flag.

“White Diamond…,” she breathed before tearing the looking glass away from her eye and shoving it into her pocket. “We need to change course, now!” 

They moved as quickly as the chain allowed them and changed course to the opposite side of the small island they had been coming up on and let the ship wash ashore.

They stayed low, and silent, after a while they saw the large galleon flying it’s solid white flags sail by a way beyond their small hub.

“I’d heard she was in the far west, terrorizing Jamaica and Port Royal…,” Blue mumbled as they watched the infamous ship grow smaller and smaller in the distance, the knot that had suddenly tied itself in Yellow’s belly slowly coming loose as it was once again a smudge on the horizon line.

“It seems she's back…,” Yellow sneered, still looking out into the distance.

White Diamond, that was it. Just White Diamond. 

If she ever had another name, no one knew it, not anymore. There was only the moniker that every other pirate in the Carribean knew her by. That and the tell-tale white flags she chose to fly. 

The white flag, traditionally a symbol of the bearer’s surrender, but not on White Diamond’s ship. It was a sign that any encroaching ship should surrender, or be destroyed down to the last man. 

Though Yellow knew for a fact though that there would be total slaughter on any ship White Diamond boarded, regardless of any previous surrender. Surrendering to The Prism was as good as standing before a firing squad.

She’d been terrorizing the seas since Yellow had been a child, she couldn’t believe she was even still alive, and was still the most feared pirate anywhere in the Caribbean. 

The ‘Diamond’ moniker she had had for years was the reason that She and Blue had garnered their own similar epithets. 

White had been the only well known female pirate for years, when Yellow had come along, with her amber eyes and bright blonde hair and a name like ‘Marigold’, and people had been quick to saddle her with “Yellow Diamond”. The same could be said for Blue a few years later,’ Ciel, with her cerulean eyes and penchant for the bright cobalt colors in her wardrobe, had quickly been titled “Blue Diamond” by friends and enemies alike.

She had seen White Diamond only once, with her own eyes, years ago. 

She was the reason Yellow had left the first ship she had ever sailed on. She had attacked it, killing everyone on board. Yellow had only barely escaped.

She unconsciously reached up to rub the scar on her forehead, an old, hot, hatred bubbling up in her gut.

Yellow had been quiet for a long while, and Blue looked at her questioningly, but Yellow seemed to be lost in thought, running the fingers of her right hand across the scar on her forehead. 

“It should be safe to go…” Blue stood up, dragging Yellow from her thoughts with the slight tug of the chain that made both of them flinch. 

“Yeah…,” Yellow mumbled as she stood, her hand falling away from the old but still very distinct scar that bisected her brow and disappeared into her hairline. 

They managed to get the boat pushed off the sandbar and back out into the water, though it was no small feat, especially climbing back in while being tethered together by the wrist. 

The salt water splashed up their legs and arms, seeping beneath the cuffs and burning the tender flesh. 

Once the sail was back up, it was quickly positioned back in the right to direction to have them sailing back toward Grenada.