#the ending was beautiful though and so in line with the spirit of star trek | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ofdragonsdeep · 3 years ago

Text

11: Preaching to the Choir

None would have disagreed on the matter of Lord Haurchefant's virtues.

(HW spoilers, character death mention, grief, all that jazz)

The bitter chill of the Coerthas winds did little to salve the ache as Ar’telan walked the familiar path from the Gates of Judgement to Camp Dragonhead. A soft snowfall had set in with the evening, clouds crowding out the stars, and he rubbed his hands together for warmth as he went.

The guard on the gate straightened as Ar’telan approached, then relaxed as recognition set in. He was nodded in, no words spoken between them, but even in the flickering firelight of the meagre torch that marked his station, Ar’telan could see the red around his eyes.

The atmosphere was muted. Despite the ever-present threat, no knights milled about save for the guard up on the ramparts, and the courtyard was entirely free of the adventurers it usually gathered. Up by the aetheryte, there was only the silhouetted form of the foreign-born man who worked on the cannons without cease, and Inquisitor Brigie, leaning against the wall and staring out into the middle distance. She did not see him pass, and he was not keen to alert her, in the circumstances.

The heavy wood and iron doors to the keep opened with a scrape and creak of protest, and the few knights within looked up as he walked inside. Even now, weeks after it had happened, it felt like a twist of the heart to look at the empty chair on the other side of the desk.

“Ar’telan. It’s… it’s good to see you,” Yaelle remarked, offering a weak smile, one of the more genuine ones he had seen of late. Corentiaux rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, gathering himself.

“We wondered when we might see you here. Are… are you staying long?” he asked. Ar’telan sighed.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he replied, which felt pathetic in the moment. A young astrologian deviated from the stacks of records to pull out a chair for him without a word, and he sat in it haltingly, afraid of appearing rude. “I wouldn’t want to- to impose. After…” Yaelle shook her head.

“You will always be welcome here. It’s what- what he would have wanted,” she remarked, her voice remarkably level across it all. Ar’telan took a deep breath, and held in the sadness. He was here now. He had waited - no, he had come here as soon as the chase against King Thordan had allowed, but he had left soon after, not able to stand it. He had waited until the dust had settled on that part of the war, until he had felt like there had been some kind of recompense, until he could bear to look the people of the camp in the eye and not collapse under the weight of the guilt of it all.

“We won’t turn you out into the snow. Make yourself at home,” Corentiaux agreed. “You have missed mess, I will allow, but there will be something in the pot for you.” Ar’telan swallowed back the grief.

“Thank you. I… I will try not to intrude,” he managed, feeling the weight of his reasons in the pack he carried. If they wanted to see it, he would let them do it on their own terms, not ones that might soothe his wounds.

As if anything could have soothed them.

---

The young roegadyn woman who was a cheerful constant of the mess hall looked up with a spectre of panic on her face as the door opened. She had been reserved when Ar’telan had first spoken to her, but over the moons she had opened up, her heart boundless in its love. She was… not coping well.

“Ar’telan. The knights didn’t… oh, I’m so sorry, I haven’t…” she tried, before choking back a sob and turning to hide it in the pot on the stove. “Y-you must be hungry. I-I’ll make you something.” Ar’telan tried to disagree, pained by her distress, but she had so lost herself in the busywork of it that she saw none of his desperate hand signs. Resigned, he eased himself onto the edge of one of the benches, elbows on the table and head resting on his hands. They had always taken care of him at Camp Dragonhead, the way they took care of anyone in need who passed through their walls. It was a kindness that permeated every brick, every cobblestone, a smile easy on the face when your spirits were buoyed. They did it now in reflex, stumbling in uncertainty through every day that greeted them. Ar’telan couldn’t help but think back to the days before. He had been there for the internment of knights his healing arts had not been able to save, he had been cheered and encouraged and warmed by the fire that lit every soul within, from the boy who swept the stables to the loftiest knight.

It had hurt, to see knights he had broken bread with that morning in a coffin by the dusk. He had watched the lines of stoic soldiers, some weeping into the shoulders of their fellows as the bodies of their friends were borne past, towards Ishgard. None of it could have prepared him for the grip of the all-consuming grief that lay like a pall over Dragonhead’s heart. Glassy eyes that stared at nothingness, a soul walking with the Fury instead of among the living. And for what? A war without end for the dragons that Nidhogg had driven to madness with his incessant Song, the sins of long-forgotten fathers carved out into the hides of the sons. To bear home the news of the great wyrm’s death, a tragedy of man’s design, and be greeted with a refusal… a refusal to yield.

By Ishgardian hands, by Ishgardian blood. What was it worth?

“Here. I h-hope it’s still good,” Medguistl said, startling Ar’telan from his reverie.

“It will be fine. My thanks,” he said, taking the proffered bowl and setting it down on the table before him. She sat down opposite him, seeming to fold into the table under the weight of her own thoughts.

“It’s not fair,” she said, her voice muffled by wood and her arms. “All those h-horrible people and it had, it h-had to be him.” Ar’telan flinched at her words, staring down at the stew in front of him rather than offer an answer she would not be able to see. “After everything that happened, all the kind things he said, I can’t… I can’t imagine that I’ll never see his smile again. Nobody wants to talk about it. We can’t. It just… it hurts.” She sniffled, looking up at him with an apologetic look on her face. “I-I’m sorry. I-I think this is the last thing you need, t-today of all days. B-but…”

“You are allowed to grieve,” Ar’telan disagreed, the words weaving around the spoon he was holding. “Pretending that it doesn’t hurt won’t make it go away.” He bit his lip uncertainly, sharp canines finding the scar that traced down the side of it. “He would be flattered that he had… touched so many so deeply. Though I think he would rather you held a little cheer, when you can.” Medguistl nodded, sniffing back the rest of the tears.

“Th-thank you,” she said. “I know that we’ll… we’ll carry the memory forever. So maybe… maybe in a way he won’t be truly gone.” Ar’telan wished that it was in a way which mattered, but did not voice the sadness aloud.

“I owe my life to him. To all of you here, as well. So if there is anything I can do…” he began, but the chef shook her head, straightening up.

“You can eat, is what you can do, and maybe we’ll think about the rest afterwards,” she said, and Ar’telan wearily complied.

---

The trek up to Providence Point, lit now by the light of the morning, was made no easier despite the absence of the aevises that had once plagued the trail. The ruin of the Steel Vigil stretched up to greet the day, snow and crumbling rock falling from the edifice at the slightest wind, and to the west, the crest of the hill.

He had come up here before, many times. Not all of them with Haurchefant, but many of them. They had stood before the stone that bore the seal of Oschon, the Wanderer, and Ar’telan had wondered at its presence in a land which clung so stubbornly in place. Beyond the piled stones, the crest of the cliff offered a crystal-clear view of Ishgard and the Steps of Faith, the best place to observe her beauty from save for within the walls of the city herself.

The headstone was small, and unobtrusive. Snow had already settled atop it, a faint dusting of white to match that which plagued the entire land since the Calamity had struck. Ar’telan knelt down beside it, brushed his fingers over the name.

Haurchefant Greystone.

Though they had buried his body in the Fortemps family crypt, in his public monument he could not bear the name. It was so like Ishgard, a place so comfortingly familiar that he had almost felt sure in calling it home. As if Hydaelyn would have let him rest, when he still had work to do.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said a familiar voice. Francel, the first truly kind person he had met in this frozen hellscape of a place after the massacre at the Waking Sands. “Though I suppose it should not be a surprise, should it?” He closed the distance between them, joining Ar’telan in kneeling down in the snow. In his hands, a bouquet of Nymeia lilies, of the kind of freshness only the son of a High House could afford. Ar’telan had laid them upon coffins before, but here Francel simply rested them on top of the snow, tears already beading at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Ar’telan said, and Francel shook his head, rubbing the treacherous tears away with delicate fingers.

“No, no. You shouldn’t be,” he said. “He… he would be glad that you’d come. He always… always loved the view up here.” Ar’telan held his tongue on the memories, instead pulling the heavy pack from his back, and gently teasing the shield free from the canvas he had wrapped it in.

All the knights at the Camp had one like it. They adorned the walls of the keep, of the manor at House Fortemps, the arms of every person pledged to the house’s service. The gaping hole in this one, rent by a lance of pure aetherial light, was one he hoped the other shields would never see.

“The Count gave you this?” Francel asked, though he didn’t sound surprised. Ar’telan nodded, reaching out to rest it against the stone of the grave. If it could not protect him in life, it would at least watch him in death. “I’m glad. It’s… you should have had it,” Francel said, the words stiff and awkward in his mouth. “It never gets any easier, does it?” he asked, eyes on the city beyond the rise, across the void of wind that made the Sea of Clouds.

“No,” Ar’telan agreed, sitting back in the snow. “Different, maybe. But never easier.” Francel let out a long, low sigh.

“You will come back, won’t you?” he asked, a tremulous note to his voice. “To Ishgard. To us.” Ar’telan looked over in surprise at the question.

“If I am welcome,” he said, and Francel let out a single, disbelieving laugh.

“Welcome? Of course you are welcome. You helped to save us,” he said, shaking his head slightly at the idea. “All of us are hurting now, every one, but we would never turn you away. Not ever.” His eyes went back to the grave, his gaze lingering on the shield’s mortal wound. “I know you would never leave him behind, and he would not want you to. But I dont… I don’t want to bear this alone.” Ar’telan offered a smile.

“You are not alone. There is not a soul in the Highlands who does not know of Haurchefant’s grace,” he said, and Francel flopped backwards into a sitting position, as if actually hearing his name was a little too much.

“Have you spoken with the Count de Fortemps?” he asked. “After… After it all, I mean. When it wasn’t… When it wasn’t all too much.” Ar’telan sighed.

“Yes. I… I know he would not want me to leave,” he said, the first time he had voiced it aloud. “He said as much, but it is hard to believe it. Hard to let go of the feeling that I… That Haurchefant…”

“You will always have a home here,” Francel said, his voice quiet. “I would make sure of it, but I do not need to. Stay strong, my friend. Perhaps the grief will not fade, but the road will feel easier to walk in stride with another.” Ar’telan smiled slightly at the thought, his tail carving a little eddy in the snow as it swept from side to side.

“I would like that,” he agreed. It hurt, more than anything had a right to hurt, still aching as though Ser Zephirin’s lance had pierced his heart instead, but for the future - there was hope.

#We lasted two whole days and that is a record #ffxivwrite2021 #ff14 #m!WoLxHaurchefant #HW spoilers #If I'm not over it like five years later then nobody else gets to be either #Warrior of Light (solo story)#ps Francel is baby and I would die for him

3 notes · View notes

cosmic-goddess-leo · 5 years ago

Note

may i request football! atsumu au🥺

Having a high school’s star football player for a best friend definitely had its perks. (Y/n) got respect from the football team, meaning she got respect from pretty much everyone. No backhanded or sassy comments from assholes in her class, they left her alone and vice versa. They knew the second Miya Atsumu found out his bestie was slighted, he’d let the devil out.

But every pro had its con. He was as popular as they come, meaning he always had people around him demanding his attention. And though nobody necessarily pushed (Y/n) around to get to him, she would still find herself feeling left out and awkward in the crowd.

She knew it wasn’t his fault, sometimes he lost track of himself. But that didn’t make it hurt any less when she’d end up lost in the bleachers at a football game, knowing that the cheers of everyone around her would block out her own.

Of course (Y/n) had a crush on him, that was a no brainer. She and the Miya twins had known each other since kindergarten, spending that much time with a person will spark some romantic feelings.

But how could she even think about confessing to him when he had half the school in love with him?

It was Friday afternoon, meaning it was time for another pep-rally to hype the school up for the football game to take place a couple hours from them. The bell rang, signaling the students to head down to the gymnasium.

(Y/n) stood up from her desk, eyeing Atsumu’s letterman jacket that he draped over her shoulders when he noticed she forgot her coat at home that morning. She donned the large jacket, unable to hide her smile when she felt how big it was on her.

HIs scent clung to the material, filling her with a sense of comfort as she began the trek down to the gym. She got a couple sideways glances on the way there, ignoring each and every one of them, just chalking it up to confusion about the jacket she was sporting.

She smiled when she caught sight of Osamu, waiting for her at the gym doors like he always did. “Ready to show some school spirit?” she teased, nudging the taller boys arm as she stood in front of him.

He rolled his eyes before walking side by side with her into the gym and towards the bleachers. “Nope. They never do this for the volleyball team, why should I do it for the football team?”

“Cauuuuuse you love your brother?” (Y/n) suggested, following the silver-haired boy to the top of the bleachers.

Osamu snorted, tossing a very pointed look her way. “Or cause you love my brother?”

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes at him before punching his arm, the hit barely registering against his bicep. “Shut up...”

He smirked in response, looking her up and down, “Nice jacket...”

(Y/n) huffed before crossing her arms in a pout, unwilling to dignify that with a response. Osamu chuckled before turning his attention to his cellphone.

The pep-rally started with the marching band playing at full volume as usual. Then the cheerleaders filtered in, doing a quick routine before the football players hustled into the gym.

(Y/n) smiled wide when Atsumu caught sight of her and Osamu. He had already been waving to the students, but he waved more energetically once he saw them. She giggled to herself, waving back at him until the crowd quieted down.

Osamu quirked an eyebrow at her cockily, “Simp.” That earned another punch from her.

Atsumu made his way into the bleachers once the pep-rally was over, standing in front of his best friend and his brother with a wide smile on his face. “You look as enthused as ever,” Atsumu said, flicking Osamu’s forehead so he’d look up from the game he was playing on his phone.

“I mean, I could’ve skipped. But you know how (Y/n) is.” he said, standing in unison with (Y/n).

She gave him a death glare before smiling brightly at Atsumu. “You ready for the game?”

“Always,” he smiled back, “Coach said there’s gonna be college scouts there.”

“Really! Awesome! We’ll have to celebrate when you guys win then!” (Y/n) declared.

“Absolutely. Pizza at your place? Osamu and I can meet you there after the game.” Atsumu said, resting his hands on his hips.

“Perfect.” (Y/n)’s smile dropped when she remembered the letterman jacket she was sporting. “Oh! Do you want this back? I can have my mom bring me a jacket before the game if you do.”

Atsumu quickly shook his head, quickly taking hold of one of her arms as she began shrugging the jacket off. “No no! Keep it, it suits you!”

Osamu could tell (Y/n) was internally choking/screaming/dying, so he quickly spoke up. “We were going to go get coffee before the game. Wanna tag along?”

Atsumu sighed deeply, scratching at the back of his head as he turned to look at a couple of his teammates waiting for him at the bottom of the bleachers. “I would, but I promised the guys we’d practice a bit before the game. Next time though, yeah?”

With that, he left the two on the bleachers.

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

(Y/n) practically tripped over herself as she pushed her way out of the crowded bleachers. She could hear Osamu calling after her as she ran out of the bleachers entirely, cold air burning at her lungs as she forced herself into an area where she could get some privacy.

Clutching at her chest, she leaned against the back wall of the concession stand, struggling to catch her breath and hold back her tears.

Her phone began to buzz in her pocket, her text tone rattling off repeatedly until she finally unlocked the device.

Osa: (Y/n) you know he’s an idiot

Osa: I’m sure it’s nothing

Osa: Where did you go?

(Y/n) could hear the crowd lining up at the concession stand, their chattering blocking out the sound of (Y/n)’s heavy breathing. She had ran out of the bleachers just before half-time started. Perfect timing. She tightened the jacket around herself, suddenly realizing how cold it was.

She didn’t realize how long she had been hiding out. Probably not very long, since Atsumu was rounding the corner of the concession stand. He breathed a sigh of relief before walking up to her and cupping her cold cheeks.

“There you are, my brother was ready to have a heart attack. What happened?” he asked, worriedly looking her over.

(Y/n) was glad she had repressed her tears when she got there, otherwise he definitely would have noticed her red, puffy eyes.

“Nothing, I just... you know I don’t like crowds.” She sputtered.

He sighed softly, smelling the bullshit coming off of that excuse from a mile away. “They’ve never been an issue at my games before....”

(Y/n) gulped, evading eye contact and opting to stare at her shoes. “I just had to get out of the crowd, is all...”

“(Y/n)... Sweets-” He was cut off when he heard his coach barking his name. “I have to go... Will you tell me what’s really going on later tonight?”

(Y/n) forced a smile, nodding quickly before watching him run off. She frowned, leaning back against the wall and hanging her head.

Soon enough, she saw Osamu rounding the corner, hands stuffed in his pockets as she stared at (Y/n) silently.

Neither of them spoke, and he knew how stubborn (Y/n) could be. Almost as stubborn as his brother.

“You know that’s not the first cheerleader to throw herself at him...” he said, slowly standing against the wall beside his friend.

(Y/n) sighed softly, nodding her head slightly. “I know...”

“And you know she won’t be the last...” he continued.

“I know...”

“So why’d you run off then...?” He asked, lightly nudging her with his elbow.

(Y/n) bit her lip, fighting back the tears again. “Cuz this is the first one he hasn’t shoved off him... The first one he didn’t seem to mind having all over him...”

Osamu sighed deeply, “Cheerleaders aren’t his type... I don’t know why he did that...”

“It’s fine,” she sniffled, quickly wiping her face and smiling sadly at him. “I’m just gonna call my mom and go home.”

He slowly nodded in response, “I take it pizza’s cancelled tonight?”

(Y/n) nodded again.

“I’ll tell Atsumu... Lemme wait with you for your mom to get here.”

It didn’t take (Y/n)’s mother long to get to the school, (Y/n) was grateful for that. Just as she was climbing into the car, she took off Atsumu’s letterman jacket, wordlessly handing it to his brother before shutting her car door.

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

(Y/n) was in the middle of getting her ass kicked by her Math homework when she heard a tap at her window. Followed by a second, then a third.

Welp, this is how I die.

She cautiously approached the window, peaking out from the curtains only to see Atsumu standing on the lawn, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a box of pizza.

She bit her lip, watching him smile at her sheepishly. (Y/n) reluctantly opened the window, hissing as a cold gust of wind hit her almost immediately. “Osamu didn’t tell you I cancelled?”

Atsumu glanced at the front door before shrugging. “I un-cancelled...Can you let me in? I think my nipples are about to pop off...”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but laugh before shutting her window. She wasn’t going to just leave him out in the cold, especially when she knew he would stand there for hours until she finally budged.

He visibly relaxed when the door opened, only entering when (Y/n) waved him inside. “Thanks-”

(Y/n) quickly shushed him before ushering him up the stairs to her bedroom. She quickly shut the door behind them, sighing in relief before turning to him. “My parents are sleeping, why are you-”

Atsumu hugged her waist, pulling her close before pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. His lips were chapped from playing out in the harsh winter weather, but they were still the most beautiful thing (Y/n) had ever experienced.

The kiss ended too quickly for their liking, Atsumu keeping his hold on (Y/n)’s waist as he looked her over. “I had to show you myself that I don’t like cheerleaders...” he chuckled, gently brushing the cold tip of his nose over hers before glancing at the pizza box he had tossed onto her bed. “Plus, I really wanted some pizza...”

(Y/n) giggled before lightly smacking his chest. She gripped his letterman before pulling him into another kiss that he happily returned.

#ask #request #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #football!AU

134 notes · View notes

halfwayinlight · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Precious Commodities, Ch 5 Fandom: Star Trek TNG Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi

For @cleverdistraction finally fulfilling the fic of Deanna & Will visiting Angel Falls. Takes place at the same time as Season 4′s episode 2 “Family”

Mental health was a precious commodity. And a commodity that had been tenuous among the crew since their encounter with the Borg collective. Since the captain had been assimilated and recovered. It meant so much for work for both Will and Deanna. He had assumed more of the responsibilities while she worked with Picard and with so many of the crew in the aftermath.

The last weeks had helped. As crew were able to take leave and seek more outlets and to relieve the large demand for counseling from Enterprise. Deanna had her sessions with her own counselor, finally giving herself some time to process what she herself had been through. And Will was grateful for this. No matter how much she insisted the Betazoid brain was resilient, he knew that her empathic senses made shared traumatic events harder for her because she felt everything.

While he had a crew to account for and assess the needs in terms of duties and shouldering extra responsibilities… well, Deanna had so much more. So many initial assessments. Various levels of traumatic reactions. Calls to sickbay at odd hours of the night as crew struggled through stages of recovery and loss. Many more late night and earliest morning hour emergency calls to crew quarters for crisis help.

But now, repairs were winding down. They could finally walk through corridors and it almost felt normal again. Whatever normal meant. And they would be back on route to explore soon. Leaving mere days for final shore leave. Transfers had been approved. Some new crew were joining. Some who were struggling significantly were going to remain here to get the help that exceeded Enterprise’s abilities.

Once again Will and Deanna found themselves at the end of rotation. To be fair, they’d taken a few days, more like half days, throughout the repairs. Deanna had been serious when she told Beverly that they were thinking about visiting Angel Falls.

And now they were making good on that agreement they’d made so long ago on a Ferengi ship deep in space.

Will could feel the shift in Deanna as soon as they stepped off of the transporter platform at the hotel. Rather than commenting, he slid and arm round her shoulders and steered her in the direction of the front desk. When she broke off to a lounge to their left, he let her go, knowing he’d find her again shortly.

Apparently the best laid plans did, in fact, go awry. Because they weren’t going to be visiting the falls for another two days. It looked like they might still be able to see it if the weather held. At the moment, he was choosing to be glad they were off ship, off duty, and as long as they weren’t beset by jungle pirates or abducted, Will would consider this a rousing success. He sent their things on to their room with a very plush bed and a luxurious Jacuzzi tub that he knew he would have to drag Deanna out of later.

Two of the hotel staff were kind enough to point him in the direction of his missing friend, and he found Deanna on the terrace. She was swaying to distant music floating on the late afternoon breeze and admiring the coral trees lining the courtyard. It was as close to carefree has he had seen her in months, her dress casual and sun warming her skin that was far too pale from months on decks.

“Slight change in plans,” he spoke softly as he came to stand behind her.

She leaned back against him, the movement casual and familiar. “I’m not even angry. Everyone’s so… excited here. I’m not sure what’s happening, but it’s a good excitement.”

He pressed a warm kiss into her hair and wrapped his arms around her from behind, gathering her in a deep hug just for the hell of it. “It’s a cultural holiday. No transports til the day after tomorrow. It used to be a religious holiday of epiphany. Still holds cultural significance, though. Three kings bring all the kids gifts tomorrow morning. That’s the anticipation.”

Her grin was wide. “Only the kids?”

“I’m sure there’s some chocolate gifts for Betazoids,” he rumbled against her ear, his smile broad when she squirmed and giggled at the feeling of his breath and his beard against her sensitive ear.

“Do I have to wait until tomorrow?” she asked slyly. “Or can one of those kings drop it off a little sooner?”

His hand found hers, fingers lacing together, and he lifted her arm, dropping a warm kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Dinner or dessert first?”

Deanna swatted at him lightly with her free hand. “I can’t believe you’d even ask that! Who are you, and what have you done with the real Will Riker?”

“Dessert and coffee it is,” he declared with a laugh, swinging the hand the held hers and leading the way to the nearby café that the concierge had recommended. The afternoon was slowly yielding toward early evening. With any luck, they’d have a nice view of the sunset. And he’d been told they could watch the fireworks later on their own private balcony. Even without Angel Falls today, he was glad they’d decided to go to Argentina.

He found himself with an armful of Deanna Troi. An emotionally high Deanna Troi. A very playful Deanna Troi She was trouble. “You’re in a good mood,” he chuckled, giving a little grunt of surprise when she pulled him through the door from their balcony and into their room.

“Everyone’s so happy here,” she raved, giving his hand another tug as she opened a little more to him, and it felt a little like the rush of the first time he scored a winning point in Paresis Squares.

Will picked up speed and rushed in toward her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. It was much like he had held her during the fireworks. But this time he kept moving, and he spun them into a fast circle. It was giddy and spirited, and it was absolutely worth it to hear her laugh echo through the room.

He loved how he could enfold her against him, her body smaller but resilient. His fingers slid over her side, catching a few of her ticklish spots. She squealed and tried to wriggle out of his arms. It was devious, really, because she was so damn sensitive. He could touch her nearly anywhere and tickle her.

“Will Riker, that’s not fair!” she shrieked, words broke by laughter. She was twisting and doing her best to free herself from his hold. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

And she was sneaky. It only took a moment for her own fingers to find that spot behind his left ear. There weren’t many places where he was ticklish. But Deanna Troi knew all of them. It was enough that he eased his grip, and she darted just past his reach.

He had, however, a tactical advantage and let himself slow. “How, exactly, are you going to get out of this corner you’ve run right into?” his voice was pitched low and gravely, though his eyes were filled with mischief as he stalked her toward the couch.

Before Will could add anything else, a cushion came flying in his direction. “Hey!” he protested out of reflex. By the second pillow, he was ready and caught it easily before launching it back at her.

She was ready, too, and quickly ducked behind the sofa as it went sailing harmlessly over her head to collide with the wall. The room grew quiet, and she was now out of sight.

Mentally, he tried to calculate how many pillows were left. Exactly where they were now scattered around the room. Had there been a pillow in the arm chair earlier? Will moved stealthily forward, forcing his breath to slow and even out. Head cocked slightly in the direction of her last known location. Silence settled into the room.

His height was a disadvantage now, so he crouched slightly so she would have to risk giving away her location to see him. Will eased forward onto the couch, wincing slightly as the cushion gave to his weight and trying not to sigh audibly when it didn’t make noise. He licked his lips and took a slow, even breath as he reached for a remaining pillow. Moving cautiously, he rose on his knees, peering over the back of the furniture to find the spot empty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement, and he swung.

Her pillow was there first, colliding with this shoulder. Deanna held tightly onto the corner, and shifted, bringing it back around in counter strike.

His forearm deflected her second blow, and he finally remembered the pillow in his own hand and began his own onslaught, pulling his hit just in time to make it softer than he would’ve otherwise. When she feinted to the left and dodged to the right, his arm reached around her waist and he hauled her to the couch and dumped her on it before gently pinning down both arms. “Okay, you asked for it,” he warned in mock warning before leaning in and rubbing his neck over her neck and bare shoulders

“No!” she protested, gasping between laughs as she tried to catch her breath. She scrunched up her neck, trying in vain to avoid him, but he only switched to the other side, teasing her sensitive skin and dropping in an occasional laugh.

His thigh pressed against her hip, keeping her from working her way out from underneath him. Lightly pinned while he dragged laughs and giggles from her because it was sheer bliss. After so much, to hear her happy and light and having given herself fully to play, it was beautiful. It was his favorite sound in any quadrant.

“Mercy!” she finally called. “Will… please… I need to breathe…” she protested between giggles, and her mood shifting in the way that he knew meant that her sensitivity was about to tip into irritation.

The last touch pressed firmer into a caress, and he felt her take a sudden breath in surprise. His other hand stroked back a loose curl that had escaped from her loose hairdo. Will’s eyes met hers and softened, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Fingers threaded through his hair, and she still hadn’t fully caught her breath when her lips pressed to his. She urged him closer, her own body arching slightly toward him, other hand had his shoulder pulling him down. Every time they kissed he remembered again how damn soft her lips were.

Will eased back to speak, but before he could say anything, she was moving with him. Her lips were against his again, tongue teasing. And he hated to deny her anything. So he opened to her, and let himself fall into the accustomed pattern between them. He caught hints of the spiced chocolate she was drinking earlier, and the familiar taste that was her.

I’ve missed this, too, came the warm thought. Hers blending into his. It felt so good and like regaining a missing sense. It was as intoxicating as the way her tongue teased him and her fingers toyed with the short hairs at the back of his neck

He finally pulled back for a long moment and sat up, pulling just out of her reach. His thumb stroked over her cheek, and he offered an affectionate smile. “I thought you needed to breathe,” came his gentle reproach.

“You’ve never been one to stop when a woman is kissing you,” she countered, pouting slightly. When he didn’t speak right away, she pushed herself up beside him and carded fingers through his hair, nails sliding over his scalp in the way that never failed to give him goosebumps. “We have all night, all vacation, Imzadi,” she murmured before capturing his lips again with hers.

For all of his upper hand in the play fight earlier, he was at the disadvantage here. And she was a very good kisser. And very good at pushing every single one of his buttons. His own hands stroked, almost of their own volition, over her shoulders, and he pressed light kisses along her jaw, his smile curling against her always warmer skin when she tilted her head just so to give him more room.

Deanna flushed warmly under his attention, coloring and blooming like the coral trees that heavily populated the streets they had walked tonight. Anticipation was bubbling around her, and she had unconsciously allowed him a glimpse of the waves of anticipation ebbing through the city tonight. Her sigh was permission, whispered against the shell of his ear. But he stopped his exploration with a soft kiss to her lips and shifting back from her again.

Her bottom lip pouted prettily, and her hands caught his upper arm to urge him not to move too far.

Lifting his hand, he traced her collarbone before stilling its motion. He tapped gently right above it and waited a long moment. “You’re being influenced by the holiday. All of the people anticipating tomorrow and its joy. This is as far as we go tonight.”

“Will—” she started to protest, letting him into the depth of her own anticipation. “I’m saying yes.”

He gave her another gentle tap with his thumb, feeling her relax a bit more, giving more of her weight to the couch they were sitting on. “And if you still feel the same way tomorrow, after the holiday has happened and all of this build has released, then we’ll talk about it.” He wasn’t saying no. But tonight he wasn’t going to agree to yes. Not with so many emotions outside clouding her judgment. Another tap followed the previous ones, and she sighed.

“I never should have taught partner plexing to you,” she protested, though there was no reproach in her voice.

His lips quirked into a smile. “You love it. It relaxes you.”

“I’m not tired, yet,” Deanna protested, trying to capture his hand and urge it back around her neck like it had been before.

“Did I say anything about going to sleep?” He dropped a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, chuckling at her protest. “I will find chocolate for you. And I’ll cuddle you. We can hold hands. Hell, I’ll kiss you. But right now I’m going to take a quick sonic shower—alone,” he quickly added. “And you should change into your nightclothes. Something like those soft meshy white pajamas you like so much. But actual bedclothes. And I’ll be glad to cuddle you all you like.”

Will pushed himself up and moved out of reach before she could catch his hand and tug him back down again. He was nearly to the door when she made her final objection.

“Will Riker, you know that I know exactly why you’re going to the sonic shower,” she called airily, rolling over and giving him a long stare.

It took everything in him to try to close his mind to her. “I’m going to take a shower.” He turned sharply on his heel and set a fast pace for the bathroom and the sonic shower. Taking a deep breath once the door shut behind him, he began reciting Starfleet officer codes of conduct, followed by algorithms for the engineering systems, and when he lost track of all of that, he did his best to recall the periodic table in numeric order.

He had forgotten how beautiful she looked, drowsy and sleep mussed in the morning. Wearing one of his red undershirts because her sleepwear wasn’t really appropriate for the line he had drawn last night. While he’d managed to sleep in a bit, he knew she would sleep longer. And deeper. Some part of his brain always seemed half expecting a red alert at any hour.

Deanna was finally stirring around ten hundred hours, and the rustling covers were his first clue. A tangle of curls appeared first, then above the coverlet came dark eyes narrowed in his direction. He’d expected her to still be irritated about last night. A bit snubbed by his decision. When he’d emerged from the sonic shower, he’d found her in the bed moisturizing with lotions while ostensibly reading from her PADD. When she finished her arms, he had tucked away the bottle and pulled her close and coaxed her into snuggling, which ended with Will falling asleep as she watched a program on her PADD.

Now it was mid-morning, and he knew she wasn’t going to be happy. So he approached slowly with a warm cup of dulce de leche in hand and a small plate of chocolate truffles.

She pushed herself up against the headboard with a yawn, one hand lifting and shoving aside the curtain of dark curls. Deanna gave a sigh as she accepted the cup and took a long, slow drink. Her eyes met his and narrowed.

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“William Thomas Riker, I want to be mad at you,” she grumbled, settling the cup on the bedside table. “But you’re cute, and everyone is so incredibly happy that I can’t even be mad.” Her words were punctuated with a pillow swung at his shoulder to emphasize her irritation when he flashed a smug grin in her direction.

He caught the side of the pillow and pulled it out of reach. And then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. When her lips parted, he popped a truffle between them and dropped a kiss to her nose, which wrinkled in irritation again that he was out of reach. It wasn’t what she wanted most.

Her eyes closed for a long moment, savoring the treat and the richness of it as it melted slightly in her mouth before chewing and swallowing. And in one unguarded moment, she pounced and used every bit of the mok’bara skills she had learned to pin him for a long moment. He could’ve easily tossed her off, but he let his hands stroke her side, making sure the touch was firm enough not to be mistaken for tickling like last night.

“I want to be very clear that the emotions I’m feeling, which are absurdly happy today, are still other people’s emotions. Like the anticipation last night. And it doesn’t affect my ability to give clear-headed consent,” she outlined, mouth inches from his and finally letting her lips join his for a long moment again. “I know why you said what you said last night,” she continued, dropping another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you were probably right,” another kiss to the other corner of his mouth followed. “But this is me. And you today. And we’ve talked about this before… what happens on shore leave, happens.”

Will let his fingers stroke back her hair, doing his best to tuck stray locks behind her hair. But there was so much of it. He could brush his fingers through it without it tangling. It took some core strength, but he managed to sit up. With another lap of Deanna Troi, and this time his gaze met hers and softened. He nodded and pulled her in for a slow kiss, mouth opening to hers. If we can’t go to the falls until tomorrow anyway, there’s no sense in wasting a good day together. The lips pressed against his curled into a smile.

Deanna could feel the burn in her calves by the time they finally gained a full view of the falls. It was deafening and so beautiful that she was moved to tears. Will’s hand reached for hers, and he urged her just a bit further ahead to a flat rock where they could sit and simply take in the scene.

They could’ve teleported closer to the falls. But there was only a day and a half left before they had to return to Enterprise. They’d both wanted to spend some time in nature. Breathing fresh air. Exercising a bit. Savoring the outdoors.

Thick clouds rolled dramatically over the top of the cliffs. Mist billowed thickly at the bottom and churned the stream at the bottom into white froth. It was dramatic and stunning. And worth every cramp and bruised muscle. Besides, she knew perfectly well that they would use the closer teleport back to their hotel. She could soak in their Jacuzzi tub as long as she wanted.

I’m thinking massages when we get back, he shared, the water too loud to permit any conversation below shouting. His arm slid casually around her back, and she could sense his joy in their shared adventure. The conversation they’d had on the earlier part of their journey about traditions. Promising to take him to Betazad some spring for the annual celebration at the peak bloom. It had traced back to ancient fertility rites.

Thank you for making this happen, she responded silently. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Deanna opened more to hi that she had this whole holiday. She shared the depth of her gratitude. The sense of how much she had needed this, time to get away. To be a person, outside of her role on board. To be freed from the stark reminders of the dark times they had seen. To feel warmth of the sun on her skin.

After a day of anticipating and a day of joy and rapture from the holiday happening around them, even this felt like a respite. To only have a few people around. And to narrow down her sense to herself and to Will. And to remember all of the beautiful things they could share and could be together.

The advantages of her bond meant that she could simply be. And enjoy. Without having to question one another if they were getting bored or ready to go. He’d had the foresight to bring along a snack and water, which they enjoyed when hunger and thirst drew them from the phenomenal view.

It was the shifting light into mid and later afternoon that finally forced them to move on. They helped each other through the rockiest places, Will aware her legs were over taxed. Deanna knowing that his back was bothering him in that one spot that always got knots. When they finally gained the teleport station and waited a few moments for their turn, Deanna found his hand again and pressed it to her lips.

“Thank you for today,” she said softly, knowing the words were small but that he would understand the fullness of them.

“Of course, Imzadi,” the special name came more easily from his lips than hers. But it always banded around her like a warm hug. “Maybe in the next few years we can find our way back here again.”

“Under even better circumstances, I hope,” she agreed, her smile soft but warm.

Their names were called over the speaker now, and his arm slid around her to help her take that last painful step onto the platform when she wanted to sit down instead. “I’m holding you to that,” he murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and using his First Officer tone to call out to the tech, “Energize!”

#my fic #imzadi #otp: imzadi #deanna troi #will riker #counselor troi #commander riker #my messed up space cinnamon nugget rolls

11 notes · View notes

thelordstears · 4 years ago

Text

Oh look, more fuckin’ writing, who woulda thunk it????

"There's no heroes nor villains in this shattered mind of mine. Just phantoms that dance in my headspace and leave a haunting echo of what never was.” - Elijah Vanders

“ These fires creep up my skin and leave me horrified of all the burns I've endured, but alas, they are no scald marks of the body, but of the mind.” - Elijah Vanders

“ I miss everything I've lost, everything I used to be.” - Elijah Vanders

“ This world was never for the broken, because people condemn what they might never understand, they tell you it's all in your head, and that's the issue. It is all in my head, and I wish it wasn't, because I'd rather face reality baring my teeth to the sky and bleeding from the lip then face the things I do on the daily.” - Elijah Vanders

“ I could look up at the stars and ask them "Why oh why am I a broken vagabond of this shattered world?" And all they'd do is blink out.” - Darkin Vagabond

“ I must confess, I feel like a monster, and all I can do really is hide from myself.” - Darkin Vagabond

“ Here I am, yearning for a better tomorrow, but all I do is sink into my blankets and know, there is no better tomorrow if I don't fight for it. And so I sleep the night away, fearing what it is the day shalt bring.” - Darkin Vagabond

“ How can I run from all this pain if it's apart of me? How could I possibly escape myself?” - Darkin Vagabond

"We condemn what we do not understand, and thus, we can never learn. Perhaps if the village folk within Salem would've learned more if they had questioned the falsely accused instead of burn them at the stake, they would never howl answers, only pain.” - Ferdinand Lawlor

“ Perhaps we have damned ourselves, but oh well, this is a world damned to Hell, so what is a damned man in a world that's already on fire?” - Ferdinand Lawlor

“ I've learned Heaven is a right, and we've lost it.” - Ferdinand Lawlor

"The end of a rope can either be a saving grace or the thing that kills a man. I've been on both sides of the spectrum, swinging from the gallows of my own sin and pulled to shore by people who care to forgive me.” - Eduardo Villifex

“ I'm not a good man, anymore. I used to be, as most did, but my heart twisted black and pain is all I know these days. But not because I'm in it, because I cause it.” - Eduardo Villifex

"Dis is a long bloody road I walk, dere ain't no end fo' me, just my enemies. So beware me pale red truck and 'eart filled with a desire fo' vengeance, because on dis road dere's corpses litterin' da highway and ain't none'a em gon' be me.” - Randall Lancaster

“I went through da stages'a grief, but dey forgot ta mention da last fokin' one. Anger.” - Randall Lancaster

“ I'm cold as ice, but me 'eart burns wif'a flame so fierce it puts Hell ta shame.” - Randall Lancaster

"I'm on a stage, the audience claps and cheers, but only for my death. I swing from gallows made up of the pain I've faced, I'm choking on my past, kicking air beneath me in a desperate attempt to save myself from this noose. And yet here I am, sputtering up all this darkness in my history.” - Hermann Pastel

“ I am a man, I have never been Pinocchio, and I never needed Jipedo or the Blue fairy to make me a real boy. So oh Mister Kalarook, you are not the whale who swallowed me whole, you are no puppet master, you are a man, and thus you will bleed like one.” - Hermann Pastel

"In a town of wolves, crying wolf will only get you torn to pieces.” - Sav Gothenburg

“ I am no killer, and so I shalt not use this blade for sheep, but instead it shall remain clean until the wolf who tore into me is in front of me with his empty eyes and bloodstained smile.” - Sav Gothenburg

“ I know what he did in the dark, I know what he made in the dark, after all, he made his undoing.” - Sav Gothenburg

“ This world is not so fond of those who're different, I've watched as my father cut men and women down for defying his belief, and though I have escaped him, I have not escaped the memory, of him. I can still see his empty eyes and his bloodstained blade. I will never be whole, because the hauntings of him still plague me.” - Victoria Vaxwington

“ New York is a graveyard of those who committed the crime of being themselves.” - Victoria Vaxwington

“ I have learned sometimes angels must fall so devils no longer fly, sacrifices must be made so the enemy is put at a disadvantage that will lead to their demise in the future, but I do not play a game of chess, I do not put forth my pawns to become Queen's Gambit. I'd much rather call Stalemate then let someone who fights for me, die for me.” - Victor Da Ville

“ This world is full of devils who want to watch angels be torn from the sky on bloodied wings, and so I bare these teeth of mine and scowl at the sky, because in a world of devils, one must become the leviathan.” - Victor Da Ville

“ I am a man of justice, karma to those who have spilt innocent blood, I am a devil to all those who seek hellfire, and refuge for all who seek warmth.” - Victor Da Ville

"When you love someone so much, you know when you have to let them go. Even if only for a small while, it still pains you to do so. My darling Lizbeth, oh how it pained her to see me slink into the night with the stars, but when I returned to her, as the sun always does when it sinks, we danced under the rays of sunshine that slathered across our beautiful dance of shared love.” - Corrie Vendowoft

“ She's beautiful in all her broken pieces, we've both lead lives that left us shattered, but together we molded this glass into a wonderful puzzle that painted a picture of us, and us alone.” - Corrie Vendowoft

“ It is dangerous, to love someone so completely that you'd put your life on the line for them, but so long as I live in danger with her, I will always accept it.” - Corrie Vendowoft

"I could say my life is almost like a photograph, frame by frame I see the beauty through the lenses of love. Snapshots of this love I have force the pain out of my smile, all I know these days is a fiery passion for the woman I stride underneath the sun with, in her arms I feel so complete, so loved in a world that tried to make me hate.” - Lizbeth Samwick

“ I love Corrie, it's not just something I feel in my heart or my mind, but something that trickles down to my very soul and redefines who I am. I fought my desire for so long, I said to myself "She can't be yours, by God she can't." But when she smiled and ran a hand through my hair I knew, by God she's mine. “ - Lizbeth Samwick

“ I would dance underneath the stars with that woman, follow her to the ends of the Earth and charge into a burning building if it mean saving her.” - Lizbeth Samwick

"We yearn for an answer to existence, but I think it's a simple one. To exist is to simply breathe, but the meaning to life is to love the world, as it has always loved you.” - Sabu Thorn

“ Nature has never been sinful, everything in nature has a reason to be there, the cycle of kill or be killed is only relevant for predators, and we were never wolves.” - Sabu Thorn

“ This world was never cruel, we just blame it for it's naturalities, you can not blame a wolf for snatching it's prey, and you can not blame nature for its defense mechanisms.” - Sabu Thorn

"I find that condemning love will only condemn he who damns it. Something so Heavenly and divine could never be sinful, why damn something as beautiful and complex as love? How much hate must you hold in your heart to despise something that never had to do with you?” - Abby Malroodge

“ The only one who can change me, is me.” - Abby Malroodge

“ Where would you pull your strength from if you've never had to be strong? Where would you pull your bravery from if you never knew what it was to be scared? Ya can't truly know what it is to live without a little bit of struggle.” - Abby Malroodge

“ Life isn't awful, moments are, remember this, because it might save you when all seems lost.” - Abby Malroodge

“ We're stars, shimmering in the dead of night, so twinkle on my friend, twinkle on. The world was made for you, so shine." - Abby Malroodge

"I'm not strong because of my past, I'm strong because of my choices, I am not strong because people hurt me, I'm strong because I rose up despite what they did.” - Morgan Mittel

“ I'd rather trek forward than look back, the future is where I'm headed, so why dwell on the past?” - Morgan Mittel

"The only things that've kept me alive are hope, and myself.” - Obi Zenton

“ I've been through plen'y, can't really kill my spirit, because it's always ragin' with some sort of flame that fuels me. Love, hate, anger. All of these things keep me goin', I spose I'm a mix of different emotions that keep my heart beatin'.” - Obi Zenton

“ I'm not just gonna lie down and die quietly, I'm a fighter, a survivor, always have been, and nuffin's gonna change that, nuffin'.” - Obi Zenton

“ I've already faced the world, so what makes you think I can't face you?” - Obi Zenton

“ I look up to the Heavens and pray, "Lord, please save me, we're all damned these days, save me." But all I've been hearing is the dying cries of men fighting for no real purpose.” - Zelene Clifforde

“ We are not wolves, we're human, why don't we act as such?” - Zelene Clifforde

“Savages with bloodstained smiles haunt me.” - Zelene Clifforde

“ People just don't understand, get in the way of history, you become it.” - Richmond Venwokbridge

“ The hounds of Hell could chase me down and I'd face them with a bloodstained blade and sins painted the color red on my sleeve.” - Richmond Venwokbridge

“ I have blood on my name, I'm practically a death omen.” - Richmond Venwokbridge

“ You can't tear my roots from this wicked family tree, because they'll wrap around your throat and swing you from the gallows of my dynasty.” - Richmond Venwokbridge

“ I prayed to the Heavens that she'd come back, she had to be alive. But as I looked to the sky the only answer I ever got was clouds shifting and the sun baring down on me. My mother was my hero, and they say we mimic our heroes, so might I one day bleed like her?” - Ariella Soro

“ If God was real why would he shatter a believer such as I? I used to say Amen, I used to get on my knees and pray. But all that ever got me was the rubble of my crumbled faith asphyxiating me.” - Ariella Soro

"I've dragged buried truths from the dark into the light kicking and screaming, but who ever knew the truth had claws and would tear into me like a lion feasting on a gazelle? How was I to possibly fathom the truth ripping into me just as karma rips into those who've done wrong?” - Lana Peixoto

“ I've always brandished this heart of mine and a pen. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, so why does blood spill while I write of tragedy?” - Lana Peixoto

“This world has stabbed so many knives in my back, and somedays I wonder how I haven't bled out, but the blood trickling down my jacket blends in with the black leather. Because I suppose in a world where the truth is a crime, telling the truth makes you villainous.” - Lana Peixoto

“A man I knew once told me we're all strong in our own right, its what we do with the strength that matters. But how am I to be strong when all it ever got me was beaten into pavement and whipped with the scars of a thousand bloodstained lies?” - Alaina Crossbellow

“Fear the woman with everything left to lose, because she'll fight like hell to keep it that way.” - Alaina Crossbellow

"If love is a battlefield, I'll grab my rifle and go to war. After all, I'd do anything for the woman I love, I'd catch bullets or sling em, I'd kick ass or get my ass kicked, if you love someone, you fight for them, it's as simple as that, really.” - Rachel Vandemann

“ Isn't it beautiful, to be so masterfully intertwined with another that their heartbeat becomes a melody and their smile a song?” - Rachel Vandemann

“ I stare into bloodshot eyes, alvawys vondering how zese hands are my own, zey have spilt so much blood, vatched men go down in spurts of red from zis Tommy gun I sling over my shoulder.” - Sanders Krauss

“ Zis blood on my hands haunts me, zere iz trouble in my daydreams and vickedness in my nightmares.” - Sanders Krauss

“ I shook hands vith ze devil, vith his hatchet shimmering red under ze starless night sky.” - Sanders Krauss

"I'd rather be the final bullet in a chamber than the ones that were fired off in rage.” - Carlita Hellslinger

“ I'm not the best woman in the world, but at least I'm good enough to end you.” - Carlita Hellslinger

“ He holds my heart, this battered scarred heart is his, because I found in all my loneliness, in all my solitude, in all my anger, he loved me. He loved the ugliest parts of me, and he called them beautiful.” - Carlita Hellslinger

“ I've lived in the dark my whole life, what makes you think I don't know what lurks?” - Carlita Hellslinger

"Somedays all I can hear is the echo of my past. But I suppose the sirens of love are louder. I must confess, these scars bleed, and somedays they define me, by God do they define me. But then I remember, it's only a memory, and you have a future to live, girl, so live it.” - Sage Caesar

“ A woman showed me what it is to love, Rosie in all her beautiful strength, showed me that love is no game, there's no losers nor winners, only people in love.” - Sage Caesar

“ This world will tell you you're not worth it, you don't deserve the space you fill, but it tells lies, nasty, vile lies that poison your mind with falsehoods.” - Sage Caesar

“ Fight on, fighter, you're worth the struggle, I promise." - Sage Caesar

"I'm the scary story monsters tell their children to keep em in bed. Beware, beware, sinners of the witching hours, the Midnight Dove soars with bloodstained talons, and her prey cackles underneath a bloodstained blade.” - Elsa Todd

“ May those you've harmed whisper your deeds, may you meet me in the dead of night while my pistol is clean and my aim is true.” - Elsa Todd

“ No sinner deserves grace, so don't beg at my feet, it won't fucking save you.” - Elsa Todd

"I don't believe in normal, I don't believe in a concrete definition to humanity. Because we're all unique, in our own beautiful ways. It's ridiculous, to shackle humanity to a definition, we're all our own people, so how could we possibly define what it means to be yourself?” - Hannah

“ I'd rather be an outcast then someone I'm not.” - Hannah

“ Watchin' your own son fall from grace is tough, 'specially when you raised him ta be strong.” - Betsie Werdelstein

“ Her smile ain't like nuthin' I've ever see, I could compare her ta the sun, or a garden'a daisies and daffodils, but she weren't never just somethin' beautiful ta look at.” - Betsie Werdelstein

“ I's seen what it is, ta be so in pain, that all ya can really do is weep and hope fo' a better tomorra', but sometimes that hope is the very bullet that lodges inta your heart.” - Betsie Werdelstein

“ I could present the truth on a silver fucking platter, and people would say, "Oh how marvelous, but we prefer the lies crammed down our throats." - Marston Calinfranz

“ I must ask the question, why do people fear the truth? Lies are often sugarcoated, but dare you follow the sugar crumbs that lead to a poisoned cube of sugar? You're ants, to the powerful, being led to a poisoned demise disguised as your salvation.” - Marston Calinfranz

"They say home is where the heart is. And so my heart resides in a pitch black forest of wolves. They snarl, they howl, but to them, I am the moon.” - Haymitch Viers

“ I sympathize for the devils of this world, everyone seeks to understand them, but must realize, it is impossible. You must become him, to understand him. Walk a a thousand miles in his shoes, and see why it was that he spilt blood as if it were commonplace.” - Haymitch Viers

”A bow and arrow only draws back in preparation to fling forward. So remember, when you’re being pushed back, soon you’ll be hurtling forward at full speed.” - Cynthia Layden

“ We're all our own, beautiful in all of our uniqueness, fuck anyone who says you shouldn't be you, they don't know your mind, or your heart, so how the fuck can they judge you?” - Cynthia Layden

“ We're all our own Queens and Kings, we rule the castle of our mind and sometimes, your thoughts, the subjects, they want to swing you from the gallows, don't let them man, don't let them.” - Cynthia Layden

"In a kill or be killed world, I will never die.” - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“I made friends with my demons, they wouldn't dare bite the hand that feeds them, but to all those around them that left them starving, they have a feast.” - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“ You can not, and will not, fucking kill me.” - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“ This world was never cruel, but I am.” - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“ In life, there are no winners, no losers, just men willing to get to the end, and those who are left on the board to rot." - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“ How am I to grieve what did happen, if I always ponder, on what didn't?” - Jill Smithens

“ This heart of mine is broken, I could glug down gallons of gin an tonic, inject this poison into me, but it'll never heal my heart.” - Jill Smithens

“ I've given so many life changing advice, as a therapist I know the signs, the warnings, and what someone should do in the circumstance their mind is working against them. But if only, I could take my own advice.” - Jill Smithens

“ Ya know, they say the past is just that, but then why is it always engraved in my mind as a hieroglyphic is in a Pharaoh of old's tomb?” - Shirley Honeybadger

“ They say, to slay a monster, you too, must become one, but I believe it wouldn't be sinful if the rabbits fought back against the coyotes.” - Solstice Moone

“ I am a warrior of the sun, bounding in the pawprints of wolves with crimson claws as to follow them to their cave of slaughter, so one day they might be slain for their wickedness.” - Solstice Moone

“ We are not a bloodstained race, but history paints us as such. We waged war to gain independence, and they call us savages.” - Solstice Moone

“ Sometimes we must raise our blades, instead of our voices.” - Solstice Moone

“ I guess life isn't always gonna be perfect, because what would we do with a perfect world but ruin it?” - June Northutt

“ I spose we're all ghosts of who we were, snapshots of younger versions of ourselves, perhaps who we were is proud of who we are.” - June Northutt

“ I took Thituna's beauty and turned it into darkness, Vialdir's gifts and turned them into curses, but hail me! Hail me! I am a stature of greatness and sinful divinity!” - Destallo Starrend

“ This wicked magic, oh how dark it is, I can see it, the black glow in my veins, the dark blood that flows when I am cut in battle. But I care not, I've been corrupted, and my intention is not to turn back.” - Destallo Starrend

“ The night sky flows through my veins and the stars no longer sparkle, for they imploded and left the nebula in my ribcage.” - Destallo Starrend

“ 'Ow am I ever to know peace, if I don't know if my son, knows peace? I'm terrified of the unknown, because I have no clue what it could hold, does it perhaps hold every single truth I need ta know? Is it where my son resides, or is he in a shallow fucking grave?” - Barbara Alastair

“ I guess all I really got are my memories and the spark of a cigarette, only warmth I feel these days, is in my damn lungs, burnin' me alive from the inside. Only light I could ever reach kills me. I'm like the moth, drawn toward the flickers of fires set to burn me, but because I'm self destructive, I follow the sparks and flickers anyhow.” - Barbara Alastair

“ We have to remember, we were given life, so why not appreciate this gift we've got, huh? I'm a fixer upper, we all are, really, workin' with what we got. Our little flaws, our little quirks that make us who we are, always wonderin' if who we are is who we oughta be. But you know what? Build a castle made of of the hurt, and embrace that you survived it man, you survived it.” - Lydia Hobkins

“ This world is cruel, hellbent on breaking this soul of mine in half, but you don't break the woman with her heart on her sleeve, you don't break me, I only learn.” - Allie Jekylhead

“ This world was never meant for cruel men, people like to think we're all beasts, vying for a throne, but we're people, trying to fucking live.” - Allie Jekylhead

“ I am no barking dog, when I bark, it's a fucking warning.” - Allie Jekylhead

"I'm paralyzed by a feelin', cause all I got these days are memories that poison my bloodstream and leave me as the aftermath of Chernobyl. How am I ta be healthy, when even my heart is got damn poisoned?” - Vector Beckenheimer

“ It's hard, fearin' for the life of the woman you love cuz her mind is ill. But I guess, all I can do is fight for her, cuz she ain't never been allowed ta fight for herself.” - Vector Beckenheimer

“ Alcohol is a poison, and I'm in chronic condition these days, sippin' on poison as if it would fucking save me.” - Vector Beckenheimer

“ I'm sorry, for feeling this way. Is it perhaps demented, to be not okay? Am I a woman sinful to the core, because I have demons in my mind?” - Friella Beckenheimer

“ Life doesn't seem to treat me right, and neither does my mind.” - Friella Beckenheimer

“ My children.. I'm sorry. But I'm a bad influence, I smoke cigarettes to choke on the smoke and down pills to spit up my remaining life span.” - Friella Beckenheimer

“ I'm not much a woman, these days. Just a lost ember in the wind, and one of these days I'll snuff out. I'm the dying spark amidst ash, the last shred of a pencil used over the years and the girl no one can save, because I can't even save myself.” - Friella Beckenheimer

“ I bleed forevermore, what a shame it is, that I hold the bloodied razor and the glossy regret." - Friella Beckenheimer

“ This world is out'a fokes, but I can't be.” - Kiley Swinton

“ I've found just how demented this world is, followin' the shadows of the pine and the regrets'a the wolves. I found a cave of sinfulness, the sirens sang and beckoned me ta the ocean side where they drowned my sense of innocence, and out rose a vengeful beast by the name'a Kiley fuckin' Swinton.” - Kiley Swinton

“ Karma is fair, Karma is just, she always pays her fuckin' dues.” - Kiley Swinton

“ The birds hum, the sun rises, just not fo' me.” - Kiley Swinton

“ I used ta rule the world, at least, my own little world I could call home. But some people don't care, they'll rip the walls asunder just to reach your heart and cut it.” - Beverly Jackins

“ I've been broken, but this tiara of rust and this throne of love will never topple. My kingdom of isolation, may one day become a kingdom of two. All I need ta build an empire is my daughter, even if it's one of pillows and blankets draped over cardboard." - Beverly Jackins

“ Broken and damned, they call me. But you'd be telling the truth if you just called me, broken.” - Warren Shanaghost

“ I am a damned man in the eyes of the public, they think I tormented two young girls I knew. I'm damned if I did, damned if I didn't I suppose.” - Warren Shanaghost

“ I saw that shadowy figure, I saw that beast dressed as nothing more than a child's fantasy. What a damned creature, drunk off the light of the moon and sinning just because.” - Warren Shanaghost

“ I've done some dumb shit, sure, but haven't we all? I mean, come on, if we ain't a little wild are we really living? The answer is no, if ya were unaware. You can't just live in the boxes they've created, you gotta burst out of that box and rip it the fuck up.” - Promise Ryder

“ The world isn't against you, honestly, the world doesn't care about any of us, it's the people on Earth that do. So look around, someone loves you, someone cares. Just hold onto the little moments, cause those are the ones that really count.” - Promise Ryder

“ I've watched angels fall from blinding heights, but I went with them on burning wings, I am a circus act, forced into the cold shadows of the night.” - Jenscella Harburkens

“ Those who are different are not loved by society, they'd tie me to a stake and burn me, if they so could.” - Jenscella Harburkens

“ Psycho! They say, psycho! But I'm just a lost girl with haunted memories, why damn me when you could damn my abuser? But no, the story of the boy who cried wolf is always told, but seldom told is the tale of Jenscella, the girl who told the truth, but was never believed.” - Jenscella Harburkens

“ I'm a fool for her, I'd dance underneath a stage collapsing, or hold her hand in a battlefield.” - Zoey Shurrick

“ Just because my memories reflect pain, does not mean that is my future.” - Zoey Shurrick

“ My sister is a superhero, in my eyes. She doesn't shoot lasers from her eyes or wear a cape. She wears a suit she hates and a smile despite her past.” - Zoey Shurrick

"Way over yonder I would'a looked at my torn wings and think, by God, how far have I fallen? But now, I sit here in the tatters of my wings and realize, not every plummet ends with death.” - Connor O’Day

“ My nightmares haunt me, my sins plague me, but my love saved me.” - Connor O’Day

“ She's a soldier, and I'd say she's mine, but I think what's beautiful about her is, she's her own.” - Connor O’Day

“ I used ta be ruled by my trigger and how fast I could pull it, but nowadays, I'm defined by love, not my past, not my future. But love.” - Connor O’Day

“ So sisters, brothers and none of the above in arms, won't you join me, on this journey home? We're all so lost, and yet found by each other. We found sanctuary in each other's hearts and home in the storms of love. We are no beasts, no sinners, no saints. Just men, women and everything in-between, lookin' for a purpose on the wind, knowin' it was always family and each other." - Connor O'Day

"Life is like a painting, it gets a little messy and mistakes are made along the way, but who ever said one wrong sway of the brush ruined the piece? We're not perfect creatures, so why pretend to be?” - Jane Van Steenburg

“ I know these days sinners play as saints, but I find once you learn to differentiate the two, the wolf's smile flickers.” - Jane Van Steenburg

“ I'm a black stallion gallopin' on a path'a cobble and thorns, follow me or don't, but this world need heroes, so lets be the heroes we deserve. I don't got no cape, just my twin revolvers and some rebellious bones.” - Granville Van Steenburg

“ I got my guns, and I got my name, and I've learned that's all it takes ta survive. That and a little bit of hope.” - Granville Van Steenburg

"The sun don't shine on da soldiers, and so we learn ta accept da moon. We twist and turn, twirlin' in da moonlight in an ungraceful dance dat burns us wif' our sins. But ey, sinnin' hurts, but so does bein' da hero.” - Winfield Coleman

“Me bones are wicked, can'tcha see? I'm a cold shadow'a the man I used ta fokin' be, ever since I stepped inta the fires'a war, I knew what it was ta die, mate. You hear the story'a the boy who went ta war whole, but came out strong. But seldom told is the tale'a da soldier who walked out wif' rage in 'is eyes and a snarl on 'is lip. War is Hell, dey say, but Hell is Hell, war is war.” - Winfield Coleman

“ We're all damned nowadays, we're all sinners, and so I took it ta the highest degree. Murder'a the conscience." - Winfield Coleman

"I suppose in a world of mystery, we too are unsolved cases, and we must find who we are and search for the clues inside our hearts.” - Carlita Lorenz

“ I'm always going to stay on this road that leads to nowhere, because with those two women, I don't need a destination, just them. I believe in myself and my loves, and I'll always be a star, shining on if only to light up the night sky, to help the moon in her lovely presence." - Carlita Lorenz

“ I'm on a highway of red lights, a path of broken glass, but why not keep this dance in my stride and pride in my smile?” - Hailey Courtney

“ She's my hero, even if she feels like nothing more than a villain. I love her, she's taught me everything, to be strong, to be me, to laugh and enjoy what I have. She doesn't have a cape, she just has a chipped smile and an old tattered sweater.” - Hailey Courtney

“ I'm always gonna face the world with a smile, because if I can face a nightmare smiling, who can stop me, really?” - Hailey Courtney

"The world's a scary place, and sadly, with me in it, it's even more so.” - Keaton Devoncross

“ I'm both the cat and the dog, chasing my tail and running up a tree in cowardice, I'm not a good man, filled with such sins that they could kill any normal man, he'd jump off a cliff side, knowing what I do.” - Keaton Devoncross

“ I worry about things I shouldn't, always been an anxious child, scared of the world and scared of myself.” - Keaton Devoncross

“ Oh how wicked we are, with our claws of iron and rows of needles that prod our gums.” - Keaton Devoncross

“ We made a mockery of these commandments, thou shalt not kill, so instead we killed the mind. Thou shalt not steal, so instead we stole memories and joy. We are thieves of happiness, we stole the stars and let them blink out.” - Keaton Devoncross

“ We have destroyed the meaning of humanity, because these days we're monsters, tearing into whatever's left.” - Keaton Devoncross

"Step into the ring! You'll find here we all share one very similar trait! We wear sins on our sleeves and scars on our hearts! And here, the only way to find purpose, is to fight for it. You might die in the process, but it is a price you must be willing to pay! You are gladiators and gladiatrix's, fight, fight! Fight or die! Kill or be killed!” - Jorovany Ringmaster

“ I am Jorovany Ringmaster! Sinner of the highest degree! I wear both horns and halos, because too trick the saint, I must act like him.” - Jorovany Ringmaster

“ Blood stains the walls, ghosts fill the halls, and a mad man runs the show! You can not escape the arena, for it's always in your memory.” - Jorovany Ringmaster

“ Always was I born to be a beast of bloodied fang and crimson talon, but my heart does beat for someone, but it does not beat for the fool who dares trample the wolf. Adraina makes me feel such curious things, she protects me and says my damning acts are not so damning. She calls me fallen angel, but damned I am, and if she is by my side, damned is she.” - Maya Van Hunters

“ I do not regret what I have done, it doesn't seem to be in my bloodstream, my family tree is made up of rotten bark and branches with gallows our enemies swing from.” - Maya Van Hunters

“ Living is such a damning act, we were born so cold, so bloody. So it seems I never escaped the cycle of cruelty, and I suppose I never shall.” - Maya Van Hunters

“ As I have seen it, this bloodline ends with me, because I bare no child to continue our sinful ways. The wicked roots of my history shall fester and rot, the world will remember the Van Hunters name as a wicked one filled with sinful desires and love for a singular woman.” - Maya Van Hunters

“ I've hit rock bottom a thousand times, but I suppose all it takes to find the top is to climb.” - Rayford Gold

“ My brothers are good men, Robert and Crawford, stuck by me in my darkest times, it's hard to find people like them, who you can laugh and cry with. Some people love you only when it's light, but the ones who're true, love you even in the night. I have found so much, in this world. Money doesn't buy happiness, only friendship and love can do such a thing.” - Rayford Gold

“ I am not a bad man, just one who's made some bad choices.” - Rayford Gold

“ She saved Crawford's life, but her smile saved mine.” - Rayford Gold

“ Don't you dare damn me without knowin' my broken and hellbent past, vengeance is the only thing that drives me nowadays, I'm a broken creature of broken tusk and dented armor.” - Julie Forkroad

“ I got bullets with their names on it, Tilda, Maya, you best watch out, the monster you created is chargin', and her horns will skewer you, choke you on the blood you've spilt.” - Julie Forkroad

“ This future of mine is bloodstained, because my past is bloodstained. I can't escape all this pain because those ghostly women haunt me, their memory is damning, their existence is frightening. But I suppose, on this damned path, I became a reflection of them.” - Julie Forkroad

“ All I have left is my gun and a few empty prayers.” - Julie Forkroad

"It ain't the hatred spread that's remembered, I've learned. Yes, wicked deeds lay on the pages of history, but it's the actions that rid us of the dark, that lay in our hearts.” - Joyce Huffelsburg

“ I have saved so many little boys and girls from a life of trauma and the high risk of finding them swinging from the end of a rope for the sins of their mothers and fathers.” - Joyce Huffelsburg

“ Help people and put other's above yourself, and people will remember you as a hero, but that was never the point. It was always just to do the right thing, wasn't it?" - Joyce Hufflesburg

“ We're all fighting our own battles, whether they be physical or mental, and we gotta attain victory, or we'll never make it.” - Levanna Scorchton

“ I could make an explosion with a single match and an ocean with a single drop of water. That's just how deeply I love, if I couldn't love, I think I'd be driven to hate.” - Levanna Scorchton

"All the money in the world doesn't make one rich, but love? It'll make you the richest person in the world.” - Moriah Castelonia

“ Words can teach so much, but seldom do people speak them in meaningful ways.” - Moriah Castelonia

“ She was just another homeless woman to the world, but when I saw her, shivering on that street, flecks of snow in her golden hair, I knew I had to do something. Everyone passed her by, but if I had, I never would've been found in such a beautiful dance. She's my golden star, wise and lovely. She's taught me so much, we lived in separate worlds, I grew up with silver platters and everything I thought I needed to be happy, while she grew up with nothing but her hope and grit to carry through. Our worlds collided, and now they're so beautifully intertwined.” - Moriah Castelonia

"The question must be asked, is a church steeple dripping with the blood of the fallen still a holy scene? Or has it been scorched by the devil's flame?” - Father Goriah Thorell

“ If we're all sinful, is it such a stretch to say none of us are forgiven? Either God is forgiving and loving, or he's hateful and unforgiving.” - Father Goriah Thorell

“ There's blood on my Bible and sins sitting on the pew.” - Father Goriah Thorell

“ Such damned, and unholy things we are. Sinning with cause, and without it.” - Father Goriah Thorell

"Super heroes only exist in comics and action movies, the real heroes wear cowboy hats, flannels and are no different from you and me. Anyone can be a hero, all it takes is a little bit of will power.” - Mike Pennington

“ I never expected fatherhood to be pushed on me, so suddenly. But.. when my sister left this world.. I had to take care of her daughter, I had to take care of little Dalia. She's a smart kid, made me really proud, ya know? Some people only want her because she's smart, but I love her because she's goofy and fun, full of spirit and wisdom ain't no one ever see coming. She'll blow you away, man, she really will. With all her snark and love, she's a cute kid, and might I one day find her again.” - Mike Pennington

“ I'm no superhero, just a man who's willing to fight.” - Mike Pennington

"To a rich man, the heart is of little value, but to a poor one, it's all he has.” - Dornstecker

“ I've found New York is rampant with corruption and a darkness so smothering I sputter up the air I breathe.” - Dornstecker

“ You can send your thoughts and prayers to those who died, but it won't change a damn thing, all we can truly do is raise our voices and fight against this injustice. Staying silent to such evil only tolerates it, and I won't stand for it. I am a simple goblin, I clock into the bank at seven thirty, I do my job and hope no poor sod comes in with a gun, I clock out and feed my cat and sleep at nine o'clock sharp.” - Dornstecker

“ I have learned we're all paying the Devil's price and he is no pitch forked wielding entity, he's our politicians and our leaders hiding the blood behind their teeth with a pearly white smile. Despicable wolves, every last one of them. Hiding behind their suits and ties, with their large fancy estates.” - Dornstecker

“ We are many, and so why do we stay silent in the midst of horror? Are we to gobsmacked to do anything? Get over the shock of the situation and do something for God's sake.” - Dornstecker

"I think I need to raise my rifle ta fate and say screw you, you've been an asshole, I'm taking matters inta my own hands. Yeah, shoot fate in the heart, it ain't never been very fond of me anyway." - Church Godsel

"My misery overpowers my joy, these days." - Dale Markus

"I play with fire, but it is not I who burns." - Javier Cross

"I used ta say God is always watching, he's by you, he's by you! But now I sit and ponder, where was he when his son bled?" - Nestor Bevelricks

"We will fight until we are dead and buried, and when we are buried we will be remembered by the one's we call family, because family never forgets, friend." - Titus Hawley

"My regret is deafening, I imagine it's the only thing keeping me from hearing the cries of those I've wronged." - Simon Drogace

"He's a fool to trust me, and his family will pay dearly for his mistake."- Quentin Satchel

"If the truth is a sin, call me holy." - Quentin Satchel

"In a world with men like me peace can't exist." - Elton Seaderfault

"My sins crash on me and bury me underneath the wicked soil of my history." - Sean Gale

"So come on, call me a bad man, call me crazy, but I think, you're the crazy one, because you just pissed off Saul mother fucking Northutt, and your life span, has abruptly been cut short." - Saul Northutt

"I battled my demons, they wore plastic grins, and wielded empty promises." - Saul Northutt

"I'm a bad, bad man, walking through the fires of hell, runnin' through these pages wonderin', when the fuck do I run out of pages to tear the fuck out mercilessly?" - Saul Northutt

"We've taken five hundred steps back in this harsh dance with the darkness." - Alonzo Graves

"You trust a man with your life and you've dug your own grave." - Clayton W. Scarrberry

"Don't mistake your scars for weakness, they built you. Be proud of the strength it took to bare them without turning them on other's." - Rando Ballsy

"If my regret caught up to me vengeance would never be an option." - Dallas Lightsworth

"I see my grave error, I became a monster when my people, and most importantly my daughter needed a man they could look up too." - Bardzimi Talos

"Bob fucking Weathers, well I think that'll look real nice etched onto a tombstone." - Alastair Riseman

"How can God judge me for my sins when his sins can't be fucking counted?" - Roxane Vanderburg

"Do not speak of death as if it has seeped through your rotten skin." - Fandelhimer Bewitchasphere

"The world's filled with killers and vagabonds of Hell, guess I gotta make due with what I got and keep my pistol close." - Espifanio Vanderhoof

"These sins are heavy for those that trust me." - Michael Blomquist

"If I am ta be damned, may I burn Jasper with my fury." - Lileen Nallmorker

"The worst place I've ever resided is my memories." - Lucretia Covington

"Mother, father, forgive me. I never wanted to become a ghost haunting your memory." - Lucretia Covington

"My heart is buried in the pitch black forests in a pinewood box." - Belle Nalroma

"My troubled mind seldom brings me peace. Spose it's a wayfarin' stranger on a desolate road." - Gary Heartlock

"No one sympathizes for the devil it would seem." - Ruby Vollstale

"Revenge is a no man wins game, so here I am, losing." - Cole Milwood

"These sins at my back tell the tale of a lawful man forced to break it." - Aristead Solace

"The world has never favored the man who fights, have you ever noticed it's easier to give up than raise your fists? Easier to stay silent, than speak your mind?" - Timotheus Naziger

"The world cares not for the girl with her ferocious bark and fierce bite. And so the dog learns to become cold just as those who shied away from it." - Abaddon Whilsteila

"Fear never got me anywhere, being feared however did." - Abaddon Whilsteila

"You can not trust the wolf not to devour the lamb. So why put me in a field of peacemakers and expect me to come out without bloodstained hands?" - Caldwell Ramirez

"The world was never in your favor, ask the stars a question and you'll get howls." - Caldwell Ramirez

"The world is bathed in a wicked desire for no other reason than to dominate and conquer. These days we're repeating history and expecting a different result." - Nial Morranann

"Devils ain't wearin' no horns, brother, they got pearly white smiles and share your qualities." - Simon Rossburg

"Cold world we live in, spose all the flowers were kilt and all we're left with is the withered daffodils." - Morton Strawbellow

"Here I am, in a Hell of my own making, cause all I do is hurt myself, and Hell is repeated pain, so here I am, making my life Hell." - Ash Caesar

"People listen to words written on paper as if they were truth, they do not need to see to believe, and so all they'll ever do is ignore the truths that are spoken from the tongues of the people. You can not know truth, if all you breathe in is a lie." - Romanez Callowitz

"My mind is a prison of memories, I've lost hope to see my sunshine again, I begged the world not to take her away, she was my one and only. The star in a night sky that felt dark, but she blinked out, and all I'm left with is a photo album that depicts the memories before my daughter became a snapshot of a memory." - Darlita Romilez

"Chivalry dies when it finds war." - Joe Paquil

"I'm cursed with this never ending affliction to burn for my sins. But I spose a father's duty is to keep on fightin', if only to see his kids grow." - Marrows Redshaw

"Ain't the hate, that made me. But the love and the heart." - Samuel Bones

"I've been chasin' down my dreams since I could walk. Does Justice really think he can twist em into nightmares?" - Rodrick Taywillow

Carry on, they say, carry on. But this storm is not so merciful." - Ebenezer Vanderholt

#writing #author #characterdialogue #books #characterdevelopment #dopestuff #write

6 notes · View notes

celestialholz · 5 years ago

Text

A Good Day To Die

Hello, dear Qcard squad - happy slightly belated Tapestry Day! <3 I’m SO SORRY this is a little late, though for once it’s absolutely not my fault! I’m visiting some family up in northern England, and there’s been a hell of a storm that’s outed several power lines locally - they’ve only just reconnected this morning, so I’m finally able to pop this up as my laptop now has some charge! I shall be reblogging all your lovely contributions with commentary tags today too. <3

Let me tell you a quick story before the actual one though, friends, of a girl on a Saturday afternoon playthrough of TNG for the first time, about six years ago now; already a huge fan obviously because we’re in series six, already very much in love with Q and the indomitable captain, but I’d wondered here and there: why was Jean-Luc so special? Sure, he was clever and wonderfully diplomatic, even a bit nuanced, and a nice change of pace from Kirk, who I also loved - but where did this spark come from? Why was he a rebel sometimes, when he seemed to play so much by the book most of the time?

... And then we get to this. A fascinating premise right from the word go of an immediately deceased/critically injured Picard, going into the fascination of a void space, a god cloaked in white with his usual wondrous enigma, and what’s always been to me the single finest piece of character exploration in the whole of the Trek canon. It’s intelligent, deeply amusing, philosophical, psychological, fascinating... we watch this man fall apart and rebuild and learn his lessons, and all the while we have this gorgeous chemistry, this blatant and beautiful homosexual coding, between our two stars, with Q’s ambiguous motives and goddamn, I was enchanted.

... Honestly, it’s my favourite fucking TV hour of all time, and it’s my pleasure to finally celebrate its anniversary properly. My great thanks to @q-card for taking my idea and running wild with it, you marvellous being you. <333

I’d planned to make something much grander and mad for this accordingly, but... well, you know how it is. Very long week, depression... eurgh. So instead, please accept something a fair bit shorter but no less lovely: a parable of ancient Egyptian culture, a delicious dose of angst and love, and the promise of forever from a man who really can’t understand the meaning of the word, but wants nothing more than to offer it anyway. Set during STP, and I for one think this would be a lovely way to end it all...

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

It’s fitting, Jean-Luc, he thinks serenely as he disengages the autopilot with a pang of adrenaline, a silent resignation, stoicism etched into his weathered features. Everything has its time, dear man, and you’ve had more than most.

There’s no real other method of death he’d have been content with, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s explosions, fireworks, heat, when he’s too old for any of it physically, when he’s exhausted mentally, but can still lay claim to the most youthful and adventurous spirits, the very soul of a captain; it’s plunging into a supernova at sub-warp to take out the rejuvenated Borg fleet in the resultant fire, beings he abhors so profoundly, is still so very haunted by all these years later, still has nightmares of his time amongst their number.

The protests of his newfound crew echo through his mind, the panic of five minutes prior naturally fresh; a simple plan, ultimately, forged days after he’d discovered their real enemy. Emergency transport, patterns already established, ready for the simple verbal command of a destination within reach; his friends enveloped, incapable of escape without the certainty of scattering to atoms, horror absolute.

“Admiral, you can’t be fucking serious - ”

“This cannot be how our quest ends! I will never forgive you!”

“... No, no, I know that look - JL, you can’t , you bastard - !”

“They took you once, Captain; we’ve won, dammit! There is no need to prove it further!”

He shivers with their regrets, jaw setting in defiance of his actions - it isn’t about proving anything, and he’d imagined Seven of all people would know that good and well. It’s about setting the universe to rights, ensuring continued prosperity from a species who deserve simply to be left in peace, who had been through more than enough to last them multiple lifetimes... to perhaps finally repaying a fraction of the debt he owed to the dead, the assimilated, of Wolf 359. It will never absolve him; nothing ever could.

But he can ensure it never has to happen again - not to him, not to another living soul in this quadrant. This is their last stand, and he will eradicate them. He isn’t a threat, of course - why would he be, in his tiny vessel?

Resistance is not, and never has been, futile, he acknowledges coldly, teeth beared in disgust. You wanted me to lead you, didn’t you? Allow me to make it so.

“Warning: recommend immediate retreat. Heat shields at thirty-one percent integrity; collision course with Elphoric Supernova in three minutes, thirty seconds.”

“Computer,” he announces frostily, “cease warnings.”

“With respect, my dearest admiral, perhaps you’d do well to pay attention.”

His mechanical heart skips several beats in the same moment, frenzy racing up his spine in anger, anticipation, anguish -

He hasn’t seen the speaker in four years, but he’ll turn up for the last three and a half minutes?

The flash claims his vision, the signature ping resounds, and the air falls immediately silent as he stares at eyes that read eternity and burn solely for him.

“Would you mind explaining what the hell you’re doing?”

He takes a full ten seconds of his remaining few minutes to simply absorb his husband’s presence, the faint lines that crease his forehead, the unspoken despair and the silent love and the carvings of exhaustion, and it’s as though something snaps once more back into place in his soul; as though he’s finally returned home after a solid millennia of travelling, embraced instantly by recalled warmth and comfort and precious, precious familiarity.

... Perhaps he ought to be less furious.

“... War’s over then, I take it?” His voice cracks through the stagnant bridge, and for the briefest of moments, he forgets entirely that he’s voluntarily crashing to his own destruction.

Q’s gaze flickers, stricken, and he regards his spouse with disbelief, crouching before him.

“Hardly the moment.” He curls fingers around shaking ones, squeezes tightly. “Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes -”

“Four years,” Picard intones, hollow, charcoal eyes ablaze. “Four, dammit.”

Q winces, digs finely manicured nails gently into aged skin with sorrow. “Bit difficult to keep track when the universe is falling apart, though I thought my dearly espoused was rather above the ultimate display of tragic hubris.”

“This isn’t arrogance,” Picard snaps in response, suddenly furious.

The god raises a brow, turns from him for a moment to consult the cosmos; he analyses the situation quietly, eyes falling shut before they wrench open in horror.

“... Oh,” he realises aloud, returning a pitying gaze to his husband. “Well, I was planning to take you for dinner, celebrate our reunion, but... it had to the Borg, of course. It was going to be magnificent, you know. All candles, oysters, Risan teal whiskey - imagine you’ve grown a little weary of the family vintage by now -”

Picard’s internal chronometer, borne of years of starship clockwork efficiency, ticks over to ninety seconds, and he’s kissing him with desperation, with the misery of parting, the anxiety of war, the coldness of a universe where no one else can ever quite understand -

It’s brief because it has to be, given the circumstances, but it’s no less intense for it, shot through on both sides with passion and need and loss and reestablished harmony; they break eventually, slipping back to rest foreheads together, and Q is breathless with pain as he whispers.

“My universe has already shattered once, Jean-Luc.”

Picard blinks against the tears that threaten, the anguish that engulfs him at the very thought.

“It’s the Borg, Q,” he explains simply, voice woven with apology.

“... And it doesn’t count for anything that I could click them to dust, I imagine, stop them threatening anyone ever again?”

He smiles warmly, bitterness rich - not at an entity who has been trying to save his people, he could never be angry at that. He’s trying to do the same, isn’t he? Always has.

No, life is merely unfair, and it has to end eventually.

“‘Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it,’” he quotes gently, and a rasp of a sob trips from Q’s tongue.

“Stupid, noble, self-sacrificing idiot,” he breathes, thumb running over the wedding ring unconsciously. “The shen ring, Jean-Luc; you’ve always admired the ancients. The symbol of eternal protection.”

A single tear slips down his cheek, a stammered exhale follows, and he locks eyes to his in true dread. “Please, darling - tell me we can still go for dinner.”

Everything in creation drowns in silence, even as the console roars at him that he’s thirty seconds from death; nothing matters but his words, his long-spoken promise - that his husband absolutely comprehends them.

“I’d be offended we didn’t, frankly,” he whispers. “Haven’t seen you in years, we’re rather overdue a catch-up.”

He kisses his brow tenderly, physically feels the permanence of the relief that bursts through the god; he has to make sure, nevertheless.

“Perhaps tomorrow, we could watch the meteor shower on Tansid VI.” He softly pulls Q’s thumb back to the wedding ring, to the tangibility of what it offers, the vow it proclaims, and runs his own preciously across it. “Croissants. Champagne. Different region, different grapes - I’m not quite bored of that one yet.”

“And the day after?” Q’s voice cracks, brittle as sand.

“Oh, moons of Tanothry Prime, I imagine. Driver’s choice. Though I’d quite enjoy a trip to the Magellanic Clouds, perhaps in a few centuries.”

Another sob, profound this time, raises, stuttered, from his immortal spouse.

“I reserve the right to make it hurt less.”

“Oh, please do, my love. My Thoth.”

Q stifles a laugh, so wondrously enamoured. “The Egyptian god of the dead, of magic and wisdom.”

“‘As for Thoth, he crosses the sky in my presence; I pass safely.’“

“Yes, you do,” the deity vows, adoration warming the severity of his features. “Nothing will ever have to hurt you again, darling.”

It’s a strange experience, dying without fear. He’d been so certain, so determined, but so very afraid.

“Ten seconds to impact,” the computer chimes, emotionless.

“I have a dog,” Picard tells his husband, eyes falling closed. “You wouldn’t much like his name.”

Q smiles tightly, clings to him.

“I do hope it isn’t mine,” he replies dryly, and the human chuckles as the ship ignites around them.

“Oh, it’s so much worse.” He beams tenderly at him, braces for impact. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Yeah,” Q breathes, caressing his ring, and together they burn.

#qcard #Jean-Luc Picard #Q #writing #tng #star trek picard #tapestry day #happy anniversary guys! <3

48 notes · View notes

f4liveblogarchives · 5 years ago

Text

Fantastic Four Vol. 1 Annual 1976

Special thanks to @maxwellelvis for taking most of this one off my hands!

Mon Aug 12 2019 [09:46 PM] maxwellelvis: Okay. This is that Event I told you about. [09:46 PM] Wack'd: You tell me about a lot of Events [09:48 PM] Wack'd: Man it's weird that the Fantastic Four have a Danger Room [09:48 PM] Aleph Null: yes but you can't fuck this one [09:48 PM] Wack'd: If this were the 80s and 90s when suddenly the X-Men were the next big thing and people were bending over backwards to make the Fantastic Four fit that mold, sure [09:48 PM] Wack'd: Here in the 70s it's just weird [09:49 PM] Wack'd: God this is such a mom joke

[09:50 PM] Wack'd: A running gag that's gone unacknowledged as of late is Ben interrupting Reed before he can finish his technobabble

[09:51 PM] Wack'd: It's always hard to know spur of the moment what's worth pointing out and what isn't, until suddenly you realize that a pattern has been continuing for like six issues and you haven't said anything [09:51 PM] Umbramatic: rip [09:52 PM] Wack'd: Reed didn't you build a robot to fix things for this express purpose?

[09:52 PM] Wack'd: You did, way back in #119! [09:53 PM] Wack'd: Roy Thomas remembers 1962 better than he remembers his own damn issues

[09:54 PM] Wack'd: "Wait a minute! You guys are Nazis!"

[09:55 PM] Umbramatic: KILL THE NAZIS KILL THE NAZIS [09:55 PM] maxwellelvis: *Venture Bros music* [09:56 PM] Wack'd: I don't think you are going to be embarrassed. Not because these guys are Nazis but because beating up Nazi cosplayers is still a good thing to do

[09:57 PM] Wack'd:

Sue: Why are these men still fighting World War II more than three decades after it ended? Johnny: You might as well ask the Late Late Show the same thing, Sue.

[09:57 PM] Wack'd: Johnny confirmed for a big fan of Irish television [09:58 PM] Umbramatic: pffft [09:59 PM] maxwellelvis: I've got my 2-in-1 TPB with me so I can read this along with you. [09:59 PM] Wack'd: AND NOW THE RESOLUTION OF A PLOTHOLE THAT HAS BEEN BOTHERING PEOPLE FOR YEARS [10:00 PM] Wack'd: Yes, Doom did take his time machine back. Reed just copied the blueprints first and then made a new one [10:00 PM] Wack'd: Problem solved [10:00 PM] Umbramatic: oh my [10:01 PM] Wack'd: Anyway, Reed is started to learn that the Nazis came from 1946 London. Willing to bet this is something to do with the vibranium that fell in there [10:01 PM] maxwellelvis: You skipped over the part where, when Reed and Sue first start puzzling out how the heck these guys got here, the next page shows Ben just WAILING on one of the troops and yelling at him for making his friends all upset. [10:02 PM] Wack'd: I skip over a lot of things if they insufficiently amuse me or aren't relevant to any particular narrative [10:02 PM] maxwellelvis: "Now see whatcha gone an' done, Otto? You got my ol' buddy here upset an' I ain't even hit ya yet." [10:02 PM] maxwellelvis: I know, but I just found that amusing. [10:04 PM] Wack'd: So the Watcher shows up but is doing his damndest not to interfere after having been put on trial over in Captain Marvel [10:05 PM] Wack'd: *siiiiiigh* Okay, guess we're doin' this

[10:05 PM] Wack'd: I hate "what if the Nazis won" stories that don't account for the historical reality that these guys were kind of dipshits [10:05 PM] Wack'd: I hate them so much [10:05 PM] Wack'd: THEY DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO CONQUER THE UNITED STATES [10:06 PM] maxwellelvis: Yeah, but these are comic book Nazis, remember that. [10:06 PM] Aleph Null: not now max [10:06 PM] maxwellelvis: Shutting up [10:07 PM] Umbramatic: oh great the one way you could make Cleveland worse [10:07 PM] Wack'd: Thomas knows juuuuuuust enough history to irritate me

[10:07 PM] Aleph Null: LMAO [10:07 PM] Larena: People like to pretend the Nazis were these tactical geniuses but they really fucking weren't [10:09 PM] Wack'd: Seriously Thomas knows the Lee/Kirby lore better than he knows his own

[10:09 PM] Umbramatic: heck [10:09 PM] Wack'd: Also, all the long-range missiles in the world aren't going to change their lack of tactical proficiency, or Ally advantages, or the fact that the ground war was going poorly... [10:10 PM] Wack'd: Whatever, the longer I complain about this the longer this issue lasts [10:10 PM] Wack'd: Watcher, satisfied Reed has cracked this, vanishes, and the Four head off into the past [10:12 PM] maxwellelvis: Smack-dab in the middle of a strategy planning session being overseen by THE INVADERS in London HQ. They're planning a raid of Castle Wolfenstein--sorry, Castle Cherbelle. [10:12 PM] Umbramatic: lel [10:13 PM] Wack'd: Hey Max? I know you're enjoying having the issue on hand but if I have to wait for you to say things it's gonna drag this out and, as mentioned, I'm not super into this one [10:13 PM] maxwellelvis: Sorry [10:13 PM] Wack'd: Anyway yeah, what he said

[10:14 PM] Wack'd: ...actually...do you wanna do this issue for me? And I'll just put relevant images where needed [10:14 PM] maxwellelvis: Sure. [10:14 PM] Wack'd: Thanks! [10:14 PM] maxwellelvis: So the inevitable fight happens. [10:14 PM] maxwellelvis: Some things of note: [10:14 PM] maxwellelvis: Namor is a hotheaded dick no matter what decade it is [10:14 PM] Wack'd:

[10:15 PM] maxwellelvis: Powerless or no, I feel like Namor calling Ben a Nazi would result in him being ripped limb from limb [10:15 PM] Wack'd: Hint that Ben is Jewish #354

[10:15 PM] maxwellelvis: Johnny is rather awestruck to see the Original Human Torch and Toro, and just barely manages to parry their last volley of fireballs [10:16 PM] maxwellelvis: Bucky is useless as always [10:16 PM] maxwellelvis: and Cap almost immediately realizes that the smart thing to do is to break up this little ballroom blitz. [10:16 PM] Wack'd: THE WINTER SOLDIER EVERYONE

[10:17 PM] maxwellelvis: Reed does the same, dousing the Torches and getting everyone to cool off. [10:18 PM] maxwellelvis: So the FF explain who, what, where, when, and why, a French Resistance liaison confirms that something rotten is up in Castle Cherelle, especially that the operation there is being overseen by one Baron Heinrich Zemo. [10:19 PM] Wack'd: ...was this really their catchphrase

[10:19 PM] maxwellelvis: Probably? [10:19 PM] Wack'd: Hehehehe [10:19 PM] Wack'd: What dorks [10:19 PM] maxwellelvis: I've not read much Invaders, but it seems like they're trying to channel the spirit of the All-Winners Squadron [10:20 PM] Wack'd: Every comic book website ever uses it as a headline when there's Invaders news [10:21 PM] maxwellelvis: So, they make it as far as France in one of Namor's airships, but are ambushed by Stukas. Toro is even more hotheaded than Johnny and wants to go out and flash-fry them, but Hammond tells him to stand down, they can't afford to give away their position to Zemo before they even reach the castle. [10:21 PM] Wack'd: This is even dorky or when you consider that the Invaders are an invention of the mid-century war comics scene [10:21 PM] Wack'd: And not a team that ever actually existed in the 40s [10:21 PM] maxwellelvis: Well, the All-Winners Squadron I think was a thing, not sure if they ever all teamed up though. It might have been before the JSA. [10:22 PM] Wack'd: Oh! Yep [10:22 PM] Umbramatic: oh huh [10:22 PM] Wack'd: Line-up did have Cap, Bucky, Namor, Toro, and Human Torch back in the 40s [10:23 PM] maxwellelvis: Just before the reach the castle, we get a shot of the Watcher's face in the clouds, indicating that yeah, they're on the right path. Bucky gets creeped out by it. Ben just feels even more nervous now. [10:23 PM] Wack'd: The name "Invaders" is a flagrant retcon though, as is the absence of Whizzer, Miss America, Blond Phantom, and Angel [10:23 PM] maxwellelvis: Miss America is elsewhere now. More on that later. [10:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Anyways, they land mostly undetected, have time for a character bit or two, and split up to cover more ground [10:24 PM] Wack'd: Well hang on! [10:24 PM] Wack'd: Don't gloss over character bits! Love character bits! [10:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Ahh [10:25 PM] Wack'd: Oh this is just exposition [10:25 PM] Wack'd: Moving on [10:25 PM] maxwellelvis: Reed realizes that while they're here, he and Ben are also just now signing up and gets goosebumps, which is rare for him. [10:25 PM] maxwellelvis: Namor professes his hatred of stealth tactics, showing yet again why he will be a Good King [10:26 PM] Wack'd: (So long as I'm tracking when the sliding timescale kicks in, the fact that Reed and Ben are still WWII vets is probably worth noting) [10:26 PM] maxwellelvis: Speaking of which, Reed also gets weirded out at teaming up with a younger Namor and scolds himself for playing Jealous Husband [10:26 PM] Wack'd: And Sue is apparently still a bit hot under the collar [10:27 PM] Wack'd: viagra joke

[10:27 PM] maxwellelvis: I can't blame her here. Dude just refuses to age. How DARE he be so good looking for so many decades? [10:27 PM] Wack'd: The Face of Beauty

[10:28 PM] maxwellelvis: The Torches all team up and it's... interesting at least in black and white to see how the pencils and inks try to make three guys with the same power all look distinct. [10:28 PM] Aleph Null: sue was a star trek fan and really liked spock [10:28 PM] Aleph Null: that's what i'm going with [10:28 PM] Wack'd: Historically what happens here [10:28 PM] maxwellelvis: How does it look in color, Wack'd? [10:29 PM] Wack'd: Is that Johnny is stuck with the all-red-with-stripes look, while Jim looks like actual flames are coming off him--in accordance with how he was drawn in the 40s [10:30 PM] maxwellelvis: And Toro has that look even moreso, at least here. [10:30 PM] Wack'd: I'm going to be completely honest, in this issue, I can't tell any of the three apart [10:30 PM] maxwellelvis: So Namor and the Richards' bust up a weapons plant. [10:30 PM] Wack'd: It's all down to dialogue quirks [10:31 PM] maxwellelvis: He floods the place in his temper. [10:31 PM] maxwellelvis: Skipping over that because the NEXT part is fun. [10:31 PM] maxwellelvis: We get to revisit the events that lead up to Cap getting frozen and Bucky's "death" [10:32 PM] maxwellelvis: Johnny's turn to get the willies as he realizes who these two guys are and what's going to happen to them, things he can't try to prevent or risk more damage to spacetime [10:34 PM] maxwellelvis: So they bust up central ops, then Cap has a confrontation with Zemo. The shield shatters the tank full of Adhesive X, trapping Zemo in his hood for the rest of his days, though in this retelling, Cap actually tries to help Zemo, who refuses and says that not only can nothing get it off him, but he'd rather die than surrender, or better yet, he'll just kill Cap. [10:35 PM] maxwellelvis: Zemo escapes down a tunnel and though Johnny CAN keep up with him, he simultaneously CAN'T because he has no way of knowing if the escape tunnel is booby-trapped and so he loses Zemo in his hesitation. [10:35 PM] maxwellelvis: Meanwhile, Ben and the other Torches take out the V2 bay. [10:36 PM] Wack'd: Yeah they're really going all in on the 60s look for all the Torches here [10:36 PM] maxwellelvis: One of the missiles gets fired, with Ben on it. Jim and Toro can't keep up, but Ben manages to sabotage the missile in midair and steer it back to the castle and pull a Slim Pickens. [10:37 PM] Wack'd: Just a little scruff of hair on the top to tell them apart

[10:37 PM] maxwellelvis: Which is weird because you wouldn't suspect that from just the lineart [10:37 PM] maxwellelvis: which is what I have. [10:37 PM] Wack'd:

[10:38 PM] maxwellelvis: "I thought I died an' went ta Heaven, but then how come I'm lookin' at YOUR ugly kisser, Stretcho?" They managed to get out in time and save Ben from scattering himself all over France. [10:39 PM] maxwellelvis: And assuming that no Vibranium survived the explosion, all is well that ends well. [10:39 PM] maxwellelvis: Well... [10:39 PM] Umbramatic: something something dr strangelove [10:39 PM] maxwellelvis: except Uatu is still in the Baxter Building [10:39 PM] Wack'd:

[10:40 PM] maxwellelvis: Ben realizes that, if the Watcher is still here, that means, that not all of the Vibranium was in the castle. Uatu says nothing, but subtly smiles, leading us in to Marvel Two-In-One Annual One [10:41 PM] Bocaj: Dammit Uatu [10:41 PM] Bocaj: And also the Watchers [10:41 PM] Bocaj: Just your presence is interfering [11:01 PM] maxwellelvis: Okay so, on to part 2 of this story: [11:01 PM] maxwellelvis: MARVEL TWO-IN-ONE ANNUAL #1 [11:03 PM] maxwellelvis: I'll just get the highlights out of the way. [11:04 PM] maxwellelvis: Whizzer. U-Man. Giant flying swastika. There's a guy called The Thin Man. Whizzer. The original Patriot. Ben throws himself off a flag pole. Roy Thomas shamelessly inserts himself into the story. Whizzer. [11:05 PM] maxwellelvis: Also there's a superhero called Blue Diamond. For some reason I thought that's funny in 2019.

#1976 #Roy Thomas #John Buscema #The Main Book

5 notes · View notes

thekitchensnk · 5 years ago

Text

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 16)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

She waited over a month for him to return to the house.

(He will return twice more- but only twice.)

By the second morning of the fifth week of waiting, she had stuck her hand in the sack of rice which they had kept in the corner of the shack, and her hands had found only dust.

In the garden, the sunflowers had died. The persimmon trees had been barren, their branches dark and brown and twisted. Even her spider lilies, which had loved cold damp places best of all, were long since dead. Snow had covered the garden, white and desolate, smothering all life with cold comfort. The land had been stark and empty as far as the eye could see. Nothing lived there. She could have been on an alien moon a million miles away, drifting through cold and distant space.

She had not seen another human soul in weeks and she had not spoken a word since he had left. Her last words to him still hung in the air unresolved and unanswered, as if she had left a conversation abruptly, as if she was still waiting expectantly for a reply.

The last words she had spoken, weeks and weeks and weeks ago, had been "Why?"

She had not spoken since, but she had cried quietly, and her tears had been cold on her cheeks.

It had always been that way when he left.

She had wandered absent-mindedly through their home, throughout this room which they had shared together for so many years, and her eyes had lingered on his things, distant and unseeing, still trying to piece together why she had been left behind again, like trash on the road.

His sleeping mat, pushed against hers, where he had lain, his body cold against hers. His knife, carelessly thrown aside moments before he left. A few coins. A piece of red thread.

It had not been much to remember a person by.

Was that intentional?, she had wondered bleakly.

Cold had seeped into the house through the woodwork despite the hearth she tended. It had always been hard to keep warmth from escaping, but there had been days when she had felt that she might never be warm again, and days when it had been too hard to rise from her bed roll.

The last time she had felt like this, she had collapsed on the road, thinking that it might be for the last time and a mischievous little boy with a fox's smile had found her and taken her home.

She would not be so lucky this time.

Gradually, it had become real in her mind. This was permanent. This was forever. He had abandoned her.

There could be no reconciling herself to that.

She had not been able to understand why.

They had been happy, or so she had thought, before. They had splashed at each other in the river. They had bellowed songs together, arm in arm. They had grown their garden and feasted on fruits and seen the bees bumble amongst the flowerbeds. She had run everywhere after him, and he had never run so fast that she could not keep up. He would give her a leg up so that she could reach the persimmons on the highest branches of the trees, and he had smiled his mischievous smile to see her eat from his hand. He had dangled worms in her face and then she had smeared mud on his face, he had given her a ring, a beautiful, shining ring, and she had kissed him, and as fall had come and gone, they had been happy together.

They had been happy.

(Hadn’t they?)

She had always known that he had the capacity for cruelty. She had seen him exact it on others- the poor shopkeeper, whose girlfriend had left him, the whores in town, whom he had mocked with an offhand and casual brutality. But he had never been cruel to her.

This was perhaps the cruellest he had ever been, she thought, because she had trusted him.

She had looked at him with her bright blue eyes like he hung the moon on a string, like he was the best thing in the world, and she had been shy and tender and soft. She had told him things which she had never told another living soul, about the things she thought she remembered from being alive, about papery lined hands smoothing the hair from her face, and he had looked at that tenderness (at that love, though she had not been able to bring herself to call it that at the time, even in her own head), and it had meant nothing to him.

He'd abandoned her, and he hadn’t even left her the money to buy food.

The day the rice ran out, she had prodded at the fire, and she had made a decision.

For the first time in weeks, determination had burned in her eyes.

Someone had owed her a favour, and it was time to collect.

---

She had hated the grim, dusty expanse of the road, but she loathed it further still when it was covered with snow. They had been too poor to afford boots, and so the snow had bitten at her feet until they were numb and blue. But she had not been able to bring herself to care. She had shivered in her thin greying haori, her legs bare from the knee down, and hunger had grasped at her belly, but she had dug deep and pushed herself beyond it, clenching her jaw ferociously.

The first time she had walked to town with him after deciding to live with him, she had hesitated at the vast, open sky which had towered over her, and she had trembled where she had stood. It had only been the sight of his back fading into the distance, leaving her behind, which had compelled her to walk.

He'd had a month's head start, but she had known that he was out there somewhere on this road walking too, and the thought had filled her heart with fire.

And so she had walked.

He'd had to carry her the last mile of the journey, the first time. This time, she had gritted her teeth, and carried herself on her own two feet.

It had been dark in town by the time she had arrived, though there had been no cloud cover. She had suffered that in the last hour of her trek, with her breath misting in front of her face like a shroud, and her hands stinging as the temperature had begun to drop. Her feet had slipped in her sandals where the snow had melted when it came into contact with her bare feet, and she had stumbled and slipped because of it.

But she had been fortunate; no one had seen her as she trudged through the greying sludge and frozen mud. It was dangerous, even for a girl like her who possessed a strong, bright spiritual power, to travel through town alone. And she had been especially wary, knowing that her spiritual power could not always be relied upon. It had always been fractious and volatile, and especially so whenever she was upset. She had never known whether Gin had managed to make that leap. She had always been at her weakest when he had left her.

The town had been deathly quiet these past few months, with fear of whatever it was that lurked in the woods preying upon townsfolk keeping everyone sullen and silent, lest they be the next one to get themselves spirited off. Ordinarily, Rangiku too would have quailed with fear of ghosts and monsters, but at the time, she'd had more pressing worries on her mind.

She would have been lost even had it been day time. She had always relied on Gin to navigate them around the twisting, narrow alleyways of the town, and at night, with all its strange, malicious shadows and eerie, shuffling denizens, she hadn't stood a chance. Her heart had started to beat quickly, and panic had begun to bubble in her chest. She hadn't known where she was, hadn't known where she was headed. All of a sudden, it had seemed deeply foolish to have left the safety of home, even with starvation lurking on the horizon. She realised then, with a sinking feeling that edged on nausea, that she had no way of finding who she had been looking for, and tears had begun to prick at her eyes.

She had let herself fall bodily against a wall in despair, and had stared up at the brightening stars, aware of the way the cold cut through her clothes and her body shivered.

Her finger tips had turned blue.

Is this it?, she had thought bleakly. Was it all just a joke? Was it all just a dream? Has there ever been anything beautiful in this rotting world?

Her eyes had fluttered closed with exhaustion, and her vision had started to turn and black at the edges. She had let herself float there, miserable and alone and longing for an end to it all.

She had herself retreat into that place inside her then, a place of light and energy, where her powers lay, which had never before been so easy to access.

A strange warmth had rushed through her then, like she was meeting again with a friend she had known forever and not seen in a very long time. It had been a kind feeling, a welcoming feeling, like a cat rubbing up against her and butting up against her face with its head. Don't you dare give up, it had seemed to say. I'm here, just waiting for you.

No, she had wanted to growl. There is more. Beauty exists. Kindness exists. I’m going to find it again even if it kills me.

She had bared her teeth, and had pulled herself up from her slump.

She had stumbled and she had fallen more than once, but she had eventually found herself at the town's bar in her determination, her hair plastered by the cold snow to her face.

And there she had been, warming her fingers by the fire and nursing a bottle of the town's foulest and most virulent home-brewed rice spirit.

She could have collapsed with relief.

"Kanae-san," she had croaked. The woman had not risen to help her, and her eyes had narrowed in consternation at the sight of her. She had paused a while, scrutinising her, and with a sigh, she had slid along the wooden bench to make room for her.

Rangiku had taken a seat gratefully. Having walked almost ten miles through the snow and the freezing wind without having eaten, she had been barely able to keep herself upright.

For the first time in Rangiku's memory, Kanae's hostile glare, which she had never seen the woman without, had been absent. The look she had worn had been no softer however- it had been a pensive look, an expression which spoke of finality, of endings.

"So he's gone then? The boy?" Kanae had asked her, her narrowed eyes scanning Rangiku's face.

Something in Rangiku had crumpled in on itself. It was one thing to know something privately, in your own mind and in your own heart, but to bring it into the world and make it real by telling someone else, to expose your own wounds for someone else to see, was a far more difficult thing by far. She had nodded mutely and had trembled.

Kanae had looked into the distance, and something had tightened in her expression, though Rangiku had been too exhausted to be able to parse what it meant.

Kanae had sighed again then, and it had been a small thing, a regretful thing. "I told ya'," she had said quietly, with a sidelong glance at the exhausted, broken girl beside her. "I told ya', and ya' stayed anyway."

Rangiku had sat slumped on the bench, and had looked up at the ceiling, her eyes beginning to brim with unshed tears again. She had thought Don't fall, don't fall. I've cried enough.

"I-" she started, and her voice, thin and young and soft, had broken. "I never actually thought he would leave me. Not really."

Kanae's voice, though brusque, had not been unkind. "Then ya' were a fool," she had informed her quietly. "They always leave in the end. Or they don't come with ya'. It's all the same in the end.” She paused to take a long swig of her sake. “Ya' got any plans?"

"None," Rangiku had confessed with a fragile, desperate laugh.

"I saw ya' two brats often enough with ya' rice. Ya' have it, don't ya'?" Kanae's eyes had searched her own. "The power?"

"Yeah," Rangiku had confirmed shakily. "I'm strong. It's strong in me."

Kanae's expression had twisted then. "Don't speak of it like it’s a gift, brat," she had hissed. "It's a curse. Ya' hear me? A curse. That hunger will make you degrade yourself in a thousand different ways if it means a bowl of rice at the end of it."

Rangiku had had enough. She had walked all day through the snow. The cold had sunk into her bones. She had gotten lost and she had been terrified every minute she had been in town alone. She had been tired. "Speaking from experience, Kanae-san?" she had said bitingly, her eyes flashing.

Kanae's lip had curled, and but something in her eyes had lit in satisfaction. "Yes," she had said. "Yes I am. What are ya' going to do now that you don't have the boy to get ya' rice?"

Rangiku had sunk further down the bench sullenly, and quiet had reigned for several moments. The fire had spat in the grate in front of them, and Rangiku had watched intently, loathing all of a sudden her dependence on the woman who sat beside her.

"Why are ya' here, brat?" Kanae had asked, swilling the spirits in her cup.

Rangiku had gritted her teeth at first, and then had exhaled, and inhaled again deeply, the sort of inhalation which filled the lungs and girded the heart for pain and uncertainty.

"Once upon a time," she had said, giving Kanae her own sidelong glance, "one spring day, long ago, I found myself sitting outside the grocery shop, the only grocery shop in town. Gin-" Kanae's eyes had narrowed at the mention of his name- "Gin had pissed off the shopkeeper, because of course he had- he never met a person he couldn’t piss off- and so to punish him, he said that only one child was allowed in his shop at a time because we couldn't be trusted not to steal." Rangiku had paused, caught up in the memory. "Joke was on him, because his food was so crap that there would have been nothing worth stealing. That shop was an extortion racket, Gin always said. We grow-" she had caught herself, "-grew better stuff in the garden anyway."

Kanae's face had been impassive, and her eyes like steel.

"So there I was, that spring day. It had been my first day in town actually. I had been terrified the whole day, and it had felt like all the men's eyes were on me, roaming over my legs and over my chest, undressing me where I stood. But you know how that feels, don't you? I don't need to tell you about that. Not you. He held my hand the entire time, you know? It hurt, he held it so tightly. I had little crescent moon bruises on my fingers. But it would have hurt more had he never held it in the first place.” Rangiku’s expression tightened painfully. “When someone grabbed at my hair, he drew his knife, and they backed off. We changed his yukata for another one at the pawn shop, and it was so long on him that he had to hold the hem in one hand. He looked ridiculous. We went to buy bone broth. We walked hand in hand the whole day, and then, when he left me, you saw me sitting outside the shop that day, and you said something to me."

Kanae had been stock still, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.

"You said he was dangerous," Rangiku had said quietly. "I couldn’t believe it. Not then, not now, and not ever, I think. Maybe it’s true, and maybe you’re right. I don’t know. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think that.” She absent-mindedly twisted the ring on her finger. “You said a whole load of creepy stuff, which I didn't believe at the time, and I barely believe now, and you said 'One favour.'" She had paused, and she had leaned over the bench and had looked Kanae straight in the eye with her own bright, desperate eyes, so much like forget me nots. "’One favour’," she had repeated. "I could do with a favour right now, Kanae-san. Help me."

The silence had stretched on for several, fraught moments before Kanae's face had taken on an odd, ugly look.

"Alright," she had said, weighing her up. "Alright. Never make promises ya' not willing ta' keep, brat. That's my first favour ta' ya'. You get that one for free." She had paused. "What do ya' want from me?"

Rangiku had been thrown, not expecting such an open-ended question. "What do I want?" she had echoed in confusion. "I don't know what I want."

"Then we might as well end this right here and send ya' packin' right back home.” Kanae had hissed. “I'm not here ta' sort ya' life out for ya'. I'm not ya' mother. Fuckin' 'Help me.' Step up and take some fuckin' responsibility for ya'self for once in ya' fuckin' life." She had gotten to her feet, as if motioning to leave.

"Wait!" Rangiku had cried. "Wait!"

Kanae had paused, and turned to look at her with loathing in her eyes.

"What? Do ya' want to stay here? Do ya' want to leave? Do ya' want ta' follow the boy out of here? What do ya' want from me?"

"I want-" In truth, Rangiku had wanted many things, but mostly she had wanted the whole sorry month never to have happened, for Gin never to have left, for the two of them to be abed and sleeping, huddled with the other against the bitterness of the winter winds. But she had known that there was no use for wishing, not in a town like this. She had taken a breath. "What I need-" Kanae had nodded in something resembling approval "-What I need, right now, is food."

"And what ya' need for food is work."

"Right. So I guess what I need... is a job?"

"Not so stupid after all," Kanae had mocked viciously.

Rangiku had ignored her. "Where can I get a job, Kanae-san?"

Kanae had gestured around. "Ain't many jobs here for a beautiful girl except the oldest one in the book." She had given her an inscrutable look. "Don't think the boy would like to know that ya' had to resort to that."

Rangiku's heart had sank, and something had curdled low in her stomach with dread. Weariness from the long walk had set in, and the cold had settled into her bones.

"I don't want to do that."

Kanae had laughed a hollow laugh. "You stop carin' after the tenth, the twentieth, the hundredth. Food is food and money is money."

There had been a beat of silence. Rangiku had given her a deep, soul-searching look.

"I don't think even you believe that. Not really," she had said quietly.

There had been a long pause, during which Kanae had avoided her eyes. When she had finally spoken again, she had continued as if Rangiku hadn't said a word at all.

"I can get ya' an interview, I think," she had said suddenly. "But ya' going ta' have to do the rest on ya' own."

"Doing what?" Rangiku had asked curiously.

"Does it matter?" Kanae had said irritably. "Like I said, money is money and food is food."

"Will it be far away?"

"Fourteenth district, West.” She had paused. “Ya' can still see the shadow cast by the walls of Seireitei when the sun is low in the sky in the mornin' and the starlin’s are flyin’ overhead."

There had been something wistful in Kanae’s words, and Rangiku had noticed it at once. She had been immediately intrigued, attracted like a moth to the flame by the thought of eking out something of the whore’s mysterious past. Heartened by the prospect of getting her life sorted out, she had found curiosity nudging at her

“I didn’t know that you had been as close to where the shinigami live as Fourteenth, Kanae-san,” Rangiku had said in wonder. “When did you live there?”

“Who said I lived there?” Kanae had spat, turning on her immediately. “Ya’ don’t get to ask me questions. I said I’d do ya’ a favour, not tell ya’ my life story. And I’m tellin’ ya’, brat, I’m livin’ to regret whatever madness possessed me. ”

Rangiku’s face had fallen, and she had bitten her lip. She had stared up at Kanae with her large eyes, and Kanae had avoided them. The whore had taken a shuddering breath then, had tilted her head back, and had slowly closed her eyes.

“It was a long time ago. It was… Not a bad place. For me. For a time.”

(Years later, Rangiku would remember her words, and the brittle kindness of this woman who had nothing, this woman without whom she would likely have never made it to Seireitei. She would imagine her looking back at the Floating Moon, lost and alone with a baby in her belly, an uncertain future looming over her head like a sword. On nights like those, she would pour out a cup of sake for the woman and take it in one shot, its fire burning her throat, and she would send thanks to whatever gods still listened that she had ever been fortunate enough to meet Kanae.)

She had sighed, and it had been a small, weak thing. “When ya’ get there, ya’ ask for Fujisawa Yuki. Tell her…” She had trailed off. “Tell her that if Kanae ever meant anything to her, she’d make sure that ya’ got a job.” She had paused. “And ya’ best give her this, just to be sure. I don’t need it anymore.” She had slipped off the fraying string bracelet she kept on her wrist, seized Rangiku’s hand, and had slid it on to hers. Her hands had been cold, despite the fire, and her hands had had a vice-like grip. “Lose this, and I’ll kill ya’. I swear it.”

Rangiku had been silent whilst she contemplated the band on her wrist. She had toyed with it, twisting it between her fingers idly. “Who’s Yuki?” she had asked curiously.

Kanae’s expression had twisted. “What did I say about questions?”

“Kanae-san, how am I even going to know which one Yuki is if you won’t tell me anything?” Rangiku had gritted out in frustration.

Even Kanae had not been able to argue with that, though her features had arranged themselves into her perpetual sneer. “Just knock and ask,” she had said, as if Rangiku was a simpleton. “Go after lunch hours, but before the sun sets. They’ll be getting’ ready then.”

“Is that it? Is that everything?” Rangiku had asked, confused.

“What more can a whore give ya’?”

“They’ll give me a job? Just like that?”

“If ya’ clever and play ya’ cards right, then yeah. Yeah, they should.”

Rangiku had blinked, the fire shining in her eyes. She had looked at the woman in front of her, struck suddenly by the weight of the favour that the woman was doing her.

For her entire life to that point, it had been Rangiku, alone, and then Rangiku and Gin. Her world had been a small thing, a private world of two, and she had never thought that she might find any help from beyond its limits.

She was overcome, suddenly, by the fact that someone might go out of their way to help her, and a wave of emotion had rushed over her. She had stared, for several moments, and Kanae had frowned in discomfort, and jutted her jaw out distrustfully.

“What?” she had snapped.

Rangiku had grabbed her hand, and the woman had flinched.

Rangiku had not known then the violence done to the women who solicited on the streets, who were not fortunate enough to have someone watch their backs and fight off violent customers, as she would do for the women of the Floating Moon. That lesson was still to come. But she had taken the woman’s hand anyway, and had looked up at her with gratitude.

Her eyes had met Kanae’s, and for the first time, Rangiku had seen unease in them, an uncertain vulnerability.

“Thank you,” Rangiku had said simply; sincerely.

Kanae had looked at her with incomprehension, and snatched her hand away as if it had been burnt; she had looked wary, wary and troubled, as if she had longed to escape.

“Yeah, well, I said it, didn’t I? That ‘one favour’.”

It had been pure and more honest than anything Rangiku had ever heard her say.

“Why did you offer to help me, Kanae-san?”

Rangiku had known that Kanae hated prying, and yet she had not been able to stop herself from asking. She could count with one finger the number of people who had ever helped her. To have that number doubled suddenly in the course of an hour had been earth-shattering, and she had wanted to know why it was that Kanae had been moved to take pity on her, when so few had ever done so before.

Kanae had risen then. As she had stood, the light of the fire had caught in her hair, and played about in the its black strands. She had seen the silver in her hair, and she had thought Kanae is growing old; it happens to everyone.

It had not made sense to Rangiku until over two years later, and when it had, it had been like divine revelation.

It had only been with her back facing her as she moved to leave that she had answered.

Her voice had been small. She had never heard this woman, a woman made of fire and venom, talk in that way, and she never would again.

“I owed him one.”

She would never see Kanae again.

---

When she had finally made it home, she had looked around the empty shack and her heart had clenched painfully in her breast.

He had not been there, but that did not mean that the house had been empty. It had been filled with the memory of him, with a thousand different days and nights they had shared with each other, a thousand days and nights and memories.

In the plainest terms, it had just been a house, a rundown wreck with four walls, walls which had had gaps that the rain and the snow fell through. It had been a wooden door which creaked and needed a forceful shove to open and which had never once closed properly the entire time she had lived there. It had been two sleeping mats, pressed seam to seam together, where two sleeping children had lain once upon a time, and that was all.

But this was where she had learnt to smile.

Over there, on his sleeping mat, she had opened her eyes for the first time on the first evening, after he had carried her in his thin arms away from the dusty road where he had found her, after he had scooped her out of danger, after he had saved her.

He had put a cold, smooth hand on her forehead, and the first thing she had seen when her eyes had flickered open had been the silver of his hair as he had inclined his head to hers. Her body had been leaden and painful with bruises and she had not been able to move.

He had cooked for her, and she had drifted in and out of consciousness. She had stolen his blanket, and he had lain by her side the whole night long, watching after her with care. She had awoken screaming, but he, this boy, this stranger, this person who had owed her nothing, had placed his hands against her shoulders and had told her that everything was going to be alright.

When she had awoken that first evening, he had teased her. He had taken the first words that she had ever said to him, "Gin... What a weird name..." and had turned them back on her. He had called her name weird. And despite the battery and the bruises, the pain and the fear, a smile had tugged at her lips.

It had been her first smile in a very long time, and it had been for him.

Over there, by the hearth, he had pricked her with his needle because she had been fidgeting whilst he sewed her yukata up. He had drawn blood, and he had been intensely angry- not at her, but at himself. She had turned to him in the firelight, and had smiled gently at him, to soothe his anger, and he had smoothed away with the blood on her skin with the brush of his thumb. He had scratched at his head and made excuses for not sewing her clothes earlier. He had lied a boldfaced lie, and said "I thought ya' were makin' a fashion statement," and she had fumed at him.

By the door, they had stood once upon a time, clutching each other for balance, hand in hand and breathless as the heavens had split apart and the rain had pelted the garden. It had been a day of dark fertile earth and laughter and shrieks of pretend outrage.

As they had stood pressed against each other, his hair plastered to his vulpine face with water and hers a mess of tangled gold, she had felt a second beat in her chest, a ghostly after echo, and she trembled in the knowledge that it was his heart, his heart beating in her chest, which he had given to her to put with her own for safekeeping.

They had been seamless and perfect, two things made into one, gold and silver, bright and dark, girl and boy, and she had wished for it always to be so, for the two of them to stand there for the rest of time, or to otherwise die because she had been certain that she would never again be happier than she was at that moment.

"The fox is getting married," she had told him breathlessly, and his eyes had opened ever so slightly, sharp and bright and beautiful. She had been overcome all at once, suddenly shy, and she had moved the topic on quickly in a bid to distract him from her own frantic heart, which had beat so hard that she had no longer been sure that it was still in her chest.

(It had been in his, though neither had known it yet.)

On the far side of the room, once upon a time, he had knelt on the floor and she had made him close his eyes. She had summoned up every inch of courage in her small body, and she had kissed him. Her body had thrummed with nervous energy, and he had been struck dumb, but afterwards, he had lain dazed on the floor, an incredulous grin stretched over his face.

All these scenes had played before her eyes as she had prepared herself to leave the house, the house which they had shared and which had seen so many of her smiles, for the last time.

She had not known even then whether she was leaving to follow him or whether she was leaving to make something of herself on her own, and even two years later, she still didn’t know. The thought that he had been out there, in the world, alive and smiling and so much himself had filled her half with agony, half with delight, and she had been torn. Would it be worse, she had wondered, to never see him again or to have him look at her in disgust?

She hadn’t known. She still didn’t.

She had packed up all her possessions in one of the blankets. It had not amounted to much- the bowl, from which they had always eaten together, the pot in which they had boiled water, the clothes on her back, and the ring on her finger.

She had sat and looked a while, preparing herself to finally draw a line under this chapter in her life- the first she had ever truly lived, with all its beauty and its sunshine and its warmth.

She could have hated him for leaving, but she would always love him for this. Ghosts of memories had played before her eyes.

And then she had left.

She had made it no more than fifteen steps from the door, past the spider lilies buried in the snow, before she had turned on her heel and ran back.

There had been ashes in the hearth. Wildly, she had torn the empty rice sack down the seams and had turned it inside out. She had taken a handful of snow, and the bite of the cold had barely registered in the ferocity of her concentration. She had thrown it into the ashes, and with a stick, she had mixed water and ash until it resembled a thick, black paste.

And with her stick, she had begun to write.

When she had finished, she had stood, biting at her lip fiercely, her eyes bright. She had picked up her possessions, walked to the door, and paused. And then she had left, her blanket made into an impromptu bag, clanging as it banged against her back.

She had not looked back a second time.

---

He flipped the sack over desperately, hoping against all likelihood that there was something written on the other side. There was nothing- just the stamp of the rice grower. He flipped the thing over again in frustration to reread it. It was such a short letter that it didn’t take long.

She had signed her letter with her full name, despite their closeness (their former closeness now? He could not say, and the thought unsettled him slightly.)

There was something funny about that- as if she had remembered in a rush that letters were supposed to have formal signoffs and had tried to achieve the lofty register despite the fact that she must have known he wouldn’t care- but try as he might, his smile was curiously hard to find

Gin, the letter read, I don’t know whether you will ever see this, because I don’t think you’ll be coming back this time, but I’m leaving. It’s still snowing.

It’s been five weeks since you left.

I’m sorry if I did anything to make you leave. I’m not angry that you left. Not all of the time, anyway. I’m just sorry that you felt like you had to.

you’re a bastard and i hope you’re miserable at shinigami school. You deserve it, you foxfaced jerk. I’ve been miserable without you. It’s hard to sleep without you. The nightmares are always worse when you’re gone. Why did you leave? you bastard

I don’t know whether I will ever see you again. Does that make you feel as sad as it makes me feel?

I thought, if I never saw you again, that I wanted you to know that I wanted to tell you something. I couldn’t tell you when you left, because you were there and gone too quickly and I never got to say it to you.

The thing I wanted to say to you is this: thank you. Thank you. Thank you for the home you gave me. Thank you for the food you gave me. Thank you for the garden and the flowers and the good times. Thank you for saving me.

Thank you for being my first and only friend, Ichimaru Gin.

Matsumoto Rangiku

A year later, Ichimaru Gin looked into the distance, his mouth a tight line. A wazikashi hung loosely at his hip.

He watched as if he could see her back retreating into the distance, and he felt a bitter irony, a mocking hatred, to be on the receiving end for once.

She was gone. She’d left almost a year ago.

She had not waited around for him.

Unbidden, a soft smile crossed his face, and he turned to face the bright, cold sun that was shining through the cracks in the heavy, iron-grey clouds. Its light played in his hair, and he exhaled softly.

She was gone. She had clawed her way out of the deep depths of their poverty, and had found the will to leave on her own two feet, by herself. The thought filled him with a strange, gentle joy, and a look of determination crossed his face. Deep down, stirring in his soul, he felt a small, strong pride. Good for her, he thought softly. Good for her.

He could imagine her- teeth gritted in determination, eyes bright, hair a beautiful tangle about her shoulders.

He could not help but feel an echo of that same determination play about his own face.

This action, this decision, it was all her.

When fear and indecision had paralysed her, the sight of him moving on had always provoked her into moving on her own. It had been so the first time they had walked into town together. It was the same now.

It must have been hard for her, he thought, but she’d done it. He could feel proud of her, for that.

He looked out, the sack the letter was written on clenched tightly in his fist and his eyes narrowed in the pale light.

Where are ya’?, he asked the world. What are ya’ doin’? Are ya’ safe, and well, and happy? How will I find ya’? How are we goin’ ta’ meet again, Rangiku?

They would meet again.

He was certain of it. He had known, deep down, even as he was leaving her, that it could not be for long.

They could no more be apart than the day and the night, the moon and the sun; they were too wrapped up in one another, him and her, their souls and destinies intertwined in some deep, unfathomable way which sent him spiralling. That they would see each other again had felt like an inevitability.

(He was right, though he had not understood it at the time.

The sun rose in the sky, and as it did, the night receded. The day shone and the morning chorus sounded, and as it did, the velvet hush of the night fell. Each was conditional upon the other, and they were part of the same thing, the grand, immortal rhythm by which the universe was bound. But the day and the night could never occupy the same time and the same place, and the sun and moon never touched except when one eclipsed the other.

Always, always, they would be bound in the same old cycle, doomed to chase each other forever and doomed never to touch.)

It was just a matter of time.

He took one last lingering look at the last place where he knew she had last lain months before. He wished that the space still spoke of her presence, that there was something of the sparkle of her eyes and the dismal braying of her singing and the chaotic, good-natured chatter which spilled out of her as she had talked to him, but there was nothing- only dust, cobwebs and the memory of the girl.

There was nothing here but the absence of her.

Conventionally, it would have been a long, wearisome journey back to Seireitei; it wasn’t for him, not anymore.

He lingered for a moment, and when he was done, he turned on his heel. His shihakusho billowed about him in a stream of black, he flickered in the air, and in an instant, he was gone.

The wooden boards which made up the walls of the house creaked. Outside, it began to snow.

---

(When he passes through that door for the next and final time, he will be dead.)

---

#bleach #gin ichimaru #rangiku matsumoto #ginran #ichimaru gin #spider lilies #this chapter took forever to edit #young Ran is so soft and so sad and yet so fierce #and a lot of women help her along the way #we also love all that s y m b o l i s m #it piles up quickly fam #we've got spider lilies and the fox's wedding and the tin ring and the bloody needle #no one cares #but I'll do a super dweeby breakdown for anyone who wants it

28 notes · View notes

douxreviews · 6 years ago

Text

American Gods - ‘The Ways of the Dead’ Review

Mr. Nancy: "Well praise Jesus and four more white zombies!"

Stop me if you've heard this one, but a Zombie and a Leprechaun walk into a swingers party...

This was by far the Bryan Fuller-est episode of American Gods since Bryan Fuller left the show. Not just the tonal soundscape during the lynching, which couldn't help but invoke 'The Bone Orchard,' but also in the way it used its imagery and the episode's plot's relationship to the larger story being told. I, for the most part, liked it.

As was the habit in season one, we stop off for an episode in a small town and explore a god or situation that wasn't really part of the novel but could be seen to be existing alongside the book's events. It makes me wonder if some portion of this episode's conception had its roots before Fuller left, as it's exactly the sort of world exploration that he liked to do, and which seems to have been the main point of contention between him and Neil Gaiman.

But, of course, I may be wrong about the extent of that contention, and perhaps Neil plotted this one himself. Who can say from the outside.

So, in the town of Cairo there exists a funeral parlor run by modern day manifestations of Anubis and Thoth. Mr. Jacquel and Mr. Ibis, respectfully. This isn't news, we've known that for some time. Shadow has made his way to the City of Cairo, and is staying with them for a bit. So far, so canonical. But this week we learn that the town of Cairo is also home to the vengeful spirit of Will James, a black man who was lynched, shot, and apparently burned after a white woman whom he had been observed passing in the street was later found murdered. Since that day, Will has been disfiguring the bodies of black men who die in the town, in retribution for the other black residents of the city not helping him as he was being murdered.

The way that Will James appears in the modern day is the most Fuller-esque use of imagery on display here, incidentally. The flaming head on top of a pole, presented in full view in all its strangeness is very much in keeping with the confrontational way strange imagery was presented as just existing during season one. It made me realize how much I'd been missing season one's visual style this year.

I think that this narrative thread could have benefited from a little more clarity. Apparently, Will James' desire for justice is sated by possessing Shadow and making a speech about injustice at a funeral attended by about ten people. So, is that it? Will the local dead no longer be disfigured post-mortem by his angry spirit?

And as long as we're asking questions, is Mr. Nancy correct in his insinuation that Ibis and Jacquel have been assisting the spirit in order to get more dead bodies in the door? Was it just a coincidence that the latest victim was Ruby Goodchild's brother, leaving Ruby with nothing to stay in town for? Why was Nancy following Jamal Goodchild? Did he know what was going to happen, or did he cause it?

I think that mainly the show was trying to open a discussion about race and faith in America, but I was left unsatisfied with how little we got to know about anyone involved's motivations.

But that was just the A-plot. Meanwhile, Salim, Ifrit, and Wednesday take Wednesday's recently acquired magic spear to the king of the dwarves to get its magic fixed. They get there and Alviss, the aforementioned king of the dwarves, looks at it and says, 'sorry, I can't help you, I'm the forge guy. You need the magic rune guy.' Wednesday and company leave, having accomplished nothing at all. Honestly, this whole plot thread was a complete waste of time, outside of Alviss being played by Lee Arenberg, fka everyone's favorite character on Once Upon a Time, Grumpy.

The road trip scenes with Wednesday, Ifrit, and Salim have some quality bitching and I like that they're addressing what it means for Salim to be a devout Muslim in a world where he knows for a fact that all the other gods are real. It still felt like a waste of time in this episode, however. Also, Ifrit's irritation at Salim's faith in Allah seemed to come out of nowhere.

And then there was the C-plot. This was without question the best parts of the episode. Laura and Mad Sweeney get to New Orleans and go clubbing with Baron Samedi and his lovely partner, Maman Brigitte. Laura gets a mostly finished potion to restore her humanity, and of course they end up having graphic, meta-physically partner swapping sex. You know, the way everyone does on their first trip to New Orleans. I loved Samedi and Brigitte's relationship. I love the way they interacted with Sweeney and Laura. I really love that Laura saved herself from Argus' dimension, wherever that was. And there aren't words for how much I love that they're acknowledging Sweeney and Laura's incredible chemistry together. I'm 'shipping those two so hard. Also, holy crap but Pablo Schreiber is ripped. I had no idea.

Quotes:

Wednesday: "I have things to do and people to see. And I shall be seeing them and doing them alone."

Ifrit: "Thomas Jefferson said all men are created equal. But he still owned slaves."

Ifrit: "Look, there are many gods, Salim. And they are all as selfish as that one is with his women."

Bilquis: "I am sustained by the tranquility of love." Reverend: "God's Love?" Bilquis: "Something like that."

Salim: "Your truth, it is not my truth."

Laura: "I have a long history of really shitty impulse control."

Wednesday: "So the twelve saffron robed monks chanted as one, 'Have a little melon, Kali baby.'"

Bits and Pieces:

-- Mr. Jacquel's absence is getting increasingly awkward. Moreso since I can't seem to find anywhere online the reason for it. Was he just prevented from returning by his Star Trek: Discovery commitments? Was he part of the Fuller fallout like Gillian Anderson and Kristin Chenoweth?

-- Their workaround at the moment is to have Anubis only appear in canine form. Which works I suppose, although that was clearly a Doberman and not a jackal.

-- That said, how wonderful is it to have such a huge percentage of the cast, both gods and mortals, played by actors of color?

-- I don't understand what Bilquis wants from Ruby Goodchild. It can't just be that she wants to absorb her, or she'd already have done it. It seems a little convenient that Ruby's brother and grandmother are both dead now.

-- Minor point, but they confirmed my theory on Sweeney's luck getting worse the farther he's away from Laura and his coin. It's nice to be proved right.

-- Strange coincidence, but Maman Brigitte also turned up in last week's episode of Cloak & Dagger. I'd never heard of her before. Also, popular Constantine antagonist Papa Midnite is basically Baron Samedi with a different name, and now Constantine is on Legends of Tomorrow. I think my universe is contracting.

-- Wednesday made a tiger balls reference to Mr. Nancy! That was a nice little nod to the book.

-- The postcards of the hanging were an oblique reference to a real life event in Duluth, Minnesota in 1920. They took pictures of the lynching of three African American circus workers who had been accused of rape. And they did indeed sell them as postcards. That's the reference Bob Dillon is making in the first lines of the song 'Desolation Row,' which was covered by My Chemical Romance for the Watchman movie. 'They're selling postcards of the hanging/ They're painting the passports brown/ The beauty parlor is full of sailors/ The circus is in town.'

-- It's a small detail, but I love the choices Orlando Jones is making as regards when he slips back into an African accent and when his accent is modern American.

1940s mens styles really work on Ricky Whittle

Another good installment, held back from being great by virtue of wasting a little too much time on the unnecessary details of one plot, and leaving another plotline too vague. Still absolutely worth an hour of your time, though.

Three out of four postcards.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

#American Gods #Shadow Moon #Mr Wednesday #Laura Moon #Mad Sweeney #Mr Nancy #American Gods Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

6 notes · View notes

kendrixtermina · 6 years ago

Text

Thoughts and Feelings about“Change Your Mind”

I really wish I could rewatch this motherfucker somewhere but I have to sleep and go to work

Well on the one hand the main story lines are pretty much done for, on the other, the fallout alone could fill another season, and I’m actually glad that they’re not relegating that to the epilogue but actually going to show it

I assume season 5 will be Steven working with the Diamonds to improve homeworld, explaining things to Jasper, integrating the former corrupted gems on earth, finding out the deal with pink pearl, further developing Steven’s new fusions etc.

Other open questions involve gem origins and peridot’s renewable energy project, but I suppose that will come up as Steven tries to make the Empire less... imperialistic.

I understand why they wanted to air this in one piece, you couldn’t leave the younger viewers hanging with some of these creepytastic scenes and no resolution

There’s various concepts I feel reminded of.

There’s this idea of “tzimtsum” in kaballalistic thought, about how God created the world - In order to create a being apart from himself, he “hid” some aspects of the being, the ones that would seem - So every part of creation reflects one aspect of god, but none shows the complete pictures of it, and because everything has some aspects of god but not others, it is unique - so all humans are made in gods image, but still be different from each other.

Maybe Pink Diamond would be something like Lucifer in this analogy, part of the creation but as far from the god as you can get while still existing, and somehow their antithesis (stretching the analogy here, of course Judaism has no counterpart to Lucifer let alone the positive-ish early modernity interpretions of him - but of course, White Diamond isn’t exactly a benevolent God either. )

First of course Star Trek, like the ep where Captain Kirk is split into what at first seems like his good and evil half but is more like his animal instincts and higher reasoning, or in Voyager, when B’Elana Torres is split into her human and Klingon halves.

I guess Garnet wasn’t completely wrong in his being something in-between fusion and human reproduction, his gem half could be considered A Pink Diamond, but not the same one who created him - He must be fricking powerful to shrug off WD’s beams like that, like how Stevonnie still has “boosted” versions of Steven’s abilities despite Connie being human, Steven’s probably like Pink Diamond, but ‘boosted’.

Steven’s victory certainly showcases how it comes from both sides of his heritage. It involves making WD laugh/embarassed like what Pink used to do, but unlike her, he has the communication skills from Greg - I don’t think Pink ever talked to Blue in that way, she didn’t seem aware of what the other Diamonds were thinking at all, any more than she really understood Pearl’s lingering knot of complexes. It’s just not a skill she could have picked up before Greg - when? From whom?

His responsibility is all uniquely him and due to his upbringing with the CG’s and wanting to help him more, tho, both his parents where free spirit hippy bohemians, but it was Steven who decided “Nope, I WANT to fix it, because I can”, not because he owes it to anybody, even when no one could fault him for running.

Also, Frankenstein (the Novel not the film) - The original Victor was a sympathetic, even admirable character, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to have empathy with the monster, though Adam was in many ways alike to him and initially didn’t wish to be his enemy. Because while the gems relate to White Diamond as their goddess and the other Diamonds see her as their mother, she seems to regard them as extensions of herself. Maybe she would, as their creator. Gods are expected to smile benevolently upon their followers and solve their problems, Mothers, while they are flawed humans, are supposed to love their kids as they are and realize that they become their own persons, but artists frequently tear up their own work if they’re dissatisfied with it, because it’s supposed to be a reflection of their existence, so they might hate it for not reflecting them well enough -

i often regret tearing up half my teenage fanfics, but I’m able to view them different now that I’m - Back then, I felt like they reflectzed badly onto me - but if had kids and treated them like my fanfics or crumpled drawings, well, that would scar them for life.

You could certainly see this as a metaphor for narcissism, particularly in the way WD judged everything by how much it was like her, to the point that she would ‘overwrite`’ ppl’s personalities with her ideas of how it ought to be, while lacking a solid identity of her own apart from being “perfect/the best” by default, but that only goes so far because the gems literally are her creations who take their characteristics from various aspects of her being.

She’d have a completely different conceptual framework to anyone else, though she’s certainly not “above it” in any way.

I don’t think she was completely unaffected by Pink’s dissapearence either, if you want to complete the Stages of Grief analogy she would be Denial or Bargaining. Most likely, she was growing increasingly frustrated with her ability to make her empire “perfect” like she ought to and that’s why she started keeping to herself more and assuming that Pink couldn’t be dead.

She seemed like the knowing one when she was as much in denial as anyone else - you can tell they had a complicated relationship because of how White saw herself in her, that might be why she indulged and preferred her, but then again she didn’t always like what she saw and felt that Pink represented parts of her that she didn’t want to see.

It’s not without reason that Steven tells her to “get out of her own head” and try to see the world for what it is rather than her preconceived notions of what it is or means. You could perhaps relate that to

When she realizes that she’s actually dead - that’s when she has her breakdown.

You could even draw a parallel to “Romeo And Juliet”, where the older generation only realizes how much its ways were fucked up when it gets their beloved children killed for just trying to live happy lives.

Cal Gustav Jung would certainly remind us that what irritates us about others are often things that irritate us about ourselves, that we may be liable to “see the world as we are” and never is that more apparent than when we view everything through some skewed belief system, or when we hate - people hate people who blur boundaries because they don’t want to confront the ambiguity within themselves, or act as “superior” and merciless because they’ve rejected their own mortal fragile humanity.

Another observation is that when you set up anything as the “default” you create pressure not to deviate from the norm and prevent its members from experiencing their individuality. (see societal pressure on heterosexual men, or Euro-Americans saying they ‘have no culture to celebrate’ - maybe instead of becoming a devouring plague upon your fellow men, you could actually appreciate European culture? Like, read some books, eat some cheese, learn a language, listen to some classical music, vote for worker protection laws?)

It speaks for PD that she even tried to save other aliens at some point. steven stepped completely out of her shadow the moment he was able to feel sorry for her, like “Geez, she had to live like that? No wonder she turned out the way she did!” he pretty much calls the other Diamonds out at some point, like he gets a secure sense of the differences between them when he realizes how much better off he’s been in his own life. Like, UGH.

For my part, I don’t believe the “best of the worst” thing was true, and more of an “evil cannot comprehend good” moment from White, if not outright projection. (after all, White seems to view all other Gems as imperfect copies of herself) If anything, Pink seemed upset that she got stuck being the leader even as “Rose Quartz” (see the Beach scene in “Greg the babysitter”) - but of course Steven, not being Pink, wouldn’t know whether or not White is right.

Other Thoughts:

In the earlier scenes you could see a lot of parallels to less than ideal family situations, and how people might end up acting as proxies of the problematic person, almost sprouting their words, in the name of keeping the peace, and how people in such an environment may have no idea of how it’s not normal

You CAN talk down such a person (I know of multiple people who made a bona fide job out of talking sense into literal nazis and clansmen, person by person - their tactic was generally to find whatever problem their rage came from), but there’s a difference between “flawed” and “awful” and I do think it came through that White is a piece of work quite unlike, say, Connie’s mother, and that Steven’s dealing with her because he wants to for the good of society, because he’s the bigger person and secure in himself, not because he owes it to her or anything

It seems like they went for “awesome” rather than “beautiful” with Steven’s fusions. The designs are kinda gaudy, but even so, once you getpast the gaudy design, it’s kind of touching how Steven’s and Garnet’s fusion is essentially a motivational speaker who sprouts encouraging advice nonstop. Garnet was always Steven’s Mentor and as well as the main person (besides greg) to teach him morals, as well as generally encouraging & supportive, but Steven of course encourages and supports her too, and both like doing that for others

I love Peridot’s short shorts and that she and Bismuth repaired the ships/ went a-tinkering together. It took me a bit to notice that it’s supposed to be shorts and not just her old outfit with starts instead tho

Voice of Reason!Connieis a gift that keeps on giving

#steven universe #su spoilers #change your mind

5 notes · View notes

nikkiwriteswords · 6 years ago

Link

My friend @cherrybombbecky and I are, first and foremost, nerds. So typically, we each had something to say about this article. To summarise, it compares a ‘limited’ Western view of humanity with the Shinto concept of monism, with regards to robots and artificial intelligence. Westerners, the article claims, separate machine from man because its artifice renders it a ‘lesser’ being for not having a spirit or soul:

The West [...] has a problem with the idea of things having spirits and feels that anthropomorphism, the attribution of human-like attributes to things or animals, is childish, primitive, or even bad.

Therefore, to raise something artificial, like a doll or machine, to the level of mankind is incomprehensible to Western doctrines. It does not have a soul; it cannot be spiritual.

However, to the Japanese:

Nature doesn’t belong to us, we belong to Nature, and spirits live in everything, including rocks, tools, homes, and even empty spaces.

As such, even robots have a form of spirituality. To this end, the article goes on to make the case for a less human-centric view of emotional and spiritual consciousness. To continue to ‘dehumanise’ AI as it develops more and more ‘human’ traits is to reinforce the hierarchical systems of mankind's spiritual and ecological superiority that have been in place for centuries.

If anyone has played Detroit: Become Human recently, you could perhaps empathise with the message of this article. Inequality is a theme tightly bound with mankind’s inherent superiority in the game. Depending on how you play, the androids seek equality or revolution from their human creators, because the humans do not recognise their own ‘humanity’.

This existential crisis of spirituality vs. scientific progress has played out in the domain of sci-fi and fantasy for decades. Think Data from Star Trek: Next Gen. Think the Force in Star Wars (and the backlash towards midichlorians). The article sites Atom Boy as a manga that understands the relationship between Buddhist beliefs and robots to this end. I would go one further, and claim Ghost in the Shell is a prime example of the blurred lines between AI and ‘humanity’, wherein ‘humanity’ relates to the having of a spirit/soul. To my Western eye, it is influenced greatly by Descartes’s mind-body dualism, or the ‘ghost in the machine’, wherein the mind can exist without a body, and vice-versa. The Major and the tachikoma are prime examples of this philosophy (to my layman’s understanding, I should point out). The tachikoma gain a ghost (or spirit) despite their artificial intelligence.

Interesting as the debate is, as yet I can’t decide why I, as a Westerner, would not embrace artificial intelligence. The answer is in there, but it is not teased out:

Wedged in among the talk of mankind’s superiority over Nature and the natural world, our innate arrogance that raises our image alongside God, is the fear of our own obsoleteness. When faced with a being so similar to ourselves, we trace the trajectory of its potential in the fall from our own pedestal.

It may be a gross simplification of the issues at play, but I also think Fullmetal Alchemist touches on this same crisis of humanity, which contains echoes of science vs. religion. Again, very novice speculation here, but aren’t homunculi to alchemy what AI is to science? The pinnacle creation that places us alongside God?

In contrast to this matter of phenomenology, the structures of consciousness and subjective experience, @cherrybombbecky proposed a different outlook. Having lived in Japan for a number of years now, and being an armchair sociologist, she points out that artificial intelligence could encompass a social ideal for the Japanese. In a society governed by strict rules and hierarchy, which arguably fears disorder and chaos, an entity ruled by logic and protocol is an enticing prospect. This is a notion that ties in with the aforementioned human ideal. Again, a lot of sci-fi deals with this idea of the ‘perfect human’, whose rationality and cool logic makes them superior to humans themselves.

(NB: I would like to point out that this ‘superiority’ positions this second reading firmly within the hierarchy outlined by the first point.)

Of course, it is therefore implicit that emotions are a human’s weakness. One anime that explores the ramifications of such an ideal is Psycho Pass. The Sybil System seeks to police society by rationalising emotions and assigning them a moral value.

Granted, though Japanese, it is based on notable Western narratives. However, the idea that emotions can be ascribed a numerical value, a ‘criminal coefficient’, which can be used to measure morality or ‘mental beauty’, is an interesting concept. The coefficient therefore ties emotionality to criminality, ascribing moral instability to the emotionally damaged. By implication, artificial intelligence is the perfect neutral value. Emotionlessness - artifice - is purity. The human ideal.

Granted, it does not deal with the phenomenological issues of the original article or the other anime mentioned above. However, Psycho Pass does explore issues of existentialism (free will and authenticity), and ideals of moral beauty as applied to science-fiction and artificial intelligence.

Ultimately, within this lens of man’s superiority, it seems to me that ‘humanity’ is tied up with emotional intelligence and empathy. The ability to connect on an emotional level. I connected with the tachikoma that’s for sure; they broke my heart. That is the factor that the Sybil System lacks. Empathy is the genius behind Detroit: Become Human also. The game exploits the very egotism that lens is based on: the idea that humans are unique for their emotional capacity to love and feel and connect. This, in turn, leads to the fear of humanity’s obsoleteness that arguably underpins the fear of artificial intelligence in the Western world.

(Also I have been dying to point out that humanoid robots that look exactly like ourselves, but lack the crucial capacity for ‘humanity’ or empathy, is full-on capital-U Freudian Uncanny. And can be pretty damn scary, so. OP probably didn’t consider that when writing the article.)

1 note · View note

warpfactornonsense · 7 years ago

Text

TOS Tag Game

Heyo, I got tagged by @onedamnminuteadmiral! Rules: answer five questions about ST and then tag some people and ask them five more questions. (These are so much fun and I love them. Great questions, too!!)

Long post, so everything’s under the cut!

1. Which episode do you think best captures the spirit of Star Trek. Why?

Oh, golly. That’s a tough one. There are several that could work, but maybe “Space Seed?” It’s got action, it’s got Super Beings, some Terran history and how humanity learned from it... honestly, that’s the biggest thing, highlighting how humanity FINALLY learned from their manifold mistakes, and showcasing how Kirk (representative of humanity’s best traits) and Spock could STILL manage to defeat a megalomaniac, and a super-powered one, at that. Albeit barely, AND together. Normal, Good Humanity triumphs over Evil Super Humanity. And then, AND THEN, our heroes show the villain and their betrayer compassion, granting them a second chance when they had ample opportunity and grounds to sentence them to prison.

Oh! And even though this episode gets a little cringe-y at some points, what with the casual sexism, I really enjoy the way the characters look back on history. Especially Lt. McGivers with her looking back on ancient leaders and idolizing them. Even though it’s super flawed, it’s so human. See also, when Spock was like “I’m surrounded by illogical” when Scotty, Bones, and Kirk all admired Khan, even while condemning his actions.

Plus we get Ricardo Montalban. Someday, I ought to design an ad for the SS Botany Bay, featuring “rich, Corinthian leather” seats. Also, shoutout to the “only 90s kids remember” moment at the beginning of the episode.

2. Which two characters do you wish had interacted more, and what do you think their friendship/relationship would have been like?

Scotty and Uhura. Definitely. According to what I’ve read online (I’m still very new to the extended world of Trek, so I’m not sure where this came from in canon/extended verse), they have a really great friendship, and I’m sorry we didn’t get any screen time of that. They would’ve been such great bros. (I use that as a gender-neutral term, and I probably shouldn’t.) I imagine their friendship as a really tight, undemanding kind of closeness, where they might go for days or weeks without talking, but they pick up where they left off, and are just so understanding and accepting of each other. They’d be so soft together. Or really salty and sassy, depending on the scenario - there would be no in-between.

3. Who was your favorite actor/actress in TOS, and what do you think they brought to their character?

If you’ve not guessed, it’s William Shatner. There’s the obvious stuff of his occasional overacting, yes, but I think he brought a softness to the role that I’m not sure would’ve been as present with another actor. I mean, if you watch “The Cage,” Jeffrey Hunter’s portrayal of Pike was like a prototype Kirk - charismatic, capable, competent, confident, intelligent, determined, and accessibly handsome. But I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a different character, or if it was because his character was incomplete and not yet fleshed out, or if it was Hunter’s portrayal, or maybe it was the writing for the particular episode. But Pike doesn’t HAVE that softness. He’s got a determination to save his crew, to save others he encounters. He does have kindness. But he’s not soft in the same way that Shatner allowed Kirk to be.

4. Tell me about a scene or a storyline that meant a lot to you personally. What significance does it have for you?

This is predictable, but it’s “Amok Time” (unless we can choose a moment from the movies?). Not solely because of the dramatic “JIM OMG YOU’RE NOT DEAD” at the end (though I do adore that moment, for a number of reasons).

No, it’s because of that time I cosplayed from it. Canon is WONDERFUL, but it means so much more to me when I can interact with it, make it personal to me. And I’ll never forget how much FUN it was to be a background Vulcan, to have people play “Ancient Battle” on their phones with delighted grins on their faces as our group walked by. I had a blast with my friends that day. We all looked like baked potatoes.

If we can include movie moments, it’s that time in TWOK when Kirk mentioned the Kobayashi Maru, and how he cheated because he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios. And somehow, that one line resonated with me WAY more than it did in the 2009 movie (context within the narrative is everything).

5. If you were a costume designer/set designer/hair-makeup designer, etc., what (if anything) would you change about the aesthetics of the show? Imagine you have a bottomless budget, but it’s still the ‘60s so keep technological limitations in mind.

List of things I love about the Star Trek aesthetic:

The silly velour uniforms that shrank in the wash so they could only be worn about 3 times (and it SHOWS in some episodes)

The massive amounts of eyeshadow on everybody

The nonsense holographic hexagons that show up on EVERY SINGLE PLANET or VESSEL, regardless of cultural/technological differences or physical distance between worlds

The vibrantly colorful lighting everywhere

The soft, romantic lighting everywhere

Honestly, how colorful EVERYTHING is

Things I don’t love and wish I could change about TOS, visually speaking:

The stupid gold/vermilion houndstooth bedding

The “*~female beauty~* is free so let’s show it off so it feels like we’re an action show and now one that has social commentary” attitude, even if it DID help them get social commentary into the show - lbr, if NOTHING else (and there’s a lot of “else” we could discuss), it resulted in some downright HIDEOUS outfits.

Create 5 questions of your own and tag others if you want to keep playing.

Here you go!!

Who is your favorite side character and why (like, anyone not in the triumvirate)? What do they bring to the role that draws you to them specifically?

Is there a topic or story you wish TOS had covered? What is it?

What’s your favorite aspect of canon (can be literally ANYTHING - from visuals to plot to characterization moment, or anything else altogether)? What’s your LEAST favorite aspect of canon?

If you could have lunch with any character (not actor/actress), who would it be, and why? What would you talk about?

What or who is your favorite non-human being(s)?

All right! I’m tagging @shimmershoo, @intergalacticsock, @fizz-bin, and @willchild. Anyone else who wants to do this, tag me! I’d love to see your answers!

#tag game #replies #onedamnminuteadmiral #zj's thoughts

14 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years ago

Text

Visions of Dune: Bringing the Ultimate Sci-Fi Epic to Life

https://ift.tt/3zfRQIh

The story of 2021’s Dune begins with a kid falling in love with a book. Before he was the world-famous film director of Arrival and Blade Runner 2049, Denis Villeneuve was a teenager who devoured sci-fi novels. When he was “between 13 and 14,” he remembered seeing “these eyes.” The iridescent blue eyes were on the face of a man staring at the young Villeneuve, painted by Wojciech Siudmak, for the 1970 French paperback translation of Dune. Villeneuve was utterly mesmerized by the cover. “When you’re a kid, the covers can really make an impact,” he says. “The artists that were drawing them were so talented that even though I had never heard of Dune, I was drawn to that title and the simplicity. I was always attracted to the desert.”

Like many serious readers of science fiction, Villeneuve’s obsession with Dune began free of artistic pretension. “I instantly fell in love with it for several reasons,” he says. “The way Paul is trying to find his identity while finding his home in another culture, with the Fremen. I was fascinated by the way they need to survive and adapt…I have always been in love with biology, the science of life, of nature. The way Frank Herbert used biology was insanely beautiful. To me, reading Dune is like a paradise. The book stayed with me all these years.”

When you talk to Villeneuve now, childhood giddiness illuminates the corners of everything we’re talking about. Yes, Villeneuve loved Star Wars, too (“The Empire Strikes Back is always good for the soul,” he says). But what makes Dune so much different from other popular heroic epics is that, despite the escapist sweep of the story, its underlying message is anything but escapist. The story of Paul Atreides is not an aww-shucks hero’s journey. In her 1978 review of Star Wars, Ursula K. Le Guin referred to the protagonist of that film as “Huck Skywalker.” And when you think of the story of Dune in that way, no one would confuse Paul Atreides with any member of the Skywalker clan.

The story of Dune concerns a powerful family—House Atreides—being pushed into a terrible situation on the planet Arrakis by opposing forces on all sides. Smack dab in the middle of that is the notion that Paul could—and will—initiate a huge uprising against his enemies at some point in the future. Paul, and his parents—Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) and Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac)—set out to do good, but create even more conflict as a result.

“At the very core of Dune is a warning,” Villeneuve says. “Anyone who is trying to blend religion and politics—that is a dangerous cocktail. I think Herbert wrote it as a warning, [against] leaders that pretend to know what will happen, who pretend to know the truth, who might be lacking humility. When someone behaves like a Messiah, you have to be careful.”

A Boy and His Sandworms

One of the messiahs of Dune is a guy destined to have multiple names: Muad’Dib, the Kwisatz Haderach, and, of course, Paul Atreides. On our planet, he’s known as Timothée Chalamet. Ferguson says that Chalamet’s unique qualities as an actor were the “essential” elements that make the movie work. “Timmy brings the smaller to the grander,” she says. “He’s carrying this huge movie, and it’s lazy of me to use this word, but he brings such an indie feel to it.”

When it comes to “indie” films that nearly everyone knows about, Timothée Chalamet is one of the most famous male actors on the planet in 2021. From his roles in Call Me By Your Name to Little Women, Chalamet has the kind of star power that is subtle and undefinable, because as Ferguson points out, he’s not playing the role to seem like a big movie hero. Paul Atreides is the opposite of a Han Solo or Captain Kirk type, and so is Chalamet. “I always tried to bring Paul Atreides back to the ground,” Villeneuve says. “I told Timothée, you are the hero, of course, you are a tremendous fighter. But I think you have the burden of having a very strong instinct that will be boosted by spice.”

Chalamet reveals that in terms of becoming that “tremendous fighter,” some of his hand-to-hand training happened in a wine cellar while filming Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch. Chalamet also asserts that working with Villeneuve on Dune didn’t feel like being involved in a Hollywood blockbuster, and that transitioning from The French Dispatch to Dune made perfect sense. “It felt like working on a high-level indie,” Chalamet says. “I haven’t worked with the Coen Brothers, but I imagine it would be like this, just on a bigger scale. The Dark Knight is what made me want to act. It has incredible behavioral specifics. It has incredible performances and in the middle of it are sweeping cinematic sequences. In a way, Dune is like that. When you can get on a project of this size that has this much dramatic integrity, working with one of the best directors in the world right now, it’s exactly what I wanted.”

Chalamet says that beyond fight training, immersing himself into the world of Dune and “spending time with the props,” was important to feel a connection to the objects of Paul’s world. He also didn’t shy away from the idea that this was yet another adaptation of a beloved book. “I learned that from Greta Gerwig when I did Little Women. Nobody minds another good movie based on a good book.”

But for Chalamet, the journey isn’t quite over. “I’m champing at the bit to film Part 2,” he says. “I read all of Dune Messiah in lockdown. I’m ready.”

A New Dune, For Everyone

Perhaps unfairly, being really into Dune carries with it a kind of connotation that only the truly nerdy at heart get why science fiction devotees are so obsessed with the spice. John Hodgman makes two jokes about “Third Stage Guild Navigators” in his book Medallion Status. In Russian Doll, Nadia uses the phrase “Jodorowsky’s Dune” as a nerdy password to gain access to a back room. When Patrick Stewart was cast in Star Trek: The Next Generation, to his fellow castmates he was “the guy from I, Claudius,” while to writers like Michael Chabon, he was “the guy from Dune.” Unlike Star Wars or The Lord of the Rings, the broad appeal of Dune has always been tentative. But, in addition to Chalamet’s favorable comparison to The Dark Knight, Villeneuve makes it clear that the purpose of this Dune wasn’t to just make book readers happy.

“It would be so easy to make a Dune movie only for hardcore fans,” Villeneuve says. “My goal was to please the hardcore fans, that they feel the spirit, the poetry, and the atmosphere of the book—but to make sure that someone who had never heard about Dune would also have fun and understand the story. I had to make sure that everyone would be on board right at the beginning.” To that end, the new Dune sports a radical narrative shift from the source material. In this version, the opening narration and framing of the story is given by Chani (Zendaya), a member of the Fremen tribe, native to Arrakis.

Villeneuve describes this as one of his “bold” decisions but stresses that the narrative point of view doesn’t change the story at all. Logistically, the story of Dune is about House Atreides coming to take over the spice mining on the planet Arrakis. The native Fremen have been abused and tortured by previous occupiers, House Harkonnen, so in the new opening narration, Chani wonders “who will be our new oppressors,” a line not spoken in the book. Instead, the narrative framing of the novel is from the quasi-historical point of view of Princess Irulan, a woman Paul eventually marries for purely political reasons. So, what Villeneuve has done by giving the opening narration to Chani is flip the point of view from the aristocracy to the working class.

Villeneuve also says that elevating Chani’s role, and the roles of several of the female characters, was all because the movie required “bold” decisions to become the best film version of the story possible. “A book and a movie are totally different mediums. I had to make certain decisions. This is why I decided to make the first book into two movies. I had to condense some ideas to tell the story in the most eloquent way possible so that it will be understood by everybody,” Villeneuve says. But he’s also quick to point out that adaptation is not the same as leaving things out on purpose. “When you adapt it’s an act of vandalism. You will change things. But, from the beginning, I said to the crew, to the studio, to the actors: ‘the bible is the book. We will, as much as possible, stay as close as possible to the book.’ I want people who love the book to feel like we put a camera in their minds.”

Ferguson’s Lady Jessica is arguably the character who sets the story of Dune into motion. In this future-world, the mystical matriarchal order of the Bene Gesserit can control the sex of babies that are born into its sisterhood. And in defiance of her orders from her fellow Bene Gesserit, Jessica had a son, instead of a daughter. Jessica asserting her right to choose, in essence, makes it all happen. Ferguson believes the emotional power of these stories is more important for audiences than the nitty-gritty specifics. “We can go into some kind of nano version of ourselves, but if it doesn’t read through on the screen, to the audience, it isn’t worth doing.”

Movies

Dune Review: A Sci-Fi Legend Is Born

By David Crow