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ephemerlskies · 5 years ago

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emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile • moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts writing #taehyung series #bts series #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #artist!taehyung #rubycoast #emerald dreams: REDACTED

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serararku · 4 years ago

Text

Crescendo: Castrum Aeternium

Tullus sas Virilus was accompanied by an entire century to escort him safely through the wilds of Mor Dhona; all of which were carefully examined and hand picked himself to put his paranoia to rest. Failure was not an option he would entertain, and after witnessing firsthand how the Emperor found more to be desired from the last man in charge of Castrum Aeternium, he wasn't about to leave this mission to an incompetent underling; there was simply too much ceruleum on the line to let this end up in flames.

The night was fading. Beneath the cusp of the dwindling moonlight, the small stretch of trees remaining in Mor Dhona proved the ideal spot for her ambush. They all resided in the dark, separated, isolated, and at their positions, waiting for their signal to proceed with S’era’s plan. Conobharo Cobharo sat on the outskirts of the virgin forest, humming glibly in the getaway carriage with a tangled mess of wires and cables in his lap. He had just finished setting up his part of the plan, and had devoted the nerve-wracking waiting to the formation of a new ditty for his incoming Imperial guests. "Come out ye black an' reds, come out an' face me head-ta-head…"

Sir Pherond Baldarrak stood beside his gilded chocobo to await the impending battle from the west, gazing up at the pale moonlight while he readied himself for battle. R’zevi, on the other hand, traveled remarkably light, and remained hidden along the cliffs, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed and mind focused on the task set before him. Lastly S’era remained at the peak of the nearby plateau, keeping an eye out for the infamous black armor and glowing magitek colossi while she waited for K’thalen to arrive.

She paced back and forth, staring intensely at the treetops below for any sign of the Garlean presence. All she could think about was spilling their blood and making them suffer- every time she closed her eyes she saw S’tage’s cold sunken face. A fire in her gut kept her warm in this freezing morning, and even now, when all was quiet and peaceful, her heart pounded against her chest and she craved violence.

A twig snapping behind her was enough for S’era to spin around on her heel and draw her sword. “Who’s there?!” She blurted out, straining to recognize the silhouette approaching her; but the sudden flash of his striking yellow eyes put her mind at ease.

“Don’t cut my head off, lass. It’s yours truly.” K’thalen stepped through the underbrush and out into the pale moonlight with his magitek rifle slung over his shoulder. “We uhh… we need to talk.”

“You’re late.” Was all she responded with, at first. She turned to point at the treeline with the edge of her blade, before continuing with, “Are you going to get into position, or is this another attempt to second-guess myself? Because if it’s the latter, don’t waste your breath. We’re here now, we’re ready, and we’re minutes away from this battle commencing. Plus, you swore you would repay your debt.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “After tonight, consider us even.”

K’thalen grinded his teeth together while he stared at this stubborn broad; it felt wrong to say anything now, not while her heart bled for a ghost, not while her mind was made up. But he had to anyway. “I found out who killed S’tage and mailed him to our apartment.” Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say a word. After a long pause and awkward silence, he opened his mouth and forced it out. “It was your master, lass. Lord Isenhart.”

Slowly the tip of her sword was lowered to the ground. A rock the size of a goblin’s head sat in her stomach as she stared at K’thalen, her eyes glittering a steely blue. She opened her drying mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. “Lass…” he whispered, taking a step forward. “I think he did it to stop you from gettin’ yourself killed.”

“My life…” She answered weakly. “Is not his to d-decide…” S’era looked down at her trembling hands during her long pause, feeling tears beginning to swell in her eyes. Hadriel was the only one she knew who could survive a castrum by himself- the only one capable of slaughtering scores of Garleans without breaking a sweat. The burns from when he ordered her to stick her hand into the fireplace to begin her training was proof enough he was capable of great cruelty- but this went beyond what little understanding she had for that man. S’tage’s corpse, the mocking letter, all of it- she couldn’t believe it. She refused. “You’re certain…? Absolutely?”

“He said so himself.” K’thalen inhaled sharply before straightening up. “Era… this battle. This ambush… it’s a waste of time, aye? Let’s go back to the apartment… and plan our next move.”

The sadness scrawled across her face slowly shifted to anger. Her fingers curled into a fist on one hand, while sliding her uchigatana back into its sheath with the other. “You’re lying.”

“Era…!”

“He could have stopped me at any time. He could have refused to train me. He... he could have taken my hand if he so pleased.” S’era paused long enough to blink the blinding tears away. “He would never write such a disgusting letter. No… I don’t believe you. He just doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

“We have proof.” He sighed, taking another step closer.

S’era narrowed her gaze at him. “We?”

“She’s down the hill.” K’thalen answered, his ears flattening against his head. “Let’s go see what she has to say, lass.”

“We don’t have time for this.” She turned her back to K’thalen to gaze down at the treeline again. “The platoon could be here any minute and you’re wasting your breath trying to throw me off. If you’re so terrified of dying, then go- run back to New Gridania where it’s safe. I’m here for answers, not excuses… and I don’t want some craven watching my back when the battle starts.”

“As I suspected. Like talkin’ to a wall.” K’thalen pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. “I’m here to help you survive this, Era. But this battle… it’s a whole century versus five people. And if Tullus sas Virilus is really among them… he’ll be packin’ some heavy weaponry we don’t have the means to handle.”

“I don’t have a choice!” S’era shouted at the top of her lungs, startling K’thalen. “S’tage was murdered! His killer roams free! I will avenge his death one way or another- I swear it!”

“Come with me, then. Hear what Vyna has to say.” K’thalen sounded defeated, but the mention of her name was enough to put shock in S’era’s voice.

“Vyna… is here?”

The path they meant to cross that was scheduled to be void of patrols was instead guarded by a single Miqo’te, no taller than S’era herself. A familiar raven-colored long coat waved in the air about a black suit. She rested her hands on a rapier whose point was buried in the ground. A white mask adorned the woman’s visage, covering it completely, black streams of tears painted on it from below its empty eyes to where its lips should’ve been. White hair flowed about her as the wind blew ever gently. Two katanas appeared to hang at her back. She was a vigilant statue waiting for something, or someone.

None of this made any sense to K’vyna. To blame Hadriel for this transgression that S’era held so close to her heart? It made sense in a way if his aim was to give her pause, or stop her, but why would he pit her against his other pupil. He was always calculated and calm. There was always a motive to his actions. But if she faced S’era with the wrath she held in her bosom and proclaimed that their own master orchestrated her descent into madness, wouldn’t that put them both at risk? S’era would be out for blood and she would have no choice but to retaliate in kind. He wouldn’t pit them both against each other in a life or death battle… would he? Unless… he trusted her enough to win with all certainty. Even then, she wasn’t aware of how much S’era had improved under his tutelage. This all seemed like a rushed, hurried mistake. K’vyna’s breath trembled as she awaited the person she almost regarded a little sister. Someone she brought to his attention. This was her fault.

“Vyna…?” A familiar voice came from the bushes, following footfalls, crumbled leaves, and snapping branches. S’era came out from the darkness first, her gaze bewildered the moment they settled on her longest-running friend; it seemed like ages ago when she was scrubbing tavern floors, speaking with this once-stranger. “What are you doing here…?”

“Era…” she spoke softly at first, “You need to go back.” a confident, commanding tone came from the Miqo’te with trembling breaths just a moment ago.

“I came here to kill Garleans and get to the bottom of this…” She retorted, as K’thalen stumbled out of the bushes behind her. “Help me bring S’tage justice. Help me avenge him.”

Sand flew from the earth as K’vyna drew her rapier from the ground. Her heart weighed heavily, reluctant to sell out her master even at his own request. She knew this was wrong. Teeth audibly grounded for a moment, “There’s no point in going. Era… please. Come with me, abandon this quest you’re on.” S’era glanced over her shoulder at K’thalen, but he remained silent. She then looked down at her burned hand, blinking away another round of tears, before her gaze slowly crept back up to K’vyna.

“Is it true?” She weakly mumbled, her words catching in her throat. “Did Hadriel kill my S’tage?”

K’vyna’s heart leapt into her throat as she found herself unable to speak. She knew what she had to say but couldn’t muster the courage to lie to herself, her sister, and her master. She knew that it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true… could it? “Era.” she changed the script ever so slightly, “I’m here to stop you. If you… if you want revenge you shouldn’t continue on this path you’re on. Era. Please… stop.”

“I can’t.” S’era forced out the words. “They deserve to die for what they did to him and everyone else they enslaved. This is justice.” Slowly she turned to peer over at the valley below. “If you plan on stopping me… then do it. But I’ll defend myself…”

K’thalen made just enough noise with his boots for S’era’s ears to turn to his direction. “Era, this isn’t-”

“Stay out of this, Thal. Go back to your position and wait for the signal.” S’era didn’t have the time nor the desire to try and convince two people at the same time. K'thalen lowered his ears before returning to the shadows. S'era would never admit it, but she was tired. Tired of being angry. Angry at being so tired. She just wanted this nightmare to end, to wake up and find herself still preparing to save her promised Nunh from the castrum. With everything that’s transpired over the past week, she swore this was all just an elaborate prank. A joke in incredibly poor taste. But it wasn’t.

K’vyna huffed inaudibly, “I want to save your life…” She steeled her resolve. “I will stop you.” she pointed her blade at Era. “Prepare yourself.” she offered as an unnecessary warning, giving her fellow pupil the upper hand.

S’era’s gaze flashed wide when she stumbled back and placed her hand on her hilt, drawing her uchigatana just in time to stop K’vyna from crippling her at the knee. The shock of her oldest friend attacking her wore off in between her violent heartbeats, and she had enough time to compose herself for this scuffle. Darting forward, she lunged at the white-haired Miqo’te, blade drawn and ready to spill blood.

“An opening!” K’vyna thought to herself. Her blade was on its way to punish S’era for such a rash move but she found herself hesitating- she withdrew, backstepping and going on the defensive. S’era, on the other hand, kept on her reckless offensive, slashing low to the ground in an effort to get her off balance; if she could get Vyna to fall, she could puncture her leg, leaving her down for the count so she could focus on her mission.

A single step came after each swing, a jump for another, and a sidestep for the last. K’vyna skillfully dodged each sloppy strike yet held no killing intent yet she still held no intention to lose. She would believe in her master and that his faith in her was well-founded. “Verfire.” she whispered, aiming to incinerate Era’s blade. The bright orange flash of fire burst before S’era, but she was ready. Frost formed on the edge of her blade when she turned it sideways and slashed upward, vanishing when the flames turned the ice into a cloud of steam; K’vyna jumped up into the air to avoid getting caught in the creeping haze, far and away from potential harm. “When did you learn how to do that?!” She shouted from atop a tree branch. “Hadriel hasn’t taught you anything of the sort!”

“Hadriel isn’t my only mentor!” S’era shouted back, her glowing pale blue eyes revealing herself in the cloud long before it disappeared. She held her uchigatana aloft and pointed it at K’vyna, but didn’t move to rush forward. “Stay out of my way, you hear?! Or I’ll stop aiming for your legs!”

“If I can just disarm her…” K’vyna thought, weighing her options; the longer this scrap lasted, the higher the chances of someone getting hurt became. She was here to distract S’era long enough for Hadriel to show up- yet he was still nowhere to be found. “It doesn’t have to be like this you know!” She decidedly huffed, sliding her rapier back into its sheath. “Think of what you’re doing! If even one Garlean manages to escape your ambush, all of the Revenant’s Toll will be in danger! There are children there!”

The woman slowly lowered her uchigatana until the tip of the blade tapped along the ground. She blinked away a few more tears, and reluctantly, her grimace softened into a disapproving frown. “I’m just…” Her voice was almost too low for K’vyna to hear her properly. “I’m just so tired… tired of training. Tired of waiting. I dreamt of the day I would be in his arms so often… there was nothing else… nothing else I wanted more.” Her head lowered until her straw hat concealed her eyes. “I just… I need to know who did this. I need to know who killed S’tage Tia.”

“He might have once been a proud Nunh in your tribe but he has no one else to blame but himself. He got captured. He got killed. Now consider whose lives you are risking for someone who is nothing but at fault in all this…”

S’era didn’t move an ilm, nor did she say a word. She stood there as if frozen in time, staring off at nothing. She hated the Garleans and everything they represented now more than ever. She wanted them to suffer for what they’ve done to S’tage, and everyone else they’ve tortured, enslaved, or slain- but K’vyna was right. Innocent people resided in the Revenant’s Toll: unarmed civilians, families, and children. Despite being so close to three separate castrums they would be overwhelmed if any of them retaliated for what she planned to do. But letting them get away with this injustice? Letting Castrum Aeternium get off scot-free? It didn’t sit right with her- and she would carry the burden of mercy and restraint for the rest of her days.

“Alright.” Her voice trembled on each syllable. Slowly she raised her head to meet K’vyna’s gaze. “But you’re going to help me find who did this. Who really did this.”

“S’era…” she rasped out. She was smarter than she gave her credit for, but at the same time, perplexingly foolish. She was prudent enough to gauge the situation properly, but dumb enough to want to go on a suicide mission on a wish and a prayer. Her feelings drove her, which made her dangerous. “I’ll help you…” K’vyna admitted, not wanting to continue implicating her master wrongfully even if that was the order given to her. “We’ll do this together… okay? I promise… just… come back with me.” she laid down the rapier.

Tullus had just reached the edge of the woods. He sent his scouts in first before the full caravan ventured in shortly after, keeping his heavy magitek colossi right where he wanted them; close at hand and covering his flanks. There was something off about how the forest around him seemed to be as silent as a crypt. He didn’t like it, truth be told, but he felt confident anyone foolish enough to attack him when he was this vulnerable would pay with their lives long before they got close. “What is taking you so long?” He barked into his wrist-mounted radio, while keeping his eyes fixed on the surrounding darkness. “Do I have to do everything myself?!”

“The path is clear, sir.” The voice cracking over his receiver put his mind at ease. “No sign of the savages.”

“Good. Good.” He raised his hand and motioned the platoon forward. “To Castrum Centri! On the double!”

“Oh no…” The sound of splintering wood carried far enough for S’era to hear. She rushed to the edge of the steep incline to peer down into her ambush spot; she couldn’t see the Garleans from here, but she could see the trees in the distance shifting and toppling, as well as the foreboding cerulean lights glittering on the armor of a pair of magitek colossi. She reached up and activated her linkpearl. “Cobo?! Are you there? Can you read me?!”

The plucky plainsfolk's voice rasped desperately through thick static, and not a word was understood. Scrambling communications was a common tactic Garlemald employed… but why would they be using it now? K’thalen clutched his rifle and used his scope to get a better look; S’era couldn’t see what he was looking at, but watching his ears slowly flatten against his head was all she needed to know. “Cobo!” She tried again, “Turn them off! Disable the charg- ah!”

THOOOOOOOUUUUUUMMMM…

All three Miqo’te saw the flash before they heard it. A brilliant blotch of red and white light peppered the forest, followed by trees swaying against the shockwaves rolling across the woods. They clapped their hands over their ears and closed their eyes once the sound of rolling thunder and the scorched wind swept over them. When S’era stood back up and opened her eyes, she was greeted to a swath of flames and a growing column of smoke; the explosives she bartered from the goblins of Idyllshire had under-promised and over-delivered, sending globules of ignited napalm to scatter in every direction. Another round of explosions rocked the once peaceful woods, but this time the flames burned an eerie blue; the Garleans were carrying refined ceruleum with them.

Sir Pherond Baldarrak glanced down at the blinding light as he swung his leg over his chocobo’s saddle. “About time.” He lifted his gauntlet over his helmet and pulled the visor down, before he pressed the spurs on his treads against the thighs of his mount. “We ride Sophea! For S’tage! For S’era!”

“No! No no no…!” S’era yanked K’thalen’s rifle out from his hands and peered through the scope to see Pherond charging down the cliff toward the blaze; R’zevi had doubtlessly seen the signal and moved in to engage as well. “We…! It’s too late!”

“We can’t let a single Garlean escape, lass!” K’thalen politely yet firmly took his magitek rifle back. “Especially Tullus! Or Revenant’s Toll is history! Again!”

“C-cover both ends of the woods! Don’t let any of them escape!” S’era shot a weary glance to K’vyna before clutching the hilt of her uchigatana and leaping off the side of the cliff.

“Era… what have you done?!” K’vyna stood there in shock, staring at the chaos that erupted before her. These explosions were loud enough to wake the dead, or worse- the other castrums; if they are alerted, then their reinforcements would come swiftly and in lethal force. But there was no way to contact her friends now that her traps went off. There was only one real option left.

Pherond loosened the iron flail on his hip and began swinging it high and hard over his head; the spiked ball at the end whistled through the smoke and embers when he reached the bottom of the hill, and it took nearly all of his strength to keep it from ripping out of his gauntlet. His eyes flashed underneath his visor when he saw his first target- a legionary separated from the rest of the platoon from the explosions. The soldier looked up at Pherond in shock right before he swung the flail in a downward arch, striking him in the helmet. The Knight began to spin the flail again, hearing the full helmet strike a nearby tree, as his chocobo Sophea continued the charge. Two legionaries caught alone this time, with one trying to revive the other; the flail nailed him dead-center in the chest, sending his broken body backflipping into the dirt. Sophea pecked at another soldier with her armored beak, shattering his shoulder and collarbone underneath his armor. The Knight switched hands amidst the preparation of another swing, striking the back of the neck of a distracted medicus; the flail caught this time, and Pherond was moving too fast to pull the spiked ball out from the falling corpse- so he was forced to let it tear from his grip and leave it behind.

In the distance he saw the towering shadow of a magitek colossus. A leg was covered in napalm while it struggled to remain standing, using its massive blade as a cane to keep it upright; a perfect time to take it down for good, as any. He whipped the reins and Sophea took off, trampling and goring several more soldiers with her long and curved talons. The Knight grit his teeth when his armor began deflecting arrows but he didn’t flinch, reaching up over his back to pull his greatsword from its harness. The colossus turned its tiny head in his direction and pushed off the ground to force itself to stand, but the ceruleum burning at its armor caused one leg to buckle, and it dropped to a knee again.

"For Ishgard!" Pherond leaned to his right and swung the heavy blade as hard as he could, clipping the dirt and grass along the ground with his crescent arch. Right under the knee, just between two plates, his greatsword bit down hard through the fiber mesh underlay and crippled the mechanical monstrosity for good. “Sophea, go! Yaah!” The Knight swung his leg around and slid off his chocobo’s saddle, his open palm striking the flank of his mount to send her running. Pherond balanced the greatsword on his shoulder and charged at the colossus again, covering the eye slots on his visor with his free hand to protect himself from the Garlean Sagittarius Archers from getting any lucky shots.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

His heavy boots carried him and all his weight forward, slamming against dirt, then stone, then the length of a fallen tree trunk. Pherond gripped his greatsword over his head when he heaved himself into the air toward the crippled machine, and with a surge of strength he brought his mighty weapon down onto the neck with an executioner’s precision.

Garlean soldiers scurried through the forest in an effort to surround and overwhelm this armored knight, completely leaving their backs to the rest of the burning woods. Gliding over the underbrush, hidden in the trees, and landing in the darkness behind them, R’zevi waited until the perfect time to strike; and he didn’t have to wait long. He pressed the knuckles of his left hand against the bark of a sturdy tree and closed his eyes. “Ssssshhh… hooooohhhhh…�� Four deep breaths would be enough- he slowly twisted his fist against the bark before both eyes and all five chakra shot open; power surged through his right hand and gathered in his fist, and he sent it forward with everything he had.

The five soldiers standing in the tree’s path never saw it coming. It was ripped clean by the roots and sent flying into the squad, rolling over their crushed bodies before shattering against its brother trees in an explosion of splintered wood and dirt. R’zevi dashed across the open field with more power surging into both hands, setting them ablaze. A Garlean Hoplomachus Gladiator raised his shield in his defense, but the Monk’s fists dented the shield on the first punch, shattered his arm on the second, and sent his broken body flying on the third.

“Over there! Another one!” A soldier cried out, alerting everyone within earshot. Bows and gunblades alike were whipped around to fire on him, but he was almost too fast for the eyes to follow. R’zevi performed a powerslide toward the closest Garlean, and with a forceful kick with both feet, inverted the man’s knees and shattered his legs into pieces. His blazing fist swiped away the lunge of a lance before imploding a man’s breastplate; R’zevi held his broken body and used him as a meat shield against all manner of arrows and spells on his way to cover. “Where did he go?! Don’t lose sight of him!” Like the fleeting evening breeze, the Monk vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.

“Stay away from the trees!” Someone warned, causing the few standing dangerously close to the shadows to move more out in the open. Just as they began to cover each other’s backs, the heavy pounding and rumbling of earth caused them all to look to the west; a giant tree as ancient as it was thick came toppling over with a crackling rattle. Most of the soldiers leapt out of the way in either direction, but one was crushed for his slow reaction.

R’zevi appeared again to catch the divided forces off guard. He twirled through the air and caught one in the side of the helmet with his heel, before a barrage of punches turned another into a crumpled heap of broken bones and dented armor. One by one they died before they could even defend themselves, all except for one- he held his gunblade steady and open fired, nicking the Monk’s ear while he barely dodged an otherwise lethal shot to the head. “Come here you filthy savage! Let’s see how good you really a-” The soldier didn’t even have time to finish his taunting once R’zevi practically glided through the air to him; he pointed his gunblade at him for a point-blank shot, but barrel nor the blade never found its mark. The Monk caught the gunblade between the fingers of his left hand, and the palm of his right, and with a violent twist the weapon split in half. A lightning-fast jab to the throat brought him to his knees, but before he could react properly, R’zevi grabbed him by the helmet with both hands and twisted his head all the way around.

Tullus sas Virilus opened his eyes to the blinding orange haze and the muffled sound of his own breathing. The spinning branches overhead were reluctant to slow down, and the dizzying ringing in his head felt like it would never cease. Tullus tasted blood in his mouth, and when he tried to move, a sharp ache struck him in the chest and right thigh. “Sir! Sir!” He finally noticed one of his guards kneeling over him and clutching his hand. “Get up! We have to get you out of here!”

“S-status…” He weakly coughed out while trying to blink his disorienting fatigue away.

“Explosives were concealed in the forest and detonated once we were right on top of them! It’s an ambush, sir!”

Tullus’ eyes opened once the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He clenched his bloodstained teeth through the pain when he forced himself to roll over onto his hands and knees; where the ceruleum canisters he was supposed to deliver once resided, now only a crater of cobalt flames and molten glass remained. “Damn these primitives…! Without that ceruleum the Emperor will have my head…!” His gaze panned to the chaos unfolding around him; men were cooked alive in their suits, turning dependable armor into melted prisons. The discordant wails of his subordinates filled Tullus with dread. Many soldiers clawed at their own bodies to put out the fires, while corpses crumbled and burning lay sprawled about the once quiet forest. It was clear he wouldn’t be able to regain control of his men- not while the burning ceruleum interfered with his communications; they were cut off, disoriented from the ambush, and were easy prey to those that set him up.

“Sir!” The soldier grabbed his attention again. “We need to get you to safety! The fate of Castrum Aeternium depends on it!”

“Raagh…!” A sharp groan slipped from his clenched teeth when he was hoisted to his feet; his magitek suit saved him from a mortal wound, but he could feel more than a few of his ribs were broken behind his dented breastplate. He reached up with a quivering hand and yanked his helmet off for some much-needed fresh air, letting the wind brush against the wet spot on the side of his head. “S-sound the retreat! Back to the castrum…! We’ll be sure to repay these fools once we’ve regrouped!”

“Sir! Behind us!” Tullus strained his neck to look over his shoulder; a heavily armored knight dropped from above and landed on one of his men, crushing him beneath a knee. On his way up he put all his weight behind the swing of his greatsword, cleaving two men in half at once. Red light flashed from his visor when he drove his blade into the ground, causing large black teeth to shoot up from the nearby shadows to tear several soldiers to pieces. Another foe appeared from the dark, smashing his fists and heels against the hard armor of those under his command, sending broken bodies twirling, spinning, and flipping into the dirt.

“Overwhelm and surround them!” Tullus commanded, clutching at his chest. “Buy me enough time for my escape!” Only a handful of his most loyal soldiers stayed at his side to escort him to safety; the others raised their weapons with a rallying cry and charged the two who dared spill Garlean blood this morning. He looked up at the familiar sound of gunfire- flash after flash of a muzzle proved those two weren’t working alone. Not that it mattered; once he brought down the full might of Castrum Aeternium on their heads, they would be lucky if he was in a gracious enough mood to give them quick deaths. It was a long limp back to his fortress on foot, but perhaps if he could just get away from the burning ceruleum, he could call in air support to pick him up.

“What’s that? Ahead of us!”

Tullus snapped his gaze forward to see a lone silhouette atop a small hill. The twitching black tail and the glimmering blue eyes under the straw hat revealed it was yet another savage, but this one was armed with only a uchigatana. “I will only ask you once!” A female voice called out. “What did you do to the silver-haired Miqo’te you held prisoner?!”

He wasn’t in the mood for conversation- especially one with lesser races. “What are you idiots waiting for?! My blessing?!” Tullus spat, glaring angrily at his guards. “Kill her! Kill her now!”

Four times S’era performed her mudra hand gestures. Four times the air around her fingers shimmered in the growing morning light. She gripped the hilt of her uchigatana with both hands and pulled the blade up into the air; lightning came down from a cloudless sky to strike the tip of the steel, wreathing her weapon in a cloak of fire and lightning. Unperturbed by the savage’s tricks, three Garlean swordsmen rushed her position while the two riflemen at Tullus sas Virilus’ side took aim and fired. She saw the flash of their gunblades, felt the gentle tug against her armor, but all she could hear was the familiar ringing in her head.

Eeeeeeeeeeee…

Her ninjutsu enchantments quickly destabilized until the blade turned white hot from the excess heat. S’era brought her blazing blade down with all the strength and speed she could muster, slicing through the first man’s like a hot knife through butter; flipping the edge around, she brought it back up, taking his arm and head in one clean fluid motion. Her uchigatana was plunged into the chest of the next in line, slicing him into pieces with four violent pulls of her blade. The third soldier collapsed onto his rear, dropping his weapon and panicking at the sight of how easy her terrifying weapon cut his comrades down. “W-wait! Wait mercy! MER-!” S’era leaped into the air and landed on him, thrusting into the eye-hole of his helmet.

Morale was abandoned at the drop of a hat. The two riflemen didn’t bother hanging onto their weapons when they tried to make a run for it. “Where are you g-going?! COWARDS!” Tullus’ insults fell on deaf ears. S’era slid her sword along the ground before flicking it upward, sending a slash of fire and lightning to ravage one of the craven until he fell lifeless onto his face. She plucked the wakizashi sword from its sheath and hurled it into the back of the last man.

"You bitch…!" Tullus dove at the rifle on the ground and raised it up to send her to whatever primitive gods she worshipped; no sooner did he fire the last round in the chamber did she vanish in a cloud of smoke. Tullus sas Virilus slowly rose to his feet while he strained to locate her again. His body screamed in agony from his broken ribs, but now wasn't the time to worry ab-

S'era reappeared behind him. He spun around to slice at her with his gunblade, but she struck first.

"AARGH!" Her glowing blade sliced through both the weapon and his wrist with ease. Tullus dropped to his knees with a hard thud as he clutched his burning stub with his other hand; the searing heat from her uchigatana instantly cauterized his wound, but the agony stopped him from rising to his feet. Instead of cutting him down right then and there, S'era became as still as a statue.

Defeating such a high-ranking Garlean was… easier than she expected. Five people and a king’s bounty of explosives slaughtered nearly a hundred people in the span of an hour- and all without any casualties on their end. If killing Garleans was this easy, she would have stormed Castrum Aeternium by herself months ago. After all, why not? This Tullus sas Virilus was a total pushover… barely worth the effort to even swing this blade. And yet victory tasted hollow in her mouth. S’tage was still dead. His killer was still loose. And no matter how many Garleans she put to the sword, neither of those would ever change. If only she was faster. If only she was braver.

“Are you p-planning on staring me down to d-death…?” Tullus sneered, forcing his words through clenched teeth. “Finish what you started! S-strike me down and be cursed!” S’era snapped out of her dazed stupor and lifted her blade over her head. She could have split his head in half, or severed his shoulder from his torso, or even drove the edge of her blade between his eyes; but those options were still too quick for her liking. She obeyed the ringing in her head when she snapped her boot into his chin, shattering his teeth and causing his head to whip back. When he collapsed onto the ground, she planted her bloodstained boot on his thigh, before slowly driving her superheated uchigatana into his stomach.

“AARRGH! AAAAUUUGH! HAAAHHHGH!”

His agonizing screams were music to her ears. She twisted the blade and drove it deeper into the ground until the melted blade finally snapped, shattering at the hilt. Then she stood there to watch him writhe and struggle against his torturous execution, losing the rest of his fingers when he desperately tried to pull the blade out of his roasting body.

“S’ERA!” A familiar voice cried out. Hadriel Isenhart stepped forward with his hand on the hilt of his katana, but the color was flushed from his face while he glared at her.

There were tears streaming down her face despite her grin spread from ear to ear. Watching Tullus sas Virilus burn to death in his armor was perhaps the most satisfying thing she’s ever watched, but the sight of her master robbed her of what little joy she could scrounge up from this mess. In a heartbeat the ringing in her head from her dizzying anger and righteous fury had fallen silent, and in that moment she realized just how exhausted she was. She didn’t understand why he began sprinting- was he going to kill her? The forest floor began to spin when she looked down and touched her stomach; she pulled back her hand to find her fingers covered in blood.

S’era looked back up at Hadriel before her leg buckled. She hit the ground hard with a heavy thud against her chest and the side of her face. Unable to keep her eyes open, the last thing she saw were her allies rushing over to her, with their voices so muffled and distant.

Slowly, gently, S’era gave into the temptation, and her consciousness abandoned her.

She found herself adrift in an empty void that stretched onward in every direction, forever. She couldn’t move a muscle- her limbs felt so heavy. It was difficult to think, exhausting to breathe, and impossible to feel. Her limbs were too heavy to move, like countless hands were holding her down.

“It felt good, didn’t it?” A booming voice rolled through the void like an underwater explosion. With nothing else to focus her attention on, she was compelled to listen. “Killing all those men. Putting fear in the hearts of Garlemald. Avenging your fallen Nunh.”

“Who are you…?” S’era could barely speak the words.

“Have you developed a taste for it yet? Do you not want to hear the discordant screams of all those who wronged you? A crescendo so pure and beautiful. You are a songwriter. A poet. A painter.”

“W-what do you want?!”

“How many innocents did Tullus sas Virilus kill? How many prisoners were tortured at his command? They are all guilty. All of them. But by your hand the world is now safer. What do I want? I want you to hear them sing again. Savor the symphony you write with their screams. Let them know your wrath is not to be trifled with, your fury cannot be bartered with, and your hatred will not be calmed until you drown in their blood. Arise, S’era Rarku! Slash and sever until it is done!”

Sera's deathlike slumber came to an abrupt end at the buck of a chocobo carriage rolling into a stone… or a dead animal. “Keep her steady, godsdamnit!” Someone shouted to her left. “Are you trying to knock us out the back?!” Slowly she opened her eyes to the glare of the midday sun, the tattered remains of the drape barely holding together that once served as the canopy, and soft blue eyes staring down at her; her gaze focused and widened at the blood trickling down the side of his head, and the piece missing from his ear.

“She’s waking up…” R’zevi warned. “Did you hear me?! I said she’s waking up!”

“It’s no use! My magica isn’t working!” K’vyna’s voice echoed in her head this time. “These wounds are preventing my spells from healing her! Stop the carriage!”

“We stop and we lose her.” Hadriel chimed in, kneeling over her to inspect the injuries himself. “Just keep pressure on her wounds until we reach Gridania… and give her something for the pain.”

“I can’t…” S’era forced herself to speak, hardly recognizing her own voice. “My... legs…!”

“Era don’t try to move…” R’zevi wiped away the cold sweat glistening on her forehead. “Breathe in. Breathe out. We’re taking good care of you but you have to remain calm okay?”

"Guess sleepin' beauty 'ere finally got done dirt-nappin'.” Only one person she knew had an accent that thick. Across from her sat a rather bruised Lalafell by the name of Conobharo Cobharo; Conor to his friends. His favorite bandana enveloped his right arm, and was stained a deep shade of crimson. “Gave us all a right scare, lass, up an' faintin' an' bleedin' all o'er the bloody place." He winced as pain flared up in his injuries. "Ack… s'pose 'at makes a pair of us, though, aye?"

Sera was hardly in the mood for the inarticulate Plainsfolk's witty rejoinders after all she'd been through. And yet, she had more questions than she knew what to do with, and anything to help get her mind off the dizzying pain in her stomach and her possibly crippled body would be a boon. Curiosity drove her to ask, "What... what h-happened...?"

The bleeding bantam began to chortle, but was interrupted by a blood-flavored cough rising in his throat. “Brain-addled slag with magitek limbs ambushed me. Lucky I'm still availed of all me extremities, lass. Not what I'd trade wounds with ye.” She could barely understand him when she was in perfect health, but simply hearing his voice and mannerisms was enough to put the faintest of smiles on her face. “So… didja skip rope with 'at Tullus feck-shite's innards?"

“That’s enough of that.” R’zevi shot Conobharo a sharp glare. “He’s dead… it’s done.” S’era tried to focus on anything but the pain, but it was unbearable. Her gaze drifted to the front of the carriage to see the backs of K’thalen and Pherond on the reins, driving the whole group away from the chaos she wrought in Mor Dhona; she wanted to ask them if they were hurt, but her jaw was beginning to swell and lock.

Then she looked down. Her left hand was still gripping the warped hilt of her broken uchigatana; she could barely move her fingers in her gauntlet- they would have to cut through the threads to free her hand. She then reached for the pain on her stomach, feeling wetness along her fingers before K’vyna grabbed her by the wrist and forced her hand away. “Don’t touch it!” She snapped. “Don’t look!”

S’era couldn’t help herself; her gaze snapped to her bloodsoaked hand, and the ringing in her head returned once she realized this blood was hers. “She’s panicking…!” R’zevi warned, gently guiding the back of her head into his lap. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me Era. Breathe in, breathe out.” She looked deep into his eyes but she could barely hear him, the throbbing pain was only made worse the more she tried to move. She tried to force her jaw open to say something- to say anything, but to no avail; she could neither breathe nor think straight, as the fear of death hovered over her like a spectre.

“Restrain her!” Hadriel commanded, moving to pin her arm down while Conor scurried over to help hold down the other. R'zevi continued to stroke her cheeks and temples in an attempt to calm her down, but nothing was working.

"Breathe! Era! … Era?!"

S'era's eyes slowly rolled into the back of her head before she slipped under once again.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv @hadriel-ffxiv @conobharo-cobharo-xiv

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years ago

Text

SKIN DEEP—a fic

So Rainbow had a pretty funny exchange on Twitter yesterday about the Watford crew and teenage acne, and in particular if Baz would have acne. Which she said he most certainly would. So, being me, I had to go write a fic about it. Because I have no chill and even less self control. So here is a slightly crack-y fic, set at pre-canon era Watford, as hormones start to surge and Simon becomes pimple obsessed.

Screen shots of Rainbow’s tweets at the end of this post, to prove this lunacy had a real life prompt.

Simon and Baz fourth year, as the ravages of adolescence commence. Pimples, blemishes and spots. Questionable concoctions. The roots of Baz’s immaculate skin care regimen. Some things even a vampire can’t avoid.

Skin Deep

Year Four

Simon

I’m just about to splash water on my face when I notice them in the mirror. I mean, I’ve been expecting this to happen. I saw the older boys go all spotty at the homes. There’s no way I’d be lucky enough to be spared.

But fuck it all. I’ve got one on the side of my nose, two on my chin and one right between my eyebrows. How did I get all these pimples in one night?

I’m half tempted to think Baz spelled me. But that’s not his style, he doesn’t sneak about doing something like this, even though he’s a prick and a plotter. No, he did things like this when we were first years, but now when Baz spells me he wants everyone to know what he’s done.

Makes a production of it, the wanker.

Like when he knocks my boater off. Spells my shoes untied during class, so I trip when I stand up. Or seals the lid on the butter dish at breakfast.

If Baz was going to spell me spotty he’d do it in on a Monday, right before class, when everyone would notice. Not in our room, on a Saturday morning, when we’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He’s still asleep so if he did do it, it must have been in the night and really what would be the bloody point of that?

I have to reluctantly admit it’s probably not him this time. It’s me. I was just hoping this particular stage of puberty would just pass me by.

The other milestones have been coming one right after another though, so I guess I’m not that lucky.

I’ve got hair in more places now.

And I grew three inches this summer (Baz grew four, the tosser, so he’s still taller than me).

He’s taller but it’s like he fits in his body. Glides when he walks. Smooth as silk on the pitch. Bloody infuriating, is what it is.

I feel like a marionette on a string, my arms and legs all out of sync, knocking into furniture and tripping over my own feet, even when my shoes are tied.

And my voice has been doing that stupid thing where it gets all deep mid-sentence, and then it goes up so high I sound like Madame Bellamy. It’s bloody awful. Baz always gives me shit about it --“going to break into song for us, Snow?”

He’s such a prick.

I lean in closer to the mirror. The ones on my chin are small. It’s the nose one that’s a disaster.

No help for it. I’ll ask Penny if there’s a spell at breakfast. Though I doubt there is, seeing as Agatha’s been spotty for weeks and I know she’d use a spell, if there was one. Penny says Agatha spells her hair to be that straight and shine like it does. I wasn’t sure I believed her but some days it’s got a bit of an uneven wave to it so I wonder if Penny may be right.

*******

“No, Simon, there isn’t a spell.” Penny is using her patient voice with me, which means she thinks my question is unbearably stupid. She leans across the table to peer at me over her glasses. “You’ve hardly got any.”

“I might only have four now. But just you wait. They’re bound to get worse. With my luck I’ll be covered in them.”

“You don’t know that. And even if they do get worse it’s human nature! The universal teen experience!”

I groan.

“It won’t be that bad, Simon. Besides everyone’s spotty.”

“Baz isn’t spotty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not Baz again, please.”

“Have you seen him, Penny?”

“I see him every day, Simon.”

“Yes, but have you really looked?”

“Obviously not as intently as you.”

“I live with him!”

I get another eye roll.

“He’s not got one spot! I tell you, it’s proof he’s a vampire. You can’t go through normal adolescence and be as pristine as all that.”

“Everyone goes through puberty at different times. He’s probably not at that stage yet.”

“He’s taller than me!”

“He’s always been taller than you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“It’s not like he has any control over that, Simon. It’s genetics.”

I know that. I know height isn’t something that you can magick. But it just doesn’t seem fair that each time I grow enough to catch up to him, he grows too.

He did it last summer. Did it again this summer. Even grew over the Christmas holiday this year, the jammy bastard.

And now I’m sprouting pimples right and left and he’s across the dining hall with his flawless, pearly grey skin. Not a spot to be seen.

Typical.

****

I can tell I’ve got more when I wake up. Bloody hell. The old ones dry up and get crusty and new ones take their place.

My face feels heavier this morning. I grimace and I know there’s one on the side of my nose again. It pinches when my cheeks move so it must be massive. And the one on my chin itches— it’s probably grown overnight, red and welted around that nasty white center. I can’t even imagine what my forehead looks like.

I’ve tried everything.

Washing my face twice a day.

Alcohol to try to dry them out (didn’t do a thing, except make my skin all flaky so I looked like I had dandruff and the pox).

I borrowed some ointment off of Gareth. (He’s worse off than me, the poor sod, just a face full of them.) (Which should have tipped me off that whatever he was using wasn’t working.) (Got an earful from Penny about that.)

I had some sort of allergic reaction when I used his, so my face was itching, red even in the areas between the spots, and felt like it was on fucking fire.

Practically scrubbed my face off trying to wash it away.

Of course, Baz walked in right as I came out of the en suite. Did a double take at the sight of me, the wanker, then raised that eyebrow of his and curled his lip up in a sneer. Leaned forward and studied me for a moment. My face got even hotter. I don’t like it when he stares at me like that, all intense and focused. Like he’s plotting the best way to end me without triggering the Anathema. Makes my stomach twist, it does.

Made me wish my wand wasn’t half way across the room.

But I know Baz won’t risk the Anathema. He’s never done anything remotely threatening in our room. (It’s another story out of our room.)

He’d crossed his arms over his chest after he was done inspecting me and smirked, the tosser. “You know, Snow, between the excessive quantity of moles, infinite number of freckles, and extraordinary collection of pimples you have on your face, I don’t think I can actually see anything resembling skin anymore.”

He’s going to make me trigger the Anathema one of these days.

I ended up having to see the nurse for it, when I couldn’t stop scratching at my face. She rolls her eyes almost as much as Penny. It’s not like I can help being there so often. I’ve got missions. Important work for the Mage. It’s what I do.

She’d shaken her head at me and cast some spell that made the itching go away but didn’t do a thing for the bloody spots. Looked bored and put upon even doing that, she did.

This teen experience is a bloody nuisance.

I’m more and more convinced Baz is a vampire. The entire class looks poxed except for him. Like we’re in the middle of a plague while he’s all alabaster skin, unblemished and smooth, immaculate and bloody flawless.

Perfect, just like he always is.

Wanker.

Baz

Snow is an absolute spotted mess. It was entertaining at first, to watch him peer at himself in the mirror, hear the muttered curses as he would catch sight of each new blemish.

But I’m actually finding myself almost feeling sorry for him now.

Almost.

He’s standing at his mirror, turning his face this way and that, grumbling to himself as he inspects his reflection.

It’s something he does on a daily basis since his skin condition deteriorated so precipitously. I should probably stop needling him about it.

But I won’t because he actually seems quite bothered by it. Can’t let him think I’m going soft.

I wasn’t joking the other night, when I mocked him. I don’t think he has a span of skin left that doesn’t have some manner of spot or blotch or freckle on it. At least he’s stopped with the alcohol washes. He was shedding more than a snake when he was doing that, leaving errant flakes of skin all over the bathroom sink.

Disgusting.

Whatever he’s doing certainly isn’t making anything better. Making it a far sight worse by my estimation.

He’s literally a textbook illustration of acne vulgaris. The full range: from red and bumpy spots, to glaring pustules, to crusted over, scabby craters.

More like a walking dermatologic visual in actuality. You could slap a label on him: progressive stages of teenage acne and the entire range of pigmented facial anomalies.

Although they weren’t really anomalies before the acne got to Snow. His moles and freckles just seem to fit with his tawny skin—vast arrays of constellations scattered across his face, mapping out patterns against the smoothness of his complexion.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. What absolute nonsense. Snow’s freckles are a travesty.

And he’s anything but smooth complexioned. He’s more of a lunar landscape than Shakespeare’s damask’d roses.

I can’t be arsed to mess with him now though. I’m too comfortable under my blankets.

It’s far too early for anyone to be up, but Snow’s probably readying himself to head off on one of the Mage’s blasted missions again. Despite the fact that it’s a Sunday morning and by all accounts he should be doing what the rest of us are—having a lazy lie-in.

I watch him from under half-lidded eyes, the blankets pulled up to cover the bottom half of my face. He growls one last time, savages his curls in an attempt to tame them, and then charges out the door. It slams shut behind him, further proof that Snow has no regard for the niceties of sharing a room.

Thanks to all his thumping about, I’m now wide awake. I try to go back to sleep, try to will myself into a drowsy oblivion, but that ship has sailed. No Sunday lie-in for me and I lay the blame directly on Snow.

I stay under the covers for a bit longer, dreading the chilly walk to the en suite, but eventually my need to piss outweighs the comfort of the bed.

It’s not until I’m washing my hands and happen to glance up at the mirror that I notice.

There’s a pimple on my nose. Not just on my nose—at the very tip of it. Right in the fucking center of my face. If it were anywhere else—my forehead or my cheeks, for example—I’d have some chance of hiding it. But this. I can’t hide this.

And I can’t hide the one on my chin either. Bloody hell.

I shouldn’t even have pimples. I should by all rights be immune to this. I don’t get sick, I’m not prey to infections—how the bloody hell have I ended up with acne, for Crowley’s sake? It should be one of the perks of being undead—imperviousness to the ravages of teenage skin eruptions.

For half a minute I wonder if Snow has spelled me, in retribution for my insensitive commentary on his facial imperfections. But there is no possible way Snow could have managed a spell this precise, this nuanced. I’d be covered in boils, like Job himself, if Snow had attempted to pox me.

That’s not to say that this is acceptable. It most assuredly is not. And there’s no bloody spell for it. Dev’s been spotty since last year and he and Niall have yet to find anything that does more than slightly diminish the redness.

It’s fine. This is fine.

It’s not fine.

I need to call home and talk to Daphne. Surely she’ll have some advice for me.

Simon

The sunlight filtering through the window wakes me up. I’m still knackered from yesterday. Didn’t get back until well after midnight and I’ve got class in just a bit. I stretch and groan as my shoulder pops. I wrenched it trying to free my sword from that basilisk’s skull last night. I roll my neck and pull myself to a seated position.

Baz is already up. The door to the en suite’s closed but I don’t hear the water running.

My stomach growls. I’ll have time for seconds if I get to breakfast early enough. I’m just about ready to head down there when Baz comes out of the bathroom, steam drifting behind him and bringing the scent of his shampoo with it. It’s some posh brand, in sleek, artistically shaped bottles.

Penny says it smells like cedar and bergamot. I’m not sure what cedar and bergamot smell like. All I know is that the scent is unfairly pleasant.

Unlike Baz, who isn’t pleasant at all.

He looks murderous at the moment, eyebrows lowered, eyes narrowed. He’s an arse in general but more so in the mornings. He’d sleep late if he had the chance—he’s rarely out of bed before nine on weekends, the tosser, not unless he’s got exams to study for or an away match.

I’m trying to stay out of his way as I leave but I make for the door right as he crosses the room to his wardrobe and we do this awkward half step to avoid each other.

And that’s when I see it.

He’s got a pimple on his nose. Right at the tip of it, where it comes to a bit of a point. It’s nothing compared to any of mine. I’d hardly notice it on anyone else but this is Baz.

It’s stark against his pale skin, raised and just slightly reddened.

Fuck. He’s got one on his chin as well. Two, actually.

Baz has spots.

Trivial and hardly noticeable ones, but still.

I open my mouth to say something then think better of it and hightail it down to breakfast.

I still can’t quite believe it.

Baz has spots.

Penny is disappointingly unimpressed by this unexpected and highly irregular development.

“Simon, we all have spots. This is not some earth-shattering revelation. It’s puberty. A normal part of human development. We’ve been over this.”

“No, but this is Baz. Baz, Penny. He’s not human.”

Penny rolls her eyes again. She rolls her eyes rather a lot, I’m thinking. “He is if he has spots, Simon. I’d say this disproves your vampire hypothesis for good.”

“Maybe vampires aren’t immune to acne.”

“Simon.”

“Maybe it’s some plot. He probably magicked them up himself, the scheming prick.”

“You’re relentless! First you’re outraged that he doesn’t have spots, now you’re complaining that he does! For Merlin’s sake, Baz has finally shown himself to be as imperfect as the rest of us, so let it go, Simon.”

“He’s not imperfect. Far from it. Even his pimples are impeccable—small, unobtrusive, uh . . . restrained.”

Penny stands up, takes her plate and glares at me over the top of her glasses. “That’s enough, Simon. You’re being absurd. No one has perfect pimples.” She stomps across the hall to deposit her dishes, turning back to give me a disapproving look.

I scowl at her. Baz walks in as Penny goes out.

She’s wrong this time. Penny’s not wrong about much, but she’s wrong about this.

Baz’s pimples are fucking perfect.

It’s so fucking unfair.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383057

#carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #my fics #my writing #pimples #rainbow’s twitter #watford #rainbow said Baz has acne how could I resist writing this?

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thousandsunnywrites · 5 years ago

Text

Mister Sun

⤷ ficlet

part 1 | part 2

Ace x f!reader; romantic

⤷ synopsis: The only way to calm yourself down was by listening to Mister Sun by Barney. Sounds cute right? Don’t be a clown. This is a n g s t.

⤷ word count: 1,6k

⤷ a/n: aHHHHH heres my comeback from my hiatus 😎hope y’all liked it, i was writing when it was 4 AM and i downtripped to lots of sad songs, remembering how good and youthful life was before I became a boring old hag. das all folks, lemme know what u think as always! (((also im trying this new format just for ficlets/og works teehee)))

----

“Oh mister sun, sun, mister golden sun,” Ace cooed as his rough fingers gently combed through your hair, “please shine down on me.” You shift on his lap, clearly still startled from the nightmare, but unwinding as he continues his humming while swaying lightly.

He was so warm against the cold night.

“You feeling better?” His head lulled a bit to the side, his loud yawn permeating the night air. Guilt bloomed in your chest for waking him up in these delicate hours, but you couldn’t help but need comfort. Your late mother always sang Barney’s song to calm you when you were younger, so naturally it was the only way to unravel your nerves, despite it being a child’s song.

“Thanks for doing this, I know it’s not really your style.” You briefly apologized. He waved it off.

“No biggie, anything for my girl.” He grinned, his toothy smile shining against the moonlit sea. Your giggle follows right after, his smiles always made you feel like everything was gonna be okay.

“Love you babe,” you dreamily sigh, still high off broken sleep.

“I know.”

You nestled your head on the meatiest part of his thigh, and fell asleep. When silence pervaded the air, he pulled you tight to him and closed his eyes. The tranquility of the night made you follow suit a bit after.

All things continued well, you went fishing with Ace the next morning, catching a bigger fish than him and bragging about it to Marco.

“Cheater!” Ace kept chanting as he demanded a rematch. “You just got lucky, lemme show you how it’s really done.” Grumbling, you acquiesced to his ramblings and hooked on bait.

“Ho,ho. You’re going down, lover boy.” You bore your sole into the wood of the deck, readying yourself for battle.

“Ready!” He counted down, “Set! Go!”

Fishing lines cast into the sea, a brief moment passing by before a fish tugs on your line first. Messily reeling it in, your feet trip over themselves, cursing as the rod slipped through your sweaty grip. Meanwhile, Ace grunted as he fought against his big catch before victoriously reeling it in. As much as you hate admitting it, you lost.

“Yeah!!” Ace rejoiced, admiring his fish, “we’re eating good tonight boys! Fire up the grills!” The resounding cheers of the crew followed after.

Moments like these, seeing everyone, especially Marco, merrily hammered with booze and seeing Ace mingling with the crowd, occasionally falling asleep, yet his smile never fading. It was moments like these that you wished never left because eventually everything becomes a distant memory.

As a little girl, you believed nightmares disappear after mom sings you to sleep. As an adult, you realized nightmares are never really gone; instead it slowly builds itself in a steady, continuous stream until it becomes real.

It became hell.

The marines took Ace.

Whitebeard rampaged.

And one thing leads to the other, you find yourself alongside his little brother on the battlefield. Ace looked disparaged sitting atop of the execution platform, protected by the best of the best.

“Ace!” With a determined look raging through his pupils, he grit his teeth and dug his fingernails through the log he was carrying, “We’ll save you! Y/n and I, we’ll save you!” His promise rang throughout the battlefield, commencing the beginning of the end.

The battle ensues, one thing leads to another and Ace is free, running towards freedom.

Until Akainu provokes him.

“Ha, the loser from the dead generation finally met his time.” The magma man inched closer as the flames flickered off of Ace’s body, angry.

“Take that back.” Ace growled, his white-knuckled fist engulfed in his flames.

Akainu snickered. “In other words, he’s an eternal loser who will never surpass Roger. Making all his underlings call him ‘old man’ and ‘father’ or whatever.... he got stabbed because his stupid ‘sons’ believed every word he said.”

“The old man gave us a place where we belong,” Ace lunged forward, fist in front, swallowed with rage, “don’t make fun of the old man who saved my life!”

He dodged gracefully, turning on his heel to jab Ace in the rib. They exchange punches, the belligerent admiral having the upper hand due to Ace’s lagging and recklessness. Akainu’s eyes shifted from the fire fist to the strawhat.

Perfect, he thought, time to end this.

He leaped in the air towards Luffy, the magma on his fist leaving a trail behind him and a smile as wide as ever. He won.

His fist never connected with the strawhat.

It bore a hole through Ace instead.

Even better.

Overwhelming dread filled the battlefield, especially in Luffy’s unwavering faith, because holy shit you’re not supposed to see right through him. “Ace!” Marco called from the other side, soaring to his side while everyone froze in fear as they watched the events unfold. Whitebeard can only watch in lament, knowing that he did all that he could and it still wasn’t enough. Luffy promised to save him, but why does it feel like he’s the one Ace saved?

He was there, within your reach. Why couldn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you do anything?

How could you let him die? Out of all the things you could’ve done for him, you cried.

Pathetic.

He was right there.

You rushed into the rumbling battleground, skidding against the concrete to plant yourself next to him. Luffy’s head whipped to you, holding Ace in his shaking arms. “Y-y/n,” Luffy trembled, and the look in his eyes said it all. He’s dying.

Ace exchanged a few incoherent words with Luffy, so melancholic that he went into shock, mouth agape as his eyes rolled back into his skull.

Swapping places with Luffy, you held Ace’s head on your lap. “Hey, don’t cry,” he brushed the hair clinging to your wet face, “don’t make that face. Doesn’t look like you.” He joked as you pulled him closer to your chest with your foreheads touching and hands shaking as it was on either side of his cheeks, screaming in frustration as tears stained the ground and shamelessly dripped over his face. The warm air contrasted with the coldness of Ace’s body.

“You’re gonna be fine,” your eyes scanned for a doctor, “you’re gonna live, you’ll be fine!” You called out to the nearest medic, asking them to save him.

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s already too late, not much to do!”

“Bullshit! You’re a fucking doctor right? What kind of a doctor can’t even save a man dying in front of him?”

Scared, the poor doctor frantically skirted away, while Ace stared into your orbs, admiring them one last time. “No need to be upset,” he nuzzled his cheek against your thigh, “he can’t save me. Nobody can. My insides are fried.”

“Don’t talk like that!” If he wasn’t injured, you would’ve slapped the living shit out of him. “You’re not dying. I refuse. Get up.”

“It’s no use.”

You heave up his weight, slinging his arm over your shoulder, only to come crashing back down. The others watched in pity because all you can do was repeatedly punch the ground in dismay like a child throwing a tantrum.

“You can make it!”

“Y/n.”

“Luffy promised we’d save you and I intend to keep my word.”

“Y/n.”

While watching you trying to save him in vain, unconscious tears wet his cheeks as he bit his lip. It broke his soul to know that he has to leave you like this and there’s nothing he can do to help you. He wants to live. For you. But he knows better than to dream, especially in the condition he’s in. He haphazardly tapped your face with the fading strength he had.

“Y/n, calm down. I’ll be fine. Please don’t cry. Listen to me, yeah?”

You nodded, knowing it was a lie, but acquiescing to hear your lover.

“God, I’m so tired Y/n.” He took a shallow breath before continuing, “I wanna sleep but I don’t wanna go.” I don’t want to leave you alone, hangs on his lips.

This was the end of the line. You knew it was. His stagnant breaths told you so.

All of your movements stop, frustration replaced with empty acceptance. Ace can’t remember you like this, you thought, it’d only be harder for him. “Go ahead,” you manage to show him a forced smile, contrasting against your red nose and puffy eyes, telling him it’s okay. It’s okay to go. He was not nearly convinced, but it was getting harder to fight the sleep overwhelming his crisp body.

“Go sleep,” you encouraged once more, “I’ll be here for you, waiting for you.” You choked on the words as his smile relaxed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you, y/n.”

“I know.”

“Thank you for loving me.”

Clenching your fists, you bit the insides of your cheeks, hoping to drown out the deafening world. Everyone was screaming, but your heart screamed louder. Don’t go, your heart pleaded, I need you. Please don’t leave me.

But you knew better, Ace would’ve wanted to know that you’d be okay without him. You had to be strong. For him.

This is all that I can do for him.

Before all life left his body, you sang to him one last time, hoping it would provide him as much comfort as it did for you.

“Oh mister sun, sun, mister golden sun. Please shine down on me.”

The wind gushed by, taking his last breath with it. The end of the beginning was concluding, clearing a new path for a new era in its place. The war raged, filled with metal clashing and the wailing of crestfallen loved ones.

His vivre card burned, crumbling into thin air, as if it never existed.

Please wake me up from this nightmare.

#little miss angsty strikes again #part 1 cow tiddy suckers #one piece #one piece scenario #ace x reader #Portgas D. Ace

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27dragons · 6 years ago

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Square: T2 - Image: Rhodey Hug Title: Mission: Mothering Warning: None Rating: G Pairing: None Characters: Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Roberta Rhodes Tags: Rhodey POV, MIT Era, Protectiveness, MIT-era, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting Summary: The first time Rhodey invites Tony to go with him on spring break, he has a mission... Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323136/ Word Count: 817 Posted for @tonystarkbingo

Tony glanced at Rhodey nervously, and Rhodey nodded. You can do this.

He could tell when the phone was answered, because Tony suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes widening. “Hey, uh, hi Dad. I hope this isn’t a bad time...” He chewed on his lip, and faintly, Rhodey could hear the low wah wah wah of someone talking on the other end.

“No, I’ll be quick,” Tony promised. “I just wanted to, I mean, I was thinking about not coming home for spring break this year.” He rushed right ahead before his father could react. “I thought I’d spend it with, uh, some friends, sort of, you know, kind of networking?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. Tony shouldn’t have to network. He should be enjoying his spring break like any other kid. Hell, he shouldn’t be in college at all, to tell the truth -- the smarts were there, of course they were, but he was fourteen. Rhodey had already had to rescue him twice from predatory older students, all too willing to take advantage of Tony��s desperate need to fit in. Taking care of Tony had somehow become Rhodey's primary mission.

But Tony had promised Rhodey that the “networking” line was his best bet to getting permission to spend the break at Rhodey’s. It wasn’t entirely untrue, anyway. He’d be “networking” with Rhodey, who -- all modesty aside -- wasn’t a bad contact to have in his pocket for the future. The Air Force had taken one look at Rhodey’s transcripts and ASVAB scores and promised a fast-track to an officer’s career as an engineer.

And he’d be “networking” with Rhodey’s mom, too. Howard Stark would probably look down his nose at that, but Rhodey was of the opinion that Tony needed a solid dose of Roberta Rhodes’ no-nonsense, common-sense outlook. And the kid could probably use a little actual mothering, too, and Rhodey had no doubt that his mom would take one look at this scrawny, underfed white boy with the too-big eyes and a tendency to flinch if someone approached from the side without warning, and immediately commence with the mothering.

Which would mean somewhat less mothering for Rhodey, who was not at all deficient in that area, so. Win-win.

Tony hung up his phone and grinned at Rhodey, giving a thumbs-up. “We’re golden.” He hesitated, eyes widening as he looked around their room. “What should I pack?”

Mission: Mothering was a go.

(read the rest on ao3!)

#tonystarkbingo #tony stark #rhodey #brotp #my writing

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hurt-care · 6 years ago

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And yet MORE insanely hot 1800s-era allergy descriptions. This one might be my favourite yet:

“It was not until I was eighteen that the annually recurring cold and asthmatic breathing was attributed to hay. It always commenced when grass was in flower, varying with the lateness of the season. The cause was unmistakably the pollen of one kind of grass (the anthoxanthum); but wheat seems to sometimes cause it. Dry hay has no effect; I could sleep on a truss of it. Haymaking time is the worst time, as the pollen is then shaken about; but sunrise, the coldest hour of the twenty-four, is the worst time. Warm weather relieves me. A cold, cloudy day, with an ungenial wind, is most trying. Good drenching rains seem to lay the demon low and greatly relieve my misery.

My malady begins with itching, smarting, and irritation in the corner of the eye. The lids become so hot and swollen, that I cannot close them, or, if I do, they stick together. It passes to the nose and palate, which feel as if sprinkled with Cayenne pepper. The whole region above and behind the palate and back of the nose feels as though mashed up together; it is so swollen and undefined. And between the brain and its bone-box is a sensation like that one feels after a long run, when one’s shirt, wet with perspiration, clings to the skin.

My taste and smell are altogether lost. I sometimes sneeze a hundred times a day; and, when out in the sunshine, I have sneezed so frantically as to lose my hat, and have hardly possible time to find it again between the paroxysms. I would do anything to stave off the first morning paroxysm. When I feel it coming, I seize my pocket-handkerchief and continuously blow my nose, breathing through the mouth; and sometimes I can only sleep when turned o my side with the handkerchief stuffed up my nostrils.

All these symptoms, however, are pastime, in comparison with the asthma. When my chest is set fast with spasm, I struggle for breath, clutch convulsively at the back of the bed or arm of the chair, and I can gain no rest save on my hands and knees, or with my head on the table. A dreadful sense of suffocation comes on, with a hard frequent cough. My face and lips are of a deep purple; I gasp for breath, till at length I sink down exhausted and half-insensible. If roused by stimulants, I recover only to undergo a renewal of suffering. These attacks come on at night, and subside as the morning approaches.

The sea-air relieves wonderfully, if the wind is off sea. I have started for Brighton suffering so frightfully that everybody in the coach believed I must have died, and so did I; yet within twenty-four hours I was well, save from remaining weakness.

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soundofseventeen · 6 years ago

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Kissing in Cars (Wen Junhui)

Happy New Year my loves! I’m kicking off the year with this Jun thing bc he hasn’t let me work on anything else besides this. This is one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands. Enjoy! (I don’t own the gifs!) -Bee

The warm sunlight peeking through the curtains made Junhui hide under the blankets, making him afraid to open his eyes. He could feel the dip on the other side of the bed, and if he stretched his arm, he knew he’d someone on the other side. Common sense told him he knew who it was, but the folly part made him fearful. If he kept his eyes shut, then maybe he could pretend just a little bit longer. It soon became too much for him, the warmth of the blanket suffocating him so he found himself on his side, sleepily admiring the very person in a peaceful slumber. He knew that since the first time he saw you, he’d seen love and the last he’d ever need. Tentatively, he reached over to brush the hair from your face, almost certain if he were to touch you, you’d disappear. He retracted his hand at the last moment, not trusting the feeling of being too good to be true.

The familiarity of your room comforted him though. He liked that despite the fact so much had changed in so little time, that this little space stayed exactly the same. He used to tease you often about you being a person of habit but in this moment, he could understand your point of view. He zeroed in on the wooden picture frame on his side, smiling at the photo it held. You weren’t even dating him at the time, but Mingyu swore up and down, you’d fallen in love that day, what with the way he had captured the candid moment of predebut Junhui tickling your nose a leaf still attached to a twig and you pulling your head as far from him as he could. He lightly traced the Jun loves his angel before he set it gently back in place. A similar picture of you touching his heart with his hand over yours on that same day stayed in his wallet over the years.

He sighed quietly, eyes closing involuntarily as he rolled back on his back, his mind swirling between his fuckups and good times with you. Despite only knowing you since his days as a trainee, there was a lifetime of secrets you shared during that time, from the most humdrum of them like who ate the last slice of pizza to the most intense like running into a human only to have them disappear before an apology could be made, there could’ve been a novel and sequel (trilogy, maybe a series?) He thought back to the early days when he was too tired to even hold his head up and you were there to make sure he was okay. (“Why do you always call me angel?”

“Because not only do you take care of me, I can’t remember the last time the world looked so bright.”

“Stop being so cheesy.”

He grinned. “Then stop responding to angel.”

It never happened; you responded to that nickname like as if he’d call you babe.)

The nights he stayed at Pledis, his dark thoughts plaguing his mind of not living up to the standards of a kpop group and failing before he could even begin, you were there to comfort not only him but everyone, assuring them that the word could use a group like them. He created his favorite running joke to date with you by taking your hand and gently placing it on his heart explaining, “You keep my heart warm...angel,” followed by a wink and a slight shiver to prove his point.

Even upon debuting and exceeding expectations, his heart would pound nervously at hearing a rumor that’d threaten to leave a dark mark on the Seventeen label. He learned shortly after One Fine Day: 13 Castaway Boys that maybe he’d like to test the waters with you, but he was impressed with the fact that you beat him to the confession and thus the beautiful relationship to date officially commenced...well, it did once he managed to convince 12 other boys to each buy you a bouquet of flowers and had you pick out the artificial rose and gave you the oh so cheesy, “I’ll love you until the last flower dies,” line.

(“They’re a little young though, aren’t they, Hyung?” While Minghao meant that rhetorically, he couldn’t help but scoff at that. He was happy for them, but he was skeptical about the ordeal and if they could even survive it.

“Hence young love,” Soonyoung had sighed at the sight of you trying not to cry from his friend’s gesture. It didn’t keep him from dabbing his own eyes with the sleeve of his flannel. “Everyone deserves to experience it. It’s a beautiful thing.”

And with his idea of throwing the remnants of the floral designs around them came a mild case of sinusitis and multiple trips to the supermarket for over the counter medication for that.)

The early months of your (public) relationship contained a lot of dates to bakeries in an attempt to find the perfect cake pop to go with the perfect iced coffee he swore he found on Main Street and pouting when you’d tell him the combination wasn’t it and days at the studio where he flat out refused to hang up on you even though you were both busy. (He protested that he liked hearing you talk even if it wasn’t directly at him.) He met your friends almost right away and he was nothing if he wasn’t a little smug that they were tongue-tied at the sight of him even as time wore on. (“I’m confident in how I look. It’s not my fault if they find me attractive and I can’t do anything about it. I guess my angel has competition.” A shrug.) He fueled your love of plushies with buying more of them and respectively naming them after the boys and other kpop artists that had a similar personality. His favorite pastime became driving in the rain with the windows partially open and the heater off so you could watch the way the temperature dropped inside and see your breath. (“It’s proof that I know this is all real and not a dream. I...know that what I do is a dream too, but this…this is a different kind of dream. You are my angel.”)

Though the honeymoon stage never wore off completely, once you could wrap your head around the fact that Wen Junhui was your boyfriend and not just a friend, the relationship took a more comfortable and understanding approach. Because he was an idol, you learned really quickly that he couldn’t be there 24/7, especially when he was in a different country and sometimes separated from everyone except Minghao to cover some formalities with their homeland, so you got through those times with texts and pictures to fill each other in on. You surprised him many a time when he came back from Seoul, not at the airport but with milestones you accomplished while he was gone (a new job, a promotion at it, buying the apartment you currently lived in), and all he did was take you in his arms and smile because he was always so proud of you. Always his biggest supporter, you preordered anything you could and much to his dismay, hung up the album posters where it best suited them like one covering the door in your room. (“Hey angel?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that Joshua hyung on the back door?”

“Yeah! This era looks really good on everyone and I have no complaints about Teen, Age Joshua being the first thing I see.”

The two things that came out of this was that Junhui broke into your house and decorated your walls with posters of him from each era and photo shoots and the other that he became a human cocoon and did not let you go near the boys for three days, but remained skeptical of Joshua. “For the last time, he isn’t my bias.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me?”

“Not likely.”

“What if I die and the only way to save me is by telling me your bias?”

You pretended to think about it. “Then you die.”)

Junhui loved traveling the world because he loved bringing you things back from his trips whether it be a seashell or a postcard or even some knock off Finding Nemo stuffed fish he won at a carnival somewhere in Texas the first time he visited the United States. During a planned trip with your friends to New York, he dropped a not so subtle cover on YouTube that left you both embarrassed and touched and an impish smile from him when you Skyped him that night. He never forgot an anniversary, birthday or inconsequential event, (thanks to him not only putting it in his calendar but also taking the liberty of doing it to yours and everyone in Seventeen. Seungcheol scolded him about it once. You, on the other hand, were lucky to remember the days of the week. He poked fun at you, but he knew your mind was messy, complete with open, unused tabs and once cracked a joke he could hear the elevator music coming from inside), so while he couldn’t be there to celebrate, he reminded you that his future would be nothing without you. He loved you and adored your friends and he knew you were the one. (“There’s no future without you Angel.”)

Good times came to an end as the demand of Seventeen’s success rose and soon, there was hardly time for a date or even an outing with everyone. More comebacks were arranged as soon as they came back, worldwide recognition put them under scrutiny and there left no room to breathe. He remembered how he called you from Pledis that he arrived to work one morning and by the afternoon on that same day, he was in Pledis’s headquarters in Japan. That same year he found himself all over Asia and even back in the United States for a second KCon appearance and all he could do was hope you weren’t asleep when he called you. The fights and arguments were few and far between and while he was grateful for that, he was frustrated too. (“You said you were okay with this! You knew what you were getting into! As much as I want to, I can’t control my work Y/N!”)

You had unfortunately entered the part of the relationship where if the sasaengs or jealous fans didn’t tear you apart, then the distance, time zones, and hectic schedules would. Junhui started realizing this early on. He’d seen what dating in the industry could do and he wasn’t about to experience that firsthand. So he did the hardest thing he could ever do. A few days after he had gotten home, he surprised you by telling you to get ready and bring a plush with you and he took you out for dinner, where it felt like old times again. He took you home after that, trying to prolong the inevitable. He braced himself for the conversation ahead, making sure you had your plush out and stuttered the words out once he was in the parking lot. He choked a lot, the air thinning around him. He loved you more than words could say, but he didn’t want your relationship to end up becoming a chore and breaking up and hating each other. He watched you squeeze the plush a few times, and when he gently touched your hands, you bolted from the car, and he watched you run to your door, not caring it was raining or that you had forgotten your sweater with him. He waited until you were inside so he could call your friends. (“Guys, I just did the hardest thing in my life. I’m sorry. Can you come to Y/N’s place? She’ll explain it but I’m sorry. I had to do this. Make sure she’s okay. Check under the pantry in the for a box. It has the Trolls movie, a bag of hi-chews and her favorite plush and a few other things. I’m sorry. Tell her that.”)

The aftermath of that resulted in overworking and straining himself to block out the heartbreak, which left him near dehydration a lot of the time. He didn’t talk about it, but word of mouth from your friends and his condition left the other members to draw the conclusion on their own. Knowing his Carats were observant, he worked day and night on a song he couldn’t believe he was able to create from thin air and released it, (and poor timing at that, since they were working on “Getting Closer” at the same time), guiltily deceiving them that everything was alright between you and him. His punishment? An acute case of laryngitis that required bed rest and Seungcheol (along with the help of Jeonghan and Joshua) during that time fought for some time off not only for him, but for the entire group so while everyone vacationed somewhere in Japan, he was bedridden in Seoul for a week and even then, wasn’t allowed to go join them until he was right in his head. (“We need you to be okay Junnie. You won’t talk to us about it and I think you wanna figure this out by yourself since you won’t let us in,” Hansol had told him when Jun had asked for details.)

He didn’t know how much time had passed by or when this “vacation” would end. He spent day in and day out, wandering the ghost towns of Seoul in hopes of finding something to heal him. It seemed the universe had something in mind since it’s how he found you.

It was a rainy evening and you were shielding your groceries and he stopped in front of you. You had freaked out and dropped everything and he would have laughed if you didn’t look like you were about to cry and you were about to turn away, but Junhui wasn’t about to let that happen. He couldn’t convince you to get in the car with him, so he walked with you on foot, and after aimless direction and mostly one-sided conversation, he managed to get you back in the car, sopping wet nonetheless, and offered to take you out to dinner, which you refused. Not taking no for an answer, he stopped by a drive-thru, ordered some burgers and drove until he stopped at a park. He offered you a burger again, and you accepted it. It was quiet, with nothing but his playlist filling the tense atmosphere. He remembered you rolling the window down, letting the mist fall and eventually, it was cold enough to see your breath. He called your name softly, and when he saw you, cold lips met and the warmth he’d been missing flooded his body. The question for a second chance was hot on his tongue when a rap on the foggy window chased it away.

Local law enforcement wanting to know what they were doing out at this time and left you with a warning, the flashing lights disappearing behind them. (“Enough with the games Jun. Just take me home.”) He felt that the future was a few heartbeats away from disaster.

“It can’t work out,” you told him a few minutes after getting home. You were both in front of his car, not seeming to care that you could get sick from the rain pelting you. “You told me so.I know you and the look on your face.” You were grateful for the droplets falling from your face could be mistaken for the rain.

“I know and I’m sorry. But I didn’t wanna lose you. I still don’t.” And then he was momentarily angry. “If you didn’t wanna finish it either, you could’ve told me and we could’ve worked something out!”

“No, you left and told my friends to look after me!”

“What more could I do?! I wasn’t about to let you be by yourself and try to figure it out!” Like he did. “Listen I know everyone said we fell in love too young. I don’t think we did. I still don’t. If you don’t think so either...tell me now. Tell me we can work through this.” He saw the last few rays of the day turn into night, and he held his breath, waiting for an answer he might not get. The rain didn’t cease as he stepped closer to you, his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N?” No answer. “Y/N, look at me.”

“...Yeah?” You couldn’t look at him. Any will power you were holding would’ve dissipated.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I should’ve considered your feelings too.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I sent your friends when you probably wanted to be alone.”

“They don’t even hate you for anything. Do you know fucked up this makes everything?”

“I-“

“You hurt me; you hurt yourself, and you told them where to find the bad day box and leave. I know we didn’t have the easiest relationship but how’d you make it seem like it was? How did you manage to convince them of that?”

“You were my favorite. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for you. I made sure they knew that. They didn’t talk to me for a few weeks, but I couldn’t blame them. I hurt the love of their lives and mine.” He smiled sadly. “And we were friends before all of this. I know it’s easy to forget that.”

“You couldn’t have come to me?”

“I couldn’t. You would’ve left me outside the whole night.”

You laughed, preferring to not incriminate yourself. “How exactly would you know how I feel?”

“Right now, you’re not sure if you want me to leave.”

“No.”

“I know if I walk away right now, we’re both uncertain if this is the last time we’ll see each other.”

“Stop it.”

“If you kiss me goodnight, I’ll know that everything is alright between us. We don’t have to get back together or anything...I just need to know that you’ll be okay.” That was it. The ultimatum that had you fearing for the future. You didn’t move from your spot and Junhui sighed. He let go of you, ready to head back to his car. Before he could step further away from you, your hand curled around his arm and you kissed him.

“Can you spend the night? I don’t wanna be alone.”

When he opened his eyes again, he found the bed empty, signaling that you had already woken up. In the blink of an eye and a muffled thump later, you appeared in front of him, smiling like you finally meant it.

He leaned forward, finally cupping your face in his hands, sighing contentedly when you didn’t disappear. He thought of something good to say, but it had all been done more than once. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

You thought about it, though there wasn’t much to think about. “Second chances won’t leave us alone, will they?” You brushed the front of his hair to the side, revealing his twinkling eyes. “I don’t think we were too young either,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Were we too young?”

“No.”

“Again.”

“NO.”

“Were we too young when we fell in love?”

“NO!” You both screamed at the top of your lungs, until you collapsed on top of him in a fit of giggles.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Angel.”

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nflfanpointii · 7 years ago

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No hype necessary: Believe in the 2018 Saints defense

A rightfully skeptical bunch of New Orleans Saints fans would often ask questions a year ago about the defense.

Words from training camp often portray vast improvements many times given the blanket coverage of every practice snap. For example, the Saints defense seemingly scorched the offense throughout Monday's practice session.

Interceptions. Forced fumbles. Pass rush. Pass breakups. The defense was everywhere.

It's easy to fall for practice success in training camp. False optimism has typically led to disappointment and anger toward for the mangled, maligned Saints defense.

You could understand the cynicism from the public when hearing or reading about the on-field progress by the defense a year ago. Then came the stout play in preseason games for last year's unit.

Understandably, a letdown period opened the regular season after two poor performances in Weeks 1 and 2 against Minnesota and New England.

A turning point occurred in Week 3 at Carolina. The Saints pressured the quarterback. They created turnovers. The trend followed the team through an eight-game winning streak, an NFC South crown and a playoff win.

Last year's defense ranked 17th in total defense (336.5 yards per game), tied for 10th in scoring defense (20.4 points per game), tied for seventh in sacks (42), first in pass defenses (102), third in interceptions (20) and seventh in turnover margin (plus-7).

In the Sean Payton era, that type of defense bordered along the lines of the '85 Bears.

The conversations with Who Dats far and wide have shifted to center around how much better can the Dennis Allen-led 2018 Saints defense be after a satisfactory 2017 campaign.

The early answer? Improvement is already in progress.

A day like Monday when interceptions from three linebackers and a safety -- Alex Anzalone, Craig Robertson, Kurt Coleman and Demario Davis - won't be the norm. But the fact the Saints have that kind of play in them shouldn't be a stunner anymore.

"It is a great opportunity for us to go against our offense every day," linebacker Manti Te'o said. "It's one of the best, if not the best offense in the NFL. For us to go against the offense and compete, it's only going to make us better."

No longer does it seem like the Saints are gambling on players to fill their starting defensive lineup. In some spots, you can argue New Orleans possesses viable starting caliber depth at a position or two.

For example, I'm intrigued by the mixture of practice snaps between 2016 draft class buddies Sheldon Rankins and David Onyemata.

Onyemata has received the majority of the snaps with the first-team defense since the team commenced its padded practices a few days ago. This has placed Rankins with the second unit. The duo played together in nickel situations, which would be expected with nose tackle Tyeler Davison coming off the field.

Part of this is likely to push Rankins. Part of this is because Onyemata continues to improve. I've noted several productive snaps from Rankins during the three padded practices.

This is healthy competition at its finest.

Use the starting battle between Alex Okafor and 2018 first-rounder Marcus Davenport at defensive end as another example of healthy competition.

Okafor thrived as a starter in 2017, but an Achilles tendon injury ended his season. He's at the front end of the recovery time eight months removed from the tear. And he's back taking snaps in team drills with the ones.

First off, this helps the Saints on the edge. Secondly, this means the pressure for Davenport to become a three-down starter on Day One subsides.

At linebacker, charting who's playing where with the first and second units can be a dizzying proposition. And it's all about which of the viable defenders will the Saints run with on game day.

Davis, A.J. Klein, Te'o, Robertson, Anzalone and Hau'oli Kikaha have jumped around between tiers through five practices. Of the six players, I'd point to Davis and Anzalone as having the most impact overall, even though all of them have made notable plays in camp.

"With the positions, we keep on getting younger each year," safety Vonn Bell said. "There is great depth at each position and there is so much competition so you have to love it. Go out and have fun, we are always rotating. You never know who you are going to be with because we always split the groups up. We are always trying to see how everybody feels with each other. We're just trying to get the right group."

Speaking of the secondary, the Saints are easily three deep at cornerback (Marshon Lattimore, Ken Crawley, Patrick Robinson) and safety (Marcus Williams, Kurt Coleman, Bell). The interesting battles will be among those competing for depth.

I'm careful not to overhype anyone during training camp. A number of training camp heroes come and go every year. And I'm constantly haunted by deeming the 2014 Saints roster the best the team has compiled in franchise history. ("I probably won't be the last pundit to proclaim this year's roster the Saints' best ever," I proclaimed.)

I'll take baby steps with this proclamation: In its current form, this Saints defense will be better than the 2017 version. I didn't need five days of training camp practices to believe it. The first five days simply verified my suspicions.

Leave the cynicism behind.

#saints #new orleans saints #nfl #nola.com #defense

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longforgottenunofficial · 7 years ago

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Death is a Cabaret, Old Chum...

Time to get our noses out of the Ancient Near East and back into the Victorian era, where we find more direct sources of inspiration for the Haunted Mansion. Back HERE I discussed briefly the Cabaret du Néant, with a link HERE to Cory's treatment of the subject, which is largely given over to quoting a lengthy passage from Bohemian Paris of To-day (J.B. Lippincott, 1900). It was written by W. C. Morrow from notes by Edouard Cucuel (the book also includes Cucuel's sketches). It's very good, very interesting, and a valuable source, but buyer beware; it's a second-hand account, and in places it's inaccurate. However, there are descriptions of the C du N published in other sources too, plus a lot of photos. There is little doubt in my mind that the Cabaret du Néant was a direct source of inspiration for the Haunted Mansion. My reasons for thinking so will emerge with a fresh description of the Néant experience, drawn from several sources, as well as a closer look at the special effects used in the Néant show. I do not think these tricks have ever been explained accurately, so if you think you know the Cabaret well enough already—think again. A bit of background. The pub originally opened in Brussels in 1892 as the "Cabaret de la Mort" (i.e. the Cabaret of Death), but it soon moved to the Montmartre district of Paris, where it was renamed the "Cabaret du Néant" ("néant" = nonexistence, obliteration, nothingness, death). The Montmartre district was THE place to be if you were an artiste in the second half of the 19th c. It seems like all of the important Impressionist painters lived there or hung out there. In the 1890's, it was bursting at the seams with cabarets and theaters, including fully-themed nightclubs. Practically across the street from the Cabaret du Néant, for example, were the "Cabaret of Heaven" and the "Cabaret of Hell," side by side. The waiters dressed as angels in the former and devils in the latter. Guess which one this is:

The famous Moulin Rouge cabaret is still there, but otherwise these pubs and theaters are all gone. . . . Come to the Cabaret.

Shall we pay a visit? Oh, do let's. The street façade of the CdN is like a house dressed for mourning in traditional French fashion, with austere black and white coverings, although there is a skull and crossbones on the front door. There are two large, iron, torch-like lamps throwing yellowish-green light down on all who pass by. That kind of colored light makes people look shockingly sick and corpse-like, so we're already getting in the mood. The unsmiling doorman is dressed exactly like a croquet-mort; that is, a professionalpall-bearer or undertaker's assistant. The same is true for the waiters inside.

The doorman leads you through the low, narrow front door and down a short, dark corridor. He opens some black drapes, allowing you to enter the first room. It's dark, lit only by candles. A chandelier in the center of the room is constructed of (real) human bones and nicknamed "Robert Macaire's chandelier," Macaire being a sort of all-purpose villain and bogeyman in France. Upturned coffins serve as tables, with small thin candles available for illumination.

The walls are decorated with skulls (which serve as dim lamps), sculpture, and posters with grim slogans such as "Life is a folly which Death corrects," "To be or not to be," and "Requiescat in Pace," as well as No Smoking signs, price lists, and notices that candles are available for 10 cents. More importantly, there are paintings all over the walls depicting death and carnage. Battle scenes, a guillotine in action, and in later times, a painting of an automobile with a demonic driver, running people down—at least I think that's what this is:

It's similar to a cartoon that appeared in Punch, in 1903:

(hat tip to Craig Conley)

By the way, this was actually a common theme among cynics and satirists in those days. These new-fangled automobiles were extremely dangerous, to the point that they betrayed a contemptible indifference to human (and other) life. They were depicted as instruments of death, glamorous only to the foolish and the callous. Here's a wonderful example from Puck. Behold the demon, "Speed Mania":

(Puck 68/1756, Oct 26, 1910)

Anyway, back to the Cabaret. Upon entering the room, you are met with "Welcome, moribunds," or "Welcome, weary wanderer, to the kingdom of Death," or "Enter, mortals of this sinful world, enter into the mists and shadows of eternity," or some other greeting striking the same tone as "Welcome, foolish mortals." Better get used to it. You and your friends will be continually addressed as "mortals," "coffin worms" (asticots de cercueil), and "Maccabees," the latter term being a slang expression for anonymous cadavers found floating in the river. In an account from 1931, it says that the staff at that time received guests by chanting a mass for the dead. The staff are all instructed not to smile or do anything else to break the solemn atmosphere, much like HM butlers and maids. That includes the waiter, who seems to mean it when he says "Name your poison." The mixed drinks and the beer are all renamed after deadly microbes and bacteria of various diseases. The waiter will plop them down before you, saying something like, "Drink, coffin worms. Drink these loathsome poisons filled with the deadliest germs." A man in clerical garb eventually enters and gives a lengthy speech in morbid detail about the horrors of death, progressing from the variety of gruesome and agonizing ends awaiting individuals to the miserable fates of mankind in general. Here the place gets interesting. As he commences this portion of the lecture, the speaker points to a painting depicting a battle scene. According to Morrow, it begins to glow, making its details clear (remember, it's pretty dark in there). Then the glow fades away, and the painting has changed. The human figures in it are now all skeletons. The same thing happens with a painting of a guillotine chopping away. When the glow fades, the figures are now skeletons. Another painting shows a festive ball. Glow and fade. Now the dancers are all skeletons. In my earlier treatment I quoted without objection Albert Hopkins' explanation of this effect (written in 1901). He suggests that the paintings are transparencies with one scene painted on one side and another on the other, the second one becoming visible when illumined from the rear. I now think that explanation is inadequate. It doesn't really account for the effect as described by Morrow. The paintings light up and then fade back down, revealing a skeletonized version of the same scene. How would you do that with a single, two-sided cloth? The effect could be produced, however, by having two paintings layered very close to each other, much like the panes in a double-pane window.

The skeleton one is in front, painted on a thin cloth or on theatrical scrim. The "normal" one is in back. The paintings are already moderately illumined from the back when folks come in, showing the back painting through the transparent front one. The lighting is further turned up during the lecture, at the appropriate time, and then faded down and extinguished, leaving the front painting visible for the first time. This would be perfectly do-able in the 1890's (the CdN was fully electrified). In that earlier post, I drew a parallel between the CdN changing-painting effect and the attic wedding pictures and portrait hall paintings of the HM. If the above explanation is acceptable as a more satisfactory accounting for the effect as described, then the parallel between the Cabaret du Néant and the current Disney versions is extremely close indeed. If you bought a drink while in the first room, you got a ticket entitling you to enter the Chambre de la Mort. You now take your puny candle and follow a man in Capuchin monk's garb single file through an arched doorway (painted to look like stone), down a narrow flight of steps, with green and yellow lighting once again, making everyone look cadaverous.

At the end of the steps is an antechamber where you wait your turn. The show repeats about every half hour, and only 15 or 20 are admitted at a time. To amuse yourself while you wait, you can look through holes or niches in the brickwork at gruesome tableaux, "studies of cholera patients, of persons buried alive, and similar cheerful subjects" (NYT Apr 9, 1894). Morrow (Cucuel) speaks of "bones, skulls, and fragments of human bodies." At last a cowled figure with only his eyes visible comes in and produces a large iron key, unlocking the spiked iron gate at one end of the room and opening it with a harsh grating sound. The monks mournfully announce that you have arrived at the Gates of Death, and in you go. There is an item inside, near the entrance: "By a clever arrangement of mirrors one sees one's self on entering reflected lying in a coffin" (NYT '94), which seems like a good idea since you can then see for the first time what you yourself look like under greenish-yellow lighting. This part of the Cabaret du Néant show is justly famous. An upright coffin is visible in a narrow doorway at the far end of the room, which was hung in black in early years but later on left exposed, having been painted to look like stone vaulting. Also in early years, a pretty young lady was already in the upright coffin when you came in. She would smile and wink and then grow silent. While the monk guide kept up his groaning soliloquy about death and decay, she turned into a decaying corpse and finally a skeleton, right before your eyes. The process was then reversed, but instead of the young lady a fat old man returned. He would leave the coffin, and the monks would ask for a volunteer from the audience who would like to experience death. In later times they went straight to this phase and skipped the earlier stunt. Not missing a single detail, the Cabaret folks have a harmonium and an iron bell offstage somewhere, providing dirge music and solemn tolls at appropriate times. There are a lot of pictures of this trick.

I especially like this last set because it really shows the excellent trompe l'oeil work in this chamber, transforming blank wall into convincing arches and stonework through skillful use of the paintbrush.

The trick is done, of course, using the Pepper's Ghost illusion, which requires only a big sheet of glass and careful manipulation of the lighting. But here again, I think Albert Hopkins' explanation is inadequate. He's got a simple two-chamber set up, turning the coffin occupant into a skeleton and back again. With this arrangement, the sense of gradual transformation would be enhanced through the use of colored light. The light on the volunteer goes from normal to greenish-yellow before fading down, while the skeleton is gradually lit up.

Below is a simplified pair of diagrams. When the coffin-with-occupant (#1) is illumined and the coffin-with-skeleton (#2) is dark, the audience sees only the first. When coffin 1 goes dark and coffin 2 is lit up, you see only the second, but it looks like it's in the place of the first. This is simple, rudimentary Pepper's Ghost illusioneering.

The problem with the Hopkins arrangement is that it does not account for the descriptions of the effect. Morrow describes a slow dissolving of the face into a corrupt state of decomposition before finally becoming a dried skull:

Her face slowly became white and rigid; her eyes sank; her lips tightened across her teeth; her cheeks took on the hollowness of death,—she was dead. But it did not end with that. From white the face slowly grew livid...then purplish black.... The eyes visibly shrank into their greenish-yellow sockets. ...Slowly the hair fell away....The nose melted away into a purple putrid spot. The whole face became a semi-liquid mass of corruption. Presently all this had disappeared, and a gleaming skull shone where so recently had been the handsome face of a woman.

Well, Morrow is giving a flowery, second-hand description based on Cucuel's notes, so maybe this is all exaggerated. But the 1894 New York Timesaccount also describes a three-stage process, although the stages are different: man, skeleton, vacant. The shroud on the volunteer "by some trick gradually melted away, so did the flesh, or rather the man in the coffin, and a skeleton appeared in his stead. There remained another experiment to be witnessed, namely, the crumbling away to dust of the bones." There may even be a photograph of the intermediate, rotted-corpse stage as described by Morrow:

The CdN gang may have had a much more sophisticated set-up than Hopkins describes. One possible way to add a step to the transformation is with two sheets of glass and a third, intermediate coffin.

For an alternate method, still using only a single glass, see the remarks by "John b" in the Comments (Aug 4, 2013). It involves rotating, back-to-back coffins. The only problem I see with it is that it would be hard to use genuine audience volunteers that way. You'd probably need stooges.

Why so fancy? By the 1890's, Pepper's Ghost trickery had been in use for thirty years. The Cabarets of Heaven and Hell, across the street from the CdN, used it in their floor shows. Various traveling ghost show exhibits and theaters made heavy use of it, and Professor Pepper himself kept flogging it at the Royal Polytechnic Institute where he worked.

Furthermore, there was no shortage of Victorian spoil-sports eager to inform the public how the illusion was done:

It stands to reason that showmen would be searching for clever new ways to use what was now an old-hat illusion, something to bring back the "how do they do that?" element. The CdN boys seem just the kind who would tackle such a problem. Besides, two-sheet Pepper's Ghost illusions were known, even if this illustration doesn't show them making any particularly good use of it.

Originally, the coffin gag was the end of the show at the CdN, but in 1900 or 1901 they added a whole third room, set up like a small theater, with another Pepper's Ghost illusion onstage.

This one was played strictly for farce, to judge by descriptions and photos. The poor volunteer could not see what the audience saw: ghosts moving around, mocking, doing stupid bunny tricks, acting in a lewd and lascivious manner (this is Paris, after all). "[T]he solemnity which the lecturers invoke is of a most mock sort, and the audiences are continuously convulsed with laughter" (NYT 1896). Time to go.

Rolly Crump and Yale Gracey were professional magicians, as noted in an earlier post, and they did research into things like the history of Pepper's Ghost. There can hardly be any doubt that they knew about the Cabaret du Néant, which is mentioned in any decent survey of Pepper's. Earlier, Ken Anderson had incorporated a Pepper's Ghost illusion in his proposed haunted house walk-thru, using a 45º angled glass pane, much like CdN:

Eventually, this horizontal version of Pepper's would be used in Phantom Manor to make Melanie appear in the Endless Hallway. By the way, the CdN coffin gag was reproduced very closely, except it wasn't at Disneyland but at Knotts Berry Farm:

Besides the technical gimmicks, the CdN used a winning recipe of horror + stage magic + laughs, essentially the formula used for the Haunted Mansion.

Some time in the 1930s the Cabaret moved to a different location on the same street (#64 instead of #34) and continued to operate there for a long time. In November of 2012 we made a major discovery: The Cabaret du Néant was still open in September of 1969, in other words, still operating when the Haunted Mansion opened.

As a postscript, I should mention the apparent discrepancy between the photos of the coffin gag, in which the coffin looks like it's standing right in the doorway, and the actual set-up, which had it much further back. It's simple: these are staged photos, intended for post cards and publicity. They moved the coffins up for the photo shoots.

Originally Posted: Tuesday, August 24, 2010 Original Link: [x]

#Long Forgotten #Haunted Mansion

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gryffindormischief · 8 years ago

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skirting

A/N: got this idea from a news story and then i told @petalstofish who is entirely to blame for this fic lolol. Idk if it will be clear, but my intent is for this to be a muggle AU and I didn't really commit to a time period, so it could be modern or ‘marauders era’ minus magic (I go with the latter, but whatever you like).

Also available on FF and Ao3!

It all starts with an unreasonably un-British heat wave in what’s supposed to be ‘late spring.’ And really, they try to be ‘stiff upper lip’ and all, but sweaty ankles in mid March are just a completely unreasonable state of affairs. So, being the spunky teen he is, James pens a strongly worded letter to the headmaster – who looks entirely too comfortable to not have a tiny flock of fans beneath his academic robes – that includes lots of phrases like ‘human rights’ and ‘student welfare’ and ‘modernizing society.’ Remus convinces him to delete the part that accuses them of being backward, stuck up, priss-pots, but he still holds it was the strongest passage. And yet, part of him knows if Sirius agreed, Remus was perhaps in the right.

And still, despite his rousing verbiage and convincing arguments, Headmaster Dumbledore soon notifies him that the Board did not in fact agree with his position and wanted to uphold the ‘long and hallowed tradition’ of boys sweating their arses off and likely ending up with heatstroke before summer hols. Or something to that effect.

The idea hits like a flash the Friday after their disappointing news while they’re lazing around in the shady grove behind the ancient looking school, spritzing each other with chilled water and seeing who’s face melts ice fastest. Sirius has just claimed victory for the third time when Peter sits bolt upright, face flush and eyes mischievous, “They want tradition and rules, eh?”

Which is how the four boys end up in their artfully messed dorm, pouring over James�� leather-bound Hogwarts Academy Rules and Regulations Handbook that had disappeared beneath extraneous papers and books nearly the moment first year James had received it. Remus quirks a brow when the spine cracks like new, and James simply shrugs, “I prefer the rules I break to be a surprise.”

After accepting a high-five from Sirius, they quickly flip to the section on ‘appropriate dress’ and scour the paragraphs for a loophole, but Peter simply skims the page and sits back, looking entirely too smug as he grins. “Just as I thought, lads. We’ve got our way out.”

It’s nearly a fortnight before their plan can even commence past the planning stage, but finally they’re on the train home for Easter hols, having sweated out the last fortnight in the increasingly muggy hallways and classrooms and getting detention for trying to sleep in a tent because air circulation, and their plan can begin to unfold. Sirius’ shirt is almost entirely unbuttoned as he tosses the rubber ball he’d bought their last weekend trip toward James’ head. “Y’really think Mum Potter’ll go for it?”

He manages to catch the projectile with expert precision despite the fact that his nose is buried in the weekly crossword, having lived too many years with Sirius to expect nonviolence to last more than the first quarter of the trip home. “’Course she will. Mum’s all about sticking it to the man.”

Remus snuffs sleepily from where his head is pillowed on Peter’s stomach, who’s about three quarters of a centimeter away from sucking his thumb – and James debates the pros and cons of making this permanent blackmail material for the duo until he decides sitting comfortably and letting an afternoon of ribbing be the end of it is enough. It’s not like the four of them don’t embarrass themselves on the regular. And Remus never sleeps and Peter’s always a bit sad, though they both hide it most of the time. Also Remus still has that video of James reciting poetry in the loo so perhaps no picture is best.

The rest of the trip home passes relatively un-notably, only requiring James to talk Sirius out of climbing on top of the train car one time – which is a record – and the boys are clambering off the train in a tangle of limbs when James stumbles into someone and nearly sends them both sprawling.

“Alright there, Potter?”

Somehow he feels even more gawky than usual as Lily Evans’ bright green eyes sweep over his rumpled form, lingering on his face for a moment before she reaches forward and rights his crooked glasses. And if he shudders at the gentle brush of her fingertips on his cheek, who’s going to bring it up?

He’s only just managed to have the thought when his internal – and rhetorical – question is answered by none other than Lily Evans, with her glossy hair and sunshine smile. “Got a chill? Blimey, not sure how you would in this weather.”

And then she’s off, patting his shoulder companionably and trotting toward her waiting family. James somehow finds the ability to raise his hand in an awkward wave and Sirius lets his forehead drop to Remus’ shoulder dejectedly, “Our boy is such a mess. Waving when she’s practically in Cokeworth already.”

Peter sniggers, “Surprised he managed it before the end of Easter hols.”

“Next year,” Remus chuckles, but sends James a sympathetic smile.

“You’re all uninvited,” James nearly shouts as he tromps toward the exit, only getting the desired distress from Peter. Always such a reliable lad. Still, he loses even him when Sirius throws his arms around Remus and Peter’s shoulders, “Don’t worry mates, Mum Potter likes me best, so you’ll be my guests.”

Despite James’ threats, the four boys end up jammed in the Potter’s new-smelling car with only one fight that results in a threatening glare from Mr. Potter and Remus getting to ride in the front.

Over supper that evening, after much jabbing, kicking, and silent threatening, Peter draws the short straw and broaches the subject with Mr. and Mrs. Potter. “Rather horrid weather lately, yeah?”

Mrs. Potter nods, “My geraniums are quite put out.”

Peter chews his lip for a moment, blinking slowly before his watery blue eyes light, “So’ve the boys been – at school, I mean – us four – we have – James?”

Remus’ lip quivers but he manages to fight the laughter trembling up his throat, mostly because of the throbbing pain of James’ repeated kicks to his shin.

Sirius, looking quite above it all as he butters his roll artfully, drawls, “James has quite the idea – don’t you James?”

After grumbling something about ‘bloody useless tossers,’ James straightens in his chair, mussing his hair nervously before he blurts, “We need to make a trip to Malkin’s.”

This draws twin groans from his parents, and Mrs. Potter goes so far as to lob a half eaten dinner roll at her son’s head. “James Ignotus! Really, how many uniforms are you going to roast before you graduate?”

Mentally planning his revenge for the three boys currently giggling – yes giggling – at his middle name, James lets his best ‘avoiding detention’ grin slip on his face and turns to his mother, eyes wide, “Mum, my uniforms are all quite alright. In fact school has all together been fabulous this semester. Aside from the very real possibility that I will die of a heat stroke before exams.”

She frowns, “I did notice your laundry smelled like the dead.”

Seeing the opportunity for what it is, James plows ahead, “So I did what you always say, I went to the highest authority and pleaded my case with as much eloquence as I could muster.”

Sirius nods, “He was quite eloquent Mum, you’d’ve been proud.”

Bolstered by Sirius’ endorsement, James continues, “And Headmaster Dumbledore was convinced, but the Board – “ Mrs. Potter growls at the mention and James knows he’s going to win this one, “said shorts are ‘unbecoming to upper class boys.”

“So we pulled out the student manual, and we figure the language is vague enough that we can wear skirts and technically not break the rules,” he explains further.

Mr. Potter’s full on scowling as he begins clearing the dishes. “I’ve seen Lucius Malfoy in shorts that made me want to gouge my eyes out. When do you boys need the car?”

They go the next afternoon because Sirius argues they need to have a couple meals in them otherwise they’ll buy a size too small, James driving, Sirius in the passenger seat because the radio keeps him occupied enough that he won’t put them in mortal danger, and Remus and Peter slumped in the back seat. Sirius flicks through the stations haphazardly before settling on some station playing grungy rock and perching his feet on the dashboard, “I think I’ll be gorgeous in plaid.”

“Lucky for the girls we’ve already had the spring formal,” Remus drawls.

“Too right you are.”

Madame Malkin gives them a searching glance as if waiting for the punch line, but complies easily enough with Sirius’ flirtations and Remus’ dry humor, and helps the boys find their sizes. It’s only as they’re leaving the store, bags in hand, that things take a surprising turn. For the second time – twice too many – James stumbles into Lily Evans, this time actually ending up sprawled at her feet, wishing to be swallowed by the cobblestones beneath his face.

“I know she’s fit James but this is extreme,” Sirius chuckles, helping James up from the ground. Lily’s cheeks are sun kissed and freckled, green eyes alight with humor as she brushes the dirt from his t-shirt. “Lovely to see you too Potter.”

James ruffles his hair and offers a self-deprecating grin. “You just swept me off my feet I suppose.”

“I do have a way with people,” Lily answers lightly, “What are you four up to?”

For a group that tends to be in trouble more than they aren’t, the resulting chorus of nothings is particularly suspicious and earns a suspicious once over from Lily. Seeing her pick up the scent of mischief, James finds himself throwing an arm around her shoulders and dragging her away from Malkins, where the nosy purveyor is snooping from behind her ever-polished windows. “Just a day out and about. What are you up to?”

Lily shrugs but doesn’t question the arm around her shoulders, so James keeps it there and begs anyone who’s listening to temporarily halt the effectiveness of his sweat glands. Her auburn ponytail tickles his neck as she sighs, “I was out shopping with Petunia – my sister you know – but her boyfriend turned up. The desire for me to make myself scarce was the first thing the three of us ever agreed on.”

Peter laughs from Lily’s other side, “Is he really that much of a bore?”

“It’s like watching my sister snog a broom,” she pauses and looks thoughtful, finger tapping her chin, “except brooms have more personality.”

Sirius comes up between them, hooking his arms around James and Lily’s shoulders, “We were about to get some ice cream. You in Evans?”

They manage to make their way to Fortescue’s in one piece and order in a relatively organized fashion – basically James is on cloud nine because Lily Evans is here, laughing with his friends, and he’s only embarrassed himself once. But she seemed to like it so everything works out. Until it doesn’t.

After Florean has handed over their sundaes, his three ex best mates wrangle all the chairs in their vicinity and splay themselves across them in the style of a Renaissance painting and Sirius drops his head back dramatically. “Too bad, looks like the only place left is that cozy booth.” And in case James or Lily managed to miss his meaning, Sirius wriggles his brows. At least Peter looks a little sorry when James glares daggers at the trio.

Yet, Lily doesn’t seem too put off, just grabs James’ elbow and slides in across from him in the corner booth. “So, come here often?”

James chokes on a peanut and Lily grins.

“I’m glad you enjoy my pain.”

“If I showed sympathy every time I’d have premature frown lines, James dear.”

His brain kind of half shorts out when she calls him dear, even if it is a bit sarcastic, but he manages to get his mouth working enough to make conversation and they talk about anything and everything until the sun’s slipping behind the building, sky painted in rich jewel tones.

Lily’s mid rant about their maths instructor when she cuts off abruptly, “I think your friends are staring.”

James blinks dumbly for a moment before he catches her topic change, then twists suddenly, only to find the trio studiously not looking. He turns back to Lily, who’s stifling a smile, “Sorry they’re a bunch of – ”

She rolls her eyes but pats his hand kindly, “They’re sweet in their own – way.”

James just looks at her hand, since she hasn’t pulled it away, and then at her face, finding her smiling encouragingly. “Lily I – ”

Whatever he was going to say, it never happens, because a rather horsey looking blond storms over, arms folded. “I have date.”

“Bully for you,” Lily grumbles, her hand clenching around his.

Petunia quirks her brow imperiously at Lily and snarls at Sirius proffered hand before sweeping from the shop, only pausing at the door to gesture to her watch angrily. Sirius blows her a kiss and she nearly screams.

“Well, that’s my ride lads,” Lily sighs, thumb rubbing James’ hand absentmindedly. She turns toward him, a bit hesitant. “Maybe we could get together again before break ends?”

James’ eyes widen behind his round glasses and Lily gives him a small smile before scribbling her number across a clean napkin and pressing it against his chest and vanishing out the door, all four boys gaping behind her.

Later that night, after supper, they snatch some of Mr. Potter’s whiskey – he narrows his eyes but lets them pass – and lounge about in James’ room in their newly acquired skirts. Sirius seems particularly invested in his, modeling it shirtless in front of the long mirror on James’ wardrobe. “Mine is entirely too long, it’s unbecoming.”

From the window seat, Remus lobs the whiskey cap at Sirius, going wide by half a foot. “Sirius no one cares.”

Sirius rubs his stubbled chin, “Well I’d wager they can be shorter – you know who would know?”

James drops his football. “No.”

“She would.”

“She gave me her number not you – you – wanker.”

“He was there too,” Peter pipes up from the floor, and if the spiteful look in his eye is anything to go by, James can bet the treachery is largely because he swiped the last slice of treacle tart at dinner.

Moving entirely too quickly for someone who claims ‘lack of athletic ability’ as his reason for not going out for football, Sirius snatches the Lily napkin from James’ nightstand and the phone is ringing before James reaches the wanker.

By the time someone answers, James is on Sirius’ back like a koala, grabbing for the phone desperately. “Evening Evans. This is Sirius Black,” Sirius pauses, “Oh, this must be Petunia. We exchanged heated glances at the ice cream parlor this afternoon,” he gives Remus a thumbs up and switches hands as James makes another grab, “Is your sister around?”

James freezes when he hears Lily’s on the line, can hear her confusion, and hopefully a little bit of laughter as she answers, “Evening Black. Didn’t know we were so close. How can I be of assistance?”

“How short can girls make their skirts without getting written up?”

Lily coughs and starts to answer, but James has finally managed to wrench the receiver away, “Sorry Evans, we’ll talk soon, yeah?”

But they don’t. James is too riddled with embarrassment to even think about gathering up the courage to call in the span of a week – half of which is spent actively giving Sirius the cold shoulder. And then they’re back at school, and if James’ spirits lift along with Sirius’ skirt as a particularly strong back draft gusts through Hogsmeade Station, who could blame him. Still, the surrounding students share a good laugh, and a few girls send Sirius the type of flirtatious glances he’s continually oblivious to.

Luckily, or unluckily for him, James doesn’t see Lily on the train at all. Which is at least in part because of the pats on the back he’s received from a number of classmates, either catching on to the whole ‘hot as hell we need to deal’ motivation or assuming they’re making some sort of gender equality statement. Either way, he’s alright enough that the occasional jeers from sweaty jerks don’t make much of an impact.

In the end, Lily spots him first, once they’re all herding toward the Great Hall for dinner. He’s just about to slip in behind the other three boys when a playful voice calls out, “Fetching knees you’ve got there, Potter”

James’ heart thuds and he feels the heat rush to his face as he turns, ruffling his hair, “Back at you Evans.”

She’s close – entirely too close, and yet not close enough. But her eyes are crackling and her teeth are glinting in the low light. “Really? Kinda thought you gave me and my knees the brush off.”

Spluttering, James grabs her forearms, as if he’s afraid she’ll float away. “No! I just – Sirius called and I was embarrassed and then – ”

And then Lily kisses him.

He stumbles a bit, half with the force of her kiss because wow and half because Lily Evans is kissing James Potter and she started it. But he catches on soon enough and his arms are banding around her waist and her lips parts under his. After some giggling and maneuvering, they end up nestled in a secluded alcove off the main hall and James is pressed into the wall, stone digging into his back almost painfully but he can’t seem to care when one of Lily’s hands is in his hair and her nails are scritching at his scalp just a bit while her other hand is rubbing random shapes into his lower back.

Then it drops just below his waistline, and James nearly dies, so he pulls away, grinning cheekily, lips red and cheeks flushed, “No hands up my skirt until at least the third date, Evans.”

#blarg writes things #jily #james x lily #the marauders #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #sirius #remus #peter #james potter #lily evans #lames #jily fanfiction

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thebibliomancer · 7 years ago

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #150-151: Avengers Assemble!/At Last: The Decision!

August, 1976

That second title is kind of how I felt reading the flashback padded #150.

But lets talk about this cover. It’s okay. It’s everyone running at the screen over a big question mark. Because: who is going to be on the new roster??

Keep wondering, scrubs. Buy next month’s issue.

Yes, I agree smol Vision. That is bullshit.

Its an okay cover though. It’d make a decent poster, plus or minus the ?.

Last time: So bear with me here. I’m dropping a big synopsis all up ins. So Hawkeye ragequit the team which caused a membership opportunity filled by Swordsman and his live-in girlfriend Mantis. Mantis started trying to mack on Vision which caused a tense love rectangle between Swordsman, Mantis, Vision and Scarlet Witch.

Eventually, Mantis was revealed as the Celestial Madonna when Kang kidnapped her to try to forcibly marry her, Swordsman died, Mantis and Vision went on journeys of discovery, and then there was a double marriage between Vision/Scarlet Witch and Mantis/a tree wearing Swordsman’s corpse. Shame it wasn’t multiple trees because then you could have had a copse in a corpse.

Also, Hawkeye rejoined the team.

With Vision and Scarlet Witch on their honeymoon, Mantis on a space honeymoon, and Swordsman dead and also a tree puppet, the Avengers needed to boost their roster.

Moondragon joined from her involvement in the Celestial Madonna Stuff. Wasp and Yellowjacket came back to the team. Beast answered their membership call. Vision and Scarlet Witch came back briefly from their honeymoon and immediately got roped into drama. And Patsy Walker blackmailed her way into accidentally becoming Hellcat on purpose.

Thor and Moondragon went looking for Hawkeye in the Old West because Hawkeye had ragequit the Avengers to go recruit Black Knight in the Crusade Times. There, they watched some cowboys stop a train robbery and then Thor tanked Kang to death.

In the present times, Captain America recruited the rest of the Avengers into investigating Brand with him and discovered some weird cross-universal conspiracy by an eldritch and sapient hat to have corporations control the government. The Squadron Supreme was involved and got their keisters kicked. Also, Thor came back from the Old West and fought a whale man.

Now here we are. Finally ready to settle on that new roster. Who is going to be on it? That’s what the giant question mark wants to know.

We start with Wasp and Yellowjacket returning from their extended hospital stay to find a big ol’ crowd in front of Avengers’ mansion.

They must have heard that this is issue 150. And/or that a new Avengers roster is being decided. But not New Avengers.

As I remarked once upon a time, you wouldn’t get this kind of crowd in modern days Avengers. There’s so many teams that are constantly changing their roster to no applause. Perhaps the Marvel public is jaded at the Avengerses.

The two heroes are immediately accosted by a wild Sam Reuther who wants to know if they’re new Avengers.

Wasp: “New Avenger? We are Avengers.”

But Jarvis lets the two in so that Sam Reuther can continue baseless speculation and time filling. Insert joke about 24-hour news cycle, pause for laughter.

As Jarvis leads them to the meeting room, Wasp frets that she doesn’t know whether Yellowjacket still wants to be an Avenger. But reassures herself that he’ll stay with her.

When everyone is seated at their big table, Thor addresses the Avengers as chairman.

First things first: Iron Man got a new mask. Everyone look at Iron Man’s new mask. Notice how it doesn’t have an iron nose anymore. Stan Lee giveth and taketh away.

But there is equally important news:

Thor: “I do hereby call this meeting to order! Avengers, ‘tis a momentous decision we be called upon to make this day! We have sought out new Avengers -- and now, we must needs choose who we shall be in the days ahead! Our choice will affect our honor, our fortunes -- mayhap our very lives! And yet, to commence our deliberations... I am forced to announce my leave of absence.”

DUN DUN DUNNN

We take a break from that drama bomb to let Sam Reuther recap how the Avengers formed in issue #1. That reminds me of the time I recapped issue #1... ~flashback wiggle~

And now back to the Avengers reacting to Thor quitting the team, rage-situation ambiguous.

Wasp even protests that while she and Yellowjacket have come and gone, Thor is one of the mainstays of the team!

So Thor spells out the epiphany he recently had. About being nearly as powerful as the whole rest of the team put together. About being a ““big fish in a small pond.”” And how he suspects that he has remained on the team out of vanity, being aggrieved that the team has done fine in his absence.

He’ll be there if the Avengers need him but for now he has to do his own thing. And he asks Iron Man to stay on the team as a seasoned hand and also the interim chairman until proper elections can be held.

Hellcat, aka Patsy Walker or vice versa, is getting pretty hype despite Thor quitting. She is absolutely sure that the Avengers are going to ask her to stay on and she is DEFINITELY going to become an Avenger. Like holy shit yes. Live the dream.

Beast is less than thrilled. I think he’s slowly realized that the pity ride-along he tossed her way is going to result in someone even more fun-loving than him joining the team. THREATENING HIS ROLE AS THE FUN PERSON.

He is glum.

Now its Iron Man’s time to give a little speech.

Iron Man: “Uh... well, I guess we’ll just keep going like we were. I’ve sat in on plenty of Tony Stark’s board meetings, but this is all very unexpected! I’m sure we all respect Thor’s decision -- and, as has been said many times, ‘once an Avenger, always an Avenger.’ Still, as a friend I can’t help but wish that nobody’d put this idea in his head.”

He says, while Moondragon takes up the majority of the foreground.

Also, that sat in on board meetings thing verges on protesting too hard. And also seems like a loose thread that someone could pull if they actually cared about who Iron Man was. Like, if one of the Avengers asked anyone else in on the board meetings whether Iron Man and Tony Stark are ever in the same place at the same time.

Although that’s being a bit too pedantic, probably.

Anyway, Iron Man asks Captain America if he’ll rejoin the Avengers for official. I mean, they had such a good time teaming up recently. Right?

We don’t learn his answer this time. Because the next page Sam Reuther continues recapping, this time various points of early Avengers history such as finding Cap, Hulk quitting the team, Wonder Man betraying and then saving the team and then dying, and the change of roster that led to the Kooky Quartet.

And then, no joke, the last twelve pages of the comic are just reprinted pages from Avengers #16.

And I’m not recapping that again. Here’s the link for that post. Now you know what happens in the rest of this issue.

Not counting the cover, there are only six pages of new content in this issue. Of which, two are just recaps of previous issues. The rest of this issue is a reprint.

It’d be one thing if pages were reprinted to serve some kind of point that the recap was making. But it’s just an entire swath of a previous issue.

Which contributes to the narrative that Englehart was replaced as writer because of problems meeting his deadlines.

This is his last issue as the writer on Avengers. Afterward he gets replaced by Gerry Conway. Although I’m showing on marvel wikia that Englehart still gets writing credits until #153 so I guess ideas of his were used until Conway decided on his own direction.

So I’m not sure how much of what is to follow falls on Englehart versus Conway and Jim Shooter who also gets a writing credit on #151, implying a haphazard writer changeover.

Anyway, lets press on and find out what team we end up with!

September, 1976

America wants you! To read this dang issue.

Fine, America. FINE.

Again, a perfectly decent cover. Catches the attention, which a change-up should do.

Also Thor looks like he’s about to cry. It’s hard leaving your friends to go find yourself.

We pick back up and Sam Reuther is still recapping Avengers. And somehow getting images to appear behind him despite filming live. That’s the magic of television.

And we get Ben Grimm, in his Thing exoskeleton phase (Fantastic Four gets weird) watching the news. He dismisses the change in roster just a public relations bit.

Why, the Fantastic Four would never change its membership all the time! The very idea that for example, Medusa, Thundra, and Power Man would join the Fantastic Four is... dang.

Ben begrudgingly becomes interested in the news.

Meanwhile, at Avengers Mansion, Cap finally answers Iron Man’s question from last time.

He’ll rejoin the team. Because dernit he’s a man drawn to his roots and his roots in this era are with the Avengers!

Iron Man then asks Vision and Scarlet Witch if they’re sticking on the team. They did cut their honeymoon short for this.

But Scarlet Witch interjects, asking whether Hawkeye will be rejoining.

And then the narrative interjects, taking us to Robert Frank, once the Whizzer, and his crappy apartment.

He’s had a tough time recently. Remember in Giant-Size Avengers #1, he learned that his son had become a rampaging nuclear monster.

And then he overhears speculation on the news that Scarlet Witch might leave the Avengers and he overreacts, yelling that she can’t leave him after he’s done so much and come so far and in the end it didn’t even matter.

Although, in fairness, Quicksilver quit the Avengers to live in a secret city. He has reason to worry, I guess.

Anyway, Sam Reuther has been narrating this whole time about how when the Kooky Quartet started, everyone was worried. Because now the Avengers were 3/4 crooks. And also less powerful than previous teams. But dern if they didn’t prove themselves just as capable and such!

Back inside the mansion, Thor explains that Hawkeye is going to be hanging around the Current West, living out his cowboy fantasies with Two-Gun Kid.

But the both of them will help out if needed. Consider it “detached service.”

With that reassurance, both Vision and Scarlet Witch happily rejoin the team.

As does Wasp, skipping ahead because eh protocol is for people who aren’t Janet Van Dyne. She’s been laid up in the hospital. She craves action as the Winsome Wasp.

And then Sam Reuther dumps on Hank Pym and Hawkeye in one smooth page o’ recap. He calls Hank Pym “the most confusing Avenger of all” due to his frequent power, costume, and codename switch-ups. Also I choose to believe he makes fun of Hawkeye’s no pants, no underwear costume.

Meanwhile, a mysterious figure rages as he watches Sam Reuther recap the Avengers on the news. Because Sam Reuther mentioned that Wasp loves Yellowjacket and SHE’LL REGRET CHOOSING HIM OVER MYSTERIOUS FIGURE OH YES MYSTERIOUS FIGURE SURE SWEARS IT!

A gritty general tells Mysterious Figure that he needs to work on his self-control and curb his ferocity. But telling an emotional person yelling at the tv to calm down has never been anything but counterproductive.

Back at the mansion, Yellowjacket decides...

NOT to rejoin the team.

He just wants to be a scientist and do scientist stuff. And maybe some superheroing on the side. Maybe he’ll join the Defenders where nobody expects anything much of you...

and he sadly walks out of the room while Sam Reuther begins to talk about all the people who didn’t become Avengers like Spider-Man, Namor, Daredevil and then about the cooler ones that did become Avengers like Hercules, Black Knight, Black Panther, Black Widow, and Vision.

And I guess Sam Reuther knows Vision’s backstory because he mentions he has the brain patterns of the dead deceased Simon Williams, aka Wonder Man.

You know too much, Sam Reuther.

And then we check in on the Champions, because Sam Reuther just mentioned two of them. And because its good to check in on the Champions sometimes, if only to remind yourself that the Champions existed and only due to the capricious whims of editorial.

Iceman and Angel get nostalgic about their time as the original X-Men and how Hank is an Avenger now.

And Hercules and Black Widow both reflect on their time with the team, coming when both were strangers in a strange land.

Black Widow’s Avengers membership at this point is extremely tentative so its weird that she has such fond memories about it. But the grass looks greener as you glance over your shoulder. Or something?

Meanwhile, Moondragon is up.

And she too turns down a position on the team. It’d be hypocritical to drive Thor off the team for slumming and then hang around herself. Plus, she wanted to learn more of Earth ways and she has come to realize that the Avengers are too constraining.

Even so, the Avengers have showed her great kindness when they weren’t fighting over her like a piece of meat and she respects them, for some reason. If they meet again, it will be as allies.

A decision that has Iron Man thinking “who the heck does she think she is?” and “thank goodness for small favors, eh?” at the same time. Thank goodness she’s not sticking around but ugh how dare she think she better than the Avengers.

But like I’ve been constantly alluding to, Iron Man would regret bringing her onto the team. I wonder how much of what she’s done is payback for Thor and Iron Man being such jerks about her.

But that brings us to Beast. And Beast immediately accepts. And flips out of his chair. Which seems to aggravate Thor. Or surprise him. Its hard to say. Thor is sometimes drawn so that the only emotion he seems to have is anger.

Wasp immediately objects. Not to Beast! He seems fine! But doesn’t the team seem like its getting crowded? I mean, you have Iron Man, Captain America, Vision, Scarlet Witch, Wasp, Yellowjacket and now Beast? Why, that’s six people! That’s so many people!

Okay, yeah, she just wants to make sure that there’s still room on the team for when she convinces Hank (Pym) to change his mind. Kind of rude to Beast though, Wasp.

Anyway, Hellcat is now under consideration. And she looks THRILLED.

And now for another Sam Reuther interruption. As he recaps women in the Avengers. But he calls them ‘females.’ The legacy of Stan, maybe.

Anyway again. Patsy Walker, aka Hellcat, has only been on the one mission. And she did try to blackmail an Avenger. And her origin story is ‘oh cool a free supersuit.’ But on the other hand, she’s pretty rad. Pulled her weight during that Crisis on Other Earth.

So Iron Man definitely extends an Avengers invitation to her.

And Patsy obviously accepts. I mean, come on. What could possibly stop her?

Moondragon. Moondragon is what could possibly stop her.

Moondragon tells her that she has no training or experience (which in fairness, true) so she musn’t join the Avengers yet. Instead, she will come with Moondragon on Moondragon’s Fun Trip Exploring The World and Moondragon will train her.

No! They’ll train each other. Moondragon will teach her superhumanity and Hellcat will teach her... humanity.

Dammit Moondragon, this is why you’re the worst Avenger.

It’s only funny to me that she joined the Avengers, convinced Thor to quit, and then quit herself. And I don’t even think she was wrong not to stick around. With the benefit of a reread, there was a hells uncomfortable workplace environment going on. But she is the one element that stopped an amazing run of Patsy Walker being an Avenger.

And it would have not been super great. This was the Avengers in the 70s. Their gender politics are not great. See also: Patsy Walker dismissing the idea of being a womens libber. But Patsy Walker on the Avengers!

maybe then she wouldn’t have met Daimon Hellstrom, married him, and then later committed suicide under his demonic influence ;___;

Anyway, I say Moondragon is to blame. But really its either Englehart, Conway, Shooter or any combination thereof who just used Moondragon to keep Hellcat out of the Avengers for some unknown, dumb reason.

I do have a headcanon about it though.

Moondragon is, at this point, a closeted lesbian. Maybe she just likes Patsy, despite them interacting a grand total of almost never up until this point. Just likes her and wants to spend time teaching her to kick ass and learning how to be... human.

Although since its Moondragon and she is almost as callous as an X-Men regarding psychic powers, she almost certainly influenced Patsy to agree to give up on her dream that has been her single most powerful motivating factor in these comics.

Moondragon, that is Not Cool.

Oh. And consolation prize. Yellowjacket changed his mind. He went off-screen to sulk. Wasp didn’t go running after him so he came running back to her. Yay.

Also: Avenging is in his blood, yo. That and a strange microbe that made him almost die.

Thor suggests applying the “detached service” thinger to Yellowjacket too. Give him more labtime. Make his Avenging more flexible. And hell, lets just give “detached service” to Moondragon and Hellcat too!

Consolation prizes all around!

Moondragon prays that the Avengers never get in such dire straights that they need her power to save them. As does Iron Man. Except in a more insulting way. He’s had unkind thoughts throughout.

And Beast wishes Patsy luck and makes me miss what their dynamic could have been had she stayed. Although I imagine it would have been as a comedy duo with Beast and someone is already slated for that.

So Thor hammerwhirls himself, Moondragon, and Hellcat away. And the new team (mostly comprised of old members. Like seriously. This new roster is Iron Guy Who Is Always On The Team, Captain Frequently On The Team, Wasp, Man Of Many Names Who Is Always On The Team, Scarlet Witch Has Been On Team More Than Iron Man, robot husbando, and new challenger Beast. Was the idea to get back to basics? Plus Beast?) goes out to the waiting crowd to announce themselves.

And of course give the big: AVENGERS ASSEMBLE for the cameras.

They're so busy working the crowd that they don’t notice the giant crate that was delivered for them.

At least until it CREEAAAKKs.

And then with a CRRRASHH! Wonder Man punches his way out of the crate. And noticably shaky and slumped (like some manner of... living dead), he points at Vision.

And accuses him. Of being the one that stole his mind.

So. That’s going to be a thing.

And okay. New roster. Which isn’t very new but whatever. It has Wasp. It has Scarlet Witch and Vision. It has Beast. It could stand to have a Hellcat but the world isn’t perfect.

What did I think? Well, I’ve been pretty open about it.

I have to reiterate because of the shaky transition from Englehart to Conway, its hard to know who is responsible for what. Englehart brought Patsy Walker into the book and made her a superheroine. Did he do that only to shuffle her immediately off the book? What about Moondragon? Was her scant role on the team after the Celestial Madonna Saga solely to badger Thor until he quit the team?

Was it Conway and Shooter who decided to enforce a back to basics approach with the new roster? Was Englehart taken off the book because of a problem meeting deadlines as implied in this letters column apologia?

Englehart insists that he wasn’t late getting #150 in on time. So was it creative differences?

The way that #150 just cuts off halfway for a reprint, right before anything was decided about the new roster except Thor gone, Iron Man to remain, makes things hazy.

But whatever. Lets just say there were more interesting ways this roster could have gone. And then see where things go from here.

So Wonder Man. Back from the dead. Huh. Wonder where Conway is going with that?

Face front, true believers! You can follow this liveblog @essential-avengers.

#Avengers #Thor #Captain America #Iron Man #Yellowjacket #Wasp #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #Beast #Hellcat #Moondragon #important newsman Sam Reuther #a heck of a lot of padding #conspiratorial dubiousness in writer changes #and a new roster #Essential Avengers #Essential marvel liveblogging #been reading a lot of patsy walker hellcat's book lately #its rad

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tears-of-araxes-blog · 8 years ago

Text

News after Obama was elected to a second term- listed (roughly) chronologically, most recent first:

[For this post, from the most recent, to after his reelection in 2012]

In the final week of his presidency, Obama sends hundreds of U.S. Marines to Norway in a move that puts more U.S. military at Russia's doorstep (READ)

Obama sends 3,500 U.S. troops and tanks to Russia's border in one of his final decisions as president. Russia reponds by saying, "These actions threaten our interests, our security, especially as it concerns a third party building up its military presence near our borders." (READ)

Obama sanctions Russia over unproven hacking claims (READ ).

Obama takes parting shot at Russia in UN finale: "We see Russia attempting to recover lost glory through force", the US leader said without a hint of irony. "If Russia continues to interfere in the affairs of its neighbors, it may fuel nationalist fervor for a time, but over time it's also going to diminish its stature." Obama also appeared to be detached from reality when he said, "The world is by many measures less violent and more prosperous than ever before (READ ).

Although President Obama began his administration with a dramatic public commitment to build a nuclear weapons-free world, that commitment has long ago dwindled and died, as Obama plans a 30-year, $1 trillion, taxpayer-funded program to modernize US nuclear arsenal and production facilities. (READ ).

Obama opens up relations with Vietnam by agreeing to sell them weapons ( READ ).

Obama plans to increase deployment of heavy weapons and other equipment to NATO countries in Central & Eastern Europe ( READ).

Instead of condemning Turkey for shooting down a Russian jet, Obama voiced his approval ( READ ). And instead of offering condolences to Russia, Obama blames Russia ( READ ).

Obama announces US war in Afghanistan will not end in 2016, as promised ( READ ).

The White House made clear yesterday that they oppose any independent investigation of the recent US attack on a Doctors Without Borders hospital in Afghanistan, and the next day the US smashed into the wreckage of the hospital with a tank, forcing their way in and destroying potential evidence that would be used in a war crimes investigation ( READ ).

Obama: Mistakes Made in NATO War on Libya, US Should ve Done Even More. Suggests Even More Intervention the Answer ( READ ).

In Letters to Congressmen, Obama Pledges More Money for Israel, Talks Up Attacking Iran ( READ ).

Former Bush Official With Ties To CIA Torture Program Now Advises Obama Interrogators ( READ ).

After US drones kill hostages in Pakistan, Obama invokes American Exceptionalism ( READ ).

Obama won't call it Armenian 'genocide' on 100th anniversary of atrocity ( READ ).

US intelligence used for Saudi airstrikes in Yemen ( READ ).

Obama halts US troop withdrawal from Afghanistan ( READ ).

Obama approves US airstrikes in Tikrit ( READ ).

Sounding a lot like Bush, Obama says the US is going after ISIL wherever it hides, ( READ ).

Huh? Obama: Defeating ISIS Hinges on Syria Regime Change ( READ ).

Obama administration to allow sales of armed drones to allies - will sell to allied countries, some of which have troubling records on human rights and political freedoms ( READ ).

Obama's Blank Check For War: Obama's authorization for the use of military force (AUMF) against ISIS permits action anywhere in the world against not just ISIS, but "associated forces" ( READ ).

13 Years, $1 Trillion Plus Spent, Obama Declares Afghan War a Success - Insists Protracted Occupation Made World 'Safer' ( READ ).

Obama administration refuses to pursue charges against CIA torturers in spite of scathing report ( READ ).

Obama has signed more executive memoranda than any other president in history ( READ ).

President Obama is actively seeking options for how to use ground troops in Iraq ( READ ).

Obama Extends NSA Spying Powers Yet Again ( READ ).

Obama Plans to Increase Number of Troops in Afghanistan in 2015 ( READ ).

In Secret, Obama Extended U.S. Military Role in Afghanistan Combat ( READ ) - contradicting his statement in May " Americas combat mission will be over by the end of this year. Starting next year, Afghans will be fully responsible for securing their country.

White House, C.I.A. Working Together to Thwart Release of Agency's Torture Report ( READ ).

Obama immigration speech: Sounded just like Bush's 2006 speech ( READ ).

Obama punts on net neutrality ( READ ).

Obama doubles the number of troops in Iraq ( READ ).

Obama again pushing for TPP ( READ ).

Obama Could Reaffirm a Bush-Era Reading of a Treaty on Torture ( READ ).

America's deadly double tap drone attacks are 'killing 49 people for every known terrorist in Pakistan' according to Stanford/NYU study ( READ ).

White House exempts Syria airstrikes from tight standards on civilian deaths ( READ ).

U.S. Ramping Up Major Renewal in Nuclear Arms ( READ ).

U.S. to keep 9,800 troops in Afghanistan ( READ ).

Mass surveillance just earned another 90-day blank check, nine months after President Obama promised to rein in the NSA s spying powers ( READ ).

Obama and Cameron push for war on ISIS in Syria and Iraq - insists anyone who opposes this conflict is an "isolationalist" ( READ ).

Obama's Pentagon Covered Up War Crimes in Afghanistan, Says Amnesty International ( READ ).

Obama Authorizes Airstrikes in Iraq (yet somehow says, "As commander in chief, I will not allow the United States to be dragged into fighting another war in Iraq") ( READ ).

Thank You, President Obama. Love, Israel ( READ ).

Six US Presidents Have Destroyed Iraq ( READ ).

How the Obama Administration is Keeping Big Coal Alive ( READ ).

Afraid to Stoke Populist Ire, Obama Abandons 'Inequality' Rhetoric ( READ ).

Rubbing our noses in it: Obama's FAA gives first approval of commercial drones in US to... BP ( READ ). Obama appointee and fellow Democrat Anthony Foxx who is the secretary of Transportation, which oversees the FAA, said that BP's use of drones is "another important step toward broader commercial use of unmanned aircraft."

Obama Seeks to More Heavily Censor Drone Killing Memo ( READ ).

Speaking at the West Point commencement speech, President Obama put forward his foreign policy vision, which he described as might doing right, declaring that I believe in American exceptionalism with every fiber of my being. ( READ ).

Obama to announce direct training of "rebels" in Syria ( PHOTO ).

Deal Welcoming US Military Into Philippines Slammed As 'Betrayal' ( READ ) - protesters burn effigy of Obama in Philippines ( PHOTO).

Obama breaks campaign promise on net neutrality ( READ ).

At the same time the US is accusing Russia of being militarily provocative, the US sent 600 troops to Poland to counter "Russia's aggression in Ukraine;" deployed six American F-15 aircraft inside Lithuania ; pledged a $10 million increase in border security aid to Moldova ; declared its desire to strengthen NATO's military cooperation with Armenia and Azerbaijan ; stated that it wanted to send more troops to Romania ; decided to send more US troops and military aircraft into Uganda ; announced it would expand its covert support of the Syrian opposition , and fomented unrest in Venezuela .

US secretly created 'Cuban Twitter' to stir unrest ( READ ). White House calls it a "a development-assistance programme." ( READ ).

Obama The Least Transparent President in History ( READ ).

Obama says 'bigger nations cannot simply bully smaller ones'. Wait... what? ( READ ).

Obama defends Iraq invasion: "But even in Iraq, America sought to work within the international system. We did not claim or annex Iraq s territory, nor did we grab its resources for our own gain. Instead, we ended our war and left Iraq to its people and a fully sovereign Iraqi state could make decisions about its own future. ( READ ).

Obama Wants More NATO Troops in Eastern Europe ( READ ).

US Regime-Change Operation in Ukraine Exposed in Leaked Diplomatic Phone Call ( READ ).

The Obama administration has killed 4,700 individuals in numerous countries, including Pakistan, Yemen and Somalia, bragged Sen. Lindsey Graham ( READ ).

Obama administration extends $6.5 billion loan guarantee to build nuclear reactors ( READ ).

One of the most generous offerings for corporate America in the U.S. tax code is about to become even more bountiful under an Obama administration proposal ( READ ).

Obama's NSA 'Reforms' Are Little More Than a PR Attempt to Mollify the Public ( READ ).

Obama Unveils Vague NSA Reforms, Denies Wrongdoing ( READ ).

Groups to Obama: Your Fossil Fuel-Driven Policies Equal 'Catastrophic Climate Future' ( READ ).

Christmas day, 2013 announcement: Obama is sending Hellfire missiles and drones to Iraq ( READ ).

Obama plans $355 billion upgrade to nuclear weapons ( READ ).

Obama s photo policy smacks of propaganda ( READ ).

I am sorry that they, you know, are finding themselves in this situation, based on assurances they got from me, said Obama, apologizing to Americans receiving insurance cancellation notices. In 2009, Obama said: If you like your health-care plan, you ll be able to keep your health-care plan, period. No one will take it away, no matter what. ( READ ).

"A Corporate Trojan Horse": Obama Pushes Secretive TPP Trade Pact, Would Rewrite Swath of U.S. Laws ( READ ).

Amid government shutdown, Obama signals cuts to Social Security, Medicare ( READ ).

Obama wants war on Syria, the people don't ( READ ).

Obama appears to be delusional: I didn't set a red line (on Syria), the world set a red line ( READ ).

Obama administration asks Supreme Court to allow warrantless cellphone searches ( READ ).

White House knew Glenn Greenwald's partner David Miranda would be detained ( READ ).

Obama refuses to cut off military aid to Egypt in spite of brutal crackdown on protesters ( READ ).

Obama Appoints Documented 'Liar' to Convene NSA Review Board -- Investigation established by James Clapper is part of president's so-called transparency reforms ( READ ).

Obama's 'Tonight Show' Domestic Spying Comments Contradicted By New York Times Story ( READ ).

Obama toasts George HW Bush: 'We are surely a kinder and gentler nation because of you' ( READ ).

The case against Edward Snowden is the seventh under President Barack Obama in which a government official has been criminally charged with leaking classified information to the media. Under all previous presidents, just three such cases have been brought. ( READ )

Obama administration implementing a crackdown called the Insider Threat Program. Millions of federal employees must watch for "high-risk persons or behaviors" among co-workers and could face penalties, including criminal charges, for failing to report them. Leaks to the media are equated with espionage. (READ) .

The CIA has been operating a secret drone base in Saudi Arabia for the past two years (READ) .

Obama is running the biggest terrorist operation that exists, maybe in history" - Noam Chomsky

Edward Snowden: Obama expanded 'abusive' security programs (READ)

In justifying his actions in Syria, Obama said, "[T]here are folks who say, you know, 'We are so scarred from Iraq. We should have learned our lesson. We should not have anything to do with it.' Well, I reject that view as well." (READ)

In his 2009 inaugural address, Obama claimed that we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Now, in defending NSA spying, Obama says, "You can't have 100 percent security and also then have 100 percent privacy We are going to have to make some choices as a society." (READ)

Obama decides to arm rebels in Syria, in spite of it being against U.S. law to arm designated terrorist organizations. Obama's justification: The arms sent by the U.S. won't get into the hands of the al-Qaeda fighters amongst the rebels (READ)

Obama defends PRISM sweeping surveillance efforts (READ) .

Obama's NSA collecting Verizon customer phone records - under the Obama administration the communication records of millions of US citizens are being collected indiscriminately and in bulk, regardless of whether they are suspected of any wrongdoing (READ) .

President Obama uses a sledgehammer against dissent - From Jeremy Hammond to Bradley Manning and the AP, Obama's 'assault on journalism' is a threat to our democracy (READ) .

Obama admits the U.S. kills innocent civilians: "it is a hard fact that U.S. strikes have resulted in civilian casualties" (READ) .

The United States has formally said for the first time that it killed Yemeni-American cleric Anwar al-Awlaki and three other US citizens in anti-terror strikes abroad (READ) .

Obama administration secretly obtains trove of Associated Press phone records in "unprecedented intrusion" (READ) .

Cornel West: Obama 'Is a War Criminal' (READ) .

Four Obama policies that help keep Gitmo open (READ) .

Obama's calls George W. Bush a "good man" at Bush library dedication (READ) .

The first of 500 Marines have begun deploying to Spain as part of a new rapid reaction force to respond to threats against U.S. citizens, government personnel or installations in Africa ( READ ).

It s Official: A Democratic President Proposes to Cut Social Security (READ) .

While Urging Gun Laws at Home, Obama Joins NRA to Weaken U.N. Arms Trade Treaty (READ) .

Signed the Monsanto Protection Act into law.

Obama Admin: GPS Tracking Without Warrants Necessary - Insists Tracking Americans' Every Movement Has 'Minimal' Privacy Impact ( READ ).

Obama inflames anti-Iran hysteria by speculatively claiming "Right now, we think it would take over a year or so for Iran to actually develop a nuclear weapon, but obviously we dt want to cut it too close" ( READ ).

Obama administration to let spy agencies scour Americans' finances ( READ ).

U.S. Steps Up Aid to Syrian Opposition, Pledging $60 Million ( READ ). Previous related: Al Qaeda leader Ayman al-Zawahri has called on all Muslims to back the rebels in Syria in the overthrow of President Bashar al-Assad ( READ );( READ ).

Is Obama really the 'lesser of two evils'? Could John McCain or Mitt Romney have gotten away with what President Barack Obama is doing? Where Democrats once feverishly denounced the actions of George W. Bush, they are now eerily silent when their own candidate behaves in much the same way as his predecessor ( read entire article ).

Obama sends U.S. troops to Niger to set up drone base ( READ ).

Obama's Possible Frack-Friendly Energy Plan a 'Nail in the Coffin' for Climate: Choice of MIT professor Ernest Moniz, known for championing gas fracking, as head of Department of Energy receives rebuke ( READ ).

Obama Maneuvers to Keep Kill List Memos Permanently Secret ( READ ).

Obama OKs $50 million to assist France in Mali ( READ ).

In State of the Union, Obama Misleads on Foreign Policy. "Over the next year, another 34,000 American troops will come home from Afghanistan," the President said. But Obama is overselling this withdrawal: by the end of this year, the number of troops in Afghanistan will be about equal to the number that were there when Obama was elected. This is only a withdrawal because he decided to triple troop levels in an ill-advised military surge ( READ ).

Barack Obama is Pushing Gun Control at Home, but He's a Killer Abroad ( READ ).

White House: Drone Killings Ethical and Wise ( READ ).

US responds to Israeli attack on Syria by warning Syria ( READ ).

Obama's nomination of Mary Jo White for SEC chief reveals the president still isn't serious about cracking down on big banks ( READ).

Obama Inaugural Speech: US to Maintain Global Military Presence ( READ ).

The Untouchables: How the Obama Administration Protected Wall Street from Prosecutions ( READ ).

MLK: I have a dream. Obama: I have a drone ( READ ).

The Pipeline President: Obama s Keystone XL ( READ ).

Three Ways Obama Carried Bush s Tyrannical Torch, in Just One Week - Warrantless wiretapping of American citizens, Indefinite detention without charge or trial, Targeted killings of suspects by drone, without any pretense of due process (even if they are US citizens) remains none of the American people s business ( READ ).

Obama signs 2013 NDAA - blocking closure of Gitmo ( READ ).

Amy Goodman: Obama s New Year s Resolution: Protect the Status Quo - a number of bills were signed into law by President Barack Obama that renew some of the worst excesses of the Bush years ( READ ).

The Obama Administration deported more than 400,000 undocumented immigrants in the 2012 fiscal year, the most in the nation's history ( READ ).

Announced on Christmas eve: The U.S. will be sending Army brigades into as many as 35 African nations in early 2013 ( READ ).

Obama Administration Snubs Risk, Set to OK 'Frankenfish' ( READ ).

The US is going to substantially increase its military presence in the Philippines, increasing the number of troops, aircraft and ships which routinely rotate through the country, - a reason given: to serve The Philippines when struggling against natural disasters. ( READ ).

Obama's Deficit Proposal: Cut Social Security Benefits ( READ ).

Remember All the Children, Mr. President. Remember the 35 children who died in Gaza this month from Israeli bombardments (with your approval and U.S. weapons). Remember the 168 children who have been killed by US drone attacks in Pakistan since 2006. Remember the 231 children killed in Afghanistan in the first 6 months of this year ( READ ).

Barack Obama's tears for the children of Newtown are in stark contrast to his silence over the children murdered by his drones ( READ).

Obama sends 400 troops to Syrian border ( READ ).

Obama grants unprecedented powers for warrantless surveillance. The rules now allow the little-known National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC) to examine the government files of U.S. citizens for possible criminal behavior, even if there is no reason to suspect them. Now, NCTC can copy entire government databases flight records, casino-employee lists, the names of Americans hosting foreign-exchange students and many others. The agency has new authority to keep data about innocent U.S. citizens for up to five years, and to analyze it for suspicious patterns of behavior. Previously, both were prohibited ( READ ).

Obamacare Architect Leaves White House for Pharmaceutical Industry Job ( READ ).

US to leave 10,000 troops in Afghanistan past 2014 ( READ ).

Obama 'drone-warfare rulebook' condemned by human rights groups ( READ ).

Obama says he is "fully supportive" of Israel's attack on Gaza. There is no country on Earth that would tolerate missiles raining down on from outside its borders" (We wonder if Obama applies this logic to Pakistan, Yemen, Somalia and Afghanistan where the U.S. is raining down missiles on those countries) ( READ ).

Obama Administration: Hamas to Blame for Gaza Violence. Says Israel 'has the right to defend itself' (but makes no mention of Palestinians having the same right) ( READ ).

Obama-appointed Afghanistan commander supports troops there past 2014 (READ) .

U.S. expands counterterrorism assistance in Cambodia in spite of human rights concerns ( READ ).

Julian Assange: Reelected Obama a 'wolf in sheep's clothing'. All of the activities against WikiLeaks by the United States have occurred under an Obama administration. ( READ ).

#Barack Obama #President Obama #American Imperialism #Long post

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bai-xue · 8 years ago

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RISE OF THE DISNEYFACE: an illustrated essay

Alright so there’s something that has been irking me about current CGI Disney movies - specifically female character design - and I finally put my finger on it.

Current Disney heroines are suffering from a disease that I, for lack of a better term, call ‘Disneyface.’ Original, I know.

Commencing rant essay beneath the cut.

Anyway, to pinpoint the issues I have with Disney’s current female character design, I traced features of heroines from both traditionally animated Disney movies (Princess and the Frog and back) and current CGI Disney movies (Tangled and onward). For the sake of consistency, I limited myself to heroines that were post-pubescent and (bar one) human. I also limited myself just to Disney-produced films, excluding Disney-Pixar films.

For clarity I traced only four features: 1) facial outline; 2) eye shape - including that which is covered by eyelids; 3) nose bridge; and 4) curve of their smile. I’m not going into hairline, nostril shape, lip shape, brow-line, etc, simply because I do not have that kind of time nor patience. I’m pretty much just focusing on the base models here.

Please note: this is in no way a statement on the overall merit of any particular Disney movie. There are some CGI Disney movies that are excellent, and there are some traditional Disney movies that are ‘meh’ at best.

ANYWAY.

Here are the traced ‘traditional’ heroines. If you want, see if you can identify them based on those traced features alone (please excuse the inevitable Uncanny Valley).

Even if you couldn’t tell who was who, it’s pretty clear that there are major differences, right? We have round faces, square faces, diamond faces, pointy noses, snub noses, even a bent nose bridge. There’s also pretty much every size and shape of eyeball. Their smiles are everything from a gentle curve to a v-shape, both wide and small.

Here are the heroines!

Meanwhile, let’s do the same with our modern CGI Disney heroines. Again, see if you can differentiate them.

If you could, damn, you’ve got a good eye, because these heroines have a whole lot in common: oval or soft diamond faces, gentle nose bridges, gigantic round eyes, and wide, gently curved smiles.

Yes, even Moana.[1]

Even Judy is suffering from Disneyface, and she’s a rabbit.

Anyway, you might be saying, “Karen, that’s not fair! Those traditionally animated films are from a span of 60+ years[2] while all the CGI films are from the span of 14 years at best!”[3]

Well, let’s have a look here. If we round up to 15 years (for my non-math-brain’s sake) between Tangled and Moana with the above span of base model variety, what are the base model varieties within other Disney eras, and how much variety occurred within 15 years?[4]

Well, let’s start with the Silver Age, from which I’ve drawn three samples. Between Cinderella and 101 Dalmatians, there is a ~13 year overlap.[5] Within those thirteen years, we get these three post-pubescent human heroines:

Admittedly, there’s not too much variety here. All our heroines have diamond faces, small-to-medium eyes, and delicately pointed noses. Anita’s mouth, however, has a distinctive v-shape, and her eyes are rounder than Cinderella’s or Aurora’s, likely reflecting the more ‘hands off’ approach that Uncle Walt took due to his failing health during the animating process.

Next, we have the Disney Renaissance, from which I’ve drawn the majority of my samples. The Disney Renaissance has a ~12 year overlap.[6]

Here we have an explosion of stylistic variety, which in part is the source of the ‘Renaissance’ label. Along with it comes a wide variety of base models for our heroines: round faces, angular faces, all shapes and sizes of noses and eyes. The mouths range from medium sized to large, most with gentle curves, though Megara’s also has a distinctive v-shape.

“Okay, Karen,” you may be saying, “that’s all fine and good, but what about the post-Renaissance?”[7] The post-Renaissance focused mostly on male characters and animal characters as human heroines moved into the background, but we do have Kida and Tiana, two WoC heroines who have very different features.

If you really want to stretch the definition of heroine, you could also include Nani from Lilo & Stitch (again, we’re not including Lilo as she’s pre-pubescent and thus designed very differently from a post-pubescent character).

Again, we have a wide variety of face shapes from a span of ~13 years.[8] Kida and Tiana both have diamond-shaped faces, while Nani has a round face. Both Tiana and Nani have snubbed noses, while Kida has one of the more unique nose shapes of Disney’s heroines. Tiana’s smile is a gentle curve, but Kida and Nani both have smiles that have nearly no curve. Their eyes are all unique, from Nani’s almond eyes to Tiana’s round eyes to Kida’s almost square eyes.

So what’s the deal here, Disney?

With an overall span of ~15 years – a wider span than any of the traditionally animated films of their unique eras – the Disney Revival has shown considerably less variation, even among its WoC characters.

I have to refer here to @lindsayetumbls, who somewhat touched upon this general trend in her excellent video essay The Rise of the Eyebrow. Disney found a formula that sells and went with it. And man, does it sell. You can’t go to the corner store without tripping over something with Elsa’s face slapped on it.

Essentially, Disney has decided that profitable models – including animation models – are more valuable than artistic originality.

“That’s natural!” you might be saying. “They’re a company! They’re going to go with what they know will attract crowds.”

Except that the Disney Renaissance, the period in which we see the most variety in our heroine’s base models, was also an incredibly profitable period. People still watch those movies, still buy massive amounts of Disney Renaissance merch, and still lose their minds when they meet Princess Jasmine in Disney World. Those movies are lasting, and will last, and will continue to make Disney heaps and heaps of cash.

I’m not an expert in the animation industry, but all this basically makes me think it comes down to artistic laziness in terms of female design. They have a female model that sells, and they are too lazy to further explore heroine design as they embark on their experimentation with CGI. There are convincing arguments about Disney’s stories becoming more progressive in regards to their heroines, but their actual design of those female characters is regressing as the studio chooses to pour their energy into special effects over female representation.

Anyway, tl;dr and yet again quoting Lindsay:

Wow it’s annotated!

[1] Again, I’ve heard Moana is excellent (haven’t had a chance to see it yet), and kudos to Disney for branching out ethnically. She has other features that set her apart (nostril shape, brow thickness, lip shape) but her base model is still suffering from a malignant case of Disneyface.

[2] Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs went into production in 1934 and premièred in 1937; Princess and the Frog went into development in 2006 and came out in 2009, giving an overlap of ~75 years and proving how bad I am at mathematical estimates.

[3] Tangled went into production in 2002 and came out in 2010; Moana went into production in 2011 and came out in 2016, giving an overlap of ~14 years from Tangled to Moana.

[4] Aka the Disney Revival, which is all CGI except for Princess and the Frog, but more on that in note 7.

[5] Cinderella began production in 1948 and was released in 1950; 101 Dalmatians began production in ~1959 and came out in 1961.

[6] The Little Mermaid began production in 1987 and was released in 1989; Tarzan began production in 1995 and was released in 1999.

[7] I’m lumping Princess and the Frog into the post-Renaissance because I can; also it’s kind of an anomaly in more than one way in terms of production etc etc and more a remnant of the post-Renaissance’s nostalgia than an actual product of the Revival.

[8] Atlantis went into production in 1996 and came out in 2001; Princess and the Frog started production in 2006 and was released in 2009.

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