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petri808 · 3 years ago

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Bakudeku canon divergent, vampire quirk AU

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“How are you holding up son, are you eating enough food? You need to keep up your strength.” Mitsuki Bakugou questioned through the phone when her son called to give her an update.

“Yeah, yeah, of course I am! And, um, thanks for the money you put in my account,” Bakugou mumbled his appreciation.

“It’s from us, Inko, and All Might— actually he’s been putting up the bulk of it. We’re all hoping you find Izuku soon, but until then we’ll make sure you have what you need, just bring him home.”

“I’m working on it. Bastard’s not making it easy, but at least the damn authorities haven’t picked up on the trail yet.” It was a good thing, because Bakugou didn’t need them scaring Midoriya further away.

“You’re like a dog with a bone when you put your mind to something, so I know you’ll find a way.”

“I can’t believe you just equated me to a dog!”

“Oh, bite your tongue boy! It’s an expression!”

“Yeah, yeah. I better go, the train’s here.” He could see it pulling into Kawaji station.

“Are you still not gonna tell us where you are?”

“Nope. He moves around a lot anyways. Just know we haven’t left Honshu.”

“Alright. Good luck son. I’ll pass on your update to Inko and All Might.”

This game of hide and seek was physically wearing on Bakugou, but there was nothing short of a full incapacitation that would keep him from searching. After the Ena incident, Midoriya’s tactics had changed somewhat. The man moved more frequently and, in a zigzag, whereas in the past it had been heading in a straight line towards Shizuoka to the southwest. But there was one thing Midoriya couldn’t hide— victims. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

There were still times victims were drained, but not all of them. Bakugou surmised in order to not leave them fully incapacitated like before, his friend wasn’t always waiting until he was hungry, or he hadn’t learned to control it yet. He probably fed almost nightly, picking drunkards who wouldn’t remember what happened, and even less likely to report the incident. But less reports made it harder to track, and less blood also forced Midoriya to drink more often. Bakugou hoped that with shorter times between attacks, the man would get sloppy and make a mistake.

There were a lot of small towns all over, including abandoned structures from older times. Plenty of places to hide, not to mention dense forests and the mountainous terrain of central Japan that a person could disappear in. When tracking a lack of victim reports grew frustrating, Bakugou started looking for other clues, and in one town, a perceptive police officer commented about thefts he’d been hearing about from the surrounding areas. Random stores or restaurants, even some homes reporting the theft of food, sometimes clothing, basically survival type supplies but no valuables, which are not the norm of a burglary. It was brilliant.

Bakugou had thanked the officer for the information and immediately began inquiring in towns and watching newspapers where they were having both types of problems. It took almost a month, including a couple of near misses, until Bakugou knew he was closing in.

Local newspapers were reporting about unusual happenings in the smaller towns. In Ieyama city, high up in the mountains north of Shizuoka, Bakugou spoke with a police officer and confirmed a rash of strange incidents reported. Three burglaries of just food, one bath house broken into after closing, and a couple of reported attacks where the victims had marks on their necks. So far, Izuku’s new behaviors included sticking around the same area for about a week before moving on. With these latest cases only 3 days old in total, Bakugou knew they were a fresh lead.

“Yesterday, right?”

“Yes, the last burglary was in the afternoon while the homeowner was at work.” Using a paper map, the police officer showed Bakugou the location of the most recent burglary as well as two others over the last couple of days. It was very telling. The three places were centered around a 4-block radius. “If you are looking for hiding spots, there is an abandoned factory in that area. I’ll give you the address.”

“Thanks. I doubt they’d stay so close to the attack grounds, but I’ll check it out.” He didn’t want any of them following him.

It was still daylight, but Bakugou didn’t want to waste any time and risk his friend moving again after dark, heading straight for the dilapidated warehouse. The place looked like it had been emptied for a longtime. There was a rusted, chain link fence around the property, many broken windows, and weeds growing over the structure. Bakugou crept up to one of the windows, and heard nothing, so he moved slowly, quietly around the exterior paying close attention to any sounds or movements inside. But he heard nothing to indicate anything was there, not even an animal. Maybe it was another dead end, or maybe Midoriya was just sleeping. Un-phased, he moved inside the two-story building to make absolutely sure.

It took a while to search cautiously through the darkness, watching his step so not to step on anything or make a noise. The vastly open bottom floor was almost completely empty aside from a few left behind junk. So, Bakugou moved to the second floor where offices once were. Of all the areas, the top floor would provide the warmest cover, as well as quicker access to the roof. Like a trained tactical soldier, he cleared room after room, moving down the hallway that separated the individual offices, and one by one, eliminating them from the search. Finally, Bakugou reached the last one and heard the soft breathing of a sleeping person. Well, that meant two options, it’s just a homeless person or he’d finally caught his friend off guard.

Bakugou peered cautiously around the door frame. It was dark, but just enough light from a small window allowed his eyes to adjust quickly on a form lying down on the floor. Next to the person was a backpack, empty food containers strewn around, and possibly other items from the burglaries. There was also a make-shift hearth of broken bricks and a metal bowl with dark residue inside. He could even smell the light scent of soot mixed with burnt wood. ‘Gotcha!’ He smirked as he pocketed his flashlight and pulled out a special pair of handcuffs used to dampen quirks. It didn’t completely shut down a person’s quirk, but it kept them from using its full power. He was ready for Midoriya this time.

‘Almost there…’ he crept forward in a crouched manner ready to pounce like a predator stalking its prey in careful movements since he no longer had the flashlight out to see by. ‘Damn minefield,’ Bakugou grumbled as he navigated around the strewn mess of stuff the sleeping man had around him. ‘Almost there—'

*Crunch*

A piece of glass shattered below his boot, the sounds reverberating off the silent cement walls. “Shit!” Bakugou dove forward when Midoriya immediately popped up and tried to dash away. “Not this time nerd!”

“Waaahhhcchan!” Midoriya screamed as he was tackled to the floor. The two men fought, vying for footing, but the blonde kept them on the ground. Bakugou grabbed for and slapped one end of the handcuffs onto one of Midoriya’s wrists. “Nooo!” The man screamed.

“Not this time Deku! You ain’t getting away!”

Weakened by the cuff, Bakugou poured all his strength into jerking the disheveled man, flipping him onto his stomach, and tweaking his arm behind him into a wrist lock for leverage.

Midoriya screamed again from the pain, but nevertheless fought with all he had. Unfortunately, the cuffs were doing their job. “Please, Kacchan! Don’t do this!”

“Tough shit!” Bakugou snapped back and attached the other cuff to his own wrist. The effects would hamper them both, but “I dare you, nerd, you can’t beat me in a contemporary fight.” He was confident of such, having always been the physically stronger of the two regardless of quirk. “I’m taking you home!”

Midoriya wriggled, and tugged, but it was of no use. His friend had planted his feet, dropped his weight, and refused to budge. He didn’t want to risk exhausting himself and triggering a full-blown thirst like last time, so he stopped struggling.

After a few seconds, Bakugou got off the man and turned him over so he could sit up. Midoriya nursed his arm and rubbed at his wrist to soothe the pain. “Of course, I want to go home,” he sighed. “But it’s too dangerous Kacchan, why can’t you understand that?”

“Eri’s getting better every day, one day she’ll be able to control her quirk and fix you.”

“That’s not good enough. What are you gonna do, lock me up hoping she can fix me?! You saw what happened! Just like we eat food every day, I need blood, how are you gonna deal with that?!”

“Fine,” Bakugou shrugged, “we’ll hook you up to an IV and feed you blood when you need it.”

“No,” Midoriya started tugging again as tears flowed down his cheeks. “Please,” he begged, “this is too embarrassing, don’t you understand! I’ll never be able to be a hero again, my reputation will be ruined once everyone finds out! Hero society will look bad! It’s better I stay away!”

Frustrated with having his wrist yanked, Bakugou whipped his friend around and put him in a carotid choke hold. “Well, I’m not fucking leaving,” he spat, “so, we need to come up with a solution. Now stop fucking fighting me and get it through your head, the reality is I’m not going anywhere.”

Midoriya clawed at Bakugou’s arm trying to pull it away from his neck, but the man had it cinched in tight. If he kept struggling, he was bound to pass out. Exhausted, he finally relented and turned into a dead weight, sobbing quietly. “Why are you doing this, Kacchan… why?”

“Because a friend once told me I need to save to win, and right now you need to be saved for me to win.”

“Right? Win, I get it,” Midoriya narrowed his eyes along with tone. “This is an ego thing? You’ll take me back to show how you’re still better than me?” His heart didn’t believe those words, but as a coping mechanism, it did.

Bakugou let go of the man and shoved him so hard Midoriya face planted on the floor, stretching the handcuff chain to its limit. “I ought’a punch your lights out for saying that! I’m trying to win my friend back you asshole! You think I’d spend all this time chasing you if I didn’t care?!”

“Kacchan…” The man sighed and slowly propped himself back up. “There’s nowhere safe for me to go.”

Bakugou ignored the man and looked at his watch, noting the sun would have fully set by now. It might best to stay another night while he came up with a plan. “Tch, I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, behave or I will just knock you unconscious.”

“Fine, I won’t fight. But I do need to feed tonight.” Midoriya lifted his arm to flash the cuff. “Guess you’ll have to help me.”

“Why? You feeling the urge?” Midoriya nodded yes. “How can you tell?”

Midoriya thought about the answer for a minute before responding. “It’s like feeling dehydrated, maybe, at least in the beginning, but then it starts to get painful if I don’t feed it. I guess think of it like if you don’t eat for so long your stomach hurts— that’s what it’s like.”

“Sounds like it sucks.”

Midoriya snorted. “Understatement. It takes control of my mind by that point, almost as if it’s a survival instinct to protect itself.”

“Well, mister know it all. You ever heard of this kind of quirk before?”

“No,” Midoriya shook his head.

“Do the vestiges have anything to say about all this?”

Again, Midoriya shook his head.

Bakugou groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter for the current situation.” He looked up again fixing a stare at his friend. “So, what do you do to get the blood?”

#bakudeku #bkdk #bakudeku au #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku fan fic #bakudeku fan fiction #vampire quirk #katsudeku #ktdk #ch 7 #bloody passion #eventual smut

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Black Dog - part four Word count: 4475± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part four summary: Dean closes in on the location that the coordinates lead to, and soon begins to grasp the magnitude of this case. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

Darrington, Washington December 2nd, 2005 - Present Day

Two days later, Dean and his Impala roll down a two-lane highway through Stillaguamish Valley. Mountains rise from the earth as if they are still growing, overshadowing the villages beneath. Rays of sun pierce through the clouds, spotlights of the sky shining down on the land below.

It’s not nearly as warm as it was in Texas. In fact, Dean has the heaters on to cast out the cold. The radio started jamming some time ago, not because of the presence of a ghost or some other supernatural force, but simply because the high mountains are interfering with the radio signal. To break the silence, Dean threw in an old Metallica mixtape, one he used to listen to whenever he was on the road alone. Enter Sandman rages through the speakers as Dean taps his thumb on the steering wheel in the rhythm of the drums.

He needs his music right now. It’s the only thing that can keep him sane. The evident empty space next to him and the silence that filled the car before the screaming guitars did, had him almost turn around at least half a dozen times. The knot in his stomach hasn’t exactly loosened ever since he left Sam on the side of the road, but with his father’s orders in mind, he kept pushing north. You’re here now, Dean. Might as well solve this case.

When he crossed the Texas - Oklahoma state border, he stopped at an internet cafe and traced the location of the coordinates. It turns out that 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W isn’t an abandoned factory building in the American wastelands or a graveyard which happens to be the final resting place of a not so peaceful spirit. These coordinates are those of a pass on the south side of a mountain range, west of a small town called Darrington, located in Washington State.

When he searched for articles on anything out of the ordinary in that area, he stumbled on a bunch of missing person reports and killings in the local newspapers. The growing population of grey wolves and bears, plus the city closing in on nature, are the causes of this unusual animal behavior, according to the wildlife services. Apparently Dean’s father doubts that the animals have anything to do with it. The missing people and casualties are random. Dean couldn’t find a link between any of them, so he went on and eventually got himself on Arlington-Darrington Road, heading for the small village.

As far as Dean knows, the last attack took place nine days ago. It happened at the exact location of the coordinates, where a family was hiking. The teenage daughter and the father were killed by God knows what, only the nineteen-year-old son survived. He expects the local police will know more about his state and current whereabouts. Having a word with the poor kid is on the hunter’s to-do list, once he finds him.

Dean looks over to the right, where a high peak stands out from the other mountains surrounding him. It seems ominous and beautiful at the same time, intimidating anyone who enters the valley as it reaches for the sky. That’s the place where it went down; Whitehorse Mountain.

The hunter carries on and passes a church and a short airstrip, then he enters the town of Darrington. Not quite sure where he’s supposed to go, he follows the main road, and soon spots the police department on his right. The Impala turns to the curb and through his windshield, the driver takes a look around. The benefits of a small town; everything is close by. Across from the police department he finds a diner and a small hotel, no need to drive around to find a place to stay and to eat. First things first, though, he has to figure out what he’s up against.

Somewhat carelessly, the hunter rummages through the several false ID’s and badges in the glove compartment, choosing one that his father printed a couple of months back. As he gets out of the car and walks around it, he checks out the ID as he mouths the false name. “Glenn Frey. Brilliant, Dad,” he chuckles, instantly recognizing the name of one of the founders of the Eagles.

Confident, Dean steps inside the governmental building. The deputy, who’s reading a file by a large desk in the corner of the room, looks up from his work. “Can I help you?” “Yeah, I’m Glenn Frey from Wildlife Services,” Dean flashes his identification as he walks up to the counter. “Ah, you’re here for the attacks.” The officer stands up and walks over, after which he shakes Dean’s hand. “Deputy Steven Morson.” “Is the sheriff in?” Dean wonders, getting straight to the point. “Not at this moment, but he will be later on,” the young deputy replies.

The hunter purses his lips, letting a sound of discontent slip past his teeth. “I was hoping to gather some more information about the Cleveland family.” “Your colleague missed something?” deputy Morson assumes. Oh oh, the real rangers got here first? Quickly, Dean improvises, the slight hesitation barely noticeable. “We just don’t want to miss any details, make sure we know what we’re up against.” The deputy nods at that. “No problem. I’ll get the documents for you.”

He moves over to the file cases against the back wall, opens one of the doors with a key, and leafs through the files. As he’s working, Dean takes his time to have a look around the small police station. Pictures of officers decorate the bleak walls, together with a collection of medals and declarations. The sheriff’s office is separated from the main desk. A bit further in the back, Dean sees the door that leads to the holding cells. It looks pretty much like every small town’s department he’s been in; way too familiar. There have been several occasions that he saw places like this from behind bars.

“Here you go.” The deputy interrupts his thoughts as he hands the file to Dean. With a grateful nod, so-called Glenn Frey from Wildlife Services lays out the documents on the desk. Attentive, he scans the pages as he flips through them, but there isn’t much there. Puzzled, Dean faces the policeman. “This is it? No imaging, death reports?” “The remains haven’t been brought down the mountain yet. Three hunters went up to track them down, bring the bodies back and shoot the animals if they get the chance, but it snowed for quite a while a few days back, so I think they got delayed,” the deputy explains. Dean hums at that, but doesn’t say anything. And I think they got killed, he ponders quietly. “So all you have is an eyewitness report of ...?” Dean concludes, leaving the line open for the deputy to fill in. “David, the oldest son. Poor guy,” he sighs. “Got hurt bad?” Dean presumes. “No, not at all. He didn’t have a scratch on him. But what he saw… Well, read for yourself,” The policeman nods at the page on the counter, and gives the ranger some space.

Dean scans the eyewitness report intently, taking out the details that matter to him most. Tear wounds, bite marks, limbs shredded off, major blood loss. By the looks of it, the two victims were torn in pieces. The description of the suspected killer is rather poor, though. Apparently Deputy Morson notices the change in Dean’s facial expression, because he comments on it right away.

“The kid lost his entire family, so I can imagine it was all a blur, but he said the animal was ‘invisible’. He also claimed he heard a wolf-like howl right before the incidents happened, but nothing like any grey he has ever heard, apparently. It seems unlikely, doesn’t it? One lone wolf attacking people? I think he kind of lost it, if I may speak honestly,” he says with a little chuckle.

Dean, however, doesn’t find it funny at all and keeps a straight face. “Why don’t we both stick to our fields of expertise, shall we? Is he still in town?” The deputy clears his throat awkwardly. “He is, Sir. He refuses to go back home until his family is recovered from the mountain.”

The hunter nods, able to get behind that reasoning. Foolish, but understandable. Either way, for his investigation on this case it’s quite convenient that David is still here. The report doesn’t give him a lot to go on, and he really needs to know more before he sets foot onto the creature’s hunting grounds. He straightens his back and looks the deputy in the eye before he exits the police department. “Tell me, where can I find David?” “He has a room at the Inn, but I’ve seen him in church a lot,” the young officer says. “Thank you, I’ll see if I can find him.” Dean knocks on the wooden counter before he turns away.

When he exits the building, he halts on the doorstep, narrowing his eyes to shield them from the bright surroundings outside. Snowy mountain tops reflect the sun, a chilly wind rolling through the valley. The hunter adjusts the collar of his leather coat to protect himself from the cool breeze.

“You’re a ranger, aren’t you?” He glances aside, finding an older man on a bench by the grass. The grey-haired local glances at the badge in Dean’s hand, before he makes eye-contact. “I am,” Dean confirms, despite it being a lie. The elder nods at that, averting his gaze to the peak on their west. The deep wrinkles become more evident while he folds his boney hands around the handle of his cane. “That missing family? You won’t find them.” Frowning at that, Dean watches him, curious if he knows more. “What makes you say that?”

“Three of this town’s best hunters have gone up there, they should’ve been back by now,” the senior says with a voice raw from age. “If you’d ask me, I’d say they befell the same fate.” Dean tilts his head slightly in agreement, beholding the menacing scenery as well. The wise man seems to know that there is more going on than meets the eye at the treacherous slopes. “Have you seen anything up there?” he wonders. The old local shakes his head, his stare turning to the icy pavement. “No one has seen anything. It moves too fast. I’ve heard it, though.”

Intrigued, Dean turns his head to face the man on the bench again. There is a fear in his eyes that seems out of character for the old soul who has without a doubt seen so much in his long life. “I’ve lived here for seventy years. Have protected my cattle from quite a few predators during that time. Grizzlies, mountain lions, coyotes, wolves. But what I’ve been hearing lately is unlike any animal I’ve ever heard,” he tells.

Plenty might think the local has gone mad, but Dean has a growing respect for the senior. If he ever had any doubt that this was his kind of deal, it is taken away now. “Well, whatever is up there, I’ll take care of it,” he claims, sure to succeed. “You’re not the first one to say that, and yet no one has returned, but that boy,” The old farmer nods in the direction of the church. “If I were you, I would leave the mountain be.” “Can’t do that,” Dean shakes his head. “More people will disappear.” “So will you if you go to find that beast.”

The elder’s blue eyes surprise Dean when they meet his green ones. They are so piercing and weary, that it startles him, but he manages not to flinch. Instead, he tries to read the man of age, who has one last message for him. “There is something evil in those woods.”

The much younger hunter can’t stop himself from swallowing thickly at the intense stare that comes his way. The local is desperate to change the ranger’s opinion, pleading with him to reconsider. Dean won’t, however, although he takes the warning seriously. The hunter might not know what he will be up against once he heads up, but it’s beginning to dawn on him it’s something unlike he has ever faced before.

On the corner of Commercial Avenue and Riddle Street, Dean halts in front of a small church. The sign in front of the house of God, which is called St. John Mary Vianney Catholic, has his stomach reacting in a way he didn’t expect it to. The fact that both his parents’ names stare back at him, gives this place a whole other meaning. A strange feeling comes to him as a chill runs down his spine. It bothers him, because he’s not one of those new-agey kids who believes in destiny. Of course, this is just an odd coincidence, but somehow it feels like he was meant to be here.

Cautiously, he steps up the porch and enters the building. The church seems deserted, even the priest is nowhere to be seen. Light from outside falls through the stained glass and brings color to the house of the Holy. Candles are lit by the altar and have been burning for a while, given the way the wax has dripped down the silver candleholders. Several smaller flames flicker at the sidewall, worshipping the statue of the Virgin Mary.

As Dean enters the small church and walks through the central aisle between the rows of wooden benches, he spots a figure on the front row. Although the hunter’s footsteps echo through the old building, the guy apparently doesn’t hear him coming in. He absently stares at the statue of Jesus, nailed to a cross. And so Dean halts at the end of the aisle, trying to judge the situation and how to approach. Either the young man on the bench is ignoring him, or he’s so trapped in his thoughts that he has shut himself out from the world around him. Dean decides to say something to break through to him. “Are you David?”

Slowly, the young man glances aside, but doesn’t look Dean in the eye. His gaze is empty and beholds immense devastation. As if he has cried so much over the last couple of days, that he’s unable to express himself any longer. “Who are you?” he asks with a raspy voice. For a moment there, the hunter considers taking out his ID, but then he changes his mind. Sam is always far better in these situations, so he tries to imagine how his little brother would approach David. He decides to be upfront. “I’m Dean,” he answers.

The introduction doesn’t trigger a response, though; the only living member of the Clevelands continues to stare into the nothingness absently. Dean exhales, pondering. How the fuck is he going to get through to this kid? It’s clear as day David doesn’t want company, and right about now, he could use Sam’s people’s skills. His little brother can work miracles with a few kind words and a pleading gaze. A bit ill-at-ease, Dean looks down at his feet. “I heard about your family. I’m sorry.” The silence that follows is even more evident under these high ceilings. The acoustics should allow every sound to be amplified, yet it remains eerily quiet. “I know how you feel,” he continues carefully. David scoffs. “No, you don’t.”

His firm answer catches the hunter off guard. The young man is right, he doesn’t know how he feels, not entirely. Dean didn’t see his entire family die, but the sound of his mother’s horrifying scream still rips through his mind every now and then.

For a moment he goes back in time. He doesn’t remember much of his early childhood, just bits and pieces, stills taken from a movie. But what went down on November 2nd 1983, the one day he wishes he could erase from his memory, he can recall in detail.

He remembers how he was comfortably sitting in his mother's arms. She held him close, she always did. She carried him into Sam’s room and they wished his little brother goodnight. Dad was there too, it was the last time he remembers him truly smiling. He remembers being tucked in by both of them. ‘Angels are watching over you,’ Mom said, right before he drifted off. Then he was awoken by the chilling cry that would continue to haunt him until this day. He remembers rushing out of bed and into the hallway, where he froze to the ground. From Sam’s nursery, a rage of flames heated up the entire house. Then his father appeared from the fire, holding little Sam in his arms, handing him over.

Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go!

Even though the heat was unbearable, as was the toxic smoke that filled every room of the house, he ran downstairs as his father told him to and eventually found himself in the front yard, looking up at his burning home. Then Dad came out, snatched both his sons from the grass, and carried them away from the house, after which moments later the second floor exploded. As he looked over his Dad’s shoulder at the burning remains of their house, he knew: he would never see his mother again.

Dean swallows with difficulty, coming back to the present. “Believe me. I know.” A bit surprised by that statement, David looks up into Dean’s eyes, holding his gaze for a few long seconds. “You’ve lost your family too?” “My mother,” he replies. “She was murdered.”

Dean looks away for a brief moment. His Mom’s death was hard on him then, it still is now. It might have happened twenty-two years ago, yet avenging her is what motivates him to keep going. She is the reason his father is willing to go to the edge of the earth and beyond to catch the son of a bitch that killed her. That defining moment kickstarted the hunt that would turn out to be his life’s work. That night, he lost so much more than just his mom.

Dad never recovered from her death, condemning his boys to a career of hunting. They are soldiers now, fighting a war of which they can’t grasp the magnitude. A crusade against the monster that tore the family apart. Ironically and sadly, that same crusade seems to have driven the Winchesters apart even further than Mary’s killer ever did.

Look at him; he has no idea where his father is and he got into a huge fight with Sam. He is truly on his own right now, unsure if his remaining family will return. What if right now, Sam walks into a trap? What if Dad gets killed by the same thing that killed Mom?

Suddenly it strikes him. David is what Dean is afraid to become; he’s alone.

“What happened on that mountain?” Dean asks, trying to focus on the case again before his mind spirals out of control, but the only survivor cuts him off immediately. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” “I think you do, but you’ve given it up because no one believes what you are saying,” Dean replies, seeing right through it.

Perplexed, David looks aside, eying the stranger who is still standing in the aisle, in the middle of the church. “Like I said, I know how you feel,” Dean repeats, reading the question from his face. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” The young guy shakes his head, defeated. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” “Try me,” Dean encourages.

With a sigh, David looks down at his feet while the hunter observes him. His dark hair is a mess and he has a stubble growing. Blood and dirt has embedded in the prints of his fingers and around his nails, the blood of his family that seems impossible to wash off.

“Dad, Ruth and I were hiking on the north side of Whitehorse Mountain. We started out early in the morning and everything went smoothly. We had about an hour of light left, when me and my sister reached the location where we planned to set up camp first. Then it started…” he tells as he folds his shaking hands together. “Ruth and I heard a cry of some sort of animal. For a moment we thought it was a grey wolf, but I’ve heard them before, this… this was different. It took Dad ages to get over the Lone Tree Pass, I thought he might have some equipment trouble or something, so I went back.”

His jaw clenches and he takes a breath, now he has come to the hard part. Tears fill his eyes, but he is able to hold them back. “I found him, against a tree. There was blood everywhere, his chest was… he was torn into pieces. He - he had bite wounds and nail scratches all over him, so deep that I - I could see the bone, his - his intestines. His arm was s - severed,” David stammers. “And your sister?” Dean asks sympathetically.

A short pause and he can see in David’s eyes that he relives the haunting memory every time he talks about it. “Same thing... I heard her scream, but by the time I got there, it - it was too late. There was barely anything left. She was only sixteen,” he reveals with a trembling voice. David rubs his face and wipes away the tears, but he stays strong. “Then I heard it, this deep growl. It felt like it was right behind me. When I turned around I didn’t see it, but I heard the call again. Then everything returned to normal,” he remembers. “What do you mean, back to normal?” Dean questions, curious about his choice of words.

The young guy looks up at him again from the bench. He hesitates, as if what he’s about to say will just confirm that he’s completely losing his mind. “The mountain came back to life. Birds started singing again, the wind blew through the trees. Right after the first cry, everything went dead. You could hear a penny drop in that forest,” David tells him. “I don’t know how to describe it. It… It was surreal.” Intently, Dean listens to him and doesn’t give any sign of disbelief what so ever. “Then what happened?” he asks, intrigued.

“I ran. I knew I needed help and the only place where I could find it was down in the valley. So I ran.” David drops his gaze again, ashamed. “I’m such a coward. I should’ve called it in with the satellite phone. I should’ve stayed by their side.” “There’s nothing you could have done for your family. You would’ve ended up dead if you had stayed,” Dean says, trying to relieve him from his guilt. Carelessly, the lone survivor shrugs. “Maybe that would have been better.”

Dean keeps quiet, because he understands where he’s coming from. If your entire family ends up dead, what is there to live for? He wouldn’t want to stay behind either.

“You - you know what the worst part is?” David stammers. “I have absolutely no idea how to explain what happened. It wasn’t an animal, I know that much. But if it wasn’t, what the hell was it? There’s just no explanation.” “There is,” the hunter states. “What? That it was bigfoot?” David scoffs sarcastically. “There’s no such thing as bigfoot… I think,” Dean answers, doubting his own words the moment he says them. “Then what killed my family?” the young Cleveland wants to know. “I’m not sure yet, but I can tell you, it ain’t no wolf. It’s not from our world,” Dean states. “I don’t care from what world it is. I want it dead,” David makes clear.

“I’ll track it and get rid of it,” the man next to him promises. Determined, the mourning teenager gets up from the bench. “Good. When are we heading out?” But Dean holds out his hand in front of him, stopping him. “Whoa, dude. I don’t think it’s wise for you to come along.” “Do you know anything about that mountain? Do you know anything about the trails? About hiking?” David questions. “I’ll manage, that’s beside the point. This is gonna get ugly, David. You don’t want to be a part of this,” Dean makes clear, trying to discourage him.

“Trust me, that mountain is one big monster by itself. If you don’t know her paths, you’ll get lost and die. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Together we’ll have a chance. I’m not gonna sit here while you go up there and get killed just like those three hunters,” he argues, his voice gaining strength. Dean huffs. Smart kid. He’s got spunk, alright. “Whatever it is, it killed my family. So don’t tell me I can’t be part of this,” the young guy insists firmly. “If you had the chance to face who killed your mother, wouldn’t you take it?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer ready for that one, he wasn’t expecting a curveball. David is right. If he had even the smallest opportunity to have a share in the fight against the monster that killed Mom, he wouldn’t even have to think about it. “Alright,” the hunter sighs. “But if anything happens to you--” David doesn’t even let him finish and walks past him towards the exit. As he does, he looks over his shoulder. “What? Like I have anything to lose?”

Dean watches him leave, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smile. He recognizes himself in the kid; hands on, not cowering in the face of danger, willing to do everything for his family. He won’t be able to stop the only remaining Cleveland, and so he follows.

As he descends down the steps of the church, he finds David standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky. Before them, Whitehorse Mountain stands tall, looking down on them like a dark, looming thunderstorm. That’s what they need to overcome, that’s their challenger.

It is going to be a difficult climb, but fighting a vicious creature along the way makes things a little more complicated. Dean wishes he had Sam to back him up on this one, because he’s sure his smart brother would have an idea what they are up against. Even though he’s not fond of having a civilian to worry about on a hunt, David does know this terrain. Dean has to face reality here; he’s going to need a guide. He only hopes that he can bring the kid back down, safe and sound. Enough people have died on that mountain already.

Story fact: the church mentioned in this chapter was the actual name of a church in Darrington in 2005. Came across in during research, and just had to use it!

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part 5 here

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out-of-this-dimension · 4 years ago

Text

Spooky SF Headcanons

Happy Spoopy Day~ Hope everyone is well. I thought I could celebrate on here with some spooky headcanons!

Venom

Venom is considered to be a haunted, cursed place. There are remnants of several civilizations scattered across the planet, the most prominent being the ancient Cornerus and the far more recent failed Cornerian Settlement Project.

Not much is known about the Cornerus or what happened to them but their ruins still haunt Venom’s eerie landscape. There are rumors of ghosts that dwell within, wailing in a state of perpetual limbo with eyes that can invoke madness. Usually these ghosts do not stray far from the old Cornerus cities but occasionally there have been sightings in the jungles. Most sightings are usually laughed off fearfully-- people don’t want to admit there might be a nugget of truth to any of these rumors but the amount of people who have seen something paranormal in the wilds is incredibly high.

The Cornerian Settlement Project happened quite some time before the Lylat Wars, before even the time of James McCloud, Peppy Hare, and General Pepper. The project was a colonization effort to start a third planetary hub that would function as a center of trade with planets further from Corneria, such as Sauria and Cerinia. Back then, Venom had a different name, tentatively called “Eden”, though that name was quickly nixed after the Settlement Project. Although some experts had already scoped Venom out and had reported high levels of toxins in the air, most of those reports were dismissed by settlers. The sight that followed the settlers arriving was allegedly one so traumatic that the survivors immediately ran back onto the ships in horror. As soon as the first group arrived, over half their number dropped dead on boarding ramp, their lungs clotted with airborne poisons. The survivors wished to leave but eventually did decide to settle the proposed colony area on Venom. However, within two years, the colony was abandoned, even after measures were taken to try to purify the air. It is said that not only did the air make it hard to populate the land but there was an unnatural force that pushed the Cornerians out-- a force no one could see but could feel. A force that would dismantle bits of their infrastructure and haunt their government officials at night. After the Project failed, the planet’s name was switched to Venom and it was used as a place for exile.

Of course, Venom has seen plenty of civilizations who survived the toxic atmosphere -- namely reptilians who have long made their home amid the jungles. Though reptiles are not entirely uncommon in the Lylat System, the varieties seen on Venom were viewed with apprehension, no doubt stemming from the fact that the planet itself seemed cursed, so everything that lived there also carried that same stigma. From these early discoveries of Venomian reptiles came legends of alien-like beasts that would thrive in the dark jungles, abducting Lylatians and feasting upon their flesh.

Fichina

Not many people would consider Fichina to be a terrifying planet-- after all, it’s home to sights such as the aurora borealis. However its harsh climate has led to some terrifying discoveries over the years.

Fichina’s north and south pole clock the coldest temperatures in all of Lylat, however that has not stopped people from trying to live there, even those without any expertise in living in such harsh conditions. Climate control centers dot the planet’s surface, trying to stabilize some of the weather in an attempt to play God. However, there have been several cases of these climate control centers failing, resulting in lives being lost as entire cities are covered in blizzards. Alternatively, heating systems connected to the climate control center have been known to occasionally fail, resulting in the worst case scenario imaginable-- entire cities frozen, its denizens inside, lifeless.

Yet despite the freezing temperatures, arctic animals often make their home on Fichina. When Corneria arrived at first to establish peaceful negotiations with the Fichinans, they spread across the planet’s surface, even venturing out to reclusive villages up north. One military officer reported back to Corneria with a chilling report that they had found several villages that had been infected by a sickness of some sort, turning most of their citizens (arctic wolves) into mindless creatures running berserk. The Cornerians destroyed the village and all who were within to keep the sickness from spreading, later attributing it to something found in a local set of mines. This report was eventually leaked to the public and twisted by media. Over time, these barbaric, berserker wolves became something of a cryptic legend and there are claims some of them even still exist to this day.

Aquas

Though a planet that looks like a gleaming sapphire in the midst of space, Aquas is a planet drowning in a bloody history and filled with dark secrets.

It is believed that the monstrosity Bacoon destroyed the north and south poles of Aquas, flooding the continents with water. This is a tale that has been believed by Cornerians for some time... but no one has really discovered how this was possible. There has been some research done into this legend to ascertain the truth but no one knows for certain how the giant clam was able to do this. There have been, however, strange shrines spotted on the ocean floor. Shrines that bear an uncanny resemblance to shrines found on Venom and Sauria. Did Bacoon... have help? And if it did, what happened to that help?

After the defeat of Bacoon, Corneria opted to help the planet recover from all of the pollution Andross had dumped into its waters. When they did, they also decided to explore the planet, scoping it out as a possible location for a colony. The planet was perfectly fine, they believed, just covered in water-- nothing that they could not possibly work around. However, as they searched the planet, they chose to dive into its depths. Not only were they met with abyssal, dark waters but their scanners indicated an assortment of gargantuan things that lurked far, far below the water’s surface-- things that perhaps had not even seen the light in hundreds of years. Although the colony project was given the greenlight, there were many scientists unsure if it should have been approved of at all. Many beg the question if Bacoon was ever really alone down there.

Exploration into Aquas’s ruins have uncovered what may have been religious worship of Bacoon. Worship that eventually was abandoned, resulting in the beast growing enraged. Some of these depictions of worship include bloody sacrifices to the clam.

Eladard

Eladard’s surface is a nightmarish tangle of factories and cities, the planet’s environment completely disregarded. Eladard has become something of a junk planet, filled with graveyard-like dump sites.

Eladard’s capital city saw its fair share of strife after the planet was abandoned by wealthy Cornerians looking to profit off the planet. The worst of its strife stemmed from its self-proclaimed mayor, who ruled the city with an iron fist and his own personal army of mobsters. After he was dethroned and killed by mercenaries, his manor’s grounds were investigated. Countless bodies were found on the site, some even taxidermied and kept in a trophy room. The entire manor was burned to the ground and his body was allegedly burned with it. The grounds now stand empty, just outside of town, charred. Some folks have since tried to revitalize the area... but for some strange reason, nothing ever seems to grow there. Not even grass.

Eladard’s clusters of factories have seen their fair share of work accidents. From these accidents, occasionally there have been deaths. And from these deaths have occasionally been ghost sightings-- usually late at night, from the graveyard shift. Sometimes when the workers are packing up, they will swear they see their late coworkers, occasionally looking as though they are clocking in. Other times, they can be seen across Eladard’s nightmarish landscapes, wandering about the factories aimlessly, as if they are unable to rest.

Space

Space... the final frontier some say. But despite being beautiful, it is a silent, haunting place.

Tales of the unknown are common among pilots, particularly space-faring ones. But one of the most haunting sights is near Sector Omega, where one of the final fights happened in the Lylat Wars. It is said that there is a spaceship graveyard still out there, debris floating in limbo for all eternity. It consists of both Cornerian and Venomian ships, abandoned by their respective sides and left to drift forever.

Every so often within the asteroid belt of Meteo, pilots have reported a strange portal. Of course not many dare approach it out of fear... but a few brave souls have, plunging into the unknown fearlessly. They disappear within and usually are found days later, sometimes on the other side of the Lylat System, babbling about strange lights and even stranger noises. Each of them has described a world where reality is distorted and the laws of physics don’t seem to make sense. All of their descriptions are similar with a few tweaks here and there-- moons with sneering faces, comets made of rainbows, strange random objects floating about, and strange, terrifying creatures lurking within. Each and every account ends with the pilot being led to safety by something they can only describe as “the Whale”. It should be noted that all of the pilots have experienced some sort of psychosis from prolonged exposure to this strange dimension and have all been needed to be hospitalized. Cornerian officials from the CDF have looked into the matter but the findings have not been made public.

#star fox #starfox #venom #long post #headcanons #star fox headcanons #starfox headcanons #fichina #aquas #bacoon #eladard #spooky headcanons #out of this dimension #meteo #ok some of these are heavily based off of canon but like eh i put a small bit of my own spin on it

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siribear · 4 years ago

Text

dear claire,

she stares at the handwriting she’s become familiar with, with a particular scrutiny. his letter is much too soon. normally, they’d come after a few weeks. maybe a month, if his regiment was on the move. but she just sent off own letter the other day. no way he’s gotten it so soon. and yet.

i know this letter is early. no kidding. but i couldn’t wait for yours to arrive. you’ll have to forgive me for putting this in writing.

claire brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear and forces herself to sit still in her chair. her roommate is already squirming in her own seat, waiting for her reaction.

if i know you, you’re waiting for me to get to the point. but first, tell rachel i said hello. she does, and her roommate’s smile only grows wider. so, whatever this is, she’s in on it. i’m coming home soon. within the month. but that’s not why i’m writing. claire only realizes she’s biting her nails when she begins to taste nail polish. claire, i want to start a family. with you. i know this is sudden. but i wanted to give you some time to consider. i’ll - and here the handwriting shifts. still his, but rougher. - understand if you say no.

i can’t wait to see you. i love you.

nathaniel ward.

she reads it. and reads it again. and once more, before she shoots up from her seat, letter still in her hand, eyes boring into the paper.

‘so?’ rachel asks, sing-song.

‘rachel, find my stationary, please,’ claire responds, eyes not leaving the letter. rachel bolts from her chair and runs into their room. she returns carrying a piece of paper and pen.

claire sits, turns back to their kitchen table. a family.

dear nate, she writes.

start thinking up names.

i love you.

claire (soon-to-be) ward.

‘that vault up there has quite the interesting history,’ deacon says, after they’ve had their breakfast in her kitchen.

whisper blinks at him from across the kitchen table. ‘and what’s that?’

he leans forward, elbows on the table like her mother hated. ‘never been opened. everyone knows about the other vaults in the commonwealth, but 111?’ he clicks his tongue. ‘nothing.’

she frowns. ‘you want to go vault diving?’

‘i would, but it’s locked up. no one’s ever been able to get in, either.’

she shrugs. ‘as long as monsters don’t come out of it, it doesn’t matter to me. wonder what’s down there, though.’ she avoids his gaze, looking down at her pipboy, pretending to double-triple check their next destination.

deacon chuckles. ‘yeah, i wonder.’

preston approaches them before they leave, giving deacon a casual nod. ‘if i could talk to the general for a moment, uh, dingo?’ whisper nods, and deacon strolls over to dogmeat to play fetch, pretending he’s not going to be listening to their conversation anyway.

‘is everything okay, preston?’ she asks with a hand on her hip. she knows she’s been gone longer than she’s been here, leaving preston in charge of sanctuary and the budding minutemen. but he’s built them up well. even a few of the newer faces are dressed uniformly, carrying their own laser muskets.

he tears his gaze away from dogmeat bowling into deacon. ‘more than fine, general. in fact, with the other settlements you’ve established, we’re having trouble communicating with them all. it’s a good problem to have,’ he assures her. ‘the only way we can get further word out right now is from carla; she’s the only caravan that’s come this far up north. otherwise, i’ve sent out one of our newer scouts, but it’s not ideal.’

‘so we need a way to communicate more easily. like - another radio station? broadcast updates on each settlement so we know if anyone needs help or extra supplies.’ she looks up at him and his bright eyes. ‘you have a plan.’

‘i do.’ he practically vibrates with an excitement she never saw in him, weeks ago. at least, not before she agreed to help him. he’s a far cry from when they first met. ‘the minutemen used to have another headquarters, far out east. before the war, it was called fort independence. but we knew it as the castle.’

she has a vague image in her head of fort independence. too much information crammed into her head in college now useless and discarded. that, and she and nate hardly traveled far from boston’s city limits. ‘used to. what happened to it?’

he grimaces. ‘they say a monster from the sea breached the walls. all anyone knows is, most of the minutemen leadership died.’ he drops his gaze, voice going thoughtful. ‘i think that’s where all of our problems began.’

‘a... sea monster?’

‘uh, yes. but i think if we retake the castle and reestablish radio freedom, we stand a better chance of keeping our allies, and the greater commonwealth, safe.’

she blinks. ‘a sea monster,’ she repeats. ‘okay. that sounds reasonable - ’

he steps closer. ‘should i have a group meet us outside the castle?’

‘ - but i think we’ll have to table it, for now.’ she watches his enthusiasm fade. ‘preston, it’s a great idea, don’t get me wrong. but if there is some... giant sea monster, it doesn’t do the minutemen any good if both of us die taking back the place. train up a few more people. i’m going to clear out sunshine tidings co-op, make a few more... stops.’ she chances a gaze at deacon, sitting on the side of the road rubbing dogmeat’s belly. ‘and we’ll come back to this, okay?’

he salutes her. ‘yes, ma’am.’

whisper frowns. ‘hey.’ she gently lowers his hand from the salute. ‘i’m sorry i haven’t been around. but you and the others are doing a wonderful job here. we’ll take the castle, i just have a few loose ends to tie up before i throw myself at a sea monster.’

preston squeezes her hand. ‘yes, ma’am,’ he says again, softer.

she withdraws, slowly. ‘i should go get de-dingo. he gets restless.’ she turns to see deacon tying what looks like a third bandanna around dogmeat’s neck, to complement the small pair of welder’s goggles upon his head. preston keeps his eyes on her. ‘i’ll try to be back soon.’

he steps away. ‘stay safe, general.’

‘what do you know about the castle?’ whisper asks deacon along the way to the co-op.

‘a lot of your people - minutemen,’ he clarifies, ‘died there. it’s a mirelurk nesting ground now.’

she hums. ‘those would be the sea monsters preston mentioned, then.’ she rubs at her eyes. ‘great.’

they cross a bridge over to the co-op, weaving around abandoned cars. he helps her over a barricade as the first set of buildings looms over the hill. a short gravel path leads them up a hill into the co-op proper. wind blows heavily through the co-op, kicking up dirt from the expansive planting grounds that surround a large barn.

the puttering sound of an approaching mister handy prompts them to draw their weapons. the robot stops in front of them, seems to look them over, then, in a rough voice, says, ‘groovy,’ long, drawn-out, and airy, and floats away.

whisper lowers her gun. ‘deacon, what just happened?’

‘you take me to the best places, partner,’ he says, grinning.

in the barn, she accesses the logs on a dusty computer. ‘oh wow,’ she whispers. then laughs. ‘this was a hippie commune, pre-war. they... stole and reprogrammed a mister handy. they, uh, named him professor goodfeels. i guess that’s where the graffiti comes from.’ she waves a hand toward the wall and the painted free the robots on a piece of plywood. she turns to deacon. ‘origins of the railroad?’

she imagines he rolls his eyes at her. ‘funny. this place is... mostly quiet. wonder why no one’s picked this place back up since.’

‘you’re the intel guy.’ she pulls herself away from the terminal. ‘shall we see why?’

they see why. beginning at the first house, they explore counter-clockwise around the co-op, clearing out the feral ghouls sleeping in the buildings. in a far building, up another hill, they find the first body that isn’t a skeleton. someone else apparently had the same idea as the minutemen, but didn’t survive the ferals. the mess hall completes their circle in addition to housing another group of ferals, easily sniped through the broken windows. radio beacon up, whisper returns to the terminal.

‘what to do with the professor?’ there’s a few options listed on the terminal: return for repairs, guard protocols, and... just be.

‘i say leave him. if anything, he’s good for a laugh.’ on cue, professor goodfeels floats by with a slurred whoa man.

whisper sighs. ‘people are going to think we’re crazy.’

‘maybe that’s my plan. discredit the minutemen with beatnik mister handys.’

deacon suggests they head back to hq to see if there’s anything else that needs doing. now that the railroad has another heavy, it’s only fair they take on another job so glory can have a day off. besides, she can check in at goodneighbor along the way, see if hancock has found anything on kellogg. they head west across the commonwealth, traveling north of boston and weaving south of lexington. deacon draws her into the shadows near the corvega factory, and they pass by without incident.

that is, until the sound of gunfire brings them to the outskirts of the town. curious, whisper grabs deacon by the wrist and pulls him against the side of a building. ‘sure you want to do this?’ he asks over her shoulder. ‘looks like gunners got someone pinned down there.’

she peeks around the corner. ‘close to bunker hill, aren’t they? maybe it’s a caravan in danger.’

‘not the gunner MO, partner. behind that car.’ he points, and she sees it, a head poking out behind a rusted bumper.

whisper squints. ‘hang on. that’s - that’s maccready.’

‘the merc that hangs around goodneighbor? what’d he do to the gunners?’

‘doesn’t matter.’ she crouches, edges around the building to get closer to the gunners. a bullet whizzes past her, flying off down the road. too close. ‘deacon.’

she feels, doesn’t see, deacon’s rifle lower next to her. ‘one on the right is mine.’

whisper aims deliverer at the left gunner. near the hip, just below the plating of his combat armor. the gunners don’t notice them, too busy aiming at maccready. she counts down from three. in sync, they fire. deacon’s gunner goes down in a shower of red, head missing. hers shouts, drops his gun, and grabs at the hole in his hip. the third gunner only has a chance to look at his comrade before deacon finishes him off. her gunner falls to his knees. she finishes him off with one more quick shot.

‘you good?’ she nods, rising. he puts a hand on her shoulder, stilling her. ‘don’t be so quick to rise above cover, there. never know if there are more. or a sniper.’

she remains in her crouch, at that, his hand still on her shoulder. one moment passes. another. then, ‘boss? did i hit you?’ maccready yells, his voice growing closer. deacon releases her then, using the same hand to help her up.

‘i’m okay, maccready.’ she gestures at the dead gunners behind him. ‘this have anything to do with those two at the third rail?’

‘winlock and barnes? yeah, guess someone saw me picking around the commonwealth.’ he sighs. ‘gunners don’t like it when their people leave and start taking jobs away from them.’

‘huh,’ she says. ‘so they’re going to hound you until... what? they bring you back in?’

maccready laughs, bitter. ‘i doubt that. they’ll kill me and be done with it. i hoped to buy them out before that. get them off my back.’

‘good luck with that,’ deacon pipes up.

‘what can i do?’ she asks him.

his eyes widen in surprise. ‘what?’

‘i’m offering to help you, maccready. you already have most of my caps, though. what else can we do?’

‘i know where they’re stationed,’ he says quickly, as if she’s going to take it back. he looks between her and deacon. ‘mass pike interchange. there’s a lift up to the interchange, that’s where they’re stationed.’

‘what kind of resistance are we looking at, maccready?’ deacon eyes him.

maccready winces. ‘a dozen or more gunners, plus defensive turrets. barnes usually wears a suit of power armor.’ he pauses. ‘and an assaultron.’

‘jesus,’ deacon curses under his breath. ‘you really want to do this?’

whisper shrugs. ‘he’s in danger unless we do. i’m sorry, i know you said - ’

‘glory hates days off anyway,’ he finishes. ‘any plans?’

‘we’re three snipers,’ she says. ‘and maccready knows the layout. we hit them before they can hit us.’

#siri drabbles #oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #hey maccready is back

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makapatag · 5 years ago

Text

GUMAMELA, a Maharlika short story

GUMAMELA

[hibiscus]

[art by @msquared_art on Twitter]

IT WAS NIGHT in one part of the planet known as Pasinsya, and day in the other. It circled around a halogen sun. It had two natural satellites: one that was green, covered in trees and budding with dambanas, natural shrines to the diwata, and another that was a simple stone gray, untouched, for a celestial diwata, intelligent, nature-personification consciousnesses that inhabited various celestial bodies, lived within it, and watched over Pasinsya. These two moons were known as Berde and Niyebe.

It was in the night where the first ships came and established an outpost in a hidden, darkened ravine. They rode on strange ships of crystallized silk harnessing dying star drives, with murals and paintings scrawled upon the undersides of their ships, depicting waves. This symbolic-creation technology is what allowed these strange heron-draconic xenobeings to encompass most of their galaxy, and what gave them the privilege to expand out and start conquering others.

But this planet, Pasinsya, was not their planet. It was not their home. It was home to a number of people--one that lived by the border of night and day. Watch with me, fellow readers, as I speak into existence and then solidify, calcify, and preserve their endearing truths through my thought-writings.

This planet was--

/// WARNING: XENOBEING SALIMBAL DETECTED HEADING TOWARD YOUR PLANET’S TRAJECTORY. EXPECT HELP WITHIN 3 DAYS. BE BRAVE. IF MERCY IS UNAVOIDABLE, SURRENDER. DEATH COMES FOR ALL. LONG LIVE THE LAKANATE. ///

--oh! And as you can see: the warning came without preamble.

It was a simple message. One that was broadcast across all of the Panuos units of the quaint little barangay of Dulo, a barangay of quaint bamboo huts sitting beside concrete three floor apartment complexes, all radiating from a single stone chapel and a large and longer hut made of limestone.

The message buzzed Panuos units, waking the entire barangay up in the middle of the night. Cryptic. Like a thief, a nightmare. A message that only served to tighten the constricting ropes of anxiety already snaking about the barangay-folks’ necks.

In the morning, the barangay folk of Barangay Santolan arose immediately to panic and distress. The people took to the plaza, which was outfitted with a neat (yet unfortunately unmaintained) fountain depicting a slender figure wielding a staff topped with a five pointed star on one hand, and then a simple bolo blade on the other. That was made of stone.

The city hall was wide open. The people voiced their uncertainties by virtue of screaming it out and creating a massive ball of pure non-understandable noise.

“Ginang Akina orders silence,” bellowed a large man to the side of the elderly woman standing above a makeshift bamboo platform. The man was clearly modded: a shock of white hair, half a body made of strange steel and flesh organic prosthetics, which had strange bamboo tubes sticking out the side.

Ginang Akina cleared her throat before she spoke. “As you all know, we have been sent a distressing message from the SD-SK itself, of whose mandala we are part of. Firstly, we have no reason for panic or alarm. I have been told that the SD-SK are sending passenger ships to evacuate us before the Xenobeings attack.

“But the message said death comes for all!” said a stray, nondescript voice arising from the firmament of words.

“That is true,” replied the Maginoo. She flourished, making sure that her ankle long barong made of pina fiber was clean and immaculate and hugged her figure. The barong was, after all, one of the few uniform formal wear in Arkipelago. “However, the SD-SK will not abandon us, especially since we have been so integral to being a porting station and trading station for Horizon goods. We must all have faith.”

More noise, more arguing.

It eventually awoke-- no. He never slept. He wasn’t able to sleep after the message. At 0300 in the morning, he simply sat in his balcony, staring outside. He wore a simple pull-over sweater made of light rattan fiber, and pants that billowed before cuffing and hugging his ankles. Of course, the most striking feature about him was his white-pink hair, which sometimes seemed to glow when struck with light in the darkness.

He gazed at the plaza, sitting, fiddling with a leaf that shone pure blue, which he found when he fell into a cave to the far north, right at the border. The smell of hot porridge and coffee and freshly baked bread wafted from the street below him. Behind him, the door slid open, and a hand placed a cup of coffee on the small coffee table. “Hey, are you okay?”

His brother, an older one. The one that had even lighter hair than he did. He was also taller, slender, and wore glasses which only emphasized his gray eyes. A lady-killer, through and through. “Hoy, Paolo.”

Paolo nodded, forcing irritation to flee him. “I am, I am. Sorry. Thanks for the coffee.”

“The message kept you up, huh?”

Paolo nodded.

“You afraid for Santolan?”

Paolo nodded again. “If only I was older… I could’ve had a Meka by now. I could’ve been a Maharlika, and defended Santolan.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault, alright. Don’t do that.”

“I know that but... “ Paolo sighed. “Look, Alvaro, this is the first time in 10 years you’ve been here.”

“And what are you trying to say?”

“You obviously haven’t grown very attached to this barangay like I have.”

A silence. One eventually torn down by a scoff. “Sure, you could believe that. But right now, we have no choice. The Xenobeing attacks have been escalating lately. They’ve been invading more and more of Arkipelago. We’re undermanned, undefended, and abandoned. We have to evacuate.”

Paolo breathed again. “If only I had a Meka. If only Lola hadn’t died so soon and trained me more.”

Another silence. Paolo was leaning with both elbows on the balcony. Alvaro stared at him, perhaps longing, before sighing and ruffling his pink hair. “Don’t dwell in the past. Keep your ears open for updates. Diwa knows we’ll need it. Oh, and Aling Apolina has some lugaw ready downstairs. Just come down, alright?”

Paolo heard the door slide closed behind him.

With another breath, Paolo pushed himself off of the balcony. He couldn’t sulk now. He had to do something. If he didn’t he was sure he was going to live with regret.

He quickly jumped and leapt off of the balcony, pushing himself off of the stone railings. His hands caught a galvanized steel rooftop, and he pulled himself over and up. He strode across that rooftop, reached its edge, and then leapt off of it once again, this time using the propulsion systems installed onto his boots to propel him further. An entire street, crossed.

Wind whipped at his hair, sending his oversized shirt in every direction, and he hopped from roof-to-roof until he managed to climb up to the highest point of Barangay Santolan: the bell tower of the Chapel of Saint Abuayen. He pushed himself to the top of the bell tower and sat by an unused scaffolding. From there, he basked in the view of his Barangay, his beloved barangay. The City Hall, the broken fountain, the basketball court (3 of them in one street), the Church itself, his house which stood atop Aling Apolina’s Gotohan place.

“Oy! Get down from there, Paolo!”

Paolo looked down and saw Manong Juancho, wearing a simple black robe and holding a bamboo broom. “You might get yourself hurt!”

“It’s alright, I have a scaffolding!”

“Aish! That doesn’t matter! Get down here, you!”

Paolo rolled his eyes, pushed himself off of the scaffolding, and fell straight down the bell tower. “Ay, my God!” he heard Manong Juancho curse as he fell.

He activated the propulsion systems which pushed him up and out and into the main chamber of the bell tower. “You seem to have forgotten that my brother is an Altar-Factory engineer.”

Manong Juancho was holding himself up by holding on to the bell tower’s stone with one hand. His other was on his chest, grasping his heart. “Do not ever do that again.”

Paolo couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, alright, I apologize.”

“Bah! You always say that, but you do it again anyway! You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days,” said Manong Juancho. Silence again as he waited for the Manong to collect himself. “The barangay folk are in a flurry. We’re all preparing for evacuation. So should you.”

Paolo swallowed. “That’d be hard to do, Manong.”

Isidoro didn’t reply right away. There was a pause, a slight nuance of quiet. “Well, get along then. Get your nosy pink hair out of the bell tower.”

Paolo simply nodded. With another flourish, he flipped backwards and out of the belltower, and used the propulsion systems to buffet his fall.

The plaza floor was made of rounded stones. A beautiful kind. It was marred by footsteps and bootprints as the people had already begun to disperse, some of them preparing for evacuation, others hurriedly getting their stalls and booths and shops open. In the city plaza, Ginang Akina and her body modded cohort had already left, seemingly retreating back to the City Hall.

Paolo walked by a simple old man wearing a shirt, some shorts, and a dirty, greasy apron. In one hand he had a strange contraption: a circuit board. “Hm?” asked Paolo, tapping on the Panday’s sweaty shoulder. He had heavy dark circles around his eyes.” “Hey, Panday Ciriano: what’s that in your hand?”

“A circuit board, anak. But don’t bother me right now. I’ve got some preparing to do.”

Paolo opened his mouth to say something more, but then decided against it. Biting his tongue, he smiled and nodded. Instead, he turned around and walked toward the two establishments north of the city plaza: the stone chapel of the Priest and the bamboo hut of the Katalonan.

He opened the door of the chapel, revealing to him rows of pews and the smell of burning incense. By the altar stood two figures: one dressed in a simple black frock, and another wearing an intricate white robe over a beautifully designed okir vest and bahag.

“Father Isidore, Katalonan Silongga.” Paolo’s voice echoed against the walls of the establishment.

The two religious figures turned to face him. “Paolo, iho,” said Father Isidore. “What are you doing here? You should be back with Alvaro, preparing to evacuate!”

Paolo swallowed. “W-Well, Father, y’see… I…”

Katalonan Silongga shook her head, her white hair cascading down her broad shoulders. “I can see his heart,” said the Katalonan. “And his heart wishes to stay and to fight.”

Father Isidore’s eyes widened a bit at first, before he turned that surprise into a breath and a smile. “Iho, you are young. You have a long life ahead of you. We have no means to fight back against the Xenobeings! They will annihilate us.”

“But we can’t--!”

“Iho,” Father Isidore cut in. “You wish to become a Maharlika, yes? You wish to make us proud and fight for us in Arkipelago. How can you do that if you are dead and gone?”

“We can fight. We can! If only we had… If only we had a Meka. A NEO Gen Meka. Did the SD-SK even give a time for when their reinforcements will arrive? They didn’t!”

Father Isidore shook his head and sighed. He turned to the Katalonan. “Katalonan, speak some sense into this child. I have to attend to the evacuation efforts. Peace be with the both of you.” And with that, he walked out of the chapel through the back room.

Paolo stood resolute. He couldn’t help but think that this was not the last thing they could do. There was something more. His burning youth spurred him onward, melting away any doubts of death or non-existence of any way to fight back.

“Your heart beats just like your Lola’s.”

“Wh-What?”

“I was young when your Lola lived here, in Barangay Santolan. You do remember your Lola, right?”

Paolo nodded. Of course. She was the reason why he wanted to be a Maharlika in the first place. “Yes. She was Barangay Santolan’s only Maharlika, pledging her loyalty to Paramount Datu Prakash Arsiya of the Sandatang Sangkatauhan.”

“Her blood boils in your veins, anak. I’m sure this stubbornness and hard-headedness is the effect of that cause. You will not fall. You will not leave this home place. Just like your Lola.”

“But… Lola Zenaida is dead, isn’t she?”

“She is, with a proper burial in the Grave of Heroes. She died fighting against remnants of various Corporations from the Corporation Wars, after all.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The truth in your heart is hard to shadow and obfuscate. My beloved anak, west of this Barangay, in the Pagitan Falls beside the borderline of Day and Night, you will find what your Lola has left for you to find. This is a gigantic gamble on my part, but you Paolo… you may not have the skill, or the attributes, but you have the heart. And perhaps, that will be enough.”

Paolo had prepared up a backpack filled with essentials and gear and told Alvaro that he was going to the evacuation site. It seemed, though, that Alvaro didn’t seem too invested in listening to Paolo, as he sat in front of his LiPa and typed away, a worried visage wrapped about his face.

He walked to the edge of the barangay, where the dirt road shot into the bamboo foliage. He wore something simple: a white camisa with brown pants and some slippers.

“Oy, Paolo!” He looked up to see Josefina running after him. Her short hair only cupped her brown face, and she wore a simple white shirt underneath a waist-high skirt that was woven with magnificent geometric okir designs. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Fifi, don’t bother. Please stay behind and help Aling Apolina.”

She pouted. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I…” Paolo rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the sky, his face pulled into a pained grimace. “I’m going to Pagitan.”

“The Falls? What for?”

“There is something important there that I must find. It’s… a mission given to me by Katalonan Silongga.”

“Bullshit. Don’t try to excuse your way out of explaining this, pink boy.”

Paolo bit his lip. “But it’s true! Look, go back to the barangay now and let me handle this.”

“Too late, I’m coming with you. Do you even remember where Pagitan is?”

He didn’t. “I do! Please, don’t come with me. I can’t risk it--”

“Come on then. I know a route that can lead us there in an hour flat. Well enough time for us to get there, do whatever stupid shenanigans you want to do, then get back here and finish evacuation efforts.”

Fifi was 2 years younger than Paolo, but he couldn’t help but think that she knows more about the world than he does. Her speech, her gait, all spoke to him that he could definitely hold her own, alone, against the world.

But Paolo knew that in Arkipelago, they didn’t do things alone. There was always family.

“Fifi...” spoke Paolo as he heard the rushing of Pagitan. Up ahead, he could already see the pall of darkness that was the Night Side of the planet of Pasinsya, this tidally-locked planet.

“We’re almost there.”

“...Why did you decide to come with me, anyway?”

Fifi didn’t answer.

Eventually, they arrived at a larger clearing. They were at the base of Pagitan Falls. They walked upstream the river where the waterfall flowed. There, the great height of the Pagitan dizzied even Paolo.

“Is this the place?”

“Yes, this is Pagitan Falls.” To the right of the falls Paolo could see a few bamboo huts on stilts, the huts they used to rest in or eat in while bathing in the falls.

“Alright, now can you tell me the truth? Why did you come here to Pagitan?”

Paolo turned and looked at Fifi and sighed. He placed both of his hands on both of Fifi’s shoulders. “You promise not to tell anyone?” Despite seeming so old, Fifi was still a head shorter than Paolo.

“Yes, yes.”

“Katalonan Silongga has told me that my Lola Zenaida left something for me to find here in Pagitan Falls. That’s why I’ve come here.”

“And you came here instead of preparing for evac because you think it’ll help you fight against the Xenobeings, didn’t you?”

Paolo licked his lips. “It’s a bit more complicated than that but--”

Fifi pulled herself from Paolo’s grasp, stomped the grass. “God’s balls--you’re so damn easy to read, Pao! We can’t do this. I’m taking you back.”

“What? No. We’re already here. I’m doing this. I can’t leave Barangay Santolan behind.”

“Yes you can. We can find a better, prettier place than this in some other planet. But right now, we have to leave.”

“No! We have to stay and fight--” And Fifi struck Paolo across the cheek.

“I really do have to knock some sense into you, huh? We can’t stay here. How many times do I have to say it? We are going to die. We are going to die here if we don’t go now.”

“No. I won’t allow it.”

“Oh, so what, you’re a Maharlika now? You’re all high and mighty,? The cavalry? Give me a break, Paolo! You’re going to get yourself killed! There’s nothing here, and even if there is, say, a Meka, you wouldn’t even know how to pilot it.”

“I’ve done simulations. I can do it.”

“Bullshit!” And another strike from Fifi. Paolo retaliated then, grabbing the Fifi by both wrists, and then rushing and pinning her against a nearby boulder.

Mouth near her ear he said, “You’re going to stop, and you’re going to help me find what it is that my Lola has left for me to find.”

“No. I’m going to knock some sense into you, and you’re going to come back with me. I don’t want you to die.”

“If you hate me so much, just leave me alone then!”

Fifi looked at Paolo with wet eyes. “I don’t hate you.” Her voice cracked.

Paolo opened his mouth to say something, but a voice from behind him stopped him. “Oh, won’t you two kiss already?” The voice was human, but accompanied by three more layers of voices, as if four people were talking at the same time.

Paolo turned around, whipping out a revolver he had at his waist.

Behind them was a simple woman, sitting by the riverbank, white haired and floating in the wind as if she was underwater. She wore simple garb: a tapis, bakya, and a vest wrapping around her chest, exposing her midriff. Her eyes were pure black, without any irises, only night sclera.

“Wh-Who are you?”

She turned her face to him. “I’m the one you’re looking for.”

“What?”

Sighing, the lady rose to her feet. “Follow me, descendant. Your Lola sure had some strange failsafes and contingencies. Who knew she could foresee something so distant and variable as a Xenobeing invasion and a young man that happened to be her grandson trying to fight back against it? Ah, the Diwa is mysterious, sometimes.”

“What are you---”

“Follow me,” commanded the woman, and Paolo did follow.

The two of them walked up the lake formed by the falls, their feet touching the water but not getting wet. Paolo’s heart raced when he realized that he wasn’t falling into the water.

Eventually they arrived in front of the rushing waterfall. With a wave of the woman being’s hand, the falls split into two, defying gravity. Behind the falls was a grand door, made of gold and stone, with a simple red orb in the middle, wrapped by large roots and vines.

The woman spoke: “UWIAN SILA opens the door.”

The red orb dilated and then turned into a burning green; the roots and vines receded like retreating snakes. The stone gate shuddered and opened...

...eventually showing a huge hangar within. A complex of roots and vines, with each root and vine having a different computer and machine interface upon them, with holograms emanating from solidified leaves and branches. The heat of the maintaining fire bellowed from within, like a beating heart.

All the roots led back to a single large holding contraption, resembling a giant strangler fig. The branches and roots and vines of this giant strangler fig all were positioned in such a way to hold up a twenty foot tall… humanoid suit.

“A Meka…” The word escaped Paolo’s lips.

“You Lola’s,” said the woman. “She called it: Himagsikan 7.”

“Himagsikan 7,” repeated Paolo, breathless.

One can see the wooden skeleton frame beneath the burning white and gold platings that protected its mainframe. The simple head which was designed to look like it wore a wide-brimmed salakot. Its chest and arms were medium in weight, but its legs were heavy and bulky, with burning lights to indicate its power. It held a round mace in one hand, and a Kapre cannon in the other. Perhaps the most striking thing is that its shoulder mount is one that gave it a set of gigantic arms.

“You are to pilot that to combat the threat of the invading Xenobeings.”

“Can I do it?”

“With my help? Yes. Now, you must go back to your Katalonan to perform the Chaining Ritual so that I can help you pilot this.”

“Understood.” And Paolo ran off to Fifi and the two of them ran back to the barangay.

A few hours later, they returned. On the wet land beside the falls, they conducted the ritual. “You are sure about this? Chaining a Diwata to you is something most Maharlika have to mentally prepare for.”

UWIAN SILA appeared before them. “I will be doing it temporarily, so as to not overload his mental capacity. But I’m sure he can handle it. He has been having some preliminary Maharlika training thanks to his Lola’s antics.”

Paolo remembered then: the meditation exercises, the heavy weight lifting, the bathing in ice.

Was that all preparing him for this moment?

“Very well then.” And Katalonan Silongga began the ritual. A long winded one where she danced around Paolo sitting on the ground, with UWIAN SILA sitting on the ground across him. It was an intricate dance, one interspersed with incoherent babbling and thrusts of a spear tipped with a stone blade.

He knew it ended when UWIAN SILA’s eyes turned white to him. She then closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against Paolo’s and Paolo was overcome with the feeling of cold. Just like what my Lola put me through.

It makes sense, now.

Paolo didn’t know he had his eyes closed until he opened them, and he saw the world a bit differently now. He can see the flames of the living things, the flow of life in every stone, the voice of every tree.

“I can see.”

“Kalagyo initiated. Good day, Paolo de Gumamela. I am UWIAN SILA, a Defender Principle Kalagyo.”

Katalonan Silongga knelt in front of him. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Paolo nodded. He forced himself up, and found that Fifi and Alvaro were both there to help him to his feet. He looked around, and he saw that Father Isidore and even Ginang Akina and her bodyguard were there. Paolo didn’t remember inviting them: he only invited the Katalonan and Panday Ciriano to look at the Meka.

“Wh-what…?”

“Breathe, Paolo,” said Alvaro. “Fifi, lay him against the boulder.” Fifi nodded, and she pulled him over to the stone to lie against it.

Alvaro turned to the three barangay heads. “Now, I have some important news to impart, and I did this away from the barangay so as to avoid eavesdroppers that would share this news and no doubt cause the barangay to erupt into chaotic panic.”

“Out with it, engineer,” said Ginang Akina.

“I traced the frequency and contacted SD-SK and have learned the following things. One: the SD-SK never sent that warning message. Two: the warning message used the SD-SK frequency, but didn’t come from a known source.”

“What?” The priest clenched his fist.

“I called for reinforcements to come immediately so that we could evacuate but…”

“But we are a Horizon Planet.”

“Yes,” said Alvaro. “They said it would take at least 5 days to get a passenger salimbal here for the evacuation.”

Paolo forced himself to his feet. Instead of feeling dizzier, he felt lighter, more acute. “Then I have to defend Barangay Santolan.”

“How do you think we can do that?” asked the priest. “We don’t have a Meka! A working one!”

It was then that Panday Ciriano walked out of the hangar behind the falls with gloved arm raised. “I got the Gahum Generator working!”

“Well,” said Ginang Akina. “There you have it.”

Father Isidore still shook his head. “You still can’t just put a young boy like Pao alone up against a damned Xenobeing army!”

“I just have to hold them off until you guys get to higher and safer ground,” said Paolo.

Ginang Akina nodded. “He’s right. To the southeast of here there is a safe outpost. Abandoned, but inhabitable. We can set the evacuation coordinates there and we could make the entire barangay travel there.”

“We can do that,” said the Katalonan. “We have horses and a few lifter suits don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“This is a fool’s errand!”

“You are not making sense here, Father,” said the Katalonan. “Come, we must break the news to the barangay folk.”

Alvaro turned to his brother. “Paolo, I know you have the blood of Lola Zenaida in you, but please, be careful. I will be sending you a message once we are in a safe distance. When you get it, leave the battlefield, alright? Come home safe.”

Fifi hugged Paolo from behind. “Please come home safe.”

Paolo nodded. “I will.”

“UWIAN SILA, activate the Meka,” said Paolo as he stood in front of the Himagsikan 7, wearing a silver and purple piloting suit that his Lola left behind for him in the Hangar’s dresser. Behind him, Panday Ciriano worked the various floating holographic displays that showcased mechanical information.

“Activating Himagsikan 7.” The Meka moved, then. Its chest burst open, revealing the cockpit within, with a tree-like spine that would connect to the Maharlika’s neural system. Its right hand let go of the mace and scooped Paolo into its chest.

Paolo settled into the seat, and the spiritual Diwa filaments connected to the piloting suit, which then seeped into Paolo’s own soul.

“Diwa Filaments connected. Soul subjectivity 50% sync.”

Paolo fought down the urge to puke. He opened his eyes and holographic screens appeared, seemingly projected by wooden branches from which more Diwa Filaments erupted.

“Let go of your mind, Paolo.”

Right, the meditation training.

He breathed, and let himself be empty.

UWIAN SILA’s voice echoed: “Neural network mapped. Soul upload complete. Soul subjectivity full sync. All systems engaged. Combat mode off. Safety engaged.”

“Himagsikan 7, GHW-S Ynaguiguinid balangkas unit. Ready for launch.”

Paolo moved, and even though he did not move within the Meka, his soul moved the gigantic construction. Step by step, every burning neural synapse burning his entire spirit as he forged forward, ahead, and soon, Himagsikan 7 was out of the waterfall.

He looked up, and through the THIRD-EYE Module of the head-unit of Himagsikan 7, he saw the invisible dragon alien laying by the bank of the lake, lying in wait.

As his soul grew accustomed to his armor, he moved faster. He raised his hand, and the Meka moved, its left hand pulling out a gun from a folding hip compartment. He levelled it and fired at the invisible thing.

It bolted to the right, completely evading the bullet, and shot straight up to Himagsikan 7. The soul, however, cuts like wind.

As the xenobeing, the Tsang-kko as they are called, these dragon aliens with bodies like serpents and manes like flowing thunder, burst toward him, its veil dissipated, revealing his shimmering azure form.

In a matter of seconds, the large gripping Mountain arms of Himagsikan 7 was upon the azure thing, and gripping it firmly, keeping the snapping maw of the dragon alien a few feet away from the head unit of the Himagsikan.

With mountain-shaking force, Himagsikan 7 heaved, and then threw the dragon alien toward the bank of the lake once again, where it crashed hard against the earth, and it flailed, and before it could get on its feet, Himagsikan 7 had used propulsors to jettison itself out of the lake, and onto the bank.

Himagsikan 7’s warhammer was high up, and it fell like a smith’s hammer on an anvil.

For all their god-like visage, the Tsang-kko still had bones, and all of them shattered when the hammer fell upon it. However, it didn’t give up. It flailed when it got hit, and then as Himasikan 7 was raising its arms, it shot up to push the Meka backwards and into the water.

Thinking quick, Paolo used the Mountain Arms to keep the Meka stable and to prevent it from falling backwards, and then used those same Arms to push Himagsikan 7 forward. Earth and lakewater were kicked up in large amounts, a corona of nature, as the Himagsikan used the momentum to bring down another hammer upon the Tsang-Kko, which was only beginning to get up once again, using its internal flight glands to float into the air.

The hammer slammed and embedded the dragon alien to the ground. It flailed, still. “REACTION AGIMAT: Aftershock Hydraulics, activate!”

“Activating AGIMAT,” replied the Meka, and the gears whirred, pistons pistoned. Movement exploded in a burst of speed, and the pistol was suddenly, aimed, locked, loaded, and fired. The bullet going straight through the head of the being.

It fell, limp, the winds about it dissipating. Himagsikan 7 stood triumphant, an omen of things to come.

The thundering of the Xenobeings’ salimbal echoed across the field. Panday Ciriano stood, riding a single machine lifter with rubber wheels like a tank’s, far behind him, amongst the bamboo shoots.

The Xenobeings didn’t need Meka. The Tsang-kko’s invading army stood by the precipice of night and day, their eyes revealing nothing but bloodlust. Their salimbals stood at ready to assist, but the frontlines burned with horrifying conquest.

Their larger units were larger than Himagsikan 7. Huge floating dragon-herons with behemoth scythes for claws. Burnings stars for eyes. The smaller frontline units were smaller power-armored ones, but none of them were humanoid. The Tsang-Kko had glands for defying gravity. It was their biology. They were floating serpentine dragons, not unlike the Eastern Dragons of legend.

And there they hovered, at the edge of darkness. The grass dead beneath their feet. The wind like water to their souls.

And then, with a crack of thunder, the Dragon-Heron Horde sounded a trumpet. One that reached to the heavens to make known their intent. At that trumpet sound came the beating of the drums, to signal the march. Each beat, more and more waves of Dragon-Heron Xenobeings revealed themselves from the Night Side of the planet.

The Dragon-Heron Horde charged forward, erupting from the darkness, showcasing their full might: biotechnologic marvels, scales instead of steel, green ghost flames powering flying airships with silk sails.

And Himagsikan 7 surged forward to meet them.

#filipino #mecha #fantasy #science fiction #short story #writing #maharlika #fiction #mythology #folklore #science fantasy

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theateared · 5 years ago

Text

Lyes were often misunderstood.

Though they looked like animals on the outside, they were undoubtedly sentient. Their intelligence was far higher than that of the average animal, and their ability to communicate their desires was second only to beings that were capable of speech. Though most understood that these creatures were dangerous-- walking contradictions: fluff and venom all in one-- they often underestimated just how clever they were.

That was why, when he encountered Edgar yowling in the middle of the road, Murr knew that something was terribly wrong.

“Hey… hey! Quit that damn racket!” He crouched, tired legs creaking like an old attic ladder. In such a disgruntled state, the huro knew better than to try and pet him. “What’s wrong with you?”

What the lye couldn’t say, he made up for with action. He rounded Murr swiftly, forcefully nudging his rear as if imploring him to stand up again. He obeyed, hissing at the crack of his knees. There was no time to focus on it as the lye suddenly darted down the street. The entity reminded Murr of a perfectly shot arrow, straight and swift, and though his feet ached and his arms stung from his labour that day, he took off running after him, a brief “Hey!” being the only audible thing to leave him before momentum swallowed his sounds whole.

He followed Edgar as if he was the animal, drunk on loyalty, rucksack with his half-full lunchbox in it clattering dully against his back with every timed footfall. He needs something but he can’t tell me what it is. I wish he could tell me. It’d make things so much quicker. His thoughts parted like clouds when he witnessed the lye completely clear his orchard’s fence, dark form little more than a streak of shadow as he landed effortlessly on the other side, continuing his furious pace into the trees. Dear Raku, Murr thought, vaulting over the obstacle similarly, it must be an emergency.

His pursuit came to a stop as he shadowed his companion up the hill to his house. Pausing to catch his breath, he watched as Edgar dashed towards the nearby shed, pawing at it a few times before turning his head and staring expectantly. His macabre gaze locked onto the huro in a way that made him shudder. Had he not befriended Edgar, he likely would’ve felt afraid.

“Alright… no need’a be so pushy,” Murr muttered, closing the distance between himself and the door. Hands patted lazily at himself as he tried to locate the set of keys he kept on him, eventually finding the appropriate one and sliding it into the thick padlock. It opened with a cinematic clang, door pushed open so that the lye could slink through the thin gap and disappear into the darkness. Murr allowed the door to swing all the way open, the dying light of the day spilling inside and illuminating the surroundings a little. He watched with some amount of curiosity as Edgar clambered over the wagon he used to transport fruit, leaping from pail to pail as if he weighed nothing, eventually settling in the far corner of the room. Even before Murr entered the shed, he knew what the other was after, expression quickly changing from intrigued to sour. “Did y’seriously make me RUN from work just so you could have some goddamn fruit?”

“Mrrrooow.”

Murr felt his frustration build, a haughty huff heaved through his nose before he turned his back and began the loathsome hobble to his front door. Growing up on the Murphy Orchard, he was more than used to hard work. That being said, shifts at the factory-- shifts that he couldn’t get out of due to being the person who funded the creation of the place, therefore making him legally responsible for it-- killed something inside of him. It was more than just exhaustion; it was a deep-seated discomfort that was gained only from doing something that one despised. Though he’d been raised to accept that work was part of the equation (“With excess wealth comes great responsibility, Li’l Murph. That’s just how it is. You’ve been blessed, so you need to pay your dues in any way you can.”), that job was nothing short of hellish to someone like him. He didn’t want to spend his days sandwiched between identical work benches, he wanted to stand on stage, hone his craft, make art-- but there were some things that just had to be done.

“Myyyuuueeerrr…”

Though he doubted it, the utterance sounded awfully like his nickname, causing him to turn around and look at Edgar. He was swatting at the fruit he’d left in one of the pails, eyes glowing white in an attempt to get the huro’s attention.

Murr let out a deep sigh, then trailed inside. “Whaaat…? C’mon, Eddie, I’m fuckin’ beat…”

As soon as he crouched low, the lye stood on his hind legs and tugged at the bag tucked neatly over Murr’s shoulder. It dropped to the ground, zip tugged at with his teeth until he managed to pull it open. The lunchbox was swiped out with his jagged tail, flung carelessly to the other side of the shed, before he dragged the empty bag towards the fruit, looking up at Murr once more. It didn’t take long for the huro to piece together what he wanted.

Feeling curiously compelled to follow through, Murr began to scoop fruit into the bag until it was full. When it was, he pulled the zip taut, watching as Edgar’s head bobbed briefly with approval before he got back up and began to walk from the shed.

Murr sighed, climbing back onto his feet, adjusting the bag properly over his shoulders. Resignation had already begun to settle like dust: his day was not over, despite how tired he was.

“Alright… where’re we goin’, then?”

Edgar was a solid guide. As soon as he began to barrel down the hill, guiding Murr through his acres of land with all the aptitude of the fabled North Star, Murr knew that they were headed for the No-Mans Land. The deep forest that nobody but him had ever dared to call home… it held some mystic charm that he couldn’t quite put into words. Perhaps it was the questions that surrounded it-- where do its paths lead? And why does everybody steer clear of them?-- or perhaps it was the fact that, once upon a time, he’d made the foreboding shadows his home. It hadn’t been easy to leave the cushy life behind, mainly because of his family-oriented values. He had realised pretty quickly that he’d lived sheltered and privileged despite how hard his parents had worked to teach him good, honest values, but it hadn’t been that difficult for him to adjust. He had been raised not to take his wealth for granted; therefore, when he abandoned his bank account in favour of living amongst nature, praying to Raku that it would create a blank slate for him, it hadn’t been that hard to accept that he was completely at the mercy of it - and that, if he had any hope of surviving, it would be through learning a new way of life. In some ways, that isolation had saved his life as much as it had destroyed it.

They tore through the woods together like a pair of seasoned bandits, Murr finding his pace as he went, and the descent into the shadowy undergrowth became a walk in the park. He felt like a veteran when it came to traversing uncharted territory. He had the best chance out of perhaps anybody in Huron of navigating this tumultuous space. There was so much of Huron that most citizens didn’t know about, so much that lurked in the shadows, so many species and paths that existed independently of rhyme or reason or knowledge, and he could rest easy knowing that he was one of the few people who knew how to handle it. At this point, there was not a single nook nor cranny in this place that he didn’t understand.

Edgar, deeply dissatisfied around water, barely thought about it before making the impressive eight foot leap across the landmark that Murr had dubbed Pebble Cove. It was a shallow stream, knee-height at most, but the pebbles that littered the clear water made it appear much deeper, almost endless. His way across was courtesy of two large, slippery stones some ways apart from one another. There had been countless times where he’d lost his footing and gotten himself drenched from head to toe, but now he was used to it, knew exactly where to land in order to push himself onto the next one, then the bank, without skidding over and ruining his clothes. Even with the bag full of fruit weighing him down, he crossed with the light-footed quality of an antelope, bouncing across as if completely unhindered.

Their surroundings changed from sunset golds to emerald greens, the foliage becoming denser and shading everything a mesmerising tint of jade. A cumbersome fog befell them as they snaked their way through thick thorns and hurdled over fallen logs, charging further into the faux-unknown like untethered warriors. As he passed, Murr swore he saw pieces of himself lodged into landmarks. The time he taught himself to fish in the Foggy Fissure; the time he was swarmed by a gaggle of gluttonous glowflies after dark; the time he’d slayed a derma plant and spared Edgar’s life in the process… all things that had shaped him and his existence out there. Where are we going now? Why are you leading me through all of these places?

He was relieved when Edgar began to slow down, mad dash reduced to a brisk stalk, long whiskers twisting and turning like antennae as he scanned his surroundings keenly. He stopped completely at the base of a large tree, sitting down and waiting for Murr to approach.

“So,” he started, slinging his bag from over his shoulders. Now that he’d stopped moving, he felt the strain of his muscles, an uncomfortable fire burning in his joints. He was pushing his luck. “What business have y’got here, huh?”

The cat-like creature yawned, scratching at the bark listlessly before returning to its stationary pose. Murr squinted, shuffling closer until he could crouch low. As he ran his finger along the wobbly surface, he took note of a curious crease-- almost as if the bark was missing a zipper that could be pulled back. It didn’t take long for him to realise that the markings were that of his friend’s, his powerful claws and dagger-like tail carving out an entrance. Holy shit… I knew Edgar was strong, but strong enough to hollow out a tree? That’s new to me.

Stubbornly, Murr wriggled his fingers into the indentation until he was able to dig his nails in, pulling hard, feeling the bark eventually give way like a drawbridge. He was immediately met with two poised tails, venom dripping onto the floor, and he barely had time to yelp before Edgar suddenly leapt in with all the grace of a kamikaze pilot. With a bigger lye in the picture, both were quick to withdraw, stumbling backwards while hissing quietly.

“Who are these guys…?” Murr asked. It was more a question for himself than for Edgar. He wasn’t so stupid to think that, just because he had one lye’s trust, he could suddenly blend with the rest of the specie. But then why was he even here?

“Myyyuuueeerrr.” Though Edgar sat motionless, tail curled calmly around his feet, Murr felt as if he was being beckoned inside. It was only with a shred of reluctance that he did so, body curling in on itself so that he could fit through the makeshift door. Once inside the hollow trunk, he was shocked to find that there was a lot more space than he first thought. Though he could by no means stand up, he could sit comfortably without dipping his head or bending his spine. The back of his head met the wall, eyes cast to what he supposed was the ‘ceiling’. A couple of feet above his head, an opaque cylinder of wood travelled upwards undisturbed. They must only have dug out what was necessary for them to live comfortably, he mused, distracted only by Edgar fervently nudging his hand. “Myyyuuueeerrr!”

For a few seconds, he was clueless,staring back at the lye with an empty head… until he remembered the fruit he’d brought with him.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, leaning forwards enough to shrug the bag from his back and open it. As soon as starfruit entered the picture, both of the distrustful lyes fell silent, black eyes wide like dinner plates, before a pair of forked tongues stuck out in an attempt to taste it. “Oh… here. Lemme take it outta the bag real quick.” He ignored the collaborative flinch, wholly prepared for them to act offensively, settling two pieces of fruit a short distance from their feet. They glared sharply at him for several seconds, shark-like teeth bared like an armada of tiny knives, before they both let go of their aggression long enough to slink forward and snatch the fruit, retreating into the shadows at the back of the hole. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Edgar instead. “I get it now… these little guys needed food. But what was stoppin’ you from huntin’ yourself?” There was a long pause, one filled with his friend examining his claws with evident disinterest. Murr’s face fell deadpan. “Oh. Nothin’. You just used me because it was easier. You fucker.” However, when Edgar’s pointed smile curved across his face, he couldn’t help but smile too. There was something admirable about the lye’s intelligence, even when he felt the brunt of playing the fool.

He sat there for what felt like years, huddled in this small alcove deep in the woods, feeling safe despite being caged with three highly venomous creatures. The more the two youngsters ate, the more docile they became. His presence was met with the same indifference that Edgar treated him with; a quiet respect, a vague version of mutual trust manifesting from the dark in very much the same manner that doubt did. It was a tangible feeling despite its elusive, unspoken nature. Whether or not they considered him a ‘friend, he knew that he was at the very least welcome for the meantime.

When moonlight cast its dim cyan light, Murr felt it was time to leave. However, when he went to stand up, he felt one of his legs refuse to move. A glance down showed precisely why. One of the lyes had dug its tail into the loose fabric of his pant leg, all but stapling it to the ground. Though he had no doubt that he could free himself if he pulled hard, it would most likely result in the startled creature attacking him.

“Uh… Eddie?” he whispered, watching three pairs of ears twitch in his direction despite the fact that two of them were asleep. “I can’t-- move-- oh…” He fell quiet as Edgar clambered into his lap, curling into a ball, long bat-like ears wrapped around his head as he prepared to sleep. He’s not going to let me leave, is he?

“Hah...” Murr sighed deeply, allowing his legs to poke out of the entrance in an attempt to get more comfortable. The moon’s luminescence made it look like he had a whole-body halo. If only he could be that holy. “... I guess it’s a sleepover then.”

#☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. )#☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#/ I REALLY LIKE THIS DRABBLE BYE #i know this's gonna just fall into the void but like. i still really like it

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lizartgurl · 6 years ago

Text

“Back to You” (Aqualad x OC)

PART NINE

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six) (part seven) (part eight)

Equinox had steeled her stomach for what lay inside the storage room, but that still didn’t keep her from going pale. She tried to hide it, though, she was the one who insisted that they return. These were her sisters, friends, innocent women and girls who needed their help. And they were going to get it for them

Cages were stacked on top of one another like prison cells, trapping each individual in a space barely big enough for someone Aqualad’s size to sit up in. A few guards patrolled on mobile platforms, that stretched to reach the cages on the higher levels.

“There’s one vehicle entrance on the far end, the vents we came in, and the access staircase next to us,” Nightingale said, scanning the room with the computer built into her glove.

“Where would the vehicle entrance go? We’re too far underground,” Equinox said.

“Below sea level, in fact,” Aqualad said.

Nightingale plugged into into the abandoned computer station, looking out over the rows of cages. “The whole base is connected by the halls we saw, all of which are big enough for their vans. The vans are used to bring prisoners into the base to be catalogued, and to send smaller...shipments out.” She growled at their way of treating human beings like goods.

“There’s three entrances: The vehicle entrance we saw, a passageway into the bar in Angelsport above, and one that opens right into the river.”

“Maybe they have a submarine?” Equinox said.

“And that would be how they get larger groups of prisoners out,” Aqualad said.

Nightingale flipped through a few more files, downloading as much as she dared to risk detection in their system.

“An operation this big, the whole town must be involved,” She sighed.

“What do you know of Angelsport?” Jackson asked Miiyahbin.

She shrugged. “It was a trading post back in the days when the French first settled. They just wanted to trade, and they did so with the permission of the Cree Elders and the Midayo. After the English drove the French and other Europeans out of North America, it was abandoned. I remember coming here for a field trip when I was in Elementary school, but that was the last time anyone from Moose Factory came out here.

“Well, came out here and returned,” She added in a mumble.

“The closest highways are on the other side of the Island. They’re pretty well hidden, I’ll give them that.” Nightingale shut off the computers.

“Okay, we’ve got schematics, we’ve seen where they keep their prisoners, but we need to get out of here before we get found.”

Equinox and Aqualad had no further argument. They slipped out of the secondary control station before the guards found them, making their way back to the vent they’d entered.

“Miiyahbin?” A voice whispered, carried to the Midayo warrior by the winds she worked with.

She spun as Aqualad carefully removed the grate, and caught sight of an arm, squeezed between the bars of a cage, reaching out to her.

“Heather,” Her best friend. She sprinted to the cage and started unlocking it without hesitation.

“Equinox!” Nightingale hissed. Aqualad was running after her. She blew off the lock with help from the winds before he could reach her, tugging Heather from the cage.

“Go,” She urged, pushing her towards Aqualad. Heather was bruised, and dizzy. Aqualad hesitated for a moment before lifting the Cree girl in his arms, carrying her back to the vent.

They could hear the guards on the next aisle over, wondering about the commotion as their actions garnered the attention of hundreds of other imprisoned women.

Hands shaking, Miiyahbin struggled to put the lock back on, until she felt a pair of strong arms around her. Nightingale helped her place the lock back on correctly, and ran her hands over the metal bars of the cage.

“An Electric Impulse, it should make their minds fuzzy concerning her, where they’ll either see her there in a shadow, or forget she was even there.”

“Thank you,” Miiyahbin said.

Nightingale nodded and took her hand, turning to the other prisoners, all hopeful that they would be the next to be rescued.

“We’ll come back for you, I promise.” She said.

“I promise too,” Equinox said, not afraid that her voice was shaking. For a moment, the world flashed with a blueish-white light, and several women gasped.

“The Midayo,” One whispered.

Equinox smiled, but let Nightingale pull her into the vents. They sealed their exit behind them just as the guards came running around the corner.

“You are all very foolish, but also very, very brave.”

It wasn’t the first time Emma had heard that, and Grandmother’s mixed compliment certainly wouldn’t be the last time she or Kaldur heard it.

The ever-maternal Mrs. Marten tittered about Heather with blankets and tea, somewhat intervening with Charles’ attempts to see to her injuries. As the sun rose over the river, Miiyahbin had flown back to town to fetch Heather’s parents after Emma had made sure that she would swear them to secrecy. Hooty had found sanctuary once more atop the bookshelf.

“How are your symptoms? Have they gotten worse.”

Emma shrugged dizzily. “No worse than what I’ve had before.”

McNider raised an eyebrow at her. “Are they worse than they were when you left last night?”

Emma didn’t answer, and Kaldur wrapped his arm around her. “You are just as bad as Batman.”

“You’re one to talk,” She muttered, taking her mask off to rub her eyes. Sitting on the countertop, she leaned into Kaldur’s chest, and he placed his other arm around her.

Miiyahbin carefully opened the door, ushering in Heather’s fathers.

“Heather, baby!” Heather pushed past Grandmother and threw her arms around her fathers.

“You’re safe now, you’re safe,” They promised.

“She has no trace of drugs in her system, and the bruises should heal up in a week or so,” Mid-Nite assured them.

“In the meantime, keep her at home, don’t let her leave. We don’t want whoever took her to know that she’s been rescued.” Emma warned.

“Let her recover in privacy,” Kaldur added.

Heather’s fathers nodded.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” They sobbed, setting their silent daughter back on the ground to walk again.

“I’ll see them back to town,” Miiyahbin said. She followed them out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

Grandmother sighed, making herself at home on the couch and twisting her two long, white braids around her head. She hadn’t had time to do her hair after Miiyahbin woke her up in the middle of the night, dragging her out to Ted Grant’s old cabin.

“Well, it’s certainly been a while since I’ve seen you around here, Charles,” She remarked. She drew a bit of moose Jerky from a pouch in her purse, and Hooty swooped down to snatch it from the waiting palm of her hand.

“It certainly has,” Charles chuckled, letting Hooty rest on his shoulder as he packed up his first aid kit.

Emma was surprised that she was fazed at all at this point. The Martens knew Ted, it was likely that they knew the whole JSA too.

“My husband worked with the JSA back when he was the Midayo, before the powers were bestowed to Miiyahbin’s father, our son,” Grandmother explained anyway.

Emma nodded, letting Grandmother back into their kitchen to make a pot of tea.

“Now, Mister and Miss Hyde, I don’t believe you’ve been completely honest with me, or my granddaughter,” She said, pressing a hot cup of tea into Emma and Kaldur’s hands.

“We’re not married,” Emma blurted out, the first thing that came to mind. She was able to stop herself before adding the “but I wish we were,” that popped up next.

“I am Kaldur’ahm of Atlantis, commonly known as Aqualad.” Kaldur performed a little salute, with his hand holding his mug over his heart.

“And I’m Emma, Nightingale.” Emma gestured to the big purple bird on her chest. “We’re undercover on Justice League orders.”

Grandmother nodded, taking this all in with incredible grace and composure. “For whatever reason you’ve come here, it appears you’ve come at the right moment. Miiyahbin is still young, she needs help learning to use her powers to help others. She is far too young to be the Midayo. If my son had not disappeared, she would not even begin her training for another year at least. I have done what I can, but there is only so much I can do, as I am not a full Midayo as she.”

Emma nodded, her mind flooded with the memories of a thousand other children who had parents and normal lives ripped from them far too soon.

“We can help her,” Kaldur promised, “But we do not wish to impose on your traditions.”

“We don’t have much of a choice right now,” Grandmother said gravely, “Make no mistake, I love my people, and I love my culture. The traditions of the Midayo are an important part of that culture, but whoever we’re up against took her father, another Midayo. There is no telling what they will do to her. Traditions will have to wait, at least for now, until the world is safer.”

“The world is never safe,” Emma said, setting aside her mug.

“Emma, when did you become so cynical?” Kaldur asked, suddenly ignoring the adults in the room.

“Since I realized how hurt you can be when you don’t recognize the reality of things,” She shot back.

Charles cleared his throat, “Yes, we realize that the world can be a terrible place, but there is a time and place for everything, such as discussing what you found at Angelsport?” He hinted strongly.

Emma tossed her glove on the countertop, pressing a button so that everyone could see the holo-projection.

“They’ve kidnapped at least a hundred girls, from here on Moose Factory and the surrounding indigenous areas. From what Miiyahbin told me, it’s been happening for the past few years, and the government doesn’t so much as glance in that direction.”

Grandmother nodded gravely.

“There are three entrances to the compound,” Kaldur spun the hologram, generating a 3-D map of the hidden base, “The automobile entrance at the foot of the hill, The bar at the center of Angelsport, and the waterway.”

“Guards are sparse, they rely on secrecy and ignorance more than anything.”

“If we use our powers, we might be able to overpower whatever they threw at us,” Kaldur mused, “Divide and conquer, each of us taking a separate entrance.”

Mid-Nite saw the terror that flashed through Emma’s eyes.

“No, they trade their prisoners for something,” She said quickly, “Part of it’s weaponry. We’re not setting up Miiyahbin to get shot.”

Kaldur looked at her with a frown, “She will get shot at either way, and it would be better that she discover the dangers of what she is taking on now rather than later.”

“Now who’s being cynical?” Emma growled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Kal, this is part of a whole trafficking ring, this is just a pit stop in the cycle. We have to figure out what’s connected to it. We can’t just go in with Brute Force.”

“Taking them head on is going to have the same effect as freeing their prisoners one by one. Anything we do to disrupt them will alert the rest of their group. The longer we wait gives them the opportunity to ship this women all over the world and take even more.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’ve seen this so many times. Gotham’s a hotspot for trafficking, no one cares about the people who live there except Batman.”

“Batman!” Miiyahbin came crashing in the front door. It was clear she’d tried to open the door with her wind while she was still flying.

“Can’t we ask him for help? I’ve always wanted to meet Robin.”

Emma and Kaldur shared an uneasy glance. “That option’s a bit of a last resort right now.” Emma made a note to tell Tim that even if Nightwing was perceived as “hotter” by social media, he had at least one fangirl in the Canadian winterlands.

Grandmother helped Miiyahbin to her feet. “I think that all of you have had a long night. Perhaps we should take some time to rest before plotting another attack.”

No one seemed happy about it, but Grandmother was right. The Martens said goodbye, only after Grandmother encouraged them both to come by the Trading Post whenever they wanted, and Charles and Hooty were right behind them.

“Before I forget, Your friends sent these,” He handed them a stack of envelopes, tied to a small box with a piece of twine.

“Thank you,” Kaldur took the box, and saw Charles out the door.

Though exhausted, they both sat on the couch, eager to hear news from home. One week was too long to go without hearing from their team, Kaldur knew too well.

“My parents are well,” Kaldur said with a small smile, reading from a greenish piece of paper painted with seashells that smelled of the sea. “King Orin and Queen Mera have invited them to dinner at the royal palace every night this week, they might as well have moved in. And my father says that mother has adopted Prince Joseph in all but name.”

Emma laughed, “Listen to this, Mara says that this kid showed up at the cave last week claiming to be Bruce’s son, and the first one to warm up to him was Justice.”

“Okay, now I’m hurt,” Kaldur chuckled.

“Oooo, M’gann sent us cookies!” Emma opened the box that was addressed to them.

“Are they better than mine?” Kaldur teased.

“Much better,” Emma teased right back with a mouth full of crumbs.

“No way!” She shouted two seconds later, standing on top of the couch.

“What?” Kaldur stood up as well, trying to see what she was so excited about.

Emma grinned, showing him Wally and Artemis’s engagement announcement. “We knew it before they did.”

“I can’t believe it,” Kaldur took the card from her to examine for himself, half-convinced it was fake.

Before either of them knew it they were hugging, overjoyed for two of their oldest friends.

“They must be so happy,” Kaldur said, “I hope we can be there to share in their happiness.”

“We will,” Emma said immediately. “I promise you, Kal, you’re not going to be holed up in here forever. The League’s gonna find out who’s threatening you and stop them.”

“What if they don’t?” Kaldur froze for a moment, paralyzed by fear.

Emma stepped back for a moment, and tapped him on the nose. “Then I will. That’s a promise.”

They stood there for a moment more, holding each other. Neither of them pulled away or thought it was awkward. Even if they weren’t in love, or even fake-in-love, they could still be friends, right? Friendship was something that meant so much to both of them.

“Come on,” Emma smiled at Kaldur, “Knowing M’gann, we’d better eat these cookies before they spontaneously combust.”

#lizart writes #bty aquafire fic #kaldur #kaldur'ahm #aqualad #fish boy #kaldur imagine #kaldur x oc #aqualad x oc #my ocs #nightingale #young justice oc

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sidebldogsidkfnr · 6 years ago

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Zimbits ‘Take Me to Church’ AU part 1/?????

Nora Valley Community College didn’t look real. Not that it appeared ethereal or haunting in any way; on the contrary, it was bland. Nora Valley looked like something out of a b-rated movie. It looked more like the stereotype than reality, as if space aliens had tried to make an Earthling college based only on their passing familiarity with “Indiana Jones.” The hallways smelled like pencil erasers and teachers wore dusty tweed and moth-eaten earth tone sweaters. The campus was a time capsule, stuck in the middle of a forgotten Georgian town, a town known only for its above average bakery and abandoned brick factory.

Much to his chagrin, Eric became a facet of that forgotten town as well when he chose Nora Valley college as his future alma mater.

Eric lived in the dorms, an untidy collection of numbered brick buildings on the edge of campus. His room was an affront to mankind, but thanks to his athletic scholarship, it was a free affront to mankind. Athletic scholarship, Eric thought, staring at the water stains on his paneled ceiling. Oh lord, what have I gotten myself into?

Nora Valley had a hockey team. It wasn’t much, but Eric knew that if he did well enough, he could earn a transfer scholarship to Samwell University and leave the stifling heat of Georgia behind for good. Two years, he thought, peering at a suspiciously dark crack in the ceiling, listening to his roommate snore in the bed across from him. I guess that’s not too long. I can handle two years.

A week later, he wasn’t so sure.

The hockey team didn’t seem to like him very much. Eric was small, round, and kind. Eric liked cinnamon dolce lattes with extra sugar and pop music with extra pop. The hockey boys were a bunch of burly football rejects with ratty mustaches and a penchant for basketball shorts. Eric was made of sugar, spice, and everything nice; the other boys were made of dirt, old spice, and everything heterosexual.

Eric collapsed no less than a dozen times over the course of his first week, sinking onto the ice as though he might be able to melt through it if he tried hard enough. It was torture.

His classes, at least, were better, easier than the ice’s torment. Most of them were core classes, filled with sleepy teenage hopefuls, exhausted single mothers, and excitable middle-aged lifelong learners. In French, Eric sat next to a girl named Jenna. She was the stereotypical ‘pretty southern girl’: tumbleweed blonde hair, a round physique, and rosy cheeks. Each day, she wore heavy makeup around her eyes and a delicate silver cross around her neck.

“Eric,” she chirped after class one day, voice like birdsong, “it’s Eric, right? I never see you outside of class. You should come hang out at the BSM sometime!”

Eric blinked at her, bleary eyed. It was his first class of the day— he was barely awake. Jenna only laughed. “Oh, you boys are so silly. Ya’ll’d be lost without us girls, huh? Here, take this,” she said, handing him a pamphlet, “I’d love to see you come join us!”

And with that, Jenna trotted away, her bulky keychain jangling against her monogrammed coffee cup. Eric looked down at the card stock she’d forced between his fingers.

Join us at the Nora Valley Baptist Student Ministry! Open every day noon to midnight. Bible study and snacks every Wednesday night. For more info, check out our Facebook page!

Eric swallowed thickly. He hadn’t planned on going to church, now that he was on his own. He didn’t think he could handle it— being lectured about ‘unconditional love’ by people who would cast him aside if they ever knew the truth.

Sighing, he slipped the paper into his backpack and shuffled off to his next class.

The day passed in a blur. Practice was cancelled thanks to the coach, a strange man named Johnson, having a last minute emergency. The e-mail seemed to suggest that Johnson cancelled class out of cosmic necessity; Eric rolled his eyes at that, unsurprised by the poor attempt at a joke. Most of the hockey boys went to go release their frustrations in the gym.

Eric didn’t go to the gym. Instead, he went to the skating rink— unlocked, but empty. Hazy and dim, the rink felt like another world, untouched by time and reality— like a middle school after hours, or an empty football stadium at dusk. Tucked away in the comfort of an empty locker room, Eric reached deep into the bowels of his hockey bag and pulled out a pair of worn Riedell figure skates.

Skating onto the ice unencumbered by hockey gear felt like coming home. Eric glided around the rink for a few moments, letting himself readjust to the sensation of lighter skates and a lighter body. Then, he built up speed, launching himself into a double toe loop. His landing wasn’t perfect, but then, he was out of practice. He tried again, this time landing with the sort of grace that can only be acquired through hours and hours of exhausting practice.

“I never understood how people were able to do that,” came a voice from the sidelines. Eric nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around to face the intruder, and saw a dark haired boy wearing a pair of hockey skates tentatively step onto the ice.

The newcomer was tall and broad, but unlike Eric’s hockey compatriots, he wasn’t imposing. His expression was soft and kind with a twinge of melancholy. He was also, much to Eric’s horror, devastatingly handsome.

“Sorry,” the boy added quickly, “I didn’t mean to scare you! I didn’t think anyone would be in here. The hockey team cancelled practice, I thought they were all in the gym right now.”

Eric sighed. “Yeah, I know, I thought nobody would be in here either.” Eric slipped back into his charming, extroverted persona, hoping to cover his disappointment as he said, “That’s alright! My name is Eric. I’m on the hockey team, I’m a freshman, and I live in building 21. Before you ask, yes, building 21 is a nightmare, but at least the hot water works now.” Eric skated forward, extending a hand to the intruder.

The boy’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “You’re on the hockey team?”

“Yeah, I know,” Eric sighed, used to this line of inquiry. “I’m actually a figure skater, or at least I used to be. I couldn’t really do it anymore without moving further north and getting a proper coach and, well, I didn’t have the money. But I wanted to stay on the ice. Truth is, I don’t know much about hockey.”

The boy smiled. “No, you don’t,” he chuckled. “Not that— ah, never mind. My name is Jack,” he said, finally taking Eric’s hand. Eric willed himself not to blush at the brief moment of skin-to-skin contact. Neither of them had bothered to put on gloves. “I study history, but I used to play hockey. I still practice every day—old habits.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack,” Eric said brightly. Jacks eyes were blue, perhaps bluer than Eric had ever seen. Or maybe you’re just super gay, Eric’s subconscious supplied helpfully. Shut up, Eric thought back.

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tuscanwalker · 6 years ago

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September 3: Azambuja, Walking Day 3 - 20

Not much interesting in today’s walk and it’s theme was urban blight and unpleasant odours. Often times when we return home, people ask us what the walking experience is really like and what kind of landscapes we walk through. Usually, we will whine about tough climbs through difficult terrain or wax poetic about romantic ruins, churches and mountain vistas and, occasionally, will even allude to the spiritual aspects. Today was none of these things.

The day was cloudy, a blessing after two days of blistering heat, but there was a distinct smell of smoke in the air as a result of the fires burning inland from us (I am sure that you folks in BC and Alberta can relate to those). We walked most of the day on gravel and busy paved roads alongside the train tracks which meant going through industrial areas with many abandoned factories and warehouses of various ages. Some may be remnants of the Salazar dictatorship (which shows what can happen when you put an economist in charge😜). Others seemed more recent and could be from the 2008 financial crisis. One area about 2 km long and 1/2 km wide seemed to be a suburban subdivision complete with roads, utilities and street lights, but only 4 house built out of the potential for hundreds. The rest was almost entirely overgrown. A little further on after kilometres of rice paddies, we paralleled irrigation ditches that would have made a two year old outhouse smell like a bed of roses by comparison. We thought it was merely stagnant water, but it became progressively worse. A couple of km later we reached its source, a vast sewage lagoon the emitted an indescribable stench.

For obvious reasons we moved quickly (5 km/hr), aided by the landscape that was once again flat as a board. We rolled into our hotel about noon (27C) and would have continued except that this was where our luggage was being transported. The room was clean but again it was not a joy to our olfactory senses. The odour of a chemical disinfectant was so strong as to be almost nauseating and I say that on a day dominated by sewage.

Over the course of the day, we passed or chatted with 7 other walkers and were passed by several other peregrinos on bicycles. The trail is now becoming more rural and we hope Azambuja is typical. A small town of a few thousand, we had our pilgrim credentials stamped by a very friendly official at the city hall when we could find no one at the cathedral. There are several bars, one of which was run by an elderly couple who welcomed us and and served a couple of cervejsa and some great fries.

There were other small businesses and most importantly a bull ring. At this point I should explain that while animals rights activists would still be horrified, bull fighting in Portugal does not end in the death of the bull in the ring with a sword (like Spanish fights). Instead, a horsewoman places 3 or 4 bandeirilhas in the bulls back. Then 8 men on the ground, with no protection, challenge the bull to charge. One grabs the horns from the front and then others pile in to push back against the bull and tire him out. At the end, one of then grabs the bull by the tail and is dragged slowly around the arena. The bull is then led out by oxen and may be restored to health and retired (if he put up a good fight) or later killed and butchered. For those with a morbid curiosity here is a link to a video:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pHXkESOBzAU&feature=youtu.be

The reason I have gone into such detail is that the coming weekend is Azambuja’s festival which explains why municipal workers were busy setting up fences along Main Street for the daily running of the bulls to the arena. Unfortunately, we will miss this spectacle as we will be a hundred km north in Coimbra. We don’t know whether the young men run with the bulls, but we certainly wouldn’t (we don’t heal so quick at our age).

Tomorrow is a long day of 30-32 km to Santarem. It appears that this will be the first stop with significant local sites of interest and hopefully we will have enough energy left for a bit of exploration. Below, some of the amazing Portuguese tile work and the leaning tower of Azambuja.

Kim and Norm

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draginhikari · 7 years ago

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Final Fantasy XIV: Azure and Crimson Section 1: Warrior of Light, Shadros Hiku Chapter 6: Duty Commenced in the Ceruleum Refinery

The darken skies of the polluted North Thanalan reflected Shadros’ current state of mind. This place had been the site of his greatest triumph against the Imperial Legatus, Gaius Van Baelsar, and his Ultima Weapon. However, it was also the place where he had met his demise by the hands of the Hymn Venom Order. The fact they had been hiding under his nose in Thanalan the entire time was frustrating to him but he didn’t let it show as he made his way to Camp Bluefog in the center of the area. Still, he was surprised the Hymn Venom Order had avoided detection for so long. Perhaps their similar appearance to the other Lambs of Dalamud sects made identifying the group harder for the Immortal Flames to accomplish. Not like it mattered anyway to Shadros as he had no intention of getting anyone else involved. The Hymn Venom Order was his to deal with alone and he intended to destroy them here and now. Shadros glanced around the camp, finally spotting Aya back in her merchant disguise from the first day they had met. He had sent her a message a few days prior to ask her to come at that time.

Aya chuckled some, “Well, I didn’t expect you to call me again after all the crazy stuff that happened before. I almost wondered if it was your girlfriend intending to grill me for information again.” She stated before approaching him in her usual manner. Shadros felt a pang of guilt return and clouded his mind for a moment, but if Una had spoken to Aya it would definitely explain how Una came to know of the situation. Shadros wondered for a moment if he should really trust Aya with this final task but didn’t have time to reconsider his decision now. He needed to move forward.

Shadros said, “Aya, there is one last thing I need you to do for me. I have one more mission to accomplish and if something goes wrong I trust you enough to see it through.” Aya, for the first time, was completely stunned into silence by the comment. Shadros had never shown anything but discontent for her and all of a sudden he said that he trusted her?

“Ehhh…. Shadros are you all right? Did you finally take too many blows to the head or something?” Aya finally managed to get out. Shadros looked at her, “Don’t get carried away. I trust that as long as you’re paid properly you see a task through. That’s all I need right now,” Shadros would hand her the key for the crate he had left in his cottage, “There is a possibility that an Au Ra girl will come looking for this key.” Aya took the key from him looking down at it, “Eh… how am I supposed to know who this Auri girl is. If you haven’t noticed in recent months they have been becoming more common here. Far different from when you first arrived.” Shadros knew this was true. Upon the arrival of the initial batch of Domans refugees more Au Ra had been arriving in Eorzea every day. If only this had happened before, maybe then he and Kari wouldn’t have been in this situation. He simply let the thought go as there was nothing that could change that now. Shadros gestured to the Excalibur at his side, “The girl will have this.” Aya glanced down at the sword, “Your Zodiac Brave? Aren’t those restricted to you and you alone? How could anyone be using that thing other than yourself? Wait, does this have to do with that-?” It hadn’t clearly registered to Aya up until now to connect the shadow girl from Tam Tara Deepcroft with the current situation. Shadros shrugged and interrupted her, “In a way, but that’s all I can tell you. Aya, this will be the last task I will ever ask of you, either I will come back for that key or she will. All I ask is that the one wielding my Excalibur is provided with that key when they come to you. This is your final payment.” Shadros would hand her a large bag of gil, “As such our business is concluded,” Shadros would begin to walk away before Aya spoke again. “Heh, your interesting guy you know that. I think I finally get what makes you tick,” Aya said with a slight chuckle.

Shadros simply stopped a moment, “Maybe. But I will never understand you, Shinobi Aya.” Shadros continued to walk while Aya watched him walk further into Northern Thanalan. He made his way towards the northeastern side of Northern Thanalan, scaling the rough, abandoned path to the Ceruleum Refinery. It had been abandoned when the faculty was severely damaged in a conflict between the imperial forces of Castrum Meridianum and the Immortal Flames. Since it was located among the cliffs which lied along the eastern edge of Northern Thanalan, the path to the faculty was rather rugged and damaged. This made traveling to it extremely difficult so all plans to repair the Refinery were abandoned by the money pinchers in Ul’dah. Shadros moved slowly into the area. Several large stone pillars surrounded the area near the faculty making for decent scouting locations. He glanced over a boulder near the faculty. The place was crawling with a few red robed figures along with what appeared to be a handful of demons and other voidsent. Either the Hymn Venom knew he was coming or they were a particularly paranoid bunch. Shadros narrowed his gaze. Giving away his position now could give the Order time to move and would force him to waste a lot of energy but at least he knew he had arrived at the right place.

Shadros heard a sound at the cliffs near the path that lead to the plant and went back to investigate. He glanced down the path below where he was and noticed an imperial patrol unit of several Reapers Units, Vanguards Units, and about a dozen foot soldiers.

Shadros thought for a moment, as a small smirk came to his face, “Time to kill two birds with one stone,” Shadros paused a moment glancing at some nearby rocks before stating, “And I meant that in the literal sense.”

He reached into his bag and pulls out a robe he dyed with the same red dye as the Lambs of Dalamud used in their cloaks. Though he couldn’t find something that would perfectly replicate the look of the Hymn Venom Order, he figured this would be close enough especially from a distance. Though his original plan was to sneak in using this robe, the Imperial patrol offers him a unique opportunity to deal a blow to both of his enemies at the same time and draw the Venoms away from his presence. He quickly threw on the robe over his armor and climbed to some loose rock formations at the edge of the cliff striking at the formation with the Excalibur causing the boulders to starting tumbling over the edge slamming into a couple of the Vanguard units. Shadros quickly returned the sword to his side making sure that from that distance all imperials could make out was the robe he was wearing. He heard the unit’s commander pointing up at Shadros barking some orders that he could not make out but saw the force began to move up the path, The Vanguard unit fired ropes into the cliff side and began to scale them. Shadros smirked and quickly made his way back to the camp dropping the robe a good three-fourths of the way to the Order’s camp and found a rock formation to observe the situation. The Imperials had taken his bait, they descended on the Hymn’s camp assuming them to be the attackers and engaged the group forcing both the Order and their voidsent to fight back against the imperial forces. While they were distracted Shadros quickly made his way behind their lines spotting the entrance to a cavern that led underneath the refinery. He quickly made his way inside. Hearing an odd sound behind him once inside, he turned back with a wide-eyed expression before diving behind a stack of crates just as one of the Reaper’s magitek weapons blew up the entrance causing it to collapse. Shadros shielded himself from the falling rocks with the Aegis Shield until the shaking had stopped. Only then did he move from behind the crates to look at the rocks. He frowned and pressed against the wall with his hands, “Hm, no way that I’m getting back out that direction. Then again this will prevent those cronies from following me.” He shook his head, after all he didn’t know if there was another exit but decided until he was finished here it was a moot point anyway. After all, he could use his Teleportation or Return spells if there was no other way out. Shadros began to make his way through the narrow cavern until he saw a bluish glow ahead. Before long, he stepped out onto a grate like platform held up by massive chains and devices in the ceiling. A sharp odor caught his attention as he glanced downward noticing the blue glowing liquid through the floor about 40 fulms straight down from the platform he was standing on. The blue glow in his dream finally made sense, it was Ceruleum and a lot of it. He knew that this plant was used for processing Ceruleum but he had no idea such a huge reservoir lied underneath it.

Shadros grimaced, “One good spark down there and this entire place would go up in smoke. This factory is an explosion waiting to happen.” Shadros now understood why people would be reluctant to work on this factory anymore. He glanced around seeing similar platforms held up in a similar manner as the one he was standing on and a passageway at the end. The platforms seem to be connected through some kind of conveyer belt system in the ceiling that would move the various platforms between the entrances to the next passageway. He didn’t see how to turn them on and since there was nothing connecting the platforms together so he had no choice but to jump from platform to platform. Shadros grumbled, “Well, here goes nothing. One wrong move and I melt into a puddle, wonderful.” Shadros would begin leaping from one platform to next. The chains held steady and the platform only rocked slightly when he landed. With a glance at the next platform and then the barrels that sat at the entrance, he could only assume they were siphoning the Ceruleum lake into the barrels prior to it becoming too dangerous to use. Since the platforms were designed to carry heavy barrels full of liquid they would support his weight. He moved to the next platform but when making the attempt to the fourth platform something smacked into him from behind trying to knock him off but Shadros managed to grab the edge to the platform and pull himself up quickly. Shadros growled as he looked up to see a giant monstrous Gnat flying above the platforms. The Gnat gnashed its disgusting teeth and charged at him from above. Shadros shouted, “You’re not drinking my blood voidsent!” He smacked the Gnat on the side of the head with the Excalibur as the glowing light overtook the blade sending the creature reeling back a ways. The Gnat turned around in the air gnawing its teeth together as electrical energy began to charge from its horns. Shadros growled, “Seven Hells!” He quickly jumped to another platform as the Gnat fired an electrical burst at the platform shaking it loose and causing the platform to fall into the Ceruleum below and sink into the acidic liquid. Shadros ran and jumped from platform to platform as the Gnat constantly kept up and released more lightning in Shadros’ path. Shadros rambled again and again while moving, “I hate these things, I hate them hate them hate them!” Shadros caught the sight of a chain hanging from the ceiling where a platform used to be. Deciding to take the shot he had he put the Excalibur away and grabbed the loose chain merely testing it strength before pushing off the platform swung backwards towards the Gnat smacking into it with his backside, with not only with the weight of his body and armor but the dense Aegis Shield he had on his back, before swinging forward and leaping to the exit as the Gnat fell into the Ceruleum. Shadros turned panting to see the Gnat struggling against the liquid before it sunk into the blue abyss.

Shadros groaned some, “I guess that stuff even melts voidsent flesh. Sheesh that some pretty potent pest control.” Shadros took a potion from his bag chugging it down quickly. He knew he had to conserve what strength he had. He could tell that Gnat was just there to pick off anyone that would have already been tired from the outside forces, which means it’s likely the leader and worse was probably not too far ahead.

Shadros chuckled some, “Well, it’s pretty obvious they know I’m here now, I suppose the subtlety is out of the question.” He drew the Excalibur and the Aegis Shield before beginning to make his way down the corridor. He encountered more Hymn Venom guards and weaker voidsent on his way, “You think you can get in my way!?” Shadros shouted and he slammed one of the approached Imps against the wall with his shield. He would make his way down the corridor in a very quick manner. His intention was to simply striking down the enemies in his immediate path. Not really wanting to waste time stopping to see whether he had actually finished them off or not, he just kept moving forward. The caverns under this factory were twisted and difficult to navigate maze. The enemies and monsters were quite numerous as well. Yet, Shadros continued down each path he encountered without second thought. He couldn’t explain the feeling he had or even how he knew he was going the right way. All he could do is trust the Echo to lead him to where they were keeping Kari’s frozen form.

Shadros turned around when he realized he was being chased, “Seven Hells, don’t these guys know when to give up!” Shadros stopped jumped up striking the ground, “Circle of Scorn!” The light pillars encircled him causing the surround walls to start breaking down collapsing the cavern and blocking off further reinforcements. Shadros made his way into a larger open mining area with a number of rusted machinery. Shadros glanced around at his surroundings. There was a strange miasma in the area as Shadros walked forward keeping his weapon drawn.

“Well isn’t this creepy…” Shadros muttered. He would start hearing weird laughter from around him, “And that certainly doesn’t help…” The strange lamps in the room suddenly went out and room went pitch black. The light of Shadros’ Zodiac Brave was enough for him to see his general surrounding but not the entire room. The strange, warped laughter continued as another sword swung out at him which Shadros was forced to defend himself from. The lamps would come back in an unnatural violet light. Standing before Shadros was the shadowy version of Kari that Shadros had encountered in the depths of Tam Tara Deepcroft. Shadros growled some, “I already know the truth Hymn Venom Order! You won’t trick me with this!” The shadowy Kari spoke however this version’s voice was more twisted and definitely wasn’t Kari, “Thisss is no trickkkk mortal…” The shadowy Kari struck her sword into the ground and a shadowy energy spread across the ground forming similar shadowy images of the Scions Thancred, Y’shtola, Yda, and Papalymo alongside the Kari shadow.

Shadros groaned and brought his weapon up, “You’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve got to fight all four of them.” Shadros growled and shouted, “You bastards! You taunt me with this and you are going to pay!” Shadros felt power swell within him as the Echo’s presence grew more intense. Shadros moved forward blocking Thancred’s throwing daggers and Papalymo’s fire spells as Yda charged at him. Shadros got a solid slash on Yda’s shoulder. The image fizzled revealing a violet skinned demon voidsent for a moment before returning back to the shadowy form of Yda. Shadros said, “I knew it, more frauds. Are you mocking me!?” Shadros slashed the Excalibur through Yda’s mid-section and as the copy seem to split into halves it changed back into the demon who vaporized into the miasma mist. Shadros charged at the Thancred clone and slashed at it repetitively before it collapsed into the demonic form and burst into miasma as well. Shadros jump upwards and slashed straight down the Y’shtola copy taking out yet demon clone before immediately throw the Excalibur through the Papalymo clone finishing off the last of clones. After retrieving his sword Shadros charged into the Kari clone with the Aegis shield. The force of the attack lifted the clone off the ground as he continuing to charge out of the chamber crashing with the clone through several barricades down the hall. Where this massive surge of rage and power was coming from Shadros didn’t know but he welcomed it, perhaps he was getting closer to Kari’s body. Once beyond the magic of the chamber, the Kari clone was revealed to be another voidsent, a Succubus variation. The Succubus tried to strike at Shadros but Shadros growled thrusted the Excalibur into the Voidsent’s chest, “DIE!”

Shadros pushed the Succubus out of the corridor before he reached the edge of a cliff leading to the Ceruleum below. He withdrew the sword and kicked the Succubus off of the cliff causing her to fall into the Ceruleum below with only a screeching howl before the Succubus sunk into the abyss. Shadros looked around at the new area, this chamber was much larger than the others, and the platform in the middle of the room was another one of those Grate-like platform but much large and held up by thicker chains. There were also multiple magitek switch devices on three of the four corners of the platform. The ceiling above the platform had a massive sealed metal door, likely how one entered the factory back when it was operational. The damage to the door made it unlikely to be able to be opened now and there was a suspended pipe in the air held up but some kind of strange device that would have gotten in the way even if you could. Shadros put his sword and shield away for the moment. He turned to see at the far end what appeared to some kind of cargo transport system designed to move boxes or other objects through the pipes, probably to the outside. He turned his eyes back to the main platform seeing several Hymn Venom members standing there along with one that seemed to be in charge. Shadros couldn’t see the leader’s face yet, but he didn’t have a doubt about who the man was. Shadros gritted his teeth clutching his fists. “I finally found you…” Shadros made his ways down the smaller platforms to larger platforms. As soon as he stepped onto the large platforms the smaller ones began to raise up as one of the members hit a button on one of the consoles. Shadros didn’t look at the platforms, it was obvious to him that they weren’t going to let him leave while they were alive, which suited Shadros fine as far as he was concerned. The leader appeared to be a Duskwight Elezen of middle age with a long gray beard and golden color eyes. The man had a confident smirk across his face, the same one he had the day that he had sliced Shadros’ Throat. It took every amount of Shadros’ will to not lurch out in rage. The twisted staff on his back was definitely a Thaumaturge’s weapon. Shadros spat the name, “Gadloix…”

Gadloix chuckled, “Shadros Hiku. How good to have you with us again. You don’t know the amount of trouble I’ve gone through to try to get you back. Yet here you are now, you came right to our doorstep of your own free will.”

Shadros’ voice was dripped in malice, “Oh, I’m sure you have and it’s unfortunate for you that I found you the way I did because I’m going to make you regret everything.” Gadloix held up a hand waving a finger back and forth as if scolding a child, “My my, what a nasty tone. You are surely an ungrateful bastard aren’t you? After everything I did for you and all.”

Shadros narrowed his gaze, “How do you figure that?”

Gadloix chuckled, “I made you. Your powerful body and the girl’s echo, yes, I created a more powerful Warrior of Light by doing so now didn’t I? You owe me for who you are in every way. After all, what would you have been otherwise? Just another aspiring Gladiator? Another failed refugee in the money soaked realm of Ul’dah? A mere puppet of amusement for the corrupted and sinful city? I save you from all that.” He raised his hands to the ceiling before bring them back down. Shadros shouted, “Don’t you dare try to justify what you have done, Gadloix! You certainly didn’t do it for either of our benefit I was just the result of your experiment backfiring. You didn’t want a Warrior of Light, you wanted a sacrifice. If you think for a moment you can deceive me with honeyed words and mind games you’re sadly mistaken.” Gadloix gestured to the others and they would begin to set up the crate behind them, “Now, now, you should take it easy, Shadros. After all, if I was so awful would I have kept her safe?” The Hymn soldiers would pry open the craft revealing the petrified body of the Kari from Shadros’ dream and vision. Still frozen in time in the stone form.

Shadros grunted under his breath, “Kari…”

Gadloix chuckled some tapping the statue lightly, “I took good care of your friend while you ran around playing hero, such a noble soul, giving herself up to save your pitiful life. However, we could… repair the damage that’s been done…” Shadros narrowed his gaze again muttering sarcastically, “Oh, I’m sure this can’t possibly be a trap.” Gadloix chuckled, “You’ve become a fine vessel Shadros, your time as the Warrior of Light has brought you to near perfection for our purposes. After all, why do you think I let you run free without interference for so long? However, there is a slight problem, you are useless to me as a vessel as long as that girl’s Echo lies inside of you since it protects your soul so effectively that you cannot even be touched by my lord. If you give up your body to the void I can see to it that your friend’s aether and her echo are returned to her body, after all you came to save her right?” Shadros listened carefully to Gadloix’s words. During his travels he had learned about the nature of the Echo and its power to transcend the boundaries of reality. His gaze turned down to the Excalibur that explained why Kari only became apparent to him after his work with the Zodiac Brave. The task to forge the weapon must have also awakened through Kari’s aether as well as his owns. It was the link that separate his own aether from Kari’s. If that was true the Zodiac Brave could be the key to reversing the damage done. Shadros thoughts were momentarily interrupted by Gadloix, “After all, it’s the least you can do to save her because really you only live on at her expense.” Shadros went silent for a moment before breaking into an intense laughter. The soldiers looked at each other in confusion as Gadloix’s face lost its smirk, “Did something I say amuse you?” Shadros smirked, “And let you tear up the countryside with your abomination? You’re even more stupid then you look if you believe I’m going to let you use my body to summon your hellspawn. It shows little you know about Kari or me! Kari is already likely mad at me in the first place for coming here…” He drew the Excalibur and Aegis, they would immediately spring to life with their intense light, “But she would be even anger if I gave into your demands. I will save Kari on my own but first I intend to make sure you nor your Order can ever harm anyone ever again. Prepare for hell you smug bastard!” The Hymns would close Kari’s box and lower her to the platform next to the transport tube seeming intent on dealing with the statue later. Gadloix right eye twitched as spoke with an ever-growing anger, “You dare boy!? So be it Shadros, then we will simply rip the Echo from you and I then will personally see to it that both Kari and her accursed Echo sink to the bottom of the Ceruleum where trash like her belong!” The Hymns drew their weapons and began to make their way towards Shadros, while Gadloix threw up some kind of hexagonal black barrier around himself. Gadloix snapped, “You will be our sacrifice to Hymn Venom one way or another! Accept your fate boy!”

Shadros shouted, “Shut your mouth and fight!” Shadros glanced at his attackers a moment gauging their movements before maneuvering around the group’s Marauders making bee line to the group’s Thaumaturge, who had been standing a too close to the edge, and knocked him into the abyss below with one solid swipe of the Aegis shield. Shadros quickly turning around to block their Lancer’s blow with the Aegis before countering with a few swift sword strikes felling the Lancer. Shadros at the moment felt stronger than he ever had before, it felt like the Echo was on fire. He move against the two Marauders who tried to take him on at the same time. Shadros defended himself by parrying the furious attacks of the Hymns with his sword and shield blocking against the larger weapons until he was able to leap and come back down with Circle of Scorn, raining down beams of light around himself catching the two marauders off guard allowing him to easily taking one of the two with a solid slash through his torso before taking on the second who could not withstand Shadros’ attacks by himself and was easily taken down by another attack by Shadros leaving Gadloix alone.

Gadloix growled at this revelation, “I’m not through with you. Experience the fruits of my research!” He began to cast a spell forming seven voidgates as three demons, two gnats, and two Imps emerged from the gates. Shadros quickly downed an Elixir before moving towards the group of voidsent before forming a bright light around him using Flash giving him a moment to stab one of the demons through the head and leap over him to take out one of the imps with a quick strike. Shadros groaned some as the other imp struck him with a Blizzard spell. Shadros spun back around and threw the Aegis with a Shield Lob technique knocking the imp into the Ceruleum before the shield returned to him. He gritted his teeth and moved left and back to avoid the Thunderstrikes attacks of the Gnats while defending against the two other demons’ swords. Shadros slammed into one of the demons causing it to fall back into Gadloix’s barrier. The demon was electrocuted against the barrier until it was vaporized into violet mist. Shadros noticed the barrier reacted strangely to this as he struck the final blow with the last demon. Only the two Gnats remained, Shadros noticed the voidgates were beginning to grow larger again. Shadros realizing that as long as the barrier held the voidsent would likely keep coming so he needed to take out Gadloix quickly. Shadros mocked the Gnats by waving his sword tauntingly to shoot at him again, which the Gnats seemed all too happy to do so. Shadros moves back and forth as the creatures used their Thunderstrike only hitting Gadloix’s barrier over and over again. Gadloix growled, “You foolish creatures stop!” Shadros smirked and got them to do it a few more times before it broke his barrier causing the gates to vanish and the Gnats, cut off from their void magic by the closure of the gates, would slump the ground and burst into violet mist. Gadloix stumbled back, slightly stunned by the breaking of his barrier. Gadloix growled, “Shadros you miserable bastard! Damn you and the Echo’s power!”

Shadros didn’t waste any time running to Gadloix and spun around as he did, “Spirits Within!” He turned and thrusted forward thrusting the light of the attack into Gadloix’s Torso causing the light to burst from his back bring the duskwight to a howl. Shadros backed away allow him to slump to the ground.

Gadloix put his hand over his wound, “This… how… have I underestimated the Echo by this much. Where did this power come from? The crystals of light no longer glow for you!” Shadros said, “You underestimated both me and Kari, Gadloix,” Shadros approached Gadloix intending to finish Gadloix off, “It’s time for you to die and rot in hell. The Hymn Venom Order dies today with you.”

Gadloix coughed up some blood but then laughed, “That may be so… but you aren’t leaving here either.” A black gate began to open underneath Gadloix as he began to sink into it, “I will become the sacrifice. I will offer up my body and soul to Hymn Venom in place of yours. He will swallow you’re your strength whole! Hehehahahahaha!” He fell into the gate and it began to expand. Shadros began slowly stepping back as something began to emerge from the gate. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, it appeared to be a giant variation on the Gargoyle voidsent he had fought many times in the past, but this one appeared instead of having two swords like the normal ones did, it had some kind of needle like appendage on its left arm and had the standard Gargoyle sword in right hand. Instead of the usual gray skin tone, this one had a crimson skin with yellowish lines seeming to shape out where its bones would be located. However, some of its features were malformed and strangely shaped. It seems Gadloix’s ritual was only somewhat completed without Shadros but it still had incredible power that seemed to emerge from its very form. Not all that different from the various primals he had faced. Shadros said “This creature, this is Hymn Venom?” Shadros growled and attempts to attack the creature only to get backhanded and easily thrown across the platform even in his heavy armor, “Argh! That definitely hurt, definitely pain.” Shadros groaned and got up quickly rolling to the side when the demon attempted to stab him with its needle appendage melting a section the platform it touched. Shadros gritted his teeth, “What power! Now what in the hell do I do?” Shadros couldn’t take this creature on in a straight fight on his own, but if he didn’t think of something fast there was no way he would last. Shadros took a quick glance around noticing a dripping liquid in the center of the platform and how the platform looked lightly corroded in the center. He looked up noticing a leaking pipe that he had seen before held up by some kind of makeshift suspension units attached to the primary door. Shadros could only guess they were building a pipeline and it wasn’t entirely completed as there were other pipes in the ceiling that didn’t require the units to hold it up. He then glanced at the three control units on the platform that he was standing on and how the wires went up into the ceiling and down into the suspension units. He came to a conclusion and ran to the center, “Come get me ugly!” Hymn Venom was quick to response by hurled a fireball in his direction from its mouth, Shadros was just happy they were suspended high enough in the air as to not ignite the flammable liquid below. Shadros quickly moved away while the smoke was clearing up. He ran over to one of the consoles and found a control for the suspension unit and flips the first switch. The pipe above shifted slightly downward when one of the restrains was lifted. Shadros rolled out of the way as the creature came down smashing the console, Shadros would move back towards the center drawing more of the demon’s ranged attacks to the continually weakening the center of the platform. Shadros waited for the right time before using a Flash spell to blind the demon before activating the second switch. The pipe began to tilt further down dripping the corrosive liquid even more quickly onto the center of the platform. As Shadros began to move towards the last console, Hymn Venom released a beam of red energy from his stinger that blew through Shadros’ armor and grazed his right hip.

Shadros growled and held his side, “Gahh!” Shadros grunted some as not only did his side hurt but he felt a hot and throbbing sensation throughout his body. Shadros eyes went wide as be began to gag and struggled falling forward between the center and the last switch, “Some kind of venom! My blood feels like its boiling.” He tried to take the Antidote he brought with him, but all it did is slow the poison down. Hymn Venom began to approach him standing over in with a noise that sounded almost like it was mocking Shadros. Hymn Venom didn’t seem to not notice the liquid dripping on him from the pipe above. Shadros turned rolling to side dodge Hymn Venom attempt to skewer him. He had one last chance, even with the disorientation, Shadros had to take it. “Rot in azure abyss you hellspawn!” Shadros threw the Aegis with a Shield Lob into the last console breaking it. The last restraint would release, as Hymn Venom turned its gaze away when hearing the noise above Shadros quickly moved to the side of the last console gripped it tightly just in case. The piping fell towards Hymn Venom. Hymn Venom caught the piping and seemed to be struggling to throw it off of itself. It would have no time to do this as the weakening platform from its own attacks and the long term exposure to the corrosive liquid made the center of the platform too weak to hold itself up between the weight of Hymn Venom and the pipe. The grate underneath it would shatter causing Hymn Venom to descend taking out most of the central segment of the platform leaving only the outer edges of the platform intact. In rage as Hymn Venom fell it began to breathe random fireballs striking many places in the ceiling, causing the already unstable ceiling to begin to collapse as rocks began to fall. Hymn Venom made one last howl before it and the pipe sunk into the Ceruleum and disappeared. Shadros held onto the console until he was sure that the rest of the platform wasn’t going to collapse before pushing himself up with the Excalibur with a small smile come to his face. He grunted suddenly gripping his chest. Though the Hymn Venom had been defeated, the venom was still coursing through his body. As rocks continued to fall he looked up, “This place… is coming down.” He grunted, he realized even if he could teleport out of here now, his body wouldn’t be able to hold up the aethernal transfer in his current physical shape, and even if he tried to climb out of the transport pipe he may not survive to the exit before the venom took its toll. He had no way out. He then looked at the platform containing the Kari’s crate. Shadros thought about it for a few moments before began to pull himself towards it carefully avoid the falling rocks as his vision blurring in and out as he moved forward, “If I can get to her, maybe I can at least…” Shadros pulled himself to the edge of the platform mustering his strength to make one solid leap to the platform below. Shadros fell to the ground mustering his strength to push himself to his feet before opening the crate. Shadros looked at the Kari for a few moments before he chuckled, “Kari, you were right about what would happen to me if I came here… but I did it anyway…” Shadros took out his Paladin soul crystal along with the Excalibur, “It’s time for me to return what I borrowed from you my friend. I’m giving you your time back...” He began to concentrate the Aether from his body and the echo, trying to separate his Aether from Kari using the Excalibur as the channel her Aether back into her body. Shadros’ skin turning paler as the transfer was completing. The statue glowed with a faint light before Kari’s body would regain her color and her body would regain its movement as the unconscious Kari’s head fell to right side. Shadros would wrap the Excalibur and the Aegis Shield into a durable cloth he had brought and put it in the box with her. Lastly, he would look down at the Paladin soul crystal one last time then put the crystal in her hand closing it around the crystal. The crystal would glow for a moment and Shadros’ armor would vanish leaving him only in the Oasis Doublet he has been wearing the day before. Shadros looked down at Kari for a moment putting his hand on Kari’s cheek looking at her sadly, “I’m sorry Kari… this will be the last time I fail you. It’s up to you now, my friend. I know you can do it.” He would then seal the crate pushing it onto the transport platform with what strength he had left and securing it with the attached cables before hitting the button on the console sending into the terminal at high speed before the rock fell through the tracks cutting off any method of following the crate or escaping from the cavern. Shadros smiled to himself leaned against the console before slumping down to the ground as the rocks continued to fall around him, “Hydaelyn… your actual chosen champion has been saved,” He paused a moment no longer sense Midgardsormr either, perhaps he passed to the girl as a result of the transfer. “Midgardsormr, you scaly bastard…” He chuckled, “I don’t know where this will lead her but I have faith that she will be able to accomplish what I could not. She will break through the wall you have put up… and reclaim… the… light…” Shadros glanced upward some for a moment his thought returned to Una in his last moments before he closed his eyes and whispered, “Una… I lied… to you again… I’m sorry… my only regret… was…” Shadros had no time to finish his sentence as a large slab of rock broke off and fell towards the Platform Shadros was on. Shadros closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Only a large crash would echo through the tunnel as the crate continue to speed along its path.

The crate continued to spiral down the transport path until it reached a location outside of the facility on the eastern side towards the Sea of Spires. The tracks were aged and poor maintained, due to the shutdown of the factory, the tracks to could not support the weight of the crate and transport at the speed it was moving and snapped causing the crate and transport platform to falls. The impact of the platform crashing caused the restraints holding the crate to snap loose and the crate began sliding down the steep hilling sliding into a cavern opening leading to an underground river.

The crate was light enough to float with the tide and kept above the water provide Kari with the air she needed to breath but not deep enough to flood the crate. The underground river carried the crate through the western side of Northern Thanalan some distance south of the Ceruleum fields and continued to drift further south to a destination unknown…

As long as your flame continues to burn, the light of the dawn may ever be relit…

End of Section 1: Warrior of Light, Shadros Hiku

Section 1 - Chapter 5: Just One Night, a Tragic Tryst

Final Fantasy XIV: Azure and Crimson Complete

Section 2 - Chapter 1: Blue Star, a New Light Shines

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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2020: The Year That Changed How We Watch Movies

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Under normal circumstances, it’s easy to get lost in the grind of daily living, missing the forest for the trees. Under normal circumstances, one can be too busy to notice that history is occurring all around them. 2020 was not a normal year.

After nearly 12 months of pandemic and shutdown, social unrest and political upheaval, we are only beginning to understand the ramifications from the year that was. There hasn’t been one facet of our culture that wasn’t dramatically altered by the effects of COVID-19 and the world it wrought. And yes, that includes movies.

When the year began, moviegoers were still going to the last Star Wars movie in theaters to the tune of a billion dollars and looking forward to summer spectacle like Wonder Woman 1984. As 2020 ends, many of those same people are resigned to watch Wonder Woman on HBO Max. What occurred between marks a significant sea change for movies and the audiences who adore them. One that perhaps has changed this relationship forever. Here is a reminder of how.

When Movie Theaters Went Dark

March 17. That was the day movie theaters across the U.S., like European markets before them, began shutting their doors. Regal Cinemas, the second largest movie theater chain in the U.S., and which is owned by the world’s biggest, Cineworld, was the first to announce it would close all North American locations until further notice. Within 24 hours, AMC Theatres and most competitors joined them, with AMC having a particularly rosy outlook when it announced it would only be a 12-week “pause.”

With these events occurring nine months and a lifetime ago, it’s easy to forget how different the motion picture landscape was at the time. The New Year’s moviegoing season had only begun in earnest a few months earlier, with the surprise haul of Will Smith and Martin Lawrence’s Bad Boys for Life in January exceeding all expectations. It grossed $206 million in the U.S. alone.

Indeed, early months saw several blockbusters, as well as excellent smaller films, that are now ending up on end of year lists at an unusually high volume. Jason Blum’s horror factory of Blumhouse Productions released a Universal Monsters reboot that was better than likely anyone could anticipate in The Invisible Man, with Elisabeth Moss delivering a brutal performance that felt rooted in our post-#MeToo world.

Margot Robbie launched her passion project, Birds of Prey (and the rest of its title). And even with its R rating, the Harley Quinn film will ironically remain the highest grossing superhero movie of the year. And first-time director Autumn de Wilde and her star Anya Taylor-Joy found new, pastel-colored life in Jane Austen’s final novel, Emma, by pinpointing the humor and subversive brilliance of the author’s desire to “take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.” It’s the best period adaptation of that tale to date. Meanwhile in the indie world, Kelly Reichardt delivered another critical darling with the A24 released First Cow.

Those are a few of the early critical successes at the cinemas in 2020—and they remain so, as they were also among the only line-up of movies to be in theaters before the full extent of the pandemic was realized. But even before the stampede to video on demand, there had been a steady drip of movies being delayed as the full danger of the coronavirus pandemic became apparent. First Eon Productions moved the next James Bond picture, No Time to Die, from its nearby April release date to November. Then Universal Pictures followed, delaying F9 a full year.

The drip, drip, drip of delays soon became a flood, with the real tipping point being Paramount Pictures delaying A Quiet Place Part II, indefinitely at first. This was one week from its premiere. In fact, the studio had already done press for the movie, with the film being the last I saw in theaters, as well as the last film I did in-person interviews for (and the first where it was made clear no one would shake hands and there was a bottle of Purell available on every surface). The film was supposed to open on March 18. Instead most movie theaters were closed en masse during that weekend.

VOD Experimentation… and Revolution?

The films already in theaters in mid-March, such as Pixar’s Onward or Warner Brothers’ The Way Back, became the earliest to break the theatrical window and immediately go to VOD. Universal Pictures cracked that glass first with The Invisible Man, Emma., and The Hunt, but that was nothing compared to what they announced next: Trolls World Tour would have an alleged day-and-date release in theaters and on Premium Video on Demand (PVOD). But as theaters were essentially closed, this meant Trolls was the first movie to dismiss its obligations to theatrical exhibitors.

It was not received well within the exhibition industry then, and was treated worse still after NBCUniversal CEO Jeff Shell boasted about the success of pushing the Trolls sequel essentially straight to VOD—where studios keep about 80 percent of grosses, as opposed to somewhere between 40 to 60 percent from a theatrical release. Shell told The Wall Street Journal, “As soon as theaters reopen, we expect to release movies in both formats.”

The news was treated as a threat by AMC Theatres head Adam Aron, who said the largest theater chain in North America was effectively banning Universal Pictures releases in light of Shell’s comments, plus the still sour feelings about Universal putting Trolls 2 on PVOD without consultation with exhibition partners. This was the first public conflict between movie theater owners in dire need of new theatrical content as the pandemic wore on, and the theaters who were wary to provide it. It would not be the last.

Universal and AMC eventually patched things up, agreeing to create a historic model where Universal would keep new releases in AMC Theatres for 17 days (so about three weekend cycles), and then decide afterward whether it made better sense to leave new releases in theaters or to move them straight to PVOD, where AMC would earn an undisclosed portion of the revenue. Where this left AMC Theatres’ competitors is still an open question, but the compromise would look quaint with what was to come.

For while the Universal-AMC drama unfurled, more and more films, both studio efforts and independent releases, were jumping to PVOD or alternative forms of streaming. Universal tested the waters again with the Pete Davidson-led The King of Staten Island while Warner Bros. also gave PVOD a try with a major release via Scoob!

Movies

Hamilton: The Real History of the Burr-Hamilton Duel

By David Crow

Movies

What Hamilton Doesn’t Say About His Real History with Slavery

By David Crow

Perhaps most presciently though was Disney releasing Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton movie straight to Disney+ for the Fourth of July. Technically an edited together version of several 2016 performances of the original Hamilton cast on Broadway, the “movie” was intended to be a special theatrical event released in theaters by Disney in October 2021. And the Mouse House paid a staggering $75 million for the distribution rights to the film.

With its early streaming release, Disney was now effectively using Hamilton as a loss leader for its fledgling streaming service in need of new content. It was a massive success for the Mouse, and Hamilton became one of the most talked about cultural cinematic events of the year, even if it was technically a piece of theater released to streaming. According to Variety and ScreenEngine/ASI, Hamilton was the most watched movie streaming event of the year.

As a harbinger of things to come, Disney continued to build its streaming service’s reputation, and the loyalty of its hastily growing subscriber base by releasing one of the most anticipated theatrical projects for next year.

As such, Disney (plus Miranda’s genius) dominated the cultural landscape in July with a reawakened interest in the legacy of a musical written in the Obama era about the Founding Fathers, but cast with diverse, multicultural talent. Premiering last summer when statues of Founding Fathers (among more deserving historic figures) were being torn down, Hamilton put Disney in the center of the “discourse” occurring in the zeitgeist. The company wouldn’t soon leave.

Tenet and Mulan: A Tale of Two Release Models

As a shutdown spring dragged into a grim summer, and U.S. Congressional leadership balked at the urgent need for a second round of stimulus in a desperate economy, questions began to arise about just how long movie theaters would be closed. In April alone, S&P downgraded AMC Theatres’ credit rating and suggested the theater chain was unlikely to survive if its doors remained shuttered past June.

While AMC and others did, in fact, struggle on, survival was not easy. As infection rates slowly descended in the summer, and more folks began dining inside and outside of restaurants, many in the exhibition industry took it as a sign moviegoers could also return to theaters with proper safety precautions. And at least one major filmmaker and studio agreed with them: Christopher Nolan at WB. The singular filmmaker behind The Dark Knight trilogy and Inception had a new sci-fi action movie epic slated for July 17, 2020, and while all of its competitors abandoned the summer, Tenet would not.

Viewing cinemas as “a vital part of our social life,” Nolan wagered audiences would return in smaller but steady numbers if studios would just give movie theaters content to release again. And after reluctantly agreeing with WB to delay Tenet several times, first a few weeks in July and then more weeks in August, he convinced WB to experiment with bringing movie theaters back: Tenet would open in European and Asian markets on Aug. 26, and then open in “select” U.S. cities on Sept. 3, ahead of the U.S. Labor Day weekend.

It was a monumental gamble intended to give refuge to movie theater owners, and the rest of the industry looked on. Even several other films kept adjusting their release dates around Tenet’s moves, from the B-thriller Unhinged with Russell Crowe, to Disney dumping The New Mutants into theaters a week before Tenet’s U.S. debut. Those movies floundered, but Tenet would be different, right?

Well one competitor who moved in unison with Tenet didn’t think so… Disney’s own controversial blockbuster, Mulan, was scheduled to open in theaters one week after Tenet in July—having moved off its original March 2020 release date due to the pandemic—and then was taken off the release calendar again following Tenet’s delay to August. Then Disney offered an alternative: they would release Mulan as a PVOD on Disney+ one day after Tenet’s U.S. opening.

That’s right, Disney was asking people already paying to subscribe to Disney+ to pay an added premium of $30 to access Mulan—about $10 more than all the other PVOD experiments by competitors earlier in the summer and spring. They also were offering a dueling vision for how to handle the pandemic on the same holiday weekend as Tenet.

It turned out to be a disappointing holiday, indeed. After the weekend was over, WB curtly announced the movie grossed $20 million during its opening weekend. However, that number turned out to include up to $10 million worth of preview screenings throughout the country from the previous weekend, as well as its earlier release in Canada.

Movies

Tenet Ending Explained

By Chris Farnell

Movies

The Many Obstacles of Mulan

By Gene Ching

It was a meager debut for a movie that would go on to do okay business in Europe and Asia, but gross only an anemic $57.8 million in the U.S. Its failure was due in part to the United States’ biggest markets, New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and more, remaining closed for its entire run. It also was a result of theaters’ health precautions only allowing most auditoriums to run at a third capacity or less.

More importantly, it was a result of audiences still by and large balking at going back to movie theaters in the midst of a pandemic. Shocking, eh? Even before Tenet’s second weekend, the rest of Hollywood was flinching, delaying its fall schedule into 2021. Black Widow moved again, as did Candyman, and No Time to Die… and WB delayed Wonder Woman 1984 for the second time, from October to Christmas Day.

Meanwhile as a benefit of relying on their own streaming service, Disney has not disclosed its grosses from Mulan’s “Premier Access” experiment. The movie seemed to have a muted reception, perhaps because of the film’s exclusionary price tag for many consumers, and perhaps because of the many problems dogging that production. But Disney was clearly happy enough with the result, as they’ve announced they’re trying Premier Access again next year with the rare thing: an original movie titled Raya and the Last Dragon.

The Awards Season Push

As 2020 concludes, it’s left what once was the height of awards season in a strange, muted place. As early as June, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences began facing the new reality by delaying next year’s ceremony from February to April 25, 2021. Additionally, instead of needing to open in 2020, films released as late as Feb. 28, 2021 are eligible for consideration in all categories.

Perhaps more significantly though, the Academy’s Board of Governors ruled films initially intended for theatrical release but released on VOD, streaming, or other means, including drive-ins, will now be eligible for consideration. Tellingly, this rule is intended to only pertain to 2020 (and early 2021), but it’ll be interesting to see if the Academy can put that genie back in its bottle. Firstly, because with a few notable exceptions, like Searchlight Pictures and Chloé Zhao’s beautiful Nomadland, many of the “big” studio awards contenders, like Steven Spielberg’s remake of West Side Story, have abandoned 2020. As a consequence, what’s left of 2020’s movie calendar was dominated, both in the public and critics’ imagination, by streaming services.

Indeed, Netflix has developed a murderer’s row of awards friendly contenders, including Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7, David Fincher’s Mank, Spike Lee’s Da 5 Bloods, and Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, the latter of which features the final performance of Chadwick Boseman, which unto itself has generated awards chatter.

Movies

Mank and Amanda Seyfried’s Quest to Save Marion Davies from Citizen Kane

By David Crow

Movies

Toronto International Film Festival 2020 Movie Round-Up

By David Crow

Amazon, meanwhile, is releasing Regina King’s stirring directorial debut, One Night in Miami, and previously dropped the underrated little character study, Uncle Frank. And even Amazon’s Borat 2 is an award contender for the supporting performance of Maria Bakalova. To put that into perspective for a moment, a sequel to one of the raunchiest comedies of the 2000s had its premiere on streaming… and is now an Oscar contender.

The times they are a-changin’.

The Next Wave of Movies

But even as the future of 2021’s film slate—much of it composed of movies originally intended for 2020—remains ambiguous, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel as the industry resumes production on films big and small.

Not surprisingly, it was a major studio tentpole, the type that underwrites the rest of a studio’s fiscal year, which was the first to go back to work. Universal Pictures led the way again with Jurassic World: Dominion, the third film in the Jurassic World trilogy, and sixth Jurassic Park movie. Universal is bringing back major cast members from the recent movies and the original, and as director Colin Trevorrow started filming again, the company released detailed safety guidelines for how to keep the cast and crew safe. They’ve since opened the production up to the gaze of the New York Times. “We are the guinea pigs,” star Bryce Dallas Howard told the paper of record.

They would not be the last. Ridley Scott resumed production on his medieval epic The Last Duel, with Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, and Adam Driver; Guillermo del Toro finally got to finish his Nightmare Alley with Bradley Cooper and Cate Blanchett; and Robert Eggers traded in lighthouses for Vikings with The Northman. But it hasn’t been perfect.

Infamously, WB’s The Batman had to shut down production again (for the second time after a spring pause) when star Robert Pattinson tested positive for COVID-19. And Anthony Mackie got candid about filming during a pandemic with Entertainment Tonight.

Talking about the safety measures on the resumed production of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Mackie said, “Everybody’s very afraid of each other. The food is bad because they have to pack it up somewhere else and bring it to us in Ziploc bags. Yeah, it’s awful. You’re literally living in quarantine.”

Movies

Jurassic World 3 Story Being Adapted to Reflect Post-2020 Landscape

By Kirsten Howard

Movies

The Batman: Robert Pattinson Returns to Set in New Images

By Kirsten Howard

But it’s keeping folks employed and the industry rearing up for a post-pandemic life. It’s maybe for that reason Tom Cruise made headlines when audio leaked of him chastising crew members on the currently filming Mission: Impossible 7.

“I’m on the phone with every fucking studio at night, insurance companies, producers, and they’re looking at us and using us to make their movies.” The show must go on, even if it hardly sounds like an opening night gala….

Did HBO Max Change the Game or Forfeit It?

When Warner Bros. announced in November that Wonder Woman 1984 was going to premiere day-and-date in theaters and on HBO Max, everyone in the industry took a deep breath. Obviously, this wasn’t a unique development. Disney tested these waters with Hamilton and Mulan, and this month’s Soul on Disney+. The more the merrier, right?

… And yet, it was the first time a studio placed its biggest tentpole of the year on streaming. Universal might’ve been the first to break the theatrical window, but that studio likewise made sure to move F9 a full year to hopefully keep its theatrical window safe. Still, director Patty Jenkins and star Gal Gadot accepted the Wonder Woman arrangement (as well as a rumored $10 million each, a consolation prize for losing gains from profit participation backend deals), and exhibitors were notified about WarnerMedia’s decision.

They were not on the next one. WarnerMedia’s bold choice to release WB’s entire film slate of 17 movies on HBO Max went off in the industry like an atom bomb. More troubling still, no one who worked on those movies, from talent to producing partners, were notified about a decision that could have unforeseen and extensive economic ramifications.

Nolan, the filmmaker who convinced WB to release Tenet in theaters, was shockingly blunt and uncharitable to the studio that was loyal to him for nearly 20 years. He called HBO Max “the worst streaming service,” which is flatly untrue to any cinephile who’s ever used it. However, the auteur made a better point about the hidden economic problems in the move.

In a more recent interview with NPR, Nolan better articulated, “The economics of it are unsound unless you’re purely looking at movements in share price, number of eyeballs on the new streaming service. Theatrical is really only one part of what we’re talking about here. You’re talking about home video window, your secondary, tertiary windows. These are things very important to the economics of the business and the people who work in the business.”

This is in line with what director Judd Apatow said separately to Variety, highlighting how the decision hurts people below the line, and just not stars and filmmakers with profit participation deals.

“It creates a financial nightmare, because most people are paid residuals – they’re paid back-end points,” Apatow said. “What they get out of it for years and years of hard work is usually based on the success of their films. And so now what does it mean to have a movie go straight to streaming? How do they decide what to pay you? Do you even have a contract that allows you to negotiate, or is it really just up to them at this point? It raises thousands of questions, which I’m sure are very complicated.”

It’s also why Denis Villeneuve, director of one of WB’s most anticipated new movies, Dune, penned a passionate essay in Variety, saying AT&T “hijacked” WB, and has no love for cinema or audiences. He outright states AT&T CEO John Stankey has led the horse (Dune) to “the slaughterhouse.”

Is that sound and fury against the inevitable changing realities of the industry, or justified anger at a panicked reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic—and more acutely HBO Max’s poor streaming launch?

Movies

What Alejandro Jodorowsky Thinks of the New Dune Trailer

By Mike Cecchini and 1 other

Movies

How Patty Jenkins Steered the Wonder Woman 1984 Ship

By Delia Harrington and 1 other

It’s hard to say at the moment, but it’s clear that WB’s fire sale approach of all or nothing to subsidize HBO Max’s poor performance is burning bridges in the industry, with Wonder Woman director Jenkins moving to Disney for the next Star Wars movie, Rogue Squadron, while entertaining the idea in the press of starting a United Artists-like studio with other filmmakers who still believe in the theatrical experience. And most persuasively, Disney, the Big Five studio best positioned to go all-in on streaming, is leaving its biggest 2021 blockbuster, Black Widow, slated for theaters even as it moves smaller efforts to Disney+.

The future isn’t written, and while the theatrical window apparently has been shattered, it may not be beyond some state of repair, even if it never quite resembles what it once was. These will also be lingering questions that will hang over cinema as 2020’s cold grip is finally shaken off.

Will 2021 be that different, for motion pictures and the world at large, from the chaotic upheaval of 2020? Only time will tell, but it’s worth remembering that if 2020 changed the future of moviemaking, at least 2021 promises a chance to embrace that future by turning the page on all the anxiety and uncertainty that defined this year’s biggest changes to the cinema.

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emmatrustsno-one · 7 years ago

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Brace yourselves A very long essay (like, a thesis) on the British class system with references to Harry Potter Part 2

Let’s continue. Have another comedy clip showcasing how stupid the upper-class is meant to be, to get you going:

youtube

A side point: almost all the British actors celebrated by Tumblr went to private or public school and are upper-class, or upper middle-class.Here’s a buzzfeed quiz to give your brain bracing time for part 2. I got it right for the exact same reason the top commenter did! Have a look once you’ve done it! That’s another blog post in itself!

https://www.buzzfeed.com/hattiesoykan/which-of-these-british-actors-didnt-go-to-a-private-school?utm_term=.ylwEEKxnDN#.mfyBBg7oQx

Food and diet

As I mentioned in my post about food in Harry Potter, food is intricately bound up with class. Working-class people have tradtionally had a poor diet, through poverty and lack of education, and also because of the impact of the Second World War, when food was very scarce. Where I am from people were still dying of malnutrition when my dad was teenager, so in the late 1960s. Working-class people then used to cook with beef dripping as they couldn’t afford other fats, and everyone on his street shared the same pan of dripping. I am from a former industrial town with two-up, two-down terraced workers’ houses, just like Snape, so we can assume that when Snape was a child he experienced similar levels of malnutrition around him.

Things are much better now, but in the last century people used to grow a lot of their own food if they had outdoor space, steal or not eat. They could afford to buy very little and then only the cheapest foods, which are often the least nutritious. It meant that they didn’t eat big or regular meals and that there was very little variety in their diets, and no treats. JKR has a story about trying to buy a tin of baked beans, and nothing else, from the supermarket, for her daughter’s meal, and having to put it back because she didn’t have enough money. Then, tins of beans were like 10p.

When my parents were at school, all kids used to get a small carton of milk for free at breaktime to make sure they were getting enough calcium. In the 70s, Thatcher (may she rot in hell) was education secretary (this was before she was prime minister) and she stopped the milk provision, which meant that many working-class kids stopped getting a key part of their nutrition. She was too disconnected from working-class people to understand, or care, that she was taking away critical nutrition. It was a political and social scandal and she got the nickname ‘Thatcher the milk snatcher’.

Best ever comment about that evil bitch is from the comedian Frankie Boyle, who had much to say about her, but the best was on the subject of her funeral: “give everyone is Scotland a shovel and we’ll dig a hole so deep we’ll deliver her to satan personally.”

Since we don’t finish school here until after 3, schools provide a lunch, which most people have to pay for (or you can take your own). The canteens in secondary schools are usually far too small and, certainly until very recently, when Jamie Oliver started a war on school food, served repetitive, low nutrient, processed rubbish. Until the turn of the century you would be lucky to get anything other than hot dogs, turkey twizzlers, chicken nuggets, chips and pizza, and when I say pizza, I mean a square chunk of dense bread with cheese and tomato purée on it. And cake. Now schools usually do at least pasta, salad and sandwiches as well. The main problem is budget. These schools are state-maintained and are given an allowance to spend on each thing. When Jamie Oliver started his campaign against poor quality school food, the school he worked with had a budget of 13p for every child. The ‘better’ the school the better the food: public schools, whose budget comes from fees, serve the kind of food Hogwarts did. Some kids, i.e. those from very low income families, are allowed a free school meal, and for many it is their only meal of the day, even now. I work in a working-class school and trust me, at least half never get a breakfast, and many have a sandwich for the evening meal. I know one boy who is given a Nutella sandwich every evening and that is all. Theresa May, who is a wannabe Thatcher, just announced recently that she is thinking of scrapping the free school meals program. It would be a disaster for the poorest kids.

Buying cheap food isn’t the only issue. Since working-class people work so much they are too tired and busy to cook proper meals, so they often settle for ready-meals, fast-food and takeaways. Lack of education has an impact as well. People eat food for taste and convenience alone, not fully grasping that they need to eat certain things to be healthy, and as a result many go under-nourished or become obese.

There is also the issue of how to cook things – not just in terms of lack of education, but in lack of facilities. Some people don’t have a hob, or an oven, maybe even just a microwave.

Hydration is an issue as well. A lot of working-class people don’t realise how much water they need to drink to be healthy, so they are dehydrated, and their kids are as well, so they don’t have very good concentration, so they don’t do as well at school, and the cycle of lack of education continues.

Middle and upper-class people have the money, time and mental space to buy and make, or have made for them, varied, healthy foods. They have the education to eat and drink the right things. This means they are healthy and can concentrate at school or at other things and become successful.

Housing and class

Where you live is defined by, and indicative of, class. I am simplifying here, but in a nutshell, the north of England and a lot of Scotland and Wales is predominantly working-class. The further south you go, the higher the dominant class. This is because it was in the north that mills and factories were built in the Industrial Revolution, and because coal mines were up here. Many towns were built purposely to house workers of a certain factory, mill or mine. They all look the same, just with different bricks: terraced rows of small, dark houses with 2 rooms upstairs and 2 downstairs. Many have since been extended by owners to include an indoor bathroom, which would originally have been outside in an outhouse. A few people still had outdoor toilets in the 90s. The film Billy Elliot is an excellent overview of such towns and housing. If you haven’t seen it and you are interested in class, you should definitely watch it. Later on, social housing was built in the form of semi-detached houses and large blocks of flats, but detached houses have only recently become a thing for anyone other than the upper-class.

Working-class people end up living in the worst housing. Many of them rent rather than own, and that’s not as good here as in the rest of Europe. Tenants don’t have many rights and there is little regulation on landlords. Many people, right now, are living in slum housing. I am talking no flooring, unpainted walls, no heating, filth everywhere. You can either rent from a private landlord, who can do as little as he likes to make you comfortable, pretty much, or you can rent from your local council. Council housing is usually either semi-detached houses or in bigger cities flats in large blocks. The abysmal state of blocks of flats has recently been all over the news in the form of the Grenfell Tower block fire, where many people died and have had to be rehomed, simply because cheap cladding had been used on the outside of the building and the fire travelled up it like it was tissue paper. Many blocks have this same cladding on. The residents there had complained about safety many times but had been ignored. To make matters worse, there is a serious shortage of council housing across the country because fucking Thatcher (again) introduced a scheme where council tenants could buy their home if they lived in it for so long, and they could buy it for a crazily cheap price. Loads of people took advantage of it by buying their home for next to nothing, waiting a few years then selling it on for a massive profit, but of course that meant all the fucking social housing disappeared. My sister-in-law got divorced around 12 years ago and she went to the council to put her name on the list to get somewhere to live and the list was so long it took 5 years to offer her anything, and then it was the shittiest house imaginable, because that’s all they’ve got left.

They also ruin what little housing is left by a) putting loads of criminals and drug dealers etc in one place, so you end up with some estate from hell and b) putting foreign immigrants all in one place, so you end up with people who came here for asylum from either side of a civil war living next to each other, or ghettoising them so that they are abandoned and lost.

In Scotland working-class housing was, until very recently, tenement buildings, which were sort of communal flats. Families had their own rooms but had to share some of them. The stairs and communal areas were like something out of a Victorian workhouse. Slums. Here are some pictures, with info, of working-class housing in Glasgow between the 40s and 60s. Glasgow is especially woeful. I actually love the place, but there’s no denying it has been hell on earth for much of its history. I remember doing a geography project at school (mid 90s) and discovering that the life expectancy in the most working-class part of Glasgow was 54. It has gone up since, but is still below the national average: all the factors I have discussed combine to literally knock years off people’s lives.

https://www.buzzfeed.com/hilarywardle/glasgow-housing-crisis?utm_term=.apNOODpKkJ#.wn3BBNXxK4

Regarding the rows of terraces built to house industrial workers I mentioned earlier, this is exactly the sort of place Snape grew up. Here’s an example. They would have had a sitting room and kitchen downstairs and 2 bedrooms upstairs, with an outside toilet, while he was a child, and certainly no plumbed in bath or shower.

Upper-class people live in detached houses, usually historic ones like castles and former estates. They usually have multiple houses.

Middle-class housing is varied depending on whereabouts on the continuum people are. It ranges from townhouses, to large, nicer semi-detached houses, to detached houses to mansions. A key point I want to make here is that it is totally normal to have the lowliest of working-class housing, such as in the picture, and then a few minutes’ walk away, a middle-class area. Upper-class housing is always considerably separate from the other two, but working and middle are near each other. I saw a ridiculous post a few weeks ago claiming that Lily must have been poor because she lived close enough to Snape that Petunia knew who he was, but that is utter rubbish – that person can’t have been British. Nearly all towns have slummy areas and middle-class areas, and our towns are small. Also, he was doing that accidental wandless magic kids do, so no doubt he had a reputation for being a weirdo.

The mere fact that Petunia criticises Snape’s clothes proves beyond doubt that she wasn’t working-class, as in those days, everybody working-class was wearing hand-me-down clothes like that, therefore another “poor” person wouldn’t have noticed/mentioned. The punk movement’s fashion of safety pins in the 70s came about due to the simple fact that the working-class were wearing such old clothes that they were falling apart and they could only fix them with safety pins. As Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols said, “we had to use them – the arse was hanging off your jeans so you just had to shove a few safety pins in it.” So Petunia wasn’t poor or she would have empathised with Snape, not criticised him.

It crops up everywhere and all the time

By complete coincidence yesterday I saw a review on Amazon that completely illustrates how notions of class pervade our conscious in Britain. It was a review for a book about Freud and feminism, an academic work. It was the only negative review amongst quite a few positive ones. I’ll let you read it then I’ll discuss:

I bought a copy for a penny on Amazon and that was over spending. I have worked in the mental health field for over thirty years and have trained as a psychotherapist and am very well acquainted with Freud's work. I was shocked by how badly this author described his ideas. If I didn't already know what she was talking about I wouldn't have had a clue about what she was saying. She really seems to be someone who wants to make a somewhat complicated subject even more complicated. I stopped at the end of her second chapter as I just couldn't take anymore. I wouldn't describe her as providing the reader with an explanation, in fact one could be forgiven for viewing her writing as an attempt at deliberate confusion or if not confusion an attempt to make what Freud had written about sexuality as even more difficult to understand than it was. Perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised by this. The author is essentially taking a Lacanian position towards Freud, a position that upper middle class complicated academics have taken up. Unfortunately these are people who really don't want to accept what Freud actually wrote and instead want to impose on his writings their own wishes for what they would have preferred him to write i.e. that the unconscious is structured like a language and that word representations exist at this level, despite Freud's own writing that this isn't so. What amuses me is that author purports to be a Marxist. Given the way she writes it's clear enough that she wants to keep the uneducated working class at quite a distance. This book is in my opinion pretentious upper middle class trash. I'm giving my copy to Oxfam.

Firstly, the fact that it’s a stream of consciousness rant should tell you enough to know that it’s not trustworthy. The most important thing, though, is the linking of academic analysis with being upper middle-class. The reviewer has taken a stance on psychoanalytical ideas that is typical of the science side of the discipline. They clearly think it’s a waste of time to look for meaning beyond practical application, e.g. for literary analysis, and something only someone with time and money would do.

It goes deeper than that as well. There’s a clear derogatory link between academia and being upper middle-class and the reviewer is offended because, as a result of their lower class, they don’t understand the book. They have tried to blame the author, by throwing around intellectual names like Lacan and Marx, and showing that they are the sort of high-standing citizen that gives to charity, but ultimately, the subject matter of the book is beyond them. They have taken this to be a result of class hindrances, which it probably is. The reviewer isn’t educated or cultured enough to understand the book. This annoys them and so they are attacking those who are.

There is a perception, which is hard to explain, that the most difficult and annoying class is the middle-class. Part of this arises out of the fact that the middle-class is such a long continuum. People who are middle-class often have delusions of being very high class, even though they probably started as working-class. They are constantly competing with each other within the class. This review is, to me, a good example of that, because it’s obvious that the reviewer is lower middle-class themselves. They have a profession, they are educated at higher education level and they are reading books about Freud for fun. They are proud to be middle-class. But then this book comes along and makes them feel alienated from their own demographic. It makes them feel like an outsider; they don’t have the power to understand the book. So they attack the author for daring to show that they aren’t so high up after all.

The perception of middle-class people of being stuck-up also links to a perception that some upper-class people are easy-going and easier to get on with for working-class people than the middle-classes. The idea being, no doubt, that the upper and working classes both understand their place, they are content with who they are. But the middle-classes are always wanting to keep with the Joneses, to get better, to compete with you. Here are 3 comedy clips that illustrate my point. The first is stand-up comedy by Billy Connolly, who’s about as working-class as you can get (it’s just audio), and the others are from a 90s sketch show (bonus: the second one has the actor who plays Mr Weasley in it!)

youtube

I always felt like Gryffindor was a bit like the annoying middle-class guy comparing you to him. I can just hear Gryffindors saying “I couldn’t help but notice that I am considerably more perfect/popular than yooouuuuwww”!

In conclusion, feel free to dislike Severus all you want, but if you could stop calling him racist I would really appreciate it.

To finish (at last, I hear you cry) here is a Brief suggested watch/listen list if you interested in representations of class. They should all be accessible online.I am happy to answer questions about any of them.

TV-

Blackadder, but only series 2-4, 1 is shit (Rowan Atkinson plays a middle-class man stuck between the stupid working and upper-classes)

Harry Enfield and Chums, Little Britain (both sketch shows attacking all classes)

Only fools and horses (2 working-class brothers try to make a living by selling dodgy goods at the market)

Auf Wiedersehen, Pet (you will need subtitles – it’s about a group of guest workers in Germany and the main characters are geordies, which means from Newcastle)

The fact that these are all comedies says it all about our views of the situation.

Films – Billy Elliot (2000)

Pride (2014) (both are about the miners’ strike in the 80s, which is the most important event in recent working-class history, and both deal with LGBT themes)

East in East (1999) (about the added struggles for working-class immigrants)

The Full Monty (1997) (about unemployed working-class men stripping for money – it’s a comedy!)

Music – the album ‘Different class’ by Pulp, a band from Sheffield, a very working-class city (which I happen to love as I went to university there) which suffered terribly from the collapse of British industry since basically all the steel was made there. The film ‘The Full Monty’ is set there.

Other – any stand-up comedy (the working-class art) by the comedians Peter Kay or (pre-2000s) Billy Connolly.

Thank you and I apologise for the length!

#Harry Potter #british class system #British history #BRITISH SCHOOLS #britain vs america #snape love #snapedom #working class #@deathdaydungeon

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ladystylestores · 4 years ago

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China-Zambia tensions reignite after three Chinese business people murdered and burned

But CCTV footage seized by police, and seen by CNN, revealed a brutal afternoon of carnage.

At midday on Sunday, May 24, three Zambian attackers with iron bars entered the grounds of a Chinese-owned textile warehouse in Lusaka. Police said they were pretending to be potential customers.

But the trio did not want to do business.

Over the next 17 minutes, the CCTV footage shows, they beat two men and one woman to death in the courtyard, before dragging their bodies into the adjoining warehouse.

That’s where the footage ends. According to police, the attackers then dismembered their bodies and used flammable materials from the Blue Star clothing business to set their bodies and the building ablaze, burning them so severely that it took Zambian authorities three days to retrieve their charred remains from the rubble.

Before fleeing, the attackers raided the property for valuables. A blood-stained machete was found by police.

The gruesome murder of 52-year-old Cao Guifang, the wife of the textile warehouse owner — who was in their home province of Jiangsu, in eastern China, when the attack happened — and her two male employees, Bao Junbin, 58, and Fan Minjie, 33, came at the end of a week when anti-Chinese sentiment in the Zambian capital was nearing boiling point.

In the days leading up to the murder, Lusaka Mayor Miles Sampa had accused Chinese bosses in the capital of “slavery reloaded,” used the derogatory term “Chinaman,” and, stoking racial divides, reminded the public in a video posted on his Facebook account that “black Zambians did not originate coronavirus. It originated in China.”

There are an estimated 22,000 Chinese nationals living in Zambia, operating 280 companies, mostly spread between Lusaka and the copperbelt in the north. Beijing owns about 44% of Zambia’s debt, which has led to fear among some Zambians that China has too much control over the country.

While police have not directly linked the murder to anti-Chinese sentiment, the crime came as a reminder of the violent outbursts some Chinese have faced while living in Zambia, a key partner for China along its coveted Belt and Road project.

“Even some of the people who stayed here for more than 20 years, they’ve also been shocked by such kind of criminal activities,” says Eric Shen, a Chinese businessman who has been living in Zambia for more than a decade.

Forced quarantine

Zambia reported its first coronavirus cases on March 18. As with much of Africa, the initial infections did not come from China, but Europe, after a couple who had recently returned from a trip to France imported the virus.

The central African nation went into partial lockdown, shutting borders, businesses and implementing social distancing rules.

As the pandemic took its toll on Zambia’s economy, reports began to emerge that some Chinese businesses were defying the lockdown measures, either by continuing to serve Chinese customers, or by quarantining Zambian workers inside their premises.

Mayor Sampa began a campaign to expose such cases.

On May 18, Sampa shut down a Chinese restaurant, which had reportedly denied Zambian patrons, for selling products labeled in Chinese and not English, as prescribed by the law. A few days later, he revoked the license of a Chinese barber shop for “discriminating against blacks.”

After those raids, Sampa posted video of himself bursting in on Chinese managers eating dinner at a truck assembly factory, where workers had allegedly been told to live on-site during the pandemic, and not return to their families, so they could keep working without risking getting infected in the community.

“We found Zambian workers made to sleep in a small container (six people in one container) with mattresses put on the floor,” Sampa wrote on Facebook.

In the video, one Chinese manager responds: “We don’t allow them to go home because of the corona issue.”

Sampa responds: “Chinaman … (there) is no excuse to enslave them.”

On the same day, Sampa visited a cement factory, where he said workers had been held for two months.

When a Chinese boss explains in the video Sampa posted to Facebook of the visit that within the plant, all the workers were not able to go out, Sampa replies: “That is illegal. You are holding them hostage. That’s slavery.”

One Zambian employee at the cement factory told CNN: “We were asked by our (Chinese) bosses to stay and work from here until the coronavirus is over because they fear we might contract it from the community and bring it to our workplace.

“But they provide us food, mosquito nests and mattresses where we sleep. We sleep like in a camp … but some of our colleagues who refused have been sacked and they will reapply once the company reopens.”

Another Zambian employee of the same company claimed that his Chinese boss threatened to beat him if he refused to stay. “We were being forced by our Chinese bosses and they threatened to beat you if you refuse. That is how some of us ran away — right now, we just want the government to help us claim our unpaid salaries,” he said.

When CNN contacted the factory, an employee who declined to give his name denied accusations of wrongdoing.

“We are not holding them to be prisoners — we are just protecting them from this corona disease,” he said. “The workers are paid more for sleeping at the plant.”

He would not say how much extra had been provided, but one employee said the workers are normally paid 1, 600 Zambian kwacha ($95) per month.

Rekindled old fires

The Chinese presence in Zambia has been controversial for decades.

In 2005, an explosion at a mine near Chambeshi, a town in Zambia’s copperbelt, killed dozens of Zambian workers. Five years later, two Chinese managers opened fire on Zambian workers who were protesting bad labor conditions at the Collum coal mine. In 2012, Zambian workers killed a Chinese supervisor at the same mine.

The incidents attracted global media attention and have often been held up as proof of poor Chinese labor standards — not only in Zambia but across the African continent.

So when the issue of Zambian workers being forced into quarantine by Chinese bosses emerged during the pandemic, “it rekindled some of the old sentiment that people have had against Chinese employers,” says Kanenga Haggai, lecturer in the Department of Development Studies at the University of Zambia and PhD candidate at Southeast University, in China. “If not well handled, then it has the potential to ruin China’s relations with Zambia, on a people-to-people level.”

Today, China trades more with Zambia than any other country in Africa bar Kenya. In 2018, bilateral trade was in excess of $5 billion.

Yet while Zambian exports to China are considerable, thanks to its copper output, what many ordinary Zambians see on the ground is the pervasion of Chinese people and companies in their country. Major infrastructure projects including airports, highways and dams in Zambia have been built by Chinese state-owned, or linked, firms.

China also operates in the crucial mining sector, as do companies other foreign nations, and a Beijing-backed — although not owned — company even bought a 60% share in the Zambian state broadcaster. Local media frequently run inflammatory headlines, such as “How China is slowly colonizing Zambian economy.”

“Zambians feel that China is slowly taking over their land, business, and that now Chinese people are given privileged treatment from the government officials,” says Haggai. “We’ve seen a lot of Chinese are acquiring huge chunks of land.”

Chinese influence is a lightning-rod political issue in the country. In 2018, a Lusaka politician proposed building a China City, where Chinese expats would be restricted to doing their small business, after Zambians complained about foreigners engaging in their trades such as chicken rearing and running restaurants and salons, which have traditionally been their domain.

Before that, in 2006, the late Zambian politician Michael Sata claimed that 80,000 Chinese were “infesting” Zambia as he ran for the presidency on a xenophobic campaign, which led to racial attacks on Chinese-run workplaces. Chinese shopkeepers had to barricade their stores against attacks by looters. The actual number of Chinese in the country is much lower.

While Sata had threatened to recognize Taiwan as an independent state before taking office, when he finally became President, on his fourth attempt in 2011, he embraced China as “Zambia’s all-weather friend” and abandoned his campaign promises.

Mayor Sampa is Sata’s nephew, and he likely understands how well taking a hard line on China will play with voters.

In a time of heightened racial tensions globally, Haggai says that Sampa should be cautious in the language he uses when talking about the Chinese presence to not stoke xenophobia.

“Of course, he has the mandate and the responsibility to check what is going on in the companies and factories in his jurisdiction, but he must be careful with what he says because this has become a very sensitive issue that might fuel further resentment against Chinese people,” he says.

After being advised to stay in his lane by central government authorities, perhaps mindful of Zambia’s economic dependence on China, Sampa issued an apology to the Chinese community.

He said: “I wish to apologies unreservedly … for the tone and language used towards one of their nationals in particular on the use of the word ‘Chinaman.’ I did not know hitherto that it was derogatory term, but they have since lodged in a formal complaint against my use of the word.

“Finally, I wish to assure all foreign investors in the city of Lusaka that my office is there to support their businesses 100% … we shall engage them in a more civil manner through relevant offices and institutions.”

A memorial

On Monday, hundreds gathered at the scene of the murder in Lusaka to pay their respects to the Chinese migrants who lost their lives. Zambians and Chinese stood side by side, wearing face masks, as they mourned the dead.

Zambian employees from the textile business said a few words, along with fellow Chinese expatriates, according to Eric Shen, the Lusaka businessman who was master of ceremonies.

According to friends, Cao and her husband had been in Zambia for about 20 years, and from their warehouse they sold textiles, bedding and clothing they imported from Nantong, their home region of China which is known for textile production.

The Zambian ambassador to China, Winnie N. Chibesakunda, told state-run tabloid the Global Times that Zambia will strengthen measures to protect the lives of Chinese living in the country. In October 2015, three Chinese people were killed in a robbery in Kitwe, and in November 2017 a Chinese national died in an armed robbery in the copperbelt.

“The government of the Republic of Zambia has instituted investigations to bring the perpetrators of this gruesome act to justice and shall endeavor to continue strengthening measures to protect the lives of Chinese living in Zambia,” she stated. Zambian authorities have arrested two men and one woman on suspicion of murder.

Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Zhao Lijian said that the murders were an isolated case that “won’t affect the mainstream of friendly cooperation between China and Zambia.”

Shen, the Lusaka-based businessman, concluded that, “these kinds of criminal activities can happen anywhere, any place, any time in this world.” He said the Chinese community was trying not to link the killings to rising anti-Chinese sentiment, in a place where many have chosen to call home.

CNN’s Shawn Deng also contributed to this report.

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mizalsayf · 7 years ago

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Gone -Part Five

~MASTERLIST~

Summary: Viv encounters other survivors that decide to take an opportunity.

Word Count: 2709

A/N: *throws this chapter that I had in my drafts for three weeks at ya* Here, hope you like it, lol. Aaand also, I put the translations for the Italian at the end of the chapter.

Warnings: swearing, violence, gore Negan being a major asshole, angst

Tagging: @warriorqueen1991 , @jml509, @pelctiersnegan , @ryangoslingstanktop , @wolfgirl1074 , @haleyea , @collette04 , @negansoutpost , @mayuketchupytostones , @xabeautifultragedyx , @queenredfury , @kawaiirepublic , @toxic-ink , @acataiespy , @jdms-network , @negans-network

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

(gifs originally posted by @daryldixon & @astronomielover )

Part Five:

Some people will always have to be loved from a distance. Don’t feel guilty for protecting your space and peace of mind.

-alex elle

Viv stomped through the darkening forest, the fallen leaves and twigs crunching beneath her feet. She looked around, up to the crowns of the different colored trees.

She huffed out a breath as she tried to make out where north or south was. An idea came to her mind and she tried to locate the sun. When she found it, she knew that she was heading northwards.

Walking a bit further, she was cautious to not make too much noise. Her thoughts kept going back to the Sanctuary, wondering what Simon and Negan were doing.

Then, the time Simon broke her heart came to mind.

She locked herself in her room for days. Negan had noticed and brought her three meals a day. He began to comfort her, although he never asked why she was isolating herself. She was thankful for his open ear and arms, his helpful advice and joking manners. Those were the things that built her up again and made her come out of her shell again.

After a few weeks avoiding Simon, she was able to have a normal conversation again. Though, her feelings for him never disappeared like she wanted them to.

As Negan and herself started their ‘relationship’, she kept Simon’s warning in the back of her mind. She knew Negan wouldn’t stay faithful for long and want another woman rather quick.

She was right.

Viv sighed, feeling stupid for staying with him for so long and let herself get hurt. She was always curious for the perilous and hurtful.

Through the darkened trees, she got a glimpse of an abandoned little forest house. Well, she hoped it’s abandoned.

With prudent movements, she made her way to the house and opened the door. There was one big room, with everything ruined besides a small table.

Relieved, she walked inside and placed her backpack on the table. She looked at the small fireplace and took out a lighter and some wood she collected earlier. She placed it like a tent and lit a dried leaf, throwing it in.

She began to shudder as a cold wind blew through the house and she felt like she’s watched. But when she spun around, there was nothing but emptiness. Sighing, she sat down at the fire and took out a bottle of water and canned food.

Viv started to eat, staring into the fire. The flames were dancing with grace and beauty. The warmth radiating off them made her feel calm and thoughtful.

She had no idea where she would go from here on out. She could try to survive on her own, but that would not work. Going back to the Sanctuary wasn’t a good idea as well.

Stopping in her tracks, Viv turns her head and a familiar face greeted her. she yelped and fell back on her hands as a confused look settled on her face.

“Good evening, sorella.” She heard a familiar voice say, in a joyful tune.

Viv looked around, checking if anything, or anybody, else was in the house. But there was only Victoria.

“Vic? How? Why are you here?” Viv stuttered.

The little girl giggled in delight and cupped Viv’s face in her tiny, delicate hands.

“Mi manchi. It’s so boring, nobody wants to do anything with me. Also, you seem lonely and we haven’t talked in a year!” Vic replies, their native tongue making itself present. She squished her cheeks and kissed her forehead.

“Mi manchi anche tu. It’s been that long, huh? I’m glad you’re not suffering anymore.”

“Me too.” Vic smiled before hugging Viv. She plopped down across from her and crossed her legs. “So, tell me! How are you? What’s been going on?” She asked a little too excited.

Viv chuckled, Vic was always too curious for her own good. “Weren’t you watching my every move?”

“Si. But I want to hear it in your own words, sorella.” Vic shoots back.

“Mia vita has been a mess without you. I always talked to you about everything and now I can’t do that anymore. It’s hard.” Viv began to sniffle and rub at her eyes.

“But didn’t you have that ragazzo with the weird, creepy beard? Simon?” Viv chuckled at her description of Simon.

“Yes, but somehow it wasn’t supposed to be. I fell into a hole. The plan was to get better, but there were those demons again. At every level. The mo-” Viv stopped talking when she heard the walkie-talkie in her backpack turned on.

Her head shot back to where Victoria was sitting, but she was already gone.

Viv sighed, thinking that she had lost her mind as she grabbed the device. She turned it on so she had a better connection, already suspecting who it was.

“Doll? You there?” She heard Negan’s distressed voice call.

After a while, she pushed the button, “Yes, I am. What do you want?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” He sighed in relief, “Please come back, I need you. I can’t do this without you.” He begged.

Viv scowled as the firing anger inside her was lit once again, “You don’t need me, Negan. If you truly needed me, you wouldn’t have put your pene in Amber’s fica.”

On the other line, Negan’s breath got stuck in his throat at her use of language. She never spoke Italian in front of other people, except when she was angry.

“You never needed me, as much as you didn’t need Lucille. You did the same to her as you did to me and most likely used the same words with her. And when we were gone or almost gone, you came crawling back, pleading that you needed us! I’m not somebody you can just use like you please!” Viv growled, her every word feeling like a cut into his heart.

Negan’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“Didn’t I tell you to fucking stop talking about Lucille like you knew her?” He barked, “You know what? Your sister is probably glad she isn’t here anymore. Would be a shame if you had to see her getting’ eaten by these fuckers or her to be in that fucking cave with you!”

Viv gasped as Negan’s voice, laced with poison and hatred, echoed through the small house. Her eyes began to cloud with tears as she gripped the walkie-talkie as tight as she could. She pressed the button, “Ti auguro il meglio, Negan.”

Those were the last words he heard from Viv before he realized what he had said at her. He tried to apologize, but no answer came back from the other line.

—

The next morning, Viv awoke to a loud banging at the door and the windows. She scooted over to her backpack, packing all her belongings and taking out her hunting knife.

She waited for the intruders to come in but the banging stopped. Furrowing her brows, she glanced to her sides to see nobody standing by the windows.

Then, the door shot open and Viv squeaked like a mouse as a man with a beard and torn clothes entered. He didn’t have a weapon on him, at least not one that Viv could see.

He smirked at her and whistled, confused Viv glanced around. She felt something hit her head and she fell to the floor but didn’t pass out.

She gasped for air when another man put his foot on her chest, making her unable to move. A third man entered and tied her hands together as they lifted her up in a harsh grip.

“Who are you? What do you want?” She yelled when one of the men faced her. She stopped breathing as his smell enveloped her, trying her best to not barf.

“None of your business. We know who you are and what we want from you.” He replied, his voice filled with unspoken threats as well as a bad breath.

They escorted her out of the house into the woods as one of the guys looked through her backpack. “Hey! Get your sporche mani off my belongings, schifoso maiale!” She yelled at him, knowing she could curse at them all she wanted and they wouldn’t understand her.

“The fuck did you say, you bitch?” He charged at her but the guy with the beard held his arm in front of her, “Now, Mike. Is that a way to treat a lady?”

The guy, Mike, backed off, grumbling as he kept walking behind her and looked through her backpack.

“Boss! I found a walkie-talkie!” Mike said after a few minutes of silence.

Their boss, the man with the beard, turned around and snatched the device from his grip. He smirked as he regarded it and secured it on his belt.

—

After walking for a while, they arrived at an abandoned factory. They shoved Viv on a chair in, what looked like the boss’ office, and tied her to it by her wrists and ankles.

The boss began to pace around her like a shark getting ready to jump out the water and attack. The other two guys positioned themselves at the door, standing like bodyguards.

She glared at their boss, hoping it would intimidate him in some way. But he only chuckled when he noticed.

He grabbed the walkie-talkie looking at it and twirling it in his hand. Viv was too distracted with something else to notice that he had pressed the button.

“Tell me, what relationship do you have with good ol’ Negan and Simon?” He leaned over, so they were eye-to-eye.

She growled like a dog, wriggling her hands.

“Now, no need to act like an animal, though you’re bein’ treated as one.”

“I’m not going to tell you anything.” She said between gritted teeth.

He chuckled, motioning for Mike to come closer, “You will sing, bird.”

On the other line, Negan and Simon were contemplating whether they should say something or not. But Viv wasn’t aware of them listening, so they decided to stick to listening for now.

The boss nudged his head, “Mike, loosen her up a little, will ya?”

Mike gave a curt nod and slapped her, making her wince. She looked back at Mike, glaring at him with anger and hatred, “Huh, colpisci come una ragazzina!”

He furrowed his brows, looking like a lost child, “We’re in America, speak the language.”

Viv grinned, leaning forward, “You slap like a little girl, Mickey.”

All of a sudden, shuffling was heard coming out of the walkie-talkie and Viv’s eyes widened as she realized Negan and Simon were listening.

The boss looked Viv in her eyes as he lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth, “Hello Negan. Nice you finally decided to join us, ain’t it? I think we might have somethin’ of great value to you. Say hello, sweetie.”

Viv wanted to puke when he called her sweetie in a devilish tone.

“Who the fuck is this? What did you do to her?” Negan asked and Viv smacked her head on the inside. What does he think they did to her?

“We didn’t do anythin’. Yet. If you want her back, meet us at the place where the Alexandrians blew up your men. Just you and Simon. In turn, I want to come back to the Sanctuary and rule the goddamn place!”

Viv knitted her brows together, confused why he said ‘come back’.

After a brief pause, Negan replied, “Ron. How can I be sure you don’t kill her in that one hour?”

Ron motioned for Mike to step back a bit as he walked in front of Viv. His eyes never left hers. “I was never one to break a promise.”

Negan and Simon glanced at each other and nodded. “we’ll be there in one hour. And Ron, I fucking swear, if you kill her I’m gonna make your death the cruelest one.”

Mike smirked, satisfied with the way he handled things. He dropped the walkie-talkie on the floor and stepped on it, crunching it beneath his boots.

He sat down at his desk, “Mike, loosen her up a little more. But don’t kill her.”

Mike nodded with a too enthusiastic expression and began to beat her up without mercy.

—

Negan and Simon ran to one of the trucks, their fury and rage spreading like wildfire.

“I swear to fucking fuck! If they hurt her in any way, I will shut that shit down immediately!” Negan yelled, slamming his hands on the dash.

While Negan was expressing his fury and frustration, Simon boiled on the inside. He feared Ron killed her while they’re on their way to meet him. He knew and saw the things Ron was capable of.

Simon wouldn’t be able to see her lifeless body, knowing he could have prevented it.

When they arrived at their destination, they spotted Ron, Mike, Clay, and Viv standing by a car. Negan exiled the three men after he found out they were getting involved in an unhealthy business.

Now, he regretted that he didn’t introduce them to Lucille.

Viv had a bag over her head, her small body supported by Mike gripping onto her arm. Simon saw her chest rising and falling in an unusually slow pace.

They stepped out and walked towards the four with their eye glancing around the area. They didn’t need any more surprises.

“Ahhh, Negan and Simon!” Ron called, spreading his arms, “Good to see ya. Tell me how are the people at the Sanctuary doin’?”

Neither Negan nor Simon responded, staring daggers into Ron.

When Ron realized they weren’t going to respond, he smirked and motioned Mike to hand Viv over. Simon stepped forward as he looked Mike up and down. A smirk spread on his mustache covered lips, Mike wore a confused look.

Simon slipped out his knife, stabbing Mike with it. He sucked in a breath of air and began to gurgle on his own blood as it ran down his mouth. Before the giant fell to the earth, Simon gripped Viv and pulled her behind him.

Ron and Clay’s eyes widened when they saw Mike’s limp body hit the grass. They pulled out their guns pointing it at Negan and Simon.

They were quick to react and had their guns already drawn. The four men stared at each other for a long time, before Viv whimpered behind Simon. He gripped her tighter and Ron took the opportunity, shooting at Simon.

The gun missed him by inches and Negan was quick and shot Clay in the chest. Simon fired his gun as well, but Ron hid behind his vehicle.

Simon, Negan and Viv ran back to their truck. Simon threw Viv inside and followed, firing a few more bullets. Negan kept shooting at Ron, letting all his anger, frustration and sorrow out.

When he heard Ron scream in pain, he got in as Simon sped away.

Negan took a few deep breaths; glad Viv was with them again. He glanced at her, the bag on her head was gone and he felt his anger rise again. Her face, bruised, dirty and bloody.

He noticed her wince from time to time and saw fresh blood coming out of her mouth. His eyes widened and he looked over her body, checking for major injuries.

“Sorry, Viv, I have to lift your shirt.” He muttered, feeling the panic rise within him. Simon glanced over to them, growing concerned.

When he lifted the shirt, he noticed a gunshot wound on her stomach. Negan gasped, ripping his scarf off his neck and pressed it to the wound.

“Simon! Fucking drive faster, she’s shot!” He yelled.

Simon’s focus landed back on her, denying Negan’s words. Much to his horror, there was fresh blood pouring out of her mouth.

“Viv! Can you hear me?” Negan asked, his voice beginning to crack in despair.

Viv wanted to answer, but instead of words, she coughed up blood. She let out a long, tired breath as her world turned black.

Negan’s distressed yells were the last thing Viv heard before everything stopped.

—

Translations:

Sorella – Sister

Mi manchi – I miss you

Mi manchi anche tu – I miss you too

Ragazzo - Man/Boy

Pene - Penis/Dick

Fica - Pussy/Cunt

Ti auguro il meglio – I wish you the best

Sporche mani – Filthy hands

Schifoso maiale – Disgusting pig

Colpisci come una ragazzina – You hit like a little girl

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