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idris-hunts-the-mando · 3 years

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Right place, Right time \the departure pt.1/

Rating: Mature

Words: 6.1k

A/N: this took me the bulk of a week to complete, i think ill make a few small bite sized works for a while, working on the next part in a week or so, once i get myself back together. give me all the love you as a reader can, I’m fueled by praise/hj

pairings: none yet

Warnings: series typical violence, hard swearing, moderate gore

I woke up sore and hurt in the bunk room, the cold cot felt like frozen river stones under my tired bones. I could tell we arrived at our destination from the frostbite settling into my fingers and nose. The slow neutral hum of machinery was a tell tale sign that the ship was at ease, the noise usually deafening. Pulling my threadbare scarf up over my neck and chin, i started regretting choosing this particular cargo ship going to a frozen planet for a runaway plan. I braced for the aggravating beginning to the tiresome day and sat up from my cramped bunk space. sleeping in a room with a dozen oily work worn men didnt make any part of the trip to Maldo Keris easier, not to mention the fact they all saw me as more of a womp rat and less of a sentient being. keeping my eyes to myself, i shoved my tattered boots over my feet buckled my tool belt to my hip and hurried out of the barracks before the bulk of my crew mates woke up. stepping out onto the loading dock,i took a breath in. the smell of poorly filtered air irked my mechanics brain. It would be such an easy fix if they payed me to care. But alas, for this particular voyage, i was bunked out like a stowaway, giving in return my fix-it help around deck for passage off my planet of origin. Sighing out the musty air, i checked my stations. Navigating the hold was like a womp rat through a maze, you had to be rather nimble and graceful to get through the makeshift corridors without issue. Unluckily for me, I was neither nimble nor graceful. When i got to the panel, i took out my key ring and unlocked the rusted metal door to expose the intricacies within. the wiring looked tip top shape, but the fuel lines needed a bit more attention than the other tangle of electronics, so i took out my multi-tool to tighten the fittings. The liquid distilled Rhydonium that flowed through these particular lines was a less explosive substance than its pure form, but dangerous nonetheless. the multi-tool was a newer model, so it didn't fit this type of bolt all the way, but it was better than nothing. Better than allowing it to loosen over another voyage and have the ship explode mid hyper-speed.

My mind was so stuck in its own world, the training I had over the many years in a scrappers shop spewing all of its knowings about rhydonium and fuel lines that I didn't have time to notice the first lieutenant Maegs stalking his way over to me. I jumped a moment before he spoke, tightening the last half inch of the bolt down maybe a bit too aggressively.

"We the captains crew appreciate the helping you've been do'en for this ol beasty of a ship," he mentioned, one his independent eyes viewed me separably, while the second one was monitoring my work. I froze for a moment out of fear, but i didn't think he took notice. "You're more than welcome to stick 'round 'an see what else you can fix up for this rust-bucket." the first lieutenant never gave me much of a hard time, unlike most of the crew. But I had made up my mind the first night in hyperspace that I would haul ass out of this suffocating ship as soon as a habitable planet was spotted. I finished up closing and locking the wires box, shaking my head slowly and turning to face him.

"I do love the sentiment, lieutenant. but maybe another time if our paths cross again." I forced an obligatory smile, avoiding making eye contact with him at all costs out of fear for not having the attention span to pick and stick to a wondering eye. If i could ever force myself to say something nice about the ship and its crew, it would be the acceptance of short interactions. A conversation rarely surpassed the 'how are you doing today' phase, by the moons it never got to that phase in the first place. And I was a person of not many words, and not much of a filter.

Maegs nodded slowly, clasping two of his 4 arms behind his back and turning away. I felt the need to repay his unprompted kindness with some suggestions for the ship before I left it for good. Call me sentimental, but this ship, albeit mostly composed of literal blood sweat and spit, was my ticket into a new life. "don't let yourself get caught without changing the air filtration system, them new republic scouters are picky about what type of poison you use for cremates." I remark with a little smirk. Maegs paused, narrowing his eyes, amused by the backhanded remark. He had surely gotten complaints about the smell before. He gave a thoughtful nod toward me, and allowed himself a small smile. I looked down in my hands, the key ring still hanging off my index finger. I tossed it towards him and was relieved when he caught it. he turned with no further words needed. On his way to the control room, he pushed the cargo bay door release button. My line of sight was clear from the opening door to the nearby port town and when the frosty air stung my face, I knew in my soul that this was a good thing. Taking in a breath of the salted frozen air, my body naturally recoiled. I'm not one for cold. 'Ah well, way to go picking the nearest ice planet than idiot' I scolded myself, pulling my cloak back over my shoulders to take the first step out of the ship held together with sticker line and bantha spit. 'Good riddance'.

Walking into town was harder than expected, the ice on the ground blended into the ice of the horizon, making spacial reasoning a thing of the past. The only anchor I had to the planet besides its heavy gravity was the stark grey buildings stapled to the sheets of ice about 10 meters in front of me. I never could have guessed the sky of Maldo Keris could get any uglier, but planets like these have a way of surprising a person. I tucked my hair and ears away with the hood of my raggedy travelers cloak, bracing myself from the heavy winds by retreating further and further into my cloths. I stayed on the worn path from the ship's dock port, hearing from previous crew mates that this was the warm season, that the ice was thinner and the creatures lurking underneath had no sense of remorse. Now nervous at the revival of that pleasant memory, I kept a close eye on my surroundings, not having the most faith in my feet for staying their course. The wind stung at my exposed skin, reminding me I was wearing only my work cloths that weren't meant for the sudden change in climate. The cloak I had was best at protecting my human skin from the suns above. Beyond that, my tatterd outer layer didn't do much for the safeguarding of my body heat.

I was relieved to have stumbled to shade from the wind so quickly, the heavy kit bag on my back was starting to feel more like a boulder taped to my body than a simple means of containing my tools and spare cloths. Paying attention to the signs overhead, i quickly located the nearest cantina and rushed towards it as fast as any human Popsicle can. Opening the circular doors with the press of a button took me into what felt like a summer time resort. Hiding my appreciation for the warmth from the patrons staring at me, i collected my composure and swiftly found an open table. The electronic doors closed rather harshly behind me. I recognized the sound of faulty pressure hinge and eyed the door for a moment when i took my seat. That door was a danger to customers who get caught in it, it could cause some serious injuries for larger species and even fatalities for humanoids.

Sitting down at the frosty old wooden chair was a relief on the fatigue in my joints. It was neither a comfortable seat, nor a relatively stable one, but it gave me time to take off my pack and study the small, rather ugly, room I found myself to be in. It wasn't too long before I would have to order something, or I feared starvation. The crew mates on the cargo ship were kind, if the bare minimum counts. Food once a day (as per average in the parsec), and as much sleep as necessary per species or race. For humans in particular, that amount of time was annoyingly low. tired and hungry was a bad mix for me as it is, but add cold to that mixture, and the first person to get on my nerves would be the last. i checked the contents of my bag to make sure everything looked as it should and moved up from my chair, replacing the spot with my hefty bag. I was rather confident that if any Kung Nerfhearder tried to run off with it, it would be too weighted for them to get far. I may be rather small compared to other sub species of humans, but i pride myself on my strength often.

Making my way to the bar counter, I lean up between two silent patrons sitting a few seats away from each-other. I get the barkeep's attention with a wave of my fingers, calling him to me. "What kind of meal do you have on the stove top right now?" I ask with my flattest low tone. In port towns like this its important to be as emotionless as possible in order to not draw attention to yourself. Colorless, shapeless, uniform and mad was always the role you had to play to make it through the galaxy.

"We got a silver weed in the radiator, it'll be 3 credits." He replied, picking up a glass and wiping it out with his rag covered hand. I pulled the amount needed out of my pocket and set it down on the bar counter. he swiped his hand over the credits, picking them up quickly. nodding, he left the sight of the bar for only a spit second before returning to the table with a small bowl of mush. I tried my best to smile and be thankful for the meal, but as the bowl transferred to my hands I had to focus on not gagging. I hurried back to my private table in the corner and settled back into my seat, dropping my bag on the floor between my legs to keep it as safe as possible. The last thing I want is a soup that tastes like the scrapings of a persons shoe into street worn snow, but what can you expect on a planet such as this. Prodding the gelatinous mass in the bowl with my spoon, I ponder the ever growing question of 'what in the hell is in this shit'. my mind wonders deep into its personal wonderland while my environment continues to be less and less favorable.

Hostile voices from the other side of the cantina rise louder and louder, as if at the warm up stage of a slowly progressing screaming match. The feeling of sourness in my heart rose with a predictable inclination. The tension in the air grows as yet again the same scene unfolds before my and all other patrons of the cantina's eyes. I strain my neck to see what was happening. At the far end of the room, closer to the door than I am, I saw the oddly familiar face of a poor amphibious creature's head being slammed on the table he was sitting at. The oldest and most primal of situations, the strong picking on the weak. Three tall imposing figures towered over the poor humanoid looking fellow who was obvious to any idiot to be lacking in intimidating features. Seeing this obligatory show of power for any insecure creature with anger issues never sat right with me. It reminded me too much of where I came from, the slums of sand and glass where bullies like these were treated like royalty without challenge from the ones they harassed.

'Dank ferrik, don't do it' i challenged the assaulter internally, as if pleading with them to harm their victim any more so I would have a reason to put in use my blade skills. i had no idea where I've seen that face before, but as they say, curiosity killed the Cathar. And there it happened, the final action in the escalation. The largest of the assaulter lifted the poor guy to his feet and the ring leader lifted his knife to the throat of his victim. A cry of anguish and fear came from the poor fool being restrained, and that was my last straw.

I stood from my chair, kicking away my bag and drawing my vibroblade from my thigh holster, walking over to the group across the tavern. I growl, squaring my shoulders and stiffening my legs to make me seem bigger. I must have looked pretty wild, my tattered cloak drawn over my body like a dark fog, and my scarf still pulled up like a mask over my nose with only my furious green eyes over the top. Just as I started my warpath towards the men, the heavy ring shaped door to the cantina opened abruptly, startling a few of the onlookers. I knew what type of situation I had put myself in and how important focus and intimidation was, so I didn't take any time away from the assholes with blades to gawk at who had happened to stroll in. With my attention solely married to the poor bastard and his assailants, I noticed all of their attention was stripped from their target and glued to the newcomer. Evaluating my surroundings, I saw most of the other patrons in my sight were enthralled too. This piqued my interest and I felt it safe enough to turn and check out the royalty.

Standing soberly at the bar counter, the figure of a mandolorian stood in silence, facing the bar keep. My heart dropped first, than my jaw. Only legend, only in the oldest fables and the scary stories my nan would use to scare me into not stealing the sweets late at night, had I ever heard of the likes of him. from the bescar armor forged in the heart of a black flame forge (or so i've been told) to the galaxy known creed of mandalore, this being was the stuff of leadgeneds. To be feared and adorned wherever they so chose to walk. but not anymore. Not since the planet turned to glass a hundred years ago, destroying much of what was known of the infamous warriors.

I don't think the aggressors saw me and the dangerous piece of weaponry clasped in my hand, instead they looked drunkenly amused at the new patron, like sly cats with a new toy. surveying his surroundings, the warrior's expressionless visor swept the room. He inspected the threat levels of the patrons, the bullies, the amphibious humanoid sucker that was caught under it all. The mandolorian made no comment as he momentarily swept over me, with my clenched fist around the vibroblade. Rather he ignored me entirely, leaning against the bar counter and staring absentmindedly at the wall ahead of him. The scum saw this as an odd mandolorian intimidation tactic and took it to heart, growling a string of multilingual insults. I couldn't quite understand all the words from their chosen dialect, but something about a drink spilling and how it was somehow the mando's fault.

when they didn't get a response, they snorted, puffing their chest out and stalking towards the armored newcomer. Continuing to talk in another language I didn't understand fully, the bar keep attempted to translate, feeling the tensions rise in the air. "He says you spilled his drink." a moment of silence, with the smell of anger wafting from the half intoxicated bantha shaggers, And the barman attempted to diffuse the situation by offering the men drinks to hopefully get them to settle down. And by the two suns it did not. The drink slid from the barkeep's hand and down the table. The mandolorian took it out of its trajectory and started the assault, smashing the creature's head on the counter to his right and simultaneously twisting the louder man on his left arm until the knife in his hand stabbed himself in the ass. As the third attempted to run out the front door, mando caught him with his grappling wire and pulled him back. The tangled creature got his blaster from a thigh holder and shot a round at his would-be captor. The blaster fire ricochet off the bescar Armour, bringing the mando's attention to his own firearm. With the tangled assaulter in the right position, mando fired a single shot at the door of the cantina, Forcing the wiring to go into hyperactive shut down, closing the doors around the alien. The doors struggled for a moment, and so did the thing caught in it, but nothing stopped the metal and electricity from slicing through the meat of its body. The legs of the now dead man fell to the ground at the door with a sickening thump.

After this, the silence in the room was so thick you could swing at it with a hatchet and not make a dent in the shock factor. unsurprisingly enough, every patron went back to their own businesses with each other as if nothing had happened. A pair sitting at a table close to the door went swiftly to the half body to move it away to continue the flow of traffic as they then scurried out the doors, carrying the top half between them. Scavengers i bet, black market womp rats' i thought, sighing at how quickly the circle of life can flash before your eyes. death isn't something to be dewlled on in a universe like this, now back to the issue at hand.

recollection hit me like a half ton of bricks when I remembered where I saw the face of the teal looking bastard with a knife previously on his neck. Spite flooded in my blood as I narrowed my eyes at my next target, shoving my vibroblade back in my thigh holster aggressively and stomping towards the useless excuse of flesh. "You're a dead man now, Mythrol." I said to myself. he must have heard me, or possibly sensed all the rage walking swiftly at him. His eyes upturned towards me, full of fear, but I now remember there is an ugly smugness to him too. I made it to the table, putting my hands down in front of him, leaning my top body weight on my palms. "You better have a divine excuse for not meeting me at that port you Druk Nerfhearder, or you'll be seeing the wrong side of the ice ocean outside in 30 seconds." I could barely contain my frustration with this sniveling worm, he was the reason i had to bunk with the disgusting oiled engineers for a week in hyperspace. The reason I had only 12 credits in my tech vault and less than that on hand. He scammed me out of a decent ride and my entire years savings. It was a genuine miracle how well I kept myself from not leaping over the table he sat at and giving him a new meaning to crazy bitch.

"H-hey, hey you, long time no see huh, man am I sorry for missing out on that meting we had that one time, sorry pal I kinda slept in-" but before he could make up any more exuces, any more lies, my vibroblade was at his throat right where the other man's was just a moment ago. He hissed and recoiled back in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, trying to breathe, to speak. whichever it was, it wouldn't matter soon. He had talked enough in his lifetime to anger hundreds of poor victims throughout the parsec, letting him one last word would be a dishonor to all of them.

Before I could press the blade into his flesh, a firm leather covered hand wrapped around my forearm, pulling it away carefully. I looked at the arm, attached to it was a shoulder, and atop the shoulder sat a gleaming bescar helmet. I felt my heart sink into the depths of my stomach, the anger switching places with feral panic that I tried my absolute best to contain. No words came from the mandolorian, a simple shake of his head was all i got. he loosened the grip on my arm, letting it recall back to my center of gravity.Ii looked down at the arm, looking for any obvious signs of damage, but his grip was closer to gentle and firm than harsh. A soft metallic thud brought my attention to the table, where the mando has tossed a puck. A bounty puck. Today was certainly a day for emotions, because T felt as pleased as a jawa coming across the flashing screen of Mythrol's face on the holographic screen projected by the puck. Mytrol looked between me and the mandolorian a few times before painting his face with a fake smile, the wheels in his head turning into overdrive trying to make a lie up to get himself out of this one. "Is that me?" he questioned, the forced denial barely hiding the fear in his eyes. "Aw come on, I can pay you more than that pitiful bounty, a whole new cruiser," he pleaded, bargaining for his life. "on me, waddaya say."

The mandolorian doesn't waste a breath to reply, his electronically filtered voice filling the getting-to-be awkward silence. "I can take you in warm." he placed a hand on his hip holster, bringing attention to the deadly gun strapped in it. "Or I can bring you in cold." Mythroll's face turned pale with fear, looking like a sort of pale blue spirit. Gulping down what could have been vomit, or another plea for life, he couldn't move at all, just staring at the mandolorian's unfeeling visor.

The mandolorian slaps restraints on mythrol's wrists, pulling him up and out of his chair in one swift motion, the disparaged lump following along with his hands bound together. He seemed resigned to his fate as he was pulled out of the cantina, leaving in his wake and eruption of whispers and a few sobs of relief from the clientele of the bar. I myself was in a state of shock by what had happened and the intense speed at which it had occurred, Standing in front of a table with drops of blood on it not knowing what to do next. Mythrol had cheated me out of a lot of money, and he was just walking away, atoning for crimes he didn't commit against me. that in and of itself felt somewhat fair, fair to any of the galaxy he had screwed over so far.

My body flew back to my table mostly on its own, smashing into the chair at which I had just been sitting less than a minute ago. I hauled my ridiculously large bag over one shoulder, the extra strap free in the wind. I knew i had to at least try. for myself. Running back to the door panel where the halfed creature had met his end, I slammed the controls urgently, opening the door back out to the wild wind of Maldo Keris. Scanning the nearby environment was hard without protective goggles to shield me from the dust and yuck in the wind, but I spotted a pair of hulking figures 15 yards from the cantina, moving at a steady pace away. Try for me, I can do this one thing for myself. I sprinted as fast as I could with the pack over one shoulder, making me surely look like some sort of lame bantha to any possible onlookers. "Wait! wait please!" I called out to the mandolorian, my tone accidentally becoming demanding, but I think that helped to get the mandolorian's attention. They stopped and Mythrol looked at the mando, as if he was pleading to get him away from me in fear I had came back just to fight a mandolorinan for a chance to stab him again. As tantalizing as that thought was, the actions I were taking were purely selfish. I deserve justice just as much as any poor sap sad enough to cross paths with the scamming womp rat or the mystery person who called for the bounty.

"Please let me come with you for when you collect his bounty." I asked somberly, stopping my chase a few paces away from the pair standing together. "I swear I wont take the credits from you, I just want to see him pay for what he's done." Tiny beads of sweat pearled at my brow, my breath was labored in my throat. Even walking with my bag was hard, but I had just chased down a bounty hunter and his captive. Strands of my hair stuck to my forehead and I wiped them away with the back of my forearm once they crept into my eyes.

Mytrhol had to get his two cents in of course, holding the bounty hunter by the cape and making his eyes go wide with worry. "I don't know who this person is, don't let them come along, they could try to hurt me!" He plead, tugging on the cape like a whiny child. Now the anger came back, a cold rage in my fists, ready to start brutalizing someone at the drop of a pin. I narrowed my eyes at Mythrol, who didst bother to return the look. the mandolorian stared for a moment, looking off behind me in thought. The worry then set in, a fear whispered in the back of my skull 'You'll never get your closure and die alone on this hell planet.' My eyes went to the obsidian visor of the mando, creasing my brows together, subconsciously chewing on my lip as he made his decision. Loosening his shoulders, he slumped his head downward, as if morally defeated. I was taken aback by the conflict he was having about weather or not to let a weird stranger aboard his ship or not. oddly enough I understood his seeming frustration, I wouldn't let me go if I were him. He picked his head up after a second, looking me up and down as if to study me entirely. I felt eyes over my body, it was weirdly intimate. When he made his way back up to my eyes, he stood in silence for a moment before asking. "Do you have any weapons on you besides the blade?"

Certainly a different question than what I thought was going to be asked, so for the answer, I had to think about it for a moment, mentally going through my bag and person. "n, no. I have my vibroblade. and a sack full of my electrician's tools, but they arn't traditional weapons." I responded earnestly, my tone going flat again. Another moment of silence, Mythrol looking quickly between the bounty hunter and myself.

"If you truly wish to see the bounty delivered, I can take you to the trade. In exchange for the ride there, my ship needs mild internal repairs. If you try to cross me," He paused, a hand went to his blaster as a warning. A flashback to the cantina entered my forethought, the image of his hand on his blaster the same way as it was now moments before a man got cut in half. The warning was received properly, I felt thoroughly intimidated. "You'll be dead before you could pray to any gods." damn. That was intense. thoroughly intimidated, to the core. i took a breath in, almost allowing myself time to rethink my request in its entirity. but i responded with a quick nod. I knew my way around most ship interiors, if the ship wasn't rusted and breaking in half on take off, i knew i'd be able to mend it.

The mandolorian gave no other word to me and turned, walking towards the ice flats docking crew. I allowed myself a cheeky smirk, fulfillment at the succession in my pursuit gave my heart a good warm squeeze. Following along behind the mandoloian a pace, he negotiated with the docking crew, asking oddly enough for a live pilot, not a droid. Some harmonic whistling came from the ferryman, hailing over a rust bucket of a speeder. As the speeder came to a stop to collect its haul, rusted pieces of under backing fell from the rear, clanking to the ice annoyingly. We all loaded into the speeder, I sat in front with the driver, the mando and his bounty in the back, a gloved hand around Mythrol's bicep at all times. We reached out frozen destination, the driver of the speeder calling one last warning to the three of us after collecting his dues and puttering off towards the port.

I took a moment to asses the hull of the razor crest, it wasn't too bad for a pre new republic vessel. Some battle scars here and there around the landing gear, a charred blaster fire mark on the windows of the cockpit. This was truly the ship of a bounty hunter. Turning to follow the speeder's course, I couldn't help but feel a deep unease, he had warned about the ice planet's personal creature of death, Ravanack. Just then, the entire rusty hull of the speeder and its driver were swallowed whole in a single angry bite. The ravanack retreated back into the ice just as Mythroll let out a girlish scream of terror. He booked it twords the mandolorian who was opening the hatch to the belly of his ship, screaming for dear life to let him in. The ice where the speeder was swallowed started cracking in the direction of the ship, very quickly speeding directly at Mythrol.

My instincts kicked in and I hopped out of the way, swinging myself onto the floor of the cargo hold of the ship with the momentum of my bag. Just as i got out of harms way, the mandolorian swung himself out of the ship to grab the petrified blue idiot only moments before the jaws of his early death lunged out of the ice, driving sickeningly deep into the landing gear of the razor crest. I winced at the damage done, scrambling back away from the flying Mythroll the mando had haphazardly chucked at me. The mandolorian seemed to ignore me entirely, herding his bounty into the cockpit with him. As the engines revved and the propellers blasted their heat down towards the ice at max capacity, the beast clung tightly to its prey of metal and paint, determined wholeheartedly to bring the ship down to its frigid death. The mando hopped down the ladder, rushing to the cargo bay door with his riffle. he stabbed the bayonet into the beast's head, sending a current of electricity into its skull. the beast roared furiously, releasing the ship and sinking back into the inky ocean.

I collected myself and scrambled up off the floor. the cargo bay doors closed quickly, leaving the mandolorian and myself in the ambient humming of the bay. His breast plate rose and fell, getting less an less noticeable as he calmed down. turning towards me. He nodded at a upturned metal basket with a weather worn blanket tossed over it. I took the hint and put my bag on top of the makeshift stool, retrieving from it my more universal tools. Going from one job to another wasn't my ideal, but this was a more opportunistic adventure. My original goal was only ever to get off the sun bitten planet i was from, beyond that was up to fate, and I can't really complain about where it took me today. Now i'm headed to gods know where with a mandolorian and his bounty who single-handedly ruined the last year and a half's hard work I had done. turning my head towards the mandolorian, I saw him stand in the hallway between the cargo bay and the cockpit, eyeing his bounty.

Words hung on the end of my tongue, ready to ask millions of questions out of pure adrenaline fueled thrill. But I stopped myself from spilling over, taking notice of the details in the mando's body for the first time. For the most feared warrior in the galaxy, this man looked as any other bounty hunter. His armor was chipped and dented, highlighting the flaws in the outer most shell of himself. A deep rooted curiosity took roots just then, desiring to know more of what laid under his iron and bescar plates. "Where should I start working first?" I asked as politely as possible. feeling a need to use respective words when in the presence of a man who just stabbed a water beast in the head. This got his attention away from the bounty if only for a moment. He paused for a second, going through the archives of his mind to see where needed the most urgent attention. Turning 180 degrees, he lifted a gloved hand to point at the panel of buttons and levers at the end of the metal room. It looked mostly in tact, but only mostly. There was blaster char at the center of the damage, near the bottom left hand corner of the panel itself. "Yikes." I whispered mostly to myself, reaching in my bag for a clean oil rag. Acknowledging the mandolrian's request with a glance and half nod, I got to work at the station. It looked to be the control panel for the gun hold under the main cargo bay. The possible stories tied with the maiming of this piece of equipment swarmed my mind, finding my own way of theorizing any number of adventurous tales.

A few minutes go by, tweaking the damaged area as best I could to fit my hands into the circuitry. Mythroll passed by quickly, entering the open door of the munitions hold to the ladder down. I got nervous for a moment, than I heard him calling back to the mandolorian pilot, talking about molting and stellar seasons. What an odd being. Slimy thieving nerfhearder. Going back to work, not questioning the reasons tmythroll went down there. so wrapped up, figuratively and literally, in the wires of the control panel, i hadn't noticed mando sneaking past me, silent as death. I hadn't noticed him, that is, until I heard the thumping and crashing of combat and the pitiful yelps of the bounty rise to draw my attention toward the lower hold. Mythroll's shout cut short with an angry metallic hiss. The fear now taking a hold of my stomach, I pulled my hand out of the tangle to look nervously down the ladder, seeing the mando start his ascent. "carbon freezing." he said simply. I know his intention was to explain what had just happen in hopes to ease my worry, but no. it worried me more. Drawing my thought to the intense reality that I was willingly trapped on the ship of a proven dangerous bounty hunter. I felt rather idiotic in that moment, the crushing weight of the situation bringing me to a moral defeat. The mando slid by me, his body language more casual than it should have been seeing as how he had just half killed someone in the hold of his ship. He paused momentarily, looking over my work. nodding, He left in silence, returning to the cockpit.

After a second, I gathered my thoughts and took a deep breath into my lungs. The reality of my life now was flipped upside down and tossed into a spinning vortex of crazy, but I know my strengths. I know myself and what i can handle. This? was obviously odd and scary and new, but the skills I cary can get me far. Exhaling, I focused my mind at the task at hand. Knowing my entire world was going to be changing from here on out was more calming than expected. The determination I felt towards my own new chapter of life soothed my aching back and fried nerves. This was going to be epic.

A/N: i'm so glad to have finally finished this, holy hell ;-;

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leechobsessed · 3 years

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Chapter 1

“Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.”

characters: Cora Crawford words: ~2.9k warnings: mentions of abuse and drowning, suicidal ideation

notes: It’s Cora’s birthday, so here’s chapter one of her story! Don’t know Cora yet? Take a peek at her bio here.

The Crab Isles are not a friendly place.

Nothing about the climate, nor the people for that matter, are welcoming. Found further south than the Scrougelands, the weather is bitterly cold almost year round, making the main livelihood of the islands— crab fishing, as it would be— to be exceptionally dangerous, difficult, and undesirable work.

The attitudes of the island’s inhabitants have only been made worse by the remarks and jokes of the rest of the world; the Crabmen were actually half crab, but whether that half be the top or bottom depended on who you asked.

That bit, of course, was not true. Yet much like the crabs the people fished for, they had developed a hard, almost impermeable shell around themselves, turning their community into a collectively abrasive group. Fiercely protective of their own, intimidating to and wary of anyone else.

The South is unforgiving, and the people who live there have adapted to their harsh environment, becoming harsh and unforgiving themselves. They were a collectively stubborn, selfish and superstitious bunch, quickly weeding out and eliminating what they perceived to be dangerous in order to ensure the survival of their community.

And to them, nothing was more dangerous than Cora.

Cora Crawford came into the world silent, an omen of bad luck that was only fed into when she was discovered to have been born with The Mark. In the center of her palms, a small black circle, almost resembling a bruise, perhaps a touch of dirt, easily missed by the casual observer. But the elders knew this was a mark of dark magic, a soul that came into this world tainted. Evil.

Her parents tried to deny it; not their child, it couldn’t be. No one in the Crawford family had shown a propensity for magic in almost a century, but here she was, undeniably touched by dark forces, silently observing the world with her hauntingly pale blue eyes.

Her father wanted her drowned, as did the elders, but her mother wouldn’t allow it— or so she was told. She found it hard to believe her parents would have ever fought over her life, given how little they cared for it now.

The Mark was rarely seen in the Crab Isles, but was spoken about often. Those with The Mark were said to be stronger than the heaviest winds, more destructive than the fiercest storm, as unpredictable and uncontrollable as the sea. Though her parents tried desperately to deny it, to hide it, the rumor that the Crawford’s girl had The Mark spread through the village like wildfire.

Even if they weren’t sure it was true, those in the community ignored and avoided her, terrified of what she was and what she was capable of. And Cora was scared too. For the first twelve years of her life, she was constantly reminded how dangerous she was and she was silenced, hidden, forbidden to use any magic, even as she could feel it crackling under her skin like lightning, threatening to burst free at any moment.

The power was overwhelming, and she had no way to control it, no one to teach her how. Cora tried, she really tried, to keep her magic hidden, and was successful more often than not. When she did give in and lost control, allowed the power to be free for only a moment, she was punished severely. Her parents hissed foul curses at her as they beat her, reminding her how horrible and evil she was, how she was a threat and hated by everyone around her.

But every beating only seemed to make her magic stronger and harder to tame. And her mark only continued to grow.

What had started as a faint black spot had begun to crawl through the veins of her palms, spreading to her fingertips, turning them black from the tips of her nails to the second knuckle. She knew the mark only grew when she practiced magic, but it didn’t grow every time. She couldn’t predict when it would or wouldn’t spread, and she had no one to ask about it. So instead, she continued to cover the marks and pretend that she didn’t terrify even herself.

This morning, as usual, Cora wakes up earlier than the rest of the household to start her chores, knowing not having them done before breakfast will mean nothing but trouble for her. She sits up in bed and stretches before sliding out of the covers to get dressed. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulls her heavy flannels on, then her coat, her hat, her mud boots and finally her gloves before she sneaks down the stairs and out the back door toward the henhouse.

The hens are all huddled together in the coops, unwilling to be outside any longer than necessary. And Cora doesn’t blame them. The weather this time of year is hovers just above freezing, violent storms prone to rolling in from the sea at any time. She stands out in the yard, looking dubiously up at the sky, her hair standing on end from the electricity in the air.

She quickly spreads fresh feed for them and she collects the eggs the hens have laid in her basket before she jogs further down the hill to the barn. The barn used to house about a dozen goats until her younger sister was born, and her parents decided they didn’t need the stress of more mouths to feed.

Truthfully, she was surprised they didn’t get rid of her instead, but she supposed her being able to work on the boat was more helpful to the family than the small amount of money they made from selling the goat’s milk.

Cora missed the goats. They liked her because she fed them, let her lay on them when her father made her sleep outside, and wouldn’t tattle on her if she used their space to practice magic, which is something she couldn’t say about her seven year old sister.

The golden child of the Crawford family, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

The barn is now used to store fishing gear, but it’s still a suitable place to practice her magic if she really wanted, and usually she would. But the lashings on her back from when her sister caught her the week prior have just started to heal, and she really isn’t looking to get any more. At least not today.

Instead, she gently lies back on a pile of netting to stare up at the worn wood of the barn ceiling, pulling off her gloves to call a small orange flame to her fingertips. She lets the flame dance across the black tips of her fingers for a moment, extinguishing the illusion quickly when she hears someone approach.

She wrestles her gloves back on and stands up quickly, picking up the basket of eggs, just as her older brother enters the barn. He studies her for a moment as he leans against the doorframe.

“Ma is lookin’ for the eggs.”

She nods quickly, fumbling with her gloves and the basket. “I’m comin’.”

“I know. I just wanted to find you before Pa came out.” He takes the basket of eggs from her to allow her to fix her gloves properly, watching her with the same green eyes as their father, though his look more kindly on her.

Cora offers him a small smile, nodding in thanks.

Tevin had always been good to her. He was very protective of his younger sister, understanding from a very young age that she was being treated unfairly and unkindly by the people who were supposed to love and care for her most. Everyone in town, including their parents, thought she was dangerous and evil, but he knew her, and he knew she wasn’t, even if she didn’t.

But after speaking up in her defense a few too many times, and receiving just as many beatings for it, Cora told him to stop.

“It’s not like it helps anyway,” she had said.

“Ma is making us breakfast,” Tevin says, looking back toward the house. “We shouldn’t let it get cold.” Cora nods and follows her brother out of the barn and up the hill, picking up the pace as thunder rumbles off in the distance.

The two children enter the kitchen to find their mother preparing their morning oats, their younger sister Orla reading quietly from a book at the table. Riona glances at the two of them, her thin lips pulling into a frown as she takes the basket from Tevin. “I was waitin’ on those.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Cora says, taking her bowl from the counter and heading to her usual spot at the window.

Tevin takes his own bowl from the counter and follows his sisters lead. He joins her to sit on the windowsill, despite having a spot at the table he’s expected to be placed at. “Happy birthday, Cora,” Tevin says, loud enough to pull the attention of their mother toward him. She frowns at her son before turning around to crack an egg in the pan in front of her. “What’re you now, eleven?”

“Thirteen,” she mumbles around a mouthful of oats, which makes Tevin smile.

Cora returns the smile before turning her focus back on her food. He looks just like their father, with the same strong jaw and dark hair, but Tevin smiles so much more that you’d hardly believe they were related.

“Have they said anything to you? About your birthday?” He asks, lowering his voice, although he already knows the answer. Their parents have never celebrated Cora’s birthday, but he keeps hoping one year things will change, for his sister’s sake. Cora glances at him briefly before shoveling another spoonful of oats into her mouth.

Cora doesn’t have to look up from her breakfast to know that Calder had entered the room. She can tell by the way his physical presence darkens the atmosphere of whatever room he walks into instantly, but her eyes fly up toward him nonetheless. He has his long, dark hair tucked into his cap, fully dressed for a day at sea, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously when he sees Tevin sitting next to Cora. He says nothing to anyone as he sits down, his back to his eldest children, his front toward Orla and his wife.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” Riona asks, raising a blond eyebrow at the man.

“Out on the boat,” he responds matter-of-factly, shifting his large body slightly to peak at the book his daughter is reading.

Riona frowns, setting down the plate of eggs in front of her husband. “What d’you mean you’re goin’ out today? Have you seen the storm rollin’ in?”

“Aye, I have. Which only means that there’ll be fewer boats out and more for us to catch. Tevin, Cora, get your things, we’re leavin’.” He shovels the eggs into his mouth in three bites before pushing himself back form the table, heading out the door before anyone can respond.

From his perch on the windowsill, Tevin frowns at the door his father just left through, before he and Cora turn to glance back out the window of their small house. The rising sun is completely obscured behind obsidian clouds, the only light coming from the frequent strikes of lightening on the horizon.

“He’s bloody mad, that man,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Cora to hear.

She smirks in response, lowering her head to hide her humor. “I could’ve told you that,” she whispers back. The siblings simultaneously hop down off the windowsill and place their bowls on the counter. Cora he follows her brother out of the kitchen and to their bedroom, waiting patiently as he pulls their fishing gear off the shelves and brings it over to her.

“Someone is gonna to die if we go out there,” he sighs, sitting down on the floor to pull his coveralls on over his flannels.

“Maybe that’s what he’s hopin’,” she sighs back, pulling her boots on. She hisses as Tevin smacks her arm with the back of his hand, and she hits him back on his thigh. “Don’t pretend he isn’t.”

He shakes his head, lacing up his own boots. “They don’t want you dead, Cora.”

“You’re just as mad as Pa if you think that’s true.”

Tevin sits up straight to look his sister in the eyes. “I don’t want you dead.”

Cora pauses for half a second before shrugging her heavy outerwear on. She adjusts her gloves, keeping her eyes turned toward the floor. “That I believe.”

Tevin gives her shoulder a squeeze as he stands up. “Come on. We don’t want to keep him waitin’.”

The docks are full of boats and void of people, which is exactly what Cora had expected. It’s started to rain by the time she and her brother climb aboard their father’s fishing boat, and they immediately set about their usual tasks to help the rest of the crew get the boat quickly out into sea.

“Oy, Tev! Cora!” A voice calls, and the siblings turn to find the first mate approaching them, fighting the wind to pull their long red hair back away from their face. “What in the name of the god’s is yer pa thinkin’?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Tevin responds with a shrug.

They shake their head, looking out to sea as Calder steers the ship out of the harbor. “He’s bloody mad.”

“That’s what I said,” Tevin says, pushing his already soaked hair out of his eyes. “How soon d’you reckon he realizes this won’t work?”

“Not soon enough,” they answer grimly, giving the siblings each a pat on the shoulder before heading toward the bow to help get the fishing nets ready.

Once out of the break wall, the storm is worse than Cora could have imagined. The wind is strong enough to knock the ship over on its own, but the waves are doing their part to help out, crashing onto the deck every few seconds, making it impossible to cast any nets. The storm is howling too loud to hear anything over the wind, and the relentless splashing of salt water is making it difficult for Cora to keep her eyes open.

We’re all going to die here, Cora finds herself thinking. Not just me.

“Cora! We’ve got to get below deck!” Tevin screams, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist. “Come on!”

Cora does her best to open her eyes as her brother drags them across the deck, pausing every few feet to grab onto something sturdy as another wave floods the ship.

Suddenly, his hand is gone from her wrist, and she screams for him, panicked that the waves may have taken him overboard. She can hear every other word of her father’s booming yell as he approaches, and is relieved to hear Tevin screaming back in response.

With one arm wrapped as much as it can be around the mast, she opens her eyes against the wind, using her free hand to shield her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to make out either her brother or her father through the relentless downpour.

Without warning, a pair of large hands grab her by her upper arms, and she blinks furiously at them, thrashing in their hold. Her skin goes cold as she finds herself staring into her father’s green eyes. He says nothing, just holds her about a foot off the ground, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging around them.

“Pa!” She hears Tevin call out. “Pa!”

“I should have killed you when you were born,” Calder hisses, his deep voice ringing out clear over the wind.

“Pa!” Tevin shrieks, his voice panicked. “Let her go!”

Calder keeps his eyes on his daughter, on his burden, his curse, his greatest shame. Cora knows better than to say anything, so instead, she clenches her jaw and holds his gaze. And then she begins to silently pray, her tears mixing with the salt from the sea, asking the gods to have mercy on her.

As another wave crashes over top of the ship, Calder does just what Tevin asked. He takes two steps toward the side of the ship and throws her with ease over the side, allowing the force of the wave to carry her overboard.

Cora Crawford has thought about death more than any child ever should. She thought she deserved to die, that the world would be better off without her. She considered ways she could make death come for her sooner, but she never followed through. The idea of death was terrifying to her. If she was evil in this life, what would be waiting for her in the next?

As she hits the water, the air is forced from her lungs, immediately sending her into a panic. She struggles against the water, trying to kick up toward the surface, but the weight of her clothing and the movement of the sea keeps beating her down further and further, until she can’t tell which direction the surface is.

And the realization hits her; I’m going to die.

Knowing this, she stops fighting, allows her body to relax and lets the current take her where it may. Suddenly, all she feels is calm, protected even, cocooned by the silence and movement of the water. No one could hurt her here. She couldn’t hurt anyone. Even if the next life was worse than this one, she had this fleeting moment to finally feel safe, from herself and everyone else.

Exhaling the last bit of oxygen left in her chest, Cora lets the darkness she was born from reclaim her.

#cora crawford #the arcana #the arcana oc #hbd cora!#all angst all the time #im thinking thats just her tag now #abuse cw #drowning cw

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 3 years

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12 DAYS OF FICLETS, FIC 6

Rory x Paris, Gilmore Girls. Also on AO3.

Prompted by @prodigalleverage, #83 - “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

****

The sudden need to go swimming wasn’t what Rory would have called a plan, when she mentioned it. It was really more of a desperate attempt to avoid her own thoughts after four days alone with Paris.

They’d agreed to share the room for a week, because the cabins belonged to a friend of the Gellers and Rory wanted a little quiet before she and her mom headed off on their whirlwind tour of Europe. What she hadn’t thought about--but definitely should have--was that a week shut in a room with Paris was going to drive her completely insane.

She liked talking to Paris, Rory tried to remind herself when she started to feel overwhelmed. Conversations with Paris tended to turn into debates, but that was fun most of the time--it kept things interesting. Paris challenged her.

Being the recipient of Paris Geller’s undivided attention was more intense, though, once no one else was around.

All day long, Paris was full of opinions on the books she saw Rory reading, commentary on Rory’s snack choices, rants about politics even when Rory didn’t bring up the state of the world...and since Paris talked in her sleep, the nights were no less peaceful.

It didn’t help that some of the things Paris said while she was dreaming were really confusing. There was no casual way to ask Paris if she dreamed about her, but Rory was officially wondering. Sometimes, Paris said nicer things in her dreams than she ever said to Rory’s face.

Some nights, Rory dreamed about Paris too.

On day five, she couldn’t take it anymore, and she shut her book harder than was necessary, setting it aside as though she could push her distracting thoughts away along with it.

“Want to go swimming?”

“Swimming?”

Paris looked at her like Rory was inviting her along on a spacewalk.

“Yeah, you know, swimming? In the water? Winter Harbor Bay is right out there, or so the map tells me.”

The bay had to be big enough for them both to find a patch of quiet water to swim in, Rory thought. A chance for her brain to settle down, without Paris noticing how frayed her nerves had become. “I don’t know about you, but the sunlight could do me good.”

“The sunlight will give you cancer.” Paris let go of her pen and frowned. “Do you even have a swimsuit?”

“No, I’m going to swim naked.” Rory rolled her eyes. “Yes, I packed one. I haven’t worn it in ages, but as far as I know, it still fits. Come on, Paris, live a little. We’re ninety percent water--think of it as a homecoming.”

“That’s not even true,” Paris argued. “I hate when people say that. Our blood is ninety percent water, but our bodies are more like sixty percent water--and that’s an average.”

All that mattered to Rory was Paris’s grudging walk to her suitcase, where she began digging for her own bathing suit, proving that Rory had convinced her to come along.

“I don’t know,” she mused with a straight face. “Some days I definitely feel like there’s more water sloshing around in here than that supposed average.”

“Because you drink coffee by the gallon.”

“Speaking of which.” Rory grinned at her. “I’m going to finish mine while you change into your suit.”

“Hey, I never said I was coming,” Paris shot back.

“You’re holding your swimsuit.”

“That could be because I’m ready to offer it to you, if yours doesn’t fit.”

“It’s not, though.”

Paris and her crossed arms were no match for Rory’s hopeful grin. She sighed. “No, it’s not. But I’m telling you now, Gilmore, if the bay is full of people or it has a smell...you’re on your own.”

“Noted.”

The spot Rory found for them was, in fact, deserted, though she was too breathless from the drive there to offer Paris an ‘I told you so.’ Watching her life flash before her eyes was an interesting experience when she only had eighteen years of life to remember. She would not be letting Paris drive them back.

“It smells normal to me,” she did say as they set their towels down on the sand.

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’d been years since Rory swam for fun, and her lack of athletic coordination remained consistent when it came to water sports, but at least the bay started out shallow and she barely needed to do more than kick and paddle.

“I’ll be over here,” she told Paris as she drifted away, rolling over to her back and letting herself float.

Paris watched her go, baffled by the entire situation.

Was she supposed to do that too, just float? Lie there in silence, doing nothing, staring up at the sky? Why would anybody choose that over a good book in a climate-controlled environment?

It was one of things that had always made Rory so fascinating to her: how different they were. She seemed content, just taking it easy, and that was true for Rory in a lot of situations that gave Paris hives.

Though her fascination with Rory had evolved over the years, into something less academic, and something harder to ignore, it hadn’t gone away. She knew now that it wouldn’t--she was never going to meet anybody quite like Rory Gilmore.

Rory glanced her way every minute or so, both to keep an eye on Paris and to gauge her own location, since the sky above was not helpful in making sure she didn’t float too far out towards the sea.

“Hey, Paris, you should try relaxing,” she suggested, grinning when Paris responded in sharp Portuguese.

Though Paris never shifted to floating on her back like Rory had, she did claim her own part of the water and stuck to swimming there, subdued laps that gave Rory the quiet she was looking for.

It lasted long enough that Rory almost forgot she’d been freaking out so much about Paris’s proximity, and what it meant, and how things felt different now that they weren’t high school rivals anymore.

“Oh, god. Oh god, there’s something wrapped around my ankle.”

From Rory's location yards away, she thought maybe she misheard, at first. “What?”

“I don’t know what it is, but it’s cold, and it’s slimy, and it’s moving around my ankle--are there eels here?”

Though Rory wasn’t relaxed and floating anymore, a panicking Paris wasn’t the safest to approach. She settled for treading water, watching her across the distance. “How would I know if there are eels?”

“It was your idea to go swimming today while not a single other soul was setting foot in the water!” Paris called back. “Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe that should have told us something.”

“I didn’t drag you out here, you know. You accepted my invitation. And I don’t think there are eels. Even if there are, it’s not like eels are poisonous.”

“Oh, now you’re an eel expert?” Paris moved sideways, freezing after she started to head towards Rory’s side of the water.

“Paris?”

“I’m stuck.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Am I known for my hilarious comedic timing? I’m stuck!” Paris’s frantic splashing, combined with the fear on her face, nudged Rory into action.

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

“Stay there,” she could hear Paris muttering as she swam to her side. “Where am I going to go?”

“Calm down, okay?” Rory tried to grab hold of her hands, not surprised when Paris pulled them away, out of her reach.

“I am calm! I don’t even need your help, I’m fine--it’s not like I’m drowning. I know how to swim.”

“Of course you do. I’m just going to dive down and see what’s got you caught, it’ll only take a second.”

Rory didn’t bother phrasing that part as a question; it was quicker to jump right to the solution than give Paris another opening to argue with her.

She needed less than a minute underwater to detangle Paris from the culprit, which Rory was secretly grateful was not an eel of any kind. Sure, they weren’t poisonous, but she wasn’t eager to meet one, either.

“Gotcha,” she declared when she reemerged, blinking at Paris through the water streaming down her face.

Paris wiggled her toes, relieved to feel herself bob up and down. Their part of the bay was just deep enough that the water would go over her head if she relaxed.

“It was seaweed,” Rory told her, shoving her hair back behind her ears. “It’s okay.”

For a second, Paris had gotten distracted thinking about how much darker the water made Rory’s hair look. Which led to thinking about how starkly it stood out against her pale skin...which meant she was thinking about Rory’s skin again. It was becoming a problem.

So maybe she overreacted a little when she tuned back in to what Rory had said.

“Obviously it’s okay, Rory. It was just seaweed, not a shark or something. God.”

“I never said it was a--”

“You know, I’m not some damsel in distress screaming my lungs out for a lifeguard, whatever you might have been thinking.”

“Damsel in distress?”

Paris was ramping up to full rant mode, Rory could tell, and it was exactly the opposite of what she’d come out to the bay to find. For a second, she considered just turning around and swimming off, leaving Paris to talk to the water.

“And I definitely wasn’t panicking, for god sake, so just get that idea out of your head right now. If you tell anybody I was, I’ll deny it.”

Rory was out of patience with the paranoia, the ridiculous idea that she was eager to tell people about a day when some seaweed scared Paris Geller. She was sick of Paris’s complete inability to let anybody else get a word in, ever.

And most of all, she was frustrated by how things like that used to seriously annoy her, how Paris used to seriously annoy her...how she used to live inside a box in Rory’s brain labeled ‘rude and impossible and vexing’ where Rory could keep her at a comfortable distance.

Well, she wasn’t at a distance now. Paris was a foot away with water dripping off the tip of her nose and she was taking a deep breath in preparation for her next round of argument, and nothing about that should have been cute but it was, which was probably how impulse overcame any common sense that had been ruling Rory’s brain.

She glided forward and kissed her.

Paris jolted backwards as soon as their lips brushed, stunned, almost dipping under the surface of the bay before she steadied herself.

Sure, in the moment, that felt like a good solution, Rory thought, backing off in response.

It was only then, while Paris was staring at her with wide, blank eyes, that Rory remembered how often her impulsive decisions were her worst ones.

“I’m sorry,” she offered up. Deep down, she both was and she wasn’t--so she had to hope a half-apology still counted.

“I--I don’t...” Paris trailed off, her eyes still huge as she shook her head.

Rory liked her? Rory liked her, like that? Little birds braiding her hair in the morning seemed more possible than Rory liking her back. Paris had been holding on to her feelings so tightly, for years. For good reason. It didn’t make sense.

Paris was too quiet. Paris was almost never quiet. She must have really screwed up, Rory realized. Maybe in a way she couldn’t fix.

“Paris, listen. That was...I didn’t mean to--”

She stopped trying to think of a good explanation as Paris moved towards her, reaching for her hands. She was still looking down at them, at their fingers interlocking, when Paris’s mouth found hers.

This time, it wasn’t Rory acting on impulse. It was an exploration, both of them taking their time. Paris freed her hands to touch Rory’s hair, shifting her lips to the corner of Rory’s mouth when she smiled.

Paris kissed exactly like Rory had imagined--now that she could admit she had spent time imagining it.

She didn’t soften her angles, she was intense and her fingers were firm when they stroked up Rory’s spine. But there were flashes of brightness there, too, in the grin that Paris pressed into her collarbone, the way her thumbs brushed Rory’s ribs so lightly she shivered.

Rory tasted sweet, like she was wearing lip gloss instead of seawater. When she curled her hands around Paris’s waist and pulled her close, they sank so deep into kisses that for a second they forgot to float.

In the past, all of Paris’s kisses had been with boys she found disappointing, and part of her had assumed that was because they were boys. As the two of them moved back towards the shore by wordless agreement, their hands joined under the water, Paris wondered if all along, it was because they hadn’t been Rory.

#this could've gone in so many other directions with the prompt--probably better ones? i've never written them before #but an evermore lyric hit me hard and demanded i write this #anyway i love commas and i accept this story's imperfections happy christmas #rory x paris #gilmore girls #rory x paris fic #gilmore girls fic #12 days of ficlets #my fic

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acedhigh · 3 years

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SIEGEMAS 2020 @dualrainbow starring: Marius Streicher, Dominic Brunsmeier, Monika Weiss, Elias Kötz. main blog: @elitejager note: hey to anyone who reads this, I haven’t written anything in forever and the only time I’ve ever written a fic was a request, so this is a first for me. as an Autistic person I wanted to touch on the topic a little (i.e how the world views us versus how we view others and express ourselves) and incorporate it into my prompt for this piece. Marius inspires me a lot, I know he’s a popular part of Team Rainbow so I hope you all like it & happy holidays ✌

07 December.

As an icy chill snaked its way down his nape, Marius was reminded of the changed season. Days, weeks even, inside the workroom (his 'safehaven' as he called it to himself), made time and weather and all things mundane merge together in one big negligible blur. The transition between October into November now early December had seemed so...rapid. "Getting lost in one's work" was nothing short of apropos for this revelation; Unfazed by the cold however, he merely rolled down his sleeves and resumed gazing intently at his go-to site for ordering parts - Hated the white background (far too garish) but it offered the best of the best, and a quicker delivery schedule. He'd need it. It wasn't unusual for him to spend great bouts of time in one place. Even less unusual to be knee-deep in a project or two. But it was when morning frost and Christmas music became part of everyday life to crudely round off the year, that Monika and Elias were particularly attentive to Marius and his propensity to isolate. He'd been like that as long as they could recall. It could be almost jarring at first - His quips that'd rub less-familiar colleagues the wrong way, the speed at which his social battery would fizzle out like an ember, and a subtle arrogance which stepped on many toes. In contrast to Marius' heated and bull-headed nature, even his enthusiasm and eagerness to share or contribute somehow seemed misplaced or perhaps just poorly timed; Boundaries were a struggle and frequently crossed line despite how many walls he put between himself and others. He was unpredictable to most. "Hard to decipher", as Monika once put it. She was the first out of the four to recognize he was on the spectrum, and it tugged at her heartstrings to watch him endure contempt in place of a little understanding - But she vowed to hold her tongue. She did not want to patronise or belittle someone as bold as Marius. After all, in many ways she considered him to rival herself academically, and that garnered much of her respect. He was capable, he didn't need her or anybody else to coddle him or worry. Monika did not worry about him at all in fact, until this time of year.

16 December.

Elias had a similar view. Never had he met someone so rigid in his performance, so disciplined, yet so antsy. Must be the whole chaos of creativity, he thought. He recounted several incidences where he tried his hand at entertaining Marius, to no avail. Like things just didn't connect with him or tickle him the way Elias could achieve with others. But that didn't mean they lacked a connection at all - They were close, but where other people stood Marius was always one step further away, by his own accord. It was clear from the get go that the engineer liked to do things his way and per his agenda. Elias would grant him the favour of “breathing room” because he knew that although Marius held people at arms' length, beneath that eccentric exterior there was a shining heart of gold that cared deeply about the people he would shoo out of his workroom. Today was no exception, apparently.

"Hey, Marius--" There he was, ensconced in something technical of course, and drenched in fluorescent white light.

"No!"

"Huh--"

"Don't-- You can't look. Just...I'm busy. And I'm discussing this prototype of mine with the head of BMVg, whatever it is, it can wait."

Oops, Elias. "This isn't for prying eyes, it's commission work. I'll humour you later."

"Ah, err, got it. No peeking. Just don't work yourself to death and I'll check back in tonight. See ya!"

Yeah, this wasn't uncommon he muses, as he's met with a cold hand gesture towards the door. Though Elias couldn't help but wonder if maybe Marius was pushing himself even harder as to not think about the holidays. Dominic's relationship with him was different. Not as warm to the touch. And certainly more volatile, when tension arose. A clash of unorthodox personalities. They were polar opposites in one way, but fiercely empathetic in others, because pariahs stick together even when grating on each others' nerves - It was their non-conformity that made them a good team no matter how unconventional (and potentially troublesome) the dynamics. He knew how it was to be alone like the back of his hand. Maybe that too is the reason for their kinship, once all strain dissipated. Even he occasionally considered how his comrade handled the isolation; Dominic relished it to a degree, a darker mind who co-existed with his demons. But he knew Marius and he frequently observed his drive to form relationships only for them to fall flat or worse because of that same old disconnect Elias talked about on occasion. Never brought it up verbally but nothing could ghost Dominic's perusal. "Damn. Rejected again," Elias jests as he spots Dominic taking a break from playing grease monkey on his bike - Cigarette routinely positioned in mouth and garage wide open so that snow had begun collecting on the entrance floor. This wing was probably his safehaven, too.

"You should leave him to it." Dominic takes a long drag before expelling two plumes from his nose.

"Yeah I know, I know. Just seems wrong to not try. I don't think he's going home for Christmas. Hasn't heard from his Uncle for a couple of years...Not sure why. Marius tells me that's nothing out of the ordinary. Still, doesn't hurt to remind him we're around."

"He knows we're around. If you and Monika make a fuss it'll probably backfire."

"You could be right. But hey, buzzing in somebody’s ear is better than letting them feel ignored. I wouldn't be half as fun if I wasn't annoying."

"...Are you sure 'fun' is the right word?" Dominic concealed his smirk behind another toke.

"Whaaatever. Have a good night Brunsmeier. And don't get too cold old man! I don't know how you have the place all opened up on days like this. I don't want to come back tomorrow morning and find you in cryostasis."

"Uhuh. Well, snow chains. Fitting new ones on the tires and have to put 'em to the test somehow. See you, Smartass."

23 December.

The air was cold and dry and it permeated indoors but the serenity of snow blanketing everything for miles upon miles outweighed the chill in his lungs. Even the sun couldn’t thaw the ice nor interfere with celebrants having their white Christmas. From the moment he'd woken up that morning he rushed to get stuck back into his work without so much as cranking up the radiators. No matter the climate, it wouldn't deter him from his endeavours, much like Winter itself. As he fine-tuned his latest creation Marius felt overcome with accomplishment and relief knowing he had the rest of the day to spare after hours of trial and error. Fingers weaved and arms raised he stretched up high, taking a moment to admire the fully customised apparatus begging to be used. Fishing his phone out of a denim pocket he checked the time and grabbed one of the gift boxes wrapped neatly with a lavender bow. Monika would always make a point of going home to celebrate with her family - he'd heard many stories about her mother's Sauerbraten - and was always the first to leave to ensure she'd catch her flight. Ergo, her turn came first. His soles crunched against the virgin snow as Marius made his way to the dormitories. He could've forgotten the clean scent of fresh air or the sheer brightness the day can bring after spending a majority of his time hunkered down at the workroom. Cutting it close, he was fortunate enough to cross paths with Monika, luggage in her wake while punching in a numberpass for the electronic gate. "Monika!" He called out, waving her down.

"Hm?" Immediately she turned on her heel - Perhaps he startled her, or it was the (pleasant) surprise of hearing that familiar voice in another place other than his station or dorm.

"Monika, I'm glad I could catch you. Here--" Offering the palm sized box it was clear to the both of them that neither knew exactly how to handle the situation without underlying befuddlement. "--Frohe Weihnachten." (Merry Christmas). Ah yes, he'd forgotten that part. He wasn't well-versed in the act of gift giving - not face to face, at least...

"Really? For me?"

"Of course it is. It's purple. I don't know anybody else's favourite colour."

"I'm a little speechless...! Thank you Marius, and Frohe Weihnachten. I got something for you too, so did Elias. You were too busy we didn't think to disturb you and thought we'd leave them on your desk. You're welcome to pick them up yourself beneath the tree Emmanuelle and Yumiko set up in the foyer." Something akin to a glorified 'Secret Santa' Harry suggested for Team Rainbow to build on their camaraderie but appealed little to Dominic.

"Oh, that was unnecessary, but I'm grateful. Then I'm obliged to thank you as well. I didn't expect anything - I just wanted to see what I could come up with. I hope you like it."

"No act of benevolence is unnecessary. I'm tempted to open this up right here and now, I'm very curious. I'm going to show restraint however and open it tomorrow. I'll shoot you a message afterwards, OK?" She unzipped her case and placed it delicately atop folded clothes. Whatever it was, it seemed fragile, and would need the padding. "You take care of yourself Marius. Tschüss!" She passed through the gate and left with a smile.

24 December.

With more confidence after yesterday's exchange next in line was either Elias or Dominic, whoever he bumped into first. Today was bitterly cold and much darker, grey clouds hanging overhead almost as thick as the snow. Still, it was welcomed by those who enjoyed the seasonal comforts of lounging around; Vastly preferable to these scorching Summers in recent years, to Marius' admittance. He could spy from beyond his work station window that Dominic had the garage locked up early and was now dumping fodder to feed one of his burn barrel fires. To Marius, this had grown synonymous with Winter, and was a good way to gauge the severity of the weather - Dominic explained to him that it became habit from his undercover days, and was a quick & easy disposal method of...well, anything that could burn. Which sounded vaguely ominous with the way he put it, and there was no doubt in his mind that it absolutely was ominous. But that was then. He would ponder though, what his fellow operative saw in those flames. If he thought of an array of things and memories like a haunting myriad or maybe he just saw nothing more than a warming fire and burning magazines. It was hardly worth asking either, because he was scarcely linear, and seemed to quietly take pleasure in keeping people on their toes. An enigma for sure. They both were. Joining Dominic's side he could feel heat from the fire and the barrel itself as it raged on between them.

"You've been out here a while?" "An hour, maybe less." "Can't be too good for you. It's cold & flu season. If you're going to see your nephews and nieces, that's not wise." "I've dealt with worse." "Yes, that's true, I'm sure your lungs appreciate your pack-a-day fitness ritual." "If I smoked a pack a day, BPOL would give me the chop faster than any bad habits could on my life expectancy. Besides, I can still outrun you. Did you come here to give me health advice or was there something else?" "I know you well enough to know that giving you advice often goes unheeded." Much to my dismay. "So no, however--" He presents the red giftbox to Dominic, which he'd yet to acknowledge. Or he didn't care enough to ask. There's a visible confusion that reads in his otherwise stark expression - Like Monika's the day prior. Was it really so foreign for Marius to present his generosity this way? "Oh...?" "Open it, Dummkopf." Rather than muster some spur of the moment retort Dominic does as instructed. He settled the box in snow and crouched down to examine what awaited inside. "Pure silver electromagnetic rods. In a similar vein to an EMP device, rather, a preemptive attack on them and on your target. Think of them as an extension to your CEDs. Place them around in any formation you like to create an electromagnetic field; They will go live the moment your CEDs do. I've included a remote for functionality and to check that they're all within range of each other. The frequencies will be dizzying for enemy weaponry and at the touch of a button, shock anybody standing within the field's radius." Astounded, Dominic can only look down in disbelief at the device in his hands. It's one thing to fix up an old motorcycle, or even a car, but something of this calibre was truly belonging to a prodigious acumen. And that prodigy is Marius Streicher. "Oh, there's also armbands and a 'plate' you fit to the bottom of your footwear to absorb static and safeguard you from being on the receiving end of the electrogrid. That part should be a familiar concept." "..." "Well?" "I don't know how the hell you come up with this shit, but it's incredible." "Mmhmm. Of course it is, I made it. Brave of you to finally admit that." "Don't make me regret showing some gratitude. I mean it. Is this what you've been busying yourself with the whole month?" "Yeah, calculating pulse waveforms took more work than Monika's and Elias' upgrades, I readily accepted the challenge though." "You went to the trouble of making something for them too huh. Crazy." "I did yes. Monika's was no sweat. I pulled up the files on her RED Mk III and tweaked a few things. Utilising the same technology I fitted a lens-like screen to a headpiece, so the intel she needs is always in view, and her handling of weapons isn't compromised. I think she'll appreciate the purple tint I used for the lens. That, and it can also be used for her spelunking - The new and improved Spectre can see beyond solid walls several metres thick, and it can detect hollow spaces like tunnels. If she removes the chip and slots it into the drone I made for her - I'll reveal that part to her once she's back - she can apply the Spectre to airborne recon in the same way as the lens itself." "Now, you're showing off. She's going to use and abuse that thing every chance she gets." "Good. Then I won't have made it for nothing." "What about Elias, what did you give him?" "I haven't given him his yet which works out nicely." "I'm all ears, Brainiac." "Interesting moniker. Elias gets a conal radius motion & thermal detector that bolsters his ballistic shield. This will give him an increase in tactical advantage, by alerting him to whoever is in his vicinity. If there's an obstruction or he loses sight of the enemy he can find them with ease and make his move. Like Monika's, his can mimic the technology he's accustomed to and can also be detached and used with the specialised drone made for him. He'll be able to temporarily blind at range, or cause distraction, meaning if he keeps his wits about him he'll manage to play a part from long distances." Dominic spied something else in the box as Marius gave his run down on each of the devices. Brow furrowed he picks it up and examines it closely, unable to crack what purpose it served. "Hm. And this?" "That, is a personal touch. Call it whimsical but I think you'll like it. His drone is also yours." Shooting the engineer a bewildered glance Dominic held the second remote in hand, waiting expectantly to understand its significance and what exactly made it so 'whimsical'. "I had trouble coming up with a unique quality for each of you. You're both irreverent in your sense of humour, so I decided to play on that. Elias' drone also has a compartment where something, such as a flashbang for example, can be stored and dropped at command. I'll tell him about that. What I won't tell him however is that you have full access to the drone with that control you're holding. I'll leave it to your imagination to invent shenanigans of your own design. It ought to appease your prankster inclinations," Marius smiled knowingly, but only just - A sliver of the pride gathering in his center. Dominic's was blatant and devilish; Cogs turning in his mind already. But moreso this was a gift with meaning, and understanding to a level that excelled clinical intelligence. He had captured all three of them as operatives and as people, as friends, in the best way he knew how. Each gadget was far from mere machinery. Like polaroids immortalising their merits on the field and in life. "Don't expect to hear this out of me again anytime soon but you've outdone yourself." "Hah! It's worth the effort just to wring sincerity out of you, you ornery bastard." "Yeah, yeah, pot calling the kettle black. I know you're not a drinker but come on, show me how to use this thing over a pint - and bring the drone. I want to get Elias back for all his gaudy Christmas music in the dorms. I considered smothering him with his pillow, but this will suffice." He sneered, amused by his own facetiousness. "I know you don't have anything else planned so I'm not giving you much of a choice." After placing everything back in its box Dominic stood up to give his friend a gracious pat on the back. Marius noticed a glint in his eye he hadn't been privy to before - one unlike the dispassion that most would consider default to 'Bandit' - perhaps they were both seeing each other in a different light. An aspect they kept tucked away, save for rare junctures such as these. "Fine. I'll agree, considering the occasion. Might as well get into the spirit of things a little. Frohe Weihnachten, Dominic." "Frohe Weihnachten."

#siegemas #marius streicher #dominic brunsmeier #monika weiss #elias kötz #man do I get wordy #I enjoyed writing this and I think siegemas is a great idea #thanks for allowing me to be a part of it

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tired-enjolras · 3 years

Text

Capable of Being Terrible. Enjolras/Grantaire.

Read on AO3

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Warnings: alcoholism, smoking, addiction/recovery arc.

Genre: Angst-Hurt/Comfort.

Words: 1297.

Summary: It’s a hard semester for everyone, Combeferre and Joly are working an internship, Éponine works two jobs and somehow gets it all done, and Grantaire drinks himself an inch from incoherent every night. Enjolras doesn’t have it worse than anyone - better than most, actually. But this year keeps knocking Enjolras down and, for the first time, cannot figure how to get back up again.

CHAPTER ONE.

It was Friday night. Every other student in the city was off doing something fun and frivolous. Enjolras was not. He was not one for fun until work was complete. The blonde man could laugh louder and harder than all of his friends and co-workers combined, but he’d simply have to party on Saturday instead. He was only days out from the start of exams week. Desires could wait. His computer was open on the bed, resting on a red pillowcase and gray sheets. It was playing a documentary film about the Paris Climate Accords that was required for a biology class - his lowest grade this semester was this class. He cared about science and certainly about climate change, but he was just fundamentally bad at the subject. There were others who could handle it. Enjolras could be the change in other areas.

Enjolras did not focus on the monitor, but instead his hand scrawled ferociously in a yellow spiral-bound notebook. One could hardly blame him for his excitement. Not only had he prepared a new pamphlet for his student political organization - which he would need to remember to copy at the library the next day - but he had discovered this American politician called Harvey Milk. He was working on final stage research and outlining for a research project on him for his World LGBT Advocacy class. That remained one of about two classes that were worth him expending a fuck on during this particular semester.

The number of credits he had chosen was much too high. 7 classes (one having a lab) was an irrational choice. It was Enjolras’ first year funding half of his own housing off-campus. He worked a real job. As real as scanning books and accepting payment could be. This, really, was the first year Enjolras had learned that everyone was correct in telling him that he was incapable of doing everything he assumed he could.

He did not live alone, but it felt like he did. The other half of the rent was supposed to be paid by Combeferre, who had been gracious and helpful and always so willing to do his part. Until he wasn’t and moved out. Combeferre had moved in with a very tall and very stupid man that Enjolras sincerely enjoyed named Courfeyrac. The two men cared terribly for each other, so Enjolras was happy to see them be able to make a sort of home together. Combeferre’s replacement was not gracious or helpful and almost never willing to do his part. René Grantaire had crashed into the apartment like a car fire. Enjolras was decently sure he would not enjoy his time with Grantaire whatsoever; that they would be professional and nothing more to each other. That never happened. Initially, he was very pleased that Grantaire never imposed an organizational system for Enjolras because everything he had sat in stacks, falling off of shelves and spread across each open surface. Grantaire picked up on this philosophy and effortless operated within it. For a while, they seemed to make perfect sense to each other.

In mornings, Grantaire would get coffee brewing, immediately being able to remember how Enjolras took it. In exchange, Enjolras would sit in destroyed stack of leaflet rough drafts and crack an egg and a shot of hot sauce into a glass for Grantaire. They moved in perfect sync like Aristophanes four-limbed love people. Before too long, they stopped being roommates and started being bedmates. Their relationship lacked definition, but both miraculously kept their affections exclusive and they liked this way.

Then Grantaire’s drinking, once consisting of some wine, a few beers and maybe one or two of something a little stiffer over the course of an entire week turned into several bottles of wine, a case of beer and empty liquor bottles collecting in the trashbagless bin in front of the kitchen sink. So Enjolras tried to take some actions.

The bedroom door swung open.

“Good evening, mon Ange,” Grantaire often called him this. My Angel. Grantaire thought was funny because he may as well have been saying Mon Enj. My Enjolras. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...”

Grantaire stood, leading against the doorframe. Whether for physical support or confident swagger was still unclear. He looked bad. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach to consider saying that about this person he cared for, Grantaire could never really look bad to him, but he was glassy eyed and sallow. Grantaire pushed himself off of the door, and walked to the side of the bed, crouching to his knees to throw an arm around Enjolras flat to the bed body.

“You smell like alcohol.” Enjolras stared plainly.

Grantaire scoffed. “Good nose you’ve got there,” he reached out and gently flicked Enjolras across the nose. “I was, in fact, drinking.”

Enjolras sighed, refusing to look over at his... whatever they were. If he looked at him now, he would get emotional. Hysterical or angry, it wasn’t yet clear which. “We talked about this.”

“I know, but look at me—“

“Hey, how much did you drink?”

“Oh, am I being cross-examined now?”

Enjolras sat up on his knees in bed, Grantaire’s arm sliding away. He was looking at the darker haired man now. His blue-green eyes burned. “No, but I can call a witness, if you’d like...” he extended his fingers to the other side of the bed for his phone. Marius would know. Éponine perhaps was there. Bahoral, or Courf, maybe. Wouldn’t take too many calls to figure it out.

“Lord God Almighty, Enj... Fine. A lot. Lost count after a couple rounds. But it’s Friday. I’m...” Grantaire cleared his throat, trying to sober his voice up some. “I’m not working tomorrow. Big deal. Don’t you ever get tired of talking about ol’ me?”

“Friday’s fantastic, but what about every other day that isn’t Friday?”

“It’s social. I’m social.”

“Grantaire.”

Fuck. “Mhmm?”

Enjolras’ jaw was tight. He was not going to yell. It was after midnight and the neighbors would call their pig of a landlord again. “Couch tonight.”

“It’s Friday!”

“René,” Enjolras had said this in the voice that mothers use when their child doesn’t understand why they can’t keep sticking their hand in the cookie jar. It was not mean, it was firm. Final. Grantaire sat up a little straighter. “Couch. Please. I love you to pieces, but this is getting fucking ridiculous. Sleep it off.”

Slowly, Grantaire raised himself to his full height. “You win. You always win. Happy?” He braced an arm on the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of Enjoras’ curls. The brunette swiped a discarded blanket off of this ugly leopard print chair that sat in the corner. Grantaire walked through the door, not bothering with a change of clothes for bed and shut it quietly behind him.

Enjolras was far from happy. It had been so truly okay and it’s not anymore. Everything was too much. Homework, organizing that protest, holding the pieces together for Grantaire when there’s clearly more going on than what he wants to share. Grantaire was Enjolras’ most important person and he was going to watch him finish his degree if it killed them both. Dear Reader, do not think for a second that Enjolras believed Grantaire was some kind of burden. He wasn’t. Enjolras loved him too much to ever consider him to be one, he just was unsure of how best to be supportive. No one ever supported Grantaire so Enjolras would simply have to be that person. There were too many things to care about in Enjolras’ life, too many problems. But that had historically been where he thrived. And Enjolras would find the time to fix them all. He always did.

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fatehbaz · 4 years

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iirc there are also a few coastal marine fishes with disjunct ranges that stop around cape Mendocino and pick up again around Vancouver Island. I think the kelpfishes Gibbonsia metzi and G. montereyensis might be some? Interesting to hear about the sky salamander having a similar distribution. Not sure if the fish disjunction is real or just a lack of info from the outer coasts of WA and OR tho, but maybe supports the natural dispersal hypothesis for the salamanders?

Oh thank you, this is really good to know. I know practically nothing about the marine ecology in the North Pacific. (Vibrant seas; there is so much sea life in the region, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m more familiar with terrestrial rainforest/PNW landscape,.) Off the top of my head, I know of one marine species, bat stars (Patiria miniata), which have a similarly disjunct distribution. For a long while, I have had some guesses about why some rainforest species have disjunct distribution ranges, separated, isolated in California and Vancouver Island. (Big disclaimer: I am horrible with chemistry/biochemistry. Know little about physics. Bad with technical ecology. Instead, mostly into geography, biogeography, human ecology, historical environmental change, etc. But I love salamanders and PNW geography enough to venture a couple of guesses in this case.) What do you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

For anyone interested, we’re talking about Aneides vagrans, a salamander endemic to the Pacific Northwest. Here’s what I said about them: Though, something about the temperate rainforest canopy that might be surprising? The “sky salamander.” Rainforest creature, a lover of fog. [...] Weirdly, there are two separate populations of this salamander, with a great distance between them. Some of these salamanders live in the rainforest of Vancouver Island. But the other population? In the redwoods forest of coastal northern California, the salamanders also permanently reside up to 95 meters above ground in the canopies of redwoods, where moss beds and epiphytic fern mats, resting in bark crevices and on redwoods branches, create refuge and provide small amphibian-friendly microhabitats in the sky. They can spend their entire life up there, in the fog. [...] If this is a coastal rainforest species, why are they living in rainforest of northern California and in the rainforest of Vancouver Island, but not in all that rainforest in between? [...] A leading theory proposed by Canadian ecologists suggests that the salamander made its way to Vancouver Island naturally, in recent centuries/millennia, by rafting on the thousands of large conifer logs that fall into northern California’s water and flow northward towards the Raincoast. (Original post about salamanders living in the canopy.)

Here’s the dilemma. (This is where the salamander lives.)

Aside from the sky salamander, there are a few other terrestrial creatures that I know of, which share a similar disjunct distribution pattern. As for animals, there is Edward’s beach moth (Anarta edwardsii), which is found in coastal California and Vancouver Island, and nowhere in-between despite all of the similar/suitable habitat. (There are some isolated records along Salish Sea coast near Mt. Vernon and Port Angeles in Washington State, to be fair.) There are many species of butterflies, which inhabit coastal dunes and oak-prairie of the Salish Sea lowlands, which are endemic to the PNW. But this Anarta species has one of the coolest disjunct distribution ranges. (Photo and map from Canadian federal government, COSEWIC.)

But the moth might not be a good comparison, because it’s more like a Mediterranean ecosystem species, rather than a rainforest species.

As for plants, Canada’s federal SARA Registry names about 25 that have disjunct populations at Vancouver Island and at milder climates farther south along the PNW/California coast: Graceful beauty ornamental onion; Clarkia purpurea viminea; Ranunculus californicus; Trifolium depauperatum; Montia howellii; Isoetes nuttallii; Woodwardia fimbriata; Vulpia pacifica; Myrica californica; Minuartia pusilla; Microseris bigelovii; and a few others.

When thinking about the disjunct populations of plants/animals living in California and Vancouver Island, I would probably distinguish between two kinds of disjunct ecosystems: (1) Creatures that live in dryland Garry oak savanna/woodland/prairie. And (2) creatures that live in temperate rainforest. I think that the disjunct populations of dryland/oak species make a little more sense, or are more obvious, while the disjunct distribution of rainforest species seem harder to interpret. The Garry oak savanna/woodland of the Salish Sea lowlands at Victoria and the Gulf Islands is in a rain shadow and experiences mild winters, and I would say the ecology is not dissimilar from Mediterranean environments of California; the oak in the Victoria area thus harbors isolated populations of other “Californian” species like endemic prairie-oak butterflies, the sharp-tailed snake (Contia tenuis) and, historically, the Pacific gophersnake (Pituophis catenifer catenifer) on a couple of the Gulf Islands offshore of Victoria. (There is also a disjunct population of Northwestern fence lizards, more typical of Nor-Cal, living on the shores of the Salish Sea.) These make more sense to me, because dry oak-prairie with Mediterranean-climate dry warm summers and mild winters are like distinct pockets of suitable habitat, easier to identify. And the corridor of oak woodland through Medford-Ashland, Willamette Valley, and the South Puget Prairies provides an avenue of dispersal into the Salish Sea lowlands and eastern Vancouver Island’s rain shadow.

But the rainforest species, like the sky salamander?

Even if the salamanders did arrive in Vancouver in the Pleistocene/early Holocene by rafting from California, there are some qualities of Vancouver Island that I think might’ve been welcoming to the salamanders.

My guesses:

1. Glacial refugia: The Brookes Peninsula (northwestern Vancouver Island) seems to have operated as a glacial refugia for terrestrial species, notably some ferns, mosses, and lichens. Canada’s SARA Registry, for material on the Brookes refugia, recommends: Shafer et al. 2010; Hebda and Haggarty 1997; Pojar 1984. (Rainforest species that used to live all across the PNW between the island and northern California may have lost their populations in Washington/Oregon, but survived on the island and in California.)

2. Mild winters and/or less snow. Northern California and the western shore of Vancouver Island may provide milder winters compared to rainforest of Cascades slopes in Washington/Oregon. I know this might sound silly, given that the western shores of Vancouver Island get completely battered by severe violent oceanic storms and are at higher latitudes than Washington/Oregon, but the western shores of Vancouver Island (being so “hyper-maritime” compared to Washington/Oregon, even more marine-influenced) receive more rain in winter, compared to winter snow in Washington/Oregon. For salamanders and mosses/lichens/ferns that can survive cold/violent wind but don’t like snow, this might be suitable for extending activity seasons.

3. Consistent year-round moisture (lots of fog in Nor-Cal which redwoods epiphyte communities access to maintain moist microclimates, and lots of liquid/rain on Vancouver Island relative to the more-seasonal precipitation of Washington/Oregon). Just guessing, but if the rainforest of Washington/Oregon is just a bit seasonal, receiving rain/moisture at specific times/seasons during the year, then the western shores of Vancouver Island and the redwoods forests of coastal northern California might receive more consistent wetness/moisture? This is probably more obvious at western Vancovuer Island, one of the wettest/rainiest places on the planet. And again, I know it might sound silly, but the redwoods in California? I know that rain is seasonal in Nor-Cal, and I know that temperatures and evapotranspiration are higher here, but the fog, the consistent fog even in summer, might partially compensate, by providing a source of moisture for salamanders and plants that would prefer to live in a wet hyper-maritime rainforest but can also manage to survive by taking advantage of fog.

Here, in the Canadian federal government’s biogeoclimatic region classifications, the western shore of Vancouver Island would pretty much be the most significant site that is simultaneously “very wet” and “hypermaritime.” Very wet = good moisture for salamanders, ferns, and moss. Hypermaritime = insulated against snowy frigid winters. (Labeled here as “VH1.”) The Great Bear Rainforest along the mainland would also be “very wet / hypermaritime” but is more mountainous and at higher latitudes, not exactly nice for the salamanders.

Also: canopy microclimates. As with the sky salamander, the researchers focused on these amphibians discuss how the epiphytic fern mats in redwoods (and Douglas fir) canopies collect so much moisture, and are at such high altitude relative to the forest floor, that the fern mats produce their own microclimates. Even in summer, when there is less rain, the amount of marine fog that rolls through the redwoods forest provides a source of moisture for the epiphyte communites to extract.

I also want to mention some “typical” sub-regions and classifications of the PNW rainforest, to say that I kinda think that Vancouver Island’s rainforest doesn’t get enough credit in US/EPA ecoregion classifications. I think it might make more sense to distinguish Vancouver Island’s rainforest from the rainforest of Washington/Oregon, with which it usually gets categorized as a contiguous ecoregion. I know that, typically, some ecologists/geographers would distinguish 4 sub-regions of the PNW rainforest. It seems like these distinctions were influenced by a late-1990s publication from Ecotrust (”Rainforests of Home,” mostly about salmon and watershed health).

Usually, Vancouver Island rainforest just gets lumped together with Washington/Oregon rainforest as “seasonal / mild.” So maybe it’s possible that both the California redwoods zone and western Vancouver Island are distinct from Washington/Oregon rainforest, and are similarly more-favorable for the sky salamander.

My understanding is that Vancouver Island’s rainforest is much wetter than Washington/Oregon.

I think that maps of differing rainforest soils better represent the distinction between Vancouver Island and Washington/Oregon:

I don’t know, maybe this too:

Between the good wintertime plant hardiness of that redwoods zone and western Vancouver Island, the rainforest of Washington/Oregon might be less hospitable in winter, depending on the metrics you used to judge plant hardiness. Like, I’m not saying that western Vancouver Island’s winter season is necessarily more hospitable to plants than the Washington/Oregon rainforest farther south, but is it possible that the ferns/mosses/lichens that already live on western Vancouver Island are hardy to begin with, and also do well because of winter rain, as opposed to winter snow of the Cascades? I don’t know.

As for marine creatures, the two that I was aware of were these:

-- Eisnea arborea, a seawood, disjunct distribution at Haida/Vancouver and central California.

-- a sea star, disjunct distribution Tlingit/”Alexander” Islands, Haida, Vancouver, and central California.

“No Bat Star Zone.” Lol.

This map from ChrisM’s “The Echinoblog.” [Good discussion of bat stars if anyone’s interested.]

Like I mentioned, there are a few other vertebrates that have a disjunct distribution, but they’re more like prairie-oak, dryland, or Mediterranean species.

Like this. (Northwestern fence lizard and sharp-tailed snake.)

(Sorry for the shitty maps. Again, I am forced to use M!crosoft Paint, the “working-class Arc-GIS.”)

But again, I know nothing of marine biology, really. And I imagine there are so many more influences on underwater ecology here, more obscure than what happens on land.

Love these creatures, regardless.

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nadiineross · 4 years

Note

Print: “How do you 'accidentally' achieve immortality?"

note: abt ur prompts.. i ….actually was planning a fic abt immortality but i dont think itll be done for ages so i slammed this one out. i also made a few posts abt superhero aus btw :’). i watched hercules for the first time in like a decade bc of ur other prompt and wow…. hades is still so funny DSJFHSKH ok anyway i prolly wont write a lot in the coming month bc semesters starting next week BUT i can type out some headcanons for prompts u give me, if u guys r interested in that?

i didnt proofread this and i dont want to because i am Lazy anyway thank u sm for continuing to talk to me abt chlodine yrs down the road. pls feel free to send in ur chlodine headcanons or if u jus wanna scream abt them

Nadine’s been alive for a long time, and so nothing really surprises her anymore. But, then again, Chloe is always her exception.

They first meet in India, only a passing thing. Being alive for so long, well, it gets boring. Nadine, also, could never really handle being purposeless. She enjoys having goals and working hard to achieve them, and she definitely enjoys the brief period, afterwards, where she relishes in those achievements.

It was easier, before, to find purpose: fighting. There were a lot of wars and Nadine was good at it. She was, and is, by all accounts, remarkable. However, to preserve her anonymity, she allows herself to dissolve into the unknowns of history.

She has had many names, most of which she has since forgotten. But, her first, she will not forget: Nadine. It is that name she gives to Chloe, and it is the one Chloe knows her by.

At that time, in India, she had nothing to do. It seemed the age of fighting as she knew it was coming to a close, and she grew bored.

Of course, this wasn’t a new experience; Nadine can hardly find anything she has not experienced. Usually, she travelled. She’s been to most places, but they were always changing, and this was something she appreciated on a deep level.

India, she has not visited in almost four decades.

On her first night, she eats a feast on her own. The restaurant owners were impressed, to say the least.

It is routine, her travels. During the day, she sees the sights, explores the places that have changed the most and visits those that she loved the last time she was here. When nightfalls, again, she feasts. Sometimes, when she isn’t too tired, she’ll take someone to bed.

This, she does rarely. It is, after all, hard to find a woman interested in other women in this world. Harder, even, to find one who isn’t interested in a long term investment, since Nadine is not very interested in the part where she outlives everyone. It isn’t a pressing issue, though. She has needs, sure, but she is patient, and sex did not fall very high on her list of priorities.

Besides, she understands. The consequences of being a woman like her are grave and not a lot of people would want to risk their lives for a fling.

Chloe is only her second in India.

There is a river, a half day’s walk away from where she’s staying. It is her second to last night in India, and there aren’t a lot of things she is itching to see, so she decides to make the walk.

By the time she gets there, the sun is hanging low in the sky, not yet set, but almost. She’s sweating from the heat and the oppressive humidity characteristic of the Indian climate. So, naturally, she unbuttons the first few buttons of her shirt and leans over the edge to splash water over her face.

It is a relief on her skin, and she looks up to gasp out a breath when she sees her. Chloe, shameless creature that she is, watches her.

Nadine doesn’t know how she didn’t notice the woman lounging in the water before now. Bewildered, Nadine blinks at her and feels very bare, suddenly hyper-aware of the droplets running down her face and into her shirt.

“Hello,” Nadine finally says. She is good with languages—there isn’t a lot to do when you’ve been alive for a few centuries.

“Hey.” She swims over until Nadine can see her smirk with distinct clarity, until her bare shoulders come up, but does not go farther up the shore. “Not from around here?”

Nadine raises an eyebrow. Clearly not. “No,” she says.

“Huh. Chloe, nice to meet you,” says she, extending a wet hand from the water. Nadine has to slosh into the water to take it and give it a firm, short up-down shake.

It’s a strange name, given the context, and this whole thing takes her off guard. She stupidly blurts out: “Nadine.”

Chloe’s grin becomes wider. She doesn’t try to hide the way she eyes Nadine’s open shirt. Nadine isn’t dense, either, so she knows when there is an opportunity she could take, is she wanted.

She’s not sure yet.

“And you? Are you from around here?”

Humming noncommittally, Chloe stands, abruptly, to her full height and walks around Nadine to the shore. She is naked, and Nadine has to swallow a lump in her throat.

Nadine has seen a lot of women, and she can say with certainty that Chloe is one of the most beautiful she has seen. She tries not to stare and succeeds, given that she has excellent self-control. Though she will admit, Chloe certainly tested her in that moment.

“Where are you from?” Chloe asks as she picks up a shirt strewn across a rock and slips into it. Now, Nadine notices the pair of pants and shoes hidden behind the rock.

Nadine smiles, wryly, aware that she is giving more information than she is receiving. “Africa.”

Chloe doesn’t seem to take offence at her brusqueness. Just laughs. “Ah.” Then, because Chloe is so brave and so young, barely thirty by the looks of it, she stoops and holds up her pants, and asks, “Should I bother with these or are we going to address… what should I call it? The tension?”

Oh, how they address it.

After, as Chloe disappears into the trees on the other side of the river, Nadine realizes that she is entirely, profoundly, surprised.

Nadine has met many bold women; she can be one herself when she wants to be. Chloe, she never really forgets, but she is filed away into a tiny corner of her mind, fading away until Nadine never really thinks about it unless she is alone at a river and has run out of things to think about.

Besides, World War II has started, and she’s occupied with killing those Nazi bastards. She doesn’t enlist in any army—can’t exactly fly under the radar there—but she has connections and resources, and works perfectly well alone.

In the face of all this, Chloe is not forgotten, but she is not remembered.

And Nadine’s life goes on, and on, and on, as it is wont to do.

Nadine doesn’t know why she never dies. It just happened or, more precisely, it just never happened.

Her parents did. She never really knew her father, as her mother raised her, but she does know he died. Her mother, she held as she passed.

Years later, people began to talk. Nadine turned thirty, and that was it.

She doesn’t know if she can die at all, but she isn’t interested in testing her theories. She has avoided fatal wounds for so long; she won’t stop now.

Sure, she has suffered and has felt like she might die, but she doesn’t think she wants to die. There are so many things she wants to know.

So, she decided, a century into her life, that she would not question it. She isn’t at all old enough to have been there for the Trojan War, but she does know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It is the 2000s and Nadine begins to feel a little existential. She will not fight in wars now, given the stakes and, especially, given her moral compass. Well, at least not official ones. She has accepted that she is a little bit of a vigilante, and she’s focusing on bettering her own home.

Always levelheaded, she never bites off more than she can chew. She only takes to the streets every few weeks. In the meantime, she decides to get into academia.

If she’s so keen on learning, why wouldn’t she go to school? Human achievement is impressive!

She has one PhD already and is working on her second. She has just started, meeting her advisor for only the third time, when she sees a flash of red in the hall, heading towards the History department.

It’s a woman with jet black hair, ponytail swinging. Before Nadine can think to squint, she’s rounded the corner and is gone.

Blinking, Nadine turns away and heads to the courtyard. She likes to sit on the grass and do her research there. Small pleasures.

It’s been an hour, maybe two, when a shadow casts over. Strangely, she feels her heart start to beat faster before she even looks up.

“Hello,” she says, throwing an arm over her forehead to shade herself from the afternoon sun.

Chloe in the flesh. She puts on the same old smirk and looks down at Nadine with her hands on her hips. “Hey, you.”

Nadine raises an eyebrow as she sits down and makes herself at home on Nadine’s picnic blanket, among her sea of books.

“Well, look at you.” Chloe keeps on grinning, shark-like. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“You’re too kind,” Nadine says, thinly. “And neither have you, by the looks of it.”

Dismissively, Chloe waves a hand and tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. “No need to flatter me, you’ve already gotten into my pants.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Much, at least, she thinks. Then, wonders if, perhaps, she is dreaming.

“That’s nice.” Chloe leans closer, growing serious but retaining her persistent underlying curiosity. “Oh, Nadine, what are you?”

Nadine snorts. “Always so bold.”

She shrugs. “Places to be, things to know, people to do. I’m a busy girl.”

Like a shark, Nadine thinks again. She keeps her mouth shut for a few moments, just watching Chloe watching her. As Nadine recalls her memories of Chloe, she notes that Chloe mostly hasn’t changed. Finally, she leans back on an arm and says, “Looks to me like you have all the time in the world.”

“Hm.” Chloe lifts a hand, maybe to touch her arm, maybe to push her hair out of her face, maybe to cup her cheek. Nadine will never know. She tenses, instinctively swaying back a little. Chloe’s hand drops down, but she keeps on smiling. “You’re immortal, then. All the time in the world.”

Nadine doesn’t say anything, just waits for Chloe to draw her conclusions.

“How long have you… been like this?”

Nadine pretends to think. “About a century or five now. You?”

“Well, I was thirty-four when I met you,” Chloe wonders aloud, tilting her head as she does the math. At this, Nadine frowns and, upon seeing this, Chloe huffs a laugh. “Yes, actually thirty-four.”

That makes her roughly two centuries old. Nadine doesn’t know how to feel about this, about everything, about Chloe. She had been, to her knowledge, alone in this for three centuries. Never once had she met someone else like this, and she didn’t want to, she doesn’t think. She had always been slow to trust.

She never tried to think about this too hard; she doesn’t know how it works—is she contagious? But none of the other women turned immortal after going to bed with her. Still, she worries at her lip and examines Chloe.

“How?”

“How am I like this?”

She nods.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Quid pro quo.”

Nadine rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. I just never died.” She sighs, harshly, and closes the book in her lap with a full clap. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” Chloe says, gently. This time, when she reaches out, to touch her wrist, Nadine lets her. Chloe looks down at the point of contact, seemingly charmed. Then, after a beat, meets Nadine’s eyes again and smiles. “Well, I don’t know how exactly it worked, but this was an accident.”

“…what?” Nadine scoffs. “How do you ‘accidentally’ achieve immortality?”

Chloe looks sheepish now. “I went into an ancient temple and mucked around, and maybe I broke something, and… well, here I am.”

Suddenly, struck by the urge to lie down for a decade or at least go somewhere more private for this discussion, Nadine shoves her books into her bag and stands. Chloe, startled, mirrors her movements and then stills as Nadine rolls up the blanket and easily hefts everything up.

“Uh, what’s going on?”

Nadine picks up her baseball cap and puts it on, and then sweeps an arm towards the paved path. “We’re going to my apartment.”

A little dumbly, Chloe follows along. “Who’s bold now?”

Nadine gives her a look, and Chloe just smiles, looking away with a shrug. They make the journey in silence, Nadine’s is a stubborn one, and Chloe’s obliging. When they reach the apartment, Nadine lets her in first and gestures to the couch. It’s not a very big apartment, but it’s comfortable and in an alright neighbourhood.

After Nadine puts her bag away, she comes back to see Chloe leaning over the back of the couch to look out her window. She twists back around as Nadine sits.

“You alright?”

Nadine looks up at her, eyes hooded. “Ja.”

Chloe smiles, a kind one. She has such an expressive face. Nadine wants to run her hands over the dips and curves of it. Wants to feel a little more grounded in reality—is she really not dreaming?

The urge to just ask disappears in a moment as Nadine comes back to herself, feeling safer on her own turf.

“So, this is where you’re from.” It’s not a question, but Nadine nods anyway.

“Originally. I don’t remember exactly where but I grew up farther inland and then moved to the coast later before my mother passed.” Nadine rubs a hand at her temple. Tired. “They both died. I’m the only— I was the only one. For the longest time, I was the only one.”

Chloe shifts, an unidentifiable emotion drifting across her face. “Nadine.”

She sighs and says, “I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it,” she says, not ungently. “It’s been a long time.”

For once, Nadine allows herself to give in. She leans over until she falls, turning her face to press her nose into the hard muscle of Chloe’s tensed thigh, just above the knee. She hugs her arms to her chest and counts her breaths. Chloe sighs, too, and puts her hand in Nadine’s hair.

Nadine’s back is to Chloe.

It’s been a long time.

So, this is how it happened.

She was abandoned by her mother and raised by a father who wanted a son. He loved her, regardless. He just taught her the ways of his trade.

Her childhood was spent scaling the shelves of libraries as he did his research and sitting uncomfortably still as he spoke to “experts” in their homes. When she was old enough, by his standards, he took her out to ancient ruins, and they explored.

It could be dangerous; she broke a few bones on these adventures. Most never healed properly, and so bumps and scars littered her body.

The worst, the one that almost killed her, occurred in the temple.

Her father passed a few years before, to disease. She carried on his work, suddenly alone. His life’s work: a crumbling ruin.

She had spent days scouting it out, hidden behind a waterfall, like in the legends. She was nervous. Afraid that her father’s work would amount to nothing, that the life she had led without him would’ve turned out to be a waste.

So, she spent days by the falls and walking along the river. It was there that she met Nadine.

She had thought Nadine was a figment of her imagination at first, peeking out from the top of the water. A beautiful, sweaty spirit of the wilds, dressed like an average person.

A blessing she received.

That night, she went in. There were traps, which she expected, and treasures, which she had desperately hoped for. In the centre, buried underneath layers of chambers, was the Tusk.

She got greedy.

Traps triggered—

The Tusk, she held to her chest—

She curled over, protecting it from falling rubble and—

The tip, sharp and shiny, punctured her middle. It was shallow, but still, she cried out and tripped, and the spear she landed on went too far in to be considered shallow.

She doesn’t remember the details; all she knows is that she came back to herself while crawling out the collapsing entrance, sticky with blood.

She hid the Tusk away, for later, and stumbled her way to the nearest town, broken spear sticking out from her ribs.

Half a year later, freshly healed and free from the doctor, she went back. The Tusk was still bloodied, and a gem from the tip of the Tusk had fallen out somewhere. At least, it made up for all her suffering in gold.

In the face of all that, Nadine was not forgotten, but she was not remembered.

Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, having been vulnerable for the first time in almost half a millennia, Nadine sits up and grimaces. Chloe opens her bleary eyes and stretches.

“What time’s it?”

Nadine could look at her watch, but she grabs hold of Chloe’s forearm. “Does it matter?”

Chloe looks down and frowns. “I suppose not. What’s happening?”

“Do you want to address the tension?”

Chloe’s muscles relax slowly. She kicks her sneakers off and, in one swift movement, shrugs Nadine’s hand off and settles into her lap. Her mouth descends onto Nadine’s.

This time is almost like the last, fast and sloppy. Except they do it three more times, at least, and afterwards Chloe settles in beside her and stays till morning.

Nadine also has many scars, and Chloe maps them all out just as Nadine does to her.

“So, am I the older woman or are you the older woman?”

Nadine bites into her skin, licking a soothing stripe along the scar tissue there.

Chloe groans and looks down. “Does that mean I should shut up?”

Nadine gives her an unimpressed look. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she breathes, hand flying to the back of Nadine’s head. “Whatever you say.”

South Africa is best experienced in the weeks after Summer has passed, in Chloe’s very vocal opinion, and maybe that’s why the days she spends holed up in Nadine’s apartment feels a little like paradise.

She is not the sentimental type, and Chloe even less so, but there is something to be said for attachments. She had forgotten.

Chloe even admits that she was only here because she saw Nadine’s picture and wanted to use Nadine for information on why she‘s the way she is. Nadine doesn’t take it too personally, because she would’ve done the same, probably.

It ends, of course, as all things do. Not permanently, but Chloe isn’t the type to stay still, and Nadine’s set her sights on finishing this damn degree.

They agree, in five years, they will return to the tree, the patch of grass, and try again.

Nadine feels like she has aged the five centuries she had powered through almost numbly in the span of those five years.

They kept in contact because neither of them is the type to make significant, corny gestures like that. Over text, Chloe echoes the sentiment.

For Nadine, it is as if Chloe had barged in, reminded Nadine that she was in control of the remote and that hitting the fast forward button on life wasn’t the only option.

“Why do you chase after violence?” came her voice, tinny over the phone. She was in Russia.

“Do I?”

Chloe hums. “All your wars, your crusades. You insist you don’t want to die and yet…”

Nadine raises her eyebrows and finishes typing out her sentence before pushing back on her desk chair. Her first instinct is to be defensive, but Chloe starts to hum tunelessly, and it reminds Nadine that not everything is a fight to be won and— “Ah.”

“Do you wanna talk about something else?” Chloe laughs, then, and jokes, “My abandonment issues? Inability to sit still? Maybe how I’m greedy and selfish?”

Nadine smiles softly. “It’s okay.” She clears her throat. “I think I just got scared of losing people and just, frankly, losing in general, with life and all. I took being independent to the next level. I forgot the value in doing things senselessly, and in a way that’s exactly what I did.”

“How do you mean?”

Nadine shrugs even though Chloe can’t see. “I don’t know why I’m immortal, and I didn’t want to know. What makes me deserving of eternal life and not anyone else? So, I thought only of what I would do with this and doing those things. I’m good at fighting. Why wouldn’t I fight? And I can’t die—there are causes I could give myself to.

“I mean, there were moments, in between, where my thought would wander, of course.” Nadine pauses, feeling nonsensical. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“That’s alright. I get it.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Anytime, love.” Another breathy chuckle. “Literally, anytime. From now until the rest of eternity.”

“Hello,” Nadine says when she feels a shadow loom over her.

There’s a rustling, and then a kiss to her cheek. “Hey there, sleeping beauty.”

It’s been five years.

Nadine opens an eye and sees Chloe peering down with her stupidly beautiful smile. Her fingers graze at Nadine’s cheek, featherlight, and Nadine’s touches over them. Warm.

“So weird how you haven’t aged a day.”

“Ja, I didn’t get a chance to develop stress wrinkles since you left.”

Head thrown back, wind blowing her hair aside, Chloe laughs. Nadine thinks there hasn’t ever been a surprise as nice as Chloe since the dawn of time.

Stooping over, Chloe kisses her.

#THANK U FOR THE PROMPTS THEY R V INSPIRING and also thank u for still caring abt chlodine yrs later #ok i didnt edit this n i wrote this all in one sitting literally 5 seconds ago and this isnt good like plotwise #and the themes r not thought out at ALL but #but i still am proud of myself for slamming this one out #chlodinefics #ask #anonymous

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cami-chats · 4 years

Text

Gotta be damned because I want it all

Fandom: Check Please

Pairing: Kent Parson/Connor “Whiskey” Whisk

Warnings: In later chapters, some homophobia and involuntary outing, falling out with family

Chapter 1 (Haven’t come out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine) of 5 Read below or on AO3

Whiskey knew about pressure and expectations. When he got to the Aces, everyone acted like he was just starting to feel it.

When he told his parents he wanted to play pro hockey, they'd... tried. They'd tried to be supportive. There had been a month long period between him telling them and them agreeing to it, when they tried to change his mind. 'We live so far west, Connor. Any chance you have will be if you claw your way up, fighting tooth and nail for every inch. You'll have to prove that you're twice as good as they're expecting.' He knew it was because they wanted him to be sure. It wasn't going to be easy, like taking P.E. or joining the baseball team at school. He was going to have to travel, practice every free moment; he was going to be tired year round.

'Hockey is expensive. If you change your mind, we won't be able to pay for a different extracurricular for you,' Mom said, and she was so worried about the possibility of him changing his mind that she didn't stop to think about how Connor knew what he wanted-- he wasn't exactly what someone would call fickle. His parents made sure, right from the start, that he knew the kind of commitment he was getting into, and he dove into it headfirst. He couldn't explain the exhilaration that came from being on ice, from racing around on his skates and keeping an eye on the puck and other players.

To be fair, it didn't start to feel like pressure until he was sixteen and everyone was talking about him. Who was his high school sweetheart? How good were his chances in the draft? Would he crack under the pressure like Jack Zimmermann had? (Zimmermann, who everyone constantly compared him to. Apparently the way they moved on the ice was similar; their focus on the ice was similar, and Connor didn't give two shits.) Was he at a disadvantage living where he was instead of in Canada or along the east coast? He'd talked to reporters before and watched what was said about him to see how it was coming along, but now it felt like it was everywhere. Reporters fucking everywhere, picking him apart. He was struggling to keep his grades up as it was without worrying about the latest article that said they didn't think he was going to make it to the next draft. His parents told him how proud they were of him, his friends said they expected for him to be the best, and more than all of that was the burning need inside to prove himself.

He'd started pushing himself when he was twelve and telling his parents that he wanted to play hockey for the rest of his life, and he was still pushing himself when he made it first in the draft and got to be with the Aces. Las Vegas Aces. It was like the name was hovering in bold at the forefront of his mind, occasionally giving itself a shake when it thought he hadn't freaked out about it recently enough.

Las Vegas Aces, Captain Kent Parson.

This... was a dream come true. Nothing less. Kent Parson had won a Cup his rookie year. Kent Parson was his Captain, and Whiskey had always loved watching the way he moved on his skates-- like he'd been born to it.

Scraps was housing him for this first year, and apparently him and Kent were tight. So Kent Parson, living legend, was there when Whiskey was moving in. Not that he had much to move in. His parents had been reluctant to admit that this was a permanent move (hopefully he wouldn't get traded, the Aces were exactly where he wanted to be), so he didn't bring much with him. But he didn't want to bring much anyways. He didn't need school shit; he didn't want to poke holes in Scraps's wall with posters, and he didn't have any books or movies that he couldn't bear to part with. He brought clothes. Music. One framed picture of him and Jenny because she'd given it to him as a going away present, and she was his best friend.

All of this was to say that his first conversation with Kent was about pressure. That wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but maybe it was better than a nondescript 'welcome to the team, don't party too hard' speech. Kent was leaning against the doorway to his room, watching nonjudgmentally as he unpacked. There was a backwards snapback atop golden curls, and Whiskey had plenty of practice in not staring. "How do you like Vegas?" he asked as an opener.

Whiskey shrugged. The climate was familiar, but he didn't care to explore the city. He was here for hockey, not to get wasted and gamble his signing bonus away (he'd paid for Jenny's meal plan at college, because they had both been planning to go to Samwell if the draft didn't work out).

"Look kid-"

"I'm not a kid." He knew that he was compared to everyone else, but he didn't want for them to think of him that way. He was younger, yes, but not a kid.

"Sure," Kent said with an easy going smirk that, while appearing sincere, Whiskey thought was appeasing. "What I mean is, there's a lot of eyes on you for getting first in the draft and picking a team out here." 'Out here'. So far west. Whiskey didn't get why everyone had such a stick up their ass about it.

All he said about it was, "You did it."

"Yeah, and it felt like everyone was waiting for me to fail. You're gonna get a lot of questions about how you're dealing with the pressure dude, and I want you to know that it's not big deal. We're not dropping you if we don't win a Stanley Cup this year."

"You won the Cup your first year," Whiskey said.

The smirk was back. "See? Shit like that is why I don't want you to worry. It's no big deal, man. If we get it this year, awesome. If not, whatever, there's always next year. Especially for you, there's always next year."

It was obvious that Kent was waiting for a response, so Whiskey nodded. He didn't agree, but he nodded.

"Now that that shit's outta the way, I'm looking forward to having you on the team. Like the way you shred the ice, man." He pushed himself off from the door frame. "See you at practice."

Whiskey nodded, and Kent left. He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he was alone again. Kent could say all day long that it would be fine if he fucked up, but Whiskey knew the truth of the matter: you get one shot. Maybe not one shot at the Cup, but one shot at the big leagues to prove yourself.

Whiskey didn't know how rookie years were supposed to go, but he was pretty sure you didn't get bumped up to first line after a week and a half of practice. He was pretty sure the coaches didn't tell the captain that they should take an extra hour after practice for the next few days, just the two of them. He was more than sure that the captain of the team didn't usually have the extra time to spend an hour with every rookie. The coaches said it was going to be a few days, but Whiskey knew that that was a first estimate, not a solid timeline. They wanted to see how well this practices went-- wanted to see if the way they clicked would turn into them being a pair. If it didn't work out, Whiskey might stay on first line, but the extra practices would stop. If they started to do well, they'd probably be encouraged-- that's the way they always phrased it; 'you're encouraged to take these extra practices and push yourself harder but you don't have to'-- to spend as much time on the ice as they needed until they had a sixth sense for where the other one was on the ice. They'd get the second option, that much was obvious from how they started performing during practice.

He didn't need anyone to say the words to his face for him to know that they were thinking about Zimmermann when they saw him and Parse skating together. Parse and Zimms, that's the dynamic everyone wanted. And they always said it together, like it was one word. Whiskey didn't give a shit because he was here and Zimmermann was at college. It would be another two years before he signed on with anyone, and by that point, Whiskey wouldn't be dispensable; he'd make sure of it.

And all the while, Parse was telling him not to stress. Focus, but don't worry. Take it one practice at a time, don't worry about playoffs because they didn't even know if they'd be in them yet. (The Aces had gotten to the playoffs every years since Parse signed on, but sure, this year-- the year that Parse and Whiskey were tearing up the ice together-- was going to be the year that they didn't make it.)

They were in the middle of one of those hour-after practices when Whiskey got a phone call. He'd dragged his bag out of the locker room after official practice, so he skated over, peeled off a glove, and fished his phone out. Jenny. He couldn't just ignore a call from her. "One second," he told Parse, who nodded, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. He slid it to answer and held it up to his ear. "What's up?"

"Uh, we had plans to watch Resident Evil, remember? You weren't online. And really? Ignoring my texts is a dick move, Whisk." On anyone else, those words would've sounded frustrated, but Jenny was just teasing.

"I forgot."

"Dude, it was your pick for movie night." He never forgot movie night. If he needed to cancel, he always told her as soon as he knew he wouldn't make it. "You okay?"

"I'm at practice."

"I thought practice ended at four for you. Did I mess up time zones? I googled it, I can't believe I messed it up. Shit dude, hang up before your team gets mad at you!"

"You're fine, it's an extra practice, just me and Parse."

"Parse. Parson? Like Kent Parson??" she asked, voice climbing higher. Everything that came out after that sounded like it had been said with a single breath. "Dude! Connor! Oh my god!!! Woah woah, wait this isn't, like, a remedial thing, is it? I know you like to be all stoic, but if you're having a breakdown and it's fucking up your playing, it's okay to tell me. I won't tell your parents, and I can try to skype you more often if you think it'll help. Or- god, I should let you get back to practice and you can tell me about it later if you want to." Jenny was the best. Nervous at times, but the best.

"I'm fine. Sorry I forgot. I should be home in an hour, I'll text you."

"Okay. Love you! Kick ass out there, Whiskey."

"Love you." He hung up and tossed his phone back on top of the bag. "Sorry," he said, skating back towards Parse-- who was doing slow circles near the middle of the rink to give Whiskey some privacy.

"It's fine. Who was it?"

"Girlfriend," he said, because that was the story they were going with.

People normally pushed. Not a lot, but they always wanted to know her name or ask how long they'd been together and what she thought about hockey. At the very least, they said some sort of joke to let Whiskey know they were cool with it-- or something like that. But Parse just nodded and said, "Ready for more dumbass drills that we don't need?"

Jenny sent him a well wishes text before his game. So did both of his parents. So did each of his four siblings. So did all of his friends from high school. Whiskey didn't bother reading all of them. He barely even read Jenny's.

Parse was a good captain when he wasn't trying to convince Whiskey not to worry. The pre-game talk boiled down to: we're awesome and they suck so let's kick ass.

Whiskey knew what kind of attention was on him as he skated onto the ice: is he going to live up to the hype? did he deserve this? He was going to make them regret even thinking those questions. As Jenny liked to say, he was worth all this and more, and it was about time the rest of the world saw that too.

One goal and one assist when they won the game 2-1. Not bad. He could've done better, but apparently that wasn't a universal opinion based on all the knocks to the helmet and pats on the back the team gave him.

He checked his phone by rote at the end of the press and showers, but it was more of the same. All the people that sent him well wishes for a good game sent him congratulations. Jenny's text in particular was exuberant, lots of keysmashing, exclamation points, and all caps messages.

Most of the guys congratulated him on the goal before they left for the night, but fucking Parse had to make it awkward. "Nice game."

Whiskey nodded, digging his thumb into the arch of his left foot so it wouldn't cramp up on him in the middle of the night. It was always the left foot, and it was always directly after a game and never practice; he didn't know why, but it was annoying. When Parse didn't immediately keep moving, Whiskey said, "That was a sweet shot you made."

Kent snorted. "Thanks. Looks like it was a damn good decision to put us on a line together."

"Yeah."

It was silent for a minute as they went about getting dressed. Their stalls were right next to each other, which meant that Whiskey caught glimpses of tan, muscled skin even though he wasn't looking. His foot was really pissing him off right now because it still didn't feel better. "It's not a big deal if you fuck up at the next game, y'know."

Whiskey's hands stuttered over his shoelace for a moment, but Parse probably didn't notice.

"I know it feels like the end of the fucking world if you don't do well, but it's not a big deal. Most rookies don't make it on the team of their choice or make a goal in the first half of the season let alone their first game. Even if you start sucking, no one here's going to care."

Whiskey got the feeling that Parse was going to keep going unless he agreed with him, so he said, "Yeah." He could feel Parse's eyes on him, and it was clear that he didn't believe Whiskey. It would've been annoying, but he dropped it instead of pushing, and it felt like Whiskey could breathe again.

He had a point streak going. No one that he only heard from over the phone noticed. After his first game, the supportive texts had tapered off. His parents still sent them, when they remembered when his games were. They tried, but they didn't follow hockey-- they followed their son. Jenny, on the other hand, knew about all of his games and watched them when she could. Between her school work and getting used to a new state though, Whiskey didn't expect for her to be on top of it. Besides, he didn't need people telling him 'good luck' like it would actually help how he played.

The other Aces knew about the point streak, and they joked that they'd be making him take vodka shots after each game that he kept it going if he were legal. Parse knew about the point streak, and he was still worried about the stress that Whiskey was supposedly going to crack under. No matter how many times he told Parse that he was fine, he didn't look convinced. He just... he would always fucking smirk and knock his knuckles against Connor's shoulder and say something like, "Whatever you say, man. Wanna grab some coffee?" And Whiskey always wanted to even though he kind of didn't like coffee, but he declined. Parse didn't mean anything by it other than they were becoming a popular duo on the ice and he was Whiskey's captain, but Whiskey didn't do one-on-one outings unless it was with Jenny.

He shouldn't have been surprised that Kent would keep offering when his streak inevitably ended. The only reason he said yes this time, was because he didn't open with sympathy. They were getting dressed after showers, and he said, "Wanna grab some coffee? We're gonna be on the red-eye flying back, and I don't think I've ever seen you sleep on the plane. Don't worry about it, dude, you'll get used to it after a year or two."

Whiskey should say no. He didn't want to. Not making a goal this game wasn't a tragedy. They still won the game, and he'd gotten two assists. He'd played his best game, and that was what mattered. "Yeah." He'd figure out what to get once they actually got there.

It was pretty damn obvious Parse was surprised by him agreeing, but he didn't let it show other than an extra smug smirk on his face as they left. Parse kept up a bit of chatter as they took a cab to the coffeehouse he recommended, but it was about the game they'd just finished, so Whiskey didn't have to pay too much attention. Mostly he looked out the window and didn't shift to accommodate the restlessness his body kept insisting on feeling.

Whiskey felt like a kid trailing after Parse as they got out of the cab and walked into the coffee shop. He looked at the menu and felt his stomach curl at the idea of drinking anything with espresso in it. There were blended drinks, and those were basically milkshakes, right? Not that he'd had a lot of milkshakes that he could remember since he'd been trying so hard to stay in shape for hockey, but he had vaguely good memories of them. And then he remembered that it wasn't allowed in the current diet plan.

Parse ordered, then looked over at him expectantly.

"What?"

"C'mon and order."

"I can pay for myself."

Parse raised an eyebrow-- with that fucking smirk on his face-- and nodded towards the register.

Whiskey could either deny it again and get embarrassed when Parse insisted, or he could give in. He grit his teeth, then muttered, "Small lemonade, please," to the cashier. He knew that Parse thought he was overreacting. It was a lemonade. It cost, at most, three dollars. Even before Whiskey had gotten his signing bonus, he would've been able to pay for someone else's drink at that price, and Parse had been in the NHL for years now. It wasn't a big deal. He couldn't unclench his jaw.

Parse didn't make it A Thing, and Whiskey let himself be grateful that he didn't always push. Parse commented on the song playing over the speakers as they waited for their drinks. Something inane about coffee shops playing indie songs instead of pop. "Want to walk back to the hotel?"

"Sure."

Parse didn't say anything for a while, and Whiskey hoped that he knew where their hotel was, because he had no idea. You'd think that cities would be the same no matter which side of the country you're from, but apparently not. He might as well have been walking around in Britain for how little he knew what was going on. When he did start talking, Whiskey wished he would've kept his damn mouth shut. "I know this isn't something you want to hear, but you remind me of Jack."

Whiskey was about to take his chances finding the way back to the hotel by himself, but Kent continued before he could turn the other direction and leave.

"Not the way you play, but you have this look like you're one bad game away from freaking the fuck out. He nearly died when it got to be too much for him, and I don't want that to happen to you."

This was not a conversation he ever wanted to have. Pressure wasn't new. He'd lost games before, and he'd been fine. He figured out what he needed to work on, and then he practiced until it wasn't a problem anymore. The stakes were higher now that he was playing pro, but he knew how to deal with it. Some of the guys out there had been playing almost as long as he'd been alive, and he was supposed to be able to match that. If he let himself get too comfortable, he wouldn't be game-ready. He wasn't pushing himself more than he could take and all he wanted was for everyone to shut the fuck up about it. "I'm not suicidal," he said, having to shove the words past his teeth. His jaw felt like it had been welded shut, and he couldn't figure out how to unstick it.

"Zimms wasn't either. He OD'd on his fucking anxiety meds that he got from the doctor his parents sent him to. It was all legit and that didn't do him any fucking good. He was so out of it that he couldn't think through taking twenty of them wouldn't make him twenty times less anxious. You're doing great out there. You don't need to win every single game to be worth something." It made him feel a little better to see that Kent didn't want to be having this conversation either. It also helped to know that this wasn't about Whiskey. It was about Parse feeling guilty for not helping his friend earlier. One little glimmer from Whiskey made him think of Zimms, and now he was wigging out over it.

"I don't have anxiety."

Parse snorted. "Yeah okay."

It would sound defensive if he repeated it, so he took a sip of the lemonade. He didn't know if it was supposed to taste this sugary or if it was a bad choice by that shop.

"Look, you don't want to talk about it, and I'm tired of feeling like I'm looking over your shoulder all the damn time."

"Is there a trick to telling you how to drop it?" Whiskey asked, mostly not joking, but if Parse got upset, he was going to pretend that it was.

"Just promise me that if it ever gets bad, you'll ask for help. Me, one of the guys, a friend, your parents, I don't care. Just- someone."

Whiskey could've insisted that he wasn't in a position of needing help-- not now or anytime soon-- but that would've taken longer and Parse would've kept worrying about him to the point that he wanted to avoid him. Avoiding Parse wasn't anything he ever wanted to try and do, so he said, "Fine." Then, when that sounded insincere, he added, "I will."

Parse nodded, then took a drink of his coffee. "Now that that bullshit's out of the way, do you think that Harvey can keep up with..." he continued on, and they fell back on the safe topic: the other team's stats. They weren't on the home stretch for a playoff's spot yet, but Whiskey had to think ahead to make sure the timeline was solid in his head.

They made it to the playoffs, but all Whiskey could think about was the fucking stupid mistake he'd made in the last game. He hadn't missed a good pass that completely since he was fourteen fucking years old. And he'd missed it from Parse of all people.

The media scrum after that felt like so many layers of bullshit, but he kept on his media smile and answered all of the questions like he was supposed to.

Parse didn't ask him how he was afterwards, and Whiskey almost wished that he drank alcohol because that would make getting to sleep easier. Parse clapped him on the back like he did every time they parted ways, and that was that.

He'd fucked up at a game-- over something so goddamn simple he felt like clawing his hair out-- and other than two questions from the media, there hadn't been a reaction. The coaches might ask if he and Parse needed more one-on-one time, but that was going to be the extent of it.

Jenny didn't even mention it when she said that he had a great game. He didn't know if that's because she hadn't noticed or if it was a conscious decision on her part not to bring it up. Either way, he was happy not to talk about it.

For all that Whiskey and Parse had talked about playoffs and the Cup, he was still shocked when they made it to the final round. Aces versus Penguins. It felt like his mind was a static screen on an old television. Crackling loud enough to be annoying but nonsensical enough that it could be tuned out if you tried. There was the occasional jump like a mental exclamation point just to keep things interesting.

This didn't happen. Rookies didn't win the Cup their first year when they were playing on first line unless they were Kent goddamn Parson. Whiskey knew himself; he was no Kent Parson. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Jesus christ this was a bad time to have that mental break Kent had been worried about. It was the first game, he needed to be in the right head space to bring his A game because anything else wouldn't cut it, not at this point in the finals.

As fate would have it, Kent was the one to get him out of his head. He kicked Whiskey's leg as they were getting suited up, more of a nudge than anything else.

Whiskey looked over at him. Any hope he had that nobody noticed how much he was freaking out was dashed when he saw the expression on Kent's face. Always smiling, the bastard, but it was less teasing than usual. "If we lose, we lose."

Whiskey snorted. "You don't tell anyone else on the team that."

"Nobody else on the team needs to hear it. Getting this far your rookie year? That's some gold star level shit. You've got the rest of your career made, whether we lose or not. We've got at least four games before it's all down the gutter anyways. Have you ever had four piss poor games in a row?"

"There's a first time for everything," Whiskey muttered.

"Win or lose, you and me are going to celebrate. You'll finally get a proper introduction to the queen of my life, Kit Purrson."

"Did you name her that yourself?"

"I am my own biggest fan," he said with a wink.

"Not true," Whiskey said, shaking head. The words slipped out before he could stop them, but Kent wouldn't think anything of it, right? He was one of the most popular players in the entire league, plenty of people admired him.

"Does that mean that if we win, you'll be my biggest fan?" Kent said, and there was a lilt there, almost flirtatious. But no, that was just in Whiskey's head.

"If we win, I'll be your new best friend."

"That makes it sound like we're not best friends already."

Whiskey was about to refute that, but he paused before anything came out. Shit. When did that happen? "I'll fight Kit for the position."

"Saying that my best friend is my cat?" Kent let out a low whistle. "Harsh, Whisk. Real harsh."

Inexplicably, the tightness in his chest was gone.

They won. They won. Holy shit, they won. Connor was smiling so widely it felt like his face was going to get split in half. When the Cup made it around to him, he felt like he was fucking glowing as he lifted it over his head and cheered. Kent and Connor had both gotten a goal in the final game, and the one before this, the Aces had gotten a shut-out. The time before last, they'd won in overtime. They'd lost two games, but he'd felt pretty good about it, and now they had won.

Whiskey was feeling the high of victory, and he'd like to be able to say that it was an impulse decision after the dust settled, but it wasn't. The reason he'd had the courage for it was because he was a fucking rookie and he'd gotten a goal in the game that won them the Stanley Cup, but no, it wasn't an impulse. If it had been an impulse, he wouldn't have waited until after the game when it was just the two of them heading back to the hotel so they could change for the team's victory outing. (Scraps had decided that the second best player on their team didn't need a babysitter. "If you can get a hattie, you can find your way back to the hotel," he'd said with a snort, knocking a fist on Whiskey's helmet after he'd brought it up after a game.)

Kent watched Whiskey rummage through his bag, amused. "I know you packed victory clothes."

"Scraps made me," he muttered. This was a pretty small bag, he didn't understand how he was missing it.

"That's how I know you packed 'em."

He finally found the button-down-- dark red and tighter than he normally would have have gotten for himself because Jenny had bought it for him and said it made him look hot-- and yanked it out victoriously. And, of course, dark jeans for the other half of his outfit, but he'd found those as soon as he opened the bag.

"That's what you're wearing?"

Whiskey gave him a flat look-- or as flat a look as he could managed when he was still smiling from the win. "Are you doing more plaid?"

"Hey, I wasn't judging," Kent said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was surprised you even have a shirt with buttons."

Connor flipped him off, but he was grinning.

"All my plaid has buttons, don't give me that. All you ever wear is t-shirts."

"They're comfortable," he defended, getting to his feet. He pulled off the compression shirt he'd been wearing after the game and slid his arms through the sleeves of the button-down.

Kent snorted. "You say that like my clothes aren't comfortable."

"How would I know?" Connor asked, starting at the bottom and working his way up as he fastened the buttons. "I don't get why you're all dragging me out, anyways."

"You don't know?" Kent repeated incredulously. "Dude! We just won the Stanley Cup! This is a once in your career sort of event, you need to get wasted and play shitty drinking games."

"I'm underage, I won't be able to drink anywhere we go."

"Connor," Kent said, laying his hands on his shoulders and affecting severity. Connor's hands froze halfway up his shirt to look Kent in the eye. He had this fucking gleam like they owned the goddamn world and they were going to make the most of it. "We won the Cup. Nobody's going to fucking card you. And even if they want to, you don't question the guy that comes in with a bunch of obviously over-age professional hockey players." He started to get his normal smirk back, and all Connor could think was that he wanted to kiss it off of him. So he did.

He leaned forward, hands going from his own shirt to fist in Kent's.

It was only a fraction of a second before Kent was kissing him back, hands sliding up to his neck as they both shifted closer to get to a better angle. Kent met him for every kiss, both of them pressing harder and harder until both their lips were swollen and Connor was about to have to move his hands so he could see if Kent was as effected by this as he was, but a loud knock on the door stopped them.

"Yo, Whiskey! Stop primping we gotta go celebrate!" Swoops shouted.

Connor cleared his throat quietly, then yelled back, "I'm almost done!"

"You seen Parse? Bro's not in his room!"

"We were talking shit about all of you that didn't win the Cup your rookie year," Kent called in the direction of the door. He took half a step back, and Connor reluctantly let go of his shirt; there were wrinkles where he'd gripped the fabric so tightly that it wasn't bouncing like it normally would have.

"We're all champions today, asshole!" There was a loud thump that sounded like he'd kicked the door. "Get downstairs in the next five minutes or we're not waiting for you!" Swoops was never one for keeping his mouth shut, so when nothing else was forthcoming, it was obvious that he'd left to go wait downstairs like he said.

"We should probably go," Kent said, ruffling his hair. It's not like Connor had had his hands in it, but it looked a little messy, regardless.

"We could stay here," Connor offered tentatively.

Kent's eyes shot to the side, and Connor's stomach dropped. "That's uh-" The hand that was in his hair clenched, and it looked painful. He let go after a second. "I'm your captain," he said quietly. "If anyone found out, I could get kicked off the team. Nobody else would sign me, and-"

"It's fine," Whiskey said, offering a lopsided smile. He combed his fingers through his hair then buttoned his shirt the rest of the way. "I wasn't thinking about any of that, you know? Felt good, so I just kinda..." he trailed off, not knowing where he was going with it. Anything he said would be a lie, anyways. Kent would probably be able to tell.

"Yeah, it's fine," Kent said with a responding smile that looked a little less awkward than Whiskey's own. "I don't wanna- um-" he cut off, messing with his hair reflexively. "It probably wouldn't be a good idea to hook up with any guys unless you're planning on coming out."

Whiskey shook his head, because that was something he never planned on doing, right alongside this conversation that he never wanted to have. All the guys-- Parse included-- thought that he had a girlfriend, and it would be for the best if he continued to let everyone think that; it's why him and Jenny had gotten together in the first place. "Go on," he said, slapping Parse companionably on the shoulder, "you should get changed before Swoops follows up on his threat."

Parse snorted. "He wouldn't do that."

Whiskey raised an eyebrow.

"The captain pays for the first round," he explained, and Whiskey laughed, shaking his head.

#check please #kent parson #connor whisk #fanfic #my writing #the rest is only gonna be on ao3 not here

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The best digital watch 2020

Watches are cool, no uncertainty in it. Actually, it was the indication of eminence in the early ages and still, it is. Since everything around us is computerized, we have likewise changed to advanced watches and every day we're finding new assortments in the market. In any case, the best advanced watches are those ones that have an eye-getting plan and match our character.

Time is the most significant substance in life as the time's up you can play a greater amount of your life. Watch is a mechanical imagined by mankind subsequent to understanding its cycle or circle. You life turns around this cycle or circle.

It implies the mechanical bit of concocting couldn't be disregarded in the event that you are found of brands of the present style showcase. I couldn't want anything more than to give you the specific data that would assist you with finding out the top computerized watches brands in the market.

Nowadays, we're not utilizing them to consider time to be we're encircled by workstations and cell phones. Yet, there is something inside us where we feel like "Am I missing something?". All things considered, let me acquaint you with our rundown of best computerized watches 2020.

1. Casio G-Shock X-Large

Presenting the first from the rundown of best computerized watches, the Casio x enormous g stun. I despite everything have a memory of wearing the Casio F91W-1 out of 2008 as I wasn't into watches that much. Unfortunately it went on for 2 months. When contrasted with that outdated watch, I should state the Casio x enormous is a mammoth. let me reveal to you why.

As clear from its title, the x huge is a shockproof best advanced watch. To affirm what this monster is asserting, I thought let me check out it by reaching a stopping point with it by tossing it with full power. I even attempted it multiple times yet at the same time didn't found any harm.

Plan And Value

Presenting the first from the rundown of best advanced watches, the Casio x huge g stun. I despite everything have a memory of wearing the Casio F91W-1 out of 2008 as I wasn't into watches that much. Unfortunately it went on for 2 months. When contrasted with that old fashioned watch, I should state the Casio x huge is a brute. let me reveal to you why.

As clear from its title, the x huge is a shockproof best computerized watch. To affirm what this brute is asserting, I thought let me check out it by reaching a stopping point with it by tossing it with full power. I even attempted it multiple times yet at the same time didn't found any harm.

Another fascinating thing about the Casio G-Shock X-Large Reverse LCD Watch is that it's water-safe. I even attempted it in hot and cold water and still found no change. I should concede, I myself felt so terrible about being that fierce with this watch. Be that as it may, the watch demonstrated itself to be harder than me. In addition, the watch didn't respond to a magnet. It is in simple and advanced watch show dial screen a genuine extreme watch I at any point experienced in my life.

Everything in the watch is computerized including the stop-watch that it offers. You can utilize it during your exercises or running to screen the time you spend on such exercises.

Execution And Features

The commencement clock is additionally included which is very noteworthy. I neglected to specify the LED light, you'll experience lights with various hues during evening when you press the catch along the edge that is expected for lights.

From the computerized watches, this is one of the smart advanced watches that offers an incredibly long battery life of 7 years. I don't have the foggiest idea whether it's the right number since I haven't attempted it for a long time. In any case, I trust it's a reality.

What We Don't Like

The band on the watch isn't that noteworthy as it's comprised of pitch and it's the main component I didn't care for about the watch. The plan of the band is great and I like it up until now however I figure it won't keep going long.

In addition, it's a standout amongst other structured computerized looks for the individuals between 18-30 years age class as should be obvious in the image. A 60 years of age man could never incline toward such a watch. Generally they are into simple watches. right? In any case, the watch likewise has simple highlights yet as much as I am worried about the structure, it's not planned for them.

What We Like

By and large, I have contemplated numerous Men's watches brands to fly into #1 of the rundown in the best advanced watches. In any case, the Casio G-Shock X-Large substantiated itself and took the primary spot. Indeed it offers numerous things as should be obvious everything in the survey. I would wrap up everything by saying, the best men watch with all the highlights an individual could want and the most ideal decision you can make inside a decent cost.

2. Casio G-Shock GD-100-1BDR

The first that I explored from G-Shock in the rundown of best advanced watches is a simple computerized watch. Be that as it may, it's not the situation here, in Casio G-Shock GD-100-1BDR from the stopwatch to timing to every other setting everything is advanced.

Picking this mate among the best advanced watches was hard for me as I was making a pick by remembering everything with the goal that you don't settle on an inappropriate decision. In any case, how about we talk about its highlights.

Same like Casio X-Large, the GD-100-1BDR is likewise perhaps the best man watches that opposes to knocks and drops and is additionally waterproof which is extraordinary.

Plan And Features

The plan of G stun GD 100 is on another level. In any case, other than that we should discuss its measurements. The men's watch is 55mm case wide and 17.5mm thick. Weight is likewise our need here, who might want to have an overwhelming watch right? Fortunately the GD 100 weighs around 0.16lbs which makes it way lighter.

I have encountered some alleged computerized watches with a major sticker price. In any case, contrasting everything from G stun GD 100 with each one of those fellas, the GD 100 favors us in all things. Toward the day's end, our point is to include something inside the moderate value that glances great in all perspectives right?

Another reality about the watch is that it blares each hour to let you make mindful of time utilization. Envision you're sitting in an assessment lobby endeavoring your paper an hour passes, the watch will give you hourly time sign to remind you about the time. Thusly you can adapt to the circumstance without any problem.

In addition, the watch likewise offers a stopwatch that you can use during various exercises. In the event that you have an issue getting up in the first part of the day, you can set an alert with G stun GD 100 that will wake you up on schedule.

What We Like And What We Don't Like

Generally speaking, I would state G stun GD 100 men's watch is the most ideal decision you can make under $100. To put it plainly, it tends to be your best mate starting now and into the foreseeable future and can include efficiency in your life.

I didn't discover anything intriguing about the LED light. It appeared to me a LED that accompanies a normal watch. The general purpose is that it isn't so extravagant as I expected yet as long as it works for me during the night, I am fine with it. That is the explanation I am remembering it for the rundown of best advanced looks for men.

3. Suunto Traverse

Next watch for survey on the rundown of best advanced watches is SuuntoTraverse a GPS wristwatch with stunning setups and highlights. As I would see it, the main watch as far as structure today in the market is Suunto Traverse. It is a decent round computerized watch inside a round shape.

It has a pleasant structure with hardened steel bezels, would not humiliate you wearing. A magnificent open air watch that would astound your look and state of mind that is the explanation this watch is on the rundown of best advanced watches.

It is made for mountain climbers, for climbers, explorers, prepare packers and athletes. I think you are truly going to like this watch a ton.

Its cost is somewhat high in examination with some other best advanced watches yet spending your cash on this watch won't be squandered.

Execution And Features

You can without much of a stretch transfer bearings to this wristwatch, and you would have the freedom to find new geologies with the assistance of GPS and GLONASS Satellite route frameworks introduced on this watch. After a short prologue to Suunto Traverse we should bounce into the detail of this watch.

A cool and stunning element about Suunto Traverse is this is a GPS computerized watch where you can transfer your courses and you are prepared to investigate new methods for directing your own-self directly through your wrist.

You would have the option to follow your development with separation and elevation details, spare your thoughts of consideration and re-follow your means using the breadcrumb trail alternatives of this watch. Its route framework can explore you from some place you can't discover your way back.

An awe inspiring approach to discover cover by the environmental inclination. Conjecture climate changes, and tempest coming signs, when you are hanging out on a track and need cover it would support you. This component of this watch carried it into the rundown of best computerized watches.

GPS And Battery

Presently it is anything but difficult to ascertain and realize your daytime light and evening time dull by Suunto Traverse GPS watch. It has the battery limit of 100 hours.

Keep yourself refreshed with the assistance of GPS quickness. You would think about your approaching calls, your short messages, and messages and furthermore you have the opportunity to push your warnings from your cell phone to your watch.

A multi-organize framework introduced on this watch gives you stunning freedom of going anyplace it will streamline your limitation and tracks. You got a Digital Compass and Barometer for Barometric help worked in on this excellence. You would get free geological guides in there on the watch.

It can give you a battery life as long as fourteen days, and it's mischievous for you to realize that you would have an accusing link of it to revive the battery like your cell phone. It has the ability to remain conscious for 15 hours on GPS mode.

Locally available Accessory

You got five catches on your watch for the multi-capacities you need, a backdrop illumination catch to assist you with watching your stuff in dull hours. Through the choices, you can see the dawn and sun personal times to keep yourself refreshed.

Another astounding component of this watch is that it is water-safe down till 100-meter profundity in water. It got implicit Bluetooth and a multi-work best computerized watch and action tracker. Remember two things about this watch, one; it is fundamentally intended for the outside, second; in the event that you are not a climbing fellow or mountain climber so this isn't worked for you.

Its logbook is much the same as history, you can spare areas, your defeats and track and significantly more in this lovely outside computerized watch. You can clearly record when you are cycling or on a track outside through the GPS framework and can discover all the stuff in the log.

4. Braun Prestige Digital Watch Review

There are a great deal of brands available. In my view, in the event that you squander your additional bucks on a watch that later on doesn't meet your character and mind-set then I surmise this will be the disappointment of this article about best advanced watches brands I chose for you all.

You have an ideal tuxedo in thin fit wear with shinning boots, so what's left to expansive your glitz look?

Time is the most significant substance in life as the time's up you can play a greater amount of your life. Watch is a mechanical designed by mankind subsequent to understanding its cycle or circle.

The Invent And Brand Barun

It implies the mechanical bit of designing couldn't be overlooked on the off chance that you are found of brands of the present style advertise. I couldn't imagine anything better than to give you the specific data that would assist you with finding out the best watch brands in the market through this rundown.

Today looking through something is too simple to even consider finding something. To locate a one of a kind one I would broaden a few hints and data that will get you the specific quality match your look.

In the event that you are brought into being of a rich and costly adornments sweetheart in your characterized unassuming, at that point this article about advanced watches may assist you with getting the data about the present brands in the market. Also, you know folks why I chose this watch for survey? an extremely basic and direct response to this inquiry is "it is the quality and brand of this watch".

All things considered, folks here is an eminence advanced watch in the rundown of best computerized watches to keep you refreshed with the data of brands of the watches showcase. A Swiss quartz computerized observe wonderfully structured by Braun watches organization.

Braun Prestige Digital Watch

On the rundown of best computerized watches, this one is a quality beast in looks all things considered for cash men. The despair you need on your wrist with your quite marvelous suit this one is an extraordinary decision by any stretch of the imagination. Despite the fact that it is somewhat old model its quality despite everything keeping it remaining in the glory line.

I never infer across watches this way and transcendently I didn't think about the Braun making watches. Yet, exploring on best advanced watches It came in my nature that it is a brand name of value began from Germany. All things considered, they were fabricating cases and groups for watches. Later on, they began making some quality watches.

The Instructions Manual

You will get your watch with directions manual inside the container of the watch when you unload it. As it is a tempered steel made advanced watch and you should think about that there no part of capacities in this watch.

An extremely essential and basic watch with melancholy and appeal of strong treated steel on the rundown of best computerized watches. This one is Braun BN 106 SLBTG Prestige Digital Watch made for men principally. It is in a profoundly sweeping watches class due to its high caliber in men's watches It is on the head of the rundown of value watches in the market in spite of the fact that it doesn't have numerous capacities. Yet, you know people quality issues a ton in this electronic time.

Structure And Features

This is 37 mm across and a pleasant case and lash of treated steel. It's very thicker in its shape as should be obvious it in the demo index of watches. The LCD screen of this watch is high caliber and alluring one.

A little parchment wheel on the left base of the watch gives you access to the capacities and setting as you need to set it up. The glass is covering the time screen on the watch. The time example can be switch relies upon your set up needs.

Through the parchment wheel, you can set up the date and its example and can access to other accessible elements of the watch. You can without much of a stretch change to various modes through a similar wheel.

You can discover a stopwatch on this for figuring your time-slips. Caution to tell and help you to remember the timetable you have to follow. There is likewise LED backdrop illumination introduced on the watch to assist you with seeing the time in dull hours of the night. You will locate a hundred years' schedule on the watch with the day information.

It has a twofold bolting fold shutting over the catch. Barun BN 106 has a thirty-meter water opposition limit. The tasteful of value and plan in its cross-front lines consolidating Braun basic belief.

Just a single thing about this watch I truly don't care for is in day time when the sun is on top here and there you won't have the option to see the time.

5. Nixon Re-Run A158 Review

Obviously, I am not saying that the best advanced watches are not uncommon to discover in the market but rather for me, it is the quality and brand of a wristwatch. I am investigating my best to discover your/easy to understand watches alongside all the greatness and capacities you need in a watch.

Worth And Overview

An extravagance computerized watch on the rundown of best advanced watches isn't engaging for your attractions. We going to investigate the Nixon advanced watch for men. It is the piece of the re-run arrangement made by Nixon. This is Nixon computerized pure A158-001 wristwatch.

This specific model on the rundown of best computerized watches is very well known in the people who love watches from Nixon. We should hop into the nitty gritty survey of this specific wonder. Why this brand is on the rundown of best advanced watches gives bounce access to the survey to know to address this inquiry.

Structure And Features

The brand name of this watch is Nixon Re-Run with the model detail A158-001. The model discharged in the year 2018 so you can say it is a fresh out of the box new arrival of the creators or venders.

The main thing about this watch what you can likewise say that the head of the rundown is it is a computerized watch with the advanced screen show. The development kind of this extravagance is Quartz and the showcase sort of this watch is advanced. It is a water-safe watch with the safe bar up to 30 meters' profundity.

It has 1.5 inches Diameter which on the off chance that you figure in mm the worth is 33 mm in 4.94 ounces of weight. For the fellas who are living in various nation districts, I am additionally composing the weight in grams i.e 140 grams.

Shape

This watch is square fit as a fiddle as should be obvious it in the included image of this watch. Its catch type is organization clasp strip that is extremely simple to attach and open on your wrist. Truth be told, it is a programmed collapsing catch as I referenced simple to lock in and segregate. Additionally, it is extremely simple to straighten out the lash as of the size of your wrist.

All things considered, this one is a worth included component of this watch the case material is made of hardened steel that offers the hint of its sturdiness and strength. Case thickness is extremely important to make reference to here i.e with the estimation of 9 millimeters. Its incredible folks to have such a size, that looks better on your wrist.

Band Material

The band material utilized in its assembling is likewise hardened steel in amazingly lovely dark shading with the data transmission of 13 millimeters. The dial of this watch is likewise dark and you can see the substance like a green light in the dial.

It is accompanying a restricted time of guarantee. In any case, it is additionally fundamental to make reference to that it has standard capacities on it.

Locally available Accessory

There are two catches introduced on the top screen of the watch. One catch is a major one and the other one is somewhat little. The huge catch you will use for light up the screen and the little one is for changing the method of the screen. You can likewise utilize the large catch for changes in your front screen with a long press holding technique.

The underlying impression of this watch on the rundown of best computerized watches is that you would state this is certifiably not a quality watch yet when you use it alongside dealing with your everyday schedules you would immediately compose a survey on the nature of this watch.

Presently I surmise you may know the appropriate response why Nixon Re-Run. A basic, lightweight, top notch brand watch that you are searching for to agony your character is here at this point.

6. Garmin Fenix 3 Sapphire survey

For the past certain years when the innovation helped in all circles and hues. Best advanced looks for men additionally change alongside the evolving condition. Today you can see a great deal of hues in watches.

Yet, the dark shading has its own appeal in wristwatches particularly with regards to marvelous watches, the dark shading is hit in each field of life. May be this is the explanation I chose and utilized the vast majority of my wristwatches are in dark shading.

Estimation Of Garmin Fenix And Overview

The following computerized watch on the rundown of best advanced watches is additionally in dark shading people. Hence, I referenced it early that it is likewise my best shading decision when I purchase a wristwatch.

At the point when you are a kindda open air and like watches, here you would know the genuine quality of data we give about wristwatches. Let us dive into the detail particular of this watch.

Plan And Features

Plan of this watch is the main thing we would talk about with you fellas. Attempting the Garmin Fenix 3 Sapphire computerized watch on your wrist resembles a tank on your wrist. The instance of this watch is made of titanium and the merry 1.2-inch shading LCD screen is made sure about by Sapphire.

This is an intense solid time telling machine with hugely pleasant round shape in best computerized watches. On the off chance that you have a more slender wrist it would look massive on your hand. It is made in a scope of completions.

On the correct side of the watch, you will discover two catches for beginning and consummation activities. Furthermore, on the left half of the watch, there are three fastens, the lower two catches will give you the opportunity of route and the upper catch will give you the choice to turn the light on the screen of the watch.

Distance across And Thickness

It is 2-creeps in breadth and 0.6-inches thick and its weight is 4.8 ounce with the titanium band. Definitely, it is substantial and you won't care for it for running exercises.

Fenix 3 is a water-safe advanced watch with a limit of 330 feet. Despite the fact that there is no jumping adding machine introduced on this watch you can plunge with this watch in profound water.

The metal band accompanying the Fenix 3 is thicker, you can transform it as indicated by your needs and decision. I would propose the long tie for locking it in on the head of your ensemble on the off chance that you would prefer not to open your body to outside. It will give you the estimations you need from it.

Execution

Folks, presently how about we talk about its presentation and different highlights. A sensor of GPS is introduced on this computerized watch with a worldwide situating framework to show you your precise area and tracks. An altimeter and computerized compass are likewise introduced on this watch. You can follow a broad scope of exercises on this watch.

The exercises incorporate running, cycling, skiing, climbing, swimming and a lot more in the rundown of its exhibitions. This element I for one like so a lot and it constrained me to impart it to you and incorporate it to the surveys.

The Important Thing

One all the more extremely significant thing about its presentation I might want to impart to you that is it is likewise weatherproof. In the event that you are in a blanketed open country or in blistering climate it will give you the precise estimations.

Simple to interface with your cell phone and can adjust your information. Additionally, you are allowing to append it with a Garmin online record with iOS through Garmin associating application.

You would have a GPS tracklog on this watch which licenses you to leave computerized breadcrumbs. You won't overlook your way back home with this element of the Fenix 3.

Fenix 3 have likewise the ability to give you notices from your telephone, that way, you would have the option to see your telephone messages and other huge notification on your watch.

What Do We Like?

The Fenix 3 backings interface IQ; it implies you can introduce applications on your watch. For doing this you have to associate your watch with your PC and through Garmin Express work area application you can introduce applications on it.

The battery introduced on this watch will allow you 50 hours to see it alive in Ultra Track saver mode, around 20 hours in GPS mode and three weeks in GPS mode. I get it is very colossal about this watch to give such a period space of mixing.

I guess this watch is a delightful watch for outside and lively folks who love the multi capacities wristwatch developed with advanced nature.

7. Timex Expedition Grid Shock Watch Review

I feel no faltering to state that I chose another outside watch in the angle of best computerized watches which is in your taste and financial plan. There are a great deal of wonderful watches and brands in the market yet what I particularly demand, that is nature of the watch you have to spend your bucks on.

Worth And Overview

The following watch on the rundown of best computerized looks for men is Timex Expedition Grid Shock Watch. It is, obviously, a computerized watch and furthermore in the value scope of under one hundred.

There are modest and moderate advanced watches in the market yet you know folks in the event that you need a watch with the entirety of the specs you need here you locate the best direction.

There are open air watches and tried for its quality yet fizzled. The chose outside watches are tried for their strength and toughness. How about we dive into the detail of Timex Expedition Grid Shock.

As it is an open air observe so it has the remain of ISO stun obstruction. Presently this one has an enormous quality with capacities you need on your wrist.

Specs And Features

The essence of the watch is entirely coherent. Charming, crunchy, incredible numbers and societies. Indigo backdrop illumination is the perfect measure of glare, allowing adequate light to peruse, however not really as to obscure the numbers.

Timex discharged this watch in 2015. The top plate of this watch is made of hardened steel. You can discover a vibration caution, stopwatch and commencement clock sort of capacities on this watch.

The dial of the watch in dim hours can be light up with indigo-light up light on the screen. It has the limit of water opposition up to 330 ft (100 meters).

The state of this watch is a square shape in look and the showcase type is, obviously, advanced as it is included to the survey best computerized looks for men.

What Do We Like?

Case material of this watch is Resin and the fasten is clasp to tie it on your wrist. Case distance across is 50 mm and the thickness is 15 millimeters. Transfer speed is 16 mm and band shading is dark. There is additionally more assortment in hues extend. A portion of our fellas additionally call the shading gunmetal.

The heaviness of the watch is 4.80 ounce that implies it is a light watch to carry on your wrist while running and its water-obstruction limit shows that you can swim and make a plunge the water with this watch. The development of this watch is Quartz.

One thing I would make reference to that the plastic screen of this watch is exposed to scratches. In the event that you are doing a type of unpleasant work it would become scratch. So abstain from wearing during hard or harsh work. You can introduce a screen defender for making sure about it from scratches.

The vibration on the caution isn't so solid when contrasted with a cell phone however it will wake you up in the event that you are resting and the watch is on vibration alert.

It is agreeable to wear and have a bleak look, your wrist will be obvious with this watch and you would yourself feel it great close by. Such highlights and look carried it to the rundown.

A similar watch is additionally surveyed by the pattern spotter and some different fellas, it is anything but difficult to arrange out that you will get a decent watch at a low cost and this is the explanation I acquired this the rundown.

8. Suunto Core Altimeter Watch

Suunto is a notable brand in the market for the best computerized watches. The Suunto Core Altimeter Watch all dark is a lovely watch on this rundown. In the event that you are attached to wonderful embellishments and like to have a grave brimming with your decisions, at that point picking this one would not squander your bucks you are spending on various decisions.

Worth And Design

Indeed, this watch is intended for outside with some marvelous capacities on climate, pneumatic stress and significantly more. Let us examine it in detail to find out about this excellent computerized watch.

This is a wonderful round watch all in dark shading. An altimeter is introduced on this watch to follow your vertical development while you are jumping. A gauge is introduced on the watch to show you the weight of air. Also, a lovely compass is introduced to show you your way to the objective spot.

It has the ability to show you the climate and sun conditions. Just climate determining and following is anything but difficult to know now with this watch. This watch can tell the dawn and dusk times.

A decent thing introduced on this watch which shows you the climate pattern diagram to follow the tempest and an alert framework to advise you about up and coming tempests or any adjustments in climate that can influence your track of hanging out. There are three catches on the left half of the watch and two catches on the correct side of the watch for various capacities and arrangements.

Specs And Features

It is a top brand watch on your wrist now with a gauge, altimeter, compass and climate marker permits you to design your exercises as indicated by the coming future conditions. You will feel like you have your PC on your wrist.

The altimeter introduced on this watch will inform you concerning the right now winning heights, risings, and plunge and record the meetings of your highest exercises.

It has the insight to figure the pneumatic stress since the water drops limit noticeable all around and it will incite you for the up and coming tempests and climate issues. Best computerized watches are not uncommon to discover but rather this one has an enormous and stupendous strike.

It has the limit with respect to water opposition up to thirty feet exact estimations. The heaviness of the watch is 2.26 ounce and accompanying two years of guarantee. That is one serious chance to test it in all conditions precisely as indicated by the measures of your use and test.

9. Adidas Men's ADH9013

The time has come to examine another watch of your decision, an easygoing throughout the day wear open air and indoor computerized watch. Indeed, I am a major enthusiast of these watches and like the frill identified with easygoing wear. Be that as it may, as this article is about some great watches so after some other best computerized looks for men I am picking this one as easygoing wear.

Adidas Men's ADH9013 Ceramic White Peachtree Digital Watch is an easygoing throughout the day wear advanced watch with a portion of the details and highlights I will talk about here with you all. So we should bounce into the detail conversation on this marvelous watch.

White Peachtree Digital Watch Features

This is likewise a GPS watch for dynamic fellas who are enamored with sports and games and getting a charge out of dynamic way of life guidelines. The screen of this watch is contact and high goals. In light or daylight, it is giving acceptable outcomes to have the ideal work.

It is accompanying an inherent ten-lap memory that gives the opportunity of keeping up to ten of your laps put away on this watch.

A chronograph and clock are coming worked in with this watch in wonderful white shading and an advanced showcase. The distance across of the instance of this watch is forty-six millimeters.

It is an agreeable polyurethane band watch which you can wear for all the day on your wrist. You would be astonished to hear that it is excessively light in weight. You would not have the option to see you are wearing it on your wrist. In any case, it gives an eye-getting alluring look and others around you would clearly see it.

It has a lovely appealing computerized show screen in white shading. This watch is amazing in the water-obstruction limit as it would give you inclusion or water opposition up to one hundred and sixty-five feet the can be meant fifty meters. So it is anything but difficult to state that you can undoubtedly swim and wash up while wearing this watch on your wrist.

White Peachtree Digital Watch Specifications

The brand of this watch is Adidas, as it is made by Adidas for its important clients. The model of this watch is ADH9013. This watch is in a square shape. The clasp fasten and covering of this watch are made of mineral. Adidas is additionally fabricating some best advanced looks for people.

The case material of this watch is great plastic. The breadth of the watch is forty-six millimeters with a thickness of eleven and half-millimeters. The width of the band is twenty millimeters.

The dial shade of the watch in plain view is silver which gives an excellent look with the white shading. The bezel material of this watch is metal and capacity is unmoving. The development of this piece is Quartz.

10. Armitron Sport Men's 20/5062

All things considered, folks here is a games watch audit for you on the rundown of best computerized watches. Being an athlete I didn't spare a moment to choose this watch for survey and incorporate it to the rundown of best computerized watches. Let us dive into the subtleties of this watch.

Armitron Specs and Features

It is an Armitron sports watch fit as a fiddle and dark shading. The dial of the screen of this excellent simple and the advanced watch is made of Acrylic. It has both the time demonstrating limit simple presentation and advanced showcase. This nature of this watch constrained me to carry it to the rundown of best advanced watches.

This watch additionally has the fasten kind of clasp. The case material of the watch is Resin.

A multi-work sports watch with chronographic highlights. With double time indicating capacities. Lap clock and pacer are likewise coming worked in this excellence.

The case distance across is fifty millimeters and the thickness is twenty millimeters. The band length is man's norm and width of this watch is fifteen millimeters.

Shading And Bezel

The shade of the watch is dark and the dial shading is additionally coming in dark. The band bezel material is Resin and the capacity of is static. The development kind of the watch is Quartz.

It is additionally a waterproof watch with a limit of 300 and thirty feet. It has additionally the ability to show military time. There are a ton of different brands in the best computerized observes yet this one is additionally a delight.

It is accompanying an inherent schedule of hundred years' with day demonstrating volume. An hourly ring will illuminate you consistently and the backdrop illumination remains on for three seconds to keep the screen in light to give you time.

It is one of the most moderate men's watches because of its modest sticker price. I for one like this watch since it is in the class of reasonable watches with great quality and sports look. Read more

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chierafied · 5 years

Text

The Deal with the Yakuza (SKW2019d6)

Prompts: Edelweiss - Power, Courage + Crossover/Fusion

AU/Fusion. 5,666 words.

Chie: This is essentially a retelling of the first chapter of one of my favourite manga of all time: Tokyo Crazy Paradise.

I've (obviously) changed the characters to Inuyasha cast, and made some minor adjustments here and there, but the plot is all courtesy to Yoshiki Nakamura. (In advance to those who might want to ask for more, I don't intend to continue this fusion story any further BUT I thoroughly recommend you go and enjoy all 19 volumes of the awesomeness that is Kurepara.)

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Once upon a time, Tokyo had been hailed as the safest city in the world.

And then the 21st century happened, bringing in the worsening climate change, rising inequality, weakening democracy, the struggling economics, growing global tensions and unrest, the discord between work and technology and the ever waning natural resources. And decade after decade, things grew worse.

As a result of all this, the Tokyo of 2050s was far from the safest city in the world: it had become a pale shadow of its former self.

In certain parts of the city the streets were a lawless jungle. And if there was a crime in process in the middle of the day, the passersby would turn and look the other way, pick up their pace and hurry past.

Higurashi Kagome had been five years old when her mother and father had pulled her aside for the talk that would change her life.

Both of her parents worked as police officers and had seen first-hand how cruel the world could be, especially towards women.

So they had explained to Kagome that from then on, they would disguise her as a boy and raise her the same as her brothers.

Her mother had crouched down in front of her, clutched her small shoulders and told her that she would grow up strong.

And so Kagome had.

Although on some days, it was harder to stay strong than on others.

Never had it been as hard as on this day, when she stood on the curb with her three brothers, clutching at what meagre possessions they had left, and staring at the door their landlady had just slammed at their faces.

It had been inevitable, really, Kagome had to admit to herself. They couldn’t pay rent themselves; all four siblings were still in school.

But the sudden change in demeanour was startling.

The landlady had always been nice to them before, but now that their parents were dead, she was suddenly treating them as if they were garbage.

“What are we going to do?” Shippou grumbled, plopping down to sit on the curb. “Unless we figure something out we’ll starve to death.”

Souta sat down next to his twin. “No generous relatives to swoop in to save us either. Maybe a rich person somewhere will take us in.”

“Maybe we’ll need to join a Yakuza gang, that’d at least put food on the table,” Shippou said.

Kagome perked up, her mind spinning.

“Don’t even joke about it,” Miroku scolded Shippou. “Yakuza are the reason our parents died, we’re not going to sell our souls to our parents’ enemy –”

“I’ve decided,” Kagome cut in, standing straight, hands propped on her hips. “I’m gonna sell my soul to the yakuza.”

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Sesshoumaru sat at the head of the table, growing increasingly frustrated as his underlings went over the facts of the recent shoot out over again, debating which rivalling gang could have been involved in the altercation and the assassination that had cost his father’s life.

The discussion was going nowhere; gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist onto the table.

Dead silence filled the room, and the hardened criminals paled as Sesshoumaru directed his cold glare at them.

“So essentially what you’re saying is that you haven’t found anything yet,” he growled. “Quit playing around and find some answers!”

AhUn chose that moment to walk over. He bent down so he could whisper into Sesshoumaru’s ear.

“Boss, a friend of yours is waiting in the guest room.”

Sesshoumaru raised his eyebrow.

A friend?

As far as he knew, he didn’t have friends – he’d been groomed to become the successor of the largest Yakuza syndicate in Tokyo since he’d been in his diapers, that hadn’t really left him much time to make nice with people.

Still, it was clear the meeting wasn’t going anywhere and there were still no news about the incident that had led to his father’s death, so Sesshoumaru stood up, the legs of his chair screeching, and strode out of the room.

Sesshoumaru paused at the guest room door.

His ‘friend’ immediately greeted him, flashing him a smile.

Sesshoumaru swallowed a sigh. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see the day that Higurashi Kagome, the child of police officers, would willingly walk into the headquarters of the Kyuryuugumi syndicate.

And yet, he wasn’t at all surprised that this so-called friend had turned out to be Higurashi.

Sesshoumaru slanted a glance at the person on guard duty.

“Send them home.”

“Ah, Sesshoumaru-kun, don’t be so cold. Please listen to my story, I’m asking as your friend – we’ve been in the same class since the first grade and have sat next to each other for nine long years!”

“Friends?” Sesshoumaru scoffed. “We may have sat next to each other in class, but in all those nine years we’ve never spoken to each other.”

Kagome squirmed. “But you always kept to yourself…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sesshoumaru said, turning away. “I don’t have any time to spare for a police brat.”

“I’m not really a police kid anymore, though,” Kagome said, half to herself. She slipped her hand into her trousers pocket, to touch the ring her parents had left her. “My parents, they were following a suspect while off duty and went to the place where your father got killed four days ago, and they…”

Sesshoumaru turned to face Kagome and walked over in quick strides.

“Did you see him?” he asked, the words coming out clipped with urgency. “The criminal? What do you know?”

Kagome wasn’t intimidated even when he was in full glower and towering over her.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” she promised, “but right now I’m hungry.”

Sesshoumaru’s hand balled into a fist.

So that’s how it was going to be, eh? Fine. If he could discover who his father’s killer was, feeding Kagome and her brothers would be a small price to pay.

“Very well. Follow me.”

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Kagome and her brothers had fully been intending to dine and dash, but as soon as they were finished eating, Sesshoumaru had rounded them up.

Maybe he had seen through her, or maybe there was no honour among thieves so he was suspicious by nature.

Whatever the reason didn’t change Kagome’s current predicament: She was locked in a room alone somewhere inside Tokyo’s biggest yakuza syndicate’s headquarters.

She hadn’t been exactly truthful earlier with Sesshoumaru either: her parents hadn’t told her anything about the case. Even though one day she wanted to join the police force like they’d had, didn’t mean that her parents would let her in on what they were working on; their first priority was keeping her and her brothers safe.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She didn’t know where Sesshoumaru had taken her brothers.

To confess the truth or to continue the lie were equally dangerous paths to take.

For nine years, she had sat beside Sesshoumaru in class and he’d rarely shown any emotion. But when he had asked her if she’d seen the criminal, there had been something almost desperate in his eyes.

It seemed like he really wanted to catch his father’s killer.

Having all too recently lost her own parents – and most probably because of the very same culprit – Kagome could relate.

The lock clicked a moment before the door burst open.

Sesshoumaru walked into the room, all his attention focused on Kagome.

“Where are my brothers?” Kagome asked.

“They are safe – for now. But that can change very quickly, I promise you,” Sesshoumaru replied.

Kagome swallowed. Perhaps she had made a mistake coming to the yakuza after all, even to a gang led by her classmate.

“Now, if you want your brothers to remain in good health, you will tell me what you know about my father’s killer.”

Kagome bit her lip and avoided Sesshoumaru’s eyes.

“Don’t tell me you lied to me,” Sesshoumaru hissed from between gritted teeth.

Uh-oh. This was bad.

“What makes you think I lied to you?” Kagome said, nervousness bubbling up inside her.

“You glanced to the left just now. That’s always been your tell when you’re lying,” Sesshoumaru replied, each word heavy with accusation.

“Fine, okay,” Kagome babbled, close to panic now. “I don’t know anything about the case. But I saw a picture of the suspect once.”

Kagome was sure she saw murder in Sesshoumaru’s eyes.

“You saw a picture?” he repeated, his voice low and deadly.

Tears pricked Kagome’s eyes and she blinked them away.

“I will recognise him if I see him. I swear.” Voice trembling, she added: “Please.”

For a long tense moment, Sesshoumaru simply stood there, regarding her, assessing her.

“Fine. Then, starting tomorrow, you will be my bodyguard. After my father, I’m most likely to be the next target.”

Kagome stared at him, her mouth hanging open. That had not at all been what she had expected to hear.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one, because an evil-looking gang member who'd been passing by the guest room stopped in his tracks.

"An amateur kid from the streets? Recruited to be a bodyguard?" His eyes were cruel and his voice dripped with contempt. "Boss, you should take more care since your life's under threat."

"I’m a leader of a Yakuza syndicate, my life is always under threat," came Sesshoumaru's unconcerned reply. "And I know Kagome's skill. Walk on, Bankotsu."

The man bowed his head and walked away.

Kagome released the breath she'd been holding, shoulders slumping from relief.

She met Sesshoumaru's gaze. “You can count on me,” she promised.

“I know I can,” he replied coolly, “because until we have caught the killer, I’m keeping your brothers hostage.”

With that and one final glare, Sesshoumaru left the room.

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

The next day, when Kagome arrived to school together with Sesshoumaru, it sent their classmates into a confused uproar.

But Kagome barely noticed this: she had much bigger problems to worry about.

Problems that had nothing to do with her current predicament of getting entangled with the yakuza.

She had forgotten they were going to be swimming today for P.E.

Sesshoumaru picked up on her consternation, because he slanted her a glance.

“You’re looking pale, Higurashi,” he drawled. “Now that I think about it, you always seem sick when we have swimming in the curriculum. You’re always the last one to change, too.”

Kagome bit her lip but didn’t reply.

“I wonder why that is,” Sesshoumaru mused to himself, before heading towards the locker rooms.

Kagome sighed in relief that he hadn’t prodded the issue any further.

Her reasons for skipping out swimming in P.E. were valid, but not any she could confess to. She couldn’t compromise her disguise.

Besides, she couldn’t swim – she’d nearly drowned a few years back when she’d fallen into a river. Needless to say, Kagome didn’t have much fondness for water.

She waited until she was the last one around before slipping into the locker room to change into her gym clothes. She spent the lesson sitting to the side, and didn’t go back to the locker rooms and the showers until she was sure they’d been emptied out.

Only, this time she had miscalculated.

She was in the shower stall, just finished with her washing up, when she heard noise and voices.

Panicking, Kagome realised that some other class must have finished with their lesson and had come in to shower and change.

And there was no way to lock the stall door.

What should I do?! Please, please don’t let anybody try to come into my stall.

Of course, right on the heels of that desperate plea, there was shuffling noise directly outside her stall.

Kagome did all she could – she shielded her chest with one arm, while pulling the other one back, ready to punch the daylights right out of whoever had the misfortune of trying to come in.

The door opened.

She lunged into an attack like a coiled snake.

And at the very moment he casually dodged the strike, she realised she was face to face with Sesshoumaru.

He gave her naked body a dismissive once over.

“I see you haven’t thrown away your feminine side yet, trying to cover yourself up like that. Not very effective if you need to take someone down, though,” he said nonchalantly.

Then, he tossed her a towel, the protector she’d received from her parents to wear over her chest and her uniform.

He slammed the door shut and left, leaving a thoroughly flabbergasted Kagome behind.

She dressed slowly, too preoccupied by what just had happened and the implications of it.

How did Sesshoumaru know?

Moreover, had he known and actually come out of his way to deliver her things so she wouldn’t get caught?

Why would he had helped her keep her secret? If he’d known for some time, as his words seemed to suggest, why hadn’t he exposed her or tried to exploit her?

Naturally, when Kagome returned to the classroom and took her seat next to Sesshoumaru, she was feeling a little skittish.

When he turned to her, she actually flinched away from him.

The corner of his lips curled up. One haughty eyebrow rose.

“Why so cautious?”

He leaned towards her, the pose clearly meant to intimidate.

Sadly, it was working because Kagome definitely felt intimidated.

“You have no need to worry, Higurashi. Even if there was a shortage of women in this world, I wouldn’t lay a finger on someone like you.”

Kagome stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded.

Then she found her tongue.

“Oh, that’s right. You only go for the dumb, big-breasted type.”

Tempter flashed in Sesshoumaru’s eyes and the expression twisting his face could only be called a snarl.

Kagome was ready, her hand balled into a fist, but then Sesshoumaru shrugged and turned away, ignoring her for the rest of the class.

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

There was something about Higurashi Kagome, Sesshoumaru thought gloomily, as he was leaving school for the day.

Somehow, she could make him do things he wouldn’t normally do – like let her essentially blackmail him into feeding her family or go out of his way to save her sorry ass when she had got trapped in the shower stall.

It was probably those blue eyes of hers.

They were so damn expressive. Unlike him, she wore her heart on her sleeve.

But perhaps there was more to it than that, because even now, he was aware of her as she walked by his side.

That awareness distracted him, because he didn’t notice the danger until Kagome suddenly spoke up.

“Did we come with two cars this morning?”

Sesshoumaru looked ahead.

Sure enough, next to their car there was another vehicle parked.

“No, we didn’t,” came AhUn’s grim reply. He stepped in front of Sesshoumaru and Kagome, reaching into his jacket for his gun. “Leave this to us and escape, boss.”

Sesshoumaru didn’t bother replying. He simply jumped to the side, not a moment too soon because in the next second, bullets were flying and spraying everywhere.

He broke his fall smoothly and was up and running, sparing a quick glance behind to see Kagome still on the ground where she had thrown herself, grimacing.

“Get up, idiot, and hurry,” he commanded her, relieved when she pushed up and caught with him.

“Why are we running? Aren’t those the guys that you’re after?”

“They can’t be,” Sesshoumaru replied. “My father was shot with a single bullet to the heart. These sloppy bastards who’re lousy shots couldn’t have been behind the assassination.”

There were more thugs ahead, at least six men, and one of them was aiming straight at Sesshoumaru.

He dodged to the side and Kagome moved in tandem with him, pulling out her weapon.

The long chain flew out in a deadly arc, taking down two of the men.

Sesshoumaru went low, punched one of the thugs right in the gut and kept on running.

“Quit playing, Higurashi and come on!”

She scrambled to follow him.

Sesshoumaru came to halt. The thugs were still coming after them, but there was a river ahead. They’d been boxed into a corner, with only one way out.

Sesshoumaru’s jaw clenched.

“Jump in,” he told Kagome.

“Eh?!”

“Jump in!”

“But I can’t swim!”

“I know that! Just go!”

He gave her a good shove, then jumped after her.

It was no easy feat, making his way in the water.

The current was carrying him away from their pursuers at a rapid pace. His clothes and shoes were weighing him down. And once again, he had to save Kagome’s ass.

What a useful bodyguard she was turning out to be.

Once they were safely enough away, Sesshoumaru made it back to the bank. It was no easy feat to struggle against the pull of the current while dragging Kagome’s limp and unconscious form along, but he managed.

He pulled Kagome and himself out of the river, took a quick second to catch his breath, then unbuttoned Kagome’s uniform shirt in a quick, no-nonsense fashion.

He found the latch for her chest protector and pulled it off as well. She’d likely swallowed water going in, she didn’t need to have anything constricting her chest right now.

Seeing her lying there, prone and lifeless, was giving him a real sense of deja vu.

But there was no time to waste on pondering or reminiscing.

Sesshoumaru pinched Kagome’s nose, sealing her nostrils, and then leaned in to blow air into her lungs.

After two more long breaths Kagome’s eyelids fluttered.

Sesshoumaru sat back as she convulsed and coughed up water.

At least this time he hadn’t needed to go for full CPR.

Still coughing, Kagome sat up, disoriented, her chest heaving for breath.

It took her a moment to put together two and two, but when she did, she blushed madly, clutched her uniform shirt closed around her naked upper body and scooted away from Sesshoumaru.

Sesshoumaru shook his head.

“Looks like you haven’t improved at all since the last time.” He picked up the chest protector and offered it to her. “Hurry and put this on. We need to get back.”

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

Returning to the Kyuryuugumi’s headquarters, Kagome was more confused than ever.

She’d always believed that because Sesshoumaru was the heir to a yakuza clan and she’d been the kid whose both parents were in the police force, that Sesshoumaru would have hated her; seen her as his natural enemy.

But both his words and actions from earlier implied that when she’d fallen into the river a few years ago, it had been Sesshoumaru who had saved her.

That was how he knew her secret.

It was so much at once for her to wrap her head around – and it didn’t help that a part of her was still flustered that he’d seen her (half) naked twice in one day and given her mouth to mouth.

The moment they stepped on Kyuryuugumi’s grounds, Sesshoumaru’s two attendants Jaken and AhUn rushed over.

“Were you guys hurt?” Sesshoumaru asked, accepting a towel from AhUn.

“We’re all right,” he replied.

“Did you learn anything about them?”

“We weren’t able to catch them. It seemed like they wanted to scare us.”

“Hnn. If they wish to do that, they will have to try harder,” Sesshoumaru said.

“What about Hizakigumi? Aren’t they your rivals?” Kagome asked. “I remember my dad saying they were a big syndicate. What are the possibilities they were the one to kill your father?”

Sesshoumaru clenched his jaw, but didn’t reply.

“That’s not possible,” AhUn said. “Bankotsu and his men say it wasn’t Hizakigumi.”

Bankotsu? Kagome knew she’d heard the name before, but it took her a moment to connect it with the right memory. That guy passing by the guest room last night, with the mean eyes and the haughty sneer had been Bankotsu.

“I’m not sure I follow,” she said slowly. “If there are people who saw the perpetrators, couldn’t they describe what the killers looked like?”

“It was dark and they don’t remember the shooters’ faces,” AhUn explained patiently.

“Then how can they be sure it’s not Hizakigumi?” Kagome asked, genuinely baffled.

Sesshoumaru looked grim and shared a glance with AhUn, but before either of them had a chance to respond to Kagome, they were interrupted.

“Boss!” the guy from yesterday, Bankotsu walked over to them. “I’m so glad to see you’re all right; I heard you were attacked.”

“I’m fine, it was nothing,” Sesshoumaru said dismissively.

“If I may, I have a request to make.”

“Go on then, Bankotsu.”

A moment later, Kagome entered the Kyuryuugumi headquarters after Sesshoumaru, scowling at his back.

“I don’t like him,” she blurted out.

“Who, Bankotsu?”

“Yeah. His eyes are cruel.”

Sesshoumaru huffed. “We’re gangsters, we all have eyes like that.”

“I don’t like how he’s trying to look like a good person in front of you.” Kagome caught up with Sesshoumaru, stopped to stand in front of him so she could look him in the eye. “He’s the one who was there when your father was shot and he’s the one saying Hizakigumi isn’t responsible. Don’t you think it’s all a little suspicious?”

She was pleading with him, hoping he’d see reason. Kagome trusted her instincts, and now she needed Sesshoumaru to trust her.

“In the underworld, the punishment for betrayal is death,” Sesshoumaru said, his voice cold. “Therefore, I do not doubt my men when there is no evidence of wrongdoing.”

“Fine,” Kagome spat, angry at his stubborn reaction. “Then I’m going to find you proof.”

With that, she stomped away without a backward glance, feeling the weight of Sesshoumaru’s gaze prickling between her shoulder blades.

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

After his argument with Kagome, Sesshoumaru returned to his room, unsettled.

As a member of the underworld, confrontation wasn’t something that normally bothered him. But those damn blue pleading eyes of Kagome’s – there had been a look in them just then, imploring and so vulnerable that it had got under his skin.

Even though he’d just told Kagome that he would not doubt his own men, there was a nagging voice at the back of his mind that kept repeating Kagome’s arguments and saying there was definite logic to the questions she’d been asking.

There was a knock on the door and then AhUn stepped in.

“Boss, I just got a call from Bankotsu, he’s ready and coming to pick you up.”

“Very well,” Sesshoumaru replied. “Where’s Kagome?”

“Kagome left. He seemed to have some business to attend to.”

“What?” Sesshoumaru hissed. “What kind of business?”

“I have no clue,” Ah Un replied. “He requested an odd assortment of things and then just took off.”

Sesshoumaru pinched the bridge of his nose.

Kagome had left in a huff, telling him she’d go find proof. It couldn’t be that she…?

What was the idiot planning? Couldn’t she see what danger she was putting herself in?

The vehemence of that thought gave Sesshoumaru a pause. His hand balled into a fist.

If he was worried for her safety, didn’t that actually mean that he was starting to be persuaded by Kagome’s words and giving into doubt?

AhUn cleared his throat. “Boss, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to tell him you’d be leaving with Bankotsu. Should I have?”

Sesshoumaru shook his head and walked out.

He barely acknowledged the men he passed out in the hallway, who stopped to bow their heads to him in a sign of respect. His thoughts and feelings were all muddled right now, which wasn’t something he was used to.

And when he stepped into Bankotsu’s car, alone, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just made a huge mistake.

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

Kagome had thought that getting involved with the underworld and the yakuza would be something way out of her comfort zone but that had been nothing compared to this.

Heading to the Kyuryuugumi’s subclan headed by Bankotsu to prove her hunch she actually felt uncomfortable in her own skin.

She was certain she looked like a weirdo.

The irony of it all was that, in her current disguise, she felt like a crossdresser.

She had requested a bunch of items from AhUn and the attendant had got them for her, even if he had been very confused as to why she would need such things.

Kagome felt oddly exposed without her chest protector. The dress was weirdly clingy and alarmingly short. The long hair of the wig was annoying and the bangs were very distracting. The make-up felt strange on her skin, the jewellery was big and clunky.

It was just all too much, and very inconvenient, but if Sesshoumaru wanted proof, she could get it for him.

Although she wasn't sure why it was so important to her to prove that he should trust her.

Approaching Bankotsu’s subclan, she was met by two men standing guard near the entrance.

Kagome pulled her shoulders back and straightened. It was show time.

“Who are you?” one of the guards asked. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean by that?” Kagome snapped back, acting as if she owned the world. “When are you going to finish the job?”

“What?” the other guard exploded. “Who the hell are you?”

He grabbed Kagome’s arm.

Kagome yanked herself free and immediately retaliated with a powerful kick right into the guard’s stomach, making him double over.

She pulled out the gun replica AhUn had got her and pointed it at the gangsters. “It’ll be a problem for us if you take too long to do your part,” she said, hoping her hunch was correct and she’d get the answer she needed. “You know we’re looking to make an alliance with a large foreign syndicate.”

The first guard was looking her over, putting the clues together. “You’re Hizaki’s woman? Seems like you’re having some problems with communication, I just contacted Hizakigumi to tell them we’ll be finishing the boss off at the Red Cross building.”

“Hmph,” Kagome huffed, trying to stay in character even though inside she was panicking. “Never hurts to make sure, I’ll be passing the info along.”

Kagome sauntered away, her stomach heavy, her heart plummeting in her chest.

She’d been right, but at the same time it was even worse than she’d imagined. Bankotsu wasn’t the only traitor; his entire subclan was turning their coats.

Whatever vindication she might have felt about her instincts proving to be correct were now overshadowed with sheer dread.

Sesshoumaru would be so angry when he’d learn he had so many traitors in his clan – assuming that she wasn’t already too late to save him.

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

“I’m sorry, boss, that I sprang this meeting on you like this. It’s just that the client really wants to meet you,” Bankotsu said, offering him a smile.

Sesshoumaru did not respond.

The longer he’d sat in that car, the more resolved he’d grown.

When they pulled up was the moment he finally chose to speak.

“Say, Bankotsu… Don’t you think even my father could have been gunned down with a single bullet through the heart if the one to pull the trigger had been someone he’d up until then had believed to be his ally?”

“Please,” Bankotsu smiled, “the client is waiting.”

Sesshoumaru got out of the car and then stood there, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

He wasn’t very surprised to see the leader of Hizakigumi waiting for him with his men.

“Standing there as if you weren’t at all affected,” Hizaki said, “especially when you’re so young, it’s pretty impressive.”

Sesshoumaru stood still, while one of the thugs came over to strip him of his gun.

If he tried to reach for the weapon himself he’d be gunned down in a blink of an eye; there wasn’t much he could do against all these men alone.

“It’s nothing personal,” Hizaki grinned. “It’s Hizakigumi’s destiny to become the top syndicate in Tokyo.”

Sesshoumaru slanted a glance at Bankotsu, who stood next to him, holding a gun.

“Are you prepared to face the consequences of betraying your gang?” he asked him.

In response, Bankotsu pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Sesshoumaru’s head.

“No need to worry about me when you’re about to be killed,” he replied.

Hizaki’s smile was wide and smug. “Say hello to your father for me.”

“Goodbye, boss,” Bankotsu sneered. “That Higurashi Kagome will join you in no time.”

Up until then, Sesshoumaru had remained cool and collected.

But upon hearing those words, he simply reacted.

His elbow smashed into Bankotsu’s nose. It broke with a crunch and spray of blood, throwing the traitor off him.

Hizaki was much less sure about himself now, yelling orders at his men. “Fire! Surround him! Kill him!”

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

“Come on,” Kagome muttered under her breath, sitting on the front seat of the car next to AhUn.

She’d hurried back to Kyuryuugumi, just to hear that Sesshoumaru had already left with Bankotsu.

Before that she’d wasted many precious long minutes finding AhUn, which hadn’t been easy when she had also been forced to dodge Kyuryuugumi’s guards. They hadn’t recognised her in her disguise and had tried to bar her entrance.

It had taken even longer to persuade AhUn and the rest of the clan that Sesshoumaru was in danger. After all, what proof did she have about Bankotsu’s betrayal, save for her word – the word of an outsider and the child of police officers – against that of the leader of a subclan.

Or so at least she had thought, until in frustration she had slammed her fist against the wall, accidentally activating the ring she’d been wearing; the ring she’d received from her parents and which had apparently contained a recording device.

They’d all heard, caught on the tape, a part of conversation sketching out the plan to take down Kyuruugumi.

She could only hope they still had time to thwart it.

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

When the bullets actually started to fly, they didn’t come out from the direction Sesshoumaru would have thought. All of a sudden, everything went into chaos.

Somehow, Kyuryuugumi was there, and the tables had been turned on Bankotsu and the Hizakigumi.

A black car pulled up, tires screeching, and even before the vehicle had fully stopped, a figure shot out from the front seat door, yelling fiercely.

It lunged straight past Sesshoumaru to plant a wicked high-kick on Bankotsu’s jaw, clocking him out and sending him flying.

Following the kick’s momentum, she gracefully pivoted on the spot, coming to a stop in a protective stance before Sesshoumaru.

For a few moments, the fight faded into the background. Sesshoumaru could only stare at the long dark hair flowing down her back, the red lipstick she’d put on and the long legs exposed by the dress she was wearing.

Dimly, he was aware that his men had subdued the people from Hizakigumi and taken Hizaki himself captive, and were now shouting questions at him, expecting further instructions on how to deal with their adversary.

But when his eyes were locked with Kagome’s it was all too easy to tune it all out.

She looked nothing like the Higurashi Kagome he’d known most of his life, yet at the same time she looked very much like a woman he’d like to get to know.

Later, when they’d wrapped up the mess at the Red Cross building and returned to Kyuryuugumi, it had been both a relief and a disappointment to see Kagome return to her typical choice of clothing: the boy’s school uniform.

She’d also removed the wig and her make up and put the chest protector back on.

Even so Sesshoumaru was now more aware than ever of just what she was hiding under that pretence of being a boy.

“Did you really show no expression on your face even when they were aiming guns at you?” Kagome wondered aloud. “I mean I know you’re not supposed to. AhUn told me on the drive over about how you were raised to be the next leader and gain the respect of the gang so it makes sense… But still!”

“Hnn,” Sesshoumaru replied. Then, he looked at her. “Your expression would change all the time. It was kind of fascinating. You were always making friends wherever you went, and even my eyes were drawn towards you in the classroom.”

“That’s funny,” Kagome said after a while. “I kept an eye out on you too, you know. You were always poking at your lunch by yourself. You had this dark look in your eyes, as if you’d never had any fun in your life. Often I wanted to just come over and talk to you, but my parents… Well.” Kagome shrugged. “I’m glad I finally did.”

She turned to him and smiled – and though it was very, very slight, he smiled back.

“Well, I shall keep my word,” Sesshoumaru said at last. “You helped me find my father’s killer, so your brothers can now go free. There’s only one thing.”

Kagome crossed her arms. “And what is that?”

“This,” Sesshoumaru said, pulling out a cheque and handing it over to Kagome.

Her eyes bugged out when she saw the number scribbled on it.

“W-what’s this?”

“That’s the amount for which your brothers ate and drank on my expense while they were in our custody. And I’m having you pay back every yen.”

“You’re a heartless monster!” Kagome accused, gnashing her teeth. “Where do you think I am going to get this kind of money? I came to you in the first place because I was broke!”

Sesshoumaru arched his eyebrow and gave her a long look.

“Well, if you don’t have the money, you could always pay with your body.”

Kagome stared at him, stunned.

Then she straightened and proffered her hand to him.

“All right! Until the debt is paid, I’ll be your bodyguard.”

So that’s how she took it, Sesshoumaru mused. If nothing else, it would be very entertaining having Kagome around.

He took her hand in his and gave it a firm shake.

“Deal.”

#sesskag #tokyo crazy paradise #inuyasha fanfiction #sesskagweek2019 #skw2019 #skw2019d6 #chie writes #fic: sk #what do you mean this is a whole week late #-whistles innocently-

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theenthusiasticblogger · 4 years

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Alex’s Enthusiastic Blogging Peer Profile

Who are you?

Hi I am Nik and am currently studying Prof Comm at RMIT.

Why are you here?

I chose prof comm because it was the only subject that combines the various disciplines of communication into one course. It will allow me to choose and experience which aspects of communication I want to pursue in the future. Right now I am most interested in the advertising and marketing aspect of prof comm. I have no experience yet, however I hope to get into a couple internships over the summer.

What are your expectations for the course?

Well, I think that it will help me narrow the type of communication I want to pursue as a career. I am preparing to go into advertising as a major for year two, so I am hoping that it will be exciting and will help me learn lots.

What sort of career do you imagine?

I want to be head of marketing or advertising for a fashion brand.

What is something unique about you?

I hate Guzman Y Gomez for no reason. I have over 2000 hours on League of Legends.

Power of Belief

‘The Power of Belief’ is an interesting reflection on how humans can achieve success. Eduardo cites Waitzkan who was a successful chess player who turned from that to martial arts, he highlights that what allowed such a dramatic change and success in such a ne medium was that he did not feel “special” or like “a prodigy” which let him be fresh in the face of a new challenge to master. In my opinion I believe that while humility is good, having a strong mental perception of yourself is integral to achieving your goals, especially in the face of adversity. In David Ly’s article “Tips on how to use your ego” he outlines how people can use their ego to face fears. Thus while you should still be open and accept criticisms it is often self doubt that results in someone failing, rather than a hubris. Eduardo explores the idea of a growth mindset and a fixed mindset. While he highlights the clear differences between these concepts, he fails to understand that a dualistic perception of a mind is not useful as a blanket concept on all humans will never work. However if you combine these concepts into a more well rounded ideology I believe it will result in a greater success rate. Eduardo goes on to explain that providing praise to kids will only make them fearful of challenges. Personally I find this completely wrong, in my experience validation makes me want to keep the same level of success and results in me trying harder. In an article written in the Australian Parenting Website, it is stated that giving “praise to kids” will “nurture self-esteem”. Thus while I agree with some points from Eduardo’s lecture, largely I believe his ideas are flaws as they are monolithic in nature and in applicable to each person.

The Future of Media and Communication

The rapid emergence of social media has allowed for people to develop an online brand. If you use social media you have a brand whether you know of it or not. By creating a profile, letting people know your likes, letting people into your “personality” through music tastes and photos, you are painting a picture. In an article written by Katarzyna Szymielewicz she describes this picture as a “caricature” which envelops one's identity on the online realm. While it may see incredibly superficialI I for one enjoy the fact that I can “curate an identity”. However there are inherent risks with this, one being you are not really that person (as much as you would like to be) and people expect you to act the way your online persona does. People who use social media and their brand as a way to create a monetary source must consistently uphold a fake profile online and in real life. This can only lead to issues to mental health with the need to be someone you are not. In an article written by Mark Millian he highlights that online personas are rarely matched in real life. He also explores the psychology behind validation online through likes and followers. All of his findings exemplify how people often have to lives, one offline and one online, and often this can lead to people becoming incredibly self-conscious that they adhere to their own online creation.

Josh Stearns Projects

“How Black Lives Matter Uses Social Media to Fight the Power” is an article written by Bijan Stephen which attempts to highlight the way social justice movements, particularly the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement which has sprung from the recent injustices committed by white police officers, have utilised communication throughout the years. In contrast “Greenland is Melting Away” the piece written by Coral Davenport writes about how Greenland is slowly decaying due to climate change. Davenport attempts to convey the immediacy of the issue through using various primary sources and quotes from scientists as well as scientific papers. Similarly to this Stephen uses primary sources and statistics to persuade viewers of the way in which social media helps to garner a greater amount of attention to such issues. This is paralleled in Davenports article who explains how social media has been able to contextualise the issue for audiences who are less familiar with the issue. In an article written by Divikah Khandelwal she explains how social media has expanded and revolutionised the way social justice and awareness campaigns are conducted. Thus it is evident that while Stephen and Davenport have different subject matters and are not both social justice explicitly (apart from Stephens) it is the “marriage of social media and justice” that connects both articles and issues together. However they both pretain in their audiences, as both articles are targeted towards those who care about world wide issues and the concept of morality, whether it be towards people or to the environment.

Why I am passionate about advertising

To me I find advertising fascinating as it pertains to how we, as a society based species, reflect upon stimulus from brands. In each century, decade, and even year the way advertising evolved is radical and always reflective of how society at the time operates. Recently their has been a surge in ‘Brand Activism’ which is a relatively new term. The 2010’s has seen globalisation and social media in particular expand exponentially, this has allowed for people to become more aware of current events and issues that they become invested in. In a paper written by Jen Barrel it is stated that brand activism has increased by 63% this year. This reflects how advertising is an ever evolving industry and is able to identify with the current ‘wave’ effecting society. Another recent advancement in Advertising which intrigues me is the use of Data in targeting specific ads to specific people. Previously this would be found through suburb targeting or traditional demographic analysiation in specific areas. In a paper written by Joseph Clift he explains how “data can be programmed” at will, and is able to target people down to their personal habits and tendencies. Such specific and detailed profile of individuals allows advertising to be incredibly more effective and efficient. Firms can now target car ads to people who are specifically thinking and talking about purchasing a car. This is in contrast to the “blanket” technique used in things like TV ads (despite being able to choose the channel and time).

Research and Ethics, when is the line crossed?

Last century information was controlled by few, it was let out through specific streams, individuals could not be respected as real and trustworthy sources of information whether it be scientific or other. In the every expanding process of globalisation and the incredible rise of the Internet, information has become diluted, and any person with a following can become a figurehead for an issue even if they have no credentials or sources for their findings. In a paper written for the University of Hull it is stated that verified papers and books are often the most trustworthy source of information in this age. However at times even these mediums can be false, this has been exemplified in the 1998 case of a paper published in a respected medical journal ‘Lancet’, where Andrew Wakefield created false data to support his claim. This paper has led to an increasing trend of anti-vax sentiment which is dangerous and wrong. Thus the ethics of such things must be questioned, we may consider the morality of posting such papers and the outcomes they have caused, Wakefield may have taken the utilitarianism approach, where his work would have caused a greater amount of questioning to what we are injected with my medical professionals. However it remains that the data was false. This leads us to a greater and more current issue, with the availability of social media, the concept of validity of someone often comes from their follower base, as such those with high amounts of followers are usually trusted, often by impressionable teenagers. In an article written in the Crunch it is stated that “Followers do not trump all, and followers do not equal credibility.” which highlights the issue nowadays, that anyone with a large following can project information to an impressionable audience, which is in fact false and often harmful to their following.

What is News?

‘News’ as a concept is one that is hard to define, especially with the sudden and galvanising rise of social media and the drastic shift from news media being spread through physical and now through the medium of the online realm. Stephen Lamble states that news is “in the eye of the beholder” which is an interesting perspective on the way people nowadays can ‘perceive’ news. However it may be argued that Lamble’s hypothesis highlights a large issue, this being that by this logic anything can be news (news is perceived as inherently factual), which means people can present false ideas and information and create misinformation in society. This phenomenon is becoming known as “Fake News”. Thus is news really a mirror to society, or are journalists “gatekeepers” to successful democracies, and this is the problem, the news is not as simple as it was last century, and the indefinability of it allows any writings to be upheld as newsworthy. Therefore the traditional way of determining what is news has shifted to it being whatever society deems to be valuable information. This is problematic as people like Donald Trump who is in a position of authority, and his word is respected and taken as fact by millions, has often shared sources of news that have proven to be false. With information that is false being spread through channels of authority, the people are being misinformed. News in my opinion serves one purpose, this is to inform people of facts and opinions (each must be labeled explicitly), everything else, clickbait titles, random articles about surgery being performed on a grape, these are not news, these are ‘Stories’. The differentiation between the two is blurred and has led to a mountain of so called “news” being spread. In this respect I disagree with Lambles paper which outlines how news had been spread by “cavemen talking to one another about events”, to me such things are stories, but they cannot be news, and defining this is incredibly important in an age where we are drowning in information.

Pepsi’s Amazingly Bad PR Campaign

In 2017 Pepsi released an advertising campaign that sought to “to project a global message of unity, peace and understanding," through using the stage of a protest to highlight how Pepsi brings people together. It was aimed to engage the political youth of today, this was done clearly through images of young protesters, and their poster child for the ad, Kendall Jenner, who seems to be there young adult of choice for this ad. This ad was pulled 24 hours after its release due to the tremendous amount of critics and social media outrage. This campaign was the definition of an out of touch administration. Pepsi naivety was their failure to realise the awareness and seriousness of the real protests and issues going on in the world. The new trend of Brand Activism has become so widespread, and is often to transparently for profit. Pepsi fell with the others who have tried brand activism, with their “join the conversation” slogan which was so surface level and inoffensive to any part. Social Media could see that they were merely trying to capitalise on the rise in protests, rather than taking a stand for anything. The real failure here was that Pepsi tried to hard to be relevant, by hiring a Kendall and trivialising a protest, their team behind the ad failed to realise that people can have their say online, and that by taking a risk on the topic of the ad, they fall to the mercy of the online stampede that happens whenever a brand is called out.

Design Thinking

Empathize, Define, Ideate, Prototype and Test and is most useful when you want to tackle problems that are ill-defined or unknown. This is design thinking, a process in which you are able to solve complex problems by diluting them into 5 separate solution methods. I think it is especially good for today as it allows for firms and people to react upon the rapid changes in society and the environment. The design thinking process has become increasingly popular over the last few decades because it was key to the success of many high-profile, global organizations companies such as Google, Apple and Airbnb who have wielded it to notable effect, for example. This outside the box thinking is now taught at leading universities across the world and is encouraged at every level of business. For university projects it is a perfect introduction into how firms develop and establish their brand portfolios and projects.

Interdisciplinary

Last century it was enough for someone to be an advertising agent, or a PR person, it was simple times. Nowadays professionals must adapt to the ever changing and often erratic atmosphere of societal trends. In terms of the purpose of what these professionals now do, the plane has changed dramatically, we are needed to perform in multiple fields across communication to successfully and genuinely engage with the audience. Thus the purpose of each fold of communications (Advertising, marketing etc) has melded into one and we want to do this to achieve a holistic perception on engaging audiences. However at times this may mean that our skills are too spread out and not focused on a single discipline. However I would argue that there is no one discipline, advertising is PR, marketing is journalism, and vice versa. This is the context we live in, which is why it is needed to learn and know about all communication strategies, today's landscape is described by Russel Howcroft, a reporter at Sydney Morning Herald, “as a marriage of creative and commercial content”. The two have become indistinguishable and the message of today’s communication has suffered as a result of it. It is harder and harder to get a message out to the masses, and for it to be successful is a whole other issue. By having awareness of each realm of communication we have a better chance of reaching people, by encapsulating each medium that people engage with media and communications, we can wade through the mess and fluff. Especially when the message is not just a price, and rather a story, trying to tell it is incredibly hard. A combination of journalism and advertising may be suitable in this case, as brands cannot simply be price tags anymore, they have to be constantly engaging entities who are fresh and relevant, or they fall into the chasm of repetition and failure, e.g Blockbusters.

References

Canvas.hull.ac.uk. (2019). Determining Source Reliability: Being Critical. [online] Available at: https://canvas.hull.ac.uk/courses/611/pages/determining-source-reliability [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Howcroft, R. (2019). Journalism and advertising - a marriage of convenience necessary for both. [online] The Sydney Morning Herald. Available at: https://www.smh.com.au/business/journalism-and-advertising--a-marriage-of-convenience-necessary-for-both-20081205-6sir.html [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

https://moderndiplomacy.eu/2019/01/18/the-marriage-of-social-media-and-social-justice/. (2019). [online] Available at: https://moderndiplomacy.eu/2019/01/18/the-marriage-of-social-media-and-social-justice/ [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Khim, D. (2019). 6 Tips on How to Use Ego to Your Advantage. [online] The UP Lab. Available at: https://theuplab.wordpress.com/2013/07/08/ego-use-to-your-advantage/ [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Phys.org. (2019). Online personas rarely match real-life behavior, observers say. [online] Available at: https://phys.org/news/2010-05-online-personas-rarely-real-life-behavior.html [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Raising Children Network. (2019). Praise, encouragement and rewards. [online] Available at: https://raisingchildren.net.au/toddlers/connecting-communicating/connecting/praise [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Rmit.instructure.com. (2019). MyApps Portal. [online] Available at: https://rmit.instructure.com/courses/70878/files/9793959/download?wrap=1 [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Szymielewicz, K. (2019). Your digital identity has three layers, and you can only protect one of them. [online] Quartz. Available at: https://qz.com/1525661/your-digital-identity-has-three-layers-and-you-can-only-protect-one-of-them/ [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

The Sydney Morning Herald. (2019). Pepsi pulls Kendall Jenner protest advertisement after mockery and backlash. [online] Available at: https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/pepsi-pulls-kendall-jenner-protest-advertisement-after-mockery-and-backlash-20170406-gvenhi.html [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

West, T. (2019). Credibility, Trust and Authenticity in Influencer Marketing. [online] Scrunch.com. Available at: https://www.scrunch.com/blog/credibility-trust-authenticity [Accessed 15 Dec. 2019].

Link to the Media for the blogs which could not be added to the tumblr

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bbclesmis · 5 years

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‘Valjean is like Spider-Man’

DOMINIC WEST FIGURES he's played his share of awful people. The serial killer Fred West in Appropriate Adult? Jimmy McNulty, the Baltimore cop in The Wire? A lovable rogue, but a rogue nonetheless. Noah Solloway, the lead in The Affair? "He's deeply silly," West contends. "Just a silly man!" In the film Colette (out this Friday), he plays a sadistic husband who locks his gifted wife (Keira Knightley) away and makes her write books for which he claims credit.

"As an actor, you do live with these people and experience what they're feeling," sighs the actor, 49. "If they're a******s, it's exhausting and ultimately degrading. So it was such a relief to play someone who's great." And he smiles that irascible smile, the one that makes you root for West even when he's playing murderers and pretentious, adulterous novelists.

Jean Valjean, West's character in the BBC's adaptation of Les Miserables, is not only "great" in the actor's eyes. He is nothing less than the "greatest hero in all literature": a superhero ex-convict who has spent 19 years in prison being tortured by Inspector Javert (David Oyelowo) for stealing a loaf of bread, but who determines on his release to be the best possible man he can be... with heartbreaking results.

West considers Victor Hugo's French revolutionary epic to be the "greatest novel ever written", too - "much better than War and Peace!" - and certainly much better than the famous musical (he's not a fan).

"Valjean is not just a good guy, he's an amazing guy. Like Spider-Man!" he beams. "He climbs up the sides of buildings to rescue kids. And he has the legitimacy of intense suffering; he's done 19 years of hard labour. That knocks Iron Man into a cocked hat! Then you get into the humanity of Valjean, his demons, his desperate need to redeem himself... He's trying not to be the brute that the prison has turned him into. You become a better person by spending time with someone like that."

He has asked me to his home, a converted brewery in Wiltshire that he shares with his wife, Catherine FitzGerald, and four children - Dora, 11, Senan, ten, Francis, nine, and Christabel, five - "I'm trying to cut down," he jokes. (He has another daughter, Martha, from his first marriage, who is studying English at Oxford and wants to act.) "I think all households should have a five-year-old girl running round," he says. "I just think it's better for children. Stops them from becoming little princesses. It's much harder to be a spoilt brat as one of four."

HE OPENS THE door unshaven and unkempt with a general air of bohemian bonhomie. He puts on a succession of silly voices as he leads me through to his kitchen. "Teas? Light refreshments? Do we want hot milk in our coffees? Yes?" He's such a chameleon as an actor that even his own accent sounds as if it's put on. He was educated at Eton, but his family isn't proper posh. His Irish father owned a plastics factory in Sheffield, his mother was an actor and he's the sixth of seven children.

The Wests have been doing up the house for about three years, but only moved in last summer - there are paintings waiting to be hung, pieces of Lego, mugs, antiques scattered around... The house used to be a "very manageable cottage next to a derelict brewery, but having decided to connect them all together they're only now getting used to the layout. "There are about five different doors to choose from. I didn't realise how spread out it would be. It's enormous!" They moved from west London to give the kids more space to range around when they're teenagers: "I want my kids to be around trees and animals more."

We take refuge in his office, up in the rafters of the old brewery, where he sinks into an armchair and resumes recounting his love affair with Les Miserables.

THE BBC VERSION is written by Andrew Davies and picks up more or less where his adaptation of War and Peace left off. It opens on the field of Waterloo in 1815 in the aftermath of Napoleon's defeat. Back in Paris, the royalists are resurgent - but can't quell the forces unleashed by the Revolution.

In the first episode, we follow Valjean's ill-starred attempts at redemption after his nemesis, Javert, releases him; meanwhile, the grisette Fantine (Lily Collins) falls for a cad (Johnny Flynn) and becomes pregnant with little Cosette - whose path will cross with Valjean's in the future. Six episodes, much heartache and many improbable coincidences will take us all the way up to the 1832 June Rebellion in Paris.

West hadn't read the epic novel, but now that he has, he's a convert. He even loves Hugo's digressions into the design of the Paris sewers. "Actually, I'd have loved it if we could have made six seasons out of it," he says. 'There's more than enough material and it's all important and relevant. As with any great classic, it's big enough to handle any amount of interpretations."

Javert's antipathy to Valjean is one of the engines of the plot - but it's also something of a mystery. Why does Javert hate him so much? "I always like to trace motivations to sex," West says. "I said to David, 'Javert obviously fancies him!' But he thought that was crass."

Did the rivalry extend off-set? "You're never quite sure where the character ends and the actor starts," he laughs. "But the key to David is that he's actually royal. He's a prince in Nigeria. And he doesn't drink. He's very religious. He's been married to his wife since he was 19 and they have four beautiful children. I hadn't realised people like that existed in the acting world! He's a very inspiring guy."

The co-stars decided it was the shared trauma of being institutionalised that set their characters against one another. "Valjean doesn't think he deserves anything other than brutality. Javert is constantly reminding him he's just a common criminal who breaks rocks and murders people."

Oyelowo is one of a number of non-white actors in the cast, marking a departure from traditional costume-drama casting. West jokes that he really wanted to do it all with 'A1lo'Allo accents, but: "Like any classic, it's not a museum piece. It has relevance to modern life. Eponine and the girls all talk like modern London girls. And therefore it looks like modern Britain, too."

THE PRODUCTION LOOKS likely to make Collins, as Fantine, a star. "She's incredible," says West. "It's an exhausting part. So harrowing. Any actress who goes for it deserves all the accolades she gets..." The first scene they shot together was Fantine's death, filmed in a freezing manor house outside Brussels at 5am. "She really went for it. I was like, 'Oh my God! How did you do those spasm things?' She said, 'I just made it up'." I imagine it's reassuring to have West on set: he is very experienced, but doesn't take himself too seriously. Do the younger actors come to him for advice? "Pfah! No. I'm jaded and lazy."

The Wire was the show that brought him fame, as well as a credibility not usually open to Old Etonians. But originally he didn't want to be in it. "And it turns out to have been the one thing that everyone knows me for and it was one of the best shows ever made! I think [creator] David Simon is almost the Victor Hugo of our time... certainly the Charles Dickens."

The Affair offers more escapist pleasure, its marital rows interspersed with good-looking people having sex (even if he doesn't think much of Noah). The Wests are about to decamp to LA for the filming of the final season, but it will be without Ruth Wilson this time. Last February, she disclosed in a Radio Times interview that she was "sure" she earned less than West. "I don't want more money, I just want equal money," she added. Not long after that her character Alison Bailey was killed off. What was all that about? "Oh, not related!" West yelps.

He remains good friends with Wilson. The main point of contention on set was whose behind would be visible in the sex scenes. "We used to fight about it. 'You're on top this time', 'No! I was on top the last three times!'"

He'd never given much thought to who was paid what, he says. "I never asked what the money is on a show. It was more a question of if I wanted to do it. So it woke me up to the issue. I never realised the disparity and the injustice."

It's one of a number of changes he has noticed since the #MeToo movement gained ground. "One thing that's happened is a positive discrimination in favour of female directors. But the main thing is that unacceptable behaviour from male directors or actors is now either not possible, or you can call them out on it. There was one guy in particular whose behaviour was disgusting. Particularly to young females in minor roles. I tried to counter it on several occasions. But now it wouldn't be so hard to get rid of them."

'Treatment of women has taken a big step back in television'

He twists his face in derision at those who feel the feminists have gone "too far". "Treatment of women has taken a big step back in the past 20 years," he says, his voice rising. "Particularly in television, which has become more pornographic and the burden of that falls squarely on young women. Things like Game of Thrones, where you get a pair of bare breasts every five minutes... I mustn't say this, but..." Say it!

"I'm fairly sure that 20 years ago young actresses would not have had pressure put on them to take their clothes off. The parts young actresses get, particularly pretty ones, involve violent rape. When I think about my daughter going into the profession... I'm just really glad that #MeToo has started to counteract what has happened in the past 20 years."

He puts it down to internet porn - "It's made boys feel that women are sex objects who are easily available" - as well as social media. "If you can swipe someone's face because you don't think they're pretty and it costs you that little... I haven't done it myself, but it cheapens it."

HE's CONCERNED AT the turn the world is taking: he mentions Trump, climate change, teenage boys becoming addicted to the online game Fortnite. A wariness of modernity seems to have inspired the move to the countryside; he and his wife are "luddites", he confesses. "I'm not one of those people who say, 'How can you bring children into this world?' But I do want to spend a lot more time hanging out with my kids and running around in forests."

Once he has finished filming the last season of The Affair, he plans to hire an enormous camper van, bundle the entire family into it and spend a few months driving around the States.

"It's the last chance we have," he explains. "They're nearly teenagers, so they're not going to want to spend that much time with their old man for much longer. I've spent a long time away from them. So we're taking six months, four months of it travelling. I've taken them out of school - there are no big exams. We'll home school them. They'll read. No screens. You're not going to get a better education than that. If you travel with as little as possible, you get much more interesting experiences."

Radio Times 5-11 January 2019

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #dominic west #Jean Valjean #valvert #david oyelowo #javert #Lily Collins #fantine #Interviews #articles #radio times

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fairycosmos · 5 years

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I'm the birthday anon and like. Part of it is that I have been getting professional mental health help for over a year now, and I'm on anti depressants but nothing has been getting better, only worse consistently. I have a lot of trauma and recently something happened that brought it all back and it's taken me 10 years to deal with the previous trauma and even the idea that I will have to wait another 10 when I'm not over the first round? Yikes. I just feel like my destiny is to end it all.

hey! it's really good to hear that you have been getting professional help, even if it's not working the way you thought it would. just the fact that you took that step in the first place is really wonderful. you should honestly be proud of that. look, nothing is set in stone. you're not destined to kill yourself, you're not destined for anything in particular apart from the simple act of being alive. that's the only thing fate had in store for you. you recognize that you have a lot of trauma, and that obviously can have a very adverse impact on the brain, which means it can't be trusted in its vulnerable state. you 'feeling like' you're destined to end it doesn't mean you are, doesn't mean it's the truth or that there's no hope, it means your brain is overwhelmed with trying to handle everything and so your perception/emotional climate is corrupted. but that's not a permanent state of being, not a reason to end the only life you're ever going to get, you know? it sounds like the most cliche and empty thing in the world, but the bottom line is that your brain is simply trying to convince you of things that aren't true as a coping mechanism, an unhealthy one at that.is there any identifiable reason why you feel like professional help isn't working as much as you think it should? really take some time to think about it. look at where you were a year ago, where you are now, and make a note of any changes or differences in lifestyle. do you think you need to change your meds, or open up more in counseling, or change therapists/doctors, or engage in more intensive exercises? if so, bring it up to your doctor. let them know you need more support, that you're not okay. it's alright to do that. in fact, they encourage it. the thing about treating mental illness is that it's often a sort of trial and error thing. there may not come a time when you're constantly happy 24/7, and that's fine cause that's not the goal. but there will be a period in your life in which you learn to deal with the trauma and the episodes in a healthy way, and that's what's going to make it hurt less in the long run. you don't have get to a point where you're able to act as if the trauma didn't happen, because it did. but you will get to a point where you can live happily despite it. it's rare to get treatment right the first time, especially when you're a teenager, because your state of mind is always changing and there's still a lot of natural progression left for you to experience. but you can and will find a balance, if you work honestly with the professionals in your life. reaching out is hard, and choosing to put any energy you have into working on your mental health instead of tearing yourself down is harder, but it's so fuckin possible and thats why i'm pushing it. i know it seems like i don't get it, but i do. at least to an extent. i understand the degree of hopelessness that you're feeling, how completely soul crushing and discouraging it is. how just being in your own head is utterly exhausting. and i recognize that fact while simultaneously believing that there is still a way forward for you, because there is. i don't know what happened or why you're traumatized, and i won't pretend to. that pain is yours. but your adult brain is going to handle it all very differently, especially if you're regularly seeing a professional. the next ten years, regardless of everything, will not be like the previous ten years. you're not stuck in endless repetitive patterns, you're not trapped. the future is daunting but it also doesn't exist yet, you genuinely can not predict it and you don't have to waste your time doing so. all you can truly focus on is the present day, and working on what you can to to make it a little more bearable. that alone is good enough. that is where the change we talked about before happens. you're not going to regret sticking around, man. i promise. please do what you can to keep yourself safe.i still stand by what i said, how i believe a massive subconscious part of you wants to hang on, how you don't want to do something irreversible over short term (in the grand scheme of things) hurdles, how just the fact that you're here and trying means you're succeeding. it's all true, from an objective standpoint, and maybe you can't believe it at the moment cause the negative thoughts/emotions are preventing you from doing so, but i genuinely think that eventually you will see it. even if it's just a glimpse, a small realization. where youre at right now isn't where you'll always be. there's no magic solution or string of words that will instantly make everything feel perfectly okay, but there is this: you're still here, regardless of the emotional distress, and you have made it through some of the hardest times you'll ever have to face. you didn't make it for nothing. you're in the process of just beginning to find your stride. it's a very slow and gradual thing. but one day, sooner than you think, you are going to look up and be quietly glad that you are alive. your future self is going to thank you, don't doubt it for a second. like i said before, i believe in you a lot and i'm extremely sorry that you've been through so much. peace will find you, in small waves. it's not as impossible as you think. in fact, it's guaranteed. hit me up if you need a friend or someone to talk to. i'll be here. stay safe.

#anon #tw suicide #:(( hope ur ok

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persephonesnow · 6 years

Text

That worldbuilding thing

Below a cut because holy crap this thing is nine pages long.

The very point of worldbuilding is to create a cohesive arena for your story to take place. Think of it as the background of a painting. You’ve got a subject that’s intended to be the focus of the piece, but that subject isn’t going to stand out if the background makes no sense and distracts the viewer. Worldbuilding is the thing that will make or break a story. That goes for original fic and fanfic both.

The most daunting is by far original fic. The easiest place to start is with, well, the place. The literal landscape of your story can have a huge impact. Is it mountainous? Forested? Rich and fertile? Cold? Hot? Dry? Are there settlements? What kind? Cities? Villages? Have no idea where to start? Start in the real world.

(We’re going to stick with stories centered on human characters, simply because they are the overwhelming majority and where worldbuilding tends to most often fail. And full disclosure: I am one of those writers who has written encyclopedias for the worlds I create. It makes things so much easier.)

I’m serious. If you think you want to write about a desert world, look into what real-world desert life is like. Even if you’re writing something sci-fi and need to account for currently impossible tech, look at the real world. How has the desert shaped the history of the people who live there? What have been the challenges they’ve faced from the environment and how has that changed them?

And pro-tip: if you’re writing a world with lots of direct sunlight, any human character native to this world is highly, highly unlikely to be white or overly fair-skinned. If you’re writing a snow-covered or water-filled world, you’re more than likely talking about a native population with both tanned skin and likely monolid eyes. When I say look at the real world, I don’t just mean the culture and history. I mean look at how people have evolved to survive in the given environment. Y’all may not realize this, but things like (light) skin colours and eye shapes are adaptations that evolved to allow humans to live in places very different than where our species first turned up.

(All bets are mostly off for any aliens. But if your aliens are humanoid and can pass for one of us, that means that they can pass for one of us, and will be bound by any physical adaptations humans in their given region would have.)

Worldbuilding is about 99% research. That’s it. It’s reading lots of random and weird things because the strangest things will have an impact. Environment and climate impact each other. Both impact what edibles are available and if the local population is going to be mostly hunters, fishermen, or farmers. Or even a combination, but given what humanity has been like, once we start trending agrarian we largely stay agrarian. Similarly, if your main settlement has little in the way of agriculture, then it’s not going to be much of a settlement and is more likely a waystation for nomads. Agriculture is the backbone upon which civilization is built. And agriculture doesn’t necessarily mean plants. Ranching is a thing, people, and you can farm fish.

There are other things, of course. If your world has few trees, your buildings won’t be wood, which changes what shapes they can take and their overall appearance. It also changes how the buildings hold heat or if they stay cool year-round.

IS THERE WINTER?

Okay, this point. Is there a winter in your world? Nothing, absolutely nothing will have a bigger impact on your growing world than the existence or nonexistence of winter. Don’t believe me? Go take a look through human history and the various mythos we’ve created. How vital is spring and the growth that come with it? How much is the winter, with the lack of growth and migration of game featured in those stories? How much is the concern of the lean times, of the time when diseases are more common (flu season, anyone?), of when children of all species are less likely to be born and less likely to survive if they do present?

No winter? Guess what, that has an impact too! You know all those plants you love to look at? All the ones you eat? Most of those require a winter to grow. Some plants need their seeds frozen and held at a freezing temperature for a length of time in order to properly germinate. Some need the inverse, of course, and will not grow unless they’ve quite literally been torched.

No winter also changes bug populations. Which can have an impact on the spread of disease. Which very definitely changes any population. Is there a monsoon season in place of the frozen winter that’s often featured? My good dudes, water is dangerous in all forms. Rivers will flood. Hurricanes and monsoons will happen. Floods will happen. No place is perfect. If you’re imagining an idyllic world where nothing is wrong, you’ve done something wrong and you’re missing something.

Worldbuilding requires a lot of really weird details, in order to do it properly. If you’re keeping your story small and focused on something small (a person, a family, something of interpersonal nature) then you can probably stop here and go write your story.

If you’re wanting to write and epic a la Harry Potter or A Song of Fire and Ice? Buckle up, kids, you’ve got a lot more think about.

Worldbuilding isn’t just your landscape. It’s your culture and everything in that. You imagine your characters wearing furs? Okay, then what kind of animals are lurking about for hunters? Go look at real fur, at real game, and think very seriously about what kind of skins your people are likely to have access to. Things like bear and other big carnivores aren’t likely to show up on normal people. Those will be, as they have been in the real world, expensive af. Predators tend to be rare, even places with lots of prey. There is in fact a set ratio for populations of predators to prey that researchers have discovered in the real world. Go look it up. Look up requirements for large predators, because they tend to have insanely large ranges and are often solitary, which makes them rare for hunters.

You have deer? Okay. Look at what a normal deer population looks like and what their behaviors look like in any given environment. Not all deer are as big as the white-tail. Some are bigger. Some are infinitely harder to catch. Some are isolated, some form herds. Some are aggressive. White-tail are what’s lurking where I live, and they’re mostly blind and rely heavily on their hearing. You know the classic deer in headlights look with the ears straight up? Yeah, they can see the light and something big moving towards them, but they can’t identify it so they’re listening.

Think all of this is unnecessary because you’re not writing a hunter? Nope, sorry. This shit impacts not only what your people are eating but also what they are wearing. Not a problem because your people have cattle? Not so fast, sweetheart. Cattle evolved from aurochs, officially in Turkey (I remember coming across a study that thinks aurochs might have evolved into cattle more than once, but don’t remember I found it). Cattle are also not the end-all of bovines. There’s multiple forms and then there’s also things bison and all their forms, oxen and their brethren. All are different. All have different environmental requirements and sometimes very different requirements for farming. Not all can be used for milk and not all are good eating. Same goes for sheep and goats. You’ll have to think about how humans have altered whatever species has been domesticated in your world, because it’s unlikely you’ll be writing at a time when domestication is just starting.

Poultry? Chicken come from a jungle fowl native to southeast Asia. Ducks and geese have different stories. They’re also largely useless for clothing, bar decoration and we’re not to that yet.

(On birds: all females will produce eggs, male present or not. It’s a natural process and just happens. Never seen a pet bird lay an egg? That’s because birds sold in the pet trade are almost exclusively males. If you’ve got egg-laying birds and no male around, you’re not going to get any new birds from those eggs. They’re unfertilized and will never develop because there is no embryo.)

Food is the traditional ground on which the divisions between rich and poor are drawn. Humans are a naturally greedy species, so you need to account for this and where your MC fits into this picture. Food availability and quality can change everything from general population health to culture and how people interact with one another, but also how families interact with each other. If food or other resources are at any time scarce, then whichever child has been designated heir will get preferential treatment because that’s the child that needs to survive to adulthood to carry on the family legacy. If your chosen MC is from a wealthier background where food, clothing, and shelter were never a concern, then where do they fit in? Are they the heir? Guess what. No adventures across the world for them. Your best bet will be an extra child who isn’t in line for anything and is mostly just expected to not cause problems. Determined to have an heir be the MC? Go read up on your history. Research, research, research. That’s going to come with some very unique challenges that will change how your MC interacts with the world around them and how the people in that world interact with them.

Clothing is a thing that divides us, mostly because it is an outward marker of wealth but also because clothing can restrict us. Clothing requires people to make said clothing, and your world will be restricted by materials. Textiles require looms and huge amounts of resources. Leather requires critters and tanning is a whole other can of worms. It’s smelly and can be done different ways. Leatherworking is also very, very different from sewing in any form. You’ll need to think of cobblers and what resources they’ll have. There’s a saying in the vintage community that your shoes will make or break your outfit and that’s true. Shoes have been a revolutionary thing in history. Not only do they protect our feet but we can use them for other things. Heels originally evolved on men’s cavalry shoes, where the heel was used to sort of latch onto the stirrup, allowing the rider more security when trying to stay in the saddle.

Utility matters, but humans will decorate themselves too. Accessorizing isn’t a new thing and it’s taken many forms across the ages and cultures. Hair is a surprisingly complex matter too. Curly hair has very different needs and behaviors than straight hair and colour can dictate what you can and can’t do to your hair (some ingredients will stain/discolour lighter hair). Bleaching is not a new phenomena. Dyes in general are not a new phenomena. Think carefully about beauty standards. No one is immune to them and they can and do change whole societies.

Other things that can change a society are work animals. Like dogs. No, I’m not talking about your cute pet. Go take a good, hard look at the history of dogs. One, as a species they are a hell of a lot older than you probably think they are. Second, precious few of them evolved with the intent to be companions. Most were created for a job and that job was often killing things. Some breeds are also significantly younger than others. The Labrador Retriever, the ultimate utility dog (seriously, it can be trained to do just about anything and it’s perfectly happy being a companion. There’s a reason it’s been the most popular dog in America for as long as it has been), was created only about 150-200 years ago and was meant to be a more manageable form of the Newfoundland. Given the thousands of years that dogs have existed, that’s brand new.

For me, personally, the absence of dogs will destroy any attempt at worldbuilding faster than anything else. Y’all trying to tell me you’ve got wolves, foxes, and other canines but you don’t have dogs? Not how that works. Canines have a notoriously slippery genome, which is how you get everything from wolves and foxes to Chihuahuas and Great Danes. Humans have had dogs for thousands and thousands of years. Their very existence has altered everything from how our ancestors hunted to our fashions (see: how the poodle went from respected retriever to a fashion icon). Take a look at a region similar to your world and look at the dogs found in that region. What purpose have they traditionally served? Were they hunters? What kind? Were they a pack animal? Livestock guardian? Shepherd? Mouser? Because oh, yes, dogs are mousers and rat catchers. They don’t call it a Rat Terrier for nothing.

Terriers in general have been created solely for the purpose of hunting small game and pest control. Cats, in comparison, are only semi-domesticated. Your “ancient” cat breeds? They’re what’s called a landrace in dogs. Humans have only recently started messing with cat breeding. A pet cat will not be a mouser unless they want to be, and chances are they’re going to go for easier prey. A cat’s purpose is solely to be cute. That’s it. That’s all it’s ever been and all it will ever be. Don’t believe me? The first known dog of what we now call the Rat Terrier was a set of remains found on a shipwreck, where it was being used to control pests.

Hounds also change things. Beagles were largely used for hunting hares, though they’ve been used for other small critters. Foxes? My dear, that’s the aptly named Foxhound, a similar looking dog that is quite a bit larger than the Beagle. Foxes are a mid-sized predator, like the coyote. They’re not super small and they are vicious little bastards. Dogs are older than you probably think but trust me when I say the dogs you think of as being the oldest breeds probably aren’t.

Two of the oldest dog breeds in the world are what we today know as the Afghan Hound and the Saluki. The Basenji is also extremely old. Notice a trend there? Some of the oldest depictions of dogs in human art show something that looks like what we today call the sighthounds, the most famous member of which would likely be the Greyhound. The hardy northern dogs (Huskies, Malamutes, etc…) still have that wolfish appearance, yes, but they’re nowhere near as old as things like the Carolina dog and other wild dog-adjacent breeds. Because yes, wild dogs exist. You do know what a dingo is, don’t you? A hyena? The vast majority of modern dogs came from these wild dogs and the wild dog endemic to a given region is going to determine what kind of modern dog you’ve got.

(In other news, the Mabari of Dragon Age gets a hard side eye from me, because it’s modelled on a relatively new modern dog and we’re given no evidence of the many breeds that went into creating that dog. Not to mention, as dog crazy as Ferelden is supposed to be, there’s a surprising lack of canines around. It doesn’t fully destroy the worldbuilding for me; the presence of the Mabari kind of saves it. Mind you, the worldbuilding actually crashes, for me, in the human noblewoman origin of Origins. What it doesn’t recover from, however, is what we’re getting to in this next bit.)

Horses are another major point in societal evolution. Cars? Guess what, they’re not only a hell of a lot older than you think, but they became as popular as they are as fast as they did (in the US, at least) in response to how difficult keeping horses and other large cart-pulling creatures in an urban environment was proving to be.

Horses in history look a wee bit different from what you’re thinking. Those pretty little runners who are so popular these days weren’t super popular in history. Their legs are too weak. I’m serious. If you’re writing something that features people in armor, they’re riding what we now call a draft horse. With the exception of one draft that was bred for farm work from retired war horses, draft horses are traditionally war horses because they’re the only horse with legs that wouldn’t break under the weight of a knight in full armor. They’re also relatively mild-mannered and often easier to train than their smaller cousins. But they’re not the kind of horse you’d want for a long-distance journey. Assuming the horse isn’t pulling anything and you want endurance over speed and strength, then you’re looking at a cutter horse. Just like dogs, different horses have different purposes. Do your research and please for the love of all that is good, do not overlook horses and other modes of transportation.

I mentioned Dragon Age above, and they’re probably going to be the series I talk about the most in this next bit because they not only excel as one of the few fantasy series to address technology in any way, but because they also utterly fail at building infrastructure. It is a video game and it has been restricted by that medium and it has made attempts to address some of the weaknesses I’ll be discussing, so I do trust the writers behind it to have thought of most of this. Witcher 3 had the budget and the engine to account for horses and ships and conveniently was based on a series of books that prominently featured portals in addition to both of these. The Witcher books are also something DA owes a lot to, so expect the odd reference to it (the books. I’ll rarely mention the games).

One of the things both series do well is establish that technology and magic can exist at the same time. Fantasy and sci-fi are not the same genre and do not deserve to be lumped together as they often are. Genres do blend, and these two do have a tendency to blend more than others because they are quite complementary to each other. But y’all have a tendency to not think it through. Fancy sci-fi tech is nice, yeah, but remember how much agriculture can change a society? Industry and tech are the two that follow on that list of variables. Agriculture has in fact been the single largest source of industry and tech in human history.

Remember textiles? Most of the plants used for that are labor intensive not only to grow and harvest but also to process into something weavers can use, assuming you have a climate that can produce them or have friendly trade going on with someone who does. If I’m not mistaken, the only thing more resource heavy than cotton is silk. Spidersilk is nice, yeah, but spiders don’t actually produce a lot of usable silk. There’s some great research on that and how to make it usable, but we’re not there yet. And holy crap don’t get me started on bamboo and linen. Do you realize how difficult flax can be to produce and how radically different the process for turning it into linen is from cotton? There are reasons why today, cotton is king.

Handwaving and going *~magic~* will only get you so far. And unless everyone can do that magic, you’re going to have some kind of innovation going on for those who can’t. Even then, magic in stories only really works if there’s a price to that magic, so you’re still going to have innovation. Don’t think so? Okay, let’s talk about food again.

One of the things I absolutely loved about DA:I was something found in Orlais that is a logical progression of something the series has established from the start. To recap this, there is a race in Dragon Age that most fantasy fans will recognize. Dwarves, specifically those that live underground, famous for their beards and tempers, and renowned as the best miners and smiths in the world. It’s this last point that I want to draw attention to, because the existence of dwarves is a super popular fantasy trope and DA is the only one to have done it right so far. Within DA the dwarves have Paragons; dwarves who have made such significant innovations to dwarven society that they are regarded as effectively being living gods. One of them is Branka, who got the distinction for the invention of smokeless coal.

Let that sink in. Smokeless coal. Do you realize how beneficial that would be? You’re talking about a people who still need to breathe, who can succumb to black lung as easily as any other air-breathing being. And the technological innovations of DA’s dwarves doesn’t end there. There’s something that sounds suspiciously like a thresher among the surface dwarves, which in the real world was one of the most significant agricultural innovations in the world. And it has been a while, but I seem to recall Bianca Davri’s machine being described as something akin to a Whitney gin. Not to mention the existence of the crossbow Bianca.

So imagine a fantasy world with magic and dragons and all sorts of amazing things. And you go into the kitchen of an upper class home and there’s an oven. It’s a little thing, but it firmly establishes the coexistence of technology and magic. And it’s believable, because there is this group of people who are widely considered the best smiths in the world, and by extension we are given the means to believe they are also considered the best inventors. And oven makes perfect sense in this context. So do threshers and gins and every other bit of agricultural tech that would 1000% be beneficial to a group of people who canonically are no taller than maybe 4’ and still need to eat.

Cooking over a campfire is restrictive. You’ll mostly be cooking over/under the embers of a dying fire or a good distance away from a healthy fire. You will likely never be putting anything directly on the flame unless you like eating ash. You’ll have next to no temperature control. Which severely limits what you can do. Goodbye, baking, you don’t exist in this world. Except for some quick breads. Some soda breads were traditionally made by being buried in the cooling embers. But fancy cakes and breads are out.

The oven changed the world. It allowed for cooks to be as creative as they wanted and as a result we have a whole host of sweets and baked goods. Modern ranges allow for temperature control and spawned huge industries manufacturing tools to use with them. Pans and whatnot largely evolved after the oven, which is itself a bit older than you’d think. DA:I was just a big deal because it was a thoroughly modern range in a thoroughly old world. Do look at the history of the kitchen, because it doesn’t really mean anything for your characters to have access to certain ingredients if they don’t have the tools to make anything with them. And I trust most of you have heard at least some of the noise made about the links between nutrition and health.

Which brings us around to the thing that completely destroys DA’s worldbuilding: infrastructure. Specifically how people and things move. Few, if any societies are capable of being fully self-sustaining. Even if they are, people always want more and no society will be able to produce everything they want. Enter trade. The odds that you can create a grand epic and not include any other group than the culture you’ve started with is slim to none. Look at any large landmass. You’ll always have variations in people and beliefs because isolation breeds uniqueness. This is where trade comes in and fills in the gaps, bridging the distances between different groups. But how does the trade happen? I’m assuming you’ve thought of horses and ships, and any other mode of transportation that might exist in your world. That’s all well and good, but how long does it take for those things to happen? Looking at you, DA, with your assertion that DA:I took place in about two-three years. They have horses. That’s nice. They also have an official map with an official key to understanding distances. You can probably see where I’m going with this.

Travel times can alter everything. Not only how long your story can take to complete, assuming there is some kind of long physical journey involved, but also trade. How long does it take for goods to move from one place to another? How risky is the journey? How does that change the value of the goods and thus the availability? Your readers may never need to know the details but odds are you will because the weirdest shit will turn out to be necessary for your storytelling. Travel and isolation impact everything from food to medicine, which in turn can limit almost every aspect of life in a region.

Which brings me to a surprisingly oft-overlooked aspect of worldbuilding: continuity. Did a character have a certain job in one part and then are doing something completely different in another with zero explanation (my copies of Harry Potter state that James Potter was a Chaser for Gryffindor, until the later books when suddenly he was a Seeker. Little me was very confused). Consistent internal rules are an important thing. Not only does this apply to things like physics and seasons (do you have seasons? Do you have variations in day and night? Oh boy I can go on about that one and ATLA), but it applies to things like the stuff society needs to keep working. Do yourself a favor and write out a timeline and stick to it. If you have any changes, change it and review everything you have written to bring everything in line with that change. Someone will always notice a mistake and those mistakes can break the illusion that holds a reader in a story. Continuity is everything. If it’ll help, and it probably will, keep a notebook or something that’s exclusively for the notes about any complicated storylines you’ve got. Be it how characters are related to each other or how religion works, even notes about food and clothing (which is important. Everything from the textiles used to the styling can say so much about the manufacturing of the world and about a specific character’s socioeconomic status).

Long story short: research everything and keep copious notes and reference those notes when writing. Please reference your research. I’m not talking about citations in text. Just don’t completely wing it when writing. A story that has been well-plotted and actually thought out with care is going to stand head and shoulders above something written by someone just making it up and not bothering to check to make sure it actually works. You’re welcome to make it up as you go, but please make sure it works and stays cohesive. A story falling apart at the seams is going to distract readers from whatever it is you’re wanting them to pay attention to. Read your own work. Repeatedly. As someone else to read it to make sure it works if you can’t decide.

Above all, just write it. Most of this is just little things that can be fixed in editing. Unless there is a solid story at the heart of it, you’ve got nothing but a bunch of words. Worldbuilding makes no sense without a story to tie it all together. Worldbuilding can be added in after the first draft, and after you know your characters a bit better.

(Think none of this applies to fanfic? Oh boy, you’re wrong. You’re dead wrong. Fanfic is actually harder because you have to do all of this while colouring inside the lines someone else drew.)

#writing #so this is how i write #worldbuilding #hermiowngranger #sara this thing is for you

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takadasaiko · 6 years

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Summary: Howard and Scottie have to make a choice, Katarina tries to face the truth, and the Task Force, Tom, and Liz come together to remember Reddington.

Chapter Forty: Epilogue

The room was dark and cold, the chill the latest round of extremes that they had pushed the internal climate to. Conrad Davis sat strapped to a chair, teeth chattering, and face bloodied. They hadn't intended to leave a mark on him. It only added to the complications when they handed him over to the feds, but some complications were worth the trouble. Howard hadn't blinked an eye when Scottie had blackened Davis'.

The former CEO of Halcyon Aegis stood on the other side of the one-way window, arms crossed and studying the man. "You're sure you've gotten everything from him that you can?"

"Everything he's willing to give in the time you've given me," Solomon confirmed. "Beating on him harder won't change his answers."

"Advanced interrogation isn't reliable," Howard agreed, hearing the younger man humm in response.

"Should I give you two a moment before we get him ready for transport?"

"Yes." He broke eye contact with the glass to look over. "Mr Solomon?"

"Yes, Howard?" Solomon responded lightly.

"Nez is a grown woman and makes her own decisions, so I'll only tell you this once. You hurt her and they won't find your body. Am I clear?" The fact that it might just as well be Nez that killed him didn't need to be said. Howard would happily help bury any man that thought about hurting the woman he'd come to see as a daughter.

Solomon flashed a toothy grin. "Your son said something similar."

Howard snorted and Solomon's smile eased a little. "I have no intention of hurting Nez."

"Good."

Solomon slipped out the door, leaving Howard alone in the viewing area to stare at the man who had kidnapped his son so many years before. He had moved up in the ranks since then, both within the FBI and in the Cabal. None of that had saved him though. Not in the end. Solomon would make the call and the Marshals would send someone to pick up the fugitive that all of their paperwork said that they had apprehended just that morning. Howard didn't have long.

The door squeaked on its hinges as he entered and Davis grimaced as he straightened a little to look up. "Howard Hargrave. I wondered how long it'd take you to show. Come to finish the job?"

Howard let his lips tilt up at the corners. "I thought you had heard that I'm no longer the head of Halcyon. Tom is, and he's interested in forming a new kind of relationship with the FBI. One that is more transparent and useful to all parties involved."

Davis snorted. "You're handing me over to my own people?"

"They're not your people anymore, Conrad. You're a fugitive. Now-" he reached around for the extra chair, pulling it out and taking a seat- "here's how this plays out. We'll be delivering you into federal custody. My people will deliver you to the Marshals shortly, but that gives you and me time to chat."

"About what?"

"Anything you want to get off your conscious."

Davis met his steady gaze. "You've decimated my organization, taken me out of power, and gotten your son back. What else do you want, Hargrave?" There was a pause and Davis sat back. "I'm not going to make it to the Marshals, am I?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Your boy doesn't even know I'm here. No one does." The panic was growing. "You don't want to do this, Hargrave. You owe me."

"How do you figure that?"

"I'm the only reason your son didn't die thirty years ago."

Howard held his gaze. "Go on."

"I had him, the night that they wanted to send a message, but he fought. He managed to squirm free and took off along the beach. The tide swept in higher than before and the undertow pulled him out with it."

The mental image of Christopher, so small and vulnerable then, being dragged out and pulled under, coughing and choking against the water that was pulling him under played out across Howard's mind. His son had been thrown from one terrible situation to another to another from the moment Davis took him. "He never would have been in that situation if not for you."

"If I hadn't done it, it would have been someone else. Anyone else would have let the kid drown."

"But not you?"

"Not me."

Howard tilted his head a little, studying him. "Why can't he remember anything? What did you people do to him?"

"You want that information, I need assurances. You'll have to come see me in custody."

The blue-eyed man leaned forward. "There are two types of people in this world, Conrad. People that make themselves useful and people that don't. You know that. What I know is that you were terrified that Tom would recognize you when you showed up to the meet. That tells me there's more to your story than you'll ever want me to know. So, since the odds are stacked against you in every which way, I'd suggest you find a way to make yourself useful and fast." He didn't give Davis a chance to say anything as he scooted his chair back, the sound it made causing the other man to cringe. Howard moved towards the door.

"Wait. Frank and Eva Phelps."

Howard turned a glare on the other man. "I've already looked into them and I know everything I need to know about my son's adopted parents. You've just made my point." And then he was gone, moving through the door and out even as Davis shouted from behind. Howard let a small smile tug into place and he spotted Scottie waiting for him.

"Did you get it?"

"Some. We need to track down the Phelps'."

"We don't have to let him live, Howard."

He grimaced, risking the briefest glances back at the door that separated the howling man from them. "They might never be able to prove it, but they'd know, and that won't start Tom out on the right foot. You and I both know that." He paused, reaching a hand out to tuck a strand of dark hair back behind her ear. "That doesn't mean he has to know that. Let him think we're transporting him to his final destination."

"Solomon's made the call."

"Then let it run its course. The Marshals will take him and we'll make sure we have the evidence to put him away for good once trial takes place. Are Tom and Liz meeting us there?"

"That's the last I heard."

"Time to go then." Howard extended his arm and his wife took it.

"I haven't asked you. How are you holding up?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy. You were always fond of him."

A sad smile tugged his lips. "He was a charming bastard."

"When he wanted to be."

"Yes, when he wanted to be, and all in all, I say we owe him some gratitude."

"He didn't do it for us."

"Does that matter?"

Scottie paused and he could see her mask of indifference crack just a little out of the corner of his eye. "No, I don't suppose it does."

There was nothing more to say as they hit the end of the hallway and opened the door out into the air. A car was waiting for them to take them to the cemetery.

She remembered how it felt when Sam had died. There had been so much regret there, so many what ifs. She had sat in her living room pouring over photos and memories and desperately trying to hold on. She didn't have photos of Reddington, not really. Only memories. Those intricate stories and the way his head bobbled as he wove them together to the point he was trying to make, often with amusement laced into every word. He had loved her in his way. Maybe in the only way he knew how to love her, and while the last years had been a wild roller coaster that had left her sick and turned around more than it hadn't, she had loved him too. He wasn't her father, but he was. Blood didn't always make family. Liz's fingers moved over the brim of Reddington's fedora that sat on her breakfast table, its owner's face clear in her mind. She should give it to Dembe.

"Daddy!" Agnes shouted from her place in the floor with her colouring book and crayons. She was on her feet on an instant and Liz realized she must have heard the turn of the key in the lock. The door opened as the little girl raced forward and flung herself into Tom's arms.

"Hey, kiddo. You about ready to go?"

"Where're we goin'?" she asked and giggled as he kissed her round little cheek.

Tom's lips twitched down and he shifted her so he could carry her back into their DC apartment and the lightness left his voice. "A funeral, baby girl." His dark blue eyes flickered to meet Liz's gaze. "How're you holding up?"

"Ready to go."

Agnes started to squirm and he put her down, crossing the space over to where Liz was sitting at the kitchen table. She tried for a smile and took his hand when he reached out for hers. "That good, huh?

Liz shrugged. "I don't really know how to feel."

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and she leaned into him. He stood there, her strength when she'd used up all of her own, and she felt his arm go around her where she sat. She wouldn't give him up for anything. She couldn't, and Reddington had known that. Still, knowing it and acting on it was entirely different. He'd given up his own life not just for hers, but for her family. It left her emotions more tangled than usual.

Tom's thumb moved in a soothing motion over her bare arm and she looked up at him. "What's the board say?"

He cleared his throat and released her so that he could pull a chair out for himself. He looked exhausted. They had picked the day before for their meeting on what to do with him, leaving that morning for their final decision. Liz had tried to tell him that he didn't have to be at the funeral, but he'd seen through it. He usually did. So her husband had gotten up at three in the morning and had been at the airstrip before four and at the office in New York by five. He had expected to be back with time to spare. As it stood, they had about five minutes before they needed to start wrangling Agnes into her car seat.

"It was pretty split. Leo Madden of all people was the swing vote."

Liz grimaced and reached out for him again. "Hey, you did what you had to."

Tom blinked hard. "What? No, he was the swing vote in my favour."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"So you're still the CEO?"

Her husband offered a small smile. "On the condition that I stay out of the field." Liz tried not to look too relieved and his smile broadened, finally reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I told them my wife would love that caveat."

"Are you okay with it?"

"You know… I am." His gaze drifted to Agnes. "I want to see her grow up. I want to come home to you. It still lets me do what I'm good at, but I can only push my luck so far in the field."

Liz stood, leaning in and she surprised him with a quick kiss. A small smile tugged at her when she broke it. "I guess that means we need to start apartment hunting in New York."

"Well…" Tom tilted his head thoughtfully and she knew that look. He was up to something.

"What?"

He eased to his feet. "We're moving headquarters to DC. Part of of the deal on whole was that we would be working more closely with the FBI. One unit specifically."

"Babe, the Task Force won't stay together without Reddington."

"They just need a blacklist. Trust me. Halcyon can provide plenty of leads. It's a win-win for both sides."

Liz opened her mouth and found the words stuck in her throat.

"Cooper and I talked about it. He verified that Ressler would stick around as long as the Task Force is together. If you want to move we can, but we don't have to-"

She didn't let him finish as she wrapped her arms around his neck, all the emotions she had tried to keep a lid on bubbling over and she could feel the hot tears as she kissed him. She felt his arms circle around her waist and hold her close even as she laid her head against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I'll give you the details on the way. We're gonna be late."

She nodded and released her hold on him, thumbing at the tears. It wouldn't bring Reddington back, but it could help protect her husband and her team. It would help to protect her family, and she could find comfort in that.

Katarina hadn't believed it when the doctor had come out. How could she after so many close calls and faked deaths over the years? Even when she had worked her way into the morgue she had toyed with the idea of Halcyon swapping the bodies. Tom had sent their doctor in, after all. Surely there was more to it than this. An ending. Final and cold and more painful than she would have ever predicted.

But it was him. No duplicate was that good. She knew him from the tiny scar on his ankle to the ones along his back from the night of the fire. She wanted it to be some over-the-top scheme that perhaps Raymond had brought Howard in on, but it wasn't. He was gone and there was no fixing it. No reversing it.

"I had wondered if you would come to the funeral."

The redhead turned to find Scottie Hargrave standing there. She looked her own perfect part for a funeral in her designer black dress and heels sinking into the grass beneath her. She hadn't said a word as they had lowered Raymond into the ground and while Howard had stepped forward to add a shovel of dirt over the casket she had merely remained respectful, standing back. Even Tom had stepped forward for it, though Katarina thought that, like with most things, that had been more for Masha's sake than Raymond's.

"Could I count on you to tell me if this weren't real?" she asked after a long moment.

Scottie grimaced a little. "It's real, Kat."

The former KGB Agent loosed a breath. "Kate Kaplan is buried just up that hill. This is why people like us don't love, Scottie. Eventually we're left alone. Everyone either dies or leaves or we leave them for their own safety…. little good it does them. In the end we're left alone."

"You're only alone if you choose to be," Scottie answered softly.

"Masha doesn't need me."

"She does. More than you know."

Katarina's gaze shifted to where her daughter stood to say her goodbyes. She had spoken to her, briefly, but she hadn't made any promises that she'd be there after everything was done. To her credit, Masha hadn't asked her to. She knew. Katarina thought she knew. She didn't expect her to stay.

"But she's not the only one. Dom doesn't live far."

Katarina snorted. "Keep an eye on Agnes. She'll be a handful."

"Will be?"

She smirked and turned. She had never been good at goodbyes. They were too permanent, and in her life she had always found her way back to the ones that mattered. She just needed time.

Stories filled the Coopers' living room and stretched on even as the sun started its slow descent in the sky outside. Some of the crowd that had attended Reddington's funeral had gathered in the home after, a quiet place providing them with a safe location to sit and remember. It was a relatively new tradition which had apparently begun at Tom's own wake after Liz had woken up, and there was something sereal about taking part in this one. Well, he supposed it could have just as easily been him they were talking about that afternoon.

Tom offered Charlene a thin smile as he slipped past her, taking a quick detour to the kitchen after getting a very cranky Agnes tucked in for a late nap. He listened to the voices drift in as he walked to the fridge to grab a beer. He closed the door and turned, finding Donald Ressler waiting there. "Cooper told me what you did."

The dark haired man blinked. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

Ressler snorted and shook his head. "Halcyon and the Task Force. Listen, if you think that it's going to-"

"I'm going to stop you right there. I did it for Liz. She doesn't deserve to lose her team too after all of this. You didn't come up in the deal."

He watched the ginger agent weigh the words. They weren't untrue. He had done it for Liz and Cooper had only confirmed the deal he had struck with Ressler after Tom had pitched the idea to him. In truth, the deal hadn't been struck specifically for Ressler. The fact that Tom had grown almost fond of his wife's rule-toting partner was beside the point. It was for Liz.

"I made a promise to Cooper that I wouldn't leave as long as the Task Force was together."

Tom quirked an eyebrow and popped the top off his beer, the barest of smirks tugging at his lips. "Guess you're sticking around then."

"Guess I am." Without warning Ressler swung an arm around Tom's shoulders in an almost friendly fashion before moving towards the living room. "One more person hasn't shared," he announced, and it seemed like he was being held captive more than anything else.

"You're just looking for a reason to arrest me," Tom grumbled and jabbed Ressler in the ribs only hard enough for the other man to let go.

"I think we're past that by this point," Cooper assured him from his place on the couch.

Tom snorted and moved to take a seat next to Liz, finally choosing a relatively innocent story. He found himself smiling as he spoke, traits that had driven him crazy already beginning to soften in the wake of the man's death. He cleared his throat at the end. "It's not really a secret that Reddington and I didn't get along. Neither of us trusted the other, but in the end…. I owed him my life." He felt Liz's fingers intertwine with his and he lifted his beer up. "To Reddington."

They echoed and Tom felt Liz curl a little closer to him. She had been quiet most of the afternoon and remained that way into the evening. The wake came to a reluctant close as they moved from evening towards night, and Tom was a little surprised to find himself reluctant to leave as well. Leaving meant it was real. Leaving meant that this chapter was truly over and that the man that had, despite everything, brought them all together was dead.

Tom shifted a still groggy Agnes and she draped against his shoulder as they walked out of the house. "You okay?" he ventured.

Liz didn't answer immediately, but he saw the barest twitched as she turned her thoughts over in her mind. He didn't push, but as they slipped into their vehicle, Agnes in her seat in the back, he saw her lean back against the headrest. "I will be," she finally answered. "Okay, I mean." She squeezed her eyes closed and Tom reached out, his fingers brushing hers in a silent offer of support and she took his hand. A small, pained smile pulled her lips outward. "He made good on his promise."

"What promise was that?"

Her fingers tightened around his. "That I would have the life I wanted. That my family would be safe. He made sure of it." Bright blue eyes blinked open and a couple of tears escaped as she turned to look at him. "Let's go home, babe."

Tom nodded, not trusting his own voice as he put their vehicle into gear. After everything - all the close calls, all the the pain they had struggled through to bring their family back together - they could say they had won. They hadn't done it alone and the cost had been high, but they could finally go home.

End.

Notes: The first scene of this story sat by itself for maybe a month or two before I was finally able to start in on the rest of it. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to finish it and that somewhere along the way I'd just lose all interest and leave the show for good. Thankfully, as frustrated as I've been with the show, that hasn't happened. I have a friend in a different fandom that talked about her AU fic being the only way she continued watching it, and while it may not have been the only way for me this has helped on a lot of levels. Gotta love fanafiction, right?

There is a follow up story already in the works called Home from the War. It'll start posting next week on Friday and starts in about six months later. Thank you so much for all of your kind words of encouragement along the way. I'd love to know what you thought of the story on whole. Please feel free to drop a review in the box. Short, long, undiscernible sounds... I love it all lol

And a BIG thank you to my beta Whimsy. If you're a Saram fan, she just wrapped up a fantastic piece called Reset that I highly recommend. She's on AO3 under WhimsicalWombat.

Hope to see you guys next week for Home from the War!

#the blacklist #au fanfiction #Tom Keen #Elizabeth Keen #Howard Hargrave #Scottie Hargrave #Matias Solomon #Donald REssler

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