#I really ought to look into… more ships than just the one singular ship I like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

akampana · 3 years

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Continuation of this ask

Bedivere x Arturia - Ship it

What made you ship it?

TBH I was one of those few people who shipped it based on that like 2 second scene at the end of FSN. The Camelot Singularity just reinforced it. A lot came from the original Arthurian legend as well. Bedivere is similarly insanely loyal as he is in the game, and like in Fate lore, he’s been with Arthur longer than most.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

He journeyed so far for so long just to see her smile OH MY GOD BRB IM SOBBING HOLY CRAP CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE—

I’m a sucker for intensely loyal knights and I will always be. ALWAYS.

THE ANGST POTENTIALLLLLL but also THE FLUFF POTENTIALLLL

This man loved his king so bloody intensely. So strongly that his desire to see her survived the test of time. To be loved so much, so unconditionally for a thousand and a half years? Gods, that’s just too much, man. ;-;

And I absolutely adore how much it means to him to remain her knight, even if he tends to be insecure about the limb that he lacks, and how he believes he is nothing special in comparison with everyone else. I love that Arturia recognizes his strength and his worth, even if he himself can’t see it.

THE ENTIRE CONFRONTATION IN THE THRONE ROOM LET ME TELL YOU I WAS CRYING SOOOOO HARD THROUGHOUT THAT IK NIT EVEN KIDDING

THIS, the MINDBREAK Arturia goes through when she tries to remember

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I think that THIS SHIP NEEDS MORE LOVE AND I REALLY OUGHT TO CONTRIBUTE

All the other answers below cut!

Irisviel x Arturia - Ship It

What made you ship it?

I think I was bound to the moment I watched Fate Zero. When I was younger it was overshadowed by the feels Diarturia brought and not to mention Kiritsugu and Iri but this ship is damn good on its own.

What sold it though, is the argument she and Kiritsugu have in Episode 16, right after the last Saber and Lancer fight. Irisviel, who we all know loves her husband so much, forced Kiritsugu to answer Saber. That’s just how important Arturia was to her.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I think they both found in each other something they themselves lack. It’s actually kind of funny. Arturia is human, and yet she’s so heavily consumed by her ideals that she doesn’t act like one. Irisviel, on the other hand, is not human, and yet everything that she does and wants to do is exactly that.

Throughout the anime, Being with Iri puts Saber into such mundane, ordinary situations that it teaches her to live. The suits, the escorting, being a passenger instead of a driver, appreciating the water by the seashore, etc. It's like the woman wants to leave her with some appreciation for the world, especially when she herself doesn’t have all that much time left.

On Irisviel’s part, I think she found in Saber the companionship she would have wanted from Kiritsugu during the last few days she remained on the Earth. Arturia had been the perfect knight in shining armor, taking Irisviel around to see the world as much as they could amidst a war. If they’d just had more time, I have no doubt Arturia would have taken Irisviel even more places, you know?

It makes me sad :( but in a good way.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I’m pretty sure Irisviel would wear the pants in this relationship ya know what I mean? Hahaha

Much as I love this ship, I think that it becomes all the more valuable because of how it ended. To each other, they were this brief, fleeting feeling of happiness. A love that was so short and yet so strong.

Shirou x Arturia - Don't Ship it

Hooooooo boi. Hear me out, mkay ? But this is just my personal opinion so pls no hate

Why don't you ship it?

I’m gonna start out by saying I don’t think I need to, tbh. Hahaha there’s enough content for this ship being fed to us, so my liking it or not is immaterial. But the reason is well...I watched FSN and Shirou x Saber was...not the best thing about it (the best thing about it was the soundtrack omg iconic) Shirou comes off as a bit of a misogynist, and kind of immature, and the whole time it’s like he doesn’t really listen to Arturia at all. Plus, it’s kind of like he just likes her looks at times. The final deciding factor was the date scene. That was just unbearable.

But then I go online and I see all this good stuff about them. And my friend ships them cause they’re canon, right? So, I’m like okay, what if I judged too quickly, let’s play the VN...and I did. And I still didn’t like him with Saber at all. So, I played the next route, watched the next anime, trying to redeem 1st route Shirou as much as I could but it just....didn’t happen. I think I can safely say I tried to like them. I really did. But no.

What would have made you like it?

Removing the misogyny and the immaturity and letting him listen to her. Like he should have.

At no point in their interactions did it feel like they were standing on equal ground, ever. Either he was speaking over her or the opposite. So less of that and a lot more respect.

And when you compare this relationship to what he has with like with his other two love interests, it makes this ship fall completely flat. It’s pretty...bland and honestly kind of shallow. It’s like the story just tells you they’re in love but there’s no answer to why they’re in love. Make him fall in love with her for her without necessarily forcing his need to save everyone on her.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

I may not like how they got there, but in the end Arturia was able to pass peacefully.

I acknowledge that Shirou was important and made a change in her life.

That ending scene where they meet after so long, NGL is pretty sweet.

A lot of my headcanons happen post-Shirou, so there’s also that.

Archer x Rin -Ship it

What made you ship it?

Tsundere x Cynic has gotta be one of the best dynamics out there.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

His true identity. The fact that she dragged him all the way across space and time to return as her Servant, that’s just bloody fate at work.

The fact that he keeps acknowledging she’s a strong Master despite his later conduct in UBW.

Archer is ridiculously crass and Rin is easily riled up. In the Fifth Holy Grail War, they had the best Master-Servant relationship period. They have this explosive chemistry that just works so well.

When he smiles at her at the end of the route, and you just know that Tohsaka’s gonna be stubborn enough to make sure Shirou doesn’t end up going down the exact same path.

I think it’s sweet that he ends up going along with her whims because he secretly likes housework.

THE PRINCESS CARRY/ CATCH. MAN OH MAN.

Unlike the previous ship mentioned here, these two actually stand on equal ground with each other.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I don't think it's exactly an unpopular opinion, but I think they really ought to have more official content y'know? Rin is important in every route, and Archer's the actual climax of UBW and also entirely significant across three routes.

Medusa x Sakura - Don't ship it

Why don't you ship it?

Because while journeying through the routes, I always saw Rider as more of a best friend/sort of motherly figure to Sakura.

Or that Rider fulfilled the kind of relationship that she wanted to have with Rin, while Sakura unknowingly filled the void Medusa's sisters left in her life. I thought she was more of a guardian angel really, not a romantic interest. Kind of like how Heracles was to Illya.

What would have made you like it?

If I could maybe forget about the threesome with Shirou and the implied romantic feelings Rider has for him in Ataraxia that would be great.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

Sakura deserves all the happiness in the world and I really do believe that Rider could fulfill that.

This ship DEFINITELY DEFINITELYYYYYY NEEDS MORE CONTENT

Diarmuid x Cú - Ship it

What made you ship it?

oooh this probably sounds surprising since based on my content you'd think, no i dont ship this BUT I DOOOOOOO (i just happen to hc them as bros more often)

Honestly what did make me ship it is the parallels.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

IMO They have the biggest potential for hurt/comfort amongst all the ships mentioned here.

They can help each other get through their trauma. Their whole relationship would be extremely healing and supportive.

I love that Diarmuid seems to have idolized Cú Chulainn at some point and honestly who wouldn't be honored to stand beside him, no?

They could be up to the funniest shenanigans because Cú is chaos and Diarmuid would absolutely be an enabler because when he isn't angst-ing he's super damn chill.

Bros being bros hahahah...unless?

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Not really. Maybe that I think Lancer Diar and Cascu would get along better and Saber Diar and Lancer Cu would also get along better but honestly any form is good this ship is good

#akampana asks #bedivere #arturia pendragon #artoria pendragon #irisviel von einzbern #emiya Shirou #archer #rin #tohsaka rin #Medusa #sakura #sakura matou #diarmuid ua duibhne #cu chulainn #long post

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merryfortune · 3 years

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Blue since the day we parted

Written for 100ships on Dreamwidth

Prompt: #13 Blue

Ship: Ai/Shoichi/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: T

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending, Missing Scene Fic

A tear glistened in the corner of Playmaker’s eye as he reached out into that cloudy, blue sky and touched Ai, plucking him from the digital space.

Ai convulsed inside his hand. Just an eyeball. Reconstructed, refigured, recantered and then he remembered. Playmaker’s heart lurched with worry as he cradled Ai, standing into the wind and letting it roll off him as he waited for Ai to say something. To do something. Anything. And then a tear to match the ones dripping slowly down the side of Playmaker’s face welled up on the rubber duct of Ai’s entire eyeball.

“Yusaku…?” he murmured. “Yusaku! Yusaku! My Yusaku!”

“Y-Yeah, it's me, Ai.” Playmaker beamed and Ai was happy that such a wide smile would be his first memory in this refreshed, new world.

“I thought… I thought I was a goner.” Ai mumbled, grateful to be alive but grim in his certainty that he was very much not so supposed to be alive.

“You know me,” Playmaker shrugged, “once I decide something, it becomes my purpose. Be it for three months or ten years, I just get absorbed in that one singular desire. Looking for you, piecing you back together, that was my one desire this time.”

“And I bet it was just as destructive for you than if was just plain ol’ revenge.” Ai replied.

Playmaker didn’t have a verbal response to that but the guilty look on his face spoke volumes. Ai nodded in his hands, moving himself up and down against Playmaker’s palms.

“I thought as much.” Ai mumbled. “You never really change and yet…?”

It, too, was written all over Playmaker’s face just as much as the guilt of having pushed aside so many of his connections just so he could reconnect to this one. Playmaker found it worth it though. Unbelievably worth it. He kept smiling, even if his initial grin had shrunken in on itself and steeped with guilt.

“I can’t help it, your right,” Playmaker replied, murmuring, “Ai means to love people but I feel like I can only do it when I have…”

“Ai?” Ai piped up hopefully.

“Yeah, exactly.” Playmaker told him.

“Oh, you incorrigible…!” Ai complained and he seemed rather cranky in Playmaker’s hands now, frowning and pouting but then he let up on it. “I love you, too. Thank you for bringing me back, for having hope.”

“My pleasure.” Playmaker replied.

“So, what now?” asked Ai. “Am I going to be stuck like this forever? My handsome visages? Gone, perished, truly a fate worse than death.”

“I’ve got that all figured out,” Playmaker assured Ai, “So let’s log-out.” He shifted slightly and an admittance followed, “There’s someone else I really want back now, though, as well. Its kind of co-linked to getting your body back, too.”

Ai had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what that meant so he perked up immediately, “Let’s get to it then, Playmaker! Seize the wind, already!”

Playmaker laughed and it was such a lovely sound to Ai. It was unrehearsed and croaky but it was laughter nonetheless. They logged out together shortly afterwards. A cavalcade of pale blue data turning into sparkling shards of data before disappearing entirely.

When they resurfaced, the location was not where Ai expected. He was still in the palm of Yusaku’s hands as he ventured out of a dark niche where his Link VRAINS rig was set up. It was familiar but it wasn’t home - or at least Yusaku’s apartment, even if it had never really felt like home until the end, when it was more about the emotions imbued in the walls than the walls themselves.

Looking around, the first thing Ai saw, through the guards of Yusaku’s fingers, was the ocean. It was about midday, early afternoon, and the ocean was sparkling. It was a rich azure through the silver railing and the framing of the huge doorway into this building that Yusaku had made his next hovel. Ai realised where they were; they were at the site of their final showdown, if not a warehouse or two either.

Ai wriggled in Yusaku’s hands so he could look up to him, “What happened to the apartment?” he asked. “Wh-Where’s Roboppy’s shell?”

“Somewhere safe, don’t worry,” Yusaku replied and then he shrugged, his gaze grew distant, “I’m not sure what happened to the apartment. Landlord never tried to contact me when I bailed, I left behind whatever I couldn’t bring with me so I could stay here. It was easier than trying to move all your stockpiles there. Mightn’t be the most luxurious of places but its quiet here.”

“Yeah, nothing more soothing than the sounds of construction.” Ai complained because he knew, for one, that he could hear the sound of jackhammers somewhere along the industrial pier.

“Okay, serene.” Yusaku corrected himself.

“But if there’s people around… how are you…?” Ai’s voice trailed off.

“It’s not easy but I’ve managed alright to hide out undetected. I think the workers enjoy having a ghost around. So long as it doesn’t touch anything important, they don’t care if some electricity is pilfered.” Yusaku said but he brightened up, returned his gaze to Ai. “But now that we’re together again, let’s try and find somewhere really nice to live, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ai excitedly replied.

“So let’s get you into your not-meat suit.” Yusaku said. “I don’t have all the means to give you back your Ignis body but take your pick of SOLtiS bodies.”

Yusaku drifted through the vast, freezing warehouse like it was his home, showing Ai to one of the many stashes of cold, lifeless bodies that belonged to them. As eerie as it was to have so many empty SOLtiS androids around, Ai jumped into one enthusiastically. He wormed and wriggled his way into their shell and the eyeball became a beating heart. Yusaku watched, breathless, as a dressed and ready Ai appeared before him in the form of his dashing persona as a human.

Whilst Ai may have been groggy and vague at first upon revival, he was really in the swing of things now as he popped up on his two legs like he was born to walk. Yusaku smiled gently whilst Ai stretched out all his nuts and bolts, making sure his limbs hadn’t rusted and got as close to limber as a robot could be and at the very end, made a very satisfied sigh.

“Alright, what’s next?” Ai asked.

“I think you know,” Yusaku said and though his heart thudded in his chest, a beg not to, he reached out to take Ai’s hand, “let’s go.”

“Of course, partner.” Ai replied affectionately.

Their fingers intertwined and linked together and then they were off with the wind. Not forever, obviously, Yusaku wanted to circle back later to grab Roboppy and a few other things that would be difficult to replace retroactively but for now, he and Ai were really putting the blues of the warehouse behind them both. And they both knew where they were headed on the interim, following the winding, concrete paths that allied themselves with the ocean so down below at the base of the steep cliffs here.

When they arrived where they wanted to go, they still arrived looking like they ought to be dead. A corpse and a ghost: neither sure which was which but it was worth it.

Cafe Nagi’s van was set up to the side of the Stardust Road. The last of the lunch time rush customers were trickling in and out, a waiter with a fluffy ponytail darting around them, fetching them refreshments and the like who paused to stare, puzzled, as his brother abandoned his post behind the grill.

Yusaku smiled, tears in his eyes again that turned his smile creaky and all the more sincere, “Hey Kusanagi,” he said as Shoichi rushed towards him and Ai with a disbelieving smile, “I-I’ve missed you.”

Before Yusaku knew it, he was swept up in a big bear hug from Shoichi. His arms surged around Yusaku’s scrawny frame and were so warm, Yusaku couldn’t have been more thankful for it. He buried his wet face into Shoichi’s chest and wrapped his arms around Shoichi’s waist. He felt so cared for as Shoichi’s hand cradled the back of his head, his fingers in his blue hair - and Ai, Ai was involving himself in this hug one way or another, too. Trying to reach both Yusaku and Shoichi but Shoichi was hogging Yusaku but Ai didn’t mind.

“Never - and I mean never - do that to me again.” Shoichi growled. He was angry and sad and happy and relieved all at once. All that really broke through the barrage of emotions that he felt was love.

“I promise.” Yusaku replied. He hugged back tighter. “I absolutely promise, I - I don’t want to be separated from you or Ai ever again, both of you are my precious partners.”

“I believe you, Yusaku.” Shoichi consoled him. His head shifted to the left slightly, “And I mean it, Ai, I’m glad to see your back as well. I don’t want you running off either.”

“It’s good to see you again, too, hot dog man.” Ai mumbled very fondly and with something of a tint of sadness. “And trust me,” he added, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now with you two.”

“Same.” Yusaku mumbled.

“I’m glad,” Shoichi replied softly and though he didn’t want to, he loosened his embrace of Yusaku so he could see his face properly, his cheeks were red and he looked dishevelled, there were bags under his eyes, “Yusaku? Ai?” Shoichi murmured.

“Yeah?” Yusaku mumbled.

Shoichi tilted his head to the side slightly, “Do you want to come live with me?” he asked. “Me and Jin?”

“I’d love to.” Yusaku replied.

“Me too.” Ai added on.

Yusaku hugged Shoichi again. He couldn’t wait to move in with Shoichi and together they could get Ai his little Ignis body back too. It was all happening and Yusaku couldn’t be happier. He had been so depressed and angry since Ai died. Everything else became a blur to him. Lifeless, miserable. He didn’t want that anymore or ever again. So, he was determined to never let go of either Ai or Shoichi ever again and then, like an armory, the legendary spear and shield to pierce and protect and their tentacle monster too, they could go forward and progress. Reconnect and co-link. That’s all Yusaku wanted.

#100ships challenge #writing tag #aiballshipping #hotdogshipping #ai x shoichi x yusaku #mascotshipping #ai x yusaku x shoichi #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #yusaku fujiki #ai (vrains)#kusanagi shoichi #shoichi kusanagi #fujiki yusaku

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Summary: Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi gets displaced in time and, to Darth Vader’s delight, decides the Death Star sucks. There might be some treason involved. Read on AO3!

After over a decade at Obi-Wan Kenobi’s side, spending more time with him than in his absence, Vader had thought he had known the man better than anybody else. And perhaps, indeed, he had, but as the Sith had come to know in the past weeks, better didn’t equal well.

He didn’t have any significant memories of his former Master as a Padawan. The time he had spent with him before Qui-Gon’s death had been short and Kenobi hadn’t paid much attention to him. Afterward, Vader had only known him as his new Master, an authority to respect if he didn’t want to earn his ire, or worse, his disappointment.

He had appeared so aloof, as the perfect Jedi with not a single flaw.

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the other hand, was not this perfect Jedi yet, this embodiment of a faulty code. He had, apparently, a slightly bigger disregard for rules than Vader had assumed possible and, on top of that, smoked Death Sticks. For fun, just to relax a little sometimes. He had admitted so while laughing just a touch nervously in a pitch Vader had never heard from his Master. It showed how painfully young this Obi-Wan still was, even at 22. If Vader hadn’t spent hours excessively researching the Sith artifact Obi-Wan had touched, he would have believed that the Padawan was not just from a different time, but also a different universe. He just behaved so differently, enough that Vader hadn’t immediately wanted to punish him for the betrayal of his future-self.

After the initial shock had worn off, Obi-Wan had acted surprisingly calmly about the Republic having turned into an Empire and the entirety of the Jedi having been wiped out. What had, however, displeased Obi-Wan, was how incredibly mindlessly Sidious had been ruling his Empire.

“So, just to recapitulate, the Emperor-“ Obi-Wan’s face scrunched up in disgust, an expression Vader thought was quite appropriate for this situation, “decided to build a weapon that can blow up entire planets, named it Death Star and decided that was a job well done?”

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan walked from one side of the room to the other. He ought to be in a prison cell or stuck somewhere deep on Mustafar where Sidious could never possibly find out about him, and yet Vader had kept Obi-Wan by his side. He had forced the young man to give up his Jedi robes, of course, he loathed to look at them and couldn’t very much keep a Jedi with him. Instead, he had left Obi-Wan the black leather uniform of the Inquisitors. The Padawan had put it on with only a few complaints about how tight it was compared to the loose Jedi robes and had scowled at the Imperial cog printed upon his sleeves, but otherwise, he had gone along just fine with Vader’s demands.

His lightsaber – another thing so very different from the Kenobi Vader remembered – hung from his belt and his Padawan braid had been neatly pulled back into the ponytail that held back the rest of his hair. Vader would have cut off the braid, if not for what that action would symbolize.

Obi-Wan didn’t look like a Jedi Padawan anymore. To every non-Force-sensitive, he would appear to be yet another Inquisitor assigned to watch Vader, spy on him for the Emperor and follow his orders at the same time. Should any other spy on his ship report Obi-Wan’s presence soon, Sidious would certainly be able to figure out Obi-Wan’s identity quickly, if he hadn’t already. The Emperor’s ability to sense even the slightest disturbance in the Force aided him well and there had not been a light as bright as Obi-Wan’s in a while. Vader doubted that he had ever been so untainted, even as a child.

It was annoying and yet, somehow, just a little endearing. Obi-Wan wasn’t as cracked as his older self, not as misused and wrongly trained.

“That’s just stupid,” Obi-Wan concluded. “That’s not how you rule an Empire, forcing every planet into submission or face extinction. The people will band together, they will rebel, and one singular weapon will not be enough to stop entire systems from going against Imperial control.”

Obi-Wan threw up his hands and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Vader wasn’t entirely sure why he had told Obi-Wan of the Death Star. Perhaps only because he had been forced to attend yet another meeting about that foolish weapon everyone in the know sung praises about.

It felt good to have somebody who shared his opinion, even if it was his former Jedi Master, shrunken to a Padawan.

“How would you go about ruling an Empire then?” Vader asked, honestly interested.

His Master had criticized the flaws of the Republic often enough, even if in his weakness he had clung to its ideals. This younger Obi-Wan had already seen much of its rot, but when he talked about the Empire’s flaws, his ire was directed at Sidious first, the institution second.

“Well, I wouldn’t build a freaking Death Star in the first place,” Obi-Wan retorted, snark curled around his lips, not shy at all in speaking his mind.

The Padawan had been scared of Vader at first, terrified. Of course, he had been, he had still believed the Sith extinct and the Jedi to be the glorious victors instead of a decaying order built to fall. But after that fear had passed, Obi-Wan had never once hesitated to speak his mind. The one time Vader had asked him about it, Obi-Wan had only raised his brow at him, similar to the way his future self had.

“If you had wanted to kill or hurt me, you already would have,” he had said, and then went about checking the control panels to Vader’s suit, attempting to figure out how exactly they worked and how they might remove Sidious’s kill-switch on him.

Their alliance was a strange one. Obi-Wan had shown no interest in the dark side, but there was something to his roughness that Vader thought he might be able to make use of.

Obi-Wan already looked the part of a darksider, seeing him fall would be glorious.

Perhaps it wouldn’t take too much to convince him to join either. It wasn’t like he had anyone but Vader left in this time. There was nobody who could possibly understand him, nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. He belonged entirely to Vader. For so long Vader had waited for somebody who wouldn’t dare to betray him because it would leave them off for worse.

Vader hadn’t been able to do anything about his Master, already so set in the ways of the Jedi, but this Obi-Wan might still be useful. Vader had been wanting to overthrow the Emperor for years already, having grown tired of being his slave, but he had always lacked the right kind of support.

“And after?” Vader asked. “How would you rule an Empire?”

“Well, I’d make the people loyal to me at first. Not out of fear or anything, though it is a good motivator, but because they see it as beneficial to be on my side. Fear leaves people hollow or angry, it only really works short time. And by now, the Empire also doesn’t offer much to anyone anywhere except for those in charge, does it?”

Obi-Wan finally sat down at the table. “I mean, Death Star. Really? Sidious could have just as well gone round and said ‘hello, yes, I don’t care about ruling, I just want power and the fancy title.’”

Vader almost felt inclined to laugh. Obi-Wan’s imitation of the Emperor’s accent was spot on.

“Shame there is no way to just destroy that thing. That would certainly earn you enough credit with the people to rally behind you.”

It would indeed.

Vader let the air be forced in and out of his s lungs for few precious moments. He knew that the Death Star had a weakness. It had yet to be discovered by anyone else and so Vader had kept his mouth shut, but-

“What if there is a way to destroy it?”

Obi-Wan blinked a few times, then he grinned. “Well, I suppose then we should do something about that.”

Useful, indeed.

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #darth vader #obi wan kenobi #fanfic

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twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years

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Revolution Theme, Part 2: War of 1812

READ PART 1 HERE

Wow! Thanks @wdway! Love all this!

You’re right that that the Crossing of the Delaware painting makes a lot more sense, now. It also made me think of the more recent pilgrim paintings we’ve seen the past few years. I think we can work those in as well. The pilgrims were somewhat revolutionary in their actions. Not so much in a massive war or battle sort of way, but they left England (yes, Britain) to find freedoms their mother country wasn’t willing to give them. Which is revolutionary in its way.

But more to the point, that was the first step that would eventually lead to a war for freedom between Britain and the American colonies. So, you could see them as the precursor to the revolution. So, it makes sense to use that painting for TF and TWD right now, because what’s been happening the last season or 2 is the precursor to the final, big revolution.

When you got into talking about 2 revolutions, that makes tons of sense as well, and I totally agree.

When you talked about the white house and library of congress being burnt in 1812, about six things came to mind, lol.

When Eugene was at the Sanctuary (which I 100% believe foreshadows the final revolution, Beth, and what Eugene’s role will be in it) he played the 1812 Overture when he did the science experiment for Negan’s wives. (Including Amber, who looked like Beth and Tanya, who had a lot of Beth’s dialogue with Eugene). I’ve kind of low-key obsessed over that song and why they used it, but other than foreshadowing a final battle with Eugene as I’ve already said, it was hard to connect anything more specific.

The 1812 Overture was not actually written about the War of 1812. It was written in celebration of Napoleon’s retreat from Russia. Basically, he tried to invade Moscow early in 1812 but failed miserably and eventually had to retreat. Not so much because of being out-fought, but more because of weather, illness, lack of supplies for the army, etc.

Now, that’s not the same thing you mentioned in the British fighting Napoleon before turning their attention to the American colonists, but the link is still there. Napoleon/Russia>1812 Overture>Napolean/Britain>Britain/American Colonies. See what I mean? So, the idea of two wars or a war on two fronts really makes sense.

I’ve been trying to find out if the 1812 Overture has a d.c. al coda in it. I don’t think it does, but I’m having a hard time finding the sheet music online. You can find it, of course, but often it’s blurry or watermarked in such a way that it’s hard to read, and that’s because they want you to buy it to remove the watermark. I’ll keep looking.

But I do know it has a coda. Maybe not a d.c. al coda, but a coda of some kind. In fact, while I’m still not sure until I can clearly see the sheet music, from what I’ve read others saying, the final, super-loud, exuberant part of the song that’s often used in U.S. Independence Day celebrations IS the coda. And it represents Russia winning the war over Napoleon. Coincidence?

So, Napoleon fought many wars on many fronts. There’s that. But as you said, the British first fought Napoleon (perhaps that will be the Commonwealth) and then turned to the American colonists. And given what was said in 5x09 about a rebel group fighting against the “republic” using what amounts to guerilla tactics, that does line up with how the American colonists fought the British during the revolution. So clearly that’s the one that will involve Beth and TF (though of course they will probably be involved, at least to some extent, in the Commonwealth bit as well).

Also, also. You talked about the LIBRARY of congress being burned. I’m not sure how, but suddenly I feel sure all the books and librarian stuff must be connected to this. To the revolution theme. I still remember watching the beginning of 6x16 and thinking it was SO significant, but I had no idea why. It’s where we see Carl lock Enid in the closet to keep her safe, and she’s yelling at him things like, “what if you don’t come back?” And he tells her, “just survive somehow.”

Meanwhile, that scene is intercut with Negan’s guys chasing the librarian they end up hanging over the bridge with an X spray painted on his chest. And then he gets…burned?

I remember thinking that just FELT like a big war that was coming, but back then, I really didn’t know how to interpret it. Of course, AOW started soon after, but the librarian group wasn’t a big part of that. If we’re honest, they really were just random side characters, which was odd because that sequence FELT so important. So, I’m betting we ought to be connecting them to this as well.

The Native American Symbols

For the record, a couple of things I’ve been trying to look into and haven’t found much (mostly because I haven’t had much time to do so yet) include what role Native American tribes played in the American revolution. Some were loyal to the British, others to colonists. As I said, I need to do more research, but little tidbits like this one are interesting:

“Their biggest contribution was as spies going to Canada and returning with news of the English plans, and attacking English coastal shipping. The Indians played a leading role in preventing an English attack on Machias by sea from being successful. “

(AL’s voice coming out of the radio in 5x09: “At least 68 citizens of the Republic have been killed in four deadly attacks along the main coastal district. The group has continued their campaign of random violence, moving across the countryside unfettered, with the Republic’s military forces in disarray.” Just saying.)

The other thing I’ve looked into is Francis Marion’s (Swamp Fox’s) connection to Native Americans of the time. During the revolution itself, I’m not finding much. But we do know that he learned a lot of his battle prowess from fighting the Cherokee Indians as a young man.

What he learned there is what made him so effective against the British. So, I’m wondering if that will translate with Beth in that she’ll fight the CRM or perhaps even in battles with the Commonwealth early on and that will give her what she needs to triumph much later in bigger battles. Or maybe they’ll connect it even earlier back to early battles with TF and what Daryl taught her. The possibilities are endless. ;D

@wdway:

If you do a search, it's quite fascinating and well worth the time to do two searches. One on the burning of the White House and then the other one on Andrew Jackson and the Battle of New Orleans.

There are things that I just did not go into like the connection with Napoleon that we've seen hints of in the past couple of seasons and didn't know why. The Cherokee Rose, which has been a symbol for so long and I do not think it was their intention in the beginning but what most people do not understand is that the Cherokee Rose has a strong connection to Andrew Jackson.

Andrew Jackson had a singular focus on driving the Native Americans (mostly the Cherokee Nation) to the West. Lightbulb moment here, but maybe that might be same of the meaning of Indian symbolism.

Jackson had a major part in the Trail of Tears, which is basically the story that Daryl tells Carol after walker Sophia was discovered. Jackson was a brilliant military soldier, but he was not known as a compassionate person. His nickname was Old Hickory (a tree reference) because the hickory tree's wood is known for its hardness.

A few years back, tptb did a promotion showing nuts that had a hard outer shell. People didn't understand what that was, but I knew because it was a hickory nut. A very hard outer shell and then inside is the actual nut. Hickory wood was the favored source for making baseball bats back in the day because they would not easily break.

The other interesting fact about Andrew Jackson was his love for his wife, Rachel. It was a legendary love. He might have been an asshole to the entire world, but Rachel was the love of his life. When she died, he did not simply bury her. He entombed her in her own little Mausoleum at his home, The Hermitage, just outside of Nashville.

Jackson fought both in the Revolutionary War and the 1812 war, in the Battle of New Orleans. He apparently had been imprisoned by the British for a time during the Revolutionary War, which fired his hatred for them.

Am I the only one thinking about the connections between him and Negan? I'm thinking of the two wars, the Commonwealth and the war against the CRM. I want to think that the Commonwealth conflict is represented by the War of 1812. The larger, more overall important conflict with a CRM will be the American Revolutionary War, with Rick replacing Washington as the leader.

I was freaking out when you mentioned the Overture of 1812. I don't care if it was written for the war led by Napoleon with Russia. If anything, that makes it even as stronger clue that we're on the right track because of the Russian satellite and Russian dictionary that little Judith got from (wait for it) the library, for Eugene.

One other thing, @twdmusicboxmystery. I thought about this earlier today when I was reading about the 1812 Overture, but I wanted to do a check before I mentioned it to you.

Two very famous pieces of music came out of the 1812 wars. The 1812 Overture about Napoleon and Russia, and The Star-Spangled Banner, our U.S. national anthem written by Francis Scott Key about The Battle of Fort Henry. Both Fort Henry and The Battle of New Orleans were fought in 1814 but were known as being part of the War of 1812.

Can’t wait to see how it all plays out.

Definitely very interesting! Thanks for all this research @wdway!

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethy

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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels: Welcome Aboard

I was going to write a second part of “The Team”, but it ended up being extremely long-winded and boring, so I decided on this instead. Hope you like it.

Despite his apparent oddness, it must be said that Drake didn’t waste any time. Already, he had a job for the team, now called the Magnificent Scoundrels at his insistence. They were to rendezvous around a planet on the outer edges of Drake’s home galaxy, where he would inform them the rest of the details. For those who did not own their own starships, accommodations were provided by the members of the team who did. Jack Cooper, who was introduced as the lone military-looking man at the back of the room, would be traveling with Drake, as Drake’s ship, called the Apocalypse, was the only one with enough room to transport Cooper’s Titan, a monstrous twenty foot tall piloted robot designed to crush anything it would possibly face. The elaborate-uniformed man, as it turned out, was a commissar (Author’s note: Commissar definition- a political or morale officer) attached to an entire regiment of soldiers. The only ship that was equipped to fit an entire military regiment inside was Adam Vir’s, and as such, Commissar Ciaphas Cain and the Valhallan 597th of the Imperial Guard were put aboard his ship, the Omen. Master Chief was a singular person and thus did not require much room, and so Kirk volunteered to transport him aboard the Enterprise. And so, it was now that welcomes were issued, people and supplies were loaded, and mooring lines were cast off, figuratively speaking.

Aboard the Omen

Adam Vir sighed contentedly as he settled into his command chair. It was good to be back on board his ship, and definitely good to get away from maniacal mercenaries and people who he wasn't sure were hallucinations or not. Speaking of which, he glanced around his shoulder. Commissar Cain and the commanding officer of the regiment, Colonel Kasteen, were standing ramrod straight, hands behind their backs, at the back area of the bridge, apparently wanting to see takeoff. Cain’s elaborate uniform was drawing rushed glancines from the bridge crew, several who gawked at the newcomers before Vir snapped at them to get back at their stations. Sighing again, this time in annoyance at his crew’s lack of social skills, he stood up, put on his best diplomatic smile, and walked towards the duo, arm outstretched.

“Commissar Cain, Colonel Kasteen, I trust your soldiers have made themselves comfortable.” Kasteen looked bewildered at the outstretched hand for a moment, then shook it and gave a rather sickly smile.

“Er, yes they have, Admiral.” Her grip noticeably weakened as Sunny, the ship’s eight foot tall four-armed Drev weapons officer brushed past. “All the Guardsmen are secured for warp jump.” Vir nodded appreciatively.

“Excellent.” He then turned and shook Cain’s hand, which on second glance, had several cold metal prosthetic fingers. Cain had a warm smile plastered on his face as he shook Adam’s hand.

“A pleasure meeting you, Admiral Vir.” His smile grew larger, and Adam couldn’t help but smile back in genuine amusement.

“And a pleasure meeting you, Commissar Cain.” He turned back to the bridge crew. “When are we ready to jump?” he asked.

“Three minutes, sir, came the reply from his first mate.

“Excellent,” he replied. Kasteen cleared her throat behind him.

“Admiral, would you like the Guardsmen to their battle stations?” she asked. Vir turned around in puzzlement.

“Battle stations? Why?”

“Well, some Imperial Captains like the Guardsmen and naval provosts at battle stations when in warp transition.”

“Uh, no. Don’t bother. Alright, all hands prepare for jump!” Little did he know, but this was to be the first, and smallest, of many misunderstandings to come.

Aboard the Apocalypse

Already, and astoundingly for someone who had never seen a Titan before, Drake and his crew had already stashed Jack Cooper’s Titan, BT-7274 into the cargo hold, and were preparing for takeoff. Currently, Drake was leading Cooper through the labyrinth passages of the Apocalypse, headed towards the cabins closest to the bridge where Jack was to have his quarters, Cooper’s measured military stride contrasting remarkably to Drake’s confident swagger. They passed through the well-lit uniformly grey hallways of the ship, and as they went, Drake flippantly introduced passing crew members.

“And, of course, there’s Maria, very handy with a knife, laughs like a chipmunk when excited.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.” Jack nodded at a disgruntled looking Maria as Drake continued his grand tour without pause.

“There’s Ziwazzi, a Gunleron, who keeps pretending he’s tough, but he’s actually quote sweet; was kicked out of his planet’s premiere military school for stealing an actually astonishingly impressive amount of stuff.”

“Hey! Captain!” replied an offending looking reptilian alien.

“Ziwazzi, you ought to know me by now,” Drake turned to Cooper, “I am a firm believer that when meeting someone new, you should know their best and worst traits. For instance, I am a rather nice person if you get to know me, have an excellent taste in fine arts, and donate a lot of the money I make to help orphans, but I am a shameless thief, a pyromaniac, and a massive playboy. See? Now you know everything you need to know about me.” He spun on his heel dramatically and continued walking. “If you ever need advice on fine arts or romance, I’m your guy. Don’t hesitate to ask.” They passed through more identical hallways and into the crew’s cabin section. A door popped open and a woman stepped out from the cabin beyond, holding two dresses in her hands.

“Er, Captain, uh, I was wondering...well, you give good fashion advice-”

“Blue dress. It highlights your eyes perfectly, is made of light synthetic silk with a cooling texture, so it will be more comfortable than the cotton one, and Jackson likes blue better, so it’ll be better for your date,” replied Drake without pause. The woman turned bright red.

“How did you know that Jackson and I were-”

“Please. I’m the Captain. I know everything that happens on this ship. I won’t tell anyone, though, unless it threatens security, everyone already knows, or you want me to. Have a nice night.” Cooper hurried to keep up as Drake started down the hallway again. They reached another section of the ship before Drake stopped abruptly, almost making Cooper bump into him. “And here, finally, is your cabin,” Drake gestured with a dramatic flourish. “Pleasant dreams, try not to die.” And, just as quickly as he had led Jack there, Drake vanished.

Aboard the Enterprise

John-117, more commonly referred to as “Master Chief”, was currently sitting in his new quarters aboard Captain Kirk’s ship, the Enterprise. His helmet was on, of course, and a data pad, which the crew had called a “first contact package”, was in his armored hands. It contained all the information regarding the species and governments within Kirk’s home galaxy. Master Chief had found Kirk and the entire crew to be most agreeable. They were all friendly, helpful, and normal, especially compared to the oddly uniformed commissar and the slightly looney Drake. It was refreshing, really. He hoped that this group, which he had been ordered to join to gain a better picture of the new galaxies, wouldn’t take up too much of his time. It was, in the end, his job to prevent the collection of hostile aliens known as the Covenant from overwhelming humanity. But such thoughts could wait. He busied himself in the pad, learning as much as possible about his new reality.

One Week Later

Aboard the Enterprise

It had been probably the best space voyage that Master Chief had ever experienced, although that wasn't saying much. Most of the time, if he was in space, he was killing Covenant or on his way to kill Covenant. But this...this was positively relaxing. He had little to do, as the crew kept the ship running smoothly. He spent most of his time reading up on the history of the various new galaxies that had appeared seemingly overnight next to his own. The first contact package from Kirk was exhausted, and now he was perusing through an absolutely massive information report compiled by Drake. Curiously enough, many of the files there were from official government sources and marked “classified”, several of which he recognized as top secret from his home universe. He did wonder where Drake had gotten his hands on those. Or perhaps, it was better not to know. Speaking of which, he started to consider: how was everyone else on the different ships of this makeshift fleet doing?

Aboard the Apocalypse

Jack Cooper stared, shell-shocked, at the wall of his cabin. The past week had been probably, no, scratch that, most definitely, the most bizarre he’d ever witnessed. The strangeness of it all was such that he had been like this, staring at a slate grey wall, contemplating life, for the past five hours. Inevitably, the weirdness of the voyage all boiled down to one individual: Thomas Drake. The man was, to put it exceptionally mildly, eccentric. It had started on the tour, and only gotten worse on the first day of the tour; Drake had given Cooper free reign of the ship, and thus, like any other over curious human would, he had decided to unobtrusively explore, starting, of course, with the bridge. It unfortunately coincided with Drake’s arrival to the command deck of said bridge, which was herald by several disco balls dropping from the ceiling, the playing of an altogether too cheerful tune for the time of the morning, and Drake himself disco-dancing his way through the bridge. And, while Drake was actually quite a good dancer, it was much too strange for Jack. Regrettably enough, though, it turned out that this was Drake’s morning routine. A song, completely random, was chosen, and Drake would enter the bridge every morning with his characteristic dramatic flourish. The second day Drake was to enter the bridge to a military march, his hands clasped behind his back, while he waved to a non-existent crowd as if he was in a parade, much to the delight of the bridge crew and the bemusement of Cooper. The day after that he quite literally waltzed into the bridge to the symphonic melodies of some classical song that Jack was sure he had heard before, but could not put a finger on. Drake had sat in his command chair and grinned at Cooper.

“Like it?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Your dancing is..quite impressive.” Drake gave a strange, wheezing laugh at this.

“My dancing is quite impressive, yet my habits are quite strange. Yes, yes, don’t be surprised,” he dismissed Jack’s glance and him with a wave, “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve never seen anyone do this before. ‘Why?’ I’m sure you’re wondering,” Drake leaned forward on his chair, “The answer is quite simple. Because I can.” Cooper was about to interject, wanting to ask a question along the lines of “But why though”, before the ship itself was wracked by a massive force, causing several panels above the crew’s control stations to spew sparks.

“What the hell was that?” asked Cooper. Drake leaned back in his chair, unconcerned, and waved a hand dismissively.

“Something exploded. It’s probably fine.”

“Probably? What do you mean probably? And shouldn’t that not happen, though? I mean, I’m not an expert on spaceships, but isn’t stuff blowing up on your ship not a good thing?” Drake shrugged.

“Eh, it’s fine. If it were really a problem, the alarms would go off.” As if on cue, the ship's alarm system started flashing red and emitting an ear-piercing shriek. “Alriiight, now it’s a problem,” Drake said with a sigh. “And I was just getting comfortable.” He grabbed some sort of portable communication device and walked briskly for the door. “Richter, what the hell happened?”

“Try and guess,” came the voice on the other end.

“Muelka?” asked Drake as he and Cooper half jogged through the hallways to the wails of the alarm.

“Yep.”

“I should have known,” replied Drake with a sigh. They traveled through several more decks of the ship, going at an uncomfortable half-walk, half-jog, and finally reached an open area in one of the lower decks where several crew members were hosing down tiny fires with foam suppressant. The area held quite a lot of what appeared to be chemistry equipment, and what looked like but Jack fervently hoped were not bombs. One of the countertops, identical to several others throughout the room, was a scorched mess, with blasted and melted shards of glass scattering the floor around it. And, in the middle of all the chaos stood a sheepish-looking woman with frazzled hair wearing some sort of protective apron, and an average-looking brown haired man with a scar across his forehead, who was currently busy staring at the destruction around him.

“Right. What the hell happened?” asked Drake briskly. The man answered.

“Muelka was mixing chemicals, again, and they exploded, again, and the resulting shockwave loosened some wires and set off the alarm system.”

“Sorry, Captain,” the woman muttered. Drake rubbed his forehead.

“Muelka, while I do love your work, you need to take better safety precautions. You’re on censure, again, until I come up with something else.”

And, while it was gratifying to Jack that Drake did have control of his crew, his rather flippant attitude was something he was slightly concerned about. But, the main point was Drake's overwhelming oddness. At lunch, just the other day, Cooper had the misfortune to be at the mess hall at the same time as Drake. Due to the nature of the Apocalypse being a mercenary ship and having many different alien species on board, the food served at the mess was much more numerous and varied in nature than any military ship. However, Drake was simply not eating a typical meal, or for that matter, any form of unrecognizable food. Instead, he had a plastic container filled with cheese spread, the type one usually puts on crackers. However, Drake was not most people, and so he was eating the cheese spread plain. By itself. With a spoon. Wonderful. The worst part was that Drake then proceeded to get a bottle of aerosol cheese and spray that on top of his other cheese, creating some sort of cheese soup. Honestly, Jack found Thomas Drake more concerning than the aliens, which was a feat considering that aliens did not exist in his home galaxy, and these were the first he’d ever met. He sighed to himself. This was going to be a long ride.

Aboard the Omen

Admiral Adam Vir sighed and tiredly rubbed his forehead. The last week had been extremely taxing, even more so than the time where he was forced to bring a civilian tour group on board the ship. Hell, it was probably worse than the first time he met aliens, which involved miscommunications, lots of treats, and eventually him rolling over like a dog. It was complicated. But back to the matter at hand. The last three days (or was it? He seemed to be losing count) were filled with nothing but tension and problems. The first, and least concerning, was that all the alcohol on board the ship seemed to be mysteriously vanishing.

Even the drinks smuggled in by the marines that he conveniently (for them) overlooked were somehow gone, spirited away from their hiding places by an invisible force. But, by far worse, was the hostility between the Valhallan soldiers and the crew of the Omen. The Imperial Guardsmen were intensely xenophobic and openly belligerent to all aliens on board the ship, so much so that that many members of the non-aggressive races would flee at the sight or sound of an Imperial infantryman. It also very much did not help that said infantry always seemed to travel in packs, which just seemed to escalate the tensions.

The third problem was that the human members of the crew were not immune to this either. The Imperials seemed to regard them as traitors of sorts, and whenever human crewmembers walked by, Valhallan mutterings of “heretic” or “Gue’vesa” could often be heard. The only ones the regular Imperial rank and file respected were himself, as he was the captain, and the engineers. A group of Guardsmen had gone to the engineering department, predictably sneering at anyone who crossed their path, only to be put in their place by the furious head of the engineering department, Nairobi. Ever since that particular incident, any members of the engineering crew were either avoided by the guardsmen or were given grudging, but respectful, nods. Adam had originally thought the Imperials might get along well with the Marines, seeing as they both shared the bond of being human combat soldiers, and so had organized a joint training exercise for both groups. It had gone...well...horribly. The Marines loathed the Imperials for treating the other crew members so poorly, and the Imperials despised the Marines for harboring and living alongside aliens. Both groups were now furiously competing to see which was better. Drinking contests, arm wrestling, combat training, weapon skills, you name it, there was an extremely nasty competition going on between the two rival groups of soldiers. There were several fights, most notably between Maverick, the Marines chaplain, and Magot, a Corporal in the Guard. That particular fight had seen the spectators get involved, and two Omen crew members, one Marine, and three Valhallans were sent to the infirmary with critical injuries, several of which might have been life threatening if not for the ship’s two excellent doctors. The only reason that no one had died immediately in that fight was because Ciaphas Cain had interfered, attempting to pull people off one another, and, when that didn’t work, firing his pistol into the ceiling, which resulted in an immediate secession of hostilities. Adam didn’t care much about the damage done to the mess hall ceiling, which could be repaired, but he was very much fed up with the entire situation. In fact, come to think of it, the only thing that prevented the two sides from outright trying to kill each other was the fact the Valhallans had enough respect for Cain and the two battalion commanders, Kasteen and Broklaw, to obey them no matter what, and that the Marines had enough respect for him even though the Imperials were threatening their crewmates. Speaking of Cain, Adam really did wish he would come out of his office more. At the beginning of the voyage, Adam had given Cain a personal quarters, which had been promptly transformed into a combination living quarters and Commissar’s office. The problem was that Cain always seemed to be holed up inside, and to get inside, one had to cross Jurgen, the Commissar’s malodorous aide. Jugen was always extremely polite and to the point, traits to be commended, but his personal hygiene was terrible, and many would rather just skip seeing the Commissar rather than wait near him. To Adam, though, there seemed to be something fundamentally wrong about Jurgen, although what he couldn’t really lay a finger on. Jurgen did have terrible body odor and rather bad psoriasis, but that didn’t seem to be the problem. The problem was that whenever Adam got close to Jurgen, an odd, creeping, chilling sensation would occur. There was nothing specific about Jurgen that made Adam feel this way, and that was probably the most creepy thing about it. But, for whatever reason it was, Cain’s callers never wanted to stay around long enough near Juren to actually get into his office. The only two people allowed to go straight inside were Adam and his first lieutenant, Simone, but they were so busy running the ship and trying to prevent the Marines from murdering the Valhallans in their sleep that they rarely got the opportunity. But, in the end, he felt as if he had no choice but to meet with Cain to sort out this problem. And so, he and Simone walked through the decks of the Omen, the aliens skittering in front of them until they realized they were no Imperials, until they reached the lower decks and the quarters of Ciaphas Cain.

Cain looked up from his paperwork as Jurgen ushered Vir and Simone in. Truth be told, he wasn’t really doing any paperwork, but appearances had to be maintained. They were, inevitably, here to talk about the mess hall fight and the general situation. Well, they didn’t really need to know that instead of heroically trying to pull people apart, he had been stuck in the middle and was trying to pull people off of him. But they didn’t need to know that. He was forging a reputation with these new people, and it wouldn’t do to seem cowardly. And, of course, it wouldn’t do to insult the aliens, possibly treacherous xenos that they were, as, if he did, he would probably get shot in the back by one. And, above all else, Ciaphas Cain wanted to not die.

The Admiral and his first mate sat at the two chairs across his desk, ones that had been provided by themselves.

“Admiral. Lieutenant. A pleasure to see you. What brings you here today?” He knew, obviously, but pleasantries had to be observed.

“Why we’re here is because your troops are way out of line! It is completely unacceptable and against regulations to insult someone based upon species. You-”

“Simone-” said Vir in a warning tone.

“That’s perfectly alright,” responded Cain, who flashed a smile that would have charmed a fish out of water. “I believe, after reading all the reports,” which was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that he was pulling all of this out of his ass, “that what we have there is a failure to communicate. I’m sure you’d understand, Admiral Vir, as your reputation for dealing with aliens and different cultures is legendary.” Well, he did know that Adam Vir was the first to make contact with non-humans, and was quite good at dealing with them. And, of course, flattery never hurt. “You see, where I come from, every single alien race believes it is their divine right to rule the galaxy, and will try to kill you on sight. Consequently, it is a part of our society to kill any alien on sight, before they kill you.” Simone and Adam looked stunned.

“Every...every race wishes to...eradicate you?”

“Yes,” replied Cain. “That’s why we have the imperial guard. Of course, I am but a humble Commissar. It’s the soldiers who do the real heavy lifting.” Modest hero; a strategy that most people fell for, and these two seemed to be no different.

“That’s disturbing.”

“Well, we seemed to have misjudged you, but we still have a problem,” said Vir. “How do we prevent our respective soldiers from killing each other?”

“Well-”

“I-I have an idea,” said Simone. Both Vir and Cain looked at her with surprise. “I can captain the ship, and you two can switch places. You’re both good leaders, and if you can explain to each other’s soldiers why we should not fight, then we have a chance.”

“That’s actually a very good idea,” responded Vir.

“I concur,” replied Cain. No, I most bloody well do not concur with that frakkin’ idea. I would prefer my head un-squished by ten-foot tall four-armed aliens, thank you very much. But, it’s the only way that we have a chance at not ending this voyage with people dead.

“So, it’s settled, then. You are in command of the ship, Simone. I will take control-”

“Er, my apologies, Admiral, but I believe you misunderstand,” said Cain smoothly. “I am not the commander of the regiment. I am merely an adviser and moral officer, although I do hold some sway. So, before we switch places, Admiral, what should I know about the...Drev and Marines?”

“Well...uh, the Marines are typical human soldiers, I guess. The Drev are a warrior culture who place a high emphasis on personal combat. Otherwise, they’re not that different from us. And your troops?”

“Valhalla is an ice world, and thus soldiers from that planet are very comfortable in cold temperatures. I should also inform you, that you are now acting Commissar. You are in charge of discipline, morale, and combat effectiveness of the regiment. You reserve the right to take any necessary steps to restore order, including summary execution. You have the full authority of the Commissariat until otherwise dismissed by me. The Emperor Protects,” recited Cain, as if he was quoting something.

“Alright. Wait, you have the authority to execute your soldiers?”

“Yes. Although, only a foolish Commissar will do so unless absolutely necessary.”

“Uh, that’s...alarming, to say the least. Anyway, let’s get to it, before more people get hurt.”

That’s that. If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, or concerns, feel free to ask.

#titanfall #empyrean iris #warhammer 40k #halo #star trek

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bite-me-didyme · 4 years

Text

thoughts from my first time watching eclipse:

the vampire chase scene? SEXY

renee is suddenly a good mom? In this movie?? What's that about?? Mainly their mom/daughter hug made me want a hug

Jacob my poor boi what did they do to you

The pack has literal puppy vibes i adore them

oh god Leah could rip me in half just like that outfit and I'd say thanks

jasper really only has like 3 spoken lines in the entire fucking movie franchise, doesn't he? Which is a crime

All the vampires (except Edward, i fucking hate his sideburns ugh) are sexier in this film wow

angela is such a good friend, she deserves better than Bella 'constantly spacing off about big dramatic supernatural problems' Swan

have i mentioned that Bella has two hands; why do love triangles exiiiiiiiiist when OT3s are right there

SETH IS A BABIE HOLY SHIT

I thought I was too gay for Bella and Alice and Rose to get any gayer and then I saw Leah's haircut

But then Carlisle is out there being a total DILF and my bisexuality enters the chat

'But we still get to kick ass, right?' He looks so CONCERNED Emmett you HIMBO

Another person who deserved better - Charlie McDad Swan

Jacob's hair is going through its teenage rebellion phase

CAN ONE SINGULAR MALE IN THIS MOVIE RESPECT BELLA SWAN'S ABILITY TO KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS AND CHOOSE IT

Charlie's list of teenage boys that he wants to bury deep in the Washington woods grows higher every minute Bella spends in Forks

Emmett & Bella ought to have been HBFFs (himbo best friends forever)

ow yay it's about to be the rosalie scene that everyone gifsets, ow ow ow this is hurting me

Rosalie deserved the world a thousand times over she fucking deserved everything she ever wanted she deserved SO MUCH BETTER

haaa jessica's graduation speech is pointed af

I have adored Bella's dad since i first read this series

Alice's graduation party hair is the best

four days is enough time for Bella to be turned into a vampire and be y'know 200× less vulnerable but hey why do anything that makes sense

jackson rathbone was allowed to bring shampoo and conditioner on set in this film I see

by which i mean can he throw me into a tree pls

See when we actually get interactions beyond edward/bella/jacob we have FUN - my proof: the baseball scene, the pack scenes, the training scene

Jake as a giant wolf his EYES his COAT he's so pretty i just wanna hug him forever

i hate that jasper's background was tied to the confederacy but i love that we got background for the hale twins in this movie

"You can love more than one person at the same time. Like Sam, Emily and Leah." That sounds like two OT3s in one sentence - Jake/Bella/Edward and Leah/Sam/Emily

"You and Edward will have the house to yourself tonight" Alice really was trying her damnedest to make sure Edward didn't go to battle a virgin i CANNOT

Charlie's attempts at Dad-ing are so good and so bad

Eclipse reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaally reminds us of how virginal Eddie boi is, doesn't it

Bella honey the word isn't 'villain' it's 'monsterfucker'

oh i hate that ring

Edward: "It was my mother's"

Me: "no it wasn't that style is circa 2007 at the EARLIEST"

My partner: "no they got it from one of those little plastic balls that cost a quarter"

I want feral Victoria back, this one does not spark joy

As problematic as the jacob/bella interactions are in this movie, i love how jacob scoops up bella, getchu a werewolf man who can carry you around like that

Um did mike sell edward a defunct tent and sleeping bag? Sleeping bags keep you all wrapped up in your own body beat! She should have been fine! I've slept in sleeping bags in rainstorms on mountains and I was fine! Smeyers have you used a sleeping bag even once in your entire life?

bella, the other two points in your love triangle are fucking insane, and also I ship them. Go date Jess or Angela or Leah and be happy

Edward is so fucking weird man, he looks happier talking about being friends with Jake than he did about kissing Bella wtf??

Jacob: *angrily power walks away in khaki shorts in the snow* Me: *losing my goddamn shit giggling*

Bella: KISS ME! me & my datemate: *IMMEDIATE FACE PALM*

victoria is pretty but I'm not digging her vibe in this movie

OH THANK GOD I REALLY THOUGHT BELLA WAS GOING TO FIGHT RILEY AND VICTORIA WITH A SINGULAR ROCK FOR A MOMENT

Carlisle and Esme saw a bitty vampire needing parents and they had adoption papers signed and ready Bree gets a new home and family right yep alalalalalaaaa HAPPY ENDING FOR BREE 2020

i hate jane can she PLEASE fuck OFF

Bree honey I'm writing an AU where you get the world I'm so so so mad you didn't get another chance you were so little and so sweet and it wasn't your fault baby

:( billy listening to jacob's screams :'(

"I'll always be waiting" "until my heart stops beating" "maybe even then" OH TEE THREE OH TEE THREE OH TEE THREE OH TEE THREE O T 3 O T 3 O T 3 O T -

i like how "blindingly sparkling in sunlight" is optional 🙄 in so many sunlight scenes 🙄

Bella's monologue is lovely, you go girl

beep

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 3 years

Text

Chapter 75: Let’s Get This Show on the Road

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

Some are mine, but a decent chunk of the 1-C kids in this chapter were created by tumblr user and number one fic fan on tumblr @uninvited-eon

“Okay everyone, gather ‘round!” Itsuka Tetsutetsu called out to her class. Around the common room, the sixteen students of Class 1-C began to gather, some listlessly, some begrudgingly, but none of them eagerly. Her heart ached for them.

Whereas Aizawa and Super-Ball’s classes had passed their Final Exam… her class had failed.

She felt a strong measure of guilt over that. They were only the second group of students she’d shepherded through U.A. and she could not help but feel like she’d failed them somehow. Had she not trained them well enough? Had she not stressed the need for teamwork and cooperation, of thinking things through? They’d all done well in their Heroics Class and two of them had even made it to the Tournament round of the Sports Festival. And yet, when it had come down to it, victory had slipped from their grasp. Aizawa and Fujii had both told her she wasn’t to blame, as had her husband, but she still felt the sting of failure. She’d already vowed to do better by her kids. She’d already been working on new ideas for the next term.

“Yes, Sensei?” Yoru Kan, tall, buff, and pale, asked from her spot on one of the couches. It was strange to think her old teacher had a daughter the same age as Itsuka’s own child, but such was life sometimes.

“I know you’re all upset about not getting to go to the Training Camp with the other classes,” Itsuka said.

Ichigo Minoru, the lion-like Class Representative, growled. “We should have done better.”

This earned him a glare from the pink-haired Momoko Hohki, who blew a gum-bubble generated by her Quirk, popping it noisily. “You want to say that again, Fuzzball?” The two had never really gotten along. Hohki had… issues with authority.

“I’m just saying we could have done better,” Minoru said. He held up furry hands. She knew he bore the loss heavily as well, taking it quite personally. He was brave and selfless, but he had to be wondering if his leadership skills hadn’t been up to snuff. “That’s all.”

“I think we all know who screwed up,” Kan said gruffly, crossing her arms.

Ayahiko Akiyama pushed his glasses up, the red frames standing out against skin that was even paler than Kan’s. “Well, it sure wasn’t me.” His color-manipulating Quirk had been useful during the exam, unleashing wildly shifting color patterns to disorient some of their foes, but the lack of responsibility was typical too. She and the other teachers hadn’t been able to get him to step up just yet. They were giving it time, but he’d either shape up for ship out.

“Like hell it wasn’t,” Reiki Akamatsu snapped, the green quills along her head bristling. “You and Enoshima both! Throwing up your damn light shows so we couldn’t see!”

Hitomi Enoshima, whose Kaleidoscope Vision Quirk made looking her in the eyes dangerous, took offense with that. “I told you to get out of the way! Not my fault you didn’t listen!”

“Shouting “get out of the way, losers!” doesn’t count as telling people to get out of the way,” Kin Shiji snapped. The parts of his face that weren’t patches of metallic gold were flush with irritation.

“Can we… can we not fight?” Shika Mizuno asked. The antlered girl bowed her head and closed her eyes. She was gentle and soft-spoken, reminding Itsuka very much of her friend and former classmate Komori. Trying to play peacemaker when the more outspoken members of the class fought was common for her.

Unfortunately, Mizuno’s words did little to quell the arguments brewing. Sides were taken, insults shouted, and things started getting loud very quickly.

Employing her Quirk, Itsuka enlarged her hands and brought them together in a singular clap that resonated throughout the room. It left some of the Class holding their ears, especially the lion-like Minoru and the bear-like Tsukiko Kuma. But it did its job and silenced them all for a moment.

“Sorry about that,” she said, reducing the size of her hands back to normal. “But I could tell that was going to get ugly. And fighting amongst yourselves is part of why you failed the exam.” There had been so much arguing, so many strong-willed hot heads in her class determined to do things their own way. They’d gotten in each other’s way during the exam, hadn’t coordinated properly, and ultimately the faux-Villains had gotten away with their target.

“You’ve got potential,” she said. “I believe in you. But there’s a lot we need to work on. Which is why, while the other Hero classes are at their Training Camp, we’re going to be having one here at the USJ. Water Spout, Doc Clock, and I will be putting you through your paces from pretty much sunup to sundown, with a particular focus on teamwork and collaboration.”

She frowned. “Failing your exam is a big deal. But it’s one you can come back from, with hard work. I believe in all of you. Which is why I also arranged for some extra help with your additional training.”

At that, the doors burst open. “Woooo! Who’s ready for some training?!”

Itsuka pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tetsu, I told you to wait outside until I texted you.”

Her husband blushed and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, ‘suka. Got done dropping Kana off and got bored… figured you’d be ready by now.”

It was going to be a long two weeks.

***

Nearly all of Class 1-A and Class 1-B had already assembled by the time Katsumi arrived. She’d been rather insisted that she and Dad not arrive together. It was going to be enough of a pain having him as one of her teachers, but she could live with that. This was a practical matter of asserting her own independence. And there was some small part of her that wanted to take in everyone’s reactions when they found out about him. Maybe she ought to get her phone ready. Depending on how people reacted, she could get a new ringtone out of it.

Izzy gave her a polite nod as she approached. “It is good to see you, Katsumi,” she said.

“Good to see you too, Iz,” she replied. Thoughts of her dad’s promise to push all of them hard ran though her mind. She’d spent years thinking of Izzy as fragile and in need of protection. Even if the last few months of U.A. had told her otherwise, her first instinct was always going to be to protect her friend. Even if she and Iz weren’t romantically compatible, she loved her still, as the most important person in her life. “All set for roughing it?”

Izzy closed her eyes and nodded. “I believe so,” she said. “My parents were concerned, of course, but ultimately convinced that I would be in good hands.”

Of course they were. Katsumi nearly rolled her eyes. Izzy’s parents were crazy protective sometimes. Nearly all the time, actually. She’d have thought they’d have learned by now. Best not to think about it, it would just make her angry.

“Any idea where they’re taking us?” she asked instead. Even without Villains after the Hero classes, U.A. had stopped publicizing the location of its Training Camps years ago. It was a lot safer that way. Not that she’d been able to get anything out of Dad. He’d cited “tradition” as being the reason he couldn’t tell her. She was also sure getting on her nerves was also one of the reasons.

Izzy shook her head. “I am afraid I have no idea. We shall just have to see.”

Katsumi just laughed. “Ah, well. Worth a shot.”

In the meantime, she could see the Class Representatives making the rounds, with Toshi and Tokyami talking to the members of their class, and Kana and Awase talking to theirs. She could see Aizawa too, off to the side and in consultation with 1-B’s teacher, Super-Ball. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but Aizawa was giving the rubber-bodied Hero a death glare and looking like he wanted to be absolutely anywhere else on the planet. Super-Ball was talking animatedly and occasionally elbowing Aizawa in the side. Given what she’d heard about Super-Ball, her sympathy was entirely with Aizawa.

“Five hundred yen says Aizawa wraps his head up to stop him from talking,” she said to Izzy.

Izzy shook her head again. “What is it you would say? “That’s a sucker’s bet?’”

Katsumi laughed again. “You are listening.” She doubted Izzy had ever seen that small an amount of money in her life anyway.

Around them, most of the class was in its usual friendship groups. She could see Shinso babbling to Haimawari, who was indulging the hyperactive, purple-haired kid, nodding occasionally at whatever he was going on about. Sero, Sato, and Ojiro were talking as always, probably discussing content for their damned web show. The Iida twins and the new girl with the wings, Kocho, were watching the discussion with something somewhere between amusement, fascination, and confusion. Mineta was talking to Koda, while Aoyama and Shoji stood a little bit apart from the rest of the class. One person she did notice was missing though. It wasn’t until she looked around until she noticed…

“Hey, Iz?” Katsumi asked.

“Yes?”

“Why the hell is Kaminari hanging out with Monoma?” Izzy was friends with the electric dumbass. There was a decent chance she’d known what was going on.

“I cannot say,” Izzy told her.

“But you know,” she pressed.

“Chihiro has asked that I not speak of it.”

“…What.”

***

“What?” Chihiro asked, as Monoma slipped the bracelet around her wrist. It had been made in the kumihimo style, she could tell, yellow with just a little bit of black in it, like her hair. She wasn’t sure they were at the gift-giving stage of… whatever it was exactly they were doing. They’d gone out once.

Which had been nice, she actually had to admit. Nothing fancy, just a walk and some ice cream, but he’d turned out to be surprisingly good company. When he wasn’t being a competitive asshole or didn’t have Kirishima-Bakugo around to rile him up, he could actually be a decent guy, and even pretty funny. He was smarter than her, that much was sure, and ridiculously well-read, but he didn’t lord it over her and listened when she talked, especially about music, he actually asked questions and wanted to know more. He’d been more encouraging during that walk that he’d been in the entirety of the time she’d known him before.

More vulnerable too. He’d been damn close to quitting before he’d talked to her. And then there was the way he talked about his classmates and how much potential he saw in all of them…

She was beginning to understand what Mika had seen in the guy. Granted, Mika’s type was “alive,” but she was actually beginning to see why Koda willingly associated with him.

They’d talked on the phone and texted more on top of that. She’d actually found herself looking forward to it. Chihiro was well aware she was no amazon with pneumatic boobs like Mika or Sora Iida, or even a girly fashionista like Ojiro. She was relatively plain, her curves barely there. She was fit, but hardly a paragon of physical fitness, and she was never going to be the smartest person on the planet. Even her Quirk wasn’t that impressive without lots of Support Gear.

Having someone actually interested in her, for who she was, when there were so many other better options available was still a surprise.

“It’s a gift,” Monoma said. “I made it myself.” He smiled, sheepishly. “I watch a lot of tutorials on Viewtube, so I can pick up other skills. You never know when it might come in handy. Besides, it’s more than that. It’s a promise.”

“A promise of what?” Chihiro cast a few nervous glances around. Someone—Ojiro probably—was probably already noticing she’d been talking with Monoma for a while now and speculating wildly. Several of Class 1-B were definitely already looking at her.

She wasn’t exactly as embarrassed by the thought of people finding out she was dating him as she’d have thought, but she’d kind of wanted to control the message. But he’d been so insistent on giving her the bracelet before the busses arrived…

“It’s an apology too, for my earlier behavior, but it is a promise,” Monoma said, “that I won’t kiss you again.” He leaned in close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Until you kiss me first.” She was pretty sure she heard Fukidashi gasp.

Well, wasn’t that presumptuous of him? Why was he so pretty when he was being so arrogant? “Don’t,” she breathed, her Cords rising up reflexively, sparks dancing on the tips, “don’t you mean “unless?’”

He gave her one of those all too confident smiles, his eyes practically twinkling. “Giving up on us so soon?”

Chihiro flushed red and couldn’t find the words to respond to that.

***

Toshi looked down at the clipboard he was carrying, nodded, and looked over to Asuka. “That everybody?” he asked.

“It is,” Asuka told him, checking her own clipboard. Frog-Shadow was sitting on her shoulder, looking vaguely bored. “Everyone’s here, everyone’s luggage is accounted for, and the buses should be here in about ten minutes.”

“Good,” he said. Being Class Representative came with a lot of responsibilities, but his classmates made it easy. None of them put him through half has much as their parents’ class had put Uncle Tenya through. The worst he usually had to do was keep Katsumi from killing Mineta when the latter was being particularly aggravating or mediate a conflict between Aoyama and Sero. It helped that he’d known the majority of them for years and understood their eccentricities.

“Okay!” Toshi called out. “Everybody listen up!” It took a moment—Sero was being especially chatty—but eventually, everyone did quiet down, with Kaminari hurriedly joining the group at the end.

“Thank you,” Asuka told them. “Toshi and I both want you to know we expect all of you to be on your best behavior during the Training Camp. Aizawa-Sensei wishes for us to emphasize that there will be severe consequences for misbehavior.”

“He was really scary when he said it!” Frog-Shadow piped in.

“He was,” Toshi agreed, shuddering at the memory. “But I know you’re all mature, responsible individuals who can be counted on not to do anything stupid.”

“How’d you manage to say that right a straight face, Toshi?” Katsumi asked, arms crossed, grinning smugly.

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “Now, any last questions?”

Mineta’s hand went up.

“That aren’t about fraternization during the camp?”

Mineta’s hand went down. Toshi breathed a sigh of relief.

He turned around and looked over to where Aizawa and Super-Ball were. “All set,” he called out. He heard Kana Tetsutetsu do the same.

The two teachers walked over so they were standing in front of the two classes. “Thanks, Class Reps!” Super-Ball said, grinning broadly. He spread his arms in an expansive gesture. “Is everybody ready for a summer of fun?!”

Silence greeted him.

“That’s right!” 1-B’s teacher went on, as though they’d responded. “Well that’s too bad, because Aizawa canceled all the fun. Your friendly neighborhood bouncing ball tried to talk him out of it, but well, you try arguing with that face. C’mon, make the face, Aizawa.”

Aizawa’s expression did not change.

“Yeah,” Super-Ball said. “That’s the one. Seriously, though, you guys are gonna work really hard. But I know you can do it, and you’re gonna be better for it! And we’ve got one extra surprise for you. You want to take this one, Aizawa?”

“Right,” Aizawa said flatly. “In addition to Fujii and myself, your new Heroics teacher will also be accompanying us.”

A dozen plus conversations broke out among the two classes, as they began to speculate who that might be. Toshi had known that with Grandpa Might becoming the new principal, they were looking to fill the slot, but he hadn’t known for sure that anyone had accepted the job. The weird thing was, neither Katsumi nor Shota seemed surprised by the news.

“Who is it?” Rika Bondo, the blue slime girl from 1-B, asked.

“That’s be me.”

“Uncle Kachan?!” Toshi stammered out. Uncle Kachan had appeared almost out of nowhere, no less stealthy for his recent injury. He was dressed comfortable, in civilian clothes, but still looked ready to take on any challenge that might come his way. There was the slightest of limps to his step, but you had to be really looking to notice it.

But never, in a million years, would he have thought he’d be their new teacher!

Someone had let out a girlish shriek. “Oh, man, Monoma!” Anime Fukidashi giggled. “You should have seen the look on your face!”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, we’re all going to die,” Sero wailed. He’d gone a distinctly paler shade of pink.

“Well,” Toshi heard Izumi say, “this is unexpected.”

“This is… wow…” Haimawari trailed off.

“Guys? Seriously? I think Monoma’s broke. He hasn’t moved for, like, a minute.” Fukidashi’s voice carried over all the others. “Tetsutetsu, maybe you want to smack him?”

“I’m fine, dammit!” Monoma snapped. All eyes were instantly on him. He gulped nervously. “My… apologies, Senseis.”

Uncle Kachan didn’t seem to care and Aizawa was as impassive as ever.

“Breathe, kid,” Super-Ball said. “He’s legally prohibited from killing you.” He winked. “But you’d be surprised what you can live through.”

Uncle Kachan looked over at Aizawa. “Is he always like this?”

Aizawa just sighed. “This is actually one of his more sedate days.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that, you sorry excuse for a hobo?!”

“If I have to suffer, so do you.”

“You two do know I can hear you, right?” Super-Ball asked, though he didn’t sound offended. “And so can they? The impressionable children?”

Uncle Kachan sighed, then turned his attention to them. “I’m not big on speeches. So I’m just letting you all know now, All Might was the good cop. I’m the bad cop. And I’m gonna work you all like you’ve never been worked before!”

Several of the students gasped. Toshi was pretty sure he saw Monoma look faint. Katsumi just grinned that grin she did before she punched someone.

Anything else was cut off as the automated buses arrived, one of which seemed a bit larger than the other, probably to accommodate Kentaro Fukui, the nearly three meters tall member of 1-B. “About time,” Aizawa said. “Get your luggage loaded and then get on the bus. Class 1-A in the first bus, Class 1-B in the second. We leave in ten, with or without you.”

***

It didn’t take long for the buses to get underway. Aizawa was seated in the front of the bus, Uncle Katsuki in the back. The various couples in the class were sitting together, as were the usual friends like Chihiro and Mineta and Isamu and Shota, while Asuka was sitting with their new classmate Kocho. Their odd numbers meant that Shoji was sitting alone, though he didn’t seem bothered by it. And, of course, Izumi was sitting with Katsumi.

Izumi turned to look at her friend. “So,” she said, “I am assuming you knew about this?”

Katsumi smirked at that. “Oh yeah. All Might offered him the job a couple of days after the break started. He thought about it for maybe a day tops before he said yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

That earned her another smirk from Katsumi. “You didn’t ask.”

A smile spread across Izumi’s face and a small giggle escaped her lips. “That is true,” she said. “I did not.”

“Besides,” Katsumi added, “he swore me to secrecy.”

Uncle Katsuki would certainly be a… different teacher than All Might, she was sure. But he was Japan’s Number Four Hero, with numerous Villain captures and cases solved behind him. The media often liked to paint him as a volatile brawler, but she knew there was far more to him than that.

Izumi nodded. “He has a wealth of experience to offer. I am sure he will take to the role readily.” More importantly, Izumi was glad to see that Uncle Katzuki was doing well and getting back to something approximating normal. With traumatic injuries like he had experienced, it took a truly exceptional individual to come back from them. But then again, her father often said that Uncle Katsuki had “more guts than sense.” She was reasonably certain that he had not meant it was a compliment—especially as her mother had swatted him for saying it—but guts were definitely required here.

“Yeah, well…” Katsumi trailed off. Her dear friend rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable, and even here, it was only for the briefest of moments. “Beats having him mope around the house while he’s taking medical leave.”

Medical leave, not retirement. That was potentially promising sounding. “They are hopeful for a more functional prosthetic?” Katsumi had told her that her father’s Quirk made traditional prosthetics unwieldy for long term use, but that Doctor Shield and Mei Hatsume were working on a better one.

Katsumi shrugged. “Nothing yet. They really don’t know if he’ll ever…” Her voice started to crack, but she was fighting it. She so hated to show weakness in front of anyone, even her.

Izumi reached over and gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. Katsumi returned the grip, mindful that Izumi was not as strong as she. No other words needed to be said. As always, they would have each other’s back.

“But yeah,” Katsumi went on, her tone shifting back to something more in line with her usual self, “in the meantime, he’s going to make everybody here’s life hell.” She looked around the bus. “Pretty sure Aoyama and Sero might die. Maybe Monoma too.” That caused her to snicker. “Did you see his face?”

“I did,” Izumi said, her tone carefully neutral. She did not wish to encourage Katsumi’s delight in the misfortunate of others, though that was probably a battle she would not win. But Uncle Katsuki would likely be an unrelenting taskmaster, and she knew she could expect no favors or special treatment due to her friendship with Katsumi or her own limitations.

Limitations she would not have were it not for her grandfather.

No. She could not dwell on that now. She had learned much, but she was still deciding what to do with that information. Izumi had not even mentioned her visit with her grandfather to her parents. Mercifully, Chihiro and Mineta had not pressed her for details, respecting her privacy. Soon, she hoped, when she had time to grapple with the reality of it, she would tell her friends. But for now, she needed to focus on getting stronger. She would need all her wits about her for the camp ahead.

***

“Anxious?” Asuka asked Kocho. Frog-Shadow was dozing on her lap. Long rides always had that effect on her familiar. She knew their new classmate was already friends with Toshi, Haimawari, Sero, Ojiro, and Sato, but as elected Vice-Representative and unofficial “Class Mom”, she too had a duty to reach out to her, so she’d volunteered to sit with her for the bus ride while the others paired off. Frog-Shadow had been upset that she wasn’t going to sit next to Shoji, but her other half had to learn that, even with their increased cooperation, she couldn’t always get what she wanted.

The moth-girl shook her head. “Yes,” she said. “Sorry, did I just contradict myself?” Her wings were folded around her as much as she could make them, taking up the majority of her seat.

“A bit,” Asuka told her. “But understandable. Are you comfortable? I don’t mind pulling up the arm rest.”

“I’m fine,” Kocho said. “Little close, but it doesn’t hurt. This is still nicer than taking the city bus.” She gave Asuka a reassuring smile.

Asuka flipped up the armrest anyway and Kocho let her wings spread out a small amount. “I won’t say your anxiety is unwarranted,” she said. The truth of others experiences and feelings was not open for debate. “But this is very standard for the Hero Courses. They find a few Heroes or a Hero team from outside the school, so that they can bring a fresh perspective to our training, and under our teachers’ guidance, push us to increase the strength and versatility of our Quirks and skills. It will be exhausting… but ultimately rewarding.”

She looked down at the sleeping frog on her lap. Nothing but peace and contentment flowed through their link. Asuka was determined to enjoy it while she could. It wouldn’t last long once Frog-Shadow was awake. “Though what exactly they can do with this little one, I’m not sure.”

Kocho chuckled at that. “Any idea who they got to teach this year’s then? Or is that one of those ‘rational deceptions’ Deku and Shinso were trying to warn me about?”

“They keep it a secret,” Asuka told her. “Though it’s not a rational deception in this case. It’s really more of just a U.A. tradition. They like keeping us on our toes.”

This got a nod. “Makes sense, I guess. Any idea what they were talking about then?”

Asuka could hazard a guess. “You probably don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “If they try to drop us off a cliff, you can fly.”

“You’re, you’re joking about that, right?” Kocho asked, dark eyes going wide. “Tell me you’re joking!”

“Not at all,” she replied. She put a finger to the side of her beak in thought. “I’m told it wasn’t a particularly big cliff, though.”

“I still can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Kocho replied.

“She doesn’t joke,” Frog-Shadow said sleepily, stirring on her lap. “She’s the most boring person alive! I’m the fun one in this relationship!”

Asuka looked down to glare at her living Quirk. “And here I was enjoying the peace and quiet.” She shook her head. “But I doubt there will be any surprises like that at this Training Camp.”

***

They’d been on the road for about three hours and the anxiety in the bus had practically become a palpable thing. They’d made two stops already for bathroom and snack breaks and Isamu was fairly certain most of his classmates were going to jump out of their skin every time. About the only people who weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop were Kocho, who didn’t know any better, and Shinso, who didn’t seem to see Aizawa in the same way as everyone else. Between their parents stories of school and their own experiences so far this year (Sending real—albeit reformed—Villains after them? What?), they were all rightfully paranoid.

Granted, his parents had known Aizawa too, even if they hadn’t been his students. They’d said he was gruff, but fair, and had actually been supportive of the work they’d done, despite them being Vigilantes. That somehow didn’t make him any less scary.

Throughout the trip, Shinso had kept up a steady stream of talk about Heroes and recent Hero events. Isamu had nodded along politely to a lot of it, occasionally adding to the conversation, but mostly letting the smaller boy talk. The two of them had gotten into a debate though, over whether Shoto or Gale Force was cooler, when Shinso had brought up a recent team-up the two of them had had.

Shinso had been rather insistent that Shoto was cooler, especially because of the fast way he could take down Villains without anyone being hurt. Isamu, on the other hand, had gone to the mat for Gale Force, liking the Hero’s larger than life personality and All Might level of cheer. It had been a friendly debate, though neither one of them was backing down from their position.

The two of them were sitting more towards the back of the bus. Occasionally, Shinso would look back to where Ground Zero was sitting, his arms crossed, and looking vaguely irritated, occasionally smiling a very familiar smile, as though enjoying some private joke. It was the same one Kirishima-Bakugo made before she punched something. The Number Four Hero was their new Heroics teacher? Ground Zero certainly had a reputation as having a hair trigger temper, but there was no denying that he was also really good at what he did. The look on his face suggested he was going to get far too much enjoyment out of putting them through their paces.

He’d survived Kirishima-Bakugo this long. How much worse could it be?

“Toshi! Toshi!” Shinso piped up. “You’ve gotta settle this! Who’s more awesome? Shoto or Gale Force?”

Midoriya was across the aisle from them, sitting with his girlfriend. Sora Iida was leaning against him, absorbed in some technical manual. Midoriya was definitely making progress. Not that long ago, that much prolonged physical contact would have had him shaking like a leaf.

Isamu was hoping to get some time with his girlfriend as well, this trip. Kana had loved the signed Godzillo statue he’d brought back for her from I-Island (He didn’t tell her he’d lost the first one) and they’d managed to see a marathon of his movies between his return and the leaving for the camp. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too busy wrangling her class that they couldn’t share a few moments of their limited downtime.

“Oh no,” Midoriya said quickly, “I’m not getting dragged into this. Besides, I’m a Lemillion guy.”

“Not one of the choices,” Isamu told him, chuckling. Leave it to Midoriya not to take sides.

“I stand by my statement,” Midoriya told him.

“Aw,” Shinso said, pouting, “you were supposed to agree with me!”

Midoriya just laughed. “Maybe next time, Shota.”

Before they could continue, the bus came to a stop. Isamu checked the time on his phone. They’d been traveling a while now; it had been a little over an hour since their last stop. They’d left the main roads behind after the second stop, taking back roads, until they’d pulled through a long stretch of wooded areas. He was pretty sure he’d seen more than a few security cameras mostly hidden in the trees.

He could see some kind of big building out the front of the bus window, and what looked like several smaller buildings spread across a well maintained lawn. Beyond them, he could see more woods and maybe a lake.

“Either of you recognize this place?” he asked Midoriya and Shinso. “Is it an Agency?”

“I don’t know,” Shinso admitted. “But it looks pretty cool! Whoever owns this place has to be awesome!”

Midoriya’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth making a small o before a grin broke out across his face. “Oh! So that’s who they got!”

“You’re not going to tell us, are you?” Isamu asked.

“Nope!” Midoriya said. Isamu hadn’t seen that mischievous a look in his eyes before. “Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

***

Katsumi looked around as the classes and teachers disembarked. It was a big complex for sure. Not exactly roughing it, though the woods around the buildings might hold some surprises, and one of the buildings looked like fairly utilitarian barracks. It all looked vaguely familiar though. She’d never been here, at least, not that she could recall, but she was sure she’d seen it somewhere. Had Toshi shown her pictures? She wouldn’t have put it past him. Despite basically having Hero-stuff as the background radiation for his life, he still ate, drank, and slept it.

There were four Heroes waiting for them. One was a man with spikey, sandy blonde hair, wearing a black bodysuit that left his arms bare, with silver boots, shoulder pads, belt, and bracers. With him, there was a brown-haired woman in a pink costume that looked damn close to a princess dress decorated with darker pink hearts, who was even wearing a tiara. Them, she recognized, Ravenous and Lady Lumious. Ravenous had briefly been one of Papa’s sidekicks. He even looked a bit like Uncle Tetsu, though they weren’t related.

The other man was blond, tall, with a costume in dark blue, with red highlights, boots, and gloves, along with small, gold pipe-like structures on his arms.

Ah. So that’s who they got this year.

“Oh, shit,” she heard Monoma gasp. Katsumi resisted the urge to cackle. He was having a bad day for surprises.

“Why so down, little cousin?” the man in red and blue, the Hero called Boost Rush, Daichi Monoma, asked. He was a tall man, towering over his cousin.

“I am the average height for my age!” Monoma snapped back. “You could have at least told me you were going to be here!”

“And spoil the surprise?” Boost Rush asked. He had the same arrogant, Monoma sneer all of them seemed to master. Katsumi had to fight the urge to laugh again. Monoma’s misfortunes were always funny. On the other hand, he hadn’t actually bothered her in months, no since his failed confession, so she could at least make an effort not to laugh at him when he could hear.

Katsumi’s eyes fell on the last of the four, a woman with light brown hair, who wore a costume in black, green, and orange. There was more than a passing resemblance to Dad’s costume. Her light brown hair was done up in twintails. She had her arms crossed and was smirking. It was an expression very similar to the one Katsumi and her dad often wore.

Katsumi, at the front of the group of students, gave her a smirk right back. “They must be getting pretty desperate to turn to you, Old Lady.”

The woman’s expression instantly shifted to rage. She pointed a finger at Katsumi. “Still got a mouth on you, don’t you, Brat? Well, we’ve got two weeks to beat it out of you.”

“You could try,” Katsumi shot back. “Won’t you have to go to bed too early for that though?”

“Show some respect for your elders!”

“So you admit you’re old?” By now, several of her classmates and 1-B students were staring at her in open surprise. Some, like Sero and Kaminari, had taken several steps back and away from her. Toshi just looked mortified, while Aizawa was burying his head in his hands. Even Lady Luminous and Ravenous looked vaguely puzzled.

“And so it begins,” Dad growled. “Ladies, can we wrap this up?”

“I will when she takes that back.”

Dad just sighed. “Mahoro, you and I both know that’s never going to happen. Can we just get on with it?”

Mahoro Shimano, also known as Vanish Veil, just grinned, but gave Katsumi a look. “This isn’t over, Brat.”

Katsumi smirked right back. “Bring it, Old Lady.”

Aizawa cleared his throat. “If we’re all done?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “As some of you have figured out, this facility and the surrounding wilderness is a training facility used by the Rookies, a loose configuration of Pro-Heroes and Sidekicks, many of whom attended U.A. together, and of which Water Spout and Doc Clock are also members. They’ve got a varied skillset and are also some of the best trainers in the country; Agencies frequently send their new Sidekicks to them for additional instruction. You will listen to them, you will follow their instruction, and you will not fight with them, no matter your previous or personal relationships with them.” He gave Katsumi and Monoma an extra-long glare.

“Now…” Aizawa went on.

He didn’t get to finish. “U.A. Hero students… think you’re pretty high and mighty, don’t you?” a voice, a girl’s voice, broke in. Whoever it was, they weren’t one of the Rookies. There were five of them, she realized, coming out of the building. Katsumi instantly tensed for a fight, wishing she had the gauntlets from her costume.

The seeming leader of the group took a step forward. She was large, and powerfully built. “We’ll show you all how weak you really are.”

#itsuka kendo #shouta aizawa #toshi midoriya #isamu haimawari #katsumi kirishima-bakugo #izumi todoroki #chihiro kaminari #shiro monoma #fan fiction #fan fic #my hero academia #their hero academia #my writing

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kivrinengle · 7 years

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One for Sorrow

one for sorrow

Sorrow is too small a word for it - for the tragedy that devours his family in one terrible night, leaving only Percival, the last sad remnant of what had once been a family. Tragedy, they call it, in hushed whispers: so sad, what happened to those poor people. Sorrow is an insult, a thing too small to stand in the face of murder and destruction and the end of the world.

But sorrow is a beast with teeth of iron, and they rip at his mind and his soul until there is little left of humanity or even sanity. It screams in his head, echoes of all that he has lost - family, home, safety, future - until all that is left is Percy, last sad remnant of what had once been a person. Sometimes, he is not even certain that much remains.

two for mirth

It strikes him, as he is dragged away from his target by armed guards, that this is probably exactly how his family would have expected his attempt at revenge to go. There had always been a fond, gentle mockery of his tendency to mess things up because he was so deeply buried in his studies or his work. He had been known to walk into walls or fall into ingenious practical jokes set by his younger siblings. Mother would have shaken her head, hiding a smile, and Father would have taken him aside for a quick speech on the need to keep a clear focus on the things that were in front of him. They wouldn’t have been surprised by his latest failure.

It is simply typical of him, he muses, strangely absent from himself as he is unceremoniously hauled toward a building that can only be a prison. And that is a startling reassurance, and one that he had not even looked for - that something of who he was Before has survived.

He laughs at that - a bitter, broken thing, creaking with disuse. He has not laughed in months - years - decades? - not since the end of his world. There is nothing amusing in any of it. There might be nothing amusing left in all of Exandria. But Percy laughs, and thinks it is possible that he might still exist.

three for a death

He has seen so much death that sometimes he is not sure he will ever get the smell of it out of his nostrils. He has been up close and personal with death several times since the first time it came calling, and he imagines he is now immune to it. The deaths of sailors at sea had never broken through the fog that surrounded him - not the almost-friend who fell overboard in a storm, nor the cook, dying slowly of infection from a bad burn. Even the sudden, sharp loss of a tiny cabin boy who ought never to have been aloft passed over him like mist before the bow of a ship, and he breathed through it and felt nothing. Death had come too close, and bore him no terrors, now.

Or so he thinks.

But there is a cat in the dank prison into which he is thrown, and somehow, Percy becomes almost fond of the battered old thing. It creeps through the bars of his cell to attend to the vermin, and sometimes he wakes from fitful slumber to find it curled up against him, the one spot of warmth against the chill of stone and iron chains. He hardly remembers warmth or softness. The rumble of the cat’s purr does something inside his chest, and Percy finds himself saving bits from his horrid rations to try and tempt the cat back, to ensure one more moment of warmth and connection.

And when he wakes one bitter morning to find the old cat curled up in his lap, cold and still, Percy realizes that Death is not through with him. He pets the tiny, stiff corpse with absent fingers, and lets the tears spill down his cheeks. He wouldn’t mind if death came for him now, but for the revenge he had promised himself on his family’s murderers. He is not afraid of it.

He still weeps.

four for a birth

Percy had been almost present at the births of all of his younger siblings. He had waited a few rooms away, keeping pace with his father’s anxious pacing, and had gone away and made pompous notes in his pompous diary about the event after the fact. The only birth he did not remember was his own - which was as it should be, of course. No-one ought to remember their own birth.

He prayed, in the end, in that prison cell - for something, anything, to give him guidance, to show him a way forward. Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III had never held with deities, or faith in anything other than what he could see and touch. The shattered fragment that remains of him is no longer certain of anything, and addresses a prayer to parties unknown.

Something happens.

His new life rushes in on him before he is prepared for it, all violence and blood and noise and chaos. He seems to find himself yanked from the familiar surroundings of his cell with hardly more than a word (though that seems unlikely, when he thinks back on it later. His new companions never do anything without talking it over to the point of absurdity.) A huge, terrifying someone claps him hard on the back, knocking him to his knees as his legs tremble from hunger and disuse, and someone else pulls him back up and urges him forward, wrapping a warm cloak around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” one of the newcomers says soothingly. “It’s all much worse than it seems. You’ll be regretting meeting us in no time.”

And Percy is dragged forward into a new life, a new family, in the strangest sort of rebirth that he could imagine. He hates to imagine which of the deities might be responsible.

five for silver

“Yes, you’ve explained about the weapon,” one of the dark-haired twins tells him patiently, some time after they’ve escaped his prison. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He’s better now, truly he is, but he still loses time, or finds himself in places without knowing how he got there. It’s not his biggest problem. “We get it. It’s very important, and we shouldn’t touch. But you’re not answering the question.”

The other one pops up, and Percy spends some time wondering if this is, perhaps, his mind playing tricks on him. That happens sometimes, too. Are there really two of them? “Yes, darling,” this one says, more wariness than warmth in the tone. “We’re not asking anything difficult - just your name.”

They have no idea how difficult that is. His name was something, once - almost something of importance. Now, it is the only thing of value he has left. He is likely the only person remaining in the world who even knows it. He’d gone by something on the ship - not his real name, he knows - but he cannot remember what it had been. It hadn’t mattered.

His hand slips to the weapon at his side, finger tracing over the names engraved in five of the six barrels. Names have power, he knows; he doesn’t trust any of these people.

A tiny figure is by his side when he blinks his way back from thought, and the face of the little gnome is serious. She doesn’t try to touch him. He appreciates that.

“You don’t need to give us anything,” she murmurs, the words almost lost in the chatter of the group. “Not if it matters to you. But we kind of need something to call you.”

“I could name ‘im,” the goliath puts in cheerfully. “I’m really good at names.” The gnome gives Percy a wide-eyed look that tells him he doesn’t want to take the goliath up on this offer.

Percy stands up, not without effort, and wanders across the campsite. They all give him space, watching him warily; they do not know what they have brought into their midst. He makes his way slowly to the nearby stream, lowering himself to his knees at it’s edge. He feels like an old man these days, battered by a weary life. As he leans over the water, still and clear here in a tiny pool that has collected by one bank, he doesn’t know the face that looks back at him.

His hair is a singular shock of silver, standing up at odd angles, looking nothing like the boy who had stared at him from his mirror back at Whitestone so many years before. He hadn’t seen his reflection much since; had gotten good at shaving without benefit of a mirror aboard ship, like the other sailors. The pale, silvery ghost who looked up at him from the water looked right, though. This was what the last survivor of Whitestone ought to look like.

But he didn’t look like Percival.

“Just-” he muttered, shaking his head when he realized several of the group were standing around staring at him again. He’d probably lost time again, off in his own head while his hands shook and his body stayed frozen. “Just call me Percy.”

six for gold

Vex is a light, golden and glorious. She is the first one he trusts - as much as he trusts anyone, now. She is brutally honest from the start, and he thinks that he loves her for that; he wonders if he even remembers what that word once meant.

“So,” she says, coming up beside him as he stares into the flames of their little campfire late that first night. He’s said that he would take the midnight watch, but he doesn’t blame her for sitting up with him. He wouldn’t trust any of them to watch his back, either; he will lie awake all night, and likely for some time to come. “Percy.”

“Yes? Hello?” he tries awkwardly after a moment passes, and nothing more is said.

“This is a bit awkward,” she says, stretching out the words in an unnatural sing-song. “And nobody else wants to bring it up, because they’re all cowards, so I sort of have to.”

“You want me to leave,” he says flatly. That makes sense, after all. He nods, already thinking of what he needs to bring when he leaves in the morning.

“No! No, no, no,” she says quickly, flapping her hands at him. “Well, Vax does, but only because he’s a suspicious bastard. I’m just…not sure that we’re the best fit for you, perhaps?” Her voice trails away, gone high and vague, and Percy frowns at her.

“How do you mean?”

She sighs, dragging her hands down her face. “Well, it’s just…” She stops, and starts again. “You seem a bit … sickly. Which is fine, don’t get me wrong! But we’re a band of mercenaries who aren’t always good at actually getting paid, you understand. And as soon as we do get a bit of gold, I barely get my hands on it before everyone’s rushing off to spend it!” Vex is so comically over-annoyed by this that Percy wishes he remembered how to smile like a person. “Anyway,” she says, breathing long and deep. “I’m only saying that we’re all going to feel really bad if you up and die on us because we couldn’t afford to look after you, so maybe you want us to take you to a village and set you up somewhere that you can rest peacefully?”

He watches her for a long moment, trying to figure out her angle, the threat she poses, the danger lurking in the shadows - and then he gives up. He is tired, and she is so honest right now that it almost hurts. He reaches into the bag at his side and pulls out his leather money bag, tossing it to her without breaking eye contact. She catches it on reflex, gasping as she glances inside it.

“I didn’t mean you needed to pay us!” Vex shoves it back at him, some strange mixture of offended and already grieving the loss. “We may be mercenaries, but we’re a bit above beating up dying prisoners for their gold, thank you!”

“I’m not dying,” he protests mildly. He gathers up the bag and holds it out to her, pleased that his hands aren’t shaking now. “I have gold. I don’t need it, I don’t want it, and I don’t know how to look after it. That was-” he breaks off. That was Vesper’s job, from the moment she turned twelve and had insisted on Father letting her take over from the bookkeeper who had been skimming money from the family accounts. “I want you to have it,” he says again after a moment. “I’ll tell you when I need some of it for my work, and you can do what you like with the rest.”

She watches him for a long time, but he knows she will take the offer, if only from the way her fingers keep twitching toward the bag. “Fine,” she says in the end, taking the bag from him gently, now. “But if I get to decide what to do with it, the first thing we’re doing is buying you some clothes that aren’t rags. Also, food. Lots of it.” She frowns at his skinny wrists, and the bag disappears somewhere about her person.

Percy stares back at the fire, and thinks he can remember how to smile if he gives it a bit of thought. He is lighter without the weight of the gold.

seven for a secret never to be told

Honest people didn’t keep secrets, Mother had told him time and again. The de Rolos had an obligation to be honest with their people, or they stood to do nothing but damage to those who relied on them. Percival had been a bit of a secretive child, though, and kept his more dangerous tinkering experiments to himself, though not without a rush of guilt when Mother looked at him knowingly.

But someone had been keeping a secret, he has decided over time. Something about Whitestone, some secret he had never been privy to, had been the downfall of his entire house. He isn’t certain whether he wishes he had known the secret or not. If he’d known, he would have blurted it out under Ripley’s cunning hands; but, then, if he’d known anything of value, there would at least have been a purpose to torturing him. As it is, he bears the scars of someone else’s secrets. He doesn’t even bother pretending he hasn’t got secrets of his own, now.

Trust grows slowly between Percy and the other members of their little band, but somehow he blinks, and it has been nearly half a year, and he has seven other people whom he trusts with his life, and who trust him with theirs. He is never going to take that responsibility lightly.

He makes himself a mental list of all of the secrets that might pose a threat to them, ranking and ordering them, and tries to work out whether he can divest himself of any of them. The difficulty is, though, that for all their prowess at magic and fighting, Percy is sometimes shocked to realize just how foolhearty and juvenile their group can be. They call themselves Vox Machina now, but the SHITS had been more honest.

How can he let them know about the Briarwoods, when Grog and Scanlan are as likely to be using their heads as battering rams to see whose cracks first as they are to be thinking? How can he share the dangerous truth of his own full identity, while he watches Keyleth and Pike get so drunk they can’t stand up, howling all their secrets to the sky in great laughing gusts of careless joy?

How can he tell anyone the secret that truly scares him - the dark monster that haunts his dreams - when Vax and Vex change moods on a dime, weaving through unpredictable extremes of emotion faster than he can keep up?

Percy burns his mental list, consigning it all to his own memory, and vows to keep his secrets.

(Two weeks later, they will encounter a haughty government employee who seeks to stand between them and the information they need, and Percy will burst out with his whole name, every aristocratic syllable of it tinged with scornful disdain that accomplishes his goals. He won’t even remember that he meant to keep it from them forever. After all, they’ll never get it right.)

eight for a wish

Cassandra had used to wish on stars. Percy remembers this sometimes, on night watches when the stars are very bright, though the skies lack the crisp, cold clarity of Whitestone nights. She had used to bully him into standing witness for her wishes, insisting on the proper form of the thing. He cannot remember any of those little-girl wishes now - just the solemn intensity of her, staring up with the determination to make the universe itself bend to her will.

Percy does not make wishes. He has learned, so well, that he is not a person who should be allowed to want things. His choices throw that up to him at every turn, his failures showing in stark relief what happens when Percy de Rolo wants things beyond his reach. He cannot protect his family, cannot kill Anna Ripley, cannot seek vengeance on those who destroyed his life. These are not things he can want - not without dark and terrible consequences.

But he cannot help but make one wish, a small, pitiful thing in the unending gloom of the Underdark, when it seems they will never find their way out again. He thinks of Cassandra, under the clear skies, and closes his eyes, and wishes to see the stars again.

Surely that is a small enough thing for him to wish.

nine for a kiss

It isn’t until both of the twins have kissed him that Percy actually pays any attention.

Vax’s jubilant embrace in the Underdark had been nothing more than wild delight at the prospect of escape, and had been mostly lost in the chaos of that flight.

When Vex kisses him, too, his brain sits up and pays attention.

Thinking is hard, sometimes. Keeping track of time, especially in the foggy bits before he met Vox Machina, is often beyond Percy. He is very certain, though, that it has been years since he made any sort of direct physical contact with another being. Certainly, people had attacked and beaten him, or dragged him around; there had been fleeting touches of healing magic or brushes in the middle of combat. He’d been hit by just about every sort of weapon imaginable.

But Vax and Vex have both kissed him, and Percy has to sit down and think about that. And Keyleth has leaned over his shoulders, and Grog has slapped him on the back until he fell over, and, and, and…

He has to put his face in his hands and breathe deeply for a while. Somehow, while he wasn’t looking, Percy has become a part of this strange, broken little family - welcomed, integrated, loved. Somehow, his defences fell so low that he hadn’t even noticed he was past the boundaries of propriety and familiarity.

Vax cuffs him fondly on the head as he passes, ruffling Percy’s hair. “Don’t think too hard, there,” he says with a smirk that Percy can just hear. “I don’t want to be responsible for cleaning up when that brain of yours explodes.”

And Percy reaches a hand up to touch where Vax had pressed his hand, awed almost past the point of thought.

He is one of them. He is someone whom they like, and trust, and rely on. They laugh and cry and eat and sleep and fight together - as though Percy is a real person, as though he is something more than human wreckage, than mere flotsam from the wreck of his life. He has anchors, now. Connections.

Family.

ten for a bird you must not miss

And there he is, standing in front of Silas Briarwood, gun burning in his shaking hands. He doesn’t dare blink, or breathe, or think too hard. There is Silas, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, and his hateful wife not ten paces away. They haven’t aged a day, even as Percy has gone white-haired and taken scar upon scar, wiping away the image of the boy they had once met.

There is Silas in his gunsights, turning to look at him with a look of sheer contempt. Had he looked at Father that way, before murdering him? Had Lady Briarwood worn such a cool expression as his little siblings fell, victims of secrets they had never known? The fuzzy darkness tugs at the back of Percy’s head, temptingly. He could fall into it, escaping this confrontation he was in no way ready for. Something was growling in the back of his mind, a feeling darker and more powerful than he was ready to handle.

But there was a shape at Silas’ feet - a dark pile of rags, hardly moving, and Vax had called them for help, and it wasn’t hard to put facts together. And if Vax was down, and the rest of them were converging on this courtyard together, Percy knew with cold certainty that his chances of losing another family tonight were too high to bear. They were not unarmed children now: but there was Vax, down and still, and Silas looming over him like oncoming death, and Percy swallowed and breathed deep to scream out his hatred to the sky

And he took a breath and steadied his aim

And pushed aside all thoughts of Death, coming to visit him again, and breathed again, until he only had room for one thought:

You must not miss.

And Percy took his shot.

#critical role #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #critical role fic #kivrin writes #yeah no I'm totally ok why do you ask?#new fandom oh god I'm scared

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stampedconcretewalkwaysfqk1-blog · 4 years

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shadow13dickpistons · 7 years

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Look, if you like villains, it’s not your fault - because for a long time, heroes were BORING.

For example: I just watched, “The Most Dangerous Game,” which is so incredibly and beautifully 30s from Fay Wray being the most gorgeous/the most damsel-y/sometimes-the-smartest-but-oh-darnit-it-that-lady-brain’s-got-in-the-way-again; to Joel McCrea just being a big ol’ slab of Handsome American Wholesome; to Leslie Banks’ VILLAIN MUSTACHE and the frankly ridiculous name of Count Zaroff.

Yes, I know it was a short story first, just listen-

We’re introduced to Joel McCrea right away, and we’re told he’s this great hunter with “good sense” whatever the fuck that is, but it’s, like....really boring. Cause he’s just The Main Guy. Handsome, capable, and good. We’ll get back to that.

And holy shit, then we meet the aforementioned Leslie Banks, and he is NOT boring. He’s an ACTUAL CHARACTER. He tells us a lot about himself, and it’s INTERESTING! And his character is displayed in his home, the way he talks to others, the people he associates with. We know he’s cultured and charming and very Old World and smart. And we know he loves hunting, and books, and books about hunting. We know his backstory, that his father raised him to be this amazing marksman, that he escaped the Russian Revolution WITH his fortune (I want to know how he did that), and we know that he got mauled by a buffalo in Africa after all of that badassery. And Leslie Banks does this really subtle shit with the (awesome) scar on his head that makes it seem like the Most Dangerous Game and Zaroff’s madness comes from this one moment that changed his life forever, AND HE’S FUCKING INTERESTING.

Y’all know what the Most Dangerous Game is, right? You ought to by now, but if not, I’m not gonna spoil it for you.

SO ANYWAY. That’s what we get for the villain, and in a really brief amount of time, say 5-8 of the first 20 minutes of the film. We even get a decent idea for Fay Wray’s character, too. What about Joel McCrea? We’ve spent basically the entirety of the film so far with him, surely there must be SOMETHING there.

....yeah, he’s just kind of the handsome guy who’s there? And yeah, he’s cute enough I guess, but my eye is STILL on Zaroff because the guy’s interesting to look at! With his white tie, and his crazy eyes, and his crazy scar. McCrea is just Generic McHandsomeface.

It’s....it’s pretty boring, you guys.

Look, my point is, though - we don’t get ANY of that for McCrea’s character, and there’s actually a lot of opportunities. We don’t know WHY he’s good where Zaroff is evil - and good is a choice, there’s a reason he makes it. He’s kind of callow in the beginning, but only kind of. If we played that up, if we saw him change and develop with the circumstances around him a la Far Cry 3 perhaps (wow, that’s a medium switch to make your neck snap), that would be interesting! He realizes that the animals he hunted were terrified and that’s bad, but he doesn’t do anything with that knowledge. He doesn’t emote in any particular way because of it. And when he-

-shoot, am I going to avoid spoilers for an 85 year old movie?

Fine, when he DOES THE THING that HEROES DO WITH VILLAINS - and I don’t mean in fics! - that could have been interesting! Because it COULD go against all of the values he’s claimed to uphold till now if he had any kind of self-knowledge and was a CHARACTER, not just a cardboard cutout of a person.

Which, okay. So there’s a hero, a villain, and a sexy lady, what do you think is going on in that particular triangle? And I’m not going to say “I ship it” because Fay Wray clearly doesn’t want it, and in this situation, I get it - but having to weigh options between the villain and the hero when both have some really bad points, that would have been more interesting. And if THE THING I’M NOT SPOILING BUT YOU OUGHT TO KNOW IF YOU’RE AWARE OF HOW THIS STORY IS SO PERMEATED IN OUR CULTURE weren’t a factor, I’d have picked Banks if I were Wray. Cause you could at least fuckin’ have a conversation with the guy.

SO ANYWAY. All the people who give you shit for being more interested in morally complex or even just fucking BAD, BAD, WRONG, SUPER BAD villains - fuck ‘em. Because for waaaaay too long in mainstream media, that was the only way to have a character that was more than a singular dimension.

Let’s toast that shit.

#i don't know why i had to do this over a movie from 1932 #it wasn't even that great i just loved zaroff that much #that crazy fuck #the most dangerous game #shadow13 does meta

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centaurianthropology · 7 years

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Fic: The Howling Abyss

So recent discussions of crack shipping, writing your ships, and generally the idea that I ought to put my money where my mouth is and damn well WRITE THE THING led me to this: Simon Fairchild / Nathaniel Lukas slash in the 1960s. It’s my favorite crack pairing for this fandom, and I’m very pleased by how this turned out.

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

The smoke hung heavy in the room, catching in the heavy drapes in ways Simon found aesthetically pleasing. Everything there was set up to please him. It was the little things in life that made it worth living.

Well, that wasn’t quite correct. It was the incomprehensibly enormous, unfathomable gods that lay just outside of the human ability to touch or comprehend that made life worth living, but the drapes were nice too.

Simon took a long, bubbling drag on his hookah, and smiled when the knock came at his parlor door. The old family estate had seen better days, and certain wings had needed closed off for various reasons--drafts, mice, ruin, and bodies being a few of the most common--but Simon was between children living at home, and so there was no one to hire help. They’d come back eventually, though, when one of them had a child of their own that needed educating in the family business.

“Come in, Nathaniel, dear,” he said.

The door opened, and Nathaniel Lukas entered with a moue of distaste. Simon beamed at him. Nathaniel was a determined bore, but he also understood Simon on a level even his own family couldn’t. They were both old souls, far older than they appeared, at least. They had seen the glory and the fall of the empire, and more wars than any one man ought to. It was good to have a time of peace again. A time of love and drugs, as well. Simon hadn’t had a proper period of indulgence since the 1880s and the year he’d spent in the loving arms of the green fairy (metaphorical, rather than the literal year he spent in green arms—very different experience, that).

Nathaniel was smartly turned out in his pressed trousers and jacket and thin tie. His hair was brushed back from his gaunt face, but at least he hadn’t slicked it down the way he had in the ‘40s. He’d looked like a bird caught in an oil spill for a decade.

“This pile wants demolished,” Nathaniel said, a scowl etching the lines around his mouth into deep voids.

Simon rather thought Nathaniel would like the metaphor, and shared it. Nathaniel’s scowl deepened, and Simon couldn’t decide if that was disapproval or vanity.

“And this room,” Nathaniel went on, “is disreputable. It’s beneath you.”

Beneath ‘us’, he meant. Beneath the two of them, ancient and strange and entwined since men wore silk hose and had buckles on their shoes. Beneath their families, too. Simon scoffed. He’d seen the monstrous Lukas estate in Kent, cold and tomb-like. He loved his shambling, overgrown home. He was thinking of turning it into a commune. That was a lovely idea. So many young minds to shape, and a few to send on truly grand adventures.

“This room is me, dear boy,” Simon said. He didn’t bother rising from the pile of pillows he had arranged near the hookah. He did open his arms to encompass the tatty drapes hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs, the objects tucked into the corners and emanating the quiet, maddening power of distant worlds and incomprehensible geometry.

Nathaniel snorted and looked away from him. “What do you want?” he asked.

“That is the eternal question, isn’t it? What do I want? I want knowledge. I want to touch the face of the great and terrible gods. I want to lose my mind to them. I want their gazes to turn on me so that I might truly exist for that single moment before annihilation.” He dropped his voice to a lower register. “I want the void open before me, impossible and limitless. I want my mind to howl into that nothingness with no echo.” Simon watched Nathaniel’s eyelids flutter and his fist clench. He was so predictable. “I want to comprehend Nothingness on a level that humanity scurries and shrinks away from. I want to love it.” He patted the pillows next to him. “Come and lie down, Nathaniel. Weariness makes you look like a corpse.”

Nathaniel seemed to snap out of whatever half-daze he had fallen into at the mention of the Void. “That’s not why I’m here,” he said. “You said you found something. Did you find the Door? Is that why you called me?”

Simon patted the cushions again. “I will explain when you stop looming.”

Nathaniel hesitated the long moment it took to assert his own independence. It was delightful. Even more delightful, of course, was when he gave in and stalked over to the pillows, folding himself down upon them with a grace Simon had never possessed. No one ought to sit so ramrod straight on something that comfortable. “Explain,” he said.

Simon offered him the pipe.

Nathaniel, of course, looked furious. “Explain.”

“As you will,” Simon said, not wanting to push him too far. He was enjoying the visit. He enjoyed all their visits. “Unfortunately, it appears that I’ve found a window, rather than a door. A thinning of the veil, but not a proper tear.”

“I loathe it when you use such ridiculous terminology. You sound like one of those hippies.” He sniffed. “You look like one too. No man ought to wear that many beads.”

“Beads make lovely sounds. Hush. I was telling you about the window.”

“Go on.”

“It is more to your taste than mine, I’m sorry to admit. I must have tried to send five—no, six—of my little friends through before I realized that. Quite disappointing.”

Nathaniel looked hungry in the singular way that sharpened his cheekbones to razors and set his eyes burning. The tiniest prick of color showed itself on each of his cheeks. There was life in the old boy, yet. “The Void?” Nathaniel demanded. “Is it true, or limited?”

“Oh, these things may always be limited. It’s impossible to tell, and I haven’t your patience to explore it that much.”

“Show me.”

“Apparently you haven’t the patience, either.”

Nathaniel’s dry fingers dug into Simon’s cheek, and they were so close suddenly. Nathaniel was no longer sitting straight, but had twisted about, half atop Simon and doing his best to loom. He had aged since last they’d seen one another, if only in the deepening of the lines on his face and the greater amount of gray at his temples. They were slowly growing old, despite the immensity of their lives. Someday, perhaps in a half-century or so, they would look truly old, shrunk upon themselves and wrinkled all over. It didn’t matter. The body was trappings, decoration, but it wasn’t all of him. No more so than the gray skin and the ashy smell of old cloth and death was the whole of Nathaniel.

“Show me.” Nathaniel’s voice rasped like air out of dessicated lungs, and Simon couldn’t decide if he was ordering or begging. A bit of both, probably.

Did Nathaniel know how hungrily he pressed them together, how much Simon treasured these meetings? “Oh, darling,” Simon asked, “how long has it been?”

“I’ve been looking since the turn of the century. There’s been nothing. Everywhere I look, it’s noise and life and bustle. Even in the remotest possible locations there are animals and insects crawling over everything. It’s horrid. The world needs slowed.”

Simon nuzzled against Nathaniel’s cheek. It was a promising sign when he didn’t draw away. Simon took a long draw on his pipe and let the buzzing cannabis and tobacco and molasses and older, richer, stranger drugs buzz about his head until clarity swept through him. He brought his mouth close to Nathaniel’s, and let the smoke wash between them as he spoke. “The world needs cracked open like an egg, darling Nathaniel, spilling us all out into the wash of eternity,” he said. Nathaniel shuddered against him, sinking down so that Simon could rest back comfortably against the pillows. The haze of smoke and drugs hung between them, drawn in with every breath.

Nathaniel still needed to breathe. That was good to know.

“Endless and hollow and perfect,” Nathaniel said, as though they were summoning something with their words.

“And in that darkness, in that perfect, ecstatic void, They wait,” Simon whispered, rapturous.

“No.” Nathaniel’s hair was coming forward, and it brushed against Simon’s face as he shook his head. “No, there’s a void somewhere out there that even They haven’t touched. I will find it. I will.”

“Would you sink into its oblivion, becoming oblivion yourself?”

“Yes.” The word hissed between Nathaniel’s teeth. His face was set in a rictus grin, his bones pressing against Simon like a hungry ghoul. Nathaniel was horrid and wondrous, and Simon had absolutely no option but to kiss him.

They came together like this so rarely, crashing against one another perhaps twice a century since they started this game. Had Simon anticipated this result when he had rung Nathaniel up? He hadn’t thought so at the time, but there in the pillows it felt as though he had been waiting decades.

Nathaniel still kissed like he was starving, his cold lips drawing on Simon’s warmth. Simon never minded it; he tended to have warmth to share. He liked how dry Nathaniel was, and the soft rustling sounds his skin made as he moved. They were so good at hiding, the two of them, at pretending to be like the people they moved amongst, but they stood at a far remove even from their families. Simon could understand Nathaniel’s loathing of the scampering, butterfly-brief lives around them, even if he didn’t share it.

“Would you come with me?” Nathaniel asked between kisses. His skin was gray this close, his eyes a bit filmed. Simon was pleased he was so relaxed already. “Would you go with me into the dark?”

“Oh, my dear. It would rather defeat the point if there were two of us there, wouldn’t it?”

Nathaniel had a beautiful chuckle that he really ought to use more. “I suppose it would.”

“You find your perfect dark. You melt into it.” Nathaniel melted against him agreeably enough, all sharp angles and rustling bones. “I shall find my gate and finally commune with the great and unknowable beings beyond. I shall open the door and share Them with the whole world.”

“I will almost regret missing that,” Nathaniel said. “Almost.”

Then Nathaniel initiated a kiss, which was very rare indeed. The universe was full of wonders. “Show me,” he said against Simon’s mouth. “Show me the void.”

Simon reached out and drew the box close. There was a gamble inherent in this gesture that Nathaniel wouldn’t be so immediately taken by the window that he would take it and leave. But he seemed comfortable enough, and his kisses enthusiastic enough, that Simon thought he was likely to have the pleasure of Nathaniel’s company some hours more, at least.

The box itself was delightfully unassuming. One might even imagine it a small children’s music box, just large enough to pass a hand into. It was made of a rich brown wood, and was unadorned.

Simon broke the kiss with his free hand in Nathaniel’s hair. He was delighted when Nathaniel deigned to rest his head on Simon’s chest when he turned to look at the box. “That’s it?” he asked. He didn’t sound disappointed.

“It is. I heard about it through a contact, some young Indonesian chap, I think. He likes to find and sell this sort of thing. Exorbitantly priced, of course, but what does that matter?”

He flicked the latch open, and then gently opened the lid. The cold within it was aching, and he tipped the box up onto its side so Nathaniel could see.

It really was a window, he thought. Just a peek into another world, one made of endless, flawless ice, smooth and bright as a mirror. There was no proper horizon to it, but rather the ice itself seemed to curve up and become the cold, white sky of that empty place.

Nathaniel made a noise in his throat like he was dying. His hips rolled just a bit, and Simon adored him. He always adored Nathaniel, even when they were trying to kill one another. Maybe especially when they were trying to kill one another. Nathaniel was at his most magnificent when he was attempting some sort of vicious dispatch.

“Don’t touch it,” Simon whispered. “If you put your hand inside, the rest of you is dragged in as well. It seemed quite painful, and altogether not survivable. I tried to get several new friends through before I had to give up and close that wing of the house. There’s such a dreadful mess.”

“I thought I smelled something.”

“I should have known you’d pick up on that. You can have what’s left, of course. If you want it.”

“Maybe later.” Nathaniel passed his fingers as near to the opening of the box as he could, shivering with the cold. “It’s exquisite.”

“Have it,” Simon said, pushing it just out of their reach, but leaving it open to spill cold and the sharp smell of alien ozone into the room. “It may not be the infinite void, but nothing lives there. I can guarantee that.”

“Is it the same view everywhere, or does it move as you do?”

“It moves. A portable view of a dead world, and a very effective way to rid one of an enemy.” He refrained from adding, ‘How’s that for a romantic gesture?’ but was fairly certain it shone in his eyes regardless.

Nathaniel slowly drew his fingers away from the box, then cupped Simon’s face in that hand. It was a cold that lanced bone-deep and made Simon hiss with the shock of it. Nathaniel pressed a kiss to the ear on the other side as his hand, and even his cold lips felt warm in comparison to that hand. “Messy, though,” he whispered. “I abhor a mess.”

“Then only use it for special occasions. A treat to be savored.”

“You would know all about that.”

“I savor every treat.”

Natahaniel drew back to look down on Simon. “You’re a disreputable old hippie who stinks of patchouli,” he said warmly.

“And you’re cadaverous enough you make me question my sensibilities.”

“You have no sensibilities.”

“You may be right.”

They sunk down together. The cold wrapped around them in fingers from below, and the smoke wrapped around them from above. Nathaniel tasted of earth and felt like dry gangrene under Simon’s fingers. Every bone exposed as Simon removed his clothing looked sharp and scarcely contained by flesh. But Nathaniel smelled of stratospheric heights, and in the film of his eyes Simon saw the howling abyss.

#The Magnus Archives #fic #Nathaniel Lukas #Simon Fairchild #middle-aged men making out #mentions of A LOT of murders #cosmic horror #two horrific old wizards and their longstanding affair

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whatanauthorsgottado · 7 years

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Harry Potter and the Dark Councillors

My newest crossover, between SWTOR and Harry Potter.

Summary: Darth Ravage has discovered a new planet, with a population of Force users! Anubin is sent to investigate, and finds himself at Hogwarts, in the final year of the First War...

Chapter 1: Discovery

Carefully…

Anubin called on the Force to lift the third artifact into the air, forming a triangle in midair. The artifacts began to spark with power, and a line of lightning shot out of each, connecting them to each other. The space between them warped, the beginnings of the rift described in the tablet buried with the artifacts. Anubin reached out again to add his own power to that coursing through the artifacts…

And was interrupted by the holocom ringing in the main hold. His concentration broke and the artifacts fell to the floor. Anubin cursed and dropped to his knees, checking the artifacts for damage.

"Andronikos," he called, "inform whoever is on the holo that I'm in the middle of a breakthrough, and I couldn't care less what the hell they have to say!"

Less than thirty seconds later, Andronikos came into the conference room. "It's Darth Marr. He says your breakthrough can wait. I don't think he's interested in a 'no'."

"Very well." Anubin stood, dusted off his clothes, and took his sweet time making his way to the holocom.

"Darth Occlus," Marr said by way of greeting. "Ravage has discovered a planet on the far regions of space that appears to host a small civilization of Force users."

"And you think they'll have artifacts and such for me to study," Anubin concluded. "You want me to join an invasion force?"

"That will be Ravage's call. He has called a meeting of the Dark Council to discuss it and other matters."

"Immediately, or should I make my way to Korriban?"

"Dromund Kaas. We convene in two days' time." With that, Marr's holo-image disappeared.

"He never is much one for goodbyes," Anubin muttered. To Andronikos, who had emerged from the conference room, he added, "Set a course for Dromund Kaas. I'll call Advena and see if she's been informed."

"You got it."

Anubin met Advena outside the Council chambers with a brief hug before both entered, taking their places – Anubin next to Marr, and Advena at the head of the chamber, as her position of Emperor's Wrath allowed. Shortly after they entered, the holo-images of several absent Councillors flickered to life, and the doors of the chamber closed, signaling the beginning of the meeting.

"I've discovered a planet with a civilization of Force-users," Darth Ravage began without preamble. "It's not on any chart. The only place I could find mention of it was in ancient texts; it seems our ancestors came upon this planet and its people."

When he did not continue, Anubin rolled his eyes. "And?"

"The Lords subjugated this planet, but for some reason they left it almost as soon as they had arrived. Some Lords stayed behind, manipulating the society to fit their ideals."

"How long ago was this?"

"Milennia ago, when the first Sith Lords had just discovered the Sith species and formed their new Empire. Recently, I made a preliminary scouting trip…" Ravage looked quite smug about this. Anubin was sure Ravage was enjoying knowing more than he did; his rival was always glad to have an advantage over him. "There are still Force users present on the planet. The group I made contact with attacked me, but I suspect there are other groups on the planet."

"You want to send a bigger scouting party, then?" At Ravage's nod, he offered, "I will join, then. If this civilization is truly as old as you say, they will no doubt have artifacts and rituals for study."

"Very well," Darth Marr said. "Darth Ravage, who else would you send?"

"I will go myself, of course. As head of expansion and diplomacy, it is my duty to make contact with newly discovered civilizations."

"We want to make contact with them before subjugating them? That's a new one."

"Occlus, I will not have any of your cheek today!"

"Enough," Marr interjected before the vitriol really started to fly. "Occlus has a point. And given that memebers of this civilization have already attacked you, can you be certain that your diplomacy will be welcomed?"

"Who would you send, then?"

"I shall join Occlus in this venture," Darth Vowrawn spoke up. "Who knows what could be discovered on this planet? It's quite exciting!"

"We can take my ship. We shouldn't need much more than my crew for a diplomatic mission."

Vowrawn clapped his hands together. "That's that settled, then! Now, what else ought we to talk about?"

Anubin spent the next week before they departed gathering information on the planet and its civilization. Unfortunately, as Ravage said, information was severely limited, aside from what Ravage had already gathered. Anubin had access to that much, but Ravage was, of course, spectacularly uncooperative when he asked him for his people's reports.

"Can you just get over yourself and allow me access to the reports? As certain as I am that you want to see me fail, it would benefit us all if this venture succeeds."

"Why, Occlus, it is of course my singular pleasure to watch you succeed in all things, but I'm afraid I can't allow you access to the reports."

"And why is that?"

"Simply because they haven't been written yet." Ravage laughed at Anubin's incredulous look. "You see how difficult it is for me to offer you something that does not exist."

By the time they were to depart, the sum total of what Anubin had studied were some mentions of the planet in texts from around the era of the Great Hyperspace War, a few descriptions of the Force users' abilities and methods, and a detailed but corrupted document on their foci, which they called 'wands'.

"Not much to prepare ourselves with, is it?" Vowrawn asked rhetorically, skimming the small report Anubin had put together.

"Unfortunately, Ravage's reports weren't ready, so all I had to go on were a few mentions."

"You did quite well with such limited information. We shall make do."

With that, Anubin turned his attention to his crew. "Is everything prepared?"

"All supplies are loaded and stored away!" Talos confirmed with a grin. The archaeologist was as excited as Anubin was about this venture; a new planet to explore was all he'd ever dreamed of!

"Course is set. We heading out?"

Anubin followed Vowrawn's nod suit. "Let's go."

Three days later, the Angel arrived in the new planet's system. Andronikos brought the ship in closer, and Anubin reached out his senses, searching for Force-users on the planet.

"There's a great concentration... here," he said, pointing to one particular continent and rattling off a string of coordinates. "The whole planet is teeming with life, but there are a few places where the Force runs more strongly."

"Taking us down."

The descent was uneventful until suddenly all of the ship's systems shut down.

"What the hell?!" Andronikos swore, slamming his fist against the console. "We're going down! Brace for impact!"

Anubin threw himself into the captain's chair, buckling himself in a second before the cockpit windows showed bright green grass as the ship crashed. Everything went black.

#swtor #sith inquisitor #darth vowrawn #darth marr #swtor fic #laura writes #anubin kallig #hp and the dc

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blog-brand-strategy · 3 years

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Each member of our very proficient core team has specific areas of specialty, sharply honed during years of working at larger companies on an astounding array of brands. The CBC group is led by two fairly talented guys who're passionate about serving to our clients build their manufacturers. We're within the business of building and managing sturdy brands and stable, long-term shopper relationships. As brand builders, we work to bring the newest and greatest approaches to the combination in order to guarantee our clients and their manufacturers are sharing the best story.

This will increase the cost considerably per hour, but nonetheless most likely lower than a consultant’s hourly payment. That means that the six figure employee’s 10 hours turns into 40 per week. It’s usually cost prohibitive for most corporations to keep the extra strategic particular person on employees on a full time foundation.

The Brand Collective is a Coral Gables group of selling consultants. The agency pursues a novel, personalized method with every shopper, together with a clear technique and analysis to enable brands to thrive. The customized scale is another main profit of promoting consulting companies for each type of corporations. While medium dimension companies have an established model and advertising approach, startups are on the lookout for specialists to help in establishing the technique and the brand. Marketing consulting services can interact with several varieties of corporations and brands based mostly on their scale, finances, and market dimension.

Apparently, companies tend to begin constructing advertising teams from scratch and rely upon hiring a advertising director or a digital company that can run all these tasks. The main disadvantage of this approach stays in the control of outcomes. The in-house advertising division is normally integrated inside the group which provides multiple layers of bureaucracy and prevents advertising in some circumstances from providing radical modifications.

Contactlets Obtain Development Collectively

Ryan is an experienced branding advisor and has been concerned in the progress of several high manufacturers, including the Apple iPhone. His experience of working with huge and small manufacturers over the past twenty years provides him with a unique outlook and the set of expertise that enable him to create and scale manufacturers that prospects come to like and cherish. Your brand’s identity, because the term suggests, is the way in which your model will present itself to the shoppers. It is a group of design and communication components which may be put collectively to convey the specified brand picture and positioning to your target audience. Our key elements to make a project profitable embrace an in-depth and extensive evaluation of the target market, competitors, and the digital market.

Many beverages and an incendiary curry later, we had hashed out a foolproof seven-point system for identifying shit brand consultants before they'll take your money and/or lead you astray. Strategy Concept Testing among a broadly defined target audience for the brand, with readable samples of important market segments, to establish winning model strategies. Secondary analysis on a brand’s historical past, promoting, and marketing tendencies, in comparison with the identical kinds of information for main competitive brands, including non-public label brands. They must be 1) true, 2) related to your audience, and 3) provable. If you canprove to clients that you're differentin a method that helps meet their needs, you’ll be positioned for success. When it involves boosting your model, there is simply nothing like having individual Visible Experts®on your team.Research showsthat companies with Visible Experts construct higher visibility and command larger rates.

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