#hey why don’t we have more established philosophers? why don’t we hear about them as much?

[leanatulipa]

I actually like listened to the lyrics of The Moss by Cosmo Sheldrake and like…woah. I never thought of our understood facts as legends. We really do live in a society of theories. We learn these ideas and hold onto them for a sense of stability. Now, what we call legends could be just as real or fake as our facts. Of course we’ve put in thousands of tests to come to terms with our facts, but what if we could find evidence of an old woman living in a shoe. What if our legends could be proven as history or science. What could we discover if they were. Just a thought

#I don’t actually know what I’m talking about #I just thought it was cool #does this count as philosophy? #does that make artists philosophers? #hey why don’t we have more established philosophers? why don’t we hear about them as much? #I’m probably missing something #anyways funbags bye bye

[annymation]

Reimagining the characters in Wish

(Part 1- Asha)

Hey guys! I don’t really know how to start this, but let’s just say that I… Didn’t like how Disney’s 100th anniversary movie turned out, like at all.

But I can tell there was a lot of unexplored potential beneath this story, that in my opinion felt overly simple and bare bones.

But if you love it, that’s awesome, more power to you, I wish I could’ve loved it too. And I don’t want to rewrite it to show I’m “better than the writers at Disney” because I’m definitely not lol, I have no experience in writing, and I’m sure they put a lot of passion into the project and I respect them for that. But this movie inspired me with ideas for a different story that I think is worth telling.

But I won’t start telling it today, instead, I'll start a series of blogs sharing my ideas for changes in the characters and their stories, after I get some feedback I will start posting more of the story itself.

If you’re interested, then come along!

Asha✨

Personality

- Asha is a 18 year old girl, with a passion for drawing and helping those around her, sometimes even worrying more about helping others than helping herself

- She’s like a big sister to her 7 friends, always being the voice of reason and acting responsible, but not in a bossy way, she’s actually very playful with them

- To the people of Rosas tho, she's seen as kind of a weirdo, for you see, she spends almost every time of the day drawing in her sketchbook

- She practices everyday to become a better artist, and the people of Rosas find this to be very peculiar, after all, why would you take so much effort to perfect a talent when you can simply wait to turn 18 and wish for the king to make you an amazing artist?

- Asha doesn’t mind these comments, although they have made her less willing to share her drawings with others that aren’t her 7 friends

- As the story progresses we see Asha flourish from a shy and introverted girl to a brave woman who after discovering a terrifying secret about the kingdom’s rulers, steps in and inspires others to join her and fight an evil sorcerer king and his alchemist wife (yes, I made Amaya an alchemist, more on that on part 2 when I talk about how I’d change Magnifico and Amaya)

- Some Disney characters that share similarities with her personality wise are: Belle, Tiana, Pocahontas and Esmeralda

Main Traits:

Calm and mature

Determined

Passionate about her interests (drawing, dancing, philosophy and stars)

Helpful and generous

Perceptive and always questioning things around her that no one pays attention to (like why do all the artists only paint the King and Queen?)

Playful

Compassionate

Backstory

Oooh boy I gave this poor girl so much angst, okay let’s go

Asha grew up with her grandfather, her parents both died in a fire when she was just a baby

(this isn’t just to fit the “haha Disney princess has no parents” cliche, there’s plot relevance in this “mysterious fire” that I’ll talk about later)

Growing up with her grandpa, he’d always support her dream to be an artist, like her mother, who was an art teacher

Her mother not only drew really well, but she also was able to create the illusion that her drawings could move, by flipping through the pages of her sketch books

In other words, her mom was an animator

Asha saw this technic her mom used as a form of magic, so she would often tell her grandpa she wanted to “Do magic just like my mom”

Her father was a philosopher (this was established in the actual movie but never explored haha whyyyy), who taught people that working hard to achieve your dreams is not only rewarding, but also essential, because it’s part of the human nature to persevere and fight for what we believe, even if we fail, even if it’s hard, just keep moving forward.

This philosophy may sound very “umm duh” for me and you since we all know and hear everywhere nothing in life comes for free… But that’s not the case in Rosas

In this rewrite the kingdom wasn’t created by Magnifico, but rather the kingdom has existed for many generations, being ruled by different kings before Magnifico who also granted wishes… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The point is that the culture of just asking the king to give you or make you whatever you want to be has been in this kingdom’s culture since forever, so when Asha’s dad comes out saying “hey! Maybe we should stop just relying on the king to make our dreams come true, right?” He’s actually being quite a revolutionary… and sharing a very dangerous belief to other people…

At this point you might suspect what caused that “mysterious fire”

So, back to Asha, growing up with her grandpa, they shared a lot of happy memories together. Reading her father's books and her mother's art books helped Asha connect with them even tho she never had them in her life.

But as her grandfather grew older, he became senile.

Asha went from being taken care of by her grandpa to being the one who took care of him when she was still around 13 years old, and when she turned 15 her grandfather passed away of old age

Asha went on to live with her best friend Dahlia, the two became like sisters.

Though she managed to move on from the loss of her grandfather, she could never shake the feeling that he died without getting his wish granted... But she had no way to prove that, it was just a feeling

The wish granting system works different in my rewrite, instead of there being a public wish granting ceremony once a month, there would only be a public wish TAKING ceremony, that would work just like in the movie, you turn 18, you go give your wish to the king yada yada yada.

But the wish granting part would work like this: Almost every night the king would release the wishes up in the sky, they would float down like balloons to their respective owners while they sleep, and once they woke up in the morning they'd feel that their wishes were granted, for they would wake up changed.

With this method, there's no way of confirming if someone really got their wish granted or not, unless you went to ask the king.

Asha never did ask the king if he granted her grandfather's wish, but her grandfather would sometimes express how he wasn't feeling completely fulfilled in his life, he felt like there was something... missing.

This feeling of hollowness persisted in him until the very end, no matter how hard Asha tried to help her grandfather, she never knew him as his real self, because he gave part of his soul to the king, the most beautiful part of his soul, his wish.

Asha had no proof that her grandfather didn't get his wish granted, only a gut feeling.

But because of this, Asha wasn't that thrilled to give her own wish to king magnifico, knowing there was the possibility of it never being granted.

Not to mention she didn’t even know what to wish for, “I’m just 18 and you guys expect me to already know what’s my heart’s deepest desire? I’m still figuring that out, all I know is that I wanna draw”

Plus she wanted to follow her father's philosophy and achieve her wish on her own, eventually, when she figured out what her wish even was.

Asha never rebelled against the system tho, she wasn't a confrontational person. She just accepted the people of Rosas preferred to rely on the king's magic, but that just wasn't for her.

However, on her 18 birthday, when it was expected of her to give her wish to the king, she simply said she didn't have a wish, and even if she did she wouldn’t want to hand it over, she wanted to make it come true on her own. This lead to an argument with the king, and after a series of events (that I don't have time to summarize here, but you can find out about it on my rewrite) leads to her finding out a terrible truth about her kingdom. And that's how her story begins.

Design

- I’d keep these braid ornaments that Asha had in the concept art

- Since in my rewrite she’s not that invested in the kingdom of Rosas, I’d remove all the Kingdom of Rosas symbols that are present in her design (there are a LOT of them)

- I’d replace these Rosas insignia with more star and constellations themed symbols, to reflect how Asha believes that the stars are connected to people and they can guide us, just like how her father believed.

Final Thoughts

My intentions with these changes were to give Asha a strong emotional hook, and something that makes her feel relatable.

The emotional hook here is how she spent so much of her life taking care of her grandfather that she kinda never had time to worry about her own desires, that alone can be relatable to caregivers of elderly people that watch their grandparents or even their own parents lose themselves as time passes, and end up worrying more about the person they’re taking care of than themselves.

Asha has this internal emotional conflict where she feels she needs to constantly help others the same way she helped her grandfather, and one of the things she’ll learn as the story progresses is that it’s not selfish of her to want more for HERSELF.

Another thing that would be relatable about Asha is her passion for drawing, and how most people in Rosas would say she’s wasting her time practicing so much when she can just wait until she turns 18 and wish to be amazing at drawing.

She’d never stop believing that taking her time to improve on her talent and trying again and again was worth every second of her time, because let me tell ya folks, drawing is HARD, and animating like Asha’s mom did is even HARDER, it takes a whole lot of practice, and Asha was determined to keep trying.

She’d be much like Belle, remaining true to herself even tho those around her considered her odd, and very passionate about drawing just as much Belle was passionate about reading.

I also find it funny how Asha’s motivations are fairly down to earth, like in Disney movies you usually have:

I want to be free from these palace walls!

I want to explore the ocean!

I want to open a restaurant!

I want to find true love!

And then there’s Asha here like

“My life is fine, I just wanna chill and draw stuff”

And that’s it, but, in her environment where everyone is expected to have this great wish that they have to give to the king so he’ll make it a reality, she’s kinda the odd one out, and I love that. Would be a great subversion of the Disney formula.

Of course after she learns Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions she gets a lot more agency and the desire to save her people, her “call for adventure” if you will.

But what are Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions? Click here for part 2 and find out!

Thank You For Reading!

#disney wish #wish #reimagined #rewrite #disney #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish star #king magnifico #wish movie #wish disney #wish rambles #wish rewrite #Asha #long post #wishrewrite

[wanderinginksplot]

Hi! I wanted to make a request from the “Everything is terrible, so why not have some fics?” post. You said you didn’t have any and I loved the Tech - First Kiss fic you wrote. I wanted to request 15F with fem!reader. I’m thinking more fluff but reader needs to let out some emotions that have been bottled up for a while through some tears. (I hope I’m not asking too much)

Wrecker is my favorite and I moved halfway across the country from home to figure out life for myself and I’m kinda homesick myself.

Hey, @gjrain20-starwars! Thank you so much for the request! I’m realizing that this is probably toeing the line between fluff and hurt/comfort, and I apologize! Enjoy!

---

Wrecker + Homesick Fem!Reader

You crept quietly through the halls of Spearpoint Outpost. There was a strict, recently established curfew on base. Ever since Anaxes had become the focus of a Separatist campaign, security on Spearpoint had stepped up from ‘routine’ to ‘unpleasant’. 

The only reason you were out and about so late at night was to try to make a rare call home. The middle of the night was the only time there was a chance of catching a spare bit of signal to make a personal call. GAR-standard comms were strong enough to hog all available frequencies when they were being used, so nighttime was the only option. Besides, the time difference meant that your calls would come through in the morning back home on Bespin.

At least, they would if you could ever get through. After a full hour of trying without success, desperate for a scrap of a familiar voice, you had bitten back tears of lonely frustration and started the return journey to your bunk.

You probably should have been more worried about being caught out of barracks after curfew. If a superior officer found you, it would mean a solid dressing-down at best, and likely some disciplinary action. At absolute worst, they could discharge you from the GAR altogether considering the state of things on Anaxes. That didn’t sound like as much of a punishment as it should have in your current emotional state.

Still, you walked quickly and quietly through the winding tunnels that made up Spearpoint Outpost. There weren’t many people around so late, and you were wearing your full uniform. No one would notice that you were out of place unless they were looking.

“Hey!” a voice bellowed from beside you, so abruptly that you fumbled and dropped the comlink you had been cradling absently.

“What the-?” you glanced around rapidly, zeroing in on the source of the noise after only a moment. The greeting had come from Wrecker, the largest, loudest member of the Bad Batch, who had recently been based on Anaxes. It was only a temporary assignment while the GAR had them run a series of missions around the area to ward off the Separatists, but they had been at Spearpoint for a few weeks and would likely be here at least a few more. 

A solid chunk of your coworkers weren’t a fan of the Bad Batch. Hunter was nice enough, you guessed, but quiet. He kept to himself as a rule. Tech was whip-smart but not great with social situations. He had alienated some of Spearpoint’s officers by pointing out ways they were minorly breaking regs. Crosshair seemed to be purposefully unpleasant, so most people avoided him on principle. Wrecker, though, had gone out of his way to make friends on Spearpoint. 

Somehow, you in particular had attracted his attention. If the Bad Batch were on-planet, you saw Wrecker at least once every day. 

“Wrecker!” you hissed, clutching at your chest. Unnecessarily, you told him, “You scared me!”

You stooped to pick up the comlink, but Wrecker got to it first. It was unfair for someone that big to be so fast, you mused. You tried to grab the comlink from him, but he had a good grip on it. There was no way you were getting it back through force. The idea was laughable.

“Why are you awake so late?” Wrecker asked, ignoring your efforts to get the comlink back.

“Late shift,” you lied. “Just got done.”

He watched you skeptically, the eyebrow over his good eye lifting. “You’ve been off-duty since nineteen-hundred hours, liar.”

You stared at him, aghast. “How do you know that?”

“You’re always done at nineteen-hundred,” he answered simply, studying the comlink. 

“Then you know why I need to get back to my barracks before anyone sees me,” you told him, deciding to trust the Bad Batcher. “I’m breaking curfew by about four hours, here.”

“Curfew?” he asked, belting out a laugh that made you nervously glance around at the empty hallway. “No one obeys curfew.”

“I do,” you argued, nettled. “We’re in a war zone.”

“Barely,” Wrecker snorted. “Do you think you’ll bring the Seppies here by being out of bed too late?”

“No, but I’d rather not be demoted,” you said icily. “Now, give me my comlink. I need to get back before anyone catches me or turns me in.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily, handing the comlink over. “I’ll walk you back.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. Wrecker seemed nice enough, but he was big and loud. Your chances of getting caught with him were much higher than if you were alone. “No, thank you. I’m all right.”

He tsked at you. “Don’t you know we’re in a war zone? I’m coming along.”

You rolled your eyes and walked a little faster in hope of losing him. Of course, he was faster than you ever gave him credit for, so he kept up with ease.

“So, who was important enough that you’re willing to risk a demotion to talk to them?” Wrecker asked, gesturing to the comlink in your hand. “Boyfriend?”

“No,” you denied instantly. “My family. I haven’t… haven’t seen them since I joined the GAR. I’ve only gotten to speak to them a few times.”

Wrecker was silent at that, but a glance up at him revealed that he seemed deep in thought. “You miss them.”

“I do,” you admitted, wrapping your arms around yourself, “but it’s more than that. I miss everything about my home. I miss the food in Cloud City. I miss the birds and the sunsets. I miss being home, you know?”

You vaguely recognized that you were rambling, but the words wouldn’t stop. “I don’t know what I’m even doing here. Everything is different and I’m scared all of the time. Sometimes, I think all of this was a mistake.”

You finally stopped talking and pretended to study the hallway wall, doing your best to sniffle in a way that he wouldn’t hear. Of course, it would have been hard to miss the horrible, thick sound of tears in your voice. You subtly wiped your face and cleared your throat. 

What were you doing? Wrecker was an elite soldier, even more so than the other troopers that constantly surrounded you. He had literally been bred for strength and durability. You couldn’t afford to look weak in front of any of them, but especially not in front of Wrecker. He was the strongest man you had ever known. He must think you were so silly, crying over a home and family when they were safe. You were just away from them right now. There was no need for tears. You were just having trouble convincing your heart about that.

A large hand settled on your shoulder, the immense weight of it grounding you. 

“I understand,” Wrecker said softly - well, as softly as you had ever heard him speak. “I don’t have a home, but I have a family. I don’t know what I would do without them. I’d hate to be away from ‘em.”

“Even… Even Crosshair?” you joked weakly, interrupted by a slight cracking in your voice.

Wrecker chuckled, the sound lower and more personal than you were used to hearing from him. “Even Crosshair. Don’t tell him I said that, though. Family is family, even if we drive each other crazy sometimes. And it wasn’t a mistake, coming here. I might be biased, ‘cause this is the only way I met you, but different isn’t bad, ya know? You’re doing your best and it’s helping you grow. It’s uncomfortable now, but uncomfortable and scared are the first steps to some great stuff.”

“I guess-” you hiccuped softly and laughed a little at the ridiculousness of having a post-midnight philosophical therapy session with the massive Bad Batch member. “I guess you do understand.” 

Wrecker hummed an agreement at that. “Besides, home and family aren’t just the stuff you left behind, ya know? You’ve got friends here.” He beamed, squeezing your shoulder with what must have been a tiny fraction of his immense strength. “And, hey, you’ve got me!”

“Do I?” you asked, enjoying the first effortless smile you had worn in a while.

“Of course! I want to be part of your new family.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck. “If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

“I…” you paused to swipe under your eyes once more. “I would like that, I think.”

“Good!” Wrecker smiled, stooping toward you. You were wrapped up in the best hug of your life before you knew what was happening. 

Wrecker was even more giant this close, and you were surrounded on all sides by warmth and solid muscle. He squeezed and lifted you just a bit, letting your feet dangle a short distance above the ground. You couldn’t reach all the way around his broad back, but you had your arms wrapped around him anyway, holding onto him just as tightly as he was to you.

When you finally patted his back, Wrecker gently deposited you onto your feet once more and stepped back. His eyes were bright and warm, which perfectly matched how you felt. Hugging Wrecker had felt like taking a deep breath, like a sip of water after a hard workout, like stretching after a long transport ride. 

“Thank you, Wrecker,” you said. It felt like too simple a phrase to sum up everything you were feeling, but it was everything you had.

“Anytime,” he replied easily. “I mean it. If you need anything, whether it’s a hug or to hit someone, come find me.”

You nodded, and he pulled a faux serious face. “Now, off to bed before someone finds out you’re breaking curfew.”

“We are in a war zone,” you agreed with a grin. 

The rest of the short walk to your bunk took place in a companionable silence. As you reached to type the code into the pad next to the door, Wrecker tapped your wrist to stop you. 

“Hey, you should come by the Havoc Marauder tomorrow,” he suggested quietly.

You frowned. “Why? Didn’t you guys crash-land like, two days ago?”

“Yeah, why?” Wrecker asked, looking confused. His face cleared a moment later. “Oh, no, we aren’t going anywhere. But I’ll get Tech to kick up the power on your comlink. You should be able to talk to your family without GAR comms interfering. Your long-distance family, I mean.”

You felt the smile spread over your face, but Wrecker interrupted as you started to thank him. “And, that way, you’ll be able to contact us when we’re off-planet. Ya know, in case you want to talk to your new family, too.”

“That sounds perfect,” you accepted gratefully, not typing in the code to your barracks even after he gestured you toward the keypad. You really shouldn’t risk making him uncomfortable… but you were too selfish not to take advantage of the opportunity. You held your arms out a bit. “One more hug?”

From the chuckle that rumbled through his chest as you were squeezed against it, Wrecker was only too happy to oblige.

---

A/N - if this was a little too hurt/comfort and not enough fluff, let me know! I’d be happy to write another chapter with more fluff. Thank you so much (again) for making this request! (As a side note, I also moved far away from home and it was one of the best decisions I ever made. It’s hard, but the experience will make you a stronger, more independent person. You’re doing amazing!)

If anyone wants to make a request, I dearly love writing them! I might come up with another prompt list eventually, but here is the original prompt list in case you need some ideas. Read other one-shots from the same prompt list on my masterlist.

Thanks for reading!

(Update 7/02/21: this now has a sequel chapter here!)

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars the bad batch #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #wrecker #bad batch wrecker #wrecker x you #wrecker x reader #homesick #fic request

[min-youngis]

Are You Allowed To Tell God To Suck It?

gif not mine

~ Pairing : Kim Namjoon x Reader (Human x Angel)

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour-ish

~ Rating : PG-13

~ Summary/Excerpt : “I’m not leaving anytime soon,” you whisper, making sure he understands every single word, hears the sincerity in your voice, realises that you wouldn’t just send God a massive fuck you and give yourself a new name (that you found in one of the books in this very library, actually) on a whim.

Established Relationship

~ Word Count : 1,938

~ Warnings : passing mentions of insecurity and g*d and r×lig×on, some philosophical waxing about how fucking sad we all are but nothing too serious

~ A/N : this ... idk what it is. love the concept tho. would like to expand on it eventually. for now, here, be a badass angel that loves human joon. gives me a vague good omens kinda vibe.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

‘Hey, uh, God? Yeah, this is Angel Number 7625H. Remember me? The one you didn’t allow back in for falling in love with the human I was supposed to reform? Well, I’m just sending this to say suck it and that I don’t want to come back anyway. While we’re at it, I'll be needing my stuff, so if you could have them tossed down whenever you’re free, that'd be great. I’m sure you know where I live, with your omniscience and all. Thanks and regards!

P.S. : I go by Y/N now. I like it better than a serial number.’

“Are you allowed to tell God to suck it?”

With a grin, you lick the stamp and slap it on the envelope addressed to ‘Up There'. “Well, first of all, it really is a toss-up between which form God ends up being in when they receive the letter.”

Namjoon gets that light in his eyes as he leans forward in his large, mahogany armchair, that brightness and eagerness that you’ve seen in children who get too excited, right before they pee in their pants. “Tell me about their forms.”

You indulge him. You always do. None of your other subjects were this intrigued or this intriguing. But then, none of your other subjects were Kim Namjoon.

“They constantly shift. One moment as Shakti, another as Jehovah. There are millions, if not billions of shapes.”

“Have you ever seen them? God, I mean?”

No, you had not. But no harm in hyping yourself up.

“Once,” you say, gravitas in your voice as you drop the sealed envelope on the table. “Accidentally transported myself too far to the left after one of my missions and ended up in the inner quarters.”

Satisfyingly awed, Namjoon asks, now at the edge of his seat, “What form were they in?”

“Couldn’t tell,” you shrug, leaning back in your chair, arms comfortably slung on the rests.

He seems satisfied with the evasive answer. It only serves to make him think more.

It’s like this. Eight months ago, you were sent down on a routine mission. There is a person who is an asshole, make him not-an-asshole. Except, well, the asshole wasn’t really that much of an asshole. Just...kinda sad and maybe an unhealthily high blood pressure. Bit of an entitled dick, but not unkind. He wasn’t one of those intrinsically distant people. Just circumstantially. But you had a job and you were going to do it, goddammit.

So in your barista disguise, you had begun your reformation of one, 28 year old, Kim Namjoon, big shot CEO of Kim Enterprises. Ivy League graduate, trust fund baby, featured in Forbes' Richest Under 30. Cold to people who don’t know him, lukewarm to people who do.

The instant you saw him on the first morning on the job, not looking up at you as he placed his order in a high, cold drawl, eyes focused on the phone in his hand, bluetooth headset on, complete with an expensive wristwatch and a black briefcase, you knew the problem. Angels have that kind of power.

He was entirely too repressed. Humans were not made to lock things up, to be reserved with shields as high as the sky extending ten feet in every direction.

So you slowly began to get under his skin. A little by little, making him let out everything he had kept sealed in short bursts, like a pressure cooker with a defective weight. Few times a week, you’d purposely mess up his order, adding some extra sugar or taking it easy on the caffeine. Once a month or so, you’d nudge the paper cup while handing it to him over the counter so the coffee would spill on his fingers. When you weren’t messing up his morning for him, you’d slink out of the shop, following him to his office, hit the elevator buttons on every floor so it would take longer to reach him or dress up as an employee and purposely bump into him in the corridors. And obviously, you weren’t scared of getting caught.

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt in your career as a Reformation Angel, it’s that humans are shockingly unobservant. But then again, you hadn’t encountered a human like Kim Namjoon before.

You hadn’t been bothered about him figuring out what you were, realising that he was being deliberately poked and prodded so that those tight shoulders of his could finally begin to droop once in a while.

And for the first four months, everything seemed to be going according to plan. He had scowled a bit, shouted some, ranted at a closed lift door. But more importantly, and as more of an upside, you had also caught him smiling at his phone once, some lovely dimples appearing, and when you were mixing up his schedule after convincing his assistant to take a break, you had seen that he had even marked a weekend as Vacation – talk to Yoongi.

But then, small problems began to crop up. For one, he started to spend more time around the coffee shop. Which you were glad about, at first, because it signified that he was slowing down, but it made you antsy because you kept catching him staring at you with a shrewd look on his face. He'd look away immediately, but you still knew.

For another, he stopped spending so much time inside his office, often taking to walking around, looking for something, for somebody. It hadn’t bothered you much. In fact, it only served as an opportunity for you to sneak in and jumble the papers on his desk. But the more time passed, the more convinced you became that he was looking for you.

And then was the slightly worrying issue of how you began to take more than a purely angelic interest in him. Of course, you never recorded in your observations how your immortal heart would beat a tiny bit faster when he began to actually thank you after receiving his coffee, dimples popping in a small smile. Or how occasionally, you’d maybe spend a little more time everyday on the job, under the guise of ‘finishing ahead of schedule' just to be around him.

But you were an expert, so all those feelings were, ironically enough, locked up and compartmentalised, ready to be purged when you finally went back up after completing this job.

Until everything finally came to a head. You had been on your way to his office building, walking rapidly, winding in between the crowds so you could reach in time to mess up some of his cue cards before his meeting, when you were brought to an abrupt halt by the man himself, standing at the corner of the office, waiting, it seemed for you.

He had a gleam of new-found knowledge in his eyes, a just-elapsed eureka moment, and with a sinking heart, you had noticed a thick, leather-bound book in his hands.

Angels and Their Types : Do They Still Exist Today?

And now, here you are, leaning back on your own, cushioned armchair in Namjoon's large, crowded library, letter telling God that you’re officially retiring, whether they like it or not, as the dim, yellow lights indicate the lateness of the hour, tall bookshelves casting shadows on the little nook you’re both sat in.

“How are we going to send it?”

“I’ll be needing pepper, some chalk and nine lavender scented candles. Also a wooden floor.”

“What’s the pepper for?” he asks, once again excited at the prospect of knowledge.

“Garnish.”

His eyes narrow and he lets out a small huff, leaning back on his chair with a pout when he realises that you’re messing with him.

With a giggle, you rise from your seated position, rounding the coffee table and making your way towards him, bottoms of your feet sinking into the soft carpeting as you pad over.

“We have people in postal services everywhere,” you say soothingly as you perch yourself on the arm of his chair, body tilted towards him, legs languidly crossed and nudging against the side of his.

He forgets his petulance at this thrilling, new titbit of information, this glean into a world that he recently discovered and has been greedily learning about from you. “Are they angels as well? Do they have humans to reform? Can they travel to heaven whenever they want?”

In his rush, he tilts forward excitedly, arm coming up to steady you around your waist as he apologetically winces when he nearly knocks you off with his enthusiasm.

Give him a chance to gain some knowledge, and he really does become a child. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, so many possibilities waiting to come to a standstill at your response.

His wide eyes look up at you, waiting eagerly for your answer. You give him as stern a look as you can muster, despite the fondness in your eyes that you can’t quite mask as you reply, “Yes, they’re angels as well. Only some of them are Reformation Angels, we're rather rare, you see. And I don’t know why you'd ask the last question, even I can go up whenever I want to.”

“Didn’t they ban you last week?” he cheekily asks, eyes mirthful, words softened by his fingers gently dancing along the curve of your hip.

Frowning, you reply, “Okay, in theory I can go up whenever I want.”

“Do you think you’ll want to?”

You can see his shields slowly coming up, the carefreeness of the last hour being masked by that façade you had worked so had to ensure would make an appearance only in important board meetings. But you’re an angel. Even if he weren’t the reason you’re giving up an eternity in heaven, condemning yourself to staying in the middle place, you’d be able to tell what he’s feeling.

Humans are so very fickle. So insecure and scared and constantly preparing for everybody to leave.

You turn fully sideways so you’re facing him, looking down at his face as you tilt his chin up with a finger, forcing him to make eye contact with you. His palm, now at the small of your back, feels cold, only lightly resting, like he’s steeling himself to let you go. On his knee that you aren’t half sitting on, his fingers twitch nervously.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” you whisper, making sure he understands every single word, hears the sincerity in your voice, realises that you wouldn’t just send God a massive fuck you and give yourself a new name (that you found in one of the books in this very library, actually) on a whim.

His gaze that was hovering somewhere near your left ear snaps to your own as he regards you for a bit, indecision and childish hope swimming behind his cool, unbothered exterior. A few seconds later, he gives you a small, accepting nod. His only indication of pleasure is the subtle flex of his fingers as they rest more solidly on your back, nudging you close so he can burrow his head in the folds of your billowy dress.

You soothingly card a hand through his hair, acknowledging everything he isn’t saying. The seal on the letter glints in the light, catching your eye, vaguely shocking you as you realise that you’re about to sign yourself up for eternal damnation.

But the years have been long, and not entirely kind, and you have a reason to say goodbye. You’ve met hundreds of humans in your lifetime. But none of them have been Kim Namjoon.

~

#bts #ultkpop #btsguild #ficswithluv #thekpopnetwork #kwritersworldnet #btswritingcafe #namjoon #kim namjoon #rm #rap monster #joon #kpop #fluff #kpop imagine #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #kpop fluff #bts fluff #namjoon fluff #kpop scenario #bts scenario #namjoon scenario #kpop fic #bts fic #namjoon fic #bts run #yoongi #angel au #bangtan

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (2/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

===

Rated: T

[One] [AO3]

===

Content warning for this chapter: Discussion of domestic abuse – parent on child; implied self-harm and discussion of self-harm.

===

Forged Through Fire

Two

The phone ringing startled Roy out of the doze he hadn’t realised he’d fallen into, and he jumped up out of his chair, massaging the crick in his neck as he went over to the phone on the wall.

“Mustang.”

“Hello Roy. It’s Riza. Riza Hawkeye.”

“Riza.”

For a good long while, Roy had absolutely no idea what to say to her. He hadn’t seen her since the day that he’d finished his training under Berthold and passed his state licence exam, although they’d kept in touch with the occasional letter. It was the first time she’d ever called him since he’d moved out of barracks and got his own apartment with his own phone line, and the novelty of hearing her voice again after all the time that had passed was enough to render him speechless. Finally he regained his tongue.

“It’s good to hear your voice again,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s good to hear yours, too.” She sounded quiet, her voice low and measured as if she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?”

“My father died.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “The funeral’s on Friday if you want to come. Please don’t feel obligated. There won’t be all that many people there. He wasn’t exactly a social man.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” The relief in her voice was almost palpable, even over the phone. “So… How have you been?”

“All right. Not doing much, we haven’t been shipped out anywhere yet so it’s mainly just paperwork and patrols.” God, this was the inanest conversation ever. He hadn’t spoken to Riza for a year and a half, and this was what he was finding to talk about? “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know how to feel right now if I’m honest. Everything’s so… weird. It’s not like when Mom died. Everything was easy then. I was sad because she wasn’t there anymore. This time…”

Roy knew exactly why she trailed off. Receiving letters from Riza in the time since he finished with Berthold had always been bittersweet. He knew the situation she was in, and he had no idea how to help her out of it. Now, she was out of it more by luck – if death could be considered luck – than judgement, and he still felt a stab of guilt that he had not been able to do anything for her.

“Yeah. I understand.” Did he really? “Do you need anything?” He didn’t want to think of her in that ramshackle old house all by herself. “Groceries, company, anything?”

“I’m ok. I’ve got everything sorted. I think I just need to know there’ll be a friendly face at the funeral. Thanks.”

“Any time.” He was reminded of the time he took her to the bar after her tattoo got infected. “How’s your back?”

“Sorry?”

“It was a long train of thought. How’s your back doing?”

“It’s fine.” For the first time, he thought that she might be smiling on the other end of the phone. “I’ve not had any problems at all since Trisha and Hohenheim fixed me up.” There was a pause. “Are they still there at Madam Christmas’s?”

“Yep. I don’t think they’ll ever leave.”

Riza laughed. “Well, send my regards next time you see them.”

“I will. I guess I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Till Friday. Thank you, Roy.”

They said their goodbyes, and Roy stayed staring at the phone for a long time after he hung up. It was only now that he realised just how much he had missed Riza in the intervening time. Perhaps it was because they had never completely lost touch with each other that the separation had not seemed as absolute as it did now; she had always still been on the periphery of his world, even if she wasn’t regularly in it like Aunt Chris and his new friends and colleagues within the military. Now he realised just how long it had been.

She hadn’t changed at all, and when he saw her standing in the cemetery on the grey and miserable morning of the funeral, he was almost relieved to see that she was still just the same Riza. Although, that said, not exactly the same. There was something behind her eyes, a little bit haunted. Maybe it was just grief, maybe it was something far more complicated. She gave a wan smile when she saw him, making her excuses to the scant other mourners and coming over to him.

“Hey. It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise. Are you ok?”

She nodded. “I’m getting there. It’s still all so surreal.” She glanced over towards the grave and the drab preacher getting ready to intone the service. “Shall we go? It shouldn’t take too long, I don’t think. I mean, what is there to say about him?”

Roy would have given her the usual platitudes about Berthold being a good man and a great alchemist, but whilst the latter may have been technically true, neither really rang true to Roy’s ears in regard to Riza. Berthold might have been the one to teach him flame alchemy, but he had also been the one to permanently ink that flame alchemy on Riza’s back and shape the course of her life forever. The words she had spoken to him on that fateful day when she’d shown him the array had always echoed in his mind. What’s done is done. Nothing could change the fact that the tattoo existed, and that Berthold had been the one to put it there. Nothing would ever erase that. Nothing Roy or anyone else could do would ever be able to make that better. Did that mean he didn’t ought to try?

The service was short, just the usual empty words over a plain casket, and Roy hung back as Riza received the well wishes of the few other attendees until she was alone with the headstone again.

Riza sighed. “Is it bad that when everyone says ‘I’m so sorry’, there’s a part of me – a large part – that thinks ‘I’m not’?”

Roy shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. I think given everything, that’s natural.”

“When I looked in on him that morning and found him… I thought I’d feel sad, or that I’d panic, or maybe that I’d just feel numb. But honestly the thing I felt the most was anger. Not because he was dead, that he’d been taken from me in that respect. I wasn’t angry at the world. I wasn’t even really angry at him. I was angry with myself, because I hadn’t done anything, and now he’s dead and I don’t have the chance to call him out for everything he did.”

“It’s not your fault. What could you have done?” He paused. “It’s everyone else who should have been doing something.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself either. He had just as much of a position of power over you as he did me. In a different way, but I’ve heard cynics say that apprenticing under an alchemist is equivalent to selling your soul to them until you pass your licence.”

“Yeah. But after I passed my licence. Anyway, enough about me. Do you want to come somewhere and talk about it somewhere that’s not a very windy cemetery with rain threatening any moment?”

Riza nodded. “Yeah. I could really use a drink right now.”

Roy smiled. “All right. Come with me.”

It was a quiet and contemplative walk through the city towards the bar, and Roy couldn’t help giving the odd glance sideways over at Riza as they made their way through the damp streets. It had rained earlier, and the clouds were still hanging dark and heavy in the sky. In a way, the weather reflected the entire city – dark, oppressive, unrelenting; constantly hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

Amestris hadn’t always been like this, according to those who’d seen it in its heyday. Roy was still too young to remember a time before the Fuhrer had come to power and democracy had given way overnight to the grim dictatorship they’d now found themselves living in, but Aunt Chris and Hohenheim remembered it. They’d made the best of things in the best way they knew how – defying the law and doing what was needed anyway.

A part of him wished that they didn’t have to do it, that he could somehow come into a grand inheritance and set them up comfortably for the rest of their days, but he knew them both and he knew they’d still keep doing what they were doing even if money was no object. There were some things that were more important than staying on the right side of the law.

Still, just because they had carved out their own little niche in the new world they lived in didn’t mean that they couldn’t be nostalgic for better times. Aunt Chris wasn’t one for reminiscing, but he’d found her and Hohenheim sharing the good Drachman vodka more than once after last orders had been called.

His thoughts ended up coming full circle round to Berthold and the many arguments they’d got into over Roy’s decision to join the military. Berthold could remember the time before and held no love for the military regime he was now living under. Roy had never known different but knew enough to be well aware that he was becoming part of the problem. With a problem like this, though, with something so well-established and deeply ingrained, it was impossible to effect any sort of change except from within, and when he had first joined the academy, Roy had been naïve enough to think he could be the one to make that change.

Four years later, he was not quite as convinced, but his determination still held fast.

Vanessa was on duty in the bookshop today, and if she seemed surprised to see them coming in at four o’clock in the afternoon then she didn’t show it, simply waving him through without a word. She gave Riza a little more scrutiny, but since she was coming in with him, there wasn’t a lot of point in giving her the third degree. Of everyone who was involved with Madam Christmas’s bar, Roy was the one who was most aware of the need for secrecy. One of the advantages of joining the military and becoming part of the regular city patrols was getting inside knowledge on which premises were about to be raided as suspected liquor hideaways and being able to subtly clear the bookshop from the records. If it was an abuse of power, well, at least it wasn’t hurting anyone like most of the rest of the abuses of power that the military undertook on a regular basis.

Aunt Chris was behind the bar as usual when they got down into it, and she nodded over to a corner table, where Armstrong and Hughes were already sitting with Gracia. Roy turned back to Riza as Hughes waved him over.

“They’re friends and colleagues. We don’t have to join them if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine.” Riza smiled. “I think some happy company sounds like a good idea right now.”

“Roy!” Hughes grabbed the coats that had been holding the other chairs at the table. “Is this the girl you were telling us about?”

“This is Riza Hawkeye, yes. She’s Berthold’s daughter. Riza, this is Alex Armstrong and Maes Hughes, and Hughes’ girlfriend Gracia.”

“Actually, Gracia is no longer my girlfriend.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. Considering how giddy Hughes sounded, he highly doubted that there had just been a break-up.

“She’s my fiancée!”

Gracia gave a long-suffering sigh, but the smile in her eyes showed that she still found Hughes’ antics endearing after being with him for a year.

“Congratulations.” Riza took a seat beside Gracia and the two were soon deep in conversation as Roy went over to the bar to get the next round in.

Chris gave him a look.

“I’m glad you’ve turned up. He’s starting to be insufferable. Why did I let you persuade me to allow your friends in?”

“Because you love me.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” Chris peered over his shoulder at Riza. “How did it go at the funeral?”

“Much of a muchness, really. What can you say about a man who was a complete recluse dedicated to his research above all else, including his daughter?”

“Roy, you can’t keep beating yourself up about that. And for God’s sake, not now. She’s got enough on her plate; she doesn’t need to prop up your guilt as well. Don’t make her carry more than she has to. If she wants to be mad at you for not rescuing her then that’s her decision and she can do it in her own time.”

She continued to pour the drinks, and Roy leaned back against the bar, watching his friends.

“You’re not subtle,” Chris said behind him. “Who knows? Maybe now that you’re back in touch, you’ll finally ask her out.”

“Madam!”

“I call them how I see them, Roy-Boy. Remember you’ve always got the perfect date location right here.”

“Yeah, with Vanessa and Fiona teasing me every time I go in and out and you watching like a hawk.”

“Freudian slip there?”

“Shut up.”

He grabbed the drinks and brought them back over to the table, where Hughes was now expounding the current barracks rumour mill theory that Tim Marcoh had faked his own death and was now serving as personal physician to the Emperor of Xing. At least Riza was smiling, and although that tired and haunted look behind her eyes had not gone away, he could tell that the smile was genuine.

It was only later, once Armstrong, Hughes and Gracia had left them, that he could recognise the sheer exhaustion and the willpower it was taking her to hold everything together.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

Riza shook her head. “No. Not yet. I don’t think I can face that big empty house knowing that there’s no one else in it and there never will be again. And knowing that I’m going to have to sell it. It’s not the selling it that’s the problem really, I’m not so attached to it. It’s just all the paperwork involved.”

“Well, you don’t have to think about it right now. And I can always stay over if you want.” Riza gave him a sharp look. “I mean on the sofa!” He tried to backtrack. “So that it’s not so big and empty and lonely.”

She laughed. “No, I’ll be ok. I’m just not ready to face it quite yet.” There was a long pause. “Your friends are nice.”

“They can be a bit much, but they mean well.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic; they really are nice. Although I think Alex’s goodbye hug might have broken all my ribs.”

“Yeah, he’s not good with ‘subtle’.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Riza sat back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. “The weirdest thing is not knowing what comes next. I’ve never really had any plans. Well, I had plans but they’re not going to work out. I always just thought I’d end up keeping house for my father until… well, until he died. I just hadn’t reckoned on it being so soon. I’ve got my entire life ahead of me and I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. It’s scary, in a way.”

“What were your plans originally?”

Riza shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“It can’t be that stupid.”

“Fine. I was going to follow in your footsteps. I wanted to join the military and help you do what you’re doing, trying to change the system from within. But then my back happened so that’s out now.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’m not really much good for anything else. What other careers require crack shot aiming skills?” Riza snorted. “Looking back I’m honestly surprised he let me near a gun. Maybe he was cocky enough to know I’d never turn it on him.”

Roy wanted to say something, the urge to apologise again bubbling up in the back of his mind, but he squashed it down. Like Chris had said, Riza was dealing with enough conflicted feelings of her own, she didn’t need his guilt as well.

They continued to drink in silence for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Back when he’d first started learning under Berthold, they’d spent quite a lot of time together like this in the kitchen of the Hawkeye home, and it was surprising how easy it was to slip back into that familiarity despite the intervening years.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the drapes along the back wall twitching and Trisha coming out of the clinic. There was a flash of red lightning as Hohenheim transmuted the door into the wall, and then he came out too.

“We’re off,” Trisha said to Chris. “We’re not expecting anyone else tonight, but you know how to get hold of us if there’s an emergency.”

They left the bar hand in hand and Roy watched them go. When he looked back at Riza, her eyes were following them too, with a kind of longing. She had never given voice to anything, at least not in Roy’s earshot, but he’d often had the thought and he knew she must have had it too. Her back meant that she could never be intimate with anyone. Well, at least not without literally trusting them with her life.

“Roy… Would you do me a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t agree yet, you don’t know what it is.”

“Ok. What is it?”

“Will you burn my back?”

“What?”

“I want to get rid of this thing.” Riza wasn’t looking him in the eye, just staring at the dregs in the bottom of her wine glass. “I want it gone so that I can have a normal life and do all the normal things I should be able to do. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of him having control over me even though I just buried him. It doesn’t matter that he’s dead, he’s always going to have this piece of me, and I don’t want it anymore. I just want it to be over.”

“Riza, maybe it would be better if you think on this without three glasses of wine in you.”

The thought of doing it made him feel sick. He was a state alchemist, and he was career military; he knew that he’d be called on to use flame alchemy on people in the future. He knew he would have to use it to kill people. He’d almost made his peace with that pre-emptively, knowing he would hopefully be able to atone for it once he’d worked to make everything better.

Burning Riza though, even at her own request… Hadn’t she already suffered enough at the hands of flame alchemists?

“It’s not a new idea, Roy. I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

“I still think this isn’t the best time to be discussing it. Maybe tomorrow. I’ll come over and we’ll talk about it then. Honestly, Riza, it’s a large area of skin and the damage I’d have to do to destroy it completely, I think it would kill you.”

Riza nodded. “I understand.”

There was a long silence after that, and in the wake of Riza’s request it was an unusually tense one; the uneasiness remaining long after Riza had changed the subject and they were talking freely again. By the time he was walking her back to the Hawkeye house, though, things seemed to have lightened, and Riza seemed to be feeling a little better.

X

Roy had managed to put the conversation to the back of his mind for most of the following day. He’d taken a few days’ leave for the funeral to be there for Riza if she needed him; she had no other relatives to help her out and she’d lived an isolated enough life not to have any real friends either.

It was only when the phone in the bar rang and Chris passed it over to him that he remembered with a jolt what Riza had asked of him, and his heart was in his mouth as he heard her quiet and hitching voice on the other end of the line.

“Roy, I need your help. I’ve made a massive mistake.”

#FMA Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

[leo-interactive-fiction]

How would RO react to / deal with a MC with a terminal illness? I want to finish with a broken heart if it's not too much trouble!

Hmm, it's been a bit since I've written something that was sad haha. Maybe I can do it. Let's see.

E: Their grip on the metal railing of your hospital bed tightens as the news reaches both of your ears.

"A day...? No, that's..." E's voice quivers, "That's too short...!"

"We've never seen this illness before," the doctor explains at a loss, "Although we have our suspicions it's in part due to a S.T.E.M. pollutant. I have to be honest and say we have no possible way to combat something like this."

E looks to you, a sudden fearful realization streaking across their face. E's past confidence of your recovery collapses, and the outcome is like that of a dam bursting.

You feel droplets caress your cheeks like a gentle rain as E leans over the railing and touches their lips to yours.

E stays with you, awake for the rest of the night and into your final day without letting go of your hand. The tears have long since dried as your road reaches an end.

"I'm sorry...I thought I could protect you..." you feel one last droplet of water land on your cheek, and the grip on your hand tighten as their final plea reaches you in faint desperation, "Please...Don't go..."

R: They stand silent at your bedside for what seems like an hour after the doctor broke the news to the both of you. As they slowly sit down, they run a hand through their hair, which seems to have lost it's more luxurious shine in exchange for a pastel coloration.

R sighs heavily, whispering to themselves in a sudden bout of introspection, "How much more do I stand to lose...?"

They turn to you, forcing a charming smile on their face as best they can, "What's wrong? You're looking a little pale. Do I look that bad when I dont use conditioner?"

They spend time through the night and into the morning sitting beside your bed, talking and sharing stories with you to keep your mind wandering and a smile present on your face.

Its soon, you realize, that you'll reach your end. R seems to understand it well, too, and their smile wavers for a second. "Hey, captain. You know when we first met, on the train? I cheated on a lot of the card games we played. It was- Hey," They gently take your hand, the smile now clearly forces as a tear stain streaks down their face, "Dont leave yet. I haven't finished the story. It's bad manners to-" they feel your grip slowly fade, and they realize the rest of their words wont reach you. They stand for what seems like an hour, looking down at you.

"Captain...I got a favor to ask. Please take care of my sister when you get there. Shes always been easily frightened."

L: The news hits L, like a weight, causing them to collapse back down in their seat. Their eyes are bloodshot from several days without rest, and you can see deep calluses on their normally pristine fingers.

L has spent countless hours devising a means of combating the sudden onset of the illness that hospitalized you. The culmination of their work was already used to treat you. The treatment was ultimately ineffective.

"I...I'm sorry." Is the first words that escape L's mouth, "I should have foreseen this. I should have worked harder to save you. I..." They suck in air, their body shaking with the onset of racking sobs, "I failed you...when you needed me most, I failed...I'm so sorry..."

They grip themselves, and it takes a long time for them to compose themselves. Wiping their tear stained cheeks, they look away guiltily, "I apologize, turning the subject of conversation towards me when you're..." they almost dont want to acknowledge your condition, for fear it may hasten the process. They gather a notepad and a pen, and take a seat next to you. "In Hospur, there is a tradition of memorializing loved ones by documenting their last moments. I know this is a selfish request...but please allow me to eternalize you in writing..."

You and L spend the night and into the next day talking and sharing experiences, every bit on the conversation written diligently into the notebook. L rests the notebook on their lap with slight hesitation. They understand what it would mean to finalize the document, but you both have come to an unspoken understanding that your time is only moments away.

L gently places the pen into your hand, trying stawartly to keep from crying as they explain to you. "The last thing written is always from the subject."

You begin writing slowly, the ink cascading across the paper in smooth, shallow arcs. As your consciousness fades, the writing dims, until eventually the pen rests at a standstill on the edge of the paper. L grips the pen and paper with extreme delicacy, as if handling a prized treasure, and looks over the document. They're unable to contain the inevitable fit of sobbing as they reach your writing, small droplets landing on the edges of the paper and slightly staining the ink.

"I can never repay this...Thank you..."

V: they stand rigidly at attention by your bedside as the news is broken to both of you. No questions were asked by the soldier as they evaluated the information given.

"A day." V repeats, "A day..." they stare down at their hands, slowly counting down before reaching a single digit on their finger. They stare at their hand momentarily before closing it into a full fist, the pure tension of the grip causing it to shake before suddenly opening their hand.

"Why?"

They seem to be directing the question at no one in particular, but the word still bounces around the room. Why this? Why now? The situation provides many questions, but it's now that V attempts to recognize an answer for themself, and when none come, they turn to you.

"I'm not ready. Commander, I need training. Let's train." They lean over the railing, their grip on the bar tightening, "Teach me. One day. We have one day. Tell me how to think alone."

The two of you spend the night and into the day relaying partial philosophical topics directed to the development of independent thought.

"I need...a goal...To establish a want...An independent motive...A drive..." V repeats the concepts slowly. Time seems to slip away as the two of you further your contemplation, but its soon you realize you'll reach the end of the road. V seems to understand much the same as they witness your shift away from consciousness. They grip your arm like a steel vice, "It hasn't been a day yet. I still dont know. You can't leave yet. Commander, I..." for a brief moment you see a brief expression of fear flash across their face, "I dont know what to do."

Their grip on you doesnt lessen as you pass, and V stands rigidly while staring down at your calmed passing expression. Eventually, their hand slowly loosens its grip, and the brief stirring of emotion is once again replaced by the familiar hollow mask.

"Commander...what do I do...without you?"

P: Their grip tightens on the collar of the doctor's jacket, their voice shaking with barely tempered rage, "No cure? What the hell do you mean theres no cure?! You call yourself a doctor?!" They seem about ready to strike the doctor, but at the last second they loosen their grip. As the doctor retreats hastily from the room, P slumps in the chair beside your bed and runs a hand down their face.

The room is silent; a feeling of momentary purgatory hangs in the atmosphere. The next time P speaks, its through the hand covering their mouth. "Look what you've gotten yourself into this time, dumbass...You couldn't-" you hear a subtle break in their voice, and P quickly runs their arm over their eyes as they change the topic.

You spend the rest of the night and into the morning bouncing from subject to subject, sometimes retracing the conversation back to a moment where P almost says something, then retracts the statement. You both come to the realization that your moment is near, and you feel a desperate grip on your collar pull you forward slightly.

Hey, hey! You're not supposed to leave yet, dumbass! Why are you-" their voice cracks again and you see water well up in the deep blue pools of their eyes, but this time they dont attempt to wipe them away. "Why are you leaving, dumbass? What happened to keeping your promise? Huh?!" They grip you tighter as your consciousness fades, as if letting go would be the reason for your passing.

Eventually, P realizes you've left. Their grip releases slowly, and they stare at their hand in shock. They begin to shake violently, and their foot kicks out, landing solidly on the monitor placed next to you. The loud crashing of metal landing against polished tile rings out through the hallways.

"Damn it...Damn it!" P throws a vase of flowers against the wall and looses their anger on anything not nailed to the floor. By the end of their rampage, charred scrap litter the floor and walls, and they're breathing heavily from the exertion.

But their rage only solidifies the pain.

"Damn it..." P collapses to their knees. "Damn it..."

#triaina academy #Xeno #you asked for this pain #haha

[taexual]

HOLIC - 47 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angst

words: 2.9k

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Your first stop after you wrapped up at work – and didn’t kill anyone in the process! – was Mark’s bar. You had a feeling Jaebum wouldn’t be there – and he wasn’t – but you were hopeful to, at least, learn a little more about which friend he was staying with. You hoped it wouldn’t be Jackson – you didn’t have anything against him but, after having run into him when you were with Jiho, you still felt embarrassed and, honestly, ashamed – but, after Mark poured you a drink and told you that he hadn’t seen Jaebum in a while, you realized Jackson was going to be exactly the person you’d have to contact next.

“I fucked up,” you told Mark, two shots in. “I really, really did.”

Judging from the sympathetic look on his face, he seemed to understand what you were getting at. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do,” you said, recalling the last time you’ve gone to Mark to talk about what was bothering you when you should have really gone to Jaebum. “But not to you. No offense.”

“None taken,” Mark replied and, echoing your thoughts, added, “it’s Jaebum you should be talking to anyway.”

You merely nodded, lowering your head afterwards. “Yeah. I’m working on that. He’s not exactly making it easy for me to contact him right now – which is fine. I deserve that. A-and, at this point, it doesn’t even matter if he’s going to forgive me. Maybe I don’t even deserve that—”

“No, hey, d-don’t say it like that,” Mark cut you off, albeit reluctantly. He wasn’t going to pick sides—that was far too childish—but he had to admit, his judgment was somewhat clouded by his decade-long friendship with Jaebum. “You hurt him by not telling him about this but, aside from that, you didn’t actually do anything wrong. I think this is something that talking can solve.”

You didn’t reciprocate Mark’s positive attitude. But, thinking about this objectively, you figured that if you’d have been less upset with yourself right this moment, you would have probably agreed with Mark. There was nothing inherently wrong with wanting to establish your career the way you did – publicity was a key element – and yet you’d felt uneasy about Jiho from the very beginning, so nothing could have justified your reasons for leaving Jaebum in the dark about this part of your life.

“Well, I just want to talk to him so he’d stop overthinking this. If he doesn’t forgive me, that’s fine. He just needs to know what really happened,” you said, toying with the edge of your shot glass, the vodka inside of it looking remarkably dull. Not even alcohol could have pumped the much-needed adrenaline into your veins right now. “I didn’t keep quiet about the whole ordeal to hurt him. I kept quiet because I’m stupid and I should be—”

“Okay, listen, this is a bar, so I get my fair share of customers who try to drown out their self-pity in drinks,” Mark interrupted, taking the shot glass from you. “And, usually, I don’t interfere but you’re a friend, so I’m going to have to cut your supply short.”

“Mark—”

“No, this is it. No more vodka. No more wine,” he replied, his voice almost terrifyingly strict. “Take a deep breath, get up, and go do what you came here to do.”

You sighed, spinning around on the barstool and then climbing off of it. You leaned against the bar – a miserable expression on your face – ready to stand up, but not quite ready to leave to look for Jaebum just yet, even though Mark was right. You had come to his bar to find a way to boost your courage and find a way to contact Jaebum – you shouldn’t have deviated from the plan, no matter how appealing the thought of drinking into oblivion seemed.

“I just—God, I never should have let this get this far,” you mumbled despite yourself and then, after seeing the pity in Mark’s eyes – because he didn’t have what else to say – clenched your hands into fists. “But you’re right, yeah. Of course, you are. I fucked up and I need to fix this—do you… uh, is there any other way for me to get in touch with Jaebum? He’s ignoring my calls and texts.”

“Of course he is,” Mark said. “I’d say to just wait it out but it looks like you’ve waited enough. And you probably have a point – the more space you give him, the deeper this will get into his head.”

“I don’t want it to,” your face was in your hands. “He doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t do anything wrong to be suffering. That’s why I need to talk to him but I—shit, I don’t know how to reach him.”

“Explaining and letting him decide sounds like a good, mature decision. That’s what he deserves,” Mark decided. Hearing his tone take a turn for the happier – he obviously supported your plan – provided you with the much-needed courage. “I-I guess I could call him to see where he is.”

You didn’t think it was fair to ask him to do this and yet, since Jaebum wasn’t staying with Mark, you knew you’d have to ask someone to help you find him so you nodded gently and lifted your eyes to his.

“Could you, please?” you asked. “Just find out where he is, don’t even mention me. I’ll—I will do the rest myself.”

Mark nodded in response and leaned down to pick his phone up from underneath the bartop. He didn’t appear hesitant as he dialed the phone number and you were grateful for that. Perhaps enlisting the help of Jaebum’s friends and, thus—to put it aggressively—getting his friends to plot against him, wasn’t the fairest way to solve this, but, at this point, the lines between what was fair and what wasn’t had blurred so much, you couldn’t even see them anymore. You were willing to take any sort of measures to get to talk to him.

“Hey,” Mark said into the phone after a few seconds, and, even though you couldn’t actually hear Jaebum’s voice over the noise of the bar, his presence was suddenly so much closer and you felt your stomach clench in anticipation. “What’s up?”

You weren’t sure what Jaebum replied with but, judging from Mark’s grimace, it wasn’t something pleasant.

“No, I’m fine, yeah,” Mark said. “I just called because I picked up a few extra shifts and I thought I could do with a familiar face or two in the crowd, you know what I mean? You busy this—oh, with Jackson? Are you, uh—oh. Do you—okay, you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Well, call me if—hmm, yeah. Okay. Bye.”

The conversation didn’t seem particularly enjoyable and even Mark himself seemed surprised by how short it was.

“Yeah, he’s not in a very good mood,” he told you then, putting his phone back. “But I don’t think it’s because of you. Apparently, he’s with Jackson and the creative process isn’t going well. I’m assuming he’s writing—”

“—a song, yeah,” you closed your eyes for a long moment, resisting the sudden urge to slam your forehead against the bartop and stay face-down in this bar until… well, for as long as Mark would let you. “He might not be struggling because of me but I’m still part of why he’s struggling. I have to—that’s not good. I need to see him. You said he’s with Jackson?”

“Yeah, he said he’s at the studio,” Mark replied. “He’s probably staying at his loft, too.”

“I’m not really sure how I feel about getting the cops called on me if I show up there unannounced,” you bit your lip, your mind swarming with various plans. “Maybe I should try calling Jackson first to see how he feels about helping me.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t like to have you arrested, either,” Mark said. “Calling seems smart.”

You nodded, your hands already shaking just from the thought of having to talk to Jackson again. A part of you already knew you would have to do that even before Mark found out about Jaebum’s whereabouts but you still didn’t feel any more prepared for it.

“Thank you,” you said to Mark then. “For everything. I know Jaebum is your friend and you should despise me by default but—”

“Oh, come on,” he shook his head. “That’s kindergarten rules. We’re all adults here. We help each other out, especially if we can see that two people are obviously meant to be together and they need some outside force to help them find their way back to each other.”

A sad smile appeared on your face as you asked, “you really think it’s that simple?”

“I do,” Mark confirmed. “And it is. It’s our anxiety that overcomplicates everything.”

Having spent your whole life philosophizing about every single decision you’ve ever had to make, you couldn’t quite imagine what it was like to live life differently. To just follow the path the universe laid out for you without questioning if every step you took was the right one. To not suffer from anxiety each time you ended up taking a step in the wrong direction. It all seemed foreign to you.

“Hmm. Thank you for that tidbit of wisdom, too,” you said. “And for the drinks. And for—you know what, just thank you for being born.”

Mark laughed at this and gave you a quick salute when he saw you head towards the exit. “Good luck!”

Calling Jaebum a thousand times over proved to be remarkably easy in comparison to dialing Jackson’s number only once—even if you still had alcohol lingering in your bloodstream. That was probably because, when you called Jaebum, you already knew he wasn’t going to answer. But with Jackson… well, he could pick up the call. And then you would have to actually open your mouth and find the words to say. Words that would efficiently explain why you’d acted deceptively for so long – although, the more time passed since Jaebum left, the more convinced you were that you’d have needed a psychology degree to understand why you allowed yourself to take this secrecy so far – and would also convince Jackson to help you get in touch with Jaebum.

You even debated writing a speech but realized that Jackson would probably see right through you. As someone who worked with music for most of his life, he was probably fairly adept at telling when people were reading their notes and when they were speaking from the heart.

Your heart was terrified, however. Terrified and most decidedly mute. You didn’t know what to say – begging seemed like a great option – and you were scared of Jackson turning you down. He was, at the moment, your only bridge to Jaebum because you weren’t quite ready to break into Jackson’s house and talk to Jaebum face-to-face without anyone’s help. Jackson was your plan A and you were afraid of the lengths your plan B was going to make you go in order to achieve the same result.

“Hello?” Jackson’s groggy voice picked up your call. He was a huge ray of positive energy when you saw him for the first time, so it was almost concerning to hear him so serious.

“H-hey,” you started and, not bothering with an introduction, headed straight to the point, “you probably know why I’m calling.”

“I—yeah,” Jackson said. He must have recognized your voice—or, at least, the desperation in it. “Jaebum—he’s… well, he’s here. He’s with me.”

Your heart was really giving its all at pumping blood. You could feel your pulse in your temples, thud-thudding against the telephone you kept firmly pressed against your ear as if your heartbeat could have asked the question you were afraid to voice.

“Can I… talk to him?” you managed, your voice breaking and vision blurring.

“I’m not—I don’t know,” Jackson said and, before you could begin hyperventilating, he continued to explain, “we’re back at my place. The… the writing didn’t go so well, so he’s locked up in my guest bedroom. Last time I checked up on him, he was frantically scribbling something on paper, so I’m—yeah, no, he’s busy.”

Incoherent scribbles on paper could have been a very accurate description of what you were feeling – and thinking – at the moment, as you clutched the sheets of your bed with your free hand.

God, this was precisely the sort of ill-timing that made people give up on each other: you’ve kept quiet while Jaebum needed you to speak up, and now that you were finally ready to talk, Jaebum didn’t want to listen. You could almost smell the end – the ultimate end – and notice the shades of red flames in the horizon – although you couldn’t be sure if that was just your heart or your entire life burning up.

You couldn’t let your wrong decisions ruin the one right one. You couldn’t let the pain of yesterday annihilate every promise of tomorrow.

“Listen…” you started, the ball of regret in your throat making it difficult to get the words out, “I told him. I just—I didn’t even get a chance to follow up anything I’ve said with a proper explanation because he just bolted straight out of the door. And I… I don’t think it’s my stubbornness that’s forcing me to call him every five minutes just to see if I could make him see things from my point of view. That’s not it. I do think I owe him an explanation but he deserves the right to decide which way he’s going to be looking at things. In any case, I need to talk to him and I—h-he shouldn’t be staying locked up at your house, Jackson. Not because he thinks I did something I didn’t actually do—”

“But you did do something,” Jackson cut you off but his voice was gentle. He sounded like he wanted to help and, while you really wanted him to do just that, you also felt like you didn’t deserve his kindness. “You lied to him about what was going on in your life. And this might have been, arguably, one of the most important experiences ever for you, you know what I mean? You cut him out from this big part of your life, he’s—well, he has a right to feel hurt.”

“He does! But, God, I don’t want him to,” you were suddenly talking much faster, trying to race the tears that were coming. “I want to give him my reasons—I-I selfishly want him to hear all of my excuses. So, then maybe he could focus on hating me instead of feeling hurt. I’m the only one that should be suffering here, really—”

“No one should be suffering,” Jackson declared. “This isn’t a Shakespearean tragedy. Far from it, in fact. I… Jaebum sort of overworked himself today, I don’t think he’s slept the night before. Although, God knows, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. B-but I assume you do, too.”

“I—well, it doesn’t matter,” you lowered your eyes, scanning the wooden tiles of your bedroom floor. You’ve stared at them before but never realized how foreign and completely unfamiliar they seemed even despite living here for months. “All of this is my fault, anyway.”

Jackson exhaled and remained silent for a beat or two before finally saying, “I will think of something.”

Your throat had suddenly dried up as you croaked out, “y-yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I promise I’ll find a way for you to talk to him.”

The sudden feeling of hope was like a jolt of electricity and you leaped to your feet, your lungs taking advice from your heart and going into overdrive as you struggled to find enough time to exhale before you needed to inhale again.

“Jackson—I—oh, thank you,” you spoke rapidly. “Thank you so much, I—”

“I can’t promise that he’ll listen, though,” he warned – which was fair. “But if he does, then—well, just remember to tell him everything you’ve told me that night, okay?”

You had a feeling Jackson meant one part of your conversation with him in particular – the part where you admitted you loved Jaebum – and you nodded furiously before realizing he couldn’t see you.

“I will,” you promised. “I’ll tell him everything. Every single thing. I will not stop talking until he’s sick of me. I just—I need him to know that I—”

“Good,” Jackson cut you off, helping you realize that you were already starting to say the things you should have said to Jaebum. “I know he wants to see you, too, but he’s far too upset to admit that right now. I’ll call you later, okay?”

The supportive tone in Jackson’s voice almost caused the tears that had pooled in your eyes to stream down your face in a pathetic shower of sorrow. Both Jackson and Mark had been so supportive of your relationship, you were afraid to think that they might have been more hopeful about your future with Jaebum than they should have been.

“Yeah, okay,” you said, sitting back down on your bed to hopefully slow yourself down. “Look after him for me, please, okay? Make sure he eats and gets some sleep.”

“I—” he started to say but your unexpected request seemed to surprise him. “Yeah, of course. I will. Take care of yourself, too, yeah? Everything will be okay.”

“Hmm,” you exhaled slowly. “I hope so.”

      chapter directory

#got7 #jaebum #im jaebum #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #fanfiction #got7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 angst #im jaebum fanfiction #im jaebeom #im jaebum fanfic #jaebum fanfiction #jaebum fanfic #got7 x reader #got7 au #roommate au #e2l au #enemies to lovers au #got7 enemies to lovers au #got7 roommate au

[svprncva]

𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁

𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Alex 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂: She/Her 𝙰𝙶𝙴: 26 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚉𝙾𝙽𝙴: CDT (GMT-5) 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂: None

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁

𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Sirius Black 𝙰𝙶𝙴: 21 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: Pureblood ( begrudgingly ) 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼: Samuel Larsen, Jordan Rodrigues, Sebastian de Souza 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙷 & ����𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝚃𝙻𝙴:           Sirius Black in a position of authority, can you believe it? He certainly couldn’t, not when the Cannons first approached him about accepting a coaching position. Sure, he had a brief stint as a beater on Gryffindor’s team, but a poor practice attendance record and a penchant for less-than-textbook sportsmanship on the pitch ensured that he didn’t last a season beyond his fourth year. He was by no means an authority on technique or strategy when the job was handed to him, though judging by the Cannons’s previous season, no one on the team seemed to have a grasp on such matters.            Vastly under-qualified, Sirius accepted the position as assistant coach and started the next week. After a single day on the pitch, he realized why they had come to him. They didn’t need another mastermind, they needed unity, and Sirius’s reputation for rallying the dead preceded him. If anyone could spark a flame from a dying ember, it’s Sirius Black. And if they need a morale booster to masquerade as a coach, he’s more than happy to wear orange.  𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙳𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴: Chudley Cannons  𝚆𝙰𝚁 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴: Order of the Phoenix  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝚁𝙲:           There are a thousand ways to sugar coat it, but quite frankly, life isn’t easy for Sirius at the moment. He’s always been cursed to be trapped between who he was and who he aspires to be, but since graduating from Hogwarts, each year has come with apathetic standardization of the world. Gone are the days where black was black and white was white. Now gray surrounds him, dogs his every step and haunts his dreams.             See, when he was younger, his moral compass was perfectly aligned. No, he wasn’t a saint, but it was easy enough to look around and figure out what he should be doing, thinking, saying. Anything that angered his family and made his friends grin was bound to be a step in the right direction, another leap towards becoming the man he always felt he could be. Redundancy solidified certain behaviors, but after he stepped foot off the Hogwarts Express for the final time, he was forced to realize that a life can’t be dictated by the reactions of other people, try as he may. Graduation meant it was time to carve out a place for himself in the world -- this time without real-time feedback from professors, friends, enemies. Sirius had the rest of his life to establish, and the freedom of choice began to take its toll after a year or two of liberties.             Never did Sirius expect freedom to be his downfall, but as drunken nights gave way to midday sunrises, he could feel himself sinking into the guilt of the stagnant. He’d spent the entirety of his teenage years in the pursuit of becoming a good man, and he spent the first few years of his adult life believing he had somehow achieved that goal. But the empty whiskey bottles and crumpled bed sheets read otherwise, and someone was wise enough to tell him that not everyone that happened to join the Order was inherently good. It jarred him, that conversation. War beckons good men to conduct bad deeds -- and at the end, when the victor has been declared, who is to say that the guilt of those deeds won’t outweigh their intent?            Extrinsic guidance ripped away, Sirius was forced to begin the arduous process of making his own mistakes, learning the weight of regret, the sleeplessness of second thoughts. It motivated him initially, but a lack of experience brought about failure. He applied to be an Auror and was promptly rejected. He worked at the Leaky for a fortnight before throwing in the literal towel; the regulars came with more baggage than there was room. He even tried to work as an auto mechanic in Muggle London only to quit after being told on the daily to fabricate problems for income. The entire world was open to him, but he has yet to find a place within it.             So when the Cannons offered him a coaching position, no matter how utterly absurd, Sirius accepted. He’d been recruited, told that there was a chance he could bring value to a team. He would never let it show, but he’s desperate to feel that sense of belonging he felt five years ago in the Common Room without a care in the world except for how to sneak in his next pack of smokes. After giving up his family and feeling friendships weaken amongst the war effort, he needs someplace -- someone -- to call home. And little does he know just how vulnerable that need makes him to the influence of the Insidio phenomenon. He’s staunchly against the mission of the Death Eaters, but he’s in search of open arms and with a high enough dose, he just may find them on the wrong side of the war. 

𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆:

“'ELLO, HOWDY, HI - CAN I SPEAK TO YOU FOR A MOMENT? I JUST NEED A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME, HI, HELLO - HEY, I’M WITH THE QUIBBLER, YEAH! WOULD– GEEZ, WOULD YOU LIKE TO ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS! IT’S FOR THE SPORTS COLUMN, ON PAGE 17, YOU CAN’T MISS IT!”

Sirius laughed as the overeager reporter stumbled up to him, seemingly tripping over invisible shoelaces. “The Quibbler, yeah? You’ve got about as good a reputation as my team,” he said. There was no need to elaborate on which team. His jumper was that awful shade of Cannon Orange, a brand unto itself. “Happy to give you a bit of content, though I fully expect to be front and center on the cover.” A quick smile, effortless if a bit tired. The Cannons had been grappling for pitch space recently, and that meant everyone’s schedule had to be... flexible, to say the least. He’d seen more sunrises than sunsets this week. 

The reported nodded and brushed off the lapels of his coat. For as much a mess as he appeared, Sirius should have expected the upcoming boom of another innocent-yet-abrasively-delivered question. Should have. Instead, his brows shot towards his hairline as a stranger shouted at him from point-black distance. “HOW COME YA ALWAYS HANGING AROUND HERE?! DO YA WORK HERE OR SOMETHIN’?”

“Something like that. The Cannons keep putting galleons in my vault at the very least,” he answered, consciously keeping his tone level. It’d always been easy for Sirius to become swept up in the tides of other people, especially those with louder personalities. If he weren’t careful (or exhausted), the interview would devolve from interrogation to screaming match. “Sirius Black, assistant coach of the Chudley Cannons. If you need a snazzy byline, feel free to call me Quidditch’s Savior.”

The reporter softened a bit and almost looked as if he were going to laugh. But then his quill touched parchment, his brow furrowed, and a second later another question errupted from his lips. “WHAT’S YOUR GOAL, THEN?! WHAT’RE YOU TRYIN’ TO DO? WHAT’S YOUR DYIN’ DREAM, PAL? WHAT’S THE POINT OF IT ALL?”

"Getting awfully philosophic for a sports column, aren’t we?” Again, Sirius’s voice was light, but something within him had seized upon hearing the question. What’s the point of it all? He’d asked himself that nearly every night for the past year, and he wasn’t any closer to finding an answer now than he was then. 

Quidditch wasn’t that deep, no need to go scurrying about the shadows. He’d keep things light. It was his job, after all. “I’m rebuilding the best team Quidditch has ever seen. Everyone’s counted the Cannons out for the season, and it hasn’t even started yet. I can’t wait for the first game when you all see what I’ve been seeing out on the pitch during practice. This year’s team has spirit to match skill, and we’ll be taking the cup this season.” A quick flutter of something like hope erupted within him. It was a fool’s hope, he knew that, everyone knew that, but it felt good to drown doubt with conviction. “That’s a promise, by the way.” 

Another flurry of the quill, another shifting of the reporter’s weight as if the world was forcing him off balance. Sirius slipped his fingers into his jeans and found himself rocking back onto his heels. He was about to walk away when the next question hit him like a bludger from a blindspot. “YA GOT ANYONE YOU’RE GOIN’ HOME TO? YOU HAPPY? YOU TAKEN? THEY FAMOUS? WHAT, A GUY CAN’T ASK A QUESTION?!”

Blind-sighted but laughing, Sirius clapped a hand against the reporter’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to start up a gossip column on the side or if you’re making an offer. Either way, color me flattered. But the answer depends on the night, and considering we’re on the record, I’d rather avoid giving you a straight answer.” He winked and let his hand fall back to his side. 

Across the field, a separate voice thundered: “Coach Black! Practice started ten minutes ago!” 

“That’s my cue,” Sirius said. “You know where to find me if you have any follow up questions, don’t be a stranger.” As Sirius walked away from the interview, the question unanswered nagged him: You happy? He swallowed it and stepped into the locker room. Maybe it was a good day to grab a broom and join his players on the pitch. 

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙴𝙾𝚄𝚂:

PLAYLIST

PINTEREST

MOCK BLOG

AESTHETIC

BAD HABITS

GOOD HABITS

EXPRESSIONS OF LOVE

(LINKS TO COME AFTER ACCEPTANCES)

[gunnerpalace]

hey there! so i used to be a huge fan of bleach, and loved ichiruki, and i was reminded of them today but i haven't been involved with the fandom since the series ended. however, i've heard of different variations of why the series ended/ships happened the way they did, and was wondering if you knew or could direct to me a post that explains that? i apologize if i'm bringing up bitter feelings, but i've always been curious if bleach's ending was a big FU from kubo or if he always intended rr/ih

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a post that really goes over it structurally in that kind of way (from a shipping perspective). I’ll get back to what you actually asked me after some asides, because it’s not so simple to just analyze the ships in a vacuum.

I’ve had my own post about why the ending was a fuck you moment, thematically, because it failed to resolve any of the themes and momentum of the series in a way that would be appropriate (either internally or in the context of the supposed genre of shounen.)

I would also say that the ending was a fuck you moment in terms of lore, backstory, and mystery, because all of the historical and political dimensions (i.e., things involving the Soul King and Great Houses) were unceremoniously shuffled off to Can’t Fear Your Own World. Not that any of those things were ever brought up properly in the manga to begin with; the proper and natural time for that would’ve been at the conclusion of the Soul Society arc, when Ichigo and co. spent a week there, which we saw none of. So I would say that everything in CFYOW is basically retconned bullshit hung off prior convenient plot hooks, and that the same was true of TYBW and LSS/TLA/Xcution as well. There may have been some notes and forethought, but it’s about as “valid” as Kevin J. Anderson and Brian Herbert’s Dune works are compared to the original Frank Herbert ones; it’s second-hand, at best.

(This is setting aside that Bleach was clearly made up as it went along. For example: Noriaki literally admitted that he didn’t know who had killed Aizen in Soul Society until he realized that Aizen not being dead was the most shocking answer; the clear baiting and abandonment of Kisuke as the villain hinted at through various means such as his unclear and later retconned reasons for being exiled, and so on. Bleach was very much a J. J. Abrams-style mystery box work that was made as it went with, at best, rough notes, which is why its themes and focus change, for the worse. I also have a post about why it stopped being special, which is part of a running series I intend to write on how to rewrite it to fix and preserve that)

The best recent thing to compare it to is, really, HBO’s adaptation of Game of Thrones, wherein D. B. Weiss and David Benioff openly admitted to removing or deemphasizing story elements, and ignoring themes in adapting the work. The difference is that Bleach was not being adapted from anything; it degraded due to its own creator not understanding what he had created.

(To put it very simply, because this would be the point of Hyperchlorate Part II and would take a whole post to explain: the ending of the Soul Society arc did not properly establish and flesh out Soul Society as a place with a history, space, and purpose. Instead, the Arrancar and Hueco Mundo arcs decided to be a thematic inversion and deconstruction of the Karakura and Soul Society arcs. This again had an ending that did not establish or flesh anything out after Aizen’s defeat, with an even greater diffusion of focus onto ancillary characters. The Xcution arc tripled down on this by addressing something entirely new and retconned in, only to abandon it midway through in favor of going back to invoking Soul Society. And Thousand-Year Blood War took all of these problems to 11. tl;dr: Noriaki tried themes, people hated it, and so he just shoved in more and more dumb sword fights between people nobody cared about, half of whom hadn’t previously existed.)

So, let’s get back to your question. Let’s talk about ships. I’ve clicked a lot of keys and spilled a lot of ink on this subject over the years, but I no longer particularly feel like searching my own archives (really ought to go back through and organize them better) beyond this post and my own follow-up to it about the chronology of IR interactions, so I’m just going to repeat myself.

First, let’s say that Bleach was not ever a manga about ships.

I’m not disavowing that what Rukia and Ichigo had was special. That was called out multiple times through the focus of the art, the dialogue, and by the characters themselves. (Directly by, for example, Orihime’s outright statement to the effect in Soul Society, and her later jealousy regarding it. Indirectly by, say, Uryuu’s acknowledgement that him saving Rukia first would piss Ichigo off. In fact, the biggest indirect indicator doesn’t even involve Ichigo and Rukia; Shunsui asks Chad why he’s there and Chad says he wants to save Rukia, Shunsui calls bullshit that two months isn’t enough time to risk your life for that, and Chad agrees and says he’s there because Ichigo wants to do it. Shunsui moves on, but his argument is left hanging: why was two months enough for Ichigo? Because, as Orihime will later say out loud, Rukia is special.)

What I’m saying is that that was never the focus. It was explicitly constructed that way.

How do I know? The Grand Fisher fight. The Grand Fisher fight is emotionally charged, bringing up both Ichigo and Rukia’s greatest traumas, and is their one real moment of not understanding each other for a time. It was a triumphant moment that made them truly glad to know one another, and you can see it in their reactions afterward (Rukia thanking Ichigo for not dying, Ichigo asking Rukia if he can keep being a Shinigami). There was a lot to unpack there, and you can see it in the way they look at each other.

What happened immediately after the Grand Fisher fight? Noriaki skipped a whole month. We go from June 18th of 2001 to July 17th of 2001. He deliberately skipped all of the emotional impact of that event, and Rukia being around for Ichigo’s 16th birthday. Just never happened. We never hear about it. Wasn’t his focus as a writer.

Now, I’m convinced that was because he was scared of what he had on his hands. He wasn’t willing to commit to either a couple’s battle shoujo or a shounen with male and female seemingly-heterosexual co-equal deuteragonists who clearly had a strong emotional bond. More specifically, he wasn’t willing to make Rukia a centerpiece of the manga despite having designed her first, having made her the moral and philosophical core of his manga, and having based Ichigo entirely around completing and complementing her. But hey, that’s just my opinion, right? Except it kept happening.

From the Grand Fisher fight onward, the name of the game in the manga, structurally, became keeping Ichigo and Rukia apart.

The moment she was taken back to Soul Society, her prominence dropped. We got emotionally charged scenes of them regardless. Right at the conclusion, after yet another emotionally heavy set of Ichigo and Rukia interactions, we again skip almost a month, from the end of the first week in August of 2001 to September 1, 2001. (Due to some completely unnecessary timey-wimey bullshit with the Precipice World.)

In the Arrancar and Hueco Mundo arcs, they have roughly a day together over the course of three months. What happens after every meeting? They’re shuffled apart and split up, and we cut away. This time, for over a year!

Ichigo and Rukia again have a very emotionally charged meeting in the Xcution arc. And what happens at the end of that arc? We skip ahead another month to TYBW. (Xcution ended sometime in May of 2003, TYBW starts June 11, 2003.)

And in TYBW, Rukia and Ichigo barely meet up at all. Indeed, the focus is scarcely upon them.

In CFYOW, neither of them even appear, let alone have any relevance to the plot.

The implication, in my opinion, is pretty obvious: Noriaki was deathly afraid of dealing with the outcomes of their interactions, and that ultimately became him being deathly afraid of allowing them to interact at all to begin with. Why? Well, as I said in one of the last linked posts:

As an author, sometimes you will find your characters will do things you didn’t anticipate or plan for, and you’ve got two choices: you can go with the flow and do what’s natural and deal, or you can fight it and try and impose your vision anyway.

He refused to let his art take the direction it needed to go in.

Now, some people might say he got bored of them, or of having them together. I say that’s bullshit. And the reason I say is down to three things:

He didn’t ignore them, he did his best to keep them apart. I outlined this above.

He did not emphasize anything or anyone else instead. His focus was all over the place. While, admittedly, Ichigo’s prominence also declined, so did everyone else’s.

It would have served him well to focus on their interactions to expand his universe and explore its lore. The things that were detailed in the databooks and CFYOW could’ve been presented naturally and easily if they were together. But that came with a cost of shifting the focus. A cost he refused to pay.

Let’s talk more about (2) and (3) now.

Regarding (2), Chad and Orihime are inextricably linked in Bleach, because they essentially have the same relationship to Ichigo. “But Orihime loves Ichigo, and Chad is his no-homo bro!” someone proclaims. So what? They’re presented as equal and parallel at every step.

They both gain their powers at approximately the same time.

We are told they gained their powers due to the Hogyouku (in Rukia at the time) interpreting their wishes (and no one else’s, such as Tatsuki, Keigo, or Mizuiro), meaning they probably had the same strength of desire.

They both go to Soul Society “for Ichigo.”

They both utterly fail against Yammy and Ulquiorra.

They both spend most of the Hueco Mundo arc doing nothing.

They are both featured prominently in the Xcution arc, and both fail to see through Tsukishima’s powers despite their love for Ichigo. (Meanwhile, Byakuya coolly tries to murder someone who he thinks is his mentor, in Ichigo’s name.)

They both get sidelined in Hueco Mundo with Kisuke in TYBW, doing little to nothing.

They both are utterly ineffectual in the final fight in TYBW.

They are often portrayed together, they are often as effective as one another, and they are equally as developed in their relationship to Ichigo going forward, which is to say: not at all. The loss of focus on IR did not come with an attendant rise of focus on IH, any more than it did with the sudden rise of IchiChad. Nothing was built in IR’s place. There was no emotional or human content which filled its gap.

This is where the IH ending coming “out of nowhere” stems from: it indeed came out of nowhere, because Ichigo was never shown to have any interest in Orihime in all this time, nor an especially close relationship with her. He never hangs out with Chad or shows a bond with him either. He never hangs out with anyone, in fact. (Indeed, “friends” in Bleach do not do any of the things that friends actually do in real life. Nor do parents. You might say that interpersonal relationships and communication largely don’t exist in Bleach. But that’s its whole own topic.)

I would honestly say that more time and emphasis was given on Ichigo’s pseudo-surrogate mother relationship with Ikumi than was spent on him interacting with Orihime. (I would say Noriaki has serious hangups about relationships of any kind, be they romantic, familial, or friendly, and also has some severe hangups regarding mothers and fathers, but that is also its whole own topic.)

Regarding (3), Noriaki apparently wanted this big, Game of Thrones-style world with a long history and political machinations and so on. This is the whole point of TYBW and CFYOW. Trouble is, early Bleach was successful because of its small-scale intimacy. So how do you go from one to the other? You have to lay the foundations at every step. And Noriaki steadfastly refused to do so at every step. Having Ichigo and Rukia interact, and focusing on Rukia while Ichigo was sidelined without powers, would’ve permitted that organically. Indeed, if RR was the endgame, it would have given time to establish that, were it his desire. (Because Rukia never showed any interest in Renji, and frankly Renji always seemed way more preoccupied with Byakuya.) It didn’t serve his goals, but he did it anyway.

It’s much simpler to say he lost focus, and that he started to hate the manga as a whole. Why else would you have Mayuri fighting a giant hand when that achieved nothing, and Kenpachi fighting Thor when that achieved nothing? It became empty. Hollow, you might say.

But that takes us back to the question you posed: where did the ships come from? Nowhere. IH, RR, and fucking TatsuKeigo weren’t established anywhere. They just appeared. Why?

Well, why did every single character wind up doing the exact opposite of their intended and stated goals in the end?

Why did Soul Society revert to its previous attitude and rebuild the Sokyouku?

Why did nothing get resolved?

Why did nothing change?

Why was it all revealed to have been completely and utterly pointless?

In my view, it’s because that ending was a giant fuck you to the readership and Shueisha. There is no other way to interpret an author pulling a 180° and completely nullifying their characters’ arcs, and their work’s themes. Aizen’s little speech at the end is the cherry on top. I read it as Noriaki saying that he’s showing “courage” in telling us all to fuck off.

As to why? That’s an open question. His relationship with Shueisha was contentious, so maybe he was mad at them. (They gave him a deadline once he was dragging his feet, and reclassified Bleach as a joke manga.) His readership was on the decline after the Soul Society arc ended, so maybe he was mad at the audience. I don’t know. I also don’t really care. What I am convinced of is he decided to blow up his franchise and to not leave a single stone unturned when he did so.

That’s where that “ending” comes from, which is why despite it featuring IH and RR, both are thoroughly unsatisfying and without setup: it was the only way to piss absolutely everyone off, including people who wanted that outcome.

In a way, it was his greatest success since the early days of the manga.

Anyway, this was messy, but it’s not a simple topic to address. The tl;dr is that Bleach was a trainwreck from the very beginning that only succeeded on the merits of its characters, and that Noriaki deliberately avoided the promise it had to be something unique and grand. The ships are just a part of that, and cannot be understood in isolation from it.

#Asks #Bleach

[green-blooded]

Hokay, I'm starting Star Trek: Beyond. Going to rant again... maybe say some positive things here and there. Does McCoy get to be a character in this one? Guess I'm about to find out.

Summary:

(Because he did! And also other words! So there’s still some negativity here, but I liked this one best out of the three movies.)

What.... are these aliens. Why do they look like this. Why are they gargoyles. Why are they attacking Kirk. Why is this happening. Why is this in a Star Trek. Okay. I'm. Trying. Let me enjoy this. Let me try to enjoy this. I will stop being grumpy.

Haha he ripped his shirt okay you got me but if the nipples aren't out it doesn't count.

McCoy is onscreen early in a corridor walk that they could've easily left him out of, so that's a good sign? They were a trio for a second.

Why are they showing all Kirk's uniforms as the same? Where is his fat shirt? This is important to me, okay. Wait, I said I wasn't going to be picky.

Whoa, McCoy has a second scene already!!!!!!!! Oh they're having a whole interaction oh no it's cute. WHY IS McKIRK THE ONLY THING I LIKE IN THESE MOVIES? "You know me, Mr. Sensitive." Oh no he's so cute.

MCCOY'S CONTINUING TO BE IN SCENES AND ARGUING WITH SPOCK. It's still about nothing because these movies don't do deep conflict, but. Y'know. There was a tiny trio moment again. I'm being positive.

Okay, those were a lot of establishing shots for Yorktown, so I hope it's actually important...

MCCOY IS IN ANOTHER SCENE WOW.

Oh yeah this is the one where they kinda let us know Sulu's gay? I forgot about that.

Oh no don't make me cry about nimoy please i don't want to deal with real emotions watching these movies. :(

Some of this does feel vaguely Star-Trek, even though it's still taking place in such HUGE environments that it throws me off. Every room is so POINTLESSLY huge.

Um... we're leaving Yorktown so I'm continuing to wonder if those establishing shots meant anything...

The CMO is on the bridge where he belongs, thank you.

Oh, did they let the lady characters have rank now? Soooo progressivvvve.

Do we really need to completely destroy the Enterprise in every movie? Like. Gosh. Where is Kirk's weird sexual attraction to his ship that makes him want to keep it safe? He's sexually attracted to everything ELSE in this version.

Oh my god are Spock and McCoy getting to do something without Kirk there???!!! ARE THEY CHARACTERS????

Everything is so spaced out on the bridge that Kirk has to be standing at the nav station to talk to someone in another part of his ship???

Newer versions of Star Trek keep putting the "evil" aliens in five hundred pounds of latex and makeup... you don't have to make the aliens less humanoid to make them threatening if you just... write better. Also maybe stop creating evil aliens.

I really have no emotional reaction to seeing the Enterprise being destroyed two movies in a row. I don't even have any emotional attachment to this version of the ship because it looks so stupid inside.

... We couldn't get the red alert sound right? Really?

Too much action too much action too much action. Please give me a story so I can care about what's going on.

Once again the gravity situation shows why the Enterprise shouldn't have such huge interiors... I know I'm going on about that a LOT, but it's one of the stupidest design choices in these movies.

WHY DO THEY THINK WE CARE ABOUT THIS VERSION OF THE ENTERPRISE WHEN THEY HAVE MADE NO EFFORT TO MAKE IT FEEL LIKE HOME OR EVEN A SETTING IT'S JUST A BUNCH OF STERILE LIGHT FIXTURES.

Pointless action sequence with Scotty just... getting out of his escape pod. Cool.

Why put Uhura with an alien race where she could use her linguistic skills and then just have them know English? Sigh. Oh well, at least she's getting a scene to herself. Like she's her own character or something, wow.

Hello Spock and McCoy interacting! Thank goodness for small mercies. But a little less exciting when they have no established relationship to this point, but it's fine.

Oh wow they're having a conversation that could be considered somewhat philosophical. Someone saw a Star Trek episode before writing this!

The hot alien lady seems like a D&D character, but that's fine.

I appreciate McCoy yelling at Spock for collapsing in pain. But like, a caring kind of yell. Good job Urban.

I really do keep zoning out during action scenes. I barely know what's going on in the Kirk scenes because it's just a ton of action that doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Like... the character who has already lied... lied again. Wow.

I really would like to have some emotional reaction to characters running around the wreckage of the Enterprise, but I don't. :(

Goodbye pointless alien who screwed everyone over a lot.

"Federation has taught you that conflict should not exist." No, these movies are just really bad at it, latex face alien.

Ooookay, we established Yorktown so we should care that this alien guy wants to destroy it because he hates unity or something. Cool.

Spock and McCoy scene okay. And we directly mention philosophy! Blunt, but cool. Again... it's just hard to get into it because there's nothing established with these characters, since these movies are more into action than character. But that was a good moment between them. Like... McCoy saying he'd throw a party if Spock left doesn't work because we have seen hardly ANY of the banter between them. It's relying on what we've seen in TOS... But Spock laughing was cute.

I like Jayla a lot. She's definitely a Star Wars character, but it's fine.

Lol they had to give us a ship older than the Enterprise to find one that looked a little bit like a Star Trek ship. Sigh. But at least they're doing it.

I love you Karl Urban for trying so hard to sound like you're from Georgia. I forgive you for, y'know, not.

OKAY AGAIN... the "Of course I care..." etc lines are good, but there is NO HISTORY BETWEEN THESE CHARACTERS BECAUSE YOU JUST MADE EVERYTHING ACTION SCENES AND THE ONLY FEELING I HAVE ABOUT THEM CAME FROM DE AND NIMOY.

He just yelled at Spock for collapsing in pain again, which is just the best.

Spock: [dying a lil]

McCoy: DAMMIT SPOCK STOP THAT

Gotta say... I did like the moment where Spock looks to McCoy when Kirk says he needs him to stay alive. All I wanted this whole time was the trio.

Okay, McCoy calling Uhura's necklace a tracking device, then saying that he's glad Spock doesn't respect him--when literally a few scenes ago, Spock said he did respect him--is kinda great. Especially since respect in this scenario is, like, a way of Spock saying he has romantic feelings for Uhura? Beyond is bringing Spones back into the picture, and it's not perfect, but I'll take it.

Scott saying "she's lost people too, Captain" was good. It was real good. There are good moments in this one, thank goodness.

Holy goodness, they're letting Scott be a character too! They're letting everyone be real characters instead of just scene dressing for the Kirk and Spock show!

I appreciate Kirk calling everyone Mr. Whatever and McCoy is just "Bones."

McCoy saying "I'll keep an eye on him" about Spock oh no. Oh no it's cute.

Wow this dumb motorcycle scene is Very CG.

The main storyline of this movie is Also Very Bad, but I can deal with bad plots when there are good character moments.That's why I can watch the worst Star Trek episodes for the most part... So Beyond is capturing the feel of a bad Star Trek episode, which is an improvement from the first two movies.

On the other hand, while I would like to try to judge these movies on their own merit, I CAN'T because they lean on the original series. The Spock and McCoy interactions are just one example where all of the emotion and development was actually in the series, but now I'm supposed to apply it to this version of the characters who have never shown any connection before now. So, I have to compare them to TOS and it's just not going to come out well for AOS in any department but special effects and budget. (And Pine being more likable than Shatner as a person tbh.) Then even the relationships they HAVE developed in the show, like Spock and Uhura, make me feel very little because they didn't develop them well. Again, action scenes take precedence over development, and it makes the entire thing weaker.

But little moments like Kirk going to save Jayla when she thinks she'll be left behind, which calls back on the moment with what Scott said about being a team... that was a good within itself because it didn't rely on anything from the original series without entirely deviating from the spirit of it! I wish moments like that weren't so rare in these movies.

Were all those establishing shots like an hour ago really enough for me to care about what's happening to Yorktown? Not... not really? I mean, it's sad, but. I don't know anything about this place. The only ones I have any connection to are Sulu's family, and that's only because I like Sulu...

AHHHHHHHHHH MORE SPOCK AND MCCOY um... do you see how easy i am to make happy like... i could have easily loved these movies if they'd done a little better

Scott and Jayla are really cute engineering buddies and this is one thing that's 100% AOS that I really appreciate.

This is how I feel when I hear the Beastie Boys too. (Not in a good way. Not a fan.)

Hey guess what I'm about to say! Guess what it is! If you guessed "This action sequence is too damn long" then you get no prizes because it's pretty much a given at this point.

.... Krall is Idris Elba? I could've been looking at Idris Elba this whole time? Stupid latex.

This... reveal makes... no sense? I mean, on the plus side, I guess this means that the evil latex face aliens weren't evil aliens, but bad Humans... Still not great that they use latex to other characters and make them more ~scary~ imo.

Also, this is... basically the same reveal as the Khan reveal, just slightly less stupid because we didn't already know this character like we knew Khan. But they literally did the "different name, and then we find out who they are" thing twice in Into Darkness... seems weird to do it a third time for Beyond.

ALLLLSO I'm really tired of every conflict in these movies being resolved with fighting... isn't the theme of this very movie about how conflict is something we're moving beyond as Humans?

Are McCoy and Spock still just flying around? I'm confused. Too much action has happened and I can't tell who is doing what. I only know Kirk is in danger because people keep saying he is.

Oh, okay, they were still just flying around so they could save Kirk at the last minute. Which is goofy, but okay. Gotta love Kirk continuing to give Spock all the credit when McCoy is the one saving him. GREAT LOVE THAT SO COOL.

Love that Spock's conflict about leaving Starfleet to help his people is literally the exact same in these two movies.

Oh no they're bringing back Nimoy related thing to give me emotions again. Don't do that. You didn't earn my love of Nimoy, movie.

OH NO THERE'S THE PICTURE PART THAT I WAS TOLD ABOUT OH NO MY FEELINGS. OH NO.

Oh, Karl Urban. I appreciate your accent efforts.

....... lol that look Spock and McCoy exchanged about the necklace. Um. Okay. I won't read into that, don't worry, not at all.

HEY HEY HEY THEY LET MCCOY JOIN THE KIRK AND SPOCK SHOW AT THE END WOW THANKS IT'S LIKE IT'S NOT JUST THE TWO OF THEM. AND NOW THEY'RE ALL DOING THE "THESE ARE THE VOYAGES" SPEECH. That's a nice touch.

Okay, this one was the best of the three movies by a lot. Still not. Y'know... great. But they introduced a new character I liked. They had some good Spock and McCoy moments, even if they pretended that the TOS relationship was intact. They let Uhura exist outside of Spock for a while. Scotty got some really great moments. Overall, I'm not as angry as I was while watching the other two!

But now I'm going to watch some TOS, and the next episode I have queued up is Journey to Babel, so. I'm much happier about that. (Yes, this is a call back to the gif I used up top. Look at me, tying things together like a cohesive story would.)

#negativity

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 4

Tephi: Okay, guys, it's that episode. And, as I told Ranubis, I would like to speak for my discipline and say that we do not condone Tucker's actions. #not all biologists (You know what, it's really hard to try to be funny after reading this recap, so I'm going to stop.) Onwards with Brotherhood! Last time the Elric Brothers revealed a corrupt priest, and now they’re going to report to Colonel Roy Mustang. And learn about bio-alchemy, according to the last post-credits? Let’s get to it!

We get the Narrator recapping last episode, and he says the priest used alchemy and… ‘a’ Philosopher’s Stone? Wait wait wait, what? He had the real thing? ...that raises many questions, some of which I asked last time. I’ll just keep watching to see if I get some answers this go-around. Ok, never mind then. Should have waited a few more seconds until the Narrator said “revealed to be a fake.” Episode 04: “An Alchemist’s Anguish” Well that’s not an ominous title at all. Late at night in Central (is that the town’s name, or just the keep?) with a freaking-huge moon taking up most of the screen. A State Alchemist is walking along a street and good Leto man, what is going on with your mustache?! Hold on, have to take a screenshot.

What, did you strap a boomerang to your face? How much mustache wax do you use to make those razor-sharp points? Really now, that’s just excessive. Ahem. Anyways, Mr. Mustache comes to a stop and grunts. He sees someone? [Scar] “You are Basque Grand, the Iron Blood Alchemist… correct?” Huh. So we’ve got a name for Mister Mustache, but given how we’ve never seen him before, and someone apparently named “Scar” is confronting him at night… taking all bets folks, how long is the Fresh Meat going to last? My money’s on him bowing out in under a minute. Waitaminute, I recognize you from the intro! Your sunglasses don’t fool me, you’re that guy with the white X scar on his face! Appropriate name, I guess. He says Alchemists who have turned against God shall be punished. Another Leto follower? So Basque recognizes him as a “bloodthirsty murderer” who’s been targeting State Alchemists lately… which implies that he’s faced multiple Alchemists, and is here to tell the tale. Uh, Basque? Buddy? You think you might want to call for some backup against someone who’s faced a bunch of… nah, nevermind. You go ahead and equip your engraved gauntlets, I’m sure you can handle it. Ooh, nice power! Punch the ground and summon a bunch of cannons. How effective is it? Not at all! Some chains! The same. Stick him in a vault? Maybe- oh come on dude. “That wasn’t so difficult”? You’re just asking for it now. Yup, grabbed by the face. “Now you perish.” And oh jeez that face-zapping was uncalled for… and right past the minute mark. Seriously, that “battle” went from timestamp 2:54 to 3:54. I think Scar’s credentials have been established. Hey, I know that voice! And THAT voice too! Good to see you guys again, Hughes and Armstrong! And… oh dear. Hughes warned Armstrong to be careful, that he could be the next target, and The Mighty Armstrong… just said “Understood.” No bravado, no boasting, just business. This is serious, isn’t it? Fuhrer Bradley/Fury arrives at the scene, and every Alchemist immediately salutes. Fury looks over the scene, and authorizes Hughes as the officer in charge of the case any additional personnel he needs to track down the traitor. The next day at Central, Riza’s doing paperwork and hands something to a Lieutenant Breda, and ooh a cast of unique characters sitting at a table? Breda gripes about the Colonel letting work pile up, asks for Havoc to help but the blond guy says he’s got enough already. Then [Falman] identifies some guy in the paperwork as a crooked State Alchemist that the Elrics exposed. Messing with a radio is a little guy with glasses, Master Sergeant… aw come on, really? *Sigh* Guess I have to give up on Fuhrer Fury, since we’ve got this little guy named Fuery now. Way to ruin the joke, dude. Anyways, Fuery’s saying he’ll probably have to replace the radio’s receiver… when a familiar white glove in a red sleeve reaches into frame and touches the radio, leaving it good as new. Man, Alchemy sure is handy. Good to see you guys! Now hurry up, the Colonel’s expecting you, and wipe that grimace off your face. Congrats on the Liore incident are in order, although Ed gripes that he didn’t do it for them. And the stone ended up being fake, but Cornello still got power from it. How does that work? Neither brother knows much about the field of bio-alchemy. Roy recommends they consult a specialist, pulls a file on The Sewing Life Alchemist, Shou Tucker, who’s done research into chimera transmutation. Well that’s nice of- for Leto’s sake Ed, stop ranting at your boss. He is your boss, remember? But Roy insists he’s trying to repay them for the Liore case, as “doing you a favor is better than being indebted to you.” Panning across the city now, Roy talking about how two years ago Tucker transmuted a chimera that could understand human speech, earning his certification as a State Alchemist. So it could talk? Huh, interesting. I assumed chimeras were brute-force creatures like the one Cornello used. But bio-alchemy can create communication-capable creatures? Not sure what to think about the ramifications- Oh what the hell. Concerns multiplied. “It only said one thing: ‘I want to die.’” And then it refused to eat until it got its wish. Um. Ok. I am now rather suspicious of bio-alchemy. Standard alchemy that we’ve seen has mostly been similar to basic magic or elemental control. But creating a communicative creature that wishes only for death? That sounds more like the thing a State Alchemist would be sent after to shut down, not say “Nice job, here’s a badge!” Alright, moving on. The Elrics and Roy are at a house now, Ed’s remarking on how big it is- Dog! Giant dog just glomped Ed, Al’s all worried about his big brother who’s stuck under a cheerful dog. Then the door opens? A little girl (Nina) tells her father there are people outside, he gently reminds her this was why she needed to keep the dog tied up. Heh. Inside, the camera’s panning over a bunch of dusty books and scrolls, and some very… used dishes in a sink. Tucker apologizes for the mess, ever since his wife… “ran out”? What’s the story there? Tucker fixes some tea, says that he’s pleased to meet Edward. And he’s more than happy to show his research. However, he does ask that if he’s showing some of his tricks, that Ed could show some as well. “It’s the code we live by - equivalent exchange.” EEC: 7 Outside, Nina’s playing with the dog, braids it a headband of flowers. Daw, that’s cute. Bit of a contrast with the inside, as it seems Ed’s told Tucker the story of their attempted Human Transmutation. Which begs the question, if Human Transmutation is taboo, what makes bio-alchemy different? In any case, Tucker lets the Elrics take a look at his laboratory- gah! Head in jar! Cerberus creature! Lots of other creepy stuff in jars! Guh, I’m not a big fan of biology, sorry. Tucker’s apologizing, saying he’s regarded as an authority on chimeras, but it hasn’t been going well that lately. What does that mean? They move on, reaching Tucker’s library and forget the creepy lab I wanna be there now. Look at all those books! The brothers dive into reading, and Roy says he’ll head back to work and have someone pick them up in the evening. But Ed doesn’t even hear Roy he’s so focused in the book. Tucker chuckles that they don’t even know they’re there anymore… Um, Tucker? What’s with the glasses push and grin? Like, you smiled in the lab at one point and I didn’t mention it, but now here’s a second smile and a glasses-push? Really getting some Bad Scientist vibes here. What’s going on? Uh, ok. Moving on, it’s later and Ed’s surrounded by piles of books now. Al’s over by a shelf with his own and- hey, it’s Nina! The little girl just poked her head around the aisle to look at the giant suit of armor, runs off when Al notices her. Then pokes her head back around to [Playful Music]. Ed breaks out his studies at hearing [childlike laughter], walks over to see Al giving Nina a piggyback ride. Daw. But of course Ed has to be a grump, yell at Al for playing horsie instead of- Dog! And Nina says Alexander wants to play too. Ed enters Dramatic Mode, saying that the dog’s bested him twice, but no more! And Ed races after the “mangy mutt”, while Nina just laughs. Late afternoon now, Havoc is telling the “chief” his ride has arrived. Ah, Havoc was sent to pick the brothers up. And looks like Ed wasn’t very successful against Alexander, he’s down for the count again. Havoc’s walking the boys out now, passes on a message to Tucker that “Assessment Day is coming soon”. What’s that? And why was Tucker so serious when he said that he knew? I’m guessing it’s like a checkup exam for SAs, to renew their certification. *Sigh* Look, Tucker? I’m getting a lot of mixed signals from you. First you made a creature that wished for death, but then you were a kind father, then you smirked and did a Glasses Push, then you made a dog pun, but now you’re all serious about “Assessment Day” and clutching the door handles? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to think about you. Nina asks what “Assessment Day” means, Tucker confirms SAs have to do a research report once a year to keep their certification. Last year Tucker didn’t get a very good evaluation, and unless he does something really impressive this year he won’t be a State Alchemist anymore. Nina proclaims that Tucker will do great, with how much he studies. But Tucker just [laughs nervously], says that he’ll try hard… ‘Or we’ll be left with nothing… again.’ Bad feelings keep gathering. Not sure what’s happening. [Sentimental Music] the next day, the Elrics are back and studying. Al’s talking with Nina about her mother, who left two years ago to live at her parents’ house. Why’d she leave? I mean, Tucker said she “ran off”, did they have an argument? Assuming about his studies or something, not sure why though. She was clearly with him long enough to have a child who I’m fairly certain is much older than two, so she would have been around for all the bio-alchemy. So what caused the split? Al remarks that it must be lonely, the two of them in a big house. But Nina’s happy with her daddy and Alexander. Although Tucker’s been studying in the lab all the time lately. Cramming for his exam? Ooh, flashback! Baby!Elric Brothers looking through a door - hey, I know that hair! That’s that blond ponytail guy from the intro, can’t see his face to confirm the beard but I recognize the ponytail! So he’s the absent Elric father? What’s his story? Ed just shut his book? Oh, good for you! He claims his shoulders are stiff, and when Al suggests he move around some Al goes and challenges Alexander again. Daw, props to you Ed, putting aside studies for Nina. That’s really nice of you. As [Goofy Happy Piano] music plays, Ed runs around with Nina chasing him on Alexander. But then he turns the tables, transmuting his arm into a sharp-toothed puppet (complete with the little spring of blond hair) as he chases them! Al serves as a slide for Nina, Alexander gets the drop on poor Ed again… lots of happiness and laughter outside. But inside… Tucker’s sitting at a table, head in his hands. What’s wrong? Why are you so worried about Assessment Day? You’ve done it before, right? And you’ve been studying like crazy. So what’s the problem? Back in Central, Hughes is wondering about Scar, why he’s targeting State Alchemists instead of easier targets like the military police. Armstrong thinks that the fact they’re State Alchemists is the reason he’s attacking them. But for what reason? Their pay, their status? Or failure to uphold their creed: “Alchemist, be thou for the people.” A concern that alchemists are supposed to be pillars of science and truth but are turning into weapons for the military. And there are many people who have not forgotten the role of State Alchemists in the Ishvalan Civil War. There’s Ishvale again, another mention of this mysterious conflict prior to the show. What’s the story there? It’s been mentioned so often I know it’s gotta come up soon, but right now I know next to nothing about it. What was the deal? An orderly interrupts the conversation, reports that a man with a large scar on his face was seen the night before at the train station. So he got away? Later that day, [Melancholy Music] at Tucker’s house, where he’s telling the Elrics about life before his State Alchemist certification. The family was poor, Mrs. Tucker couldn’t stand living like that, and we’ve got a picture of Tucker and the wife yelling at eachother while Nina cowers behind Alexander. Jeez. Tucker’s saying he can’t afford to fail the examination. Hmm, maybe you could ask the Elrics for help? I mean, they’re crazy-good at alchemy, I’m sure they could help with your studying. Or maybe take up Nina’s offer of her and Alexander growling at the test-givers until they say yes. Aw, Tucker just offered to play with Nina the next day. Yeah, there you go, spend some time with Nina, then study with the Elrics until you’re ready! The next day… it’s really cloudy. Why is it cloudy? Oh no. No no no. Do not do this to me, show. You do NOT make things go bad when they were so cute earlier. Do NOT do this. Ok, so what’s going to happen? Doorbell’s ringing, but no-one is answering. Al opened the door, called for Mr. Tucker, but nothing. Al and Ed are walking through the house, calling for Tucker and Nina, but nothing. And I mean nothing, there isn’t even any music playing right now. Door opens to to what no nonono nonononononononononono tucker is kneeling in front of something something with dog paws and long brown hair what did you do what the FUCK did you do “I did it boys. I finally did it.” A chimera that understand human speech. Ed. Al. What the hell are you both doing just standing there. Do you seriously not realize what’s going on. Do you realize where Nina Nina The thing is just repeating “That person… Ed… ward.” I don’t want to see this. “Big Brother Ed.” And the penny drops. Ed asks when Tucker first got his certification. He confirms it was two years ago. And his wife “left” two years ago too. Oh, don’t you act so surprised that Ed figured it out so quickly, you bastard! Ed, kick his teeth in! Did… did you really just say “this is how we progress” in regards to transmuting your dog and your own daughter to make this creature?! To maintain your fucking CERTIFICATION?! Human experimentation as a necessary process? For WHAT?! You’re comparing yourself to Edward, saying you’re the same? Far from it! He made a mistake trying to bring back a family member! You’ve used yours to get paid! Al just grabbed Ed’s arm, said that if he keeps the beating up that Tucker would die. I am really, really having a hard time seeing that as a bad thing right now. Oh. “Edward… no.” Not in front of his daughter. “Daddy, do you… hurt? Daddy?” I can’t. Al’s apologizing to… the chimera. Saying that with all their power, they can’t change Nina back. The chimera just asks if they can play. And Tucker just rants about how he “passed.” Riza and Roy are discussing the case. Ed and All are sitting on the steps outside of Central in the rain. Roy tells the Elrics that they are likely to see more cases like this in the future. And have to get their hands dirty. Then he asks if they’re going to shut down like this every time. Ed says that them being called dogs of the military, cursed as devils… it doesn’t matter, they’re still going to get their bodies back. They’re not devils. They’re not gods. They’re only human. They can’t… “even do anything to save one innocent little girl. So what good are we then?” … In a room, the chimera and Tucker are facing each other. Tucker is whining about how “no one’s capable of understanding me.” And then someone enters the room. It’s Scar. “You’re Shou Tucker, correct?” … … ...do it. But the chimera saw it. Scar walks towards the chimera. “God… hear me. Two human souls have just been returned to you. Please accept them into your loving arms. Please grant these poor, lost souls everlasting peace and salvation.” ...credits. “The rain pours down in East City. Still grief-stricken over the death of Nina, Ed and Al are attacked by the mysterious man, Scar. In a moment of crisis, Ed must make a desperate decision, while the life of his brother hangs in the balance. Next time, on Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood-” Episode 05: Rain of Sorrows”

#where my twin watches #wmtw #ranubis #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 4

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Star Wars OC Fic: Behind the Scenes

Here are my first round of rough notes for a new fic involving my OC Lana Solo.

I thought it might be interesting to show people at least some of the process behind writing a fic.  This is more structured than my one shots, or even some of my longer fics as they are more spur of the moment inspiration.  So, in a way, it makes is perfect for this little experiment.

If artists can show their WIP then so can fic writers.

This is copy and pasted from a Google Drive file. I’ve made no edits since I wrote it last night.

The Force Awakens Notes

Opening crawl

Leia has sent her daughter and most daring pilot? (No, save the reveal)

Leia has sent two of her most daring soldiers?

Leia has sent her best fighter and most daring pilot?

Jakku

Lana is down on the planet with Poe

In tent with Poe?

Lana is more personally invested in getting to Luke

“Something surge inside Lana, holding the little chip in her hand.  It was something she had not allowed herself to feel in a long while; hope.”

Outside keeping watch with BB-8?

Space out the character intros

Gives time to introduce her thoughts and cautious hope before the First Order arrives

First Order arrives

Poe turns to Lana as if to check with her; she nods knowing they have to choice but to run

They head back to a two man ship; freighter? Ship like they had on Hoth?

Ship is damaged and they can’t take off

Lana knows who’s coming; tells Poe to take BB-8 and run

“Poe, take this and run.” She shoved the little bag into his hands.  “No, I’m not leaving without you.” “We don’t have time. Take the coordinates.  Take BB-8 and run as fast as you can. I’ve got a plan. It should buy you enough time.”  “The General--” “Will understand. You trust me?” “Always.” “Then go.”

Poe runs into the desert with BB-8 behind them

Lana grabs and blaster and joins the frey.

Kylo Ren lands on the planet

He starts to question the old man, making a move towards his light saber when Lana steps out

Kylo stops himself mid swing to look at her; she’s holding up her hands, her blaster dangling form on of her fingers

“Hey.”  “Lana.” “Nice to see you too.” She kept her voice calm and light.  “There’s nothing for you here Ren. I tried, it’s a dead end. Leave this place and no one else has to get hurt.” “You’re not in a position to make threats.” “I’m always in a position to make threats.  Don’t start a fight you can’t win.” “We’ll see” Kylo then cuts down the old man.

Lana moves for her blaster and gets a couple of troopers before Kylo pulls the blaster out of her hand

Another blaster shot comes from behind the ridge; Kylo stops it with the force; Poe has doubled back to help Lana and is now caught with the Force

Troopers come to retrieve him

Lana puts up a fight, but one of the troopers raises a blaster to Poe’s head and she immediately stops

Poe is forced to his knees while Lana is restrained by two Troopers

Scene plays out “who talks first”, both Lana and Poe are taken aboard

First Order Ship

Lana is placed in a separate cell from Poe

The troopers pulled her in another direction.  “Lana,” Poe called, starting to fight against the troopers.  “Where are you taking her?” “Quiet scum.” “Poe, it’ll be alright.”

Kylo Ren comes to her first

“You might as well take off the mask and relax.  There’s no hiding yourself from me. 

“I can’t hear you.  Why can’t I hear you? I can’t even sense you. Are you that afraid?”  “Ben, whatever it is you think you have to do, you don’t. We miss you.  I miss you.”  

Kylo raised his hand.  Lana suddenly felt a sharp pain in his skull, but it was familiar pain, manageable and easily ignored after a moment.  A small smile came to her lips. “That’s not going to work”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter.  The pilot will tell me everything I need to know.”  “He won’t. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just some pilot that gave me a ride.” “Even after all these years, you’re still a terrible liar.”

Kylo goes to interrogate Poe

Taunts him about Lana?

Finn gets Poe out: Poe agrees to help Finn but insists he can’t go without his co-pilot

Finn gets Lana out

As Finn is leading her out, Lana decides to jump him knocking the blaster out of his hands and even managing to get her bindering under his helmat to strangle him

Poe jumps out of his hiding spot.  “Lana! Whoa.” “Poe?” “Stop, he’s on our side.” “Oh, sorry.” She loosened her grip.  Immediately the trooper pulled away, taking his helmet off the breath. Lana paid him little mind as she went straight to Poe’s side.  “Kriff, what did they do to you?” Poe waved her off. “I’m fine, what about you?” 

Finn, Poe, and Lana escape the First Order

They commender a 4 person armed ship; Poe transfers the controls to his counsel, Finn and Lana man the guns

They all crash on Jakku

Jakku

Finn wakes up first to find Lana laying not far from him; he shakes her awake as they both head to the crashed ship

Lana desperately grabs for the ship as it goes under only for Finn to pull her away

Lana stares in shock at the place the ship used to be, breathing hard; Finn lets her sit there a while before cautiously tapping her shoulder; she turned, no tears, no fear, no anger, nothing but blank features meet him

She silently stands and starts to walk, Finn follows

Outpost

Finn and Lana eventually make it to the outpost; while Finn searches for water, Lana starts asking around for a radio

Lana spots BB-8 after Rey lifts the bag over his head; sees Rey start to run in Finn’s direction and runs after her

Rey felt something cold and metallic against her neck.  “Drop the staff or you do,” a calm voice came in her ear. She did as she was told.  “BB-8, you okay,” the woman asked. BB-8 gave a string of affirmation and a quick assurance Rey helped him.  “Sorry about that,” the woman said, dropping the metal from her neck. “Finn, you okay?” “Yeah,” the young man said, starting to pull himself up.  Rey turned around to see the woman standing behind her, completely unarmed. “Where’s the blaster?” “No blaster,” the woman said. She then raised her hand, revealing a small piece of metal tubing.  “Neat trick huh?” 

Lana goes to comfort BB-8 and checks to see if he still has the map to Luke

The First Order spots them

Once Lana spots the Falcon, she makes a B-line for it.  “Where are you going? That ships’ garbage!” “Trust me! Sometimes you need garbage.”

Lana goes straight to the co-pilot seat and starts getting the ship prepped while Rey gets into the pilot seat; “Have you flown a ship like this before?”  “A few times.”

The Falcon

Lana, Finn, and Rey all properly introduce themselves

Lana finds some of the tools buried in one of the hiding hold; helps Rey with the repairs

Han finds them in their hiding hole.  “Lana?” “Hey Dad.” “Dad?” “What are you doing here?” “I’m on a mission, what are you doing here?”

“Your father is Han Solo?  Your name is Lana Solo?” “Yeah.”  “And you didn’t think to mention it?” “I don’t know you, kid.  Dad, you have to let us take the Falcon. I’ll bring it right back after this is all over, you know I’m good for it.” 

Lana is hidden along with Finn and Rey in the vents? Gets seperated from them at some point to fight along side Han

Lana is up top with Han? Tries to help him bluff their way out and is with him during the attack; establish Dad and daughter fighting duo 

Lana takes care of Chewie; directs Finn to take the top gun and he starts firing on the gangs

Snoke

Scene in the throne room; establish officially Lana as Ben’s sister

Ben tells Snoke Lana is cut off from the Force?

On the Way to Maz’ Castle

Lana opens up her arm, revealing her right arm is robotic and starts cleaning out the sand.  “It’s rude to stare.” “What happened?” “I lost my hand. You should see the other guy.” 

“So, your father is Han Solo.”  “Obviously.” “And so, that would make your mother, General Organa.”  “Yep.” “And therefor your Uncle is…” “Luke Skywalker, what’s your point, kid?”  “Can you use the force?” “Have you seen me use it?” “Well...no.” “Then what do you think?” Rey paused a moment, unsure of how to proceed.  “How did that happen,” she asked, indicating Lana’s hand. “I lost a fight,” Lana answered. “Are you going to keep asking the obvious questions?” It was then Finn stepped in.  “Wait, your mom is Leia Organa, right?” “We’ve established this.” “So, does that make you a princess?” “See! A not obvious question. Yeah, I guess, technically. Can you be a princess of a planet that no longer exists?”  Finn stopped, opening and closing his mouth with no explanation. “Question for the philosophers,” Lana said, with a wink. 

“You can ask,” Lana said.  Han sighed. “How’s your mom?”  “You’ll see when you see her.” “Lana--” “I said, you could ask.”

“I’m surprised you only have these two with you.  I thought you and that Dameron kid were tied at the hip.” “He’s gone.  Dead. Died on Jakku.” “Lana…” “Don’t. I can’t...we need to get BB-8 back to the Resistance.  We just need to focus on that.” “Alright starlight. Alright.” 

Maz’s Castle

Maz confronts Lana about her not fully joining the fight after Finn goes and Rey goes after him

Maz knows Poe is gone upon seeing her?

Lana basically tells Maz she closed herself off for good reason; if she’s going to fight The First Order, it’s going to be on her terms

The First Order Attacks

Lana sticks with Han; Finn gets to use Luke’s saber

Maz offers it to her, but she refuses, telling Finn to take it?

Kylo doesn’t sense Lana and Lana doesn’t sense him

Troopers surround them and then the calvery arrives

Lana watched as the ship danced across the sky, taking one ship after the other is one graceful motion.  There was only one pilot in the whole galaxy who could fly like that. “Yeah!” Finn joyously yelled. “That’s one hell of a pilot!”  “I’m going to kill him,” Lana mumbled to herself, staring in wonder at the sky.

Lana sees Kylo Ren taking Rey to the ship; both she and Finn start running towards it; Lana firing her blaster the entire time

Leia lands; she and Lana hug before she tells her that Poe is awaiting orders

“Black Leader, this is Commander Solo.” “Lana?” Poe’s voice called back frantically.  “Lana, you alright?” She almost lost it then and there. He was alive. “Yeah Poe, I’m ok,” she said keeping her emotions in check.  “What about you?” “You kidding me? Top of the world.” She could hear the sounds switches and button’s being pushed. “I’m landing now.  Red Leader, Blue Leader…” “Belay that order.” “Lana--” “Commander,” she said in a familiar tone of authority, “that’s a direct order from the General.  All X-Wings are to remain in the air while we wrap up on the ground. We don’t want to risk being unprepared if the First Order decides to turn around. Is that understood?” There was a beat of silence.  Lana could practically hear Poe’s face scrunching into annoyed resignation. “Yes ma’am,” he confirmed rather stiffly. She couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, I don’t like it either. I’ll see you when we get home.”

D’Quar

Lana goes with Leia in the command ship back; Lana was hit during the battle at Maz Castle and sent to the medbay?

Lana and Poe reunite after he introduces Finn to Leia

Lana immediately hugs him.  “So, you would miss me,” Poe teased.  “Shut up Dameron.” That made him pause, and he held her a little tighter.  “Hey, it’s alright. I’m alright.” “Just don’t scare me like that again.” “How do you think I feel about it?  I guess we worried each other enough for one week.”  

“Did something else happen?”  “I’m going to have to do something.  Something I haven’t done in a while and I don’t know what will happen when I do it.” “What are you talking about?” 

Lana goes with Finn, Han, and Chewie to Star Killer Base

Before leaving she goes to her bunk and opens a box; inside are two lightsabers, she takes both in hand, connects them together and ignites it; two green blades appears on both ends

Star Killer Base

Lana doesn’t open herself up to the force yet; she doesn’t want to risk Kylo knowing where they are

Lana doesn’t step in on Finn and Rey’s moment, she does check that Rey is okay

Lana goes with Han and Chewie to set the charges; she’s in the center, Chewie is up top and Han is at the bottom

Lana stays hidden as Han goes to confront Kylo Ren

Kylo Ren kills Han

Lana screams; it tears at her throat and her heart

The troopers come to her level, but she fights them off easily

She starts running down towards Kylo Ren, letting the Force flow through her as she does

It crashes over her, throwing her mind into chaos with wild and untamed power

She sees Kylo Ren in the forest and calls out his name

He turns to her.  “You plan to kill your own brother?”  “My brother has been dead a long time.” She ignites her saber.  “I’m here to avenge him.” “So be it.”

She and Kylo Ren fight.  It’s brutal, lashing out in hard unchoreographed bursts. Rey and Finn watch in horror at the spectacle. That's when Lana yells at them to get back to the Falcon. It's the opening Kylo Ren needs to cut off her hand leaving an exposed sparking mess of melted metal and wires. Lana lashes back, impaling him with her destroyed hand, but it's no use. Kylo tosses her aside and makes his way to Finn and Rey.

Lana cuts off Kylo’s hand making his turn to the dark side symbolically more official?

Also makes his fight against Rey tougher

Kylo knocks out Rey, leading to his fight with Finn

Rey gets her “oh shit” moment bringin Luke’s saber to her

Lana wakes up to see Rey crying over Finn’s body

D’Quar

Upon returning Leia starts walking towards Lana, but Lana can’t bring herself to even look at her mother and heads straight to the medbay without a word

Lana gets her hand replaced, but no skin over it leaving the metal open and exposed

The Resistance holds a funeral for Han?

Lana doesn’t cry; her face is blank the entire time

Poe tries to talk to her, but she snaps at him saying he can’t possibly understand what the hell she’s going through spitting any sympathy back in his face

Lana joins Rey and Chewie to find Luke; Rey leaving with hope while Lana looks on with revenge in her heart

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x oc #star wars oc #sw oc #the force awakens #star wars #lana solo #fan fic notes #my oc stuff

[planetsam]

Michael Guerin, Space Pirate

Huge shout out to @signoraviolettavalery who made a great post about a Martian au that I cranked up the angst on by deciding Alex would be a great space voyeur to Michael’s space pirate. 

Being stuck on the graveyard shift feels oddly appropriate.

He thinks Michael would have loved the irony of it.

Alex takes a long drink from his coffee. He watched the launch after it happened, in one of the staff break rooms. He didn’t think much of it, only the 3AM shift he had the next morning was on his mind. Now he wishes things were different. Not that he fully expected his high school fling to remember him, or to realize that he was working for NASA as well. Alex is in SatCom, he monitors their satellites. Eyes in the sky, some people call him, but he likes to think of himself as an Interplanetary Voyeur. Most of his education and training goes to waste. He didn’t mind it when he felt like he was a part of something bigger than himself, making sure that everyone got home safely. 

Now when he looks at the red planet, all he thinks is how Michael finally got his wish. 

Michael always wanted to be part of something bigger. He also wanted to get the hell off the planet. Alex remembers their endless conversations about it, laying under the real stars when they could and the fake, tacked on stars when they couldn’t. Michael found his way off the planet. And was the most popular astronaut to boot. He was the only one surprised at that. Alex saw his face everywhere. Each time it kicked up a gut punch of emotions. Mostly now it was a sadness that was far too familiar when it came to him, to them—now though there was a finality to it. The idea that Michael would be bones on Mars and the only way Alex would ever see him was in old footage was borderline incomprehensible. For the moment Alex let himself not think about it and focus instead on his job. The storm had cleared and he focused on what they could see. It was highly unlikely they would ever see Michael’s body, the dust storm would have buried him. But Alex hopes he does. Michael deserves that closure.

Taking another hit of caffeine, he turns to scrolling through the pictures and cataloguing things that have shifted in the dust. He frowns and zooms in towards the HAB. Alex refines the pictures, teasing out a clearer image. He can picture the conversation in his head, he knows the exact arguments. He brings up the images from the past few days. The way things have shifted does not line up with what is in front of him. The solar panels should be completely covered, but they are clean. Spotless, or as spotless as anything gets on Mars. He looks again and triple checks just to make sure. The chance is impossibly slim. But his hand is already reaching for his phone. He thumbs in the number for security.

“I need the emergency contact number for Dr. Kapoor,” He says, “this is Alex Manes in SatCom.”

“Are you sure it’s an emergency?” The bored voice asks. Alex isn’t sure of anything at the moment.

“Yes,” He says instead.

The head of the mission is wildly above his pay grade and Alex has been raised to respect the chain of command. Why his violations of it seem intrinsically linked to Michael Guerin is something he doesn’t have the capacity to figure out at the moment. Not after the phone rings twice and he hears the man on the other end clear his throat. God, he’s woken his boss up at 3:35 am. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, sir, this is Alex Manes in SatCom,” he says, “I think Michael Guerin is alive,” there is a distinct bang and a groan, a whispered apology and the sound of feet moving, “the solar panels are clean.”

“And you’re sure it’s not the wind?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, glancing up at the screen as the next round of images come through. He almost drops the phone, “sir, the Rover has moved.”

“What?!”

“The rover moved,” he says, scrambling to look at the photos again, “the solar panels are clean and the rover has moved.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

Fuck. Mars.

Fuck it so hard.

Michael is over this planet. He wants off. Why he can’t find a planet he wants to stay on is beyond him and now definitely is not the time for those deep philosophical questions. He’s got more pressing issues like making sure the hole in his gut closes without infection, finding a way to supplement his food and, oh yeah, contact earth. 

“Look, I’m not upset about being left behind,” he tells the log, “that’s protocol. What pisses me off is the fact that I’m doing everyone’s homework,” he shakes his head, “here’s my new universal constant: a group project will always end with one person doing all the work. We’ll call it Guerin’s Law.”

He has an idea for contacting earth. The problem is that it rides on earth knowing he’s contacting them. He’s got no idea if anyone has even figured out he’s alive. He doubts it. But there’s a chance. He knew it was bullshit but he had an affection for the dramatic Rover that gave it’s dying words and sang itself a birthday song every year. Michael has had plenty of those birthdays. And of course when he’s already doing everyone’s work, he now has to do the extra credit and pull off the save. If he doesn’t get an A, he’s fucking suing. He looks in the camera, aware this could be his last message.

“Captain Evans,” He says, “none of this is your fault, I forgive you for everything if that’s what you need to hear,” his solemn face turns deadly, “but if this doesn’t work and I die listening to your alarmingly inclusive Donna Summer, I will turn your life into the karaoke bar from hell.”

Seems like a good note to go out on.

Summer eat your heart out.

Alex looks over the chart again.

And again.

The spotlight is nerve wracking. They have established Michael is alive, but they don’t have a way of communicating. He knows Michael is trying to figure something out and everyone is scrambling to find it. He also knows he has an advantage. It’s been years, so many thing have changed, but he’s got a good idea of how Michael’s mind works. He follows the paths the Rover is making and connects the dots before anyone else. 

“Opportunity?”

“It lines up,” he says, “he’s going for the Rover.” 

“Let me make some calls.”

Thankfully the Opportunity team is largely still around. By the time Michael gets  it up and working, they are ready. The images come in and patch together. Alex is awake for twenty hours straight but he’s there when the images come in. Michael standing in front of two signs and holding a third. Alex’s heart leaps into his throat and it’s got nothing to do with the truly staggering amount of coffee he has consumed. A cheer goes up and he sits down before his knees can do anything like buckle. Michael’s face is just visible. Alex can make out a single curl that’s half escaped from his cap and it’s always the little things. Michael is alive. They point the camera towards the ‘yes’ sign and the next image is blurry but only because he’s jumping up and down. He’s got no back up supplies and he’s jumping up and down.

Alex thinks he might be the one who dies in all of this.

OPP: Huston we had a problem.

DSN: Good to hear from you. 

OPP: You have no idea.

So the communications issue is more or less resolved which is awesome. And he’s saved Opportunity. Which makes him even more awesome. All around it’s awesome. Except Isobel still thinks he’s dead which is less than ideal. So he’s in a little trouble on that one. But he would trade everything for her to yell at him. Not that he’s got a lot to trade. 

OPP: hey, DSN whose babysitting me tonight?

DSN: SatCom

OPP: no shit

DSN: language

OPP: fuck

OPP: whose babysitting? got a name?

DSN: alex

OPP: i’m michael

DSN: i know

OPP: does this mean i’m super famous? think i can get free fries at the mess?

DSN: no it’s alex. from high school.

Michael is literally on a different planet but he jumps anyway and twists around like he’s being spied on. Alex was a punk kid who, okay, he may have been slightly in love with. But his homophobic dick of a dad ended that. He may have crossed Michael’s mind a few times, but never enough to do something like look him up and see that they worked for the same place. For some reason he feels more comforted by this news than he has by almost anything else. Except maybe that people knew he was alive at all. 

OPP: no fucking way. i thought you said you were joining the Air Force.

DSN: i did. then I went to grad school and joined NASA. 

OPP: wait SatCom figured out i was alive. was that you?

DSN: yes

DSN: i saw the solar panels were clear

OPP: and you thought that was me?

DSN: i figured even you would clean if your life depended on it.

Michael snorts, it’s not like he’s had much to clean back when he knew Alex. He was living in his truck. But when he thinks about his desk at NASA—okay it is a mess. He can admit that. It blows his mind that Alex has been here the whole time. That Alex figured out he was alive. He tries to reconcile the idea of who he remembers with whoever found him. But all he can picture is the kid who unknowingly saved his life more times than he can count. More times plus one, if he thinks about it. Probably plus more to come, if things keep going this way. 

OPP: do you still have that septum ring?

DSN: go to sleep

OPP: come on, do you? 

DSN: no

OPP: too bad, I thought it was kind of hot.

DSN: bed, michael

OPP: yes dad

DSN: please do not call me ‘dad’, they are reviewing these

OPP: ok daddy

Captain Isobel Evans reads the message several times to be sure. Then she gathers everyone together. She’s thought she was a good leader this whole time, focusing on getting the crew that was still alive back home even though the only thing she wanted to do was cry over the loss of her crew member. She runs the scenario over and over again. But it remains the same. There was no other choice. Now she doesn’t know what to think when she has to tell them. It’s only Max she looks at when she speaks. 

“Michael’s alive.”

Pandemonium erupts from the others but Max stares at her. His own horror and guilt reflect hers. Michael is alive but he’s on another planet. Michael’s alive but who knows for how long. She made the call to leave him, but as the ship’s doctor he made the call that he was probably dead. They are both culpable and innocent, but Isobel blames herself more than anyone. She should have given the order to wait, no matter the risks. They all scramble over to the communications screen. Kyle gets there first because it is, after all, his chair. He refers to it as his ship too. Then again he is the one who flies it. 

HRMS: sorry we left you on mars, we just don’t like you that much. 

OPP: assholes

OPP: hows the cptn?

HRMS: we’re all good. how are you?

OPP: bored af

OPP: look. boobies ( . Y . )

HRMS: michael!

That night Max sits hunched over in his bunk, arms wrapped around himself. He never should have said that Michael was dead. But he and Isobel have been running over everything. But now it turns out Michael is alive and he can’t fathom what it must be like for him to be back there alone. Did he know that they would learn he was alive? Did he think he would die there a second time and no-one would know? The thoughts are horrible and each occurs to him in rapid succession until he thinks they might drive him crazy.

“Hey,” Liz slips into his pod, “how are you holding up?”

“I told Iz there was no way,” he says, “he’s been there the whole time and i had no idea—“ he stares at her, aware he is asking for answers she doesn’t have, “what if he dies there? How is he going to spend four years there until we launch another mission?” 

“He’s going to be fine,” she says, cradling his face in her hands. He ignores the rules, the fraternization line they always dance around and leans into her touch, “he’ll be okay and soon you will laugh about this,” she smiles, “after you buy him all the vodka on earth.”

“I’ll buy him whatever he wants, as long as we get him back.”

OPP: alex

OPP: ALEX

DSN: i’m sorry, Alex has been transferred to SatCon.

OPP: GO GET HIM

Huddled in the Rover, Michael forces his breathing to be steady. He cannot afford for something else to go wrong. Behind him, the HAB stands as a shell, blown when he failed to pressurize it correctly. It broke. He broke it. His crops are gone and he feels like crying. Which is not going to help. He can’t panic. He can’t flip out. He wants Max and Isobel and his pod on the ship that’s getting farther away with each second. Mostly he wants the person on earth whose his lifeline in this. He forces himself to look away from the screen. Maybe Alex is asleep somewhere. Maybe he’s just as fed up with his bullshit as he was in college. Michael grips the chair. No, no he is not giving into his abandonment issues because he’s literally the only person on a planet and his only friend won’t answer the phone. Mars is his planet and he refuses to have them go down like this. 

DSN: michael what happened?

“Thank you Martian God,” he breathes

OPP: the hab depressurized 

OPP: i’m ok. crops are gone. all of its gone.

DSN: you’re ok. thats the main thing.

OPP: says the guy with seamless at his fingertips

DSN: i told you you were going to have to learn to cook one day

Michael laughs despite everything. And okay maybe it ends in a sob, but just one. Alex throwing shade like they’re texting and this isn’t a life or death situation makes him feel so much better. He knows Alex is probably hyperaware of being watched but he’s still willing to do it. Michael knows it shouldn’t be a big deal but he’s alone on a planet. The only person who can judge him is in a mirror and he sure as hell doesn’t bring one of those on the rover. 

DSN: michael are you there?

OPP: i’m there i’m just outraged

OPP: i am an extraordinary boiler

DSN: do i want curly or regular fries with this sandwich?

OPP: asshole

OPP: thanks

DSN: hang in there

Maria Deluca, astrodynamicist extraordinaire figures it out. 

She checks her math, swears loudly and breaks her almost new piece of chalk. Guerin is a planet away and he still manages to ruin her love life for at least—ugh—another year. Asshole. Why couldn’t he have just stayed on the ground with Alex like he wanted to? She writes out her calculations and tells the mission heads. Then she does the right thing and hides the info in the latest data dump for the ship, knowing her wife and her bff will figure it out.

That evening she finds Alex in SatCon. 

He looks awful and she feels the same annoyance at Guerin. They’ve both slept with him and she might have had feelings for the mop haired cowboy at one point, but Guerin is good at leaving and being so focused on one thing that he fails to see anything else. Like an unhappy boyfriend or girlfriend. She sits next to Alex and hands him a cup of coffee. 

“Any word from the space cowboy?”

“His food supplies are ok but the rations are getting to him,” he says, “part of its mental but the rest—“ he shakes his head, “he shouldn’t have to deal with his issues up there.”

Michael was food insecure for most of his childhood. He’s good at functioning on limited calories but he’s also scared of not getting his next meal. The fact that Alex remembers that makes Maria want to hug him. She settles for sighing and shaking her head at the situation. All of NASA has been reading their back and forth. For science. The fact that it reads increasingly like a romance novel is definitely not important. And people definitely aren’t taking sides. She doesn’t have a Team Alex t shirt like some people. Just a baseball cap. 

“He’ll be okay,” she says.

Alex nods wordlessly but his eyes are glued to the screen where their communications occur. She nudges him. 

“Say hi,” She says. 

“I can’t. He needs to focus.”

“You can still say hi,” she says. 

“It’s a waste of resources.”

Rolling her eyes at men and their excuses she nudges his chair out of the way and gets at the keyboard.

DSN: hi

“Maria!”

Ten seconds later the reply come.

OPP: hey i was just about to message you

OPP: you miss me that much?

“Maria—“ Alex tries for the keyboard.

DSN: always

Alex grabs it finally.

DSN: adokfjosiaf

OPP: you ok?

DSN: sorry. yes. 

OPP: good. i miss you too.

Alex sucks in a breath and Maria grins. It’s almost almost worth another year with her wife. Not quite but almost. Alex gulps and stares at the message. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he hesitates, swamped by an insecurity Maria has seen before. She looks between him and the keyboard, sending every mental signal she has to him. 

DSN: keep going and we can see each other again

OPP: dunno, you could always come to Mars 

OPP: visit me

DSN: I like earth 

OPP: you’re making this song way too relevant 

DSN: what are you listening to?

OPP: I would do anything for love

“That is my song,” Maria says, “my song with my wife.”

“She’ll be back soon,” Alex offers.

Maria hates them both.

“This is a mutiny,” Isobel says, “we all need to participate and we all need to agree. Kyle and I know the consequences. We’re military. But the rest of you need to understand this could mean the end of your careers. They might not let any of you fly again,” she says, “it also means another year without your families. There isn’t any shame in wanting to go home. We do it together or not at all.”

“No one gets left behind if we can get them,” Kyle says, “I might be flying this thing but I am still a doctor. Do no harm. I vote we go back.”

“Michael is my brother,” Max says. 

“My family is here,” Liz tells them, gripping Max’s hand, “let’s do it.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Jenna, their long suffering media relations director says.

“The Hermes is in the middle of an unsanctioned maneuver to slingshot themselves back to Mars using earth’s gravity as an assist.”

“So a mutiny,” she says, “you want me to put out a press release that says a bunch of astronauts turned space pirates have performed a mutiny?”

“Actually it’s Guerin who would asked to be referred to as a space pirate, since he is technically commandeering a vehicular over international territory.”

She sighs. It’s too early for a migraine. 

“I hate everyone in this room.”

DSN: michael

DSN:  michael update me

DSN: GUERIN

DSN: captain blonde beard, do you copy?

OPP: CBB: i copy. everything’s good

DSN: you are taking this way too far

OPP: CBB: that’s kind of judgmental for someone whose not a space pirate

OPP: CBB: if you were here id make you walk the plank. by that i mean solar panel

DSN: find water and maybe it’ll work

OPP: CBB: i have to starve, become a pirate, now i gotta find water too?

OPP: CBB: anything else?

DSN: come home 

OPP: CBB: only because I want to, not because you’re making me

He modified the ship like they tell him but until he’s in there,  he doesn’t feel so great about sitting there. Not until his radio crackles to life with the first human voice he’s heard in over a year.

“Guerin, do you copy?”

“Iz!” His voice breaks around the syllable of her name.

“Michael, oh thank god,” she says. Isobel has had her game face on this whole mission, hearing the relief makes the tears break free, “we’re launching you, strap in.”

“Tell Valenti to be careful,” he says.

“I got you, Guerin,” Kyle says, “you ready to come home?”

God that sounds so nice. 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of nice having this all to myself,” he chokes out.

“We got you, hang tight.”

He blacks out. 

When he comes to, the ship is too far away. He can hear the swearing. It’s bad. He takes a deep breath and refuses to give in to the panic. The side door opens and he sees Isobel coming towards him. Max is on the side of the ship. His family is there. 

“I’m going Iron Man,” he says, punching a hole in his hand.

“Michael!”

He aims himself as best he can and propels towards Isobel. She reaches and just when he thinks this isn’t going to work, they collide. They lurch violently to the side but she locks her arms and legs around him and snaps a carabiner to the front of his suit. The lead connecting them snaps taut and for a moment he’s sure it failed. He’s dead in space. But he blinks several time and nothing has changed. The relief shatters him in a way he didn’t know was possible and Isobel lets out the best laugh he’s ever heard in his life.

“I got him!” She calls and everyone erupts into cheers, “I got you,” she says.

“You have terrible taste in music,” he tells her. 

They reel them in. The only possible reason he would let go of her is to throw his arms around his brother. Max clutches him and Isobel together as the hatch seals and the chamber pressurizes. Michael collapses against his siblings who take his weight immediately, undoing his helmet. Their voice goes into his ears, no radio or texts. But the first human hands that touch him belong to a friend.

“Mikey!” He’s not even mad about the nickname as she hugs him and then works on getting the suit off him.

“Liz! Get me—“

“On it.”

She gets him out and then Max and Isobel are there. Kyle and Liz fall with them and it’s a big pile of tears and hugs and laughter and snot. He doesn’t care. The pile make their way to the comms to message that they have him. Unwilling to let go of each other even though Michael is very aware that he needs a shower.  

CMMND: good work! Come home.

 Alex has his last 3AM shift the night before they get back. Maria keeps him company. She suggests that he come with her to the families area but he turns her down. He’s not family. His boss insists he come with him to the command center. He watches the ship land. When he sees Michael pop out, throw down his helmet like he made a touchdown and throw his hands up, he feels like the breath he’s been holding for the six months it’s taken to get back to earth can finally be released. Michael is okay. Everyone is okay.  He staggers from the room.

“I’m gonna just—five minutes,” he says. He’s woken up every night certain the news will come in that Michael is dead. He has to go to a second funeral. Michael is fine. He’s dizzyingly exhausted with the thought. He drops onto the couch. It will be hours before he sees him. “Five minutes,” he tells himself and closes his eyes.

He wakes up to the smell of hazelnut coffee. 

He opens his eyes, already knowing what he’s going to see. All the ways he thought about this going, Michael crouching there in a NASA onesie with his hair wet and two cups of coffee isn’t it. Alex carefully sits up, afraid that this is a dream. But Michael stays every time he blinks. When he’s sitting, Michael holds out the coffee cup. 

“A small token of my—“ 

Alex throws himself into his arms. The coffee goes flying as Michael bands his arms around him, equally tight. Two years of text messages sent through a Rover and suddenly all of their other senses are flooding with each other. Alex never wants to let go of him and he can feel Michael trembling against him. Their faces are buried in each other necks and he’s never been so glad they are the same height. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Michael breathes into his neck and Alex clutches him closer.

“This was all you.”

“It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t seen me.”

They pull back enough just enough to look at each other, taking in the differences. The reports all say how driven Michael has been with his recovery and Alex has been pushing harder at his own pt. In that moment he doesn’t think that it matters. He doesn’t care what either of them look like or what state they are in. He just wants Michael here. Michael presses his lips together, his eyes dragging to his lips. After everything, there’s something he immediately recognizes. 

“You’re not seeing anyone,  are you?” He says.

“No, this really infuriating guy named Captain Blonde Beard keeps texting me at 3am.”

Michael is still laughing when he kisses him. 

This, Alex thinks, is more than worth the wait. 

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex fic #malex fanfic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfic #isobel evans #max evans #liz ortecho #max x liz #maria deluca #isobel x maria #kyle valenti #Jenna cameron

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Love Of Money As The Root Of All Evil

“Should any political party attempt to abolish social security, unemployment insurance and eliminate labor laws and farm programs, you would not hear of that party again in our political history. There is a tiny splinter group, of course, that believes that you can do these things. Among them are a few Texas oil millionaires, and an occasional politician or businessman from other areas. Their number is negligible and they are stupid.” -- Dwight David Eisenhower

People love their money.

They love their bargains.

They’ll rush to Wal-Mart to buy a plastic bowl for $1 rather than one at a local mom & pop shop for $1.50.

Of course, very little of that $1 they spent at Wal-Mart stays in their community -- a few pennies in the form of low wages, but then we have to add our tax money going for SNAP cards because Wal-Mart’s employees often don’t make enough to live on.

Not like the mom & pop shop, where the 50-cents extra they charged pretty much stayed in the community:  They paid for their house, they bought their kids clothes, put food on their table…

Mom & pop?  Working for Wal-Mart now.

Living in a cramped apartment, not that nice house they dreamed of retiring in.

The stores and businesses that depended on them spending their income in town?

Most of them have gone under, absorbed by Wal-Mart and other big box multi-national conglomerations.

As much as the moral scolds like to tell us Rome fell because they were decadent, the truth is Rome at its gladiatorial / orgy worse was Rome at the peak of its power and influence.

It fell after it split apart.

And it split apart because the Western half didn’t want to pay for the upkeep of the Eastern half, i.e., the business end of the empire.

The Eastern half needed roads and infrastructure and sound political government and armies (oh, lordie, how they needed armies) and the fat cat landed gentry in the Western -- protected by thousands of miles of terrain and sea from those who would do them harm -- refused to pay their fair share.

So Diocletian split the empire in twain, letting the greedy bastards to the west fend for themselves while he established a new empire that would eventually become known as Byzantium to the east.

The Western empire, what we think of when we refer to the Roman Empire, fell a little less than two centuries after that, overrun by Germanic tribes (we call them “barbarians” but the kneeslapper is they were Christians.

Byzantium stayed a going concern for about a millennia after that, but eventually it fell for the same reason:  The people taking the most out of the society refused to pay anything into it, and a younger / tougher empire (the Ottomans) came a’knockin’.

Without Pax Romana the Mediterranean world became a far more violent / perilous place.  Europe split up into a plethora of kingdoms / principalities / duchies constantly jostling with one another to take more money.

Oh, sometimes there were inventions and technological breakthroughs that added coins to the coffers, but mostly it was finding a neighbor who had something you wanted, figuring out their weakness, and taking it from them.

The Enlightenment strove for a better world, but it took money to be a philosopher in those days and since that wealth typically came from peasants / serfs / slaves doing all the grunt work while the philosophers sat around thinking noble thoughts, it didn’t take long for racism -- the belief that there are different races and some are inherently superior to others (and those deemed inferior were good for nothing but common labor in order to keep the philosophers philosophizing).

Mind you, there had been prejudice and bigotry and chauvinism before, but while Hebrews and Philistines may have hated one another, they at least recognized their common humanity.

They didn’t decree the other to be doomed to perpetual servitude due to their so-called race.

The Enlightenment and Christianity did much to poison the well in Europe and later in America, but they did have some positive points.

Both, despite the cruelties their practitioners ladled out on others, held high ideals of universal rights.

Those ideals would live on, and foster generations of thinkers and ethicists and moralists to come.

But the cruel side had its fans, too.

The colonies that would eventually become the various nations of the American continents (and let’s not forget Australia and New Zealand while we’re at it) all responded with varying degrees of success to those ideals.

They also offered plenty of opportunities for those who loved wealth above all else to flourish, inevitably at the expense of huge segments of their respective populations.

As faulty and as flawed as the American Revolution was, it ended up sowing the seeds for similar movements in other countries.

In France they took root just as the clock ran out for the aristocracy.

Just as in Rome and Byzantium, the French rulers realized they were heading towards disaster.  For a century and a half before the French Revolution, the various Louis would establish a royal commission made up of the best and the brightest in the kingdom, and had them examine the problem and offer a solution.

The solution was always the same:  The ones with the wealth needed to take less and put some of what they had back.

Nobody wanted to hear that (well, nobody with money) and that’s why the guillotines were dropping day and night.

Various trade and crafts guilds had sprung up at that time; al were hammered down.

Socialist movements and parties were started; they were hammered down.

Trade unions were formed; they were hammered down.

But the thing was each movement that got hammered down created a more brilliant and far tougher phoenix to replace it.

By the late 19th / early 20th century communism looked mighty good to a lot of people.

Again, the intransigence of the greedy (call them financiers or industrialists or robber barons or whatever) pushed the world into war yet again, this time bankrupting Germany, Austria, and Hungary (as well as finishing off the Ottomans, last seen sacking Constantinople).  

Around the world people clamored for more input, more control in their daily lives.

Czarist Russia -- brutal, heavy handed, autocratic czarist Russia -- fell to the Bolsheviks (who proved to be no less brutal, heavy handed, and autocratic than the czars).

Germany threatened to go down the same path and the industrialists and financiers -- who sure as hell weren’t missing any meals -- backed a crazy little ex-corporal who promised to keep the labor unions and the socialists and the communists under control.

We know how well that worked out.

In the United States, the wealth made their money directly or indirectly off the back of slave and immigrant labor, and when much to their great dismay the legal form of slavery disappeared, they found new methods of enforcing the old ways, which we now refer to as jim crow.

Poor whites weren’t much better off than their African-American neighbors, but as Lyndon Johnson observed:   ”If you can convince the lowest white man he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he'll empty his pockets for you."

The United States was not that much better than German when it came to race hatred.

Indeed, the Nazis -- even while condemning US segregation for propaganda purposes -- studied jim crow carefully and applied its lesson to non-Germans in their territories.

The wealthy 1% nearly destroyed the United States with the Great Depression, but the gratitude they showed to Roosevelt for saving capitalism was to undercut and fight him every step of the way.

Because, hey, if it wasn’t making money right now for them!!! then it had to be evil, right?

Right?

And just as the plantation owners in the antebellum South used propaganda to argue slavery was actually a good thing for those enslaved (because both the Bible and Darwin -- at least according to their readings -- said so), so did their spiritual / philosophical / and too damn often direct biological heirs with their anti-communist rants via the John Birch Society and other front groups.

Fred Koch, founder of the Koch family fortune, also founded the John Birch Society.

And let the record show that when the Koch family businesses operate within the law, they do nothing illegal.  They anticipate the ebb and flow of supply and demand and invest accordingly.  Nothing wrong with that -- but there’s a lot wrong with what they use the money for.

For generations Americans have been told that socialism is bad, that Marxism is a failure.

And the truth is socialism works when it’s used wisely, to put the brakes on the worst excesses of capitalism.

And Marx gets a bad rap for what he didn’t do; i.e., the spurious claim that he created the blueprints for world domination.

Marx was a brilliant diagnostician but woefully lacking as a hands on practitioner.

The thing is…Marx knew this and recognized it.

Das Kapital analyzed the problem of capitalism in the 19th century.

Marx never intended it to be the final word on the matter.

He wanted those who came after him to be constantly examining and critiquing the way politics and finance work, so that both systems could be constantly tweaked and modified.

His posthumous work, Grundrisse (short for “Fundamentals of Political Economy Criticism”) were not intended for publication but rather Marx’ own personal resource / reference notebooks for his other work.

He was never satisfied with it and put it aside, possibly because he felt the topic was too great for just one writer to expound on.

Of course, once he was dead nobody cared, and it was promoted as literally the last word on the topic when in reality it was filled with what Marx himself would acknowledge as half-baked ideas, concepts he was spitballing in an attempt to find the real, underlying truth.

Imagine somebody finds some wistful half-completed bucket list you leave behind when you die and tries to live their lives according to that.

Gives you an idea of the problem, no?

But just as the hard line communists in Russia embraced Grundrisse for their purposes, so did Fred Koch and the John Birch Society for their own purposes.

Koch was a businessman who dealt with Russia in the days before WWII.

(Most international money people are whores and will go wherever they can find a buck.)

He didn’t like what he saw -- a fair enough assessment -- but what scared him was that there was something in the underlying structure of Russian society that might be appealing to non-communists.

Remember what I said about the Enlightenment and Christianity?

Add Marxism to that.

It ain’t the solution to all the world’s ills, but damn, it ain’t wrong about the causes.

Now the way the Koch clan tells it, when Fred saw Red, he realized it was a brutal, unworkable economic system and to stop it from spreading, he needed to form the John Birch Society to keep it from taking root in America.

Hold that thought.

If a system is unworkable, just let it collapse.

In fact, as a capitalist you should be interested in propping it up as long as possible both in order to rake in as much cash off them as you can in the time they have left and to make its ultimate collapse an even bigger warning to future workers.

The Koch propaganda machine has been working for literally generations to keep Americans from examining what’s wrong with our system.

They embrace racism because it enables them to keep labor costs down by pitting one group against another.

They fund the evangelical fringe, not necessarily because they believe them, but because they can deliver large swaths of the voting population.

(And of course, many white evangelicals prove themselves to be bigots, so promising to get rid of their taxes and keep “those” kids out of their schools and neighborhoods goes hand-in-hand).

They made a couple of runs at getting their agenda pushed through -- notably with Goldwater (who failed) and Reagan (who didn’t) -- but their desire to take more money by rendering all form of socially just government regulations impotent has produced an unintended consequence.

Donald Trump.

Just as the mad little corporal tapped in on simmer racial and religious resentment in Germany, Trump has done the same here.

A lot of white people are scared that their day is O.V.E.R.

At current demographic projections, come 2048 white people will drop to only 49% of the population.

The largest minority in a nation of minorities.

That means they’ve going to have to learn to cut deals with other groups.

And those groups, because they were marginalized for literally centuries, have learned to be much more self-reliant, much more imaginative, much more focused, much more innovative.

African-American culture is going to dominate the United States in the second half of the 21st century and well into the 22nd.

I want us to walk away from the precipice.

I want us to recognize there is literally no future in burning down the house to make sure the black folks don’t get in.

I want us to recognize reasonable precautions and controls on capitalism do not make people poor but rather prevent poverty from ruining lives.

But I fear for this country.

A few other empires, as they started splintering, recognized their peril and took steps to minimize the chaos and impact.

It took ‘em a while, but England managed to learn to let go of its vast empire in peaceful / democratic / diplomatic ways that enabled them to maintain good relations with former colonies around the globe.

The Koch mentality can’t do that, I’m afraid.

It can’t abide the thought that somebody else has a say in how they do business for the simple reason that those people’s lives are adversely affected by choices the Koch empire makes.

But we as a nation need to also recognize we slit our own throats every time we place price first and foremost in our shopping.

The Trump supporters who bemoan the demise of their single industry towns never seem to realize the decline started when they began saving a few pennies by shopping at big box stores and franchise fast food restaurants.

In their desire to save a few pennies, they threw away family fortunes.

History offers some grim warnings about empires that slide into this level of oligarchy.

Rome fell.

So did Constantinople.

The guillotine blade fell again and again and again until finally people were willing to accept Napoleon in order to regain stability.

And Napoleon started wars that led to World War One…

…and World War One allowed Hitler to rise thanks to the industrialists and the financiers.

The 1% of their generation.

We have to be more informed and more insightful in our daily choices.

What profit a person if they save a few pennies, yet lose their soul?

  © Buzz Dixon

#capitalism #Marxism #socialism #morals #ethics #politics

[darkchambersofourminds]

The Tools of Your Foundation

Summary:

"Our pasts are what give us tools to change ourselves. They are our bases, foundations. These foundations will be a part of us until the house is torn down or when the house is going through thorough renovation. Still the foundation does not dictate what is built on it. The house is yours to build.”

I look around to see if we were followed. Just people scurrying about the Nobles Quarter, no need to worry. We were not noticed. I usher Tharaêl  into my house and follow suit. I close the door. “Now that we are in a safe place and I’m feeling a bit better tell me why did you really keep me from jumping? I know the furniture excuse was just that- an excuse.” I drop down my backpack on a table I’ve placed next to the door and start taking things out of it. “Truthfully I had begun to see you as a friend and it is a big thing for me. I don’t trust easily, especially when the people happen to be a part of a dangerous cult. I just couldn’t let go because I had trust for you. I know it was selfish of me, but it’s just in people’s nature to be selfish. I own up to it. And I do understand that it is pathetic and that you might not understand. “ I sigh and look at Tharaêl  “Are you angry about that?” He is now leaning against a wall nonchalantly “I don’t know. I’m also unsure if I understand, I gave you no reason to like me. I was coarse and did questionable things that now I’ve come to understand really clash with your methodology. I treated you just like another merc, not a person, not really. You were a tool to be used. How could you trust someone who you knew thought about all mercenaries like that?” I take out a pile of books from my bag and begin checking them for any injures from our travel “As I’ve understood when you were with the Rhalâta you were another version of yourself to fit in and do what you needed to do. You tried to separate yourself from that role. You see I have worked as a merc before and I’ve done the same thing because you don’t want the wrong people to see the real you for many reasons.  All of it is a mask- an act and I saw that in you, you know. Sometimes the mask would let through the Tharaêl  who isn’t playing the role of the employer or avenger or a cult member of Rhalâta. ” “It is strange to hear you differentiating these different sides when I couldn’t do that anymore myself. I’m unsure if I still can. Can I leave Brother Wrath behind and just be Tharaêl again?” “That is for you to figure out. But think: our pasts are what give us tools to change ourselves,” I sit on the table so I would be facing in his direction. I put down my book and look at him in the eyes “they are our bases, foundations. These foundations will be a part of us until the house is torn down or when the house is going through thorough renovation. Still the foundation does not dictate what is built on it. The house is yours to build.” “How am I going to use these tools of my past? And tell me when my tools are anger and vengeance how can I build something else?” “You have to get creative, expand your toolset by getting new experiences because great works of art can be created with simple tools and the skill of the builder isn’t dependent on his tools.” “That is easy for you to say.” I smile “Indeed it is because these are just words. Words are cheap, words are easy, but to find the thought behind words and to decipher it for oneself- that is difficult.” “Have you always been like this? On the go philosopher and the saver of lost people?” “Nah. The philosophy came when I arrived here in Enderal. As for the saving- I have always been drawn to complicated cases and people.” He furrows his brows at me “Oh, and how long ago was this arrival to Enderal?” “Hmm I’d say about three months ago.” Tharaêl  rolls his eyes. “Now don’t give me that look! There is still wisdom in my words. As a matter of fact I’ve always had interest in such things. I’ve read all the books I could find on the subjects; I never quite understood them, well until not before Enderal. Here things just make sense. And the making sense part is what is important.” “Isn’t that great I’m given delicate advice on life by a loony who does not have her life in order. Are you sure you don’t want any wise thoughts and life advice from me? I’ve got quite interesting ideas and ideals from the time I spent with the Rhalâta. Their life rules are gold.” “Oh shush you! By the way I’m already taking my own advice. And my foundation has already the frames and some walls up.” “Well I’ve got a clean slate. Too bad for you if your chosen direction or well house is the false one because then you’ll have to tear it all down and start again when I can choose any direction I want.” “And why aren’t you choosing any directions?” “Because I like all the options and I want to see how your house turns out. You know precautions are important to have and all that bull.” I chuckle “Are you trying to be funny in a very ironic dark humor way? I had no idea you had it in ya.” “Neither did I.” I smile at him then I look down at my slightly swinging legs. “Do you see me the same way, as a friend or am I still a random merc to be used?” “A friend. Any other mercenaries with sense would have quit on the job half way through, but you stuck with me, helped me. What you have done shows that you are far above the status of a merc for me.” “I did not expect to hear kind words from you, well they were spiced up with a slight insult but I’ll take it nonetheless. As for my lacking sense there were a few reasons for that. First- I really needed the money, because I wanted to buy this place. This is also why I was fighting at the arena in the undercity. Second I accepted the gig on an impulse and got mixed up with really dangerous people and similarly to many people I wanted to keep my hide safe by not pissing those dangerous people off. Thirdly and most importantly - what you wanted to do was right and I could not just not help.” “Seems I chose well.” “And it seems that the walk from Frostcliff Tavern to here, Ark, has cleared your head a bit. It’s crazy how about four days of being away can help. It is still four days and you don’t need to put on a strong act when you are with me. You know that, right? ” “I’m not putting on an act right now.” “That is great. If there is anything or nothing then still you’ve got me. Now go into that room and get out of those clothes!” He folds his arms on his chest and raises his voice “I had a total mental breakdown, realized that a great portion of my life has been a lie and now you are making a move on me to what?! Establish a romance between us? That is-” I shake my head “Blazes no! I’m not implying anything in that direction. Gods, Tharaêl, if I were then I’d be a pretty screwed up person, well more screwed up!” I take a deep breath and gesture towards his clothes “Just take a look at what you are wearing, and then try to think a bit, alright.” “I’m wearing my uniform. What about it?” “The uniform shows your belonging to which faction?” “The Rhalâta.” He pinches the bridge of his nose “Oh… fuck. I’m dense.” “Hey you figured it out, a gold star for you. Now you just need to burn that Rhalâta uniform before anyone takes notice and shit breaks loose.” “Sure give away my clothes and burn them, then what. What will I wear?” “I’m a travelling single woman so I don’t have men’s clothes with me, but there is this generic robe that really does not, at least visually, have any connections to some groups of people. You know I had to wear this thing at the temple of some group that called themselves: the Rhalâta. Maybe you’ve heard of them.” “Very amusing. I guess I should be happy that back when I gave it to you it was so big that you drowned in it and looked ridiculous.” “I try my best with humor. Now you can change in the room upstairs because down here you won’t have any privacy when I organize the books I picked up on the way. Oh and when you are done then we’ll go shopping.” “Shopping?” “Absolutely. We will go on this shopping spree through the market. We will try on so many dresses and tiaras. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. And later I’ll need some help with the furniture. The last bit I’m not joking about.” Tharaêl  sighs “Sarcasm, again. That is definitely something I need to get used to.”

Notes:

Also posted on: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989805 

#enderal #enderal forgotten stories #tharaêl #gotta work for that foundation #Tharael #tharaêl/prophetess

[acarolingfae-blog]

Hana

“So, why are you here?”

What do you mean?

“I mean, like... what are you doing here?”

Well I'm kinda here doing a favor for your subconscious.

“So, you're not my subconscious?”

Nah, I just work for him. He’s a cool guy though. I kinda exist on a necessitation basis.

“Which means?”

Okay, so... I exist because there's an objective requirement for the duties I perform. It's part of the Universal Creation Imperative.

“Are you just making up phrases to mess with me?”

Nah, man. It's the cornerstone of the doctrine of rules that facilitate and protect the fate of everything that you know to exist.

“This is bullshit, man. You're like a hallucination or a demon or something I gotta get you out of my head.”

Wait man just hear me out. If you listen to everything I have to say and still never want to see me again I'll go away forever.

“...How do I know you will?”

Hey man, it doesn't really matter does it? It's basically no extra work, and if I was gonna stick around I would do it anyway, right?

“...Alright fine. Go ahead.”

Thank you. Alright. First off, since I'm a product of YOUR subconscious I don't know anything that you don't already know on some level, or can't deduce based off what you already know. This is a really important thing to establish, though it might not be relevant right now; we'll see. Second, whether or not you can sense me doesn't matter. I'll be a part of your mind until you die and I have been since you were old enough to think in more than just vague concepts. At the end of my spiel and your questions you will have the choice between keeping me in your life or forgetting about this whole conversation and never seeing me again. If you choose to forget me, I'll just recede back into your subconscious and do stuff there. Either way, I'll be guiding you toward your predetermined fate. It's just that if you DO see me, I'll be less subtle about things so you get to see all the cool shit I can do. Plus, I'm already calibrated in a way that fits your specific personality, so we're guaranteed to get along famously. Anyway, do you have any questions?

“Uh... yeah... so if you're ‘guiding me to my fate,’ what is my fate exactly?”

Well eventually you'll die.

“Yeah I kinda figured. But what about before that?”

I dunno *shrug*

“What?”

Dude, I already told you I don't know anything you don't know. And you definitely don't know the future.

“So how do you know what you're doing is right?”

Because I'm doing it.

“What?! That doesn't--”

Look man, I exist by “necessitation.” I was created with pre-calculated values to match my personality with yours, with that fate in mind. I am what's needed; whatever I do needs to be done; whatever I say needs to be said. It's the same thing with you: you will never think anything that hasn't already been mapped out, and every one of your thoughts exists for a reason, though you might not know what it is at the time.

“Hmm... fair enough. But don't you ever doubt yourself?”

Nope. YOU feel doubt because it's a good safety mechanism. Otherwise, if you do everything you want you when you want to do it, you will kill us all in a spectacular fashion. I, on the other hand, don't need to reconsider my decisions, because I'm not a real person like you are. It’s a bit redundant on me.

“Riiight... so, what do I call you?”

Ooh, this'll be fun. I'm a product of your subconscious so whatever name you assigned to me without realizing when you first saw me is the name I go by.

“So how do I know what that is?”

Why don't you think hard for a sec, and on the count of three I'll say my name while you say what you think it is. 

“Okay...”

Ready? 1... 2... 3!

*Both* “Hana!”

“Woah...”

Pretty cool, huh?

“Totally. So, does everyone have one of you?”

Pretty much, yeah. There might be a few people out there that don't, I dunno. Not a lot of people can see theirs--in fact, you haven't met a person who can--but everyone you've met has one.

“How do you know? Can you see others?”

Yeah, man. Every time you consciously exchange ideas with a person, whether by talking, texting, or whatever, me and their guide also have a little chat. Your subconscious is used every time you make a conscious action, so whatever you do I know about it too.

“So you're like a ‘guide.’”

If you wanna think of it that way, sure.

“You just called yourself a ‘guide!’”

Then apparently you must think of me that way.

“But...I...whatever. Then how would you think of it?”

Well I'd like to be known as a trailblazer, seer, warrior-philosopher type, but really I'm more like a close friend that only you can see.

“An imaginary friend?”

Sure, but that's a little degrading innit?

“Sorry, but this whole thing is still a little overwhelming.”

That's okay. Hey, remember that book with the fighting bears? You really like the series, with the alien creatures that evolved to use tree seeds as wheels to roll around on.

“Yeah the... uh...” *snap* “His Dark Materials series!”

Yep. Remember in that one universe, where everybody has a daemon that represents their soul?

“Oh right! Are you-”

Kinda, but it's a little different from that. I can't quite remember it ‘cause you haven't read it in a while, but it's not like I'm your soul, or I can die or anything.

“You're immortal?”

No because I'm not technically alive. I'm tied to you, but not the 'you' you think of. I mean the whole 'you,' including your subconscious and everything else that ticks in your mind. And body.

“I'm not sure I follow.”

Look man, you might think that everything you are aware of is everything that you are, but you're dead wrong. You may not realize it, but YOU also exist out of necessitation. Your conscious mind is a creation of your brain to help you arrange executive orders and make macroscopic decisions. The other parts of your mind deal with the mundane details like growing hair or redirecting sodium so you can focus on whether or not those jeans make your butt look big enough. Which they don’t, by the way. 

“Yeah, that's not my issue. How are you not technically alive?”

Well, living as you know it is a highly independent experience. Something that is alive supports itself physically and biologically, recycling resources and energy to keep on keeping on, ya know. You aren't alive either, your body is.

“Fine, but my decisions have a tangible effect on the physical world.”

And mine don't? Up until now you've been sending vibrations out into the air just because I decided to show myself to you.

“Isn't that more of an effect by proxy?”

Yes, but how are you any different?

“Well, I can choose when to act, and you must choose when to make me act.”

YOU are not acting. "YOU" *circling motion* are. The machine that is your human body is what’s doing stuff. If we could isolate the neuronal connections that facilitate YOUR existence and keep them in a jar, none of your decisions would mean squat. Effectively, you wouldn't be making any choices because there's no difference in tangible outcome.

“Okay, but telling a machine to move and telling a person to move a machine are pretty different.”

You don't think I have control over your body too? You know how many times I saved your clumsy ass from falling off a bunk bed?

“I've never--”

Yeah, because of me you donut. You're welcome

“Thank you?”

Yeah, whatever. Do you have any other questions?

“Um, yeah. Sure... why, umm... why are you... whatever it is you are?”

Hey man that's pretty rude, not gonna lie. I think you look pretty weird too but I don't spout off about it all the f-

“Sorry! Sorry. It's just... I've never seen one of you before.”

It's alright. I am whatever my calibrations make me.

“So you're some kind of... furry dishwasher?”

Well I don't wash dishes, but I do like the cubular shape, sooo...

“So for the rest of my life, I'll have to look at an imaginary fuzzy cube that talks to me?”

Not necessarily. I'm a representative of your subconscious, so I will gradually change as you do. And, if you ever get into any major life-changes, I'll probably look pretty different at the end of it.

“Oh thank god.”

Yeah nice to meet you too, fruitcake.

#hana #dialogue #fiction #subconscious #metaphysics #short story #banter