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cal-kestis · 3 years

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If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.

“Where are you?” He screams.

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated — the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier peña x reader #you know i've fallen deep when i start writing #your honor she's simping #mine*

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rachelbethhines · 3 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - Day of the Animals

While perhaps not my favorite episode this season, Day of the Animals is easily the best written story of season three. Even so, it still has problems due to the third season’s poor approach to characterization.

Summary: Rapunzel, Varian, Angry and Red are returning stolen loot that the two girls had stolen years ago. They are accompanied by Max, Pascal, Ruddiger and Hamuel who all cannot stop quarreling with each other (or in Hamuel's case, just being useless). While messing with a sea shell pendant, it magically transports the humans into it, leaving the animals to fight over it. A minor thug named Dwayne, steals the pendant forcing the animals to work together to retrieve it.

So Why is a Polynesian Inspired Kingdom Within Riding Distance of a Northern European Country?

If you’ll remember my review of Beginnings, Neserdina’s princesses were wearing Polynesian garb and dancing the Hula when prepping for the competition. Now I’ve already went into length as to why that’s not good representation, but in addition to that it’s also just plain dumb. You can’t just transport one ethic group and dump them into another part of the world because it’s convenient for you. You don’t earn any brownie points for doing that. Especially when your fantasy world is still based off of our own historical earth.

To make things even more confusing, we actually saw Neserdina way back in season one in Way of the Willow. It’s where Willow bought the gremlin knock-off.

That is an island. How the heck do you get to a volcanic island riding in a horse and cart? And don't tell me they’re riding to a port, because Corona is a port city already. They could have gotten there by boat. It’s also can’t be too far away from Corona’s borders if Angry and Red were able to get there on foot during their year long travels.

The only explanation is that the entirety of the Tangled crew doesn’t understand geography, and this won’t be the last example in the show to back up that statement.

So Why Is Rapunzel Here?

We get explanations for why everyone is on this road trip, except for the main character herself. Red and Angry are trying to return some stolen loot. Varian is wanting to pick up rare alchemy supplies at the market and was invited along because Raps hopes it’ll be a chance for Ruddiger and Max to get know one another better.

But why on earth does Rapunzel feel the need to come on this trip herself? Doesn’t she have a kingdom to run? While I’m sure Eugene is more than capable of handling things, this doesn’t reflect well upon the writers supposed plan of making Rapunzel appear more responsible.

Literally any other adult could have come along on this trip. This wasn’t something Rapunzel needed to waste time on. Lance especially would have been more appropriate here as he’s the one who’s suppose to eventually adopt Angry and Red. And the sad thing is, all they had to do was give Rapunzel a line about needing to attend some sort of diplomatic business in Neserdina. That’s it.

In a show that’s supposed to be all about Rapunzel; Rapunzel sure doesn’t have a whole lot of reasons to exist in the majority of the episodes.

Lack of Worldbuilding Strikes Again

At this point I’m kind of numb to the whole “magical thing just exists for no adequately explained reason” and so I’m not as upset as some people are about the shell necklace. But it’s still not good writing.

Why does this thing exist? How did come to be cursed? How did it get mixed in with their stuff? What activated the magic and why did it only effect the human’s even though the animals were closer to it?

Just something show. Anything. You bothered to give use rules for how this thing works and even stuck to them this time, but you can’t just make the last leg of the trip and give us some exposition?

Yeah, okay.

So Where Exactly Are We in Relation to Corona?

We can see Pittsford and Ivangarr on the road sign and we have to be in riding distance to Neserdina from Corona, but like are we in Corona still? Are we in Koto, which is Corona’s nearest neighbor to the east according to season three. Are we in some no-man’s-land where none of the kingdoms have control, or are we already in Neserdina itself?

The series gives us no sense of direction nor any firm placement for Corona within it’s world. I only know it is a Northern European country because Corona itself is a peninsula with a north sea, uses French, English, and German fashion/customs, and Rapunzel is a Germanic fairy tale. But like those clues are thrown into a blender and contradicted several times over, on top of never being told where it’s closest kingdoms actually lie.

All of this matters when traveling and exploring the wider world are big themes of your show. You need more solid and consistent world building than this. It also impacts how much authority and control your main character has within the episode itself if she range of political power is limited to one area. So like we need to know where the heroes stand here.

(FYI I personally headcannon Corona as former Prussia which was once part of Germany and it’s alliance of smaller kingdoms. It’s also a peninsula next to the Curonian Spit)

This Is Not Progress

Okay so the idea here, is that the show is implying that Rapunzel is trying to improve Corona’s justice system over Frederic’s previously inhumane crack down on crime. However, this is terribly executed.

For starters the show has never called Frederic nor Rapunzel out for their previous misbehavior. You can not change any system for the better without acknowledging the flaws within said system first. Therefore this comes right out of nowhere and doesn’t stick around long enough to stay within the viewers minds for later.

Secondly, Rapunzel is incredibly fickle about who she does and doesn’t set free. The Saporians were still in the dungeons last time we saw them, Caine was shipped off to the prison island and left to die there as far as we know, and the Stabbingtons are shown shackled together in the wedding short even though they supposedly changed their ways and befriended Eugene again.

Meanwhile Dwayne and Stalyan are free to go their marry way and continue their life of crime, Varian is only released from his overly harsh punishment because he kissed Rapunzel’s ass not because it was wrong to imprison him in the first place, and later Cassandra gets away scot free because she’s Rapunzel’s bestie even though she committed the worst crimes out of everyone in the show and for very little reason.

That’s not justice. That’s not compassion. That’s not progressive reform. It’s just nepotism, and it’s every bit as corrupt as Frederic’s classism and totalitarianism.

Just because Rapunzel is “nice” it doesn’t mean that she is kind. Real reform has to treat everyone with equality and have a set of base standards that are beyond one person’s personal judgment. She is still a dictator and an abuser even if she lets the occasional person go free on a whim.

Finally, Rapunzel’s methods are just downright ineffective. Dwyane may not be a threat to our heroes, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a threat to other people. He’s not actually sorry about trying to rob people at knife point and he fully plans on continuing being a thief after feeding Rapunzel the lines she wants to hear.

Furthermore, we don’t know if this course of action is born out of malice or desperate need. He half heartily comments about finding ‘an honest job” but can he even do that? Is it even a realistic option for him? The series has been weaving this class inequality theme through out it’s past three seasons and directly connecting that to Corona’s crime rate.

Eugene had a hard time finding a job during season one directly due to his past record, remember? A life of crime he was forced to lead in order to survive, and he’s the Prince Consort! What chance does Dwayne have? Did Rapunzel even try to help him find work or did she just wag her finger at him and told him “Now, now, stealing’s not nice.”

The show wants to act like Rapunzel is this progressive reformer but then they turn her into a Republican instead. That’s not me being sarcastic either, this approach to criminal justice is the foundation of conservative belief and has been for centuries. The right are not interested in why people commit crime. They don’t care about addressing the fundamental problems in society that lead people to break the law. Let alone bother to analyze why those laws exist in the first place. Instead they resort to doublethink and survivor bias to either write off those that fall through the cracks or make excuses for why their policies repeatedly fail, often ignoring the fact that things aren’t actually working for whole swathes of people who aren’t themselves.

Tangled the Series is far too simplistic and childish in it’s approach to deeper subjects like this to enforce the messages it supposedly wants to enforce. Rapunzel herself relies on magical thinking, double standards, and personal bias to see her through every and any problem and the show just rewards her for it rather than challenging her to grow and in doing so winds up supporting people like her in their authoritarian ideas, whether that was the writers’ intentions or not.

In short, Rapunzel shows no interest in putting in the real work it would take to implement genuine restorative justice. She doesn't honestly care about Dwyane or his victims. She’s just posturing here for the sake of her self image.

You’re Not In Any Position to Talk Rapunzel

Speaking of Rapunzel being a hypocrite.... The entirety of season three’s main conflict is her having a petty bitch fight with her supposed best friend and needlessly dragging everyone else into it.

In fact that’s the whole show. Rapunzel repeatedly failing to get along with other people because she’s deep down a shitty person despite the veneer of ‘friendliness’ she slaps on to hide it. Having her just say she knows better does nothing to convince me that she’s actually learned anything. You have to show that she’s learned it first, and that requires acknowledging her own wrong doings.

Varian’s face here just tells it all. Rapunzel is full of shit and no one in the show knows it better than him. Why are they even friends again? Why should we trust her with the three kids she neglected more than once? Why should any of these people take what she says seriously?

Well This is Contradictory

Also, since we brought up double standards, here’s Varian undermining that whole “jail is bad” thing Rapunzel is trying to push with Dwayne and later with Cass. Not only is the show under cutting it’s themes for a joke, but it just reinforces the abuse Varian received. He’s now bought into Frederic’s stupid beliefs and winds up reinforcing to the audience that that his ‘reform’ was due to his past imprisonment.

As an adult watching this series, Varian’s supposed redemption continues to increasingly look like a victim complying with their past abuser out of fear of further harm rather than anyone genuinely learning to be better.

Can We Please Stop Infantilizing the 16 Year Old

As if to deflect from Varian’s past mistreatment and continuing parentification, the show then goes on to showcase the opposite extreme whenever possible. I know it’s hard to tell just from these few screen shots alone, but over the course of season three Varian is spoken down too and treated condescendingly by the rest of the cast, and by Rapunzel in particular, even as he enters his later teens/early adulthood.

Some of this is just to due to Rapunzel being her usual holier than thou self, but there’s also times, like here, where Varian is lumped together with the actual children of the show, even though he’s 6 to 8 years their senior.

In fact out of everyone Rapunzel interacts with, Varian’s actually the closest to her in both age and development. Queen for a Day forced the two of them into a power imbalance due to a mixture of classism and society’s ongoing unhealthy (and often artificial) divide between younger and older teens, but as we get further and further away from that point in time and as Varian nears the same age Rapunzel started out as, that imbalance becomes less and less relevant.

Look at how this scene is framed, He’s standing between Angry and Red and is placed lower than them to make it look like he’s one of them. He’s not.

Varian may still look 12 with his big old eyes and short stature, but seeing as how we’re past Hearts Day, he’s actually close to being 17, if he isn’t already. The timeline gets even wonkier after The King and Queen of Hearts, but trust me, we’re close to being two years past Queen for a Day, if not more so.

Varian, for all counts, should be Rapunzel’s equal by now in terms of story. Not only is he closest in age to her, but he’s also the only other person going through a coming of age arc. And of the two, Varian’s the one who has actually learned and grown as a person. He has more real world experience than Rapunzel ever will and knows how to implement that experience. (He’s also the more mature, but that’s more of a failure to write Rapunzel competently than a reflection of his capabilities.)

No matter how you slice it, Varian shouldn’t be taking orders or advice from Rapunzel; no one should be, really; and he most certainly shouldn’t put up with her condescension. Rapunzel is not his nor anybody else’s mother. She’s not even a big sister like figure, and at no point should be treated as the leader of anything or anyone.

Rapunzel is a Poor Man’s Rose Quartz

I typically try not to draw too many comparisons between Tangled and other shows outside of the occasional parallel, as a show should be able to stand on it’s own for good or for bad, but it’s hard not to discuss the series without also discussing Steven Universe in some way.

Steven Universe is this generation’s Batman the Animated Series or Scooby Doo. It’s the game changer that everybody else is trying to copy in some manner. Chris desperately wants Tangled the Series to be the next Steven Universe, right down to how the show is structured, paced, and what themes are presented. But unfortunately Chris has no idea why Steven Universe works the way it does.

For starters SU adjusted it’s pacing as it went along, smoothing out its rougher edges while Tangled doubled down on its filler. SU had a planned arc from the get go and stuck to it, so that by the time the twists came they made sense. SU kept it’s focus on Steven purposefully so that the story unfolded from his view point while making to sure to acknowledge the importance of other characters around him and their conflicts. It didn’t make him infallible nor shove aside everyone else’s arcs.

But most importantly, Steven Universe was written by a bisexual nonbinary person who set out to make a show for people in the queer community like themselves. Meanwhile, as a middle aged white man, Chis hasn’t a damn clue about his primary audience and has shown no interest in connecting with them.

This isn’t to say that Steven Universe is a perfect show. No show is beyond criticism. Nor is this to say that straight white cis men can’t write; many of them do and can portray characters unlike themselves competently enough. But if you’re completely disinterested in other points of view than you can’t be a good writer of fictional stories, that’s just a fact. Because in order to understand proper characterization you need to acknowledge that not every character ever will be like you and that even you’re main heroes will hold beliefs and experiences different from yourself. Otherwise there is no genuine conflict to build off of. Either no one will disagree with each other or the conflict will come across as flat and forced, complete with lopsided bias.

Therefore, in the end, Rapunzel winds up being less of a Steven and more of a Rose Quartz/Pink Dimond. Both are spoiled princesses/co-rulers of a kingdom that mistreats it’s people and anyone outside of it, who rebelled against their guardians, supposedly out of a sense of justice, but really for themselves and their own freedom, only to make things even worse for everyone. On top of that they both accidently harmed their friends, freindzone their best friend while also bossing them around, are condescending to their love interests, is controlling of people who trust them, and throws temper tantrums when they don’t get what they want, oh and neglected someone for an inhumane amount of time.

Even then, Rapunzel winds up being the worst of the two.

The whole point behind Rose was that she is someone whom the main characters place upon a pedestal and as the series went along slowly had the scales fall from their eyes and learned to view her for who she really was flaws and all. By the end, in Future, she is even metaphorically removed from her pedestal when Steven removes her picture from the wall.

Rose also grows as a character, unlike Rapunzel. Her story is deliberately being told to us backwards. The awful person she was in the past was no longer who she was by the time of her death. True she was still flawed, and the consequences of her actions continued on even after her demise, but she actually tried to be a better person. She got called out for her behavior, she wasn’t excused for actions even when the show explained why she did what she did, and she stopped doing harmful actions whenever she realized that they hurt someone.

Greg was allowed to stand up to her and show how she was wrong, and she respected him for it and later fell in love with him because of it. She tried to better control her temper when she wound up hurting her friend. Her failed revolution and her mistreatment of Spinel was actually born from a misguided desire to help, rather than outright selfishness.

Rose Quratz/Pink Dimond is a brilliant fucking character. You may not like her, but you can’t deny that she is one of the most complex figures in children’s media to ever be created. She is real, nuanced, and multifaceted. He role within the story is complicated, messy, and intricate. She is the most well rounded female character I’ve ever seen and she is what I had hoped Rapunzel would be when I first watched season one, only even more so as the actual focus.

I want women in cartoons to be people!

But Rapunzel fails at every turn to follow through with this promise. She is not a deep complex character. She’s not a flawed and complicated heroine. She’s a blank canvas in which the creator can shove his creepy ass views upon. She is never taken off her pedestal, she’s never allowed to be wrong, and she is forced to spout the the creator’s personal bias against other characters.

Rapunzel isn’t a person. She had the chance to be one, but then was reduced to .. to this. As a woman, the treatment of Rapunzel and Cassandra in this show is just flat out insulting.

So What Is the Difference Between Angry and Red Now?

I’m all for character growth, but at this point Angry and Red are just interchangeable. Anything that made them uniquely them has been lost, and they’re now just fulfilling the generic rambunctious little kid trope. Red becoming more assertive shouldn’t mean she stops being an introvert altogether; that’s not how that works. While Angry shouldn’t lose her temper completely just because she’s wiling to open up more.

So Why Dwayne?

I like Dwayne as a character and in truth I don’t mind his existence here, and unlike that werewolf hunter last time he at least was established in a pervious season. But this is still time that could have went to a more important antagonist.

Also notice that Dwyane gets a villain song, but not Lady Caine or Zhan Tiri. Just saying.

Rapunzel Has Not Earned the Role of the Wise Sage and Mentor

Rapunzel has never learned to listen to others. Ever.

On it’s own this might have been a good speech, but when taken in context of the wider story it just makes Rapunzel look like an ass.

A year traveling does not make Rapunzel suddenly all knowing. She is not wiser nor more experienced than anyone else in this scene. She’s also a crappy leader and big fat hypocrite.

Even when she’s technically right, as seen here, she’s still in the wrong because she never follows through and acts upon her own advice; making this whole story pointless in the grand scheme of things.

And that’s the core problem with season three. Rapunzel is shoved into a role she is not designed for and the whole premise of the series runs right off the rails. You’re main heroine in a coming of age story can not inhabit the mentor role. She can not simultaneously learn and grow and be always right while instructing everyone else.

All through out season three Rapunzel is either rendered completely useless in her own damn series, or she utterly fails to fulfill any sort of narrative promise laid out for her while she infuriatingly hijacks the story from more interesting and dynamic characters.

Behold The Only Reason Why Varian was Included in the Episode

Speaking of hijacking things, Rapunzel of course has to get the idea to save everybody, even though what she thinks of isn’t anything special. It’s not derived from her character as an individual nor from all that experience she supposedly has. It’s literally an idea anyone could have come up with and the show just hands it to her in order to justify her exitance.

Meanwhile the character who actually is useful to the plot is sidelined and reduced to just a plot device. And not just here, Varian is rendered practically pointless in all but two episodes in season three, even in episodes that he actually should have more impact in, like the season opener and series finale.

Good writing treats characters as equally contributing to the plot in ways that complements who these characters are.

Ok I’ll Admit That This Line Is Funny

Look, I know this whole review series is about pointing out the negative, and I stand by my opinion that Tangled the Series is one of the worst written shows I’ve ever seen, but I want to make one thing clear.... I do not hate the show. If I hated the show I would not waste my time reviewing it.

Yes the over all writing is shit, but there are a lot of good things to be found in the series beyond just the crap story arc. The humor is usually solid, the animation is gorgeous, the music is a delight, and the majority of the characters are likable even though they don’t develop in the ways that they should. There’s a lot of talent that went into this show and there’s a lot of potential to be had in it’s set up and lore.

Being critical or negative about the aspects of something doesn’t mean you dislike it, or that you’re not a real fan, or that you’re just a ‘hater’, and I actually find TTS to be fascinating because it’s such a mess. I write reviews because they’re fun and because I genuinely think there is something to be learned from Tangled’s mistakes.

So Why Do We Cut Back to Rapunzel Here and Not Varian?

This is such an odd framing choice. Varian is the one who is talking and reacting to what’s happening. It’s his pet that’s in trouble and therefore he carries the emotional weight of the scene, and yet it’s Rapunzel’s shocked face we focus on? Why? What’s the point of that? She has no business being the center focus here. The action does not involve her.

If you wanted to include her for a later set up then why not have both her and Varian present in this shot? Usually I can at least count on the story boarders to frame things better than this, but they really missed the mark here. Unless Chris is just that stupid and petty that he over ruled them and forced Varian out of the scene, but that seems like a pointless fight to pick, even for him.

See This is How you Fulfill a Narrative Promise

The conflict between Ruddiger and Max was set up in season one with What the Hair, then it was reiterated a few episodes ago during The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne, and then it was reintroduced in this episode along with a stated lesson about working together that they needed to learn. By they end of the episode, guess what, they’ve learned to work together. That is how you properly set up and resolve a conflict.

It’s clear from this that the writers of Tangled the Series know the basic tenants of writing and how to fulfill narrative promises. So the fact that they don’t follow through with this in the majority of the show’s episodes and ongoing story arcs just baffles me.

Is it negligence? Is it hubris? Is it incompetent management and editorial mandates? Is it just one asshole ruining everything or is this a failure in the writers room as a whole?

I just don’t understand what the fuck went wrong here. There’s no reason for why the show got as bad as it did. How does the most acclaimed animation company in the world put out such amateurish tripe?

Just... wow.

Now you know why I’m mesmerized by this show. It is a mystery to be solved, like trying to figure out how the crew on the Titanic fucked up so badly or why Hindenburg blew up. You just can’t look away.

Conclusion

Like I said at the start, structurally speaking this is the strongest episode of the season. I personally enjoy Lost Treasure a little more, just because Rapunzel annoys me less in that, but it’s not a bad story. However when you’re best episode in your final season is filler, then you know you’re in trouble.

If you like my reviews and want to support my writing endeavors you can drop a tip in my kofi https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

#tangled #anti-tangled #anti-rapunzel #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure

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xempasuchil-love-blog · 3 years

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Hope (Harry x Uma) one-shot

Summary: Sometimes the VK’s cannot believe that true love exists. It is something so alien that it sounds like a farce, a story that parents make up to scare. Mal proclaims from the rooftops that she has found it, but her false smile is fooling no one. But when the VK’s see Harry and Uma, they can't help it. They feel hope. They do not know what it is love, no one has taught them, so they cannot name what they see between those two, they only know that it is a bit similar (and so different) to what Auradon calls love.

HOPE

10 years

Uma, daughter of Ursula; and Harry Hook are two of the most unusual children on the Isle of the Lost. The adults know it, and they try not to run into them, because the monsters know no limits. No one respects a good villain anymore these days (most are just old and pretty tired, though the evil hasn't left their dreams and bones), and if you run into the pair of bored kids, you're more than likely to end up being the target of some particularly painful joke. No, thank you very much.

A villain, on one of his good days, can put either of the two children in their place; drag Uma by the braids to her mother's shop (though it would surely end with a good handful of scratches and bites) or lead Hook's son by the ear to the docks (who gives a real hook to a ten-year-old boy, anyway?), but it happens that they are never separated. And together… together they are a true force to fear.

They ravage the isle like a tornado, robbing stores, painting walls and emptying pockets. They spend every stolen penny as innocent as they should be at their age, buying sweets and trinkets, and enjoying them on the deck of the Jolly Roger. (They always share their loot.)

The girls on the isle want to be like Uma (until Mal has a fit of envy, throws a bucket of shrimp at Uma's head and, since everyone is afraid of her mother, they decide they want to be like her), and kids envy Harry's hook.

11 years

A year has passed since the incident, and Uma has not been able to get the shrimp smell out of her braids. Every day for the past year she has gotten up earlier than everyone to earn some soap in the daily supply shipments, but even when she gets it, the smell never goes away. Uma screams and curses Mal in all her rage, because during that year in which Uma's life has taken a nosedive, Mal seems to win everything. She is considered one of the meanest girls on the isle and Maleficent has given her a bit of territory to terrorize; all Uma gets are screams from her mother, the beginning of a severe case of anemia, and the nickname Shrimpy.

But Harry is there for her, her faithful friend. He holds her when her legs buckle from exhaustion, lets her hit him when she's so mad at the smell of her hair that she wants to burn it, and threatens to hook on anyone who dares to call her Shrimpy.

Maybe Uma has gained something: a best friend.

12 years

Harry is about the perfect age to look like Peter Pan, and his sly, cheeky personality causes his father to throw him off the ship for a few months. He won't admit it, but he's scared. The only consolation he has is his hook, and suddenly a wonderful idea occurs to him. His father will want him back when he sees that he has a real hook hand, right? So, he leans over the water and waits for hours for Tick tack to show up. When the crocodile finally starts to close his mouth over his hand, Harry panics, somehow manages to get a punch at him and runs all the way down the dock towards Ursula's shop, his hand dripping with blood because anyway, the crocodile's teeth ripped a bit.

Uma yells at him more than she has ever yelled in her life, even more than with the shrimp, and she is not at all soft when heals his wound. She is beyond angry, she is so furious that she cannot see him in the eye without starting to insult him; she looks so exhausted, and Harry notices that sometimes it is hard for her to breathe, but she gives him a place in her bed (even though they fight at night over the only blanket she has) and steals some of the food from the store for him.

When his father finally lets him go back to the Jolly Roger, Harry promises himself that he will find a way to make Uma's heart beat slower, to erase the daze from her face; so, he struggles and every food he steals, if it is edible, he gives it to her. Uma giggles in his face, cheeky, but in the end, she ends up eating so hungry that it hurts Harry to watch. Still, he looks.

(He can't deny that he cares about her).

13 years.

Uma's heart beats at a normal rate, she has regained her strength and demands that Harry teach her to fight with swords. She's tired of feeling weak and small, so she runs in the morning, she trains with Harry every night, and her arms start to get muscle. Like, real muscle.

She wants to be a pirate, the sea in her blood calls her to have adventures and be free, take whatever she wants and live each day as if it were her last. Harry is not only satisfied with teaching her, he pushes her to the limit until one night she seems to forget everything and the only thing that can be heard on the beach is the thunder of metal colliding with metal, furious, and suddenly Harry is no longer giving blows but stopping them, until he realizes that his sword is lying on the ground and Uma smiles triumphantly, screams with joy and turns on the beach laughing, her arms outstretched and her braids moving in the suffocating sea breeze. Harry could only stare at her in a daze; because he suddenly notices that there is a delicate curve in her waist and her features are more delicate.

Two months later, when Harry walks into the Chip Shoppe one morning, as usual, he can't find Uma anywhere. Without daring to ask Ursula, he sneaks into the tavern and runs up the stairs to where Uma's room is. He worries that she's gotten sick again and hasn't told him, or something like that; he remembers seeing her grumpy for the past week, but what he doesn't expect is to find her curled up in her bed, scared.

"Uma? Are you okay?” Harry asks, and she looks up at him. He is her best friend, she should trust him (even when everything on the Isle is about mistrust, they like to break the rules), right?

But she seems torn between shame and fright. Harry approaches her bed, and she looks away from him as she forces the words out of her lips, even a few angry tears escape because she is not used to being afraid.

"I'm bleeding."

But no matter how hard Harry looks for a wound on her face or arms, he can't find it. So, she seems to want to die of embarrassment and it all fits into Harry's mind, because he remembers Harriet crying the first time it happened. He is relieved to know that Uma is fine, but he is still a thirteen-year-old boy, so his face turns red. He swallows his pride to place a braid behind her ear with his hook, in a gesture that pretends to be affectionate (but he does not know affection, so he does not know if he achieves it very well).

“Don't worry, it's normal. I'll go find Harriet to ask for her help and I'll come back. Right?"

Uma nods without looking him in the eye, and when Harry is about to walk out her bedroom door, he hears her say thank you. Uma has never said thank you or please, so he can't stop a smile from spreading across his face.

That year, no one attends her birthday party (The Sinister Thirteen) because Mal has decided to have her birthday party on the same day. Harry and Gil, Gaston's youngest son, take her to steal some alcohol and get drunk for the first time in their lives.

Uma doesn't want to know why alcohol makes her want to be closer to Harry or what is this strange feeling in her belly that she can only name as needing. She never says anything about it, anyway.

14 years

Harry is upset. He has had to listen to several guys say how hot Uma is, how much they want to kiss her face and that her waist is so provocative. He has been wanting to break faces all week, but he can't do anything, because he reminds himself that he lives on the Isle and that any little weakness he shows can be twisted in the worst way. He reminds himself that he would be putting Uma in danger, because the Isle has a motto: "if you can't have it, break it." They would break her just to amuse themselves with his anger. So, he grits his teeth, squeezes his hook until his fist turns white, and goes on his way.

There is a part of him that doesn't understand why he gets so upset. Uma is one of the most beautiful girls on the Isle, so she is more exposed. But he has heard the same comments about Harriet, Mal, and other girls. He realizes that what bothers him about that is the way they talk about her, as if she were just another girl, when Harry knows that Uma has divine heritage running through her veins.

They should have more respect for goddesses.

For what else could she be, whose laughter sounds like the tempest, whose blue-green braids are like the tide, whose voice can be as sweet as foam and as cruel as a typhoon?

The next time he says her name, he can't help it sounding like a prayer.

15 years

Sometimes Uma wishes Harry would stop flirting with everything that moves. (She's not jealous at all!) But there is something about it that irritates her. It seems like a lie, and although everyone on the isle lies, she doesn't like to see him lying to himself. She can't help but wonder why he does it if his eyes fill with pain as he smiles (and the girls swoon at his feet).

One night, Harry steals his father's alcohol, and they hide on the beach, staring at the sea and cursing Auradon (because they realize their future is having no future) and making fun of Mal and her entire gang, and Uma feels so good to be there with him that she forgets to be cautious and gets drunk.

She is tired. She hates working for her mother, she hates the Isle and she hates lies. She hates secrets. So she, emboldened by alcohol, decides to be honest with herself. She looks at Harry, who seems happy and relaxed, staring up at the sky, always trying to find the Neverland star, and she tells herself that she's sick of this shit: she accepts that she's in love with him.

Uma doesn't try to deny it. She has no patience for such nonsense.

"I want you to be mine," she tells him (it's the closest she can dare to say her feelings), and Harry is so shocked that he accidentally drops the rum bottle, spilling its contents all over the beach. She is claiming him, more or less, and Harry feels incredible satisfaction from that fact.

"I already am," he tells her, all dangerous serenity.

Uma kneels on the sand, impatient, and then sits on Harry's lap with her legs on either side of his hips. Her sense of need returns, but she finds that she feels a little sated if she rubs against him. She likes the way his lips moan and his eyes blur, for her.

Harry kisses her, his lips taste of rum and adventure, just like a pirate should. Just like she always imagined Harry would taste. Afterwards, they look for any excuse to lock themselves in closets and rooms. Lust is common on the isle, but Harry's touch is reverent, and Uma finds the most tender side of her, which is like the sea breeze and calm waves, to caress his lips.

And he does not make her his as a prize, an easy conquest, an object that is used or a simple means to satisfy his needs. When he makes her his, he makes sure Uma knows that he loves her. (He can no longer deny it).

16 years.

Harry and Uma are unusual on the isle. Sure, everyone fears Mal and her gang, so when they are sent to Auradon, basically betray the villains and forget about them, the fear easily turns to hatred and desire of revenge. Uma and her new crew take over Mal’s old territory and, although it is impossible to believe, things improve a bit, because Uma doles out the supplies and the fear that Harry instills keeps the territory, to some extent, safe. The safest thing that can be being the Isle of the Lost.

It is not a secret that Uma hates Mal, it is not a secret that she wants revenge on her. Everyone on the isle knows that now the queen of the place is not a queen part fairy, but a Pirate Queen, everyone knows that she is dangerous, deadly, and that she would not hesitate to cut a neck with her sword.

Sometimes the VK’s cannot believe that true love exists. It is something so alien that it sounds like a farce, a story that parents make up to scare. Mal proclaims from the rooftops that she has found it, but her false smile is fooling no one.

But when the VK’s see Harry and Uma, they can't help it. They feel hope. They do not know what it is love, no one has taught them, so they cannot name what they see between those two, they only know that it is a bit similar (and so different) to what Auradon calls love.

And not even the cruellest dare to break it. It is like seeing a single flower being born in the middle of a field where nothing has ever sprouted, it is like finding an oasis in a desert that stretches across the entire horizon.

Uma smiles at Harry, and he looks at her like she is the world.

Although the swords hang from their hips.

#harry hook x uma #harry hook #uma daughter of ursula #Huma #uma x harry #uma x harry hook #descendants

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Ducktales Final Four: Beaks in the Shell! or JESUS WEPT!

This.. this is a big occasion for me. It’s a return to regular Ducktales coverage.. but it’s also the first episode of the LAST four of the series. It was thanks to Ducktales my blog got a following, first through in character chat things, then through my reviews of this very season. It was starting this last year that took my blog from something I was passionate abbout but did ocassionaly to a vital part of my being and my source of income via one lucky boy who just wont’ let me stop! I kid of course, I thank kev for it, though i’d gladly welcome any other review comissions from you fine folks and fit them into the schedule. There’s a page on my blog for how and if your on mobile you can simply send me an ask or submit to ask about comissiong an episode or episodes of an animated shwo you like and i’ll give you my prices and what not. But it’s thanks to these Kev started comissioning in the first place and thanks to you all clicking on these reviews every week I do them that kept me doing them early on. So I wanted to thank you all.

Covering the last four episodes is really bittersweet for me. It’s not the end for ducks here: I have most of seasons 1 and 2 to cover, and will be covering a lot of season 1 next month so I can properly cover shadow war for my Lena retrospective, not to mention continuing to cover life and times when I have the space, various birthdays, including Carl Barks Next Month!, and so on and so on. But this is not only the first show I covered on a weekly basis but it’s the first show i’ve covered like that to end. To put it in perspective, Loud House won’t be leaving until it WANTS to and even then nick will probably prepare a second spinoff to follow it up in some form, Amphibia has both the rest of season 2 to go, starting next month!, and a third season renewal meaning while that probably WILL be it i’ll have had two full seasons to cover by the time it’s over, and I went into Close Enough FULLY expecting it not to make it past season 1 as it’s long and harried production cycle lead me to belivie Time-Warner was just going to dump it on HBO Max and be done with it.. and to my utter and everlasting delight the opposite has happened: It didn’t just get renewed but it’s become one of HBO Max’s most popular shows, the flagship of it’s adult animation lineup, and been given THREE more seasons, two of which are coming very soon, and likely will get as many as it wants for the forseable future.

The point is.. I went into covering Ducktales expecting at least one more season and genuinely not knowing if i’d make it thorugh covering this one, and once this started to really work out for me, to the point from doubting i’d EVER be able to set up a Patreon to having one that nets me ten dollars a month, feel free to contribute if you enjoy these reviews even a buck a month helps, honest. Plus thanks to that ten bucks a month i’ll be covering the five part 87 Ducktales pilot in April and if you get it up to ten i’ll cover super ducktales. But I wouldn’t even had one without these reviews giving me something to start with, and I figured they’d be around for a few more years, at least one more season. I didn’t think the show would just.. end with this season and while the season IS a proper final season of the show, wrapping up arcs, introducing long overdue cast additions, giving us the biggest and best overarching plot thus far.. a good final season dosen’t make it hurt any less. But as a wise Synthizoid once said...

It hurts it’s going.. I wasn’t prepared for it.. but it’s giving us one hell of a last act, and if this episode is any indication, just because the end is in sight dosen’t mean the last few eps before the finale are phoning it in. This is the end... so now i’ve got my emotional stuff and the weight behind it out of the way, for now i’m defintely going to be bawling come the finale and I’m not ashamed, we can dive into the begining of the end. Counting down.. because really when else am I going to get to use this...

We’re at four and under the cut it’s beaks in the shell. Let’s get dangerous.

We open with a crime in progress as Gandra is stealing a thing for FOWL and Fenton has shown up on the scene to stop her as you’d expect.. along with Huey the boy wonder! He’s finally Fenton’s Sidekick!

Seriously it’s just so sweet to see this little payoff, to see Huey, after talking about it and clearly wanting to assit Fenton however he can, actually participate. Granted he dosen’t have an armor, yet, of his own, but still he’s been through enough stuff to be helpful> plus, Gyro’s reaction to Fenton trying to ge the resources for another gizmosuit was...

Gandra trips up his wheel, and im with 87 Scrooge in Ducktales Remastered, which I finally got to play recently! Horay!, what WAS gyro thinking with that design. Regardless she gets away, and our heroes return the loot off screen. Good day’s crime fighting.

Except something’s off with Fenton as he’s been working extra late lately and lying to both Gyro and Ma’Ma about it with both suspcious, Gyro because he dosen’t like not knowing things and especially not knowing what his former intern’s up to because he’s a bit of a control freak.. and because he probably can’t go visit his new clone farm and work on speeding up the process of his replacement bodies after moonvasion used em all up without Fenton finding out as he’d tell Scrooge and Scrooge would be like “Stop playing God in ways that could get me a steep fine!”. It’d be a whole thing. The fact Fenton’s also using their now shared intern in Manny and neither is telling him why probably isn’t helping and i’ts only that workplace harassment seminar that keeps him from trying to strangle either of them again. That and Manny dosen’t have a neck.

Ma’Ma is more upset that not only is he lying to her again, more on that later, but .. that she’s figured out he has a new girlfriend and understandably thinks there’s some dark reason he’s not telling her, and unlike Gyro turns out she’s two for two. I mean she is a detective while Gyro is more worried about his clone army, his man horse and his robot son. I mean the last two are valid but still Mama just has to worry about her job and her socially awkward adult son. She has more time to focus on this.

But yes, not only is Fenton seeing someone.. but it’s Gandra again. A bit abrubt but honestly this isn’t the first Fenton episode to move his life fast.. and frankly i’m more lenient on final seasons, or seasons INTENDED to be the last ones in terms of offscreen stuff, as your trying to get everything you can wrapped up in the span of 13-24 episodes depending on how lucky you get, if not less. Sometimes you just gotta use a reveal and some exposition to hurry things along and if presented right it works.. and here it is a while the summary for this episode spoiled the reveal, i’ts still subtly dramatic that not only has hef ully forgiven her.. but their together.. despite the fact she still works for fowl. Wuh-oh. After the credits we get an idea of what their working on, as Fenton used the gizmoduck suit to enter some kind of VR scape. This is the Gizmoscape! It’s a vast virtual reality landscape.. that looks like a fancy version of the VR Interface from community. Marble pillars, flowing water falls. Though ironically enough Jim Rash’s character is NOT a part of it and despite Fenton suggesting letting him in to help with their glitch problem she’s reluctant as it’s THEIR baby and she wants it to be perfect first before they allow other people in. Though i’m also sure part of it is that Gyro would start screaming JESUS WEPT! over and over.

Meanwhile Mark Beaks is having a big flashy press confrence to announce the new Waddlephone. Only a 50% chance of exploding! And that’s not my dig at Samsung but the shows as that’s really Beaks sales pitch. Unsuprisingly only one VERY bored looking nerd is there at the confrence. As for why he’s finally fallen so low part of it is explalined in the episode: His attempted thefts of the Gizmoduck suit have gotten stale. As the bored nerd puts it he’s tried to steal it four times already, two that we’ve seen but i’m VERY unsuprised he’s tried again off screen. He’s made it PAINFULLY clear he has no ideas of his own, constantly steals them, and the public’s tired of it. As for why it took THIS LONG.. this is sadly realistic. As the throngs of “hardcore gamers” defending Cyberpunk 2077 before it was released can attest to, internet nerd culture can often be toxic, stupid and defend big personalities even when they’ve CLEARLY done something terrible as long as their doing something they like. Beaks was clearly pilfering enough good products and doing enough antics on social media to still be liked and for them to ignore his blanat and douchey crimes and had enough money on him during said crimes to walk away from it.

Problem is.. while people can be awful and defend someone despite them not deserving their loyality, being a douche in public and doing VERY terrible things.. you have to have something to earn that loyalty. Waddle had that at first iwth project ta-dah, Waddleduck, various aps i’m sure... but it’s clear from context by this point Beaks has nothing left and no cult of personality to insulate him. Unlike say Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos he dosen’t HAVE some big product to mask his shadier wealth hoarding actions, he just has rampat supervilian attempts to steal someone else’s power armor and a hired hyjacking to get back at his cold unloving mother. Even when he does supervillian stuff like that.. he can’t be bothered to do it originally. The public will, and very sadly, defend you from terrible stuff, we’ve seen it with people supproting Gina Carano even though she’s actively spreading harmful disnfermation and then had the GALL to compare herself to jews hiding from the nazis, and one journalist trying to defend her had the gall to compare this to the hollywood blacklisting if the 50′s instead of you know, someone who woudln’t shut up about harmful dangerous shit finally getting fired for using teh platform said job provided to spread said harmful dangerous shit about masks and the vacine. But if you have nothing to offer.. thieri just going to forget you and move on. He has nothing to offer so they’ll gladly gravitate to some other jackass who can at leasat given them a neat phone instead of trying to steal a superhero suit for the 8th time. Mark realizes if he can’t steal something soon.. he’ll be forced to go with the Nuclear option: MAKE SOMETHING HIMSELF.

Back at Fenton’s toilet lab, Huey finds Fenton having some cyber makeouts with Gandra... which translates to him kissing the air and Huey feeling evne more awarkd than usual. As for why Huey’s here despite it being late, he got a piece of Gandra’s nanotech during the robbery and figures they can track her. Fenton is.. less than enthused about that for obvious reasons but things soon get worse for our hero as our other hero notices the linkup. And while sidekicks are a good thing in my eyes; They allow young heroes to get proper training, help nuture their talents and prevent assholes from telling them to stop it instead of you know helping them. It’s.. a more common trope than you think let me tell you.

But Fenton’s discovered the Downside is they can show up anytime, want to hunt your criminal girlfriend down not knowing the full story, and if their a genius like you, figure out what your up to with no effort and really want to try it. Seriously Huey’s almost as smart as you Fenton and will no doubt surpass you one day, this was a matter of when not if and you shouldv’e been more prepared. But Huey wants to try, and while Fenton tries deflecting since he only has the gizmoduck helmet and it only works for him now... Manny comes in with a bunch of vr rigs and Huey dives in. Naturally, Huey soon running directly into Gandra dosne’t go great.. and given this is huey his natural instinct is to have a panic attack over his best friend, mentor and the only person besides maybe his family, boyfriend and girlfriend that really gets him possibly betraying him and his entire family. Gandra is of course mad Fenton invited someone in when she didn’t want that, and even more someone whose clearly not happy with her and will likely tell on them because that’s basic hue-man nature.

Fenton explains he didn’t ask for this, so we get easily the best part of the episode: Gandra’s solution to the child having a mental breakdown.. is to summon a weighted blanket and throw it over him, which Huey mistakes for a trap and she explains helps with Anxiety.. and while he struggles.. it really does. Damn gotta get me one of those. Also while his Autisim remains vauge, likely on puprose, Huey having anxiety disorder, while obvious before, is now 100% confirmed.

So now he’s calm, though his Anxiety meter shows he’s still not happy and Gandra doubts he’ll listen, Fenton can at least try and explain: The two have been seeing each other and working on this in secret.. but it has NOTHING to do with FOWL other than Gandra embezzling resoruces to make it happen. Gandra also explains why the project is so important to her and Fenton via her own backstory: Super Science is a dangerous, unrpedictable field and accidents happen a lot, and given people tend to hate what they don’t understand, hence why the X-Men founded their own island after getting spat on one too many times, it often gets an unfair bad wrap.. and she shows she’s had to put up with this her whole life, making an intresting lazer thing as a kid that lost to a volcano and getting glared at for it accidently destroying said volcano. And as an adult due to her work’s dangerous and experimental nature, no one would take a chance on it and like many a super villian she had to experiment on herself. It’s also why she worked for Beaks last season and works with FOWL now, only supervillians with thier grandiose ambitions and lack of care for property damage would fund her.

That’s part, at least, of why this is so very important to her: The Gizmoscap eprovides an invorment where scientests and others can experiment unabated, where the only limit is imagination and those glitches they keep having and any accident can be frozen , dragged and dropped away with no damage. There’s no risk but all the reward and they plan to give it out for free, to let the public use this and let the world grow from it.

It also fills in a lot of Gandra’s character and gives weight to her last apperance: Her working with Beaks, while hypocritical, now has a tragic edge as he was simply the only one who’d fund her work. Her hatred of Fenton’s corprroate job and people like Scrooge.. is that in general billionares like him usually aren’t good people, and even SCrooge has his clear faults, and she assumed he was just making Fenton shut up and do things just to beniefit him and make him more money.. when Scrooge was instaead paying him to do a genuine public service as gizmoduck, and gives him and Gyro a LOT of leway and a pretty bottomless budget and only turns things down if their way too dangeorus for public release. The tragedy here is if she’d gone to Scrooge.. she never would’ve had to work for FOWL. He wouldd’ve genuinely supported her and likely given her a full ride and a spot in the lab of her own, maybe as an intern but probably on her own merit given how game changing her tech is and how he of all people understands a ballance of risk and reward. It turns her from a very hypcoriticla techie who works with the very people she scorns.. to someone who has no choice and desperatley wants out. And this is her way out: something new and bold that’, while not hers alone as Fenton co created it, could change the world and make it safe for people like her to do what they do without ridcule, scorn or risk. It’s everything she could’ve dreamed of and more and once it’s done she promises to leave fowl and as the end of the episode bares out, and as her tone makes clear, she’s genuine about it. She also TRULY does love fenton and vice versa and both are desspearte for Huey to keep a lid on things from Gyro till it’s ready, as she rightfully worries if it gets out unfisnished they’ll just be mocked agian. Naturally being a good soft boy Huey is now entirely on board, because he loves science, and he loves love and this is both. And frankly given what we saw way back in Astro BOYD... .he knows more than anyone what its like to be laughed at and mocked for being diffrent and simply being smart. And even though his family lvoes him.. only one member is as smart as him in the same way, his mom whose still a very diffrent person, and it wasn’t till this season he really got to connect with people his own age like him. And both Violet and BOYD could benifit form this.. everyone could. So he’ll keep it secret for now. This proves problematic as both Gyro AND Mama are there and both have questions. And while Huey ducks gyro, Mama.. interrogates a small child who she’s defintely met and likely knows has anxiety over something as trivial as her son having a secret girlfrined. You.. you guys might’ve wanted to remove this bit given last year. I”m just saying. Does not play well. The most Huey can come up with is a girlfriend in Canada which fenton plays along with... but given neither her nor gyro are really buying into things, though Mama has a check done on seamstresses in canada just in case because this bit was clearly written years ago and not rerecorded for whatever reason, Huey uses little bulb to fake a gizmo emergency so Fenton can get out of there, go home and work on this himself while Huey stalls and lies. But since his best on the fly lie was “a girlfriend in canada”, which is somehow worse than “who’s Dewey”, and while our boy is many things: excellent at opera, a good friend, a wonderful wingman, excellent at setting a mood, a good son, great at panic attacks, a genius, an expert woodchuck, knowledgeble on quantum mechanics.. the list goes on lying is not one of those things and he seems to be in a pickle.

Meanwhile Mark is struggling to create, can relate, because he’s entirely creatively sterile. And that’s probably why out of Scrooge’s foes.. he stopped being a threat. He has no vision. And while true the Beagle BOys also don’t besides steal stuff and maybe get our deed back, that’s by design as Ma knows they can’t take scrooge or gizmoduck so why cry. Stick to petty crimes and stuff he isn’t aware of or dosen’t care about. But Magica and Glomgold do. Magica is cunning, if not subtle, and manipulative and when on full blast horrifyingly powerful, and it took everything Clan McDuck had to stop her at full, and she still nearly won without any powers when she came back, and even if Lena can keep her in check now, she still GOT her powers back and got her new arch enemy to defeat her old one. Glomgold while only slightly more comipitent than beaks, and even then VERY slightly, he at least has vision. His schemes are entirely stupid.. but he dosen’t stop coming up with them. They may be his first draft but damn if they aren’t entertaining and damn if one or two haven’t WORKED. Simply stealing a few cents from scrooge and gaslighting him in a devil costume NEARLY drove him insane and cost him his fortune. Beaks.. has no ideas. He has ambiation.. but it’s to steal the same tech that even if he got it, he woudln’t know what to do with. The ONLY time he’s been a full on threat has been using someone else’s scheme, that Gandra clearly came up with and STILL required piggybacking on the gizmo suit. He has nothing and while it was fine for a while.. eventually h’es left iwth nothing. Glomgold at least has money, magica at least has power... Beaks HAD both.. but had no idea what to properly do with it and now is on his last legs. Even his idea for a coffee cups with aps is taken because of course “even the dumbest ideas are taken”, this is america. Making dumb shit for rich morons is our primary export. But he sees the fleeing fenton, has a breakdown and declares FINE if that’s what fate wants i’ll steal the armor I’LL STEAL THE ARMOR ALL DAY.

So Fenton heads home to recharge in both senses of the word, and to tell Gandra the timetable’s moved and Huey can hold them only so long. And he seems to be wrong as Huey confidently prepares to answer their questions.. but is seemingly thrown when we get the real reason Mama is so upset: She’s just worried and still a bit hurt from Fenton not feeling he could tell her he was gizmoduck and it breaks her heart that her son feels he has to hide from her again. However while this is genuinely sad and emotional.. the reason he’s thrown is it’s NOT huey, but Louie, whose a bit miffed as he DIDN’T know Fenton was Gizmoduck, and can’t properly bullshit without full info. it’s also really nice that bit FINALLY came up as the rest of the four main kids have known for a while now. But Huey convincnes him to do it.. for 6 months allowance. Frankly the real shocker here is that they actually GET an allowance.

However Mama.. is again a cop. One who REALLY needs to rethink her ethics.. but a cop, and the best one on the force, and thus has easily guessed this is not Huey, and given she’s probably ran into his schemes before, figures out which one he’d bring in to buffer for him and easily gets rid of Louie by asking him to tur informant on himself, since the REAL Huey would under pressure and Louie instead flees in terror not wanting to get arrested and leaves both the lab and the episode. Though I’m pretty sure i know where he went

So yeah things are not great and only get worse, as Mark breaks into fentons house via the open window and upon finding out abotu the Gizmoscape naturally plans to hack into it and take it for himself. Before he does Fenton talks to Gandra and admits they may have to let other people in and we get another reason: She’s worried she’s not good enough. He reassures her.. and this tender moment is interupted by Beaks who imprisons them, hyjacks fenton’s security system aka a gizmo armor, and while still a creatively sterile douche, does have a decent if horrifically scummy way to profit all of this: use the open coloabreation concept to get the legal right to steal all this and say it’s his.

Fenton bemaons the fact that Gandra was right, one bad apple spoiled the bunch and unveling it too qiuckly would’ve gone bad as she feared.. but Gandra’s grown and realizes Fenton was also right, and that they needed more people. While the wrong people can ruin a project, collaboration can help, finding perspectives you didn’t see and helping fine tune ideas. Huey, whose collapsed at Fenton’s due to the exustion of lying, wakes up to find Beaks crimes and being unable to just unplug him, as while Beaks is VERY dumb, even he’s not THAT stupid. But Fenton gets out an SOS over morse to tell everyone So Huey does.. and the calvary arrives, as Huey enters the Gizmoscape with Mama and Gyro. And while Mama is pleased to realize she’s right about the girlfirend thing they don’t really have time for that, so once Huey explains the basic concept, he uses it himself to give himself GIZMO ARMOR. AT LAST.

He also has extra long legs, because of course, just.. of course. Naturally Beaks steals it, and everyone else takes a stab at their own gizmotech armor: Mama daawns a stunning police themed one, Gyro goes for a bulb mecha based on the giant version of little bulb from the great dime chase, an idea brought up by LB, and Gandra goes for a sleek tron esque nanotech number. Beaks take sa bit from each and our heroes wonder how to beat him.. but Fenton realizes that’s simple: Beaks can only copy and steal... they can create. And Gandra uses this against him by pointing that out so he drops his super armor.. to look like Andross from Starfox.. which shows that EVEN when trying to come up with a cool final boss form... Beaks has to steal from something. The rest of the Gizmo Corps, my name for them I own that, Gizmo Legion would also be good, after Iron Man’s iron Legion, suit back up and kick beaks ass as a team. I smell second spinoff.. or first if darkwing ends up hyjacked by Seth Rogen.. who I have nothing agianst he’s just not the one who put in the work for a reboot.

So our heroes win in an awesome sequence, seirously spinoff and Beaks is knocked the fuck out and presumibly will FINALLY go to jail for good to this as he can get away from a lot but directly breaking into an officer’s house and stalking her son, they can omit the gizmopart and even if Fenton went public.. no one would care and he and Mama can take care of htemselves, as can Huey, Gyro, Gandra and Manny, so it’s not like anyones in danger. Beaks is well and truly defeated: he has no idea, an imminet jail sentence, and no one to back him up. Fenton’s finally got the little boil off his back

So now the big fight is over, Gyro can actually process the Gizmoscape.. and is genuinely impressed.. he tries to hidei t because of course he does.. but it’s clear for someone who himself has constnatly been called crazy and had his ideas blow up.. this is paradise to him. a place where he won’t be judged and has unlimtied funds to experiment with his ideas without having to get yelled at when they destroy a city block or nearly choked to death by his own robot son, daughter or nonbinary person. He also easily fixes the problem and proves Fenton right for wanting to include him, as he points out they hadn’t been DELETING anything, simply downsizing it and it naturally caused stress on the server. Fenton talks about Gandra and defneeds her to Mama.. whose just happy he’s happya nd someone can take her son. Alls well that ends well right.

Final Thoughts: So this was a... wait.. why are we cutting back to fowl.. why is bradford there.

Yeah turns out megalmanoical diabolical msterminds kinda monitor their employees so he knew she intended to quit and stole resources, and while she plans to leave, he simply calls in a bunch of eggheads who overwhelm her with sheer numbers and has her fined two weeks pay.. and taken to the lost library to indefintely lock her up. What’s that she asks “You have your secrets, I have mine”

So yeah a bit of a downer ending

Actual Final Thoughts:

This was an excellent capper to Fenton’s character arc. While the Gandra relationsihp is a bit rushed the rest is a masterful capper to his character arc: This episode shows off how he’s changed from EVERY one of his previous three focus episodes, while a major part of astro boyd and how he got his docterate it dosne’t quite contribute to his character arc, and grown from them: From beware the buddy system! he’s learned to colaberate properly and taken his desire to WORK with other people, like he always did with Gyro but was constnatly shut out, and found a proper and brilliant way to that allows people like him, gyro, gandra and huey to really express themselvs. He’s grown from a niave rookie trusting the wrong people in who is gizmoduck.. to someone whose STILL fully trusting despite constant betryals, but now knows who to trust, and an experinced hero who once freed easily counters his nemisis. And finally from Dangerous Chemistry, he’s finally got a ballance in his life: inastead of running from gizmo or treating his alter ego as something else.. he’s found a way to use the gizmotech for science, and FINALLY found his world changing invention one so good and so practical even his mentor, despite trying to walk it back, is genuinely proud of him and genuinely in awe.

Every step lead to his happy ending.. well okay his girlfriend still needs to be freed from her insane ex-boss, but that’s just a few episodes away. Fenton has everything he wanted when he started: his boss finally respects him and treats him as an equal, his mom not only knows who he is but is proud and supportive of him, he has a loving partner creatively and romantically.. and a best friend who while a good two decades younger, is there for him and who he genuinely apologizes too for putting so much on him. LIke all the endings so far this season.. it feels like a throughly satisfying end to the journey we’ve been following. This fits in nicely with Penny realizing earth could be her home and that she dosen’t have to constnatly fight to have a purpose, Lena finally accepting magic instead of running from it and thus gaining peace of mind and power to stop her former abuser from hurting anyone else, Goldie finally accepting how much she cars about Scrooge and his family and that she CAN change... all of this, except penny obviously has been built up through three seasons and while I DEFINTLY could see frank and matt returning to all of them.. i’ts nice to get some closure. It feelsd earned and impressive. The episode is also.. REALLY fucking funny, from the weighted blanket gag to Beaks in general, to Huey yelling at fenton about Mama “She somehow broke Louie!”. It’s a masterful and throughly satisfying end to Fenton’s story. And again we’ll likely see him in the finale but character arc wise.. its a good place to end his.

Next Week: FINALLY, AFTER 10,000 YEARS, IT’S THE TAILSPIN EPISODE. OWEEOOO, OWEEHHHH.

Tommorow: We return to the noiry furry world of John Blacksad as everyone’s favorite panther detective battles white supremacists to find a missing girl and we’re introduced to your faviorite sidekick and mine Weekly.

Later on this week: The Lena retrospective continues with Jaw$, we celebrate Tex Avery’s birthday, and I tackle the awful original tom and jerry movie.

So if any of that tickles your fancy see you at the next rainbow

#ducktales #beaks in the shell!#beaks in the shell #fenton crackshell cabrera #gandra dee #huey duck #mark beaks #gyro gearloose #mama cabrera #little bulb #manny the headless manhorse #gizmoduck #ducktales spoilers

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mythgirlimagines · 3 years

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I hope that you like this more obscure talentswap! This fast-talking mile-a-minute lass lives for all there is to do with justice, for she is Myth, the Former Ultimate Stenographer!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Being born to two hard-working pervayors of justice (attorneys, in fact), Myth always witnessed her parents getting justice served to the people who deserved it, and always wished to follow in their footsteps, so she would always write what her parents said in the court, so she could use it as future reference. Some of the court officials noticed this, and offered to give this girl a position as the court’s professional stenographer, and you better believe she wears that title like a badge of glory, and performs to the highest of capabilities. Myth’s supreme skill in stenographing earned her a spot on the Hope’s Peak roster as the Ultimate Stenographer, and even in her adult years, she is still working hard every day to record the words uttered by the justice system that she holds ever so dear to her heart. But her best friend forced her to take the next couple of weeks off, and chaperone this years Ultimates and Jr. Ultimates.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Kickboxer

Despite being only two inches taller than their friend, Wyre dominated foes way bigger than them, thanks to their strong and wild kicking, which is enough for them to be considered a champion and caused them to earn their position as the Ultimate Kickboxer, and they are still going strong in their adult years. Despite their rough appearance and her equally rough demeanor and behavior, their criminal record is squeaky clean, and for that reason, Myth and Wyre have been only the best of friends for years and years. Wyre is also the only one who can understand Myth’s fast-talking and shorthand speech, and the only person who can stop Myth from over working herself and stressing herself out over minor details.

Outfit: An orange and sleeveless hoodie over a bandage-wrapped chest, chains on her neck and wrist, sweatpants that match her hoodie, nothing on her feet.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Puppeteer

As the mastermind and creative genius behind famous horror web series told exclusively through expertly-crafted marionettes and props, and a creepy voice acting as the narrator, Scar commonly calls herself ”The Narrator”, “The Disembodied Voice”, or, most notably of all, “The Puppetmaster”. Oddly enough, despite puppeteering for specifically in the horror genre, and wearing clothes that would be right at home on a cursed and possessed Victorian-era doll, Scar is actually quite the softie in real-life, often acting like a concerned mother to the other Kibo-Con attendees. Scar’s creepy appearance immediately scared Myth away, much to the dismay of the puppet enthusiast.

Outfit: A red beret on her head, cracks drawn on her face making her resemble a haunted doll, a black and white gothic-Lolita style dress, black and white striped stockings, brown platform heels.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Waiter

Garnering fame all around his hometown for his ability to hold several plates of food all at once, while roller-skating simultaneously, Fusion is a waiter at the “Squeaky-Clean Spoon”, a 60s style diner run by his parents and grandparents, that is famous for their chili dogs and selection of songs on their personal jukeboxes. With their shared love for punctuality in their respective duties and their shared concern for their conmates, you would think that the two would get along perfectly. However, Myth caught wind of a certain skeleton in Fusion’s closet, and hasn’t forgiven Fusion since. Fusion desperately wishes to reconcile with his senpai, even if he is siding with an acclaimed thief.

Outfit: A white dress shirt, a red, yellow, and blue striped tie, a red and white apron, white gloves, red and white four-wheel roller-skates, glasses and pants from his original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Thief

As a youngster, Fusion II was born and raised on the streets, and had to steal and loot from any house and store that she happened upon, in order to survive in this dog-eat-dog world. Her natural stealth and clever mindset helps her evade her captors and makes her only the perfect thief. However, a couple of months prior, Fusion II was caught stealing from The Squeaky-Clean Spoon by the owners, and was offered a place to stay at the diner, in exchange for working as one of the diner’s chefs. Because Fusion II and Myth are on opposite sides of the law, they both have a massive grudge against each other, making Fusion II the person Myth gets along with the worst.

Outfit: A black-leather jacket over a pink undershirt, blue-ripped jeans with the same apron as Fusion tied over it, tall black boots, sunglasses from the original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Tutor

Tired of his constant truancy, in spite of his stunning genius, Janon’s teachers have forced him to tutor his kohais, as compensation for all of the school days he missed and as a way to learn what actual work feels like. Because Janon can memorize entire textbooks worth of information, he uses all of this knowledge in order to tutor the school children of his neighborhood. While he does equally as well of a job with students older than him, Janon is notably harsher on them, compared to children (his one weakness and soft-spot). Janon shows zero respect for any of his senpais, particularly the stick-up-her-butt stenographer. Myth is oddly intrigued by Janon’s quick retaining of info.

Outfit: The same formal wear that he wears underneath his hoodie from his original design, with a long pink scarf wrapped around his neck (which was knitted by one of his kohais), reading glasses.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Tap Dancer

The famed star of the Spectacular Sparkling Spotlight (or Troupe S3, for short) Dance Troupe, Sparkle and the other girls of her dance-oriented musical theatre troupe are all skilled at all sorts of dance styles, but as her title would suggest, Sparklw (and the rest of her troupe) mainly specializes in tap dancing. A combination of her loud voice, style and grace on the stage, and the sheer amount of knowledge on the world of performing and theatrics, made Sparkle the perfect person to lead her troupe into worldwide stardom. At first, Myth was scared off by Sparkle’s loud and commandeering tone, but eventually (even if she won’t admit it), the skittish stenographer has warmed up to Sparkle.

Outfit; A black and white tuxedo with a matching hat/headband on top of her hair, white gloves, black and pink tap shoes, a sparkly black and white cape, a cane she carries at all times, glasses from her original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Graffiti Artist, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Tailor

Egg and Wet Sock are a pair of twins best known for their differently-applied artistic genius. Egg, the older and more physically-gifted (but not particularly bright or sensible) of the two, specializes in colorful and eye-grabbing graffiti, with or without permission from commissioners. Wet Sock, the more brooding and withdrawn (yet equally as cursed) of the two, specializes in custom-made and fitted clothes, particularly those of the emo subculture. Egg’s jokey nature and morally dubious talent puts them at odds with Myth, meaning that, out of the twins, Myth gets along better with Wet Sock, despite their strange and frightening attachment to knives and regularly pulling them out.

Egg’s Outfit: Green-tinted goggles, a splattered bandana covering their nose and mouth, a black tanktop, green cargo pants, black gloves, spray can holsters and boots.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A simple black and white tuxedo, accessorized with sewing supplies.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Soccer Player

The otherwise ragtag soccer team of Star Summit Co-Ed Middle School has a secret ace up their sleeve, and that ace’s name is Curious Anon. Curious‘s sheer leg strength combined with his strategic mindset and game-breaking power made them popular among soccer fanatics everywhere and makes them truly earn the title of Ultimate Soccer Player. Despite their stoic and permanent game face frightening opponents, as any of their teammates would tell you, Curious is surprisingly kind-hearted and is easy to get along with. Curious’s honest and upfront nature seems to help calm Myth’s nerves, when she chooses to interact with the easygoing middle school soccer star.

Outfit: A green and white soccer uniform with black cleats.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Skateboarder

On the other end of the jock scale, we have Anon Nerd, the jerkish and hyper-aggressive Ultimate Skateboarder, and the eldest of the Kibo-Con roster. Because of his less-than-stellar and hyper-violent upbringing, Nerd took it to the skatepark to vent his frustrations with half-pipe tricks. All the time spent at the skatepark made his skateboarding skills escalate and escalate, until he became a pro-skateboarder in his teen years, and eventually the Ultimate Skateboarder. Because of their close-to-opposite personalities, Myth and Nerd don’t get along well in the slightest. Unfortunately, they’ve both developed feelings for each other, that they’ve never experienced before.

Outfit; Hair in a Mohawk with red and black dyed tips, a black tank-top with a bloody skull illustration on the front, black cargo shorts with sheered bottoms, black socks and white sneakers, tattoos on his arms.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Public Speaker

Wanted to wake up the gullible sheep in the world, Eldritch quickly mustered up the confidence (thanks to several online confidence seminar marathons) to go in front of a crowd, and scream at them about all the terrible state the world is currently in, and how they’re all mindless corporate zombies, to let all of those atrocities slide. Despite his reputation as an overzealous Debbie Downer by many of his detractors, he has many fans for his loud and passionate voice and his regular use of peer-reviewed facts, making his speeches far more reliable than they seem. Eldritch’s anti-government attitude puts him at odds with Myth’s heavily pro-government mindset.

Outfit: Neatly combed hair, a black polo shirt with a green pixel design on the bottom, an orange tie, black pants and matching loafers.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Cadet

Despite her sunny and positive attitude clashing heavily against her strict and stoic military family and the rest of her squadron, no one can deny that Dream is a spectacular cadet towards her squadron. She can also play quite the mean bugle. With Dream and Myth opposite temperaments and interactions with others, you‘d be surprised to learn that they have two common point: their shared love of war history and respect for the government. They often like talking about war strategy and re-enacting old wars throughout history, using Dream’s collectible toy soldiers. These activities are one of the few times Myth‘s walls are let down in front of anybody, apart from Wyre.

Outfit: Hair in two small pigtails, a dark green and light green army helmet, black facepaint, a jumpsuit that matches her helmet, black boots with yellow soles.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Cellist

Ever since she was little, thanks to her musician parents (a guitarist father and a violinist mother), Iris has been exposed to music, and eventually chose to follow in her parent’s footsteps with her favorite instrument: the cello. Unfortunately, because of her dislike of crowded spots, Iris couldn’t join an orchestra like she (and her parents) wanted to, so she opted to simply play her cello from home and upload her music online. Regardless of her fears and anxieties, Iris always tries her best to remain positive. Iris may not understand what the hell Myth is even saying, but she always tries her best to strike conversation with her senpai, in hopes that the stenographer can open up.

Outfit: Silver music note hairpins, a blue denim jacket with silver music note buttons over a black dress with white string designs in the middle, dark grey leggings, dark blue Mary Janes, glasses from original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Class Representative

Purple is a student from one of the most prestigious and high-class schools in all of the country, and despite her timid personality, thanks to her strong work ethic and her kind-hearted nature, she managed to secure a position in the school’s hierarchy as the representative of her class. Because of her overly formal and heavily outdated mode of speech that’s more at home with the other students at her uppercrust school, she usually requires a translator (usually Fusion) to make her speech comprehensible to the middle-class conmates. Myth and Purple quickly bonded in true incomprehensible glory, and regularly have conversations that no one but Wyre and Fusion can understand.

Outfit: A black overcoat over a white dress shirt and a red tie, a purple skirt, dark grey stockings, and red Mary Janes, topped off by a red armband on her right arm.

The series centers around the skittish stenographer learning to give potential criminals the chance for redemption.

——————————————————-

PERSONALITY

Stenographer!Myth is renowned upon the justice system for her efficiency in the court and the stoic face she puts on, upon entering a court environment, able to capture speech right down to the tiniest of breaths. But off of the court, she’s the complete opposite, for her speech is about as speedy, jumbled, and incomprehensible as her writing, often requiring Kickboxer!Wyre to translate for her. Stenographer!Myth is often very jittery, when interacting with others, and almost never relaxes or slows down to take a breather. She has zero time for playing or joking around, for a stenographer’s work is never done, and justice never sleeps. Her moral compass and sense of justice is practically removable, which makes sense, considering the environment she lives in. This puts her at odds with people such as Theif!Two. She’ll never admit it, but Stenographer!Myth really cares about each and every one of the Kibo-Con attendees, but she’ll never admit it, for fear of being made fun of or being taken advantage of by a potential criminal hiding amongst the crowd.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Stenographer!Myth has brown hair that reaches her tailbone and wears the same uniform that she wears to court. The uniform consists of a pink headband with a heart pin given by her mother, a blue jacket over a pink dress shirt and a gold pendant with an amethyst in the center, a skirt that matches her jacket, black leggings and ruby red Mary Janes. She carries a stenography machine with her, at all times.

——————————————————-

Phew! I’ve finished this week’s quota! I hope you like this talentswap! Let me hear your opinions on this AU!

-Fusion Anon

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keyenuta · 4 years

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PSU First Dorm Leader

Name: Anansi Khari

Name Meaning: Kingly Spider

Voiced By: Hikaru Midorikawa

Gender: Male

Age: 16

Birthday: November 24th

Starsign: Sagittarius

Height: 5'5"

Eye Color: Scarlet Red

Hair Color: Black and Red

Homeland: Afterglow Savanna

Professional Status:

Dorm: Itan-ori

School Year: First

Class: 1-A

Occupation: Student, Dorm leader, prefect/therapist(unofficial)

Club: Trickster(this club is not officially recognized by PSU but everyone knows it exists)

Best Subject: Magical Analysis: Anansi's always been good at peering at the strings and gears of magic. And loves to mess with and edit how they work, especially if the result is chaotic as heck. But then again as a person he's analytical at everything. Both for tricks and basic survival.

Fun Facts:

Dominant hand: Ambidextrous with leaning to right

Favorite Food: really spicy ramen

Least Favorite Food: anything rotten

Dislikes: being looked down on, treated like he's worthless

Hobby: Writing, he loves writing stories, music, poems, and anything that connects to weaving words.

Talents: making traps, whether with words or physical objects

Anansi Khari is the first year dorm leader of Itan-ori. He takes on the MC's role in PSU, he's a crafty, mischievous and greedy person due to growing up with very little. But despite these harsher parts of himself, he was given the role of an unofficial therapist for the students. He was inspired from the spider deity known as Anansi, known to be a god of wisdom, stories, spiders and tricksters.

Appearance:

Anansi is a short boy with dark brown skin and 8 playful scarlet red eyes which peer through his messy mop of dreadlocks. Speaking of which, sitting atop his head and hanging down his face, Anansi wears a pair of messy black dreadlocks which fade to red near its tips.

The spindly boy always seems to wear a cocky, fang bearing grin as if he always has a trick of plot of mischief in his mind at every moment. (Which honestly isn't that far off)

And marked across his cheeks is a piece of white face paint. For as long as anyone's seen him in school he's always worn this paint. Reapplying it without fail day after day.

And finally for clothes, he's usually seen wearing his uniform in a very casual way. Around his neck are two multi-colored beaded necklaces. Beneath this he wears a grey turtle neck with rolled up sleeves, revealing a pair of black armbands with his magic ring on his right hand.

And around his waist is the sash that shows off his dorm. Colored black and orange, it later gives way to a silver web across the flap which rests atop his tied up blazer that's beneath the cloth. And finally on his legs are a pair of black slacks and sandals on his feet.

Oh and tied around his waist is a tanned gourd, being what his stave turned into when he became dorm leader. It's a reference to the gourd Anansi(myth) had which stored all the wisdom and stories in the world.

Personality:

Anansi to be blunt, is a little shit. He's a very playful and mischievous boy who often manipulates and weaves things to best suit what he needs to be done. This is mostly seem with how he handles getting the other dorms and students to both stop stepping on each other's toes and in giving each student who needs it therapy.

Instead of being honest and cooperative, using his analytical mind and a few other ways of finding information. Anansi often tricks and fools others into improving who they are. Even in his own dorm, it's never wise to fully trust the spider, because he always has some joke or trick to play. No matter if you're friend or foe.

Anansi is a very greedy person, often stealing, tricking, betting and playing for something he doesn't have. Even being the school therapist to assist Chiron was something anansi did was for a deal. He didn't do it out of kindness, but rather so he could receive a reward.

He's a person with a silver tongue amd a poisonous bite. Always weaving a web around those in front of him. And honestly despite his intelligence and skills in trickery, he often gets in his own way, getting too greedy for his own good, leaving him either beat up or in the same position he started in.

But while he is such a little shit, while he doesn't show it often, he can be caring and helpful to those who he views as being on equal or if possible beneath him in standing. He's always had a soft spot for people down on their luck. And often helps them as best he can. And especially for the slums he and Ruggie live in, you'll see the best side of anansi, he cares greatly for those there and really is an activist to get them better support. Even making many songs based on it. Though if he were to meet or see anyone from the Royal family, you are instantly marked for mischief.

This is a less noticeable part of Anansi but the boy is a giant creative nerd. He loves imagining stories sings and all sorts of other things in his mind while also making art. Despite his harsher parts he's a geek to be honest.

In summary: playful, intelligent, mischievous and at times protective and caring.

Unique Magic:

Hasn't awakened it yet

Trivia:

In Anansi's room, swaddled in a giant web in the corner of his room is a giant pile of all the "earned" items he's acquired over the school year. Often times you can see him swimming through it when he's bored

Anansi can produce natural spider silk and often uses it to get around, play tricks, and if he feels like it, weave actual stuff. He's probably made a subtle business about weaving clothes for people. Like need a bootleg expensive thing? Call Nancy

His fangs aren't just for show, they actually have venom in them. Though it's more just to numb and relax muscles.

Anansi is a giant nerd, if you can show him a story or piece of knowledge he hasn't read or heard of before, you can do that as an alternative to madool.

Anansi is actually really good friends with Ruggie, he loves collaborating with the hyena for pranks whenever possible. They grew up together and learned how to steal and trick people together

Continuing with this, Anansi has a deal with Ruggie where during holidays both bring back stuff for the slums. Ruggie brings back food, Anansi brings back the loot he's gained

Anansi loves playing drums, and is actually a really good performer and dancer, often times during winter holiday him and his family performed for the slums. Giving everyone some good entertainment and a rest from their worries. Anansi also often times drags ruggie to sing with them though he knows how well ruggie can sing and will tease him about it

He's like Spider-Man, often times you will see Anansi climbing on walls, ceilings etc.

Yes, he can see through each of his eyes, all 8 of them.

The spiders around campus are his little informants. Often giving him new information about students or activities coming up. To keep their support, he gives them flies bugs or whatever they feel like having for their service.

He often sneaks into NRC, both to mess with Leona and to study Yuu on any pointers on how to be a better prefect/therapist for all these students

A nickname for him is Nancy

If you want to see him blush, compliment him on his stories, it'll break his mask quicker than anything else. It always shocks him when someone actually likes them

If you dare him to move like a spider, don't. Just don't, you'll regret it. No one should be that flexible

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland yuu #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #anansi #twisted wonderland mythology #pantheon stave university #psu #twst mc #trickster #twst

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angedemystere · 4 years

Text

In Need of Company (Les Miserables Fic)

Title: In Need of Company

Fandom: Les Miserables (Victor Hugo)

Characters: Jean Valjean, Inspector Javert

Rating: T

Warnings: mild language, mentions of racial slurs

Summary: A little what-if scenario from Jean Valjean’s youth. It’s 1786 in Faverolles, and a well-meaning if careless peasant boy is about to make an unexpected friend.

One summer morning in Faverolles, Jean Valjean rushed through a few household chores and slipped out of what remained to scurry up the apple tree in their garden and relish in the shade. The sun winked between the leaves. Nothing but placid green and teasing light and a soothing breeze.

A small rock pelted at his thigh. Another hit his boot.

“Hey!” he shouted groggily. “Philippe, you ass.”

“Shut up and get down here,” answered a tall, blond young man. His long bony limbs reminded Jean of that marionette his brother-in-law Henri made for his oldest son.

“Make me.”

“Yeah? I will find bigger rocks, you know.”

“Your aim won’t get better.”

“Fine. I’ll drop in and say good morning to Jeanne and let her know where you are.”

“She already knows,” Jean lied, and in the same breath swung down by the nearest branch. His feet hit the ground as loudly as an elephant’s step, but the shock of it evaporated and Jean straightened as smoothly as he would rising from a chair. “What do you want?”

“My old man is sending me into town for a few things. Boring things. You need to keep me company.”

“Sure, and you’ll ditch me as soon as we get there for Marguerite or some other girl.”

Philippe snickered. “Maybe I’ll get you to finally talk to a girl.”

Jean made the kind of throaty gargle and tongue lurch expected of a seven-year-old rather than a seventeen-year-old.

“Jean, you are too old to think girls carry the plague.” Philippe grabbed his arm. “Come, let’s get you cured!”

Arm in arm the friends ventured to the market square. This morning happened to be market day, which meant an uptick in activity and liveliness that jarred against the characteristic daily drone. The square hosted a dozen stalls for textiles, toys, tools, and produce. Philippe sailed through, Jean in tow, to a stall selling ironworks.

As Philippe finished paying and scoped out the next destination, a crew of lads the same age as he and Jean came into sight like jackals looking for a carcass to loot.

Jean patted Philippe’s shoulder. “There’re the boys.”

Philippe’s delight far outshone Jean’s. “Oh, good! And look, they found a new friend!”

The group led by Leonard was tailing a gamin. Leonard was a well-looking boy who could be charming, but his smiles tended to twist into sneers even in good humor. Nothing unintentional about his sneer now, floating above the brown-skinned urchin like a falcon ready to dive for him. The other boys caught on to Leonard’s game and mirrored his expression. It looked contagious. Even Philippe sharpened his smile with impish elation. Jean felt none of that giddiness. He felt like he’d swallowed a rock.

The boy, no older than seven, wore fabric with strong shades of red, yellow and purple in bold geometric patterns that were lost under wear, tearing and recent dirt. He carried an embroidered and beaded satchel on his shoulder. The clash of vibrancy and desolation marked him a gypsy. His black hair hung in his eyes and close to his shoulders. The bag appeared full of food, an acceptable sight on market day. Leonard and the gang didn’t agree.

Whistles, snickers, provocative spurts of words like “darkie” and “gutter trash” littered the boy’s wake. The boy acted deaf and watched only the road and his ripped shoes that flapped like dead fish with every step.

“Say, darkie,” Leonard cooed, “how about a little dance for us? Where’s your tambourine? In your bag there? Say, that looks heavy. Must be exhausting carrying what you steal from honest, hardworking people like us. Must be nice not to have to work, just swindle your way across town. How about a song? Sing a song and earn something for once.”

The flow of venom set Jean’s ears ringing. While some adults observed this taunting and simply watched, most turned away and pretended nothing was happening. The child wasn’t doing anything. If he were another village boy, Leonard and his cadre would’ve been scolded off by someone’s mother—maybe one of theirs. Where was this boy’s mother? Didn’t someone care?

Merde. He cared.

But he couldn’t be asked to do something, surely! No one was asking anything of him now. Philippe was busy laughing at Leonard’s vitriol, so Jean could sneak off if he tried.

“Come,” he muttered to Philippe, “let’s get going. Leave him.”

Philippe grimaced like Jean had told him to set himself on fire. “What? Why?”

“Philippe!” Leonard called. Then he pointed at the gypsy boy and pantomimed a stumble. Philippe, tittering, angled his body. The gamin was getting close to passing him. Philippe moved his foot forward.

“Philippe!” Jean grabbed his friend’s shoulder. Then he flushed and stammered, “This is stupid.”

Philippe was as astounded as Jean, and he’d been spun off-balance momentarily, so his words came out in a harsh rush: “You’re the one being stupid.”

“Jean!” Leonard shouted. “What’s the matter with you? You ruined it!”

Rather than face Philippe, either to reprimand or apologize, Jean’s eyes veered to the gypsy boy. The grey eyes staring through the uneven curtain of bangs bowled him. The boy had paused, but all at once he hustled past both young men.

Leonard pointed at him. “Hey, he’s getting away!”

Philippe leaped like a jungle cat hungry for a second chance at his prey. His long legs bounded and brought him to the boy in a couple strides. His foot swung up and landed. The gamin fell hard on his chest and hands, skidding a little on the street. His bag spilled open. Fruit rolled free. He grunted, punched by the unforgiving ground.

A few gasps came from the otherwise passive vendors. Jean couldn’t gasp or move right away. His shock almost pushed a giggle out of his windpipe. Any fleeting humor was swept away by the likeness to seeing his nephews and nieces falling and crying out until Jeanne or Henri came to their rescue. This boy didn’t cry. He didn’t even get up. He must have been stunned.

“Good work!” Leonard called, catching up with Philippe. “Let’s give him a proper welcome—make sure he knows that he and scum like him should know better than to stir up trouble here.”

Both young men moved in. Jean could imagine the first kicks landing in the child’s ribs and legs and possibly worse. He must have imagined these while sprinting because in the next instant he was pushing Philippe and Leonard back with force he reserved for moving heavy branches and logs. He stood over the gypsy boy’s feet.

Philippe’s congenial face twisted with confusion. “Jean, what—”

One of the vendors hollered at them: “Take this somewhere else!”

“Get out of here,” Jean barked at the group.

Leonard put his hands on his hips. “Ho-ho! I didn’t realize we had a gypsy-lover in our town! Is that your problem, Jean? You like darkies? Your own people not good enough for you?”

“Why don’t you rough up someone who can fight back?” Jean didn’t know a thing about fighting. He didn’t raise his arms to anticipate a brawl. A fight was far from how he wanted this to end, but some part of him braced for it. Most of him silently yelled at the boy still on the ground to get up and run.

Leonard’s lip curled up. Philippe clapped his shoulder. “Forget it.”

More vendors were paying attention. A few started to step out from their stalls. Hard to say who they were defending. The message got through to Leonard, anyway. He shook off Philippe’s hand. He snarled at Jean. “I’ll take care of you later.”

The other lads gathered behind Leonard. Maybe they thought Jean’s strength was more trouble than they were prepared for. Or they anticipated jumping him the moment they were out of the public eye. Jean grimly accepted the second. Somehow the stone in his stomach had disappeared. But Philippe sent him a disparaging scowl and followed Leonard’s horde out of the square. That stung as betrayal only could from someone one has known since toddlerhood. Jean watched them all leave. Once they were gone, he turned around, ready to see an empty patch of street behind him.

The boy was just finished putting his fruit back into the bag. He sensed Jean’s attention, met it, and slowly stood, returning the bag to his shoulder.

“You all right?” Jean asked.

“I’ll live.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think they’d do something so …”

“I should’ve known better. The moment I saw them, my feet told me to start running. I should listen more.”

At first, the boy’s mouth seemed to flinch into a smile. He gripped the straps of the bag with just fingertips. The knees of his trousers had split open, revealing red, open scrapes.

“Let me see your hands,” Jean said. “They’re bleeding.”

The boy clenched those same hands. He winced, no doubt about it this time. “So?”

“I can clean them for you.”

“I can clean them myself. Why should you?”

Jean didn’t have an answer. He did pull out a handkerchief—just a cotton rag. “I’m Jean.”

The boy eyed the rag. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Jean sighed. “Well, M. Fine Thank You, I have plenty at home. Take it.”

“I don’t want to. And my name is not Fine Thank You. Idiot.”

That sounded like a taunt his oldest nephew would make. Jean folded his arms. “How about this, M. Idiot: I walk you home while you use the rag to clean your hands and knees. When we get there, you can give it back to me.”

“I don’t need a gadje’s help.” The boy’s gaze dropped, all at once embarrassed. “I mean … I can take care of myself.”

“Well, I’m looking for an excuse not to go home and get a scolding. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

Gray eyes narrowed. They skimmed over Jean. “What about your friends?”

“Them? I barely know them.” Jean winced and was glad Philippe and Leonard were clear of the square. “I know them because we’ve lived in this town all our lives. I spend time with them when I don’t want to be alone. But I usually don’t mind being alone. It’s hard to be alone in a house that’s always adding new children.”

The boy sniffed and shifted his weight on his feet, teetering better two choices. Then his eyebrows went up. “Do you think they’ll be back soon?”

“Who?” Jean’s thoughts were with his sister and her children.

“Your—the boys who were bothering me. Do you think they’ll be back soon?”

Jean considered it. By now they had probably lost interest in the gypsy boy and were daring each other to sneak to the river and spy on the girls washing laundry there … oh.

The notion that occurred to the boy came to Jean, too. The boy’s stare and one raised eyebrow said it all: “You better catch on or you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

A chuckle tickled up Jean’s throat. “I bet they’re right around the corner of that house there.” He pointed to the end of the square. “Waiting for the moment I leave you alone.”

The boy nodded. “Then I should have you come with me. My very own guard.”

With his own nod and a restrained smile, Jean walked up to the shoulder that carried the sack. He handed over the handkerchief. The boy took it.

“Does that mean I can know your name?” Jean asked.

Another hoist to keep the bag in place. He began blotting his skinned palms. “Fine. I’m Danior.”

“And where are we going, M. Danior?”

“To the inn at the edge of town. Mama and I are staying there.”

They walked for a few minutes in silence. Jean still had questions, yet the wordless stroll brought contentment he was reluctant to disturb. A wanderer, a complete outsider to Jean’s world, was letting him escort him to relative safety after a minute or two of meeting each other. A rather fascinating boy—he walked with a purposeful gait and straight shoulders. He carried himself like he wanted to be as grown-up as Jean, if not more. A boy his age should have been running around or climbing every tree and hay bale he could find.

Jean did have one question that he dug up the courage to speak. “Do you live in a wagon when you travel?”

The pointed look from Danior summoned regret, but the boy answered: “No, Mama and I don’t live with other Roma. She left her people before I was born. I don’t think my father is Rom, so maybe her family didn’t like she married a gadje.”

“Does your father ever travel with you?”

Danior turned his head frontward and pressed his lips, unsure. Jean immediately guessed that, like him, Danior’s father was dead, or worse, had scarpered to live free of his family. Ears turned hot.

“He’s in prison.”

Jean’s throat closed. He swallowed to relax it. “Sorry.”

Danior’s face filled with fierceness and helplessness. “He’s been in prison my whole life. I can’t be sad about it. Mama and I get by.”

Perhaps they did in the barest sense. Not that Jean could say much for his own tattered cuffs on his shirt and trousers. But to be without a father and a settled home? Faverolles, for all its boring parts, was reliably here. He wanted to put a hand on Danior’s head the way he did his sister’s children whenever he passed them, or when they asked for help with their chores and games. Danior wouldn’t like that. He looked like he hadn’t played a game in years.

That he felt compelled to withhold the small gesture urged Jean to keep in close step with Danior, never mind the difference in their strides, and throw a glare at anyone who made the smallest grimace at the gypsy boy.

They reached the inn, a popular stop for travelers of all ilk, which meant Jean was advised to avoid it. A spark of illicit intrigue ran up his arm as he pushed open the front door. As it turned out, the ground-floor room, equipped with tables and chairs and a hearth, was just as ordinary as the rest of the town. A few renters were sitting inside on this fair market day. Danior skipped the tavern and marched to the stairs leading to the rooms. He stopped suddenly to spin around to Jean.

“I think I’m safe now. Thank you.”

The declaration rang with such a serious tenor that Jean had to laugh. He saluted. “All in a day’s work. Maybe I should go into the service.”

Danior shrugged and began to pivot, only to stop, peer up, frown with an unspoken question, and finally regard Jean with what might have been fear or longing. “I can pay you.”

“What? No, that’s ridiculous. After what you went through, it’s the least I could do.”

“But it’s not. You didn’t need to do anything. I owe you.”

This poor child. To think a harmless bit of kindness needed rewarding. Jean shook his head. He tried to be casual, affable, but accidentally gave away more tenderness than was wise to show a boy unaccustomed to it. “Danior—”

“Danior?” came a bark from above.

Their attention followed the voice to a steel rail of a woman leading over the banister. As with Danior, the woman’s colorful clothes had lost much of their vivacity with use. The hues looked as wrung as she did. The bones of her face pushed against her skin; the dark hair poking from under her headscarf was showing grey, though she otherwise looked hardly older than Jeanne.

“Sorry, Mama,” Danior quickly uttered. He skipped up to the first landing where the stairs turned before stopping again. “This is Jean. He walked me here. I had a fall and he lent me his handkerchief. Oh, here.” He reached for Jean with the rag, a little flecked with blood.

Jean’s hand stretched for it. It jumped away at the woman’s snapping voice. “Danior, don’t give him that when you’ve dirtied it! I’ll clean it and give it back later.”

“I don’t mind,” Jean said. “I’ll take it now, or Danior can keep it, which I know he doesn’t want to do.”

“I’ll clean it,” Danior said. “I can do that much.”

“All right. I’ll come for it tomorrow.” Jean found himself smiling again. The mother was a bit intimidating—and she and Danior shared a timbre in their voices—but the idea of having more time to know Danior brightened him.

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” said the mother, dry and tired. It was as if she guessed his feelings and warned him of reality’s disappointment.

“I’ll come by early, I promise.” To Danior, Jean waved and bid him good day, and to clean his scrapes. Good God, he was sounding like Jeanne! Shaking his head at the thought, he left the inn.

Then a cloud settled on him, despite his having stepped into the glaring daylight from the gloom of the inn. They were leaving tomorrow. One last goodbye and they’d be gone. Couldn’t they stay a little longer? Maybe permanently if Danior’s mother found regular employment? But there was Leonard, and to a lesser extent Philippe, and the people who reacted to Danior’s abuse only when Jean stepped in. It was better the pair of them kept moving.

He went home, patted his nephews and nieces on the head, asked Henri if he needed help with anything at the workshop, went to bed early and rose early to run to the inn. The two Roma, staying there under the name Javert, were already gone. The innkeeper handed Jean the clean handkerchief.

#les miserables #jean valjean #javert #inspector javert #valvert #myfic

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antimonycarver · 4 years

Text

info on my character for new morrowind playthrough

mostly posting as a reference for myself, though comments/feedback is also cool ( not rlly for reblog)

i have never written a tes character (or almost any character) so no roasties. if i have any typos/weird spacing, i will try to catch everything, but my laptop is old as shit and the keys dont work sometimes.

Almasea Arenim

Born in Cyrodiil to dunmer parents, Almasea despised the boring life provided in the imperial city. She works with them in the market district. Theyre quite wealthy, but she hates the idea of inheriting such a drab life running the shop there. Her dream is to go to her ancestor’s country- Morrowind- to meet up with the family she has there, members of the Hlaalu house, and live a more adventurous life. Bringing the idea up to her parents for her to return to Morrowind, they refused, but with begging and rebelling, gave an ultimatum: show them proof that she can make it on her own: earn honest coin to show that she is able to live sustainably. (i dont know what a decent amount of coin would be to put here. 5000? 10,000?)

However, Almasea has dreamed of joining the thieves guild, and believes this is her shot to train her thieving skills: steal some good loot, sell it to a fence, lie to her parents about how she obtained it. Some of her rich ass family friend’s kids can help her lie. This should be easy enough (she thinks)

(WIP) ooc: i want her to get caught doing stupid shit. instead of simply another semi-rich family catching her stealing their shit, maybe instead she tries stealing from someone on the waterfront, invoking the wrath of the actual thieves guild, getting her turned in to the imperial city prison, or possibly her parents turning her in instead? not sure where to go with this. it would be funny for the thieves guild to humiliate their family somehow because of their daughter doing stupid shit, and then they cant get her out of prison (and then she is sent to morrowind by order of the emperor, etc etc)

i kind of am stretching the meaning of “born to uncertain parents” part of the prophecy- i basically want her parents to disown her in a sense

ill update this later as i think of shit i guess

#almasea arenim #oc stuff #morrowind #tes ocs #tes oc

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thrandilf · 6 years

Text

The Worst Pirate I've Ever Seen

Ahoy! A Julian Devorak adventure!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748518

Coarse rope swayed under the calloused soles of Julian's feet and his roughened hands as he bounded up the ship's rigging. Ocean waves crashed below him in the darkness, a comforting constant din. He grinned as he hauled himself into the crow's nest, ignoring a disdainful caw of an actual crow kept caged on the lookout point.

This was his favorite part of seafaring- the serene ocean glistening in the starlight. Adventure awaited in every direction, the wild breeze soaring in his ears calling to his heart to wander forever. He gazed up at the sky through his windswept locks and rehearsed his constellation charts, verifying that the ship was headed west as planned. It was peaceful, lovely, stunning-

"I think I have scurvy."

Julian groaned, not even needing to turn around to look at the man behind him. "You don't have scurvy."

"You sure?" The pirate in the crow's nest with him was the picture of perfect somewhat sunburnt health. The only thing Julian could prescribe was rest for the circles around the man's eyes.

"We've been over this. You're homesick."

It earned him a loud sniffle. "I DON'T have FEELINGS!"

Julian was ship medic, which on occasion turned into drinking buddy, comic relief, and unofficial therapist. He wasn't even supposed to be a pirate in the first place, but he'd been plundered from a trade ship and conscripted into a life of piracy, spared for his abundant charisma and charm and he supposed for his (dubious) medical abilities.

The main difference between the spice traders and the pirates was marked increase in personal drama.

"Well I've made damn sure that you're all eating like you live in a tropical pineapple scented paradise, so admit that you're sad and don't have scurvy!"

The sailor sighed. "I might cash in next port we fall into. Take my share, settle down. The sea changes you."

"And people say I'M dramatic."

"You are!"

Julian watched dawn crest over the sea, pleased to see land in the distance, and less pleased when he realized what land it was. "Captain!"

The pirate captain was a younger, respectable man as far as pirates went. He raised his eyebrows under his tricorn hat at Julian, prepared for antics of some kind. "Yes, Devorak?"

"Is there a particular reason we're sailing towards Vesuvia?"

"Sure. It's a small country- but absolutely filled to the gills with gold. Run by some bratty blond no one else will bother defending."

Julian coughed. "Yes, well. I've met this bratty blond. I ah, amputated his arm, in fact."

The captain roared with laughter. "Excellent! You'll have to tell me all about it."

Julian explained it later to the captain and first mate below deck, embellishing only harmless details of the battle- as if either of them believed Julian had truly killed any jaded warriors while simultaneously crouched under cover with Lucio, terrified for his life. He delighted in acting out Lucio's whiny, self absorbed floundering and rage at needing his grievously wounded limb cut off crudely in a war camp tent, sharing a laugh at the concept of a man who denied defeat even at death's door.

The first mate was particularly amused. She grinned at Julian. "I hear Lucio got a real wonder to replace his arm- an alchemical beauty made of pure gold."

The captain laughed. "Say, Devorak- wouldn't it be incredible to take his arm again? Ha!"

Julian laughed.

And kept laughing.

Oh, what a delectable joke!

He finally breathed again and his crewmates were looking at him expectantly. Julian's eyes widened. "This is- this is harebrained even for me. Absolutely bonkers. You can't be serious."

The captain mused for a moment. "Vesuvia itself wouldn't be difficult to loot- quick in and out disguised as a merchant ship as we hustle around the port and terrorize some small fry. Now, Lucio is an idiot. His arm is completely solid gold, magic, and power. It's likely the most valuable object we know of. If we can get inside the palace with you as our In to distract him- forget the city! The palace is full of so many riches they won't notice what's gone!"

"So you want me to infiltrate the palace, let our crew loot to their heart's content, and if possible steal Lucio's arm?"

"Yeah."

Julian stared in disbelief. "That's the worst scheme I've ever heard."

The first mate scowled, disappointment on her tanned features. "So, we're not storming the castle?"

Julian smirked. "I've never looked forward to anything more in my entire life."

-~-

Julian was filled with dread.

It wasn't out of fondness for Lucio. No, if there was anyone who deserved to have pirates ransack their house, it was Lucio. This was the most righteous conquest so far in Julian's life as a professional scoundrel. Lucio was volatile at best and he'd have to tread carefully.

They made port with ease, looking for all the world like honest merchants. Pirates could clean up well if they liked- Julian had even sacrificed the last of his apricot oil soap to the cause. Julian let the majority of the crew do as they pleased in the city and led the first mate and a few more respectable looking pirates to the palace.

The palace guards blocked the gate, glaring at Julian. "Password?"

Julian stood tall, grinning widely. "Tell Lucio Doctor Jules is here to ah, check up on him. I come with greetings for an old friend."

One guard left and the other employee eyed him. "You cut his arm off, right?"

"Yes- our relationship is rather complicated."

The remaining guard lowered their voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Was it gross? Like blood everywhere?"

"Appallingly so. Gushing blood and torn muscle sinew everywhere. I had to cauterize the wound."

"Ew." They looked delighted.

The other guard returned and waved them through the gate. Julian eyed the moat under the grand bridge to the palace with suspicion. Long curvy shapes drifted in the water and one of his crew members looked over with wide eyes. "Vampire eels?"

"Yeah Aislinn," said the first mate. "Don't jump in no matter what you do. Didn't think this guy was the type to have exotic pets all over."

Right on cue, Mercedes and Melchior bounded out of the palace foyer barking and snarling. Julian put himself in front of his crew, blocking the huge white dogs as they yipped and tried to jump him. "Ack! It's ME! Come on guys!"

Lucio himself followed the dogs, grinning widely and taking his time to call them off. His voice was as raspy and high pitched as Julian remembered- a perfect balance of sinister and annoying with a shot of whiny. "Alright, alright. It's just Jules!" His gold trimmed white blazer was roguishly open to reveal toned muscle under his red decorated sash. Despite the provocative neglect of buttons and regal shoulder cape, Lucio's arm still stood out the most. Typical that he'd want to draw attention to his wealth with every first impression. "Doctor Jules- finally dropped by to apologize?"

Julian had expected this. "I wanted to check in on an old friend when I found out my merchant ship was headed to Vesuvia. May we talk somewhere without my entourage? We've been at sea for months and I'm sure they could use-"

Lucio waved his hand dismissively. "Yes yes, go ask some servants for rum or whatever else it is I don't drink."

This was ridiculously easy. The first mate grinned at waved at Julian. "We'll be enjoying the grandeur and hospitality, see you later!"

Lucio sighed loudly. "You must be so low in life, Jules, trouncing around with sailors who barely have soles on their shoes. Rustic. Abhorrent. Please, have something civilized to drink with me while we discuss your employment."

"My what?!"

Lucio plopped down on a couch in a vast private parlor complete with floor to ceiling windows and a balcony. They faced a huge magical fish tank that took up an entire wall, housing a deadly gorgeous lionfish the size of Julian's torso. Julian busied himself with staring at the vivid coral rock sculptures and swaying deep sea plants in the tank. Lucio poured a glass of wine for himself. "Come on Jules- surely you'd rather work for me. If I travel, it's in class."

Julian held back a groan. Prolonged exposure to Lucio would be a blight upon his soul. "I'm quite content. I booked free passage providing medical expertise and I've seen more of the world than ever before- even took a trip back to Praka."

"Ah, Praka!" Lucio sipped his wine, slouched and uncaring about Julian's tensed posture. "The prettiest girls are from Praka, you know. Goddesses, all of them. Meet any lovely ladies there?"

Julian floundered. This wasn't how he imagined this conversation going. "Er- at least seven."

"Seven? Jules, you've GOT to get out more!" Lucio winked. "Don't you owe me some company? Have a drink, I insist!"

"Ah- coffee, if you please." Lucio snapped his fingers for a servant and Julian's mind raced. His companions were likely already looting what they could get away with like kids at a sweets stall, and he didn't have too much time no matter how smooth and rich the coffee brew. "Do you mind if I take a look at you? I am rather sorry about the amputation- nasty business."

"As you should be."

"I don't delight in harming others!" Julian took a sip of his coffee when a servant brought it to him and stood up, circling behind Lucio. He brought his hands down to his shoulders and squeezed, feeling the joining of metal to flesh under the guise of giving Lucio a massage. "It doesn't pain you, does it?"

"Only my pride!" exclaimed Lucio.

Julian felt around as much as he could without getting caught. There didn't seem to be a catch or release mechanism on it, and it felt seamlessly grafted to Lucio's flesh. "Magic?" he asked.

"Of course- what else would it be?" Lucio finished his glass of wine and poured another. Julian noted that it was barely 9 AM and scowled with judgement, even if he also was prone to bouts of day drinking. "If not now, since you're so inclined to take a slow boat everywhere, then in the future- I insist you'll be my official physician. If I have need of you, I expect you to be here."

Julian wasn't one to turn down future job prospects, and keeping Lucio happy was key as he withdrew his hands. "Of course. I'd be honored."

"Good!" Lucio yawned and Julian's ears twitched as he thought he heard a commotion in the distance. "I have an execution to freshen up for- what's that noise?"

Julian panicked. He needed to distract Lucio and followed his basic instincts. "I must leave!" he exclaimed. With a dramatic spin on his feet he chugged the rest of his coffee and sprinted out a window with a horrifying, all consuming crash of glass as he hurtled through the air to the eel infested moat.

"What the FUCK!" Lucio blinked at the glass shards all over the floor and laughed at Julian's high pitched screams of horror as he fell down into the water. Lucio didn't even bother getting up, shaking his head and drinking directly from his wine bottle. "Typical Jules. SOMEBODY NEEDS TO FIX THIS WINDOW!"

Julian belatedly remembered the pet vampire eels and screeched, flailing in the swirling depths as something sank fangs into his thigh. He managed to kick it off and frantically scramble to shore, running with adrenaline pumping so hard through him he crashed into a street vendor's cart. "MY CABBAGES!" he wailed.

"I'M SORRY!" Julian haphazardly bolted through the crowded streets, soaking wet, limping, and injured with bloodied cuts all over his face and hands. Many people shrieked at seeing him and helpfully ducked out of the way.

What he didn't expect was to be physically grabbed as he turned down a side street. He readied himself to fight but paused as he realized his would be attacker was a small older woman giving him a stern look. "I- I gotta go I'm so sorry-"

She spoke in a strong accent that reminded Julian's salty heart achingly of home. "You've got to be the worst pirate I've ever seen."

Julian laughed nervously. "Pirate? You must be-"

"I'm coming with you."

"Uh, what?"

"I'm Mazelinka." She jerked her head back down the street. "I live down there. You'll need to remember that when you're back."

"I-"

"You are a disaster, boy!" She snapped. "I make a better pirate than you!" She thrust a small package at him. "For your injuries. I knew you'd need them. I see much."

Julian melted under her short glare and led her to the docks, unsure why he suddenly trusted Mazelinka with his life. "Call me Ilya."

She chuckled at him and remained silent. Julian got the bizarre feeling he'd just been adopted.

-~-

The pirate captain stared at Julian with disbelief. The crew gathered around their exquisitely expensive spoils dumped out on the table, already sailing off to another country to pawn off things such as a priceless vase and large amounts of ruby jewelry. "You went to steal Lucio's arm and came back with an entire old woman?"

Julian blushed. "Yes."

The captain grinned at Mazelinka. "Welcome aboard. Devorak's outdone himself! We needed a lookout since Scurvy Boy left us this very morning."

Julian smirked and rummaged in his pockets. "Now, I don't want you to think I'd come back, ah, empty handed?" He held up a piece of carved gold on a short vibrant violet ribbon, a token of the shoulder rub he'd given Lucio. "Think one of Lucio's war metals will fetch a pretty price?"

The gathered crew cheered and clapped him on the back as he tossed it on the table. With luck, Lucio would blame the loss on a blacked out partying episode. Julian excused himself for some fresh air and leaned on the railing, sighing as he gazed up at the cloudy sky.

The first mate lounged next to him, grinning as the wind whipped their hair. "Say, Devorak- ever thought of getting an eyepatch? It'd look good on you."

Julian snorted. "That's HIGHLY unlikely."

#julian devorak #julians route #the arcana game #ilya devorak #count lucio #fanfic #my writing #i think this is crackfic lmaooooo

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raindrenchedstories · 5 years

Text

Before the infection 9

The next day Pam found herself wrapping her leg tightly and tending both their injuries while they made breakfast. The fences were badly damaged in that attack. They didn’t even notice how much chaos had gone on around them while they fought with the tank. Some of the herd had panicked, breaking the fence.

The overly fat cow escaped. As well as two of her friends. It wasn’t a huge loss. Even a herd of three could support the women long term. They still had the bull. That was the most important thing.

They made doubly sure to bury and fluids left over from their fight, tossing their old clothing into a bag. They’d burn it soon enough. Slowly, the women left their farm. Pam sat in the back of the RV, confused.

They slid into town slowly. Both women checking out the windows for signs of trouble. At one point they passed a charger, or, what used to be a charger. The larger arm was ripped from it’s person. Pam almost wanted to examine it, answer certain questions as to how it’d been killed. They had no time, however.

The first stop was an old vets office. It wasn’t the greatest. Most people skipped to the other town for good veterinary service. These people were mostly dogs, cats, and the occasional goat. The door was broken open, the alarm long since dead.

Pam limped into the building. Supporting her weight heavily on her crutch. She hobbled into the back, finding that most of the medicine was ransacked. At least, the easily accessible stuff. Roxy followed after her, a crowbar in hand. She began banging at the pad lock. Causing Pam to roll her eyes.

She began searching the front desk. Finding the keys she’d need. Soon enough she had them in hand. She calmly unlocked the cage containing the many narcotics, and antibiotics. Roxy gave her a flat look. They weren’t great. But it wasn’t like they could knock over a hospital.

Pam checked over her shoulder as Roxy wandered off. Looking for something. They hadn’t seen any infected. So there was no real worry about being separated. Something clattered in the next room. Jarring Pam from her thoughts. She drew her knife, glancing back. “Rox!” She hissed.

When she got no reply, Pam began to worry. She dashed in the direction her friend disappeared to. It looked as though she was caught up in something important. The washrooms.... Why did they even bother planning anything if Roxy was just going to wander off like that. It left them both open to attack. The taller woman limped towards the source of the noise.

She peeked into the room, spotting what looked to be a small cat. The woman let off a sigh, glancing over her shoulder. It was just a cat. She could go check on it. Sheathing the knife. There was no need for it.

Pam pushed the door open, and hobbling into what she assumed was either surgery or recovery. Oddly enough the cages had been ripped open by something. The cat Pam had spotted jolted, then bolted out a large hole in the back wall. Leaving Pam to question what the hell made that hole in the first place.

Something shuffled to her left. Pam jolted and backed away. There was something big covered in a large sheet. She initially thought it was just some equipment. Until she heard it breathing. Pam glanced at the hole in the wall, then the sheet. Only one thing could do THAT. She backed away, slowly.

Sadly, she kicked whatever the cat had knocked over to start with. Glancing down she found it to be a steal tray for surgical equipment. Not like it mattered now, as the mass under the sheet stood. There was no mistaking it at this point.

Maybe if Pam just kept moving slowly, it wouldn’t see her. The sheet fell away, and Pam was face to face with it. “No. Fucking. Way. No way my luck is this shitty.” She hissed under her breath. Banging on the wall urgently. Hoping Roxy would hear it and do something.

Pam couldn’t run this time. Or fight. And as the tank eyed her down, she felt hope creep away slowly. A tranquil acceptance of her situation inched in. As the hulking brute slowly circled her.

She crept towards the door, praying she had time to flee, but understanding she didn’t. It reached forward slowly. She flinched, reaching for her knife and dropping her crutch.

Bad idea. her leg gave out. Landing her on her aching ribs. She wheezed, before covering her face with her forearms. Eyes squeezed shut as she awaited a crushing blow.

It took some time. Finally Pam opened her arms and left herself a window to peek out from. The tank was sitting on it’s rump, turning her crutch this way and that. It stood and held the object the way she’d been using it. The wood creaked under it’s form, causing the tank to adjust his weight back to his knuckles.

He looked at Pam next. Causing her to scrambled further towards the door. She was dragged back towards it screaming. Despite the pain in her ribs. The tank held her upside down by her ankle. Pams pant leg fell back a bit, exposing the bandaging around it. Seeped through with old blood.

She was carelessly dropped. The tank turning away, disinterested. It squeezed through the hole it apparently had made earlier and trundled off in it’s own direction. Leaving Pam to lay awkwardly doubled over herself, highly confused, but alive.

Roxy burst through the door in time to see it’s back, and Canadian flag print underwear. “Pam?” She squeaked.

“Oh. So NOW you show up.” She’d never been so angry and scared as she did in that moment. Pam struggled to her feet and turned to face Roxy. “What were you thinking!? I can’t fucking defend myself. Not like....”

Roxy just stood there. Neither said a word. They eyed where the tank had wandered off towards. “Why didn’t it kill you?” Roxy’s voice sounded cold. Hollow.

“I don’t know.” Pam hobbled towards the truck. There wasn’t much point in yelling. Particularly because it hurt do do so. But also because getting into a fight with the one person you relied on for survival was never a wise plan. It was best to let it lie and continue their scavenging.

They made their way to a looted store. Breaking into the cage behind the pharmacy with effort. Thankfully the infected were steering clear of this area. Of course that also meant there was something meaner around. But, given that most of the veterinary supplies they’d stolen was unfamiliar to Pam, or strong enough to knock a horse on it’s ass, they hadn’t much choice.

They mainly took antibiotics and pain meds. Something Pam was very hesitant to use. It was best not to stay in town too long however. As infected milled about in their corners. Pam clambered into the truck as it stuttered to a start. Roxy grimaced. Smacking the dash as they made their way slowly to the main road through town. Not many beached cars so far. One or two left on the sides.

Pam sighed. Of course there wouldn’t be many. Folks would avoid the border like the plague... Actually because of a plague. She chuckled bitterly. “Hey Pam.” She was shaken from her thoughts as Roxy slowed the vehicle. Her voice was shaking.

They both crept carefully passed the very same tank from the vets office. He was sitting again. Pulling something with one hand. In the other was a flurry of motion. Both women watched carefully, as they circled the hulking brute. In his hands, protesting vehemently was a smoker.

The hand not restraining the lanky infected was pulling the tongue. Leaving a small pile on the ground. Before the maximum limit was finally reached. With a scream of rage, or possibly pain, the tongue snapped from it’s host. Leaving the infected disarmed. The tank examined this. Dropping the lost appendage and using its free hand to grip the smokers jaw.

It was about then Pam noticed they were sorely lacking in motion. “Rox....”

The other woman was transfixed by the tanks actions. It shoved an over sized finger into the Smokers mouth. Earning it’s self a harsh bite. The tank roared in anger and slammed the other infected to the ground. “ROXY!”

They sped off. Leaving both the tank and the smoker behind. A quick check of the rear view mirror made it clear the smaller infected was scrambling to his feet while the Tank stared numbly at their vehicle. It turned back to it’s catch soon after. Much to the smokers dismay.

The two sat in the cab of the truck for a long time. Cruising softly down the road. “So... That just happened.” Roxy’s knuckles were white on the wheel. Her eyes owlish and transfixed on the yellow between the stretching concrete.

“Yeah.” Pam fell silent. Staring out at the slowly passing trees. They weren’t far from home now. Thankfully. They were smack dab between two towns. One a bit smaller than the other.

Their own home was officially classified as a ghost town. Given that most of the residents were old, and the properties were mostly abandoned as it was. To be honest, aside from the occasional zombie, there wasn’t much change. As they pulled into the small villa, Pam caught sight of something.

“Rox?” She sat up. Patting her friend shoulder. Just cresting over some heavily growing brush, was the back of a heifer. She seamed to be caught. Or struggling with something. But it was for sure one of the small number they’d lost.

“I’ll go get the trailer. You wait here!” Roxy scrambled to slow the vehicle. Pam jumped out with her gun slung over her shoulder. Sort of skipping her way over while the truck sped towards the farm. Most of the infected were either dead, or common. No real threats aside from that one hunter.

Crazed laughter rung through the air and Pam sighed. Okay that one hunter and a Jockey. Still. Nothing she couldn’t handle. The hunter stayed away from them mostly. And The screaming half pints were by no means threats. A screech ripped over the tranquil surroundings.

Fine. It was a bad luck day. Pam would just get this mother fucking cow and go home. She didn’t have to confront a damn thing. Lucky for her, this one was always one of the nice cows. Always first for attention.

The hunter and the jockey came bursting out of the bushes. Apparently rammed by something as there was a resounding yelp from the taller. The cow stuck her head out and pawed at the ground. Swinging her head. Just challenging the three to approach her.

The Jockey lept at her only to receive a small horn to the stomach. Throwing the small thing into the hunter. Who’d been wise enough to back the fuck off. Pam recognized this hunter. He was the transient that had made his way into town. She could only tell by the marking on his hoodie, but they were enough.

The jockey flailed and clawed. Soon enough it broke into a fight between the infected. Pam moved to get the hell out of the way while the smaller one scrambled atop the hunters shoulders. In turn the hooded menace pushed himself off from the ground, Flailing backwards and slamming the smaller as hard as he could into the dirt.

They seamed to ignore Pam, too caught up in their squabbling. Something the limping woman capitalized on. Making her way to the heifer. “Okay girl nice and-” She had to throw her crutch, dropping out of the way of the angry bovine.

It backed up and lined her up for another charge. The heifer was suddenly slammed in the shoulder by a writhing hunter. As it threw the jockey from it’s shoulders and head. Letting of a pained scream, it clutched it’s face. Being caught completely by surprise when the cow slung her head into him. He fled, crashing into objects at random. The jockey, seeing it too was outmatched, fled.

Leaving only Pam and a berserk bovine. The heifer charged her with intent to trample. Pam hastily sloughed her gun from her shoulders and braced it on the ground. Firing a sloppy shot that hit the heifer in the throat. She dropped. Choking.

Pam rose slowly to her feet. Just as Roxy returned. “FUCK! What happened this time.”

“I don’t fucking know. She was such a sweet thing but....” Pam sighed. Grabbing her crutch. “Had to shoot her. Damn thing was going-”

A tiny noise had both women jerking to the right. Staring behind the bushes. Something was making an effort to move. Pam limped closer. As Roxy shoved the gun forward. Behind the brush, laying in a pool of afterbirth, was a small calf.

It’s head wobbly and it’s body shaking. “Oh.... Oh god.” Pam stood dumbfounded. “I didn’t. I couldn’t...The last animal to act like that-”

Rox placed her hand on her friends shoulder. Patting her gently. “I don’t blame you. It’s an easy mistake to make. Let’s just.... Let’s just keep going...I-I think we can take care of it. Maybe.”

Roxy managed to lift the newborn calf into the trailer. Pam sitting back with it and rubbing it down with hay. Trying to clean the little one off. Hopefully another of their herd was giving milk.

They pulled onto the farm slowly. Pam sighed. Struggling with the calf to get it on it’s feet and into the fields. Their temporary repairs to the fences were holding so far. She had no idea how to introduce a calf to a herd. Let alone feed it.

Roxy had mentioned getting milk from one of the cows. And swiftly dragged out a bucket. Leaving to round up the heifer and drag her in. Meanwhile Pam sat with the shivering calf. She remembered hearing something about a calf picking up a mother’s scent through milk.

So when the bucket was brought to her, Pam figured the calf would just drink it and smell like the ‘mom’ soon enough. She staggered to her feet, placing the bucket in front of the calf. Roxy gave her a concerned look. “Here, maybe I can handle this while you put the medicine away.”

“Sure. Just... Hold it’s ear so it doesn’t drown.” Pam hobbled towards the house. Hearing a soft chuckle, then high pitched coaxing from Roxy. This was fine... Everything was fine.

And then Roxy started shrieking her name. Using her crutch as a sort of pole-vault, Pam lunged for the barn. Finding Roxy desperately trying to pull the calf’s head out of the bucket. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING ABOUT THE DROWNING THING!”

Pam wedged herself under the calf's chin and used her crutch to out muscle the surprisingly strong newborn. “WHY would I joke about that?!” Pam almost considered leaving Roxy with this situation alone. It would be perfect revenge after crossing that weird ass tank.

But no, Eventually they managed to create a make shift bottle with old waterline tubing, a funnel, and the bucket. Both women heaved heavy sighs. “We gotta get this bastard on a cow. Is it even worth it?”

“I don’t know. But... It kina’ feel wrong not ta’ try. Right?” They shared a glance at one another. “Besides. From what you say, the other cow will adopt it soon enough. Right?”

“Maybe. I don’t fucking know. My grandmother raised chickens. Not Cows. I just know this shit from hearsay.” Pam leaned on her hand. Her ribs ached. Her leg ached, She was stressed and strained. And the best she could do for herself was an antibiotic, and bandages.

She blinked at Roxy. Taking in the abundance of scratches and bite wounds on her arms and shoulders. Shaking her head, the woman stood. “Come on. Let’s... Let’s go eat something. Get our wounds cleaned again and.... Move from there.”

“Don’t you mean Moo-ve on from there?” Roxy grinned like a mad woman. Getting a flat glare from Pam. It was only polite to respond to such humor with such a response after all.

“You’re pun-bearable.”

#fanfiction #left4dead #Origional Character

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mindsnot · 6 years

Text

Zybourne Clock book 2 (incomplete)

The Zybourne Clock: The Two Towers

Steamroy sat wearing a poncho and sombrero on a bench in a space in between space and time. It has not been specified where he obtained the poncho and sombrero.

“They say sequels are inevitable. And sometimes, this time, they’re right. Like the ball behind the ball that fell off the cliff of time, something always follows another thing…except when it doesn’t.

“Some people see sequels as a chance to try again, to mend the mistakes you made, and improve what you managed to do right. Some people are given a second chance when they’re given more time. Others follow the same path they dug, and repeat the same formula to no avail. A sequel is a risky thing. Sometimes, the best you can hope for is another chance, another shot at the big payoff. And all payoffs are built off the times before it. That’s how time works. It’s all connected.

“We all remember that ball that rolled forward, but what happens when you run out of balls?” Steamroy leaned forward and lowered their voice. “If the sequel isn’t good enough, can you really count on another one?”

***

“What can I interest you in, young lady,” asked the crone.

Sam pulled out a parchment and handed it to the crone. The Capitol City bazaar was bustling during midday. She had to tune out the barkers and hagglers in the background while she studied the crone’s face and waited for a response.

“So, you’re looking for a parchment that looks like this parchment?” “It looks just like that one.

“Well, if it looks just like this one, then why do you need that one? Isn’t this a good enough copy?”

Sam lowered the brim of her sombrero.

“It has to do with…time.”

The crone shrugged.

“Can’t say I’ve seen any old scraps of parchment like this. Can’t I interest you in anything else,” she said, gesturing behind her to her stall.

“No thanks, I have to go.”

Sam nodded and turned around, her poncho flapping behind her.

When she went to grassy outcrop where she parked her clock o’ copter, she found a pair of kids running excitedly around it.

She ignored the kids, climbed into the cab, and turned the ignition key.

The hands of the clock o’ copter, formerly resting at 6:15, stirred to life and began whirling into a blur.

“Hey,” shouted one of the kids. “How come there’s no steam.”

“It’s powered by time,” Sam shouted over the noise, before taking off into the sky.

***

“I say, please slow down, Mr. Five Aces!”

Scholtz was stumbling up the gangplank holding his camera and equipment. Johnny was carrying the bulk of the luggage in each hand, but his stride was still far too fast for Scholtz to keep up with.

“No time to lose,” said Johnny. “I still don’t like this plan, but I don’t plan on messing it up.”

“Nor do I,” Scholtz huffed, as they climbed onboard the steamship. “I no doubt appreciate the lass’s bravery, but being separated does not sit well with me.”

Scholtz still did not quite understand what had happened. One day, while looking for Johnny Five Aces, Sam shouted, giving Scholtz quite a start. They had been walking into a saloon, but Sam appeared as if she had suddenly woken up from a nightmare. She hurried over to a table, which he learned had Johnny Five Aces, and heard her explain that she was from another timeline. Mr. Five Aces seemed to understand what was going on, far sooner than Scholtz, until they eventually let him in on their plans.

“And this Zylus chap,” said Scholtz as he dropped his things onto the bed of his cabin. “We’re to let him send assassin’s after dear Sam?”

“That was the plan,” Said Johnny. He took out his steam cigar and lit it.

The plan was Sam’s idea, and Scholtz never would have gone along with it if not for the harrowing tale that Sam told.

Apparently, where Sam had come from, there had been countless adventures, beginning with Scholtz himself becoming kidnapped, and ending with the tragic demise of Mr. Five Aces, along with the destruction of the fabled golden egg: the Zybourne Clock. But in this timeline, everyone was well alive and un-kidnapped. And Sam, with steel in her eyes, had said she intended to keep it that way.

“What are you doing over there,” asked Johnny.

“Taking a commemorative photo,” said Scholtz. He had spread the legs of his tripod apart and was aiming the camera lens out the porthole window and the stirring sea. He was so excited for his journey that he barely even noticed his seasickness. “Let this moment forever be commemorated in time.”

“Time doesn’t work that way,” said Johnny.

***

Sam woke up and saw two figures standing over her. Her hands shot out and caught them by the neck in each hand. She had been napping in the cab of her clock o’ copter, but her instincts had kicked in and snapped her awake.

“Did Zylus send you?” she threw the two of them out of the cab and followed them out. They both writhed on the ground and took deep panting breaths. One of them had something in her hand.

“What’s that in your hand?”

One of the women ceased crawling and turned head. She gave a sheepish grin.

“If that’s a weapon, so help me—”

She opened her hand to reveal the ignition key to the clock o’ copter.

Sam smiled. Two skinny young women in fancy tweed suits, it figured they were just thieves.

It was a relief that they weren’t out to kill her, but Sam wasn’t going to let them go without a few good smacks after trying to rob her…until she had a better idea.

Sam chuckled and the thieves whined quietly.

“Have a seat, fellas. Introduce yourselves.” Sam took off her sombrero and took a seat on the ground, cross-legged. The thieves looked at each other, then proceeded to do the same. “My name’s Samantha, but you can call me Sam, if we’re friends. We can be friends, right?”

“Yep!”

“Hm mm!”

The two girls nodded hard. They were clearly interested in being Sam’s friend, as opposed to the alternative.

Sam got a good look at them. They wore matching grey suits, matching black bowler hats, had matching haircuts, matching faces, matching everything. So, they were twins.

“Now, tell me, what are you and your sister doing outside the city at night?”

“We saw your steamcopter.

“And we were curious.”

“So we followed you out to the forest and—”

“Thought I might have some nice loot?”

“Your steamcopter runs without steam. We figured you’d be loaded if you can afford weird tech like that.”

The other twin slapped her on the back of her head. It seemed that one of them thought that an abundance of honesty would score her some points.

“I still haven’t gotten your names.”

They hesitated for a moment, but then they both grinned.

“Connie Chen,” she said, doffing her bowler hat.

“Bonnie Chen,” the other said, doffing her bowler hat.

Sam wondered what it was with parents giving their twins rhyming names.

“I have a couple of questions for you both. First off, are you girls good at thieving.

The girl who had identified as bonnie pulled Sam’s wallet out of her suit pocket.

“Next question,” said Sam, as she snatched it back. “What do you two think about danger?”

“We don’t like it.”

“We generally try to avoid it.”

“Same goes for pain.”

“Please don’t hurt us.”

“That all depends,” said Sam. “Now, how would you like to earn a lot of money stealing something very valuable?”

The twins grimaced in unison.

“There’s a catch. There has to be.”

“Are we going to die?”

“Is there danger?

“To be perfectly honest,” Sam said, “I don’t like getting into trouble myself, and I don’t like getting hurt either. So, I figure you two could help me not get hurt, and get what I need to get while avoiding trouble.”

The girls sat up straighter.

“What do we get in return,” said Bonnie, or maybe it was Connie.

“The key to my clock o’ coptor when I’m done with it, and if that’s not enough, the entire fortune of Zylus Industries.”

“Give us a minute,” they said.

They girls went off a little distance and began whispering fiercely. Sam couldn’t hear much, but made out the words “Zylus,” “dead,” and “crazy” more than once.

The twins came back.

“We don’t get killed.”

“You protect us.”

“We keep the money.”

“Deal?”

“Deal,” said Sam. She shook both their hands at the same time, taking the opportunity to demonstrate her grip strength. They both yelped, but she wanted to send a message.

“So, when do we start?”

Sam heard a high-pitched shriek. It was dark, but she could make out flapping wings and a metallic glint.

“Right about now. Get in the copter.”

***

Everything in the Flat Cow Saloon had a name: the jangly rag playing on the automatic steam piano, the Gut Boiler whiskey, and the various patrons seated around the room. The men had names like “Cuttthroat” Stan, “Hyena” Joe, “The Guillotine” Manuel, and sometimes less imaginative names like “Kick Your Ass” Steve.

However, no one knew the name of the woman who walked into the saloon.

She approached the bar with solid boot steps.

The first thing the bartender noticed wasn’t her great size, but her scars. Long scars crisscrossed, cutting through her lips and over her age worn face. Unlike those slashing scars, a long, chewed-up looking scar writhed down her neck.

“What can I get you,” asked the barkeep. He had an impressive scar over his eye, but it was nothing compared to the mangled flesh of the woman in front of him. And those were just the scars he could see. He could only imagine what her body—what was left of it—looked like underneath her heavy clothing.

She pulled out photos of a man sitting crookedly in a chair with a mug of beer and an ace of spades in his hands, and a young woman in a poncho and sombrero. The girl’s face was obscured, but the man’s wasn’t.

“I’m looking for Johnny Five Aces, and the girl in this photo.” The woman’s voice sounded like she had scars in her throat.

“Hey! Are you friends with that son-of-a-bitch, Johnny Five Aces?” It was Carlos “The Bear.” He pulled his chair out, leaving his poker game. “I asked you a question, you ugly bitch!”

The woman deigned to notice him, then looked back at the barkeep.

“Well, have you seen them? The girl’s been going around asking questions.”

“I asked you a question!” Carlos “The Bear” grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her around.

The woman looked at the hand on her shoulder like it was a fly that had landed there.

“I’m going to break your jaw, and three of your ribs,” she said.

“You’re going to bust my jaw, are you?”

The room went silent, with the exception of the chipper piano tune still playing in the background.

“And three of your ribs.”

“The Bear” threw a massive punch which missed. The woman had ducked, then flew up with an uppercut. “The Bear” staggered back while the woman readied another punch. Everyone heard the crack beneath the thud of her punch.

Carlos stumbled backwards into some chairs and crashed. He lay on his side, groaning.

The woman approached him.

“That was two.” She pulled her leg back and drove it into his stomach.

His howl of pain was all anyone heard, but no one in the room doubted there was another crack.

“Now,” she said. Her voice was rough and loud, but she had only raised it to be heard. “I’m looking for Johnny Five Aces, and a woman in a poncho and sombrero going around asking about a parchment. Anyone with useful information will be rewarded, courtesy of Zylus Industries. Anyone hiding anything will wish they hadn’t.”

All the patrons in the bar immediately developed a profound interest in their respective drinks or card games.

“Uh, excuse me,” said the barkeep, peeking out from behind the counter. “But I didn’t catch your name…”

“People call me Mother Merciful.” A few people gasped. “I’m staying at the inn down the street. If any of you know anything, come see me. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

The doors swung shut behind her and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. After an awkward moment, everyone went back to growling and cursing and pretending nothing scared men as tough as them.

***

The sea air was bracing, with a salty tang that was new to Scholtz. Scholtz considered himself an educated man, but he was learning things every day in the company of the worldly Johnny Five Aces. Already, he was being tutored in the mysteries of time, travelling to new locales, and experiencing the thrill of public bathrooms.

Joining him on the deck of the ship was Johnny Five Aces himself, smoking his steam cigar and staring off into the distance (or at least seeming to, since it was impossible to see his eyes behind his dark shades).

“I say, Mr. Five Aces. What awaits us next on our journey?”

Johnny exhaled steam steam smoke.

“Hard to tell. It could be anything. It could be nothing. All I know is that danger’s always around the corner, and it strikes when you least expect it…except when it does.”

Scholtz nodded at his sagacious words of wisdom.

An idea occurred to Scholtz.

“If I am vigilant and looking out for danger, then won’t danger not strike, since I would be expecting it?”

Johnny sighed.

“If you expect it not to strike, because you expect it to strike, then you’re not expecting danger to strike…which is when it strikes, except when it doesn’t.”

“So…danger can strike at any time?”

“That’s not what I said at all. You have to pay attention, Scholtz.”

Scholtz felt the weight of those words.

“Pay attention,” he muttered under his breath. Staring over the deck, he let his eyes follow the water streaming from the hull of the coursing ship, but there also seemed to be other shapes down below.

Popping their fuzzy little heads out of the water were a dozen or so otters.

“Oh ho, how adorable,” said Scholtz. “A squad of friendly sea otters.”

Johnny slowly removed his shades, then quickly put them back on, so as not to be seen without his shades.

“Did you say a squad?” Johnny rushed to the staircase. “We’re packing up. Take only what you need. Meet me at the lifeboats.”

“Hold on! Mr. Five Aces!”

But Johnny was gone.

On deck, a trio of otters was squeaking at a pair of cowering passengers, while the other otters were roaming around yelping commands and waving otter-sized death rays.

Scholtz dashed to his cabin and stuffed various socks and underwear into his coat pockets, and gathered up his camera by the tripod.

“You’re late,” Johnny said, when Scholtz reached the lifeboats.

“I say, what are those dastardly creatures?”

“Strike otters,” Johnny growled. “Otters raised from pups to be elite marine commandos.” Johnny’s teeth were bared.

“What seems to be the matter, Mr. Five Aces?”

“Otters,” Johnny’s voice faltered. “Otters just want to live peaceful lives.”

A death ray beam fired over Scholtz’s head.

A pair of otters walked up, chattering commands.

“Be cool,” whispered Johnny. He had his hands raised.

I must remain cool-headed, thought Scholtz. I must be bold, he somehow thought next.

“Take that,” he shouted as he punted the nearest otter.

Johnny grabbed Scholtz by his collar.

Scholtz found himself being hurled into one of the lifeboats and landed on his back, hugging his camera to him. Johnny leaped in after him while the strike otters shrieked a chorus of threats.

Johnny unhooked the lifeboat, and it splashed into the water.

“Get the steam engine started.” Johnny had pulled out his flute and put it to his lips.

A dozen shapes sailed over the edge of the ship and dived into the water after them. Scholtz had barely gotten the engine started before they started swimming after them.

Johnny was playing a rapid tune while the boat sped through the water.

The steam speedboat was shooting up spray, but Scholtz could see were the murky trails of strike otters chasing after them.

Johnny’s fluting reached a crescendo as he balanced on one leg, and three strike otters burst out of the water and landed on the boat. Two lunged at Johnny.

Johnny pirouetted while fluting, evading the attackers who missed completely and plunged overboard.

The remaining otter, standing a foot and a half tall, stared down Johnny. It reached into its rock pouch and pulled out a folding knife, whipping the blade out.

Johnny held his flute up to his lips.

“Oh, my,” muttered Scholtz.

The otter lunged like a steam rocket up to Johnny’s neck.

Johnny twisted his flute. There was a clang, and the blade of the folding knife was expertly snagged in one of the holes of Johnny’s flute. The next instant, Johnny twisted his flute again and ripped the knife from the strike otter’s grip, flinging it away.

The otter sprang back down, growling. It was unarmed, but it flung its paws out, showing it still had claws.

Scholtz rushed up from his seat, grabbed the otter with both hands, and hurled it overboard.

“I helped,” announced Scholtz.

“Aren’t you supposed to be driving,” asked Johnny.

Scholtz looked back at the rudder and engine, currently unmanned, then he turned around in time to catch a glimpse of rocks ahead.

The boat rocked and threw the two of them in different directions. There was the crush of the boat, the splash of them falling into the ocean, then just the noise of the deep water darkening everything around Scholtz in its cold embrace.

***

“Attack bats, battle rats, and a part-time assassin riding a steam wolf.”

“I still don’t get the part-time thing,” said Bonnie.

Sam did indeed recall. The assassin had kept correcting them. “Assassin,” Sam had cried, when the assassin had stabbed the pillow where Bonnie had just been resting her head. “Part-time,” hissed the assassin, steering their steam wolf with their legs while gripping twin daggers.

That had been a night.

“Probably wasn’t being paid full-time. Figures Zylus industries pulls that nonsense on their employees. They ought to join a steam union.”

“Right, Connie. That’s the worst thing Zylus industries has done, aside from trying to kill us.”

“Shut up,” shouted Sam. The cab of the clock o’ copter was designed for two people to sit comfortably, but was now housing three people very uncomfortably. Sam had been sandwiched between the two sisters chatting and bickering for days, in between the travel where they had to dodge various killers and henchmen of Zylus’s, and Sam’s easygoing personality was becoming threadbare. “Sorry about that,” she added.

“Apology accepted,” the twins said in unison.

“Now,” said Bonnie, “Are we there yet?”

“Almost, but I want to go over the plan again before we get there.”

“The Sneaky Sandoval,” said Connie, rubbing her hands together. Bonnie nudged her and winked in agreement.

“No,” cried Sam. “What the steam hell is the ‘Sneaky Sandoval’?”

“Then what are we doing,” Connie asked.

Sam groaned. Perhaps it was her fault for not letting them in on the bigger plan. The whole reasoning behind her splitting up with Johnny and Scholtz was for them to finish the real mission while she served as a diversion for Zylus’s efforts. Dividing his attention, so to speak. She supposed it was a bit unfair that the Chen sisters were unwittingly serving as decoys for such a dangerous mission.

As they reached the base of the green hills that Zylus’s mansion rested on top, Sam steered the clock o’ copter down and turned off the time engine.

“Now, here’s the real plan again,” said Sam. We take these steamlusion generators,” she handed each of the sisters a little steam powered box, “pose as servant steambots, sneak in the back entrance, head to Zylus’s vault, and run off with whatever we can carry.”

“And why do you think this will work,” Connie. Bonnie grimaced and nodded along.

“Because…” Sam still had vivid memories of her and Johnny’s disastrous assault on Zylus’s mansion. “This time will be different,” said Sam. “He’s not expecting us.”

“’This time,” squawked Bonnie. “What did you steal last time?”

Sam looked down.

“A second chance.”

The Chen sisters looked at each other and shrugged.

“Toot toot. We love serving master Zylus,” said Sam, disguised as a steambot.

“Hey, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Toot toot,” said the steam butler who opened the backdoor for Sam.

“We toot concur toot. Toot,” said the Chen sisters in unison.

“Toot. You three seem completely trustworthy, even though I don’t recognize any of you.”

Sam and her companions awkwardly walked through the door, doing their best to emulate the gait of a steambot (with debatable success).

Walking through the kitchen, then striding out into the hallways, the Chen sisters flanked Sam and hissed into her ear.

“Now what?”

“You’ve been here before!”

“What,” Sam hissed back. “You’re the thieves. Shouldn’t you know where vaults are, and how to get into them?”

“We usually research this sort of thing beforehand!”

“Well, it’s at-hand now,” said Sam. “Make this work.”

The sisters grumbled.

“Did you find any hidden rooms last time you were here?”

Sam recalled the dark path she and Johnny took down to the secret laboratory, Johnny dying, her close duel with Zylus.

“Yeah. It was an underground laboratory.”

“Okay, we’re not going there,” said Bonnie.

“If you found it, it must not have been hidden very well.”

“So where are we going,” asked Sam while she waved at a passing steambot.

“The attic, obviously,” said Connie.

“If the loot’s not downstairs, it’s up.” Bonnie stopped by a steam maid scrubbing a bannister leading upstairs. “Excuse us, but master Zylus—whom we worship—wishes for us to haul down boxes from the attic.”

“You know how to get there, don’t you” said the steam maid, not looking up from the wax she was rubbing into the ebony railing.

The sisters looked at each other. Sam felt the familiar tingle of panic.

“Yes,” said Bonnie.

“But do you know how to get there? You should know unless you’re a spy!”

The steam maid stopped scrubbing. It started trembling and leaking steam from its ear holes.

“Upstairs in the main study, push in the eye of the steam dragon to reveal the ceiling hatch,” it rattled off at once.

Sam couldn’t see the sister’s faces from behind the steamlusion, but she could tell they were chuckling to themselves.

The entrance was just as they said. Inside the richly decorated study chamber was a mural on the ceiling of a menagerie of fantastic steam beasts.

Sam was far too short to reach the ceiling, but Bonnie climbing on top of Connie’s shoulders was easily tall enough to push in the hidden button and reveal the gentle click of the attic hatch opening and staircase sliding down (along with the jets of steam being emitted).

Connie and Bonnie pulled out miniature steam lamps from their satchels, providing the only illumination in the room. Carefully labelled wooden crates filled the dark attic.

“Where would the vault be,” Sam muttered to herself.

“Not on the wall, dummy,” said Bonnie.

Sam resisted the urge to slap her upside the head.

“The good stuff’s probably hidden in one of these boxes,” said Connie. “Hide a tree in a forest, you know?”

The boxes were all labelled: “winter wardrobe,” “banquet silverware,” “transaction documents.”

“Are you sure you girls don’t want any silverware?”

The sisters scoffed.

“Let us know if you find any golderware…shut up. That’s a word now.”

“Hey, what’s this now,” said Sam. A box was labelled “suspicious treasure.” She slid the lid back and found a box filled with old machine parts.

“Don’t trust the labels,” said the sisters.

“Then what should we be looking for,” she said.

“A label that’s bad at lying.”

Sam did some thinking.

“Am I bad at lying?”

“Yup, but Zylus is a business emperor. We need to think like someone smart telling a bad lie.”

“In other words, a lie that’s so good it’s bad, but that’s so bad it’s good. Something like that.”

“Ouch,” shouted Sam.

“Shh,” hissed the sisters in unison.

“Come on, I stubbed my toe. Sam looked down at the faint outline of a small box at her feet. “Hey, girls. Bring the light closer.” The box read “small parts. “She stared at the box for some reason. “Why does this box say small parts? It’s already a small box. Shouldn’t it just say ‘parts’?”

“Good point, Sam,” said Bonnie coming over. She and her sister crouched beside the box. “Even if it’s filled to the top with gold, it can’t be that valuable. But this is Zylus we’re talking about.” She reached down and slid open the lid.

The sisters were silent.

Sam gasped.

An alarm went off and guard steambots burst into the attic.

***

“Would you like to play any word games, Mr. Five aces?”

Johnny placed another card down on the rock he was sitting on before answering.

“No.”

“Okay,” said Scholtz, mostly to himself.

The two of them had been sitting on the rocks they had crashed into for the better part of the day. Their clothes were still damp.

Scholtz’s life had once had a routine. He had run a successful photography business out of his home studio, eaten lobster for dinner once a week, and had plenty of free time to collect and read books on a variety of subjects. But as the cookbooks he had read had only whet his appetite for different lobster dishes, the books on distant lands and the mysteries of theoretical time theory had only stoked his hunger for adventure and the wonders that lay outside his provincial town. Unfortunately, while Scholtz had the stomach for portions of any size, and spices of every variety, it seemed he was not so equipped to swallow the hardships of real peril and raw adventure.

Johnny peeled the last card from his wet deck of cards and placed it at the end of a stack, completing his game of solitaire. He scooped up each pile and put the deck back together, then spoke.

“Scholtz, can I be honest with you?”

“Yes,” said Scholtz, stretching out the word to mean “I’d rather you be nice.”

“Do you know why I was against Sam’s plan?”

“Because of the undue danger it put good Sam in?”

“Because of the danger it put you in.”

Scholtz swallowed.

“Pardon, Mr. Five Aces?”

“I didn’t want you to come along, Scholtz. According to Sam, in the timeline you came from, all you did was get kidnapped right away by Zylus.” Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his shades. “You’re a liability, Scholtz. Sorry if I’m being blunt, but even if Sam hadn’t reported back on the other timeline, you haven’t been the most…helpful in a tough situation. I’ve made up my mind. You’re getting on the first steam train back home when we get back to land.”

Scholtz sniffed hard, forcing the tears at bay.

“And when will that be, Mr. Five Aces?”

A faint screech carried towards them. Johnny pointed up. A flock of steamgulls were floating by. Johnny pulled out his steam cigar. Twisting the valve on the end, a steady trail of steam starting rising up from the cigar and up into the sky.

“Mr. Five Aces, I believe you are attracting those steamgulls with your steam cigar. Steamgulls are steamivores, you know.”

“I know Scholtz. We’re riding those birds out of here.”

“Sounds dangerous,” said Scholtz.

“Don’t worry, Scholtz. This will be the last danger you’re in for a long time.”

Scholtz sniffed back tears as the giant birds descended on them.

***

The wrist and ankle restraints on Sam’s chair were solid steel padded with velvet.

“The Chen sisters are quite fine, Samantha.” Zylus was reclining in a barber’s chair, draped in a white cloth, face covered in lather, while a steam barber carefully shaved his cheek. “They fled successfully at the first sign of danger. I let them go. They are no friends of yours, I’m afraid. And thus,” the steambot barber paused to let Zylus shrug, “no enemies of mine.” The steam barber moved on to shaving his neck.

Sam struggled against the restraints again. The velvet cushioning was soft, but the steel clamps showed no sign of weakness.

“Must be nice having everything go according to plan,” grated Sam.

“Do not feel so bad. Your plans themselves were not so flawed. You just succumbed to an amateur mistake. One must not get so caught up in one’s own plans without taking into consideration their enemies countermoves. But then…no one’s perfect, right, Samantha?”

Sam stopped struggling and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think I remember? Your previous invasion attempt? Our duel? Oh, I can tell it is beginning to make sense to you now. When you shattered the Golden Egg, the Zybourne Clock, you weren’t the only one caught in its blast and returned to a new timeline.”

“Then why wasn’t Johnny—”

“He died, while I had yet to succumb to my injuries.” Zylus frowned, while the steam barber was sharpening their razor. “You seem surprised. How much has Dr. Zybourne neglected to tell you?” Zylus chuckled. “No doubt that woman has her reasons.”

“What do you know about the doctor,” snarled Sam.

“More than you,” replied Zylus.

“What,” said Sam.

“We were business associates, but deeper than that, fine friends. It was before your time. Do you mind if I elaborate?”

“Does it matter if I do?”

“No,” said Zylus. “You are in every sense a captive audience, and I do so lack for good conversation partners these days. But anyway, back when Zylus Industries was in its infancy, I had yet to acquire the resources that I now command. I needed skilled scientists to help me develop my inventions, and I could not afford to pay them much. Fortunately, I found a scientist with greater goals than mere financial gain.

“Dr. Zybourne was a scientist whose advanced time theories were scoffed at by the scientific community. She needed a big enough mind to appreciate the scope of her genius, as well as fund her research. I provided enough money and the proper facilities, as long as she aided in producing my more mundane inventions. However, rather than serving as a mere hireling of mine, I found myself enamored with her intellect and character. She helped me become a fuller person. Following her example, she even helped me transition fully. Believe it or not, I was not always the confident man you now see before you.” He chuckled warmly again. “But Dr. Zybourne helped me past those barriers. She was a woman for whom barriers were meant to be blasted down. We live in the steam era, the height of human advancement, but the good doctor…saw a different time.”

“They Zybourne Clock,” said Sam.

“Ah, but the Golden Egg was not completely Dr. Zybourne’s idea. She found her inspiration from an outside source.”

“The Omega Parchment.”

Zylus grinned. His shave was complete. The steam barber washed off the remaining lather and stray stubble with a refreshing steam wash, then toweled his face off. Zylus removed the white cloth and sat up, rubbing his smooth cheeks.

“Yes, it was quite a surprise finding I had already acquired it, no?”

“Then…” Sam slumped in her chair. The fight all but drained out of her and was replaced by dread.

“Yes,” said Zylus. “I am afraid your friend Johnny Five Aces is on a fool’s errand, hunting for an artifact I have already acquired.”

“How do you—”

“Plan for your enemy’s moves, remember? Now, I have captured the rook, and while the bishop travels apart, I send my queen after him. And a formidable queen she is. Do not hope that she will prove as feeble as those pawns I sent to harass and distract you. She is a true monster, if one were to dare call her such.”

“Who in the world,” Sam breathed.

Zylus stood up and strode over with his arms folded behind his back. He leaned down and whispered in Sam’s ear.

“Your mother.”

***

The Chen sisters sat at the table slouching into their hands, taking turns sighing.

“We’re good thieves, right,” asked Bonnie.

“Well, we stole this restaurant, didn’t we,” said Connie.

“You didn’t steal my restaurant,” called the restaurant owner from behind the bar. “I still have it.”

“Yeah, but it’s ours now,” said Connie.

“I still have it,” retorted the restaurant owner. “You two are just sitting there!”

“No, we have it,” said Bonnie without looking over. “You’re just standing there. That’s how good we are.” She sighed.

“I have the deed in my name,” he shouted, clenching his fists. “It’s still rightfully mine!”

“Because we wrongfully stole it,” explained Connie in a drone. She sighed too.

The owner threw up his hands and shouted.

“We’re obviously good thieves,” said Connie.

“Even though we bungled that last job.”

“Which wasn’t really our fault.”

“Agreed. But still…what’s going to happen to her?”

“Zylus will probably treat her okay,” said Connie. “Or kill her…”

“Probably a tossup,” said Bonnie. “He’s likely not to kill her.”

“Think she’s mad at us,” asked Connie.

“Probably furious,” Bonnie said, crossing her arms and nodding. “Even if we went back to Zylus’s and tried to rescue Sam—”

“Which wouldn’t work,” said Connie.

“Agreed. She’d probably throttle us both as thanks.” Bonnie’s eyes went wide.

“What is it,” asked Connie. She turned around in her seat and saw a huge woman looming over them. Her eyes were shadowed by the brim of her black hat.

“Scoot,” the huge woman growled.

“This is our restaurant, you know,” said Connie. “And you’re more than welcome to have a seat at our table,” she added while quickly scooting over.

The woman lifted a nearby chair with one hand and placed it down, then took a seat. She looked at the two of them with her big, scarred face, and then began speaking.

“You two know Samantha?”

The Chen sisters looked at each other.

The huge woman reached into her coat and pulled out a pair of photographs. She separated one of them and placed it on the table.

Both sisters stared at the photo like it was a steam bomb. Then Connie decided one of them had to look at it, and reached for it.

It was a woman mostly shrouded in a sombrero and poncho, but she recognized the garments, as well as the bottom of the face that was exposed.

“Yeah, we’ve seen her.”

“She was captured by Zylus,” said Bonnie, cutting in. “Completely unrelated to us.”

“By the way,” said Connie. She wanted to at least know who they were selling out Sam to. “Uh, can we ask who you are?”

“Mother Merciless.”

Both sisters froze. Then they slowly sucked in air through their teeth. They exchanged another look and both had the same thought: at least Sam wasn’t captured by her.

“Can we order you any food,” asked Bonnie. She was wringing her hands and smiling, but trembling from the waist down.

“No,” said Mother Merciless. “Zylus has her,” she muttered to herself. “Now, about the man in this other photo.” She pushed the photo towards them.

Bonnie and Connie passed the photo between them. It was a man in sunglasses holding an ace of spades and a mug of beer.

“Never seen him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Johnny Five Aces,” said Mother Merciless.

The woman had massive gloved fists that looked like they could bend steam pipes.

“What are you going to do when you find him?”

Mother Merciless clenched her huge fists.

“Depends. But it doesn’t concern you two, does it?”

“Nope,” both girls said right away.

It was safer that way, as long as she was after someone else, right?

***

Johnny was finally alone again. Scholtz was on his way home, and the boat ride to the hidden island was blessedly uneventful. No one was there to see Johnny be cool, but he was cool nonetheless.

The beach Johnny departed onto was on the outskirts of a blasted and stormy mountain region. Nearby was a woman sitting beneath a green gazeebo, eating a plateful of scrambled eggs. Spotting Johnny, she quickly swallowed her food, put her utensils down, and got up to greet Johnny.

“Greetings, stranger, to” she said while shielding all but her eyes with the billowy sleeve of her billowy robes, “The Lands Before Time,” she announced while slapping the loose flaps of her robe dramatically.

Johnny hummed in thought.

“That name sounds pretty familiar, like a preexisting franchise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the woman shouted. “The Lands,” she stressed the “s” at the end, “Before Time bear a wholly original and non-derivative name.”

“If you say so,” said Johnny.

“Anyway,” she continued, “beyond this beach, deep into these lands,” she stressed the plural “s” again, “lay three challenges for any visitor seeking to claim the Omega Parchment. Beware,” she hissed. Johnny just stood there, and after an awkward pause the guide walked back to her gazeebo and continue her meal.

Johnny entered the Lands Before Time, following a steep mountain path up a winding cliff’s edge. The end of a trail led to a cave covered by huge metal doors. Johnny pushed open the doors, revealing a great chamber lit by burning torches.

“Before you lies the challenge of the body,” shrieked the red-robed figure, gesturing to the buried sword-and-pulley contraption beside him. “First, you will have to draw the sword from its pedestal. The sword weighs approximately two and a half tons. Afterwards, pulling the sword out will pull the rope system attached to the pommel, opening the trap door on the ceiling, unleashing the steam dragon, and after that—where are you going?”

Johnny was already walking past the test master and the sword towards the door in the back.

“You can’t go there!”

The door was unlocked.

“Damn it,” the robed figure screamed.

Johnny closed the door behind him.

“Wait,” the figure called after him, “that was actually the test of the mind, and you passed, come back!”

Continuing down the new path, Johnny walked through caverns lit by convenient bioluminescent fungi that lit the whole place a dim blueish-green. The path led down to a sort of natural well rising out of the ground.

Johnny was walking past it when he heard a voice.

“Don’t leave so soon.”

The surface of the well rippled. The liquid inside was silvery white. It seemed to rise and flood out of the basin, spilling towards Johnny, slithering like a giant snake, before rising up and taking humanoid form.

The liquid took the shape of a an impossibly beautiful woman, with more gorgeously-shaped men and women rising and crawling out of the strange well.

“We are the trial of the will,” said the first shape thing. Its voice was like an effortless song. “To pass, you must resist all temptation, and master your desires.”

“You will not succeed,” sang another liquid beauty.

The figures shimmied around Johnny, and ran caressing hands along his shoulders and face.

He shrugged them off and walked off down the path.

“Wait,” cried one of the figures, their voice almost breaking. “We can accommodate any preferences. Do you have a genital preference? We can invent new ones too.”

Johnny stopped and smirked. He reached into his pocket for his deck of cards, he turned around and whipped a card out with a flourish, brandishing it before the temptation creatures: it was an ace of spades.

The beauties screwed up their expressions and squinted their eyes at the card.

“Ace…ace…ace of spades,” they muttered.

Johnny tucked the card and the deck back into his jacket.

“You’re,” one of the creatures began, “card-sexual?”

Johnny was silent for a moment.

“Close enough,” he said, before striding off to the exit of the cave.

Exiting up the path, Johnny emerged into overcast skies and a person hunched in a chair smoking a cigarette. A short rope barrier blocked the path up to the plateau. The person looked up.

“The third trial is under construction. Come back later.”

Johnny stepped over the barrier.

“No…” moaned the trial master, before taking another drag of their cigarette.

Now nothing was before Johnny and where the Omega Parchment was kept. However, Johnny was unaware of what was behind him…

***

Sam kept tugging on her bonds. She would have chaffed her wrists and ankles raw if they weren’t designed to be so damned comfortable. Her mom could have broken through this handcuff chair. Instead, she was stuck here, and her mom was on her way to break Johnny.

“I sure blew it…”

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Dr. Zybourne.

“Dr. Zybourne,” shouted Sam swinging around to her left. “How did you get in here?”

Zybourne leaned against a table and took a puff of her steam cigar. She dug a little mechanical egg out of her pocket.

“A Zybourne Clock,” gasped Sam.

“Nah, I didn’t use this to get it. Just some boring gadgets. This thing only has two charges to it: it’s called the Deuce X Machine. I think it’s a good name.

“One charge is for you to get you Johnny. He needs you right about now.”

“Lot of good I’d do,” muttered Sam. She didn’t struggle or burst her arms and legs free as Zybourne undid her shackles.

“My mom’s too strong, ‘Mother Merciless’ they call her, for good reason. I could never master martial arts like her. Don’t you have anyone else you can ask to save Johnny?”

“Nope, s’why I’m here.” Dr. Zybourne took a puff of her steam cigar.

Sam sighed.

“You couldn’t at least put it nicely?”

“I ain’t going to lie to you, kid. All my life people wanted me to lie to make them feel better: about my gender, about my time theories, how the whole damn world works.” She clenched a knarled and bony hand. “But I don’t like to lie, Sam. It doesn’t matter if you’re not the best person for the job. You’re the only person for the job.”

There was a click and Dr. Zybourne clicked a button on the tiny Duece X Machine. A portal of silver light grew in the middle of the room.

“Do what you have to do, Sam. While there’s still time.”

***

Johnny climbed out of the cavern and up onto a precipice of red rock overlooking a blood red sunset on the island. Johnny looked around and saw a huge woman in a big coat and hat getting up from the rock she was sitting on. She said nothing as she walked. Her fists were clenched.

“Do you have the Omega Parchment?”

She raised her fists in a fighting guard.

Johnny pulled out his flute and raised it to his mouth.

“Has my luck run out this time?”

Mother Merciless dashed forward throwing a huge hook at Johnny.

A portal of light tore open in the air and Sam flew out tackling Johnny to the ground, Mother Merciless’s huge punch humming overhead.

Mother Merciless peered down at her daughter and grunted in distaste.

“You’ll need more help than her, Five Aces.”

“That can be arranged.”

Sam and Johnny’s heads whipped around and saw Scholtz shuffling over with his camera tucked under one arm, his other holding down his hat. His posture was cowering, but he was here.

A loud noise above alerted them to the clock-o-copter landing near Scholtz. The Chen sisters hopped out of the vehicle.

“We got a pep talk from Dr. Zybourne too!”

“It would have been pretty boring to include our scenes too, I suppose.”

Sam and Johnny got up and struck dual fighting poses, the Chen sisters flanked them in stylish poses of their own, and even Scholtz joined in and adjusted his hat in a cool pose.

“Do we have a plan,” Sam asked.

“We’re just thieves,” said Connie.

“Not the rpg kind who do cool knife stuff,” added Bonnie.

“I…brought my camera,” Scholtz managed.

Mother Merciless grinded her jaw.

“Enough stupidity. I’m killing Johnny Five Aces, my failure of a daughter, and the rest of you for good measure.” Mother Merciless took a wide squatting stance, tucked in her elbows and clenched. A high-pitched keening began as steam began leaking from her ears, then shooting out in two jets like her head was a twin-nozzled tea kettle.

“What’s she doing,” asked Bonnie Chen with a puzzled expression.

“This isn’t good,” muttered Johnny.

“Steam Fu,” said Sam. “My mom’s a master. I was never able to learn it,” she said looking downcast.

“Could it be,” gasped Scholtz. “The legendary art wherein a human can harness the raw power of steam? Such a person is…the legends say—”

“Invincible,” said Johnny with an ironic smirk.

Mother Merciless became a blur and rushed at Johnny, grabbing his coat lapels. Johnny slithered and spun away safely, sloughing his coat, while the others scattered a safe distance away. Mother merciless shredded the coat to pieces like tissue paper. Sam threw a haymaker from behind aimed at her mother’s kidney.

Her fist thudded uselessly against her side. Mother Merciless shot a dark look back at her daughter and struck back with an elbow.

Sam barely guarded in time but was still thrown back feeling like her bones were about to break.

The Chen sisters ran up and tried kicking Mother Merciless’s shins before she swatted them with two frying pan sized hands. They skipped and tumbled away like pebbles where they groaned in pain on the groaned.

“Sholtz,” shouted Sam. “Now’s not the time to set up your camera. You all need to get out of here.”

Scholtz smiled at Sam. His face was round and soft. There were sad lines worn in to his face. He smiled warmly nonetheless.

“My good Sam. It has been quite the adventure with you and mister Five Aces. But I learned, and I hope you do too, to trust your friends. Also, I have yet to take my own picture this whole time.”

Scholtz whipped the Omega Parchment out of his pocket.

“Scholtz, that’s dangerous,” cried Johnny.

“You,” barked Mother Merciless. Her face burned red and two fierce jets of steam shot out of her ears.

Flipping open the film compartment on his camera, Scholtz stuffed in the Omega Parchment before positioning himself in front of his camera. Mother Merciless charged in a blur to crush Scholtz, but in a flash he disappeared.

A slim metal leg shot up and kicked Mother Merciless in the chin. She staggered back before lunging forward again trying to grapple the slender metal steambot. Its poncho whirled as it evaded.

“Steamroy!” Johnny and Sam shouted in unison.

“Good to see you two again,” said Steamroy. Steamroy bent over backwards to dodge a scything kick. “Hurry up, though, Sam. I can’t keep this up for long.”

Mother Merciless was a steaming hurricane of punches and kicks. Steamroy was adroitly dodging all of them, but dodging was all he was doing.

Sam grit her teeth and tried to think.

“Remember the deuce ex machina,” she remembered Dr. Zybourne say. “It’s time for you to come up with your own deuce ex machina of your own when the time comes.

“Wait, I don’t remember her saying that?”

“I’m pretty sure I said that,” said the memory of Dr. Zybourne.

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