#logging on to post about my husbands death and then disappearing again

[ravenofthefandoms]

The Lucky Stag: Part 3

Word Count: 4621 (oopsies)

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Characters: Sandor Clegane, original character (Marlys), original character (mentioned) (Jeremiah Bryne), Morgan (mentioned), Lem (mentioned), Gatins (mentioned), Brotherhood without Banners, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion

Warnings: some gore (it’s Game of Thrones), some mild angst, some mild fluff

A/N: Hi :) sorry for disappearing but life has been hectic. I’ve been wanting to write again, especially after House of the Dragon. Hopefully, people still wanna see more of this. Hopefully, for a time, I’ll have more regular updates and posts. As I said a while back, there are some Podrick x reader posts I have brewing plus some ideas for House of the Dragon. This one isn’t super exciting but I’ve got some plans for the next few chapters that should get the blood pumping if you will

Tags (let me know if you would like to be removed since it’s been so long): @anita-e-taylor, @my-bitch-loki @orange-sherbxrt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters outside of my own original characters. The others belong to George R.R. Martin. I do not own any of the gifs used. They belong to the original creators.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

You had been walking for ages, or what felt like it at least. Walking where, you did not know. Sandor had muttered to himself while he held you outside of the burning tavern, something about finding the men so he could tear them to bloody fucking pieces. Unfortunately, you had nothing but the singed, smoky clothes on your back and the aching hole in your chest left to your name. You knew, in reality, that it had only been a day and a half since your life had turned to ash but time no longer felt as it did before. Your eyes always felt dry, and your voice caught in your throat more often than not. Sandor could count the words you’ve spoken on his two hands.

On the first night, your friend, Marlys, was gracious enough to let you stay with her and her husband. She insisted that it was her duty as your friend, however. Another thing she tried to insist on was you sleeping in her and her husband’s bed, which he had heartily agreed to. You refused, though. Instead, you curled on the hay floor near the fireplace, Sandor sitting against the wall near your feet. 

Marlys was truly a kind woman, and you felt badly now for the way you were when you stayed there that night. You supposed that you shouldn’t, considering your grief was fresh and intense. The next morning, you and Sandor broke your fast with Marlys and her husband before they gave you enough food for a day of travel and a skin of water. Their kindness made tears well in your eyes. As you said your goodbyes, Sandor waited outside for you. 

Your childhood friend pulled you into a tight embrace. Tears spilled onto each others’ shoulders as she whispered her condolences. After a night of rest, you realized that you weren’t the only one who grieved your brother’s death, and held onto Marlys as tightly as she held onto you. “I’ll miss you, (Y/N). Promise you’ll come back someday.” You nodded in response, not trusting your voice to be steady. 

Letting go, you walked out to a patiently waiting Sandor. “Ready?” He knew what your real answer was, the same as anyone else’s would be. Your nod was good enough for him though. With one last tearful look towards probably the one place you wish you could stay, you began walking.

The first day of walking had been largely uneventful. Sandor led you with, surprisingly, gentle hands. Whether on your elbow, on the small of your back, or even holding your own in his, he never let go of you until you needed a break or it was time to set up camp. He found a clearing off the side of the path you had been traveling. With no ax, he was unable to cut any logs to build a proper fire, and instead gathered twigs and sticks from the surrounding copse of trees. As he gathered the firewood, you sat and prepared the area where the fire would blaze. Stones from a nearby stream were set in a circle to keep the flames contained. You handed it over to Sandor when he returned. He began to stack the wood, stuffing fallen leaves and tall grass into the center.

By the time you sat and made yourself as comfortable as you could on the hard ground, Sandor had the tinder smoking, then smoldering, and finally beginning to burn. As the fire slowly grew, Sandor moved to sit next to you. His eyes watched you carefully, unsure what to do or say. He had never been good with words, most of them crass and rude. He didn’t want to be crass or rude with you though. When it came to you, Sandor wanted to make you smile and laugh, to see the glimmer in your eye when you spoked animatedly, to keep you warm during the chilly nights, to-... He shook his head slightly, needing to derail this trail of thinking. As odd yet enjoyable this sensation was, there were priorities to be dealt with first. He needed to track down those sons of bitches that hurt you so and make them regret ever being born. 

“Sandor,” you murmured. He looked down and grunted. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.” He suddenly found his hands, fiddling with a small twig, to be much more interesting. 

“Don’ thank me. I’ve been more trouble than not,” he muttered. A soft chuckle, more of a sigh than anything, fell from your lips and you shook your head, almost as if he had made some silly joke. Pride swelled in his heart for a moment – hearing any sort of sweet sound from you was a blessing. You didn’t respond to his words, only scooted closer to him as a chill began to creep into the air. Your shoulders grazed his, body heat warming you as much as the fire in front of you. “You should get some rest.” His eyes flicked down to you, the smallest of bitter smiles gracing your lips. 

“Aye, I should.” You looked up at him; the lack of, well, everything in your eyes made him uneasy. He knew as well as you that rest would not come easy, if at all. Your eyes returned to the flames, your gaze becoming unfocused in them. A long moment lasted before you spoke again. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. Sandor kept his gaze fixated on your face, waiting for you to continue. “I’ve always known what needed to be done. Cook the venison, bake the bread, serve the ale, keep the tavern running, watch over my-... watch over my brother.” The last few words came out slightly strangled, as though you choked on them. “I am lost now.” 

Another long silence fell between you before Sandor reached over and took one of your hands in his own. “You’re not lost. You’re not broken neither.” Your gaze lifted to meet his own. “You’re strong. And I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, if you let me.” You were able to offer him a small, watery smile along with a quick nod.

“Thank you, Sandor.” Your eyes returned to the flames for a moment longer before you closed them. “I want nothing more,” you said softly. Again, silence fell over the two of you, nothing to hear aside from the crackling of the fire. Sandor was unsure how long he stared into the dancing flames before your head nodded onto his shoulder and soft snores filled the air. 

The next morning, you awoke with a start, images from the past few days haunting your dreams. The sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon, though the chill of night still hung in the air. A shiver ran down your spine as your body began to wake from its slumber. Your tailbone and legs ached as you stood and made your way to the stream. The water was cold and brisk. Dipping your hands in the babbling brook made your arms break out into gooseflesh. You cupped the water in your hands, gently bringing it to your face. The freezing shock was necessary, you felt, before you began on your journey again. When you returned to the fire, Sandor’s eyes were open and sought out your approaching figure. 

He said nothing, something you were accustomed to after a few months of knowing him. Sandor would never be considered a particularly chatty man. However, sitting in silence with the large man brought you a sense of peace and calm. 

You nodded once at the question in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. There was nothing for you to gather or put away, only the still-smoldering embers of the night’s fire. Sandor kicked dirt over it, if only to ensure that the flames would stay smothered rather than springing back to life. Once again, he guided you to the path with sure steps. There was a bloodlust in his eyes as he tracked the men that he was intent on killing. It didn’t scare you, strangely enough. For once, it made you feel… protected. You couldn’t say that you remember a time when you felt protected. Your brother, gods rest his soul, was strong and protected you from men who were too handsy or too violent. There was always the silent agreement, however, that you were the one that protected your brother. You raised him, cared for him, and made sure he grew to be the man that he was beginning to be. This sensation from Sandor, it lifted a weight off of your shoulders that you had not realized was there. A shadow that had hung from you for as long as you could remember.

Gently, you shook these thoughts from your head. You instead focused on the path ahead, watching and wary of your surroundings. Many hours passed, early morning turning into early afternoon. As though he was indeed a hound picking up a scent, Sandor stopped suddenly. He turned to your left. You turned as well, trying to see or hear or smell whatever it was that he was sensing. After a few moments, you could hear the sound of raucous laughing, as well as cursing. It was enough for Sandor to tug you along gently, despite his long, angry strides.

You walked just behind Sandor, the sound of laughter growing as you continued to walk closer. An ax laid next to a stump and a pile of chopped logs. From where you stood, you could see four men, all somewhat familiar, sitting around a fire. Sandor stopped, looking back at you slightly with a warning in your eyes. It was something you understood quickly. You nodded and took a step back.

That bloodlust was back in his eyes, if it ever left. He grabbed that ax and began stalking towards the group of men. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. Sandor swung his ax with a yell at the first man, lopping off his head with ease. It was at this moment that you turned around, hand pressed to your mouth to keep the bile down. It wasn’t that you had a sudden guilt about the silent agreement between you and Sandor to avenge your brother. In fact, you quite enjoyed the ferocity with which he swung his weapon. What made your stomach churn was the memory that it returned to you: your brother’s corpse. The grisly nature of the scene unfolding was something that you found you just could not watch. Squelching flesh as it was maimed by steel still reached your ears. Your eyes closed quickly, taking deep breaths to keep your stomach calm. As the final man whimpered in pain, you could hear Sandor speaking to him. You weren’t sure what Sandor said, his voice too soft to be carried over the wind. You did, however, hear the dying man scream at the giant before him.

All you could hear was further grumbling from Sandor. You did not open your eyes nor did you remove your hand from your mouth. The crunch of leaves and sticks stopped behind you. “It’s over now, little flower.” His hand gently came up to grab your wrist, pulling it away from your face. Your eyes opened slowly, looking up to meet Sandor’s own gaze.

“Did I scare ya?” There was something in his voice that had you shaking your head quickly.

“No, Sandor. I just… I couldn’t watch.” He nodded softly. Your hand drifted up slowly to rest on his scarred cheek. “Thank you.” Your voice was more frail than you expected or wanted it to be. “They met the ends they deserved.” 

He nodded his agreement. 

“Aye, they did. There are still more. The one who led them, with the yellow cloak. We find him, and your brother will have been avenged.” You nodded, looking up at him with a fierceness in your eyes that made his heart stutter a moment. With no more need to stay, the two of you continued back on your journey. 

Surprisingly, you did not walk as far as you thought you would have to before the sounds of men reached your ears again. It was distinctive this time, and much closer than the last group of men had been. Sandor looked down at you, nodded, and then headed towards the noise, ax ready to attack.

To both your own and Sandor’s surprise, the men you sought were standing on barrels with nooses around their necks. A handful of men, no more than ten, stood around them, and one sat above on the tree branch. Swords were partially drawn in caution, until one of the men spoke.

“Clegane.” He was a handsome man, the one who spoke. An eye patch covered his right eye, a crop of sandy hair cropped close to his head. If it weren’t for the setting you found yourself in, you would think him to be some dashing knight that you, as did many of the other girls in your village, dreamt of being swept away by. You stayed close to Sandor, however, almost hiding behind him as a child does behind their mother’s skirts.

“The fuck you doing here?” Another man asked. This one had long hair gathered into a knot atop his head and a deep red cloak hanging around his shoulders. His gaze flicked to you, seemingly amused.

Sandor pointed at the soon-to-be hanged men. “Chasing them.” His hand, still gripping yours, tensed slightly. “You?”

The second man to speak looked back at the men before responding. “Hanging them.” He seemed almost bemused in the way he spoke, as though it were just another sunny afternoon. 

“Any particular reason?” Was Sandor’s somewhat irritated response. The clipped conversation had your eyes darting between the men as they spoke. 

The first man spoke again. “They’re our men, or they were. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Burnt down a tavern in the next village too. Why do you want them?” His eye flicked to you, as though just realizing that the Hound was not alone. Curiosity made his head quirk to the side, his lone eye seeming to look you up and down. Not in the way you were used to men doing, but in a way that made your skin crawl. Like he was reading your body, your mind, and your soul. There was a part of you that felt sure he could hear every thought in your head.

“Same reason.” Sandor jerked his head to you. “It was her tavern they burnt. Her brother they murdered.” Your hand tensed in his, and he squeezed it gently. “She saved me.”

“Saved you? A surprise anyone would think to do that.” The second man seemed to be quite witty, or at least thought he was. There was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes that you could see, even from your distance. 

Sandor looked down at you once again before returning his gaze to the men in front of him. “Aye, it is.” A pause and he started walking towards them intently, you following behind him. “They’re ours.” Sandor said, a statement of fact rather than a request.

The first man moved forward. “It is the Brotherhood’s good name they’ve dragged through the dirt.

“Fuck your name.” Sandor’s response was instant. The two of you came to a stop in front of the men. “They’re ours. I’ve killed ya once before, Dondarrion, happy to do it again.” In response, a man in the small crowd drew an arrow, pointing it at Sandor. You frowned and moved to the side between the archer and Sandor, releasing his hand in the process. “Drop that arrow, you bloody girl.” His eyes remained focused on the man he addressed as Dondarrion. “Tougher girls than you tried to kill me.” Sandor raised his ax, pointing it at the archer but careful of where he knew you stood next to him. A beat of silence and Sandor turned to start stalking towards the archer.

“You can have one of them.” Sandor turned back.

“Two.” It was almost incredulous how they seemed to barter over the lives of these men, who got to kill them. The two men who spoke with Sandor looked at each other. The second one nodded to the first, Dondarrion, who in turn nodded to Sandor.

They turned to the three men whose fates they so casually debated. Sandor went to the one on the farthest left, looked him up and down, and swung his ax back. It was grabbed, however, by the second man before he could bring it down. “No, no, no. We’re not butchers. We hang them.”

“Hanging? “ Sandor’s voice was annoyed. “All over in an instant. Where’s the punishment in that? Not enough after what they did to her brother. What they did to her ho-” Your hand on his arm stopped Sandor in his rant. He looked down to you, where you shook your head. There was no point in arguing. The other four you found died in pain and suffering. It was enough for you. Sandor pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. 

“They’ll die.” Was the simple answer from the red-cloaked man, whose hands rested so casually upon the pommel of his sword.

“We all bloody die, except for this one here.” Sandor looked back to Dondarrion, making your brow furrow in confusion. You turned to look at the man as well, still standing a bit behind Sandor. The man looked at you, a small, almost knowing smile upon his lips as he held your gaze. It unsettled you a bit, so you looked back and up at the men facing their deaths. “I’ll only gut one of them.” The bartering nearly made you snort with laughter, but you held it in.

“No.” Dondarrion switched his gaze from you to Sandor as he spoke. The giant man next to you turned and glared at the man.

“Chop off one hand.” This time you couldn’t help the snort of laughter, the gazes of the men around you turning upon you suddenly.

“We gave you two out of the three, out of respect of the lady’s loss. That’s generous.” His eye held a bit of warning for Sandor, telling him not to push his luck. Sandor sighed and looked down at you. You nodded and he turned back to Dondarrion. 

“Bunch of nances,” he grumbled. Sandor threw his ax to the ground in annoyance before looking up at the men. “There was a time I would’ve killed all seven of you just to gut these three.” Your brow quirked at his statement but you paid it no further mind.

“You’re getting old, Clegane. Or maybe your lady love has just made you soft.” Again with the mirthful look from the red-cloaked man, whose eyes roamed you freely. His gaze, though holding no malice, roamed over you with far less intensity and far more interest in the decolletage visible from the top of your gown. This was the gaze you were used to from men, and did not unsettle you like the other man’s did.

Sandor’s eyes turned to a deadly glare at the man before turning back to the men soon to be killed. “Well, he’s not.” His foot moved to the barrel that the first man stood on and kicked it from underneath his feet. He dropped suddenly and a sickening crunch was heard as he struggled against the noose. Sandor moved to the next one, turning back to you first with a question in his eyes. Your eyes leveled with his before flitting to the man in the middle.

“Did you kill my brother? With your own sword? The man you hung from a tree with the deer he had killed.” Your steely gaze leveled on the man, a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth. Violently, he shook his head, muttering what you believed to be lies. You had no proof save the the cloak around his neck. The cloak was not something you recognized, but the pins holding it together were. Those were the pins you had bought your brother for his sixteenth nameday. Your hand reached up, grasping the pins gently as you looked at them before you ripped them off. You put your bootclad foot on the edge of the barrel, leveling to meet his eyes once again.

“Mistress, please, I’ll give you anything.” The final words barely escaped his lips before you pushed the barrel over and the air was stolen from his lungs. With this man, there was no snap, only the strained gasp as his throat quickly began to become crushed against the rope. You kept your gaze upon the thrashing man’s face, watching with a deepset frown as his eyes seemed to bulge from his face and the color drained from his face to only be replaced by a blue hue. Dondarrion, who had sidled up next to you, quickly kicked over the barrel of the last man, who also choked. As soon as the third man began his suffering, you stepped back. The two men who Sandor seemed to know watched with varying expressions as Sandor looked at the middle man’s feet. The red-cloaked one seem bemused as Sandor removed the man’s boots and compared them to his own feet, while the other seemed intrigued.

“Got anything to eat?” Sandor finally asked once he pulled the new boots onto his feet. The men nodded and began walking to where they had set up camp. It wasn’t far, but far enough from the road where the deadmen hanged that you could no longer hear the creaking of the rope as their limp bodies swayed in the breeze.

A few men had stayed behind, assumingly to cook the game they had hunted and keep the fires stoked. You sat next to Sandor on a log, your knees drawn close to your chest. A leg of rabbit was in your hand but your gaze stayed on the lapping waves of the lake next to you. Two men sat on the log to your right and the man called Dondarrion on the left. The red-cloaked man soon joined you, a skin of something in his hands. “Enjoying yourself?” 

Sandor examined the rabbit bone, cleaning it of its meat. “I prefer chicken.” A small smile graced your lips before you took another bite from the leg.

“Would you like to introduce us to your friend, Clegane? It is the proper thing to do.” The red-cloaked man passed the skin to Sandor, who took a swig of it before handing it to you. You took it, the burn of alcohol bringing a slight relief to you.

“Not really,” he replied. You nudged him with your elbow, though this was only met with a grumble from the man. “(Y/N), that is Beric Dondarrion, leader of this… whatever it is. And that bald cunt with the topknot is Thoros of Myr. This is (Y/N).”

They both nodded to you, which you returned. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” 

You snorted and shook your head. “I’m no lady, Ser. But I thank ye, for the food. And the justice.” Though you spoke of it, it didn’t really feel as though justice had been served. Those men were dead, but so was your brother. You wondered if the dull ache in your heart would ever leave, or even lessen at all. The men seemed to be able to see the dull look in your eyes. Sandor’s hand gripped your knee gently, tossing the rabbit bone into the flames. Your eyes met his, and a small smile lifted the corners of your lips. He nodded and turned back to Thoros and Beric, though his hand didn’t leave you. The aforementioned men shared a look, noticing this surprisingly sweet gesture of comfort from the Hound. 

Beric nodded at your words before returning his attention to Sandor once again. “You ought to join us.” You listened as Sandor snorted, responding to Beric. At this point, you tuned yourself out of the conversation, the only thing anchoring you to reality was Sandor’s hand on your leg. You finished the rest of the rabbit leg that had been given to you earlier, tossing the bone into the fire. 

Your eyes lingered over the water, lapping at the muddy shores. The image of the strangled man kept flashing in your mind, but you steeled yourself against it. He suffered, hopefully more than your brother did. This was not enough, but it had to be. You would make it so. 

The men continued to speak, Sandor’s thumb rubbing soft and slow circles against your knee. He stood, giving one reassuring pat to your leg before he walked to the edge of the lake and began to fiddle with his pants. You averted your eyes quickly, attempting to keep a soft blush from your cheeks as your eyes found the first thing that wasn’t Sandor. Unfortunately, that thing was the amused gaze of Thoros of Myr. Suddenly, something he said registered in your brain. “You’ve brought him back? Not healed him, but… how?” The man who called himself a priest chuckled into his drink. 

“I prayed.” Beric pulled up his shirt to show you many scars, many of which should have killed him. “Six times, isn’t it?” Beric nodded to Thoros’ question. “I just got lucky. Or he did, I suppose.” Beric dropped his shirt as Sandor returned from relieving himself.

They continued their conversation, though you only payed half a mind to it. The fact that Beric had died six times but was still standing before you, very much alive, was incredible. They continued to talk about fighting, cold winds, and mysterious creatures that sounded like tales that the old women in the village would tell you as a child. “It’s not too late, Clegane.” This was the last thing Beric said to Sandor, silently awaiting an answer to his proposition. Sandor gave a soft sigh, staring at Beric before looking down at you.

His gaze held yours for a long moment, longer than you’ve had before. A soft emotion that you couldn’t quite place entranced you. “Well, what do ya say, lass? Ever been to the North?” You shook your head slightly. “Would ya like to?” A brief moment of clarity washed over you. You accepted Sandor’s offer of protection. You thought that, once your brother’s killers were caught, he would see it as a job done. Or maybe he would simply refuse to bring you, a woman, on what was doubtlessly a dangerous adventure. It seemed that this was not the case. How it seemed, at least to you, was that Sandor was intent on staying with you. And this thought made your heart feel a little brighter than it had before, and a smile painted your mouth. A real smile, one that reminded Sandor of the smiles you would offer him back in the tavern. The smile that always made his heart skip a beat, despite that particular sensation frightening him.

“Aye, I think I would like to see the North. It’s not like there’s much left for me in the Riverlands.” Beric nodded his head to you while Thoros raised his skin and took another drink. Sandor offered you a small, secret smile before taking your fingers in his hand as discreetly as he could. It wasn’t discreet at all, but thankfully, neither Thoros nor Beric felt the need to say anything.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #reader insert #Sandor Clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor the hound clegane #The Hound #the hound x reader #Brotherhood Without Banners #thoros of myr #beric dondarrion #sandor x reader

[tlbodine]

Reverse-Outlining Revision Method with Plottr

So in my editing guide, I give a step-by-step method for structural editing that I find really useful, and I wanted to do a visual follow-up to kind of show what that process looks like. I’m using Plottr for this, because I was gifted a copy of the software in exchange for them using my horror-writing beat-sheet as one of the templates, but you could just as easily do this with Scrivener, scrap paper, or any other organizational system you like. 

Whether you’re a fellow pantser who struggles with story structure (hi!) or you’re an outliner who needs to make sure your draft matches up to your vision (or the second draft has a good structure), this will work for you! 

Step One: Write a one-sentence log-line of the story + jot down the major themes 

There’s space for this in Plottr. I’m doing Neverest.

Premise: A woman’s search for her missing husband’s body on Mount Everest sends her into the grip of ancient forces that don’t want her to leave. 

Themes: Putting your name on something doesn't make it yours; colonialism and the urge to conquer and codify; relationships as a form of control and change vs understanding

You’ll also want to write a one-page overview summary of the story, similar to what you’d put in a query letter. Here’s mine: 

One year ago, Sean Miller -- journalist and mountain climbing enthusiast -- reached the summit of Mt. Everest, and was never seen again. Unable to move on without knowing the truth of what happened, his wife Carrie flies to Nepal to meet with Sean’s best friend and former climbing partner, Tom. They assemble a small crew and begin an expedition up the peak in search of Sean’s body and a better understanding of what might have happened in his final days.

Guided by a travel journal left behind from her husband's expedition, Carrie ventures into the frozen, open-air graveyard of the world's tallest peak. But as Sean’s diary and Carrie’s experiences reveal, climbing the mountain is more than a test of endurance; it’s a battle of wills with an ancient and hostile force protecting the mountain — and the dead do not rest easy at the summit.

Doing this helps you to identify the core elements of your story -- the characters, the conflict, and the stakes. You should be able to answer the questions: who is the main character, what do they want, what’s stopping them, what happens if they succeed/fail. 

In this case: 

The main character is Carrie, the wife of a journalist who disappeared while summiting Mt. Everest (character) 

She wants to find his body and get closure about his death/understand how and why he died (what does she want)

But there are supernatural forces at work that led to his death and now have the same in store for her (conflict/stakes) 

Step Two: List out every scene in the book 

Plottr is an outlining software, so it makes this step really easy (and conveniently color-codes things for me at the same time!). There are multiple views this can take, but this one screenshots well so I used this one for the example. 

Basically what you want to do is write down everything that happens, scene by scene. You can color-code them however you want -- in my case, I have three narrative threads, so I made a timeline for each one. Then I just mapped out all the scenes -- across 24 chapters, each dot is a scene, and you can see that some chapters have multiple scenes and also that the primary and secondary plot alternate chapters. 

When you look at it this way, you can tell really clearly that the tertiary plot needs some work -- it’s only there for four scenes in the first third of the story. I either need to cut it completely and incorporate any essential information into the other plots, or I need to expand it. 

In this particular case, I decided to expand because 1.) my word count is low, and I’d like to fill in more story and 2.) a big theme I want to explore in the story is what it’s like to love someone who’s deeply passionate about something you don’t understand -- so this tertiary plot is a great place to explore that and fill in more characterization that should add some depth to the primary and secondary stories. 

I can also see at a glance that I have a variable number of scenes in each chapter. Sometimes that makes sense (the green ones are diary entries, so it’s logical that one chapter = one entry) but sometimes it hints that those chapters could be a little thin and need more content. If I’m looking to add additional conflict, I should do it in those blue chapters that only have one dot as opposed to the ones with multiple dots! 

Step Three: Look at the overall shape and adjust for pacing and genre

Plottr has a bunch of templates pre-loaded into it that make this easy, but you can also just google various different story structures and beat sheets such as Save the Cat or the 3 Act Structure etc. But just look at the overall map of story beats and see how they line up with the outline you’ve made: 

This is just a small snapshot view, but you get the idea -- when you look at the scenes side-by-side with the beat sheet, you can see some things. For example, it sure would make more sense if the flashback scene where Carrie decides to embark on this journey got its own chapter and lined up better with the “putting the players in action” plot point rather than being smooshed into the first chapter with the introduction to the world! The fact that I’ve got it smashed into that first chapter is probably a sign that my opening scenes/chapter itself is a bit thin and needs to be fleshed out a little more. 

Step Four: Figure out what you need to adjust and make the changes accordingly 

So after looking at everything mapped out this way, I’ve got a little list of things I need to do: 

Come up with more scenes for that red plotline

Rearrange some things a little bit to better fit the structure I want

Figure out some more blue scenes to fill in the gaps caused by rearranging things and smooth over the pacing/amp up the conflict/alleviate some areas where critique partners hae expressed confusion

I also moved around the categories in Plottr (you can drag-and-drop storylines and chapters) to make it a bit easier to see everything all at once. Basically you can edit the story’s outline first, to save you the confusion of manually moving around whole paragraphs/chapters in your actual story document. 

Now, I haven’t finished that step yet for this particular project (there’s a lot of brainstorming to do re: filling in those gaps!) BUT I did want to skip ahead to show you the next step (let’s pretend this is a TV cooking show where the finished pie is pulled right out of the oven). 

Step Five: Re-Type everything based on your new scene list

This is a really neat thing about Plottr. If you swap from the “Timeline” view to the “Outline” view, you get these editable text windows where you can type whatever you want, and it’ll keep it organized into chapters and scenes. 

So, just pull up your original in one window, and the Plottr screen (or other outlining/drafting device) in another. Dual monitors are great for this but we make due. Now, retype the original document into the new document, making changes as you go to fit the new outline and also cleaning up language and so forth as you go. For example, this time around I’ll be changing Carrie’s blue timeline scenes to present-tense instead of past, so I’ll rewrite them in present tense in the new window. 

Once all that is said and done, in Plottr you can export the file directly into Scrivener or Word. (If you’re not using Plottr, you’ll have to figure out for your own self how to transfer the final product into a final document -- I trust you can sort through that). From there you’ve got a fresh clean copy of a second draft all ready to go for the final copy-edit/proofread/polish/formatting and then you’re off to the races! 

I hope this was helpful for you! I talk more about editing in my Gumroad guide here: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/jkLpr

If you’d like to receive all of my existing + future guides and support me in making more content like this, consider subscribing to my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/tlbodine

And you can pick up a copy of Plottr here: https://plottr.com/

This post isn’t sponsored or anything, but I did get a free copy of the software from the developer and I think it’s pretty neat. It’s still in beta so new features keep getting added, and the team that makes it are very nice and responsive to feedback. 

#writing advice #writing tips #outlining #editing #how to edit #editing advice #writeblr #writing #share to save a writer

[beatnicksellar]

Marda Loophole: TPB: Issues #7-12

Issue #7 – The Exodus Then: Mada opened her eyes to the inhuman sights and sounds of war Half-men strewn about Bramshott the RCAMC tent soaked in red gore Through the horror she saw her scarecrow the one she treated before Minus a leg he was alive and that was enough to lift her off of the floor Now: Mada opens her eyes to the fuzzy sight of 4 purple children overhead Siphoning energy from a radiant boulder their chant stirs her from the dead A tingle in her toes and sour taste in her mouth the Hole is as Dennis said He labours nearby as the kids stitch Mada together with amethyst thread With the dulling drone done the rock bathes everyone in its immortal hue The old wendigo’s cell unlocks in the uproar allowing her to slip through Before Mada’s blurry eyes the frailest child’s torn from the circuit and slew She can hear the rapacious wendigo sob as she reluctantly continues to chew The plaster walls of the outbuilding begin to buckle from the stone’s potency Suddenly Pope enters the Hole and descends the staircase with much urgency The doctor’s met mid-way by the limping wendigo who embraces him completely Mesmerising him with her wildfire eyes she gladly detaches his loins from his body Dennis returns to find the Hole in shambles with Dot eaten and Dr. Pope screaming He disconnects the kids and requests that Mada give the boys’ lives a new meaning One of the boys grabs a ledger while the other two grip Mada and they begin fleeing Dennis and the wendigo clash by the emitting mound soon buried under the ceiling South Calgary is silent for the first time since the 33 soldiers were secretly dosed But without the hum to calm them they thrashed 33 Avenue like a whipping post Possessed troops overturned the streetcar and chard the theater like it was toast Stiff pedestrians and sate scavengers guide Mada back to her husband Marc’s ghost She mourns over his blood-spattered prosthesis as one boy reads a shard of glass His brothers study the ledger as he peers into the sliver to see what’ll comes to pass ‘We’ll return when the streetcar does’ the scrying boy points to the upturned mass With crazed GIs loose Mada and her boys depart while a curious crow tails her ass… Issue #8 – The Wild Boys ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩ A gayageum plays notes from the concerto called Dorothea The ribbon of rhythm writhes on the airstreams over Korea Baroque tones stir the ancient visage which inspired its idea Eddying over the ocean to hover above a 33rd avenue pizzeria ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫ The melody meanders up 20th street pausing at its composer Three long-haired boys that look 10 but are very much older Standing before Currie Barracks Condo they are of one mourner The unrelated triplets commiserate over their deceased sister ‘I cannot feel her in there’ John the empath of the family confirms ‘I cannot reach her’ Robert retorts ‘all I hear is Dennis and worms’ Scryer James perceives future events but cannot grasp their terms ‘All I see is that the stone has been scattering its ill will like germs’ Treating the condo as if a gravestone they pay respect to her spirit With unkempt heads down the trinity are subdued for a moment Each recalls Dot, the Hole, the old woman then all begin to fidget John pulls a music sheet out of his shorts and whistles a snippet ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♬ James and Robert join him in his performance of Dorothea No. 4 When done John tosses the concerto down onto the sewer floor As they skate through the Loop Mada’s name hangs in every store Coffee shops hum with anticipation over the 70-year-old folklore Around the corner of 35th avenue is where a hungry entity stalks A hefty shadow cast from a vacant lot that limps wherever it walks The boys are too distracted to notice the relic from Pandora’s Box Because a fireball is about to knock’em out of their graphic socksIssue #9 – The Vacant LotYellow barricades protect the rich soil within the vacant lotThough ideal for growth it’s contaminated by junkyard rot Comparable to the toxin that comprises Hausis’ blood clot An

inherit gift from her father and the affects it has wrought Over a century old she has been scarred twice by the stoneAs well Hausis has been forced out of more than one homeFrom her log cabin to that school and finally the catacomb A hole she fled full of a plum, revenge and astral syndrome Dark energy leached into her, those boys and the headless one Wendigo mixed with indigo and once again she was on the run But on the Rez her spirits calmed; she even adopted a grandson It was the last time she felt love as the Sixties Scoop had begun Hungry and hateful she hid her mercy and fed on colonial fears Hitchhiking Highway 16 in the 1970s she traded entrails for tears Retribution for her surrogate sisters who had began to disappear When the stone summoned her home she returned with souvenirs She settled in South Calgary and became a landlord to tasty tenants Bones buried in the vacant lot next-door while lying to their parents A cane sword to assist her limp and cutback on the slaying minutes Serrated steel dentures to masticate and absorb her preys’ essence A century old entity at last content with her damned life up until TONIGHT When her plums return assured and still ripe enough to enjoy a quick biteWhen her bone yard is deemed aseptic and police investigation is in sightHausis lunges at the wild boys only to be repelled by a nimbus of starlight… Issue #10 – The Above People CREEEAK! The tactless teenager forcefully opens the oxidized attic door In search of a white wig for her cosplay getup she stomps across the floor Rummaging through containers she finds something unusual in a drawer A thirteen-year-old letter that when opened clarifies exactly who it is for ‘Aline: It’s with regret and sadness that I write this letter to my daughter’ ‘I had to go to a dangerous place so I left you to be raised by your father’ ‘I never stopped loving you or dreaming of the day we would be together’ ‘When you are ready to meet amass juniper twigs and a magpie feather’ Elated to see her mislaid mother Aline flees the loft in her space-opera costume She sprints across 35 Avenue towards a vacant lot shrouded by juniper in bloom Ripping off a bouquet Aline is unaware that just beyond bodies are being exhumed She spots a pudgy magpie perched on the yellow barricade and plucks at its plume Clutching the vital items the Big Dipper shaped beauty marks on her right arm glows FWOOOOM! A blinding white light descends from overhead lifting her off of her toes Aline suddenly finds herself in a melancholy landscape of stars, clouds and shadows Before her sit 2 enormous Above People who enquire as to her odd-looking clothes ‘It’s for Comic-con’ she roars removing the wig ‘who’re you and where’s my mom’ Sun God laughs as Moon Goddess speaks: ‘We see that you were raise with aplomb’ The electric entities sizzle and pop as they struggle to alleviate Aline’s many qualms ‘Your father fell in love with our granddaughter: the Morning Star he wished upon’ ‘But she had to return to Sky-Country to rid it of the evil her mother had let loose’ Mother Moon details how Feather Woman disobeyed and iniquity was introduced ‘She moved the giant turnip that which protects our portal because she was obtuse’ Mother Moon adds she encased the dummy in indigo stone and made her vamoose That is the past but the portal remains open for dark matter to infest Sky-Country The same stuff brought down with the stone when it crashed in the 19th century Aline accuses her great-grandparents of killing her kin and for spreading villainy The Gods giggle at the allegation clarifying Feather Woman merely has an injury More gen is traded and a deal is struck: if Aline fixes the portal all will be forgiven Above People will help find the Morning Star and teach Aline of her nuclear fusion KRA-KOOM! A fiery comet crashes and Aline emerges from impact like a magician Gazing at the wild boys she states ‘You dudes are my gran and we have a mission’… Issue #11 – The Penultimate Sequential squares spread over an infinitude of glittering stars Panels parted by gutters spanning

centuries between the bars A billboard advertises Marc and Mada’s forthcoming memoirs Christened Marda; Loop denotes the superannuated streetcar Inset in the ad is a shot of Magpie gnawing on a decayed thumb bone Balanced on the sign she spots a bird below who was once well known Magpie cries: ‘Ain’t seen you since you left with THAT there veiled crone’ Alit next to Magpie Crow recalls his ghastly exploits beyond the stone ‘It was Hell’ he croaks ‘The screaming, the silence, the suicide attempts’ ‘It took HER forever to bond with THOSE boys and get over her regrets’ ‘Once she did’ Crow pauses ‘she spearheaded some tantalizing events’ Led by the ledger and scryed images they tracked the fiery GIs’ contempt While 7 indigo infected ones enlisted for Korea 26 settled in Forest City An innocuous epithet for somewhere death stalked the streets regularly Enclosed by thickets it’s where butchers would conceal a mutilated body ‘The Serial Killer Capital’ Crow yelps ‘We lured them out during the 1960s’ Crow clarifies that when the GIs moved there each become a major player: Mad Slasher, Bedroom Strangler, Balcony Killer + the Chambermaid Slayer Mada the bait, Crow the lookout, and 3 wild boys unified became the healer ‘In the forest we’d draw out the purple poison leaving the mortals tamer’ Mada’s nursing background afforded them a home and a baby-grand piano She worked while under pseudonyms the boys penned novels & concertos ‘Forest City was safe and we had obtained almost all of that fugitive indigo’ ‘Almost’ Crow echoed ‘We left for Korea in ‘81 on a plane from Toronto’ Magpie squawks sceptically: ‘And then miraculously back for the 70th Anniversary’ {Had it been that long?} the crone ponders {Why did they whitewash my tragedy?} The veiled woman below the advert grimaces then utters anachronistic profanity Stalwart in stance she shudders when the #7 rolls by renewed for the pageantry… Issue #12 – Giant-Size Finale The fixed indigo stone pulsates expelling the remnants of its space toxin Pumped into the faucets of 22 occupants of the new condo atop its coffin Dragging fingers thru mauve hair they’re rapt by the stone’s dim doctrine They riot inside the structure while outside Mada and her wild boys lock in ‘Try it again’ the costumed Aline guides from inside the infinite sealed loop She has juniper and feather in hand yet something is off within their group ‘That thing’s teeing me off’ Mada breaks from the ring and sits on the stoop The rebuilt #7 streetcar gleams in the parking lot next to an effigy of troops Suddenly…a service door opens and the old wendigo limps out of the edifice ‘You’ Hausis growls at Aline ‘You’re relations with that Metis bastard Dennis’ Mada perks up at the name of the man who inadvertently made her endless ‘Are you?’ Mada asks ‘She sure is’ Hausis sniffs ‘and it’s making me ravenous’ Incensed Mada bares the jagged indigo scar spanning the length of her collar ‘Dennis did this’ she states ‘and orchestrated the 1950 South Calgary slaughter’ Aline has entirely no clue as to what occurred because of her great-grandfather And before Mada can educate her the group is spotted by a police helicopter ‘Freeze Ms. Cranmer’ a voice booms as a squad car pulls up with guns drawn Hausis has been hiding since police uncovered the bodies she had feasted on Clotheslined and cuffed the 145-year-old Cree woman is beaten with a baton Aline, Mada and wild boys watch in horror as Hausis is tenderized like carrion The wild child named Robert tugs at Aline’s skirt pointing at the departing cop car ‘Dot’ the 80-year-old kid chirps ‘The hungry lady has carried our sister’s soul so far’ Mada is not their 4th because it is the frail child Hausis mauled like a chocolate bar ‘We need that granny back’ Aline barks at Mada who turns away rubbing her scar Aline suggests they take the idle #7 and propel it with a trick she has just learned ‘Can I borrow a feather from your crow?’ she asks of Mada who still feels scorned Crow leaves Magpie atop the streetlamp landing beside Aline his feathers formed ‘I am not getting on that ’

Mada repeats just as the crazed tenants emerge armed KRA-KOOM! The refurbished #7 streetcar rockets down 20th street like a fireball Crow and Magpie try to slow the tenants’ progress to the 33rd avenue mini-mall Meanwhile the #7 zips down the parade route until it hits the cruiser then a wall Everyone on the #7 is unscathed and so too is Hausis who’s eating a cop’s eyeball Magpie and Crow flutter in to warn everyone of the approaching horde of tenants The wild boys jump into action with a hand out for Hausis who sees it as penance ‘Doesn’t make me a plum’ she gripes grasping John’s hand as if she is pregnant As the 4 siblings unite clouds appear and a powerful deluge forms within minutes The first drop hits as the vicious throng reaches Marda Loop then the sky cries The drenched tenants lose their momentum as the mauve washes over their eyes The rain relents as does the horde but Mada’s inner ire cannot be overemphasized The wild boys embrace Hausis and in turn Dot whose soul has now been reprisedOnlookers have gathered at the site sad to see there’s no anniversary to reminisce Crow and Magpie peck at the injured police officers as Aline stares into the abyss She apologizes to Mada for her relative’s actions but asks for her not to be remiss ‘We cannot change the past’ she points out ‘But if you help us now we can fix this’The wendigo, the crone, the wild boys, the star-child and the scavengers all return Loitering outside of the Currie Barracks condo building hashing out their concerns Hausis has subsisted with the stone while in exile so she knows where it’s interned In the bowels of the sub-basement they find the ancient rock fading in a slow burn John, James and Robert the perpetual 10-year-olds encircle Aline and embrace her Hausis jeers as the boys kiss their kin then whisper in Mada’s ear: Goodbye Mother The siblings start siphoning the stone’s essence back; Aline waves Magpie’s feather Hausis and the boys convert to stardust they swirl around the stone and then enter Aline and Mada escape the building as the boulder flies backwards thru the nexus Its trajectory bearing straight for Sky-Country where it will rid the land of sepsis The portal is sealed and The Above People welcome Feather Woman and Hausis Back in South Calgary Mada stands in the quiet rubble no longer feeling headless ‘Wanna meet my dad?’ Aline asks of her lithe friend who nods producing a smile Mada calls Crow but he and Magpie are stardust in a constellation of their profile Unveiled Mada and neophyte Aline walk towards a rainbow after their long trial As both fade over the hill stardust diffuses and floats to somewhere worthwhile An End

[arecomicsevengood]

More Quarantine Movies

Going to put up this log of what I’ve seen now, as some of the stuff I liked the most is leaving The Criterion Channel at the end of the month. I really don’t know if anyone gets anything out of these posts, these are mostly synopses and they’re maybe spoiler-heavy. Let me give you the gist of it now: Otto Preminger’s a really good filmmaker whose movies are really interesting, Jean Arthur’s a great actress who enlivens everything and is also in a bunch of good-to-great movies. Also, I didn’t write about it but I rewatched Death Race 2000, that movie rules, feels relevant to today’s politics, and is leaving Criterion Channel at the end of the month.

The Pawnbroker (1964) dir. Sidney Lumet

Based on novel by Edward Lewis Wallant, whose The Tenants Of Moonbloom was reprinted by NYRB Classics with a Dave Eggers intro. Also some of the earliest nudity in a mainstream American film. About the misanthropy of a holocaust survivor, living in New York City, and interacting with black people who vaguely feel like racist caricatures, in part because it’s a movie about a misanthrope told from his perspective. A ton of movies about race from this era feel dated, this feels legitimately edgy, which is a term that gets thrown around somewhat ironically now or viewed as a pejorative, like something trying to offend, this does feel like a genuine attempt to be honest and push things forward (I really was not expecting that nudity) but also doesn’t feel totally successful, definitely not particularly enjoyable.

Shockproof (1949) dir. Douglas Sirk

I haven’t seen Sirk’s later melodramas, this one intrigued me in part because the screenplay was written by Samuel Fuller, and it’s sort of a pulpy noir thing. A woman, fresh out of jail, ends up living with her parole officer who is trying to keep her on the straight and narrow and away from her criminal ex, but they end up falling in love. There’s a thing where the male lead’s younger brother talks about how the lady is beautiful that I sort of wish wasn’t in there, feels creepy to me. There’s a bit of a shift in the narrative with the third act, where the lovers end up on the run, the once-upstanding man now a criminal on account of love, but they are having the endurance of their love tested by circumstance, is one of those things where a story which felt somewhat unique over the course of its telling shifts into something more recognizable.

…And The Pursuit Of Happiness (1986) dir Louis Malle

I have watched most of Louis Malle’s feature films at this point, I believe, and had a vague curiosity about what his documentaries were like. This one, made shortly after he’d moved to the U.S. and married Candice Bergen (something that comes up in Susan Seidelman’s Smithereens, in that some prostitutes read aloud from a fashion magazine that discusses it) he made a film talking to various recent immigrants. He covers a lot of ground, covering people working as doctors, large communities living in housing projects and causing racial tension with black neighbors (who both resent the smell of the food they cook but also suspect they don’t know their rights as the property developers plan to evict everyone and have the projects demolished). By and large everyone spoke to believes in the notion of the American dream of working hard to get ahead. Malle also speaks to anti-immigration think tank people and border patrols. Nothing too surprising but a lot of ground gets covered in a short amount of time. If I didn’t learn anything I at least admired that it felt non-didactic. Anything with more of a point of view or an argument would probably be disingenuous were it to present itself as enlightening.

The Baron Of Arizona (1950) dir. Samuel Fuller

Based on a true story, although with fictionalized elements, about a dude (played by Vincent Price) who becomes a master forger to falsify land grants and claim the entire state of Arizona as his own. Not a great movie, though that’s an interesting story. I bet I could guess what elements were made up for the sake of making a movie out of it, it has this tension of being interesting and unbelievable (although unbelievable by way of rote moviemaking formula), but also the story takes place over an extended period of time and so has some of the structureless feeling of a biopic.

House On Haunted Hill (1959) dir. William Castle

I’m going to confuse this with The Haunting Of Hill House for my entire life, that’s just the way it is. This stars Vincent Price, who’s always great, doing the famous premise where a group of people meet up to spend the night at a haunted house to win money. Vincent Price has a contentious relationship with his wife, who’s openly contemptuous of him and wants his money. There’s a moment where everyone at the house party is given a gun, each in a coffin. There’s a few “twists” all sort of being of the “there was a rational, non-ghost reason for everything” although any of them individually sort of strain the limits of credulity as something that works as a hoax. Vincent Price is basically not the villain, so much as his wife is, although he’s such a ham that loves being creepy that this again strains credibility in that the conclusion of the movie plays against the style with which the previous action has been presented. An enjoyable viewing experience.

My Name Is Julia Ross (1945) dir. Joseph Lewis

This one’s about a woman, looking for work, who falls into a scheme that kidnaps her and puts her up in a mansion, where she’s kept drugged and basically is told to assume the identity of a woman who was killed. I found this one pretty nerve-wracking, as it’s pretty nightmarish, basically about psychological torture. I found this one under Criterion Channel’s Columbia Noir collection, but before these films were considered noir, they were thought of as melodramas, but it’s also sort of a horror film about being gaslighted. There’s a part where they remove a stairwell and try to trick her into falling down? What’s funny is that one of the things that sort of separates this from horror is how quickly it resolves, whereas later work would I think give the audience the satisfaction of seeing the villain be punished in some way, the ending that just goes “then everything worked out alright” ends up making the structure feel more like the whole movie’s reason for being is just to see the protagonist suffer.

God Told Me To (1976) dir. Larry Cohen

Did I write about this already? I watched that a few months ago. Pretty wild basis in seventies grit about people going crazy, committing murders, then goes to a weird/confusing place involving some sort of holy entity in human form, the police procedural aspect butting up against this strangeness which doesn’t feel entirely thought through, and is in fact sort of incoherent, makes for a movie that is, in fact, still pretty good and worth watching although a bit tedious by the end.

Zombi Child (2019) dir. Bertrand Bonello

This I guess just came out in America this year, to the extent that anything came out this year, in theaters, it coming to streaming is basically its release. The zombies in this are of the old-school voodoo sense, taken seriously as a system of belief juxtaposed against French colonialism, as a Haitian teen feels at odds with her circle of friends, flashbacks to Haiti occur. When you watch a bunch of older movies new movies just seem to be not as good. Bonello’s not a bad filmmaker though, he’s able to capture a sort of sensual aspect of particular moments and moods, just not in a way where they then coalesce into a narrative of shifting emotion.

Anatomy Of A Murder (1959) dir. Otto Preminger

This movie is close to three hours long.  It has a Law And Order procedural quality, taking up much of its second half with a courtroom drama, where Jimmy Stewart does a proto-Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer routine. He’s protecting a man accused of murdering the woman who raped his wife. The subject was surely shocking for its time. It becomes pretty clear, extremely quickly that the husband is an abusive piece of shit, but the main thrust of the narrative is still tasked with following the lawyer trying to get him off. Lee Remick, from Experiment In Terror plays the beautiful and doomed wife, who flirts with Jimmy Stewart. Some of these interactions feel weird from a modern perspective, because Stewart’s reaction is like “Yes, you’re a beautiful woman and any red-blooded American male would enjoy looking at you, but it is my duty as a lawyer to paternalistically insist you cover up!” Preminger is sort of known for pushing the envelope, and this one has a lot more talking about sperm and Lee Remick’s vagina than you’d expect. One of the things that’s meant to be a “quirky character detail” is that Jimmy Stewart is into jazz- The score, by Duke Ellington, is great, but there’s also a pretty corny cameo by Duke Ellington where Jimmy Stewart sits in with him, a second pair of hands on the piano. Still, I guess it’s better that he physically appears in the movie than there just being a scene where it implies Duke’s music is played by Jimmy Stewart, as the music is way too good to just be a lawyer’s quirky hobby. George C Scott, from Hardcore, plays the legal expert on the other side. After being pretty long, there is this sort of abrupt, (although well-foreshadowed) downbeat ending, where the jealous and abusive husband flees town to avoid paying his lawyer and to go somewhere quiet he can beat his wife to death, but said ending is played for this “you can’t win them all I guess, shame about the lower classes” quality from Stewart, who is dead broke all movie but seems like he just enjoyed being able to do work for once, even if it’s for a total shitbag. Good movie! Feels thorny and interesting.

Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965) dir. Otto Preminger

This is even better. Great Saul Bass credits sequence too. A psychological thriller where the disappearance of a child gives way to the police not being able to confirm the child is real, and doubting the mother’s sanity, becoming pretty nightmarish, dreamy, and exhilarating by turns. Gets to a place of “huh, I wonder what is going on” and then when that finally resolves there’s a pretty extended sequence of silent escaping/hiding, which is, one of those things that films do really well and is super-satisfying. It plays out amidst this background filled with interesting supporting characters, who all, for the first half of the movie, feel like moving parts in this somewhat inscrutable narrative machine.

The Man With The Golden Arm (1955) dir. Otto Preminger

This one I don’t like. Stars Frank Sinatra, who I find annoying, as a recovering heroin addict who relapses again. While I normally like the sort of scenery-chewing supporting cast that shows up in Preminger things, I really didn’t Sinatra’s nerdy best friend, or his wife with Munchausen’s syndrome. While with the other Preminger movies there’s this feeling of a slow reveal of what the plot is with this one I feel like as soon as you know that Sinatra is out of rehab (which you learn pretty quickly) you can guess the movie will be about how he relapses and then tries to get sober for real.

The Human Factor (1979) dir. Otto Preminger

Preminger’s final movie, based on a Graham Greene novel, featuring Iman making her film debut. Movie is mostly about intelligence agencies seeking out the mole in their mist, with intentions to kill whoever it is once they’re certain. It stars Richard Attenborough, as the source of the leaks. Halfway through the story becomes interspersed with flashbacks about Attenborough and Iman’s romance upon meeting in Africa. Continues the habit of ending on a moment that maybe feels like it should be expanded upon or made more resonant.

Bonjour Tristesse (1958) dir. Otto Preminger

This stars Jean Seberg as a teenager being raised by a single father, David Niven, who’s kind of a cad/ladies man who’s very permissive with his daughter, who seems likely to grow up rich and spoiled and find another rich man to take care of her. Deborah Kerr plays the woman who Niven ends up falling in love for real with, and the conflict is then between this woman taking on a maternal role and a daughter who is resentful of this. Deborah Kerr is in Black Narcissus, a movie I love, and here she comes off as smart, the voice of reason. Seberg destroys her father’s relationship by taking advantage of his sort of innate desire to flirt and be liked by women, driving Kerr to commit suicide, and the whole film is then told in flashback by Jean Seberg a year later, as she flirts with boys but has a great sadness and emotional distance about her, which is both inherited and self-inflicted. I’m partly just writing these plot summaries as my way of remembering what these movies are about, but this one is nice because I get to account for complicated characters who are both pretty eminently understandable. I keep getting hung up on the fact that movies today now have a much dumber idea of what a female character is. Maybe it’s something as basic as the fact that, as people read less, it’s rarer for literary novels to be adapted? As I talk in terms of “less good roles for women nowadays,” which is a cliche, it’s obvious enough that bad roles for men follow, as everyone is only as good or interesting as who they’re playing off of.

It’s also funny to think, in this era of “comic book movies,” that very few artists can make a character come to life with body language and facial expression the way an actor can. “Literary” cartoonists like Dan Clowes or Tomine play into the mask quality drawing creates, generating inscrutability as part of their effect. Many of the biggest names in “noir” comics are removed from the melodrama elements of actor’s performance in favor of an aesthetic based on paperback covers, which makes for something far less lively. Meanwhile, Blutch is an amazing artist who would probably do a great job telling lively character studies in a genre form, but he’s way more preoccupied with these Godard-style interrogations of film’s cultural meaning.

Separate Tables (1958) dir. Delbert Mann

From the same year as Bonjour Tristesse, and also featuring David Niven and Deborah Kerr. Deborah Kerr’s good in this- while she is sort of uptight in a maternal way in Bonjour Tristesse, here she’s sort of crippled by repression her mother imposes on her. It’s a totally different character, but she remains defined by various manifestations of repressed energy; I would say she’s most known for playing a nun in Black Narcissus. She’s again opposite Niven in a sort of romantic context, though Niven’s character is meant to be a neurotic freak and he’s not really convincing in that capacity. I couldn’t really work out what the deal is with Niven’s character, he gets arrested in a theater, seemingly because he takes his dick out to show women? Or that’s how I interpreted what was being discussed, but he’s mostly defended by everyone except this lady you’re supposed to hate for how domineering and judgmental she is so maybe it’s something less bad. I honestly couldn’t figure it out because it seemed like the thing I was guessing they couldn’t talk about. This movie also features Burt Lancaster and Rita Hayworth as a couple that broke up once before and are reuniting now. This movie is pretty dull in a way I didn’t know whether to attribute to it being British or it being based on a play, as it feels extremely both.

Seance On A Wet Afternoon (1964) dir. Bryan Forbes

This one’s British too, and features the quality I recognize from British television, where the stars are not attractive, which always feels surprising. This one’s got a pretty great title, and a great premise. This woman, a professional psychic, convinces her husband to kidnap a child so she can comfort the parents and get publicity. The cinematography’s great. I got pretty nervous watching this, I think I am feeling more sensitive to movies as of late, way more willing to find things upsetting and nerve-wracking than usual. I can partly attribute this to the feeling of taking something in from a different cultural context, that leaves me unsure what to expect, but it’s also true that nowadays I sort of constantly have this feeling of “I don’t know how bad things are going to get” about the world in general, and it makes sense that I would apply that to films.

Only Angels Have Wings (1939) dir. Howard Hawks

Jean Arthur’s amazing in this - saw her the first time in The Devil And Miss Jones and then there’s this whole Criterion Channel featurette video running through what her whole deal is: This vulnerability/innocence crossed with an attempted toughness that really is very charming. Here she plays an entertainer just stopping briefly in town who gets hit on by some pilots, and develops feelings of impossible love for a man (played by Cary Grant) whose insistent toughness and refusal to show fear (despite having a dangerous job, of a pilot, that makes everyone who cares about him fall to pieces with nervousness). It’s this very universal type of entertainment, where there’s all these special effects shots of planes flying and a drama of men being men that’s nonetheless anchored by this love story, carried by the fact that Jean Arthur is very real and complex. She’s also a legit comedic actress, which I think makes her feel richer and more watchable than someone without a sense of humor would be. Rita Hayworth plays Grant’s ex, a woman who couldn’t take his daredevil ways but is now married to another pilot who has to do dangerous flights essentially to make up for an act of cowardice that got someone else killed. She’s got her own charisma obviously (and Cary Grant’s equally solid, in this sort of old-Hollywood glamor way) but Jean Arthur feels very alive in a way that carries the movie.

The Talk Of The Town (1942) dir. George Stevens

This one also stars Jean Arthur opposite Cary Grant, but it’s less interesting, partly because of a domestic setting and some stale-seeming comedy. Cary Grant plays Lionel Dilg, (great name!) who breaks out of prison and hides out in Jean Arthur’s attic, with a hobbled ankle, while a preeminent legal scholar moves in. There’s a love triangle between the three of them, and a friendship between the escapee and the scholar. Grant’s been unfairly framed for arson for political reasons by his boss for pointing out the factory where he works is a death trap. The people of the town are easily turned against this sort of leftist agitator  by a last and biased judge. Insanely enough, there’s a movie called “The Whole Town’s Talking” also starring Jean Arthur but it has no relation to this one.

The Ex-Mrs. Bradford (1936) dir. Stephen Roberts

Upon realizing that many of these Jean Arthur movies were leaving the Criterion Channel at the end of the month, I started taking more in. This is a murder mystery, with screwball comedy accents, and again I’d say it’s really good, although the “comedy” premise wherein a woman sort of plows through the life of a man with no real respect for personal boundaries is the sort of thing that works in a movie even though it seems totally nightmarish when looked at from a certain angle. She writes mysteries, he’s a doctor, people are getting murdered. He is played by William Powell, from The Thin Man movies, which maybe these resemble. I guess the bickering couple that solves mysteries is a trope but it’s one that I don’t think has had any currency in popular culture since Moonlighting, which was in my lifetime but before I would have had any awareness of it. (I would probably enjoy it up until the point where I got bored of the formula.) I thought this was great and would make a good double feature with L’Assassin Habite au 21.

History Is Made At Night, 1937, dir. Frank Borzage

This has Jean Arthur in it too, but the reason I became aware of it was Matt Zoller Seitz tweeting about it. Partly this is because the description on the Criterion site is so bare-bones it barely seems like anything, but it turns out this is because the plot is completely insane and has a ton of twists and to talk about them very quickly veers into spoiler territory. It is, in brief, a love story. The first totally insane in it is the handsome male lead does the “drawing a ventriloquist puppet on his hand” thing and the woman’s totally on board. An element that doesn’t spoil the plot, but does seem somewhat incongruent with the tone, is there’s a French chef character for a comic relief. It’s really good. I’m pointing out the lightest element but the story’s villain is believably sociopathic.

Secrets (1933) dir Frank Borzage

Not nearly as cool or good. While History Is Made At Night feels like a cohesive story that’s just pretty crazy, this one feels divided into acts that have nothing in common with each other. First act is romance, between a rich man’s daughter and his banker. They run away together. I’m basically unsure of when this movie takes place timewise, the rich lady is wearing massive layered gowns I know would’ve been out of fashion by 1933. The second act is a western where they make a home together and have to fight off bandits! But the action is shot in a a pretty disinterested manner. Third act, I’m pretty on edge and bored, but the banker is now the governor of California and is having an affair with another woman, and they’re at a party together, and then the ending feels epilogue style as they’re both old as hell and they have fully-grown children and they’re talking about how they’re taking their leave of the kids to discuss their secrets. Female lead is Mary Pickford in her final film role. I guess this is a remake of a silent film, which was itself based on a play. Yeah this movie sucks basically.

Bitter Moon (1992) dir. Roman Polanski

Sure, I’ll watch a sex criminal’s erotic thriller that’s way too long. Hugh Grant is a married guy on a boat who has a French dude talk about all the sex he and his wife have because he knows Hugh Grant wants to fuck his hot wife. Said wife is played by Emmanuelle Seigner, Roman Polanski’s actual wife since 1989. This is a bad movie by pretty much any metric. It kinda feels like the social function of erotic thrillers is not to be a more socially-acceptable form of pornography, but rather to be pervy enough to remind the audience why you shouldn’t talk about sex publicly and have that be your whole thing. The French, of course, misunderstand this.

The Burglar (1957) dir. Paul Wendkos

Another noir, written by David Goodis. This one is a little formulaic, in terms of what you think of crime movies as being “about.” A burglar, who learned the trade from his adopted father, works with that man’s daughter to commit heists. His gang doesn’t like her. Once the two of them are separated, a corrupt cop seeking to steal a burgled necklace for himself tries to pursue a relationship with her as a means to an end, while a woman allied with him works on the burglar. A drive to New Jersey gets stopped by cops, violence quickly escalates to make the situation more dire. Members of the gang die. Not a bad movie but by no means essential.

My Brother’s Wedding (1983) dir. Charles Burnett

Criterion Channel removed the paywall for a bunch of Black-made independent films, this is one of them, Burnett’s follow-up to Killer Of Sheep. Seemingly starring non-professional actors, it’s about the conflict a guy feels as his brother is planning to get married to a rich woman he resents, and the loyalty he feels to a guy who just got out of prison who everybody hates. The main character is a good dude who wants to help out this pretty dangerous friend the best he can. The film captures his pride and resentment.

Dial M For Murder (1954) dir. Alfred Hitchcock

A few iconic-seeming shots of Grace Kelly in the role of a Hitchcock blonde, i.e. her standing at a phone while someone looms behind her about to choke her, and later standing traumatized. Suffers a bit from clearly being based on a play, with a ton of dialogue, particularly in the second act. The first act is able to provide this very particular type of satisfaction, where someone outlines a “perfect crime” in dialogue and then we see it play out and it falls apart and happens completely differently. It’s funny the criminal gives themselves away due to mistaking one key for another, because this sort of structure really does feel like a key fitting into a lock, things perfectly designed for one another, parceled out at the right time.

[popculturebuffet]

Analysis of X: Maurader’s #1 “I’m on a Boat”

Ahoy Muties! I’m Jacob Mattingly and in moving to Tumblr and print, this is my first text review. As for this segment, welcome to Analysis of X, where I cover the dawn of x and onward as it happens. I will get to X-Men #1 as I wasn’t sure wether to review it late or not soon enough, but for now I felt it best to start with Dawn of X’s first non-hickman stab at greatness, Gerry Duggan and Matteo Lolli’s pirate themed Mauraders. Come aboard after the break. 

So Mauraders begins a few months back, with our book’s headliner Kitty Pryde, and her future teammates, close friend and surrogate mom Storm and ex-boyfriend and her best buddy, my faviorite X-Man and organizer for orgies on Krakoa: Nightcrawler, ready to head to Krakoa. For those two of you who didn’t read house of x or couldn’t afford it and powers, understandable the current status quo is simple: Mutantkind has formed it’s own nation on their former enemy Krakoa, the island that walks like a man but currently dosen’t because several people would fall off, and have planted gates globally so mutants can come to their new eden, finally done with all the racist genocidal bullshit mankind has put them through. Kitty tries to come along  But welll....

Instead of letting her in for some reason Krakoa instead says come on and SLAM and your not welcome to the JAM. Kitty takes it well. 

We get our character page, which is apparently NOT limited to Hickman’s work, but I find it a nice touch, and unlike the avengers books from other writers under his tenure not doing the same thing, unify’s things a bit. I also like this opening mystery a ton. Is it her powers? Or is it something else? And how will Doug Ramsey aka Cypher, her former best friend who had a crush on her in the mutant equivalent in high school and Krakoa’s translator factor into this. I hope he does because most Kitty Pryde centric stories kinda forgot he existed entirely, as did New Mutants and All-New X-Factor on the Doug side. Seriously it bugs me as they were incredibly close yet because him being single might get in the way of her and other ships the writers had planned, this was just ignored and hopefully with Doug being a bigger player Duggan won’t ignore him this time, and given how strong this book is I expect this to come up. 

Moving Right along after the intro page, with the wonderful welcome of ahoy muties and a cast page, showing this isn’t exclusive to Hickman’s book and something I like we get a captain’s log of sorts, with the reveal that, with no way to portal there, Kitty just stole a boat, said i’m the captain now (Because you can’t escape that refrence and why would you) and then .. muses a bit about how left behind she feels as seen above. And it’s an intresting dilema: without the portals, how can she ever REALLY feel at home on Krakoa when she’d basically be trapped there, alone amongst everyone else.. and not for the first time. 

Longtime fans or those who’ve binged Claremont’s run will recall this little scene: after taking the bullet for Rouge during Mutant Massacre Kitty was left basically a ghost. No tangeblity, no way to interact, just trapped in a world she could see. While it DID get better from here it was only marginally: she could speak, she could talk.. but for the early part of her days with Excalibur, basically the british X-Men and something i’ll save more for next week, her powers of phasing through objects had reversed. She had to concentrate to stay SOLID and it was hell for her. It eventually righted itself, somehow I haven’t read far enough into Excalibur to know, but it had to leave some scars. The fact it happened AGAIN after that time she made a bullet meant to destroy earth intangiable and was only saved about a year or so later in story, or month given the weird timescale for marvel but moving on, by Magneto.. and left like this AGAIN until right before Schism. So to me, wether intentional or not, and it feels intentional, Kitty’s been isolated and trapped, alone amongst those around her before.. and she probably dosen’t want that again but worse. So she sails to Krakoa unsure with logan’s grocery list in tow. Which gloriously, we get to see. 

And this also explains where the hell the beer used in the big party at the end of HOX and POX came from, though it’s equally likely Logan had magneto steal a beer truck for them and then spent a full day with him carting it all through the gate. But before this gloriousneess Kitty arrives and tries going through the other way. 

So before Kitty, or Kate as she prefers to be known now, gets down to a rousing round of killing a child, Bobby shows up. Kitty assures him her problem is be handled by top men, which your saved from the indiana jones refrence because I can’t find a picture for that, logan goes diving for booze.

Because let’s face it Logan without enough Booze to murder Bojack Horseman just isn’t Logan. Bobby heads into a gate to find out why it has no traffic, while Kitty.. gets a phone call from her good old buddy Emma Frost, white queen. As a refresher the two went from sniping at each other constantly to mutaual respect with still a good deal of pot shots during Joss Whedon’s run on the book. That has not really changed. For those of you just joining us Emma was, and now is again, the white queen of a hellfire club and the first evil mutant kitty ever met, so naturally, shit’s complicated. But the important takeaway is that Emma trusts kitty. And has a job opprotunity for her. Those who read HOX and POX probably know that the ruling council of krakoa has an open chair.. and Emma wants her to .  See these days Emma’s old running buddies in the hellfire club, which she’s now in charge of, are the Hellfire Trading company, a vital economic partner and thus were naturally courted by Xavier as a vital part of Krakoa and shipping the life giving plants Krakoa gives worldwide. Where Kitty Kitty Bang Bang comes in is that not everyone is happy about Krakoa or welcoming of their gates: HOX and POX outright showed some countries refused to partner with them, and even some that have agreed to soverignty have taken to some drastic measures to keep mutants from leaving. 

Yeah, and it makes sense. The Marvel universe was prejudiced against mutants on a GOOD day, and now they’ve outright declared superiority, strong armed their way into acceptance, and want to take all of the rest away to their eden. While they had every right to after multiple, and i’m not exagerating, attempted and two sucessful GENOCIDES, of course they have to play hard ball to get this and of course extremist anti-mutant groups wouldn’t stand for it. But it works because it makes sense: the portals are a big target and several assholes aren’t going to let mutantkind escape their service, or alive, without a fight. So that’s the mission Emma is offering: a seat at the table as Red Queen of Hellfire and a misson saving muties, getting drunk and fightin round the world. And she also, cleverly, juxtoposes her being a pirate with what pirates in the past did: the pirates and traders of old were slavers. Kitty and her crew would be liberators, saving mutants from Humankind, bringing the live saving drugs in even to countries who refused and the mutants out. Speaking of mutants who are out let’s check on Iceman. But first lockheed with a crab. 

Awww. So bobby heads to mother russia.. and finds a nice warm reception. 

Yeah naturally this dosen’t go well. Russia is , unsuprisingly, being a dick about the whole thing and it turns out the asshole’s armor can temporarily depower mutants, so bobby books it back and tells kitty.. who’s Mr. Lahey levels of plastered and gets Storm to tag along on her boat, with Storm likely doing so Kitty dosen’t start declaring that she is the liquor or something. 

We cut to china where a woman is claiming her husband disappeared.. but Bishop shows up looking into it, and claiming he never showed up. She refuses to talk to him and Bishop calls it a night, but like the audience can tell something’s not right, and given he’s on the cover but doesn't join the team this issue, we’ll likely find out soon enough. Meanwhile ON A BOAT. The future Mauraders are filled in that the people surrounding the portal aren’t with the goverment but an extremist group, and find they have a stowaway aboard. 

Yup it’s everyone’s faviorite aussie aronist Pyro, back from the dead after years of being dead, a quick ressurection that reset his character development, and then disappearing and being replaced by one of the very few intresting parts of X-Men gold. I wasn’t even aware he’d been ressurected which shows just how much they gave a shit. Duggan wisely gives him amnesia and reveals the tragic truth of how he came back. 

Yup, true to Xavier’s new regime being one part hope and compassion and another part cold detached dickery, which really isn’t that far from the old regime he’s just open about the last part now, Pyro was only brought back first so the “Important mutants” would be sure to be safe. Even with his actions post ressurection, going back to petty crimin.. even though his death, despite never having read the issue, is still a great moment in X-History. Pyro, having failed several desperate attempts to cheat death at the hands of the Legacy Virus, uses his last moments to save someone who fears and hates him: Senator Kelly.. and in the process until the man’s own death changed the man from Mutantkind’s greatest enemy to a great supporter. And after that great selfless sacrifice... all Xavier and Magneto think of him is a lab rat, an unimportant mutant to use first to make sure their plan works. A throwaway slab of mutant meat. Understandably he was about to slide right back into crime but is instead drafted by storm and likely thinks “Eh, what else am I gonna do. “ So with our roster complete for now, our heroes dive into battle with kitty suggesting they swarm the power suit asshole so she can take him out and it works, but leaves her with just herself, pyro and lockheed to fight back.. and we get one of the best marvel fight scenes in recent history as a result. I’m only showing what’s necessary, but I can’t resisit a few choice shots

The fight as you can see is fast paced, fun, and uses kitty’s powers in creative ways we haven’t seen in some time. It’s been a LONG time since her powers weren’t boiled down to “I can’t be hurt” and “I can disrupt tech by phasing through it” and it is GLORIOUS, with Lolli’s art utterly shining and promising more tasty action and creative fights to come. Also i’d be remiss if I left this out

KItty using lockheed to give pyro a boost and blow away the Calvary. Our heroes win the day, save the grateful mutants the group had been holding from the gulag, and send them home, with all three deciding to stick with her: Pyro because it’s fun and because as established he’s pissed at Xavier and Mags for using him as a lab animal, and Iceman  out of loyalty. With that Kitty has one of the mutants presence pull out her phone and gives one hell of a series, and team, tagline...

The issue closes out with a nice little scene where Kitty asks storm to join her. And while storm, understandably given the last mutant group of maurders caused aforementioned massacre, not crazy about the name, she affirms her loyalty to her old friend’s new cause.. and to her in this beautiful line of dialogue. 

And with that, Kate takes Emma up on her offer and we get a great group shot to close us out. 

Well okay not entirely. Like in powers of x we get some plot revant gossip from bar sinsiter. Mostly just foreshadowing for the future.. that emma may of asked someone before storm, a clan of racists in hoods, and some “red tides” at hellfire bay. nothing to dig into much.  Final Thoughts: An excellent start that I hope keeps going like this. Marauders is one of my faviorite kinds of comics: a quirky team, loads of laughs and great likeable characters. Pyro is an easy faviorite and the book took Kitty from creators pet for Benids and Guggenhiem into new territory while building on what Claremont, Ellis and Whedon started. It’s also a welcome breath of fresh air after the more plot based house and powers to have more character focused stories and reactions to Krakoa and see the world build as we see how the globe is taking the Mutants new status. An excellent addition to what hickman has built. If you liked this follow me for more as i’ll be reviewing X-Men #1 sometime soon, Excalibur #1 next week, and more fun stuff and if there’s something you’d like me to review you can slip me a fiver to commission me for it. Until we meet again my fair muties. 

#mauraders #x-men #kitty pryde #gerry duggan #matteo lolli #dawn of x #house of x #powers of x #iceman #storm #pyro #john allerdyce #bobby drake #ororo munroe #emma frost #white queen #hellfire trading company #wolverine #logan #lockheed #russia #krakoa #doug ramsey #cypher #mutant massacre #excalibur

[stillwatcr]

i’m a lazy bastard and didn’t want to make multiple posts, so you get this massive post. some important links: their long form bios (x), their connection page (x), and for funsies, the pinterest board i’ve made (x). all are wips and i’ll improve/change things as we go! buckle up, y’all are going on a feels ride with my boys. trigger warnings are contained at the beginning of each of their intros. if you make it to the end, i’ll give you a hug.

( oliver jackson-cohen, cis male, he/him, muse 39 ) i saw benjamin goldman at the docks doing sketches of the boats. it’s good to see them, i heard they’ve been living in redwater for his entire life making a living as a lumberyard worker. did you know their birthday just passed ? that makes them 33 years old and a pisces, which makes sense to me considering they’re shy and tolerant. i heard they’re thinking about becoming a full time artist. i hope it works out. 

tw: death

the youngest in a family of immigrants, benjamin was the only child born in the us. this sense of displacement has been in his bones since he was born, never quite comfortable wherever he is.

his family came to washington to work in the lumber industry. it was a hard adjustment but his father was enchanted with the lush forests he saw in a postcard when they landed in america. while the reality didn’t match the dream, the goldmans didn’t have the money to go anywhere else.

benjamin has never known anywhere else, growing up and living in the logging camps around petersen’s. while one might think he would be comfortable in the forest, benjamin had a terrifying experience with the forest when he was just a young boy.

benjamin wandered away from the camp while playing and became lost at age 8. he wandered through the forest; crying, running from any noise in fear of bears, and sleeping under fallen tree limbs. His ordeal lasted for 14 days. he was picked up on the other side of the island by a passing charcoal burner, and returned to overjoyed parents, but the damage was already done. he had a deep set fear of being lost in the forest, and never wanted to go into it alone again. 

while the incident made him fearful and withdrawn, it connected benjamin with his inner mind, and made him an astute observer of the world. in his recovery, one of the secretaries from the mill gifted him a pencil set and benjamin learned how to draw. it’s always been a secret love of his, but he hardly shows any of his sketches to anyone.

when war came calling, benjamin was called on, quite against his will. he would have been content to live and die in the woods of redwater, but uncle sam had other plans. benjamin was drafted into the us army and to his surprise, became quite versatile with a rifle, owing to him growing up hunting.  

while overseas, he ran into one of the most charismatic members of his platoon, jack adler. benjamin was surprised when one night, jack revealed he was from redwater, benjamin’s hometown. they struck up a conversation, and became fast friends. jack enjoyed his sketches and encouraged him to become an artist after the war, and benjamin let himself dream that it was possible.

of course, every soldier has a tragedy and jack adler became benjamin’s. jack was killed, and benjamin was the one to hold him through it. he was the one to remove jack’s identification tag and his family’s letter, the one to write peggy, the little sister jack talked about on the nights he missed home.

benjamin escaped the war unscathed (though is anyone ever really unscathed?) and came home to redwater, to resume his position as a lumberyard worker. now benjamin is helping the company define its border, and he’s trying to find his own again. benjamin is trying to come back to himself. 

( tom payne, agender, he/him, muse 41 ) i saw peter lamb at roger’s diner getting a bite to eat. it’s good to see them, i heard they’ve been living in redwater for their entire life making a living as a manger at langberg’s. did you know their birthday just passed ? that makes them 37 years old and a virgo, which makes sense to me considering they’re critical and loyal. i heard they’re thinking about becoming a lawyer. i hope it works out.

tw: implied abuse, death mention. 

peter lamb was the only child of a happy couple of redwater. his father and mother had grown up in redwater and lived there their entire lives and as far as they were concerned, so would their son. they saw themselves as being on the brink of being legacies, and their son would be the start of it.

peter was raised like he was a king of his household. they spoiled him, and told him to reach for the stars. yet somehow, peter didn’t let it go to his head. peter would say it was because he saw how a doctor saved his mother’s life when she was in a car crash with him at age 10 (the event made him want to become a doctor), but he knew deep down it was because he was inescapably lonely.

peter had no siblings, no close friends, and he felt different. he didn’t see himself in the casual violence and anger expressed by his father, nor in the soft surrenders of his mother, he didn’t feel like either of them. and when he played with the children on his street, he thought each one of them felt like him, because how couldn’t they? if he was the only one to feel like this... peter couldn’t stand the thought of that, so he ignored it.  

when peter was 15, he got a part time job as a clerk in langberg’s, in the men’s department. it was there that peter fully realized he was different. other men didn’t look at each other like he looked at them, they were confident and knew their masculine side. peter didn’t feel like he had one, like he was entirely separate from gender. he wrote about it in a doeskin journal his mother got him, and hid it behind the baseboard, never to talk about what he felt. 

?????

he worked again in langberg’s, this time as the department manager. but it was the nuremberg trials, the proceedings that laid the blame somewhere, that gave peter the inspiration to follow again. peter knew he wanted to be a lawyer, to hold criminals to account and help victims seek justice. now the big question is just how to get there?  

( sebastian stan, cis male, he/him, muse 1 ) i saw abraham hartley at the uptown waterfront doing net repairs for his fishing boat. it’s good to see them, i heard they’ve been living in redwater for his entire life making a living as a fisherman. did you know their birthday just passed ? that makes them 37 years old and a cancer, which makes sense to me considering they’re insecure and sympathetic. i heard they’re thinking about starting a family. i hope it works out.

tw: alcoholism, child abuse, death, death during birth

abraham was born to a family already a memory. his father was half out the door always, his mother trying to disappear, the house almost slipping out of their grasp every week. abraham never knew plenty, only knew less.

and then, against the odds, a baby. but then elijah came screaming into the world and his mother did her great disappearing act for good. four year old abraham was left hollow eyed in the corner of the room, holding a bloodied infant, and his father gone to a bar to drink, his mother cooling on the table. that less had finally turned into loss.

his father turned his back on elijah and abraham had to beg from door to door to get milk, had to take his father’s boots off when he collapsed on the floor every night. abraham had always thought he had taken after his mother more, but as it turned out, he had to become her. he had to take care of her husband and her child, and became the heart of the hartleys. 

and yet when it counted the most, that heart failed him. a murmur, a murmuring heart, held him back from the jaws of war, and from following his brother to the great battlefield. but abraham had his own battlefield to contend with at home, taking care of his father, whose hard drinking had caught up with him. he had to take over their fishing boat, had to get up before the sun to set out on the water. 

and while abraham had his own fears and struggles to deal with at home, he worried about his brother, unable to protect him like he always had. he feared the war board coming to his door, being handed a folded flag. but it never came, and ve day did, and he could breathe a sigh of relief. 

and then scarce a week later, his father died. abraham had no money, not even for a potter’s grave, so he stole out of his house one night and wrapped his father in a length of canvas, rocks in the lining. his father slipped into the sound, and abraham felt a burden lift. he could move on now, no longer be that frightened little boy in the corner of the room.

and eventually, eli came back. he stole into their house like a stranger and when abraham looks at him, he can scarcely see the boy he raised. he’s not sure if they can ever get to be what they were but he’ll be here for whatever they are now.

#redwaterintro

[starfaring-princelotor]

First Sight

Summary: It has been a year since Emperor Lotor’s disappearance. The Medic has been trying to survive.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: Blood, light gore, mentions of death.

A/N: Wow, in this blessed year of 2019, I still hate S8 with a burning passion.

Also, a special thank you to @legendofcarl and @fairy-cat-mother for beta reading this long chapter!

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One ___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

“Captain Shirogane. Whittaker didn’t make it.”

Another soul lost, another day of war continued. The captain’s back was towards you, but his face was watching the sun rise over the silent, desolate hills. He has been standing guard for most of the night and you took note of this one important detail. Even a captain needed rest, even a doctor needed to put the scalpel down once in a while. Shiro sighed heavily then turned towards you, his expression stoic like a hardened soldier but eyes...his eyes told you everything.

“You stayed with him?” he asked, avoiding the red dotting your coat.

“Until his last breath.”

“They don’t teach you about that in training.”

“No, sir. No, they...they do not,” you crossed your arms, “I don’t think that it is possible to teach something like this, Captain.”

A pregnant pause, a few seconds of Shiro’s gaze studying the restless sunken sockets on your face.

“Takashi. I told you to call me Takashi. We’re well acquainted enough by now. It’s been what? A year since I pulled you out of that ditch?”

“A year and 3 days, exactly,” you cautioned a step closer, heart hurting and hands dirtied with blood, “We make it out of here alive and I’ll start listening to you, friend.”

As a friend. As a comrade. As a pair of fractured misfits trying to cozy up in society again like the war overseas didn’t already kill their souls. We can’t leave this behind us, no matter how many bullets we take. We can’t die, but we can’t live like nothing happened. We can’t be doctor and captain, yet we can’t remember who we really were before all of this. The idea that we made it would be enough for us. It would be enough.

There was a red dot between his brows.

BANG!

BANG!

Jolting from your sleep never felt so real before. You swore, you were back in the barracks with your nerves and hackles raised in defense at...nothing. It was just a dream. A memory, a time that you would have preferred rather than now. Another loud bang made you clutch the scratchy blanket tighter to your chest, moth eaten and too thin to really keep you warm in the cold cell.

The lights flicked on, revealing you and the rest of the prisoners huddled together. Mere foot soldiers to flight fighters to ion cannon engineers from Lotor’s ship. Hostages to Haggar’s will and interrogation. Zarkon’s witch. No, you recall that those who were summoned never once returned. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened to them.

“You.” Sendak’s voice alone had you cringing from the sheer resolution behind it, “Your trial has come.”

You narrowed your eyes at him like a mouse trapped in a corner with other scared, meek beings. And they were right to be afraid. By all technicality, you and the Galra under his ward were the last to see Emperor Lotor alive. You specifically saw him leave and you knew this very fact would be held against your case.

When you made no movement, only to delay the inevitable, he approached you with a condescending look, “Come of your own free will or High Priestess Haggar will come here instead.”

He really didn’t like humans. Small, frail, weak. Emotional. And that bite mark on your neck signifying more than you were aware of? Sendak almost sneered at you. Almost.

You stood up and allowed yourself to be cuffed without a fuss. No word, no flinch, not even bothering to meet his challenging gaze. Your eyes were on the ground, trying to calculate how you could use your words and turn the evidence to be on your side. The side that won’t end up with your corpse launched into the vacuum of deep space. Each step down the hall felt as if you were walking to your own death.

The door opened, but this was no court. That was a medical table, those were physical restraints hanging down from the ceiling, and there, standing under the halo of light, was Haggar. This was the first time you saw her.

“State your name.”

You gave it with a bitter taste on your tongue.

“You are hereby being charged with the complicit assassination of the Emperor of the Galra Empire - Emperor Lotor,” she announced, voice throaty yet evident of her power, “We have recorded evidence that you willingly allowed Emperor Lotor to return to the hands of Voltron alongside with his generals. How do you plead?”

How do you plead? What a loaded question. They already had solid evidence against you. Now they just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you say you were guilty. You let him go. In doing so, you unwittingly forfeited your own safety to the fates of Galra Court. Or rather, whoever was next in charge. Whoever was left after the Empire became fractured in civil war.

You trusted Lotor to return. It has been nearly a year. The odds were stacked against him, against you, that either would be staying alive for long.

“Guilty. I plead guilty.”

Honerva narrowed her eyes into thin slits, critically studying your surrendering form. You gave in without her taking what she needed from your mind. You were compliant, too compliant, and yet this fact alone showed her one thing: you were smart. You knew how their system worked and you knew what unfortunate side you were on. Now, only one thing remained.

The crime must fit the punishment. Victory or death, right?

“You are hereby sentenced to a lifetime in prison without parole.” Haggar glanced at Sendak, “Take the inmate away.”

“I know where Lotor is.”

Lie. She knew it was a lie, indicative by the way the corner of her lips dipped lower in a barely contained snarl. Prisoners would say anything to change the outcome of their fate, and Honerva was not one for mercy - not where her rightful son was concerned And yet, those five little words were the perfect ones to make her raise a hand, halting Commander Sendak.

“I know where the Emperor is.”

The thin paper in your hand felt heavier than anything you’ve ever carried before in your life. Your eyes skimmed over familiar writing - your father's words etched out in dark ink, but not nearly as dark as the shadows growing in the corner of your mind.  Prisoners were becoming soldiers. Ultimatums were set and no matter how much you begged your father to change his mind, begged for him to understand that he was being used, he still made the worst possible choice.

It’s funny, now that you think about it. He once told you that he wanted to be a soldier when he was younger. To make sure there was a future for children, for you. Now, he got his wish. But it shouldn’t be like this, never like this.

The tears blurred your sight before you were able to take a hold of yourself. And how could you? Your father, the only family who saw you as a person instead of a physical investment for others, was walking onto the battlefield as live bait. Helpless couldn’t even begin to describe the fateful situation thrust upon your shoulders and a fleeting thought that karma was out to get you passed through your mind. This was wrong. This was wrong and everyone knew it.

Your grip on the paper crinkled it, nearly tearing it where your fingers dug in. Sobbing, you were sobbing so much, chest constricting as the thoughts of being powerless attacked your mind. It’s a system. There’s a system, maybe you could talk to someone, talk to the higher ups about switching camps? Just don’t panic. Your father will be fine, you can save him still. Maybe there was still time to -

“Doc?”

It was Shiro.

“Doc!”

The sight of you crying, choking on your own tears and leaning on the the wall for support, instantly alerted your captain. He has seen you post breakdown, eyes red-rimmed and composure regained like nothing had happened. But this? This was worse. It was worse seeing you crumble to the ground with teeth gritting, lip quivering, and streaks of painful tears dripping down your face. The stuttering breaths, the whimpering, the breaking. It. Was. Much. Worse.

Shiro rushed to you, arms pulling you in to his chest, “Talk to me.”

You couldn’t.

“Please, say something.”

You didn’t.

“We can get through this.”

You can’t.

All you could do was weep for what was to come.

“I worked alongside Emperor Lotor as his private medical officer for the last four years. From his time as a prisoner in Voltron’s hold up until his disappearance, every injury and sickness I assessed are logged in the medical database at the Galra Headquarters.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I know where he was going.”

Honerva was never one to be impatient. She was calculating, much more than Zarkon ever was. It was how she survived this long, through being poisoned by quintessence, mourning her husband’s death, and withstanding the Empire’s eternal disgust with her. But she also knew when the floor was shrinking around her and soon, her conniving ways would end up with her dead.

She needed allies to find her son and right now? You were as good as any. The witch can torture the information out of you to get what she needed, but logically that wasn’t the most efficient choice. Space was huge, there was a gamble that the your words would lead to a firm dead end, but Honerva was on borrowed time to search for her only child. Limited on necessary resources. Those under her command were spread thin.

“Emperor Lotor managed to pierce the Rift. He succeeded in starting to supply the Empire and the rest of the universe with unlimited quintessence, but there were...complications.” You took a deep breath, “I am already sentenced to a lifetime in prison, but I guarantee you, I’m more useful alive than dying in a cell wall.”

Yes, this seemed almost too perfect to Honerva, but the more the doctor spoke, the more this plan made sense. If - when they find her son, he would no doubt be in critical condition after all this time. Even if he wasn’t, having a medical team attend to him immediately would ensure his survival. Time was wasting, she couldn't assign another druid to read the entirety of Lotor’s medical history when there was someone who already knew it standing right in front of her.

“You will be under Commander Mar’s ward and accompany him on his search for Emperor Lotor,” she approached you then, closer for intimidation, “You are to report any and all information you gain during your mission directly to me. Emperor Lotor must be found.”

Yes, his Empire needed him. The universe needed him to continue working for an era of peace and prosperity. Right now, with the warlords loose and slavery still persisting, you knew all of this would eventually end up in total and complete destruction. You were not excluded from such a fate. Even though you had options, you could run, you could hide, you could corner yourself, but how long until you perish by conflict or by choice?

That is how you found yourself here, standing on the bridge besides Commander Mar. He accepted his mission with honor, accepted your partnership, however temporary it may be. The Commander was no fool, none of the higher-ups were. While some sought power for themselves, the Galra understood power was not only for security, but for survival as well.

He turned to face you, that sullen, empty look reminding him of a tired soldier who fought too long, “Doctor, do we have a heading?”

You stayed silent for a moment before raising your sunken eyes to focus on his scarred expression,   “To the remnants of Daibazaal, Commander Mar. The trans-reality gate is there and that is the last place Voltron was located. That is where Emperor Lotor traveled to.”

He nodded to his subordinate who punched in the coordinates. A few jumps through hyperspace and they would arrive in less than two weeks. Two weeks for you to prepare either the worst or the best outcome. Two weeks for you to plan an escape and flee for your own good. Two weeks…

Before he turned to leave, you asked, “Commander Mar, can I speak to you in private?”

The taller Galra grunted, granting your wish, then led you into the hallway just outside the command center, “What is it, Doctor? You have time to gather supplies we have on the ship, if needed.”

“I appreciate the generosity, Commander. But…” you crossed your arms, “If I may ask, why did you accept this mission?”

“You question my loyalty to the Empire?”

“No, no, not at all. I...apologize for my disrespect.” You glanced to the floor, debating in that mind of yours, “I am not blind. I’m aware of the fractured state the Empire has been in since Lotor’s crowning at the Kral Zera.”

“A human knows of the Kral Zera?”

“While he was working alongside Voltron, yes, Lotor informed me of the Kral Zera.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, “And your team was the one who killed Emperor Zarkon.”

“Yes. Yes, we did. My captain and I gave Lotor the tools needed to take down Zarkon.”

You expected disgust, even fury or an attack, yet all you received was a calculating look from Commander Mar. He had his own thoughts about Voltron working with the Empire and how it was run. At the same time, he had his own grievances when it came to working under Zarkon, as well.

“Voltron has been a smear on the Empire. Now that they have killed not one, but two Emperors, I swear to never align with them again,” there was a certain conviction in his voice, one that held truth with hidden malice, “I am loyal to the Empire and the Empire alone. That is why I took this mission because Lotor is the Emperor. Retrieving his body will bring closure to those in charge and we may finally proceed with another Kral Zera ceremony.”

“And if there is no body? How long will the Empire stand on it’s own two feet? How long until he is officially announced deceased?”

“Five years.”

The Empire did not have five years to last. No leader, no one taking charge until either five years pass or a dead body arrives. The system can only hold as long as the council would allow it, but even that was in shambles. Options were becoming more and more limited. Even after five years, if Lotor comes back, there won't be an Empire for him to run.

“Why did the witch let you live?”

No more. No more standing aside. Lotor made you choose.

“Because I am loyal to the Emperor. And right now, his return means more than just ensuring the future of the Galra Empire. His return ensures the end of war.”

You were tired. Exhausted, like the life was drained out of every pore of your body. You didn’t want to do this anymore. Now, you wonder what drove you to do it in the first place. Be a medic for war. Be a healer. Battle death on a daily basis. Was it for money? For financial security? Or just to prove you were good? Save those who couldn't save themselves? Either way, you couldn’t handle it anymore. Not now. Not for a while or never, if you decide to put the white coat back on again.

“Where will you go?”

Zipping your backpack shut, you placed both hands flat on top of the table. It was the only support you had from collapsing into another painful cry, mourning for the death of your father. No headstone. No body. Hard to find a body when a bomb is dropped. Your eyes drifted up to see Shiro, your captain, your friend, the one who held you so the dark promise of grief didn't get a chance to consume you whole.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you be back?”

“I was discharged. I'm not coming back,” you spoke, emphasizing your dismissal.

“The war is over. Treaties were signed, now we’re just working on bringing soldiers back to their home. Are you sure - “

“Find another medic.”

He paused.

“Find another medic. I’m not doing this - ” your weary voice, once strong and dignified, now whispered, “I can’t do this.

Shiro’s silence spoke volumes, but nothing meant more to you than when he approached you with a soft, understanding gaze. He picked up your bag, the weight more unbearable than he could imagine, before gently handing it to you. And you took it. You took this burden, but he never wanted you to feel like you had to deal with it alone.

“I understand,” he pulled you in for a hug, “Take care of yourself out there. And if you need anything…”

You returned the hug, needing this more than you realized, “I’m sorry, Takashi.”

“Don’t apologize. Never apologize for anything, least of all this. Take your time. You deserve that much.”

You needed time to heal. And before you left through the tent, you turned to look back at  your dearest friend once more.

“Come find me after you’re back.”

“Cease fire! Cease fire! I surrender!”

You huddled behind your shield, barely large enough to defend yourself. Commander Mar was dead, as was most of his crew, and standing across from the battlefield were three people you didn't expect to see again. Three people who left with the Emperor on that fateful day months ago. All of them were equally wounded, exhausted, and still raging with the fiery spirit of battle.

“Zethrid!” Ezor’s pained scream echoed the hangar, gaining her ally’s full attention.

Immediately, the behemoth Galra rushed to her aid, hands out and unsure exactly how to help her friend. There was blood profusely gushing from Ezor’s thigh, entire leg now missing due to the recent battle. Axes were weapons not to be underestimated, a lesson she will ingrain in her mind well if she survived after this. Zethrid snarled as her thoughts became conflicted with worry, with hatred, with the burning will to seek revenge.

“Kill them! Kill them all!” she ordered Acxa, “Do it, now!”

Acxa’s options were limited, too. They always were in the heat of battle. Yes, the three of them managed to take down Commander Mar and his warriors, sans you. She was smart. She knew to leave the medic the last one standing because medics had moral obligations to their crew. You were no Galra doctor, you were human. Humans were susceptible to being compassionate.

“What are you waiting for? We have to get Ezor out of here!”

Take the fleet, hide in the deepest part of the galaxy, find someone who could aid Ezor, but...but she may not have the time. She may not survive. In her critical condition, none of them knew how to properly handle decapitated limbs, and the chances of living after such a fatal blow was already haunting the general. Acxa saw your gaze flicker to their wounded companion then back to her own steely glare.

“I can help her.”

Acxa gripped her gun tighter, barrel pointing directly at you as she pressed the lightest of pressure on the trigger.

“I can save her. You kill me now, she dies. It takes nearly three days to find the nearest planet. She doesn’t even have 30 minutes to live.”

Desperation. Acxa hated feeling desperate. All of them did. Hated leaving the fate of others in the hands of unknown, hated feeling powerless in the face of danger when their friends were concerned. Hated trusting Lotor to protect them and guide them like a good leader. You were on Lotor’s side, but he wasn’t here.

Acxa lowered her gun, signalling her consent for your aid, then you rushed to Ezor’s side while pulling out a syringe. It had an ominous, black liquid in it. You would never consider using this on her, but she was going to die, and the Witigue drug has been proven to bring back those on the brink of death.

You tugged the rope to pull your dingy into port. The wooden pier was nearly desolate of life except the spare few locals. All who initially hesitated at the mere sight of you, but took you in regardless, granting you a place to live among their home. Clear blue waters with equally clear blue skies. It was paradise, the place your father was born, far away from the city life and all it’s deadly toxicity.

No, not really toxic. Just the politics. Just the corruption.

“A fisherman, huh? Never took you for a fishing type.”

At that voice, that one voice you knew so well, your head shot up to see those familiar mirthful grey eyes staring straight at you. And that smirk, that smile that told you everything will be okay, everything is okay. It was infectious, incredibly infectious. You felt your lips and your heart smile at the mere sight of Shiro. He was here, your friend, he was really here.

“Captain - “ “Takashi. Don’t think I forgot that promise.”

You jumped off your boat and stumbled in front of him. His eyes took in all of you, from your humidified hair to your toes fitted in flip-flops. You looked healthy enough if that small laugh after his comment was anything to go by. Not even a second passed before he embraced you in his comforting arms, your own winding around his midsection in a tight hold.

“Takashi! What in blue blazes are you doing here? How did you even - “ you shook your head then took a step back, grinning at him with honest joy splashed over your face, “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

“Thought I’d travel a bit, check in on you. I have to say, you picked a nice place to hide.”

You scoffed at the situational convenience of it all, knowing damn well he used some resource to seek you out. But he wasn’t wrong. This was a nice place to recover and, although you will never fully heal from the scars that the war left behind, you could say your body felt...better. Your mind, however, was a different thing altogether.

“It's a humble life, y’know. Fishing, selling, adapting to a new place. How about you? Where have you been living at now?”

“The Galaxy Garrison called me a year ago and I’ve been working on becoming a space explorer,” he saw the way your eyes lit up at that, “And sometimes I go to local schools to inspire young minds.”

“A space explorer, hm? What do you think you’ll find out there?”

“Honestly? I don't know. Guess I’ll find it when I go up there.”

You two chuckled at that, the familiar conversation refreshing you like time itself hadn’t even passed since the war. He was still Shiro, and you were still...you were still you. He had a good thing going for him and hearing the excitement in his voice when he spoke about it, well, it left you feeling elated for your friend.

“It really is good to see you again, Takashi. How long are you in town? No friend of mine is going to stay in a hotel when he can stay with me in my straw hut.”

Shiro would love nothing more than to stay and catch up on the recovering years. Share thoughts, share pains, share funny stories that happened while both of you were away from each other. But the twinge in his right hand, the tingling feeling in his fingertips, reminded him of the real reason why he was here.

“I’ll take you up on that hut for a few days. I’ve got to head back by the end of the week,” he explained before his expression slowly became solemn, “There’s...there’s something else, too.”

“Something else?” you asked, now your brows were knit in confusion, in wariness, “Something...good, I hope?”

Shiro sighed before pulling his right hand out of his pocket. At first, you saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then, a twitch, followed shortly by a few uneven shakes, like he was shivering. That was all you needed to see before your wide eyes shot up to stare at him dead in the face. He couldn't possibly -

“I knew you’d hate me if I never told you - ” Shiro took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, “ - I’m sick. It’s...incurable.”

You dabbed a cloth over Zethrid’s eye to stop the bleeding and, to your surprise, she didn't even flinch. Her gaze was stuck on Ezor, her stump bandaged and her breathing stable, but she couldn’t bring herself to find a smidgen of relief. Even with you tending to her wounds, there were internal pains that you could not heal. That was out of your skill range. To comfort a victim of survivor’s guilt.

You grabbed a different cloth and soaked it in a blue liquid, squeezing out the excess medicine, “Keep this over your eye. I can’t save your sight, but this will soothe it and prevent infection until you are fully healed.”

Zethrid obeyed. Still numb, still in shock that you had actually managed to save Ezor. Deciding to leave the room so they could have a moment of silence, you saw Acxa follow you into the hallway. The crew that were still alive were tossed into holding cells and the only people controlling the ship were the three women before you. Acxa watched the way you dried your hands on a towel before you stuffed it back into your pocket.

“Who sent you?” she asked, straightforward and still hesitant on why you were helping them.

You don’t blame her. You would be just as suspicious.

“Haggar. She has sent fleets out in search of Emperor Lotor. I can only assume she wants him back so she can have another puppet to control on the throne.”

And you were not going to let that happen, but there was a sign of confusion flickering behind Acxa’s eyes at your statement. A bit of disbelief, as well. Though, she understands that if she and her generals returned to Haggar, things will not end up well for them. They would be tortured for days on end, or worse, killed. Not a fate she would allow to fall on Ezor and Zethrid.

“Lotor is dead and so is Voltron. Both of them disappeared into the Rift and have not returned after all this time. There is no Emperor anymore.”

“That’s...impossible. Both of them?” you repeated just to make sure the reality of the situation wasn't a lie, “Are you sure? How could you be sure?”

Both of the universe’s defenders were gone? No...no, no, this was worse. This was going to end terribly, not just for you, but for everyone. A thousand scenarios flashed through your head, already thinking about what will happen now. Not just after five years, but the entire future that would be left in ruins.

“We were stranded for a year with no sight of them. They aren’t coming back,” her eyes focused intensely on you, “And I’m not risking our lives by returning to Haggar.”

Ah. The thinly veiled threat.

“We have to find both of them. If not them, then Lotor. Only he could restore the Empire - “

“It is over. Lotor swore to wipe out the entire Galra Empire. All three of us heard it with our own ears,” her expression hardened in betrayal, “Even if he did return by some small miracle, I would not ally with him again. You’re on the wrong side here.”

You ran a hand through your hair, “And what side are you on?”

“Whatever side protects my crew.”

And now, what side were you on?

Part of you argued that there was no happy ending if you returned to Haggar empty handed. Part of you argued that your continued search would be fruitless now that Acxa explained both Lotor and Voltron were finished. And another part...another part of you argued to find another way. Don’t run, there has to be another way, there’s always another way. And if not? You MAKE your own way.

“Acxa,” you interrupted her thoughts, “Do you know where the Alteans are?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “You still look to bring him back? He isn’t right for the Empire.”

“Do you or do you not know?”

Silence. After a scrutinizing minute, a single nod.

And that small bit of hope was enough for you to keep trying to find the rightful ruler of the Galra Empire.

“Take me there. Do this, then we can part ways and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Then, Acxa added, “And you never tell Lotor about our survival, if you find him.”

“There was an interesting kid I met today,” Shiro spoke after swallowing his spoonful of cafeteria food.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He stole my car.”

Shiro always had a weird sense of humor, but it was humor nonetheless. You slowly raised a brow at him, of course expecting him to expand a bit on his story now that he had you hooked. Maybe you should have joined him today, just to get a breath of fresh air and see some new, young faces.

“Well?”

“Hm?” he asked, knowing damn well what you were asking.

“Takashi, you wouldn’t even let me drive that thing. It’s your ‘baby’ and you let an actual baby steal it from underneath your nose?”

Now, he laughed out loud, “Listen, I’m impressed he didn’t crash and injure himself.”

“What’s the little thief’s name?”

“Keith. Keith Kogane,” another scoop of food, “If he joins, I’m going to be his guardian.”

A guardian, huh? Fitting, you suppose, for someone like him. Shiro seemed proud, encouraged even, and a little bit of his light shined on you. Even with his illness, he had more moments of happiness than impending doom. You respected that about him. Part of you wondered if you, too, would one day be rid of your own personal grief.

The Galra ship landed on the docking station, kicking up dust and debris from all around. Acxa’s code given to enter the base went through, but you knew that Lotor was one to have at least two means of security. You knew he wouldn’t put all his trust in one person. He always had a back up plan somewhere, somehow, and years of living as an exiled Prince no doubt ingrained that in him.

Three. There were three Alteans who approached you and Acxa when crossing to the entrance of the mountain. Each of them were equipped with a shield much like your own and a broadsword, one you recall Lotor training with long ago. Shields up, weapons prepared, it put Acxa on edge. It put you on edge, so much so that you summoned your own shield for protection.

“Who are you?”

“How did you find this place?” “Where is Lotor?”

You studied each of them, taking in their marks, their hair, their skin. Warriors, defenders. These were the protectors of the base. It...it was a true sight to behold. Lotor succeeded. He achieved in saving Alteans from extinction, something everyone doubted was even possible considering Zarkon’s wickedness. He saved a part of his history, his culture, when no one else could have. 

He succeeded where the Princess failed.

“We do not wish to fight,” you announced, hoping they obeyed the diplomacy first rule, “I - We need your help. Lotor needs your help.”

At Lotor’s name, they immediately lowered their guard as a grave expression fell upon their faces.

“You have news of Lotor’s disappearance?” one of the men asked as he stepped forward, “Where is our leader? Has...Has he been captured?”

The other two murmured under their breath, dreading the worst. Of course they knew about the Galra Empire. Of course they knew of Zarkon. Of course they knew of the exiled Prince. And of course they knew the danger he was in, they all were in. If their leader was caught, then they would do what they must to ensure his survival. They were not idiots sitting around with twiddling thumbs. 

They know damn well about the war.

Now, your lowered the shield completely, your own face grim at the news you were about to share, “Lotor is missing. I need your help finding him.”

“Captain, how do we know they are not spies? I’ve never seen that one with Lotor before,” the other soldier asked, hinting at Acxa.

“We are not spies. I am a medic that aided in healing Lotor and she is - “ you paused, unsure of the actual relationship between Acxa and Lotor, “She was part of his...crew. What can I do to prove it to you?”

The leader of the trio’s stare bore into your shield. The shape of it was the same and the stance you held was similar to their own. Their battle culture was once lost to time, generations of hiding and fleeing reduced their numbers, and the knowledge was wiped out. Lotor was the one who retaught it to them. Only Lotor knew about them.

“If you aren’t a spy, then you will need to prove it through combat.”

There was a soft knock at your door, followed by a “Hey, it’s me.”

“Me” being Shiro. Of course you let him in your room. It was impeccably clean and equally as bland save for one memento. A picture: old, wrinkled, the edges torn and frayed—showing how long it has stood against the test of time. It was you and Shiro in your old military outfits. Typical soldier uniform for him and a white medic coat for you. Dirtied cheeks and tired eyes, but both of you were smiling. Hopeful for the future.

“Ready for tomorrow’s launch?”

“Are you?”

“Waited all my life for this moment,” he sat on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees and hands entwined with each other, “I wanted to thank you...again. For coming with us. For all this.”

“You know, the more I thought about it, the more I’m surprised I am even...here. It’s hard to believe, actually. I’m a pilot. I’m back to being a medic. I’m healing and I think...I think that’s what my father would’ve wanted for me in life.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear you even mention your father after all these years of avoiding the topic. He was careful to talk about your deceased dad, even more so when your mother was involved. You never told him about her and he never pushed to know. To hear you open up, well, it...shocked him. He always hoped to be a good influence to you, a good partner, a good friend.

“I should be the one thanking you, Takashi.”

Oh, he was humbled. You gave him a honest smile, one full of fondness and appreciation. Grateful that he stuck around and helped you start walking again, step by step. Where would you be without him? Fishing, living a humble life, never returning to heal the wounded. Takashi showed you that there was something better out there for you. All you had to do was see it.

“What do you think will be up there?” you gazed out the window, night stars twinkling promises of a new future for you.

“I don’t know - ” Shiro’s eyes reflected the midnight sky, “but it’s going to be amazing.”

#lotor x reader #spacestories #come with me in space #he says #it'll be great #HE #SAYS

[cornishbirdblog]

Standing in the oppressive heat of the desert between Tucson and Phoenix I feel a very long way from the green, rain-soaked valleys of Cornwall. It is a vast and untamed landscape like nothing I have ever experienced before in all my travels, yet thousands of Cornish found themselves drawn here in the 19th century. Some found their fortunes, others hardship and loss, or worse.

“These dry, rocky places are made of drought, created by absence, the sky holding back on purpose . . . Deserts are mummifiers, bone makers.” Craig Childs, Essays from Dry Places, Arizona, 2019

So, how did one particular Cornishman come to end his days in the deserts of Arizona more than 5000 miles from home? And was his death just a unfortunate tragedy or something far more sinister?

The Bodies of Two Men

On 17th May 1894 a report appeared in the Mesa Free Press, the newspaper for the Maricopa county of Arizona. It read:

The bodies of two men were found a few days ago on the desert near the Congress mine. One of them left a note giving their names as William Rogers and Wm. McDonald.

The bodies had been initially discovered in early May. In the days that followed more information about the circumstances surrounding the deaths and the contents of the note began to emerge.

It was established that one of the men was William Rogers from Cornwall.

William Rogers

William was born in Ashton near Breage in 1869. He came from a long line of miners. Both his father Francis and both his grandfathers worked underground. His parents, Francis Rogers and Thomasine Kitto, had grown up together in the village and married in 1854. William was their youngest of five children.

On the 29th July 1889 aged 21 William Rogers boarded the SS Umbria and began the long voyage to the USA. The log records his name, age and occupation – miner.

SS Umbria 1884, Francis Frith negative no. 26619.

Cornish in Arizona

The stalling of the Cornish mining industry in the early part of the 19th century forced Cornish miners to search for work in other areas of mineral production, such as South Africa, Australia and America. It is estimated that more than 500,000 Cornish left their home in the 19th century.

Initially, many settled in Wisconsin and Michigan. Later making their way further west to California, Nevada, Colorado and Arizona. A train ticket that could take you from one side of the country to the other could be purchased in the 1880s for $40.

Cornish miners in Arizona

The Cornish could easily have integrated in to North American society but instead others found them ‘clanish’. They utilized their ethnicity to their advantage. Being from Cornwall implied expertise in mining that would secure the best paid jobs. And the Cornish mine captains took on their fellow countrymen first, often giving them higher rates of pay and special privileges. The Cornish were also said to be constantly looking for employment for friends and relatives. One explanation for their nickname, “Cousin Jack,” suggests that when asked if they knew someone who could do a job in the mine the answer was always, “My Cousin Jack can.”

From Montana to Arizona

William Rogers’ adventures began in the north of America. We know that he spent time in Helena, Montana. He then moved to Telluride in Colorado and then sometime around 1894 made his way to Arizona.

The Vulture Mine near Wickenburg. Credit: the appendix.net

The 1890s had seen a severe devaluation of silver and copper in the US. Miners were forced to move to where they thought there was work, or the rumour of work. From 1893 to 1900 many miners from all the old silver camps of the West became caught up in the search for gold. Arizona was incredibly rich in the precious mineral. Numerous new gold deposits were discovered, notably in Congress in the Bradshaw Mountains, the Mammoth north of Tucson, and the rich Harqua Hala. Fortunes were made. Gold fever was rife.

William Rogers is thought to have been on his way to the gold rush in Harqua Hala when he died. But how exactly William and his companion met their ends in the desert is not entirely clear. In fact, it’s a little ambiguous exactly who died out in the desert sun at all.

Gold Rush

The first reports in the newspapers said that the dead men were travelling to Harque Hala from the town Prescott. A distance of over 120 miles, they may have had transport part of the way, horses perhaps, but it appears that they were completing the last stretch of the journey on foot.

The Harqua Hala mountains: credit Google Earth

“The bodies of two Cornishmen who were on their way from Prescott to Harqua Hala, were found near the sink of Date Creek a few days ago . . . The two men had perished from thirst.” Monhave County Miner, 19th May 1894

Haraquahala like so many of Arizona’s old mining settlements is now a dusty, forgotten ghost town. But it once saw a gold rush of epic proportions. The mine there produced $3,630,000 of gold and nuggets worth upwards of $300 could be found just lying on the desert floor!

Gold mined in Arizona

By 1888 it had become a sprawling boom town with saloons, boarding houses, a post office and its own newspaper – The Harqua Hala Miner. Rogers was making his way towards this town and, he hoped, his fortune.

Culling’s Well

The bodies of our two boys were discovered near a dried up creek just a few miles from Culling’s Well. They were roughly 20 miles north of the Harqua Hala mountains. The well, which should have been their salvation, is now almost completely disappearing back into the desert but movingly it has retained a connection to William Rogers’ death.

Culling’s Well was established in the 1860s by Charles C. Culling. This innovative man had to dig down through 250ft (76m) of dirt before he found water. He then sold this cool, sweet ground water for 25c per animal or 50c a barrel. Culling was described by his contemporaries as “a jovial man, always giving a hearty welcome to travellers”. His was the only stable water source for 100 miles and when he died in 1878 the business was taken over by his widow’s new husband, John Drew. Drew just so happens to be one of the men who discovered the bodies of the Cornish prospectors.

Local legend has it that Drew was so moved by how close the two men were to the well when they died of thirst he decided to act. Sadly deaths like theirs seem to have been pretty common. One newspaper wrote at the time:

“Year by year the addition to the number of deaths on the deserts of the southwest are growing and yet the supervisors of the various counties take no action in the matter of putting up guideboards for the convenience of travellers and in so doing save many men from an awful death.”

Drew however decided to try and ensure no other travellers perished so near to water again. After the Cornish men’s deaths a light was suspended on the top of a long pole above Culling’s Well to act as a beacon for lost travellers. The settlement quickly became known as ‘the lighthouse in the desert’.

Graveyard Culling’s Well

There is a small graveyard at Culling’s Well, it isn’t confirmed but it’s entirely possible that Rogers and McDonald are buried here.

Rogers’ Last Words

The bodies of the two men were found some distance from each other. A journal containing a scribbled note was found on one body. the note read:

“I remain your loving son, William Rogers. Dying for want of water. Do no grieve for me mother, I am dying. Send to Telluride, Colo for my trunk. My partner will go on to Harqua Hala, his name is Bill McDonald. The key to my trunk is in my pocket.”

In the pocket of the other body was a letter of credit for £15, 3s issued by Wells Fargo Bank made out to Mrs. Constance Hoskins from William McDonald.

However, doubts over the identity of the bodies would quickly begin to surface.

The Manner of his Death

The circumstances surrounding the deaths of Willam Rogers and William McDonald at first seemed straightforward. They apparently died of dehydration when they became lost in the desert near Culling’s Well.

That was the story that appeared in The Times in London on 16th May 1894. The article bought dozens of letters to Justice Kincaid from worried relatives back in England, including one from William King, Rogers’ brother-in-law. The letter was published in The Arizona Republican in August 1894. King asks if Kincaid can provide more information concerning the circumstances of Rogers’ death. He writes that he has already contracted T J Drew “one of the discoverers of the bodies” but had no reply.

You see, rumours of foul play had begun circulating in late May, since another letter had been published. This letter was sent anonymously from a mining town called Harrisburg, Arizona. It claimed that the dead men had originally been part of a party of four who had left Congress Mine together. And that the bodies were William Rogers and a man called Hoskins, not McDonald.

Some twenty miles after setting off the letter says the four men separated. Hoskins and Rogers left the group. The other two, McDonald and an unknown man, went to on Copper Camp, then Culling’s Well, Harqua Hala and finally made their way to Harrisburg. In Harrisburg the writer claims that these men had been heard to say that “their partners were left in the desert to die”.

The letter goes on to assert that:

“Rogers and his partner [Hoskins] went to the Copper Camp and got water and went on. McDonald and his partner went to work at the Harqua Hala mines, never saying anything about their partners . . . If they had made it known men would have gone in every direction until they had been found . . . When found the dead men were lying on their backs with their hats over their faces. No man dies in that shape with thirst. Foul play is suspected and the case ought to be investigated. It was done in Maricopa county but the bodies were brought over to Yuma and buried.”

So, how exactly did the men come to reach their ends? Was there an argument, over money perhaps? Were Rogers and Hoskins (if it was Hoskins) just weaker than the others and rather than help they went on without them? As far as I can establish the deaths were never investigated further.

Unanswered Questions

The anonymous statement printed in The Arizona Republican raises a number of interesting questions. The most pressing being not just how the men died but who exactly was it that died in the wilderness.

Mrs. Constance Hoskins, the lady of the credit note found on the second body, lived at Churchtown in Breage. Very close to the Rogers family, did they already know each other? According to the 1891 census her husband William, a blacksmith, is abroad. She is also living with their two year old son and her brother, William Peller who records his occupation as retired Gold Miner.

If the second body wasn’t McDonald then why was that what was written in the journal? Was it ever verified that Rogers’ had written the note? The whole episode leaves me with so many unanswered questions. Perhaps something more will come to light in the future, in which case I will certainly let you all know!

Look out for another post coming soon about the Cornish in Arizona . . .

Further Reading:

For more travel related tales pop to my Cornish Bird on Tour page!

Gwennap Pit & the richest square mile on Earth

The Iconic Wheal Coates

Death in Arizona – how a Cornish miner came to die in the desert Standing in the oppressive heat of the desert between Tucson and Phoenix I feel a very long way from the green, rain-soaked valleys of Cornwall.

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

Ghost of you, 11/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 11/?.

Pairings: Human!Nine x Rose; Human!Ten x Jack; Clara Oswald x Olivia Baxter (OC).

Synopsis: "I was a simple neurologist working for the great Maxence Spitz. This man is certainly a clever one. The cleverest of us all. I admire him; this is no secret to anyone, and working for him is a great honour."

A/N: I've started writing this fiction last year after I had a particularly weird dream (as usual) and after I wrote the prologue, I've put it aside to work on other stuff. I've gone back to it not so long ago and decided that it would be the fiction I would post next, after not posting anything for a while. I must have watched I am legend and Game of thrones way too much to come out with something like this but I hope you will like it. I am not a scientist, nor did I have a particular knowledge of sciences. I do my researches on the internet like everyone to make sure everything is as close to the reality as possible. I have a literature degree only. Writing is what I do and it makes me explore next fields, and learn new things.

“Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.” - T.S. Eliot.

CHAPTER 11:

Seventh day of October. Day 1751 since the infection. Tegan Smith video log. Lot of things have happened since the last time I recorded something here. New results have fallen. New specimens have been delivered. Even the hierarchy here has changed. I was a simple neurologist working for the great Maxence Spitz. This man is certainly a clever one. The cleverest of us all. I admire him; this is no secret to anyone, and working for him is a great honour. He treats me better than my old boss who was constantly belittling me and giving me tasks that didn’t fit my abilities. Maxence let all my competences come out and exploited them the right way. His team is family to me and for someone who has grown up in an orphanage, that’s something really important. I fit in this team, in this family, and they accept me for who I am and never make any mean remarks but actually explain what I’ve done wrong and show me how to fix it. I’m evolving in the right way this time. Every step I take is a new progress to me. Well, until Maxence went out for this mission. I can honestly say that I hate the person who forced him out of his lab to go on the field. Catching a living specimen… It really was a stupid idea and a suicide mission. Only someone who didn’t know about the reality of things outside could ask for such a stupid thing. It could only go wrong and it did. It was a real disaster. Some would say that it could have gone worse than it did. Only three men are down on the ten that were on this mission. One death, two infections. To me, it’s a huge mistake to have sent them outside. Event if it was for a good cause, finding that damn cure, what we’ve lost isn’t worth what we’ve gained. Our leader, my mentor, Maxence Spitz, has been infected when a nightwalker bit his neck. Xavier died protecting him from a possible slaughter and Allegro… Allegro kept Maxence safe until they could come back here. Maxence has turned into a complete nightwalker. He has come back here in a crate and was transferred in a cage immediately after they arrived here. Allegro is infected though he has no symptom. He was transferred anyway. This obviously caused a huge mess in the hierarchy of our lab. We didn’t have a boss anymore and the chief of our security teams is down too. New leaders needed to be named. Maxence had picked his favourites before leaving. Wise man. That’s what I was thinking before I heard that I was now the leader of this team. Me, out of other people like Jack or Rose or Clara who deserved it more than me. Jack thinks that’s because Maxence had seen something special in me. I’m wondering what it is honestly. I’m perfectly aware that I wasn’t born a leader. I have the feeling that all my decisions are wrong. Was it a good idea to name Rory captain of all the security members? To have created that small cell working on Maxence? I’ve always been afraid of failing and right now, it’s worse than ever despite the support I have from the very same team I’ve created. Especially from Jack who is a better ally than I thought he would be with his changing mind and his extravagant personality. He clearly knows his limits. Rose worries me a lot too. We can’t deny that it’s her husband we’re working on and it’s seriously affecting her. We can’t pretend that we don’t see that she’s not okay but she’s kinda avoiding us so we won’t force her to talk about what is weighting her heart and ours. We can’t say that she doesn’t do her job properly because it would be wrong. She’s doing it more than right but she’s taking inconsiderate risks by always be around Maxence. We still don’t know how the virus gets from one person to another. If there’s any problem, we would lose another brilliant mind and this team would be lost. However, this proximity they share is also a good point for us. She was first to notice that Maxence wasn’t like any of the other nightwalkers, that he still had that part of humanity inside him. After further researches, Jack, Clara and I had come to the same conclusions. His DNA isn’t totally corrupted and his blood and brain are partly working like they used to before the infection but his primary needs like water and food and sleep are off. That’s what is making the nightwalkers aggressive and stupid. We had to sedate him to get clear scans of his brain. He was refusing to stay still even after we’ve tied him down which made him rather furious. He already was when we’ve put him in the crate to carry him to the scan room. It hadn’t been easy to catch him at all. He absolutely refused to come to us and had put as much distance as he could between him and us. He was avoiding us and when he felt cornered, he attacked. No one was harmed thankfully but we all were the witness of his intelligence. He ran straight to the palm reader. We haven’t thought of forbidding him the access because we never thought he would actually do something so clever in his condition. Zach was quick to lock the airlock thankfully. That’s a mistake we won’t do ever again. It could have had such disastrous consequences for us all. We were luck enough on that one. We may not have a second chance if we mess up once again. The sedative has had some interesting effects on his system. The humanity, what’s left of it in him, is increased by the sleep. I’ve noticed it on the scans before and after the sedative. Rose had noticed that his eyes were slightly losing their black colour. The original colour of his irises was showing up. It disappeared with the last effects of the sedative. I’ve seen that Rose recorded another entry in her video logs, an entry where she gives details about his vital signs while he was sedated. They weren’t normal but they weren’t very abnormal either. They were in-between but it’s a good sign for us. If we can ‘force’ his brain to feel the primary needs again, it could maybe reverse the process. It’s not gonna be an easy task obviously but we already fixed his sight today. We have forgotten that Maxence was short-sighted with all of that. It didn’t get better with the noctiagus but we gave him his glasses back and he looked better with them on. As if it had really changed something for him. We’ll see the results in the near future. I won’t post this video on the public interface. It’s more like an entry to my diary than an actual scientific report and it’s better if no one sees it. I just needed to vent and it’s done. End of the talk. Tegan sniffled and wiped his nose with a paper tissue. He was being emotional again. He hated being like this. He took a deep breath in to try and release the tension from his shoulders. This promotion was hard to live and he was restlessly wondering if he was doing things right. It even kept him from sleeping. He was exhausted but just couldn’t sleep. Not like Maxence who didn’t feel the need to sleep. Tegan rubbed his face and met the stubble growing there. He hadn’t shaved in days. They would all look wild if they didn’t have time to take care of themselves. They probably wouldn’t take the risk to shave Maxence. It would be giving him a weapon and it was dangerous to let something like a blade in his hands. Who knew what he would do with it? He was compelled to live with the growing beard on his face. Tegan smiled sadly at the memory coming up to his mind. He was remembering the first time he had met Maxence. A day he would never forget. Back then, he was working in the NINE, one of the most famous labs of this country. NINE stood for National Institute of Neurological Engineering. At first sight, you would say he was on his field but if you looked closer, he clearly wasn’t. His job there was only to keep his eyes on a screen and read lines of codes that weren’t related to neurology. He had learnt how to decipher those data and to report whenever there was a problem in a technology he could only dream of using.

– Flashback –

Tegan was leaning in his chair, bored. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of this screen in hours and there was nothing to report. This machine was working too well and it was burning his eyes to stare at the screen. He was having a hell of a headache once again. He had developed a tendency to violent migraines with this job. Even the meds he was taking couldn’t relieve him and he didn’t have the time to go and see a doctor. If he was absent for one second, they would fire him and he couldn’t lose this job even if they were treating him miserably and barely paying him. That’s the only thing he had at the moment and he didn’t want to lose the small flat he was renting. He rubbed his eyes and face as if it was gonna take his pain away. He hadn’t shaved in days and the hairs growing there were itching. It was the least of his troubles though. He had the feeling that someone was hammering nails right behind his eyes. How could he work correctly in such a condition? He glanced at the screen. Still no sign of a flaw in the codes. He grabbed the scientific magazine he had bought in the morning. With all of that, he hadn’t had the time to even open it. He had bought it because there was an article about Maxence Spitz’ new project and works. The man himself had a picture on the front. In a small frame on the side, but still. He admired this man and what he had done so far in scientific community. He was the greatest genius of this era. His colleagues here were mocking him, pretending that he wanted to be in a relationship with Maxence. It wasn’t like he would refuse if the man wanted to have a one-night affair but he knew that Maxence Spitz was straight and married with another genius of this planet. Anyway, for Tegan, Maxence would be the scientist who would change the whole world with his discoveries. He was so clever he could find a cure to the biggest and most lethal diseases this planet could count. And there were a lot of them. He put the magazine aside when he heard a knock on the door. It was rare to have someone knocking on his door. Not because he didn’t have many visits – the developers were maybe afraid that he would screw their precious codes up and were always checking – but because no one thought necessary to show him a bit of respect by knocking on his door while he was working. Sometimes, he was locking it just to be in peace and he was being yelled at for this but they weren’t sacking him for this. It wasn’t big enough of a mistake. Today was one of these days. He sighed and got up. He unlocked the door, opened it… and stumbled backward at the person standing before him. He thankfully managed to grab the side of the door to keep on his feet but the man before him was divided between a worried and a bemused face. “Are you alright?” Tegan would have recognised that northern accent anywhere. He had gone to lots of conferences just to hear the theories of its owner. Maxence Spitz. Doctor Maxence Spitz was standing before him. “Y-Yeah,” stuttered Tegan. “You surprised me. Didn’t expect you to be behind that door. Not many people knock around here.” “They should. Surprising a scientist while they’re working could be dangerous.” “I’m afraid I’m not doing anything that dangerous.” “That’s why I’m here. Can I come in?” “Sure.” Tegan let go of the door and gestured to Maxence to come in. He was slightly shorter than Tegan thought he was but he was compensating with his presence. This man certainly knew how to impose himself. Tegan offered him his desk chair and sat on an old wobbly stool. He was nervous and he had to stick his hand between his knees so it wouldn’t show. Maxence took his time to glance around him and his eyes fell on the magazine. He grabbed it and smiled. “They begged me for this interview,” he chuckled, opening the magazine to the page he was. “I honestly hate being the centre of attention. My wife thought it would be a good idea though. Like wearing this awful tie.” He played with it for a moment. He hated ties as much as he hated suits but Rose had forced him to wear one for this interview. He wasn’t very comfortable in those clothes and it was clear. Tegan moved nervously on his stool. He was wearing the same tie. He cleared his throat . Maxence looked up at him and his face showed how embarrassed he was. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that it was awful. It’s just that I’m not a suit and tie man. I’d rather wear a t-shirt and jeans. But it’s not professional.” Tegan was surprised to see that the man he admired was someone so normal. Someone like him in the end. It was quite funny to witness but if he didn’t get back to work, he would be in troubles. “Don’t you mind me interrupting you but… you said you were here for professional reasons… implying me?” “Oh… yes! Yes, absolutely! Like I’ve said to these reporters, I’m working on a new project, which is still confidential, and I’m looking for my own team members. It appears that you’re the best neurologist in the area. I’ve come here to poach you. Your director doesn’t know the chance he has to have someone as talented as you since he’s not using your potential the right way.” Maxence pointed to the lines of codes still flashing up on the computer screen. Not a job for a neurologist. “You can have me. Right now. I take the job.” Working for him would be a big honour and Tegan would make sure to never disappoint him if he was taken in his team. Maxence chuckled at Tegan’s eagerness and serious. He definitely was motivated for the job. “Your contract is ready on my desk. I’ve just come here to let your director know he was gonna lose an important member of his lab and to meet you personally.” Tegan was so surprised to be hired so easily without any job interview or tests that he would have fallen if he wasn’t sat. Maxence stood up and stretched his body. He gave a smile to Tegan and held a hand out to him. The neurologist shook it absently. He was too shocked by the situation. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. 8, in my office. No obligation to wear a suit or to be clean-shaved, unless you like it.” Tegan acquiesced. It was like a dream come true. He had a new job. A new job with a boss treating him decently. A new job where he would do what he loved. And all of this was thanks to Maxence Spitz. God must have heard his prayers.

– Fin –

x

Camden McCarson was an old grumpy Scottish man. It was the description he was making of himself of course. He would rather think that he had attack eyebrows because the world was doing everything to make him cross. It wouldn’t come to his mind that he was just a bitter paranoid man who had suffered from so many ordeals in his life that he preferred being as pessimistic as possible and making mean comments whenever people were getting on his nerves. He was always on the move, always travelling as far from home as he could. To the question what was he looking for, he replied that he would know when he would have found it. So far, he couldn’t say he had found anything that was fitting his expectations. He still couldn’t put words on what he was looking for but the adventures his job was creating was enough to make him forget. He was making money by finding stuff and people that seemed to have disappeared from Earth. Once, he was working on a rather tricky case that had led him in the middle of Chiswick – something about a sat nav who had been stolen from the army, a sat nav full of secret information. That was the day he met Donna Noble. This red-haired woman had burst out in his life like a fury because he supposedly had collided with her car. It had appeared – after she was done yelling at him and hitting him – that they were working on the same case. Him, because he had been hired for it. Her, because she was bored in her life and had heard of this very important sat nav lost in nature. The medias had heard the rumours of this disappearance and it was all over the television and newspapers. Everyone was looking for a person to blame and the medias were worsening the situation. Of course Camden’s bosses had already tried to reach him but he hadn’t taken the calls. He wasn’t the one who had leaked the information and he certainly wasn’t gonna let anyone yell at him for something he hadn’t done. He would rather be sacked than being accused of something. His bosses knew better than to sack him though. He was their best element and he could be insubordinate and impolite and grumpy as much as he wanted because they wouldn’t take the risk of losing someone like him. So, when he had brought Donna to them asking for her to be his sidekick – ‘I’m no one sidekick!’ had she barked at him – because she was really good – not better than him but close enough – they had hesitated only the time to hear their final report on the matter they had worked on together. She had been hired based on those results. Camden wasn’t an easy man to work with but he had quickly learnt that Donna was no woman to be led around by the nose. She would rather have a go at him than accept his orders. They were always bickering on how to do some things but their work was done right and that was what mattered the most in the end. Plus, Donna knew she was indispensable to the man. She had taken him out of the loneliness he was burying himself into and she was often checking on him and taking him out of his office whenever he was locking himself in there for days just looking for a new interesting case, waiting for his boss to call him for a new inquiry. He reminded her a lot of Sherlock Holmes when he was like this. But mister Holmes was far from being as good and clever and arrogant as Camden McCarson could be. His office wasn’t what Donna had expected either. She was imagining him more in an old room with ancient furniture, libraries full of books and secrets, and maybe some painting portraits of past family members on the wall. His name seemed to have some nobility in it after all, but if it had any, Camden McCarson didn’t care at all about it. He was living his own life with his own rules and no one could change that. His office was surprisingly modern, all in stainless steel and blue and orange neon lights. He indeed had libraries full of ancient books and it was fitting strangely well in the middle of this office. There were two tables with four computers on them and flat screens hung on the wall just above. The computers were analysing the deep and dark web and the screens were silently displaying the news from all around the world. The best way to find good news to use. To complete it all, there was a huge desk in the bottom of the room. It was facing the door and turning its back to the large window although the owner of the place loved turning around to catch the spectacle of the sky when the sun was either rising or going down the horizon. He could also spend nights looking at the stars through the lens of the telescope set by the window. Camden McCarson certainly was a man full of knowledges and a great collector of weird objects that didn’t make sense to the beginner she was. She had learnt that asking questions could sometimes give answers. As long as she wasn’t asking about the woman that was on the picture he kept on his desk. He never replied to this question but she had often seen him lost in his thoughts while he had his eyes on this photography. When she stepped in his office that day, he was leaning in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk, his hands folded behind his head. A smile grew on the corner of his lips when he saw her. It was night outside but thankfully, he had offered her a room in the gigantic manor he was living in so she hadn’t had to go through the dangerous streets to meet him when he had called her at over 4am. Which was making rather moody to be honest. She hated being woken up by the mad man. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she grumbled. She had taken the time to pull on some clothes before coming. He would never seen her in her pyjamas. He was already being an arse with her normal clothes so if she did show herself to him in pyjamas, he would either choose to ignore them or make a comment that would infuriate her. Better not take that chance. “Barely.” “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” To be honest, she had never seen him sleep. Whenever she was seeing him, he was up to something and he never seemed tired. But once again, it was a question he never really answered to whenever she dared asking him why he would stay up all the time. “What is so urgent that requires me to be up in the middle of the night?” “We have a new case.” “You’ve finally found something worth your talent?” “Someone sent me an email from London.” “There are survivors somewhere in the capital.” “Seems like it. Listen to this.” He brought his laptop closer to him and started reading the mail he had left opened. “Mister and Miss McCarson…” “Hm,” disapproved Donna. “I know, as if we could ever be married or even related.” “Oi, watch it old man!” Camden preferred ignoring the remark and not raising it. Their clients were always thinking that they were related in some way because of their ‘similar personalities’. They must be really blind to think such a thing of them. They were barely friends so to think they were relatives or married… “My name is Tegan Smith and I’m working at the London Centre of Researches for Contagious Diseases. As you might know, there is a virus spreading in the world and all the labs around the world have been requisitioned to find a cure against it. I can’t say more through this mail as our mission has to remain a secret to the people who aren’t working on this case. However, my colleague, the doctor Jack Harkness, has found something that needs to be examined by a professional detective. He highly recommended your services. Would you agree to a meeting with the doctor Jack Harkness and myself in the days to come in our lab? Please, let me know your answer quickly. Patiently waiting for your reply. T.S.” “This guy sounds like a newbie promoted to the head of his team by these dark times.” “What surprises me the most is that I know Jack very well and I also know he’s been working for one of the most brilliant minds this world can count.” “And that mind isn’t Tegan Smith.” “Oh, no. That’s why I wondered what happened to the real boss of this place.” “So, you wanna go just to see what he’s up to?” Camden put his computer aside and uncrossed his legs. He put them down and bent forward in his chair, leaning his head on one hand. He gave Donna another smirk. This was one of the reasons, yes. Maxence Spitz was a very interesting man and Camden couldn’t resist fighting another brilliant mind. He liked challenges and this looked like one. “We don’t have much work lately, don’t you agree?” “I’m not surprised at all since the world is coming to an end. Do you ever watch your own screens?” She pointed her thumb on the screens displaying the news from all around the world. Different channels but the news was the same: the virus was spreading, there were less and less survivors, less and less hope to find a cure. Some were even saying that the end of the world had come like the Mayas predicted millions of years ago. How many times the end of the world had been announced over the decades? It would be astonishing to have one being true in the end. “So, are we taking this case?” “We are.” “I’m preparing our luggage.” Donna quickly left the room. She wasn’t reassured by the fact they would have to travel through Scotland and England to reach that lab requiring their help but she guessed that security means would be established for them to travel safely. Especially since the situation had gone so critical in the last few days. To the doctor Tegan Smith’s attention: My associate, Donna Noble, and myself have examined your request and concluded that we were accepting the case you’re offering us. We can be there tomorrow. We leave to you all the organisation of the security means to guarantee our safety until we reach your lab. Cordially, McCarson & associates. The mail was sent and now, Camden was too thrilled to even find sleep. This mission was a real opportunity for Donna and himself. They better not screw it all up. So, while Donna was taking care of their luggage – more hers than his since she wasn’t his dogsbody – he made sure they would have a flight for London with his personal jet. No need to take risks and travel in public planes. They had to get to London quickly and discreetly and he hoped that Tegan Smith would make sure their security was guaranteed or it would cost him a lot…

To be continued...

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In the next chapter:

So she had been promoted into their private team. It was no surprise to Rose. Adam had been on the field, so had Allegro and Emily and Kyle. With the events of the last few days, they would need a psychological help. They only had doctor Amy Burnley. She hadn’t been hired by Maxence but that didn’t mean she wasn’t good. Rose just wasn’t into therapists. She had seen a lot of them after what had happened to her over fifteen years ago. They wanted to help her they had said but none of them was able to do so. Only Maxence had been able to and now that he wasn’t there anymore, she had no one to protect her against her demons.

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