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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Dishwashers have become Iphones

Apple is a true business innovator: For more than a decade, they have been steadily perfecting an obscure anticompetitive tactic, turning a petty grift invented by console games companies into a global, cross-industry mechanism for extracting rents and centralizing control.

I'm speaking of App Stores, of course, and not just any app store, but one that's illegal to compete with or switch away from. This started with console companies, who used technical tricks to ensure that they could skim a rake from every program you bought for your system.

Consoles used proprietary hardware or media formats to ensure that software vendors couldn't sell directly to you, that every sale would be forced through their storefronts or licensing systems.

These tactics acquired the force of law in 1998 after Bill Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), whose Section 1201 made it a felony to traffick in "circumvention devices" that bypassed "access controls" for copyrighted works.

Broadly, that meant that you could go to prison (for five years!) for making anti-DRM tools. What's more, DMCA 1201's drafters rejected tying the law to acts of copyright infringement, making it illegal to remove DRM, even if you did so for a perfectly legal reason.

For example, if your games console had some code that ensured that the software you were running had been taxed by the manufacturer, then removing that code could become a criminal act - even though that has nothing to do with copyright infringement.

To make that concrete: copyright is supposed to help creators and audiences transact with one another. If you own a console and I wrote some software for it, then copyright should facilitate you paying me money for it and then running it on your console.

But if the console's manufacturer had designed its product so that it got to impose a tax on transactions like this, then I can't sell you my copyrighted work anymore unless I pay the tax. Doing so is a felony, but not because it infringes copyright.

No, it's a felony because it's bad for the manufacturer's shareholders. It's what Jay Freeman calls "Felony Contempt of Business Model."

Now, the defenders of this practice say it's not anticompetitive because I can invent and manufacture a different, competing console, sell it to you, and then sell you my code without paying tax.

But this isn't how competition works. Companies don't get to say, "You can compete with me, but only on the terms I set, and in the domains where I think I have an advantage." Excluding competition in "complimentary goods" (like apps) is 100% anticompetitive.

For several years after the passage of the DMCA, the abuse of Sec 1201 to create "Felony Contempt of Business Model" stuck mostly within the realm of games consoles, with the exception of mixed results in the printer ink market.

Then along came the App Store for Apple's Ios devices: these were designed to be locked to a single app store, so that people who made copyrighted works (apps) and people who wanted to buy them (Ipod/pad/phone owners) couldn't transact without going through Apple.

Apple's paternalistic pitch was that it would only use this power to benefit its customers. The press *loved* this story, because Steve Jobs posed himself as a daddy-figure who would use apps to get us all to pay for media again.

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

The consensus that Apple should be able to decide how other companies could compete with it was advanced by its most loyal customers, who'd long considered themselves to be a kind of oppressed religious minority.

They insisted that there was no reason to allow a third-party app store because everyone who owned an Ios device loved using Apple's App Store.

But when anyone pointed out that if this was true, then there would be no reason to ban third-party stores (because they'd fail), they'd switch tactics, saying that any Ios user who switched stores was Doing It Wrong.

This is the Apple fanboy No True Scotsman argument: "Everyone loves the limitations of Apple's walled gardens, and if they don't, they're not really Apple customers. If they didn't want to be locked into the walled garden, they should have bought a different device."

To understand how weird this is, consider the inverse: we live in a market society based on property rights. Once I buy an Ios device, I get to decide which programs I run on it and who I buy them from. If Apple didn't like that deal, it shouldn't have sold me an Ios device.

This belief-system is intrinsically conservative, in the sense articulated by Frank Wilhoit: "There must be in-groups whom the law protectes but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect."

https://crookedtimber.org/2018/03/21/liberals-against-progressives/#comment-729288

How else to explain the indifference of Apple trufans for the company's decision to reverse-engineer all of Microsoft Office's file formats and make compatible players for them, and their defense of Apple's strict prohibition on doing this to Ios?

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

But even if you think Apple will never abuse the power to decide who can compete with it to make complimentary products that interoperate with its own devices, the norms, laws and precedents backstopping Apple's business-model innovations can by used by anyone.

In 2015, I wrote a Guardian microfiction that exposed the perils of allowing companies to choose their competitors. It was called "If Dishwashers Were Iphones."

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2015/feb/13/if-dishwashers-were-iphones

It was a letter from the CEO of an "innovative" dishwasher company explaining why his customers were wrong to try to wash third-party dishes in his products.

The comments swiftly filled up with Apple defenders who decried it as an absurd, over-the-top analogy.

To those people, I say, behold, the Bob Dishwasher! It's a cute, countertop dishwasher aimed at single-person households, and it uses a proprietary cartridge for detergent dispensing, at about $0.67/wash - about $242/year.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVup5ya0WVQ

The company makes a lot of familiar, paternalistic claims to justify selling a non-refillable, single-use electronics package that becomes immortal e-waste once you've used it up and replaced it: the precision electronics and proprietary detergent ensure optimal performance.

dekuNukem bought a Bob and decided that he - and not the manufacturer - should decide whether the "advantages" of throwing out the cassette and buying a new one were worth it. He reverse-engineered it and made a defeat device he calls a "rewinder."

https://github.com/dekuNukem/bob_cassette_rewinder

The tale of how he did this makes for a fascinating read, especially the analog sleuthing he did using product safety labels to reverse-engineer the "proprietary" composition of the detergent and rinse-aid, which turn out to be commodity products marked up by 7700%!

Extraordinarily, he's actually selling the Rewinder, for $30. This shouldn't be extraordinary, but it is, thanks to the penalties under DMCA 1201 (and the UK equivalent law, derived from Article 6 of 2001's EU Copyright Directive).

https://www.tindie.com/products/dekuNukem/bob-rewinder-renew-your-bob-dishwasher-cassette/

It's not just dishwashers, either. Would-be digital rentiers have figured out that they can turn their shareholders' preferences into legal obligations to their customers by engineering their products so they have to be used in specific ways...or else.

For example, KLIM makes a motorcyclist's airbag vest that deactivates itself if you stop making subscription payments (of course, this means that anyone who exploits a defect in KLIM's IT can shut off all its airbag vests, everywhere).

https://twitter.com/TrashGoat00/status/1387301889356689410/photo/1

If that sounds extreme to you, it's really not. Tesla has many safety features that are marketed as downloadable content, which it remotely deactivates when a car changes hands through a private sale:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

If you find yourself scrambling for reasons that it's OK for Tesla to do this with its cars, but not for KLIM to do it with its airbag vests, allow me to gently remind you that Tesla owners are not an oppressed religious minority, either.

This kind of rent-seeking is just getting started. As I tried to illustrate in my novella UNAUTHORIZED BREAD (part of my 2019 book RADICALIZED), there are limitless ways for Apple's pioneering business innovation to destroy our lives:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

And as I wrote in my story "Sole and Despotic Dominion," this is a frontal assault on the idea of personal property - it creates a world where property is the exclusive purview of remorseless, transhuman colony organisms (AKA corporations).

https://reason.com/2018/11/17/sole-and-despotic-dominion/

However, that future is anything but assured. Apple is being sued by Epic for antitrust violations over its Felony Contempt of Business-Model system:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/02/technology/apple-epic-lawsuit-app-fees.html

And European competition regulators have opened an enforcement action against the company on the same basis:

https://www.cnbc.com/2021/04/30/eu-says-apples-app-store-breaches-competition-rules.html

Meanwhile, copycats who created their own Felony Contempt of Business Model walled gardens, like Valve did with Steam, are facing their own lawsuits, courtesy of Wolfire:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2021/04/humble-bundle-creator-brings-antitrust-lawsuit-against-valve-over-steam/

We've come a long way in a decade, and the No True Scotsman defense of the right of a dominant corporation to interpose itself between buyers and sellers, to control its customers' choices after a sale, is finally facing a real challenge.

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

#pluralistic

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shihalyfie · 3 years

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Hi :) If it's not too much trouble, could you please share your take on why they'd continue the Adventure brand after tri. was such a flop? (and a tangent: what does "dark history" even mean?). We got Kizuna, the reboot, and a 02 movie. Logically, it doesn't really make sense they'd keep investing in it.

This is a thorny topic, and I'd like to reiterate that although I've ended up making more posts related to this series and the discourse surrounding it recently (probably because it's even more on the mind now that another movie is on the horizon and a lot of people are apprehensive for various reasons), I do not want this blog to be making a brand out of being critical of this series. I’m writing this here and in public because I figured that there is a certain degree I need to clarify what I mean about audience reception/climate and how it might impact current or future works, and I’m admittedly also more than a little upset that I occasionally see Western fanbase criticisms of the series getting dismissed by people claiming that the only people mad about it are dramamongering or ignorant Westerners (which could not be further from the truth). However, this is mainly to address this and to answer your question, and is not intended to try and change anyone's existing opinion or impression of the series as much as it's me trying to explain (from my own personal reading of the situation) what practically went down with critical reception in real life; no more, no less.

The short summary of the matter is:

The series was a moderate financial success (albeit with some caveats; see the long version for details) and definitely outstripped a lot of prior attempts to revive the franchise;

However, the overall Japanese fanbase-side critical backlash from tri. was extremely and viciously negative to the point where even acknowledging the series too much could easily result in controversy;

Kizuna’s production and the PR surrounding it very obviously have this in mind with a lot of apparent “damage control” elements.

The long version is below.

Note that while I try to be diligent about citing my sources so people understand that I’m not just making things up wholesale, I’m deliberately refraining from linking certain things here this time, both because some of the things mentioned have some pretty crude things written there -- it’s not something I feel comfortable directing people to regardless of what language it’s in -- and because I don’t want to recklessly link things on social media and cause anyone to go after or harass the people involved. For the links that have been provided, please still be warned that some of them don’t really link to particularly pleasant things.

I am not writing the following information to suggest that anyone should agree or disagree with the sentiments being described. I know people tend to take "a lot of people like/hate this" as a signal of implication "it is correct to like/hate this" when it's not (and I especially dislike the idea of implying that Japanese fanbase opinions are the only correct ones). There's a reason I focus on "critical reception being this way" (because it influences marketing decisions and future direction) rather than how much this should impact one's personal feelings; this is coming from myself as someone who is shamelessly proud of liking many things that had bad critical reception, were financial failures, or are disliked by many. As I point out near the end, the situation also does seem to be changing for the better in more recent years as well.

Also, to be clear, I'm a single person who's observing everything best I can from my end, I have no affiliations with staff nor do I claim to, and as much as I'm capable of reading Japanese and thus reading a lot of people's impressions, I'm ultimately still another “outsider” looking in. These are my impressions from my observation of fan communal spaces, following artists and reading comments on social media and art posting websites, and results from social media searches. In the end, I know as much as anyone else about what happened, so this is just my two cents based on all of my personal observations.

A fanbase is a fanbase regardless of what part of the world you're from. There are people who love it and are shameless about saying so. There are people who have mixed feelings or at least aren't on extreme ends of the spectrum (as always, the loudest ones are always the most visible, but it's not always easy to claim they're the predominant percentage of the fanbase). That happens everywhere, and I still find that on every end I've seen. However, if I'm talking about my impressions and everything I’ve encountered, I will say that the overall Japanese reaction to tri. comes off as significantly more violently negative on average than the Western one, which is unusual because often it's the other way around. (I personally feel less so because the opinions are that fundamentally different and more so because we're honestly kind of loud and in-your-face people; otherwise, humans are mostly the same everywhere, and more often than not people feel roughly the same about everything if they’re given the same information to work with.)

This is not something I can say lightly, and thus would not say if I didn’t really get this impression, but...we're talking "casually looking up movie reviews for Kizuna have an overwhelming amount of people casually citing any acknowledgment of tri. elements as a negative element", or the fact that even communal wikis for "general" fandoms like Pixiv and Aniwota don't tend to hold back in being vicious about it (as of this writing, Pixiv's wiki refuses to consider it in the same timeline as Adventure, accusing it of being "a series that claims to be a sequel set three years after 02 but is in fact something different"). Again, there are people who openly enjoy it and actively advocate for it (and Pixiv even warns people to not lord over others about it condescendingly because of the fact that such people do exist), and this is also more of a reflection of “the hardcore fanbase on the Internet” and not necessarily the mainstream (after all, there are quite a few other Digimon works where the critical reception varies very heavily between the two). Nevertheless, the take-home is that the reputation is overall negative among the Internet fanbase to the point that this is the kind of sentiment you run into without trying all that hard.

I think, generally speaking, if we're just talking about why a lot of people resent the series, the reasons aren't that different from those on the Western side. However, that issue of "dark history" (黒歴史): there's a certain degree of demand from the more violently negative side of the fanbase that's, in a sense, asking official to treat it as a disgrace and never acknowledge it ever again, hence why Kizuna doing so much as borrowing things from it rather than rejecting it outright is still sometimes treated like it’s committing a sin. So it's somewhat close in spirit to a retcon movement, which is unusual because no other Digimon series gets this (not even 02; that was definitely a thing on the Western end, but while I'm sure there are people who hate it that much on their end too, I've never really seen it gain enough momentum for anyone to take it seriously). If anyone ever tells you that Japanese fanbases are nice to everything, either they don't know Japanese, are being willfully ignorant, or are lying to you, because there is such thing as drama in those areas, and in my experience, I've seen things get really nasty when things are sufficiently pushed over the edge, and if a fanbase wants to have drama, it will have drama. This happens to be one of those times.

(If you think this is extreme, please know that I also think so too, so I hope you really understand that me describing this sentiment does not mean I am personally endorsing it. Also, let me reiterate that the loudest section of the fanbase is not necessarily the predominant one; after all, as someone who’s been watching reactions to 02 over the years, I myself can attest that its hatedom has historically made it sound more despised than it actually is in practice.)

My impression is that the primary core sentiment behind why the series so much as existing and being validated is considered such an offense (rather than, say, just saying "wow, that writing was bad" and moving on) is heavily tied to the release circumstances the series came out in during 2015-2018, and the idea that "this series disrespected Adventure, and also disrespected the fanbase.” (I mean, really, regardless of what part of the world you’re from, sequels and adaptations tend to be held to a higher bar of expectation than standalone works, because they’re expected to do them justice.) A list of complaints I’ve come across a lot while reading through the above:

The Japanese fanbase is pretty good at recordkeeping when it comes to Adventure universe lore, partially because they got a lot of extra materials that weren’t localized, but also partially because adherence to it seems to generally be more Serious Business to them than it is elsewhere. For instance, “according to Adventure episode 45, ‘the one who wishes for stability’ (Homeostasis) only started choosing children in 1995, and therefore there can be no Chosen Children before 1995” is taken with such gravity that this, not anything to do with evolutions or timeline issues, is the main reason Hurricane Touchdown’s canonicity was disputed in that arena (because Wallace implies that he met his partners before 1995). It’s a huge reason the question of Kizuna also potentially not complying to lore came to the forefront, because tri. so flagrantly contradicts it so much that this issue became very high on the evaluation checklist. In practice, Kizuna actually goes against Adventure/02 very little, so the reason tri. in particular comes under fire for this is that it does it so blatantly there were theories as early as Part 1 that this series must take place in a parallel universe or something, and as soon as it became clear it didn’t, the resulting sentiment was “wow, you seriously thought nobody would notice?” (thus “disrespecting the audience”).

A lot of the characterization incongruity is extremely obvious when you’re following only the Japanese version, partially because it didn’t have certain localization-induced characterization changes (you are significantly less likely to notice a disparity with Mimi if you’re working off the American English dub where they actually did make her likely to step on others’ toes and be condescending, whereas in Japanese the disparity is jarring and hard to miss) and partially due to some things lost in translation (Mimi improperly using rough language on elders is much easier to spot as incongruity if you’re familiar with the language). Because it’s so difficult to miss, and honestly feels like a lot of strange writing decisions you’d make only if you really had no concept of what on earth happened in the original series, it only contributes to the idea that they were handling Adventure carelessly and disrespectfully without paying attention to what the series was even about (that, or worse, they didn’t care).

02 is generally well-liked there! It’s controversial no matter where you go, but as I said earlier, there was no way a retcon movement would have ever been taken seriously, and the predominant sentiment is that, even if you’re not a huge fan of it, its place in canon (even the epilogue) should be respected. So not only flagrantly going against 02-introduced lore but also doing that to a certain quartet is seen as malicious, and you don’t have as much of the converse discourse celebrating murdering the 02 quartet (yeah, that’s a thing that happened here) or accusing people with complaints of “just being salty because they like 02″ as nearly as much of a factor; I did see it happen, or at least dismissals akin to “well it’s Adventure targeted anyway,” but they were much less frequent. The issue with the 02 quartet is usually the first major one brought up, and there’s a lot of complaints even among those who don’t care for 02 as much that the way they went about it was inhumane and hypocritical, especially when killing Imperialdramon is fine but killing Meicoomon is a sin. Also, again, “you seriously think nobody will see a problem with how this doesn’t make sense?”

I think even those who are fans of the series generally agree with this, but part of the reason the actual real-life time this series went on is an important factor is that the PR campaign for this series was godawful. Nine months of clicking on an egg on a website pretending like audience participation meant something when in actuality it was blatantly obvious it was just a smokescreen to reveal info whenever they were ready? This resulted in a chain effect where even more innocuous/defensible things were viewed in a suspicious or negative light (for instance, "the scam of selling the fake Kaiser's goggles knowing Ken fans would buy it only to reveal that it's not him anyway"), and a bunch of progressively out-of-touch-with-the-fanbase statements and poor choices led to more sentiment “yeah, you’re just insulting the fanbase at this point,” and a general erosion of trust in official overall.

On top of that, the choice of release format to have it spread out as six movies over three years seems to have exacerbated the backlash to get much worse than it would have been otherwise, especially since one of the major grievances with the series is that how it basically strung people along, building up more and more unanswered questions before it became apparent it was never going to answer them anyway. So when you’re getting that frustrated feeling over three whole years, it feels like three years of prolonged torture, and it becomes much harder to forgive for the fallout than if you’d just marathoned the entire thing at once.

For those who are really into the Digimon (i.e. species) lore and null canon, while I’m not particularly well-versed in that side of the fanbase, it seems tri. fell afoul of them too for having inaccurately portrayed (at one point, mislabeled) special attacks and poorly done battle choreography, along with the treatment of Digimon in general (infantilized Digimon characterization, general lack of Digimon characters in general, very flippant treatment of the Digital World in Parts 3-5). If you say you’re going to “reboot” the Digital World and not address the entire can of worms that comes with basically damaging an entire civilization of Digimon, as you can imagine, a lot of people who actually really care about that are going to be pissed, and the emerging sentiment is “you’re billing this as a Digimon work, but you don’t even care about the monsters that make up this franchise.”

The director does not have a very positive reputation among those who know his work (beyond just Digimon), and in general there was a lot of suspicion around the fact they decided to get a guy whose career has primarily been built on harem and fanservice anime to direct a sequel to a children’s series. Add to that a ton of increasingly unnerving statements about how he intended to make the series “mature” in comparison to its predecessor (basically, an implication that Adventure and 02 were happy happy joy series where nothing bad ever happened) and descriptions of Adventure that implied a very, very poor grasp of anything that happened in it: inaccurate descriptions of their characters, poor awareness of 02′s place in the narrative, outright saying in Febri that he saw the Digimon as like perpetual kindergartners even after evolving, and generally such a flippant attitude that it drove home the idea that the director of an Adventure sequel had no respect for Adventure, made this series just to maliciously dunk on it for supposedly being immature, and has such a poor grasp of what it even was that it’s possible he may not have seen it in the first place (or if he did, clearly skimmed it to the extent he understood it poorly to pretty disturbing levels). As of this writing, Aniwota Wiki directly cites him as a major reason for the backlash.

In general, consensus seems to be that the most positively received aspect of the series (story-wise) was Part 3 (mostly its ending, but some are more amenable to the Takeru and Patamon drama), and the worst vitriol goes towards Parts 2 (for the blatantly contradictory portrayal of Mimi and Jou and the hypocritical killing of Imperialdramon) and 4 (basically the “point of no return” where even more optimistic people started getting really turned off). This is also what I suspect is behind the numbers on the infamous DigiPoll (although the percentage difference is admittedly low enough to fall within margin of error). However, there was suspicion about the series even from Part 1, with one prominent fanartist openly stating that it felt more like meeting a ton of new people than it did reuniting with anyone they knew.

So with all of that on the table: how did this affect official? The thing is that when I say “violently negative”, I mean that also entailed spamming official with said violently negative social media comments. While this is speculation, I am fairly certain that official must have realized how bad this was getting as early as between Parts 4 and 5, because that’s where a lot of really suspicious things started happening behind the scenes; while I imagine the anime series itself was now too far in to really do anything about it, one of the most visible producers suddenly vanished from the producer lineup and was replaced by Kinoshita Yousuke, who ended up being the only member of tri. staff shared with Kizuna (and, in general, the fact that not a single member of staff otherwise was retained kind of says a lot). Once the series ended in 2018 and the franchise slowly moved into Kizuna-related things, you might notice that tri.-branded merch production almost entirely screeched to a halt and official has been very touchy about acknowledging it too deeply; it’s not that they don’t, but it’s kind of an awfully low amount for what you’d think would be warranted for a series that’s supposed to be a full entry in the big-name Adventure brand.

The reason is, simply, that if they do acknowledge it too much, people will get pissed at them. That’s presumably why the tri. stage play (made during that interim period between Parts 4 and 5 and even branded with the title itself) and Kizuna are really hesitant to be too aggressive about tri. references; it’s not necessarily that official wants to blot it out of history like the most extreme opinions would like them to, but even being too enthusiastic about affirming it will also get them backlash, especially if the things they affirm are contradictory to Adventure or 02. And considering even the small references they did put in still got them criticism for “affirming” tri. too much, you can easily see that the backlash would have been much harder if they’d attempted more than that; staying as close as possible to Adventure and 02 and trying to deal with tri. elements only when they’re comparatively inoffensive was pretty much the “safe” thing to do in this scenario (especially since fully denying tri. would most certainly upset the people who did like the series, and if you have to ask me, I personally think this would have been a pretty crude thing to have done right after the series had just finished). Even interviews taken after the fact often involve quickly disclaiming involvement with the series, or, if they have to bring up something about it, discussing the less controversial aspects like the art (while the character designs were still controversial, it’s at least at the point where some fanartists will still be willing to make use of them even if they dislike the series, albeit often with prominent disclaimers) or the more well-received parts of Part 3; Kizuna was very conspicuously marketed as a standalone movie, even if it shared the point of “the Adventure kids, but older” that tri. had.

(Incidentally, the tri. stage play has generally been met with a good reputation and was received well even among people who were upset with the anime, so it was well-understood that they had no relation. In fact, said stage play is probably even better received than Kizuna, although that’s not too surprising given the controversial territory Kizuna goes into, making the stage play feel very play-it-safe in comparison.)

So, if we’re going to talk about Kizuna in particular: tri. was, to some degree, a moderate financial success, in the sense that it made quite a bit of money and did a lot to raise awareness of the Digimon brand still continuing...however, if you actually look at the sales figures for tri., they go down every movie; part of it was probably because of the progressively higher “hurdle” to get into a series midway, but consider that Gundam Unicorn (a movie series which tri.’s format was often compared to) had its sales go up per movie thanks to word of mouth and hype. So while tri. does seem to have gotten enough money to help sustain the franchise at first, the trade-off was an extremely livid fanbase that had shattered faith in the brand and in official, and so while continuing the Adventure brand might still be profitable, there was no way they were going to get away with continuing to do this lest everything eventually crash and burn.

Hence, if you look at the way Kizuna was produced and advertised, you can see a lot of it is blatantly geared at addressing a lot of the woes aimed at tri.: instead of the staff that had virtually no affiliation with Toei, the main members of staff announced were either from the original series (Seki and Yamatoya) or openly childhood fans, the 02 quartet was made into a huge advertising point as a dramatic DigiFes reveal (and character profies that tie into the 02 epilogue careers prominently part of the advertising from day one), and they even seemed to acknowledge the burnout on the original Adventure group by advertising it so heavily as “the last adventure of Taichi and his friends”, so you can see that there’s a huge sentiment of “damage control” with it. How successful that was...is debatable, since opinions have been all over the board; quite a few people were naturally so livid at what happened with tri. that Kizuna was just opening more of the wound, but there were also people who liked it much better and were willing to acknowledge it (with varying levels of enthusiasm, some simply saying “it was thankfully okay,” and some outright loving it), and there was a general sentiment even among those who disliked both that they at least understood what Kizuna was going for and that it didn’t feel as inherently disrespectful. (Of course, there are people who loved tri. and hated Kizuna, and there are people who loved both, too.)

Moreover, Kizuna actually has a slightly different target audience from tri.; there’s a pretty big difference between an OVA and a theatrical movie, and, quite simply, Kizuna was made under the assumption that a lot of people watching it may not have even seen tri. in the first place. An average of 11% of the country watched Adventure and 02, but the number of people who watched tri. is much smaller, in part due to the fact that its “theater” screenings were only very limited screenings compared to Kizuna being shown in theaters in Japan and worldwide, and in part due to the fact that watching six parts over three years is a pretty huge commitment for someone who may barely remember Digimon as anything beyond a show they watched as a kid, and may be liable to just fall off partway through because they simply just forgot. (Which also probably wasn’t helped by the infamously negative reputation, something that definitely wouldn’t encourage someone already on the fence.) And that’s yet another reason Kizuna couldn’t make too many concrete tri. references; being a theatrical movie, it needs to have as wide appeal as possible, and couldn’t risk locking out an audience that had a very high likelihood of not having seen it, much less to the end -- it may have somewhat been informed by tri.’s moderate financial success and precedent, but it ultimately was made for the original Adventure and 02 audience more than anything else.

I would say that, generally, while Kizuna is “controversial” for sure, reception towards the movie seems to be more positive than negative, it won over a large chunk of people who were burned out by tri., and it clearly seems to have been received well enough that it’s still being cashed in on a year after its release. The sheer existence of the upcoming 02-based movie is also probably a sign of Kizuna’s financial and critical success; Kinoshita confirmed at DigiFes 2020 that nothing was in production at the time, and stated shortly after the movie’s announcement that work on it had just started. So the decision to make it seems to have been made after eyeing Kizuna’s reception, and, moreover, the movie was initially advertised from the get-go with Kizuna’s director and writer (Taguchi and Yamatoya), meaning those two have curried enough goodwill from the fanbase that this can be used to promote the movie. (If not, you would think that having and advertising Seki would be the bigger priority.) While this is my own sentiment, I am personally doubtful official would have even considered 02 something remotely profitable enough on its own to cash in on if it weren’t for this entire sequence of events of 02′s snubbing in tri. revealing how much of a fanbase it had (especially with the sheer degree of “suspicious overcompensation” Kizuna had with its copious use of the 02 quartet and it tagging a remix of the first 02 ED on the Hanareteitemo single, followed by the drama CD and character songs), followed by Kizuna having success in advertising with them so heavily. Given all of the events between 2015 and now, it’s a bit ironic to see that 02 has now become basically the last resort to be able to continue anything in the original Adventure universe without getting too many people upset at them about it.

The bright side coming out of all of this is that, while it’s still a bit early to tell, now that we’re three years out from tri. finishing up and with Kizuna in the game, it seems there’s a possibility for things improving around tri.’s reception as well. Since a lot of the worst heated points of backlash against it have a very “you had to have been there” element (related to the PR, release schedule, and staff comments), those coming in “late” don’t have as much reason to be as pissed at it; I’ve seen at least one case of a fanartist getting back into the franchise because of Kizuna hype, watching tri. to catch up, casually criticizing it on Twitter, and moving on with their life, presumably because marathoning the whole thing being generally aware of what’ll happen in it and knowing Kizuna is coming after anyway gives you a lot less reason to be angry to the point of holding an outright grudge. Basically, even if you don’t like it, it’s much easier to actually go “yeah, didn’t like that,” not worry too much about it, and move on. Likewise, I personally get the impression that official has been starting to get a little more confident about digging up elements related to it. Unfortunately, a fairly recent tweet promoting the series getting put on streaming services still got quite a few angry comments implying that they should be deleting the scourge from the Internet instead, so there’s still a long way to go, but hopefully the following years will see things improve further...

In regards to the reboot, I -- and I think a lot of people will agree with me -- have a bit of a hard time reading what exact audience it’s trying to appeal to; we have a few hints from official that they want parents to watch it with their children, and that it may have been a necessary ploy in order to secure their original timeslot. So basically, the Adventure branding gets parents who grew up with the original series to be interested in it and to show it to their kids, and convinces Fuji TV that it might be profitable. But as most people have figured by now, the series has a completely different philosophy and writing style -- I mean, the interview itself functionally admits it’s here to be more action-oriented and to have its own identity -- and the target audience is more the kids than anything else. As for the Internet fanbase of veterans, most people have been critical of its character writing and pacing, but other than a few stragglers who are still really pissed, it hasn’t attracted all that much vitriol, probably because in the end it’s an alternate universe, it doesn’t have any obligation to adhere to anything from the original even if it uses the branding, and it’s clearly still doing its job of being a kids’ show for kids who never saw the original series nor 02, so an attempt to call it “disrespectful” to the original doesn’t have much to stand on. A good number of people who are bored of it decided it wasn’t interesting to them and dropped it without incident, while other people are generally just enjoying it for being fun, and the huge amount of Digimon franchise fanservice with underrepresented Digimon and high fidelity to null canon lore is really pleasing the side of the fanbase that’s into that (I mean, Digimon World Golemon is really deep in), so at the very least, there’s not a lot to be super-upset about.

#tri negativity #shiha's ask box #springcrafter

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

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Monstrous Secrets Chapter 3

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1250

Summary: Mor.

After returning--you hesitated to call it this but--home to the Hewn City, your main contact with Eris, your mate, were letters that appeared on your bedside table right beside the ones from Rhys. Part of you wondered how the both of them would react to learning they shared this little similarity.

Mostly, the pair of you discussed the goings on of daily life in your respective courts; though, nothing either of you shared was anything that would be considered a weakness in your courts. Occasionally, very occasionally, there were deeper, more meaningful discussions. Quippy banter, to the contrary, became fairly common much to your surprise. Then one day you received a note--for it wasn’t near long enough to be considered a letter--the likes of which you’d never expected. It was just one line, no explanation, no signoff, just three words.

“Please forgive me.”

Before you could pen a reply, Cassian burst into the room. “You need to come quickly. It’s Mor.”

You hadn’t laid eyes on your friend in weeks. Really since that ball where you learned that your fate was tied to Eris’s You could barely stand to look at her in all honesty. Partially because you were assigned across the house from her usual haunts (something you were suspicious of due to the suddenness of the shift since you couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a reason Rhys did it) and partially because you felt so damned guilty about the fact that you were chest-deep in the process of falling for her unwanted fiancé. Guilt that, over the next few hours, would claw its way deeper and deeper into the pit of your stomach as you learned the true horror of what happened to Mor at the border of Autumn.

Her sleeping with Cassian however long ago to ruin her virginity was an act of desperation that was unexpected but not all that surprising.

Her father trying to force the marriage anyway, not at all shocking.

But the story, however vague, of what they did to her when Eris said in no uncertain terms that he would not be going through with the engagement. Then the fact that he’d just left her there, potentially to die of her various injuries. Especially in light of the knowledge that he’d been so close to getting her out of the whole arrangement. At minimum, it made you want to go back and tell her that you had a way out, that she didn’t have to go through such desperate measures. At worst, you wondered if Eris was really the man you’d come to know him as or if he was really how Rhysand and the others claimed.

You had to speak to him. Speak, not write. So you penned your own note as soon as you were able.

“Meet me where you left her or I’ll never speak to you again.”

You told no one you were leaving, let alone where you were headed. This was a mess for you to sort out, not them. Still, no matter how this panned out, you’d never be able to tell anyone who your mate was; that was certain. Gone was whatever hope you had that you’d all be able to sit around a table at Solstice. Gone was the dream that you might one day have your own wedding with your family smiling happily for you. Now with this looming over Eris’s past.

Sure enough, the second your feet touched the ground, he was stepping out of the shadows.

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling up in your eyes.

His shoulders were slumped, hands in his pockets. A far cry from his usual, cocky self. “Because if I’d touched her, everything would have been over. For us and for her.”

“What the ever-loving fuck does that mean?! Is it so far beneath you to offer her help? Cauldron’s sake, Eris, what if it’d been me?! Would you have turned me away as well??”

His voice was uncharacteristically icy when he muttered, “If it was you, there is no force in Prythian that would have kept me from your side.” A deep breath hissed past his teeth. Scalding hot rage danced in those golden eyes. “If I’d so much as touched her, it would have been as good as accepting her as my wife. I don’t expect you to understand how Court poli--”

“Now is absolutely not the fucking time to talk to me like I’m lesser, Vanserra,” you snapped.

His jaw visibly clenched before he spoke again. “If I helped her, I would have no choice but to marry her. Because she acted so rashly, there was no clean way to break off the engagement. She would have been bound to me, trapped in a court surrounded by ravenous hounds, and I to her, doomed to know I would never be able to wed you.

“I won’t make excuses to say it was acceptable. Not to you. But you know how my father can be. Cauldron knows the only one in my family not like him is Lucien. Her fucking an Illyrian bastard--” There was a weight to those words that made your insides squirm. Too many times you’d seen his normally-neat handwriting turn jagged or blood spot the page after Beron ‘punished’ his eldest son, but you couldn’t let that insult slide.

“I’m an Illyrian bastard, Eris. Does that make it acceptable to make you suffer for talking to me?!”

“I am not saying it makes it acceptable!” he snapped. “She’s alive and free because of my actions, so I cannot regret the end result. I can only regret how she got there. I will live the rest of my life with that regret, but at least I know she will get to live hers.”

“They will never forgive you.” There was so much else in your tone than just those words. All the hopes and dreams for the future that the pair of you had developed in your letters were dashed forever.

“As they shouldn’t.”

Those tears finally spilled over as you asked the question that’d plagued you since discovering he was your mate. It felt like asking it just added fuel to the fire that was trying to separate you at every turn, a fire named Beron Vanserra. “We’ll never be able to tell anyone about us, will we?”

In the span of a second, he was across the space between you and was pulling you into his arms. One hand cradled your head to his chest, the other pressed against the small of your back. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Your hands clenched against his shirt. “They’ll kill you if they so much as smell you.”

“I wouldn’t blame them.”

You looked up at his face. “Eris . . .” was all you managed to utter before grasping at the nape of his neck to pull him down for a desperate kiss.

It was him that pulled away after a few moments. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against your forehead after placing a tender kiss there.

You wanted to assure him that it was alright, but it truly wasn’t. “I know.”

“What she okay? When you left?”

“Unconscious again, but healing. Azriel and Cassian are playing guard dog for her.”

“Good.” There was a pause. “I--” The words seemed to get caught in his throat. “I am proud to have you as my mate, Illyrian bastard or not.”

Your hand slid up to cup his cheek. “We’ll get through this, Eris. One way or another.”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra imagine #eris x reader #eris imagine #reader insert #acotar imagine #a court of thorns and roses imagine

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miserablesme · 3 years

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The Les Miserables Changelog Part 1: Barbican Previews

Hello everyone! I'm starting out a blog which will look at my favorite musical, Les Miserables, and will discuss the various changes it has gone through over time (musically and lyrically). As it turns out, a LOT of edits have been made over the years so this will doubtless be a series with several parts.

This first part may well be the most difficult and will almost certainly be the most incomplete, as previews can be a time of extensive editing and experimentation. At least for the first few weeks or so, it's perfectly possible any one day of previews will be slightly different than any other day. However, I only have access to two audios from the Barbican Theatre previews of Les Miserables, meaning it's likely that lyrical variants exist which I have no way of hearing.

I am aware of the existence of a third audio which is fairly early in the run of previews, as the tape's master has told me that Gavroche's death scene is in its original form (I'll clarify that later). However, that tape has never been traded, and has sadly only been listened to by its master. I am also aware of a video proshot of the Barbican era that exists in the Royal Shakespeare Company library, but currently have no access to it. I plan to inquire about whether I can look at it sometime (though I'm not sure a blog like this is "official" enough to warrant it for research purposes). As such, this comparison only entails the two widely circulated audios from the Barbican run.

Now that we've gotten that cleared up, let's get started!

First, let's look at the opening "Work Song". In the earlier recording I have (let's call it R1), the beginning music (the same tune used, for instance, at the opening of "At the End of the Day" and "One Day More" and for Marius and Cosette's meeting in "The Robbery") stops. Then, a few moments later, the more familiar opening that leads directly into the prologue begins. By the time of the later recording I have (let's call it R2), the scores have been combined so that the first tune directly transitions into the second one.

Meanwhile, in R1 there is a sequence of lines that goes as follows:

I've done no wrong

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer

Look down, look down

Sweet Jesus doesn't care

I killed a man

He tried to steal my wife

Look down, look down

She wasn't worth your life

I know she'll wait

I know that she'll be true

Look down, look down

She's long forgotten you

Most fans of the musical recognize the middle sequence of lines ("I killed a man" through "She wasn't worth your life") as no longer being lines in the show (for good reason, as we'll get into in a later edition of this blog). However, R2 keeps the lines. Instead, it deletes the third sequence ("I know she'll wait" through "She's long forgotten you"). I have no idea if this lasted only a few performances or made it all the way to the end of the Barbican run, or somewhere in between.

During "On Parole", specifically after Valjean is underpaid for his labor and sings about his frustration, R1 uses a variation of the "Work Song" theme which, to my recollection, is heard nowhere else in the musical. It can be heard here. By R2, it was switched to an in-tune version of the number with a unique opening. The musical retains that version to this day, but in case you can't recall it you can hear it here.

Minus an unintentional line flub in "At the End of the Day" in R2, the two Barbican recordings seem to use the same libretto and score from this point until "The Runaway Cart". At this point, R1 has a rather extensive scene leading up to Valjean saving Fauchelevent, which goes approximately as follows (the dialog is difficult to make out):

(VALJEAN)

Is there anyone here who will rescue the man?

Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart?

I will pay any man thirty louis d’or more

I will do it myself if there’s no one who will

We can’t let him die like that down in the street

Can you all watch him die and do nothing at all?

(FAUCHELEVENT)

Don’t approach me, Monsieur Mayor

The cart’s not gonna be holding

Not my poor mother would care if I should die

(TOWNSPEOPLE)

Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor

There's nothing at all you can do

The old man's a goner for sure

Leave him alone

Most of that dialog is deleted in R2, so that it goes directly from "Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart" to "Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor". I really like the idea of the original version; it seems reasonable that Valjean, having become a more trusted man, would expect the townspeople to help him. It's more meaningful that Valjean is good enough to do what's right when there's more time to establish that no one else is. Having said that, the original version did take quite a while and didn't really contain any relevant information that wasn't in the final version. I think the cut version as heard in R2 is a good compromise and retains the general mood and pacing to make Valjean's ultimate action satisfying (something that can't be said of later cuts, as will be discussed in a future edition of this blog).

Additionally, at the end of the number Javert refers to "the mark upon his skin" in R1 and "the brand upon his skin in R2 (as well as literally every subsequent performance since then to my knowledge). I have no idea if the "mark" line was a minor flub or was actually the original lyric.

"Who Am I?" is an interesting one. The musical content is identical in R1 and R2, but in R1 after his high note, Valjean shouts "You know where to find me!" with emotion so dramatic it sits right on the border between awesome and campy. By contrast, Valjean is totally silent after his high note in R2. Neither version would see its final day just yet, although the latter certainly has become more traditional over time. More on that in future editions.

From this point until "Master of the House" everything is the same between the two recordings. Roger Allam even comes in slightly late in both "Confrontation" scenes (making his line "-jean, at last...")! However, in the opening to "Master of the House" the following lines occur in R1:

(THENARDIER)

My band of soaks, my den of dissolutes

My dirty jokes, my always pissed as newts

My sons of whores

Spend their lives in my inn

Homing pigeons flying in

They fly through my doors

And their money's good as yours

(CUSTOMERS)

Ain't got a clue what he put into his stew

Must've scraped it off the street

Hell, what a wine

Châteauneuf de Turpentine

Must've pressed it with his feet

Landlord over here

Where's the bloody man

One more for the road

One more slug of gin

Just one more or my old man is gonna do me in

All of those lines would be scrapped in R2. Personally I prefer this shortened variant than the one that would occur much later. Sure, some fun moments get lost, but nothing that actually adds any substance or characterization to the musical (unlike the later cut, which I'll discuss in a later edition of this blog). Some have speculated that this is simply lost dialog due to a tape flip of degrading, given that future performances would retain those lines. However, there is firsthand confirmation that the cuts were in fact part of the performance. To quote Trevor Nunn on page 87 of 1990's The Complete Book of Les Miserables (a page which elaborates that "the cost of overtime incurred after three hours could be crippling at a time when Les Miserables was still trying to find an audience"):

"Cameron wanted major cuts, which would have reduced its length to two and a half hours. I resisted, refusing to discuss things on those terms... Some of the other proposed cuts - like the removal of the "Master of the House" scene-setting preamble - were tried out in previews and then restored as the scenes would not work without them."

From a historical perspective that quote is invaluable. As will be brought up in a later blog post (notice a pattern today?) the musical would in fact be cut much later to avoid overtime charges. When people like myself have expressed the opinion that these cuts come at the expense of artistic integrity, I've seen others defend them by claiming that the overtime costs never were relevant to Cameron and the gang until Broadway sales began to go down, and that if they were taken into account the musical may well be in its shortened form from the beginning. However, this quote proves that argument to be false. Right from day one, the crew was aware that retaining a >3 hour runtime would come with severe financial costs, but this was deemed a worthy sacrifice in order to tell the story they wanted told. Indeed, it sounds like Cameron Mackintosh was waiting quite some time to enact his infamous cuts! (Cameron Mackintosh valuing profit above art?! Crazy, right??)

But I digress. Going back to the musical, the "Waltz of Treachery" number is mostly the same. However, after Valjean's "It won't take you too long to forget" line, R1 has over a minute of wordless vamping which leads right into the rather awkwardly-placed "Stars" song. By contrast, in R2 this vamping (which is still a minute long, mind you) leads into a humming duet between Little Cosette and Valjean, similar to the duet right before the number. A nice little bookend that makes the scene feel all the more resolved. (Much later this duet reprise would ironically be scrapped again, though!) The remaining segment of R1's vamping now plays after this sequence in R2.

Minus some unintentional missed lines at the beginning of "Stars" in R1, the recordings seem to follow the same libretto right up until "One Day More". Here, R1 uses the following lines:

(EPONINE)

One more day with him not caring

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

Was there ever love so true?

(EPONINE)

What a life I might have known

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

I was born to be with you

However, by R2 this scene is in its current form:

(EPONINE)

One more day with him not caring

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

I was born to be with you

(EPONINE)

What a life I might have known

(MARIUS and COSETTE)

And I swear I will be true

And that closes act one! Going on to the second act, the opening barricade scene has a few changes. First off, following the opening notes, R1 features a rather odd tune bearing resemblance to "Do You Hear the People Sing" (which can be heard here) before transitioning to a more true-to-form instrumental reprise of "Do You Hear the People Sing?" By contrast, R2 goes straight from the opening notes to the true-to-form reprise.

Next, Enjolras proclaims "Have faith in yourself and do not be afraid" in R1, while in R2 he instead states "Every man to his duty and don't be afraid". It's unknown if this was an intentional libretto change or if it simply reflects a flub during R1. A later sequence uses the "Have faith in yourself" line, meaning he may have just sung the wrong line for that particular scene.

Finally, R1 includes the following sequence (at least I think this is how it goes, since the lyrics are a little hard to hear):

(PROUVAIRE)

And the people will fight

(GRANTAIRE)

And join with you

Who gives a speech in the square

Fortunately, R2 uses a much less clunky (though still somewhat so) sequence:

(PROUVAIRE)

And the people will fight

(GRANTAIRE)

And so they might

Some will bark, some will bite

This isn't quite its current form ("dogs" and "fleas" will soon respectively replace the two usages of "some"), but it's pretty darn close.

I've heard that the very first Barbican preview(s?) didn't have a finalized opening to "On My Own". Sadly there is no known audio record of this, so I cannot comment on what exactly it began as. As such, the next major change takes place during Gavroche's death scene. This honestly is probably the biggest of all the changes between the two recordings. R1 uses the following death scene (in the tune of "Look Down" right up until the "So never kick a dog" verse, which is in the tune of "Little People"):

How do you do, my name’s Gavroche

These are my people, here’s my patch

Not much to look at, nothing posh

Nothing that you’d call up to scratch

Some fool, I bet, whose brains are made of fat

Picks up a gun and shoots me down

Nobody told him who he’s shooting at

He doesn’t know who runs this town

Life’s like that

There’s some folk

Missed the joke

That’s three, that’s three

That one has done for me

Too fast, too fast

They’ve got Gavroche at last

So never kick a dog

Because he’s just a pup

You better run for cover when the pup grows...

By contrast, R2 uses a much shorter variant which is set entirely to the tune of "Little People":

And little people know

When little people fight

We may look easy picking but we've got some bite

So never kick a dog

Because he's just a pup

You'd better run for cover when the pup grows up

And we'll fight like twenty armies and we won't give...

This is much closer to its current form, although the last two lines are inverted (we'll get to that in a later edition).

We now fast-forward to "Dog Eats Dog", which while recognizable is very different from the number we know today. The chorus of R1 claims that "It's a dirty great sewer that's crawling with rats", which R2 changes it to "stinking great sewer" instead. I'd definitely say the revised lyric better captures Thenardier's and the sewer's grossness.

Additionally, regarding Marius' ring, Thenardier originally exclaims that he "didn't mean to waste it, that would really be a crime". By R2, the line changes to "wouldn't want to waste it", which I'd say makes a lot more sense.

"Javert's Suicide" has changed a lot. R1 features the following remarks following "Vengeance was his and he gave me back my life":

Damned if I live in this caper of grace

Damned if I live in the debt of Valjean

I'll spit his pity right back in his face

Is this the law or has sanity gone?

(I'm a little unsure as to how accurate the final line is.)

By R2, the lines have been replaced with the current ones:

Damned if I live in the debt of a thief

Damned if I yield at the end of the chase

I am the law and the law is not mocked

I'll spit his pity right back in his face

In R1, the "Where's the new world, now the fighting's done" line is absent, and there is nothing but instrumentals in the segment where it is usually sung. By contrast, it is sung as usual in R2. My guess is that an actress simply forgot her line in R1 and it was always supposed to be there, though I can't say for sure.

The final change occurs at the wedding scene. The singing which opens the number is repeated in R1. By contrast, R2 has it sung once and then done with, as it currently is (and as it should be in my opinion, since the music isn't particularly pretty and contributes nothing to the plot).

Later in the same scene, R1 includes approximately this exchange (again, it's quite hard to make out the exact lyrics):

(THENARDIER)

I was there

Never fear

Even got me this fine souvenir

He was there

Her old dad

*indecipherable* and fleecing this lad

Robbed the dead

That's his way

(MME. THENARDIER)

That's worth five hundred any old day

(MARIUS)

I know this...

By R2, everything between "He was there" and "Any old day" were removed, which makes sense given that they essentially just rehash what was already said.

Finally, there's a subtle difference in the epilogue, specifically during the "Do You Hear the People Sing?" reprise. In R1, the ensemble sings "They will live again in glory in the garden of the Lord". R2 replaces the word "glory" with "freedom", and that word remains the one used to this day. I suppose "freedom" is more appropriate for the context of peace and prosperity. To many, I'd guess that "glory" conjures imagery of knights, battles, and the like; just the kind of violence that the characters wish to move away from! I have no idea if this was why the writers changed the lyric, but it's my hypothesis.

Towards the end of the show, the chorus in R1 sings "Even the darkest moon will end and the sun will rise". By R2, this is changed to "the darkest night". Makes more sense to me, since moons aren't known for being particularly dark!

And that just about sums this part up! If I missed anything feel free to let me know, as my goal is to create a changelog as thorough and complete as possible. I plan on making more parts in the near future covering all the changes that have been made in the show up until this day (discounting concerts). Any feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

As a side note, both for this project and my own enjoyment, I want as complete a collection of Les Miserables audios as possible. I already have most of what's commonly circulated, but if you have any audios or videos you know are rare, I'd love it if you DMed me!

Until the turntable puts me at the forefront again, good-bye...

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solalunar-eclipse · 3 years

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45.06°N, 1.656°E

Summary: Rouge deserves more cool.

Word count: about 4200 words

Author’s Note: Hopefully my writing abilities haven’t deteriorated too much over the hiatus- but either way, please enjoy! (Side note: this is technically set after Scars You Can’t See, but it isn’t vital to read that if you haven’t already)

...

It was truly a beautiful day outside in Empire City. Puffy clouds drifted across a rich blue sky, a light breeze pushing them along as the sun shone down brightly- just enough to bring the temperature up to a comfortable range. Its rays shimmered upon one of the many tall, silvery buildings that this city was known for, threatening to leave a temporary mark on the vision of anyone who looked at it for too long. This particular building advertised itself as an insurance company’s headquarters, and it looked perfectly in place amongst all the other skyscrapers in the city.

The activities going on inside, however, were anything but ‘in place’.

Near the very top of the towering structure, a bat sat in front of a wall-sized computer screen, her black-gloved fingers flying across the keyboard. Firewalls and security systems fell like sandcastles swept out by the tide- no corner of this building was safe when she was in control. Identity checks meant nothing to her, passwords were a breeze, and two-factor authentication? A joke.

Rouge smiled in satisfaction, taking a break to stretch out her fingers now that she was successfully through the various measures designed to keep hackers like her out of these computers. With a click of the mouse and a few keys tapped, the various sums of money the people who worked here had stolen began to make their way back to their rightful owners’ bank accounts.

After all, this building didn’t actually house an insurance company. That was just a cover story for the real business here- draining the cash out of innocent people’s funds. Rouge had been determined to stop this as soon as she’d learned about it before any more people got hurt (when she stole it was usually from rich people who could afford to have one of many diamonds go missing- this was just cruel!), and now she’d successfully completed about half the job. Just returning the money wasn’t quite enough, of course- this scheme had been running for over a year now, and it was about time someone put a stop to it for good.

That was where her friends came in.

While she manned the cameras, Shadow and Omega were grabbing plenty of physical evidence from the various offices throughout the building- more than enough to incriminate everyone who worked here. Rouge’s job was mostly to ensure that they could get what they needed without any serious trouble. It might be a difficult task, considering that Omega was set on blowing up most of the tech stored here...but she was prepared to deal with that.

The bat leaned back in her chair, catching a quick glimpse of herself in the window as she did so. Ever since they’d left G.U.N., a great perk (in addition to the lack of association with a corrupt military organization, obviously) was that they could wear whatever they wanted on the job. Before, Rouge had really been pushing it on ‘formality’ with her jumpsuit alone, and even then she hadn’t been allowed to wear anything else while on the job for the sake of ‘consistency’.

Now, in a drastic change from her usual style, she wore a tight black leather jumpsuit over a purple shirt, complete with white gloves and high-heeled boots. The latter two had neon blue accents, too, providing a burst of color as well as an actual light source to see by- perfect for dark missions.

Shadow and Omega hadn’t been allowed any personal effects re: clothing before due to the fact that a few too many supervisors saw them as weapons and not people. Rouge had of course argued against this, but there was only so much one person could do.

Now, though, the bat had insisted that both of her friends get more clothing- ‘if nothing else then to stick it to them’ were her exact words- and they had both taken to it quite well after an initial period of hesitancy. Omega in particular had been quite devastated (and then promptly offended) upon discovering that no leather jackets were currently produced in his specific size. Eventually, however, he was placated with the offer of a fedora, claiming it made him look ‘VERY MYSTERIOUS’. He had now taken to collecting hats as well as weaponry.

Shadow could fit into a leather jacket, on the other hand, and consequently owned about five of them, three of which he’d bought within the same week. Today he wore one with red stitching, and while he hadn’t had anything to say about it, Rouge had caught him admiring it in the mirror before the mission (at which point he scowled, blushed green to his ears, and teleported away).

Right now, though, he and Omega were quietly discussing which documents to take and which ones to leave behind. It would raise suspicions far too quickly if the criminals inhabiting this building came back to discover a completely bare office, after all, so they only took several receipts of major transactions as well as a list of the bank account numbers that had been hacked- and some future targets as well.

(Was this whole thing illegal? Kind of. Did anyone really mind so long as they were helping others? Not really. After all, Tails was totally not old enough to fly a plane, but at this point the government had basically thrown up their hands and said ‘whatever I guess’, so it was fine.)

“ROUGE.” Omega said suddenly, making the bat stop her musing and drop her feet from the desk. “THIS IS IMPORTANT.”

“Yeah, hon? What is it?” she asked, ready to deal with any problems that might arise.

“MY HAT KEEPS FALLING OFF. I REQUIRE SOME SORT OF METHOD TO KEEP IT ON.”

The bat sighed and gave a relieved laugh as Shadow hissed, “Omega! This is a serious mission!”

“It’s alright, Shadow. Omega, we’ll find some double-sided tape or something when we get home, alright?”

The robot paused for a moment, thinking. “THIS IS ACCEPTABLE.”

As Rouge watched, they gathered up the rest of the items and began to move towards the lobby. Today was an off day for the ‘business’, so most of the hallways would be empty. The secretary out front would take his usual break to go get lunch in two minutes as well, giving them a clear chance to escape.

And of course that was when everything went wrong.

It turned out that leaving G.U.N. (while the right idea) wasn’t without its occasional disadvantages. If they’d still been part of the military organization, then they would’ve had the resources to figure out that these criminals were more than a little paranoid, so their security system ran diagnostics every hour on the dot. When it discovered the hacking, it locked Rouge’s access to any other computer terminal and then restricted every single application on that one computer.

These people weren’t exactly beginners when it came to computers, after all.

The bat jumped out of her chair the second her computer glitched and froze, panicked. “Guys. Guys, get out of here right now.” she said urgently into her microphone. “I can bust out a window but you two have to go right now-”

She froze as, on the screen, multiple armed guards and two gigantic mechs dropped down onto the ground level and pointed their guns at Shadow and Omega. The robot moved to cover the hybrid’s back as Shadow pulled his favorite katana sword out of its scabbard.

Rouge refused to sit and watch another minute, kicking the door off its hinges hard enough to slam it against the opposite wall and tearing down the hallway to save her teammates.

Shadow and Omega fought well in the meantime, managing to take out one of the mechs and several guards too. Occasionally, Shadow even curled up and was promptly fired out of his friend’s cannon at top speed, turning into a deadly projectile all by himself.

Eventually, though, one of the guards got too smart and pulled out a stun gun, shocking Omega long enough to put the robot temporarily out of commission. Shadow spun around to defend his friend, using the Chaos Emerald he’d brought along to deliver a devastating blow- but he had nobody to watch his back now, and it barely took a minute before the mech found an opening to slam him into the wall as he dealt with the guards.

Shadow dropped to the ground weakly, temporarily unconscious. Omega was still struggling to get his systems back online.

Rouge, meanwhile, was furious.

The bat rushed to the balcony overlooking the lobby from the third floor, her teeth bared as she watched the mech move into position, prepared to bring its giant fist down on Shadow’s unmoving body. Flipping over the railing, she free-fell the three stories to the ground, slamming both heels into the marble and leaving a long crack across the floor. She snatched up the Emerald from the tile where it had fallen out of Shadow’s quills, holding it tightly in her hand.

“Leave him alone. Now.” she snarled.

When the mech pilot gave her nothing more than a cursory glance, raising the steel fist higher, Rouge charged.

An ultrasonic shriek exploded from her lungs, making every other human in the room double over and clutch their ears. At the exact same time, the glass in the extra-tall windows of the lobby vibrated, cracked, and then shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Rouge didn’t see any of that. Rouge didn’t care about any of that. All she could see was the hedgehog she’d come to care about so much about to be crushed by someone who barely even knew his name.

She jumped up and whirled around in the air, the power of her wings suddenly (strangely) strong enough to send the mech swaying backwards slightly, before lashing out with a kick that dented the chestplate of the thing and hit it hard enough to-

-and Rouge’s eyes widened-

-to send it flying through the shattered windows and down the street that the building faced, so far that it became nothing more than a speck in the horizon.

This was, incidentally, a mech that weighed over two tons.

Omega, near the other end of the room, silently thanked every inventor that had ever lived (aside from Eggman) that he had powered back on in time to see this.

Rouge, however, didn’t spare more than a second to think about it, instead dropping to her knees to check on Shadow. The moment she pressed the Chaos Emerald back into his hand, the hybrid’s eyes began to open slowly.

“Ugh….what happened…?”

“That moron of a pilot smacked you into a wall, hon. Are you gonna be okay?” Rouge asked, scanning his face for any sign of a concussion.

Shadow blinked twice, then suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. “...Rouge? Are you sure you’re alright?”

The bat frowned, confused, looking over herself. “Yeah, hon, I’m….”

She froze.

While Rouge had seen many strange things in her time, the sight of her lower legs and feet glowing bright purple was certainly a first.

As she jumped back from Shadow in surprise, she let go of the Chaos Emerald in his hand, making the aura surrounding her fade. “What...what was that?”

“YOU WERE SO COOL. THAT IS WHAT THAT WAS.” Omega declared, hauling himself to his feet and walking over. “YOU BEGAN TO GLOW AND KICKED THAT INFERIOR CREATION SEVERAL MILES AWAY. THE ONLY REGRET IN THIS SCENARIO IS THAT YOU WERE UNABLE TO CONTINUE DESTROYING YOUR ENEMIES, AS THERE WAS ONLY ONE OF THEM.”

Shadow looked up at her in surprise and- was that a little bit of awe? “I should have known you’d be able to use Chaos powers!” he said, shaking his head as he got to his feet. “Incredible...it’s no wonder you’re so resilient in battle.”

Rouge pointedly ignored the light flush on her face from all of this praise. “Well, we’ve got what we came for, so there. We’ll leave all of this evidence-” and clearly she wasn’t just talking about the papers- “for that new organization the government’s setting up. What’s it called again?”

Omega shrugged- an odd motion with his bulky shoulders. “THEY’RE STILL DECIDING. HOPEFULLY IT TURNS OUT TO BE SOMETHING COOL.”

“Well, whatever their name is, it’s their job now to deal with all this.” Rouge said, gesturing around at the general mess.

At that moment, the secretary returned with his food, only to stop dead in his tracks and stare at the three members of Team Dark amongst the wreckage of two gigantic robots and a lot of broken glass.

The bat ‘s face split into a wide, wicked grin, pointing directly at him. “And you’ll be the one to explain it to them!”

(It took one extremely short chase to retrieve the man- who foolishly thought he could lose Shadow and Rouge in the alleyways- before he was tied to one of the disgustingly ostentatious pillars by Omega. The team then went home and spent the next two hours watching Rouge glow and then break things…mostly things she meant to hit.)

…

Several days later, her team and Sonic's crew (plus Amy Rose) were in a different city, dealing with the usual biweekly Eggman attack. This one seemed, unfortunately, to not have most of the weak spots that usually came into play when fighting one of his giant robots, as both the power source and the mad scientist in question were heavily guarded.

However, after a particularly well-timed attack from Omega, Amy, and Knuckles all at once, Rouge spotted a panel that was currently rather dented and bent open with some wiring spilling out, and knew exactly what to do.

“Shadow! Omega! Cover me!” she shouted, leaping into the air and soaring towards the robot.

Immediately, she saw several smaller robots explode in her periphery, having fallen victim to the deadly lasers and Chaos Spears that her friends used. Her focus was on one thing and one thing only, though- making it up to that panel.

The moment Rouge latched on, she pulled open the panel the rest of the way and began to rewire the machine at an impressive pace. While she might not be the same kind of tech expert as Tails, who built devices and wrote code most people with a PhD couldn’t understand if they tried, one thing she certainly knew was how to make computers do what she wanted.

Eventually, though, Eggman caught on to what she was doing and tried to swat her off his mech with its two giant metal fists. “What do you think you’re doing down there with my robot?” he shouted, swinging at her wildly.

Suddenly, one of the fists in question promptly vanished, replaced by a smoking hole and a bunch of wires where a functioning steel hand was supposed to be. Rouge, startled, looked around for what could possibly have caused this- and promptly relaxed upon seeing Omega retracting his biggest laser cannon (which was glowing red-hot) back into his chassis with a glare up at his creator.

Thankfully, he’d also provided just the distraction she needed to rewire the last few parts, at which point she jumped off just as the robot began to spin wildly...and then its entire midsection exploded, launching the command center with Eggman still inside a good fifty feet into the air.

The bat landed on the ground to cheers from her friends and took a dramatic bow. Omega clapped a hand on her shoulder in a friendly way (which meant he only knocked the wind out of her and didn’t shove her several feet deep into the asphalt) as Shadow looked on with his arms folded, but still clearly proud.

“Wow, Rouge!” Tails exclaimed, his eyes wide and smile wider. “I didn’t realize you knew your way around that kind of tech that well- you should totally stop by my lab sometime!”

The bat shrugged. “It comes with the job, that’s all.” she insisted, but internally she was more than a little surprised- it still didn’t quite come naturally to her to consider that people would be impressed by what she did. All G.U.N. had ever told her was that she’d done ‘as well as was expected’, which made it seem like her skills were just average. Seeing someone who she’d mostly considered an acquaintance telling her how incredible her skills were when to her it was just ‘something I can do’ was...pretty nice, actually.

Rouge offered him a quick grin as the other three heroes came rushing up to her in varying states of surprise and excitement. “I just might take you up on that offer sometime.”

…

A week after that, Team Dark was spending time at the Station Square mall together- a common occurrence for them. It had good clothes, tolerable food, and most importantly lots of jewelry stores. They were here today because Rouge’s favorite was having a sale, and she refused to miss out on any opportunity to shop for gems.

After about an hour of looking around in the store (most of which was spent attempting to prevent Rouge from emptying said store and/or sneaking things out from inside locked cases), the three finally left with about four tiny bags of jewelry, which Omega wore hooked over his fingers. “THIS SEEMS WASTEFUL, BUT ALSO AMUSING.” he’d commented, at which point the bat riding on his shoulder gasped in mock outrage and began to vehemently defend the store’s choices.

They hadn’t gone more than a few steps, though, before she heard some gasps and squeals somewhere off to the left. She sighed. Some people seemed to have this odd hero-worship thing around Shadow, but the attention only made him feel awkward, so it looked like she’d have to play guard as usual here. Drifting down from her perch as the three young women approached, she said, “Alright, ladies, what are you here for?”

The bravest of the three moved forward, clutching something in her hands. “Uh…”

Rouge prepared herself to say no on behalf of her friend, to hear complaints like ‘why can’t we talk to Shadow?? You suck”, but then-

“...can you sign this poster, please?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t— wait, what?”

The bat stared at the poster, her eyes wide. A picture of herself looked right back at her, a smirk spread across her printed self’s face as jewels dripped from the hand not resting on her hip.

The photo was rather outdated now, having been taken not long after the ARK disaster. Post-crisis, Sonic had insisted that everyone (except for Eggman, since he’d caused that whole mess in the first place) get recognition for trying to save the planet together...and that included her.

Rouge and Sonic had both been wearing Shadow’s inhibitor rings during that photo shoot. It was their way of making sure that even though he wasn’t with them any longer, even though nobody would really remember who he was, he’d still live on in some little way without a big announcement.

She took the poster quickly, shaking off old memories, and gave them a genuine smile- rare for strangers. “Of course, hon!” she said, taking the offered pen and signing her name with a flourish and a little heart.

The one who’d asked promptly squealed and clutched at the poster, a big grin on her face. “Oh wow, thank you sooo much!” she gushed. “You know, you’re, like, my hero, right? Everyone always just, like, says that you can’t look good and be a real hero at the same time, you’re either a sell-out or too serious...but, you’re, like, both?? And that’s just so, y’know, empowering? To see someone looking fabulous and being a hero, but like not taking any nasty comments about it?”

Both her friends agreed eagerly, and Rouge found herself blushing just a little at all this praise. “If either of you have anything else, I could write something on those too,” she offered, still feeling a little bit bewildered at the moment.

This earned her two simultaneous squeals of “Really?!” followed by a lot of frantic searching for paper. Rouge was more than happy to sign her name there too, even adding a little message to each of them- and to the poster for good measure. As the three fans cheered, snapped a quick selfie with her (which was something she so wasn’t used to either), and then rushed off with a “thank you so much!!” Rouge found herself still smiling as she turned to walk back to her friends.

Shadow and Omega had moved a little ways away during all of the fuss, and now they were sporting similarly pleased expressions with more than a little bit of smugness mixed in. “SEE?” Omega asked, and Rouge could tell he’d be smirking if he were able to do so. “WE HAVE TOLD YOU OVER AND OVER AGAIN THAT YOU ARE EXCEPTIONALLY COOL. YOU DIDN’T BELIEVE US THEN, THOUGH….DO YOU NOW?” He stopped there and somehow promptly assumed an even stronger I-told-you-so air than before.

“Maybe you’ll even get your own fanclub before long...oh, wait. Look what I just found.” Shadow added, tossing his phone over to her. Only the faintest of smirks was visible on his face (they were in public, after all) as Rouge stared at the screen proclaiming the current website to be “The Official Rouge Fansite (anyone feel free to join!!)”.

The bat found herself blushing to her ears, flattered and surprised by all of the support she hadn’t known existed until now.

Omega picked her up and set her on his shoulder, turning his head to look up at his friend. “COOL PEOPLE LIKE YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WALK PLACES.”

“And-” Shadow added, slinging the bags she’d acquired at the store over her shoulder. “-cool people like you shouldn’t have to carry anything either.”

Rouge wondered briefly if her grin might strain her face if it grew much wider. Leaping down for a moment, she hovered in the air just long enough to ruffle the quills on top of Shadow’s head before perching back on Omega’s shoulder and patting the robot fondly. “You two dorks are the best.” she said warmly.

Shadow huffed and began to walk on ahead, clearly embarrassed. “DORK.” Omega called after the hedgehog, his eyes brightening by about fifteen percent in good humor.

“She called you one too, you know.” Shadow replied without looking back.

“YES, BUT YOUR DORKINESS IS MORE OBVIOUS.” Omega declared, by now shouting across several stores as Rouge tried to stifle a laugh.

“If you don’t catch up and stop talking I’ll hide all the hats in your favorite store and you’ll never find them.” the hybrid growled.

Rouge promptly discovered that Omega, despite weighing a thousand pounds, could in fact move quite quickly when threatened with the loss of a chance to add to his new clothing collection. The robot fired all of his boosters at once, sending them flying down that particular wing of the mall and nearly slamming into a wall in the process.

After a spirited chase that lasted over five minutes (along with lots of shouts of “get him, Omega!” and jumping off balconies and general taunting), the group was promptly escorted out of the mall without a chance to enjoy the store they’d started the ‘fight’ over in the first place.

Rouge watched her two friends sulk for a minute before smirking suddenly.

“Guess what?” she asked, stepping back to look at both of them.

When she had their attention, she pulled out a nice new summer outfit with a laugh…from that same place.

“You didn’t.” Shadow said, staring at the clothing.

“OH, SHE DID.”

Rouge then proceeded to pull both a cool hat in all gold and a nice blue bomber jacket out from behind her back as well, her smile widening even more. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you two at all. Or forgotten to pay, either.” she added quickly with a sigh. She soon shifted to watching with delight, though, as Shadow’s eyes widened considerably and Omega’s head whirled to fixate on her hand.

“HAND IT OVER.” he ordered, holding out his clawed, metallic fingers insistently.

“Well...since you asked so rudely...no.” Rouge replied, before leaping into the sky with a grin.

“What?” Shadow gasped.

The robot’s eyes narrowed. “DON’T YOU DARE.”

Rouge flew higher at that. “Oh, but I do dare.” She wheeled around and began to fly off at top speed, snickering at the sound of indignant shouts behind her. Soon enough, she heard the swish-swish of Shadow’s skates and the clanking of Omega not far behind.

They might be able to catch her eventually, she mused, soaring through a gap between buildings- she wasn’t that fast, really. It wouldn’t be easy for them at all, though.

After all, Rouge was just as powerful as they were, in her own way.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #45.06°N 1.656°E #the title is based on rouge's theme from the mad space level in sa2!#i thought the title and the song were cool so why not #also if you want to *follow* the coordinates...you might find a surprise #hehe #by the way! as you might have notice i tried writing omega's dialogue in all caps this time #*noticed #is that better or worse? feel free to let me know!#and yes in the first scene rouge is wearing her 'elite agent' outfit from sonic forces speed battle :)#the fedora idea is from khi's fanart for sycs because i love that art SO MUCH #yes there are lots of clothes in this but honestly team dark seems like the type to be stylish i think #it's rouge's influence #(also how do people end fics well i need advice)#(it just never works quite right...)#anyway! as always thanks for reading!#:D #sol's fanfiction

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kuramirocket · 3 years

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On July 10, 1520, Aztec forces vanquished the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés and his men, driving them from Tenochtitlan, capital of the Aztec empire. The Spanish soldiers were wounded and killed as they fled, trying in vain to drag stolen gold and jewels with them.

By September, an unexpected ally of the would-be conquerors had reached the city: the variola virus, which causes smallpox.

How the Aztecs responded to this threat would prove critical.

The Aztecs were no strangers to plagues. Among the speeches recorded in their rhetoric and moral philosophy, we find a warning to new kings concerning their divinely ordained role in the event of contagion:

Sickness will arrive during your time. How will it be when the city becomes, is made, a place of desolation? Just how will it be when everything lies in darkness, despair? You will also go rushing to your death right then and there. In an instant, you will be over.

Facing a plague, it was vital that the king respond with grace. They warned:

Do not be a fool. Do not rush your words, do not interrupt or confuse people. Instead find, grasp, arrive at the truth. Make no one weep. Cause no sadness. Injure no one. Do not show rage or frighten folks. Do not create a scandal or speak with vanity. Do not ridicule. For vain words and mockery are no longer your office. Never, of your own will, make yourself less, diminished. Bring no scorn upon the nation, its leadership, the government.

Retract your teeth and claws. Gladden your people. Unite them, humor them, please them. Make your nation happy. Help each find their proper place. That way you’ll be esteemed, renowned. And when our Lord extinguishes you, the old ones will weep and sigh.

If a king did not follow this advice, if his rule caused more suffering than it abated, then the people prayed to Tezcatlipoca for any number of consequences, including his death:

May he be made an example of. Let him receive some reprimand, whatever you choose. Perhaps punishment. Disease. Perhaps you’ll let your honor and glory fall to another of your friends, those who weep in sorrow now. For they do exist. They live. You have no want of friends. They are sighing before you, humble. Choose one of them.

Perhaps he [the bad ruler] will experience what the common folk do: suffering, anguish, lack of food and clothing. And perhaps you will give him the greatest punishments: paralysis, blindness, rotting infection.

Or will he instead soon depart this world? Will you bring about his death? Will he get to know our future home, the place with no exits, no smoke holes? Maybe he will meet the Lord of Death, Mictlanteuctli, mother and father of us all.

Clearly, the Aztecs took the responsibilities of leadership very seriously. Beyond uplifting morale, a king’s principal duty in times of contagion was deploying his subjects to “their proper place” so that the kingdom could continue to function. This included mobilizing the titicih, doctor-healers with vast herbal knowledge, most of them women pledged to the primal mother goddess Teteoh Innan.

What about the rest of the people? As with our own modern call for “thoughts and prayers,” the Aztecs believed their principal collective tool for fending off epidemics was a humble appeal to Tezcatlipoca. The very first speech of their text of rhetoric and moral philosophy was a supplication to destroy plague. After admitting how much they might deserve this scourge and recognizing the divine right of Tezcatlipoca to punish them however he sees fit, the desperate Aztecs tried to get their powerful god to consider the worst-case outcome of his vengeance:

O Master, how in truth can your heart desire this? How can you wish it? Have you abandoned your subjects? Is this all? Is this how it is now? Will the common folk just go away, be destroyed? Will the governed perish? Will emptiness and darkness prevail? Will your cities become choked with trees and vines, filled with fallen stones? Will the pyramids in your sacred places crumble to the ground?

Will your anger never be reversed? Will you look no more upon the common folk? For—ah!—this plague is destroying them! Darkness has fallen! Let this be enough. Stop amusing yourself, O Master, O Lord. Let the earth be at rest! I fall before you. I throw myself before you, casting myself into the place from which no one rises, the place of terror and fear, crying out: O Master, perform your office … do your job!

Smallpox arrived in Mesoamerica with a second wave of Spaniards who joined forces with Cortés. According to one account, they had with them an enslaved African man known as Francisco Eguía, who was suffering from smallpox. He, like many others on the continent of his birth, had no immunity to the disease carried there by the slave traders.

Eguía died in the care of Totonac people near Veracruz, the port city established by the Spanish some 250 miles east of the Aztec capital. His caretakers became infected. Smallpox spreads easily: not only blood and saliva, but also skin-to-skin contact (handshakes, hugs) and airborne respiratory droplets. It raced through a population with no herd immunity at all: along the coast, over the mountains, across the waters of Lake Texcoco, into the very heart of the populous empire.

The epidemic lasted 70 days in the city of Tenochtitlan. It killed 40 percent of the inhabitants, including the emperor, Cuitlahuac. Had he found it increasingly difficult to keep his people’s spirits up as tradition commanded? Had his leadership faltered? Did his subjects pray for his death?

Whatever the case, the memory of that devastation would echo for centuries. Some Nahuas—mostly the sons and grandsons of Aztec nobility—described the devastation decades after the conquest.

Their account harrows the soul:

It started during Tepeilhuitl [the 13th month of the solar calendar], when a vast human devastation spread over everyone. Some were covered in pustules, which spread everywhere, on people’s faces, heads, chests, etc. There was great loss of life; many people died of it.

They could not walk anymore. They just lay in bed in their homes. They could not move anymore, could not shift themselves, could not sit up or stretch out on their sides. They could not lay flat on their backs or even face down. If they even stirred, they screamed out in pain.

Many died of hunger, too. They starved because no one was left to care for the others; no one could attend to anyone else. On some people, the pustules were few and far between. They caused little discomfort, and those folks did not die. Still others had their faces marred.

By Panquetzaliztli [the 15th month of the solar year], it began to fade. At that time the brave warriors of the Mexica managed to recover.

But a hard lesson had been learned. None of the old remedies had worked. Entire families were gone. Funeral pyres effaced the sun.

The epidemic was only the beginning of the unexpected forces working in tandem to bring down the Aztec empire. On May 22, 1521—just as Tenochtitlan was beginning to recover, trying to rebuild trade routes, restock its supplies, replant its fields and aquatic chinampa gardens—Cortés returned.

This time he commanded more Spanish troops, men from the same second wave that had brought the smallpox. With them marched tens of thousands of Tlaxcaltecah warriors, the sworn enemies of the Aztecs. Smallpox had reached Tlaxcallan first, but its people—not as densely packed in urban areas like the Mexica—had fared better and were now ready to finish off their rivals.

The massive military force laid siege to the Aztec capital. Even with more than half the population dead or disabled, with little food or water or supplies, the Mexica held the city for three months.

Then, on August 13, 1521, it fell. Emptiness and darkness indeed prevailed.

Lines from a song composed by an unknown Mexica not long afterward sums up the emotions of the survivors:

It is our God who brings down

His wrath, His awesome might

upon our heads.

So friends, weep at the realization—

we abandon the Mexica Way.

Now the water is bitter,

the food is bitter: that

is what the Giver of Life

has wrought.

Without the smallpox, it’s much less likely Cortés and his allies could have taken Tenochtitlan.

The plague—cocoliztli—was the most devastating post-conquest epidemic in large parts of Mexico, wiping out somewhere around 80 percent of the native population.

“Somewhere around” because population estimates are difficult to come by, with extrapolations made from incomplete colonial sources that date back to precolonial times. For the ethnohistorian Charles Gibson, there is no “sure method for determining whether the later [colonial era] counts were more accurate or less accurate than the earlier ones,” so that “the magnitude of the unrecorded population seems unrecoverable.”

Nevertheless, Gibson’s best estimate is a population of 1,500,000 inhabitants of the Valley of Mexico at the time of first contact with Europeans. There was a sharp fall of about 325,000 by 1570; a drastic fall to about 70,000 by the mid-seventeenth century; followed by slow growth to about 275,000 by 1800. Gibson’s figures are simply staggering. They give us a rough impression, but tell us little about the suffering and massive social upheaval caused by these catastrophes.

Slavery, forced labor, wars, and large-scale resettlements all worked together to make indigenous communities more vulnerable to disease.

According to the “Virgin Soil” theory, the epidemics were so desctructive because “the populations at risk have had no previous contact with the diseases that strike them and are therefore immunologically… defenceless,” as the psychiatrist David Jones writes in the William & Mary Quarterly. The theory is still widespread, often devolving into vague claims that indigenous people had “no immunity” to the new epidemics. By now we know that the lack of immunity played a role, but mostly early on. Current research instead emphasizes an interplay of influences, for the most part triggered by Europeans: slavery, forced labor, wars, and large-scale resettlements all worked together to make indigenous communities more vulnerable to disease.

According to a group of scholars writing in the journal Latin American Antiquity, in colonial Mexico, “by the mid-17th century, many… communities had failed, victims of massive population decline, environmental degradation, and economic collapse.” This is why it’s crucial for today’s scholars to emphasize the influence of colonial policies—as opposed to the Virgin Soil theory, which shifts responsibility away from Europeans.

One peak of the epidemic occurred in the 1570s. The exact pathogen that caused that epidemic is not yet known. Some scholars have speculated that, since it struck mostly younger people, it might have been something unique to the New World and reminiscent of the Spanish Influenza outbreak, possibly a tropical hemorrhagic fever. Other recent theories include Salmonella, or a combination of diseases. Native communities were the main victims of this epidemic due to their poverty, malnourishment, and harsh working conditions compared to the Spanish population.

Three Circles in the Sun

Aztec authors from central Mexico noted their reactions to the epidemics in fascinating detail. Writing 100 years after the Spanish military takeover, they were painfully aware of the consequences of epidemics and colonization: epidemics had taken place before, but the unprecedented scale of the disasters caused widespread incomprehension, sadness, and anger.

Much of the extant writing by Aztec authors dates to the turn of the seventeenth century. Many of the authors had experienced the plague themselves, its effects still fresh in their memories. I want to focus on two pieces of writing: a report by the well-known historian Diego Muñoz Camargo from Tlaxcala, written in Spanish; and an anonymous text in the indigenous language, Nahuatl, from the Puebla region.

As Diego Muñoz Camargo, the famous historian from the era, wrote:

In 1576, another great pestilence struck this land, bringing death and destruction to the native population. It lasted over a year and brought ruin and decay to most of New Spain [the Spanish Viceroyalty covering today’s Mexico], as the native population was then almost extinct. One month before the outbreak of the disease, an obvious sign had been seen in the sky: three circles in the sun, resembling bleeding or exploding suns, in which the colours merged. The colours of those three circles were those of the rainbow and could be seen from eight o’clock until almost one o’clock at noon.

This passage demonstrates the great importance of omens for the Aztecs.

It is not surprising that the second report, from the smaller community of Tecamachalco, also links diseases with the appearance of a comet. Probably written by the native noble Don Mateo Sánchez, the text shows the extent of the catastrophe in words quite similar to Diego Muñoz Camargo’s:

On the first day of August [of 1576] the great sickness began here in Techamachalco. It was really strong; there was no resisting. At the end of August began the processions because of the sickness. They finished on the ninth day. Because of it, many people died, young men and women, those who were old men and women, or children… When the month of October began, thirty people had been buried. In just two or three days they would die… They lost their senses. They thought of just anything and would die.

Several of Don Mateo’s family members also died, including his wife and the alcalde (mayor) of his quarter. Don Mateo then took over the post of alcalde. One can sense his incomprehension and anguish. The decimation of the indigenous elites is evident throughout his account.

This decimation contributed to the transformation of native societies well into the seventeenth century, including forced native labor and resettlements, the introduction of hierarchical Spanish laws and government, Christianity, and the alphabet. Together with increasing European immigration, the epidemic led to a massive upheaval of indigenous sociopolitical organization and ways of life, especially in the Valley of Mexico.

Don Mateo’s is not the only surviving account of the epidemic from an indigenous perspective. Other anonymous annals from Puebla and Tlaxcala from the era discuss earlier waves of disease, which remained firmly rooted in collective memory more than 100 years after the events. Like Mateo, these sources do not try to account for the origin of the disease, but they provide an idea of the scale and horror of the epidemic and the personal tragedies involved, the uprooting of families, of whole towns.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards’ narratives tried to explain the catastrophic effect the disease had on the indigenous population by pointing to difficult living conditions. But they also interpreted it as divine punishment for paganism and a sign of the native peoples’ alleged inferiority to Europeans. Of course, European remedies such as bloodletting, used in hospitals to treat indigenous patients, worsened conditions instead of healing them. Ultimately, the Spanish Crown feared above all a further loss of cheap or unpaid labour; the priests a loss of souls to be converted.

Holding Off Oblivion

Despite the harsh conditions, the descendants of the Aztecs did not give up—as has long been claimed in traditional scholarship. As the historian Camilla Townsend has argued, the demographic collapse lent urgency to the projects of major native historians—including the authors I’ve cited in this essay. Nearly all pre-Hispanic sources were destroyed by the Spanish, with some lost over time. The Chalca scholar Domingo de Chimalpahin commented on this confluence of factors: the destruction of sources and abandonment of communities strengthened his sense of responsibility to future generations. By writing history, he attempted to save his ancestors’ past from looming oblivion. Drawing on pre-Hispanic faith, continuing political participation, and recording the histories of their people: these are some of the ways in which Aztecs proactively shaped their lives following colonial devastation.

Centuries of colonial exploitation and violence have made the indigenous peoples of both Americas disproportionately vulnerable to current epidemics. This makes the resilience of indigenous peoples and cultures all the more incredible. Such resilience has developed over more than 500 years, in the face of continual adversity and disregard. Native American peoples provide varied and remarkable testimonies on weathering existential crises. The least we can do, in the midst of the current pandemic, is listen.

Other Source

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eightyonekilograms · 3 years

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Someone on the Discord brought up fertility

Just like last time I'm lazy and just going to dump it instead of editing.

[5:10 PM] Me: Oh boy, I have thoughts about this

[5:12 PM] Me: I haven't brought it up here but demographics has been one of my covid obsessions. I got a couple books about it (What to Expect When No One's Expecting, One Billion Americans, etc.), read all the articles, etc.

[5:15 PM] Me: I agree with you about a couple things: namely that if we had "infinite free energy" we'd be a a lot better off in many ways including demographically, but I disagree with most of your other points.

[5:18 PM] Me:

Also we need not assume decline in population growth is chronic.

This is a tricky statement because there's a social aspect and a mathematical aspect. Socially you're correct in the sense that whatever trends are driving the current decline could, in theory, reverse at any time. But mathematically, population decline is exactly symmetrical to population growth: it's exponential (technically it's logistic, but that's the same as exponential in the short term), because having fewer people means fewer people to make more people later on.

[5:20 PM] Me:

Infact there is some evidence to suggest that we actually did more science when we had 4-6 billion people.

I disagree with the implication here: we used to do more science because there was more low-hanging fruit, which is now plucked, and further discoveries require more resources (human and financial). Actually one of the big reasons I disagree with Ray Kurzweil and the other singularitarians is that when they show these impressive-looking exponential curves about scientific progress, they quietly hide under the rug that these increases are requiring ever-more investment (again, in both people and money) to accomplish. Just to pick a random example, every time chip manufacturers go to a new process (14nm -> 10nm -> 7nm -> 5nm -> 2nm etc.), the cost to build the fab basically doubles. I remember a couple years back Intel had to spend $5 billion to hit a new process shrink; now TSMC needs to spend $28 billion to hit their next target: https://www.wsj.com/articles/tsmc-to-spend-up-to-record-28-billion-in-advanced-chips-capacity-11610623587)

[5:23 PM] Me: I will try to find it but I came across a paper a little while ago laying out in detail that the cost of new scientific discoveries has been steadily increasing over time. It's not that there's anything necessarily going wrong with the scientific process, this is just what you'd expect as we pick low-hanging fruit: the later discoveries necessarily become harder. But if you extrapolate that trend out forever you eventually hit a point where every single person needs to be a scientist, and every dime of capital in existence, needs to be used to make any new discoveries.

[5:26 PM] Me: (In most fields we're a long way from that point, but it actually is here or nearly here in e.g. particle physics. What I have been hearing from leading-edge particle physicists is that we've got maybe one or two more generations of particle accelerators left before we reach a point where, to probe any further (e.g. to see if string theory is true), we'd need to build accelerators the size of the Solar System, which would take more raw material than the mass of the Earth. Barring some new theoretical breakthroughs, we might actually nearing the "end" of high-energy physics.)

[5:30 PM] Me: Fortunately most fields aren't at that point, but my point is that the more we discover, the more human capital is required to make further progress. That's a tricky enough proposition with a growing population, never mind a shrinking one.

[5:36 PM] Me:

I don't think it is safe to assume lowering population growth is a biological disorder so much as a conscious choice most people in the younger generations are making for a variety of obvious reasons.

I agree with this, but it's important to dig into that a little and understand the reasons. For example, I'm not yet convinced that there is a mass epidemic of people choosing childlessness because of anxiety about e.g. climate change. In internet comments sections you certainly see lots of people making that claim, but talk is cheap and randos on the internet can say whatever they want. In terms of the actual reasons, the data I've seen shows that number of children continues to track closely with a couple data points, mostly housing costs, expected lifetime income and uncertainly about future income flow.

[5:40 PM] Me: Third, I think you should give more weight to the concerns Rhys brought up than you currently are. The environmental stresses of more people is certainly a big issue, but I think it's one that can be dealt with without too much struggle with increased deployment of clean energy (one of the few optimistic data points lately is that there's a staggering amount of wind and solar power being deployed every year) and a couple of lifestyle changes like eating less meat. Not to say these are easy, but contrast with the pretty serious problems of population decline, particularly the social safety net.

[5:41 PM] Me: And I don't just mean the explicit ones like Social Security, but even market-based, privatized ones like retirement savings have a hidden reliance on a growing population.

[5:42 PM] Me: When you "save for retirement", you're not stockpiling food and water to live off when you no longer work, you're collecting financial assets that you expect to sell to someone else and live off that income. But if there's no one to sell to, that doesn't work.

[5:44 PM] Me: This is a problem that's starting to show up at the top end of the income stack: see this WSJ article about retirees who can't find anyone to buy their $3 million homes: https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-growing-problem-in-real-estate-too-many-too-big-houses-11553181782. It's easy to have schadenfreude here at those poor rich people who can't unload their huge mansion, but remember that this is inherently a problem which will start at the top of the income brackets and gradually make its way downward.

[5:46 PM] Me: You can push this problem back for a while by increasing taxes on the rich, and I do indeed think those should go up, but in a declining population that only buys you a little time. Remember that "money" is nothing but a claim on some fraction of total economic output. e.g. when you hold a dollar bill, you're essentially holding a note entitling you to one-zillionth of American GDP.

[5:47 PM] Me: At a certain point once population falls then total aggregate output necessarily falls too, and at that point taxing the rich hits rapidly diminishing returns: you're just claiming a bigger share of falling output

[5:49 PM] Me: One thing to keep in mind here is that most economies, but especially the U.S. economy, are primarily driven by consumer spending, i.e. normal people just buying and selling stuff to each other.

[5:50 PM] Me: This is why e.g. mass immigration isn't as huge a deal as a bunch of nativists like to think: immigrants get jobs, but they also spend money on goods and services just like anyone else: they generate labor demand as well as taking up supply

[5:51 PM] Me: But what I'm driving at here is that, again, a consumer-spending-driven economy with a falling population is going to get poorer pretty much by definition: fewer people buying stuff means fewer jobs to produce that stuff.

[5:54 PM] Me: Or to put another way, to use a ridiculously simplified model, GDP = Population X Productivity, and so if you take the derivative, then GDP' ~ Population' + Productivity'. So in a falling population environment, you need a lot of heavy lifting in terms of forever-increasing productivity in order for economic growth to be positive. And while there might be improvements down the pipe, frankly we kind of seem tapped out on productivity growth already

[5:55 PM] Me: Now, one possible response here is that we should work out how to have an economic system which delivers prosperity without endless growth, and I do agree we need that. But just saying that doesn't fix the problem that right now we don't have it and people will be poorer in a world without growth.

[5:56 PM] Me: And in such a world, I think it actually becomes harder to successfully transition to whatever post-scarcity economy can fix the problem, because people will be caught up in fighting over a shrinking pie.

[5:58 PM] Me: The neoliberal capitalist mindset of "a rising tide lifts all boats" isn't totally true and has been used to justify all kinds of nasty plutocratic behavior, but it isn't entirely false either. Without growth, at least in the system we have now, wealth distribution inherently becomes a zero-sum game. And that could get really ugly.

[5:59 PM] Me: So, that's most of what I have to say about why a falling population would be bad. But that's the easy part. Where this gets really complicated is why it's happening and what to do about it

[6:00 PM] Me: Now, I think one of the reasons I've been so fascinated by this is that it's been a pessimistic year, and falling birth rates are kind of the perfect pessimistic problem because I don't really see an easy way out. Also I'm just annoyed by partisans in general, and this is a perfect problem for that because it sort of frustrates partisans on all sides.

[6:02 PM] Me: e.g. the left mainly talks about the economic causes and proposes a variety of policy solutions, but an ugly little secret here is that government policy to increase birth rates has basically a perfect, unbroken track record of total failure

[6:03 PM] Me: All kinds of countries (mostly in Europe, but also in East Asia) have implemented all kinds of pro-natalist policies, and for the most part they have accomplished pretty much nothing. (Amusingly, this even goes back to antiquity: in the first couple centuries AD Roman Emperors were also concerned with falling birth rates, and implemented a variety of reforms that didn't do anything)

[6:03 PM] Me: You could always say they didn't go far enough, but at some point you're making an unfalsifiable hypothesis

[6:06 PM] Me: Meanwhile on the right, they're constantly talking about cultural factors, but this runs into two problems: it's again a set of mostly unfalsifiable hypotheses, but even worse since they're all tangled up in the Right's usual rants about The Way Things Ought to Be, but even if they turned out to be true, it seems like a hopeless cause because we basically have no levers to change culture.

[6:07 PM] Me: "Why does culture develop in the direction it does" is one of those huge questions I'm not sure we'll ever have a complete answer for, but I think it has to mostly involve technological determinism.

[6:08 PM] Me: https://www.sciphijournal.org/index.php/2017/11/12/why-the-culture-wins-an-appreciation-of-iain-m-banks/ <-- this is a great article explaining what I'm talking about, as well as explaining why you should read Iain Banks

[6:09 PM] Me: But my point here is that all the cultural changes the Right laments as causing people to have fewer children, assuming they're even correct which I am definitely not granting, are pretty much all products of industrialization. You can't roll them back without undoing the Industrial Revolution. At least not without an insane level of authoritarianism

[6:10 PM] Me: So on the policy side we have a bunch of levers which don't do anything, and on the culture side there are no levers at all.

#meanwhile on the discord

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angelinasway · 3 years

Text

Regaining Hope Chapter Seven

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: Thank you all for your amazing and wonderful reviews. I do need to address something though, when it comes to reviews, I honestly don't mind anyone critiquing me when comes to grammar, characterization, or even if its kind of a heavy subject and someone feels like they need to debate me on it. That is absolutely fine, for instance I knew I would get a few blocks and even someone asking about the religious views of this story. I do not mind that. I do however mind, if you think I'm a decent writer, but then proceed to belittle the content of my story. I'm going to try to say this as absolutely nicely as I can...If you don't like the content of this story, if the talk of soulmates, soulbounds, or claiming is not for you, if the romance of this story is not for you, kindly back out of this story now and please just don't leave a review. I will say that anyone who's been in the BTVS fandom long enough already knows what a Claim is pretty much a fanon canon, since its been around our fanfiction community since like 2002 at least. Wesley mentioned Angel and Buffy being soulmates in season one of ATS, so that is actually canon. I say this in the nicest way possible, because sometimes I think reviewers who don't write, do not realize how much a review about content can actually screw with our muse and inspiration and I believe there will be at least a handful of people that do write who will agree with me. That being said, this chapter took as long as it did for me to write because of a bad review, so I'm sorry for the long winded exposition everyone. I know this chapter is a bit choppy and if it wasn't for my beautiful Beta Hipkarma, I'm pretty sure it would have been illegible. This chapter deals with some pretty heavy subjects and I added a warning tag just in case. I do not expect anyone to feel the way Buffy does on this subject, and if you feel the need I will gladly talk to you through pm about it. Thank you guys so much again, and please review, unless you know its an above subject and you hate it. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Seven

The plane arrived right on time as Clark anxiously awaited Buffy’s arrival outside the terminal. He’d felt this way since he awoke this morning and he didn’t know why. It was almost like that feeling you get when you know you’ve forgotten something.

He’d dreamt of her last night and it was so vivid and real that when he opened his eyes, he expected her to be there. The feeling had washed over him after that, like a sudden cold draft in a stifling room. He’d also been as hard as nails and had to relieve himself twice in the shower. His dream Buffy whispering filthy words into his ear as he imagined pinning her to the shower wall and driving into her hard and fast. It only seemed to make the feeling worse though. There was a pounding, an almost driving force that told him he needed to see her and that coupled with the lust, he couldn’t seem to shake was a dangerous combination that he did not enjoy feeling at all.

It was so strange, yesterday he’d been fine, more than fine really. He’d walked into his house humming and smiling. His mom had noticed his exuberant mood in an instant and raised her eyebrows in surprise, a curious yet knowing quirk in her lips. She had immediately started bombarding him with questions about his evening and Clark had been unable to deny her even a single detail. Well, there were definitely a few things he left out, but he told her everything from meeting Buffy at the school to him having to sing at Lorne’s. This was a first for both of them, Clark making friends and being able to tell his mom all about it. She listened intently, a happy smile on her lips as if this was something she had always wanted for her son. The ability to just be treated normally by people, even if they knew what he was. The more he spoke about how great Buffy was the more his mom’s knowing smile grew. He told her he promised Buffy that he would pick her up at the airport, and his mom had agreed to let him use the truck as long as he promised to take her to work before he left. She had a full shift at the diner tomorrow, so he was pretty sure he could make it back in time to pick her up and take her home.

Later that night, after getting off the phone with Buffy so she could go patrol, Clark had spent the evening on the internet looking up several theories and ideas on the concept of soulmates. All in all, it was pretty simple stuff, a soulmate could be a romantic or platonic relationship with a mirroring of the souls. Where, both their values and ideals deemed them a perfect match. He had even gone to a few sites on the mystical aspects of soulmates that seemed to be pretty legit, and they believed that when it came to soulmates not only were the souls similar, but both souls usually challenge each other to perceive themselves and the world differently. In essence, your soulmate could help you transcend into a higher state of consciousness. All of that seemed to match very much with what he had been feeling since the moment he met her. None of that however, explained how he felt now.

Buffy had been right the other day when she said it wasn’t just the soulmates thing. He was almost positive the out-of-control lust and the uncontrollable desire to be near her had very little to do with the fact that they were soulmates and everything to do with the prophecy. Something wanted them to consummate their relationship, and he was pretty sure that something had a reason. He wondered if he was in danger of meeting the other woman and somehow changing his mind about her. He definitely couldn’t imagine ever doing that though, not when he felt what he felt, not when she had consumed his thoughts so thoroughly since the day they met.

He felt physically ill at the idea of ever having to fight Buffy as an enemy, Lorne’s words about killing her making him nauseous and dizzy. The demon said it most likely wouldn’t happen now, but God, what if it did? What if he wasn’t capable of fighting off this mystery enemy of the future. He shuddered at the thought, his anxiety level spiking in worry. He had to get himself under control.

As the passengers began to exit the terminal Clark looked on, his eyes searching for golden hair and green eyes. When he finally spotted her the tension that had been growing in his limbs immediately eased. It happened so fast he almost felt boneless by the sudden release. Her eyes met his and a similar look of relief washed over her face, but there was something else there. She was scared, which just made the tension begin to build again. Clark frowned in confusion, but didn’t deny her as she ran to him wrapping her arms around his waist tightly as she laid her head on his chest.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “There’s something wrong,” She whispered. “I shouldn’t be feeling this–”

“I know,” he whispered. “I feel it too.” Clark shuddered, so it wasn’t only him who was feeling it. “I think it’s time we learn more about this prophecy.”

He felt her nod. “I’ll call Wes once we get to the safe house.”

****<S>**<S>****

The drive there had been mostly quiet. The only real sound was Buffy’s smartphone giving directions to their destination. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out and entwining their fingers however, and she smiled at him gratefully before closing her eyes and sighing. They finally arrived at what looked to be an unassuming house just outside of town that rested on a few acres of property. Buffy untangled their fingers and reached into her carryon bag that was between them and pulled out a large multicolored crystal.

“Here,” she said quietly. “Hold this.”

Clark, frowned but did as she asked. Watching her as she muttered the word, “Agnoscis.” The stone suddenly warming in his palm as he caught the house in front of him shimmer for a moment out of the corner of his eye.

“Latin?” He guessed.

Buffy nodded. “It means recognize. It’s so you can get through the wards.” She bit her lip, “We can also bring your mom here, in case you ever need to hide her you’ll have a place to take her that’s pretty impenetrable.”

Clark nodded gratefully, his eyes studying the sad expression on her face. He reached out and gently brushing the back of his knuckles down her cheek. Her whole body shivered at the contact, a small gasp escaping her lips.

“Are you…are you okay,” He asked.

She shook her head, “I think it’s affecting me more than you.”

Clark was quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head. “It’s not, I think I’m just a lot better at controlling my impulses.”

Buffy chuckled humorlessly, “Maybe, that’s something you can teach me sometime.” She met his eyes and Clark lost his breath at the want he saw shining there.

God, she was beautiful like that. Her eyes almost swirling with color and heat. His temperature immediately skyrocketed, his pants becoming tight. He wanted to ask her if there was anything he could do, but didn’t dare for fear of what her answer might be. She had already told him she wasn’t ready, and if he was being honest with himself, neither was he.

He swallowed, his heart beating in his chest. “Come on,” he whispered, opening his door and stepping out. “Let’s go make that phone call.”

He walked around her side of the truck as she fumbled with her seatbelt, opening the passenger door for her and holding out his hand. She took it gratefully as she slid out of the passenger’s side, hoisting her bag over her shoulder after her feet hit the pavement. Clark reached in the truck bed and grabbed the only other bag she’d brought with her. He wondered where her weapons bag was, but remembered she’d just went through an airport and realized she probably couldn’t bring them with her.

As if she was reading his mind, she said. “Willow was here last night; I had her ward the training equipment so that we can use it without destroying it.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked up the driveway. Her hand fumbling with her keys as they made their way to the door. “I also had her fill the fridge and bring my weapons bag over.”

He didn’t say anything as he watched her slide the key in the lock and open the door. He followed her through a spacious living room that was tastefully decorated, through another door and into a modern kitchen. She slid her bag off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. She pulled out her phone next, scrolling through her contacts and hitting send before putting it on speaker. She set the phone on the island between them and walked to the fridge, leaning her back against it as she closed her eyes.

Clark wanted to go over and comfort her, but something in his gut told him that would be a very bad idea. She was putting distance between them for a reason and he completely respected that. Her sudden change however, worried him and he was beginning to think maybe she really was suffering more than him.

"Buffy?" A cultured British male voice answered after the first few rings.

"Yeah, it’s me." She said quietly.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, his tone worried.

"No, not really." She answered. "I think it’s time you told us about this prophecy."

"Buffy, I've already explained–"

“No,” She cut him off. “No Wes, you don’t get to do this. Not now. Something is wrong with me, I feel…” Her face went red, as she looked at Clark, “I feel like I’m on fire, I…” Her eyes moved to her phone and glared, a growl tearing from her throat in frustration. Her teeth clenched as she ground out. “I feel incredibly sexually frustrated, okay? Like a cat in fucking heat.” Her face went scarlet and she avoided looking directly at Clark. “Want to explain?”

There was a sudden choking sound on the other line, as a coughing fit proceeded it. “Good Lord, it’s happening already?”

The outrage in Buffy’s eyes, did something to Clark in that moment and he stepped forward his anger simmering under the surface. “What’s happening?” He demanded.

“Mr. Kent,” Wesley said in surprise, “I didn’t…I didn’t realize you were on the line as well.” Clark heard the British man sigh, “I’m sorry we were finally introduced this way, I had hoped to meet you in person. I’m sure you already know that I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and that I am head of the Watchers Council.” There was a pause, before he continued. “I do apologize for not telling you both sooner, but I had hoped we would have a few more days before the bond started to require a need to be fulfilled.”

“Bond…what?” Buffy’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I don’t really understand it myself,” Wesley admitted. “But it’s written that once the Immortal Slayer and, I believe the correct term is Star God meet, a…I think the term is soulbond will start to form and a compulsion to fulfill it will start to take hold. Now, both Willow and I think we’ve found a way to counteract the compulsion, but I didn’t expect it would start to take hold so quickly. I do apologize Buffy; I had planned to have Willow bring me there tomorrow so I could explain.”

“What’s a soulbond, exactly?” Clark asked, “And how is it any different than being soulmates?”

“I honestly don’t know, there are very few references to what it is exactly. I imagine that much like soulmates there must be a similarity or mirroring of souls if you will, but unlike soulmates there is a need…a compulsion for a confluence between the souls. As far as I can tell, once that happens it would act very similarly to a claim.”

Buffy gasped and looked at Clark, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Clark swallowed, “What’s a claim?”

“It’s a…a type of marriage between demons, vampires in particular.” Buffy shifted uncomfortably and looked down. “It’s barely ever used now because its unbreakable, not even magic can undo it. It’s ancient and powerful and requires total trust and consent between both parties.” She met his eyes then, an apology shining through but Clark didn’t feel like he needed one, in fact he just felt very confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense, not after what Lorne told me.” Clark said with a frown. “If this bond is as powerful as you say then…” It was his turn to look at Buffy apologetically, “Then even if I met this other person first, wouldn’t the bond take hold when I met Buffy regardless?”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re referring to.” Wesley said in confusion.

Clark looked up at Buffy and saw suspicion in her eyes. “Lorne didn’t tell you?”

“Lorne doesn’t give me the details of readings Mr. Kent; he treats all his clients very much like a therapist treats a patient.” Wesley said, adding. “The only thing he told me was that you were the one the prophecy spoke of and that you were on the right path in regards to your destiny. What exactly did he tell you?”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, feeling Buffy’s eyes on him but unable to meet hers. “He said I had two very different futures, that Buffy was my soulmate but I have another as well and in this other future this woman dies and something makes me go bad.” He finally got the courage and looked at Buffy, her eyes were wide and burning with hurt and maybe a bit of jealousy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, thinking he had ruined everything.

Buffy shook her head and swallowed, “Did he… did he say what would happen if you met her now?”

Clark nodded, "He said I'm a one-woman man, that it wouldn't matter."

She seemed to relax a bit at his words, her eyes softening and darting back to her phone as Wesley began speaking, "Then you are very correct Mr. Kent, if you met Buffy in this other future, it should have activated the soulbond whether you had feelings for this other woman or not. A soulmate is not always a love interest after all." He paused for a moment, "There are only two things that could have stopped it. One would be that you don't meet Buffy until this mystery foe had your mind or if you did meet her, she was already claimed."

Buffy gasped, and looked at Clark guiltily, “I almost asked him to claim me.”

A potent wave of jealousy and possession swept through him at her words. If she was referring to Angel, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer. Not when the very idea of her being tied like that with someone else made his blood boil.

"What?" Wesley said, shocked.

"Spike, Wes. Not Angel." She clarified. "It was...it was right after we found Alicia. I knew it could make us stronger and I... I thought it might give us an advantage against Angelus. I never had the courage to ask him though."

“And thank every deity in the universe for that!” Wesley said sharply, “I don’t think you quite understand the repercussions that could have had on not just Clark’s future but your own.” There was a long silence, the only sound was heavy breathing before a much calmer Wesley finally said, “That kind of bond Buffy…think about what you did to Angelus and multiply it by a million. I was there that day you came through the portal after Spike died. You were almost feral; your Slayer was in complete control and she wanted to kill Willow for making her immortal. There was a part of her that already thought of Spike as her mate, and she wanted blood from whoever had wronged her. If you had been claimed and Spike died…” They heard him take a shuddering breath, “You would have burnt the world and then marched into Hell without a second thought in search of him. There would have been no stopping you.”

Clark watched Buffy shiver at Wes’s words, her eyes getting lost and faraway. His possessiveness grew at her words, but a small part of him couldn’t help but be curious as to what happened between the two of them and why she so rarely spoke about him. The book had only said that the vampire had killed two Slayers, and had tried to kill Buffy on numerous occasions. He had been hampered by some form of neurotechnology by the US Government and began working with her reluctantly. Somewhere along the way he had fallen for Buffy and regained his soul, sacrificing himself for the world once, where he was resurrected by a mystical amulet he was wearing when he died. The author of the book believed he’d been brought back by mistake and the amulet was meant to be worn by Angel, but there was also some speculation that Spike may have been the actual bearer of the Shanshu prophecy. The author however, was highly skeptical about this because Spike didn’t do what he did out of heroics, even with a soul he relished in the violence of his nature. The author believed that becoming mortal would feel more like a punishment than a reward for the vampire. It spoke some about his time at Wolfram and Hart, about his part in the fight against Angelus, and how he died saving Buffy a second time.

“I don’t…I don’t remember any of that.” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “Even what I did to Angelus, I only remember parts of it. I felt like I was outside my body looking at someone who wasn’t actually me, except I could feel what I was doing.” She shivered, and it took every bit of self-control he had not to go to her, especially when her voice cracked. “When I came to, I-I was covered in blood and…God, Wes there was nothing left but a torso and head. I…” She choked. “I even took his face.”

When a single tear tracked itself down her cheek, Clark couldn’t take it anymore and he rounded the island and pulled her into his arms, hoping she was too upset to be affected by the embrace, but not really caring if she was, not when he could feel her trembling in his arms. He understood now why she’d been so adamant the other day about her being wrong in the way she killed Angelus and about Slayers not actually being creatures of light but warriors for the light. He could never picture her being capable of such carnage even after hearing it from her own mouth. Then again, he could never picture himself killing her either or anyone else for that matter, not on purpose at least.

They heard a muffled sniffle over the line, before a choked sounding Wesley finally said, “Oh, Buffy, I never…I never knew it was that bad. We found the warehouse and the blood, so I did realize…but…not to what extent, and then you just disappeared and Willow couldn’t ever get a read on you. It was like you were blocking her somehow. Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

Clark felt her shake her head, “I was ashamed.” She answered honestly. “Lorne’s the only one who knows everything, even the stuff I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember anything that happened before you captured Angelus?” Wesley asked cautiously. “I’ve always wondered how you did it, but was always too afraid to ask after the way we…the way we found you.”

Buffy sighed against Clark’s chest, her shivering increasing. “I think I let myself be caught,” she said quietly. “The only thing I really remember is being bound magically by Amy and then Warren tearing open my shirt.” Clark stiffened at her words, his whole body going rigid. She squeezed her eyes shut, her grip on him tightening. “Angelus threw him out of the way, and said everyone would have a turn, but he got to have me first.” Clark’s anger flared at her words, his fist tightening behind her back, he had to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden heat he felt building. “I-I don’t know how, but somehow I was able to break through the magic that was binding me. Everything’s kind of a blur after that, but I think…” She frowned, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “I think none of the spells were working on me. I think…I think I killed everyone.”

Clark found himself sighing in relief at her words. God, just the image of someone trying to do that to her made him see red. Literally, in fact. He really hoped that something like that has never happened before, because he could already tell he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing whomever did it to shreds. As horrendous of a way she killed Angelus, he couldn’t judge her for how she did it, not after hearing that. God, if she hadn’t been able to break the magic… He felt himself shudder.

Wesley was quiet for a long time, “I’ve always known that Willow brought you back stronger, but being able to break a binding spell with sheer force of will is extraordinary Buffy. We should have started testing this advantage years ago.”

“I try not to think about that day, Wes.” She huffed. “I don’t think the magic going wonky even occurred to me until this moment.” She was quiet for a few moments, before she finally said, "So what happens if I bond with Clark and I lose him too?"

Wesley sighed, "Well, I'm hoping since it’s your souls that are bonding and not your Slayer, that it will make quite a difference."

"You're hoping? That’s really not a guarantee, Wes." She said in annoyance, stepping out of Clark's embrace and leaning on the island. "And what’s to stop my Slayer from trying to initiate a claim? What if this soulbond thing isn't good enough for her? Lorne already said she's been looking for her mate since I was called. He said that's why I was so drawn to both Spike and Angel." She shook her head, "Well, according to this prophecy he's my mate, right? Or the closest she'll ever get to one. So, what's to stop her from doing what she's been wanting to do for years? I mean I looked up claiming in high school, Wes. As soon as I read the word, I was fascinated."

Clark stepped around the table so he could look at her. She seemed worried and deep in thought before her eyes met his and they softened immediately, a small smile forming on her lips as she studied him.

Then they heard Wesley sigh, "I honestly don't know. We've still not even translated the whole thing and we've been working on it for over a year."

Clark watched Buffy frown in confusion. "Is there a reason you haven't gotten Dawn in on this?"

"I'll give you three guesses as to why." He said sarcastically.

Buffy snorted, saying mockingly, "Aww Wes, you're not afraid of my baby sister, are you?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and then a grumbled, "I would rather face all the demons in hell than deal with Dawn on a tirade about you."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Well tough, because I want her in on this."

"But Buffy–” He started to whine.

“No Wes,” she said cutting him off. “I love both you and Willow, you know that. But, if there’s anyone in this world who will have our best interests at heart and give it to us straight, it’s her. I want her in on this.”

“Fine,” He groaned.

Then a smile broke across her lips and an evil look of mischief Clark was slowly becoming familiar with sparked in her eyes. “Plus, she already knows I spent time with Clark the other day and she knows he’s something other.”

“How on Earth did she find out about that?” Wesley said in surprise.

Clark smirked as Buffy’s smile grew. “I may have pissed Faith off by waking her and Gunn up with a cold shower. She ratted us out.”

There was silence on the other line, but she swore she could hear him shaking his head. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” She said chuckling and then sighed. “I’m feeling a little better now, I mean as far as the compulsion stuff goes.”

“Hmm,” Wesley hummed. “Perhaps it gets worse when you’re apart. I knew that you would feel a need to be around each other, but perhaps being away from one another has an even greater affect than I imagined. How about you Mr. Kent, how do you feel?”

Clark blinked in surprise. Now that Buffy mentioned it, he was feeling less uncomfortable than he had all morning. “Better, actually. It’s still there, but not as potent.”

“Then perhaps the theory is a sound one,” Wesley said. “However, to be on the safe side I’ll have Willow drop off the pendants she’s making this evening. They should be able to subdue most of the compulsion until you both feel ready to move forward with the bond. I would also recommend spending as little time apart as possible. I believe that the pendants are powerful enough to ward off the worst of it, however if this bond is as powerful as I think it is you very well might override the magics if the compulsion becomes too powerful.” He sighed, “I suggest staying there with Buffy for the time being Mr. Kent.”

Clark shook his head “That not going to work Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I need to help out on the farm. While I was away my mom got behind on the payments and if we don’t bring in a decent crop this year my mom could lose it.” He looked at Buffy nervously. “You could stay with us though; we have a guest bedroom.”

Buffy nodded, “Yeah, yeah, that might be a good idea. I can help you with anything you need, and we can start your training in the afternoons.”

Wesley cleared his throat, getting both their attention. “I think you’re forgetting the contract, Buffy. He may very well not need to worry about that any longer.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.”

Clark watched her run out of the room as Wesley said, “Are you still there Mr. Kent?”

Clark looked at the phone, “Yes.”

“Good, I thought I’d go over the numbers for you and see if they’re satisfactory.” Wesley said. “I had thought of paying you as we would a hired mercenary or demon hunter, however since your role in the future will be pivotal to keeping this world intact, I decided you deserved what we would pay any Slayer, it’s only fair after all.”

“What aren’t you telling us about this prophecy?” Clark said, Wesley’s words telling him the man knew more than was saying.

He heard the man sigh, “I would prefer not to say at this moment. I already know how Buffy will feel about it, and I believe you both have enough on your plate with the bonding. I’ll tell you both, but she’s not ready to hear it yet.”

Clark frowned, “I don’t think you give her enough credit.”

“You may be correct,” Wesley conceded, “But I know she will not be happy about this, even if it’s a good thing. I, at the very least need to prepare myself for Dawn finding out, and she may very well tell Buffy even if I ask her not too. I do not believe either of you have long to wait.”

“Alright,” Clark said, “I’m going to hold you to that though.”

“Now,” Wesley said, just as Buffy walked back in the room. “How does two hundred-thousand a year sound?

Clark blinked in surprise, the blood rushing to his head. He couldn’t have possibly heard that right, could he? “I’m sorry did you…did you just say two hundred-thousand?”

“Clark are you okay?” Buffy asked, running to his side. “You look a little pale.”

He shook his head, “It’s…that’s too much.”

“No,” Buffy disagreed, shaking her head. “It really isn’t. Entering this world Clark… you’ll be putting not only your home but your mom at risk and no amount of money will ever make up for that.” She bit her lip and nodded, “Trust me on this, most demons aren’t stupid enough to mess with the good guy’s families, but the real big-bads, the uber-powerful demons, who’s only goal is destruction and world domination? Those demons won’t care, they’ll do everything in their power to try and hurt you, even if that means trying to break you.” She sighed, “It’s why I want your mom to have access to this place too. It will make me feel better knowing you can get her to safety if you needed to.”

Clark sighed, reaching out and sliding the small stack of paper out of her hand. “And what happens if I sign these and change my mind?”

Wesley spoke up, “You are not beholden to anything Mr. Kent, if you sign those and decide that helping the Watchers Council is not in your best interest, it would simply be like you quitting a job. You wouldn’t be paid anymore of course, but you would not be obligated to continue helping us either. However, with the bond beginning to form I’m not sure how you would be able to distance yourself from the Council or Buffy, but if you made that decision no one would stand in your way.”

Clark pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes quickly reading it through. It was pretty standard stuff, nothing in it that had some sort of hidden agenda. He flipped the page and read through the rest before getting to the signature line.

“Do you have a pen?” He asked, looking at Buffy.

She went to a small drawer and pulled it open, grabbing one from inside and handing it over. Clark took the pen signing his name on the dotted line. “Okay Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I signed it.”

“Very good.” Wesley said, “Now, I don’t suppose you’re up for giving him a tour of the underground facilities?”

“Of course.” Buffy said.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll call you before Willow leaves, in the meantime try and keep your wits about you.”

The line disconnected and Clark raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Underground facility?”

****<S>**<S>****

Buffy slid open the hidden panel in the wall of the master bedroom. She entered a number into the keypad and then looked up into a camera where it scanned her face, and slid her keycard into the slot.

The computer’s AI came online and a female voice said, "Good afternoon Miss Summers, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I need to give a new recruit security clearance."

"Name?" The computer asked, as Buffy removed her keycard and slid in the blank one Willow had left for them.

Buffy nodded at Clark and stepped away from the panel so he could stand in front of it.

"Clark Joseph Kent," he answered, stepping into the space Buffy had just vacated.

"Facial recognition." The computer said, and Buffy pointed up to the camera, indicating he needed to look into it.

Once that was done the computer said, "Four-digit pin."

Buffy looked at Clark and nodded, "Now choose four numbers you'll remember easily."

She watched as he thought about it a second before he put in his code. Once that was finished the computer said, "Thank you Mr. Kent, you now have full access to the Watcher Archives as well as all facilities. Ms. Summers would you like access into the rest of the building?"

"Yes," Buffy answered before the hidden wall shifted, sliding away and revealing the steel doors of an elevator that would take them down into the heart of the house. The doors slid open and Buffy removed the new keycard handing it to Clark as they stepped into the elevator, Buffy pressing the simple down-arrow button.

“We had these built in all the safehouses after what happened with Angelus.” Buffy said as way of explanation. “Or I should say, Wes and Willow did. I wasn’t really around for that.”

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach its destination and the doors slid open. She could feel Clark’s eyes on her as she stepped out of the elevator and into the large steel control room. There were several monitors on the walls with keyboards on a stainless steel counter top that bolted into the walls along half the room.

“This is the control room.” Buffy said, “For safety reasons, if we’re ever in any code-red type situation, this room is always occupied in case someone manages to get past the outer wards. We can house up to thirty bodies here at a time and since most of us are a little something-other, we can at least hold off whoever’s broken in to give the rest of us a fighting chance to escape by sounding the alarm.”

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t look at him right then. It was just occurring to her all that she admitted to Wesley and what she’d said in front of Clark. He was going to ask about Spike, she could almost feel it. Of all the things Wesley could have brought up, it had to be claiming. She felt Clark move closer, and wasn’t surprised when she felt him place his hand on her shoulder as she rambled on about where the exits were located.

“Buffy?” He whispered.

She sighed and looked down, “Yeah?”

“Why…why don’t you ever talk about him?” Clark asked.

Her shoulders slumped at his words, but she still couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look at him. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Well then, I think you should try to uncomplicate it for me, because this thing sounds pretty permanent between us and I need to know if I’m going to be living in another man’s shadow.” He said honestly.

She spun around, her eyes meeting his in surprise. “God, no. It’s not like that at all. We were…” She sighed. “Maybe we should go into another room that’s more comfortable. This is a long story.”

Clark nodded at her and she turned, leading him through the heavy metal door to their left and down a hallway the AI illuminating the rooms as it monitored their approach. Buffy led him into a large rec room, a massive tv mounted to one wall with a standard sized couch in front. There was a card table in a corner and a pool table in another. A few pinball machines lined one wall of the room and a dartboard hung near a foosball table. She led him over to the couch, gesturing for him to sit before she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She waited for him to sit down first, and sat at the other end biting her lip in thought, staring straight ahead into the black void of the blank tv screen, not sure exactly where to start. She figured the beginning was probably best, so she started there.

“When I met Spike,” she said slowly. “He was just about as evil as they come, or at least that’s what my sixteen-year-old-self thought. Though, I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Angelus yet, so I was a bit naive in that department. Anyway, his girlfriend-slash-sire had been weakened in Prague at some point and he came to Sunnydale to try and restore her and bag himself another Slayer.” She shrugged, “So, we pretty much started out as mortal enemies. We fought each other a lot that first half of the year, and he was a hell of a fighter. He almost got me on that first one, but incredibly enough my mom was the one who saved the day.” Buffy smiled in amusement. “Clocked him on the back of the head with an axe.”

Clark snorted in amusement. “Sounds like something my mom would do.”

Buffy smiled, “Yeah my mom could be pretty tough.” She shrugged, “Anyway, I ended up putting him in a wheelchair after dropping an organ on him during a spell that actually did end up restoring Drucilla. On my birthday I found out they were both still alive and Dru was reassembling an ancient demon called the Judge who couldn’t be killed by any man-made weapon. Me and Angel tried to stop it from happening, but we were both too late. That night I made the colossal decision of losing my virginity to Angel.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed, “And just like that his soul was gone. Maybe that’s why I clung on to the notion that we were somehow destined for so long. I mean, the breaking of Angel’s curse literally states that only a moment of perfect happiness could release the soul. I guess I thought that if our love was enough to drive his soul away, it must be special.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Honestly, knowing Angel it had more to do with him somehow feeling redeemed in me or it very well could have been that he hadn’t dipped his wick in over a hundred years. Whatever the cause, so began several horrible months of mental torment from a demon wearing my lover’s face.”

“And Spike?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “Spike went through his own torment at the hands of Angelus and Drusilla. Spike really did love her, but her love compared to his was fleeting at best. He told me once how they would mock him for being wheelchair bound and Angelus would…well, he would fuck Dru right in front of Spike because he knew how much it hurt him. I think that’s when whatever destiny Spike had must have started. He came to me and made a truce in the hopes of getting Angelus away from Dru and also according to him, he actually liked the world and didn’t want to see it destroyed like they were planning.” She sighed again, “Anyway, that’s probably the first instance where I started to see Spike in a somewhat different light. Less of a danger and more of a nuisance if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Clark nodded. “I guess I could see that.”

“Okay, so skip ahead a few years, when I’m in my first year of college. I’ve seen Spike once in that time when he kidnapped Willow and Xander, trying to make Willow preform a love spell to get Dru back. Apparently, our little truce didn’t sit well with her and she dumped him.” Buffy shrugged, “We had one more real fight where we were actually trying to kill each other that year, and then a few months later the Initiative planted the chip in his head and then once again he came to us for asylum.” A small smile tugged at her lips, “We fought like cats and dogs that whole year. I think our bickering is partly what drove Giles to drinking so much. Then sometime during the next year when Dawn arrived and my mom got sick, he realized he was in love with me.” Buffy sighed. “It wasn’t a healthy love though, not even a little bit. He was obsessed with me. He had a weird shrine to me and he had, the super nerd Warren make a lifelike robot of me for reasons I’m sure you can guess.”

Clark grimaced before saying, “Is that the same Warren that–”

“The one and the same.” She interrupted. “I’ve dealt with some pretty gross demons before, but as far as Warren goes, he’s probably the worst human I’ve ever had to deal with.” Buffy sighed, “Anyway, as weird as Spike’s obsession with me was, he did some things that year that really surprised me. Things that normal vampires wouldn’t do, though I still to this day haven’t decided if Spike was the unique one or if Angelus was, because I know for a fact Spike isn’t the first vampire to keep a portion of his humanity after being turned.” She shook her head getting back on topic, “Anyway, he protected my sister’s secret when Glory tortured him for information and he promised to protect Dawn until the end of the world. When I came back the next year, I didn’t really acknowledge it at the time, but he was still there. Still looking out for my baby sister. It’s strange how you don’t see those things when they happen, but Spike loved Dawn like a little sister and he loved my mom too. For some reason he was drawn to us Summers women.” She sighed and looked at Clark. “I already told you when I came back, I went to a dark place.”

Clark nodded, his eyes studying her face. “You have.”

“I went to that dark place with Spike, I didn’t… when I came back, I was numb and I didn’t know it at the time, but my Slayer had gotten stronger. Part of me hated my friends, I was furious with them for bringing me back and expecting me to be happy about it.” She swallowed, “Spike became my confidant at first, he became my quiet solace. I could sit with him and just be… he didn’t…he didn’t expect me to just be okay like everyone else. I was the one who made the first move…we were under a spell at the time but that didn’t stop me from making a second move after it was broken. One night not long after our second make out session, after my Watcher decided I needed to learn to do things on my own and left, we got into an argument about the kiss and I hit him,” she frowned bitterly, rolling her eyes. “He retaliated and must have realized his chip didn’t fire. The next day, well he started a real fight with me. The first one we had since…well since our brawl before the chip.” Buffy could feel her cheeks heat up at the memory, “It was the first time I felt alive since my resurrection and one thing led to another and we…well we weren’t fighting anymore. At least not with fists. It was the first time I didn’t have to hold back and it was exhilarating.” She looked at her hands, “And the next day I told him how disgusting we were, and I was cruel and awful to him.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying that he didn’t give as good as he got, but I was always the one saying the cruel stuff first. I was awful to him Clark; I beat him once and left him for the sunrise. He was trying to help me…well, I thought I accidentally killed someone.” She pursed her lips, even the memory of Warren now days could send her into a rage. “I hadn’t, Warren once again was trying to fuck with my life, but both of us thought I did. He didn’t understand why I had to turn myself in, how much even thought of hurting someone innocent was killing me. I…I just snapped. I honestly don’t know how he managed to make it to safety on time.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Clark’s arms come around her. “He still had bruises a week later and vampires, they heal fast.” She sniffled. “Shortly after that my ex-Riley came to town and somewhat reminded me why being with a soulless vampire was a bad thing. I realized that what we were doing…we had to stop. I was using him and it wasn’t fair to either of us, so I broke things off.” Buffy shook her head, “It was hard, because I really did still want him, but I resisted. Some things happened, over the next month or two, my friends ended up finding out about us and one night, he showed up at my house. I was pretty banged up from a fight earlier that evening and he tried to…I’m not even sure he knew what he was doing…but he tried to rape me.” Buffy said quietly, she felt Clark’s arms stiffen around her, this was the judgment she’d been waiting for. “I kicked him off, and he was shocked at himself and then I said, ask me again how I could ever love you?”

She looked at Clark then, and she could see the anger swirling in his blue eyes. “That’s why Spike got his soul. He thought it was the only way he could be sure never to hurt me again. He wanted to be the man I deserved. He did it for selfish reasons of course, but the outcome of those reasons? It was worth it in the end, because he’s the reason we don’t still have a Hellmouth in Sunnydale California.”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t…how can you have feelings for someone after they…even if he didn’t, how could you have not wanted to kill him?”

Buffy shook her head. “Because love isn’t rational, because it can be beautiful or a nightmare, and unfortunately feelings can’t just be flipped on and off. I think if he hadn’t gotten his soul, I would have felt differently, and maybe I eventually would have stopped caring about him. You have to understand though…what he did, it’s never been done before. He fought against his nature and became something incredible for it. I think I would be kinda a hypocrite if I could forgive and still love Angel for what he did to me without a soul, but couldn’t forgive and still have feelings for Spike.”

“Your ability to forgive, Buffy…I think you might have me beat in that department.” Clark said.

She shook her head, “I don’t necessarily think that’s true. I don’t think I can ever truly forgive Willow for bringing me back, and you now know what I did to Angelus.” She sighed. “I really do think it depends on the transgression. Willow tore me out of Heaven, she made me immortal, denying me the peace and reward that all Slayers crave. Angelus went after people I love and he tormented and killed my sister Slayers, all of which were young girls, newly called. I know what Wes said, and part of its true, but Spike was just the catalyst, he was not necessarily the cause. It was my hate, my emotions guiding my Slayer, and it wasn’t the first time that part of me wanted to kill Willow nor was it only her that wanted to destroy Angelus for what he had done.”

“And the claim?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “It was something that was swirling around my head for a while, and at first it was absolutely a hundred percent my Slayer. But by the time I started seriously considering it, that was definitely all me.”

Clark looked away, “You wanted to bind yourself to him for eternity.”

She was silent at his words; she knew what he was thinking and he was wrong. She remembered very clearly why she wanted to do it. “It…I really did want to win, Clark. I know you’re thinking I must have been head over heels in love, but… I loved Spike, I did and I still do, but not…It was the type of love you hold for your best friend, for the person who gets you more than anyone else. I’m not saying it wasn’t romantic in nature either, but it was a love that formed over time. There was no cupid moment. I knew we were compatible sexually; I knew he would never leave me, and I knew it would make us stronger. Claims, they don’t even require love to be fulfilled, just a mutual respect for one another and I knew we could make it work.”

Clark sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Why didn’t you then?”

“Fear,” Buffy said simply. “Fear of the unknown, fear that he would say no, and fear that he would say yes.”

She watched Clark swallow. “And you want to do the same to me?”

Buffy blushed. “I-I don’t know. Yes, I think so…” She was silent for a moment. Did she want to claim Clark? Her Slayer seemed to think so, but was that the prophecy or an actual want. She certainly didn’t want to lead him on, so she said “But I think it’s something that could happen in the heat of the moment.” She could literally feel her face heating up even more. “Just, if…if I ever bite you when we…and say ‘Mine’, don’t answer unless you’re willing to do the same.”

“I’m assuming when you say bite, you mean breaking skin.” He said raising an eyebrow.

“I do.” She admitted. “That’s basically what a claim is, it’s a symbolic ritual of sharing one’s life force, blood, saliva, semen. The mixing of your essence with another to create two halves of a whole.”

A slow amused smile broke across his lips. “That actually sounds kind of beautiful, if not a little messy.”

Buffy snorted, her own amusement growing at his analogy. “Anything else you want to know, before we continue our tour?”

His eyes slowly gave her a once over, before he shook his head. “No, I think that was more than enough for today.” He looked down, “It’s hard for me to picture you like that, being cruel I mean. Not when…not when you’ve been so nice to me. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand anything you told me about him and you, and…and if I’m being honest, I can’t help feeling…” He looked at her seriously, his mouth set in a firm line. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t come back from the dead again, because I can’t promise I will be very nice.”

She found herself giggling at the visual. Dear God, that would be funny, especially with how quiet and reserved Clark was. Spike would drive him up the wall. “Oh, trust me neither will he, even with the soul he had the ability to drive just about anyone mad with rage.”

“Well, then it’s probably a good thing he’s not around anymore. I don’t think I’d like to be responsible for killing someone you cared about.” Clark said seriously.

Buffy rolled her eyes; he might be from another planet but he was definitely a hundred percent male. “Yes, Clark, lucky for you, you only have one of my ex’s left to contend with and he’s married.” She pushed herself away from him, grabbing his hand as she did and pulling him to his feet as she stood. “Now, come on, I’ll show you the training room.”

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theflashdriver · 4 years

Text

Just Five Minutes (A Silvaze Oneshot)

Heavy was the head that wears the crown, both due to the burden carried by its owner and the lack of sleep that accompanied it. Blaze the cat was known for being a workaholic, friends and colleges alike has claimed such and made efforts to curtail her tendencies. To some extent her overworking was indeed self-imposed, it was in her nature to take on burdens and the work of others, but it wasn’t solely her own fault. As the singular monarch of the Sol kingdom, she worked long hours with little hope of respite.

One o’clock was nearing, it was only fourteen minutes away, yet Blaze had already sat through two meetings totalling almost four hours between them. The day had started at half past seven with some additional reading and preparation, she was supposed to have had a pair of hour and a half long meetings yet both had seen fit to overextend by around fifteen minutes. It wasn’t that these meetings were unimportant per say, the first had been regarding a foreseen bumper crop while the second had concerned utilising more modern defences to protect the Sol emeralds, but both of them going into overtime was taking its toll.

The twenty-one-year-old princess was supposed to have a half hour break between each meeting, supposed to being the operative words. A half hour break cut in half once more, it’d be comical if it wasn’t such a common occurrence. Even if there was no break whatsoever between these discussions, she was supposed to retain a prim and proper attitude whilst her visitors could yawn and slouch without risk of it being taken as an afront. Even doffing her usual guardian’s outfit, her robes and tights, risked being viewed as some sort of afront. As she walked the palace halls, now free from that stuffy meeting room, she knew that she was stewing on this much too intently. If she kept this up, she wouldn’t enjoy this brief hiatus and her patience would wear thin when the next meeting undoubtedly exceeded its allotment.

Groggily, she shouldered her way through a set of old double doors and into the library. The scent of old paper and stagnant air hit her, but it signalled a sort of sanctuary. She moved quickly across the emerald carpeted floor, breezing along the great wall formed by the historic fiction section. The massive room was like a labyrinth lined from floor to ceiling with books, but she knew her path through it better than anyone else. It didn’t take long for her to notice that a few tomes had been lifted, a pair on specific pirates and three more containing hyperbolised accounts of the island’s early history. If she hadn’t known he was here, then that would be a clear indication of his presence.

She coasted along the next wall, passing by historic poetry, before crossing by a section filled with pure historic nonfiction. The old wooden shelves that framed her surroundings were surely soon due their monthly dusting, a job that her partner had taken on with gusto in an effort to make this space nicer for the pair of them. As she snuck past yet another library shelf, she swore she heard him snort. With no more than a parse at the row upon row of encyclopaedias, she rounded the final corner and her eyes fell upon him.

Lounging on their shared couch at the heart of the library was Silver the hedgehog, three days into his return from the other world’s future. Both of them had dramatic burdens on their shoulders, she had a world to run while he was tasked with saving his, but to say that he was enjoying his rest would be an understatement. Books were piled on the coffee table before the psychic, claiming residence beside a filled fruit bowl, and he was currently nose deep in a newer retelling of Jet the Second of Babylon’s exploits. He’d taken on clothes too, adding to snug display. She’d stolen the maroon hoodie he was wearing on a number of occasions and his ability to wear baggy grey tracksuit bottoms as he pleased was making her quite envious.

Sneaking behind him, she placed her chin atop his head and draped her arms across his chest. Though she felt him shift, he quickly seemed to relax as he realised just who was holding him. Her eyes dared to close as she took comfort. He’d arrived in as messy a state as usual, smelling of old sweat and thoroughly filthy. Three days deep into bathing though, he smelt of pines and was unbelievably fluffy.

“You look too comfortable, mind if I join you?” She heard the tone of a princess in her voice and winced, “Sorry I’m late.”

“You sound tired,” She felt his hand reach up and his thumb caressed her cheek, “Did everything go okay?”

“We just ran over time, it was as mundane as ever,” She sighed, pulling herself away and rounding the couch. She shrugged off her purple robe, revealing the white tank top beneath, but knew she wouldn’t be free for long. In an attempt to make up for lost time, she immediately lay across the couch and set her head in his lap.

His book was quickly put aside, and their eyes met for the first time today. Age had certainly treated the hedgehog kindly, granting him a height that she couldn’t match even in heels. His shoulders had broadened, and his voice had deepened but that innocent spark still lingered in his piecing yellow eyes, reminding her of what an innocent he was. Casually, she sank a hand into the small plume of chest fur that had escaped him clothes and watched his smile grow warmer.

What they were to each other now had gone unspoken for months, if not years. The nature of their relationship had only ever been confronted through actions like this for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which were their duties. Still, that made things fun, it meant she could perform actions like this and watch as he struggled to react. Blush had claimed his cheeks and he’d quickly broken from their stare-off. She had won, as was so often the case.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, his gaze having undoubtedly fallen on the fruit bowl.

“Famished,” She replied, yawning up at him.

With a whir of psychic energy, Blaze watched a bunch of grapes drift into view before arriving in his hand. He gently lowered his hand and, without so much as blinking, she bit one from the vine. He’d probably filled the bowl himself before coming, the hedgehog had a serious sweet tooth, but she’d started to wean him off of chocolate and towards fruit as of late. His sugar intake was still ludicrous, but he was on the path to improving at least.

“I’m sorry it’s not a proper lunch, Marine needed more help that I’d thought,” He claimed a grape for himself. They’d intended to meet during her first break but a call from the raccoon had dashed that plan, “Apparently her ship had sank an hour before she called me in, but she didn’t want to admit that.”

“Hush,” She commanded, claiming some more fruit, “If you’re that worried about it then you can make me something in time for the next break. A little sugar boost will more than get me through,” The feline elaborated, “Did you manage to fish it out the ocean?”

“I did, and it’s mostly patched up, but I think it’ll take her another day or so to get it ready. She had a bit of a pre-emptive launch,” He explained.

For a while they simply lived in silence, quiet and calm. Moments like these were still rather new to them, intimate in a way they hadn’t really experienced. The fact that they could just exist like this for a while, sharing food and unwinding, was wonderful. He hadn’t known comfort in this lifetime, just as he hadn’t the prior, but she was here now to make certain that he did. They were together and they were safe; in moments like this, she could thing of nothing else.

Blaze found herself snuggling deeper into his lap, relaxing her shoulders and clasping her hands. Soon the sound of her purring came to fill the air, overwhelming the silence. This was the closest to the traditional view of a princess that her life got. It was all work, none of what the storybooks had told her. She worked constantly and fought to defend her world, she was born into a position of equal proportions servitude and luxury. At least Silver could open her eyes to the latter, even whilst the former hung over them.

She swallowed another mouthful, realising that a thought wriggled its way to the forefront of her mind, “What time is it?” She was ruining what little time they had but she had to know.

Silver glanced over his shoulder toward the library’s ancient grandfather clock. It had been introduced when the castle was first built but, gradually, none of the original remained, “Five minutes to one,” He glumly responded.

“Only five minutes left already,” She mused, “More like three, considering the walk.”

She heard him sigh, “It’s not fair…”

“It’s the path I’m on, there’s no escaping it,” She eased him, biting another grape off the vine, “In a handful of minutes I’ll be back in that room, discussing the construction of a new graveyard and replacing old tombstones.”

“A handful of minutes…” He hummed.

Blaze looked beyond the bushel and found that a quirk had entered his expression. Silver and new ideas were a paring that often mixed strangely. The hedgehog wasn’t unintelligent but his still relative inexperience with social situations and the nature of the modern world had led to some rather embarrassing situations. Innocently embarrassing of course, but certainly still worth avoiding.

Pushing the grapes aside she looked him in the eye, “What are you thinking, Silver?”

“What if that handful of minutes didn’t have to be just a handful?” He thought aloud, allowing his hand to mingle with his chest fur and quickly finding hers, “What if that handful of minutes could be as long as you wanted it to be?”

She flipped her right hand, interlocking her fingers with his, “It’s important work, I need to get back to it. There’s no way of changing the system to make that go away. You know how important my role is.”

“I know it is but,” He squeezed her hand, “You’ve already missed half of your break today, you deserve that much at least, right?”

“You’re so naïve,” Blaze yawned again, “I’ve missed it, so it’s gone. Rushing through meetings, or avoiding them to steal it back, isn’t an option. Let’s just enjoy the time we have.”

“But what if you could have it…” He hummed again, releasing her hand, “What if I could get you it…” Blaze sat up, turning to face him only to find that he’d looked away. Before she could open her mouth again, he’d jumped to his feet, “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, I can do this.”

“Silver,” As the hedgehog went to stand, Blaze caught his hand. While she had an inkling of what he was going to attempt, she just didn’t know how safe it was, “You don’t have to overdo it, not for me.”

“You’re clearly tired and I want to help you, Blaze,” As he smiled down at her, speaking so honestly, she couldn’t help but feel a butterfly flap in her stomach, “I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it only changes things a little,” She let go of her hand and his smile grew even bigger, “I’ll be right back.”

The hedgehog took off like a shot, vanishing amongst the bookshelves, but Blaze didn’t hear his footfalls for long. There was a flash of cyan light, accompanied by a rumbling like thunder, and then the hedgehog was gone from the library, likely even from the entire castle. The princess glanced to the library’s grandfather clock. Her next meeting was set to start in three minutes. Had he not just run off then she would be preparing, hurrying back in the hopes of brushing up on the itinerary.

Her gaze dropped to the bunch of grapes he’d left but, just as she was about to pluck one, another thundercrack rolled through the library. Blaze looked up only to find that a portal had manifested in front of her, a bright cyan disk that washed the table, couch and her in its psychic glow. Just as quickly as it had manifested, Blaze watched as a hand with a familiar circular symbol reached through and into the library. She rose quickly, grabbing her robe before stepping over the table and toward the gateway. She took one last glance at the clock; she only had two minutes left, but how long did he plan to make those last? Blaze took his hand, closed her eyes and, feeling his tug, stepped into the warbling energy wall.

A change in air pressure immediately greeted her. The feline felt a gentle breeze blow through her fur, yet sunlight was shining warmly upon her. A stumbling step that brought her fully free from the portal lead her to discover the thick grass underfoot, matched by the mixed scent of countless wildflowers. She blinked away the difference as, in an instant, her world had gone from being lit by electrical lights to basking in a sun shining overhead. Around her, and even from far afield, Blaze could hear the hum of insects mixing with all manner of marvellous birdsong.

Her eyes fell upon the hedgehog who’d brought her here. In what had been mere seconds to her had been long enough for him not only to choose this location but his garb entirely. The hedgehog stood before her dressed in a short sleaved, open-buttoned, teal paisley shirt with accents of orange and white throughout the pattern. A set of still comfortable looking black trousers had taken the place of his joggers and he’d donned a set of hiking boots. As nice as his clothes were though, they couldn’t hold her attention like the overexcited grin on his muzzle.

He stepped out the way, revealing both a picnic spread and a far better view of their surroundings. Beyond the woven basket and tartan blanket, Blaze could see tree after tree stocked with ripe peaches, on the verge of dropping, and rolling green hills that spanned out towards the horizon. She soon however found herself becoming lost in the smaller beauties of this band new landscape. Lavender, crocuses, violets, bluebells, buttercups and countless other species of small flower covered the ground but around them were also foxgloves that harboured blundering bumblebees and wild sunflowers on magnificently tall stalks. The sight of a green hummingbird, daring to fly so curiously close out of blissful innocent, pulled her from staring at their surroundings.

There was no one else here, it seemed like no one had ever been here. When the hedgehog has left, she’d known his plan was to travel through time and find them a peaceful spot, but she’d expected to arrive somewhere in the reccent past or the other dimension. This must have taken far more effort than that, it absolutely had to. Not only had he found a place so wonderful but he’d found it on a day that the sky was perfect, errant clouds were drifting through the sky but never lingering too long in front of the sun. The grass wasn’t wet, rainfall must have been days prior, and yet the world around them was so vibrant.

“Silver, where are we?” She asked, her mouth agape.

“Where? We’ve hardly left where you were sitting,” He cheekily answered, wandering back to sit on the far side of the blanket, “We’re now on a simple grass plain on an undiscovered island, you’ll sit on that couch, around about where we are now, in a little under two thousand years.”

The feline walked to the edge of the blanket, “How long did it take you to find this time? How many days did you cycle through?”

“Well, I got us a good while away from the folks first landing on the island and then kept trying this same day every year until it was nice,” He answered casually but his blush betrayed how proud he was of this plan, “I think I went through a couple hundred years before picking this one.”

“And I take it this safe?” She lowered herself to sit, still eying him intently, “There’s no chance of a time paradox?”

“As long as we don’t do anything to disrupt the land, nothing should change. The timeline seems to do what’s easiest, it can stomach a small change like this,” He promised, opening the hamper with a wave of his hand, “Picking the spot was the last thing I did, gathering and cooking everything took way longer.”

Silver began to waggle his fingers in the air, almost like he was pretending to conduct. Blaze watched as shapes began to dance free from the basket. First came a large, sealed, pitcher, plainly filled with raspberry lemonade and still containing a half dozen frozen ice cubes. Next came a large silver serving dish which, upon landing, removed its top to reveal a spread of far more sandwiches than they could ever hope to eat. From tuna and cucumber to cheese and tomato, all manner of fillings had manifested in the blink of an eye. Soon after followed a troop of cupcakes set atop a two-tier stand, each iced a different colour and decorated from sweets ranging from lemon jelly slices to maraschino cherries to give each cake their own theme.

Silver the hedgehog could make wonderful use of a minute, that much was more than clear, but how long had that minute lasted for him?

“Just how long did you spend on this,” She squinted at him, causing the hedgehog to break eye contact.

“N-Not longer than eight hours?” He gulped.

“Silver!” The feline shouted, genuinely shocked. She’d expected a couple of hours, three at most, but eight?

“I can rest up and everything will be fine, we can stay here for as long as you like,” He promised, “As long as you don’t plan to stay for more than two hundred years, then we might bump into your ancestors.”

“I should have you send us back right now, this is far too much of an effort and I didn’t contribute anything,” She was flustered, again slipping into the voice she used to rule, but she was anything but upset with him.

“You just being here is more than enough on its own,” Silver responded, clearly growing flustered himself, “I-It’s not like I did this all totally on my own, I went to the other dimension and Amy let me use her oven. I didn’t want to go back and use mine in case I encountered Marine or messed something up permanently.”

In a lot of ways, Blaze knew she was exceptionally lucky to have Silver in her life, let alone to have a relationship like this with him. For as mundane as the cooking behind his effort was, and as normal as their prior time in the library had been, the hedgehog was anything but regular and so casual in how he showed it. No one else could ever have come remotely close to what she was experiencing right now, no one else had a partner who could stretch a minute into eight hours before whisking them away for as long as they liked. The feline almost felt selfish for keeping him all to herself like this but she knew that, fundamentally, that he did this because he cared. He’d seen how bedraggled she was and wanted to make her happy, to shirk this opportunity would be foolish. That and, well, he’d set this up for her to take advantage of. Blaze could tease him to her heart’s content, and no one was around to catch them in the act.

“We can eat, we can rest, we can explore,” He offered, awkwardly smiling at her again, “We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want, hm,” The feline pawed her way across the blanket and toward the hedgehog, “I think I’d like to retake our prior position.”

With half a yawn and no further warning, she pushed her way to rest her head atop the hedgehog’s lap. She’d always known that he made a good pillow but something about this position, coupled with the warmth of the sun seeping into her fur, was truly blissful. Their cloistered times in the library were wonderful, but there was something entirely heavenly about doing this so publicly yet not having to worry about the prying eyes of others. There was no chance of rumours, no potential for tabloids, just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company. The sight of the blue sky above as they did this too; something about it felt so liberating.

“You said you were famished, right? I managed to get fresh salmon,” As he babbled, she glanced up at him. The hedgehog had used his power to draw one of the triangle-cut sandwiches from the tray, “I guess that’s not much of a feat when you can time travel but-

Before he could undersell himself, the feline reached up and shooed away his glowing aura. The sandwich retrieved, she only spoke two words, “Thank you,” That alone was enough to restoke the fire on his muzzle.

The clink of ice filled her ears as she took the first bite, signalling that he was pouring them drinks through the use of his power. Seared salmon and baby spinach in a delicately creamy sauce, the flavours mingled to perfectly. If every single one of those sandwiches had this level of effort put into them then the long hours he’d mentioned more than made sense. It’d be akin to making four or five separate dishes and then reshaping them to suit sandwiches, atop that even crafting the cupcakes and drink.

As a glass filled to the brim with a faint pink liquid drifted towards Blaze, she looked up to him again, “You really did go too far with all of this. You know I was expecting to arrive in the other dimension or the past, to step into some kind of café or a different library.”

“I may have gotten a little overexcited, Amy did tell me I was going overboard. Even if she then insisted that I go all out…” He admitted as she took a sip. It was frightfully sweet, as one should anticipate a concoction made by the two hedgehogs would be, but surprisingly subtle in its flavouring. The lemon only faintly undercut the primary raspberry taste, “I kind of owe her now. I promised to help her do something similar for her and Sonic…”

“Well, it does seem that you have a knack for this,” She complimented him before taking another sip, “I’m sure she’ll be more than pleased with wherever and whenever you send them.”

“She already has ideas, but I’m scared of granting her free reign in the past,” He cringed, “I need to find a middle ground between an interesting place and somewhere it’d be difficult to change the future,” She watched as a cupcake flew through the air, the hedgehog hadn’t had a sandwich yet but she was too comfortable to scold him, “I was thinking about letting them go on a winter date in the middle of summer… she seemed to think that was a great idea.”

“That does sound rather romantic. Very unique,” Blaze responded, before a likely truth ran through her mind, “Although, she’ll probably want you to surprise him with it. If you do that, she’ll surely be ready for the cold while he won’t be. It’ll be an opportunity to get closer to him, in more ways than one.”

“She wouldn’t let him freeze, right?” He asked, so very innocently.

“No, she certainly wouldn’t,” The pyrokinetic half-joked, “But I think, deep down, he’d enjoy that just as much as her.”

Conversation ebbed and flowed, just as the tide or changes in the clouds. One moment they would be discussing the food but the next they would be simply holding each other and enjoying their serene surroundings, only to later end up laughing about their friends’ potential antics. They were never quiet for too long, but conversation never felt forced or as though it was some sort of requirement, it was allowed to come and go as it pleased. Silver’s pointing out of a cloud shaped like Cream’s head led to a long span of time where they stared to the sky, occasionally pointing out the strange forms they observed. It was all so regular, so fundamentally plain, and it brought her nigh unending peace. Though she yawned throughout their meal, Blaze never found herself falling asleep.

His arms had found their way to hold her, clasping just above her bellybutton. This had been intended to relax her, but the princess couldn’t help but take in how peaceful her partner looked. He’d been so overexcited, but he’d equally worked so hard. It wasn’t surprising to see him so tired. After another long bout of silence, the hedgehog began to shift.

“Well, the food’s done,” He hummed, beginning to return the crockery to the hamper. In truth, they hadn’t managed to entirely finish all the sandwiches but she’d long since expressed her fullness, “We should probably head back, right?”

It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say, but she fundamentally understood it. He was trying to be mature, trying to match the seriousness she so often displayed, but Blaze had been spurred on by their surroundings. If they truly were outside of time, able to return to it at any moment, then what was the rush? Why would she ever waste a day as perfect as this. Just this once, perhaps only this once ever, Blaze the cat, the guardian of the Sol emeralds and princess of the Sol kingdom, decided to be greedy.

“I don’t think two hundred years have passed yet,” The pyrokinetic hummed, sitting up stretching.

“Eh?” He was clearly caught off guard.

“I thought I got to decide when we went back?” She teased, now fully rising to her feet. Blaze turned to him, “If this is my kingdom then I would like to see it.”

The hedgehog stumbled to his feet, beaming, “R-Really? I didn’t look around too much, just in case you wanted to. I just took a bit of a glance around from above, made sure everything was as it should be.”

She brushed past him, taking the hedgehog’s hand and feeling her tail wrap around his waist, “Shall we stroll then? Take in this island, unsullied by others’ footsteps?”

He squeezed her hand, bundling their picnic spread into a neat pile and setting her royal robe atop it, “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

That stroll quickly evolved into a frankly stupid dash through the woods. Hand in hand soon turned to arm in arm as they leapt through the thick bracken of the underbrush. Though the hedgehog apparently had some knowledge of the layout, the feline soon ended up leading and racing to reach spots she knew would be transformed with time. A great peach tree forest presently stood, proud and strong, where the royal gardens would eventually take root. The feline had known that these trees were native to the island, but not that they were nearly so plentiful. In her time, only a few remained on Southern Island, one at the heart of the aforementioned garden and another near the town centre. Both were said to be centuries old but now Blaze knew that was certainly true.

Beyond those trees were a swamp, now the site of southern island’s main shopping district. The countless croaking of frogs proved to her that this part of her kingdom had always been loud, but seeing it in such a natural state almost made Blaze wish it was still in such a state. Still, that feeling was quickly washed away as Silver went to pick up a small amphibian only to tumble over himself. Though he managed to psychically keep himself from falling, the response from all the frogs was to leap from the brackish liquid and scatter in all directions. The cacophony of croaks was only rivalled by the sound of their slippery forms crashing back into the water and against the ferns of the undergrowth. The sight of him, bashfully hanging there as if he’d been ensnared in some unseen trap, was more than enough to make her laugh. In an instant, the hunter had taken the place of his supposed prey. What he’d intended to do with a frog if he’d caught it, let alone why he’d tried to catch one with his hands, Blaze had no idea, but it’d only added to the enjoyable mundanity of the day.

No reason, beyond the virtue of freedom she felt welling in her chest, led Blaze to break from staring at him and, still grinning from ear to ear, take off running. The hedgehog gave pursuit, for once not so oblivious as to think this was more than a mere game. Blaze jumped over roots and weaved through trees, running just out of arm’s reach ahead of the psychic. Her heart pounded as though this was some harsh battle, some life-or-death scenario, but she knew it’d only been stoked by the childish part of infatuation. She couldn’t do this in her time, not without feeling the eyes of her people scrutinising her every movement. Even when she was in the other dimension, the presence of so many people made her feel as though her every movement was being analysed. This was freedom, a form of release from her inhibitions that she’d never experience otherwise. It was as though they were in that destroyed future again, still children who were oblivious to how the world was supposed to be, but free from the pressures that world had forced upon them.

She ran and ran and ran until the trees were no more, until the grass vanished from under her and stone took its place. Blaze found herself at the edge of a bluff, overlooking the beach and the sea just beyond it. The feline knew this rockface well, she and he had enjoyed many picnics atop it. Though it was open and exposed now, it would with time become one of the most secluded and private places on the entire island. Panting, she drew the back of her hand across her brow and threw a glance back to him. Cyan light was glowing from the trees, he was in pursuit but had perhaps lost her.

“Silver! This way!” She called out before quickly turning her attention back to the view.

To Blaze, the value of the sea had been lost to her life spent on an island nation. She’d come to take the waters for granted, it was all she’d known for much too long, her relationship with the ocean had been a rather dull one. But now, seeing a beach devoid of people and waters more pristine than ever before, the beauty of the view took her by force. An untouched driftwood barrier formed a long yet broken line along the shore, protecting and simultaneously buffering a wide collection of rocks and shells of all different sizes and shapes.

She heard him land at her side; the key reason that she could stand heights like this. Across both lives, he’d helped her overcome that fear of falling. That alone was a miracle, she couldn’t believe she’d overlooked his potential for quite so long. What had once been a power she was equal parts captivated by and envious of had quickly become a rather romantic tool, a key part of unspoken his arsenal. Though this was the first occasion he’d taken them out of time for such a casual reason, he’d so often and so casually snuck her gifts with his power and carried her for miles above the ground. With the wave of his hand he could sweep her off her feet, not that he would without checking in first.

“It’s beautiful. This spot reminds me of when I first arrived in this world, everything looked so incredible. Undamaged, untouched,” The hedgehog thought aloud, “Do you want to head down there?”

Her tail had already snuck its way around his side again, but she knew that wasn’t enough of a hint for him. She had control, the almighty time traveling psychic was practically wrapped around her finger. It was probably due to their lonely situation but, now that they were away from the forest, it was as though the pair were more isolated than ever. She couldn’t help but feel just a little more confident than usual.

Yawning, mimicking the kind of movements she’d only ever seen in movies and read of in books, the feline stretched her arm around his far shoulder, “I suppose I might.”

Beet red colouration rushed to colour his cheeks as she stepped closer and allowed her right hand to sink into his chest fur, “I-I’ll take you wherever you want to go…”

She raised her leg and he quickly caught on, using his psychic pull to bring her into a bridal carry. This position had taken on different meanings across their lives. While once the feeling of his arm beneath her knee was a sign that they were retreating, it now signified a journey toward something. Be it the peak of a mountain or deep into a valley or simply further in their relationship, this position was a sign of movement. Gently, casually, she let herself lean into his shoulder.

Plainly trying to ignore his blush, a sheen of cyan overtook the hedgehog’s body as gravity abandoned them. With a single step they were floating above the abyss, but he didn’t stop there. As if walking on any normal road, the hedgehog paced further and further forward. With each step they would descend as far down as they did forward. Despite their relatively slow pace, Blaze lost track of time as she stared up at him.

There was something about moments like this, when that psychic glow coated him and his quills hardened in response. It contrasted so heavily with the childhood view she’d had of him, of an adorable ball of white fluff who was far too serious for his own good. Places like this brought out the best in him, let him be more casual and match his inherently soft aesthetic. He could be harsh and strong when he had to be, but she knew this was his closer to his natural state.

As his feet met the ground his eyes crashed into hers. She opted not to step out of his grasp, “S-So, um, we’re here.”

“I’d noticed,” She hummed, scanning their surroundings. He’d landed them on the inner edge of the driftwood barrier, where shells had gathered for years on this untouched land, “Shall we sit?”

“If you want,” The hedgehog struggled to respond, lowering the pair of them to the ground. Naturally, she maintained her position in his lap and atop him.

So very casually, or at least as casually as she could manage, the pyrokinetic cast a glance to her surroundings. The crashing of waves was somehow clearer than it typically was in her time, perhaps due in part to the lack of individuals intruding upon the ocean’s path. The sand was especially smooth, perhaps a result of the ocean’s efforts going entirely unhindered. She blindly stretched behind her, feeling her way through what few shells were in reach. They were cockles, as was supposed to be the case on the island. She had a meeting regarding their harvesting later today or, rather, in almost two thousand years.

She caught sight of his staring out of the corner of her eye. He was looking out to sea, but the remnants of his blush still lingered on his cheeks. Her only regret in all this was that she hadn’t seen his reaction as he first laid eyes upon this untouched world. The hedgehog had grown such an affinity for nature, a want to both experience and protect. It’d become an additional aspect of his role defending that other world, making sure that nature continued to thrive. From gardening to birdwatching to hiking, he’d fully embraced what he so often had to go weeks without.

He would leave again soon to perform that duty, she had to take advantage of what they had both here and now.

“You know, this has all been quite the flagrant misuse of your powers,” She tutted, shifting her weight to push him backwards as she broke the silence, “Very irresponsible.”

It was hardly the most scathing of her taunts but, perhaps due to the physical act that had coincided with it, her words it clearly snatched the hedgehog’s attention. His eyes flickered up to her, wide with surprise. The term your highness, or any of her royal titles for that matter, didn’t much appeal to the feline, but turning her learned regal traits on the hedgehog was an endless source of fun. She watched as surprise was gradually overcome by what little defiance he could muster; she already knew what he was going to say.

“W-Well,” He stuttered, trapped beneath her, “I thought it was for the best? It’s not like I only use my powers to save the world, I used them to pass you grapes before we left.”

“Ah yes, how long ago was that? More than ten minutes must have past by now,” The feline felt a smirk grow on her face as the hedgehog squirmed, “You’ve made me late.”

“We’ll be back on time, I promise,” He managed to reply, struggling to meet her gaze, “I-I’ll drop you right into the meeting room if you want, we can even arrive early. Your past self will be in the library for ten minutes before it starts, you can spend all that time getting ready for the next meeting.”

“How naïve, making such decisions for a princess,” She sat up straight, shuffling off of him a little.

The hedgehog managed to rise just a little, though his blush hadn’t cleared in the slightest, “Y-You’re happy to be here though, right? You’re happy to have this break?”

“Am I?” Blaze turned away from him and smirked toward the sea, “Whyever would you think that?”

“Y-You’ve been smiling,” He stammered, she could imagine the worry on his face without even glancing his way.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” She lied, still looking out to sea. Far away, she could see where the waves dipped beneath the horizon. They really were alone out here. Playing with him like this in such a public space was truly liberating, “Though I supposed I have enjoyed this, somewhat.”

“I’m glad,” Like a switch had been flipped, he was beaming again, “You looked so tired back in the library. I know I can’t do much to help with your work but, if you ever need something like this again, you only need to say.”

“We can’t do this every time, Silver. There will be occasions when I’ll want to, but I know we shouldn’t,” His smile wavered, she cupped his cheek. He was so genuine, so sweet, so naïve, “Just having you by my side is more than enough,” She allowed that hand to slip to his quills and ruffle them, “Although, that’s not to say I won’t ever take you up on that offer…”

For a long while, surrounded by this serene scene, they simply sat and enjoyed each other’s company. Blaze found herself not sleeping but simply snuggling into the time traveller, burying her head into the crook of his neck before lowering to reclaim the pillow that was his chest. Eventually though, the feline knew that she was as comfortable as was possible, that all her relaxation had reached its climax. Pushing herself from his frame to loom above him once again.

“We should probably head back,” She snorted, as he fumbled to his feet, “Or, I suppose, head forward in this case.”

“If you’re sure you’re ready,” He double checked, only casting his hands skyward as she nodded.

Psychokinesis whirred and hummed, a great blue pulse left the markings on his hand only to soar above and beyond the cliff-face. While that energy was racing towards their belongings, the hedgehog’s face took on a frankly goofy expression. Despite how casual this situation was, his commonly serious demeanour had leached through to make him look rather foolish. His very colourful and uniquely patterned shirt certainly wasn’t helping matters.

In no less than a minute, Blaze sighted a glowing bundle soaring over the bluff’s lip. Like some kind of soft meteor, the wrapped-up picnic basket crashed towards them, only just stopping before it could hit the hedgehog in the chest. As the pile swept past, she plucked her robe from the top and shouldered it.

“You’re sure that you’ll be able to get us back to the right time, aren’t you?” The princess asked, dusting the sand from her tights.

“I promise,” He smiled, floating the bundle behind them before stretching his hands forward. From the quills at the back of his head, a well-cut green stone flew to hover in front of them. A chaos emerald, his preferred source of energy.

As though he was washing a window with sponges strapped to both of his palms, the hedgehog began to wave his hands in repeated circles. More energy began to pool in front of him like a warbling plate, it quickly grew from the size of a droplet to become far larger than either of them. The outer edge of the disk gradually ceased in their shifting and the hedgehog’s hands fell to his sides. The effort did seem to take it out of him a little but, with them now both bathing in the light of transportation, he wouldn’t have to work again.

“After you,” He gestured ahead, plucking the emerald from the air.

Blaze, entirely trusting her partner, stepped forward. Shifting across time and space was, by now, practically second nature to her. Once upon a time she’d struggled with the instantaneous shift from one place to another, her first arrival in the other dimension had left her dizzy and exhausted. Now she knew some best practices; to close her eyes, hold her breath and keep her balance.

She stepped off of sand and straight onto hardwood.

The strong scent of coffee struck Blaze first, the only true amenity in the room was a small coffeepot set on a small side table. That much was enough to let Blaze know that they’d arrived. No wind rustled through her fur and the room was lit by a series of electric lights that had been plugged into the celling when she was five. They were at the heart of the palace, there were no windows for the sun to breach. Just a boring wooden table with reflective varnish. He walked in behind her, sealing the portal with no more than a wave as he finished arriving.

Compared to the world they’d just known; the silence of the meeting room was deafening. She already missed the breaking of waves and the ticking of the room’s clock wasn’t a worthy replacement. They’d manifested at the head of the table, her position, and were faced with six empty seats. A glance to the wall proved that Silver had stuck to his word, it was exactly ten minutes till one o’clock. On the long stretching desk, directly in front of her seat, was a bulky binder filled with notes and opened to the hour’s itinerary. Ah yes, she’d gone from running through forests, trudging through swamps and having a heart to heart on the beach to discussing where to bury the dead in no more than a moment.

How long had they spent away? She’d assumed that it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours but, in truth, time had been rather lost on her. Despite his intent being to create a time for resting, they’d ran and acted in such a wild manned. Instead, he’d energised her in an entirely different way. He’d brought her excitement; he’d given her the strength to carry on and get through today. How could she even begin to repay that?

An idea wriggled its way into Blaze’s head.

Nonchalantly, the feline redonned her robe and neatly fastened it before retaking her seat, pretending to scan her notes, “Well, everything seems to be in order…”

“I told you that I’d get us back on time,” She could hear the joy in his voice.

“You certainly did,” The princess squinted at the page, placing her finger beneath a chosen random word, “But it does look like the timeline has changed, ever so slightly.”

“W-What? It has?” He rushed to her side, leaning over her shoulder to look at the papers, “Blaze, what are you talking about? This is still all about refurbishing gravesto-

The moment he turned from the page to look at her, Blaze’s hand sunk into the quills on the back of his head and pulled him in just a little closer. He surely knew what she was about to do, she’d done it often enough, but that didn’t seem to stop him from becoming flustered. After a moment of staring, taking in his blushing face, Blaze closed her eyes and closed the distance.

Feeling him shudder at the first contact, wanting to return her efforts but being restricted by her hold, brought the princess endless jubilation. Blaze’s heartbeat shot up, as she pulled him in and offered him the slightest of opportunities. He hurriedly took it, pushing to further close the distance as is such a thing was possible. The taste of raspberry lemonade on his lips was just an added bonus. Feeling him grow tense beneath her touch, knowing that, despite his capacity to take her back in time, she had this power over him, was incredible. A might not born of her royal position or pyrokinetic might, but love.

The kiss didn’t last for long, of course. Not only did she have work to return to, but Blaze knew it was best to leave him wanting more. As she pulled back, her eyes reopened and his bashful face filled her vision. Eyes lit like overexcited lighting bolts, cheeks like poppy petals and a thorough look of overexcitement had claimed his face.

“S-So, I take it the timeline hasn’t actually changed then?” The psychic eventually asked.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” She smirked, “You’re the same naïve hedgehog you were when we left.”

“That’s good,” He struggled to reply, “I-I think.”

For a moment longer she simply stared into his eyes and watched him squirm. The princess didn’t especially wear makeup but the idea of leaving a lipstick stain on him had crossed her mind a handful of times. He probably wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. But, alas, similarly too late, they’d been lingering together for much too long. The pair of them had just spent hours together, she’d decided it was time to go, and yet she didn’t want to release him. What foolishness…

“I’ll see you in an hour and a half, perhaps a little longer,” She mused, still holding the back of his head, “If you can make such good use of two minutes, what can you do with so much more?”

“W-Well, um,” He squeaked, “I guess I’ll try to think of something?”

Her fingers uncurled from his quills but the hedgehog, plainly stunned, didn’t move, “I’m sure you will, but, for now, we must part.”

“O-Oh, right, yes, um,” He shot up straight, quickly looking away, “Good luck with, um, t-the graveyard people.”

“You’ll need to get used to this eventually,” She rolled her eyes. Despite the rarity of their kisses, given only when she was certain no one else could see, she’d thought that he’d have grown a little bolder by now. Despite the smallness of her action in comparison to his, the hedgehog was adorably lovestruck.

“I don’t know that I can do that in an hour and a half, even with time travel,” He mumbled, tugging at his chest fur, “And an extra fifteen minutes probably won’t change that.”

He could be so naïve, so blunt and oblivious. Without a second thought, Blaze rose from her seat and took him by the collar. Uttering nothing more than the word “Well, if you can’t manage that,” For the second time in so many minutes, her lips found his. The ticking of the wall clock filled her ears as they parted again, “Just brace yourself for when I finish up.”

#silvaze #Blaze the Cat #Silver the Hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #Amy Rose #i guess the latter two are just mentioned but oh well #Marine The Raccoon #fanfiction #sonic

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hobicomeholla29 · 4 years

Text

Shatter - Part 1 - JHS

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst/ Romance/ Fluff in the future

Word Count:3.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death/Mentions of wars/Mentions(hints) of depression/Mourning

Rating: PG13

A/N: Hey! Hey! Before I get into anything else I first have to that all the beautiful who helped me with checkin, beta reading and giving me fantastic feedback in general! @sugaa-sugaaa @spicykoreantatertots @nottodayjjk Thank you so so much for your words of support and for pushing me through to deliver a good piece for everyone!

That being said, This is a 2 shot! Please look forward to part 2!

THIS IS A REPOST. Cuz it wasn’t showing up in the tags.

Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, where humankind’s greed has lead planet earth to turn into a ball of dust, all Hoseok wants is a better and bright future, yet strong feelings and a positive mind doesn’t always cut it.

Masterlist

The early morning sky was filled with an eerie fog that threatened to smother anyone who didn’t wear the appropriate attire for being outdoors.

You stood straight; hands balled in tight fists. A mixture of emotions running through your body. Sadness, anger, helplessness, fear…

You were the only ones standing in the middle of the empty field, no one else daring to stand still and be surrounded by the suffocating drafts of air that carried large amounts of toxins –a consequence of humankind utilizing nuclear weapons in the past.

You remember stories being told about your ancestors taking long walks through lucious fields without sporting gas masks on their faces, just imagine enjoying the air in the atmosphere instead of fearing it.

Most parts of the beautiful earth that once existed were now wastelands, all thanks to what was called The Colossal War.

Civilization was anything but civilized after that, creating division and animosity between groups of people with different ideals.

Clans were created and with them the claiming of lands. Lands that provided resources for sustenance, yet the quick dwindling of resources and supplies made some clans selfish, refusing to barter with others and instead attempting to conquer their lands as well.

With bigger and stronger clans taking over the smaller and weaker ones, eventually only four major clans remained, the only exception being small factions that settled between the abandoned areas near the borders of each clan.

Some factions were harmless, only looking for a peaceful place to live, making them nomads, since they had to constantly move to avoid being forced to pledge to one of the four major clans. Others were rioters, ready to go against anything and anyone who posed a threat to their beliefs and wants.

During the long solars that came and went after The Colossal War, much had changed.

Technology, communication, transportation, settlements.

It had all changed, but you really couldn’t say it was all for good.

Technology had turned obsolete at a steady pace, leaving only a few gadgets that were still able to function without being saturated or losing signal without proper cell towers.

Most of them had been vandalized or burned to ashes, mostly to steal copper from the area.

The only remaining signal towers were those of glass recorders.

A glass recorder was the device that kept track of a person’s life.

Since The Colossal War in 3010, civil wars had been blowing up everywhere. Causing inconvenience in simple tasks like having troops return to a fallen soldier’s clan to inform their family about their passing.

A simple duty as this one might have worked back in 2020 but not in 3011.

If troops were sent back, they were at risk of running into an enemy faction and breaking into another battle.

Hence, in 3015, glass recorders were created.

A glass recorder was a device made out of bulletproof glass. Its interior was filled with cables and microchips that contained a person’s personal information, tracking and broadcasting an individual’s vital signs at all times. Constant long-ranged waves went from the glass recorder - to the signal towers around the globe - to the chip installed in the individual’s neck and back.

You could say its data sharing function was similar to the behaviour of olden times bluetooth connections, except that the only information it could send and receive was vital signs and identification details.

Many tried hacking them, attempting to rob information from the device and using it for ulterior motives, however they are designed with an auto destruction mode in case of hacking or death and their towers were heavily protected by troops from each clan.

Usually their sizes were similar to that of an old cellphone.

On one side there’s a knob, remarkably similar to what DJs back in the day used on their mixing boards. It acted as a switch between the different modes the glass recorder could be set on, them being Vitals, Information and Hologram. And on the other side there was a touchscreen, where vitals could be read and holograms could be activated.

There was also an XBS dock entrance on one side of the device. It was mostly used by the law enforcers by transferring any new information about an individual from their archives to the glass recorder, whether it was good or bad.

All of that information, including marital status, first degree relatives, occupation, date of birth and allergies could be found on information mode.

On vitals, details were given about their current health status and the sound of their heartbeat could be played.

And finally on hologram mode, you could see a three-dimensional scale of the owner’s body, making it easier to check for injuries or if any internal damage had been taken.

Besides glass recorders, communication had jumped back to messaging via written letters or oral messages sent via a messenger.

Any vehicles that had existed on the face of earth, had been overhauled.

Updated to cater to the usage it now provided to the arid ground.

Motorcycles, cars, buses, trucks and ships, all modified.

Additional exhaust pipes, thicker tires, dust shields, dredging machinery, artillery and artillery holders, were examples of things you had seen being mounted on different transports, including aircrafts.

As for yourself, you lived in a colony that had been forced to be part of one of the major 4 clans, The Jeon Clan.

The Jeon clan was strong, the Jeon clan was powerful, the Jeon clan was feared, the Jeon clan was blinded by its greed, the Jeon clan stood above everyone and if you refused their ways, then you refused living.

That’s how your small clan ended up under their command.

It was common to hear stories as an infant about how the Jeon clan conquered. They always portrayed the glorious stories of how leader -Jeon the 1st- had tirelessly battled large creatures and evil men to save small clans from their miserable lives, however in each capsule each family shared the story with their offspring as they remembered it best.

Meaning some stories were wonderful, while others were resentful memories and stories of how their clans had been forced to change their ways or how they had lost loved ones to the Jeon reign.

You were only 7 when it all happened.

You remember it so clearly, it felt like you were reliving it each time.

You stood in the middle of the large hangar, eyes searching left and right for your father.

Men and women ran all around, either towards shelter or towards the battle zone.

A military truck’s engine roared in the background, yet you couldn’t figure out which of the twenty something trucks near you had been brought to life.

You frantically ran in the opposite direction. You needed to find him, you needed to convince him not to go.

Running as fast as your short legs could take you, you tightly held on to the glass recorder in your hand.

Tears started prickling your eyes the longer it went without you being able to find him.

Two NSTV vehicles sped past you, swiftly followed by a caravan of men on choppers, armed to the teeth.

Luckily none of them seemed to be your father.

You were getting desperate.

All he had done was left a note on your bed with his glass recorder.

“My beautiful cyberflower, I love you so much. And because I love you, I must defend you. Papa might not be back for a while, but he will make sure that if he doesn’t come back at all, it is because he was able to create a better place for you to live in."

He promised he would never go, that he would stay no matter what.

That he wouldn’t do the same thing your mom did.

Leaving you behind was never the solution. You preferred having them both and figuring everything else out later than having none of them and still being lost.

Why was it so easy for them to leave you behind…?

You didn’t notice you had dropped to your knees, you didn’t notice the tears that cascaded from your face and you certainly didn’t notice how your mourning wail had halted all activities under the hangar.

All frozen in place, no one in the building could figure out why. How could the desperate cry of a child send shivers down their spine? How could it express without mistake, their inner thoughts and feelings.

They felt the grief and pain of having to put their lives on the line to give their loved ones a better future.

A future that should have been granted to them, but the Jeons thought differently.

Yet, your clearest memory from that day was the tight embrace that pulled you out of your dazed state.

The embrace that told you that even if everything didn’t turn out as you wanted, he would be there to walk you through it.

He would be there with that bright smile of his that cleared away all of your cloudy days.

A rundown metallic shed stood at a distance, it was probably used in the past by troops as a hideout, yet for several solars it had been a place you used for solace.

The location gave you a quiet place to think, a quiet place to run away to when everything got too hectic at the colony, a place to yell out of frustration. It was your place -even if it was on enemy’s territory.

However, today said shed felt smaller, its tall walls choking you, suppressing your lungs, no calm remained in it as the words that dropped from your lover’s mouth bounced from wall to wall. The echo made you feel like the words were mocking you by constantly repeating what he said.

"I must go, and you must stay.”

You knew you had heard word of people in the colony joining forces with others near you, to topple the Jeon clan.

Nonetheless, you figured it was just tittle-tattle.

Yet here you are standing in the middle of the building, right in front of your lover, who is spewing the same nonsense your father did so many solara ago.

"Is this a joke? ‘Cause I’m not laughing…"

You saw his hands clenched into fists in annoyance, he tried holding in his feelings, yet the frustrated sigh that left his lips sold him out quickly.

Deep down he knew you wouldn’t take the news lightly, that you would want to accompany him on this journey as well or avoid the whole thing in general. But if he let you, if you came along, his departure would have no meaning. He was leaving for you. He thought you would be more rational.That the conversation would last less than a fraction of a solar, but he stood corrected.

"I can’t stay here on my own. You can’t leave me just like that.” You were distraught. Your eyes searched for his, yet his gaze remained on the door you had used moments ago to enter the shed.

You needed to bring his mind back to you, to the present where you both still remained, you needed to keep him away from thoughts of the unknown future and the doom that could be.

Why was he trying to be person number three on your mourning list?

Your eyes remained on his, yet your fingers occupied themselves trying to find his glove-covered ones, the action making him look down at your entwined fingers.

His eyes seemed to soften at your actions and that alone helped you breathe easier. Deep down you knew that you had to stay back and wait for him, it would be the safest place for you, the colony was your home, but the news he dropped on you like a bucket of cold water had your common senses frozen.Why would he want to leave you so suddenly?

Maybe he no longer wanted this, maybe you were too much, maybe that promise he made solars ago about walking the path with you was too heavy and too much of a burden…

“You must stay, for me,” He said, “and for them.” His eyes dropped to your stomach, his free hand caressing the bump that had started forming not long ago.

“Hoseok…please…” You had to try at least one more time. If he still was that warrior at heart that you had once met, then he was certain to leave even with you crying rivers.

“I must go, my love. I have to be a part of this fight that will give our family the freedom that they deserve. The freedom that WE deserve.” His eyes glossed over, yet not one tear abandoned his eye. He was sure of his decision and nothing could stop him now.

“You don’t have to… A lot of men are already there."

"And I am sure they also have families and other reasons to be there. I will lend them a hand and they shall lend me one. We will fight for a better life and world, a better place to raise our offspring, a better place to grow old.” At this point in conversation, his eyes are boring into yours, yet there is no anger towards you. Only love, strong, heated, unwavering, caring and passionate love. There was certainly no way for you to fight against that.

For a split second, his eyes left yours, and you followed the movements of his left hand. Carefully, he pushed his hand into his pocket, retrieving a device that you were very familiar with.

His glass recorder.

“I- I can’t."

"It’s the only way for you to know my status… and if it ever comes to worse, you’ll know not to wait for me any longer.” He said as he placed it in your hand.

“Please stop talking like you are a dead man already!"

"Y/n-” You interrupted him mid-sentence. You were blabbing now. All your thoughts and fears spilling out at once.

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want you to go! I want you here with me, with our babies. If you tell the Chief he will let you stay. We are expecting! I can’t lose you; you are walking to your grav-"

"Y/N!” His sudden yell made you flinch, but nonetheless, you looked him in the eyes, only to find them filled with tears. Filled with fear but determination as well.

He was always like this, a young man with a mission. Fire in his eyes, determined to make this world a better place, even if it scared him to the core. He always said…

“There is no better way to deal with fear than to walk right over it…” Those stupid words he repeated everyday since you were 7. “This is me walking all over it. This is me putting you -putting them over my fear of what may be."

"I love you."

"And I love you, my beautiful cyberflower.” His hand grabbed yours, slowly bringing each one of them to his face and kissing your knuckles and palms softly.

“I’ll always return to you."

And so, you watched him ride his chopper towards the horizon.

His silhouette quickly disappeared in the darkness of the night.

Even though the light of the moon shone brightly, it felt dark around you, as if your clouds had returned with the sole departure of his bright smile.

Your hand squeezed the device he left behind, your grip getting stronger the further he drove and now you really wondered, "How is it so easy for everyone to leave me behind?"

150 solars and 149 lunars went by, yet nothing had changed.

Since the day Hoseok had left, your days consisted of nothing but worrying, eating, and visiting the shed.

An old steel bench was set outside of the old metallic building and just like any other day you’d visited, you sat on the edge of it, contemplating life and hoping today was the day Hoseok would return to you as he had promised.

As time flew by, you added this day to the list of other ones where your lover didn’t return and although you tried to remain as positive as possible, you couldn’t stop thinking about why life was so cruel? Why did any of you have to live through this? It certainly wasn’t fair. No one deserved to be forced to choose death if they didn’t choose what someone else wanted.

Since your great-grandparents’ days, the future was supposed to be glorious, beautiful, and bright. Technology was supposed to make everything better. But somehow it all turned to worse.

Pride, arrogance, and selfishness had created the horrible world that you now lived in.

People lost their lives as an exchange for a promise they never received.

They fought battles to free people who were slaves to their own fears and now this was the consequence of all that was done. What a sad life to live. What a horrible life to live.

You rubbed your stomach feeling your bump as it continued to grow. Time doesn’t stop for anyone, is what they say and your clear example is how close you are to being due.

The walk back to your clan’s colony was an easy 10-minute walk that could turn mortal if taken while distracted, hence you carried a machete in your boot.

Once you set foot on your colony’s official territory, you swiftly made your way to your family home capsule, ready to wash off the sorrow and go to bed as you would wait for the next solar to come.

Sadly for you, that hope disappeared the second you made eye contact with someone you didn’t wish to see at the moment.

His eyes caught yours and you saw a mix of emotions: sorrow, understanding, relief and worry, all conveyed to you in a single glance.

You knew what was to come, it was always the same dialogue, but you didn’t want to do this today.

Today you felt drowned, disappointed, you could feel that dark cloud that loomed over your head enlarging day by day.

"You know it’s not s—”

“Save it, Namjoon. I’m not a chil—"

“—But you are a carrying woman, who is walking carelessly to a place where no one can or will follow you.”

“I am not carele—”

“Y/N, shut up for once and put this through your thick skull!! Hendra is enemy territory!!”

And with that he left to his own family capsule, stomping all the way to the door and slamming it closed.

For the first time, you felt different and maybe it had something to do with the fact that Namjoon and your argument didn’t end in the usual monotonous sermon he always gave you, where he remained calm all the way and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

The funny part about the entire thing was that you were cousins, and your family capsules were right beside each other, so you were sure you’d have to see his sour expression the following day.

Finally in your own capsule - the one you used to share with Hoseok, you took that shower that you daydreamed about and headed to your room.

Just like every night, you muted your room to the outside world, opting to listen to the broadcast of your beloved’s heartbeat.

It was the only thing that helped you sleep at night and somehow you felt as if it pacified the two progenies in you.

You didn’t know when or how it happened, but eventually 365 solars had gone by.

365 solars since the day of his departure and you weren’t getting any better at being without him.

You were now a mother of two. A dawn and a dusk. One born in the early morning and one almost 12 hours later.

So, you gave them names that matched their arrivals to this world, Dawn and Dusk.

All times prior to that day, you felt that once they arrived, there would be this large turning point in your life. That once you had someone who depended on you, your days would start to shift into something brighter, yet somehow, even after the arrival of your children, you felt almost no difference, bordering on saying that you might even felt worse.

Their faces were the perfect mix of your deoxyribonucleic acid and his. Two different beings creating harmony in the body of two newer ones.

Their father had left to give them a better future but, in the process, he had left a broken family behind. It felt incomplete and hollow and somehow you envied the blissful ignorance that your infants currently lived in. Not able to understand the sorrowful life that currently surrounded them.

Another 365 solars went by.

You still listened to Hoseok’s heartbeats every night. The glass recorder remaining as your sole companion in addition to your —now— toddlers.

The night remained quiet. You could barely hear the murmur of voices from the capsule near yours. If you were right, you were sure it was Namjoon and his wife, discussing the plan for retrieving meals for the clan the following morning.

You shifted on the foam mattress that only reminded you more of him. A very faint and almost gone notion of his scent wafting up from what used to be his pillow.

From afar you watched the two small bodies –lying on the second mattress in your room— inhale and exhale deep in their slumber.

They had —just like you— fallen asleep to the beat of the heart of a stranger you placed in front of them and made them call him father.

You loved them, every bit of them. Would do anything for them not to suffer, and maybe just then, in that moment, you understood a bit of Hoseok’s reasoning.

You toss and turn all of a sudden jerking awake from your slumber. You could not recall when you had fallen asleep, so your mind remained disoriented for a short minute, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your heavy eyes roamed around the room, picking up on every detail, the babies were still asleep, the clock read 3AM and the glass recorder wasn’t beating…

THE GLASS RECORDER WASN’T BEATING!

Violently, you pulled the sheets off your body, grabbing the device as soon as your hands were close enough to grab it.

“Why are you not beating? Why are you not broadcasting? What the fu—”

And it hit you like a train… but you didn’t believe it, you couldn’t believe it.

You shook it and twisted the knob and switched it to hologram mode, but it wasn’t working and you didn’t know what to do, your hands were shaking, your thoughts were jumbled…

“This can’t be happening.”

And when a fake solar illuminated your mind, you quickly turned around to plug it in to your old computer, however, the universe had other plans for you and without announcement the device cracked.

You watched it crack little by little, extending all around the recorder, slowly marking the beautiful device with horrible lines that marked its ending, it didn’t stop until it was no longer graspable and all that was left behind was crystal dust in your cupped hands.

You didn’t hear when Namjoon and his wife entered your room or when your kids were taken out of there. Your sobs alerting 3 capsules nearby of the sorrowful occurrence of the night.

It was the worst type of Deja Vu, because just like your mother and father, you’d never see him again…

“Hoseok…”

Thank you so much for reading part one of this 2 shot! Hopefully it didn’t scare you off for part 2!

#btsnoonanet #btsghostie #bangtanscenery #castlebangtan #hobi x reader #hoseok x reader #bts x reader #hoseok x poc #hobi x woc #bts x woc

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of-sand-and-steel · 4 years

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republic city part i

okay this isn't REALLY a full explanation of the previous post but i do think the main reason* republic city is a terrible place to live for a lot of people is that some of the councilmembers vote on purpose to make it suck. hear me out:

*the following discussions are supported by subsequent comics canon but i absolutely don’t think bryke cared about anything more than the aesthetic of republic city at the time that lok was on the air lmao

(a) it's earth kingdom territory. king kuei may be fine with it after the events of the comics, but there are still a whole class of earth kingdom elites wondering why their land is now in the hands of a bunch of teens and twenty-somethings. of course the earth kingdom's appointed councilmember is going to be a quiet revanchist, making the united republic look as ungoverned and lawless as possible to spite them, as well as to provide pretext for taking the land back by force whenever the monarchy gets around to it. (we see some of this reasoning in the fight for earth kingdom succession in book 4 of lok, and kyoshi deals with similarly corrupt officials during her time as the avatar.)

(b) the northern water tribe leadership has a personal vendetta against katara and her family for just so many reasons, and the united republic is, more than anyone else's, sokka's pet project. (sure zuko and aang are why it exists in the first place, and the beifongs are the force behind its growth, but we see sokka in lok as the political face and chairman of the territory.) as revenge for his family preventing the north from colonizing/reabsorbing the south, their designated councilmember is there mostly to tarnish his family's reputation by making sure republic city looks like a savage, unattractive backwater—just like they pretend the southern water tribe is. (again we see VERY messy echoes of this reasoning in book 2 of lok, and it helps explain why the north is represented by just a blatantly shady crook in book 1 instead of literally anyone else.)

“but of-sand-and-steel,” you might say, “that’s only two of the five votes on the council. surely the other representatives would want republic city to be a shining beacon of international brotherhood!” well, unfortunately,

(c1) a case study: in “imbalance,” aang tries to shut down a factory that is poisoning the environment and upsetting the spirit of general old iron, but he is immediately shut down by the claim that the factory is a symbol of fire nation and earth kingdom cooperation. clearly, it’s more about wealth and exploiting the environment than international brotherhood, but the implications for the future of the city are thus: in decisions that make money for powerful families (e.g., the satos, the beifongs), people with good intentions can be bullied into supporting inequality and environmental destruction with claims of international cooperation. and when a good amount of the families benefiting are ethnically fire nation (thanks, colonialism!), it becomes easy to pry off that councilmember’s vote.

(c2) a corollary: meanwhile, you can see how easy it would be to block good laws if two councilmembers who happen to be acting in bad faith accuse the others of imposing different values onto the people who live there. propose a public school system? good luck agreeing on the curriculum. maybe you want to ensure children don’t go hungry? kinda problematic to have people with different cultural values decide what our families do with our kids. are you trying to make sure people have homes? to live in? that’s communist fire nation propaganda. haven’t you people done enough?

(d) gang violence in republic city exists because benders are an oppressed class, actually. this post is already too long for this particular hot take. i’ll make it later, if someone reminds me.

these are things i enjoy overthinking about, to be clear. it’s nowhere *near* necessary to care this much about the politics of a fictional city in a fictional universe where people have genetic superpowers and a twelve year old saves the world. but i think in a lot of ways, legend of korra was asking kids to think seriously about politics without thinking seriously about its own political vision. and as an adult with new knowledge it’s fun to engage in fandom to answer questions that i’m, again, positive the writers themselves did not care about in 2011 or whatever. so if you’re anything like me, i hope this post makes a little gear turn in your brain, and maybe you’ll start thinking about things and we can all have a niche, low-stakes discourse about it

#lok #lok meta #atla #atla meta #mine #aang #sokka #zuko #republic city #hc #i really sat here and thought about this post for over a week #this is literally so irrelevant to any part of my life or most of the fandom #but also like until my degrees start making me money i'm going to abuse my critical thinking skills for my own entertainment #oh also also #you may have noticed a part i up there #unfortunately i have additional thoughts that will probably come up later and i'm sorry in advance

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elenajohansenreads · 3 years

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Books I Read in 2021

#83 - Shadowmarch, by Tad Williams

Mount TBR: 69/100

Beat the Backlist Bingo: Cover features your favorite color prominently

Rating: 1/5 stars

Well, that was a slog.

So I have a history with this piece of intellectual property. I was introduced to Williams as an author in college (1998) because several of the friends I made my first year were big fantasy nerds--no surprise there--and I was perfectly ready to move on from my high-school-era love of less sophisticated fantasy authors. I borrowed The Dragonbone Chair from one of those friends and off I went.

So in 2001 when news about Williams writing an online serial went around, and I saw the $15 price tag...well, I was a perpetually almost-broke college student still, and sure I spent money on books, but that was a high gateway, because a) I didn't own my own computer yet, I was borrowing friends' or using the computer lab to write papers and such; and b) sure, a chunky fantasy novel might be $7 or $8 in paperback, but it was portable, easy to reread whenever, and nobody had tablets or smartphones or e-readers yet, so an online serial publication was definitely not portable. Even fifteen dollars seemed like too much for the inconvenience of a book I could only read sitting at a computer, and couldn't read all of at once.

I was genuinely angry about this shift away from the paradigm, and much like Williams vowing this serial was online only and would never be published traditionally (which I distinctly remember but don't actually have a source for) I too vowed that I would never read it.

I held out much longer than he did, if my memory of that claim is even true. But I'm wishing now that I hadn't bothered.

This is bad. Not even close to the level of quality I expect from Williams, based on the earlier Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series, as well as War of the Flowers--which was weird but I enjoyed it--and the Otherland series, which was even weirder and not always good, but yeah, I still enjoyed that too, for the most part.

Who am I supposed to care about in this book? I'm no stranger to multiple protagonists, but there are simply too many here, meaning none of them get the development time they would need to be interesting. I'm trying to wean myself from the complaint that protagonists need to be "likable," because a character can be a jerk and still be interesting, but few of these protagonists are particularly likable either!

1. Barrick is a whiny jerk who folds under pressure and abdicates responsibility to his sister, and then makes a spectacularly bad decision for no reason other than to set up some tension at the end, and his future arc. If it's because he's "mad," bad plot reason, and if it's because he's affected by the more general shadow-madness, well, I guess he could be vulnerable to it like anyone else, but that's pretty flimsy too. 2. Briony is a fairly standard "if only I weren't a woman, people would take me seriously" princess who doesn't fold as much under pressure but is dealt a really raw deal. I'll give her credit, she does legitimately try her best to rule her lands, but she's also kind of a whiny jerk like her brother, too. 3. Quinnitan is...pointless. Sure, I see how the end of her arc in this book echoes those of the Eddon twins, but there is no direct connection between her plot and anyone else's. And I mean that literally, if there's anything that ties her story to any other single part of the book, I simply do not see it, it's buried in lore or foreshadowing that was lost on me amid the sheer weight of nearly 800 pages of plodding narrative. I read all of her scenes constantly wondering why I should care, and the fact that her arc is a very basic harem plot, "I don't want to be a token wife but really what choice do I have?" sort of thing, doesn't help, because on its own it's incredibly unoriginal. 4. Chert is marginally likable, because he's arguably got the most defined personality and most personal growth in the book, as a person of a "little" race who is distinctly not human--I get a mix of gnome and dwarf, with a faint whiff of Podling from The Dark Crystal--and who deals with an unexpected foundling by taking him into his family and trying to make it work, even when that foundling is really a big blank space in the story who still manages to get into trouble. 5. Captain Vansen gets points from me for being the guardsman deep in unrequited love, which is a trope I would absolutely eat up with a spoon. The problem is, the object of that love is a protagonist I don't care for (Briony,) leading me to question what the eff he's thinking that he can even admire her from a distance, let alone be in infatuation/love. And his plot arc is mostly "something goes wrong that's not really has fault but everyone blames him anyway." Which got dull.

Chert and Vansen are most of the reason this book gets a second star*, honestly. Chert's scenes with the Rooftoppers are generally pretty excellent, even if they're mostly tied to a plot arc that I don't care for.

The other thing that's getting me about this is that it feels like a deliberately grim-dark retread of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. You've got a castle that's the seat of current government but used to belong to the enemy--the enemy that no one is sure even exists anymore, that lives in a land far enough away to feel distant but also somehow close enough to be threatening, once people believe in them again. That castle is perched upon magically important ruins/caverns, and that enemy has forms of magic/communication that affect humans and can cause or appear symptomatic of madness. There's a race of small likable people who aren't quite dwarves or any other "standard" fantasy race, but are still somehow cute/appealing. There's a crippled prince who's not really well-liked. One of the primary female protagonists is a young woman who laments the limitations of her womanhood under the patriarchal feudal system of the world.

And to someone who's never read either of these series, that list of similarities could mostly read like fairly common fantasy tropes, and I forgive anyone who reads this review and thinks that. But I've read MSaT probably ten times all the way through in the twenty-plus years since I was introduced to it, and I feel like I've just been handed the same story again, with a thick coat of gray paint slathered on it and a few details changed--and those changes are basically always for the worse. No one in this story can be said to be a direct equivalent to Simon, who gets a very clear hero's journey, but if I'm supposed to slot Barrick in as a Simon/Josua mashup (that crippled prince problem) then it takes the entire book to get Barrick out of his comfort zone and on his journey, where Simon got booted from the castle at the end of the first act of the first book.

And that gets at the underlying problem that is at least partially fueling all other problems--this book is clearly just the first act of the larger story, and yes i know! that is what first books do! but this also doesn't have a lot of forward motion on its own, and it doesn't resolve anything aside from the mystery of a single murder at that happens near the beginning. Seriously, all other plot threads get kicked down the road with the "and now they're exiles" theme that the ending has assigned to most of the protagonists. Chert doesn't suffer that fate, but the ending of his story line--also the end of the book itself--is the foundling reasserting that he doesn't know who he is, which is not new information. We've literally not known who he is the whole time, except that we do find out who his mother is, but don't find out how he was taken or why he apparently hasn't aged as much as he should have or what the Qar intended by sending him back "home." The identity of his mother is basically the least important question surrounding him.

I truly feel like I just read a 750-page prologue, and that is not a good feeling.

*Yeah, I told myself this was a two-star book, but by the time I wrote the whole review, it's not and I can't pretend I still believe that. This is a one-star book. This is so bad I don't want to go on with the series, even though it almost has to get better, now that most of our protagonists are out on their journeys. And because it could hardly get worse, right? But this already took up so much of my time (I had to take a week-long break in the middle to binge some romances, as a relief from all this grimdark toil) and even though I've managed to collect secondhand copies of the rest of the series, and they've been sitting on my shelves for a few years waiting for me to invest my energy into them...I'm giving up. Not worth it.

#booklr #book review #tad williams #shadowmarch #book photography #my photos #my reading challenges #mount tbr 2021 #beat the backlist 2021

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] Also on AO3

Chapter 9: Jon

“Sit down, boss,” Tim says insistently.

“Jon, please,” Martin—the real Martin—says, his voice soft. “We’ll explain, just...sit down. Please.”

Jon doesn’t want to sit down. He wants to stay standing, to put himself between this—this thing wearing his assistant’s face, his skin—and the three people he’s already nearly lost tonight. But he responds to the please and sits, slowly, never taking his eyes off the creature claiming to be Martin Blackwood from the future.

It’s a good likeness, he has to admit. The...creature or whatever it is looks almost identical to his—the real Martin, down to the odd twist in one set of cables on his sweater (not that Jon’s spent a lot of time staring at Martin or his sweater, of course, only that it’s not quite even and the oddity catches his attention) and that one errant curl that never seems to do what he wants it to. But this creature is also...muted is the best way Jon can think of to describe it. As if someone has turned down the saturation on a picture, or coated the whole thing in a grey wash.

“How long were you waiting for us?” Tim asks the other Martin. It seems safer to think of him that way.

“Not long,” Other-Martin answers. “Maybe a minute.”

“Really? It took you that long to get here? Must’ve been a hell of a complicated route.”

Other-Martin gives a soft snort of laughter without a lot of humor in it. “Time in those corridors doesn’t follow the same rules. As far as I could tell, I was only in there five, ten minutes, tops.”

“Tim, you invited this here?” Jon exclaims.

Tim shrugs. “It seemed safer than leaving him in the tunnels under the Institute. You know, what with the worms and the police and everything. Hard enough to explain to us what’s going on, but someone who doesn’t deal with this every day?”

Other-Martin tilts his head slightly, but his gaze is directed at Jon. It makes him feel uneasy, for reasons he can’t quite explain. He tries to bring his chin up defiantly, but he’s aware of the fact that he’s terrified and wonders if this creature can smell fear. “And you expect us to just...believe you. That you’re—that you’re Martin come back from the future. There is no scientific explanation for time travel—”

“There probably is, actually, but that’s got nothing to do with how I came back,” Other-Martin interrupts. “And no. I don’t expect you to just...believe me. Not like that. I mean, especially not right now. I know you well enough to know you’re pushing the skeptic thing as hard as you are because you know it’s real and you’re afraid. You can feel something watching you when you’re recording the statements, the real ones, the ones that you have to do on the tape, yeah? That’s what you told me. So you believe in the supernatural and the paranormal and all that, but that doesn’t mean you want to. And it sure doesn’t mean you’re going to believe I am who I say I am without some kind of proof.”

For just a moment, Jon is speechless. He’s never told anyone about that persistent feeling, or his belief that the “difficult” statements are actually true encounters. He certainly wouldn’t have told Martin, although if he’s being honest, Martin is probably the only one he would have trusted with that knowledge. To hear it pour out of someone else’s mouth is startling, to say the least. It’s not really proof, of course, but it’s certainly enough to crack the shell of skepticism Jon hides behind.

“Wait,” Sasha interrupts. “You’re saying those statements...the ones that won’t go on the laptop...they’re real? Like, they actually happened?”

“They did, yeah. I know they’re hard to verify, but, well, that’s the thing about the paranormal. Ghosts don’t leave a lot of physical evidence. And...well, people see what they want to see, and they rationalize out a lot of things they don’t.” Other-Martin sighs. “It used to drive Basira nuts.”

“Basira?” Tim asks.

“Ah—you haven’t met her yet, I don’t think. Unless you...no, she was one of the officers on the scene when all this happened in my timeline, but honestly, I had a hard time concentrating on who I talked to that night and who I talked to later. I was too busy worrying about—” Other-Martin snaps off the sentence. “She’s a cop. One of the officers assigned to the investigation at the Institute. In our timeline, she...eventually got hired to work in the Archives. It’s—”

“A long story?” Martin says, sounding tired.

Other-Martin holds up his hands. “I know, I know. I promise, we’ll explain everything as soon as—”

“We?” Jon and Sasha say in unison.

“I didn’t come back alone. Well, I mean—we came back separately, but I’m not the only one who came back. We were warned we’d probably end up in different places, though.”

Tim lifts an eyebrow and grins. “Ooh, did you arrange a rendezvous at a secret meeting point? Send one another coded messages?”

“Tim,” Sasha hisses, elbowing him.

Other-Martin smiles, a little wistfully. “I wouldn’t say that, but...the plan we worked out before we came back involved us being at the Archives, so we were going to meet there. I have no doubt they’re on their way there.”

“And when they get there?” Martin asks quietly. “When they show up and see...everything that’s happening? What then? Did you have a—a backup plan?”

“Not really. But my guess? They’ll come looking for me. Or at least for you all.”

Jon tenses. “Looking for us? Why?”

“We were always planning to bring you all into it, after we...took care of Jane Prentiss. This wasn’t...exactly how we planned to do that, it got a bit out of hand, but I had to improvise, and I didn’t do it well.” Other-Martin gives another soft huff of not-all-that-amused laughter. “I’m quite literally lost without them. But I don’t doubt for a minute that if they can’t find me, they’ll come to you all.”

Jon is torn. On the one hand, he wants to shout at this creature, demand to know what its game actually is, chase it from the building, and keep it from coming anywhere near his assistants ever again. On the other hand...the more he talks, the easier it is to believe what he’s saying. Also, this isn’t Jon’s house and it’s not exactly his place to deny access to it.

“How did you get in here, anyway?” Jon decides a change of subject might clear his mind.

“Michael,” Other-Martin answers.

“That thing that attacked Sasha?” Jon exclaims. “You’re friends with it?”

“Oh, God, no,” Other-Martin says with another laugh that has no humor in it. “Michael hates anything to do with the Archives. Not necessarily without reason. I just managed to talk him into a temporary truce. Mostly I told him I knew what would happen to him and if he didn’t want to be utterly destroyed, he’d best help me out. I think that’s the only favor I’m actually going to get out of him, though.”

Sasha rubs her temples with her fingers. “Wait, wait. If he hates us so much, why would he tell me how to save everyone?”

Other-Martin hesitates. Beside Jon, Martin sighs deeply. “Is this another ‘telling you might be dangerous until someone who can protect you shows up’ thing?” In response to the startled look Jon shoots his way, Martin gestures at his doppelganger. “That’s what he keeps saying when I push too hard.”

“Look, I know it’s frustrating, but it’s also serious. You might be okay tonight, but...I’m just reluctant to risk it until—”

A firm rapping sound interrupts him. Sasha glances at Tim. “Somebody’s knocking at your door.”

Martin hums something under his breath, which brings that sad, wistful smile to Other-Martin’s face for a second. Tim gets up. “I’ll be right back. Try not to kill Martin Prime while I’m gone.”

“Really, Tim? Star Trek reference?” Sasha snorts.

“How about you? You understood that,” Tim shoots back at her before disappearing down the hallway.

Jon wonders whether to demand an explanation or not when a yelp comes from the direction of the doorway. He’s on his feet before he can think about it, nerves thrumming with adrenaline, not sure if he wants to launch himself down the hall to drag Tim to safety or stay where he is to protect Martin and Sasha. Sasha and...their guest rise from their seats, too, all of them tense for a moment. There’s the sound of voices, too low to be distinguishable, and then, unmistakably, Tim’s laughter, and Jon relaxes a little bit. Not hurt, at least. Then Tim comes back into the room, bringing with him a person who takes the breath from Jon’s lungs.

It’s him.

Or at least, the tiny part of his brain that insists on remaining skeptical says, it’s someone who looks like him—albeit a bit less like him than the other Martin looks like his—their Martin. His hair is longer than Jon is wearing his right now—more like the length he wore it in uni, if he’s being honest—pulled back into a sort of half-ponytail and far more liberally streaked with grey. His face and hands are dotted with round scars, and Jon’s stomach lurches as he realizes they’re probably from the worms. There are probably more scars, but they’re impossible to see, as he’s draped in a dark green sweater several sizes too big for him. He looks weary, like he’s carrying far greater a burden than one would reasonably expect to fit in the pack on his back, but he’s also smiling a little. It’s Jon’s smile, that’s for sure, just...sadder, somehow.

He stops dead just inside the room. All the tension seems to drain from him. “Martin,” he gasps.

The other Martin’s face lights up. “Jon?”

Jon swears he doesn’t see his counterpart move. One moment he’s standing just inside the doorway and the next he’s in front of the sofa, and the two of them are embracing tightly. The other Jon’s bag slips to the floor with a soft thud, but neither of them seem to notice it.

“Oh, thank God,” Other-Jon chokes out. The words tumble out in a semipanicked, breathless rush. “I couldn’t find you, I tried to use the—to Know where you were, but it was—I c-couldn’t see you and I was worried, I tried to tell myself you would be fine, but I—I didn’t think about—I should have realized whatever hid you from the Eye would mean I wouldn’t be able to see you either, but I thought since it was you I’d—”

“Jon, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Other-Martin says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you all right? You’re not hurt?” Other-Jon pulls back enough that he can look up into Other-Martin’s face, but doesn’t let go of him. If anything, his grip seems to tighten just a little.

“I’m fine,” Other-Martin assures him. “I’m okay. Are you all right?”

“I am now.” Other-Jon pulls him into another tight hug.

Jon feels a bit like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be privy to, but at the same time, he can’t look away. Partly because the reunion is so compelling, partly due to what feels like the same thing that grips him when he’s reading those statements, but mostly because he does not want to see the look on Tim’s face right now, thank you very much. And he’s not sure he can look at Martin without making a fool of himself.

Whatever else happens in the future, he finds himself thinking, at least he loosens up enough that he can express how he actually feels instead of trying to hide behind a professional facade. Because this is pretty much how he wanted to react when he saw Martin emerge from the quarantine tent—to wrap him up in a hug, to tell him how glad he was that he was safe, to reassure himself Martin was alive and whole. It’s why he was so quick to help him walk. He almost envies his future self this freedom, the ability to just wrap his arms around Martin and know he’s all right. Whatever else they’ve gone through—and from their appearances, they’ve been through a lot—at least he has this.

He realizes the direction his thoughts are trending and clenches his teeth, mentally grasping the last bit of skepticism in his mind with both hands. He still can’t be completely sure these two are really them from the future. Yes, they look a lot like him and Martin, sound like them, but...what was it his cousin used to say? Correlation does not imply causation. There could be a perfectly normal explanation for this—a non-supernatural one, one that doesn’t involve time travel or the end of the world or anything like that. He’s just got to figure out what that explanation is.

Tim, naturally, is the one to break the silence. “So!” he says, settling onto the sofa and stretching out his arms along the back. “Should we be expecting Tim Prime and Sasha Prime to come along any minute now?”

“No,” Other-Jon says quietly, drawing back from Other-Martin with visible reluctance. “No, it’s only us.”

He turns to look at Tim and Sasha, and Jon finds himself torn between the desire to shift and stand between them and the fear of leaving Martin exposed if he does so. He takes a small step forward and speaks up, drawing the attention back to himself. “How do we know you’re really from the future? What proof is there that you’re really who you say you are?”

“Well, we believe them,” Tim says. “Or at least we believe him.” He waves at Other-Martin.

“Not good enough, I’m afraid,” Other-Jon says before Jon can. There’s a faint hint of amusement in his tone. “You’re all rather too credulous. It’s easy to convince you. He’s far less ready to believe on flimsy evidence. Proof, that’s what’s needed.”

Tim tilts his head sideways, as if considering that. “He’s certainly got you pegged, Boss.”

Jon narrows his eyes. He rather suspects he’s being mocked, and he doesn’t like it in the slightest. “If that’s the best you can come up with—” he begins.

“A Guest for Mister Spider,” Other-Martin interrupts.

Jon’s entire body goes still with horror as the memories come rushing in, not that they’re ever far from his mind. He fights very hard to keep it from showing on his face, however, and says as evenly as he can, “I beg your pardon?”

“Your grandmother bought it in the bargain bin a charity shop when you were about eight.” Other-Martin’s eyes seem to stare right through Jon, as if they’re seeing him all those years ago, walking down the streets unknowingly with his nose buried in a book. “It was your first encounter with the supernatural. Your first encounter with the name Jurgen Leitner. It’s why you came to work at the Institute in the first place.”

The words are as gentle and as inexorable as falling snow, and just as chilling. Jon’s very soul seems to freeze. He stares at the other Martin without really seeing him, without really seeing anything except the darkness within that door, the boy whose name he can’t remember vanishing in its depths, the growing smears of red on black and white drawings...

“Jon? Jon, are you all right?” Martin sounds worried, but he also sounds very far away.

Other-Martin looks slightly embarrassed as he turns to look at Other-Jon. “Too far?”

“No—no, I-I think that was...just about right.” Other-Jon reaches out and presses two fingers to Jon’s shoulder, pushing him downward. “Sit down and breathe, Archivist.”

It’s the word Archivist that pushes through the fog in Jon’s brain, oddly enough. It at least serves to remind him that he’s not actually eight years old anymore. He draws in a deep, shuddering gasp of air and sits down rather heavily, jostling both Sasha and Tim.

Other-Martin and Other-Jon sit down as well. Jon notices, with the part of his brain not currently paging through the Owner’s Manual to the Human Body for the instructions on breathing, that Other-Jon rests his hand on top of Other-Martin’s. Other-Martin strokes Other-Jon’s thumb with his own in slow, careful strokes. It’s a gesture that speaks of intimacy and tenderness, and a jealousy curls in his stomach that he has no idea what to do with. Other-Jon’s free hand taps on his thigh as his eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, Jon assumes it’s an idle fidget until his brain latches onto the regularity of it and realizes what it is. He’s counting out the seconds to regulate his own breathing.

All the fight goes out of Jon in that instant. He knows when he’s beaten. This other who bears his face is him, not some stranger or monster or evil being. Which means the other must be Martin. They are from the future. They’re telling the truth.

He’s not going to admit that out loud, not just yet, but they slide from being Others to being Primes, as Tim called them, in his mind.

After a moment, Jon Prime squeezes Martin Prime’s fingers briefly, exhales, and opens his eyes. “I...I suppose you have more than a few questions.”

“You could say that,” Tim agrees.

“So where do we start?” Sasha asks, the last word nearly being swallowed in a yawn.

Jon is burning with curiosity, but he also recognizes that Sasha is tired, and likely Tim as well. And Martin...Martin must be absolutely wiped out. His own energy, the adrenaline that’s been driving him since he saw the emergency lights at the Institute, is starting to flag. It’s late.

“As much as I’d like to know what the hell is going on here, I think most of it can wait until tomorrow, when we’re all fresh,” he says, putting as much authority into his words as he can. “I need to get your statements before you start forgetting the details.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Sasha says, not quite under her breath.

Martin Prime snorts. “It’s not. Best to get your statements done now, though. Trust me.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “I think Martin should go first.”

Jon turns to look fully at Martin. He’s visibly exhausted, but he nods, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Jon.

Jon exhales. “All right, then.”

#tma #the magnus archives #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#jonmartin #IT'S THE REUNION SCENE BITCHES #ollie writes fanfic

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anexplanationofunfortunateevents · 4 years

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if the GOP could win for real, they would do a lot less cheating

Something you have to understand about recent American history is that the Republican party lost its shit in the 1960s. There are always plenty of reasons for decades-long historical trends, but arguably the core one is that Lyndon Johnson’s administration made a bunch of human rights advances known collectively as the Great Society, the cornerstone of which was a sincere and substantive effort to address the unfinished business of Reconstruction with the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act.

Racist white people who didn’t want to share democracy with everyone else became reliable Republican voters, but they’re nowhere near enough to win an election on their own. Republicans realized that their ideology is a miserable death cult that can’t win a fair fight. They could have gotten better ideas, but instead, they started sabotaging democracy.

I am not here to overwhelm you with a list of all the American right wing’s assaults on democracy. But there is a relatively narrow subset which forms a pattern that has become increasingly urgent: times Republicans have abused, usurped, or radically and unilaterally bastardized the power of American government in order to limit voters’ ability to hold them accountable in free and fair elections.

Because it only includes events backed up by reliable and freely available sources, it necessarily only includes the times times they were ham-fisted or sloppy enough to get caught. It has over two dozen entries and is almost certainly incomplete.

1968: Richard Nixon sabotages peace talks to end the Vietnam War because anger over the war is a winning campaign issue for him. Johnson catches him and calls him out, but doesn’t tell the public. Nixon wins and takes office.

1972: Nixon’s re-election campaign, the Committee to Re-Elect the President (or CREEP, because these people are fucking Bond villains) goes on a crime spree which includes multiple break-ins at Democratic National Committee headquarters in the Watergate Hotel.

1992: President George H.W. Bush asks British Prime Minister John Major’s government to dig through official archives for anything compromising on his rival Governor Bill Clinton from Clinton’s time at Oxford University.

1992: A political appointee at the Bush State Department has Governor Clinton’s passport files searched for potentially embarrassing information.

1992: Bush’s Attorney General William Barr pressures federal prosecutors in Arkansas to make some public movement on a white collar crime case tangentially associated with Governor Clinton.

2000: The Florida state board of elections does a racist voter purge, targeting largely Democratic communities of color.

2000: A mob, mostly Republican congressional aides, force election officials in Palm Beach County to shut down its recount.

2000: Five Supreme Court justices appointed by Republican presidents shut down the Florida recount in an unsigned opinion so specious and nakedly partisan that it irreparably damages the legitimacy of not only the Bush presidency but the Supreme Court itself.

2004: Republican election administrators in Florida attempt another racist voter purge, only abandoning it when they get caught.

2006: The Bush administration leans on federal prosecutors to influence the midterm elections with bogus investigations into Democratic politicians and prosecutions of non-existent “voter fraud” cases. After Republicans lose the midterms, several attorneys who resisted the pressure are fired.

2010: Five Supreme Court justices appointed by Republicans, in an existential fiat, reclassify money as speech, opening the floodgates to swamp every level of politics with dark money.

2013: The same five Republican Supreme Court justices gut the Voting Rights Act, specifically and explicitly because it has been relatively effective in preventing racist voter suppression.

2010s: Republicans in various state legislatures pass a bunch of laws to suppress the ability of voters to hold them accountable.

2016: Associates of Trump consigliere Rudy Giuliani loudly and unprofessionally conduct numerous bullshit investigations into Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Clinton. They successfully pressure FBI director James Comey – himself a veteran of the corrupt and politicized Bush Justice Department – into several improper and decisive actions against Clinton.

2016: Donald Trump conspires with Russian intelligence and business interests to sabotage his opponent in a presidential election.

2016: Republican Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell blackmails the Obama administration out of explaining the Russian government’s sabotage of the presidential election, leaving state boards of elections and the general public vulnerable to the assault.

2017-18: The Republican administration sits on evidence that Russian military hackers have penetrated state voting equipment.

2018: Republican Georgia secretary of state Brian Kemp insists on overseeing the election in which he is running for governor. He squeaks out a “win” after purging thousands of voters, arbitrarily closing or refusing to equip polling places, and baselessly accusing his Democratic opponent of trying to hack the election.

2018: A Republican congressional campaign in North Carolina hires operatives to defraud local senior citizens who were attempting to cast absentee ballots.

2018: Republicans lose the governorships in Wisconsin and Michigan, but keep control of the state legislatures due to gross gerrymandering. Before the new governors can be sworn in, they cram through laws stripping power from the incoming Democratic governors.

2019: Trump administration officials try to warp the data which will be collected in the 2020 census in a way that will enable future gerrymandering by undercounting largely Democratic constituencies. When they get caught and stopped, they try to justify themselves by lying to the federal courts.

2019: Donald Trump privately tries to extort the president of Ukraine into announcing bullshit investigations into prominent Democrats during the 2020 election.

2019: Donald Trump publicly pressures the government of China into opening bullshit investigations into prominent Democrats during the 2020 election.

2019: All but one House Republican opposes impeaching Trump for his extortion of Ukraine – until that one guy is pushed out of the party. Therefore, no House Republicans vote to impeach Trump.

2020: With one exception, every Republican in the Senate validates Trump’s attempts to rig the 2020 election by voting to acquit him.

2020: Republicans dig in their heels and refuse to take easy and obvious steps to keep voters safe from COVID-19 at the polls.

This is just the list of things that I could remember off the top of my head and could find receipts for with relative ease. It doesn’t include things that are plausible but unproven, like the allegations that Reagan’s 1980 campaign staff tried to repeat Nixon’s first stunt by working to prolong the Iran hostage crisis because it was a winning campaign issue for him. It doesn’t include dirty, bigoted campaigns that you might call awful but lawful, like the racist “Willie Horton” ad campaign in 1988 or the repulsive homophobic ballot initiatives that were engineered to bolster George W. Bush’s 2004 reelection campaign. It doesn’t include the wide array of brutalizations of a constitutional small-d democratic system which aren’t specifically and concretely about elections – everything from eroding the credibility of scientists, experts, and reporters to packing the courts with proto-fascist hacks to lying the American people into war in Iraq.

It really doesn’t matter whether or not I think Republicans win elections legitimately. It’s extremely important that Republicans do not believe they can win elections legitimately.

Now think for a second about their cherished “voter fraud” trope. All this time, Republicans have been screeching that SOMEONE was out there trying to steal elections FROM THEM. It is absolutely correct to focus on and be upset about the racist history and intent of this particular conspiracy theory. I would simply argue that white supremacism is not the only unforgivable aspect of this nonsense trope. The other is the way those claims make it impossible to deal with actual threats against legitimate elections.

This is similar to what psychologists call projection, or the tactic domestic violence experts refer to as DARVO. It is not unrelated to “swiftboating” or the phenomenon students of genocide refer to as the “accusation in a mirror.” It is the axiom small children cite when they say “he who smelt it, dealt it.”

I don’t know the ONE WEIRD TRICK to make it not work. I just know that it – maddeningly – does work, not least on the Very Serious Experts whose ONE FUCKING JOB it is to know better.

So I’m sorry to disappoint if you were expecting a “many bad people on all sides” disclaimer about who does political dirty tricks, but “both sides” is not operative, no matter how desperate the hot-take-industrial-complex is to make fetch happen. It hasn’t been operative for twenty-five years, and it’s really not operative for the next six months. You can bury yourself deep in literature about asymmetric polarization, but you don’t have to do all that to understand what’s important here. Democrats support democracy and want to stop the plague, Republicans support the plague and want to stop democracy, and you should be extremely skeptical of anyone who claims not to know the difference.

#voting rights #donald trump #george w bush #george hw bush #democracy #authortiarianism

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

To Have and To Hold

Summary: Y/N makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

Words: 4,272

A/N: This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand (which you all need to check out, if you haven’t), and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby. The hum of Gotham awakening.

Y/N blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.

"Shit!"

Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.

Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.

The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.

Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, really, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.

At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Y/N had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.

They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped The Honeymoon Game. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."

"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."

He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of Gotham Tomorrow Tonight. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw & Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.

It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.

Fuck.

Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.

He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"

She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."

Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"

It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"

He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."

"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."

"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."

Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.

His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Y/N?"

The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"

"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"

~~~~~

Y/N stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.

When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.

The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."

She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."

His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."

Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."

He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"

Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."

Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."

The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."

Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.

The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Y/N for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”

“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”

Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. The Honeymoon Game had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.

She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?

“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.

She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.

Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”

Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.

But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”

“You felt like you were perfect?”

“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”

The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”

“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“

“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.

Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.

The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.

Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Y/N blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.

Y/N was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.

Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.

His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"

"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."

Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.

His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.

Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Y/N turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.

There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.

She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."

He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."

"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."

Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.

"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.

The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Y/N licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.

Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”

"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...

Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.

Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.

"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.

A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"

Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."

Y/N said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."

She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"

Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."

~~~~~

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