#unless it's with the pointy end of a lethal weapon

[jor-elthatendswell]

It's a well worn topic at this point but the imminent release of The Marvels has me thinking about how militaristic the Marvel Cinematic Universe is, with Monica Rambeau aka Photon, a habour patrol member in the comics, reimagined as a captain in the US Air Force.

She follows Hawkeye, who was changed from an argumentative former circus performer with a heart of gold (a character so staunchly against lethal force he once revoked his own wife's Avengers membership because she sort of, maybe, subconsciously allowed a villain to fall to his death) into a hard-nosed black ops assassin.

Sam Wilson/ Falcon made his celluloid debut as an army man with twin submachine guns attached to his wrists. It’s a far cry from his print counterpart’s introduction as a social worker by day who uses his skill at falconry to protect his neighbourhood.

If we allow the argument that modern cinema goers are accustomed to a sprinkling of realism to make their superheroes palatable (and it’s a strange argument really- why should realism be a desirable quality in summer blockbuster escapism?) then what actually constitutes “realism”.

Sure, a man who learnt uncanny skill with a bow and arrow growing up with a travelling show couldn’t possibly hold his own alongside Hulk or Thor in the real world (and, yes, there isn’t a Hulk or Thor in the real world; as I say, this is a strange argument), but if he learned those exact same skills in some kind of military context then that somehow passes the bar for realism? The sinister upshot is that these children’s heroes become more warlike just as, globally, they reach more children than ever before.

Increasing the realism of superhero stories only serves to make them problematic. DC Comics' Batman, who is the frequently subjected to “realistic” treatments, is the prime example. If, in real life, a billionaire tooled himself up with the best weapons and body armour money can buy and began dispensing violent “justice” with no accountability, then of course that wouldn’t be a good thing. If they wore a costume with pointy ears and started calling themselves “Batman” then of course we would question their sanity. But Batman isn’t real; it’s a story. Nobody thinks The Muppet Show advocates animal cruelty. Quite the opposite, if anything. ("Not unless they're watching it", as Waldolf once heckled) Yet if a filmmaker decides they’re going to make a “grounded and realistic” remake where Fozzy is played by a real live bear wearing a pork pie hat and spotty necktie, then that's a whole other story. Suspend your disbelief and superheroes are less like the police or army and more akin to volunteers and activists, doing what they can with what they have to improve the lives of those around them. Their actions take the form of crime fighting only because that’s what makes for exciting colourful adventure stories for children.

In the MCU, even Marvel’s poster boy, Spider-Man (another champion of non-lethal solutions, known for his compassion even to his enemies and who possesses an enduring appeal to young children) is given a literal sheen of the military-industrial complex in the form of “Stark Tech” armour, replete with military grade strike drones. Tony Stark even thought to equip his 15 year old protégé-cum-child soldier with an “Instant Kill Mode”. In a moment played for laughs in Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man rejects his on-board AI's attempt to activate this feature but seems untroubled that such an option exists and, indeed, come Avengers: Infinity War, he voluntarily deploys it. It’s not clear if Spidey actually does kill any of his alien adversaries, but it seems reasonable to assume that one doesn’t say “Activate Instant Kill Mode” without the intention of ending lives. Fans are expected to smile or applaud as Spider-Man says these words, recognising the call-back to Homecoming, rather than find it a gross misrepresentation of Marvel’s most beloved character or an alarming depiction of a children’s favourite.

The MCU Avengers as a whole are a US government “initiative “. The reluctant superheroes need to be cajoled into putting their differences aside for the greater good by army top brass Nick Fury. In a tweak from the source material, the ‘H' in Fury's organisation, SHIELD, stands for ‘Homeland’, making SHIELD as explicitly American venture as opposed to it being ostensibly intergovernmental in the comics.

There is a comic book precedent for this military take on Earth's Mightiest Heroes in the form of The Ultimates, a 2002 series by the British team of writer Mark Millar and artist Bryan Hitch. The Ultimates ,however, was satire. Millar was an unreformed lefty of the old school – someone who has boasted of voting Brexit for left-wing reasons, someone who once appeared on Russia Today as a guest of George Galloway. The Ultimates took swings at the gung ho jingoism of post 9/11 America. Captain America's “Surrender!!?? You think this letter on my head stands for France?“ is not supposed to be a badass one-liner, but rather a parody of the kind of things US media outlets were saying as Jacques Chirac proved less keen than Tony Blair to follow George Bush in bringing gunboat diplomacy to the Middle East. As Millar commentated at the time:

“The Ultimates is completely different because it's a character-driven piece and (something only a few people have noticed) my attempt as a left-wing writer to tell stories about an essentially right-wing concept and cast. It's very much the Anti-Authority, if you will. Captain America and so on are fully-paid members of the US military machine and this means a very different book and approach from a gang of slightly arrogrant, left-wing, superhuman utopians like The Authority ".

Wildstorm Comics' The Authority, which both Millar and Hitch worked on (although not together), was a precursor to Ultimates, featuring a team of similarly “any means necessary” heroes, albeit with a left-wing bent. The Ultimates does have something of The Authority’s utopian streak; Nick Fury and Tony Stark genuinely want to make the world a better place for everyone. It’s very idealistic – what if the head of the military and the biggest tech billionaire actually had the people’s best interests at heart? – and arguably closer to true superhero ethos (basically “with great power there must also come great responsibility “) than those characters more pragmatic MCU equivalents.

Yet, as Millar's one time writing partner Grant Morrison (who actually ghost-wrote at least one issue of The Authority under Miller’s name) observed in Morrison’s major nonfiction work, Supergods, the likes of The Authority, The Ultimates and, by extension, the MCU represent a “capitulation” to the view “that it was really only force and violence that got things done and not patient diplomacy, and that only soldiers and very rich people had the world figured out”. If the MCU is realistic, then it’s a sad indictment of the real world where the heroes are the ones with the best tech, the best guns and no compunction about using them.

Regardless of intent, The Ultimates left a door at Marvel’s “House of Ideas” just enough ajar to allow a malign notion to creep in: “These soldier superheroes are pretty cool. What If they were like that all the time? Wouldn’t they be more popular then”?

Certainly the navy SEAL aesthetic Bryan Hitch brought to the costumes (replacing the colourful tights and capes with pouches, straps and body armour) was soon adopted by superhero tv and film productions even pre-MCU. In fact, Hawkeye's journey from carny to commando mirrors the changes in superhero attire. Most famously, Superman's appearance with the red “overpants” derives from that of circus strongmen, but seeing any photography of early to mid 20th century carnival and circus performers makes it clear the early superhero creators had them in mind when they first put pencil to paper.

In an interview (found in Marvel Spotlight: Captain America, published in 2009) Hitch related how he showed an initial Ultimates drawing of Captain America with a machine gun to Grant Morrison, which Morrison then “described as the most obscene Captain America image [they’d] ever seen”. (NB: Morrison has since adopted gender neutral pronouns). Perhaps Morrison said this with glee, in on the joke with their friends, but in the years since, Cap with a gun became a common sight, even in family-friendly movies (where it was divorced from the irony of The Ultimates).

By a 2015 interview, Morrison lamented the fact that “the Avengers work for the government, and it's been like that since Mark [Millar] did The Ultimates” and said they were “bored with the idea that the best superheroes can represent is some aggressive version of the military. [...] They're supposed to be champions of the oppressed, they help ordinary people, they make things better for people. They don't prop up our grotesque, doddering culture of war and aggression”.

That same year Morrison introduced a new comic book superteam in the pages of The Multiversity. Pointedly the text likens this group, named “Justice Incarnate”, to a “cosmic neighbourhood watch” rather than any formal military or law-enforcement institution.

Millar himself reunited with his Authority collaborator Frank Quitely to create the comic Jupiter’s Legacy, which comes across in part as an apology for The Ultimates and all it begat. It concludes with the protagonists, Chloe Sampson and Eddie "Hutch" Hutchence taking up superhero mantles and promising not to make the moral compromises of their predecessors:

“No more bowing to authority and insitutions. No more deference to people in power”.

“There's a dignity in public service we mistook for old-fashioned, and a humility in having a secret identity, living among the people we protect.“

The Avengers, Marvel’s breakthrough billion dollar box office 2012 movie, by contrast, concludes with Iron Man dropping a nuclear bomb on the “Chitari”, an invading alien army and it seems likely this influenced Morrison’s comments on modern superhero stories.

In Supergods, Morrison

describes their childhood dread of nuclear weapons. The child of “ban the bomb” activists, the “gruesome hand-drawn images of how the world might look after a spirited thermonuclear missile exchange” which illustrated their parents anti-nuclear literature struck terror into the young Morrison. Therefore they seized upon superheroes as being an idea powerful enough to counteract – and overcome – the idea of the bomb.

“It’s not that I needed Superman to be “real,” I just needed him to be more real than the Idea of the Bomb that ravaged my dreams”.

Within the narrative of the movie, Iron Man takes the only option available to him to save New York. Destroying thousands of alien lives to save thousands of human ones. But The Avengers isn’t a documentary; the scriptwriters could have written a satisfying denouement which didn’t involve mass murder. They could at least have included some words of regret by the heroes over what it took to win, acknowledging that killing is not the ideal solution. Instead the Avengers trade banter and eat shawarma, collective conscious clear.

There is a moment in another Grant Morrison work, Final Crisis, which always brings the MCU to mind. In Final Crisis #3, drawn by JG Jones, (published in 2008, the same year the MCU began) “evil gods” from a higher plain of existence have been reincarnated on Earth. In order for the Justice League to counter this threat, a “draft for Superheroes” is implemented. Green Arrow (a Batman-a-like character who was subsequently reinvented to embody the countercultural sentiment of the late 1960s and has since served as the social conscious of the superhero set) responds to receiving his draft notice thusly:

“If anybody falls for this authoritarian, militaristic crap, it’ll prove I’m absolutely right about absolutely everything!... “

Cue the next page, where the drafted heroes have gathered en mass (including Green Arrow, impotently shaking his fist.)

Such an assemblage of characters in usually a triumphant moment in a summer "event" story, but here is framed as a sign that evil already has it’s hooks into reality. This world has fallen to the darkness and the superheroes who inhabit it are too morally compromised to realise it.

[secret-engima]

alyss-spazz-penedo

Oh jeez oh fuck wait wait @ean-sovukau @secret-engima does this mean Prompto’s gonna grow up with a mad scientist father figure? Prompto Besithia, best friend of Noctis, sort-of kid of like three dads and five uncles, who snaps photos and shoots super well and occasionally descends into the SCIENCE-mode he inherited from his least-favorite dad coupled with technobabble and occasional cackling

Me: I was GONNA say “no, Glaucus takes Prompto away for his own good forever” until you said “descends into the SCIENCE-mode he inherited from his least-favorite dad coupled with technobabble and occasional cackling” and I’m afraid now I need Occasional Mad Scientist Prompto in my life.

SO.

After Glaucus’s pet mad scientist accidentally makes a baby (or ... doesn’t. He MIGHT make Glaucus the bby as birthday present considering how screwed up he is), Glaucus FIRMLY adopts the bby (Prince Prompto Lucis Caelum everybody!) because NO Besithia, you do NOT get to be on the paperwork just because you had the bright idea of dumping your own blood in a test tube and making a child out of it, and ensures Prompto spends at LEAST the first five years far, far away from Besithia. Eventually Besithia’s pathetic looks of pleading wear Glaucus down and Prompto is allowed to visit his “Lab Dad”, but only under strict supervision of Glaucus himself (not Ardyn, because Ardyn may be saner now but he has very poor idea of what kids should and shouldn’t be allowed to do, and not Titus, because Titus will use Besithia breaking any of the babysitting rules as a chance to stab the man and Glaucus can’t have Prompto traumatized like that).

Glaucus ends up making weekly visits to the Secret Lab with Prompto where they say for like- the weekend before returning home. Besithia is fine with this, as he has little idea how to handle a child when he isn’t showing the child how to make incendiary devices out of broken down toaster bits and an old tv remote and teaching a six year old how to list off the composition of human dna.

First time ANY kidnapper snatches Prompto and Noctis and leaves Prompto alone in a room with random old junk they are going to be in for a nasty surprise. Because Prompto learned how to escape bonds from Glaucus when he was 3 and is basically a pyromaniac Macgyver with enough second hand Science™ knowledge from his Lab Dad to have a PhD of his own at age 12 if he wanted.

[eruanna1875]

“Hope the stories are cool.”

At the half-murmured words, Ben turned to their source in the passenger seat beside him, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

Riley, staring out the window of Patrick’s weird-smelling car at the night around them, seemed surprised at the question. “Hm?” When he looked at Ben, however, it was clear he hadn't realized he'd said anything aloud until that moment. “Oh! Uh—" He shrugged it off with a nonchalant grin, turning away again. “Uh, nothing. Sorry.”

Oh, you’re not getting off that easy, Ben thought. “What’d you say? What stories?”

Riley rolled his eyes. “Ben—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, before a snide remark could be made, “I heard ‘stories’ and ‘cool’. Now, what cool stories were you talking about?”

Riley gave him perhaps half of a death glare, and for a moment, Ben thought he was going to ignore the question. But then he sulked back against his seat, and seemed to give in. “Well—” He scoffed, eyes on the ceiling. “Ours, I guess. I mean, we just stole the Declaration of Independence, Ben! The Declara—do you have any idea what this means?”

Ben frowned: maybe he was avoiding the question after all. “Yes, I think you've given me several ideas of the things this could possibly mean.” Besides, I thought you’d be worried out at this time of night, he added mentally.

“Yeah, but I'm not talking about going to prison, and Ian shooting us, and Abigail doing a lot more than slapping and shouting if we screw it up. She’ll probably… I dunno, impale us with those pointy heels or something.” He picked up an old neck pillow (he’d knocked it off the seat when he first climbed up front), and put it in his lap. “You know, maybe that’s why the spy chicks in the movies wear them all the time—if you can get used to running around and doing all those acrobatics in them, they can double as a lethal weapon.”

“Well, what are you talking about, then?” Ben pressed before the conversation could get too far off base: Riley could easily and resourcefully use the smallest sidetrack to avoid a topic he didn’t want to talk about. Kid was practically an escape artist.

“I’m talking about America. They're not gonna let us off with a simple little life sentence. They're gonna have us pegged even after we're dead.”

Ben bit back a comment about him watching too many ghost hunter shows, opting for the simpler, “How do you mean?”

Riley turned to fix blue eyes firmly on Ben; eyes that, to his surprise, he now saw were grounded in a gravity greater than worry. “Ben… whether we win or not, we’re gonna be locked up for basically the rest of time. Why?”

He leaned in closer, and spoke with such certainty, Ben had to suppress a shiver.

“Because we’re going to be in all the American history books for basically the rest of time. Do you understand that, Mr. History Buff? Kids are gonna be learning our names in the future. Your name, my name, maybe even her name—and unless something crazy happens, like really crazy, then…” He sighed, and plopped back against the seat. “Then even if we keep the Declaration away from Ian, we're gonna be the ones they remember stealing it.” He looked back up. “You know that, Ben?”

It took a moment for Ben to find the voice to reply. When he did, he let it out with a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, blinking a few times. “Huh, yeah.” He sat back, stunned, as the full weight of it befell him. “Yeah...” he whispered again.

The fact was, he had thought of it. From the moment he determined to undertake the task, he’d been aware of it. But throughout their escapades and machinations, he had kept it as just that—a fact—an awareness at the back of his mind. He hadn’t thought about it. Not until that moment, in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night. Not until Riley decided to be seriously, deeply right.

And… he wanted to tell him that. He wanted to tell Riley just how dead-center his aim had been. He wanted to confess to him the sudden fear it had struck in his heart. But somehow, he couldn’t. What somehow it was, he didn’t know. But it kept his voice from him.

He started to tell himself he just didn’t want to worry him further, especially with the way things were now, but he knew that wasn’t it. Riley was the one who started this particular concern anyway. It wasn’t a matter of trust, either. This was his best friend—Riley knew things about him even his father didn’t know, and Ben would have willingly put his life in his hands. There were times when he’d had to. And there were times that Riley’s life had been in his hands, his alone, and they both knew it. And for all he knew, that could’ve been what stopped him from saying those words.

You’re dead right. We’ll never be forgotten. And it terrifies me.

Ben’s highest hope, even beyond the actual finding of the treasure, had always been to become a part of history. Just like his ancestors. Just like the Founders. Just like the men who had been his heroes since he was a boy. And throughout his adventure, there had been many times when he had thought to himself, you’re continuing that story. This is the same old tale Grandpa told you, but it’s not over. It’s going on, in this exact minute, and you’re the one carrying it now.

The thought had given him purpose, over all those years. But now, he could not help but wonder what his part in that history would be. Would he be a hero, like those men of history, the knights (official or not) that he had always looked up to? Or would he be the one to bring it all down when he failed?

But, whatever the reason, he couldn’t say all that to Riley. He couldn’t say anything at the moment. So the moment was filled with silence instead, a weighty, waiting silence, on the precipice of what tomorrow might bring. The burden of history, both written and as yet unwritten, was for him in that moment almost physical.

“That wasn’t the story I was talking about when you heard me, though.”

The breaking of the silence almost startled him. Ben glanced up at Riley, confused and close to bewildered. For a moment, all he could manage was, “Then… what—what were you…?”

Riley also looked up, and seemed to notice something strange in his hushed tone. “Oh. Sorry.” What was there to apologize for? “It’s just, I accidentally had, like, a lot of thoughts, while you and Abigail were talking. That stuff was part of it, but it wasn’t the main thing.”

He fell silent a moment, but Ben gestured him on, almost insistently. If there was more, even if it was worse, he felt he had to hear it. What could Riley have possibly meant?

Riley hesitated, then looked down and began fidgeting with a loose string on the neck pillow in his lap. “You were telling her the story. About the treasure, and how you got all that history from your grandpa.”

Ben’s ears perked up: anybody talking about his grandfather got his full attention.

“And I got thinking about it, and I just…” He shrugged. “I wondered about, y’know, what if that’s us someday? What if… what if we’re the ones some cool old guy tells his grandkids about? I mean, I know he still might think it’s bad, but at least grandpas and textbooks don’t really tell stories the same way. I assume,” he added, with a glance at Ben for confirmation.

To his own surprise, Ben felt a smile tugging at his lips. Something in that homier view of history—despite the continued possibility of failure—put him more at ease, as if he were still listening to old yarns at his grandfather’s house, slowly losing the fear of the storms outside. The cloud of heaviness that had been on him began to dissipate. Even the night around them seemed less dark.

Ben breathed a chuckle. “No, you’re right. They really don’t.”

“Yeah, so he’d be telling like a grandpa, not like some bored guy in Milwaukee having to crank out school material! Right? And then, like, he says,” and at this, Riley briefly put on the persona of an old man, complete with motions and raspy grandpa voice, “‘Come here, m’boy, let me tell you the story of the Templar Treasure,’ and the kids go huddle up in front of him with those ginormous eyes little kids always have, because apparently the smaller you are the bigger your eyes look, and he tells ‘em the whole thing, right up to where your grandpa told it, and then—and then he tells about us.”

There was a noticeable pause, as if it even took a little of Riley’s breath away. He smiled softly, almost in awe himself. “He tells about us.”

A few seconds passed before he noticed the gap of words, which he immediately jumped over to continue his own tale. “And—and maybe there’ll be this one kid who actually thinks about it and is like, ‘man, this Ben guy was nuts! He just goes, oh let’s steal the Declaration of Independence, and expects everybody to be totally fine with it? How could anybody deal with such a crazy guy?’ And the grandpa would be like, ‘Well, shucks, I always knew you were a smart kid.’”

At this, Ben laughed. Really laughed, clear and from the heart. How in the world could Riley complain and fret about their plans so heavily, and yet paint the future with such lightness that you could laugh at it? All the time he’d known this kid, and he still couldn’t quite understand him. But he didn’t mind. And, for the moment, there seemed nothing to fear. The weight was gone.

But Riley wasn’t finished. “Oh, but you know he'd still get pulled into it, the same way your grandpa pulled you in—the same way you pulled me in—and end up thinking it's the coolest thing ever, of course. I mean, who wouldn't, if they tell it like a Gates tells it? You guys don't skimp on the history stuff, especially family history. That’s what bought my ticket for this whole… train of thought... thing... in the first place, you and Abigail and all your history nerd talk the whole way here.”

Ben reeled back, taking false offense. “Oh, nerd talk, is it?”

“One hundred percent, man, and don’t you forget it. And it’ll still be nerd stuff when you’re the subject boring another average guy like me to sleep in the back of the car.” Riley threw his hands in the air with an air of finality. “And, who knows? Maybe one of those cute little grandkids gets all inspired the same way you did, and wants to go find a treasure and fight bad guys and figure all kind of crazy puzzles, and, heck, probably decides to go be a knight and stuff, just like u—”

He bit his lip, checking himself. But Ben took note of his near-words. Riley quickly continued on a corrected course.

“You. Just like you,” and he shoved his arm with a smirk, “Mister Sir Benjamin Franklin knighted-at-age-eleven Gates. You and all your Templars and Crusaders. ‘Cause I mean, what kid wouldn't think a guy smart enough to steal the Declaration of Independence, and crazy enough or brave enough to try to save it from the bad guys, was totally awesome?”

Ben was unvoiced. All his mouth could manage was a speechless smile, as he looked at his young friend. He felt like he’d just heard a little brother tell him he was his hero. And… maybe, in a way, he had.

But it didn’t take long for Riley to notice the smile. The moment he did, he covered his tracks with a roll of the eyes, hoping to pretend he hadn’t said as much as he had. “Except for the kids who actually have the misfortune to know you, I mean.” And on “know”, he chucked the neck pillow at Ben’s face, nailing him squarely.

“Wha—they have the misfortune?”

“Yeah, you know, studies show, the coolness-craziness ratio really gets skewed over time, especially where little kids are involved.”

Snatching the pillow from where it had fallen, Ben grinned and replied, laughter in his voice. “Well, maybe they should ask you to tell the story, then. You seem to have it pretty well mapped out.”

Riley gave him a look. “If I live to have grandkids, I might. And if that pun was actually intended.”

Noticing suddenly how the thought had come out, Ben considered it. “It is now.”

“Thought so.”

As he studied the young snark, another thought lit up Ben’s mind. One that simply could not be left under a bushel. But he did hide a growing grin behind his hand, as he prepared to speak again.

“But you know,” he mused, acting thoughtful, “I’m a little surprised at you, Riley. I mean, you left out one of the key historical figures involved in the story of the Templar Treasure. And he’s not one I thought you’d forget, either, let me tell you.”

“Oh great, here comes the history lecture.” Riley turned to him, eyes firmly planted on the ceiling just above Ben’s head, looking like a teen braced for a parental scolding. “Fine. Who'd I miss?”

“The other knight.”

At his confused look, Ben leaned back, gesturing with a bit of storytelling flair himself. “Riley Poole: computer genius and sole source of common sense, fellow treasure protector against the forces of evil and Ian Howe.” Then, as Riley gaped, Ben launched into a series of smaller voices (although he barely tried to sound like a child, let alone the three to four he seemed to be acting out). “‘Tell me more about him, Grandpa! Oh, he's such a funny guy, I like his jokes! How ever did he put up with that crazy Ben? That guy couldn’t have got anywhere without Riley!’”

Riley stared at him for a few seconds. But then, to Ben’s surprise, his mouth snapped shut, and the jaw behind it seemed, for a second at least, to clench. “Come on, Ben, not cool,” Riley muttered, jerking his face the other way. “I was serious.”

Ben felt a twinge of guilt at the almost angry reaction: Riley thought he was being mocked. But before he could feel so (mistakenly) betrayed he cut himself off from anything Ben had to say—a situation Ben really, really hated—he settled a hand on Riley’s shoulder. This earned him a rather cross glance. But, seeing past the glare, he looked his young friend dead in the eyes, with a small, sincere smile.

“So was I.”

The glance lengthened into a full-on stare. “Wait, you—”

Ben could see the exact moment that the words fully sank in. The irritation became stunned surprise, and that turned to a swelling, glowing pride. It wasn’t a joke. Ben meant every word. A smile twitched at his lips. Then the swell burst, short and sudden, in a laugh like a firework. “Wow.”

And it pleased Ben mightily to see it. The sight of those blue eyes lighting up with real joy, with no hint of sarcasm, was rare. And he was doubly happy, because he was also telling the truth. Truth in every single word. Including one word in particular. One that required a little testing. Ben paused, taking the moment in a bit longer, then lifted his eyebrows, almost humourously. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to drop the knight part…”

“No!”

Ben nearly laughed again at the eager speed of the answer. But Riley, upon realizing the same, nearly stumbled over himself to cover up with, “Um, no, no, that’s fine. The knight part… the knight part works. D-don’t worry about it.”

“Who’s worrying?” Ben grinned, hopes fulfilled. Ever since he’d told Riley about his boyhood knighthood (and truth be told, he’d never really dropped the title, at least in his own mind), he’d found it easier and easier to think of the two of them as fellow knights. But he never said that. He didn’t want to push a title on someone else if they might think it a little childish. That was why he’d needed a test, which Riley had passed with eagerness.

And yet, pleased as he was by that eagerness, it suddenly hit him how easily it could be snuffed out. The nearer they got to the treasure, the greater the danger would grow. He was sure of that. They’d already been through some real perils, and they’d escaped without injury, but how long would it be before they wound up in front of Ian’s gun again, with ever-dwindling negotiables? The old weight began to creep back over him.

“You are.”

Ben looked back up, confused. “I’m what?”

“Worrying.”

Is it that noticeable? “Oh. Am I?”

At that, something inside Riley seemed to crumble, something he tried very much to hide. “Oh.”

Ben furrowed his brow, definitely worried now. What happened? Did I say something wrong?

He started to open his mouth to ask, but Riley seemed to steel himself, taking a breath and lifting his head. “Yeah, and you know, I totally get it,” he said, quickly and in something of an apologetic tone, “it’s a personal thing from your childhood, it feels weird letting somebody else take over it. I get it. The knight part is your thing. So if you don’t want me tacking it on,” he raised his hands in surrender, “it’s fine, I won’t say anything else about it.”

“What?” This was it? After all the—he still felt out of place in Ben’s life? He still felt like he was being just a burden, a tagalong?

“What?”

Ben sighed and shook his head. “You’re not taking anything over. Knighthood is meant to be passed from one to another. And it’s too important a promise to tack on to just anybody.”

“Tell that to Jagger.”

“Too important for me to just tack on, then.”

Riley seemed reluctant to accept acceptance, no matter how many times he’d received it. “Really?”

“Trust me. You’re good. That wasn’t even close to what I was worrying about.”

He let out a quiet breath of relief. “Okay.” The pause wasn’t long, however, before he glanced back up. “But you were worrying, though. That was definitely the Ben Gates worry face.”

“I have a worry face?”

“Ehh, it’s rare, but I know it when I see it. I mean, it’s you. Worrying.” Ben conceded the point with a shrug. “So why?”

“Why?” Ben hesitated, taking a breath, but his mind made itself up quickly. No more. Riley had opened up to him; it was high time, however his friend reacted, he did the same. He slowly let out his breath. “Because I think we’re gonna need the knight part pretty soon. We’re probably coming up on some… well, some pretty difficult chapters of that story, if you know what I mean. And, if I’m gonna be honest,” and at this, his voice dropped, “I’m a little afraid to know the ending.”

Riley stared at him for a silent moment. Ben wasn’t quite sure what he was hoping for next. Hope I didn’t say too much. But then Riley nodded, slowly at first. “Wow. Yeah, I mean, me too, man.” His nodding sped up. “You know, maybe I will keep the knight part after all.”

Ben smiled, relieved, though he wasn’t sure why. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah.” Riley was quiet only a moment more before he scoffed. “You know, it’s all fine when you’re just hearing about the dangerous stuff the heroes go through. You don’t really think about how threats to your life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness actually feel.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“But hey,” he shrugged, “at least those future-kids are gonna have a heck of a story. I mean, for them, we’re probably coming up on the best parts!” He laughed at his own words, but still grimaced slightly.

Ben smiled. Again, the complainer held the candle in the dark. And in that moment, Ben knew he was glad to have him on this… adventure, or whatever it could be called, no matter what happened. Riley really had been the common sense, the genius, the light (shaded in sarcasm though it was), throughout the whole thing. And Ben was sure he truly couldn’t have gotten this far without him. But he knew they were about to head off into more trouble when they got to Philadelphia tomorrow, very possibly of the life-threatening type. He had to make sure Riley was okay with facing it down.

“Sure you still wanna be a part of it?” he asked, nodding toward him. “It’s a big responsibility.”

Riley tapped the red, metal, tube-like container hanging on Ben’s seat. “I know.”

Ben nodded. “You’re right. There is a very big responsibility to keep the Declaration safe. We have enough danger just from that. But the duty of the Templars, the Freemasons, and the family Gates, now, that's all on me. Not you or Abigail or anybody else. I know I pretty much dragged you into this from the beginning, and if you’d rather stay out of the line of fire, I… wouldn’t mind letting you—”

“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Gates,” Riley interrupted, grinning widely and pointing threateningly, “you made me a treasure protector, same as all your Templars, Freemasons, and family Gates! And I promise you, I’m not about to let you write me out now!”

That’s a good enough promise for me. Then, attitude restored, Ben responded in a tone of dry humour. “Well, then, in that case, I dub thee Sir Riley.” And he smacked him on the shoulder with the neck pillow.

Sir Riley seemed to take offense to the smacking as a personal challenge, and snatched the pillow away. Ben could see a glint of war fire in his eye. However, before battle could be engaged, his eye caught a sight that was becoming pleasantly familiar, to him at least. He laughingly held up a hand.

“Okay, hold up, hold up, Abigail’s coming back.”

“Oh joy,” Riley deadpanned, a little disappointed in the forced ceasefire. Then, with a thought, he smirked at Ben. “You think even she’d be okay in a story? Like as a character?”

“Abigail?” Ben considered her qualifications for such a role. And he found he couldn’t help but smile; smile at her deep passion for history (close akin to his own), her unflagging determination, and of course, her absolute refusal to ever shut up. “Could be.” He chuckled softly. “Could be…”

He looked up to find Riley giving him a very pointed look, so Ben ignored him and glanced out at her instead. As Abigail crossed the parking lot, he pondered her a little longer. “Wonder if she thinks we're the heroes or the villains.”

By the time he noticed Riley’s movement, the window was already halfway rolled down. “Good question.” Riley stuck his head out the window and yelled across the parking lot, “Hey, Abi, do you think we're the heroes or the villains?”

Still halfway across, she stopped to give him a look and shook her head. “It’s Abigail to you, and for the record, I still think you’re lunatics.”

“Well, I knew that!”

“I mean for yelling across the parking lot.”

“Well, if we're stating things for the record, you're yelling too.”

Abigail simply rolled her eyes and resumed her walk. Riley laughed again. “Guess we’re gonna have to call off the Second Revolutionary War, huh, Ben?”

“Oh, you’ll probably break the truce at some point.”

“Keep on your toes, old man.”

Riley smiled, but fell silent as he did so, staring at the dashboard. In the moment before Abigail came up to the car, his voice returned. “So… just to be clear…” He took a breath before he spoke again, and looked up at Ben hopefully when he did. “Knights?”

Ben practically beamed as he nodded: he could finally say it was true. “Knights.”

Riley held up his fist, and they sealed their eternal covenant of knighthood and brotherhood with a knuckle-bump.

A moment later, the passenger door opened. “Also, you took my seat, Bill.”

“Sir Riley, actually. Nice to meet you, milady.”

---

Well, happy Independence Day, folks! Thanks for reading, and doubly so if you've stuck with me all the way through to the end here!

This is my first National Treasure fic, but my second Lord of the Rings fic (the first is ancient and in hiding somewhere). Since NT is so patriotic and honoring of America's history and forefathers, I figured I'd post this today.

The inspiration came from two things: firstly, that fanfiction I posted about a few weeks ago, and secondly, from the story scene in The Two Towers. The kids had the movie on, and I jumped in right around there. And maybe I just had NT on the brain, but that scene just suddenly struck me as very fitting for Ben and Riley. Who are awesome, by the way.

So I wrote up a (much shorter) first draft that day, and edited it over the next several weeks. And now it's done! And I'm rather pleased with it, for my part.

It's also on fanfiction.net and, for the first time for any of my fics, AO3, if you want to check that out too.

Again, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and happy Independence Day!

[emersonfreepress]

What would the ro's be like in a zombie au?

whyyyyy anon whyyy. I'm actually gonna write this in like.. slightly different terms, you'll see. any time I even briefly think of a zombie au I'm just like

I WANNA WRITE IT SO BADDD

i don't even allow myself to entertain it for very long because getting into that would be the worst thing ever for my productivity with the alpha omg 😂😂 so I'll put like the ideas that pop into my head for writing a zombie au, to work some of that creative frustration out 😆

so in this very general, absolutely noncommittal idea of mine, the main cast are older and the setting is in and around a civilian settlement led by the Emersons.

and as a refresher, i like my zombie aus to have fast zombies and fast infections ^ ^ 28 Days Later/Train to Busan style babyyyy, we the Sprinting Dead up in this bitch 😆

= = =

Gabe is, predictably, looking for what's left of his family. Following rumors of safe havens and bunkers and such. Starts the story as someone who tries to be diplomatic, if not outright pacifist, but as times get tougher and resources dwindle, he'd become one of the most cutthroat motherfuckers in the wasteland. Low-key though, low-key. People won't trust you if they know you’re capable of throwing them to a horde for strategic reasons. Like if Rick turned into Shane (for those of us familiar with early Walking Dead--idk did that happen eventually? i gave up before we even met Negan lol). The end justifies the means :) Damn, I can legit see Gabe going full evil in a zombie au omg 😂😂 i want to write it so fucking bad

Preferred weapon for zed encounters: rifle

Preferred weapon for human encounters: handgun

Faith in humanity: fucking zero

Zombie kill count: plenty; the type to kill every zombie he has spare ammo and time for

Human kill policy: When it benefits him or the people he’s looking after

Survival rating: B+; he can make it out of some pretty dire situations through sheer will to live and ruthlessness

- - -

Kile has arrived--clearly, this is the timeline they belong in. They start their journey with Gabe (and their doggo) and stick to him like glue, even reluctantly so when Gabe eventually has them join the settlement. This can only go one way, though: Kile's just too much of a wildcard for the group and hates being told what to do. (Especially now that society has fallen, wtf) They'd make their exit alone and unannounced aside from a brief head’s up to Gabe. It's slightly bittersweet, but also? They get to loot and hunt and sneak around and kill fucking zombies, all by themself. Kile is a loner, a hiker, and a hunter to begin with so they do beyond fine on their own. However, once the inevitable violent human threat comes for the settlement, Gabe is sent out to convince Kile to come out of isolation, just this once please, to be the camp’s super soldier help defend the camp.

Zed weapon: p much anything they can get their hands on, ranged or melee, blunt or sharp, w/e; improvised weapons

Human weapon: hunting knife

Faith in humanity: never had any to begin with

Zombie kill count: lol infinite?? any zed they come across is double-dead if they have the time for it

Human kill policy: at Gabe’s direction or when provoked enough/threatened

Survival rating: A-; they trust no one, live in isolation, and prioritize survival above all else. only reason it’s not higher is they would risk their life for Gabe or their furbaby and also... their own Rambo-esque antics def attracts the occasional horde lmao

- - -

Jack... this poor boy, he doesn't deserve a zombie au 😂 He's one of those people that first believes zombies are just sick people, too squeamish to keep up with TV news coverage at the onset and too upset to consider anything else. He'd hunker down at home, staying holed up even while his neighbors evacuated, and probably be discovered while the main group is looting the same place as him. When people try to tell him the real state of the world, he'd be in denial until he absolutely couldn't be anymore. idk, probably after Kile shooting a bunch of non-lethal holes thru a zombie to make a point (attracting more in the process lol).

He’d almost immediately join the medical team at the settlement and as word spreads about how easy he is to talk to, he quickly becomes the literal on-site therapist. It's a role he embraces but... idk if it's an emotional burden he can bear. He's very emotionally resilient! But he ain't a professional lol imagine a whole settlement of traumatized zombie survivors seeking you out for counseling, yikes. He also can't say no to a person in need, so instead he quietly spirals into a very private depression while continuing to help others!!

Zed weapon: Oh gosh, do I really have to?

Human weapon: ...Kindness?

Faith in humanity: Unrealistically high

Zombie kill count: Single digit

Human kill policy: Not ever, unless completely unavoidable and to defend the defenseless

Survival rating: C...? idk, that feels generous. D+. To be protected at all costs!!

- - -

Jessie also had the initial reaction of hoping zombies could be saved, but she woke up from that dream swiftly. The science-minded person that she is, esp with her interest in biology, leaves her determined to find anybody who's got the intellect, expertise, and resources to start doing actual work toward a treatment, cure, vaccine—anything. Nothing would get her to finally unabashedly embrace her love of science (and innate leadership skills!!) faster than a zombie apocalypse! In fact, it’s thanks to her that the Emerson settlement’s got a small but growing team of scientists doing as much research as humanly possible to best educate the others on the outbreak and zombie behavior. Def no zombie experimentation going on though lol. ...Not yet, at least.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: rifle

Faith in humanity: High! We’ll find a solution! Don’t give up hope!

Zombie kill count: Double digits, but less than 30

Human kill policy: Only in unavoidable self-defense or defense of others

Survival rating: B! She has experience with ranged weapons, farming and gardening skills, first aid, camping experience, and a can-do attitude with a healthy dose of realism!

- - -

Rain remains cargo as I said in the last post about this 😆 They'd be very good for keeping clothes repaired and making useful modifications in the settlement, but their life up to this point has been very sheltered and privileged. We're talking somebody with a chauffeur and a personal chef before the outbreak! They would contribute to quality of life and homemaking efforts more than anything—an overlooked aspect of these scenarios tbh! After as many months of dragging their feet as possible and being nigh impossible to track down when you need them, they eventually become involved in meal planning and even help out with medical stuff if they're asked.

Zed weapon: how do you reload this thing again?

Human weapon: switchblade or other concealable sharp-pointy

Faith in humanity: Very low

Zombie kill count: 0! Can you believe it!

Human kill policy: Well if it’s you or me, of course I’m choosing me.

Survival rating: C. Being so tiny helps them find good hiding spots and their self-preservation is high enough to keep them from unnecessary risk-taking. Plus they're very stealthy! Self-defense is a major issue though, so hiding is always their best option.

- - -

Rupan/Rohan scouts for and leads scavenging missions and is Curt's right hand on the recruitment team. The two of them together are the perfect combo of diplomacy, debate, and deception--although R is more honorable about the last one and will only deceive for strategic reasons. When they aren’t looting and recruiting, they’re doing peacekeeping inside the settlement. Most social disputes end up getting brought to them for mediation and they’re pretty dang good at making and enforcing calls. One day they’ll wake up to realize they’ve basically become a sheriff and feel the need to puke their guts up and do something, anything, to reassure themself they’re still punk 😂

Zed weapon: SMG

Human weapon: shotgun

Faith in humanity: Believes in fundamental goodness but knows better than to trust first impressions

Zombie kill count: decent, more than 40; you won’t catch them having a field day tho, they’re trying to gtfo of most zed situations

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. And they aren’t, at all, immune to a revenge rampage either...

Survival rating: B-. Can handle themself both with humans and zeds but is vulnerable to hostage situations and truly difficult sentimental/interpersonal decisions!

- - -

Vivian/Vincent manages inventory and stock and they run it so efficiently it’s scary! They're the perfect pick: a hawk-eyed tyrant and tattletale 😂 Despite constantly butting heads with just about everyone on every imaginable thing, they quickly become an important part of the inner circle of decision-makers for the settlement at large. Terrible at stealth, jumpy, and squeamish at the sight of blood and gore, they literally never go on missions unless they're 100% needed for their expertise on a supply run. (They would deny all of these shortcomings are that big a problem, meanwhile R is definitely acting as their bodyguard lol.) When they do tag along, they're prone to becoming the damsel in distress. Seriously, it happens near every fucking time. It's like they just attract only the most improbable and perilous zombie attacks and hostage situations 😆

Zed weapon: shotgun

Human weapon: handgun

Faith in humanity: Medium; seeing people work together at the settlement helps restore it a bit

Zombie kill count: Double digits, under 25

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. Well, no, not by me! Get one of the ruffians to do it!

Survival rating: C-. They’d be higher if they weren’t such natural zombie bait.

- - -

Heidi is running the settlement, well-organized to the degree of actually managing to bring bureaucracy to a post-zombie apocalypse settlement 😂 People are free to come and go, but getting in if you don't live there requires trading something of value (fuel, med supplies, food, etc), temporary surrender and registry of firearms and explosives, and you gotta GTFO at the time and date specified upon entry! You can stay long-term if you contribute to the community in a tangible way—and each person admitted is approved by Heidi personally. Yes, every individual. No, she has no free time. And she is not known to be lenient with rule breakers—you want rule bending, you’ll have to go to Curt for that. People kind of hate her, but it can't be denied that she runs a tight ship. She kind of throws herself into the work to avoid the harsher reality at large and hasn't left the settlement in a long time. She's out of touch with how bad things have gotten in the wastes, but she knows better than to take reports at anything less than face value--even when she's skeptical.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: handgun; dagger

Faith in humanity: Medium. It fluctuates, honestly

Zombie kill count: Double digits, less than 20

Human kill policy: Violent threats must be taken out if they can’t be reasoned with. Spare those who surrender, eradicate those who don't, keep an eye on the newbies. Not tryin’ to nurse any vendettas around here lol

Survival rating: B. She's good with a firearm, masterful at persuasion, and savvy enough to calculate risks appropriately. Also far tougher than her prim exterior and demeanor suggests!

- - -

Curt leads the recruitment and reconnaissance teams! When a new person or group shows up in the area, Curt's the one who stalks watches them, decides if they're worth approaching, and if they should be approached with an invitation, a simple acknowledgment/announcement of their presence, or an outright armed warning to leave the area. He also keeps tabs on morale and general confidence inside the settlement, alongside R. When he isn’t leading those efforts, though, he’s flirting with settlers and squirreling his way out of manual labor and other chores. He’s also secretly growing weed at his place--don’t tell Heidi or Vi ‘cause they’ll wanna yell at him and ration it UGH.

Zed weapon: SMG, explosives

Human weapon: handgun, dagger

Faith in humanity: Pft, sorry, what now?

Zombie kill count: ...way more than you’d expect

Human kill policy: I don’t start confrontations, but I sure as fuck end them.

Survival rating: A! He’s good at playing hapless idiot when it suits him to be underestimated, good with firearms, and capable of being ruthless and decisive in life or death situations! Plus he has no qualms about ditching the settlement if he decides it’s not working out for him. Just don’t tell Heidi lol

[dobsmoneylake]

Prudence. Corazon. First actual date. (Or, it doesn't have to be a DATE-date...but the two of them as a pair for the first time.)

AN: I am so sorry that this took so long (Corazón wasn’t talking to me until I insulted him), I hope it was with the wait! Thanks for the prompt!! <3 I own nothing. Also thanks to the Historian for beta-ing for me.

At the sound of footsteps, Prudence looked up from where she was laid out in a sunchair on the deck of the Joyful Damnation, attempting to enjoy some of the sun. “I see you’re alive,” she called out to the owner of the footsteps, causing the sound of them to stop before starting to head toward her purposefully.

“Alive?” their owner proclaimed. “Of course I’m alive! It takes more than a few drinks to keep this pirate down!” A head popped into her view. “Honestly, Prudence, who do you think you’re dealing with here?”

Glaring at Corazón, Prudence took one hand and shoved against his shoulder, “Get out of my sun,” she warned.

Stumbling back at the force of her hand, Corazón straightened up and put his hands on his hips, looking around. Instead of the busy sight of their remaining companions that he expected, he instead saw a deck that was empty of everyone but Prudence. “Where is everyone?” he huffed. “We were supposed to set sail first thing this morning!”

“Well, you probably should have thought about that before sleeping the morning away,” Prudence said, smirking. “Now, I need to go into the town myself; are you going to sit around and sulk all day, or will you be accompanying me?” She stood up and stretched before reaching over to grab the robe that she usually wore, casually shrugging it on.

Corazón felt his cheeks heat up and he quickly looked away. “I don’t know, I have some things to do around here to make sure we’re ready to go as soon as you all get back,” he told her. “It takes a lot to get a ship as incredible as The Damnation ready to go, you know.”

“Yes, but how often do we get to spend time in public without having to talk Egbert out of blowing something up or making sure Dob doesn’t run off with all the gold?” she asked.

When he looked up, she was smiling. “You may have a point,” he conceded, “And I do deserve a vacation after all the work I do for you guys.”

“Exactly,” she said, brushing by him as she walked off the ship and looking over her shoulder at him. “Why don’t you say we have some fun?”

‘Fun’ led them to the market, which was in a little bit of a disarray when they arrived. Prudence immediately took off towards the most lethal looking stall, which was full of various sharp and pointy objects. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Corazón disappear, presumably to make use of the last bits of chaos from whatever had happened before they had arrived.

Letting all thoughts of her partner for the day leave her brain, Prudence started looking over at what this stall had to offer. There were a few bigger weapons that she looked at with some interest (they would be such a great benefit to her rage), but they weren’t elegant enough to really fit her aesthetic. In the middle of the table were a collection of sharp knives and daggers that her eyes kept getting drawn back to.

Idly casting detect magic (and how good it felt to be able to do that again), her eye was immediately drawn to a stiletto dagger in the middle of the table, which was just pulsating with energy.

“Are you going to, like, buy something or what?” the bored voice of the shopkeeper asked her.

“Can I try out that dagger in the middle?” She asked.

“Huh? Yeah, whatever. Just don’t steal it or anything.”

Picking it up, Prudence couldn’t help but let a grin spread over her face. The dagger was perfectly balanced in every way-- in fact it was perfect in every way. “How much for this, then?” she asked.

“That? 500 gold pieces.” The shopkeeper was still looking at her nails.

Prudence deflated. There was no way the party would be okay with her spending that much. She put the knife back on the table, but kept eyeing it, debating how much work it would be to just take it.

“Prudence!” Corazón said joyfully, walking up to her with his arms full. “Would you like any of these delicious artisan meats?”

“Sure,” she said, absentmindedly taking one.

“What do we have here, anything good?” he asked her.

“Nope,” she said.

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Because you’ve been standing here for quite a while, and usually you would have left in disgust at this point.”

She glared at him. “Honestly, it’s all rubbish,” she said, “waste of my time.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he said. “Although if you really wanted something, I’m sure that we could afford it.”

“I said IT’S FINE,” she hissed at him before storming off towards the tavern. She needed a drink.

********

Corazón met up with Prudence just outside the tavern, which she was staring at for some reason. That reason became clear when the noises from inside the tavern drifted out as someone else entered-- specifically the sound of two familiar voices and the even more familiar sound of chaos.

“Oh, great,” Corazón said. “There goes our relaxing day.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? What do you mean ‘hm’?” he asked, pointing dramatically at the tavern. “That doesn’t exactly sound relaxing.”

“Yes, but this isn’t the only place to get drinks,” she reminded him.

He thought for a moment before sighing. “You want to go to the nice restaurant.” When she nodded, he threw up his hands. “But Prudence! It will be expensive! They’ll expect us to actually pay! Please, think this through!!!”

“I have thought this through,” she told him. “I’ve thought that I don’t want to go in there.” She pointed at the tavern for illustration, where a conveniently timed crash happened for emphasis.

Corazón sighed. “Pirates don’t do fancy establishments,” he told her.

She took off walking. “Okay, I’ll go by myself then,” she said. “There might be someone I meet along the way who would want to get a nice dinner with me.”

He jogged up to her. “I never said I didn’t want to get dinner with you!” he said.

“Oh good,” she took his arm. “Then you can buy me something nice.”

Looking down at the top of her head, he smiled. “Don’t push your luck too far, I never agreed to pay.”

*******

Dinner went well. Appetizers had been served, main dishes had been critiqued, and dinner was on its way out when music started and other people in the restaurant got up and made their way to the dance floor.

Corazón watched as they started to dance and scoffed. “Honestly, look at those idiots,” he said, never taking his eyes off the couples as he started moving his finger to the beat of the music.

“Why, because they’re dancing?” Prudence asked.

“Because they’re dancing horribly!” He said. “Honestly, look at that form! Dob could do better than that-- and I definitely could do better than that!”

Prudence took a sip of her wine, hiding a smile. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Am I sure about that?” He rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Prudence, I could dance circles around anyone in this restaurant-- no, around anyone in this town!” He sat back in his seat. “Honestly, ‘am I sure about that.’”

“Well then,” she said, setting her wine down, “You’ll just have to prove it to me.”

His eyes went wide. “Pro-- prove it to you!” he let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t need to prove it to you-- if anything, you should prove your dance skills to me!” He nodded decisively. “Yeah, Prudence, why don’t you prove your dance skills to me?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay,” she told him simply.

“What?” His eyes went wide. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“Okay, I’ll prove it to you,” she said. “Let’s dance.”

“You’re joking,” he told her.

“Well, unless you can’t dance after all,” she told him.

He stood up suddenly. “I am going to dance with you so hard you see stars!” he told her, holding out her hand.

“I’m sure you will.”

Still holding onto her hand, he led her out onto the dance floor as a tango started, pulling her into a picture perfect position and desperately trying to remember the steps of the tango-- for some reason, it was hard to focus when she was so close. He was so busy running through the steps in his head that he didn’t notice how quiet they were.

“You know, you’re right,” she said, breaking the silence. “You are a very good dancer.”

He smirked confidently down at her. “I told you so,” he said.

“But I think you’re overlooking some of the benefits of being not so perfect,” she continued.

He raised a confused eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” she said with a smile, allowing herself to drift even closer so they were pressed together.

Corazón’s steps stuttered as she pressed closer to him, and he started moving with less confidence. “Prudence,” he said softly so only she could hear. “What are we doing?”

“Do you trust me?” she asked him.

Corazón didn’t even have to think about it. “More than anyone.”

“Then just keep doing that,” she told him, pressing her face to his chest.

*******

As they walked down the path back to the ship (Corazón had ended up paying), Corazón grabbed Prudence’s hand. “Wait,” he told her, bringing her to a stop.

“What is it?” she asked, turning to face him.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but here,” he said, slipping out the dagger from earlier and shoving it into her hands. “You were obviously into it.”

She looked down at the dagger. “Please tell me you didn’t pay full price for this.”

“What?” he scoffed. “No. I nicked it. The shopkeeper was absolutely oblivious.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she told him.

“Don’t say anything.” When she went to open her mouth, he continued. “Really, don’t say anything. Let’s just agree to never bring it up again.”

“If you say so,” they made their way up to the ship. “Well, thank you so much for the lovely date,” Prudence told him.

Corazón stopped in his tracks. “Date?” he asked, his voice rising. “What do you mean, ‘date’?”

“Oh Corazón, you really are an idiot sometimes,” she said, shaking her head and grinning.

“What?” He sputtered, “I am the smartest member of the--”

He was cut off by her lips.

“You kissed me,” he said when she had pulled back.

“Well,” she smirked, “I certainly didn’t kiss myself.”

With that, she pressed her lips against his again. Corazón froze for a moment before slowly lifting his definitely not shaking hands to brush against her cheeks. When she didn’t pull back, he relaxed down into her, giving her the angle she needed to wrap her arms around his back.

After a few moments, Prudence pulled back and smiled almost shyly at him. “Have a good night, Corazón,” she said before walking into her room.

Corazón watched her go with his mouth half open before he closed it into a smile, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of his head. Suddenly, there came a rustle from above and the cat form of Merilwen jumped down to sit in front of him. If a cat could smirk, she was definitely making the facial impression.

“Oh, you shut up,” he told her irritably, turning around and walking into his captains’ quarters. He let the door shut behind him before leaning against it with a grin on his face.