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detectivesplotslies · 3 years

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Too many memories, two many occupants

Description: The game is over, and someone has to answer for how it played out. Tsumugi's the obvious answer, as perfectly so as her cosplay. Features VR AU and postgame spoilers. Word Count: 3591 Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1: Beyond Notice

During the trial it had been a lot easier. Having an opposition, having a role, having a part to stick to. There was the audience, there were the fans. There were her brilliant cosplays! There was the vote. She had known what she’d press. She knew where it would get her.

Waving her last, she knew what it really meant. But something within her still grew quiet. Something mourned. The triumphant grin of despair wouldn’t surface, no matter how hard she tried. Her contestants. Her classmates. Her victims. Her cast. They had sentenced her… themselves… to this.

Even though she knew better, she felt numb. Her feet were heavy, rooted to the spot. The others were out of sight. Her executioner flew around above, raining his destruction down on them while she retreated inwards, her vision narrowing. Waving, as her cosplay fell away, as the school crumbled, she should feel the heat of the explosions, but none of that reached her.

She saw the rock. She made no move. Part of her was ready. Part of her was resigned.

It went dark.

Even though Tsumugi knew better she was almost relieved.

Until it was time to wake up.

---

Coming to feels hazy, disorienting. Her limbs jerk awkwardly, as if starting awake from a nightmare, eyes still seeing darkness but hands brushing against cords, glass and consoles. A pair of hands brush her cheek as they remove her headset, and she flinches involuntarily. One of her own hands goes to her face, tugging at its electrical tethers, still taped to her in various nerve points.

She’s not wearing her glasses. Panic washes over her just as the blinding light of the room that refuses to adjust for her does, and her other hand frantically reaches around the pod for where they must have fallen. She’d never leave her glasses. Without her glasses she’s not… she’s…

The light becomes less intense as she blinks, and she can make out the blurry silhouettes of three people in front of her, standing at attention, waiting patiently. One holds a hand outstretched with something silver clasped in it.

Shakily she takes it, unfolding the arms and sliding them carefully onto her face. The unfocused world comes back into sharp clarity. She half recognizes the faces of those who are in front of her. The silence remains. Is she supposed to say something? Eventually the one who returned her glasses clears her throat, and gestures to the others. They begin to remove the wires quickly and efficiently. Tsumugi crosses her arms and rubs at them idly as the rest are secured, feeling like this should be a more private process. As the last wire is removed the one who’s clearly in charge clears her throat again and nods to her.

“The Board would like to see you.”

Slowly, Tsumugi pushes herself out of the seat, wobbling on her feet as she does so, gripping the side of the chair shaped pod, carefully avoiding the lit LCD consoles lining the edges. The trio before her make no moves to help, nor does she request it. The legs beneath her quiver a few times, threatening to fold before her knees lock with some promise of support. Her hand gripping the side betrays the truth though, trembling with effort.

“Alright, take me to them.”

---

They aren’t happy.

There’s some general gratitude that an ending was guaranteed through her actions, but thanks for it are brisk and short lived. There are bigger problems now.

Lost footage was bad enough, but a protest live on air? Sure, there were tons of supportive fans out there with a continued commitment to the brand, but the vocal few were making themselves heard. Sponsors were pulling their funding. Team DanganRonpa needed to make a statement. They refused to take fault, they had the consent waivers, despite the impassioned display on screen. They needed a scapegoat to take the fall, and who better than the face of the disaster? It was for the good of their franchise, and their only chance to hang onto enough profit to keep the company running.

They are firing her.

The show must go on, but they would make a good faith decision to change their methods for the next season. With a brand new production team.They were advancing their technologies still and R&D was indispensable right now, so the focus went towards the writing talent. It was her failure, anyways, they posited. The simulation hadn’t flickered once, even when the jig was up.

Tsumugi is silent and numb as she is told this. Turmoil brews as a debate begins around her about when to release the announcement.

How dare they do this to me? I worked so hard for them! Without me this season would have never got off the ground! Who else had the brilliant idea to move into a space epic? To introduce new worlds for the future of the story? Who risked their life to bring down every last obstacle? Who gave up their classmates? Was chased down for this mad show and they care more about sponsors? How dare they place the blame on a highschooler, when I-

Wait, no, she’s not…

She runs her fingers over her temples gingerly, swaying slightly on her feet. The discussion in front of her ebbs, attention back on her, and some expressions exchanged before they agree to resume once she’s more aware. Perhaps they were too prompt in calling her here, but they had assumed she wouldn’t need long to adjust, since she knew the truth.

They didn’t realize knowing the truth was the crux of her dilemma.

---

Deleting memories when a consciousness was plugged directly into a simulation was very simple. The centers of the brain known to store them were easily targeted without physical intervention, leaving common sense and learned skills. Untethered knowledge, learned without recalling how. The amnesia effect here was valuable. Recalling this knowledge caused a disconnect, and when memories were implanted the brain would do something extraordinary. It would map a route from the presented memory to the knowledge, all on it’s own. Connecting the neural dots and repairing the damage as though it were never there, without guidance or supervision. The human mind was a brilliantly sophisticated device.

Every cast member had been selected with some semblance of knowledge or aptitude for their assigned talent, even if it was utterly average. The knowledge was filled out for each, with painstaking researchers drafting long memories of ancient tomes, infidelity cases, star charts, blueprints, masked faces, island maps and coastal vistas. They filled in as much as possible, but even if they missed something, the mind was resilient, and would work out the holes on its own.

It wasn’t the same for her however.

There was a perk to being the ringleader for the whole affair. The person in charge had to know some of the infrastructure that was keeping them there, some of the motivations. Lest the show fall apart, or even worse be boring. So the game master went into the simulation without memory deletion.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t memories implanted. That would be too simple. They had to provide some true evidence of their talent to back up the enhancement of their skills and knowledge. Without a sturdy foundation built on confidence any additions would crumble and refuse to attach. Having worked in the costume department for a few seasons before her promotion, her suggestion of cosplayer had been approved almost instantly. Soon the research team was looking up Cosplay Masquerade winners from years past and the details of every prized piece of workmanship, photography and character acting they could find, and drafting it into a light for her as well. Tsumugi had been excited, and had even helped pick her absolute favourites to be remembered as costumes she made.

Ideally, this booster pack of memories for her talent would supplement her own enough to use to her fullest if the time came in game. Her script outline didn’t even call for her reveal, but having been behind the scenes a few seasons, she knew a lot more was up to chance than Team Danganronpa liked to let the media know. She wanted a strong backup at her disposal, should the need arise.

However, when the game began, something hadn’t been quite right. Backstory memories were implanted as planned, but the talents were yet to be placed. Already in the simulation, she couldn’t ask The Board if this was deliberate. It could be a marketing scheme to boost audition rates for the next round. But already her concern grew.

The human mind is a fascinating thing.

The others spoke of being grabbed and taken here. The dots were already connecting, firing on all cylinders, looking for solutions to lost memories that didn’t need answering. It wasn’t as though they erased everything of course, it was impossible to work with a blank slate, so the bits remaining were playing havoc with their reactions. She alone had none missing, and merely nodded along. With the arrival of the talent light, she had an inward sigh of relief. Soon it wouldn’t matter, this would overwrite any unintended connections left by this stunt.

They received the memories.

Tsumugi had never expected them to feel so real. Every costume she had lovingly picked out, from footage and articles, she could feel in her hands, as though she touched the fabric and threaded the seams. Every pose she had seen a cosplayer photographed in, she was viewing outwardly, seeing the cameramen she never even imagined existing prior, while holding her position with careful grace. Every character, be they dramatic, loud, shy, soft or brash, came to her in vivid detail. Their tales, their backstories, their struggles, their gestures and voices.

And it clashed against her memories of Danganronpa.

All these characters, all these series, they were not the ones she grew up on. They were new and relevant, often references classics, selected for memorability, for the audience. And yet now they were intimately hers. They crowded for attention, buzzing and vying for a place as her favourite.

Her true favourites, the reason for her years of work and devotion, were shoved to the very back, not forgotten, but duller. Flatter. The Ultimate Cosplayer was vibrant! Though plain outwardly her skills were undeniable! She wasn’t some drop-out made-seamstress made-scenario writer. Why would she ever want to be?

Therefore, it couldn’t be that surprising how lost in thought she was at her introductions, she spent far too long trying to remember the lines she had written to poke a reference to the show. There were a lot more than 52 killing games to think back on now. She regretted not stocking the A/V Room with more of these shows...

----

With an escort, she goes to her office to clear it out. Memorabilia lines the desk and walls, from seasons past. She looks them over passively as she is handed a box, and begins to take each thing down one by one. Every character, name, and mascot was familiar. Security waits at the door, and she wonders why. What could she possibly do here to harm them anymore than she supposedly already had? She had not been allowed online yet to confirm anything told to her, but she had resolved that when they spoke to her again she’d make it a condition before her termination. They couldn’t plainly believe she’d take their word on it when they put her… no that wasn’t right…

They didn’t put her anywhere, she put herself somewhere.

She shakes her head slowly a moment, the numbness in her hands having returned. Before she can react the snowglobe in her grasp slips out of her clumsy unfeeling fingers and shatters on the floor. Water and glitter splash the floor as tiny Monokumas skitter outwards past her feet across the room, freed from their little round prison. Security whirls around to face her at the sharp sound she doesn’t hear. She stands there staring at the base of the glass bauble, dumbfounded.

She vaguely recollects that that had been special. A collector’s item, given to her by someone perhaps? Limited edition? But she felt nothing staring down at the wet shards remaining, her arm hanging limp at her side. Whatever it was before, it was trash now.

Tsumugi is ushered out with her box half packed, with no mention of if she could come back for the rest. Part of her wants to scream to get the rest and cling to it all! It took so long to amass! Without it, what is there to prove her efforts? A larger part of her was happy for it to be out of sight.

She unceremoniously leaves the box in the corner of her recovery room. Not one of her own things is taken out to put anywhere. She likes the room bare and plain. Like her. Just like the girl she thinks she is.

---

Unlike before the game, when the research team and writers had meetings, strategy plans and long discussions, the classroom where Tsumugi stood with the Game Master interface was lonely and cold. There were no intricacies to any of the selections, they were mere branching paths. Sure, she recalled some of the writing details for each from before the season launch, especially the ones she had chosen as her outlined route, but how simply the screen stated them to her was troubling.

The talent had been supposed to be this simple too, but it had depth she hadn’t expected. The selection hovered over the Ultimate Hunt and the mass funeral choices, the ones her writing team had OK’d. She wondered what depth she’d feel seeing fake people mourn her. Would they seem fake?

She pressed the button and waited for the light to pop out of the locker, adjusting her glasses idly and looking out the dark wire barred windows. She thought about her ‘classmates’, who had nothing in their heads remaining to help them deny these. It really was a perfect system. For them.

There was a thud in the locker. Tsumugi returned to her task, like so many all nights she’d pulled before, both real and fictional. She walked over to retrieve it, carefully tucking it into the interior pocket on her coat. Once it was placed that was their plot, no rewrites, no erasing anything. Living the story was a lot more nerve wracking than writing it.

---

Tsumugi knows her way around the building without help, but that doesn’t stop security from falling into step and walking with her whenever she leaves her room. She supposes it’s not to help her, anyways, so it’s not an issue. There’s no regimented schedule for her during recovery, though doctors have visited her room a few times and there was one impromptu check-up with an actual CT scan.

She tells them all she feels fine. Everything is fine. She’s readjusting just fine, thank you for asking. No, no abnormalities. No numbness. No confusion. She does admit to being very tired. That one is a safe answer, it usually makes them leave faster so she can rest. They aren’t very good doctors, she thinks. She wonders if they are just as poorly attentive to the other patients’ issues and lies.

Without a schedule, Tsumugi avoids the cafeteria at what she guesses would be the busier times, but even doing so she has caught glimpses of her cast.

A girl sitting with an untouched meal laid out before her. Her hands clasped in front of her in her lap, eyes hidden behind loose grey hair.

A tall silent boy gazing out one of the few windows into the courtyard. He traces his no longer ringed fingers along the surface.

A coughing bout in the hallway followed by the rush of feet and a familiar loud voice shouting them off.

Echoes of their more vibrant selves, haunting the halls.

She walks into the cafeteria and stops. There are voices but she’s already through the door before she realizes it, eyes darting to the table to the right of the door. Sitting there in what sounded like a disagreement were Shuichi and Maki, with Himiko sitting idly beside the latter cheek resting on the heel of her hand while gazing at the door. The other two don’t notice her but the small redhead locks eyes with her instantly. Her posture stiffens as her eyes widen. The two girls stare at each other for a moment, the conversation a buzz in the background as the air thickens. Shuichi, who’s back is to the door must have noticed because he stops mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder. He freezes.

It’s Maki who stands, nudging Himiko behind her, taking on that intimidating stance. She’s glaring daggers across the room at her, and Tsumugi backs up involuntarily, right into the security guard who was following her into the room. Clumsily, she stumbles forwards to step out of his way and adjusts her glasses, the other three’s eyes still locked on her. Not wanting to leave, but unsure of what to do with herself, Tsumugi steps forwards to the adjacent table and quietly takes a seat.

The eyes on her and the silence are wrong. She’s not someone who gets stared at, at least not when she’s not trying to… this isn’t what she should… what should she…

A placid smile spreads on her face and she nods her head to them. “Good morning, Harukawa-san, Yumeno-san, Saihara-kun.” Her eyes squint almost closed in the forced smile, her cheeks pushing upwards under her glasses that help mask the dark bags. Practiced. Placating. A face both of her make. Painful.

“What do you want?”

Himiko isn’t who anyone expects to talk clearly, Shuichi turning to look at her. Maki squares her shoulders, trying to seem bigger. But the smallest of them narrows her eyes and waits.

“Nothing in particular, really,” Tsumugi drawls, folding her hands in her lap. Out of sight as they clench and fidget.

“Oh sure, your goons won’t give us a moment alone, but you don’t want anything. Like we’d believe that,” Maki says before Himiko can continue, venom in every word. Himiko’s mouth hangs open in the interruption, closing again with a pout.

“My goons,” Tsumugi repeats, noting the pointed look at the security detail that followed her in. “Fortunately, they should have provided you all with your contracts by now, and you can see your rights there. Please do use them to your benefit.”

“Oh right. The contracts we don’t even remember signing,” Himiko mutters.

“That is outlined in them as well.”

“This lack of contact with the outside was not, though,” Shuichi cuts in. The sureness there is from someone who clearly read the contract over more than once. Someone looking for loopholes. The memories he received must still be working overtime. She wonders if he’s as glad to have them as he was when he was when the process was explained? Probably not.

“That’s not my area, I’m afraid the simulation and preparations were my purview, Saihara-kun. Feel free to exert your rights in your contract, though. The company has to uphold it.” The strained smile slides into a more natural one as she continues to speak. It’s easier when it’s not about her.

Shuichi raises a brow. Perhaps he had expected resistance? “So they’re breaking their agreement then, holding us here?” he continues, as if to clarify.

“If that’s what the contract promises, then I suppose that’s the case,” Tsumugi answers. They should feel fortunate they got the opportunity to sign those at all, she thinks. Her hands clench tighter. They are fortunate they don’t remember.

“Like we trust you to keep promises,” Maki spat.

“You don’t have to,” she tuts, “Just use the contract, it’s your tool.”

Maki moves so quickly that thankfully Tsumugi doesn’t have the time to flinch. Himiko grabs her by the crook of the elbow before she’s rounded the table towards her.

“Stop it, let’s just talk somewhere else.”

Himiko stands, and moments later Shuichi follows suit. Maki’s expression doesn’t show any agreement, but she leaves with them nonetheless, glaring back over her shoulder on the way out. The security officers never stray from their posts. As soon as she’s sure they’re gone, Tsumugi lets out a held breath. A few moments pass, and she finally goes to get her meal.

She hopes that they really heard her. Their contracts are so much more flexible than her own. They hadn’t bequeath their identities, their citizenships, they weren’t intellectual property of the company no matter how some of the creative team liked to spin it.Their participation was a limited matter, and she was sure her classmates could argue their way through with that fine print at their disposal. She knew that much. She’d seen them face harder things than legal jargon together of course!

...Her classmates? No. Her cast. Her co-stars. A grimace grows on her face as she returns to sit. They never once had a class together, and the game could hardly be called one… not now. Not with her. Together they could bond in their ignorance. Her contract wasn’t flexible. Her consent was different than theirs. She wasn’t new, or at least not all new.

And she couldn’t leave until they decided the best way for them to kick her out. She takes a bite of her food thoughtfully.

If they can kick me out.

#ndrv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #tsumugi shirogane #shirogane tsumugi #team danganronpa #fic #my writing #danganronpa v3 #vr au #postgame #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #himiko yumeno #my mugi #dissociation #memory #Some of you may remember the preview I posted for this one

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chalkrevelations · 3 years

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Huh.

Well, this is not the next episode reaction you were expecting, but a while back, in the middle of the night, while I was ready to cry from working on a pharmacology paper, out of nowhere, Youtube threw up Street Dance of China S3 Ep1 at me. And yeah. I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show. (There are enough SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal that I feel there’s no point denying this.)

So – no, actually, wait. FIRST of all, I do NOT believe the “towel vote” we ended up being given for the opening routines from the four captains. That was the most blatant bit of bullshit chicanery I’ve seen in my LIFE, and I say this as a person with a ton of SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal, and I also say this not because Wang Yibo ended up last (well, not entirely), but because I saw Wallace Chung’s routine. As someone closer in age to him than to the other three captains, I have to give him props for trying, but come on, man. The critique that Yibo got from random contestants – if the subtitles are to be believed, so I realize this needs a grain of salt - basically boiled down to “it was too good for the stage lighting.” :hands: Also, I saw your face at the reveal, Wallace, and you were as shocked as I was. No way you got more towels/votes than Wang Yibo. Not unless there’s some super wild undercurrent of nostalgia propping you up, which, I guess could happen, because literally all I know about pop culture in China, current or otherwise, is filtered through Tumblr and Youtube, both notoriously suspect, but … anyway. There’s got to be a TON of behind-the-scenes manipulation going on for Yibo to be rock-bottom with last pick of teams but then also to end up with THAT pool of possibles. Are you kidding me with this?

ANYWAY, what I wanted to say is that I actually really like Wang Yibo here, and it’s not just because he’s the only captain I have even a sliver of familiarity with, and it’s not just because Lan Wangji was banging Wei Wuxian. I do realize all of this is influenced by whatever edit they’ve decided to give a particular captain or contestant, but I’m impressed with the way Yibo immediately starts team building by getting his group into a warmup, getting them dancing together, getting them dancing with him before they have to worry about dancing for him. (I mean, come on, Jackson Wang. The way to get people to stop being nervous is not to say “Stop being nervous! It will make you fuck up!”) The way Yibo immediately recognized and responded to his group’s concerns about that one dude copying someone else’s routine probably also bought him a lot of return investment. He’s dressed to work it, in his sweats and his flannel (what IS that fake-leather TAC vest and random leg holster-looking thing, Jackson Wang?). He’s convincing me he really loves to dance, he can’t hold still while he watches the contestants, he’s wandering over into other captains’ turf when it sounds like there’s a dancer performing who he might like to see, he’s being the best Yibo he can be, and I’m grooving along, wind in my hair, totally down for this ride. He’s also adorable at the beginning when all the other captains are like, my goal for this season is to slaughter the competition and dance on their graves! And he’s like, well, I’d like to … make some friends? And learn some new stuff? I don’t know if the perpetual Humble Student schtick is natural or persona, or whether it’s general or specific to dancing, but it’s working for you, my dude. This is also made better (read: ironic), by the fact that it’s immediately before the towel reveal, when he flips over to utter disbelief and gets all sulky for a while over the “fact” that his dance routine got the least votes.

Also, OH WAIT. This is where that clip of Yibo dancing with his crew ALL OVER HIM came from that I saw floating around a few months ago, isn’t it? You’re telling me those guys had never danced together before and had like, three minutes to throw together that routine? I’m even more impressed than before. Meanwhile, the towels symbolize courage and challenge, Mr. Emcee? OK, fine, cheesy reality show blah blah whatever. Can we get to the dancing now?

I’m going to put the rest of this behind a cut, because it got super long, because it turns out, when you watch in 5-minute increments, it takes two and a half weeks to get through a single episode, but you actually can see and have opinions on all 5,328 contestants, plus every single one of the captains’ battles. Meanwhile, I’m trying to convince myself this is not going to be another series of episode reactions, but 1) I do have the benefit of not having a ton of hometown media giving me a next-day play-by-play, so even though this is six months old, everything’s a surprise; 2) I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show; and 3) it’s easy to watch in 5-minute increments between researching drug interactions in hypothetical hypertensive patients with stable ischemic heart disease, erectile dysfunction, and seasonal allergies. So, I guess we’ll see. It’ll be slow going, though, because I don’t ever have two and half hours to sit down and watch an ep cover-to-cover – if it happens, it will likely keep happening in 5-minute increments. Meanwhile, there is a metric shit-ton of nattering below the cut, so caveat lector. No, seriously, I kept adding to this little by little until it became a monster. Hashtag long post (remorseful).

OK, I am generally out of my depth here, as this is not at all my area of dance not-really-expertise, but some reactions:

Team Wang Yibo: I can see why he didn’t want to choose between Colin and Dian Men – Colin might have been a touch better technically and a better showman, but Dian Men didn’t seem to have a single wasted move – but, also, my dude. Yibo. You maybe should look a little bit less stunned and overwhelmed by the mere presence of Colin, it’s giving me ideas about your taste in men. Continuing with the powerhouses, I probably shouldn’t even attempt to critique Klash, but I did feel like he was a bit stiff in some of his footwork; that final V kick, though, shit, that’s what having that kind of upper-body strength is for. Bouboo … I mean, excellent flexibility and control, of course, but mainly I’m just terribly amused that Yibo got last pick of teams but somehow ended up with the guy who’s literal world champion, and who’s just as useful for getting into the other captains’ heads – without even trying – as he is for his talent. And then there’s a montage of Yibo giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you cannot keep up this pace. There are still too many dancers to see, and you don’t have that many towels. AAANNNND Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Jackson Wang: I do like Gai Gai, although that may be influenced by the fact she’s working in the twilight area between hip-hop and contemporary that I have more familiarity with - but also, I suspect she’s pretty good in her genre. I thought Xiao Jie was inconsistent and didn’t stick the landing on his initial attempt, so I have to give you that hesitation, Jackson, even though you’ve somehow ended up the villain in my inner narrative for this show, for no particular reason I can yet discern. Maybe it’s that you’re the direct competition for Yibo’s team in the towel battles. Good enough. Anyway, Xiao Jie definitely stepped up his game for the battle with Bingo, so I can kind of see why both of them got a towel, but we’re not even halfway through this, and most of y’all are giving away towels like you have an endless supply. Yang Kai is a fucking menace with fantastic musicality, and I’m just gonna say it and take the fallout - I think he gave a better performance first time out of the gate than any of Yibo’s powerhouses did. Whatever power Klash has got, whatever skill Bouboo has got, Yang Kai feels more explosive and engaging, at least in these initial showings. He’s going to be one to beat, I’d hug him too, if he was on my team and was going to help me WIN. Yibo’s probably lucky that happened during his little stroll over to check out the competition, so that he can see they’re definitely competitive and be prepared for it. Also, Jackson, I have to admit - that face you made when Chao really kicked in? That was the same face I made, because wt actual f, you have a literal secret weapon – secret because he CAME FROM NOWHERE and NO ONE EVEN KNOWS him, how is that even possible, how did he get that good – fluid, creative, controlled, incredible musicality - without anyone having any idea who he even is? And then there’s a montage of Jackson just giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you need to slow down. You can’t just be like, “THEY LOVE DANCE WITH ALL OF THEIR WHOLE HEARTS!!!!1111!!!!11!” I get it, but everyone there loves dance with all of their whole hearts, and there are not enough towels to send all of them on to the next round. ANNNND, Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Lay Zhang: lol at how diplomatic you’re being, Lay Zhang – your team’s fierce roar startled you, OK. At this point, I suspect you’re the street most likely to have a knife fight break out before this is all over. I do like Alex, I think he’s got a lot of interesting, super-clean details in his moves, and he’s engaging - I cannot BELIEVE you made him battle that dude whose moves were so mushy, Lay Zhang, it leaves me doubting your ability to judge this thing. At first I thought maybe you were just looking for an excuse because you wanted to see Alex freestyle, but then you actually said something about both dancers being equal, and my estimation of you plummeted, and also sadly, my sound dropped out for the actual battle, including the part where the clearly inferior dancer fell over and then accidentally POPPED ALEX ONE IN THE EYE, and I TOLD YOU SO. I do agree it’s a good idea to make dancers in the same genre do some battling, so you can kind of plan out your towels and put together a team with broad strengths, instead of giving out towels like you’re making it rain for the first 20 contestants, and then you have 1,375 more people to get through, with 3 towels left, as EVERYONE ELSE seems to be doing, so it’s nice that at least one of you guys is thinking – if not actually acting - strategically. That was clearly not even a contest, though, GIVE ALEX HIS TOWEL and send him to the next round. Xiao Bao is hilarious, with his concern that his team captain, who’s into krump, which is “beating,” isn’t going to appreciate his waacking, which is “slapping.” I also don’t know a whole lot about waacking, so thanks for the primer, Xiao Bao, and don’t worry, your performance is just as engaging for those of us who don’t know what we’re watching as you are generally. You deserve that towel for your ability to interact with and engage your audience, alone. Lingo is a good solid performance, although he’s got his team captain strategizing edited over some of it, and here’s the thing: we are 1:56:00 into this, at this point, with another half hour to go, and all of you are starting to disappear into the sea of dancers who are very good at what you do, but at generally the same level? Anyway, Lingo, I approve of your ability to interact with your audience (read: your captain) to ensure engagement, too, so keep that up. Annnd, we actually haven’t seen that much of you guys, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

Team Wallace Chung: I’m glad Su Lian Ya insisted on performing, I thought she started off slow but warmed up, and that ending was creepily fantastic and had me spontaneously grinning at the screen in delight. Then we lose sight of this group for a really long time, actually. We go back to find Wallace putting through a couple of urban dancers who we barely see, but who apparently claim to have some choreography experience, and he really likes that. TI shows up, and they’re solid, but honestly, not as good in this performance as they were in some of the stock footage the show threw up to introduce them, but Wallace remains super-excited about the idea of choreography and sends at least choreographer Zhang Jiang Peng through to the next round. And then, we really haven’t seen that much of you guys, either, which maybe doesn’t bode well, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

FOOTNOTE 1, aka TOWEL BATTLE ONE, Team Yibo vs. Team Jackson, 3V3 freestyle: First of all, I have to say, I love Yibo - Mr. I Just Wanna Make Some Friends And Have Some Fun - being all, “I have three crappy white towels I’m stuck with for coming in last place that I can’t use to send dancers to the next round and that I DO NOT DESERVE, and I am getting BACK the colorful towels that ARE RIGHTFULLY MINE. I am coming for whoever is in my way.” Team Yibo is Bouboo, Klash, Dian Men, and OK, given what we’ve seen so far, that’s the safe choice, but honestly, I think we’re just taking some things for granted right now, and I’m not sure they actually have given the best performances so far. Yeah, I said it. Team Jackson is Yang Kai, Chao, and Xiao Jie, and … ok, on that last one, I think you probably could have substituted Bingo, but all right. Yang Kai is a definite yes. Chao will be great if he can stay out of his own head and not psych himself out, but given what we’ve seen so far, he’s an obvious pick. First round, Yang Kai vs. Klash, and Yang Kai is still a fucking menace, with super lines. Klash definitely stepped up his game for the battle, and I can’t get over the upper body strength he’s got, to get that kind of airy bounce in his moves, but to be honest, I can’t even be mad the first round went to Yang Kai and Team Jackson. Second round, Yang Kai is still … y’all, the beautiful lines from this guy in his poses, I can’t get over them, but I think he doesn’t have the stamina, his footwork is getting sloppy. Bouboo also steps up his game for an actual battle, his fluidity and control is amazing, and yeah, round to Team Yibo. Round three, Xiao Jie gives it a decent effort, but the polish isn’t there; meanwhile Bouboo is still in champion mode, and I was kind of surprised this was a split vote and went to another round. Xiao Jie absolutely surprised me, coming back stronger on his second try, although I suppose a more familiar genre helped, but Bouboo continues in champion mode. Round four, Chao looks like he’s going to throw up right before he steps out there, and then as soon as the music starts, it’s like, he doesn’t even think. The music just moves him. I feel like his dance vocabulary is more limited than Bouboo’s, though, and Bouboo’s flow is amazing at this point, so I feel like the judges just want to drag this out and see more dancing when we go to one more round. Strong effort all around, but yeah, round four and two towels to Team Yibo. I can’t really complain about that. I do feel like Yibo’s powerhouses have been holding back until now, though, and I’m not sure how I feel about THAT.

FOOTNOTE 2, aka TOWEL BATTLE TWO, Team Zhang vs. Team Wallace, 3V3 w/ captain: lol, Team Zhang really wants someone to pick the Sailor Moon song because they know Xiao Bao and his waacking will tear it up. Anyway, Team Zhang includes Lingo and Xiao Bao, who does not get his Sailor Moon song and continues to be hilarious in his disbelief about being chosen to participate in this battle, when he’s not looking almost as sick as Chao from Team Jackson before HIS performance. Team Wallace includes Su Lian Ya – and honestly, despite how I’m getting ready to bag on him for the entire rest of this battle recap, I like that Wallace put one of his female dancers up there for the battle - and some dude named Ba that they haven’t given us any footage of, up ‘til now, at least that I can remember and who I … don’t even know has been formally given a towel and sent on to the next round, yet? Oh wait, he must have, because there’s talk in the pause for choreography about somehow using the towels during the battle. Wallace relies on Su Lian Ya and Zhang Jiang Peng to choose Ba, and then Ba ends up choreographing a lot of the performance, at least from the edit we see. I continue to feel you may be in over your head, Wallace. This feeling … is not assuaged by your performance in the first round, which is fine, but not really up to the level of almost anyone whose name I’ve bolded so far in this entire recap. Also, using the towels was a cute idea, but it doesn’t translate well, and Team Wallace has a lot of wasted time throwing the towels around instead of actually. You know. Dancing. Lingo gets a credible solo during Team Zhang’s performance, and even though Xiao Bao is clearly lost during a good bit of his backup dancer duties, he manages not to throw up, which – given this team’s general skill level – should be enough to give them the first round, EXCEPT SOMEHOW Team Wallace gets the point from the judges, who then try to justify this inexplicable decision by saying Team Wallace had better interaction, I guess because of the hot mess with throwing the towels around, but adding that Team Zhang was more scattered, which what? More scattered than the hot mess with the towels? I’m not buying this. I can’t tell if they’re propping up Wallace or fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, but I’m having bad acid flashbacks to the many and varied ways dance show judges will try to gaslight you, telling you that things you just saw with your very own eyes did not actually happen when it’s right there! On camera! Visible, despite whatever edit bs you’re pulling! ANYWAY, they’re definitely managing to fuck with not only Lay Zhang’s head, but Xiao Bao’s, and Xiao Bao still doesn’t seem to have his choreography down, but they manage to pull it together enough to take the second round, which to be honest is kind of a muddled mess on everyone’s part. The only one who really stands out to me on this go’round is Su Lian Ya, but OK, Team Zhang might have had it slightly more together as a unit. And then, yeah, OK, I think they were fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, because we then find out that, holy shit, the song the show powers-that-be chose for the tie-breaking third round is that gd Sailor Moon song, and we can all see the writing on the wall. Poor Team Wallace is no match for Xiao Bao, who frankly, carries this entire round on his shoulders without breaking a sweat and barely needs any backup dancers to do it. There’s some ridiculously dramatic reveal of scoring, with the judges dragging out their decisions like this was any actual contest - I’m beginning to suspect that some of them grew up with Wallace Chung posters on their bedroom walls - but finally, round and towel to Team Zhang.

Cut to a little bit of Next Time On, and wow, the first two-and-a-half-hour episode is over, and we aren’t finished with the initial round yet. It’s gonna be Christmas before I make it halfway through this season.

#street dance of china #sdoc episode reax #should i put yibo in the tags for this?#sure #i guess #wang yibo #anyone else?

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cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 55

Masterlist

A/N: Please excuse the irregular updating schedule. I had planned to be done already by now, but life decided to get in the way.

----

The discussion rages on for hours without coming to a decision. In the beginning, at least people are still civil with each other, although that might just be the shock making them polite. It fades soon enough, though. The first person starts yelling twenty minutes into the meeting, and from there, things go downhill quickly. Drakon manages to keep some semblance of order for almost half an hour after that, but eventually, he has to give it up as a lost cause.

He lets them yell, lets them talk all over each other and cut each other off as they please. If that’s their way of dealing with their emotions and coming to a decision, he can’t stop them, and at this point, he is too tired to try.

Maybe he should have waited until morning to call the meeting. By then, he might have decided on a stance of his own, or at least calmed down enough to be able to lead the meeting properly. Miryam and Sinna don’t interfere either, though, so maybe they also think that there’s no way to get order into this group.

Drakon lets the discussions – if you can call them that – continue for over two hours. By then, it is beginning to become clear that no one is ready to change their mind anymore. People are just repeating their set opinions and getting into screaming matches over them, which doesn’t seem to be particularly effective and certainly isn’t pleasant.

“This is enough, I think,” he says. No one seems to hear him except for Miryam, who has been sitting silently at his side the entire time.

“Enough,” he repeats, louder this time.

Sinna, who is sitting at his other side, turns to look at him, then back at the group. Abruptly, she rises. “Enough,” she shouts, voice rising easily over the general noise.

The room falls silent, faces turning to face her. Sinna simply sits down again, inclining her head to Drakon.

“Thank you,” he says, leaving it open whether he is addressing Sinna or the assembled council. Slowly, he rises. “I believe we have discussed this long enough. If no one has any objections, I’d like to call a vote.”

If anyone has objections, they don’t voice them. Drakon nods.

“I wish to leave the choice to the council, so I will abstain from this vote,” he says.

“As will I,” Miryam adds.

Drakon nods to her, then faces his council again. “Those in favour of an evacuation,” he says, “please raise your hands.”

The result isn’t immediately obvious. The people who raised their hands seem to be roughly half of the council. Drakon counts. Counts again. Notes down the number.

“And those in favour of fighting,” he says. Again, people raise their hands. “Those who abstain.” There are fewer hands this time, only four people.

Drakon nods. “Then it is decided,” he says. “We will follow the council’s suggestion and evacuate.”

The words are like a stab through the chest, and only now does Drakon truly realize that he would have preferred to fight. He wouldn’t have forced anyone, of course, but if it had been up to him, he would have tried to defend his home. He would still have evacuated, just to be sure, but he’s sure there would have been volunteers.

But maybe that would have been stupid.

Some councilmembers are just starting to look like they are about to argue when a knock at the door interrupts them. A guard pokes their head in.

“Forgive the interruption,” they say, bowing. They don’t manage to get any further before a human man shoves past them. Yanis, one of Andromache’s personal guards.

He looks around the table and gives the barest of nods in greeting, making a few of the Fae frown, before turning to Miryam. “You need to come,” he says. “It’s urgent.”

----

Miryam arrives within half an hour of Andromache sending the message. She is still in the dress she wore for the council meeting and the fine silk makes her look terribly out of place in the camp amongst tired, siege-worn soldiers. She looks even more out of place amongst the dead who have been piled up at the edge of the camp.

Andromache tears her eyes away from the corpses to watch Miryam’s reaction. She must have been warned of what happened, likely by Yanis who is trailing after her, face drawn, because she hides her feelings well. She stops a few steps away from the corpses, dark eyes moving over the frozen faces, the arrows poking out of limb bodies. Andromache expected an explosion of some kind, but Miryam’s face remains controlled, almost impassive.

Finally, she turns to Andromache. “All of them?” She asks.

Andromache nods, unable to say anything. All these people, all these humans they wanted to free… they were so close to freeing them. Damnit, their army was camping less than a mile away when it happened and she only noticed anything was going on when Amarantha’s soldiers started dumbing the corpses over the walls.

She should have attacked. Why did she decide to keep up the siege, why did she refuse Mor and Miryam? She knows what Amarantha is like, and still, she waited.

Abruptly, Miryam turns away from the corpses. “Give me a few minutes, please.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turns and stalks away from the camp into the dark, the hem of her dress dragging through the mud. Andromache lets her go. She certainly understands wanting some privacy now, and she doesn’t have the energy to go after Miryam and comfort her. She could use some comfort herself, to be honest.

Slowly, she turns back towards the dead. She will need to arrange a funeral of some kind. Pyres, she thinks. They won’t be able to offer much respect, and even all the respect in the world won’t bring these people back to life, but it’s all she can do at this point.

Amarantha’s soldiers simply dumped them over the castle walls. Hundreds of corpses, some still with arrows poking out of their bodies, eyes staring unseeingly into the air. When Andromache sent her soldiers to collect the dead, Amarantha’s soldiers didn’t attack them. Like they were under orders to let them proceed. Like Amarantha had wanted them to see exactly what she had done.

Steps approach from behind, then Mor is there, standing next to her. She stares at the corpses, brown eyes wide, then at Andromache. She raises her arms like she wants to hug her, but then seems to remember the people watching them and merely puts a hand on her shoulder.

“She killed them,” Andromache whispers. “She just… she killed them all.” She balls her hands to fists at her side.

Mor squeezes her shoulder, still staring at the corpses. She’s slowly shaking her head like she can’t quite believe what she is seeing. Andromache reaches for her hand and tries to let the contact calm her.

Finally, she manages to tear her gaze away from the corpses and looks over at the castle. If she could, she would kill them. She would send the entire mountain crumbling down over them for this. If she only had the ability…

She abruptly turns around.

“What is it?” Mor asks.

“I need to talk to Miryam,” Andromache says. “Come on.”

By the time Andromache finds her, Miryam is nearly done drawing a circle around herself in the ground. A sleeve of her dress is splattered in blood from a shallow cut along her arm, the fingers on her other hand are stained in blood and dirt.

“What are you doing?” Andromache asks. From what it looks like, Miryam’s idea matches hers. She only came up with it a few minutes earlier.

“Solving a problem.”

Miryam finishes the last symbol and rises, carefully wiping the blood from her arm. She turns towards the castle and starts whispering. The words rise in the air, filling it with a humming energy and making Andromache shiver. It feels the way it does before a storm, all unreleased energy and anticipation for what’s to come.

A rumble sounds from the distance and for a moment, Andromache thinks that she is indeed about to be in a thunderstorm, but this is far louder than any thunderstorm could ever be.

She turns towards the castle just in time to see part of the cliff come off. Tons of rock tumble downwards, burying part of the castle under it.

Mor flinches. Andromache doesn’t. She wishes she could say she felt a hint of shock or regret, but she doesn’t. As far as she’s concerned, it was kind of Miryam to leave part of the castle standing. Far kinder than what these people deserve.

Miryam waves a hand and the tension in the air dissolves. She turns to Andromache. “I think you might want to offer them a surrender now. Unconditional, I believe.”

Andromache nods and waves one of her soldiers forward to deliver the proposal. It only takes a few minutes for him to return, bringing news of a surrender with him. Moments later, people begin to file out of the castle, soldiers first, some of them supporting wounded comrades, then civilians. They are all taken into custody by Andromache’s waiting army, stripped of their weapons and tied up.

Andromache scans the captured enemies, waiting for her to catch a glimpse of Amarantha’s red hair, for one of her soldiers to inform her that the enemy general has been captured, but no word comes.

“We ought to search the castle,” Andromache says.

“I doubt it will be any use,” Mor says, appearing from where she was helping the other soldiers secure their prisoners. “I talked to one of the captains and he said that Amarantha and her highest-ranking commanders winnowed out of the castle well before we attacked.”

Andromache curses. She knew this might happen, but she hadn’t thought Amarantha would be this much of a coward. She had hoped she would at least have the honour to stick around until the end and accept the punishment for her actions.

“Well, that was to be expected,” Miryam says. She runs her hands over her dress, clearly attempting to smooth the fabric. She only succeeds in splattering blood on it, though, and starts rubbing hectically at the stain. For a moment, Andromache thinks she might burst out crying, but then, she shakes her hand and straightens. “I need to return to Erithia.” She looks over at the prisoners who are being herded into a circle. “The civilians may walk free, I think,” she adds, then inclines her head at Andromache and stalk off.

Not a word of the soldiers. That probably means the choice on what to do with them is left with Andromache.

Usually, the Alliance takes prisoners. There have been exceptions, of course, but those always went through the council. If she were to keep to the rules, Andromache would keep the captured soldiers as prisoners for the moment and maybe petition with the council to have them executed for their crimes. The problem is that the council hasn’t exactly been reasonable lately, and Andromache is far too angry to go through the proper channels and risk being refused. What Amarantha did was inexcusable and horrifying, and if the Alliance doesn’t have a direct and hard response, they will risk others following her example.

Miryam must think the same way. Her only reminding Andromache to leave the civilians alone, but not telling her to keep to the protocol, is as good as permission to do what she deems necessary. (At least that’s how Andromache chooses to interpret it. One could also argue that Miryam simply forgot to tell her and meant nothing by it, but Andromache vastly prefers the other interpretation.)

She turns to Mor. “Would you please pass it on that I want soldiers and civilians separated from each other?”

Mor nods and hurries off. It takes almost an hour to successfully tell all soldiers from civilians, which is a good thing because it allows Andromache’s temper some time to cool off. Her first instinct was to simply have each and every captured soldier executed, but with some time to think about it, that no longer seems like such a good idea. Revenge it would be, but it might do more harm than good. Killing all of the soldiers would allow the Loyalists to twist her actions into cruelty, to leave out the reason and simply paint her as brutal. If she wants them to see her actions as just, as a fitting punishment, she needs it to make it clear that she didn’t just murder everyone in sight.

She steps forward facing the captured soldiers. “Which of you were involved in executing Amarantha’s orders?”

No one replies. A few soldiers shift nervously on their feet, others glare outright at Andromache.

“If you don’t answer,” Andromache says lightly, “I’ll have to assume that you are all complicit and punish each and every one of you.”

Another heartbeat of silence. Then, one soldier breaks the silence. “The archers,” he says. “It was the archers who did it, not us.”

With that, the dam is broken. Other soldiers begin to speak, so many of them at once that Andromache has a hard time sorting out individual voices. They are all but tripping over each other in their haste to place the blame on someone else.

It takes another hour to sort through the accusations, but by the end of it, Andromache has mostly sorted out the responsible archers as well as the soldiers who kept the doors closed. The system isn’t exactly secure, but good enough for Andromache’s purposes. Two groups of soldiers, one to spare and one to punish, was really all she needed.

She turns to her soldiers who are still standing around, awaiting instructions. “Have the ones who were not involved in this secured in a holding area somewhere in the camp,” she says. She looks over at the second group, the archers who murdered all these people tonight, the soldiers who held the doors shut while it happened. Holds their gazes as she adds, “Shoot the others.”

----

Word is sent out that very night. Letters are written and copied and couriers carry the news throughout Erithia. Drakon is sitting in his chambers as it happens, coordinating the evacuation plans with Sinna and a few other advisors, so he isn’t there to witness the reactions, but he can imagine the disbelief and pain as clearly as if he saw it himself.

Miryam misses most of the discussions. After arriving back from Andromache’s camp, she only had an hour in Sajeo (twenty minutes of which she spent locked into her rooms with Drakon, sobbing into his shoulder as she told him what happened) before getting summoned back to Telique to explain to the council what had happened.

This shouldn’t be happening. None of this should be happening. If they are supposed to be winning, why did all these humans have to die? Why are they losing Erithia? It isn’t fair. It isn’t how it’s supposed to be going.

The evacuations start within the week. Evacuation orders go out to everyone in the country, but the coordinated effort begins with those closest to the border. The army is already on its way there, sent to hold the border as long as possible, and some soldiers are dispatched to help the people living nearby pack their things and leave as quickly as possible.

Many don’t want to go. Some cry but are quickly convinced, others get angry only to eventually comply, willing to risk their own lives but unwilling to do the same with their families. But some remain unwilling to change their minds. No amount of pleading, reasoning and arguing will do anything – they will not abandon their homes, even if it means their certain death.

It breaks Drakon’s heart. All reactions are terrible to witness, even the ones who go without complaint, merely staring empty-eyed at the homes they are about to lose, but the ones who choose to remain in spite of the risk are the worst. They are the ones who make him reconsider if the choice he made was the right one.

Maybe staying and fighting would have been the better choice. He wouldn’t have made anyone stay, of course, but just looking at these people, looking at his soldiers, he is sure that many would have been willing to risk it. He would have happily risked his life if it had meant that they might have avoided this.

And thousands might have died for it, he reminds himself. Better to lose a country, lose a few houses and fields, than to lose his people. Even if it is the country he loves, even if those houses are homes.

Besides, it isn’t his decision to reconsider, and doing so just makes him a hypocrite. His council, representing the people of Erithia, made that choice. He doesn’t get to talk about wanting to give a voice to his people only to start doubting them the second they make a choice he doesn’t entirely agree with. He has to trust that they made the right choice, even if it tears him apart.

So instead of doubting, he tries to focus on getting the evacuation to work as smoothly as possible. Miryam is mostly absent for the first few days, dealing with the fallout of Amarantha’s actions. (Or rather, Andromache’s actions, since most of the council seems to be far more concerned with her having a bunch of murderers killed without consulting them than with Amarantha murdering hundreds of innocents.)

Drakon might not know a way to stop anything like what Amarantha did from happening again, he might not be able to stop his country from being invaded, but at least he will do all he can to keep more people from dying unnecessarily. It might not be enough, is never enough, but it’s all he can do.

----

Erithia isn’t the first evacuation to happen during the war – far from it, actually – but it is the biggest as of yet. It is also the first evacuation Miryam experiences from up close. So far, most evacuations happened when an enemy army advanced faster than expected, often following a lost battle. Miryam often visited the refugees or helped with the preparations, but she never had more than a few hours to spare, too busy dealing with some other logistic or political issues to linger long.

This time, Miryam lives through the entire evacuation, start to finish. She helps with the logistics, yes, but she also sees the tears and the pain, not just once but countless times. Village after village, town after town. The pain, rage and tears are always the same, yet somehow different every time.

Having to watch it day after day, knowing fully well that it is all her fault, is tearing her apart. It doesn’t matter how much she tries to tell herself that this is Shey’s doing or that she never intended for anything like this to happen, she can’t stop feeling like it is her fault. All this pain and suffering because of her.

She failed. Just like she failed to save Amarantha’s slaves, and might still fail to save her people.

She hardly sleeps anymore, nightmares chasing her from her sleep whenever she so much as closes her eyes. She could go to the palace healers for help – there are sleeping potions that are able to chase nightmares away entirely – but she never does. She can’t quite tell why. Probably because she can’t help but feel that the nightmares serve a function, either as a punishment for past mistakes or to warn her of what might happen if she fails again.

Today is turning into another night of little sleep. It’s long past midnight, but Miryam still sits perched over her spellbooks, looking for… well, she actually doesn’t know what she is looking for. A solution, she supposes. Some magic trick that will get the people she cares about out of this unharmed.

“You should sleep,” Drakon says. Miryam slowly looks up. He is sitting at the other side of the table, bowed over a map. His hair hangs in his face, but it doesn’t hide the shadows under his eyes.

“Likewise,” she says.

Drakon shrugs. “Can’t.” He points to the map. “We’ve lost one third of the country already.”

Unable to do anything else, Miryam nods. She would like to tell him that all will be well, or that they will get the country back, but no comfort she can offer would undo the fact that his home is currently being destroyed. They’ve seen the burning villages from afar, and Miryam is well aware that Ravenia is nothing if not thorough: If she wants to destroy a country, she will burn every house and every field she can get her hands on.

Miryam wishes she could do better. At the very least, she should be able to comfort him instead of being so caught up in her own worries and fears. Drakon comforted her when she was mourning Jurian even though he also had reason to mourn. Now, she should return the favour.

“We’ll have to start evacuating Sajeo in a few days,” Drakon continues. He rubs his face. “I know I should take this calmly. Lead by example, you know, but I just…” His voice trembles and dies like he is only barely trying to hold back tears.

Miryam rises and walks over to him, wrapping her arms around him. “You’ll manage,” she says. “You’ve done a great job so far – we’ve hardly had any casualties – and you’ll manage to see this through to the end.”

Drakon snorts. “I’ve lost my country, Miryam. I hardly deserve applause for managing to not also lose my people. It’s the bare minimum.”

“No, it’s making the best out of a bad situation that was outside of anyone’s control.” Not true, technically. Miryam could have controlled it, probably, and Shey, who caused it in the first place, could definitely have stopped it. But that’s not the point because it certainly wasn’t Drakon’s fault, and once they had decided to marry, he certainly couldn’t have done anything to change it.

Drakon shrugs. “Either way, it doesn’t change much about the outcome, does it?” Miryam bites her lower lip and he lays his hand over hers. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he says. “It’s… it’s nothing I can’t deal with. But nothing you say will make me stop feeling the way I do about this.”

“Alright,” Miryam says. When she says that people don’t need to worry, there usually is some major reason for them to worry, but Drakon isn’t like that. He probably isn’t lying when he says that he’ll be fine. Still, Miryam is beginning to get a sense of how difficult dealing with her can sometimes be. “If I can do anything to help…” she says, shrugging helplessly.

“Thank you,” Drakon says, and they both go back to their respective distractions. There’s no solution to either of their problems, and talking won’t offer one, but they can at least pretend that their work will make a difference.

For the next days, all of Sajeo is busy with the final preparations for the evacuation. Some already left the city, but many are still trying to pack as many of their belongings as possible, even going so far as to take furniture apart to load it onto their wagons. Others are hoping to arrange transportation, but horses or wagons are in short supply. In the palace, preparations are afoot as well. Most valuables have already been winnowed away, but there’s still much to be done.

Miryam mostly tries to stay out of the way. She doesn’t have any specific part of the evacuation under her control and her input would hardly be vital anywhere. If she tried to help, it would only lead to people feeling obliged to do as she says when there are far more qualified people around to handle the situation. Besides, she doesn’t feel it would be her place. After all, she is still mostly a stranger in this land.

Drakon is busy with the army or in the outer villages most of the time, so Miryam spends her time in Sajeo, talking to people, offering comfort. She has nothing but empty words to give, but most people seem satisfied with feeling acknowledged by their country’s leadership, and they actually seem to find it comforting when she tells them that all will be well, that they will be safe and able to return in a few months.

Miryam wonders if they would still feel the same way if they knew that they wouldn’t have to evacuate at all if it wasn’t for her.

The knowledge that this is all happening because of her trails her like a shadow. Every word she says to the fleeing citizens feels like lead on her tongue. From their reactions, she can tell that she’s being convincing, but she feels like a fraught.

A few hours after midday, she flees back into the safety of the palace, away from the looks that all seem like an accusation. She promises herself to return later on, or at least find some other way to be helpful, but right now, she needs a break. And a place where people won’t stare at her.

Her quarters would offer privacy, but there, she would only end up pacing, feeling trapped. Instead, she climbs up towards the roof gardens, wishing not for the first time that she had been born with wings. Flying might be able to offer a true distraction, but the gardens with their colourful flowers and birds, the clear air and open view, at least come close.

When she steps out into the garden, though, she finds that she isn’t alone. Someone else is already there, sitting on the ground under a bush that’s heavy with blue flowers. The other person is clearly Seraphim, but they have their head buried in their hands, shoulders shaking with barely-concealed sobs, and it takes Miryam a moment to recognize them.

Nephelle. She is crying, hard enough that she hasn’t even heard her approach yet. Miryam remains standing where she is, unsure. If it was her crying in the garden, she would certainly prefer for anyone who found her to just pretend that they didn’t see her and spare her the embarrassment. But of course, she is also aware that most people aren’t like that and in fact do prefer to be comforted when they are crying. It goes double since they are friends.

Before she can decide, Nephelle looks up, taking the choice out of her hands. “Miryam.” Her voice is far higher than usual and she hastily wipes her face as if trying to hide the tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miryam says somewhat awkwardly.

“No, it’s alright. I just…” Nephelle breaks off, and she has to wipe her face again, fresh tears running over her cheeks.

Miryam makes the spontaneous decision that Nephelle probably does want to be comforted. She walks over and sits down next to Nephelle. Puts an arm over her shoulders and starts gently rubbing her arm.

“What’s wrong?” She asks gently.

“Nothing.” Nephelle shrugs. “It’s just… this is my home and I…”

“I’m so sorry,” Miryam whispers. This is my fault, she wants to add, but resists the urge. It wouldn’t help Nephelle, but rather shift the focus of the conversation away from Nephelle’s grief and towards Miryam’s guilt.

Nephelle doesn’t seem to hear her either way, or if she does, she doesn’t let on. “I still need to help my parents pack our belongings,” she says. “Well, they said they can manage on their own, but I should help, I think. I just…” She shrugs. “I think I need some time to prepare. I’m kind of scared, I guess. Once we leave our home, we won’t come back.”

Miryam squeezes Nephelle’s shoulder tighter. “If there’s anything I can do…” She trails off, leaving the sentence hanging somewhere between offer and question.

“You needn’t worry,” Nephelle says. Her attempt at a smile doesn’t end up entirely convincing. “I just needed a moment, I think. And, well, everyone else is so busy and no one really needs a cartographer at the moment, so I decided to go up here since there’s really no point in bothering the people who actually have things to do.”

“I can think of several people who wouldn’t mind at all,” Miryam says.

Nephelle wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t say they’d mind,” she says, “I said they have things to do. Important things, and I don’t want to get in the way.”

“I don’t know,” Miryam says. “Maybe they’d find it relieving for you to take the first step and give them a chance to show their own feelings.”

It’s not a strategy that would work on Miryam herself, but she could see Sinna opening up once Nephelle does, and she assumes it is Sinna who she would go to.

Nephelle nudges her in the side. “You say that as the local expert for opening up about your feelings, I assume?”

“No, as the local expert for why not opening up about your feelings is a bad idea,” she replies lightly. Never mind that in spite of that knowledge, Miryam still hardly ever manages to be open about her feelings. She supposes it does make her a bit of a hypocrite, but well, just because she doesn’t manage to follow her own advice doesn’t mean it’s bad advice.

The comment earns her a slight smile from Nephelle. “Well, then I ought to take your word for it. Maybe I’ll try talking to Sinna once she gets back from Gerine.” Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks over at Miryam. “While we’re at the topic of exchanging advice, though: You should consider actually using the nights to sleep. And, well, I’d tell you to talk to someone, but I’m not convinced you would listen.”

“I do talk to Drakon.” She even told him about her guilt and her fear of what other catastrophes the future might hold, but she mostly tried to tone it down. It’s Drakon losing his country, and Miryam really doesn’t want him to shove his own feelings down in favour of helping her deal with hers.

“Do you want me to come with you when you go to your parents?” She asks.

Nephelle lightly shakes her head. “Way to change the subject,” she says, but it seems light-hearted. She hesitates. “But yes. Only if you don’t have anything else to do, of course. I’m sure you are busy.”

“Not too busy for this,” Miryam says firmly. It might mean another long night, but Nephelle is her friend and Miryam will be damned if she lets her face this alone.

She ends up spending two hours at Nephelle’s house, talking to her parents, helping them pack. The actual packing takes longer and Nephelle’s father invited her to stay for dinner, but the offer seems more of a formality than anything else. It’s clear that they want to spend the final night in their home together as a family and Miryam doesn’t want to interrupt. Nephelle, she thinks, just needed someone to walk her to her house and help her through the first steps.

----

They evacuate Sajeo two days later. Miryam spends the entire last night awake, following Drakon as he walks through the city one last time. She can’t imagine what he must feel like – she never had a home, not like this – but she tries to offer any support she can nonetheless. Drakon, who spent most of the quiet dinner they shared earlier crying, is calm now, collected. Easily reassures his people, deals with their grief without showing his own.

Soon enough, the last of the citizens have left. Miryam and Drakon are the last to go. Drakon looks back at the city once more, then, he waves a hand and the city gates swing shut. Miryam stares back at the city, at the gates that won’t stop Ravenia’s soldiers for more than a heartbeat, and tries not to think about the fact that when she will return to Sajeo, it will only be ruins.

After the longest moment, Drakon turns around and walks away, Miryam following him.

The evacuation takes several more weeks after that. As Erithia’s citizens flee towards the safety of the mountains, the Loyalists’ armies chase after them. The soldiers that bring up the rearguard, commanded by Sinna, plan some ambushes and win a few small victories, but no larger battles are waged.

There are no significant losses. At least that’s what Miryam tells herself over and over again. Hardly any people died. But the country is burning. It’s what each and every one of Drakon’s spies reports: Ravenia’s soldiers are burning down the country, villages and fields, ancient monuments and temples.

And who knows – maybe the next time, it won’t be a country burning, but its people. Not Erithia’s people, maybe, but hers. The humans from the Black Land.

Amarantha’s slaves. Erithia. Jurian. Her doing, all of it her mistakes. The fear accompanies her every waking hour now, every night, she wakes up screaming. It doesn’t matter how far she runs, the fear is always there, snapping at her heels. She negotiates surrender after surrender, and yet, through it all, she only ever feels like she is failing.

“We are winning this,” Andromache tells her one day, after yet another successful negotiation, but all Miryam can think of is that Ravenia will never just allow her human slaves to leave.

She will kill them all. Miryam might have feared it before, but after what Amarantha did, she is sure. Ravenia will kill every single human in the Black Land before she allows just one of them to walk free. Miryam dreams of it every night, sees the corpses and hears Ravenia’s laughter as vividly as if it had happened already.

She doesn’t know how to stop it. Erithia’s army is smaller than the Black Land’s, certainly not enough to force Ravenia into a surrender, and Miryam can no longer count on the Alliance to help. She doesn’t even trust them to have her back in negotiations anymore, not after what they did to Erithia. No, she certainly doesn’t trust any of them, but without their backing, she is no longer able to take on Ravenia.

Leverage. She needs leverage of some kind, something, anything that will give her a way to force Ravenia into a surrender. Something that doesn’t involve relying on treacherous Fae allies.

She barely sleeps anymore. Her days are spent working for the Alliance or helping with the evacuations, but at night, she sits awake, avoids her bed like some deadly disease. Instead, she studies her spellbooks again and again, desperately searching for any spell that will help her.

The spells are difficult, near-impossible to understand. And not strong enough, none of them are strong enough. Battlefield magic, some minor enchantments, some mere inconveniences, others big enough to mess with entire armies. But none, absolutely none of them are enough to protect her people, to force Ravenia into accepting her conditions.

Night after night, she sits over her books, stares at the pages until her eyes burn, desperate for an answer. Something, anything to save them. Andromache and Nakia begin shooting her concerned glances during meetings, Sinna takes her aside once to ask if she’s alright, Nephelle talks her into going for a walk a few times. Drakon tries to talk to her, but he sleeps even less than she does lately, so he isn’t really in the position to tell her that her behaviour is unhealthy.

Night after night. She now only uses the books for reference, has long since abandoned the spells in them as too weak. She is creating her own spells now, scribbling symbols onto parchment, ink staining her fingers.

She never had reason to learn curses, always preferred wards and defensive spells. She learns them now.

----

It takes nearly two months for Miryam to finish. Two months of constant chaos, trying to move thousands of people from their homes to the safety of the mountains, organizing refugee trails, convincing crying, desperate, furious civilians to abandon their homes to destruction to save themselves. Two months of negotiations with Loyalist countries, all of them unwilling to accept that they have lost the war and that no, the abolishment of slavery is not negotiable, this was the reason we started this war, what are you thinking? Two months of council meetings, hidden insults and suspicious glances exchanged between the different members, lines between fractions becoming deeper and deeper. Miryam has long since stopped trying to smooth them out.

After those two months, the solution Miryam comes up with no longer seems horrifying. Still, she spends an entire night mulling over it, debating chances and risks. In the end, there is only one result she comes to, only one possible conclusion: This is necessary. It’s the only way, and even if it isn’t pretty, she will walk it.

The first step, as it happens, is to finally tell Drakon.

Miryam doesn’t say what it is she wants to talk about, just that it’s important and they ought to discuss it in privacy. “Privacy” always means Cretea these days, as it’s the only place where they can be absolutely sure that no one will overhear.

Drakon winnows them to the ruins again. He sits down on a fallen pillar. Miryam debates remaining standing, pacing to ease her tension, but ends up sitting down as well.

“I think I might have a way to end this,” she says.

Drakon sits up a bit straighter, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. but doesn’t say anything. She had told him that she was searching for a way to force Ravenia into a surrender when she started, but didn’t yet explain the how, and he didn’t ask.

“The Black Land is in a vulnerable position,” she says carefully. “With such a large part of its army otherwise occupied, its defences will be low.”

Drakon tenses, and Miryam mentally kicks herself for her choice of words. Otherwise occupied is an unfortunate phrasing when the thing the army is occupied with is systematically destroying Drakon’s home.

Before she can decide whether to apologize or not, Drakon nods. “They are so focused on our borders that they lost track of their own,” he says. “Still, we won’t be able to spare enough soldiers to be able to take the Black Land – not if we don’t want to risk the Loyalists breaking through our defences in the mountains. I’m sure the Alliance will lend troops, though.”

Yes, Miryam is sure of that as well. For all that the Alliance might hate her these days, even Shey wouldn’t stop what could be the killing blow to their biggest mutual enemy. Well, she hopes he wouldn’t. She is nearly certain he wouldn’t. But she isn’t going to take chances.

“I don’t want Alliance support,” she says. She would be happy to accept it if it was just other humans, but there are still no human armies close enough to be of use. “I don’t trust them.” She hesitates. “I’ve found another way,” she finally says, hesitant. “One where we don’t need an army except to escort the humans out of the Black Land and get us into its centre.”

Drakon nods, an invitation for her to continue.

“It’s not a very pleasant plan,” she says hesitantly, finding that she doesn’t quite want to tell him. Saying it out loud will make it seem real, and once it seems real, it will seem horrible, too. “And you don’t need to… I mean…” Damnit. There’s no way to say it that doesn’t make it sound wrong. “It might be better if I didn’t tell you?” She says, more question than statement. “You don’t really need to know, and if I don’t tell you, you won’t be complicit.”

Drakon gives her a very flat look for that, obviously not all too pleased with her offer. She understand, of course – she knew he wouldn’t like the suggestion – but still, she felt she needed to make it.

“I’d say I do need to know, if it involves my soldiers,” Drakon says. “And I will be just as complicit if I go along with this without knowing what you are planning as I would be if I knew.”

Miryam starts tugging around at her sleeves. She still doesn’t want to tell him. For all that she is sure that her plan is necessary, she isn’t all that sure if Drakon will agree. And if he doesn’t, if he looks at her like she is a monster for this, then she doesn’t know if she will be able to do what needs to be done.

Maybe she isn’t as sure of her plan as she thought she was. Or no, she is sure. She just isn’t ready to face the possible consequences quite yet.

But Drakon was perfectly clear that he wants her to tell him. Asking once was fine, but to keep arguing after he made his opinion clear would not be. It might actually do more damage to their relationship than just telling him.

“Alright,” she says softly and begins to talk.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

#the next chapter starts the final arc for the story #which will probably be... about 6 chapters? maybe 7 idk #so we're really getting close to the end now #and hopefully the next chapter will be up more quickly. i'm doing my best there #cinaja talks about before the wall #before the wall #jurian #miryam #drakon

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uboat53 · 3 years

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The Greatest Movie Scene

This is a spiel about the greatest scene I have ever seen in a movie. It is not about the greatest scene that's ever been in a movie, I haven't seen every movie so that's not a fair statement, nor is it about someone else's greatest movie scene. This is about the greatest scene I have ever seen in a movie, which includes all of the personal background and baggage that I bring to the movie plus the particular circumstances in which I saw it. Clear? Great.

The greatest scene is from the movie Batman: The Dark Knight, the one with Christian Bale. If you haven't seen it yet, stop reading this and go watch it. It is a movie that really benefits from being seen fresh without spoilers, so don't do that to yourself. If you read past this, accept that you will be spoiled on key plot details of the movie.

Now, with a movie like this one, with a cast that includes Morgan Freeman, Michael Kaine, Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhardt, Heath Ledger, and where Christian Bale himself, the star of the movie, can essentially be an afterthought, one might imagine that I'd be talking about one of their fantastic performances. And one would be wrong.

So let's set the scene. We come near the end of the movie, the third act. The Joker, who has spent nearly two hours of movie time tormenting the heroes and tearing the city apart with incredibly innovative and terrifying schemes, has set three terrible plans in motion, all of which are occurring simultaneously. First, he and his gang have taken a lot of doctors and nurses hostage in a skyscraper that's still under construction. Second, he's placed explosives in two huge ferries that are being used to evacuate people from the city and is threatening to blow up both ferries unless someone on one ferry presses the detonator to blow up the other. Finally, he's driven the city's white knight prosecutor insane and has encouraged him to exact his revenge on the police officers who led to his disfigurement, and that prosecutor has taken the family of the city's top policeman hostage.

For our scene we're going to focus on the second plan, the one with the ferries.

Now our two ferries couldn't be more different. One of them is full of families, lots of women, children, and men who are no longer young. The other one is full of the most hardened criminals from the city's prison. Each is full of explosives and each one has a detonator on board that will destroy the other ferry if activated. Both have been told that they have until midnight to blow up the other ferry (fifteen minutes away!) or both ferries will be blown up.

Now many movies would focus on the execution of the other two plans, they're far more action oriented. Batman has a ton of great fight scenes in the partially completed skyscraper, tangling with disguised thugs and the police in turn, and the prosecutor (Two-Face!) is threatening the policeman's family with a loaded gun to their faces, but the real heart of this sequences is the scene on the ferries.

On the prison ferry, the warden has the detonator and is protected by two prison guards armed with shotguns. The guards are young and frightened, both of the prisoners who are increasingly insistent that the warden should activate the detonator and of the ticking clock which is slowly approaching midnight.

On the family ferry, frightened people debate with the captain of the ferry and national guardsmen on board who eventually decide to put it to a vote. Amidst a sinking feeling of dread, the people on board the ferry write their vote on pieces of paper which are slowly, all too slowly, collected by the guardsmen in their helmets.

Seconds tick by and the tension builds. Frightened faces flash in front of the screen, sometimes reacting to the arguments for or against using their detonators and sometimes simply blank with dread. Tension builds and builds. The family ferry finishes their vote, it's a landslide in favor of using the detonator. The captain takes it out, his hand on the key that will explode the other ferry. There are only three minutes left. He pauses for a moment. "What are you waiting for?" an old woman demands, "Do it." "We're still here," he says nervously, "That means they haven't killed us either."

Meanwhile, on the prison ferry, there is utter bedlam. Prisoners are on their feet, screaming and shouting in the faces of the terrified guards, only kept back by bared shotguns. At the back of the crowd a man stands up and walks forward. He is huge, a massive African-American man with a shaved head, covered in tattoos and scars. Calmly, he walks forward, the crowd parting before him and going silent, until he stands face to face with the warden, looming over him.

"You don't want to die, but you don't know how to take a life," he says in a threatening growl, "Give it to me; these men would kill you and take it anyway. Give it to me. You can tell them I took it by force. Give it to me and I'll do what you shoulda did ten minutes ago."

Nervously, hands shaking, the warden pushes the detonator into the handcuffed hands of this huge prisoner. The expression on the warden's face is pained; the prisoner is right, he wants desperately to live but cannot bring himself press the trigger. He hasn't killed the people on the other ferry directly, but in that moment he has sealed their fate.

The prisoner holds the detonator, looks at it for a moment, and then tosses it out the window into the water.

That is the single greatest momoment of the movie and, for my preferences, the single greatest moment in any movie I've ever seen. The raw tension of the scene, the conflict between pure morality and a desperate desire for survival, the anticipation of one outcome, and the suddenness by which another is achieved.

That is the pivotal moment of the movie, the moment when the tension is broken. And not like tension breaks in other movies where there's a gradual drawdown and sense of relief, this tension snapped like a dry twig and left behind only deepening feeling of dread, acceptance, and a certain feeling of pride and accomplishment. The fear on the people's faces as they chose or were forced to accept that they would die in order not kill was palpable, all the more so as we'd been witness to their struggle. The decision of the filmmaker to make us spend the entire fifteen minutes with these people, worrying and debating, trying to save both their lives and their souls as Batman fought his way through a vertical construction site, drew us into their struggle and forced us to empathize with their fate. There was no way to save both their lives and their souls and they had chosen, even the ones who we may have assumed were the most soulless among them, to save their souls.

But it's not just the tension that's the reason why this scene is so great, not by itself. The reason why that scene, that moment when the detonator flies out the window, is the greatest I've ever seen is that it's the moment when the Joker is defeated. Batman hasn't punched him in the face yet; in fact, at that moment, he has Batman pinned, forcing him to watch the culmination of his schemes, but in that moment he has lost.

You see, the thing that becomes clear from the rest of the movie is that the Joker isn't trying to kill people or destroy the city. That's far too simple for him. He threatens the life of a man not by pointing a gun at him, but by threatening to blow up a hospital if he isn't killed. He tries to break his enemies not by injuring or killing them, but by setting them up so that they must choose which of two choices they value most, only to discover that they were the reverse of what they thought they were. The Joker isn't trying to destroy Gotham, he's trying to force Gotham to destroy itself.

In that moment the people of Gotham, some of them at least, decide that they won't do it. They won't play his game. He may kill them, he may rampage ans scheme and cause his mayhem, but they won't be a part of it. Not because they are perfect and not because they are without fear, but because they are human.

And in that moment it is they, the ordinary people, who become the heroes of the movie. Not the caped crusader or the police, not the extremely talented actors who take lead billing on the marquee, but the regular people who are most often just relegated to the background of superhero movies, forced to simply react to or accept whatever the result of the conflict between the hero and the villain is.

That's why that moment in Batman: The Dark Knight is the greatest scene in any movie I've ever seen. It has stuck with me since the moment I saw it, at a midnight showing in the summer of 2008 with some of my roommates while we were doing summer work in our college town. No movie I've seen before or since has stuck in my head the way that one did, coming back to trigger more and more thoughts and contemplations on the many, many topics that it brought up, many of which are still salient to the world we live in today, and no scene to me has better illustrated the greatest potential of human nature.

If you're still with me, thanks for reading. This has been going through my head for years now and it's good to write it all out. I hope you enjoyed and, if you haven't seen the movie yet, go see it!

#movies #batman #the dark knight #movie scenes #philosophizing #movie review #scene review

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thenixkat · 3 years

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Voltron notes 1 (edited?)

Ep 1

No spoiler opening theme

Those are some skinny ass space suits. Shouldn’t they have like tethers and shit to keep them from accidently floating off?

Harvesting ice cores on Pluto or Kerberos or whatever

They wanna meet aliens

No one notices the ship until its right on top of them. Shiro just assumes its a hostile ship

Bullshit and lazy. Fuckin aliens speaking and understanding English

Also Shiro looks so much better with the darker skin. Like, bring back this look.

This ship is very green and that’s unusual compared to later lighting schemes

Lance is a dick to his friend

Also, you’d think an air and space program would weed out the folks with motion sickness

Lance is overestimating the abilities of himself, the crew, and the ship

Welp, Hunk fucked up the electronics with the barf. Pidge fell from not using her seatbelt.

Mutanious comments.

Lance got the team killed

Iverson called them jackasses

I know I shouldn’t be mentioning stuff that hasent happened yet but like? How the fuck does Iverson not recognise Pidge? She looks just like her brother but tiny and that didn’t raise any alarms? She didn’t even dye her hair or anything? Also is her mom ok with this? Is she skipping out on her classes that she should be having as Katie?

Vomit is not an approved lubricant. Heh

One of those chicks has green hair

Military exploration school

Pidge doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut

Lance is a fuckin bro

Why is Iverson chewin out Lance for something Pidge said?

Poor Lance

Lights out by five? And it's already getting dark?

Ok but Lance and Hunk in civilian clothes makes them stand out so much while they’re trying to sneak around. WHy not carry backpacks with their regular clothes in them while they wear the uniforms until they find a safe place to change.

Lance is that friend who gets everyone into trouble

Have I mentioned that I hate fat jokes?

Also these kids are shit at sneaking. They didn’t even wait a minute to make sure the patrol dude couldn’t just turn his head and see them. They also made a shit ton of noise.

Pidge is bad at sneaking too, didn’t make sure she wasn’t followed and didn’t keep an eye out for anyone who might spot her on the roof.

Hunk is scared of heights

Pidge is bad at lying

Hunk is nosey af

Lance is trying to be a good team leader

Pidge is trying to uncover a government conspiracy and picked up alien radio chatter.

If a teenager with little funds and homemade equipment can pick up alien radio chatter than the people who listen to the stars for a living sure as shit picked this shit up.

Lance doesn’t believe in aliens.

Hunk is scared of aliens

School is on lock down

Holy crow. Lance is a potty mouth

Hunk didn’t believe in aliens either

Pidge and Lance jump at the chance to go check out a crashed alien ship. Hunk doesn’t like this.

How the fuck did Pidge remotely hack a camera feed?

Ok but like it makes total sense for them to quarantine Shiro. He might have space pox.

Also Shiro’s skintone changes between 2 dif frames

Hunk neither knows nor cares who Shiro is. And is trying to be the voice of reason

I’m taking that as a fat joke. So fuck you show.

Where’d Keith get the hover car?

Where does Keith get all the explosives? Does he make them?

Lance spotted his eternal rival and doesn’t want to be beat in rescuing the hero. Hunk knows who Keith is

Pidge doesn’t know who Keith is

Why’d they choose that ugly ass tone for Shiro there? He looks kinda grey

Lance was not important enough for Keith to remember him

They’re making Keith take them along for the ride. Also that is not a vehicle designed to carry so many people.

Keith’s got snark.

Pidge yer not doing anything else the least you can do is be useful and keep Shiro from falling off the bike.

Hunk can identify every teacher chasing them

Keith is having fun driving while everyone else screams in terror

So Shiro’s just wearing Keith’s dad’s clothes

Convenient amnesia

Also Shiro’s got a generic ass masculine face

Keith can sense energy

So, those markings and paintings had to have been made by some Native Americans. Which group? What’s the timeframe? Those paintings are showing Blue do stuff so how long was her pilot still around and kicking for? Did she have other pilots before going into lockdown and just chose to stay on Earth? How’d she get to Earth in the first place if fish dude probably died in battle with Galra forces?

Lance hesitates b4 shaking the mystery alien cyborg hand

Hunk is nervous that there might be an alien invasion soon.

Hunk is nosey as hell and a bit of a dick

If I point out everything that is or probably is a fat joke I’ll be here forever

Hunk is smart as hell

Matching a wavelength of an element to a terrain carved by erosion? What? That’s not how anything works

Wait, if Keith has pics of the murals why didn’t they start looking there?

Yeah no those kids are hurt, possibly dead from that fall

The Voltron

The eyes have no pupils and the head isn’t moving, how can you tell the eyes are following you?

So did all of the lions pick these kids and college student from seeing them through Blue’s perspective? How does the lion choosing thing work?

Hunk states the obvious

How is Lance supposed to read the screen when the text is constantly changing. That’s not how computer.

Lance takes Blue on a joy ride and even Keith is not having fun

Also Blue is just fucking up the poor desert

Hunk is a little bitch who thinks giving people what they want will stop them

Holy crow. Hunk has a potty mouth.

So there’s just like a Galra ship right at Earth. The Galra know where Earth is and probably invade it. We just gonna forget about that? Like yes that ship is chasing the lion but nothing is stopping more galra going to Earth.

Shiro is the senior officer so Lance defers to him

So the lions can open wormholes on their own.

Hunk vomits inside Blue

Lance why?

How did none of them notice the castle. Like that is a massive ass castle

They just didn’t check to see if the air was human breathable

Pidge, why the fuck would the steps be bigger if the control seat of the lion was human sized?

Alien tech speaks english

Why do they reuse Cree’s voice for so much

Why do aliens from 10000 yrs ago fucking speak english

Also fucking elves

Also fucking Europeans

Rude. Allura’s first response to meeting an alien is insulting his species looks

Quiznak. Coran has a potty mouth

Also how the fuck do you know anything about this alien’s biology? Why the fuck would a sleeper hold fucking work?

SO why didn’t Alfor use the ‘strongest weapon in the universe’ to fight Zarkon? What, did Black not want any other paladin than Zarkon?

Alfor lies to children.

So how did they send away the other 4 lions? Alfor probably got caught and killed but like from that flashback ep the other three og paladins weren’t in their armor nor shown near the lions or anything. Did the lions hide themselves? Did they have other paladins that piloted them away?

King of the Galra? Bitch he was an emperor well before his fall you should know this.

Convenient amnesia.

How long is the average Galra lifespan?

Could Haggar not? Sense the Blue lion on Earth? How?

Also Haggar really went and got herself a whole ass monster husband

Zarkon calls in the squad. Sends Sendak to fuck shit up

Lance is not good with numbers

Sigh

How do yall even know the food in the castle is safe for humans?

Coran how the fuck u know yall the last Alteans left? Did ya fuckin look?

How the fuck did some nasty ass mice get into the fucking cryopod? How did they survive in a cryopod calibrated for an altean? Why are the mice necessary to the story?

How do the alteans recognize a galra battleship after 10000 yrs?

Lance starts a fight with Keith for no reason. Shiro breaks up the fight.

Did I mention that I hate body functions humor?

Why and how did Alfor connect the lions to Allura’s life force?

Coran just straight up called Pidge a slightly less stupid than average primitive. Racist as fuck.

Lion’s choose their paladin so Allura just fucking assigns lions to aliens she’s known for less than an hour.

How does she know anything about these aliens? Its been less than 5 mins since she met them.

How the fuck does Allura know here all the lions are but the red one?

How do we know Voltron is the most powerful in the universe? They ain’t seen the entire universe

How do the Alteans know how long an earth hour is?

So an altean brought Green to this planet?

What the fuck kinda dumb ass rabbits come out of hiding when they know strange creatures are near?

To be fair, peaceful might mean something else in Altean. They are fucking space Brits

Hunk asks good questions when he’s not stating the obvious

Also that is a barren ass planet. But it was formerly inhabited.

Hunk rewires alien machinery while under heavy fire

Why does it take so long for yellow’s murals to start glowing? Was Yellow thinking about whether or not she wanted Hunk as her Paladin? Yellow really said if you want me you gotta put in effort.

The Galra were this close to getting Yellow too.

Pidge asks questions.

Who built that pyramid for Green and why did they let it get overgrown?

Pidge somehow didn’t break a leg from that jump

So I’m gonna assume that Blue told Yellow what was up

How well can Yellow move through rock?

Green really wanted Pidge. Like she was lighting shit up immediately.

So Blue actually got pretty damaged from regular ship fire and hiding the ground wrong

Hunk would apparently have let Lance die

Pidge and Shiro are some lyin ass bitches

Lord of the Known Universe. Most of the Galra empire is empty space

It took 600 yrs between a grandfather and grandson altean?

Lance and Hunk vote run

Pidge votes stay and fight

Um. Why would the Galra fuck up Arus when yall are the top priority? Like, sure they can come back for it but the lions are a bigger deal and thus they would chase yall over take Arus

Hunk is making very good points

Also Keith, while Sendak could destroy Arus and then come after yall. It’d be a waste of time and resources.

Keith votes stay and fight

Shiro chooses not to vote

Alfor’s hologram admits he fucked up with sending the lions away

Allura votes stay and fight and I guess Coran isn’t voting like Shiro

Fuck you show. Why did we need eighteen thousand fuckin fat jokes?

Coran is an asshole

Ok but like that doesn’t look like a good chest plate? Like it looks like if they bent over they’d get poked/stabbed by it? And what’s up with the high sides of the belts?

What the fuck Pidge?! That coulda killed Lance or taken him out for a good while?

Wait, if the ship has a thing that can like just fucking make suits? Why can't they just make more bayards? Why wouldn’t Alfor design something to make more bayards?

Why doesn’t the galra ship have rear view cameras?

Wait! How the fuck do you cut a hole in a space ship and that not fuck with pressurization or set off any safety allarms?! The fuck kinda bullshit is that?

Sendak? Why do you expect aliens to know what that beam was for if you didn’t tell them?

~False surrender is a fucking war crime b/c it removed the option of surrendering for real if the need arrives so it leads to more fucking people dying~

No they didn’t Shiro. Battleships are things that get mass produced. If this is the exact same ship u got put in after the green one then that is bullshit on a cosmic scale.

Shiro is ok with letting prisoners die. Pidge is not, granted it's probably b/c she thinks her family might be on there.

Poor Mrs. Holt. She just got fuckin forgotten by everyone.

So Pidge has an outburst and fucking disobeys the mission leader. Shiro decides to help her just b/c he might know one or two of the people he was willing to let die. And they leave Keith with no fucking backup.

Keith would have legit died if the guards remembered that they have fucking guns and can shoot him when he dropped his shield. Which means Keith would have died if not for plot bullshit b/c his teammates don’t particularly care about his health and safety. Pidge and Shiro care more about the male Holts than Keith and all of the other prisoners that might be on the ship.

Wow.

How does Keith not hold this against them?

No the mice were not necessary, not if either of these dunces whent and opened the control panel from the other side.

That sounds like bullshit.

Ya know I didn’t have any problems with Hunk the engineer being able to operate an alien elevator or drill by hotwiring shit. But I do call bullshit on Pidge reprogramming a sentry pod thing by changing the connection of one wire.

I still call bullshit on aliens speaking english and all atmospheres being 100% agreeable to humans. B/c that is bullshit

And why the fuck would the color of Rover’s lights fucking change?

… they only checked one fucking room for prisoners but that’s it I guess? The fuck

Why did the Red lion let the Galra take her? Did she consider that one of the galra on the ship might make a good paladin for her?

Keith gets caught b/c his dumb ass starts shouting on a stealth mission

Keith, they already have the lion. Yer the one trying to take it

Like I said previously the guards forget they have guns and thus Keith lives.

So… how did Keith impress the Red lion? He fought people, lost and blew out the airlock. Which is still a loss if the lion didn’t feel like saving him.

Vore

Guards continue to forget they have fucking guns for plot reasons.

Hunk and the gang leave without destroying the enemy ship or making sure that its irreparably damaged

Coran, Lance, and Hunk have foul mouths

And this is why you fucking confirm yer kill

Why isn’t there a combine button?

Heh, Yellow’s face after slamming Red. Also Red looks so offended about being rammed.

What the cheese

Hunk’s gone into panic mode and Keith has accepted death.

Shiro gives a speech and they form Voltron

Why are the bad guys giving them the time to form voltron?

Why doesn’t Voltron have a tail? Where does Black’s tail go? Voltron should have a tail.

Any other prisoners on that ship are dead as fuck

How did I watch this show the first time? It's not good. It’s pretty but it is not good.

#nix watches vld #voltron #notes #long post

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kovnynir · 3 years

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❝ incoming transmission: IVE, DEIMOS from the planet of TRACYN is making arrangements to land on batuu. the THIRTY-FIVE year old HUMAN is here to become an ASSASSIN. keep a close eye on them, i hear they can be IMPULSIVE, INTIMIDATING, and CHAOTIC. they have documented that they always bring their VARIOUS WEAPONS with them.

LINKS: PINTEREST. PLAYLIST.

❝ STANDARD DATA.

full name : deimos kotyc ive

aka : n/a

age : thirty-five

birthday : november 13, 1 BBY

gender & pronouns : cis male, he/him

orientation : pansexual

species : human

occupation : assassin

❝ APPEARANCE.

hair : dirty blond

eyes : green

height : 6′4″

scent : cinnamon & citrus

accent : tracyn ( london-specific ) -- dark, husky voice that comes as a product of 11 years of complete isolation. he had to talk to himself on the ship to keep himself from losing his voice completely. his voice is intimidating

scars : tons of ‘em from plenty of fighting, massive scars where his old clan’s signet used to be

tattoos : the signet of his tribe on his left bicep, more tribal marks scattered on his arms, the mandalorian symbol over his heart, he has a lot of random symbolic tattoos that all kinda blend together. his tribe has lots of traditions centered around tattoos.

piercings : none

face claim : sam claflin

❝ PERSONALITY.

positive traits : devoted, bold, adventurous, resourceful, clever

negative traits : hot-headed, impulsive, intimidating, chaotic, restless

force signature : gunpowder and sparks. it’s always pretty irregular like his mood and you’re always waiting for an explosion. sometimes it’s a frenzy and sometimes it’s just calm before the storm

❝ BACKGROUND.

birth place : tracyn

father : njix ive - fc: paul bettany

mother : neienni shaihl - fc: nicole kidman

siblings : cheix - fc: yung gravy ( younger brother, deceased )

pets : none

notable skills : hand to hand & armed combat, selective discretion, causing problems

❝ MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac : scorpio

alignment : chaotic neutral

mbti : estp, the entrepreneur

hogwarts house : gryffindor

greek deity : ares

greatest wish : to protect the mandalorians and build them back up

greatest fear : extinction

pop culture characters : flynn ryder from tangled, hercules from hercules, finnick odair from hunger games, sun bak from sense8

among us details : alright impostor, he has a tendency to get super !!!!! if people throw sus on him. it also gets him voted off as a crewmate because they just assume he's getting angry because he's imposter when that's not always true. black with the plague doctor mask

❝ HISTORY.

born on tracyn, deimos was always a part of the mandalorian legacy. his clan was small and well-hidden, but their numbers had been going down and down over the years. thanks to the numerous civil wars, calls to action, the unrest with the republic and separatists, the sith- their history has been tumultuous at best.

with the frightening nightscowl as their signet but they had nothing to show for it, the clan was nothing more than an embarrassment in the eyes of the mandalorians that subscribed to the original ideals of the creed. how could this pack of pacifists have such a powerful signet? clan vurrah was a disgrace.

and deimos was just as disappointed. he cared so deeply for his clan, he wanted people to take them seriously. he thought the mandalorians could be taken seriously again if they were to start reverting back to their original ways, by working hard and fighting back against extinction instead of quietly allowing it. their silence was their survival, but they couldn’t just keep surviving, they needed to prosper.

so, growing up, he started pushing for more fighting, more training with weapons, more of that spartan competition that once had mandalorians at the peak of society. his parents were constantly reprimanding him, trying to keep him in line and get him to follow the ways of the clan. it was all in vain.

when deimos was twenty-three, there was an uprising on tracyn that nearly obliterated all of them. most of the clan was lost including his brother, who perished right beside him, and that’s when he knew this false sense of peace was literally killing them off. when the dust settled and the clan buried their dead, deimos burst. he refused to stick with a clan that got his brother killed, he refused to stick to a dying creed, a dying world – not when he knew there were better ways to persevere. and he left. he renounced his signet, broke it off of his armor, and got on a ship. he never saw them again.

ever since that day, he’s been roaming the galaxy to find or build a new clan. one that prepares for trouble, one that goes back to some of the roots of the mandalorians, the ones that made them strong. they needed to be able to protect themselves in order to keep up the resol’nare.

a highly dangerous run-in with a tuk’ata has given deimos his own signet, granted by a clan leader on moraband that witnessed the attack. moraband was abandoned for many years, but deimos had a feeling there would be refugees there, taking advantage of that reputation to hide out. he was right, but didn’t have long to celebrate it when he was attacked. deimos defeated the beast alone, as the clan leader had no interest in saving someone that got into the battle out of what he perceived to be a stupid mistake. but he saw through the fight that deimos was resourceful and clever, perhaps a little too impulsive for his own good. a wildcard, much like the very beast he defeated. the tuk’ata were known as sith warbeasts, impossible to tame, so… it just stuck. clan of one, a fucking wreck, deimos the warbeast.

so overall he’s really just… lost. looking for a home. he’s still mourning his brother, though it has been years since the loss. he’s been to every habitable planet in the galaxy in the search for mandalorians, but there isn’t really a clan around that wants him or his ideas messing with their quiet. most are complicit at this point – 24,000 years of turmoil and the clock just keeps running. the first order isn’t a fan of the mandalorians, and that’s been made crystal clear.

deimos despises the first order with everything in him. if not for them, the mandalorians would have a chance to bounce back, but the first order has a habit of crushing any groups that could be considered a threat. he will kill any first order member he meets, no remorse.

well. he’s also an assassin for hire, so he’ll kill anyone with no remorse. but he doesn’t have to be paid to kill imps. he’s an assassin because the bounty guild bothers him and he doesn’t care about their structure. he tried a few times but it wasn’t worth it so he dropped and just took whatever job was around.

❝ ARRIVAL ON BATUU.

his latest hit brought him to batuu, so he’s here to refuel and hang around, see if any jobs come by. and also to look into the mandalorians, if any exist here, but part of him has given up on finding a clan and more on building one up himself.

❝ PRESENT.

he’s met almost all the mandalorians on batuu and has formed a close connection with a few of them. the first member of his clan was breena kelwic, the second was selene vizsla.

he’s a little bit of an informant for the first order -- more or less telling ben what the mandalorians need from the order and helping give ideas for future legislation. he still hates them, but he figures if this is a chance to help mandalorians, he has to take it.

❝ HEADCANONS.

he doesn’t strictly follow the helmet code because it’s not technically part of the resol’nare, but he’s almost always seen in his armor. and he’s not traditional in the sense that he was willing to abandon his family for ideological disagreements, which tends to not be a good enough reason to break with the clan and destroy your signet

his armor is mostly charcoal grey and silver, but he has scarlet accents. that deep red signifies defiance, and that’s been his color since he was a teenager and got his armor in the first place. his clan chose the color for him to mock him a little, but he wears it with pride

smokes cigarettes because he is stupid

has a rock collection

❝ TIMELINE OF IMPORTANT EVENTS.

1 BBY / AGE 0 : birth on tracyn, the start of the great purge

22 ABY / AGE 23 : left his clan

24 ABY / AGE 25 : earned his signet

34 ABY / AGE 35 : arrived on batuu, present

#* deimos : intro.#intros.

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teyrnacousland · 5 years

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If you cannot tell me another way...

Do not brand me a tyrant Anders a villain. (A List by Me.)

This line does not work for Meredith at all. She had tons of options, one of which was to just. Not do all of the horrible things she was doing? Nothing she did was in any way necessary.

Anders, on the other hand, had no other options. People who say he was wrong seem to conveniently forget this. It’s been eight years since DA2 came out and I still can’t think of anything else he could have done. Even people who are quick to condemn his actions rarely offer an alternate course of action he could have taken. But I have seen some people try, so I’m going to go over every alternate suggestion I’ve seen and explain why they’re wrong and it wouldn’t have worked.

1. Do nothing.

Do I need to explain why this one is a terrible idea? Meredith would have called for Annulment eventually. Maybe even right then and there. Meredith says herself “my patience is at an end”, and the way Orsino snaps back implies that his is too. What would Meredith have done if the Anders hadn’t interrupted? Perhaps Orsino would have given in (or the Templars would have made him stand down by force) and Meredith would have searched the tower. What would she do when she didn’t find the secret blood mage hideout she thinks she’ll find there? Would she just stand down and apologize for being wrong? Or would she, paranoid as she is, take that as a sign that there’s no way to root out the problem and the only solution is to throw out the whole Circle?

But even if it didn’t happen then and there, tensions like those in Kirkwall don’t just disappear. Things would have gotten worse and worse. Meredith would just get closer and closer to snapping as she continued to search for a conspiracy that doesn’t exist, and as the red lyrium continued to affect her mind. Maybe another apostate or maleficar would have done something she saw as an attack, or Orsino would have pushed too hard out of frustration and desperation, or something would happen that would lead Meredith to using the Right of Annulment in retaliation. Maybe the Divine would have approved her request, and she would do it the second that approval got to her. Maybe Meredith would have eventually decided it was the only way to keep the peace and call for it out of nowhere.

No matter what, the Right of Annulment was always going to happen, because it’s always been her ideal ending. She’s wanted it for years. When Elthina refused, Meredith went above her head. Even if the Divine ended up refusing the request, Meredith would have tried to find another way or just done it anyways. Even if she had to break the rules to do it. She’s been raised to worship a martyr, and she would have no problem risking becoming one herself. It’s her “divine right”, her “duty”. She would never have been satisfied until she did it.

And when she called for it, she wouldn’t give the mages a warning or head start. They wouldn’t have time to prepare themselves and recruit help. The mages would all be locked away in their cells when the Templars came. Maybe they’d do it at night while they were sleeping. They would open the cells one by one and kill every man woman and child, one at a time so they can’t fight back.

And when it was over, she would tell the rest of Kirkwall, Thedas, the Chantry, that she had discovered something that justified it. (We know she’s the type of person who would do this; when she turns on pro-Templar mage Hawke she says “The people of Kirkwall will mourn your loss, but I will tell them that you died battling the mages. A righteous cause.” She plans to lie to the world then, and she’d no doubt do it now.) And Elthina would have backed up her story, because her other option at that point would be to lose her pawn slash partner, and also admit that she let this happen right under her nose, that Meredith and the Templars were out of control. (And it wouldn’t be the first time permission for a Right of Annulment was granted to cover up a Templar’s genocidal Templar’s rampage.)

The Gallows mages would all die, and nothing in the world would change.

2. Kill Meredith.

Best case scenario, Elthina would have appointed a new Meredith and nothing would change. Or she would have promoted Cullen (and even if you like him you have to admit that Knight-Commander Cullen, with the way he was back then, would Not be Good. Remember, Knight-Captain Cullen supports Tranquility, at least considered the Tranquil Solution, and in DAO he wanted you to help Annul the mages in Kinloch Hold).

Worst case, the Divine would have stepped in now that the situation in Kirkwall had advanced to murder of a high up Chantry figure and they would send over a new Meredith along with an army and official permission to Annul the Gallows. (And again, this wouldn’t be a fit of rage declared in a public place with no preparation. It would be calculated. The mages wouldn’t know until it was too late.) It’s also possible she would have even declared an Exalted March and killed everyone in the city.

3. Kill Elthina.

First of all, how would he do this? Elthina is protected, by Templars no less. Anders’ options are magic, which would be shut down by said Templars, or get close enough to use a blade, which would also be prevented by said Templars. What’s he going to do, tell Elthina he just wants a hug? She’s not an idiot. Anders is a rebel and a freedom fighter, she must know he’s a threat. She would never let him within stabbing distance.

But let’s say Anders found a way. Let’s say he assassinated her when no Templars were there to stop him. What impact would that have on Kirkwall? The people would hear that Elthina was dead. No one would really know what happened. It would be a tragedy, sure, but it wouldn’t have the same impact. No one would be forced to think about why she was murdered, what led to that. That’s if they were even told it was murder, if it wasn’t covered up to prevent panic, to keep up the chantry’s illusion of control.

Meredith would still find out. But she would likely be alone. She would be told, not be witness to it. It would hit less hard, and she’d have time to think and plan. She would likely still call for Annulment, but quietly, privately. See scenario one, everyone dies, and the world doesn’t know, doesn’t change.

Assuming he did it publicly (if that’s even possible) Meredith would again possibly have responded the same way. Let’s say she called for Annullment immediately. Ideally, this murder would have to happen when Meredith and Orsino was nearby, so he and the Gallows would have warning. (That would be pretty hard to arrange too, probably even impossible, since Orsino would never just happen to be in the chantry where Elthina is. Meredith, who is his jailer, specifically doesn’t want him going there, she tries to stop him in the scene before the chantry boom.)

If Meredith succeeds (more likely in this scenario than in canon, since no one is distracted by the chaos of the chantry explosion and no one is occupied with damage control) then it’s just back to Scenario 1, so let’s skip that and say the mages win. Now what? The world still hasn’t changed. They were never forced to acknowledge the problems in the Gallows, were never made aware of it by an apostate standing in Lowtown and shouting about it loudly as fire rains from the sky. Anders couldn’t make his speech before killing Elthina because then he’d be stopped, and he couldn’t make it after because he would no doubt be dragged away or executed on the spot. So no one knows the story. No one knows what happened. It’s the Kirkwall mages’ word against the Chantry’s, and which one do you think will sound more believable? Which one will reach the most people? And since the word would never reach the other mages, Fiona wouldn’t have gotten enough votes to declare independence, and this window of opportunity that let the mages push for freedom in canon would have passed them by.

Also, the Chantry would be perfectly intact, and that’s a problem. In this scenario, they don’t have to worry about the message Anders is sending (since he hasn’t sent one) or deal with the increased tensions Anders’ very loud and public rebellion caused in Circles all across Thedas. The Chantry would be free hunt the Kirkwall mages down in full force. (I’ll go into this more in the next point.)

It’s also possible, if not likely, that Meredith wouldn’t have called for Annulment right away. A single murder probably wouldn’t have caused the same level of outrage and wouldn’t have pushed her into making such an irrational move as to announce her intentions in public and give the mages time to prepare. And again, see Scenario 1.

4. Sneak the mages out of Kirkwall

First of all, again, this would be incredibly difficult. Anders would either have to kill all the Templars (which, impressive as he is, I doubt he could do on his own) or distract them (again, near impossible, especially alone. There’s so many of them. They’re like ants in the summer.)

But let’s put that aside and assume that Anders could somehow get the mages out of Kirkwall. Let me introduce you to this fun codex entry: Codex Entry: Apostate’s Courage

It’s about an apostate named Caleth who ran from the Chantry with a group of fellow mages and hid in the mountains. The Chantry sent an army of Templars and hired mercenaries to bring them back, and they were forced to surrender themselves to be made Tranquil.

The Chantry can’t let a small group of apostates escape their grasp, let alone an entire Circle. First of all, look at how focused the Templars in Awakening are on Anders, a single apostate. They act like his a personal insult. These divine narcissists can’t stand the idea that an apostate outwitted them and isn’t forced to obey them.

And second, the reason the Chantry would devote so many resources to bring back what couldn’t be more than a dozen or two apostates (since it says Caleth’s group was only his most loyal I imagine it can’t have been too many): It sends a message that escape is possible. It inspires others to try for freedom. It undermines the Chantry’s authority and the image of control they’ve so carefully cultivated. Imagine what message it would send if a whole Circle escaped?

If Anders hadn’t destabilized the Chantry in a major way, increased tensions between the Chantry (and Templars) and the mages, forcing them to focus resources there, the Chantry would have hunted him and the other Gallows escapees down with all the force they could muster, for the rest of eternity. Because they would have to. Their system relies on complete control, or at least the illusion of control. Once they lose that, as we see in canon, they lose everything. And they know it.

Basically, in short, here are the list of requirements for a good plan:

It has to be something Anders can do. Alone. Anders probably can’t walk into the Gallows’ Templar hall and assassinate Meredith. Anders probably can’t walk into the chantry and kill Elthina. And even if he comes up with a plan, if he tries and is caught or stopped and then executed, it was all for nothing. (See scenario 1.)

It has to give the mages in the Gallows warning the moment Meredith decides to invoke the Rite of Annulment. This means it has to be a public event, where both Meredith and Orsino are present, and it has to be big enough that Meredith will react irrationally and declare her intentions in public.

It has to destabilize the Chantry, since if they’re not affected they’ll pour all their focus into shutting down the Kirkwall mages, and also making up a cover story, as fast as they can.

It has to get attention. Anders wants the world to acknowledge what’s happening in the Circles. Anything small scale will be seen as an isolated incident and promptly forgotten about. Or worse, it’ll be covered up and twisted by the Chantry.

It needs to affect the other Circles. If it’s small, they might not even hear about it, let alone see its effects. This is possibly the most important point, since Anders’ overall goal isn’t just to save the mages in the Gallows, but also to make a spark that someone like Fiona can fan into a flame. And Fiona’s plan requires the mages to see that they can’t just stay in the Circles and play the good mage, so they’ll vote for independence. This almost requires things to get worse, since that’s likely the only way the Aequitarians (and others) would realize this.

Until you can suggest to me a plan that satisfies these requirements and doesn’t run into any of the pitfalls and walls I’ve mentioned, do not call Anders a villain.

#anders #dragon age #dragon age 2 #if any anti anders people come across this and think they've outsmarted my list #I'll gladly debunk any alternates you come up with #I've thought about this a lot. There was no other way.#long post

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toooldforfandom-liveblogs · 5 years

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RWBY V07E05 - Sparks

Wow, this could be about anything and everything.I saw a thumbnail with Robyn in it so I know she appears, so that's something. I think Sonic Harriet throws sparks when she's powering up, Yang's semblance has sparks too. It could also be about the "spark the fires of revolution" or "the spark that can ignite hope." Considering the current political climate I'm guessing it'll probably be closer to the former than the latter.

Let's do this!

What a blessed way to start the day and the episode. Penny is living her dream considering staying close to her friends was the only reason we heard about why she wanted to stay at Beacon.

This is so wholesome that every day I fear more and more for everyone's lives.

The one thing I don't like about the Maya style is the way they enlarge the eyes anime-style for cuteness points. I'm sure it _could_ work but it just looks weird and somewhat out of place to me. I remember Yang and Weiss cooing over Saphron's child looking more disturbing than cute.

This is the cutest thing I have ever seen.

Yeah, yeah, fights, explosions, grimm, * yawn *, whatever.

Finally, here's the huntsman I want to see. There's no way this "simple" mission doesn't end up with him somehow becoming a hero.

Or perhaps he is already a hero.

A highly wanted hero.

This is amazing. And tragic. He has everything he ever wanted when he had just entered Beacon, and now they are all probably at the bottom of his priority list.

I'm not sure how to interpret this. Winter gets distracted and Weiss feels like she's not doing enough to impress her sister? It kinda fits with their little moment in the OP, but I hope Weiss grows past that this season. It's not exactly a healthy dynamic.

Ooh, one more OP scene.

I feel like my mind is blowing. He does have a ton of aura, what if he could harness it for more than just healing? Is his semblance just "healing" or is it actually aura manipulation (since he's actually just jumpstarting the other person's aura generation)? I already want to see where they go with this. Something like Vine and his arms? Or something more like a larger shield around him?

Note from the future: I had a complete brain fart when I wrote that and forgot that his semblance is “aura amplification” but most of what I wrote still applies. I’m really curious about what can he do with a _lot_ of aura.

I think this tiny line is just enough to make me more interested in Ren than I have been since Volume 4.

There was a hint with him blowing off Nora because he wanted to focus on the mission. Was it just that or does he want to become a better/stronger huntsman for something different than the obvious (which would be to protect people from having the same fate as his parents) to the point of considering everything else as secondary? I remember Nora was speculated to be from Mantle... How does it all fit?

My heart.

And Ruby is the other one who's living her dream, she _always_ wanted to be a Huntress. No doubts, no late night conversations about her future next to a fire, no soul-searching questioning. And it probably helps that while while this montage is happening, she doesn't have to question her decisions or think too deeply about the future.

Aw. I like the progress from getting his mug stolen to giving Marrow one.

oh no

She's _really_ good at poking insecurities, huh?

I'm speechless. Nora is riding her weapon like a witch.

Here's another example of what I was talking about. In any previous season Ren would have shook his head, smiling at the lovable scamp that is Nora. Now he almost looks sick of her attitude?

Woo! They are talking!

Now talk about death.

Sorry, _this_ is the cutest thing I have ever seen.

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS, WRITERS. WHO HURT YOU.

thinking emoji

Nevermind everything I have said about Ironwood. He's evil and deserves everything bad that's probably going to happen to him.

The biggest mood. In real life _and_ for, well, everyone in the show, but especially Ruby.

I'm not sure if it's her sleepy face or something else but Ruby looks really grown up here.

From one ship to the other.

Poor Clover, wasting his efforts complimenting the guy when Qrow has a thousand-feet high shield made of self-hatred.

oh?

oh my god, he's perfect

AAAAAAA FINALLY, ROBYN!

So that grafitti _was_ important.

I was thinking the same thing. Wouldn't she, being a candidate to being elected, need to keep her nose clean?

There goes the possibility of one of the Ace Ops being a traitor for Robyn's group.

Did she fail a dice roll on her semblance check?

Hmm. Only Qrow has used that word so far in the show, once of Ruby and once for Oscar. Probably a coincidence but still.

By showing us how willing Robyn was to attack a military convoy, she either thinks she's going to lose the election (maybe because she thinks it's rigged) or thinks it won't matter for some reason. Why would she risk the possibility of fixing things from the top otherwise?

There are no traitors (yet) in the Ace Ops because she'd know why Amity is so important.

Did she call off the attack because Penny is a powerhouse or because she only thought she could win by ambushing them + a number advantage? Maybe it was all a bluff to get more information.

For having such a short intro scene, Robyn is _really_ interesting.

And she seems to have fewer scruples than Ironwood, making her and the whole conflict even more interesting.

Where's Ruby and Nora with the popcorn!?

Okay, nevermind, I misunderstood Weiss's deal earlier. Go Weiss!

Aw, she likes that Weiss is finally standing up to her a little.

But is that what Weiss really wants? Now that I think about it, we haven't heard anything about that since... I don't know, V2? Beacon changed a lot of things and getting disowned changed even more.

Her main goal was to get her family back, both RBY and Winter, but now with that done, what does she want? Does she still want to clean her family name?

Wow, this is an even more interesting conflict between them.

...yeaaaaaaaah, sure How many episodes before that's proven wrong? Unless Ironwood is really being setup as the total Anti-Ozpin and he really did tell everything to Winter? Naaaah. Since she knows about the relics and the maiden, maybe it'll have something to do with Amity Arena? Orbital weapons, anyone? No?

All the technology in the world and they haven't invented chairs.

She's either been all over the world or she's painting what she's never been able to see. Both are tragic, considering her current state.

Wow. I guess that's one way to make sure the power goes to Winter but wow, that's awful.

...you know what happened to the last person who said that?

On the other hand, maybe the fact that Winter choose of her own volition to become the winter maiden, with all the time in the world, without Ozpin breathing down her neck, is going to make all the difference.

They _really_ nail his awful, awful character.

He's strong-arming the population into voting for him. But doesn't he have Watts fixing the elections for him? Or is it _because_ of Watts that he's doing this? Nothing says riots and unhappiness like having a ton of people suddenly become unemployed.

yyyup.

The montage was okay (with some cute and interesting character moments in between all the fighting) and FNKI's cameo was fun, but everything after that was _gold_.

Poor Ruby, she pairs with Penny, Yang and Weiss this episode but no Blake. Those lines they spoke to each other in the past couple of episodes were too much.

I'm really curious about what's going with Ren. They have been showing him just enough that it has to be more than a coincidence. It really feels like he suddenly gained a focus towards being a huntsman that he didn't have before and that, so far, came from nowhere. But why? Is it Nora related? Is it even going to be explained this season? He's just background enough that the writers could be setting up for next season. The big Yang/Blake drama arc is over so they are introducing Ren's? Uhm.

Jaune being thirsted over is amazing and he deserves it. I want to see what he's going to do with his aura, especially now that Tyrian is back, he expressed a direct interest in him so maybe a fight is coming (since he already had his chance with Cinder for the time being)

Ruby living her dream life is so cute that I'm just waiting to see how it all crashes and burns. Penny's words about having to choose between what she wants and what she needs to do were very on the nose about Ruby's situation. Well, everyone's situation since Winter apparently had to deal with that and _chose_ to make both the same. Have we had anyone who chose the opposite? I guess Raven, making her a pretty good contrast to Winter.

Weiss's future is still in the air but I hope she doesn't abandon reclaiming her family name. Unless Whitley actually ends up becoming a sane human being and Weiss ends up entrusting everything to him to continue being a Huntress?

Clover is being pushed pretty hard as an all-around perfect good guy. So he's either going to die, he's a traitor or had an awful _awful_ past. Because nothing good lasts in Remnant. He did seem genuine when he wished Robyn luck though (even if it's probably kind of his thing).

Robyn was on screen for maybe four minutes and it was enough to make me very intrigued about where this season is going. The way they are setting up the conflict as [grey vs grey] vs black, with multiple interconnected plot threads, is pretty ambitious so I hope they manage to stick the landing.

There's the election, Robyn apparently not caring about the election, Jacques definitely not caring about the election, the villains' plot that requires general discontent, Ruby's secrets, Ironwood's plan, Ironwood's secret secrets, Winter possibly becoming the Winter maiden or dying or both. And then you have the smaller things that may or may not happen, like Ren's thing, Clover's being too good for this earth, _Penny_ being too good for this earth, the way it feels like it's going to be Beacon V2. Neo and Cinder are still missing but we know are on her way.

In comparison V6 was a walk in the park, with a pretty clear goal all the way through. So, yeah, I'm a bit worried about where this is all going. It has a _ton_ of potential though so I can't wait for the next episode. Until next time!

#rwby #rwby liveblog #rwby v07e05 #rwby v7

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kiriti2009 · 4 years

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Dear America: Preserve These Things For The Love Of God

They say that in Europe our things are tiny and that in America your things are super-sized, and that’s a dangerous statement, prone to error when referring to anything other than the size of our Coca-Colas.

Any further debate could lead to a conflict of unprecedented proportions and distract us from the real issue: Here in Europe we are jealous of a lot of what you have in the United States of America. In particular, three things: God, liberty and civil society. In the social democratic Europe we live in, these three pillars have all but disappeared like the sun setting at the dusk of a civilization. In their stead we are left with secularism, conditional freedom and an all-encompassing state that demands money from us day and night in the form of taxes, while all we can do is shrug our shoulders, pay up and say, as did Bartleby: “I’d prefer no to.”

I write these lines, sit in a German alehouse “Cervecería Alemana” in Plaza Santa Ana in Madrid, an old cafe in which the dazzling Ava Gardner whittled away hours when she was living in Madrid, and in which Hemingway often sought refuge in good beer and beautiful people common to so many other bars in Europe. Midway through the 20th century another celebrated writer would also sit here. The Spaniard, Enrique Jardiel Poncela, was a successful comedian that, just over 30, relocated to the United States to write scripts for Fox studios.

He had such a penchant for tucking himself away in a bar in Madrid to write, that they had to build his office in Hollywood to resemble one, for him to be inspired. Jardiel hated the Hollywood vibe and on returning to Spain said that Americans were like “big kids,” although I’m not sure that’s actually a criticism. He also wrote that if a European wanted to understand America, he would have to buy, on arrival there, a “Bible, an automobile and a corkscrew.”

The corkscrew bit troubles me, even though these were the ’30s. By the way, his epitaph read: “If you want everyone to praise you, die.” When he did die, before his corpse had grown cold, everyone did praise him. And immediately afterward, not having ever displayed any political affiliation, everyone forgot about him. If there is anything this brilliant Spanish comedian got right, it was to be free, gaining himself enmity from both left and right. The European press has never been made for freedom, which is nothing other than the ability to say and do whatever you want and the strength to shoulder the consequences.

A student reaches for an inflated globe during a “Fridays for Future” protest for urgent climate action on May 24, 2019 in Muenster, northwestern Germany.

We envy almost everything about the press in America, from its independence from the government to the bravery shown by many of its greatest journalists, often opting for honor in harakiri — in ink — when the cause is a worthy one; sometimes it’s a sad collective suicide, like when they try to portray Nancy Pelosi as a rising star in the practice of origami. But even a despicable silver-screen villain like Walter Matthau from “The Front Page” captivates us, because in his madness we find an apt description of the wild press that was needed to create the brilliant myth of pressrooms littered by whisky filled flasks, and incredibly unstable individuals trying to keep the government at bay.

Half the things that opinion-makers in the States would make the secular public in secular Europe shake in their boots and cross themselves, and that’s another thing that you got right: It’s important to call an imbecile an imbecile if you don’t you run the risk of confusing the public. And nothing describes the average European: confused and stunned. We’re not even well-manipulated à la Soviet, because even though the left wing tries whenever it can, the European center-right works ceaselessly toward that postmodern sickness called appeasement.

The outcome is that the right wing receives the brunt of the insults, the left being better liars, and nobody can freely say whatever they want in a newspaper without first reading carefully the European Single Thought Law. There are 70 million Twitter users just waiting to write your column, coming close to choking on their own bile as they spit insults at you, while your own contribution to social unrest is safely censored. If you’re right wing, they’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks.

To disagree, to think freely, to stand out, is to dig your own grave in modern Europe. There is a very European bias toward the bureaucratic structuring of private initiatives that becomes truly exasperating. Even in love.

Maybe because of liberty, the United States helps people become millionaires while Europe hinders them. Sometimes quite embarrassingly so. Just one example. Spain’s new social communist government has threatened to cripple rich people with taxes. As a result, an exodus to Portugal has begun. What does this government do? Rectify? No. They threaten with consequences against those leaving. This is all we could expect from a government whose vice president criticizes and insults the owner of Inditex, my brilliant fellow countryman Amancio Ortega, for having donated expensive, latest generation cancer treatment machines, to Spanish hospitals. According to Spanish Vice President Pablo Iglesias, the Spanish public health service doesn’t need “handouts” from the rich. Maybe he’s right. But the Spanish cancer patients sure do. Some people just keep proving Jardiel Poncelaright again when he said: “Those that don’t dare to be intelligent, become politicians.” There are exceptions, but they’re not in Pedro Sánchez’s government.

Spanish far-left Podemos party leader Pablo Iglesias gives a speech during the first day of the parliamentary investiture debate to vote through a prime minister, at the Spanish Congress (Las Cortes) on July 22, 2019, in Madrid.

As a rule, the States’ civil society is healthier than the European because it’s careful not to devote itself to mass ideological prostitution. I said “mass,” I’m not here to naively canonise the whole country, ignoring that you’ve had presidents whose main virtue was knowing how to dance salsa. But even then it’s different. Your genuinely democratic culture — impossible to export– makes it easy to get rid of cretins that manage to reach office.

In Europe, the more independent civic leaders raise their voices and lead all they can, but only until they’re gobbled up by one party or another. Then they become accommodated and their voices become muddled. That might very well be the problem: this very European obsession with security, be it employment, unemployment, social life, housing or relationships. Everything has to be as secure and predictable as German engineering, which is why there exists a certain disdain for the American dream. If America can be reduced to a hamburger, part of the European elite can be reduced to the unassembled pieces of a wardrobe from Ikea; if they ever manage to get it together, in an armed conflict, you’ll find me on the hamburger’s side.

Somehow mobility and meritocracy muddy the social democrat dream, which as with communism, needs poor and hungry to survive. Sometimes I wonder why modern Europeans are so enthusiastic about living when most of their state tutored, predictable and bureaucratic lives are a bore. Obviously Mediterranean Europe is the exception; boredom is impossible there.

All of this has a tragic consequence. The lack of a sense of humor extends like a plague throughout the continent. Europe has lost its sense of humor and that’s it’s drama. You only need see that safety warnings printed on any appliance produced in the European Union to understand how total safety and security is an illness. You can’t take your job so seriously. If you sell phone batteries, don’t place a warning on them, in 10 different languages, asking the buyer not to nibble on it. Don’t make a fool of yourself in 10 different languages. The legal cobweb covering the Old Continent making you do it is no excuse. Exporting illegal batteries is better than looking like a world-class idiot all over the world.

But Europe takes itself too seriously. Everything is regulated in its pocket-sized nations. Everything is vital. Everything is serious. Everything is exceedingly dull. Americans can joke and laugh about filling some dictator full of holes without tearing their hair out and crying, which is exactly what the French, Belgian or the Danes do. The Dutch aren’t laughing so loud this week because some genius in the government has decided it would be a good idea to legalize an anti–old people pill. Suddenly, Dutch progressive OAPs, that have been smoking spliffs since their teens, feel less enthusiastic about death-dealing because they’ve realized that in this year’s Halloween parties they will be the dead.

Incidentally, proof of Europe’s idiotization is that, given a choice as to what we import from the United States, instead of choosing liberty, wealth or the size of the damn ice in our drinks, we chose Halloween, which we would gladly send back to you in a box with its corresponding bow and a thank-you note “always thinking of you.”

Something else we envy. When a policeman shoots down a dangerous terrorist, you all ask how the policeman is and swell with pride over his heroism. In Europe though, public opinion and the media react differently:

Couldn’t he have spared the man’s life?

Was it proportional?

Did he read him his rights?

He wasn’t gunned down for wearing explosives and six machetes, he was murdered for being an Arab.

The same happens with military ops. If no one botches it, America will still rally behind their military when they are deployed, even if there has been political dissent. These small shows of unison that upstage the differences, around basic issues, are what make a nation great. Small things can be huge.

Maybe because Americans don’t believe that the state will save them, and much less guarantee them everlasting life within the foreseeable future, they still choose to trust in God. And that’s understandable. When one sees Bernie Sanders and thinks, if an electoral catastrophe were to occur, that one’s life would be in his hands, it’s a huge relief to know you always have God to save you.

What’s more, God is present daily in the lives of men that, as with any civilization, want to transcend their own arrogance. Which is why, when a politician finishes speaking with a “God bless America!” no one is surprised or shocked. It even sounds good, magnificent, glorious. On the other hand, in Europe, if one finishes his speech with a “God bless Sweden!” or “God bless Denmark!” it just doesn’t work. It’s almost like saying “God bless the International Monetary Fund!” It doesn’t even sound good. What’s more you’ll instantly see people rise from their seats and call out:

Why do you say “God”? I’m an atheist. It’s offensive.

Why do you say “God” and not Goddess? Chauvinist! It’s offensive.

Why do you say “God” and not Mother Nature? I identify as a rabbit. Ethnocentrist! It’s offensive.

In the end you just give up, leave God out of it, but reference Satan because you want to send the whole world to hell. But then, once more, another uproar, like a cat fight on Twitter: Christianocentric! Islamophobe. Allah is great. It’s offensive. That’s when you decide to put an end to the event and hang yourself in a toilet stall. That’s how things are in Europe.

Of course, Europe also has the History, it’s still at the origin of our civilization, illustrious ruins, Spanish literature, British humor, Houllebecq and Swedish women. But it also has its fair share of disappointments. France was supposed to be fun. All of my damned bohemians burned Paris down between opium dens, poetry and whisky. It was all just an illusion. These days their grandchildren don’t go out at night, they only read the state’s Official Bulletin and instead of alcohol, they down copious amounts of ecological tea in vegan tea shops where they extract the tea by caressing the leaves.

What about Spain? My country is another matter. Spaniards are only Europeans during work hours. From six in the afternoon onward — Brussels time — we stop being European and we do whatever we feel like until 8 a.m. the next day. This makes other Europeans feel awkward when they come to do business here. They would much prefer to see a hoard of fools following one another mindlessly through the streets like Lemmings, that strange video game from the ’80s. I mean they would rather be in Berlin than Madrid. We don’t do it because we love partying, but to safeguard the essence of ancient Europe, when Romans would commit the seven deadly sins all together, leave work mid-afternoon for a siesta and always found an excuse for a toast (not the bread one). Our sacred duty as Spaniards is to keep these worthy traditions alive, whatever Brussels says.

It’s not that Europe is a bad idea, just the same as the — oh so different — United States isn’t either. Europe, and I mean the European Union, is a place where we can sit down and talk instead of being gunned down and invaded. It has its benefits, especially in what concerns public spending on weapons. But neither Americans nor Europeans can permit themselves to be complacent. Europe needs to recover its identity or Brexit will be just the beginning, and America needs to keep an eye on what’s happening over here, because no one’s immune to a plague of stupid people corrupting the power. Although I suspect that in the end, whatever happens in the future, here in Europe, we’ll always be jealous of the size of your missiles, Reagan’s politics, Scarlett Johansson’s beauty, George Clooney’s elegance and having a president who tweets all in caps.

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jokikudistrict · 6 years

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i want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way | akihiko | re: seishiro, tomomi, mm & attn: everyone, mm

This was getting chaotic by the second and when Kimiko moved to hide away, all Akihiko could do was step in front of her to be a shield between her and the rest of the courtroom. Sure everyone had a right to be angry and lash out, but he didn't want them to lose focus or lose themselves in the process. He'd already experienced that pain before.

In any case, they were getting off track.

"Seishiro... That bomb mentioned from those messages was about me and what I did in the park. It wasn't a bomb. I just caused an explosion, no one got hurt in all of it."

At least he could clear that up for them.

When Tomomi spoke up, Akihiko made an attempt to move to go to his bag but hesitated. He wanted to stay by Kimiko's side but... He sighed and leaned down, whispering something to her before going back to his podium. He didn't even have a chance to gather the proper documents before the buzzing from the PDAs came.

His tongue clicked. Obviously Akihiko was very annoyed by this but just looking at the question made him just about tremble in anger. He grabbed a pen out of his bag before writing things on his arms just to complete this. After he sent the answer, Akihiko paused staring at his PDA. He sent another message and received on back. He wanted to throw his PDA but instead chose to send two more messages before slamming the damn thing down on his podium. Hopefully the sound would jolt some people awake and alert.

"This bastard has been toying with us since day one and I've just about had it! We're holding a mastermind trial, no if, ands, or buts about it!"

This was the first time he had raised his voice with such a clear and confident tone. He was lashing out, almost. Either way, his anger seemed to be mostly contained as he grabbed the papers from his bag. Before he left, he seemed to punch in a rather long vote. With that done, Akihiko walked over to Tomomi, handing them over.

"Read this, it'll make things clear."

That was direct just towards the other, but now Akihiko had rushed back to Kimiko's side and still shielded her.

"No more bickering, no more fighting! For Beleth's sake, we're all better than this... We can find out who's doing this to us, why, and most important how we're going to make them pay dearly. But we have to work together for that to even be a bit of a possibility! So let's start getting our f-cking acts together and act like we're not completely hopeless. Because like it or not, all of us are better together like this! E- Even..." his confidence was wavering but he swallowed back his anxieties. "Even someone like me isn't useless anymore so the rest of you have no excuse for not helping out!"

Akihiko took a deep breath for continuing.

"The mastermind, the person behind all of this is a twisted person, completely rotten to the core. I don't think he's any of us... I don't know if anyone else had seen it, but in the city hall there were a ton of these!"

He picked up a couple of newspaper articles, holding it out before passing it over to Arisa who was the closest now to him.

"You can read it all there and even see it. Sure we all know Keiichi Kojima and that's such a striking similarity but... look at the dates! There's no way any technology like Keiichi could've been around back then! Not only that but even the questions we got. This a--hole thinks he's so f-cking clever giving us a math pop quiz."

He turned his attention to Karoshi-kuma with a sharp glare.

"Huh, Mister Keiichi Kojima SHSL Mathematician?"

Sure that probably didn't make sense to anyone else but him and maybe some others after they read it, but he was sure that they had their person.

#Jokiku IC #Chapter 5 #Prince Noctem Abel Rose #Chapter 5 Trial #submission

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amicitiaas · 6 years

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[FIC]Paterfamilias

Synopsis: Ignis comes to realize that family is important for an Amicitia, especially if you're dating one. {Established Relationship. Babysitting.}

Characters: Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia, Iris Amicitia, Talcott Hester

Pairing: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia

Wordcount: 6965

Rating: T (There’s one F-bomb)

When Gladio texted him confirming a night to themselves, he was ecstatic; an understatement, but their schedules had been mismatched for nearly a month and a half. Squeezing in time here and there beyond an hour or two was difficult, to say the least, and as the Crown Prince’s Advisor, his scheduling ability—and Gladio’s, if he was doling out credit— were top notch. Their last “evening to themselves” as it were, was three months ago after his formal oaths into the Crownsguard.

About a year into their relationship now, they considered themselves lucky to have few instances where their work and lifestyle had cancelled plans, but with both their formal oaths completed, and Gladio’s formal oaths as Shield, now the difficulty was beginning to show. He didn’t mind, welcomed the challenge actually, but knowing he had Gladio’s affections stoked the selfish desires of himself he usually cast aside. There was a certain satisfaction opening up the tabloids and seeing the speculation of “Lucis’ most eligible bachelor” and knowing the real answer. That he was off the market and very dedicated to his relationship.

Ignis pulled in to the Amicitia home garage, his Crown car given the passcode for the day. He was surprised it was Clarus who had insisted he have it daily, the only other people outside the family with unlimited access were Cor, Dustin, and Monica, and the latter two were his right and left hands. But then again, Lord Clarus was always big on family, including close friends, and while the Amicitias, all of them, were always well-liked, they kept only a handful of confidants. Perhaps that explained the screaming of children filling the house. Gladio had warned him his dad was babysitting his sister Felicia’s children, something that happened often enough. He recalled that Gladio speculated he’d probably have more siblings if they weren’t Shields.

Knocking would be futile against the sound of feet running up the stairs, the giggling and screaming not withstanding. He sent a text to Gladio to let him know he was there and walked past the mudroom and into the kitchen, observing the three extra pairs of small shoes that weren’t Iris’. His observation also extended to the absolute mess the kitchen was in. It looked as if they had started baking something with chocolate, but there were too much ingredients out for cookies, and the sheer amount of eggs pointed to brownies or fudge. He cringed at the small chocolatey fingerprints on every counter and the large white handprint on the fridge door, unsure if it belonged to Gladio or his father.

Carefully, he navigated through the disaster area to the sliding door that separated the dining and living rooms, hearing heavy footsteps as he shut it.

Gladio came down the stairs, half his shirt and shorts wet, carrying a fussy Talcott in his arms. His eyes had that tight crease at the edges that hinted to his weariness but he still smiled when he laid eyes on him, his face brightening.

“Hey babe,” he said when he reached the foot of stairs. “Probably gonna have to cancel tonight. My dad had to head to the Citadel so it’s me, again.”

Ignis tried not to let his disappointment show, but he was surprised in all the times Lord Clarus babysat, he’d only been called out two or three times, leaving Gladio in charge.

“It happens. Probably that blasted Council vote on the historic district.”

The Council has been back and forth on whether to expand the district to include the old Aegis buildings that have been a decrepit eyesore for decades, home to transients, and restore it for preservation as an open air museum, or demolish them, keeping the old courtyard and implementing a sustainable park with archives, accessible housing for immigrants, and artisan shops of crafts from outside the Crown City. The deadlock was caused by a few council members who were generally opposed to anything that pertained to non Crown-City born citizens; it was quite the annoyance. Even the King’s Shield was beginning to lose his calm demeanor in the course of their discussions. After last night’s recess, he was pretty sure only he and the King were meant to hear that the meeting was, in Lord Clarus’ own words, ‘fucking ridiculous.’

Gladio sighed. “Probably. He mentioned something about strangling Lord Mensa before he left.”

Ignis checked his phone just to be sure. “Huh. I wasn’t notified. But he does mention that under his breath fairly frequently, so maybe he’s just following through on his promise.”

Laughing, he bounced Talcott a few times. “Yep, we’re pretty big on promises in this family.”

“Your father including Talcott in his brood this weekend?” The boy was three now, old enough to play, or try to at least, with the older children, but still rather small for his age. Or perhaps just in comparison to Gladio.

He nodded. “I think he misses when Iris was a baby. My Aunt told me when Pia was born, he used to visit them a ton just to play with her. Pretty sure that’s why there’s such a close age gap between them.”

“Ah,” he smiled, imagining how the intimidating Shield must have looked with a small child in his arms. “Is he the culprit of the chocolate explosion in the kitchen?”

“Nope,” Gladio said, ruffling Talcott’s sandy hair. “Little man got caught in the crossfire. Well, we all did. Clara and Justin decided the chocolate was better in each other’s hair and it escalated from there.”

Ignis smiled, spotting the chocolate that remained on his neck and cheek, and stepped closer to wipe off a small portion with his thumb. “A Shield couldn’t stop a scuffle of small children in his own house?” He slipped the digit against his tongue to lick it off, enjoying how Gladio’s attention went to it.

Gladio hummed in approval. “I did. Iris is giving Clara a bath and Pia is taking care of Justin. I just finished with this guy.”

As if on cue, there was a thud from upstairs and the sound of large amounts of water splashing where it should not be. Ignis raised is eyebrows in concern and Gladio sighed, closing his eyes as he contained his anger. After a second, he handed Talcott to him and ran up the stairs, two at a time. “If what I think is happening is happening, it better not be!”

Ignis was left still holding Talcott an armslength away, quite unsure of whether he should still hold him or put him down. He’d seen the boy walk, but perhaps Gladio was afraid he’d go back to the kitchen? It also occurred to him how easily Gladio handed off a toddler to take care of business like it was an old habit.

“Well, you’ve had quite the evening.” He smiled at Talcott and awkwardly brought him closer and figured how to balance him on his hip, then decided to just hold him like he’d seen others do.

Gladio’s voice echoed through the house. “Why would you do this? All you had to do is take a bath like normal!”

He made a face at the toddler. “And by the sound of it, it seems we’re both in for more.”

“Iggy’s glasses!” the boy said, reaching for them.

He tilted his head out of reach. “No. Not for playing.” Logic told him he had to be firm with small children, but still instilling. Looking around for a toy, he spotted a board book about animals. “Here,” he said, “Let’s look at the pictures—er, and words.” At three, he should be able to read right? He had read at two years old, and Noctis at three as well, so it wasn’t out of the question. Talcott was exceptionally bright. He could see his attention always darting between speakers in conversation, his vocabulary very broad for toddler as well.

Duscae Animals the title proclaimed, and the distinction between regions hinted at this book being for older readers. “Hrmm. Not bad.” Making his way to the couch, he sat and balanced Talcott on his lap. He opened the book. “Alright, let’s see. ‘Garulas. Garulas eat grass on the plains of Duscae. They live in herds. A herd is—’”

Talcott shook his head and squealed. “No!” Then he made his limbs rigid to try and slip out of Ignis’ grip.

“Not garulas, then?” He sighed, looking something else while struggling to maintain control over him. The thought occurred to him that maybe the children hadn’t eaten yet, if the kitchen was any indication, but they were also making dessert, and he knew Gladio wouldn’t make that poor a choice. Was it bedtime then? It was 7pm, certainly late for a just-turned-three-year-old. Perhaps he might join Clarus in strangling Lord Mensa for ruining his evening as well.

When the planking didn’t work to free himself, Talcott started going red in the face and pushing his arms away. “No. No,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry, Talcott. I can’t let you roam.”

Then his tiny face did the bunching that all children’s did when they were about to cry.

Ignis huffed, scooping him up and standing, trying to emulate what Gladio had done earlier to calm him. “Oh dear. I’ve gone and upset you now.”

“No, you didn’t,” Gladio said, peeking over the balcony, the whole front of his shirt completely wet now. He stopped to pull it over his head, and Ignis had to wonder if it was to put on a show for him. It was always a treat to see the physique he worked hard on and the quickly filling in tattoo. “Don’t pander to him either, that’s exactly what he wants. I fell for it.”

As he came down the stairs, he smiled at Ignis, that soft expression that enhanced the fine features of his face. He knew that Ignis was admiring him, not that he was particularly hiding it. When he reached the bottom, they held eye contact for a moment before Talcott tried to grab his glasses again.

Gladio frowned. “Lemme’ toss this in the laundry real quick and I’ll take him.” He slid the door to the kitchen open again and went to the laundry room, which he could have easily accessed from the other stairs on the other end of the hall nearer to the bathrooms. So, he either took this way to check on him or show off. Or both. Either way, Ignis loved every opportunity to enjoy the neat cuts and lines of his back and imagine how Gladio would look once his tattoo was completed. A trueborn shield.

He felt a pang of sorrow recalling nearly a year ago when Gladio had expressed his decision to undertake such a grand commitment. His father had just revealed to him that Noctis was the Chosen King and he felt it appropriate to make an equally bold statement as his Shield. Not a week after, the King had pulled him aside and told him the prophecy too, seeing how it had affected their relationship. Or perhaps it had been Clarus’ observation? Regardless, they both now knew what awaited Noctis and it was their job to guide him, support him, protect him. Even now, he still grasped with the full understanding of how both the King and his Shield had prepared them differently than their positions were. Perhaps that was why they had supported their relationship? To counteract the future?

“Hey,” Gladio said softly. “Come back to me.”

“Hrmm?” He focused on Gladio suddenly in front of him, now wearing a light cotton tee.

“You were deep in thought. Usually you’re pretty cute, but you look concerned.” He reached for Talcott who rested his head against his chest. “Everything alright?”

Ignis smiled to reassure him. “Just a thought. Everything alright upstairs?”

The corners of Gladio’s mouth pulled down and he furrowed his brows, unhappy with the deflection. “Yeah. Just some shenanigans,” he emphasized with a tired breath. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. You sure you’re alright? I’m sorry tonight didn’t really go as planned.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m already here, might as well make the most of it.” He gave one of his coy smiles he knew drove him crazy. “Only been here twenty minutes and you already had an excuse to remove your shirt.”

Gladio grinned. “I don’t need an excuse. But,” he teased, "I could called Cor.”

He tilted his head, incapable of escaping his charm. “Isn’t the Marshal only to be called during an emergency?” He knew Cor was “off the clock”—as much as they forced him to be—but he was always on-call for the King and, to a lesser extent, Clarus. He was the designated guardian of both Iris and Gladio, since he wasn’t twenty yet.

Gladio looked tempted for a moment, then thought better. “Yeah, but that’s only for emergencies. ‘There are emergencies and there are emergencies,’” he recited. “He hates, hates babysitting. Unless it’s Iris.”

Yes, Iris was Cor’s only exception. His favorite. And she knew it.

“But I’m pretty sure this classifies as an emergency.”

Raising his eyebrows, Ignis awaited what came next. “Oh?”

“I really want to kiss my boyfriend. He works so hard.”

He rolled his eyes despite feeling how his cheeks warmed up. “Come now, I work just as hard as you.”

“I know. That’s why we haven’t had any alone time lately,” he said as he leaned in for a quick kiss.

Talcott put a hard stop on that when he reached for his glasses again, this time smudging the lenses.

“Whoops, sorry about that. He’s fussy. He didn’t take his nap and then all the excitement earlier. It’s bedtime.”

Taking his glasses off and cleaning them, he said, “And here I thought it was my reading.”

“Were you reading the Duscae book?”

He nodded.

“Ah. I think he’s tired of it. He’ll read a book like twice and then he’s done. I gotta see if Iris has any old books that she doesn’t read anymore that are appropriate for him. He’s a bright kid. Probably got another Iggy on our hands,” he grinned.

Ignis put his glasses back on. “Well then, maybe I should choose some books for him.”

“Oh no, I can’t handle two of you!”

“‘Handle me, he says,’” peering sidelong at him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And who says I’m the one who needs handling?”

Gladio simply shrugged. “Well, if you help me get the brats to clean up and get to bed, you can handle me any way you like.” He waggled his eyebrows, earning a slap to the shoulder. “Hey.”

“That’s for saying that in front of him.”

He held his hand up in apology. “Okay.” Then he covered Talcott’s ear and leaned forward again. “You sure that’s not some of your handling?”

Ignis shook his head. “You are incorrigible.”

“Which means ‘handsome,’ right, Talcott?” Gladio tried to impress upon him. His head still resting on Gladio’s shoulder, Talcott stared sleepily at both of them before turning his head the other way.

“Case in point.”

“Wow, tough crowd tonight.”

Spying a blanket with printed cactuars on it draped unceremoniously on the couch, Ignis collected it and started up the stairs. “Shall we? Clean up then bedtime, was it?” That was one child down. Four more to go. Perhaps they might still salvage the evening.

Gladio followed and they went up to the second floor. At the top, Ignis tossed over his shoulder, “They’ve all eaten?”

“Iggy, c’mon, it’s me. They ate all their vegetables too. Didn’t even force ‘em.”

“Impressive. Can you get the Prince to do that too?”

“Sorry, babe, that’s outside my job description. And I’d probably break my oath. If I tried to force him to eat his veggies, someone’s gonna get hurt and it ain’t me or the vegetables.”

Ignis hummed in agreement. He’d nearly reached that point too. Luckily it was in his job description and ordered by the King, so to speak. “Where’s he sleeping?”

“Uh, my room. Until Jared comes back from poker night. Sorry. I’d have him sleep downstairs but we’re gonna clean and the kids’ll wake him up.”

“Speaking of the other kids…” He hadn’t heard anything since Gladio went up to check on the splashing.

“Yeah could you check on them? It’s a little too quiet. Clara should be with Iris in her room and Pia and Justin should either still be cleaning up the water that decided to leave the tub or in the guest room.”

Nodding, he handed him the blanket and made to turn and head down the hall but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the image of Talcott’s peaceful sleeping head on Gladio’s shoulder and the ease at which he handled and navigated with the child made him pause. It seemed almost second nature to him, but surely he hadn’t handled a child that small in five years, even longer if he considered Iris. And yet, Gladio made sure to place Talcott down gently on his bed and then use his many pillows as a barrier against the edge. He was transfixed at the sight, his heart welling at the many skills Gladio was adept at, including family, but at the same time, he felt like a voyeur, as if this was not something that was meant for him.

He observed further; Gladio covered Talcott with the blanket and even from this distance, he could hear the soft sigh that escaped his lips as he watched him sleep. Other emotions he couldn’t place jumbled in his chest when Gladio stretched a single finger and brushed the back of it gently against the boy’s cheek, almost an absent motion. Then he smiled and swept Talcott’s hair aside.

The sound of children giggling broke Ignis from his thoughts and he quickly returned to his original task. Determining it to originate from Iris’ room, he headed further down the hall to her room. Her door was ajar and he could see all four of them sitting on the ground in the circle. Clara whispered into Justin’s ear and he whispered into Iris’ ear. She in turn then whispered in Pia’s and then Pia said it out loud, but the phrase was odd. “You have to throw that?”

Everyone laughed and Clara said, “No. I said exitus acta probat.” Ignis raised his eyebrows. He had to give her credit on her Ancient Lucian at eight years old.

Pia sighed. “You didn’t tell us we were doing Ancient Lucian.”

“Yeah,” Iris chimed in. “And whatever Justin told me definitely didn’t sound like that.”

Justin made a face. “Psh, yeah I did. It’s my turn. And I’m doing something in Ancient Lucian.”

Before they got started again, Ignis decided to knock on the door. Four pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly and for a brief moment he felt out of sorts, unsure what to say to them.

“Hey Iggy,” Iris greeted. “Wanna play Telephone with us?”

He regained his composure, smiling at Iris. “Uh, I appreciate the offer, but we need to clean the kitchen.”

Clara and Justin complained noisily and Pia sighed again but Iris had her face set and nodded, standing to head down. She knew the wrath of her brother and father.

“Hey,” Gladio said behind him. “What are you twerps waiting for? You heard him. Ignis has as much authority in this household as I do.”

“Why? Because he’s your boyfriend?” Justin teased, getting up with his sisters.

“Because he’s an adult and yes, because he’s my boyfriend.” He angled at the door so they could pass. “C’mon let’s go. And Talcott is already sleeping so no noise up here.” He looked up at Ignis, smiling.

Iris led her cousins down to the kitchen, Gladio and Ignis at the end of the line.

“So I have authority now?” Ignis whispered.

Gladio grinned. “Yeah. Even authority over me. It’s almost my bedtime too.”

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head.

“But really though, they’ll listen to you. They’re good kids. The best, actually. Amicitias.” He watched his cousins go down the stairs and shrugged. “Well, Pia. The twins get excitable.”

When they got to the kitchen, they all lined up and waited for Gladio to start speaking. He went to a drawer by the sink and pulled out a handful of hand towels, then grabbed a container of antibacterial wipes from under the sink and placed them all on the counter.

“Alright, delegation,” he started. “Twins, you’re on counter duty since you decided chocolate goes in hair. But, you better make sure no chocolate goes anywhere else, including yourselves or it’s another shower for you.”

Clara started. “But Justin—”

“—Nope. You put chocolate in his hair too. Wipes first then I’ll come in with with rags. Pia, you take care of putting ingredients away and wiping down handles. Iris, you’re on dish duty.”

“—I don’t know where everything goes but I’ll do my best,” Pia said.

“Alright, Pia you’re on dishes, Iris you’re ingredients and handles and then helping her when you’re done. Twenty minutes tops. Got it? Questions?”

“Can I play music?” Iris asked.

“If it’ll make you clean faster, but remember, not too loud.”

Iris was the first one to move and grabbed a few wipes and a rag, pulling out her phone from her pocket to play music on the sound system. Pia, Clara, and Justin following suit, the kitchen now a busy workstation. Gladio got a rag and made it wet, ready to wipe counters.

“And where am I stationed?” Ignis asked.

“Huh?” Gladio looked up from the rag he was folding. “Oh you don’t have to help, babe. We got this.”

Ignis gave him a withering look. Surely he knew by now he was an impeccable and expert organizer. It would be a shame to let his talents go unused. “I seem to remember certain agreements about the speed of cleaning and bedtime, so we get to other activities,” he said under his breath so Gladio had to lean in close to hear, his grin spreading when he heard him.

“Well then, by all means, Iggy. And here I thought I was the eager one.”

Picking up a clean towel, he gave him a coy smile. “You are. But I don’t mind a little incentive here and there. Work hard, play harder. That sort of thing.” He left him to his implication and went to dry dishes Pia was done washing.

He was fairly certain he knew were everything went; cups in the cupboard near the fridge, plates in the one on the counter island, knives in the woodblock near the juicer—Jared’s organization. Or perhaps Master Clarus’? Either way, he appreciated its efficiency, and the only true way to test a kitchen was to cook in it, and he enjoyed cooking here on occasion. Pia handed him a can-opener however and he drew a blank, unsure where it went. He didn’t think he’d ever used one here, always trying to focus on fresh ingredients.

Gladio was instructing the twins on something over at the island, so he turned to Iris. “Iris, where does this belong?”

She squinted at it, thinking. “Um, that drawer there on the right?”

He tried it, fairly certain it was the giant utensil drawer.

“Oh, sorry. Maybe this one?” she said. “With the wine and bottle openers?”

“Seems appropriate. Thanks.”

He returned to Pia who was doing a marvelous job at dishes, and he was glad Gladio put one of the older children in charge of it. Although at fourteen, Pia was less of a child and more of a young lady, and he was surprised she opted to spend the weekend here with her younger siblings instead of with her friends, but then again, Gladio and even his father took Iris and Pia to the mall and it was a testament to their strong family ties.

“So Ignis,” Pia started, working on a mixing bowl, “You specialize in daggers and polearms, right?”

“Correct, that is my chosen specialization but I do favor katanas if I must choose a sword.”

“Cool. Yeah, our grandmother used a katana, but not sure if that’s what I’m really into. I’ve seen you fight and you use more gymnastics than other Crownsguard.”

“More of a preference. I have the advantage of being rather tall.” He was unaware other Amicitia members were studying his techniques but that was how he eventually decided how he would train. Pia was near the age of formal acceptance into the Crownsguard but he had also heard she was taking her time with her decision, though certainly, joining the Crownsguard was not a light decision.

She laughed. “So do we. But there hasn’t been an Amicitia who wielded either daggers or polearms in several generations. Maybe ever.”

Ignis smiled, wondering if his role as Prince’s Advisor made others believe he was to be consulted on everything. “You can be the first. And if you want some hands on training, I’d be happy to give you some. If I’m honest, I haven’t lifted a greatsword in two years and my form was dismal. Don’t tell Gladio.” He barely scored an above average for his proficiency during training.

That seemed to cheer her up. “Thanks. Mostly everyone in this family uses greatswords, even my mother, but that’s not really for me, you know?” She handed him the bowl and he set to drying it.

“Of course. There’s no one weapon that’s suitable for everyone. From what I’ve seen, Iris is quite the prodigy in her close quarter combat. It’d be interesting to see what she might choose as her weapon.”

“She’s scary. Don’t ever spar with her. I had a huge bruise on my thigh for two weeks.”

“Who’s scary?” Iris came up behind them, finished with her tasks.

“Your brother,” Ignis covered, garnering a small smile of relief from Pia.

“Gladdy? Psssh.” Iris laughed hard. “He’s a big softy. You should know, you kiss him and everything.”

Oh he did know. “Except when he’s hungry.”

“Oh yeah, that. Anyway, I can take over, Ignis.” He handed her the towel and promptly stepped on a cheeseball. Where it came from, he didn’t know as there were no chips in sight, but it drew his attention to the state of the floor and he sighed, heading to the mudroom to grab the broom.

Glancing at his watch, he noted they were making good time.

Gladio must have caught sight of him because he said, “Keeping an eye on that clock, huh?”

“You did say twenty minutes.”

“You don’t think they’ll get done in that time?”

“I…didn’t think they’d be doing so well, actually,” he admitted. Although he did seem to catch the group at their rowdiest. “However, the point has been made that these are Amicitia children so their temperament and ability is exceptional.”

He tossed a rag over his shoulder, leaning on a counter in the door frame of the mudroom. “Well, temperament is up in the air. We are stubborn.”

Gladio was always very self-aware, including that his bulk blocked him from returning to the kitchen. Smiling up at him, Ignis added, “Ah yes, I must agree. You are exceptionally stubborn.”

“And yet you put up with me,” he said, crossing his arms.

Ignis hummed. “It is quite the mystery,” he said before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. He loved how his face brightened whenever he surprised him with small intimacies.

Gladio angled to let him pass and followed behind him. “Kids aren’t so bad,” he brought up again. “Once they’re old enough they can do pretty much anything. Really good problem solvers if you don’t mind creative solutions. And if you have more than one, they help each other out. Four’s a bit much for me though. Two maybe.”

At the last sentence, Ignis paused. “Two?” he said before realizing he said it out loud.

“Yeah, maybe. I liked having Iris around. The gap’s maybe a bit too big though.” He continued back to check up on the twins’ progress.

Still in the doorway, that odd distancing feeling that he’d been experiencing all night came at him in full force. Gladio wanted two children. He’d said it so casually, so absolutely, and even in his mind’s eye vision of the future, Ignis had always known that Gladio would have an heir one day, as his line demanded. But he had never factored in himself, that an Amicitia heir from Gladio would be his child too. A child—or children, had never been a topic that came up. Why should it have if they were both still young? If Gladio was already prepped to be head of household that it was ingrained in him? If the implication was plain as day simply because he was an Amicitia? Even Clarus, in his thorough preparation, had not brought up the issue, despite everything, from their shared duty to Noctis, to potential issues and formalities if they married, to welcoming him in to their family. Because it was plain as day. And yes, even Lord Clarus, with his intimate relationship with the King, could not escape the issue of heirs. And it had been an issue—

“— Iggy.”

Gladio had gently touched his arm, breaking his thoughts. Ignis ignored his concerned expression and forced a smile, busying himself with sweeping. After a few seconds, he could still feel Gladio’s eyes, but then Clara declared that she and Justin were done.

“Good,” Gladio said. “Looks like all of you are done. Good job.”

“So we can go now?” Justin asked.

“Nope, it’s early bedtime for both of you. Don’t forget that this was your doing.”

Both Clara and Justin protested. “But Uncle Clarus was going to let us watch a movie!”

“And I was too,” he said firmly, “but you decided to cause trouble so bedtime. Go. Before I give you the usual punishment in this family.” Ignis understood punishment to an Amicitia wasn’t lost privileges. It was additional workouts and training.

“You two,” he turned to Iris and Pia. “”You can do what you want but be in bed by midnight.”

“Midnight?” Iris complained.

“I said be in bed, not sleeping. You can watch a movie or read a book or whatever but be in your room, alright?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. C’mon, Pia.”

Gladio returned to wiping the counter, but Ignis knew it was clean and he was waiting until all the kids went upstairs.

“Surprisingly lenient,” he said of the option.

“Well, they didn’t actually do anything wrong, they helped clean up, and also gave the twins a bath.” Putting the rag down on the counter, he crossed over to him. “You okay? Lost you for a sec back there.”

Ignis found he couldn’t meet Gladio’s gaze; he was a sucker for those big amber eyes, but they were also dangerously perceptive. One look and he would know. “You’ve nothing to worry about. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” he pressed.

Sighing, he nodded. “It is.” This was a long conversation, perhaps best saved for another day. But then he glanced at Gladio’s concerned expression and he knew it would trouble him until he said something. It was in his nature to solve things headon and ensure his loved ones were unhurt. Ignis pushed his glasses further up his nose, glancing aside. “It’s something else that—” His eyes landed on the refrigerator, on an old crayon drawing of Iris’ that had a depiction of her holding hands with ‘Daddy and Gladdy.’ That swell of disorientation came rushing back and he changed his mind. He couldn’t bring it up here, not in his house, surrounded by his family. “—Nevermind. I-I’m overreacting.”

“Hey.” Immediately, Gladio rushed through the kitchen to him and took both his hands in his, tilting his head so Ignis would look at him. “Hey, you never overreact, okay?” he said softly. “Ignis, look at me.” He gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and he glanced up. “You don’t. I over react,” he joked, garnering a small smile from him.

“But,” he continued, “You do tend to overcompensate, and that’s okay. You’re always thinking about things before I ever do, which is a good thing. Then I come and ruin things with my big mouth, and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”

“You haven’t. I just—” Ignis paused, considering how to explain the tide of emotions that overcame him so quickly, because he immediately did not want Gladio to believe he’d done something wrong when he was just sharing his thoughts and aspirations. Perhaps he had found no other way to bring it up than here in his home, surrounded by his family because that was the only place he could do so. He met Gladio’s gaze, his best friend, his partner, his confidant, the last person he wanted to hurt with his struggles. He took a steadying breath. “Earlier…you mentioned having children and for some reason it finally occurred to me that that was also an answer for me.” He could see Gladio’s expression begin to change, to hone in. He glanced aside. “And I, admittedly, haven’t put too much thought into it. The formalities and options yes, but not this. Not family life. Not the reality of it.”

Gladio’s expression was unreadable, an indication he was deep in thought. “Iggy..”

“With Talcott, you handled him marvelously and the other children, the discipline. You’re a natural.” He couldn’t stop the slight tremor in his voice because he really was a natural. Gladio was many things, is many things, will be many things, and he knew that being a good father was one of those.

Gladio brought his hands up, trailing over his arms and finally drew him into an embrace. His chin pressed against his temple. Ignis’ molded into the shape of Gladio’s embrace, his arms under his, hands grasping at the broad expanse of his back. There was no other place he felt safest.

“I didn’t learn all that overnight. Most of it is just being an older brother and some of it is just watching what my dad does. It’s just practice. I dropped Iris once. And I after I was so scared to hold her. Course I was just a kid, but, then when the twins were four, I lost Justin at the mall and I was so scared. I was so afraid someone had kidnapped him because of who we are and I just couldn’t stop thinking how scared he was, if they’d hurt him. For a long time, I told myself I wouldn’t have any children. It was too much of a risk. They can’t help what family they’re born into. The duty, the service, the danger.”

His arms encircled him tighter. “And then trying to find a partner that didn’t want to marry me because of my name. How could I know they would protect our children? Then,” he sighed, and Ignis could hear his heart beat faster. “I realized I already found someone who cared about who I was. Who knew to nurture, to protect, who was intelligent, who saw the true nature of people. Who guided a scared boy to a confident prince who will lead a kingdom.”

Pulling his head back to look at him, Gladio grinned, the corners of his eyes wet. “And the best part was he loves me too. He understands everything I have to do even if I’m to afraid to admit it.”

Just when he couldn’t believe he could love Gladiolus Amicitia any more than he already did, he had to go and say things like this that made him a complete mess. Sniffling, he pressed his face into the warmth of his chest. “You give me far too much credit.”

Gladio laughed, sniffling, as well. “What? You get like all the credit, babe. You’re the best. You really are. And, I know you didn’t say it, but, honestly? I’m scared too. Sometimes I wonder if I really want kids, but then I remember that I swore an oath to protect Noct, to guide him and that includes providing shields for his children.” He turned his face slightly to kiss the top of his head. “And whether they’re our kids or just mine, you’re still gonna influence them. Noct will ask you for advice. Or I will. Or,” he realized, “Noct will definitely ask you for advice on his kids.”

That brought a smile to his face. Yes, Gladio, or even himself with children seemed plausible, but Noctis? That would be quite the treat. “He’ll understand how frustrating it is to feed someone vegetables.”

“I cannot wait for that day. And hey, just between you and me, if you want kids—if you want my kids, ours will eat their veggies. That’s an Amicitia guarantee.”

He leaned back to make sure Gladio saw how high he had arched his eyebrows. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Heh.” Gladio pulled him closer again to press another kiss to his lips. “Deal.”

For a few moments, they remained like that in the kitchen then he saw a spark in Gladio’s eye.

“Hey, c’mon, I want to show you something.”

“Oh?” Ignis said, intrigued. He remembered the kitchen was clean and all the kids were in bed, so to speak.

“Not that,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “Well, maybe after, but let’s go to my dad’s study.”

Following Gladio up the east wing stairs from the mudroom, Ignis was even more intrigued. Clarus’ study was a treasure unto itself. Old weapons, from the ancient era, were stored up there, but if he was truly honest, it was the private collection of journals of many past Shields, and even a couple of Lucian kings, amongst forgotten tomes and out of print historical collections. He was only of a very select handful to know, but there were secrets that could upturn the kingdom in here. Regardless, it was always a very high honor whenever Clarus let him borrow a book, or indeed, suggest he read one to strengthen his abilities and decisions as future advisor.

There were many highlights to House Amicitia, but the study was its centerpiece, a glass and wood vaulted ceiling, being a large feature. When they stepped in, soft lights came on automatically, part of a climate control to preserve the books. Gladio brought them to a bookshelf nearest the desk, selected a red book and a blue one from the center shelf and led them to the couch. Both their knees touched the coffee table and he wondered if anyone ever sat here.

Ignis watched how Gladio opened them with a sort of reverence.

“My grandmother made these when Iris and I were born.”

They were picture albums, each of different milestones from their birth to fairly recently. Gladio stopped at a picture of his father holding a newborn. “Here. Check this out. My dad was thirty-two when he had me. And here, forty when Iris was born.”

Most would think it odd to see the Shield of the King smiling so broadly, but here, he was just Clarus, a new father, an excited father, but also one that looked way in over his head, especially with Gladio.

“Yeah,” Gladio said softly, looking at his father’s pictures. “We got some time on us. We don’t have to be ready now or even in five years. In ten, twenty, fifteen, however long it takes.” He shifted a bit in the couch to face him better. “Or, if you don’t want that we’ll figure something out. Or,” He glanced away, unsure, but held Ignis’ hand again. “If that’s a deal breaker with us, then that’s what happens.” Smiling, he met his eyes. “I want you to be happy in this relationship. And between you and me, we already have someone we take care of.”

Ignis grinned. “And a golden-haired boy.”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “Him too. I have a feeling he’ll be sticking around with us.”

“Actually, of the four of us, Prompto is actually the most self-sufficient. Latch-key kid, I believe it’s called, but he’s well-equipped.”

“I know. Only makes me want to take care of him even more.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Didn’t it go without saying that those who grew up with little familial interaction were drawn to it? Is that what drew him to Gladio? Or Gladio to him? Perhaps he thought the same thing, because Gladio pulled him close on the couch, resting his arm across his shoulders. Ignis rested his head against his chest.

“And hey,” Gladio added, after swiping his hair aside to kiss his forehead. My dad had two heirs. It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’m not putting all this pressure on Iris, but she might have children one day and she knows the duties of our family. And my cousins, too. Pia, or Justin or Clara. My aunt’s been training them. And sometimes my dad and I. We know how to cover our bases.”

“You are too good to me, Gladiolus Amicitia.” He truly was.

“I know,” he said. “And speaking of bases covered, the kids are all in bed and we’re alone,” he insinuated.

Ignis picked his head up to eye him carefully. “In your father’s study.”

Gladio leaned in, his lips barely an inch away. “In my father’s locked study. That the kids are forbidden to enter. Well, except Iris but she doesn’t come in here too much. Isn’t this room one of your kinks?”

Ignis licked his lips, eager and horrified at the same time as he let him push him onto the cushions. “A regrettably correct assumption.”

Gladio’s grin was wide. “I know.”

#Gladnis #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #ffxv #scriptura

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monicaqli-blog · 5 years

Text

SA: Chernobyl

A well-known example of things going very wrong. It was a disaster waiting to happen

In the early morning hours of 26th April 1986, the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine (formerly part of the Soviet Union) exploded, killing 2 workers instantly, and another 28 from radiation poisoning in the first four months after the disaster. Between 1991 and 2015, ~ 20,000 cases of thyroid cases were diagnosed in patients who were under the age of 18 at the time of the accident. There is now a 2600 km2 "exclusion zone," restricting everyone except for scientists and government officials.

Context

The Chernobyl Power Complex consisted of four nuclear reactors. In most nuclear reactors, water is used as a coolant and to moderate the nuclear core by removing the excess heat and steam. But Chernobyl’s used graphite to moderate and to keep a continuous nuclear reaction occurring in the core. As the nuclear core heated and produced more steam bubbles, the core became more reactive, not less, creating a positive-feedback loop.

Nearby, there was also a newly built city of Pripyat. Pripyat was the nearest town to the power plant at just under 3 km away, and housed almost 50,000 people at the time. The smaller and older town, Chernobyl, was 15 km away and home to about 12,000 residents.

A partial core meltdown occurred in reactor 1 in 1982. The reactor was repaired and put back into operation within months. The extent of the accident was not made public until 1985.

Event

At around 1am on 25th April, prior to a routine shutdown, the reactor crew at Chernobyl 4 began preparing for a test to determine how long turbines would spin and supply power to the main circulating pumps following a loss of main electrical power supply. While this test had been carried out at Chernobyl the previous year, the power from the turbine ran down too rapidly, so the new voltage regulator designs were to be tested.

A series of operator actions, including the disabling of automatic shutdown mechanisms, preceded the attempted test. During the test (which lasted for many hours), the emergency core cooling system was shut down. By the time that the operator decided to shut down the reactor, the reactor was in an extremely unstable condition.

The reactor exploded at 1:23am on the 26th April, when it reached 120 times its full power from an uncontrolled power surge. The 1000-ton lid is lifted by the first explosion and the release of radiation starts. A chemical reaction produced hydrogen, and this hydrogen exploded, causing the second explosion.

Worker in radiation gear cleaning up after the explosion.

The fire from the explosions burned for 10 days. As the plant did not have the fortified containment structure common to most nuclear power plants elsewhere in the world, radioactive material escaped into the environment.

The town of Pripyat was evacuated on 27 and by 14th May, 116,000 people that had been living within a 30-km radius had been evacuated and later relocated. The 38 casualties as a direct result of the accident were firemen and plant workers, who had either died from the blast or from acute radiation syndrome. Indirect casualties rage from 4,000 to 93,000 (multiple organisations have largely varying estimates).

Chernobyl will not be safe for human habitation for 200,000 years.

Points of Failure

Much of the underlying circumstances were particular to the Chernobyl reactor and the Soviet government’s response. In fact, the reactors at Chernobyl were never built by countries outside of the Soviet Union as it was deemed unsafe everywhere else. In particular, its inherent instability on start-up and shutdown, as well as its positive feedback system mentioned earlier. As an example, an accident like Chernobyl could not occur in the United States.

The test was originally scheduled for April 25 but was delayed for 10 hours by power grid officials in Kiev. This delay meant a team of nightshift staff would have to run the test. Unfortunately, this was something they had not been trained to do.

To perform the test, the reactor had to be put into a dangerous low-power state. This means it cannot return to its usual power state quickly. The team in the control room attempted to disregard the safety protocols in place and proceed. Usually, the reactor would be brought to usual power levels over 24 hours, however, the plant chief did not want to wait, and fought ahead with the test.

Some experts have claimed that unsubstantiated fear of radiation poisoning led to greater suffering than the actual disaster. E.g. many doctors throughout Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union advised pregnant women to undergo abortions to avoid children with birth defects. However, the actual level of radiation exposure these women experienced was likely too low to cause any problems (according to the World Nuclear Association). This may have lead to more indirect deaths than necessary.

Basically though, the positive feedback system was the major cause for this whole thing.

Actions Taken Since

A sarcophagus encased reactor 4 to contain the radiation. The design of the sarcophagus started 24 days after the disaster. Subsequent construction lasted for 206 days. The seams of the sarcophagus were not properly sealed due to radiation levels prompting robotic replacement of workers.

In 1988, Soviet scientists announced that the sarcophagus would only last 20–30 years before requiring restorative maintenance work. In 2016, a replacement sarcophagus was put in place. This one should last for 100 years. Pictured below (in construction)

There are still 10 Chernobyl-like reactors in Russia. They have been modified to lessen the risk of another disaster, but they still aren't as safe as most Western-style reactors.

Personal Recommendations

Don’t let idiots be in charge. I guess this is not really avoidable, so have multiple people be in charge instead. And majority vote wins decisions.

If you’re going to build something as dangerous as a reactor…do more research. Not sure why they decided to go with a system that would make the core more reactive when it heats up

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roundtheworldwithtaytay · 7 years

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Disclaimer; wrote most of this blog drunk. Not just drunk, totally pissed. Keep that in mind before offering judgement. Tea and scones with the queen at Buckingham Palace, a good two hours looking at Zach Thompson's war rooms and then a release... Today has been a quintessential London day. I headed out of my hotel in Cartwright Gardens to the King's Cross Underground station where I catch the Picadilly line to Covent Garden. I take a brief look around (intending to come back) before heading to Trafalgar Square. I have been to the Royal Gallery so I decide to skip it and visit St. Martin in the Fields and then over to the Churchill war rooms. Now... I have an inside joke that I would say only I have this day. Winston Churchill reminds me of my dear friend Zach Thompson. I can't see a single picture of the man without snickering. Then a group of veterans show up. They have all fought in different wars. I see insignia of Vietnam, WW2 & Korea on their hats as well as the patch for the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) of which my grandfather was a member. I strike up a conversation with an army vet. Such a lovely man named Dale or Dave (I might have misheard him) who served in Korea. We get along nicely having a wonderful conversation. I see if there is any chance that he knew my grandfather. He doesn't but my grandpa never talked about his involvement in this war so this is the next best thing. We talk for what must have been 20 minutes but his group wants to move along. He grabs my hand and says, "thank you sweetheart for listening to an old man." I tell him that it is me who should be thanking him, so I do. I understand the moment on both our parts to feel important . I wish him well and am on my way. Next stop, a walk by of Big Ben and Parliament before taking a tour of Westminster Abbey (a favorite of mine and this is my second visit). This time in my tour Mary Queen of Scots takes a more important meaning although before I recall being very interested in her reign before. She is buried next to Queen Mary II which is funny because the two actually didn't get along very well, but here they lie in eternity in the same nave of this cathedral. I head over to poet's corner (the main interest of mine in the abbey) where I encounter tributes to Shakespeare, the Bronte Sisters, Lord Byron, Lawrence Olivier," and a favorite DH Lawrence. "I never seen a wild thing sorry for itself,". That. Is. Me. So the rest of the night is basically a feminist/relations pub crawl. I apparently am an anomaly for many. Feminist. Check. Atheist. "Eeek!" Check. Human rights. Check. (They are fucked up over this. Sorry fooked). Army family. "Who the fook is this person?" Check. I first go into Blackfriar's Pub near Fleet Street. First I should mention that I wasn't expecting to get to see this gem because I forgot to write down the address of it before leaving my hotel room, then low and behold I walk out and BAM, there it is. This pub is an Art Nouveau pub built in 1875 on the site of a Dominican friary. Located at the end of the Blackfriars Bridge, it was saved from demolition thanks to a campaign led by Sir John Betjeman. Should you look around the pub you will find jolly friars appearing everywhere including sculptures, mosaics and reliefs. It really is a rare building in shape and decor. Definitely one to check out. I order a Seafarer's Ale and sit down at a table with two gentlemen who notice I have nowhere to sit. They continue their conversation (as it was almost over and they were about to leave anyway) one offers me an uneaten bag of crisps, sea salt and malt vinegar, MY FAVORITE!!! I sit back and sip my beer watching pub life in London. This is not a cliche. This is a very beautiful part of London social scenes and when there is no room left at the bar, everyone starts to convene outside. Next off, I walk the streets of Fleet. That Fleet Street. The one of the same name in Sweeney Todd. I had tried to visit Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese last time I was in London, however it was closed for, "renovation." Now, I don't know what, "renovation," means, but it looks exactly its dark and dank self. The pub was rebuilt shortly after the Great fire of 1666, but there has been a pub in this location since 1538. Now... there are older pubs in the area, but this one has zero natural lighting. When you go it is dark and gloomy. I take a walk around and march right into the, "Gentlemen Only," bar and order a Samuel Smith's Double Four Lager. This is where I meet two guys at the bar from the east coast. We chat a bit and then I get my beer and take a look around the bar. It is as old and dark as anything you could ever imagine. Also fun is that doorways and stairs down to the basement are generally short, uneven and creaky. There isn't a ton of room so I head out to meet my new friends. We start down the road of politics. The one cocky guy tells me immediately that he voted for Trump and made sure I know that, "Hillary, was not qualified." That is where my brain starts weaving. I let them in. I listen to them. I hate to say I tricked them, but I finally get to my point that, "Hillary in fact is one of the most qualified candidates to ever run for president." I also remind them that it is sad that she actually won the popular vote and is constantly silenced by men even when she is saying nothing. Also I add that America has a stronghold on fear of vaginas that is perpetuated by men. I could hear the explosions in their brain. If it made a sound it would sound like a millions voices saying, "who is this broad and what is she?" I perplex them, but remain kind. We are sharing ideas after all. Hopefully if anything got through I succeeded. I thank the one that is a firefighter for his service to veterans. I talk honestly and earnestly with them. I'm never preachy or aggressive though the cocky one is with me. He then tries to change the subject by saying, "well you are young?" I ask, "how old do you think I am?" Fact is he is only about 10 years older than me. He doesn't believe me and believes I'm a good 15 years younger than I am. The kinder one of the two goes in and gets me a beer because we had a very nice moment talking about the importance of veterans and I told him of my conversation with a vet earlier in the day. He comes back with a Samuel Smith triple stout and says it is better than Guinness. I liked him until that point. :). The conversation then goes into human rights. It starts off with Colin Kapernick and then ventures into the gay community. They really do not know what they are dealing with. The conversation goes down another route of twists and turns where I basically get them to agree they are privileged as am I, but where I really turned the cocky one off is my mention of... GASP!!! I'm an atheist. That whole conversation takes more twists and turns back to my point that religion, politics, war, etc... many times is due to a man's attempt to control women or to have control in general. I enter into my argument that, "we are standing in a country who's king created a new religion just so he could get divorced." Enter Adam. Handsome. Young. Brit. Cheeky like me. Funny as hell and definitely more interesting to talk to. "How dare you question the decisions of our monarch?" He hangs for a minute. The guys gulp down their beers. I have about 1/2 left, but they excuse themselves when Adam starts occupying my time. He and I both finish our beers and I bid him adieu and exit the bar. Next... Ye Olde Mitre. Another public house that was built around 1773, though the pub website notes that the original build year was 1546. Seriously... these old pubs are ridiculous. Also you will notice as I get drunker there is less information about the bar. I can't. I just can't. It's old. Like others it was destroyed by the great fire and rebuilt. I watch a man at the bar. Not a gentleman, a man, complain about a roll at the bar that he feels like was not up to snuff to his standards. This carried on for 5 minutes or so. I want another pint and what is standing between that and myself is this guy. I offer, "did you eat the whole thing?" Him: "yes." Me: "And you are just this moment having a problem?" Him: well he ignores me. He still wants the bartender to eat what he ate. The bartender remains polite and refuses. It carries on. I offer to buy him a pint just to shut him up. He agrees, the bartender pours him a pint and he goes back to his friend. Then I get fooked, the bartender proceeds to pour me an additional pint. What? No! I have to find the train. I go to pay and he waves me away. So... at this point I have received three free pints and a bag of chips. This is why I feel like I am on a making people get along mission, but in the meantime f-ing myself. I know there is a more official title but for real, I am three more beers in than anticipated and am around the area that "Sweeney Todd," was based on. Leave. Me. Alone. I don't even know how to get back to my hotel at this point. I drop a 5 pound note on the floor. The gent at the table next to me lets me know. Karma!!! Ohhhh! "Foreign relations!!! Diplomacy!!!" Are those the titles? Anyway... I start trying to leave and then hear, "arrest this godless heathen for treason against the crown." It is Adam again. He teases me of losing my "fellas." They couldn't hang. We talk a bit more but I know I'm pretty pissed and need to get home so I go about finding a taxi. Things were going pretty well. I get to the front door of my hotel before thinking... "Ahhhh Mable's Pub." No one in the world knows the significance of this Pub like I do. So attention must be paid. I decide to walk down to it, about a block away. There is just something about this place. Mable's Pub. I order a Bishop's Finger Kentish Strong Ale and a bag of crisps and sit back in the back corner of the bar. I was here some 5 or so years ago, in this exact seat in the Pub. Whether I knew it or not at the moment it was the place that I started getting a glimpse that another person's needs did not superceed mine. During this event a few years ago I dismissed myself to, "go get cold medication," for my ailing travel companion and found myself in this Pub contemplating all the things I had been told were wrong with me, all the while, I became more determined than ever to enjoy my time, something I was rarely afforded. During that trip I enjoyed this foreign city. I had conversations with people I did not know that thought I was alright. I dare say they thought I was interesting, while being told by another that I was, "in the way." Even in that moment I am not fully sure I understood the significance of this Pub, but some 5 (give or take) years later I am giving it as a directional reference point to my friend MJ. It means something. Now I laugh at the fact that I had two pints one fateful night then ran to the pharmacy to get cold meds and later proclaiming, "I got lost," so that I was not berated. Well not as bad. One of the only times I had ever lied to this person. This is significant, it was why I had the taxi drop me off in front of my hotel only to be drawn back to this place. Today I realize was some working out of some demons. I really needed this. This trip was everything I needed it to be. I have learned more than ever that I am a good person that wants the best for everyone around me. While I have learned that, I also know that those that don't wish the same can really just piss off and I don't need them near me. Mable's Pub... you become my alter. Forever I shall worship thee. Excuse me while I get another pint.

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