#and I’m SURE he meant to allude to the military- and it just is so impactful

[ohmuqueen]

Comments from sherlockwols in the SHINee Reddit on the MV trailer that got me even more excited

Edit: more additions to the above comments

[queercanon13]

The Karma music video is packed with queer and sapphic themes. But what’s with that yellow beret?

We all watched the Karma music video on Friday (or Saturday), right? And then we all watched it ten more times because there IS JUST SO MUCH THERE. Right?!

I can’t even begin to unpack the whole thing yet, but let’s talk about the yellow brick road scene.

Taylor is obviously wearing ruby slippers (“the rubies that I gave up”) alluding to Dorothy/the Wizard of Oz. But she’s not wearing the rest of Dorothy’s getup. That’s because she’s not Dorothy, but in fact a friend of Dorothy.

She’s holding a broom (lots of witchy themes from her lately) and blows a kiss of blue (iykyk) glitter to three grim reapers (the two SBs and…?).

She’s keeping her side of the street clean, which harkens to the YNTCD MV where she clearly shows which side of the street she’s on:

Other things of note: it appears there are daisies embroidered on her collar, as well as growing along the yellow brick road. Her braids are also looped (“your braids make a pattern”).

The yellow brick road itself may be a nod to Elton John and his album/song Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Here are some of the lyrics from that song, as well as a generally accepted analysis of the lyrics:

&

Seems like it would be super relatable to Taylor, right? Add in Elton John’s queerness/coming out journey, and the parallels continue.

There are probably a hundred other things I’m missing just from that scene alone, but what I really wanna talk about is the yellow beret, especially in light of current news surrounding Taylor.

When I saw the yellow beret, I furiously googled “yellow beret” + the names of Taylor’s muses, but I came up empty-handed. Because Taylor is specifically not wearing a Dorothy costume, I knew that fucking hat had to mean something. Then I remembered — isn’t yellow beret a military term? And we know she loves a good war story. To Google I went, and the results did not disappoint.

During the Vietnam war, all physicians in the US had a mandatory draft order. One of the ways to avoid the draft was to apply for a position with a Public Health Service program called the NIH Associates Training Program. Because the elite program was highly competitive, only a small percentage of doctors were able to serve their required military time without going to war.

Yellow beret was a self-deprecating and derogatory term used by and for doctors who avoided getting a green beret/going to war (yellow can be associated with cowardice, i.e. “yellow-bellied”) via the NIH program.

Sounding familiar? But wait there’s more.

Bob Seger wrote a song in 1966 called The Ballad of the Yellow Beret. It was written as a parody of the song The Ballad of the Green Berets. Here are some of the lyrics (I encourage you to read all of them!):

Verse 1: Fearless cowards of the USA // Bravely here at home they stay // They watch their friends get shipped away // The draft dodgers of the Yellow Beret

Okay, I’m seated.

Verse 3: Men who faint at the sight of blood // Their high-heeled boots weren't meant for mud // The draft board will hear their sob stories today // Only the best win the yellow beret

Oooookay.

Verse 4: Back at home a young wife waits // Her yellow beret has met his fate // He's been drafted for marching in a protest //Leaving her his last request

Are you screaming yet? Just wait.

Verse 5: Put a yellow streak down my son's back // Make sure that he never ever fights back // At his physical have him say he's gay // Have him win the yellow beret

And if that wasn’t enough, two of the last lyrics are “I've got a pimple on my trigger finger” (ew) and “well, we were planning on having children sometime soon” (devastating). These themes also align with The Great War, epiphany, etc.

But despite attempts to diminish their efforts through claims of cowardice, these “yellow beret” physician-scientists contributed to some of the most important and innovative medical research we have today. Dr. Fauci attended the training program, as well as nine others who went on to win Nobel Prizes.

Could it be that Taylor is trying to tell us that, while it looks like she dodged the draft (didn’t come out), she’s doing some important mastermind shit behind the scenes? Only time will tell, but since we are now at “dawn,” I believe daylight is soon to follow. ☀️

[raeynbowboi]

Dating Disney: Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast features my favorite love story and my favorite Disney Princess, so it holds a very special spot in my heart. So, it’s worth looking into the film to decide when the Movie is supposed to be set.

During the opening musical number “Belle”, Belle is telling the Baker about the book she’s been reading. She’s clearly describing Jack and the Beanstalk, the earliest version being the tale of “Jack Spriggins and the Enchanted Bean” in 1734. But she also deliberately mentions an ogre, not a giant. Near as I could find, the only version with an ogre was written by Joseph Jacobs in 1890, making Belle nearly contemporary to modernity. Belle’s excitement over the book is likely a sign that this is a new story.

During the same musical number, we see a sign depicting a tobacco pipe, but unlike with the Calabash pipe from the Little Mermaid movie. I could place it to possibly be a Billiard type, but the exact era of creation escapes me. However, tobacco pipes have been around as long as Tobacco has been introduced to European trade, starting in the 16th century.

The history of colored printing goes as far back as the 16th century, and there are illustrations from the early 1700s with an impressive variety of color that help establish a stronger time period. The book also shows the words Le Prince Charmant or Prince Charming. Prince Charming started being used in 1697 in Charles Perrault’s version of Sleeping Beauty, although there, Prince Charming was not a name. Rather, Perrault stated that the Prince was charmed by her words. The first story to use Prince Charming as a name is the Tale of Pretty Goldilocks. It was written at some point in the 17th Century by Madame d’Aulnoy, but in her version the hero was named Avenant. It wasn’t until 1889 when Andrew Lang retold the story that Avenant was dubbed as Charming. One year later in 1890, Oscar Wilde used the term “Prince Charming” sarcastically in his novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, meaning that the term had gotten its more modern meaning by this point in time.

Gaston’s musket is a Blunderbuss, which was invented in the early 1600′s and remained popular through the 18th century before falling out of fashion in the middle of the 19th century. However, considering Belle states that this is a backwards town and Gaston is an old-fashioned, Primeval man, it’s possible he’s using a largely outdated weapon.

While there are no street lamps in the city, we can see in the background lanterns on the sides of buildings, which might allude to the movie taking place before the invention of gas lamps. However, gas lamps were invented in 1809, and if the version of Jack and the Beanstalk is from 1890, then by all accounts the town should have gas lamps. What this amounting evidence is leading me to believe is that the film is directly following the plot of the original fairy tale.

In the story, Beauty’s father is a merchant who loses his fortune due to a storm destroying his cargo. They’re forced to live on a farm until the merchant stumbles upon the Beast’s castle and kick starts the plot. In the opening song, Belle says “every morning’s just the same, since the morning that we came, to this poor, provincial town.” This could mean that she grew up in a much more modern, urban, and progressive town. Possibly even Paris. But that after Maurice suffered severe financial trouble, he was forced to move them to the small, backwards town that was practically living an entire century behind the rest of France, which is why she’s so bored and unimpressed by the little town. It helps explain why she’s so eager to want to get out of this town and see the world. She wants to be part of the modern world again.

Interestingly, I can support this theory with background information. According to some of my research, Belle’s village was based on the little town of Riquewihr, France, which still looks like it did in the 16th century to this day. So the idea that Belle’s little village lacks so many modern elements could be a nod to the architecture of this sleepy French village that has remained largely untouched by the march of time. Hence why it looks more like something out of the 1700s despite the many elements from the 1800s being present.

During the song “Be Our Guest”, Lumiere dances with a match stick. Match sticks were invented in 1805. Assuming the film still takes place in the 1890s, this would be concurrent with the other evidence we’ve seen thus far. Later in the same song, the silverware makes an Eiffel tower, which was constructed in 1889. Since Jack and the Beanstalk was written after that, it still fits within the suspected time frame.

During the climax of the battle, Cogsworth is wearing military garments reflective of Napoleonic styles. Napoleon was coronated in 1804 until 1814, had a brief return to power in 1815, and eventually died in 1821. So this is also congruent to the established time period.

In the Youtube Video “Fashion Expert Fact Checks Belle from Beauty and the Beast’s Costumes” by Glamour, April Calahan, a Fashion Historian from the Fashion Institute of Technology directly noted that Belle’s yellow gown lacks the shape of a proper 18th century dress, and more closely resembles the shape of 19th century dresses, fitting into the evidence that’s been mounting in support of a late 19th century setting.

As a part of his primary costume, Lefou wears a waistcoat and tailcoats, which came into vogue in the 1800s, namely from the 1840s through the 1850s.

But if the film is set in the 1800s, how can the Beast still be a prince after the French Revolution? Well something worth noting is that when he finds out that Belle isn’t coming to dinner, the Beast storms through the halls to her room as Cogsworth calls after him as “Your Eminence” and “Your Grace”. The address of “Your Eminence” is reserved for Cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church, and is an ecclesiastical style of address. “Your Grace” is noticeably an English style of address, but it’s being used by Cogsworth who is British, so I can chalk that up to just part of his culture. Although it was used for British monarchs, it fell out of use during the reign of King Henry VIII (1509-1547) and after that, the use of “Your Grace” became used to address archbishops and non-royal Dukes and Duchesses. Now clearly the Beast is not a cardinal or a bishop, especially if he is looking for the love of a woman to make him human, since it’s forbidden for Catholic priests to marry. So clearly that is not what is meant here. But the other answer actually does hold a bit of weight. Beast’s father was in fact, a Duke. So how is the Beast a prince? He’s not. Not entirely. See, there’s more than one kind of Prince in French nobility. There’s a Prince du Sang, or a Prince by Blood. Effectively, the Crown Prince, the sons of ruling monarchs. But the title is also given to lords in charge of a Principality, one of the smallest territorial sizes. The Beast’s principality probably only extends to having power over the little unnamed village. And with it being after the revolution, Beast might not even have the proper use of his title anymore. He’s effectively a rich kid in a fancy house with no real authority or power. He’s just old money from a by-gone era of human history. But if Beast’s address of “Your Grace” is accurate, that would mean that he’s a non-royal Duke, meaning he would not likely have been executed during the Revolution, as his family would have essentially been governors or senators than actual monarchs. They just had jurisdiction over a small piece of the Kingdom of France and reported back to and obeyed the orders of their King. Thus, he would not have been important enough to be killed or chased out of power by the townsfolk.

CONCLUSION

The movie is set between the late autumn and early-to-mid winter of 1890. Although the snow is gone when Belle returns to the village, the trees are still bare, signaling that it may just be unseasonably warm, though it could be the very early spring of 1891 between the receding of the snow and the blossoming of new spring foliage. Between the books, clothing, and references made, my conclusion is that Belle is a very modern girl living in a backwards little town stuck in the past, thus why a village in 1890 looks so completely lacking in modern technology despite the era. The Prince is nothing more than a fancy title as the son of a Duke, and he likely has very little if any actual government authority. Essentially, Belle married into wealth, not power, and will never be a proper queen, and I’m not sure if the wife of a lord ruling a principality is a princess or not, but I suspect the answer is no. Making Belle, like Mulan, a Disney Princess who did not marry royalty, was not born royalty, and thus, cannot be called a Disney Princess. She’s definitely a noblewoman, but she’s not royal by any means.

SETTING: Riquewihr, France

KINGDOM: The French Republic (France)

YEAR: Autumn, 1890 - Spring, 1891

PERIOD: The Third Republic (1870-1940)

LANGUAGE: French

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ six

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.9k  ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part six

​

“Wait–” you call out, and Seonghwa stops in his tracks. “I… I have a question for you before we go.”

“Ask away then, princess.” Seonghwa shrugs, pushing loose strands of black hair out of his eyes. You’re surprised that he can even see past the fringe, but you opt not to linger on that thought for very long in favor of getting on with the conversation.

“I still want to know when your dear Scourge made the decision about me. It doesn’t make sense for a man of his reputation to be so merciful, especially considering what he did to the ship I was aboard days ago. So when did he make the decision and why?” You ask the question again, still not convinced by Seonghwa’s previous answer. A half-hearted laugh leaves his lips. He turns away from you and shrouds his expression from view.

“Why is it important though, princess?” He asks in return. The hard soles of his shoes click against the metal floor as he takes a few steps forward, long legs making the strides easy to put distance between the two of you. You don’t follow after him quite yet. You are determined to stand your ground in front of every single one of these men, whether they are criminals or not. While it might not be the smartest idea on your part, you have certainly done a lot worse in your lifetime.

When you choose not to respond immediately, the tall lieutenant spins around on his heel to look back at you. Dark eyes squint, a glare passes over you, yet you can’t quite decipher the expression resting on his features.

“It doesn’t affect anything really, does it? When he made the decision? Why? So… my question for you is why is Hongjoong’s decision still weighing on you?”

“No one hands out favors like that. Especially not someone as notorious as the Scourge of the Black Sea. Of course, I would imagine that the infamous Scourge would put up a better fight.” You cock your head to the side, glaring daggers into Seonghwa’s form. “But he didn’t. So I would like to know why, and seeing as you are his right hand, I think you would know as well.”

“What do you mean by a fight? As I recall, he nearly killed you on more than one occasion. Just because his motives are not obvious doesn’t mean they aren’t there. It’s all in his mannerisms, his posture, the look in his eyes. I can’t count on one hand how many times he thought about killing you in the med bay just now. So elaborate for me: what do you mean by a fight?”

The words cause your stomach to stir a little, discomfort settling into your bones as Seonghwa speaks them, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Part of you wants to ask exactly how many times Hongjoong debated killing you on the spot, but you decide that some things are better left unknown, and that is most certainly one of those things.

“I can’t wrap my mind around him. He isn’t what I expected him to be, and that is what is most unsettling. Years of legend and infamy behind him – surely you understand my surprise when I find those legends to be incorrect?”

“Almost every legend is a lie, Y/N.” It’s the first time Seonghwa has used your first name, and the tone with which he says it sends a chill down your spine. It shifts again a moment later, and what seems to be his regular timbre returns. “You fixate so much on minute details. Surely you understand my confusion concerning that behavior?”

It takes a moment for realization to sink in, but once it does, your expression melts into one of anger. He is mocking you.

“Fine, then let me ask another question. Why do they call you the Lieutenant of Death?” You are hoping for the words to snag a nerve or turn the discomfort over to him, but all you get in response is a clear laugh that rings through the hall. He throws his head back, hair scattering across his forehead. When he brings his head back down to look you in the eye, his tongue glides across his bottom lip as though in preparation to taunt you again.

“Come now, princess. You have an extensive history with the military, do you not? Surely you must know the answer to that question.”

You set your jaw, teeth grinding together, and level Seonghwa with a heated glare. “I am well aware of your history and extensive criminal record, especially since I was assigned to track you down and kill you at one point,” you hiss out.

Seonghwa allows a bit of emotion to shine through his expression, eyebrows raising as you share the information, and he glances away from you. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. After a moment of pondering, he breaks into a bout of laughter. It’s a strange reaction to being told that you are his would-be killer, and the longer he laughs the more confused you become.

“W-Why are you laughing?” You stutter out. Seonghwa pauses mid-laugh, looking from the ceiling to you while teasing the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

“It’s not every day that you get to meet your would-be assassin,” he states as though the reason for his amusement is obvious. “Although, you must not have put too much effort into fulfilling that task. Especially seeing as I’ve not seen your face outside bounty papers.”

“Part of being an assassin means hiding your identity from your target,” you respond, mimicking his slight smile.

“I wonder if your most recent target saw the face of his killer before he died.” You know exactly what Seonghwa is alluding to, and you would rather not delve into that topic again so you divert the subject.

“I was assigned to your file just before I left the military,” you explain. Seonghwa hums in response, nodding his head a few times.

“So why did you leave the military?” He asks after a breath of silence. Your gaze falls into a glare once more.

“You know why.”

“That isn’t at all what I meant,” Seonghwa smirks as he takes several long strides in your direction. Your first instinct is to back up and put distance between the two of you, but you find yourself completely unable to move so Seonghwa is face to face with you within seconds. “The chains on your wrist… were they there before or after you murdered a king?”

The words spark something in you, an anger you rarely let show, and you press your forearm against Seonghwa’s throat. The strain of the movements causes your wound to sting and burn but you continue moving until you have Seonghwa pinned against the wall. He goes along with your actions even though you both know that he is more than capable of deflecting you easily.

“It fucking wasn’t murder!” You spit out, glaring up at Seonghwa. He arches a brow and matches your glare. Silence lingers after your heated words. Then, within a second, Seonghwa twists your arm behind your back and spins around so that you are the one against the wall now. Your cheek presses roughly against the cool metal, your ears ringing from the harsh impact. Seonghwa leans close to your face and looks you in the eye as he says his next words.

“What was it then? If not murder, then what? Assassination? Sure, plenty of people wanted the king dead but tell me – why would they ever turn to a soldier to do that job for them?”

“Why would you think that the military would let me go with merely a brand?” You hiss back. “If they had given me the brand after killing their king, then wouldn’t you think they would’ve made certain that I had the highest amount of security possible? Why would they ever let me out of their sight? Let me escape? Impossible. The military is stupid but they aren’t that foolish.”

“Your reputation precedes you. They call you the Ghost of Eros for a reason because supposedly you disappeared off the face of the planet after murdering the king.”

You writhe against Seonghwa’s grip. “Their king earned his death. I merely delivered the blow.”

“You keep saying that he was their king, yet he was yours at one point too. You’re so awfully defensive about this topic. You were defensive with Hongjoong too, so it’s more than obvious that something else – or someone else – is involved. There must be more to it than you’re letting on.”

“What? Are you planning to extract the information out of me? I’m afraid that has been tried in the past. You can’t ask them how it turned out because they’re dead now.”

Seonghwa releases your arm and steps back, a quiet laugh leaving his lips as he moves away from you.

“You’re so feisty, princess. If I didn’t know how dangerous you truly are, I might ask you to spar with me one day.”

You push off the wall, turning to face Seonghwa and settling him with a glare. “You’re so romantic, pretty boy. I’m sure all the ladies love when you say that.”

“All the ladies and men, in fact,” Seonghwa replies, a smirk twisting his lips, and he sends a wink in your direction. He starts down the hall again. This time, you follow after him, trailing a couple of feet behind him and watching his back as he walks. “But if you had the brand prior to… killing the king, what made you go back to Eros in the first place?”

“Which time?” You grumble, shifting your shirt back into a state of normalcy. “I’ve been back to Eros many times since I got the brand.”

“That isn’t what I meant…” Seonghwa trails off. He steps further back and looks away from you. “It seems strange that a criminal like you would return to Eros and board a military ship. That is quite ballsy if you ask me.”

All of a sudden, you remember exactly why you were on the ship in the first place. The papers… You grab at your shirt, feeling around at the band around your chest for any sign of the folds of paper, and when you can’t find them there, you pat down your pants instead. Fuck where are they? Fucking hell, after all this time of trying to get these damn papers? I lose them within the first few days?

Seonghwa glances back at you. Concern and question shine through in his gaze, although he doesn’t say anything right away until you drop your arms to your sides in defeat.

“Is everything okay?” He asks.

“Yea, yea,” you mumble back, voice trembling slightly. Did Yunho take them? Why would he take them? Did he give them to Hongjoong? Oh fuck, that’s the last thing I need. What if he uses them and puts his name on them? Shit, I shouldn’t have let them out of my sight. I shouldn’t have forgotten about them in the first place.

Seonghwa is still staring at you. He’s evidently waiting for a further response, but you’re struggling to come up with an excuse on the spot like this.

“I seem to have lost my weapons,” you say with a slight smile.

“Oh? So that’s why you were on that ship? To find your missing weapons?”

“Haha, how very funny, but no.”

“Hongjoong asked Yunho to confiscate your weapons. Can’t have you going rogue and having access to things that could kill us, no?” Seonghwa laughs a little. Despite his insistence that you are a danger, he shows no signs that he is intimidated by you in the slightest. His confidence is still rolling off him in waves, and that scares you more than the body count behind his nickname. “Yet you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t plan to. That information is for me to know… and you to not know.” Your response causes Seonghwa to burst into laughter.

“So secretive, princess. If you aren’t careful, I might get intrigued by you.”

“Aw, like you aren’t interested already? You’ve been asking questions left and right as it is.”

Seonghwa comes to a halt, and for a moment you think it’s because of what you said. However, he turns to a door instead and taps at the keypad beside it. The metal slides open with a whoosh, revealing a dark room, and Seonghwa motions for you to follow him inside.

“You have piqued my interest, yes. But being intrigued is a bit different.”

“The difference being?” You inquire as you follow him into the room. The lights flicker on once he steps over the threshold, casting light over a rather simple bedroom.

“Let’s hope you don’t learn the difference,” he says before clearing his throat. He extends an arm to the room. “Your quarters, princess. I’m afraid they’re a bit simple seeing as you don’t have any belongings to put in here, but it has the basics. Bed, bathroom, dresser, mirror, bookshelf should you enjoy reading.”

“Only the best aboard The Horizon, I see.”

Seonghwa releases a huff of laughter. “We aim to please,” he says with a small lilt to his tone. “Some more than others.” You scoff, surprise coursing through you as he says the words, and yet again you find yourself shocked by the boldness of this crew.

“Aren’t you a bit too cheeky for a criminal?”

“Is there a special guide I should be following? ‘Proper ways to be a criminal’? Rule number one: don’t be cheeky with princess, it gets on her nerves.” Seonghwa pokes his tongue out, darting over his bottom lip. “Now, you can come back here later and look around some more, but for now, I need to introduce you to the other crew members. If you’re going to be working with us all, it might be smart for you to know us all before going on any missions with each other.”

Seonghwa brushes past you, shoulder just missing yours, and leads the way out of the room again. You give the room once more scan before turning to follow him. Only one exit. Not even a vent in the damn room. He really does have one of the most secure ships in the galaxy, doesn’t he?

“Now, you’ve met Hongjoong and myself obviously. Yunho as well, and San, I believe?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself in attempts to warm yourself up. The longer you are out here in the halls, the colder it becomes, and your thin shirt is doing very little to block the cold air from touching your skin.

“Hm, we need you to meet Yeosang and Jongho for certain. Wooyoung, as well, although you may not work with him too much. I think we should hold off on introducing you to Mingi, though.”

Wooyoung… That name is somewhat familiar to you. You recall it from the arguments San and Yunho shared, someone who was supposed to help Yunho with your operation but didn’t due to San’s insistence that he was not needed. It strikes you as strange that San would be so determined to hide Wooyoung yet Seonghwa, the Lieutenant, is showing zero hesitation in the slightest when talking about him.

“Wait, why hold off?” You ask, suddenly focused on the last bit of Seonghwa’s comment. He glances back at you over his shoulder, an unreadable emotion in his eyes, and you think he’s not going to respond for a moment.

“He can be a bit aggressive with new people,” Seonghwa mutters. He reaches up to touch his throat, fingers trailing over his skin as though remembering something. He shakes his head and drops his arm to his side when he catches your stare lingering. “Seeing as you are still recovering and Hongjoong set you back a little bit, I don’t think it would be wise to put you further in harm’s way.”

“That’s fair, yes.”

“Yet it still sounds like you are doubting something.”

“Your intentions,” you reply. A sigh leaves Seonghwa’s lips.

“You have issues trusting people, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?”

“When people are doing you a favor and you respond with distrust, yes I can blame you. Hongjoong didn’t have to take you in. You could be dead right now but you aren’t. That’s more than a small favor if you ask me. The least you can do is have some semblance of gratitude. Unless that’s too much to ask for.”

You fall silent at Seonghwa’s comment, continuing to trail after him in silence as he takes you through the ship. He takes your silence as a desire not to talk anymore and doesn’t push for conversation again. In fact, he doesn’t talk for the next ten minutes or so; instead leading you and matching your silence with one of his own. When you reach your destination at long last, you are almost ready to burst because of the awkward tension lingering between you and Seonghwa. Thankfully that doesn’t last long, because a familiar Cheshire smile greets you when you look past Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s up and moving finally,” San says as he comes closer to the two of you. He pays Seonghwa almost zero attention in favor of honing in on you. “With all your limbs intact too. Here I was worried that you might lose your arm before the end of it.” The timbre of his voice is almost like a purr, soothing and alluring. He commands attention with his voice alone, although his appearance helps a bit as well. Now that you are free of your fever-induced haze, you can properly look at him without feeling as though you are going to keel over.

“San,” Seonghwa greets, still facing forward as he talks to the other man.

“Lieutenant. Giving her the tour?”

“Introducing her to the others, actually.”

“Just in time. Almost everyone is here for dinner.”

“I know. That’s why I brought her here now and not later.” Seonghwa beckons for you to follow him again, and you drag your gaze off San and his little cat-like smile in favor of glancing around the new room you’ve entered.

It’s similar to almost every military ship you’ve been aboard: tall walls, an overabundance of tables on either side of the room, and two large archways at opposite ends of the room. It’s a mess hall, although one that is ridiculously big for the amount of people in the room. Near the center of the room, two people sit at a circular table, heads down as though they don’t know that you even exist. Even at a distance, you can hear quite mumblings exchanged between the two. If, according to San, “almost everyone” is present, then Hongjoong must not have many people on his crew to begin with.

“Seonghwa,” you call out before he gets any closer to the table. “How many people are on the crew exactly?”

“Eight, including Hongjoong. I guess nine now with you.”

“That’s it?” You ask, tone incredulous. The most fucking notorious pirate in the whole damn galaxy has a crew of only seven people? Is this some kind of sick joke? What the actual fuck?

“Surprised, princess?” Seonghwa chuckles at the shock in your tone.

“I expected more,” you mumble.

“You seem to expect a lot from a man you had never met prior to today.” Seonghwa doesn’t give you the opportunity to respond. He walks off without waiting for you, forcing you to play catch up, and San trails after the two of you. “Look alive, ladies!”

The two men at the table glance up at Seonghwa, eyes wide in surprise from the sudden intrusion. Their whispering halts in an instant. Rather than looking at Seonghwa, both sets of eyes land on you.

Just from a quick glance at the one on the right, you can tell that he’s a Berserker. It’s really only because of the red hue to his irises, because otherwise he doesn’t look at all like any of the Berserkers you’ve come into contact with over the years. Nonetheless, he exudes the same intimidating aura that you remember from previous encounters with people of his kind. Head crowned with dark brown hair, he has a slightly boyish look to him, especially compared to the man at his side.

The man in question bears lengthy blonde hair, stained brown at the roots and parted down the middle. He has sharp features that are so symmetrical that it looks at though he was cut from marble. Royal. Or former royal, considering where he is and who he is aligned with. Those sharp eyes bore holes into you, clear and blueish green like the sea you grew up seeing every day.

“Y/N, that’s Jongho on the right, and here on the left is Yeosang. Berserker and Elitist respectively.” The blonde’s class fits his appearance quite well but leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth. You’ve never had good experiences with Elitists, especially since the military was overflowing with the Class, but it’s quite odd that an Elitist would be part of a band of pirates. They tend to stay on the right side of the law, which means something about this Yeosang isn’t quite right.

You once again remember exactly where you are and who surrounds you. While you don’t know what Yeosang and Jongho – or San for that matter – are known for, you do know that they are just as dangerous as the Lieutenant of Death on your left.

“You will probably be working with Yeosang quite a bit, perhaps Jongho as well.”

The blonde stands upon hearing Seonghwa’s words and steps around the table to get closer to you. He stares you down, eyes still keeping you rooted to the spot.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ghost of Eros,” he says after a moment of glancing over you. His tone is quiet, soft like silk, yet those eyes remain unblinking and unsettling. “I believe I have you to thank for the death of my former king.” You blink up at him, eyes falling into a narrow glare. He extends an arm in your direction. You barely recognize what he’s doing, but realization washes over you soon enough. It’s the military handshake; a sign of finding fellow soldiers in the field should you be on a covert mission, but Yeosang is using the wrong arm. You blink down at his arm, eyes flitting over his wrist. The skin is raised there, and the delicate pattern of chains rests on the inside of his wrist. You hesitantly meet his with yours, gripping his forearm weakly, and the brand on your own wrist brushes against his.

“Oh, how fancy. Two traitors in one room. Can’t wait to hear them exchange military stories,” San chirps from your side, glancing around your shoulder to watch you and Yeosang interact with interest.

“Aw, if I had known we were doing a meet up with the new girl, I would’ve come sooner!” A new voice resounds behind you. It causes your head to spin, a swirling of confusion, and you stumble back from Yeosang. You would fall if not for his continued grip on your arm. You jerk towards the sound of the voice, eyes finding the new form and recognizing him in an instant. Charcoal hair. Tan skin. Metal collar. It’s the little shit who plugged an anesthesia shot into your neck.

✧✧✧

a/n: hi hello it’s 5 pm on a tuesday yaknow what that means! i hope you all like this chapter, i personally feel like it’s a bit weaker and not a lot happens aofijdoij so im really sorry about that, i hope that the next chapter is better!

i forgOT TAGS IM SORRY

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​ @2504-life

rather than sending me a ko-fi, i ask that you consider donating to the BLM movement!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[whatudottu]

Because I've held this off for too long, once again it seems that @nukeli has beaten me to the punch with colour schemes. Damn my procrastination or whatever, but I only just realised that I didn't put any mention of the 'fodder' classes (Vehicons, Insecticons and I suppose Autotroopers since I'm including them) and wanted to put down my thoughts before writing this up.

An added bonus here is that certain character have different alts (based on character changes and even the heavier focus of 'robots in disguise' that these Decepticons are after) so it's not just me ranting about colour schemes.

Yes, this was why I was complaining about the wiki altmodes, so deal with the vehicles I found instead. May or may not be due to me using images as references haha.

The Autobots (you are here)

The Decepticons Part 1

The Decepticons Part 2

Going in order of my notes, we begin with Cliffjumper. He’s obviously a 1970 Dodge Challenger and what colours I’ve given him are on the image below. Nothing much to say about a definitely dead character other than I didn’t just wanna make him blue.

Next on the list is good old Doctor Ratchet. I’ve had it in my mind ever since Nuke’s one post that SG!Ratchet was like Medic from TF2, so I guess I took it and ran.

To play an opposite to regular Ratchet, he comes across as affable and friendly but is really just doing the things he loves to people he hates. Autobots, Decepticons, hates everyone. He despises Optimus Prime too, but he can’t do anything unless he wants to be cooped up in his berthroom reattaching his limbs for it. Believe him, he tried.

As for altmode and colours, I spent way too long finding that he resembles a Mercedes Benz G-Class ambulance that I was ticked to find out he wasn’t at all. I special looked for the green coloured ambulance because Synth-En, duh!

Breaking in after the Doctor comes our local wrecker Bulkhead. I don’t have much of a read on this guy, other than the fact that I thought it’d be a cool idea for him to lose a lot of his memories after ‘TMI’, ya know, from the Synth-En recipe? Certainly not set in stone, but it could very well contribute to my accidental theme of memory (which only has some small links in the posts I actually created).

With the help of my car enthused cousin I have given our not so loveable mech a Terradyne Gurkha, a little more military than the wiki’s off-roader Lamborghini that I’m too annoyed to bother to look at. I thought that the military origins and the black colour scheme sorta allude to something something mindless military man. yada yada.

Following him is our ever wonderful Optimus Prime, or maybe Lord Prime? Haven’t thought too much about that. What I have thought of is this master manipulator who mayhaps also be a little bit delusional idk we’ll decide in the car.

I always loved the idea of a smiling SG!Prime, as if there’s still hints of this benevolent leader that the original has, but it’s warped and meant to add fodder to the war, encouraging mechs to fight to their deaths all in the name of not only the Autobots, but their Prime. Also as a warped version of the original, I wanted Shattered Glass Optimus to be deluded in the fact that Megatron will change, change at least, to submit to the real leader. Ain’t happening. That’s sorta there with Ratchet too, but well, you read Ratchet’s piece didn’t you?

SG!Prime is consistently purple and black, and whilst I have found a Peterbilt Semi Truck with that wonderful colour, it comes with white instead. Think about it, this typically evil colour paired with often innocent white, that’s like perfect for what I’m going for.

Fitting that he’s next, it’s time for Prime’s Second In Command Ultra Magnus. I’ve... really got nothing for him. Maybe he’s still by-the-books but like he finds loopholes just to commit atrocities? I don’t know.

I’ve given this boy a Mack Trident alt instead of Prime’s Peterbilt, just for differences sake.

After Magnus, we got our little bug Bumblebee... or is it. Because I wanted to change his colours a bit without going into Beast Hunter territory, I wondered if bees come in different colours and, low and behold, they do!

As for the boy himself, I think he was one of the bots manipulated by Prime himself to join the cause and, given his almost rewritten personality, has only lived through to this point in the war by sheer luck. This mech is an absolute menace, feral and powered by the need for Prime’s approval, tearing others with denta and servo more often than with stingers and blasters.

Now you’ve noticed I haven’t been using his name? That’s because he’s now Blue Band (I just realised he’s still bb haha)! He gets his name from the Blue Banded bee, and I found a Chevrolet Camaro to match.

In line with BB’s younger status, feast your eyes on Shattered Glass Smokescreen! Oh boy isn’t he a delight. His hero worship has essentially turned him to a prime (pardon the pun) candidate for Optimus to form into his perfect super soldier, who already would die for this deranged mech even before laying optics on this grand Prime.

So, he’s an absolute suck up, a straight up spoiled brat that has it harder than Blue Band for Prime’s acknowledgement, and is actively showing off and bragging that he’s Optimus’ favourite (he’s not, he just encourages it because that’s the easiest way to get Smokey to do what he wants).

Almost to reflect that (perhaps another pun) I found this gaudy Chameleon Chevy Corvette that absolutely SCREAMS show off.

Regrettably partnered up with him after the passing of Cliffjumper, Arcee has run out of patience. Not everything she does is motivated by Airachnid (what kind of character would that be? not a fun one) but she does often enjoy killing those connected with her. After Tailgate, she’s gotten a little mad, but her effectiveness otherwise increased so others never bothered to ‘fix’ her.

Having lost both of her partners, when she absolutely hates another (read; Airachnid and Starscream because he still kills Cliff) the best kind of revenge is putting her opponents in her own pedes. Oh, that mech’s growing attached to one of his comrades? Slice and dice them before their optics. Oh, that femme is finally coming out of her shell and making friends? Gore out their spark and hope that humans don’t decide this would be the perfect time to practice what they preach and save the life of that same mech with a hard to perform surgery that may or may not have been lost to time.

Okay so she’s obviously a Kawasaki Ninja (haha that’s kind of fitting) and I was tempted to make her pink like other Arcee iterations, but look at this fancy stuff right here. He hoo glowy look pretty!

Almost in leu of an Airachnid archetype, Wheeljack comes in. Though still quite the wrecker and ever the bomb enthusiast, instead of actively celebrating his impacts and going solo to stop the rust settling in, he’d rather be offed whilst mechs are distracted by his pretty explosion and lay forgotten in the dirt.

I may have accidentally rooted the unintentional memory theme deeply with the wreckers (Breakdown included) and maybe just took it and ran, giving everyone else a little connection, but Wheeljack is probably the most explicit in this idea. He hates nicknames (which i super Ratchet uses to mock him here in Shattered Glass) because that’s like... naming something you’re going to keep to quote that specific fic which, honestly, I can’t remember. Wheeljack split from others to stop them from remembering him and put himself closer to a situation where he can die alone, as morbid as that sounds. No grand death, no stupid death and no straight up suicide (generally that’s a VERY impactful kind of death) so just a mediocre end is what he’s been looking for for a little bit too long.

As for his colours, I apparently have no taste and should not have a car because I really like what this image has going for it. This C3 Corvette is probably one of the few cars that fits the straight up box of a sports car that Jackie’s got, so I’m sticking to it, so no, don’t show me the wiki I’m ignoring it this was too painful to give up dang it!

Okay, finishing off the bots, I have the Autotroopers. Sure, I’m not using a reference of a car to show off the colours, mainly because there’s also going to be flier troopers too, maybe... surely... definitely. Most depictions of them are white, you know, goodie goodie, and I’m tempted to just laze around and do just that. Instead, I think a goldish colour would be fun.

Aside from sharing a key colour with Ultra Magnus, essentially a war lawyer, which is perfect for subjects made to obey, a nice glimmering finish almost feels like they’re all manipulated by Prime to believe in the Autobot cause. I suppose the special devision, if there is one, would be a nice Prime purple, sorta like if it’s Optimus’ personal guard if he actually had any belief they would do their jobs.

Oh boy this is so long...

[therewrites]

We Are Who We Are Overall Thoughts *spoilers*

This review will be discussing briefly some of the episodes so far, so SPOILERS

So I started watching the HBO original series, We Are Who We Are, and I am conflicted. When I initially watched it, the dialogue made it hard for me to enjoy it so I stopped. Then after a couple of weeks after its airing, I thought, what the hell? And this time, I was pleasantly surprised. I always maintain the belief that pilot episodes are either boring, messy, or just bad so I try to push past it in order to get to the good shit. The pilot for We Are Who We Are was...I’m not sure how to explain...different? It certainly wasn’t bad and it made an impression on me, but this show as a whole is hard to limit by just a few words. It’s really something that you should watch and experience yourself.

It was only after the first 3 episodes that I began to understand the tone and mood that Luca Guadagnino was trying to convey. A lot of the time, the dialogue is abrupt and choppy and can make no sense. It can be frustrating, especially when you have two characters that aren’t communicating effectively. But I think that was the point. Guadagnino is a very realistic director, he captures the most realistic elements in a film. A lot of the conversations between characters is meant to emulate real life. Like, what the hell do you say when a conversation becomes awkward? Well, nothing sometimes.

While Guadagnino’s typical cinematography may suggest whimsy, in WAWWA’s case the small structured and synthetic model of the military base is juxtaposed to the very concrete characters. When I started to view the show less as simply a televised airing of fictional characters and problems, and instead looked at them as people, I began to really enjoy it. 

Take the main character of Fraser, played by Jack Dylan Grazer. Fraser is meant to be seen as an extremely complex and troubled kid, but the difference between him and every other teen in a coming-of-age drama is that he isn’t polished. His drinking and drug habit isn’t framed as romantic or beautiful, in fact most of the time it’s portrayed as his weakness of sorts. In the first episode, Fraser has one of his mothers drive him home after getting pretty wasted and Luca graces us with a direct shot of him throwing up. And before that, Fraser is stumbling on a bridge when he drunkenly falls and cuts his face. Everything the character does is messy, uncoordinated, yet extremely real and relatable. Hell, in one shot you can clearly see him do a Naruto run!

Caitlin/Harper is a character that I enjoyed watching, as well. Jordan Seamon did a fantastic job and I really connected with their character. Initially we see Caitlin as this mysterious girl, and in the pilot we are meant to assume that their relationship with Fraser is supposed to develop into a romantic one. This is not the case as it seems that Caitlin is trying to come to terms with who they are. The biggest shift in Caitlin’s character isn’t their friendship with Fraser but probably when they get their period. 

This was a moment that even I related to, even though I am cis when I first got my period I didn’t tell my mom until the day after. The possible confusion and shift in their reality that Caitlin felt was only heightened with the conflict of their boyfriend wanting to be more physically intimate, and Fraser’s eventual discover of Harper. I would have like to see exactly why Fraser seemed drawn to Caitlin. I’m assuming viewers were supposed to think that Fraser is attracted to her, or something. But both Caitlin/Harper and Fraser are queer coded and their respective sexualities are alluded to not being straight. It would’ve made their standing as platonic friends more clear if this had been established stronger. 

I definitely think the writer could have devoted more time to giving certain characters proper conversations. It would’ve given more development to certain characters and better context for things. However even without that, there is a lot that the audience is showed that can’t be told through dialogue. The power struggle between Sarah and Richard being one. So far, there hasn’t been any explanation as to why they have a such a volatile relationship other than Richard being a homophobe. 

Through deeper inspection, I was able to interpret it as: Richard may heavily resent the fact the Sarah was promoted to Colonel and not him. It is never made clear who has the better credentials, Sarah or Richard, but assuming that she was the one promoted it is a safe guess. This may be highlighted by the fact that Sarah is a women, and also gay. Even before episode 7, it was clear that Richard did not respect her authority. I also interpreted it as Richard being upset that and openly gay women was promoted instead of him, a black man. 

Of course this is just based on my own personal knowledge of how the U.S. military can be towards people of color and LGBTQ+. Regardless, the competitive tension between two parents is palpable without needing dialogue to explain.  

When conflict happens, I can kind of figure out which characters are going to react and which one’s will stay silent. I think the show is trying to accomplish a drastically realistic and raw series. It took me while to adjust to it, but by maybe the 2nd or 3rd episode, it starts to grow on you. Despite not liking a good majority of the characters, I was very surprised by how invested I was in them. 

Like, Danny is my least favorite character because he displays very abusive and explosive tendencies, and doesn’t seem to care about the world around him. However, getting glimpses into his character and seeing how Richard ignores him for Caitlin/Harper, his suicidal thoughts, and how he is trying to reclaim his cultural and religious background makes me empathize with him. 

Even though I hate his character, I can see that he is struggling. I appreciate the way that this show freely shows dark skinned black boys dealing with mental health issues, and personal development. Rarely are issues like suicide talked about in the black community, so seeing Danny talk about it and Craig offering(admittedly poor)comfort was touching. This is a general vibe that I get from nearly all the characters on WAWWA. I also appreciated the how Danny is actively trying to convert to Islam. In shows, rarely is Islam ever portrayed in a positive manner. Especially when female characters are shown to be struggling with their religion, Islam is shown as this barrier that prevents them from living life. Hopefully it goes without saying that the “taking off the hijab” as a way to show that a female character is “liberated” is overplayed and does not offer any respect to the countless Muslim women who choose to wear hijabs. 

Now I think the pacing of some of the storylines could have been handled a bit more gracefully. Like how we jump from Fraser and Harper being kind of enemies(not really but you know what I mean), to just them hanging out in Richard’s boat was jarring. I would have at least liked to see the scene of them talking on the rocks at the beach. It would’ve given more insight on Caitlin/Harper’s character and also on Fraser too. Also how quickly Maggie and Lu(Jennifer but I love the name Lubaba, it’s my aunt’s name)jump into a physical affair. I just would have liked to see a build up of tension between all these characters but I don’t think this entirely ruins the plot. 

I was very iffy when I learned that the show would be focusing on trans identity and gender and sexuality, but not actually hire a trans male actor. I was afraid that the show would completely botch the experiences of being transgender, and honestly I don’t have the authority to speak on whether or not this affects the quality of the show. I am cisgender, and only can empathize with this particular situation as much as I can. But I would like to hear to the opinion of someone who is trans and elaborate on the ways that they did/didn’t like Jordan Kristine Seamón’s portrayal. 

Now at the time I’m writing this, the season finale has yet to come out. But I’d also like to briefly discuss the most recent episode and how it developed Jonathan and Fraser’s relationship. I was VERY worried that Guadagnino was going to take their relationship in the direction of inappropriate. While nearly all the depictions of Jonathan and his actions have been trough Fraser’s pov, it didn’t stop me from side-eyeing some of the interactions they shared. Of course after it was mentioned that Jonathan was supposed to be in his late 20s, nearing 30 I was immediately uncomfortable with the very flirty behavior he exhibited. 

So when the scene of Fraser going up to his apartment after Craig’s death, I was very on edge. If Guadagnino had gone the extra mile to show an even larger age gap then I would’ve been pissed. While I enjoyed Call Me By Your Name, the implication that sexual relationships between barely legal teenagers and adults well into their 20s was sensual is something that I see as very weird now that I’m older. So seeing Jonathan as the object of Fraser’s affections made me extremely warry. 

And honestly, I’m still surprised that the scene even happened in its entirety. I’m sure that Jack was not in any danger of being exploited but there were definitely points while watching I thought, what the fuck is going on? I was very worried that it would escalate, but I was happy to see that Fraser was the one who stopped it from going further.  It made sense to me that this scene took so many liberties to be as graphic as possible without being too graphic, in order to show why a situation like that would be scary and confusing for Fraser. It wasn’t lost to me that Marta and Jonathan were the one’s initiating all the sexual advances. They held all the power in that scenario, even more so because Fraser is younger and has the tendencies to not make the best decisions. Though it seemed that Fraser was trying, he knew that the situation was fucked up.

I’d like to hear what JDG felt and thought doing this scene. What was his character’s thought process?

I’ve seen a lot of people compare the show heavily to CMBYN, which is fine. Besides certain cinematic parallels that people pointed out, I don’t see the clear comparison. CMBYN is more of a love story and it’s more polished than WAWWA. Now when I say tat, I don’t mean it as a negative. Rather, We Are Who We is obviously more devoted to realism and its characters. I appreciate the inclusion of more LGBTQ+ people and black main characters with development, something that CMBYN lacked. And for some people who didn’t like the show based solely on the fact that it wasn’t a CMBYN tv show, I suggest just going into it with no expectations and enjoy the mess. 

And I’d also like to take a moment to commend Jack Dylan Grazer for his job in We Are Who We Are. All of the main cast are amazing actors and actresses and did a really good job bringing their characters to life. Though, I had always associated JDG with supporting roles that, while highlighted his acting talent, only put him in a one-dimensional light. As good as It 2017 was, JDG’s role of Eddie is only meant to be seen as a comic relief. In WAWWA, I was able to forget that he was teen actor, Jack Dylan Grazer, and really see him as Fraser. It’s worth mentioning that in a GQ interview, Grazer also mentioned how this role made him reevaluate is approach to acting. 

And after reading an interview he did with a Interview Germany, with him saying he spent months in Italy reading the script and trying to perfectly craft this character, I was immensely impressed. I hope that he knows that all his hard work payed off and made a really dynamic and interesting character. I really hope that in the future JDG continues with more mature or multi-dimensional roles because he displayed that he has the talent to do so. Him being so young makes me optimistic in knowing that he is definitely going places in his career. I also hope that there will be a season 2 of WAWWA because despite having hour long episodes, the show still felt way too short. There is a lot about Fraser’s character, and all the others’ characters, that I want more information and analysis on.

[emmys-grimoire]

Cosmology blurb

Mulling over ideas for a fanfic series set in the Celestial Realm and realizing I may need to make some educated guesses about how things work. I figure I’d share my observations. Spoilers ahead.

I’m thinking the realms aren’t sandwiched/stratified on top of each other but are arranged more like this...

... if Lilith didn’t have to fall through the human realm to get to the Devildom and if the heavenly gates are accessible from the Devildom (implied when MC is transported there from the Devildom). There are obviously Celestial-Human and Devildom-Human access points in the story, too.

Traditionally, Heaven is upstairs and Hell is downstairs. But, while clearly inspired by these places, the Devildom is not actually Hell and the Celestial Realm is not actually Heaven. I mean, they’re not even named that.

They each have their own seperate skies with different constellations/celestial bodies (Devildom doesn’t have a sun and the other two realms do, and they have Belphie’s/Beel’s stars). Clearly the act of falling from the Celestial Realm to the Devildom is at least a metaphorical thing, but it’s implied to be literal, too.

I don’t think it matters a whole heckuvalot, but it’s interesting to think about.

Angel versus Devil society

Looking at what small details we have, the way these two realms have evolved and currently function is also very interesting.

The Devildom is a monarchy while the Celestial Realm may be an autocracy with a caste system (I think the Devildom probably does, too, just by the nature of feudalism but it may not be officially acknowledged). Previous Demon Kings have lived and died (there’s a tomb and a line of succession) while the Celestial Realm presumably remained ruled by the same entity throughout time. 

That’s pretty interesting, too. Demon Kings are not immortal. Diavolo, however, is likely stronger than Lucifer -- it makes sense that he has to be if he’s actually meant to replace his father.

The Celestial Realm’s caste system has Luke at the lowest rank, some kind of middle or multiple ranks, and Michael at the top rank. Lucifer used to occupy the same rank alongside him.

Christian angelology has multiple very detailed and convoluted hierarchies regarding angels, and for that reason it's probably much more simplified in the game. It already deviates from the typical choir arrangement by having archangels be the top rank when they're normally near the bottom, and giving them the six wings of the seraphim (the top choir).

We're not given much insight as to whether or not angels are born into these ranks or if they ascend them through good works and valor in battle or something. Lucifer being so utterly flawless seems to suggest he was born with it, but Luke complaining about being in the lowest rank suggests that there may be some way for him to change that arrangement and it may simply be a consequence of his (lack of) age and experience. Simeon also mentioning Michael may be of higher rank but he's still "a normal angel" may also allude to that. It could be a variation, where everyone starts at the same level but Lucifer and Michael were specifically given a greater share of angelic power so they were meant to get to the top and that inevitably happened. Or maybe angels gain xp and levels in fights with the demons and they managed to become head and shoulders above the rest by being better gamers.

Also, the legion of angels. 

A legion is a military or semimilitary unit. That is an interesting term to call what may also double as your governing body outside of daddy. The game mentions Michael was in charge of Mammon’s “training” before he was handed over to Lucifer, and well...

Michael is usually depicted and referred to as a protector and the leader of the army of God against the forces of evil, and it seems he reprises that role in this universe. Lucifer once did, too.

A fundamental part of “angel training” may revolve around warfare and training for it. We know the angels and demons have had a long, bloody history, but fighting doesn’t seem to be a part of RAD’s curriculum. The Celestial Realm may have changed it’s course now that they’ve entered a period of relative peace, but I’m not entirely sure.

So far the only in-game lore detail we have related to the actual fighting is the colosseum being destroyed in a battle before the creation of RAD, but it’s proof that the angels have invaded the Devildom at some point. It might have went vice-versa, too, and we simply haven’t observed it because we haven’t been in the Celestial Realm for more than two minutes. 

In spite of all this, it doesn’t seem like angel society is wholly bad. It’s likely rigid and hierarchical, but it is also strangely communal. The brothers have all fostered close bonds with each other within the Celestial Realm -- not the Devildom -- and the angels in the story seem to maintain their positive opinion of Lucifer and his brothers in spite of him sparking a civil war and them now being demons. How the angels treat each other is also noteworthy: Simeon and Luke clearly love each other and have a healthy relationship, by all accounts Michael wholeheartedly supports Luke and gives him positive feedback, and in spite of Luke’s obvious (though changing) prejudice towards all things demon they’re comparatively even-keeled. They generally operate on the assumption that they should help each other and others and that’s a good thing.

They also seem to be onboard with the intent behind exchange program. Luke isn’t sent there to be a spy like Simeon probably was, because he’s pretty terrible at subterfuge. 

A tacit admission that Luke’s perspective is one commonly held by the denizens of the Celestial Realm. Simeon points out that it’s not entirely bad, and I’m inclined to agree.

And also an acknowledgement that the thinking is flawed and they’re willing to make an effort to expand their horizons (considered a good thing). So something has changed, and it’s probably connected to... well... Lucifer and his brothers falling. Or the Celestial Realm just isn’t a monolith and there’s competing viewpoints even with how their society is structured. It’d be interesting to hear what the brothers thought about demons before they became demons themselves, and how they adjusted to that transformation (we get insight on how Lucifer viewed them via Glory Days, but that’s it.)

The Devildom, in contrast, uh... still has problems in this area outside of Diavolo.

This is disregarding all the soul devouring, torture, and casual murder that goes on between demons -- including the brothers. Diavolo is well regarded, but he’s also been unofficially in charge for quite awhile and it doesn’t appear he thinks this is a problem, even though he himself doesn’t treat his subjects poorly (as far as I know, anyway).

Which brings me to this...

There’s a reason he doesn’t really have any close bonds beyond Barbatos and Lucifer, in spite of being universally beloved. And I’m not sure how well he knows Barbatos, honestly. He’s isolated, and it’s not entirely related to his position; Lucifer has been in a high status position in both realms and doesn’t have this problem and never really did in spite of being prickly and anal-retentive af. There’s been quite a bit of commentary in these lessons about how he’s changed and may be reverting back to his angelic tendencies, with Barbatos implying that while it may be good for him and his family, it may not be what’s best for the Devildom... and I think that’s a mindset carried over from his tenure serving under Diavolo’s dad and helping enforce the current state of the Devildom for a specific purpose. MC somehow turning Lucifer and his brothers back into good people (or better people, at least), and Diavolo being envious of their closeness, may interfere with that: the demons around them may start getting ideas, and Diavolo may make more changes.

So not all is well in the Devildom, either, and Diavolo may not be cognizant of how or why. While the Celestial Realm may be a militant society with authoritarian impulses and bigotry, the Devildom sounds like a corrupt monarchy with a dog-eat-dog world underneath that makes trust and love liabilities to survival and keeps the peasants where they are forever. It’s simply another brand of dysfunction.

Hoomans and MC

The Human Realm is probably meant to be some kind of middleground in the dark/bad - light/good spectrum, with its inhabitants having no impulses skewed one way or the other and thus possessing the ability to slide back and forth. 

Demons interact with the human world via being summoned, pacts, or simply travelling there. Manipulating them and preying on them involves magical speechcraft. The angels aren’t allowed to reveal their angel forms to humans, travel there without permission (though it seems the punishment for this wasn’t enough to deter Belphie/Beel/Lilith/Mammon), or magically extend their lifespans -- it seems they prefer to meddle in their affairs indirectly, and revolves around shepherding them towards certain (presumably good) decisions. Ironically enough, Michael himself seems to violate these tenets with Solomon, who is evidently aware of who gave him the demon-controlling ring and was invited to chill with him in the Celestial Realm. It’s do as I say but not as I do, apparently.  

The game seems to imply that it’s possible that MC inherited Lilith’s angelic tendencies/abilities/memories/whatever after the big reveal, which makes me think she may not have turned into a demon before she was reborn. There’s no reason to think she would have retained her angelic abilities as a demon when her brothers haven’t -- she presumably would have lost them before being reborn, if she was turned into a demon first. Diavolo might have just skipped that step altogether for simplicity’s sake.

But she did technically fall, so ???? Maybe it’s just literally falling from the sky.

tl;dr version: they’re all fucked up and the exchange program is a good way for them to try to get their shit together. And I like how it’s set up.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Private Chat Log - 11/30

Follow-up to the argument that Alastor and Valera started a few days ago at movie night. TL;DR: they don't hate each other, but Alastor's not as keen on going out of his way to make friends with Valera as he was before.

Valera

Ah, how incredibly comforting to be back in the familiar territory of not quite knowing where one stands with the local radio demon. And by comforting, one of course means, not remotely comforting in the slightest. But that's hopefully going to change today, if things go well. Stepping into the agreed on location, Valera plasters a smile on their face and offers a friendly fin waggle.

"Alastor."

Alastor

Alastor stands the moment Valera enters—same room as last time, seemed easiest that way. What’s one room compared to another in an empty hotel, anyway? “Valera.”

Valera

They step closer. Not close enough to be within the zone of offering the dreaded handshake, but better than shouting across the room at each other. "So, shall we stand here in front of all these chairs and exchange pleasantries, or get right to it then? I believe I was meant to pelt you with questions, as I put it."

Alastor

Alastor holds up a hand. “Before you start,” he says somberly—as somberly as he can, at any rate, with that smile—“I have something I need to tell you.”

Valera

"Oh? Alright then, I'm listening." Their interest is piqued. What could Alastor have to say that was so important?

Alastor

Alastor straightens himself, adjusts his monocle, clears his throat, and begins with the tone of a consummate professional reading the news on air:

“The leading political story out of England in the year 1910 was the death of King Edward VII and his succession by his son King George V on May 6th—although perhaps of greater historical importance was the introduction of the House of Commons’ bill to remove the House of Lords’ legislative veto, which the next year would culminate in the Commons gaining supremacy over the Lords. There were several strikes of note, the largest being a coal miners’ strike beginning in November—it resulted in several days of rioting and lasted ten months, and the strike only ended when the government enacted a minimum wage. Among the suffragist movement—the part you’ve been waiting for, I know!—after seven years of increasingly violent protests and demonstrations, the Women’s Social and Political Union saw hope in the introduction of an act that would allow a million women to vote—only for it to get stuck in political limbo due to budget issues resulting from that tiff between the Commons and Lords. When the WSPU attempted to march on Parliament in protest on what would come to be known as Black Friday, the courageous ladies were met with violence, from both civilians and police, that frankly is unfit to repeat on air. Some three hundred suffragettes were arrested and two died. In the future, the WSPU would shift back to airing their grievances in a more hit-and-run manner, such as via bricks through windows. And finally, in a subject near and dear to my own heart, the very first arrest was made on the basis of orders sent via wireless telegraphy, another step on the road toward the full maturation of radio.”

He waits with his hands clasped behind his back, smirking.

Valera

It takes a moment for them to even remember why he was suddenly rattling off 1910 news, and another few to process the information because, damn it all, they *were* still curious despite themselves.

Several seconds of silence follow Alastor's monologue, Valera quietly staring at him as their face remains carefully neutral. Followed by a slow, deep inhale, and exhale. Another few moments of quiet pondering.

Then their lip twitches, and all Hell breaks loose as they start CACKLING hard enough to nearly fall over, hands clutching their stomach as they bend over double. Oh, no, there they go actually. 300 some pounds of fish struggling to land on a couch before their limbs give out. Congratulations, Alastor, you've downed the Autocrat of Okkylk.

Alastor

Right now he’s the envy of who-knows-how-many ambitious alien politicians.

He’d been worried how that one was going to end. That, he knew, could have very well ended the discussion before it had a chance to start. But he thought the bit was so funny it was worth taking the risk. A performer to the end.

He’s lucky Valera agreed. He half bows—thank you, thank you—then takes a seat across from Valera to wait for them to recover.

Valera

A few weak coughs, a rattling breath, and Valera sits up to scrub at their face. Alright, alright. They're good. It's fine. Or maybe not, the second they lay eyes on him they start giggling all over again.

"Alastor you *smug little know it all*. That was beautifully done."

Alastor

Another half bow from his seat. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

Valera

"I'm sure you will be, considering you live here." They pause. "DO you live here? I've actually got no idea if you stole one of the hotel rooms the way Penny did or if you commute over here from some secret house of yours."

Alastor

“Oh, goodness, no! Wouldn’t that be sad, to live in a *hotel* of all places.” He quickly makes a placating gesture. “Exceptions made for temporary residences while repairing a damaged home, of course. No, I only work here, just like Husk and Niffty.”

Valera

"Is that sad? I wouldn't know. I've only ever lived in either a nursery in a military compound on the moon, or an assortment of palaces that I inherited from dead people." If they had any tea, they'd be politely sipping it. Unfortunately, they have to settle for shrugging their shoulders like some savage. "I figured Niffty had a nest of towels in a cupboard somewhere that she crawled into at night. Maybe with a Live Laugh Love sign tacked to the backboard."

Alastor

“It is for humans.” He pauses. “Americans, at any rate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she does, truth be told, but I’ve hardly had a reason to check!”

Valera

"Huh! You'd think it'd be a luxury. Shows what I know." But who has time to worry about how sad it may or may not be to live in a hotel? That's not what they were there for. "Regardless! Thank you for the history lesson. I do appreciate it, genuinely. I'd completely forgotten the initial question."

Alastor

“Of course! Always happy to educate.” He sobers up a bit. “But I’m sure that’s not one of the questions you wanted to ask me.”

Valera

"No, but before I get into the questions, there *are* a few things I want to say." They sigh, tucking themselves against the arm of the couch and pulling their legs up. A coil of their tail, and Alastor is sitting across from a neat little bundle of fish.

"Pentious keeps me up to date on your conversations. Not *specifics*, of course, but anything significant tends to come up. And with that in mind, I want to thank you. You've been a good friend to him. I know you don't need my thanks of all things, but I've seen the way your influence has helped him, and I'm grateful regardless."

Alastor

Oh, damn, now he’s self conscious. Awkward smile. Which things are they alluding to? And is the praise about to be followed up by a *However...*? “Of course. After all, it’s what he deserves! That, and... so much more besides.”

Valera

They hold up a hand. "You're right! And before your mind goes racing anywhere, there's no hidden agenda here, I'm not about to follow up with scolding or demand that anything change. I'm just grateful that my spouse has a friend in you. Your conversation last night, for example. It got him to open up more. Which, frankly speaking, is incredible. Three months ago he'd have never."

Alastor

Three months ago, Alastor would never have either. "Ah, well, you know, I do have a way with people." Deflect that praise. What else is he supposed to do with it, say "thank you" again? (He didn't say "thank you" the first time either, but he sort of feels like he implied it.)

Valera

"That you do." Now now Alastor, what did we learn about assuming and implications? But no matter, Valera seems content to leave that conversation where it is. "Now, as far as questions go, I don't have as many as you may think. Most were answered a few minutes into our conversation, luckily for both of us. Before I completely dominate the conversation, did you have anything to say or ask aside from a summary of 1910 English politics?"

Alastor

"Not at the moment." Maybe later, depending on how this went; but that was conclusion stuff, not introduction stuff.

Valera

"Good! In that case, I'll be as direct as possible. Some of these questions will be obvious, try not to be insulted. I'm taking not assuming things literally until I've got confidence in my baseline." Valera shifts, still wrapped in their own tail but leaning in towards Alastor. "Assuming this conversation goes well, would you like to try being friends again, or would you prefer to avoid each other in a civilized fashion?"

Alastor

Alastor makes a thoughtful clicking sound. Well, there's the bulk of what he'd planned to address himself. "At this point? Neither, per se. I don't see any reason to avoid you—but I can't say that I'm currently thrilled by the thought of *trying* to be friends. The whole putting in effort part." A wan smile. "I haven't gotten very good returns on my investments, you see."

Valera

They raise an eyebrow. "That's fair. I wouldn't expect you to go pay to get thrown down the stairs again. What would you have us do then?"

Alastor

"Oh... The same as we've been doing, I suppose. If we're going to end up friends, we'll get there eventually."

Valera

Hum.. "That seems like the most reasonable approach. Alright, next up. Do you plan on ever telling Pentious about your feelings, or is this going to be one of those 'to your grave' scenarios?"

Alastor

Alastor suppresses a grimace. Is that *relevant* to this conversation?

But fine. It's not like he's never thought about it. "If there's ever a point where it will do more good than harm, I'll tell him then. I don't know how it works on your world, but here among us humans, friendships don't tend to last when unequal emotions get exposed. I *want* him to know—but then we'll both be short one friend. And he doesn't have room to lose any."

He shrugs, his gaze on some piece of boring generic hotel wall art. "Fifty-fifty odds it won't be relevant for long anyway—so why ruin what little time we've got left? If everything goes right, I'll be gone and the person that will replace me will be just as happy to be his friend without the uneven attachment. He'll *find out* then," Alastor laughs wryly, "but it won't be aimed at *him* anymore."

Valera

They bite their tongue before they can start pointing out their ongoing friendship with at least three people with feelings for them, it always sounds too self congratulatory when it gets brought up. Instead, how about they just nod along and let Alastor explain his side of things? That's *much* more helpful.

"You've got a point. Though I suppose part of me is still worried that the replacement you that comes to be wont be as good a friend to him as the you he knows now. Perhaps that's irrational. This isn't me trying to get out of it, mind you, this is me asking for reassurance. Do you truly believe this alternate path of yourself will be as good a fit for my beau?"

Alastor

And that's a question he's been trying *not* to think about. He's quiet longer this time as he considers it.

"Your fiancé will be my second priority. And I won't be able to directly empathize with his lowest lows. But, I won't have had half a century to get used to *seeing* him so low—so the biggest risk is that as soon as I find out the story, I'll go eviscerate my duplicate." He huffs. "And I'll be a less wretched person myself. That should help." He hopes.

"I'll be leaving a message for myself to receive after everything's changed. If I can't trust advice from my own self, then who can I trust advice from? But—I can't give a 100% guarantee. The person I was fifty-four years ago would be his friend, but I can only make educated guesses about what I'll be like after fifty-four years to grow in a completely different direction."

Valera

It wasn't the reassuring, resounding yes they were hoping for, but life is rarely so comfortably absolute. Valera frowns, a hand wrapping around one of their barbels to gently worry at the scales. Sorry Alastor, Valera's out here ready to ask questions they really shouldn't.

"... Alright. I suppose that will have to do. It isn't ideal, but it's the best either of us could do in that set of circumstances. Though the idea of you hearing yourself out and then immediately ready to go engage in some fisticuffs with yourself is funny. You're one of the people I see *avoiding* getting involved in fights when possible."

Alastor

"To be frank, the only thing that kept me from trying to exterminate him when I heard the story is the fact that I did the same thing."

He would have liked to offer a resounding yes. Under the circumstances, Alastor thought honesty would be the more courteous option. "Just don't be careless with your half in hopes of sparing your fiancé the disappointment. Remember who's the one who suffers if this fails—and I don't mean me."

Valera

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you. If anyone betrayed Penny now that I'm involved, I'm pretty sure I'd try to smite the bastard two steps in."

They shake their head, waving their hand reassuringly. "I've got no intentions of throwing our deal, Alastor. It's a fifty fifty shot, but I'm going to do my best to help you fix things. Hopefully it all works out, everyone walks away happy, and we all talk very nicely about how great our respective snakes are while they preen in the background."

Alastor

The possibility sounds unreal. "Hopefully." Trying to think about it too hard fills him with a vague sense of dread—the better it sounds, the less he feels like they have the slightest chance of achieving it.

So don't think about it too hard. "You had other questions?"

Valera

"Ah, yes. Lets not linger too much on that. Lest the universe listen in and brace itself." They shift, stretching a single leg out until it shakes before curling back into their little ball. Yes, very good.

"Alright. Let me see... Those teacups. Did you make those? Buy them? They're very nice."

Alastor

"Oh! The ones with the fingers and eyeballs?" This is a weird-ass interrogation. "No, I stole them! Aren't they lovely? Very lifelike!"

Valera

"Oho! Magnificent. Have you animated any of them to skitter around yet? It seems like it'd be great for a laugh."

... Wait, they were supposed to be asking *serious* questions, weren't they? Ahem. "... I don't think I have any more burning questions relevant to our current discussion. Or if I do, they've escaped me. I think I understand things more clearly now than I did before."

Alastor

"Not yet! Don't tell anyone else this, but truth be told, I enjoy everyone's fear from knowing I *could* but not if I *have.* As soon as they see the teacups moving, they know they can. But *until* then... there's always that uncertainty. A delicious, lingering dread." Welcome to Alastor's twisted mind.

"Then I suppose we're just about done here?"

Valera

Alastor's twisted mind happens to be, unfortunately, hilarious. But no time to sit here and praise his penchant for mischief. "I believe we are, yes. Quick and.. Mostly painless. Though I'm sure some of those questions were fairly unpleasant."

Alastor

"If 'fairly' means 'for all of ten seconds.' You're too concerned about other people's minor, fleeting discomforts."

Valera

They give him a quizzical look. "Of course it wouldn't be a lasting feeling, I'm not holding you at gunpoint. I'm not sure why my comment seems to bother you."

Alastor

"I'm simply worried about your preoccupation with how uncomfortable you're sure I must be! You do seem inclined toward micromanaging my mood when we talk like this." A shrug. "I did mention last time, didn't I, how eagerly you pour the compassion out. Perhaps that's related?"

Valera

"Perhaps so." Valera uncurls her coils, feet hitting the floor as she gets ready to stand.

"I'm not interested in keeping a steadying hand on your mood, Alastor. I was acknowledging that my questions delved into personal territory, nothing more. You answered them, so _clearly_ it wasn't _that_ bad."

Alastor

"Then that makes the both of us!" He stands to get the door, all gentleman-like. "Shall we?"

Valera

"Of course." Oh, how very polite of him. They'd planned on just vanishing like usual, but they'll indulge him this time.

Two steps into the hall seems far enough to be polite. A quick glance around, and the fish is gone in the blink of an eye.

Alastor

Hm. He needn't have bothered.

He shuts the door and heads off. Back to work, he supposes.

[silver-and-stars]

9-1-1 4x08 Winter finale

[Warning : I dislike Taylor Kelly. She was okay this episode but I’m the resentful kind. Also my brain works funny at 4am]

I know that flight attendant, Molly, from somewhere! Camille in The Originals, wasn’t she?! Eddie flirting over math??? MATH??? whatever rocks your boat man but MATH? I’m don’t like the “Edmundo” thing. Maybe because it seems like only his parents/grandma/aunt call him that. OR just because I’m not used to it. Afterall, for 2 seasons and half everybody called him Eddie or Diaz. THANK GOD FOR THE BEDTIME ALERT. At least, I won’t have to see them kiss until 6 weeks. Buck being very domestic in Eddie's home, saying “You’re late”, welcoming him at the door, putting Chris to bed. “Christopher is already in bed?” gosh that’s such a domestic question. 9-1-1 why do you to this to me?! “You’re a miracle worker” *ugly sobs smearing my clown make-up*

Okay so we have: Chim and Eddie betting with Hen. Buck talking about his problems to everyone now. I like this. Go my boy, talk about your feels. LOL Eddie starting the “jump” thing and the camera panning to Bobby saying it too. Eddie getting parental advice from Bobby and Athena. Buck befriending Taylor Kelly?? "Be patient, let the universe come to you", the same universe that "doesn’t scream" according to Eddie? (if this is a message to us TOO BAD I’M ALL OUT OF PATIENCE)

Does… Albert have a job? (I mean he buys groceries so he has some money) A job that would allow him to get his own place and not bring his date to his friend’s apartment?? Omg no, Buck, you're going to bring Taylor Kelly to the double date? Taylor "Let's film the firefighter captain when he is about to jump off the building and after the illusion of his dead daughter" Kelly? Aww the discussion between Athena and Maddie was really sweet and OH god Karen u okay? I would have fainted! How is the stabbed guy not dead? also Athena PLEASE stop getting alone in a place where potentially murderers are without calling for back up! It always stressed me up but it does even more now, since the assault.

So Eddie likes Ana “a lot”? Okay well, good for him. He deserves nice things.

Okay I’m not being sincere here. Like, hey maybe it doesn’t have to be a girl? Though it’s obviously going to be, cause they are not going to make the two allegedly straight guys date each other, are they? Not the dad who was in the military and the manly lady-killer. What would the viewers think? The cis viewers not wanting yet another queer relationship in their show about badass firemen. Look at what all those disappointments did to me. Made me so jaded. I may be getting a bit bitter here. I just dislike seeing good potential throw out the windows for those kinds of reasons. Anyways, holy shit I didn't expect Chris to get THIS angry. It's gonna be okay Eddie, eventually.

[long post so rest under the cut]

RIP Buck, looking so dejected in his little armchair I dislike Taylor Kelly (for her morality) a lot but she does look good in that red dress... and it seems she didn't knew it was a double date? Yep. #awkward Yeaaah, Buck that wasn't thought through, was it? Also, no Taylor, you and Buck didn't click because you’re here for a hook-up (though he doesn’t seem uninterested in the idea) while he seeks a "more meaningful relationship". [Buck I’m gonna shore you’re head in front off Eddie’s and maybe you’ll have some kind of revelation then.] "You're so needy" how shut up Ma'am "I'd had no qualms wanting to give a bad image of the 118 as long as it gave me views". I don’t like you enough to tolerate you speaking poorly to Buck. It's true, he should have told you, he f*cked up and he doesn't want to not be like (we have his unloving parents to thank for that) and I get your feelings are hurt but hey! I don't care about your feelings. I care about Buck's. (as Hen said to Chim : “She is you’re ex, I’m your friend. You get to move on. I get to hold a grudge until I died.”)

You know Ana is nice, like she is ready to take a break for Christopher’s sake and yet... I don't care about her. Maybe it's because I ship buddie and she pales in comparison with Eddie and Buck's chemistry. But I don't think this is it. I mean we already have a nice caring girl in Maddie (who was more likeable from the start though) so maybe this is why. Like Ana feels redundant, personality wise. I should like her, she is pretty, nice, intelligent, she cooks it seems, she makes Eddie smile, she was an elementary school teacher and yet she doesn’t interest me. I can't get invested in her character or Eddie's relationship with her. She is too much of a satellite love interest. I'm fine with that if she isn't meant to stay. But if she is meant to stay (noooooooo) then you better strengthen her character. You better make her the Maddie to his Chimney, the Athena to his Bobby. Make me like her.

Christopher sneaked out?! WTF?! How? And he went to Buck's house? Called himself a uber?! (hmm this was in a fanfic I read) Did he manage to pass Eddie without getting notice or did he go through the back door? Anyway, here comes the talk and this is not going where we hoped it will. I knew, yet I’m still disappointing. This is why I’m a clown. To be honest I wished tv writers could just spoil us about ships to come, at least when it concerns queer ships (you know, like Roswell New Mexico did, Roswell New Mexico where a soldier date a ladykiller cowboy hmmm). Should I keep hoping for buddie or not? Tell me. I'll wait if I should and move one if I shouldn't. I just don't like wasting my time and energy on queerbaiting, if this is what it is.

OH NO CHRIS! He thinks everybody leaves! (Btw where IS Carla? Who keeps watch on Chris when he is homeschooled and Eddie is at work?) Damn! Buck is DEFINITELY the right person to talk about those feelings! (wow you two have so much in common, you could be related! By law. Through your dad. A June wedding for buddie). Awww Buck promised to be there for Christopher! OH MY GOD FORGET EVERYTHING! RIGHT NOW NOTHING MATTERS! MADDIE SAID "I LOVE YOU" !! THREE TIMES! I'm so happy for her and Chimney!

So was the tweet alluding to Buck moving in Eddie's house playing with us OR are we going to get it later this season? Doesn’t seem like it. I’d me more hopeful if I hadn’t been queerbaited so many times before or seen perfect gay ships never come into fruition because of the “no homo” rule. And why Taylor "Walsh"? I like seeing Eddie as a medic. OMG NOPE TAYLOR KELLY YOU DON’T PULL OFF YOU MASK ON A VACCINATION SITE TO KISS A FIREFIGHTER ON THE CHEEK. YOU TWO HAVE BEEN AROUND PEOPLE ALL DAY! SOCIAL DISTANCING! THAT MASK STAYS ON TO PROTECT OTHERS FROM YOU!

As expect, we've been clowns! Buck didn't, and won’t, move in (he doesn’t need to since Albert and Veronica broke up), Eddie did introduced Chris to Ana. Chris is now okay with it (his reaction was cute) although STOP HUGGING PEOPLE OUTSIDE OF YOUR FAMILIAL CIRCLE, VICE-PRINCIPAL. YOU DIDN’T EVEN WASH YOUR HANDS BEFORE HUGGING HIM! SOCIAL DISTANCING DAMMIT!

We really are in for Eddie/Ana to stay this season (I mean he introduced her to Chris, so it is pretty serious) and maybe Buck / freaking Taylor Kelly (like hook-up to friends to lovers). Buck you can date anyone but please find yourself someone better.

OH HELL NO! This is the mid-season mean cliffhanger? Don't take cutie Nia away from Karen and Hen. I mean, sure this is what they signed up for and if the mother is now a decent person she should see her daughter again, but the baby doesn't even remember her mother (she was too young) and she is already calling them "mom" !

And now we wait. 6 weeks.

[lukeyhughes]

so the other day i reblogged a post and vagued about my issues with gk’s framing of iraqi tragedies in the tags, which was then replied to and that reply was circulated. while the reply was awesome/insightful/interesting i feel like my original point sorta got lost in the shuffle. i wasnt going to make a post about this for a bit but i feel like its been consuming my thoughts all day so i’ll elaborate what i meant under the cut! 

gen kill is david simon show, so like all david simon shows the thesis is “people exist in inside of a broken system.” in this case, the broken system is the marine corps chain of command and the people are the marines who have to carry out senseless orders. this is shown in many ways, including pointless dangerous missions (see: the bridge, danger close, etc.), how capable enlisted men are vs. most officers, how the “only good officer” nate is punished for rational choices, and how the marines have their spirits crushed because they are forced to senselessly kill iraqi civilians.

when i was in first year of undergrad i took an african studies class that in one seminar problematicized coverage of the Rwandan Genocide: how many times have you heard/read a Romeo Dallaire interview/account? how many times have you read/heard an interview from a genocide survivor? how many times have you seen pictures of bodies/skulls of genocide victims? the answer for the average person is a lot, hardly ever, a lot. with the iraq invasion, the questions would be: how many times have you heard the accounts of coalition soldiers about the iraq war across media types? how many times have you heard accounts of it from the iraqi civilian perspective? how many times have you seen statistics regarding the amount of iraqi civilian casualties? a lot, hardly ever, a lot.

that is all to say that in western media/society we are very comfortable listening to white narratives and just seeing brown bodies, which translates into only hearing white narratives of the tragedies of the deaths of others in foreign countries. in generation kill, iraqi civilian casualties/fatalities/tragedies are framed so that we feel sympathy for the marines that caused them as opposed to those suffering. that is not to say that we as the audience do not feel sympathy (i certainly do!) but it is because of our own internal empathy, not the narrative framing of the show.

let’s take a look at three of the biggest cases of iraqi civilian tragedy and how they’re framed in the show:

first, when rudy goes up to the roadblock and sees the dead little girl in episode 4. we get quite a few shots of the father’s shell-shocked face, but just as many are shots of rudy’s horror/sadness; we watch him walk away from behind from rudy’s perspective and we see that rudy is unable to look away from them. rudy didn’t actually have anything to do with it (aside from abetting i suppose), but even when he gets back to camp the show makes sure to illustrate how affected by it he is, ignoring brad and ray who call out to him. this one is actually surprisingly gk’s best example of eliciting sympathy for iraqi casualties; however, the focus of the scene is still on rudy and the father’s reaction is still mostly used to contribute to rudy’s guilt/horror.

the next scene is the little shepherd boys who were shot by trombley while out with their camels. we see the mom crying over her son, but its basically background noise and is if anything used to further the marines’ (particularly brad and doc bryan to a lesser extent) guilt at causing the situation. we know this because her actions don’t exist independently: they are used for the marines to react to. we also get considerably more shots of marines looking on in horror than her crying about her son. brad’s guilt/sadness about the subject is dwelled on for about twenty minutes over the next two episodes, longer than any of the actual victims’ screen-time dedicated to their feelings combined.

the worst scene is the man in the white car, which sets off the main drama for the next episode. we get why walt did it- the show goes out of its way to make sure that we do- but at the end of the day a man is still dead, likely for no reason. in the aftermath we get about a hundred heartbreaking shots of walt’s shocked face, with a few of brad thrown in as well. on the other hand, we get no shots of the people in the car being horrified at seeing someone they know lobotomized. we just see them run away, no sadness no horror no nothing: from the show’s narrative perspective, this man’s death has no impact on anybody except for walt and the other marines. to make matters worse the man’s face is only shown when the marines notice how horrifyingly disfigured his body is; to me this is robbing the real man of his dignity even in death. 

let’s take a step back and look at gen kill’s general portrayal of iraqis. we don’t really get to see the marines interact with civilians until they reach baghdad when they go into rundown neighbourhoods. here, the iraqi men are portrayed as greedy and dumb, cutting in front of children and not understanding that there are other types of government. that’s not to say that that didn’t happen in real life- i’m sure it did- but it’s essentially the ONLY view of iraq civilians we get: ignorant, greedy, backwards, etc. deadass the only sympathetic iraqi characters in episode 7 are children, where we get a couple of UNICEF-esque shots of doc bryan holding crying kids to drive home that guilt factor. i bring this up because it means that the iraqi characters are not written so that you feel bad for them or empathize with their terrible situation. instead, the narrative wants you to empathize with the marines (in this case, particularly nate) who feel guilty for causing this chaos that they can’t do anything to fix it. 

the only other time iraqi civilians even have lines is when a refugee women tells brad about how he is destroying her home, but even then the point of that isn’t really her pain but how brad feels guilty/ashamed about what the usmc (an institution that is part of identity more than anyone else) is doing that; also she’s attacking brad who really had nothing to do with the baghdad situation and already feels guilty about other things, so its just creating more material for brad’s identity/guilt crisis and our sympathies for it.

all of this to say is that in basically every single case civilian tragedies don’t exist in the narrative on their own: they are used for the marine main characters to react to: the village. the truck crew. the men at the roadside. even the syrian student.

also @sunnygreys replied to some tags i made alluding to this issue. you should read what they wrote bc it’s a really interesting counterweight to what i’m saying and offers a different perspective. but anyway basically they mention certain lines where people are like “no ones forcing us to be here.” particularly notable was when godfather says that no one is forced to be here because they’re all volunteers in episode 3. my view of this has always been that saying that is ignorance on his part and another symptom of the broken command system. godfather chose to be career military,  he chose to accept the mission, he chose to change the ROE, etc: there was no gun to his head. for the enlisted men, the ones on the bottom who actually carried out the mission that injured the boys, they are pretty much being forced to be there by their circumstances. out of all the marines we interact with in the series, im pretty sure brad is the only enlisted man who comes from wealth and by extension had other options, while most others either implicitly or explicitly grew up in impoverished/unstable households: poverty is the new draft. thats sorta between the lines, but i imagine david simon knows that because of his previous work on poverty. what isnt between the lines is that the command system DOES force men in lower ranks to “be there” and carry out order: they can get NJPed for disobeying, they sign contracts that they’ll be dishonourably discharged and lose their benefits if they break, etc. there’s no gun to their head physically but metaphorically its pretty close. to me at least, those lines are not narratively placed to make us sympathize less with the marine main characters but instead to make us sympathize with them even more, because it shows how disconnected command really is. david simon is a huge dick irl but he’s a really clever writer.

again, i reiterate that we as the audience likely feel sympathy for the iraqi population because for most people its naturally sad when people die/get injured/etc. i think a lot of points i made and ones made by @sunnygreys can be mutually true, but the main difference being that i really don’t believe that gk’s intention was to make us step back and reflect on our sympathy with the “oppressors:” i really do think that’s who the show intends for us to sympathize with most based on their choices in camera shots, who says what, etc. that doesn’t mean we can’t step back and reflect, as i hope many of us have, i just think that was an unintended consequence. (if i’m misconstruing what you said please lmk and ill edit!)

that being said, can’t think of a way that generation kill could have done better in this regard based on the book/characters it had. the marines ARE the main characters and by conventional standards its their narrative/feelings/growth that matters. but just because there may have been no other way doesn’t make it unproblematic. its another example of western media using violence against nameless, distant foreigners for their own horror. 

there are people wandering this earth who are dealing with the loss of the man in the white car, the little girl at the roadblock, an entire village. those little boys, if they’re still alive, probably have to deal with the severe injuries they got when they were shot by marines. those slums of baghdad may still be in unstable today and have likely lost community members due to sanitation/hunger/violence. imagine knowing that there is a show out there where you or your loved ones are being used as a plot device to make viewers feel sympathy for the ones who put you in those positions. i sympathize deeply with the marines of GK, but i can imagine how hard it would be to be in the iraqi population’s place watching yourself and your experiences interpreted in a way dissociated from your own suffering so that the primary victimhood can be placed on the ones who did it to you. 

in conclusion, i love gen kill a lot. i love the story and the characters, and i think its an effective story in terms of achieving what it seeks to achieve. i think it’s okay to love something and be critical of it. also if western media companies weren’t cowards and weren’t scared of losing american military financial contributions they would make a miniseries about the iraqi people who were terrorized by american invaders, including the ones we love in gk!

[cultureisdarkbeer]

The Beginning - Chapter 2 

Scully found herself in a crowded bar at 2 o’clock in the afternoon waiting on her partner.  What so many patrons were doing there at that hour she hadn’t a clue, but the thought of possibly being hit on by a drunk made her very uncomfortable. Not to mention, it was so loud she couldn’t even hear herself think.  It was week two of working with Agent Mulder and she still wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.  The first week with him was quite an exciting one, but surely the cases would become mundane as time went on. She was suspicious of meeting at a bar.  He had already asked her to go out for a run with him in the middle of the night, called her at nearly 11:30 PM when they got back, and now this.  She began to think he might be hitting on her.  Maybe she should let him know she had a boyfriend.  She really wasn’t into divulging her personal life so easily, but this might be borderline harassment. On top of all that he was late. Impatiently, she glanced at her watch.

Mulder entered the bar and saw the studious Miss Agent Scully reviewing paperwork.  He liked the name Scully, it reminded him of the famed announcer Vin Scully, although, thankfully, she looked nothing like him. Today she was smartly dressed in her pinstripes and her hair was poofier than last time they met.  He was drawn to her lips that were highlighted by a killer red lipstick.  Maybe knowing what she looked like under that suit wasn’t the best for their working relationship.  I’m not attracted to her, he repeated to himself.  Besides, they had more important things to delve into.

He snuck up behind her and it took her by surprise.  It was meant to.  He was so close at first she thought he might kiss her.  A pleasant musky sandalwood cologne filled her nose removing the bar stench that was there previously. He was standing so close he dissolved whatever personal space she had.  Missy was right.  He was hot.  The heat emanating from his body was soothing causing her to go into an almost hypnotic state.  Her body gravitating towards him on a subconscious level.  Their eyes locked and the room went quiet.  His eyes seemingly changing color from an olive green to a gray steel as it happened.  She took off her glasses to get a better look.  He offered to buy her a drink and now she was sure he might be hitting on her.  Keep it professional Dana, she said to herself, knowing there was someone at home.

Scully let out a sigh as he left her to go to the bathroom.  There was something deeply intoxicating and intriguing about him.  At the same time she knew they were headed for trouble with this latest excursion to Idaho.  Still, he put her under his spell with his paranormal bouquet.  She smirked as she could only anticipate what he had in store.

*

At 9:13PM outside Ellen’s Air Base Scully was awoken by the crashing of the back glass of the car. Mulder grabbed her hand leading her up the hill to bear witness to the unexplained.  As they made their way to the top she grasped his hand tighter.  Why did her hand feel so comfortable in his?  Electric charges coursing through his hand into her own.  Why did it always feel like she already knew him?  A familiarity not like an ex-lover or a family member, more like the way you know your own limbs, like the way you sense your lungs take in air or feel your heart coursing blood through your veins.  She looked out at the night’s sky, lights darting everywhere not following any set pattern that she could discern. She heard the blast of a plane engine and the breeze from the exhaust. Oh. My. God.  It was close to a religious experience.

Running from the military helicopter they hid behind a tree with two kids they had discovered in the field high on more than just life. His hand scorched electricity into her back as he held it there until it found its way to her shoulder. They attempted to slow their breathing, hearts pounding with excitement.

The sun was up as they dropped off their new found young crusaders busy misspending their youth.  As they performed some more back and forth inside the car, attempting to learn more about the other, Scully’s casual comment of “If I was that stoned”  caused Mulder to believe that maybe she did loosen up and gazed at her incredulously.   

Eventually, he revealed his belief that the planes at Ellen’s Air Force Base were built using UFO technology.  She thought that he may actually be as crazy as previously alluded and her lack of a filter relayed the information to him.  He laughed as if she was just ignorant to the facts. They were speaking of UFOs, but she felt her body flirting with his as she tucked strands of hair behind her ear, eyes sparkling as she returned cracked smiles and pouty lips. The chemistry between them was strong.  An electricity so thick you could almost see it.  But she wouldn’t describe it as sexual. This was something she had not come across.  Her mind yearning for additional proof.   Another observation she made, at times, even given the substantial difference in their heights, her hips would naturally sway in time with his as they walked.  As if their hips were keeping time with a metronome only they could hear leading them through uncharted supernatural enchantment.  If he was one step ahead of her, it was only due to his inability to keep her in the loop.  She was beginning to think his private agenda was interfering.  Why couldn’t he understand that the government had a right to protect its secrets and the questions they had, they may have no business asking?

*

As the fog began to lift from his mind, he was unable to process what had occurred on the base.  It was taken from him, wiped like a hard drive.  Not like when something is on the tip of your tongue.  It was just gone.  He looked over at his partner.  She was driving them to the airport.  He knew everything he had put her through in the past two weeks had been a lot.  To tell someone of her background the things he had told her.  He understood it was hard for her to believe.  What he failed to understand was how she was still by his side.  He had lied to her, left her, broke the law, and put her career in danger.  Yet she stole a car and threatened a high powered man’s life in exchange for his own.  She didn’t leave without him and she was tough.  Qualified in her position. He was sure that the powers that be had no clue what they had done.  They saw her as a quiet capable obedient young lady, conservative in her thoughts as well as her dress.  Someone able to take him and his department down with her stringent rules and the mighty words of her field report.  What they failed to realize in their cursory assessment was what he knew as an expert profiler, a connoisseur of people.  What she showed the world was a shell she created, encased in a sculpture of choices.  Underneath the rigid layers was an ocean of unpredictability and surprises.

“How are you feeling?” She asked as she glanced over.

“Better than before, but I’ll never get parts of my memory back” He could see her frowning out of the corner of his eye.  “What made you stay?”

“I don’t understand your question.”

“I thought for sure you would have left and headed back to D.C., but you stayed.  You didn’t leave me.”

“I’m not going to leave you Mulder.  You’re my partner.  You don’t leave your partner.”

“There are some that would”

“Well, I’d like to think I have more character and integrity than that.”

“Point taken……thank you. It didn’t go unappreciated.”

“Don’t thank me yet Mulder, I’m sure this isn’t the last time I’m going to have to save your ass.”  A smile started to form at the corner of her mouth.  She glanced at him sideways keeping her head facing front as they drove off into the darkness back to D.C.

*

“Dana honestly, ever since you’ve taken this assignment you haven’t been the same person.”

“Ethan, what are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that you’ve become distant.”

“You know I am not at liberty to discuss my work with anyone.” This was the third discussion they were having about this.  The conversation was nothing but irritating.

“It’s not just your work Dana.  I think it has something to do with that partner of yours.  Something you haven’t been telling me.”

The mention of her partner caused her blood pressure to rise. “We are partners and I am a professional.  I’m also loyal.  How dare you make any insinuations otherwise.”

Ethan took a visible step back and ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. “Look Dana.  I’ve been offered another job opportunity.  This time in L.A.” He reached out and grabbed both her hands staring her straight in the eye. “Dana, I’d like you to come with me.  You could transfer to the L.A. field office.  We can work on us. Right now it’s too hard on us. You’re gone for weeks at a time, working weekends, this isn’t what we had in our plans.”

Scully released her hands and turned away from him busying herself folding laundry. “Ethan, now is not the time to talk about this.  It’s late and I want to go to bed.  It looks like we both have a lot to consider.  I’m going to need some time.”

“Well, I have to fly out to LA for a meeting next week.  You’ll have some time to think about it then.  Hopefully we will have come to a decision by then.”

One week later…

Mulder stared at Tooms in deep contemplation of the implications of such a mutant on society. He felt Scully’s hand on his arm, stroking his bicep.  Instead of stiffening uncomfortably, his body turned into hers as if part of a dance, folding into her momentum.  She pulled him out of his depravity with a simple touch and they strolled down the hallway together.

As they left the prison with Tooms quietly building a nest inside his cell, Mulder asked Scully if she wanted to stop for a bite to eat.

“I really have to get home.”  She was thinking of Ethan and how he might be upset if he knew she was having dinner with another man.  Although she did have lunch with Tom Colton, but that was only during lunch break.  The truth was she still wasn’t sure whether or not Mulder was hitting on her.  When he grabbed her necklace at work what she found unsettling was that she didn’t even flinch.  They were strangers and her body responded to him like an old friend.  What if he did try something?  What if he kissed her?  Would she pull away?  Would she try to stop him?  She wanted to think that she would turn down his advances, but would she?

“If I promise not to take you out for liver and onions will you come?”

She smiled. It was probably harmless. “Okay, but I really can’t stay out late.”

“Neither can I.  It’s a full moon. I might turn into a werewolf.” He leaned into her and let out a howl.  He grinned and his eyes sparkled.

As they entered the restaurant, Mulder opened the door for her and casually placed his hand on her lower back leading her inside.  He had done the same as he led her through the dark staring at Tooms’ trophy collection.  Once again, she did not like when men made moves like that.  She found it patronizing and possessive.  Yet, when he did it, it felt like they were lego blocks clicking together.  He picked a small booth in the corner so they could talk.  She could tell he was very much into private conversations.  His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that shot through her core.  In his eyes she saw a day where they wouldn’t need to talk.  She would look into those eyes and know.  That was if she didn’t get lost in them first.  Her tongue flicked out to lick her top lip.

“So what looks good to you?”

“Excuse me?”  His question bringing her back. For a second, she thought he was reading her mind.

“For dinner, what looks good on the menu?”

“Oh, I’m thinking about the steak.”

“Be still my heart, a woman that doesn’t just order a salad.”

“Don’t discount me yet, I had one for lunch.  Normally, I try to eat healthy.  Then sometimes, I don’t.  After what we’ve just been through, I deserve the steak.”

“Well, good for you. I believe I will join you.”

As the waitress set down their plates, Scully took a bite and swallowed.  “I told off Colton.”

“Did you now.” He looked up at her with a grin and placed a fork full of steak into his mouth.

She nodded. “I told him I can’t wait to see him fall down the corporate ladder and land on his ass.”  This drew a laugh from Mulder. She continued passionately. “I still think we should file a complaint against him for calling off that stakeout.  He put my life in jeopardy. Thank you for saving my life by the way.”

“You saved your own life. You were kicking ass. You didn’t need me.” Mulder reached over and fixed her collar. Once again she let him without even a flinch.

That was the in she needed to address his actions. “Mulder, is it an issue that I’m a woman?”

His look was one of surprise.  It was apparent she had startled him with the question. “Why would you ask that? Anyway, you’re not a woman to me.  You’re Scully.”

Okay, so that kind of answers the question.  Whatever that means.

“Is it an issue that I’m Spooky?” His eyebrows forming a pyramid on his forehead.

Oh, this poor man. “If they’re going to call you spooky, they’re going to have to do it behind my back because I won’t put up with it.  I like working with you Mulder, the cases are definitely different.  We look out for each other...”

“And what about you?  What about Mrs. Spooky?” As he said it he lifted her chin with his index finger so she looked him in the eye.

“I’ll wear the title proudly.  I told you, we’re partners now. Mulder, I’m proud to be your partner.”

“If you left I wouldn’t have anyone to run lab tests to prove my theories.” He said it matter-of-factly like that should end any debate.

Scully was able to counter. “Hey, you believed in me when they all said I was wrong.”

“How’s your steak?” He asked completely changing the subject.  He was obviously done with the conversation.

“Very good.  Thank you.”

“Were you able to get your door repaired today?”

“Yes.  Thankfully.  I was able to get the door and window done.”

When the check came he pulled out his wallet, “I’ve got this one.  You get the next.”  

Finally, she had confirmation.  She let out a sigh and relaxed.  He wasn’t making advances. It was just who he was.

***

It was Friday night and Ellen had convinced Scully to go out with the gang.  She hadn’t been out with her friends since she started her new job, so she graciously accepted.   The bar was crowded with a dance floor to match, top 40 music pumping from the DJ’s sound system.

Ellen and Scully were propped on the bar stools watching their friends dance the night away.

“Ethan wants me to go with him to L.A.” Scully’s voice elevated to be heard over the music.

“Is that really what the problem is Dana?  Moving?” Ellen raised an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t know.  It seems like lately we’re so distant.  I blame myself.  It’s probably me.  I think I’m the one pulling away.  He says I’m working too much with my new assignment and when I’m home I’m not paying him any attention.”

“Do you love him?” The question struck her like a hammer in the chest.  She wasn’t expecting that question.

Ellen sensed her anxiety and rephrased the question.  “Do you think you could love him?”

“I don’t know.”  Scully sunk her head into her hands.  “Something’s off.  Maybe I’m not ready for another serious relationship.  Or maybe it’s him.”

Ellen straightened her posture and ordered another drink. “Or it could be your childhood fantasies of Prince Charming.  That guy doesn’t exist Dana.  No guy can be everything.”

“It’s not that he’s not romantic. He’d be a good husband.  Have you ever had that feeling inside, like there’s somebody out there that you’ve been waiting for. Somebody calling out to you in the night, and when you meet, you’ll just know he’s the one.”

Scully’s phone rang and they both jumped. “Scully”

“Hey Scully, it’s me.  Mulder.”

“Oh hey, hi Mulder, what’s up?” Scully mouthed the name Mulder to Ellen and she gave her a look that made Scully scowl.

“It sounds kinda loud on your end, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“It’s fine Mulder, what do you want?”

“I was wondering if the second set of lab results came back yet.  I’m filling out the report and I want to include it.”

“They’re in my briefcase. Can this wait until Monday Mulder?”

“Would it be possible to drop it by my apartment on the way home if you’re in the neighborhood?”

Scully let out a sigh. “Sure Mulder, no problem.”  And with that she hung up the phone.  Scully looked up at Ellen.

Ellen had a shit eating grin on her face. “You were saying about somebody calling you?”

Scully rolled her eyes and smiled finishing off her drink.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“So how is your new partner?”

“He’s good.  I think it will work out if he lets me have a day off.”

“Missy said you think he’s cute.”

Scully blushed. Leave it to Melissa to shout it to the world. “Yes, he’s cute, but I’m taken.”

“Maybe not for long.” Ellen said raising an eyebrow.

*

It was a little after midnight when Scully flicked the lights on in her apartment. Ethan was there on the couch.

“Ethan, why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I don’t know, just thinking.”

“About?” Scully put down her briefcase and sat down on the loveseat. She was not looking forward to this conversation, especially not after the long day she had.   

“It’s been an entire week since I asked you what I asked you and I haven’t heard the slightest response.”

Crap.  With all that had went on this week Scully had completely forgotten about Ethan’s proposal to move with him to L.A. “Ethan, I’m sorry, I just need time to digest all this, to think…”

Ethan rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.  His voice slightly above a whisper. “Dana, I came home and I heard from the landlord that you made the newspaper.  A man broke into our apartment and attacked you and you didn’t even pick up the phone to tell me.”

“It’s ok.  I’m fine.  I didn’t want to worry you.  My partner came in and …”

“Your partner.  I’m tired of hearing about your partner.  And that’s another thing Dana.  I called Ellen and she said you were with him at his apartment.”

“I was dropping off some paperwork.”

“At this hour?”

“Ethan, I’m not going to be interrogated like this.”

Ethan got up off the couch and held out his hand as an olive branch. “Look, it’s been a long day.  We can talk about this in the morning.”

Scully stood next to him ignoring his hand.  A feeling of impending doom boiling up inside her. “I can’t. I need to head into the office in the morning.  I have to meet…”

“Your partner, right.” He ran his hand through his hair visibly agitated and pacing, pointing his finger at her.  “You know what Dana, you don’t have to worry about it.  I’ve accepted the job in L.A. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow and you and your new partner can go ride off into the sunset.”

“Ethan you’re being dramatic.” She reached out to grab his arm, but he brushed her hand away.

“Am I?  In the month that you’ve known this guy your entire personality has changed.  You might not see it Dana, but I have.  You don’t even know him, but you’re ready to risk your friends, your career, your time, and us.  I don’t know what hold he has on you, but you need to look in the mirror.”

“I’ve heard enough Ethan. It’s not as simple as you’re making it. It’s not about him, it’s about the work.”

“That’s fine Dana.  I’ll make it simple.  Come with me.  Live in L.A.,”  He said pleading at her. She could see he was holding back tears.

Her head dropped along with her voice. “I can’t do that Ethan, not right now.”

Ethan took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He spoke carefully with an even tone. “Well then, when you come home tomorrow.  I’ll be gone. I really hope he’s worth it Dana.”

Continue Reading

@ms31x129 @season4mulder @baronessblixen @babygirlmulder1018 @muldermakesmehorny @kyouryokusenshi

[wombathos]

1.8 i robot... you jane

- this episode is so late nineties, it’s beautiful

- what is up with the starting scene where the pretty boy is asked to profess his love to the wrinkly moloch (the corruptor) demon 

- so i robot… you jane is a fun episode title (riffing off tarzan) (also asimov! specifically I’m guessing his robopsychologist stories got to admire the man’s commitment to cool scifi versions of psychology about positronic brains and stuff) and it’s not like those influences are entirely absent from the episode itself but… eh. the tarzan and jane stuff is there in the interactions between characters from different........ cultures, fine, I guess? and I suppose one form of a positronic brain would be some ancient demon consciousness as a machine, sure that’s what asimov had in mind

- the scanning magic words and thus letting the demon loose in the computer is admittedly a neat idea, playing off the whole ~power of the words themselves~ trope and trying to bring the magic and tech worlds together (though contrast with s4 episodes that just had unabashedly scifi villains like adam without needing to explicitly involve magic, iirc anyway). also like how the words disappear when they’re scanned - which reminds me of dark willow sucking those magic shop books dry, ~uploading~ them as a source of power

- bit of a tonal disconnect between a character going “I’m jacked in I’m jacked in I’m jacked in” but then in the next shot committing decidedly disturbing self harm

- “to read makes our speaking english good” is just a beautiful line

- one thing I appreciate about btvs episodes - as someone who gets really strong second hand embarrassment - is that even though main characters occasionally have to be idiots for plot purposes, they usually don’t go too far. willow does get suspicious pretty quickly when malcolm knows too much about buffy. and despite how it did tackle the whole ‘oh well you never know who you’re talking to on the internet!’ by going ‘it COULD be a robot/ancient demon’, which... well. it does at least devote some time to the students’ loneliness and why willow might want to believe that the internet guy is real

- “okay, for those in our studio audiences who are me?” nice fourth wall nudge by xander there

- the ‘suicide’ of the boy catches me unawares every single time I watch this episode. it’s such a jarringly dark moment. idk, it’s not like btvs doesn’t normally switch up tones and I can’t attest to how this would’ve played to audiences in the 90s, but I think where I struggle is that despite alluding to plenty of serious fears of technology, the actual plot is... really quite silly (especially the way the fritz character is written), but it doesn’t necessarily feel like the episode is acknowledging that in the same way other episodes might or even seem to be aware of it - so a lot of the dark stuff feels quite cheap and used only for shock value. hence the tonal disconnect

- the robot in the military facility gives it a proto-s4 vibe

- “the divine exists in cyberspace” ha

- about the technopagan thing - it is interesting as a s1-ism since after the early years there’s a lot of emphasis on magic and science as oppositional worlds, which is discussed a lot in relation to willow but isn’t exclusive to her either. like in a post-s2 world, they could’ve gone with willow continuing on with jenny’s path to find a sort of union of the two worlds, contrasting that with giles old-school approach, but they don’t, really. there’s moments where the two meet, like when willow uses magic to make a computer search go faster at some point in s6, but even for willow they mostly remain very separate? she’s adept in both, but in s4 it’s all about how she’s into all the ‘new age’ witch stuff now (not so much in love with those computers any more, she’s into that new trendy thing, get it, get it), then in s6 and in bits of s7, she tries to replace magic by going back to her computer skills. so there’s not really a lot of technopagan-ing going around (not really thought through the implications of this, but I feel like this could’ve been something interesting for her to explore in s7 when she’s trying to forge a new identity of sorts? then again, that would mean you’d need a concrete idea of what technopaganism constitutes beyond ‘using the computer to research stuff’ and ‘doing remote magic circles’ and the more I think about it, it does feel kinda gimmick-y. here it’s fine because it’s the contrast between new and old but… at most tech could be reintegrated into s7 in that faintly utopian noughties spirit of finding community through the internet and willow making her own way, reaching out to others like her, all that collective empowerment schtick) and WOW this is a tangent and a half, anyway

- this is an odd episode for cordelia to miss since it feels like she would’ve fit right into pushing the lonely nerds a little further in their loneliness and their ‘no one else understands me’ thing, except maybe given the dark turn of this episode, they felt like that’d make cordelia look a bit too bad/distract from the main plot

- speaking of lonely nerds, on the balance of s1 villains, the bullied do end up being the villains more often than the bullies, don’t they? for the former you get fritz, invisible girl, admittedly fake-out villain of puppet show. then while the nightmares kid isn’t bullied or a villain, he is abused and thus also a victim. for the latter, there’s the pack. other villains are a teacher, a coach and a mother - all authority figures - and then various vampires who don’t at all fit into the high school hierarchy. all in all, there’s a lot of characters using the supernatural to lash out at others, often their bullies, with sometimes more and sometimes less sympathy afforded to them. but then you also have the protagonists, who are themselves put-upon nerds but ones who don’t (yet) reach to supernatural solutions to dealing with their high school enemies, as well as the negative ways in which the figures at the top of the hierarchy, including cordelia, are portrayed throughout the season. so maybe there’s a fairly even split in how the supernatural is both used in tormenting the weak but also used by the weak to lash out in turn, reacting to their powerlessness (but not in a way the audience is meant to see as good or right)

- moloch telling willow “you are mine”, even robots are doing the male possessiveness thing these days

- “let’s face it. none of us are ever gonna have a happy, normal relationship” press f to pay respects

[skyechaser]

Silence in Atlas 20/?

Once more, this is a dark take on Volume 7 from a Bumbleby standpoint. It has scenes of graphic violence. If there are any specific trigger warnings I will specify it.

Hello, everyone! Like always thank for the support and all the comments. They fill me with joy and strenght to write. I didn’t think I’d have time to write this last few days but thank you insomnia jajaja SO HERE WE GO! :D

--------------------------

“Everything seems fine” Doctor Yu said as he looked at the documents in his hands. “We’ll send you home today” Blake smiled like she hadn’t since she was taken. Leaving the hospital was so exciting. She was finally going to be able to start rebuilding her life, go back to doing what she was supposed to be doing: being a huntress.

“That is so good to hear, doc” Yang replied. “Do we need to take any kind of precautions?”

“I know you are both huntresses so just take it easy at the beginning. I’m sure you’ll be able to get back to your life soon. Just don’t overdo it at first, okay?” Blake nodded in response. She placed a hand on her chin and moved it forwards in the direction of the doctor.

“Blake says thank you” Yang translated. The doctor looked at them with a puzzled look on his eyes.

“Yeah, I got it” he said “You are learning sign language?” he asked, feeling both a tug in his heart and a smile on his lips.

“We are” the blonde answered. “We don’t know how long it will take before she gets her voice back so in the meantime…”

“I wanted to talk to you about that” Yu interrupted. “We have sent Ms. Belladonna's test results and analysis to the top experts in bioengineering. They are working on a solution for her and for the other faunus who had they cords cut”

“Thank you so much, doc” Yang said. She was so glad this man was Blake’s main doctor. She couldn’t imagine how things would have turned out if they got someone else. She knew there were several doctors that had refused to even see the faunus.

“Don’t thank me, Ms. Xiao Long” he replied “I’m just doing my job and I want what’s best for my patient. By the way, you need to come back in a couple of days to get that cast removed” Yu added as he pointed at Yang’s left hand.

“Okay, doc, I will”

“Would you mind coming with me so we can take an x-ray to see how it’s healing?” he asked. Yang didn’t want to leave Blake alone but as soon as she turned to look at her, the faunus placed both her index fingers in the corners of her mouth and moved them forwards.

“Okay, I’ll go” she replied “I’ll be back soon, baby” she said as she kissed her girlfriend’s forehead. Both her and Doctor Yu exited the room and walked silently for a couple of minutes. It took Yang a while to realized they were going to his office.

“Weren’t we going to take an x-ray of my hand?” she asked. The doctor continued walking as he replied.

“Your hand is going to be fine. We need to discuss something else”. Yang could feel her heart beating in her ears. The last time Yu had given her news in his office she ended up beating a wall until she broke two fingers. Once they arrived both of them sat down. Deep breath.

“So I read Ms. Belladonna’s statement to the military” the doctor said. “And she makes no mention of any sort of sexual assault”.

“So that means that it didn’t happen” Yang replied, feeling some of the weight off her shoulders.

“Not exactly. There are many women that prefer not to report this sort of things. However, an official statement is a serious matter so I’d like to believe she hasn’t hidden anything”

“I’d like to think so too”

“As her significant other I would advise you to talk about the subject at some point, maybe she’ll be more honest with you than she was with the officer”. Yang nodded. That wasn’t a conversation she’d look forward too but she was probably the only person that could actually talk to Blake about the matter. She prayed her girlfriend’s statement was true.

“Doc, could you do me a favor?” she asked. The doctor looked at her with questioning eyes.

“Sure” he answered.

“Are there any specific names that she mentioned on the statement? They won’t let me read it”. She wanted to know who had hurt Blake. She wanted a name so she could focus all of her rage on that person and find them. Don’t kill anyone. Did that mantra even make sense at this point?

“I’m breaking every single protocol right now” Yu looked down, took a deep breath and then looked up into lilac eyes. “There are two names that she mentions a lot: Aleph from The Traders and Yudok from the mine”. Yang knew the people from Staub were in military custody and would be sent to jail soon so Yudok was already done for. The other man, however, was still out there with his fucking gang.

“Aleph” she said between her teeth. That was the name of the man that had put a shock collar on Blake and had electrocuted her to the point where her aura couldn’t even heal her. The man that had starved her and then sold her like she was an object. She made a vow, right there at the doctor’s office, that she would find this Aleph. What she would do next wasn’t really clear.

------------

“I wasn’t expecting any visitors” Agape said with a smile “But all my friend’s from high school came to see me. Even some that aren’t actually my friends. It felt nice”.

“Seems lovely” Blake wrote on the scroll tablet.

“Have your friends come to see you?” the bear faunus asked. Blake nodded in response and wrote once more.

“All of my team came”

“That sounds great” the girl smiled. “And your parents?” she questioned.

“They are in Menagerie. The lockdown won’t let them come and see her” Yang replied as she entered the room. Neither faunus had realized the blonde had arrived, both of them lost in each other’s company. 

“Yang!” Agape exclaimed. “It is so nice that we finally got to meet each other”

“Right back at you” the blonde replied. “Blake told me what you both went through” she added, offering the younger girl a handshake. Agape shook her hand with a smile. The blonde then walked towards her girlfriend. When she was close enough to the bed she gently placed a hand on the faunus’ cheek. “Hello, gorgeous” she said flirtatiously “Are you here very often?” Blake grinned.

“You two are just too cute together” the bear faunus said. Both young women blushed as they looked away from each other. Blake turned around, pulled on Yangs jacket and pointed at her cast..

“My hand?” she asked and then remembered the excuse Yu had used to talk to her alone. “It’s fine. Doc says three more days and they’ll take it off”. Blake smiled in response and Yang felt awful for lying to her.

“So, Yang” Agape called and the alluded one turned around to face her “How did you two meet?”

“We met in Beacon Academy” the blonde recalled as she sat down on her chair. “I wanted Ruby, my sister, to talk to someone and I just saw Blake and went for it. She wasn’t very into it at first”. Blake laughed silently as she pointed to herself. Then she held one hand in front of her while the other one hovered above it with two fingers extended. “You were being antisocial, that is what you were doing” Yang teased.

“What did she say?” Agape asked, wanting to get the joke.

“Oh, sorry” the blonde replied. “She says she was reading. Which she was but…”

“If she was reading why did you pick her?” the bear faunus asked. Yang asked herself the same question. There were lots of other people around, why did she choose Blake? Maybe she knew. Maybe she had always known. She had felt it before she even knew what it was.

“I don’t know” she answered finally “For some reason it just made sense. I just felt it”.

“And how did you became part of the same team?”

“Well… We were kinda thrown into the air and paired up with whoever we saw first once we landed” Yang saw how Agape’s eyes opened wide in disbelieve. There was something very comforting about the younger girl’s presence. She laughed a bit before speaking again. “I guess it was just meant to be”.

Blake looked at her and moved her head sideways as she pointed at herself. Then she made fists with her hands, both with the thumb extended, and moved them forwards. Finally, she pointed at Yang.

“You followed me?” the blonde exclaimed and her girlfriend nodded.

“I think I just might die from cuteness overload here” Agape said, the picture in front of her too sweet to process.

“Why did you follow me?” Blake smiled as she took the scroll tablet. She hadn’t learnt the sign for what she wanted to say yet. The faunus’ wrote something and turned the screen towards Yang and Agape.

“I felt it too” 

[kylosupremeimagines]

Clyde Logan X Reader: Only But A Dream

 Summary: You wake Clyde up just as he’s having a nightmare from his time during the war and help to comfort him. 

Warnings: Mention of PTSD

Your (E/C) eyes fluttered open as Clyde gripped down harder on you, whimpering faintly in his sleep. “Clyde?” you whispered to him, pulling away slightly and glancing up and down his form. As you escaped his arms, his eyebrows knitted. He reached out for you desperately as if he thought you were gone. “Clyde,  wake up,” you spoke up louder. Gently, you took your his hand in yours and shook him a bit. 

He jolted upright, trying to prop himself with his absent hand. It was almost as if he forgot he lost his hand in the first place. “I… I’m sorry that I woke you, darlin’,” he muttered out, leaning into your touch as you wiped away the tears that were beginning to flood his dark eyes. 

“Are you alright? It looked like you were having a nightmare.”

“It was just… a little bad dream, that’s all,” Clyde smiled weakly, but you could see right through it. 

“You know that you don’t have to hide anything from me. It wasn’t just any old dream, you can talk to me about it.”

His smile faded as he let out an exhausted sigh, running a hand through his obsidian locks to get his hair out of his eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of the war a lot more lately,” he confessed. “but I haven’t seen myself losing my hand for so long… I guess it scared me a little,”  Clyde could still see it, the graphic images of his missing left hand. It still haunted him to that day, as if the family curse was rubbing it right in his face.

“But I thought that the dreams haven’t been coming back.”

“I was afraid to tell you, there’s no use in making you worry about me,” he claimed. “I’d rather keep it to myself if it means not worrying you.”

“Now where in the world did you get that idea?” you inquired, sadness clouding your features. “Clyde… you should always tell me these things because there’s no reason why you should be suffering alone. We’re a family, and we’re meant to go through everything together. I vowed I’d be here for you, and that even means the small little things,” you leaned in, planting a loving kiss on his cheek.

“You’re right…” he sighed, nodding. On your wedding day, you’d promised him you would even face the family curse with him, even if you were adamant that it didn’t exist. It didn’t matter to you that he sometimes faced panic attacks from his military days, you were there with him through it all. “sorry... for being like this…”

He was the sweetest man that you knew, so protective over you and never seem to run out of love. His admiration for you could no doubt make anyone jealous, leaving them wishing to have their own Clyde. It was sometimes difficult to figure out how you got someone like him to love you so deeply, not that you couldn’t come to appreciate the things he did to you.

“Would you like it if I made you some breakfast? We can sit and talk about this if you’d like,” you offered. The warm rays of sunlight that seeped into the room through the blinds alluded that it was earlier in the morning, right around the time Clyde woke up to cook you breakfast. 

“Do you think you could cook the bacon... the way I like it?” 

“Of course I will,” the corners of your mouth curled up into a smile. Letting your legs dangle off the side of your shared bed, you pulled him along with you out to the kitchen. It didn’t matter if he insisted on helping, you wanted to do this for him for once since he was always getting up early just to make you breakfast. And with how much he was shaking, he needed a break.

“Thank you darlin.” 

Soothingly, you brushed a hand through his soft hair as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “You’re welcome,” you gave him a quick peck on the lips just before you turned on your heels to walk over to the fridge. “what else would you like?” 

“Some toast and eggs sound perfect right about now...  and the bacon of course.”

“Are you sure that’s all you want? Because I could cook you something else, it’s really no problem.”

“Just some cereal, I suppose. You shouldn't have to cook a whole feast just for me.”

“I wasn’t going to cook you the whole kitchen, don’t you worry about that,”  you couldn't help but joke.

As you looked at what was in the fridge, you pulled out a carton of eggs, soon followed by the uncooked bacon and butter. You placed the butter stick tray down by Clyde before returning to the counter, grabbing the loaf of bread from the corner by there fridge. Taking out a couple of slices, you popped them into the toaster and pressed down the twin  levers to hear the ticking of the appliance.

After everything was done the cooking, you plated the food neatly, the toast separate from the bacon and eggs. You placed the plates down by Clyde, soon bringing over your own meal over as well. He poured himself a bowl of cheerios and milk, popping the spoon right into the bowl. “It means a lot to me that you’d go out of your way to cook all of this wonderful food for me, (Y/N). I’ll have to take over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I can handle dinner, I don’t want you to worry about anything today.”

“I had a nightmare, darlin’. It isn’t some cold.”

“And?” 

“I feel bad with you helping me so much.”

“How many times do I need to tell you not to worry Clyde? I’m doing it because I love you,” with his love came a persistent stubbornness about caring for you. He could get so insistent that he’d risk getting sick himself if he could help you during a stomach bug or anything you came down with, really. “and besides, cooking isn’t the hardest thing in the world.”

Clyde let out a sigh of content, eyeing his perfectly cooked food as you spoke. He never turned down your food, with how mouth-watering you could even make even a simple plate of eggs and bacon. “I suppose you win this one… but I promise to make it up to you with a drink later at Duck Tape.”

“That does sound nice.”

He took one of the long strands of bacon and popped the end into his mouth, savoring the delicious flavors and taking in the flawless crunch. “I don’t know where I would be without you… not in the slightest,” Clyde told you in a soft breath. “so thank you for always being here with me.”

“I don’t want anything more than to help you,” You smiled warmly across the table at him. “I’ll always be here for you, especially now that the dreams are coming back. It doesn’t matter if it’s one o’clock in the morning, you can count on me being up with you through everything.”

A small smile formed across his own features to match yours. “I love you so much.”

You leaned in to let your lips connect with his plush ones. After a few seconds, you pulled a bit to glance into his brown orbs. “I love you too.”

Tag List:  @scheherazades-horcrux @alladeline @attorneyl @babybluelukex@glitzescape @dancewaterdance02 @celiholland @crkylo @celestiaelisia@lyraeluna @peacefulwizardfox @twdlover2000 @cs-please @xultraviolet@xfeathered-serpent @fizzywoohoo @topsykretts92 @ayatimascd@delicatelyherdreams @ddriveringg @littlegirlsdontplaynice @yymmaarr@darlinguris @bellaren18 @queenofheartsmegs @themauvemage@starlingmehdarling @anti-climactic@mollmoll01 @toytalababy @reylokisses @philli-vanilli@empressoftheundergroundsun @smallt1ddygothgf @mira-winterlight

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 10

oh god this took a whole weekend to write. and it’s reigning champ at 12.3k words, the most i’ve EVER written, especially since most of this chapter isn’t a dialogue dump. have fun my friends, for this is the finale of the shadow arc. and probably the last chapter that’ll work on tri’ama, theron, and naji for a while, because there are more characters arriving once we hit ziost!

-

TRI'AMA._DROMOUND_KAAS

"Get up!" The feminine voice yells loudly as she hits the roughly ground again, and something comes loose out of her mouth and she coughs hard as it scrapes the back of her throat.

Tri'ama is really beginning to hate dueling with her siblings.

Hell, she's beginning to hate fighting in general.

Wasn't like she ever had a chance.

She just barely picks herself up off the durasteel ground, blood pooling out of her mouth and spitting out a tooth as pain comparable to fire races up her arm. It's a back one, she can tell from it's shape as it falls from her mouth, coated in the iron red substance, so she's not overly concerned about her appearance to anyone after she leaves the training room. Still, it stings as she runs a tongue over it and her attention darts to the overlook, where Raegia, Scorvs and Kadasha stand. Her younger sister looks visibly terrified with a finger nervously twirling a strand of dark hair around it, while Scorvs looks indifferent with his arms crossed behind the two women. Raegia, or Rage-ia as she likes to deem her, is blazing with her fury written all over her face.

The pureblood matriarch is frustrated with her, Tri'ama can feel it through the Force. This always happened whenever she couldn't match the skillset that Typarnk had, and she often retaliated in a way that humiliated her.

Tri'ama wondered if she ever registered that she was her adopted daughter, not a trained arena brawler that could simply do whatever she wanted to whenever she ordered it. She was a child no less. Sith or not, Tri'ama wasn't meant for this.

"Typarnk isn't even pushing you hard, Tri'ama. There's a warrior buried in you, and I did not bring you here for you to continue to fail!" Lightning jumps from the woman's fingertips in the midst of her annoyance, and the two children closest to her back away her routinely, "Typarnk, push the attack. Give Tri'ama a challenge, maybe she'll push back when faced with the reality of real injury."

She wants to scream, she wants to yell.  What she wants to do is force choke Raegia (she was entirely capable of force choking at this age, but it was difficult to regulate and took a lot out of her), maybe even run out of the training arena entirely. Tri'ama wants to be everywhere but here, a nine year old girl pitted against her thirteen year old brother. Curiously, she wonders what every other nine year old girl is up to today, something normal perhaps. With friends, with family, maybe down in the forum. Blazes, anything else than being beaten down over and over again by someone older, wiser and stronger than them. No one elses' guardians had to be like this, it had to just be the Amarillis' that took her in, instead of someone sane. Tri'ama throws a pleading glance to her brother, and his vermillion red eyes soften at her broken form, "Mother, she's clearly had enough. She's been hit hard, I don't know what lesson you're trying to get across but people are going to assume you're abusing her -- or worse that you've taken a child for a slave."

Ouch, that one stung a bit. Yes, she was human, compared to the pureblooded Amarillis family, but having slaves wasn't above the Amarillis legacy in the slightest. She already suffered enough at the hands of other children when she was allowed off the estate property and the bruises were not assisting her reputation in the slightest, "She's nine, not nineteen. Pale skin doesn't hide bruises well either., as I'm sure you're beginning to realize."

Tri'ama tries not to smile. At least he's standing up for her at all, he could throw her into a wall and be praised for it, but instead he tries to protect her at the risk of rebuttal from their guardian.

"Are you talking back to me, Typarnk Amarillis?" She hisses loudly, and Typarnk lowers his gaze from the balcony at the scolding, Tri'ama by extension of the yelling, "Do tell, did you become all powerful because I thought you didn't need to be trained at her age because the galaxy is all hunky-dory? Coruscant has just been sacked, and as pitiful as the Republic is, they will retaliate. I will not watch my legacy fall to a bunch of force-wielding toddlers!" She rubs her temples as Kadasha shrinks back into her brother's strong form in mild fear, and turns her attention back to the field, "Typarnk, I asked you specifically to assist me in training her. I did not say be merciful, I said prepare her for war. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mother." A grimace crosses his face as he considers his blade, lower his head as his black hair falls in his face in defeat. He's nothing more than a teenager, a young one at that. He can't stop what was already coming. Tri'ama strains to resummon her own thrown blade to her hands with the Force, and takes up a defensive stance in Shii-cho. She doesn't want to continue to fight Typarnk/ Raegia and Yusaits had been less than loving to all four of them (she can name a few times she was convinced her family hated her), but her older brother had always tried to protect her from the worst of it. Not to say she'd even be able to wound him with her current set of abilities, but if a show is what Raegia wants, Tri'ama can't continue to deliver without something giving. There just isn't enough that she knows, and not enough power to harness properly. Raegia has made it clear that just because she is human doesn't mean she will be treated any differently than the rest of the brood, and while at one point she was grateful for this acceptance in her adoptive family, she's beginning to resist what the woman is doing. At first, all she'd wanted was to belong. But now, she wishes whoever her real parents were had taken her with them instead of giving her to literal psychopaths.

Every other nine year old isn't worried about what kind of abuse would come next from their guardians -- their parents, that would be doled out by a sibling ten times stronger than you.

The hum of Typarnk's golden training blade becomes louder and louder as he makes to swing at her. Due to her continued losses against her stronger brothers, her fighting style has become uniquely defensive against them. Parry here, a block there, a barely resisted force push there. Tri'ama is notorious among the Amarillis family to be a slippery one to catch (that admittedly was rather easy to disable if someone gained on her strategy and took her out that way), and she prizes herself on that. Typarnk clearly isn't looking to actually inflict any of thedamage as Raegia requests, so she tries to regain her breath as she bolts around the training arena. No fancy saber throws, no unsolicited force choking, nothing that could seriously wound her. It was part of an agreement between brother and sister, and so far it had yet to be broken. The tooth was only the fifth transgression of hundreds of battles. She can trust him.

He's one of the few people on this blasted planet that she can even begin to trust. This was all she'd ever known, yes, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It meant she had to roll over and take it, but it didn't mean she had be completely complacent about it.

It isn't until she's on her knees again, this time with a nasty headache pounding behind her eyes that is making her see double does she begin to consider she's not cut out to be Sith. Korriban is used to weed out the weak among the prospects, and she's half afraid that she won't last a week on the red dustball when Raegia eventually sent her there for her trials. Typarnk is very clearly apologetic for the brute force he'd used after clocking her good on the back of her skull with the butt of his saber hilt, and deactivates the training sabers electricity to bend down and tip her head up to inspect for lasting and immediate injuries, "Nasty bruise you've got there, right on your nose. Your nose may be broken, but I'm sure mother would like to put 'Dasha's meager skills to use here." Tri'ama winces at the thought as he presses the pad of his thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear that is surely biting through the dirt, blood and grime on her face, "You can do this, I know you can. Don't let her get to you, a couple years from now you'll be the only one of us to disown yourself from the family and not be scorned for it."

She wants to hug him, hell she wants to run away with him as far as she can. Kadasha was too young to understand the pain she went through, having an affinity for lightning like their father and working with him at the Sanctum most of the time, and Scorvs was much too apathetic to truly even care about what Tri'ama is going through. She wasn't sure there was anything her other older brother knew about, other than his own research into the Sith military forces. Kadasha had yet to endure what she had, but she has her own concerns about the little girl and her training. The six year old would suffer one day as she was, and Tri'ama didn't want to see her cry.

Why her guardians couldn't they find two seconds out of their day to maybe consider that their adopted daughter would respond better to less violent measures of training, years later the answer still alluded her. Praise from Baras was what propelled her to do better and better on her given assignments, Sith thrived on passion. This was simply stifling.

They simply didn't care, often was one she pondered on for ages at a time. Sith did as they pleased, no matter how others reacted.

"Mother stop!" Kadasha is screaming in a tiny voice, and turning her head painfully from Typarnk's face to the doors on the other side of the arena, she can see the two of the little girl racing after her mother's long stride as her vision only blurs further. Raegia isn't happy, and Tri'ama is nearly shrinking into herself as she realizes why she's down here. Raegia rarely came down onto the training field herself unless she had an ulterior motive and, or, had something intended for the fighters on the field, "Mother!"

Typarnk stands protectively in front of her, wanting to say something to his mother, maybe even to fight back against her punishment, but is quickly shoved away by a force blast before he can do anything. He skids to the ground with a groan, a mop of black hair covering his eyes as she quickly swivels her head back to face Raegia. Her callused hand slaps her cheek hard, Tri'ama not even expecting it initially, and on accident, maybe even on purpose her long, sharp nails dig into her skin. She can already feel the blood dribbling down and out of the large cut, and bites down on her bottom lip to keep from crying, the metallic liquid seeping into her mouth, "I don't think I have to even try to explain why you deserved that, whelp."

The high accent is disturbingly annoying to hear now, reminding Tri'ama that Raegia is high and mighty, and will always be that way, "Yes, Raegia." She whispers, sweat still dripping down her forehead in rivers.

"You are Sith, and you carry the Amarillis name. You may not be my child by birth, but you are by my choosing. Becoming Sith is not an attainable status for those that refuse to work for it, and you will not continue to disappoint me or you will die in your near future from your own mistakes, Tri'ama. Is that understood?" Raegia questions, tipping her head up to look at her directly. She groans inaudibly, and nods. These may very well be the kindest words she's said to her to date, actually recognizing her as an Amarillis, and the woman releases her less than gentle hold on her chin before turning over her shoulder to look at the balcony, "Scorvs, you good for nothing akk pup, get down here and get your sister some kolto. Kadasha, you're to return with me for your meditation this afternoon. Typarnk, make yourself useful and see whether your father needs you for anything. And you, whelp, when you've gotten yourself stable, see to beginning your records for the day. Hopefully you'll learn something this time and not successfully lay yourself out like a welcome mat tomorrow."

And with that, the imposing woman (mother somehow) is gone, her cape fluttering behind her in the wind. Out of her sight now, Tri'ama slumps against her brother's form, heading pounding and sweat dribbling down her forehead. Kadasha's gaze lingers over her, and she looks at her hands longingly. Raegia is right, the girl has been learning the necessary components to begin to force heal, but it would be nowhere near powerful enough to render the need for kolto obsolete, "Go on ahead, Dasha. Wouldn't want Raegia mad at you too." Tri'ama rasps to her younger sister, vision swimming.

Kadasha is clearly conflicted for the moment, but hugs her older sister tightly anyways before running off after their guardian and following her out of the building. True to her words, Scorvs lazily makes his way down to the training area with an assorted medical box as Typarnk helps her up. Yusaits will have words for her later, before healing whatever is making her see double of both brothers. That would be a conversation that she did not want to be having now.

The kolto numbs away the pain for the time being, but the scars never go away. The bruises are ugly, blue and purple on her cheeks for days, and the dazed feeling doesn't vacate her head until the third day afterwards. Yusaits' healing numbs her alright, but it's because of the pain of Sith healing is why she doesn't feel it. She's successfully out for three days because of it, swimming through a pool of tears and pain. It's as if she's in a coma, without the loss of complete consciousness. She can feel it in her very bones -- her very soul every time that she moves, cries erupting from her throat that's on fire every moment of the day. She can barely speak those days.

That day alone is one of the final nails in the coffin. Raegia's abuse disguised as constructive criticism for years on end is the reason she goes through with becoming Sith, if only to prove that she was wrong about her.

And prove she does.

When she returns to the Amarillis estate as the Emperor's Wrath shortly before being recruited by Arkous to deal with the Revanites, it's Typarnk on the ground before her, bleeding from multiple cuts and a bruise blooming on his arm. It is Scorvs who lays unmoving yards away from her, after being pushed away into a wall. It is Kadasha who has to always be on the defensive, parrying ever too slowly and ending up hurt. Amber eyes begging her to stop, but she continues on without mercy. It is her who stands at the end, looking down upon her siblings with a gaze akin to that of a bloodthirsty predator.

And it is Raegia who begs her to stop, when it is all too much as she watches her children continue to be steamrolled underneath her power.

The scar underneath her eye that the Amarillis matriarch dealt her all those years ago remains as an ugly reminder to why she stands for what she does within the Empire. She stands for strength, and won't fall in the face of an adversary, no matter who they are to her.

She is Darth Amarillis-Quinn. She is the Emperor's Wrath. She is no one's whelp any longer.

-

TRI’AMA._YAVIN_IV.

The day starts off rather normally, a little too normally if she's being honest. Not with everything looming, should it be so peaceful. The wildlife is, for once, quiet though. There is no chittering of the birds today, as she cracks open one eye and then the other. No nightmares or odd omens the night prior, and she sits up without any pain in her lower back.

Tri'ama wakes up alone.

The constant thumping of small drops on the tent's roof signals to her that it's raining, as it seems to always be on Yavin. After so long of being off Dromound Kaas, Tri'ama is beginning to readjust to the weather patterns of the Emperor's planets. It never let up before, but as they grow closer and closer to the battle against Revan, the air is charged with an electricity she can only pinpoint as that of the Emperor's influence. It only reminds her of their goal, and why the mission is so important. He'd been weakened considerably by the Hero of Tython, she can't help but be annoyed that he couldn't finish the job outright. She wouldn't be here if he had. She wouldn't have bandages wrapped around her once, twice, three times, soaked through with dry blood or a nearly broken wrist if he did.

Tri'ama changes them out skillfully, still managing to nearly crush her bad wrist before rolling it around a few times. She inhales shakily, trying to remember how Quinn had applied bandages before and attempting to copy the motions herself with unsteady hands. The application is uneven at best, but it would have to do for now. Infections didn't matter if she were dead.

Vette had retrieved her armor from the Fury the night prior, and looking upon the red, white and black armor, she runs a pale hand over the durasteel. It's nothing like the Sith guards would wear, not nearly as heavy nor as much coverage. But, it would do better than the primarily fabric armor she'd worn during the entire excursion through Rishi and their missions through the jungle planet. It isn't extremely light either, she finds as she slips it on over the undersuit she wears. Whether it will protect her from a lightsaber or well-placed bolt of lightning would have to be seen, but she places her fate and trust in it for now. Agility mattered most, for someone that could not be caught could not be realistically killed. Tightening the straps around the breast plate, she finds a sense of security in the Imperial insignia emblazoned in a small corner of the metal, and fingers over it before hooking her sabers on her belt and equipping the other pieces of her armor.

As much as she wishes she had someone beside her, maybe Vette to make sarcastic comments on her choice of armor (Vette had something against her being in full Imperial suits, so Tri'ama didn't make it a habit to wear anything that screamed Sith), or Pierce's apathy over her decision (Pierce didn't have the same eye for fashion that she and their Twi'lek companion did, but was good company), or even Jaesa to inquire over more Sith teachings while she got dressed(Jaesa didn't care for fashion in the slightest, though she and Vette were getting closer to changing her taste in clothes), she knows it was dangerous already. All three of them, four if you counted Broonmark, were ready to haul jets at the first sign of trouble, though they'd all argued against her very sound and very well-thought out contigency plan. Somehow, some way, she'd made such an impact on them over the years that none of them were willing to leave her behind if the Emperor had his way and destroyed Yavin, and that alone was terrifying. What had made them stick around so long if not only for the benefits of her being Sith? It wasn't as they weren't well off with her, no one wanted for much because of the allowance they received from her. So much so that Vette had been visibly frustrated at the idea of her leaving them to their own devices -- permanently that she made her promise to come back to them, or so help her she would be coming down guns blazing and kicking the Emperor's arse into the next millenia.

Oh how Tri'ama loved her adopted sister. Only she would threaten using her two holdout blasters to kill an ancient evil, and make light of the situation at the exact same time. Jaesa and Pierce had readily agreed at the proposition, and not even a considerable sum of money would turn them from her service. Given, they weren't in a joking mood about Revan either, and it reminded her that she did have essentially a death squad riding around with her.

I don't want them crying at my grave when I die, I want them to continue on with their lives. Get revenge if they're so inclined, really. It'd be a fun show to watch down in hell.

I'm no God.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to get much of anything done this morning, she realizes, and she's still sleepy as she steps out of her tent. Usually, she's an early riser and didn't typically struggle to get going like this. Her first thought is the conversation she'd had with Malavai the evening prior messing with her emotional state, and then the cool night she'd spent out on the surely now busy taxi pad. But instead, it's as if the Force itself doesn't want her awake, as much as she lets the cool rain splash her directly in the face. There's a softness, numbing over the sharp edges of her mind, and it makes her want to lay down on the grass and close her eyes, though physically nothing other than her sore, dry eyes scream out to her that she's tired. Last night's sleeping period had been so quick, but that couldn't have been it.

Tri'ama remains exhausted as she continues to train vigorously in her own small place near her tent. It wasn't a horrible type of exhausted, so she's able to get up and get going, but her sluggish movements are only making her grow more frustrated with the situation entirely. It isn't until she grows so angry with being unable to hit the imaginary Revan in her mind, that she gives up with a growl in her throat and a broken pair of gauntlets on the ground next to her, her force strength also effectively tearing and twisting the durasteel pieces in two, and a piece of her tent coming crashing down as the pole snapped clean in half. Another piece of armor that saw the rage she could fly into at any given moment, and she'd have to acquire a new pair if she ever returned to Vaiken spacedock. The destructive usage of the Force seems to be what sets off the numbing action of the Force and allows her to see clearly, hatred flowing back into her like a roiling river and subsequently filling her with power. Tri'ama is in control once more, and a tight-lipped grin crosses her face as she hooks both blade hilts back onto her belt. She'd question it later, but she's wound up enough as it is. It's as if a ball of string has taken hold of her, and won't let her go. The anxiety continues to build as she packs up her small camp, and there's so much to get done before it's all over. A sense of finality washes over her as she throws the pack over her back, and turns her back on the small patch and heading back towards the main base, where the coalition forces' preparations are in full swing. People are running about here and there, speeders and transports are taking off all around her. People are saying their goodbyes, people are dueling with one another.

Mission reports that would be finalized and then inserted into their Intelligence archives, she reminds herself as she sees people running around with assorted datapads. Perhaps in preparation for most of the factions departure later in the day, some things she was sure Nox and Marr would keep their delicate hands on and stash away from the Republic 's watchful eyes under the pretenses they were only keeping the Empire intact after everything the Emperor had caused since the Revanites had risen. Because she wasn't technically part of the Council (as the Wrath, she was above the Council anyways, but assisted with the military Sphere considerably, but still didn't legally hold a seat) she didn't often have an opinion on how information should be handled or shared. Not one that would be listened to as it was. It wasn't as if the Republic wasn't going to do the same with their share of the information anyway. She was sure there would always be secrets she'd never learn from the Republic's excursion here on Yavin, though Intelligence would try their hardest to do so and acquire it from their former allies.

She's uneasy about it all. There's too much to be done in-between then and now, and it seems as if it all is impossible. As if it's all one big fever dream, and that they're all going to wake up to an apoctalyptic galaxy tomorrow. Tri'ama always had her reservations fighting impossible odds like this, and with how many deaths had been reported in the past few days fighting Revanites, people she was sure that assorted soldiers knew, she now knows why.

She would go as far as to believe it's the Emperor himself trying to cloud her mind, but it's too specific for him to be doing so, and not nearly strong enough to keep her from getting anything done. It's a curious matter she'd investigate soon enough, as it still leaves her mind sharp but a certain anxiety lifted off her shoulders for that very moment. To say the least, it's at least somewhat welcome.

Tri'ama isn't the last one to arrive at the war terminal, as both Nox, Grace and Lana remain missing from current company. Master Iresso lifts her head from where she'd been focusing on the terminal, maybe sensing her arrival, blue-grey eyes peering out of her hood curiously. She's changed into some sort of Jedi robe, dark brown and armored with grey plates. It's out of place for her, as she'd been running around in simply grey pants, boots and a sleeveless top for the last few days. It's nearly a 180 from her previous days with her, she realizes as she takes her place next to Marr. Just as quickly, Naji looks back down again, and whispers quietly back to Satele. No amiable smile, just the face of a worn battlemaster hoping to get through the day.

Tri'ama wasn't the only one who had realized just how much was on the line for this mission alone. She isn't the only one realizing that this was not a normal mission, that this was the end all be all.

As the others begin to trickle in, Theron seems momentarily surprised by her choice of armor once he takes notice after a break in the conversation. Though, he throws her a friendly half-smile that's barely covered by Master Grace's less than cheery arrival, which she reciprocates quickly before picking up the plan of attack again with Lana. Among all the X's and O's and possibilities and things that could go wrong and surely would, she's not hugely sure what had spurred her on so late at night to respond to the odd quote, but she couldn't keep herself from doing so. It was as if she was moving on autopilot as she was unsticking the wet clothes from herself, laying awake until she couldn't anymore. His name kept slipping into her thoughts as she tried to sleep. The way he looked at her on the Fury. It was such a distraction, but sadly, not an unwelcome one. The yearning was nearly painful at this point, feeling phantom fingers running through her hair, a ghost of hand on the small of her back.

Subconsciously, she wonders what he thought of it all. What he actually thought of her. What he saw her as, more than just the Wrath she figures.

She hopes.

She hadn't received a response from the Republic agent when she'd woken up this morning if there had been one, and she's curious if she's said something wrong to put him off.

You're probably breaking about six different cultural rules and another fifteen of your own personal moral code. What you said is the least of your concern.

"Finally, there can be trust between us -- and not a moment too soon." Marr begins, and Tri'ama pulls her attention from that concern, "As we speak, our forces are working with the Republic to end the Revanite threat and take the temple." As if to punctuate his words, another Imperial ship takes off and flies into the distance, a slight breeze blowing everyone's loose clothing and hair this way and that. And then another, and another. There must've been thousands of soldiers flying above them now, and she's in awe so many would work so closely with those of the opposite faction.

"In spite of our differences -- and the fact we're at war -- the four of you were able to inspire a sort of cooperation I never imagined possible." Satele says, a hint of an impressed tone underneath her calm attitude, "Credit where it's due: you succeeded where Darth Marr and I failed."

"But we aren't finished yet. There is one element even our combined militaries will be unable to stop." Darth Marr undercuts this with an ominious response, and Tri'ama's heart begins beating faster before the words can reach her lips, filling in the obvious blank.

"Revan." Whyatt says in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to carry across the meeting area. For at least the third or fourth time on this trip, she wonders if he's really qualified to be here, head down at the holoterminal and hands in a tight fist, dark knuckles nearly white. He's terrified, and even Tri'ama can't deny that she feels bad for him.

He's a Jedi, missing Master or not, it's not your job to feel bad. He's a Master, so of course he'd be able to protect himself.

"Given his failure, he'll try to escape, to regroup. That cannot be allowed to happen." Darth Marr says, and if this wasn't already set in hard stone, it is now. There isn't a single friendly face in the area that isn't ready for war, and Tri'ama readjusts her respirator. Naji gently bumps against the young Jedi appearing to be entirely on accident,  and moving to give Theron a datapad. It isn't very well hidden that all she wanted to do was comfort him, and by his meek presence change, it's well-received.

"Consider it taken care of." Nox answers proudly. There's a gold glow to her eyes, and her presence radiates confidence, as if they aren't walking into a predetermined death. A strange smirk falls over her face, eyes narrowing. She's battle-ready, ready to leave everything behind. Knowing the woman, she would be happy to deal the final blow to the living myth, "Revan will fall by nightfall."

That's it.

That would be all.

That was all.

That would be the last time she'd see any of these people in the same space again, and she takes in the scene. Three Jedi, an SIS agent, three Sith and herself. There's a sense of something powerful here, and what they've created over the last few weeks...Tri'ama would admit she was proud of. As much as she had her differences with the Jedi and her fellow Sith along the way, she had found that she, Nox and inadvertently, Naji had learned to rely on each other. If not without their own reservations, but it is fascinating.

As if they had not all been at each other's throats only weeks ago.

How would the war effort ever continue, with the Emperor temporarily disposed of and secrets easily being leaked between the two factions during their time here on Yavin? Surely it would be easy to gain access to the the other faction's safehouses and plans after all that had occurred. Warfare would be brutal in the coming months, and many civillians would end up losing their lives in a war they didn't sign up for. Would it be a stalemate for years, or would the Republic finally come out on top due to the loss of the Emperor? Would the Empire rise again, seeking vengeance for the loss of their God?

How would her own life continue, after meeting someone that respected her and was willing to challenge her and then losing him all over again? Knowing Quinn would always only be a holocom call away, that Pierce was only a few doors down? Knowing she would fall back on old habits anyways, sets a cold feeling within her that she can't shake. Everything is going to go back the way that she didn't want it to, the way she wanted to leave behind.

She's getting worse and worse and worse at trying to let go. Let go of this fantasy she's crafted in her head.

Tri'ama tries to catch Theron's eyes again before they leave, but he's already gone another direction than she has with the Barsen'thor, Master Grace and the Grand Master. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she's halfway to screaming at her own indecisiveness and inability to even begin to admit her feelings. Nox yanks her along by a sleeve roughly though, and any thought of getting in contact with him before they fight Revan is replaced by annoyance for the older Sith Lord. The woman had the audacity to tow her along as if she were little more than a child, and the worse to be in little more than her typical light robes, and she wonders if she should tell her the prognosis wasn't good with her current fashion sense in mind. There may be armor underneath the black and gold fabric, but Tri'ama wasn't holding her breath that there was any. Nox was known for her beautiful outfits and even more over the top fights against Sith and Republic alike, but Revan would target her first if he knew this information.

They take a transport ship over to the Temple, a skilled Republic pilot at the helm. Tri'ama doesn't know their name, and intentionally doesn't ever mean to learn it. Leaning against the durasteel of the wall, she tries to distract herself from what was coming next. Naji sits quietly nearby, glowing dimly as she meditates, her force presence completely shut off. Not a single emotion is able to be felt from the Jedi, and considering everything going on around them, she is the eye of the storm within the whirlwind of other reactions she can dimly sense of everyone else aboard the ship. Nox rolls her eyes when she glances over to the Barsen'thor, picking dirt out from underneath her nails and fixing her pristine braid bun. Nox is never worried about any major battle ever anyways, and her subconscious scoffs at the idea of talking to her about the issue. Master Grace is with Satele and Theron in the cockpit, surely to calm him down or at least curb the worst of his anxiety. Marr is pacing nearby, seething his own hatred beneath the armor in preparation to expel it all in less than half an hour. Lana is on the ground between the seats, kneeling with a red aura about her. The Sith have been preparing for war, and here it is.

It's time to show Revan what galaxy he's threatened. Which people he will fall to.

She can't stop her racing thoughts, her racing heart. The ship creaks every once and a while, shaking in the airspace as the wind throws them about, rain thrashing in sheets against the hull. Tri'ama is trembling herself, though not enough to garner the attention of anyone else. She flexes and unflexes her hands, and the calming Force has dwindled away considerably. All of her senses are sharper, too sharp. Her anxieties are coming back in full force, and without the helping presence within her, there's not much she can do to keep it from bubbling up and out. She tries to focus on an arbitrary screw somewhere in the room, with her vision swimming as her lungs feel as if they're only getting smaller. As if at any given time, someone could shove a lightsaber right through her sternum and end it all there.

That thought only makes it worse, until she sits down on the opposite side of the bench from Nox. She can't stand now, it only feels as if the ship is getting smaller around her. The edges of her sight are darkening, her pulse loud in her ears.

"Don't think about everything that can go wrong. Think about everything that can go right." Yusaits had once told her a late evening in the spring rotation of Dromound Kaas, "That is the foundation of a strong attack, making an opponent believe you have the upper hand on them. You will just as easily crumble if you allow them to do it to you."

There's nothing that can go right here, even with the most optimistic outlook on it all. Something will have to give, and Tri'ama prays it won't be one of her people's lives that she loses in the midst of battle. Not that she was the most friendly person anyone would ever meet, but it would be a loss to the Empire should any of them lose to Revan.

The Jedi weren't exactly expendable, and if they died the Republic would have the four Sith's heads on sticks, but it would be hard for life to go on if Marr died, if Lana died, if Nox died. Two seats would be rendered empty and up for grabs from anyone who was put into the chair, opening up opportunity for a coup. Defense of the Empire and Ancient Knowledge, while small, had powers that Marr and Nox had yet to exploit. She could only imagine what would occur if someone else took the seats. Lana was only just now living on the promise that she'd get some sort of normal life back after all of this. Three children would be eternally waiting for their mother to come home to them, and have to live on knowing she died for a cause.

Tri'ama wasn't sure if she'd feel guilty for their deaths. She's conflicted, as the Empire is often about power first, not always alliances. Sometimes they fell into place by circumstance, like with Lana and Theron, sometimes they were after you had to admit your power wasn't that of another's, she bitterly remembers that's why Nox had even joined the coalition, because of a request made on her behalf. Sometimes it was sheer coincedence, like with Whyatt, or by fate, with the Barsen'thor. She would miss Nox, as frustrating as she was at the best of times, she would miss Lana. She didn't have a real opinion on Satele or Marr (and likely wouldn't ever), and it would be highly regrettable if Masters Grace and Iresso weren't around any longer to continue to defend the galaxy.

She'd be more than disraught if Revan killed Theron. He would never be safe from her wrath, no matter how far he ran. If she let him run, that was.

In the end, it was their decision to do this. To fight a power not many knew much about. To go up against fate itself, knowing (or denying) this may be their last fight. Ever. No going back, not backspace. This was it.

The ship hits something just as she finishes that thought.

Hard.

Tri'ama slides out of her seat and hits the end of the ship violently, rubbing the back of her head as Naji just nearly meets a similar fate. Lana has been surprised, evidently, and gets a Force hold on something first, Marr doing the same. The ship slows, righting itself as everyone gains their bearings again. A moment later, the door separating them from the cockpit slides open, and the Twi'lek who was at the helm is visibly displeased, lifting their goggles up onto their forehead, "Sorry for the rough landin' m'lords. Nearly would've gotten us all fried if we hadn't swerved like that."

"Nice to know the Emperor is trying to kill us before we even land to fight his precious champion." Nox groans, pulling herself up and dusting off her shoulders. Her hair has come out in strands around her bun, making her look more like the savage woman that Tri'ama knew her as, "Any opposing forces, Twi'lek?" She asks, a grimace on her face.

"Not any that I saw, m'lord. Given it's a kriffin' hell of a storm out there, but I have half a mind to to think we would've been shot down by now if there was someone out there with any rockets." They scratch the back of their head before sighing defeatedly, green eyes full of fear against their blue skin, "Two minute hike up there to the main part of the temple. Close as I could get you before I'd end up just landing on the temple itself and gettin' blasted to bits. Good luck, ground team."

"Thank you." Naji says, nodding to them as the blast door opens. The Twi'lek wasn't kidding about the storm, rain pounding down and lightning crackling in the not-so-far distance. Another lightning strike hits, closer this time, and she can see everyone awash with bright white light for just a moment. Naji moves closer to them, wrapping her arms around them hugging tightly, "Get back to base safely, Reese."

"You don't gotta tell me twice, Barsen'thor. Hope I can get back in before they shut things up, with the storm on the way and all. You and your crew always got a place at Carrick with me when you make it outta here." The Twi'lek bids the woman a hurried goodbye as the others leave the ship in various states of surprise, and Reese takes off again.

"Check your equipment, for I am sure this is the last time we will have the chance to do so before Revan wreaks havoc on us all." Marr says, his own lightsaber hilt in his hand. Tri'ama had dutifully done so enough times the night prior, almost to the point of staying up all night unassembling and then reassembling the parts of her lightsaber, but after the rough landing she was sure something was damaged. The armor had defused most of the damage she would've taken had she been in light armor, and she struggles not to hiss in sympathetic pain when she can see a deep purple bruise beginning to bloom on Nox's ghastly right arm as she checks her double saber.

Well, Nox thrived off pain. Hopefully it would serve her well now.

"If we fail on this mission, I wish for you all to know that you have been honorable allies." Satele says, reclipping her own lightsaber to her belt, "The Empire and the Republic have struggled to ally themselves for years, but today we have proven it is not impossible. This truce will not last forever, but I thank you all for your assistance while you were her."

"You needn't worry, Grand Master. We will not balk in the face of danger." Lana responds calmly in a parade rest, as if this was a normal occurrence for her, "Revan will fall."

"Glad we're all so optimistic." Theron says almost sarcastically, and if she weren't oddly observant right now, she wouldn't have caught Satele's near-perfect eye raise at her son's response. His eyes land on her, with a sad sort of determination behind them, "Barsen'thor, Wrath. Whenever you're ready."

She nods, hoping that he can figure she means more than well. The Barsen'thor is apprehensive to begin. Her hood can't hide her fear, and her presence is deafening to Tri'ama, setting in another second sense of anxiety within her. Is it this loud to everyone else? Overpowering and nearly throwing her off balance. Her nearly identical, troubled grey eyes won't meet her's, and Tri'ama decides it is no longer time for arbitrary truces.

It is time for action. She is ready to remind Revan who the Sith are and why they are among the most powerful in the galaxy.

It's harder to stalk her way through the rain and wind as if everything isn't bothering her and her heart is about to beat out her chest. At some point, the Barsen'thor catches up to her. Her hood has blown back, blonde hair blowing a whirlwind behind her. Her eyes are steeled ahead, a woman on a mission. The others would follow them in soon enough, but because Revan had already encountered them both before on Rishi, they'd lead the charge for the time being, in case they could get the drop on him or talk him out of whatever he was doing. The Jedi's idea, not hers.

Tri'ama would stab him through with a lightsaber before she even let him get close enough to talk. She did not reason with cult leaders. She did not reason with insanity.

The storm lets up rather suddenly when they arrive to the main part of the temple, and it's like walking through a curtain. It's only drizzling as the pair walk up the steps, and Tri'ama's heart nearly stops as they both pause at the top. The man is in all black, with a mask that covers his whole face. He wields a singular purple lightsaber, aiming for them both.

"It's over, Revan." She starts, struggling not to grab her own lightsaber at this point, and not throw at him as she would anyone else. This was not only the man who'd taken Theron from them, but also the one who had been tormenting her for months on end. Eating away at not only the Republic, but also her home, the Empire. Watching him fall would be her triumph, and it would be sweet to put an end to him, "You can't win."

"You've been at my heels for too long, Wrath." He answers, a gravelly voice from beyond the mask as he addresses her, "I knew the Rishi plan was a longshot, but I had to try. Had to make it legitimate. I needed to lure you both here." He pauses again, lowering his lightsaber for moment, "You were supposed to stay busy on Rishi long enough for me to finish here. But no, you couldn't do that, could you?"

"This has all been one big deception, hasn't it? You aren't even the man you claim to be." Naji finds her voice, and responds, stepping forward herself, "Don't try to deny it, you and I both know that."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He trails off, and Tri'ama reaches for her lightsaber as he turns from them, disigniting his own saber. Naji holds up a hand to pause her, and begrudgingly she drops her hand back down to her side. The Wrath isn't sure what Revan is about to pull, but the Force is at her disposal should she need it. When he does eventually face them again, he's removed his mask.

Who does he claim to be, if not Revan? If not the living body of the ghost they met in the cave, then who were they really fighting? The same scars run along his face, the same build, the same nearly soulless eyes. He's a carbon copy of the ghost, all without being see-through, and much less agreeable than the version they'd met before.

It's terrifying.

"I spent three hundred years in lock step with the Emperor's mind. I know what he's become, and what he wants." He declares, and she can only imagine the torture he went through years and years before she was born. It doesn't change that she still wants him dead, but she wonders if he's an omen to what she would become if she stayed loyal to the Emperor.

If that was the case, it only solidified her decision further. She was no Wrath of his any longer.

"The Emperor must be destroyed completely or he will return and consume every last thing! There is no cost too great. If I have to snuff out every life on this world by hand to draw the Emperor out, then so be it!"

"If you're Revan, then who did I speak to outside the temple?" Tri'ama asks, successfully ending his tirade. She's determined to get the answers before she kills him, even though Naji throws her an odd look. This will not go on as a mystery after she's gone.

"Of course, it's so obvious now. You have no idea what I am, what I've become." He responds, effectively skirting the question without even an answer, "I was a Dark Lord of the Sith. I was the Prodigal Knight. I was powerful -- but I was also weak. Not anymore."

"Now I'm pure. Unburdened. I can finally have revenge on my jailer and save the galaxy doing it!" That resonates a little too close to home, lightning crackling somewhere beyond them all and thunder clapping. At the very least, she, the coalition and Revan all have the same goal. But instead of dealing with it as they were, he started a whole cult to finish him off that backfired on him, "I have the power -- and you have nothing!"

She can hear the sounds of assorted boots behind her, and she allows herself a small smirk beneath her respirator at the noise. This was where they began their last stand, and their small fighting force has arrived.

"You are wrong, Revan." Marr declared. She can't see them just yet, but she knows that the others have arrived. Each presence is unique, but all scream in resistance, "They have powerful allies."

"Both Sith, and Jedi." Satele's softer but just as commanding voice adds.

"Allies from all corners of the galaxy." Lana audibly draws her saber and ignites it, the comforting hum of an ignited kyber crystal filling her ears. A few more are ignited behind her, and she can see the blue of Satele's, the green of Naji's and the red of Marr's beside her.

"They won't ever be alone." Confident as ever, Nox's lavender double blade is lit and pointed directly at him, "We've got you now, Revan."

What she first mistakes for thunder is the sound of a jetpack, and she lifts her head for just a moment to find a Mandalorian landing only a few feet from her. It takes her a moment to recognize the armor, and C2-D4 asks the question before she can, "Shae Vizla?"

"Heard the fight to end all fights was going down. What sorry kind of Mando would I be if I missed out?" She asks, a certain amount of humor in her voice. Though, Tri'ama isn't stupid enough to mistake it for idiocy. Unexpected, but her arrival was appreciated. It wasn't the Force, but Mandalorians packed a lot of firepower, and that was all they really needed against him.

"You were saying?" Tri'ama asks, finally pulling both sabers off her belt, the buzz of an ignited lightsaber welcome in her hands. Adrenaline is beginning to run through her veins, "This is your end, Revan."

"I don't care how many of you there are. I won't be denied my destiny! I am Revan!" He starts to cast something, and Tri'ama takes a defensive stance to try and block it. A blast knocks them all backwards, and she can just barely steel herself against the brunt of the attack, being thrown against a stone pillar. The wind is easily knocked out of her, but she gets to her feet easily enough. A quick scan of her allies finds them all in various reactions to the force blast, but they aren't too shaken from what she can see, picking themselves up and redrawing their weapons.

Surprisingly enough, she isn't the first to attack the man. An arc of lightning shoots across her path, Nox's hands outstretched with a maddening grin on her face. Revan shoves her back, an audible slam against another ruin as she crumples. She's able to get back to her feet with the help of the Barsen'thor, who'd been near her before previously. Both stand, Nox scowling with her red lipstick smeared across her face, ready whenever someone else attacks. With the break in his focus, Tri'ama leaps with a battle cry and Revan is forced to turn his attention to parry both of her blades with his own. With that, the battle is unleashed upon the ruins as she dodges lightning, blaster bolts and chunks of rock, trying to get a hit in here and there. He's good, she'll admit that. After three hundred years, he had plenty of time to cultivate an insane amount of skill. But she was wrath personified, rage in a human form.

Marr and Master Grace follow her attack, the Sith Lord and Jedi Knight leaping in after her in a haze of red and blue lightsabers in the fight. Revan dodges here and there, and they aren't exactly in sync. There are a few time she's sure she'd end up falling not to Revan, but to Master Grace's attack style instead. Not that it wasn't effective, but it was a far cry from her and Marr's Juyo form, one she recognized later as Makashi instead.

The battle wanes on for a long while, attack patterns ever-changing as cover fire rains down upon the former Sith Lord, the Barsen'thor and Satele making short work of any serious injuries anyone endured, Nox striking a few times herself after she gets bored of attempting to shock the man, the lavender blade not as easily parried as the other three force user's melee attacks. Maybe out of concern, maybe out of pure stupidity she keeps a tab on Theron, blocking the worst attacks from his position. It distracts her a few times, Revan's red blade keeping her on her feet.

They're winning, she can see as they press their attack. They will win. He's one man, they are ten highly-trained and powerful people people who are here to make sure he doesn't return again.

It isn't until he's clearly losing to the assaulting fighting force that he force chokes her nearly out of nowhere and lifts her off her feet for the time being. A strong grip on her throat and windpipe being crushed, she sputters to get a gasp of air in or out her lungs. Tri'ama struggles, vision blurring as her hands go up instinctively to claw at her throat. He focuses on her for a moment, maybe curious after throwing Grace and Nox back only moments prior. A few blaster shots ricochet harmlessly off his armor at that moment, but then it is over as soon as Marr attempts to get a hit in and she's thrown back with a powerful force throw against the outer wall nearby that nearly knocks her out entirely. Cotton and static fill her ears as she attempts to re-register her surroundings. A voice screams out her title, maybe? A shrill "Wrath!" by most likely the Barsen'thor by the tone of voice. Blasters continue to fire further away from her, lightning crackles and strikes in the distance.

And here she is, laid out by an ancient evil and curling in on her side where she'd hit the rock the hardest. Her head is pounding behind her eyes, surely from after hitting it so hard on her fall. Everything is too bright, and even through the impaired hearing, it's also too loud. Concussed, most likely, but she'd die before she let a mere concussion keep her down.She'd like to say that her life flashes before her eyes, but it doesn't. Instead, stabbing pain shoots up her side as she crawls to her feet, struggling to get her perception of the world back, and she finds that her balance is heavily distorted. Rubbing beneath her nose, she finds it comes away with blood.

The warm feeling envelops her again as she resummons the blade hilts to her hands, stalking back towards the fighting, but like before it leaves her senses sharp. The imbalance of her perception is rendered obsolete for the most part, and she's able to make the leap back to Revan with red lightsabers in hand. Tri'ama can only imagine she looks horribly mad, hair wet and all over her head, blood dripping from her nose and surely her head as well. Revan's strength was already faltering by the assault, as Lana had also given up her long-distance attack after she'd fallen. He very clearly doesn't expect her to come back, eyes widening as she slashes at his side in his moment of weakness. Lana slams him away with a well placed force shove as he falls, and he skids to a stop a few feet away. Tri'ama doesn't bother trusting that he's met death yet, and keeps her right saber ignited before marching over to him.

"In defeating me, you've let the real enemy linger on. You... you doom the galaxy!" Revan says breathlessly, pushing himself up onto his side as she aims her own lightsaber to his crumpled form.

"Had you been successful, had you brought the Emperor back, you would have made the galaxy's destruction all but a certainty." Tri'ama can barely form her words properly, breathing hard as pain shoots through her lung. Lifting her saber, she's ready to end it here and now.

"She's right, you know." A disembodied voice sends a shock of mild panic through her, but she can almost tell it isn't the Emperor. A moment later, the ghost of Revan appears before them all.

"No. Not you." His eyes widen in surprise at the new arruvals, and Tri'ama steps aside for the ghost to approach him.

"You've been blinded by your unchecked rage, your thirst for vengeance, that you could not see the truth." The ghost says, "Now that your power has subsided, I may finally confront you. I only hope you will listen."

"You're both Revan..." Naji notes curiously, approaching with the rest of the team. Easily, she's voicing one of about thirteen million questions that Tri'ama has in that very moment.

"Yes, though neither of us is truly Revan." The ghost of Revan admits, "When I died, I had come to terms. I was ready to become one with the Force. But I soon realized that was only what part of me wanted.

"I cast you out! It was the only way to go on -- to remain and finish what we started! You were holding me back!" The physical version shouts. Two versions? Two Revans? Tri'ama can't imagine how this might have come about, though disignites her lightsaber and hooking it on her belt.

"You think you're stronger this way, but you're not. Neither of us is. We're broken, we can't go on like this."

"I won't stop. Not until I conjure the Emperor. I have to face him." As if intended, or an ominous laugh sounds. Not a chuckle, but a menacing cackle. It's all around them, and yet sourcing from no where.

The Emperor.

"You wanted my return. You did not need to destroy whole fleets or turn a living world barren for that..." The Emperor says, a roar in his voice that Tri'ama would never begin to forget for as long as she lived, "You only had to point the Empire and Republic to a shared adversary, and let them do what they do naturally: make war. The scores of dead have nourished me. I am awakened. And I bring with me -- death!" Punctuating his words is a torrent of rain, lightning striking the temple in front of them. A purple light shoots into the sky, enveloping the building. Shaking erupts around them, and she falls to one knee, trying to ride out the earthquake. The wind picks up just afterwards, as she and her allies struggle to their feet.

"The Emperor was not as strong as he might have been had Revan succeeded, but he is strong enough." Satele says, as Revan turns away from them once more. An omen then, for what was coming.

They'd failed.

"No... he was supposed to face me...to..." He's struggling to even live at this point, Tri'ama can tell. As frustrated as he is, he knows that he's lost.

"You're too weak. You won't last." His ghost says, a sense of finality in his voice. Maybe she would read up on the history of Revan once she returns to the Fury, and she's rather curious how they were separated in the first place.

"I...if we unite, what I am -- won't it fade? Become diminished?"

"Wrath. Even I look in awe at your accelerated rise to power." Revan's ghost acknowledges her again, turning to face her as he ignores his physical form's questions, "You did not get where you are today through kindness or moderation. It had served you well. You make a fine example."

"I don't know if I'm ready." Revan's meek voice is too quiet to have been the same person they'd just fought off only moments ago, and the numbing power of the Force increases, numbing away the pain for just a bit longer.

"You have to be. We have to."

The next few moments are a blur that she attempts to process later. In a flash of light, the physical Revan is gone, armor falling to the floor in a heap. Only the ghost remains, "You've found your center." Naji says, voice straining to be heard.

"I have. For the first time in a long time." He nods in gratitude to the Barsen'thor, "Thank you -- for all you've done, and all you've shown me. Dark days lie ahead. The darkest days. If my error can't be undone, everyone will pay the price." Revan fades away in little more than just a flash of light blue light, "Brace for the worst..."

It's done.

It's over.

Rain pouring down, her adrenaline is sloping off. The pain is coming back in a wave. Though she has a reputation to uphold in front of everyone else, she attempts her best to follow after the rest of the team to meet Reese and leave for the staging area again. But her body betrays her in the worst kind of way, and her knees buckle beneath her, collapsing into a heap on the ground. The power of the Force can't save her from this, and even it can't numb away it all. Her vision swims before her, the Barsen'thor's robes the first thing she sees as she rolls onto her side. There's a flash of red and black, both Lana and Theron behind her. Tri'ama struggles to keep her eyes open long enough to respond to anyone, trying to push herself up with her now bad arm.

"Stars, Wrath." Naji groans softly, her own bloodied and bruised face looking down on her with her blonde hair plastered to the sides of her face. She's gently glowing, trying to do damage control on her assorted injuries. Warmth is pushed into her as Naji grimaces at the action, "You are going to have one hell of a headache in the morning."

"Given I wake in the morning." Tri'ama answers bluntly, slumping back down onto the floor in a heap. Naji nearly rolls her eyes before she's really beginning to lose her vision and perception of the world. Her eyes lift to Theron's form, blinking for a moment as his face becomes sharper. He's suffered, more scars added to the ones she had run her fingers over weeks earlier, some still bleeding. Everyone has.

They were supposed to end Revan. They were supposed to end the Emperor before he could wake again. She's flashing in and out of consciousness, as someone has picked her up bridal style to escort her back to the transport.

And then, the world goes black.

-

"So, I guess this is goodbye." A gruffer voice says as she wakes again. How long it's been that Tri'ama has been out, she's not sure. But as she comes to her senses, she has been taken out of the bigger pieces of her armor and left in her undersuit under a light blanket. Ships are taking off outside, and the lights are too bright for her to do much but crack open her eyes slowly. They've made it back to the staging area, and the tent flap closes back behind Lana. She can't do anything to acknowledge the other woman to let her know she's awake, so she just listens for the time being.

"I suppose so. It's been...an experience, Theron. Be well to yourself." Lana responds, standing to where he was sitting. She can feel Naji's presence somewhere, but nowhere in her immediate vincinity, which she finds odd. The woman must've left shortly before she woke up.

"Yeah. Yeah, you too Lana. Try not to get into too much trouble, all right?" The gruff voice grows a bit softer as her ears begin to unclog themselves, and she finds that it was Theron that she'd assumed Lana had been talking to. Why he'd been sitting with her, she's unsure. A warmth completely unattached to the Force fills her at the thought of Theron waiting on her, though she attempts to dismiss it.

"I'll try not to." Lana says, a smile in her voice. The Sith woman looks over to her surely broken form, a slight smile on her lips, "It's good to see you've recovered, Wrath."

"Recover may be too strong of a word." She groans, trying to push herself up against the pillows on the bed, and Theron pivots just out of sight to help her up. Not too quick to garner any suspicion, but his touch lingers just long enough to let her know it was more than just friendly, "We haven't won. But Revan is done for."

"As far as we know, yes." Lana says, coming to stand where she could see her. The woman had sustained some obvious injuries on her face, a cut that was sure to scar just above the collar of her armor, "The Empire is leaving very soon, and your crew will be landing in a few hours to collect you."

"According to the Barsen'thor, you suffered a concussion and a couple broken bones. Nothing she couldn't really handle, but we figured you'd be better off healing on your ship than passed out for a few days here." Theron fills in the blanks for her. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hazel eyes pinned on her, "You've been out for a couple hours, and she did the best to numb the worst of the pain until you could be moved."

"Oh wonderful. Surely not too much has happened since then?" Tri'ama questions her two companions. A couple hours here, anything could've happened before she woke.

"Nothing of note, no. Darth Marr would like to speak to you and Darth Nox when you return to the Fury for a minor debriefing though. Then, we all can go our separate ways." Lana answers. Her glance flickers to Theron for a moment, before the corners of her red lips curve upwards, "You've done well for yourself, Wrath. I have a few things to get done before I leave as well. If you ever need me, I'm only a holocom away."

Tri'ama nods, and Lana leaves. She'd been an honorable ally, and she dearly hopes she has the opportunity to fight alongside her again before either of them die.

Now, it is only her and Theron left. Frowning, she leans back into the pillows, trying to figure the best way to explain her feelings, explain anything before he leaves. He's got a bandage plastered to his face, and one of his implants is out, and she wants to reach out to touch him. Tri'ama doesn't want to leave him, she doesn't want him to leave.

She wants him to be hers.

But they haven't exchanged words since...nearly weeks ago.

"I-"

"I-"

They both try to start at the same time, and Tri'ama bites her lip before thinking to herself again.

"I'm sorry for my behavior, Theron. It wasn't fair to you." Is the first thing out of her mouth, and there's surprise behind his eyes and in his face, "I apologize if I lead you on for so long."

"No, I...I shouldn't have tried to get involved in something that didn't involve me. I should've been more careful with you." Theron says softly, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze, "This is my fault as much as yours."

"Theron. It isn't. I should've told you beforehand I was still married. There's no excuse for me not doing so other than petty fear. I'm sorry I ruined this." There's a pause between them, and he pushes a curl of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her jaw. Tri'ama leans into the touch, and he leans into her to kiss her gently. They stay like that for a moment, as she tries to savor the taste of him, knowing she'd have to let go soon. Stars, if she could just steal him back to the Empire, she would.

"What a ride, huh? If you'd told me when we met all the ups and downs we'd go through together, I'd have called you crazy." He says, after he pulls away from her longing gaze. His hand is only a few inches from her's as he sits on the cot, facing her, "Maybe I called you crazy anyways. I don't remember anymore. Between all my family fun with Revan and the Grand Master, and then, well, you..."

"How is it between you and Satele? Any better?" Tri'ama asks, trying to lighten the conversation. She is genuinely curious after offering him advice back on Rishi, and wonders if either party had succeeded in growing closer to the other.

"It's...look let's talk about that some other time, yeah?" Theron asks, expression dimming. Tri'ama wonders if she should tell him there won't be another time, but holds her tongue. This, she wants it to last as long as she can force it to, "Well, look, there isn't any easy way to say this, but...I mean, we both know this would have to end eventually. The Republic exonerated me, so I'm back in the fold. And they gave me a new job, a big one."

"That's quite a vote of confidence. You deserve it." She says softly, before placing her scarred hand over his. When it's not immediately denied, she intertwines his fingers with hers. A sad smile replaces his frown.

"Okay, that's...unexpected." He says, looking down at their hands before looking back up at her, sorrow written all over his face. This is hard for him, and she's making harder, just as she'd promised she wouldn't, "You know what this means right? Soon as we rejoin the fleet and make the jump to lightspeed, that's it. No more truce. You and I, we probably won't exchange another word ever again. No more unauthorized rides on the Fury, no more sneaking away from everyone else to have a few moments to ourselves. That's it."

She pauses, unsure how to respond as she tightens her grip on his hand. As if that'll make him stay any longer. Unlike Pierce, he really is unattainable. She can't have him long-term, and she'll never see him again. All she'll have are the memories of him on the Fury, with his fingers tangled in her hair, with his body pressed up against her's. There was no more star-crossed lovers written in the cards for her, and she hates that she has to accept it.

"I don't need words, Theron." She whispers, before painfully pushing herself forward to kiss him hard. As much passion that is running through her veins, she is sure Theron Shan has as well, "I only need you."

I don't love him, she reminds herself, taking a breath before pressing her lips against his again.

But you respect him. And you admire him.

Tri'ama isn't sure how long they spend together. Every moment she lays with him is another moment that someone could walk in, looking for one or the other. That only spurs her on though, kissing every inch of exposed skin that she can get her lips on. This was all they had left, and she doesn't want to let go. As much pain that courses through her body with every action, it's all worth it to have him to herself.

You don't love him, she reminds herself as he helps her off the cot, a strong arm around her waist.

You respect him for who he is, she reminds herself while he helps her replace all the of the durasteel armor that had been taken off her. It's slow going, kisses here and there. A bruise blooms on Theron's collarbone, another matching one on her neck.

And you admire him, she almost says aloud, once he's left after yet another bruising kiss. Their last. The son of a Jedi and a Republic Commander would never be hers, and she hopes that whoever does eventually lay claim on his heart fufills the hole she leaves.

She dials her holocall to find Vette and her crew once she's gathered all that she requires to leave.

But you don't love him.

You can't love him.

But blazes if it didn't mean that she didn't want to.

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 32: Tampered (Transcript) - 18th April, 2016

tw: none

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

I grew up watching a television show called MacGyver. If you’ve never had that chance to watch this icon of the 80s, do yourself a favour and give it a try. Sure, the clothes are outdated and the hair… oh my gosh, the hair. But aside from all the bits that didn’t age well, MacMullet and his trusty pocket knife managed to capture my imagination forever. Part of it was the adventure, part of it was the character of the man himself – I mean, the guy was essentially a spy who hated guns, played hockey and lived on a houseboat. But hovering above all those elements was the true core of the show. This man could make anything if his life depended on it. As humans, we have this innate drive inside ourselves to make things. This is how we managed to create things like the wheel, or stone tools and weapons. Our tendency towards technology pulled our ancient ancestors out of the Stone Age and into a more civilised world. Maybe for some of us, MacGyver represented what we wanted to achieve: complete mastery of our own world. But life is rarely that simple, and however hard we try to get our minds and hands around this world we want to rule, some things just slip through the cracks. Accidents happen. Ideas and concepts still allude our limited minds. We’re human, after all, not gods. So, when things go wrong, when our plans fall apart or our expectations fail to be met, we have this sense of pride that often refuses to admit defeat. So, we blame others, and when that doesn’t work, we look elsewhere for answers, and no realm holds more explanation for the unexplainable than folklore. 400 years ago, when women refused to follow the rules of society, they were labelled a witch. When Irish children failed to thrive it was because, of course, because they were a changeling. We’re good at excuses. So, when our ancestors found something broken or out of place, there was a very simple explanation – someone, or something, had tampered with it. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The idea of meddlesome creatures isn’t new to us. All around the world, we can find centuries-old folklore that speaks of creatures with a habit of getting in the way and making life difficult for humans. It’s an idea that seems to transcend borders and background, language and time. Some would say that it’s far too coincidental for all these stories of mischief-causing creatures to emerge in places separated by thousands of miles and vast oceans. The púca of Ireland and the ebu gogo of Indonesia are great examples of this – legends that seem to have no reason for their eerie similarities. Both legends speak of small, humanoid creatures that steal food and children, both recommend not making them angry, and both describe their creatures as intrusive pranksters. To many, the evidence is just too indisputable to ignore. Others would say it’s not coincidence at all, merely a product of human nature. We want to believe there’s something out there causing the problems we experience every day. So, of course, nearly every culture in the world has invented a scapegoat. This scapegoat would have to be small to avoid discovery, and they need respect because we’re afraid of what they can do. To a cultural anthropologist, it’s nothing more than logical evolution. Many European folktales include this universal archetype in the form of nature spirits, and much of it can be traced back to the idea of the daemon.

It’s an old word and concept, coming to us from the Greeks. In essence, a daemon is an otherworldly spirit that causes trouble. The root word, daomai, literally means to cut or divide. In many ways, it’s an ancient version of an excuse. If your horse was spooked while you were out for a ride, you’d probably blame it on a daemon. Ancient Minoans believed in them, and in the day of the Greek poet Homer, people would blame their illnesses on them. The daemon, in many ways, was fate. If it happened to you, there was a reason, and it was probably one of these little things that caused it. But over time, the daemon took on more and more names. Arab folklore has the djinn, Romans spoke of a personal companion known as the genius, in Japan, they tell tales of the kami, and Germanic cultures mention fylgja. The stories and names might be unique to each culture, but the core of them all is the same. There’s something interfering with humanity, and we don’t like it.

For the majority of the English-speaking world, the most common creature of this type in folklore, hands down, is the goblin. It’s not an ancient word, most likely originating from the middle ages, but it’s the one that’s front and centre in most of our minds, and from the start it’s been a creature associated with bad behaviour. A legend from the 10th century tells of how the first Catholic bishop of Évreux in France faced a daemon known to the locals there as Gobelinus. Why that name, though, is hard to trace. The best theory goes something like this: there’s a Greek myth about a creature named kobalos, who loved to trick and frighten people. That story influenced other cultures across Europe prior to Christianity’s spread, creating the notion of the kobold in ancient Germany. That word was most likely to root of the word goblin. Kobold, gobold, gobolin – you can practically hear it evolve. The root word of kobold is kobe, which literally means “beneath the earth”, or “cavity in a rock”. We get the English word “cove” from the same root, and so naturally kobolds and their English counterparts, the goblins, are said to live in caves underground, and if that reminds you of dwarves from fantasy literature, you’re closer than you think. The physical appearance of goblins in folklore vary greatly, but the common description is that they are dwarf-like creatures. They cause trouble, are known to steal, and they have tendency to break things and make life difficult. Because of this, people in Europe would put carvings of goblins in their homes to ward off the real thing. In fact, here’s something really crazy. Medieval door-knockers were often carved to resemble the faces of daemons or goblins, and it’s most likely purely coincidental, but in Welsh folklore, goblins are called coblyn, or more commonly, knockers. My point is this: for thousands of years, people have suspected that all of their misfortune could be blamed on small, meddlesome creatures. They feared them, told stories about them, and tried their best to protect their homes from them. But for all that time, they seemed like nothing more than story. In the early 20th century, though, people started to report actual sightings, and not just anyone. These sightings were documented by trained, respected military heroes. Pilots.

When the Wright brothers took their first controlled flight in December of 1903, it seemed like a revelation. It’s hard to imagine it today, but there was a time when flight wasn’t assumed as a method of travel. So, when Wilbur spent three full seconds in the air that day, he and his brother, Orville, did something else: they changed the way we think about our world. And however long it took humans to create and perfect the art of controllable, mechanical flight, once the cat was out of the bag, it bolted into the future without ever looking back. Within just nine years, someone had managed to mount a machine gun onto one of these primitive aeroplanes. Because of that, when the First World War broke out just two years later, military combat had a new element. Of course, guns weren’t the only weapon a plane could utilise, though. The very first aeroplane brought down in combat was an Austrian plane, which was literally rammed by a Russian pilot. Both pilots died after the wreckage plummeted to the ground below. It wasn’t the most efficient method of air combat, but it was a start. Clearly, we’ve spent the many decades since getting very, very good at it. Unfortunately, though, there have been more reasons for combat disasters than machine gun bullets and suicidal pilots, and one of the most unique and mysterious of those causes first appeared in British newspapers. In an article from the early 1900s, it was said that, and I quote, “the newly constituted royal air force in 1918 appears to have detected the existence of a hoard of mysterious and malicious sprites, whose sole purpose in life was to bring about as many as possible of the inexplicable mishaps which, in those days as now, trouble an airman’s life.” The description didn’t feature a name, but that was soon to follow. Some experts think that we can find roots of it in the old English word gremian, which means “to vex” or “to annoy”. It fits the behaviour of the creatures to the letter, and because of that they have been known from the beginning as gremlins.

Now, before we move forward, it might be helpful to take care of your memories of the 1984 classic film by the same name. I grew up in the 80s, and Gremlins was a fantastic bit of eye candy for my young, horror-loving mind, but the truth of the legend has little resemblance to the version that you and I witnessed on the big screen. The gremlins of folklore, at least the stories that came out of the early 20th century that is, describe the ancient stereotypical daemon, but with a twist. Yes, they were said to be small, ranging anywhere from six inches to three feet in height, and yes, they could appear and disappear at will, causing mischief and trouble wherever they went. But in addition, these modern versions of the legendary goblin seem to possess a supernatural grasp of human technology. In 1923, a British pilot was flying over open water when his engine stalled. He miraculously survived the crash into the sea and was rescued shortly after that. When he was safely aboard the rescue vessel, the pilot was quick to explain what had happened. Tiny creatures, he claimed, had appeared on the plane. Whether they appeared out of nowhere or smuggled themselves aboard prior to take-off, the pilot wasn’t sure. However they got there, he said that they proceeded to tamper with the plane’s engine and flight controls, and without power or control, he was left to drop helplessly into the sea.

These reports were infrequent in the 1920s, but as the world moved into the Second World War and the number of planes in the sky began to grow exponentially, more and more stories seemed to follow – small, troublesome creatures who had an almost supernatural ability to hold on to moving aircraft, and while they were there, to do damage and to cause accidents. In some cases, they were even cited inside planes, among the crew and cargo. Stories, as we’ve seen so many times before, have a tendency to spread like disease. Oftentimes, that’s because of fear, but sometimes it’s because of truth, and the trouble is in figuring out where to draw that line, and that line kept moving as the sightings were reported outside the British ranks. Pilots on the German side also reported seeing creatures during flights, as did some in India, Malta and the Middle East. Some might chalk these stories up to hallucinations, or a bit of pre-flight drinking. There are certainly a lot of stories of World War Two pilots climbing into the cockpit after a night of romancing the bottle – and who can blame them? In many cases, these pilots were going to their death, with a 20% chance of never coming back from a mission alive. But there are far too many reports to blame it all on drunkenness or delirium. Something unusual was happening to planes all throughout the Second World War, and with folklore as a lens, some of the reports are downright eerie. In 2014, a 92-year-old World War Two veteran from Jonesborough, Arkansas came forward to tell a story he had kept to himself for seven decades. He’d been a B-17 pilot during the war, one of the legendary flying fortresses that helped allied air forces carry out successful missions over Nazi territory, and it was on one of those missions that this man experienced something that, until recently, he had kept to himself. The pilot, who chose to identify himself with the initials L.W., spoke of how he was a 22-year-old flight commander on the B-17, when something very unusual happened on a combat mission in 1944. He described how, as he brought the aircraft to a higher altitude, the plane began to make strange noises. That wasn’t completely unusual, as the B-17 is an absolutely enormous plane and sometimes turbulence can rattle the structure, but he checked his instrument panel out of habit. According to his story, the instruments seemed broken and confused.

Looking for an answer to the mystery, he glanced out the right-side window, and then froze. There, outside the glass of the cockpit window, was the face of a small creature. The pilot described it as about three feet tall with red eyes and sharp teeth. The ears, he said, were almost owl-like, and its skin was grey and hairless. He looked back toward the front and noticed a second creature, this one moving along the nose of the aircraft. He said it was dancing and hammering away at the metal body of the plane. He immediately assumed he was hallucinating. I can picture him rubbing his eyes and blinking repeatedly like some old Loony Toons film. But according to him, he was as sharp and alert as ever. Whatever it was that he witnessed outside the body of the plane, he said that he managed to shake them off with a bit of “fancy flying”, and that’s his term, not mine. But while the creatures themselves might have vanished, the memory of them would haunt him for the rest of his life. He told only one person afterwards, a gunner on another B-17, but rather than laugh at him his friend acknowledged that he, too, had seen similar creatures on a flight just the day before.

Years prior, in the summer of 1939, an earlier encounter was reported, this time in the Pacific. According to the account, a transport plane took off from the airbase in San Diego in the middle of the afternoon and headed toward Hawaii. Onboard were 13 marines, some of whom were crew of the plane and others were passengers – it was a transport, after all. About halfway through the flight, whilst still over the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, the transport issued a distress signal. After that, the signal stopped, as did all other forms of communication. It was as if the plane had simply gone silent and then vanished, which made it all the more surprising when it reappeared later, outside the San Diego airfield and prepared for landing. But the landing didn’t seem right. The plane came in too fast, it bounced on the runway in rough, haphazard ways, and then finally came to a dramatic emergency stop. Crew on the runway immediately understood why, too – the exterior of the aircraft was extensively damaged, some said it looked like bombs had ripped apart the metal skin of the transport. It was a miracle, they said, that the thing even landed at all. When no one exited the plane to greet them, they opened it up themselves and stepped inside, only to be met with a scene of horror and chaos.

Inside, they discovered the bodies of 12 of the 13 passengers and crew. Each seemed to have died from the same types of wounds, large, vicious cuts and injuries that almost seemed to have originated from a wild animal. Added to that, the interior of the transport smelled horribly of sulphur and the acrid odour of blood. To complicate matters, empty shell casings were found scattered about the interior of the cockpit. The pistols responsible, belonging to the pilot and co-pilot, were found on the floor near their feet, completely spent. 12 men were found, but there was a thirteenth. The co-pilot had managed to stay conscious despite his extensive injuries, just long enough to land the transport at the base. He was alive but unresponsive when they found him, and quickly removed him for emergency medical care. Sadly, the man died a short while later. He never had the chance to report what happened.

Stories of the gremlins have stuck around in the decades since, but they live mostly in the past. Today they are mentioned more like a personified Murphy’s Law, muttered as a humorous superstition by modern pilots. I get the feeling that the persistence of the folklore is due more to its place as a cultural habit than anything else. We can ponder why, I suppose. Why would sightings stop after World War II? Some think it’s because of advancements in aeroplane technology: stronger structures, faster flight speeds, and higher altitudes. The assumption is that, sure, gremlins could hold on to our planes, but maybe we’ve gotten so fast that even that’s become impossible for them. The other answer could just be that the world has left those childhood tales of little creatures behind. We’ve moved beyond belief now. We’ve outgrown it. We know a lot more than we used to, after all, and to our thoroughly modern minds these stories of gremlins sound like just so much fantasy. Whatever reason you subscribe to, it’s important to remember that many people have believed with all their being that gremlins are real, factual creatures, people we would respect and believe.

In 1927, a pilot was over the Atlantic in a plane that, by today’s standards, would be considered primitive. He was alone, and he had been in the air for a very long time but was startled to discover that there were creatures in the cockpit with him. He described them as small, vaporous beings with a strange, otherworldly appearance. The pilot claimed that these creatures spoke to him and kept him alert in a moment when he was overly tired and passed the edge of exhaustion. They helped with the navigation for his journey and even adjusted some of his equipment. This was a rare account of gremlins who were benevolent rather than meddlesome or hostile. Even still, this pilot was so worried about what the public might think of his experience that he kept the details to himself for over 25 years. In 1953, this pilot included the experience in a memoir of his flight. It was a historic journey, after all, and recording it properly required honesty and transparency. The book, you see, was called The Spirit of St. Louis, and the man was more than just a pilot. He was a military officer, an explore, an inventor, and on top of all of that he was also a national hero because of his successful flight from New York to Paris – the first man to do so, in fact. This man, of course, was Charles Lindbergh.

[Closing Statements]