#otherwise i might have kept trying to think of more parallel images for it

[monsterbisexual]

amanda + adam in saw (2004)

bonus:

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

So Long London - Full Lyric Analysis

My Gaylor/Kaylor interpretation at a glance: Taylor uses the bearding narrative of her breakup with Joe as an allegory to talk about her reluctant decision to “break up” with her fans/kill off her public persona in the process of coming out. 

The Joe bearding narrative was likely created for this very purpose - an "ex" who didn't allow her to "bejeweled" (be her whole self), who she tried to make it work with, tried to change herself for, before realizing she couldn't keep sacrificing her wellbeing, mental and otherwise. Read through this lens, this song is devastating, so prepare yourselves emotionally, maybe have tissues on hand.

I interpret a number of the "break up" songs on this album (almost all of them) as being about her reaching the end of her rope with being in the closet and trying to slowly change her fan's attitude towards her queerness. So many of these songs imply that she has hit her breaking point, and the metaphor of a failing romantic relationship is the perfect vehicle to express this shift.

I believe this precedent exists in her work, and for this particular chapter, was established with "You're losing me".

This is also one of a few songs on the album that conceptualize her fame (as obtained with her public, hetero persona) as a place. In this song, that place is represented by London (hence, "so long, London"). In Florida!!! she may be running away to Florida from this place, (after she comes out and needs to escape the backlash). In "I hate it here", she dreams of escaping this place, and imagines two other locales within the lore of her songs - "secret gardens", a probable parallel to Betty's garden and the "garden gates" in Cruel Summer, as well as the "lunar valleys" referencing the galactic landscape established in Down Bad.

Lets get into it!

Verse 1

“Saw in my mind fairy lights in the mist/kept calm and carried the weight of the rift/pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away/my spine split from carrying us up the hill/wet through my clothes, wary bones caught the chill/stopped trying to make him laugh/stopped trying to drill the safe”

In this first verse, Taylor introduces the idea of her fans being like a partner who isn’t present in the relationship, and more importantly, a partner that is ultimately rejecting her true self. 

“Fairy lights in the mist” - Taylor has used daylight/light images to represent the end of her closeting/her coming out for at least 5 years. Here she sees small pinpricks of light amongst darkness and the classic metaphor for hiding/confusion, etc - mist. She is saying that in the past she had hope, she saw a possible path forward to coming out while also keeping all of her fans.

“Kept calm and carried the weight of rift/pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away” - Taylor reflects on her years of hoping that she could slowly introduce her fans the idea that she is not straight, then come out with minimal rupture in her relationship with her fans. She tried to keep the faith and looked past a lot of bad behavior on the part of some of her fans, convinced that she could make them see her and that their love for her would extend past their need for her being the persona they have grown attached to.

“Stopped trying to make him laugh/stopped trying to drill the safe” - ultimately, she gave up, having been rejected too many times - ignored when she clearly signaled her gayness and the masses of her fans just refused to acknowledge it. Beyond refusing to acknowledge it, they bullied those that did see it, demonstrating to her how reviling they found the idea that she might be queer. “Drill the safe” is a metaphor for trying to force something that will never happen, she is realizing she needs to let go of something that isn’t for her.

Chorus

“How much sad did you think I had/did you think I had in me/oh the tragedy/so long London/ you’ll find someone” 

Taylor now must ask her fans, how long did you expect me to sacrifice my own happiness while you continue to ignore my pleas for you to see me? 

“You’ll find someone” = you’ll find another idol/para social relationship to obsess over, identify with, etc. This is a reference to Dear Reader, when she sang “you should find another guiding light.” In that song, Taylor warned fans that she is not who they think she is ("you wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking"), that the idea they have of her life is constructed, and strongly lamented her life choices, essentially telling fans they shouldn't look to her for life advice, because she is lonely and miserable. Here, the reference not only underscores the idea that they don't know her, but also that she is making the choice for them to "find someone" else, because she is choosing to come out of hiding, and in so doing, is also choosing to leave behind the misery that made her write Dear Reader in the first place.

Verse 2

“Didn’t opt in to be your odd man out/I founded the club she’s heard great things about/ I left all I knew/you left me in the house by the heath/I stopped cpr after all it’s no use/the spirit was gone, we would never come to/ and I’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.”

I made a post about the "Heath" reference that you can read here. Please note the reblog of it that I added an addendum to about the Heath being a park in London. Heath was a doctor that practiced conversion therapy, meaning that her fans "left her at home" with someone trying to change her. By ignoring her signaling, they told her they didn't want the real her, which kept her in the closet, and I fear kept her more vulnerable to those who may have tried to manipulate her into trying to change herself, or deny her true self even behind closed doors.

"I stopped cpr after all its no use/the spirit was gone we would never come to" - again Taylor is using the of a failed romantic relationship to express her lost hope in salvaging the corners of her kingdom that ultimately won't accept her when she comes out. This is also an example of the frequent gothic/death related imagery Taylor uses on this album, a theme consistent with the idea that something is ending, that she is killing off her public persona.

"and I'm pissed off that you let me give you all that youth for free" Taylor has spent so many years choosing her fans and her current carrer path over the full expression of her life and happiness. Again, she had hope that the people who have given her endless validation and effusive praise for years would accept her for who she is. She is realizing that the love between her and at least some of her fans was conditional, and given what we know of how much her fans have meant to her over the course of her career, this was likely a devastating wake up call that took years for her to accept - undoubtedly a huge factor in her seemingly delaying her coming out so many times.

"So long London/Stitches undone/two graves, one gun/I’ll find someone”

Taylor has said her fans are her longest relationship; the imagery in this song reflects the idea that this is a break up with someone she has tried with over and over again. So she undoes the “stitches” that link her to them. This line references her song Glitch on Midnights, “fasten myself to you with a stitch” symbolizing being bonded with a romantic partner (which represent a portion of her fans in this song).

"Two graves one gun" is likely a reference to burying her public persona self, and the second grave could represent her fans (a parallel to the "cheating husband" in "Florida!!!"?) or it could be a shrouded suicidal thought - the second grave being her private persona - both selves being killed off. This lyric is one of my favorites in this song but I don't have a strong conviction on who the second grave is, I'm very open to others' thoughts...

Bridge

“And you say I abandoned the ship/but I was going down with it/my white knuckle dying grip/holding tight to your quiet resentment/and my friends said it isn't right to be scared/every day of a love affair/every breath feels like rarest air/ when you're not sure if he wants to be there/So how much sad did you think I had, did you think I had in me/How much tragedy/Just how low did you think I'd go/Before I'd self implode/before I had to go be free"

"And you say I abandoned the ship...white knuckle dying grip" Taylor emphasizes her wish for things to be different with this lyric, clinging to her ship as it sinks. We all saw her try to right the ship, she's finally choosing to let go and swim to safety (a nautical parrallel to the manuscript's "my trip to your shores"?).

“My friends said it isn’t right to be scared everyday of a love affair…if you’re not sure he wants to be there”

Similar to when someone is in a bad romantic relationship, i imagine her friends expressed their concern that her relationship with her fans is unhealthy. Although many of her friends are high achievers themselves, Taylor’s success is in another league (monster on the hill) and they would likely have expressed their hope that she can slow down and accept a slightly less monumental career in the interest of her mental health. 

“How much sad did you think I had/did you think I had in me/Just how low did you think I’d go?” “before I self implode/before I have yo go be free”

Taylor imagines arguing with her fans in the throes of the break up, and in this passage it becomes clear that she is convinced they know the truth but are refusing to acknowledge it. That they allowed her to keep faking her straight persona for their sake. That she was a woman pushed to her limits by a partner (fans) who knew they were running her ragged, a partner that didn’t in fact love her, but loved what she could do for them.

 So she asks them, how long did you think I could keep doing this before it broke me? How long did you think I would go along with this, be willing to sacrifice for you? how much would she fake/take the money to keep up the straight persona?

“You swore that you loved me but where were the clues?/I died on the altar waiting for the proof/ you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days”

The para social relationship is again a perfect match for the metaphor of a partner that uses you but doesn’t meet you in relationship as a full person. The praise puts you on an altar, but their actions don’t reflect the effusive words. “Bluest days” is a red herring to match the bearding narrative/fan rumor that Joe’s mental health affected their relationship, but also could be interpreted as the fans overlooking her truth in the interest of relying on the idea that their favorite pop star has the same boy problems that they do, their "bluest days" were the days they were torn up over a relationship or an unrequited love and needed her break up anthems, and they wouldn't have the same effect if they knew (and weren't in denial) that the songs are about women (or now about them, ironically).

Last Verse/Outro

“I’m just getting color back into my face/im just mad as hell cause I loved this place/for so long London/had a good run/moment of war son/but I’m not the one”

The first line here parallels the language in “you’re losing me”, which uses the metaphor of a relationship literally dying (“i can’t find a pulse”, etc). In this song she is leaving the relationship to save herself, and in leaving she is recovering her health, hence getting the color back in her face after being pale when sick and near death.

“This place” or London, is a stand in for the world, the Swiftverse that she created for and with her fans. It had been her life’s work, her source of pride, self worth, her legacy, but now she must leave, because it was built in large part around a self she created to make herself palatable to the fans she amassed. She can’t be that person anymore, and maybe in some ways “this place” doesn’t even really feel like hers. This parallels Florida!!!, "your home's really a town you're just a guest in/so you work your life away/just to pay for a timeshare down in Destin". She is just a guest in the musical world of the brand of Taylor Swift that she spent her whole life building ("the story isn't mine anymore")

To close, she repeats the main lines of the chorus,

“So long London/Stitches undone/two graves, one gun/you’ll find someone” 

This repetition drives home the finality of this decision - her exit, her killing her public persona, her detaching herself from those that don't see and support her, and her reassuring herself that those people will find someone else to worship, and someone else to see themselves in, and her realization and relief that they aren't her responsibility anymore.

[imaginepirates]

Pirate

For the anon who wanted a James x reader where they meet on the Pearl, but James doesn’t have the guts to admit that he’s falling for them. Later, (we’re pretending his death didn’t happen), they meet again at Shipwreck Cove, and James confesses his feelings during the battle on the Dutchman.

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official​  @hellspawn-brownies​ @groovyfluxie​ @wordsinwinters​

~3760 words. Long again. 

~~~~~~~

           His hair hung in wet strings around his face. Whether they were matted together with water, alcohol, or vomit, you weren’t sure you wanted to know, though you suspected it to be a mixture of all three. A guard rail was all that kept him upright. He was a disaster, even for a pirate. Not that he’s a pirate, either.

          The former Commodore looked a wreck. You would be, too, you supposed, if you’d drunk yourself into complete oblivion. And someone needs to take away that damned wig. Currently, it sat on his head much like some bird’s nest, and you half-expected a gull to land in it at any moment. Pity mingled with your disgust. There had been a time when his name alone had struck fear into you. Now, he was a pathetic image, unable to do so much as hold himself up on two feet. He couldn’t strike fear into a fly.

          You were a bit surprised that Elizabeth, of all people, showed him no sympathy. Even Jack looked a bit repulsed, which was saying something, given that Jack himself was never in a prime state. He staggered upright, puking over the side of a railing.

          You sighed, walking brisky over, snatching the wig off the top of his head and tossing it overboard. He looked up at you through bleary eyes.

          “What the bloody hell was that for?”

          “You look awful.”

          “Thank you for your astute assessment.” Even drunk, his tone dripped sarcasm, and you were a little surprised.

          He’s still in his wits, then. You looked him over again. Somewhat. “You look marginally less awful without the wig.” He grunted. You grabbed the bottle he was holding, too, and threw it over the side.

          “Now that’s just a waste.”

          “You need to sober up.”

          “And who exactly are you, that it’s your job to police me?”

          “You’re embarrassing, is all, and it’s no good to be embarrassed by crewmates.”

          He snorted. “You should write to the admiralty. That sort of thinking would have spared me many of my own crewmates throughout the years.” He stared down into the waves, where his water-clogged wig had begun to sink under the surface.

          “Well, you don’t want to be that person, do you?”

          “At this point, I don’t particularly care.” His wig finally lost the battle, disappearing into the murky depths.

          “Have some pride.”

          “Pride?” He pushed himself up, looking coldly into your eyes with his own. “I’ve lost my title, I’ve lost my station, I’ve lost my livelihood. I have no house, nor family, nor friends. I’ve lost everything I ever held dear, including the woman I love, because despite being with her,” here he gestured with his chin to where Elizabeth stood at the helm, “I’m further from her than ever before. Now please, tell me again why I should have pride.”

          If you were being honest with yourself, it was hard to give him an answer. “You still have your life, and for however little that’s worth right now, things could be worse. You could be dead. Take pride in the fact that you didn’t let things get that far.” He scoffed, but you continued. “Go clean yourself up; splash some water on your face, and do something about the vomit in your hair. Things can get better. Clean up, and you’ll be one step closer.”

          He looked at you then, a vulnerability in his eye that wasn’t there before. Hope. He stalked off then, stumbling a bit, but trying admirably to, supposedly, follow your advice.

          Norrington carried out his tasks admirably and without complaint, no manner how demeaning for a man of his previous station. He was watched with suspicious eye; but why wouldn’t he be? He had been a ranking officer, after all, and an effective one at that. Too many pirates had been lost to his scouring of the Caribbean. Just how far can you trust a member of the navy, former or otherwise?

          The way he looked at Jack’s compass didn’t escape your notice. He knows. “Not thinking of stealing it, are you?” His neck craned to look up at you from his position kneeling on the deck, a wet cloth in hand. He stopped his scrubbing to glare.

          “I’m not a thief.” He looked back down, returning to his task.

          “You are a pirate.”

          His head whipped up at that, jaw working in annoyance. “I’m not a bloody pirate,” he hissed.

          “Then what the hell are you doing here? Top secret mission? I’m surprised you were chosen; I wouldn’t believe your fall from grace if I weren’t here to see it myself.”

          Norrington was showing clear restraint, obviously wanting to hit you with something. You watched him breifly consider using the wash-rag as a projectile before deciding against it.

          “Commodore Norrington. That was a name to fear, once.”

          The ferocity in his eyes vanished, replaced by sadness, his gaze dropping from yours. “I haven’t been that man in months. I never will be again.”

          “Good.” He shot you a questioning look. “It’s no use to be afraid of you. And, if what I hear from Elizabeth is true, you might learn to have some fun and not be so stiff all the time.” Offence flashes across his face, but you only smiled. “I blame high society. Welcome to freedom, James Norrington. I hope you get a taste for it.”

          He turned to look out over the steadily changing horizon, a soft pink beginning to dust the sky. “So do I.”

          The days wore on, and the crew steadily adjusted to James’ presence. He no longer ate alone, though he ate in silence, and the crew was more willing to interact with him. Elizabeth, you noted, had barely paid him any mind since his arrival. How she could be so callous towards him you didn’t know; you had expected her to at least talk to him, but she barely even looked his way.

          Not that he didn’t look hers. His gaze would fall upon her, sometimes, while he worked, and there was a sadness there that tugged at your heart. He was confused, too, as to her treatment of him. He wanted, more than anything, to be close to her. Even if she could treat him like a friend. But she refused to give him even that much.

          You were tired of watching it. “Come on,” you walked up to him, “let’s do something about that hair.”

          “You haven’t grown tired of telling me what to do, have you?” he drawled. He was propped against a railing, eyes following Elizabeth as she walked across the deck above them. With Jack, you noted. So, it seemed, did James.

          You sighed. “It can only get in the way, hanging down by your face like that.” You turned away, heading down belowdecks. He needs to get away from watching her.

          James followed, pushing off the railing and heading after you. Good. You found a spot with a few barrels—full of apples, you assumed; you never had gotten rid of all of Barbossa’s cargo—that would be suitable for sitting on. You motioned for James to do just that, moving behind him.

          You found yourself at a loss for words. What was there to say? You had little in common, and less that wouldn’t bring back poor memories for him. You kept silent, instead running your fingers through James’ hair. It’s longer than I expected, for a naval man. I wonder if he always kept it like this, or if it was close-cropped, once.

          “What exactly are you doing?” He turned his head a little to look back at you.

          “Braiding.” You separated his hair into three parts, beginning to twine the strands together.

          You expected him to ask you why, or to move away, but he stayed put. “I haven’t worn my hair in a braid since the navy.” It was almost a whisper. Somehow, in the low light of the hull, it seemed appropriate.

          You almost pulled away and apologized, but he went on. “I used to braid it to fit it under that damned wig. It could get so insufferably hot in the sun, though I was always glad to have the hair off the back of my neck. I don’t know how Elizabeth ever managed, in those dresses.” A soft smile sat on his face. “How did any of us manage, back then?”

          You knew he wasn’t speaking of the heat. You tied his hair off with a small strip of ribbon from around your wrist. It was interesting, to see something of yours on him, and you stared at it a moment before moving. “You’ve always kept your hair this long, then?” You moved to a barrel across from him.

          “For years. My mother hated it.” He smiled. “She told me it would be easier if I just cut it off.”

          “Good thing you didn’t.” He looked at you curiously, and you felt yourself beginning to flush. “It suits you.”

          His eyebrows raised in surprise. Even in the dim light of the lanterns, you could see his cheeks turn pink, the color extending down into his collar. You sat in awkward silence a moment, James fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves while you looked down at the black deck. “A name to fear, you said.”

          James was still toying with the cuff on his left wrist when you looked back up. “I think I like you this way better.”

          “I’m not sure I do.”

          You got up, moving to a barrel next to his. “I’d rather not fear you.” You grabbed his hand, taking it gently away from its fiddling. He scanned your eyes. “Like most people, you aren’t as terrifying as the stories make you sound.”

          “I never thought of it that way.”

          “That you struck fear, even into the best of us?”

          “I…” he trailed off. “It seems so ridiculous, that anyone feared me. I know I was good at my job—it was all I was good for.” He scoffed. “But I was so out of place in society…I always felt horribly awkward at all those social events. I was much more afraid of those people than they were of me.”

          “You were like…” you wracked your brain for a parallel. “You were told stories about Blackbeard when you were a child, right?”

          “Yes, of course. Upon reflection, I’m sure they were too dramatic to be true.”

          “That’s how you were to us. You were a reverse Blackbeard.” James laughed aloud at that. “I can’t even tell you how I pictured you. Larger, maybe. Older. And with a horrible, mean beard that took up half your face.”

          James smiled, and you found you quite liked the expression on him. “Am I as scary as the stories?”

          “Not even close. Though I’m sure I wouldn’t want to meet the business end of your sword,” you added.

          “Is Blackbeard as frightening as the tales?” James questioned. Then, more seriously, “Is Davy Jones?”

          You sobered. “Aye, he is.” You found that his hand was still in yours—he hadn’t pulled away. “But it’s mixed with disgust. He isn’t human, anymore. It can be revulting. And sad,” you said, upon reflection. “I can’t imagine; losing your humanity like that.”

          James said nothing, his eyes on your entertwined fingers. He ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Why do you talk to me?”

          You shrugged. “There’s no reason not to.”

          “That doesn’t seem to be the common belief.” He continued to rub gentle circles in the top of your hand. His fingers were calloused from years of hard work, but so were yours. He traced over your knuckles and each finger in turn. His brows furrowed. “It’s pity, isn’t it?”

          You could see how disgusted he was with himself. “Some, yes,” you admitted. “But you’re not half-bad to be around. This was…nice. I haven’t had a quiet moment with someone in ages.”

          He looked at you thoughtfully, using his free hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not half-bad either, for a pirate.”

          You smiled, and he looked like he might say something more, but he stayed quiet, a soft smile of his own gracing his features. When he left, you knew he was in a better mood than when he came. I wonder if I’ll occupy any of the space in his thoughts that Elizabeth does. It was a silly thought, and you didn’t quite know why it came to mind, but there was a ghostly touch where James had brushed your hair aside, and you realized that you liked the idea of his thinking about you. Wishing for the attention of a naval man. Who would’ve thought?

~~~~~~~

          The news about Isla de Muerta came hard. You had been anxious the entire time, confined to the Pearl on the account that Davy Jones could make an appearance, and the ship would need to be crewed if he did.

          You weren’t prepared for the eventuality that James wouldn’t come back. You had worried, of course, wringing your hands with it, but you hadn’t actually thought…

          You kept your tears for him to yourself. Nobody else was bothered—not even Elizabeth. A man she’s known her entire life, dead, and she has no sorrow to show for it. How can she be so heartless? It was as if nothing had happened at all. The crew ignored it; they were used to that, you supposed. Half your number had been killed by cannibles, after all. But even Gibbs seemed unbothered by the prospect of James’ death.

          Only later did you realize that James had taken the heart. You didn’t believe it, at first, but slowly came to reconcile yourself with the idea. Elizabeth thought him a traitor. But was he ever really on our side? You thought back to your conversations with him. I like you this way better. It had been true. I’m not sure I do. That was true, too, and now he’d shown it.

          At first, none of it mattered to you. He was dead, anyway. Slowly, you began to realize that Jones didn’t have the heart. After all, he hadn’t quit pursuing the Pearl, even if you didn’t have the heart. When you learned that the heart was in possession of Cutler Beckett, damn his eyes, your heart leapt with joy. James is alive! No matter the mood of Jack, or Gibbs, or Elizabeth, or the crew, you could only think of James. He wasn’t killed, then. He used the heart as leverage to secure his old position.

          You pondered the thought. If ever you met him again, would you be afraid? Or would you just be sad?

~~~~~~~

          Shipwreck Cove was just as you’d remembered it. Dimly lit, ships stacked one on the other, whispered conspiracies in every corner. Every sailor’s legend had its place in these ships. There wasn’t a legend that hadn’t been speculated within the fortress, and not a pirate who hadn’t chased them without.

          You had fond memories of the Cove, but less fond memories of the Court. The Brethren Court convened on only the deepest of issues, and you still remembered some of their gatherings from when you were a child. It was loud, and there was no order, and the Court couldn’t meet without at least one death per session.

          It was that way now. Jack toyed with the swords stuck in the globe at the front of the room while the other pirate lords surrendered the miscellaneous junk they deemed their pieces of eight. The end result was a dish full of random trinkets. Not that you didn’t understand; the idea that pirates obtained mass amounts of wealth was a myth. Most of the time, you barely had a shilling to your name. Working with Jack was especially non-lucrative, but it was certainly more entertaining.

          Jack’s hand strayed briefly to the piece of eight at his temple. “Might I point out that we are still short one pirate lord and I’m as content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us.”

          “Sao Feng is dead.”

          You recognized that voice. You whipped around to see Elizabeth, clad in full Chinese armor, sword in hand. You smiled to yourself; she was always full of surprises.

          The best surprise, however, was the man standing at her side. You mouthed James’ name, and his eyes locked on yours. He stepped forward, as if to greet you, but you were interrupted by further discussion of the Court. He’s alive, and he’s here, and I never thought I would see him again. You glanced over your shoulder. And he’s in full uniform.

          The Court was chaos. Barbossa’s plan to free Calypso was not taken well by the others, and you couldn’t blame them. Your mind was preoccupied, focussing on the man somewhere behind you. You wondered if he had seen the relief in your eyes. Had he felt the same?

          A hand settled on your shoulder. You turned to see James, worried eyes staring into your own. He pulled you back, leading you out of the room.

          “James?” You felt your eyes beginning to water. “For the longest time, I thought you had died.” Your voice cracked, and you were unable to stop it.

          He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only reached out to you, pulling you into a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry.” His breath tickled your ear. “I’ve done horrible things.”

          You held tightly to the back of his coat. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

          He stepped back, pain blossoming across his features. “I know you can never forgive me, for what I’ve done. I can only hope you-”

          The doors behind you opened, and the Court flooded out. The consensus is war, then.

~~~~~~~

          The rain made it hard for you to keep a good grip on your sword. The Dutchman pitched and rolled under your feet, waves crashing rougly into the sides of the hull. Its mast, tangled with the Pearl’s, loomed above you, a towering dark figure in the haze of the monsoon.

          These damned fish people. The Dutchman’s crew fought more viscously than even Barbossa’s undead pirates. Who knew starfish could be so angry? You feared that their weapons, often tarnished and jagged, would catch on your own and leave you defenseless. I should’ve stayed on the Pearl. But there are fish people there now, too.

          At least you weren’t alone. Elizabeth and Will were with you, as was Jack, though he seemed to be having difficulties of his own. If you hadn’t been fighting for your life, you might have been more amused. You had lost sight of most of your crew mates. You were too focused on the eel-headed freak in front of you to give your fellows much thought. With your swords locked, you had no other way to grapple with the beast. It hadn’t occurred to you that the eel could elongate its neck, which was exactly what it did, arching forward to bite at your face.

          A moment later, the head lay at your feet, the slimy body collapsing beside it. James was there, sword in hand, looking at you with concern. That, or he’s squinting to keep the rain out of his eyes. You gave him a nod, stepping in closer.

          “There are too many of them. We’ll never get to them all. Some of them are coming right out of the walls!” You both looked around yourselves at the endless numbers in the Dutchman’s crew.

          “We only have to kill one.” James gestured towards the other end of the ship, where Davy Jones stood, lobster claw digging into the wood of the deck.

          “We don’t have the heart.”

          “But we both know who does.” James’ face was grim. “I should’ve stabbed it while I had the chance.”

          You grabbed his arm. “No. You would be just like Jones, then, bound to this ship for eternity. You’d have no humanity left.”

          “I’d be better than I am now.”

          The comment broke your heart, but there were too many enemies around for you to focus on it. You slashed at a shark-headed monstrosity before James pulled you in close, stabbing something just behind you. Now isn’t the time for blushing. But James was holding you tightly to his chest, and you heard him shoot another member of Jones’ crew.

          You hated to let go, but you had to duck under James’ arm to go after another, and another. Your back ended up pressed against James’, and you could feel each others’ heavy breathing.

          “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this alive.” You had to shout to be heard over the thunderous racket. Between the rain, the gunfire, and the sharp clanging of swords, there was little room for words.

          “It doesn’t seem likely.”

          “You were trying to tell me something earlier.” Rain ran down your face in streams. “Now might be your only chance.”

          James put a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. “I wanted to apologize, for it all. I hope you’ll accept it.”

          “Of course.” You grabbed the pistol from his side, leveling it at a creature behind his shoulder.

          “You didn’t deserve what I did.”

          You cupped his face with a hand. “I understand why you did it.”

          “You were the only one who treated me like a person, then, on the Pearl.” He had grabbed your arm, keeping you close. It occurred to you that you were both going to die like this, paying too much attention to each other and not enough to your surroundings. “I can’t…” James took a steadying breath. “I can’t help but love you for it.”

          You barely had time to process the words before his lips were on yours. Despite the storm, and the gunfire, and the clanging of swords—despite the knowledge that neither of you were going to make it out alive—the kiss was achingly tender, with so much softness and vulnerability that tears began to slip down your already soaked cheeks.

          This won’t be such a bad way to go.

          There was a sudden shuddering of the ship, and you and James had to cling to each other to keep upright. You looked up, only to find that the Pearl had broken away, her masts now untangled from the Dutchman’s.

          You tugged at James’ arm. “We have to go. I think the ship’s going under.”

          He nodded, and you found a loose line to swing over to the Pearl. The Dutchman sank not long after you hit the deck. The ship fell beneath the waves, sucked under by the storm.

          “We still have to face Beckett.” James looked out over the water to where the British armada was advancing.

          You could already feel some of the fight leaving you. How could you withstand an armada, when you’d barely defeated the Dutchman? “At least we have each other, now.”

          James looked down at you. “Yes.” He cautiously wrapped an arm around your waist. “And after? If there is an after.”

          You smiled teasingly. “I hope you don’t mind returning to piracy.”

          James smiled back. “I don’t think I’ll mind at all.”

[spork-guitar]

I have a Theory™

but first, a disclaimer: this theory is not meant to imply that I think Marinette is abusive and manipulative like Gabriel. I’m only trying to compare their personalities as far as the way they see the world and approach situations, especially involving their respective love interests. please let me know if the way I phrase something at any point seems like I’m justifying and/or condemning something or someone I shouldn’t be, but also know in advance it is not my intent.

okay okay but hear me out here

what if Marinette and Adrien’s relationship was meant to parallel Gabriel and Emilie’s?? like I don’t know enough to have much of a basis for this theory but just listen okay 

we have:

the creative one/(aspiring) fashion designer who:

- is a very talented designer

- is afraid of failure/making mistakes

- has trouble balancing their civilian life with their alter ego

- would do anything to keep their Miraculous identity a secret/to protect themselves and their identity

          - ex: Gabriel letting Simon Says capture him (Simon Says); Gabriel akumatizing himself so his identity won’t be discovered (The Collector)

          - ex: Marinette stealing phones from Adrien (Copycat), Alya (The Mime), and Chloe (Reflekta) for various, mainly self-serving reasons; Marinette (as Ladybug) outing Lila as a liar so Adrien won’t fall for her (Volpina)

- is known for making impulsive decisions and snap judgements that affect other people without considering how those people might be affected

          - ex: Gabriel banning Nino from coming back to the Agreste mansion (Bubbler); Gabriel becoming Hawk Moth under the assumption that Adrien would side with him if he knew what Gabriel was trying to do (Style Queen: “If only I could tell Adrien why I’m doing this. He would understand.”)

          - ex: Marinette shifting blame away from herself and onto the rest of her class when Chloe’s bracelet went missing (Rogercop); Ladybug keeping information from Chat Noir (mainly throughout season 4)

- is intelligent and curious, often coming close to a big revelation only to be dissuaded by a single piece of evidence; interestingly, while they are easily thrown off a trail of otherwise solid evidence, they tend to overcomplicate matters in order to draw suspicion away from themselves

          - ex: Gabriel suspecting Adrien may be Chat Noir, only to drop this theory when he believes he is seeing the two in the same place (Gorizilla)

          - ex: Marinette suspecting Gabriel may be Hawk Moth, only to drop this theory when Gabriel is akumatized (The Collector); Marinette suspecting Chat Noir may also be a student at her school, only to drop this theory when he mistakenly refers to it as an elementary school, while Marinette herself creates a very convoluted plan to cover her tracks (Kwami Buster)

- has a rational-minded “assistant” of sorts who is trusted with their identity

- is connected closely with at least one member of the Bourgeois and Tsurugi families

- is borderline obsessed with their love interest and would do literally anything for them, even if it endangers their identity

          - ex: Gabriel putting the entire city in danger for Emilie many times throughout the course of the series

          - ex: Marinette nearly giving up her Miraculous/revealing her identity to save Adrien (Volpina)

the one in the public eye/model/actor who:

- had blond hair and green eyes, is conventionally attractive

- is associated with birds/feathers

          - ex: Emilie was a previous holder of the Peacock Miraculous

          - ex: while Adrien is allergic to pigeon feathers, there are feathers seen in the background of the famous “Adrien the Fragrance” ad (Gorizilla), and he is also accompanied by birds during a photo shoot (Mr. Pigeon 72)

- is associated with purity/perfection

          - ex: Emilie is pictured surrounded by gold in the mosaic in Gabriel’s office; she is also currently kept in a repository with a transparent case, reminiscent of Snow White’s glass coffin

          - ex: Adrien is referred to throughout the series as “flawless”, “the image of perfection” (Simon Says), and “perfection personified” (Oni-Chan), among other things

- is musically gifted and enjoys music

          - ex: Emilie was a pianist; she also had an extensive collection of records that are currently kept in Adrien’s room (Party Crasher)

          - ex: Adrien is a pianist; Adrien enjoys playing piano duets with other people, including Gabriel (Captain Hardrock), Plagg, and Emilie (Puppeteer 2)

- is associated, however coincidentally, with solitude

          - ex: Emilie’s only known acting role was the lead in a film titled Solitude (Gorizilla)

          - ex: Adrien is often depicted alone or “behind bars” (examples include, Sandboy, Queen Banana, etc.)

- is known to be kind-hearted and generally a nice person, except when the safety of their loved ones is threatened

          - ex: Gabriel compares Adrien and Emilie, calling them “way too overly dramatic” with “quite a temper” when Adrien tells Gabriel to leave in order to avoid capture by Simon Says (Simon Says)

- has damaged a Miraculous

          - this is assuming Emilie is at least partially responsible for the Peacock Miraculous being damaged, as she has canonically used it

          - ex: Adrien was revealed to have damaged the Rabbit Miraculous with a Cataclysm (Timetagger)

- has an off-kilter, lookalike relative

- is connected with at least one member of the Bourgeois and Tsurugi families

          - this is assuming that Emilie knew both families, as it is more than likely she did due to the fact that Gabriel has done business with the Tsurugis in the past and Chloe was a childhood friend of Adrien’s)

- has a job that places them in the public eye, as opposed to their love interests’ more “behind-the-scenes” careers

          - ex: Emilie was an actress, while Gabriel is a reclusive fashion designer who is not known for his public appearances

          - ex: Adrien is a model, among other things, and while Marinette has created pieces for others to model, she herself has never been on the runway

now, we don’t really know much about what Emilie was like as a person or how she behaved relationship-wise (although I may have a similarly long post about that coming soon if I have the motivation to post it), so this is just based off the bits and pieces we do know

so, in conclusion...

age-swap AU where Marinette uses the Butterfly Miraculous to bring Adrien back while Gabe and Emilie have a cute high school romance

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Have you been asked yet to rank Trust eps? Cos I'm asking! But your the criteria for ranking I leave to you to decide.

Ahahahaha I’ll have you know I put way too much thought into this. :-D

Ok so first of all, there is no such thing as a bad episode of Trust. The whole thing is really tightly written, every character and plot thread has a purpose, and even the episodes that I haven’t watched over and over again are important to the overall story. And a lot of the impact of the show comes from things that are cumulative over multiple episodes.

That being said, I do have favorites. Since the definitive ranking of Primo’s outfits has already been taken care of, here is my ranking from least to most favorite based on some nebulous criteria of artistic/narrative effectiveness and emotional impact, my judgement of which is obviously highly subjective and also correct.

Under the cut because this got ummm unbelievably, ridiculously long.

10. The House of Getty (episode 1)

Sorry Danny Boyle and Simon Beaufoy, the pilot is my least favorite episode. Still think it was the wrong choice to open with a flashy (and, I can tell, expensive) sequence showcasing the death of a character we literally never see again. And, look, I’m an impatient viewer. If I don’t get someone to root for/emotionally identify with/otherwise catch my interest early on in a narrative, I’ll tune out. And Old Paul is not only unlikeable--far from a mortal sin in dramatic storytelling--he’s boring. I don’t care about any of his rich people problems, and I’m not the kind of viewer who can be kept engaged just by hating someone and watching them be terrible.

Some of the secondary characters in the Getty household do have interesting plotlines, but we don’t get to learn very much about them in the first episode. And I do think things get interesting once Little Paul shows up (although I maintain that the whole episode is more interesting if we understand what the stakes are for Paul getting the money), but if I had started watching this show with no context I wouldn’t have made it past Old Paul’s pre-coital erotica listening routine.

If this had been anything other than the first episode I might not have ranked it last, but extra penalty points for leading with your least interesting characters.

9. Lone Star (episode 2)

This episode is, I think, saddled by the fact that it has to do a lot of heavy lifting in terms of exposition and setup. It mostly works because Chace is an entertaining narrator, and once we get to Italy with Gail I think things zip along at a pretty good pace. Opens with an attempted rape to show how Bad the Bad Guys are, which is...not my favorite trope.

Once again, I think a lot of the information in this episode would have worked better if episode 3 had been episode 1. (We’d already know who Berto was when Chace meets him; we’d already know about the box of guns in the apartment; we’d know when certain characters are lying.) This whole show runs on the suspense of the audience being the only party who knows what’s going on with all the characters at once; I think trading mystery for suspense here was the wrong move. I also can’t help thinking there was pressure to front-load the well-known American actors in the beginning of the show at the expense of the strongest narrative choices.

Imo the best thing about this episode is the sort of...multiple competing images of Paul that emerge. His mom sees him as an innocent victim who couldn’t possibly have planned any of this. Chace sees him as a spoiled rich kid trying to swindle his granddad. Neither one of them has the complete truth.

Next we get into some episodes that are certainly not bad, but their greatness is more on the level of some bangin’ individual scenes than a whole package.

8. John, Chapter 11 (episode 6)

Again, this isn’t a bad episode. The main reason I put it near the end of the list is that the first time through I got sort of impatient during the first half. We, the audience, by virtue of our extra-textual knowledge, know that Paul can’t be dead, and we spend about half the episode before we know what really happened to him, which felt a bit too long to me.

This episode does have some fantastic individual scenes including: Leo talking Primo down in the farmhouse, Leo and Paul’s conversation about Angelo’s death, Gail being an absolute badass, and the meeting between Salvatore and Old Paul. A lot of these scenes are essential on a thematic level, but I don’t think the episode as a whole is the most streamlined.

7. Consequences (episode 10)

I debated for a while where to put this episode because the overall feeling of 57 Chekov’s guns going off in the space of one episode is SO satisfying, and the resolutions of some of the individual plotlines are delicious. Ultimately I would have liked more space for Paul and Gail and less Old Paul being grumpy about his substitute child museum’s mediocrity (although the scene with the bad reviews is hilarious). Once again I feel like the show creators felt they had to pull the focus back to Old Paul to wrap things up and I just. don’t care.

That being said. The resolution of Primo’s storyline? SO SATISFYING. And tbh I don’t dislike the scenes that exist with Paul and Gail; even the happy scenes have this poignant tone to them. I think they were trying to deal with the fact that his irl story is just...incredibly fucking tragic, and you can see a bit of the strain showing.

6. Kodachrome (episode 7)

I know episode 7 is not one of your personal favorites, but it’s the one where I think jumping between multiple plotlines/sets of characters is used to the most satisfying dramatic effect. It has this sense of dramatic irony that feels like some Shakespearean family tragedy. The whole episode, we are hoping that Paul Jr. will finally do the thing we want him to do, which is stand up to his father. And he does it--but at the absolute worst, most selfish and destructive moment possible.

Paul Jr. may be the literal worst, but I do have compassion for him in the flashbacks, mostly because it seems painfully apparent that no matter what he does, he will never be able to please his father. But he doesn’t seem to realize this, and he keeps trying, even as it’s destroying him and his relationship with his family. Credit to Michael Esper for his performance for making me feel a smidgen of compassion for this bastard.

I think the other thing this episode shows is how both of Paul’s parents keep putting him, a child, into roles and circumstances that he shouldn’t really be in. He’s wandering around through what seem like very much adult environments with his dad and Talitha in Morocco. In the Trust version of events he’s there when Talitha ODs and is the one trying to revive her while his dad is having a breakdown in the corner. Gail seems like the more responsible parent but there’s something about her bringing Paul as her “date” on a night out, and the understanding that this is a thing that happens regularly...to me the disturbing part is not so much bringing a young kid to a party with adults but the unspoken expectation that Little Paul will fill the void of companionship that his father has left empty. (Gettys expecting Little Paul to step in to cover for the failings of his father is a repeated theme, and it even plays into the ear thing. His family has failed to pay the ransom, so this is now a problem he has to solve himself.) Combine this all with Leonardo going, um, excuse me but what the actual fuck is wrong with your family? and I think it makes a very effective episode. And the last couple minutes had me yelling NOOOOOOOO GODDAMMIT because you can see what’s going to happen and you’re just watching it unfolding like a car wreck. Also has one of my hands-down favorite scenes, of Paul and Primo in the car waiting for the ransom.

5. White Car in a Snowstorm (episode 9)

The ~ D R A M A !!! ~ This episode is an opera. I mean this whole show is dramatique but episode 9 really leans into the vivid imagery--that snowy highway in the mountains above the sea, the all-white ransom exchange, Paul clinging to the pole at the shuttered Getty gas station, some Very Serious Mobsters throwing the ransom money around like idiots in a moment where you’re encouraged to be happy along with them.

This is also one of my favorite episodes for Primo and for Primo and Paul’s weird sometimes-alliance. Primo walking away from Salvatore to go tell Paul “they always pay in the end”? Primo and Paul teaming up to argue with Salvatore about why Paul shouldn’t die? Primo being all threateny to the doctor treating Paul because somewhere deep down he is worried (that’s my take and you’ll never convince me otherwise)? Primo dressing up to fake-scab on a postal strike in order to find a misplaced severed ear? All gold.

Fun fact: the letter Gail writes to President Nixon did happen in real life, but as far as I can tell the phone call did not. The real details of who convinced Old Paul to finally pay (some) of the ransom are considerably less cinematic. They’re the same amount of sexist though!

Ok now we are getting to the top tier...

4. That’s All Folks! (episode 4)

This is definitely the episode that took me from “ok this is fun” to “oh holy shit I’m invested now.” It’s the episode where we get introduced to most of the Calabrian characters and their world. It’s also the episode where we start to realize that Primo is not just a fun antagonist but is really a parallel protagonist to Little Paul, with his own set of relationships and motivations that we start to see from his POV. (I’d argue that, with the exception of his very first scene, we’ve mostly seen Primo through other characters’ gaze up until episode 4, and this is the point where we start watching him as like, the character whose pursuit of a goal we’re following over the course of the scene.)

This episode ranks high for capturing so much of the weird mix of tones that makes Trust work. It can be very funny. (I never fail to fuckin lose it when Fifty is on the phone with Gail the first time and when he’s talking to the thoroughly unimpressed newspaper switchboard operator.) It has this weird unexpected intimacy between characters you wouldn’t think would connect with each other. (Primo and Paul, Paul and Angelo; in retrospect the arc of the relationship between Primo and Leo gets started in that scene in Salvatore’s kitchen.) And it has one of the show’s absolute best record-scratch tone shifts when Primo gets the ransom offer. I remember saying “oh FUCK” out loud the first time I watched the end of that episode, when Primo comes back to the house, visibly drunk and clearly furious. We’ve seen him be violent plenty before now in the show, but always in a controlled, calculated way. This is the first time we see his potential for out-of-control rage-fueled violence and he’s terrifying!

3. La Dolce Vita (episode 3)

I stand by my claim that this episode (with a few minor continuity adjustments) should have been the pilot. Can you imagine a title card that’s like “Rome 1973” and then away we go with Paul snorting coke and taking racy photos and jumping on cops and fucking his girlfriend in what is definitely not proper museum etiquette, and then the smash cut to Primo intimidating and robbing and murdering people? And that’s the opening of the whole show? And you’re like how are these characters connected and then they meet each other and it’s the fucking sunflower field scene??

Anyway aside from the fact that I think knowing the information in this episode would have made episodes 1 and 2 more interesting...it’s just a great fucking episode. It’s kinetic and propulsive and funny and tense and violent and features Primo’s sniper skills and his ass in those cornflower blue trousers. I rest my case.

2. Silenzio (episode 5)

I’ll be honest, I went back and forth on the top two a bunch. Silenzio is definitely my personal favorite episode, and I’d argue that it’s the best written, in terms of what it accomplishes narratively, which is to keep you emotionally invested in both Paul and Angelo trying to escape with their lives, and Primo and Leonardo hunting them down. That’s so fucking hard!! And yes some of it is great acting but it starts from the foundation of the writing. It’s just such a perfect little self-contained horror movie, and it has this profound sense of fatalism to it, because you know from the beginning (if only by virtue of only being halfway through the series) that Paul is not going to escape, and you sort of know that there is only one way this will end for Angelo. And yet they escape by the skin of their teeth so! many! times!

It’s also the episode where you see how much power the ‘Ndrangheta has over people’s lives in this community: Salvatore is like God, calling his servants to him with the church bells. Combine that with the visuals of two characters running for their lives mostly on foot through this unforgiving landscape, and you really get the sense of this environment as a harsh place where most people have a very constrained set of choices, and the claustrophobia of that. You get the sense in this episode that everyone is trapped in these expectations of violence and duty and honor. Angelo did what anyone with compassion would do, and saved Paul from what seemed like certain death, and he’s doomed for it. At the same time Primo is doing exactly what anyone would expect him to do in response to a subordinate who disobeyed him. In some ways the end of the episode feels inevitable, unsurprising, and yet they do SUCH a good job of winding up the tension until the literal last seconds of the episode, and then releasing it with a big dramatic bang. It’s so good!!

1. In the Name of the Father (episode 8)

Ok I’ll be honest the ONLY reason In the Name of the Father edged out Silenzio for the top spot is that it is really clear they pulled out all the stops in terms of making this episode feel extra heightened in a show where everything is already heightened. Like, the cinematography is different? They still use handheld a lot but I swear there are more still shots and more extreme, editorial camera angles like that shot of Francesco looking upward in church where the camera is looking down from above him. I can’t tell if they actually tweaked the color grading or if the bright white and blood red just stand out against the Calabrian color palette which is mostly earth tones, browns and greens and blues.

There are just. So many layers to this episode. The imagery! The literal sacrificial lamb at the beginning, Francesco being guided by Leonardo through an act of violence against an animal, something that I’m sure they don’t even see as violence but just part of farm life, part of survival and in this case part of a celebration, but something that fathers teach their sons how to do as part of becoming a man in this world. Paul as the metaphorical sacrificial lamb later, drawing parallels to Jesus (the lamb of God), Isaac (a father sacrificing his son), any number of martyred saints, pick your Catholic imagery. The blood of the lamb on the tree stump and Paul’s blood on the stone. The communion wafer (the body and blood of Christ) and Francesco at the end with Paul’s blood and a literal piece of his body held in his hands the same way.

And then there is like, the suspense of watching everyone marking time through the steps of this community ritual that’s supposed to be a joyful, communal celebration, while we know that there is a secret ticking away under the surface. The slow unfolding of the lie told to one person spreading to everyone in the village, and then the knowledge that Salvatore knows spreading to all the people who’ll be in trouble for that. The relationship arcs between the main Calabrian characters...not resolving, but sliding into place for the final act. Primo finally being done with Salvatore. Primo and Leo’s alliance being cemented and Leo physically stepping between Primo and Salvatore, to protect Primo. (No one ever protects Primo!! Still not over it!!!!) The confirmation celebration as a mirror of the Getty party in episode 1, the parallels drawn between the 3 Pauls and Salvatore-Primo-Francesco and how Primo reacts to being passed over as heir vs. how Paul Jr. reacts. Little Paul having two whole minutes of screen time and managing to break your heart with them. Regina! Just...Regina’s whole everything. The music going all-instrumental for an episode and having this haunting, dreamlike but still tense quality to it. And the fact that we never cut away from Calabria to another plotline gives the whole episode this hypnotic, all-encompassing quality. It’s just. SO GOOD!!!!

[collectsfallenstars]

Gravity: A Summary of the Development of Jeong TaeEul’s Feelings for Lee Gon in “The King: Eternal Monarch (Part 3 of 3)

EPISODE 7

Back in her world, Jeong Tae-eul plunges into another murder case while still working on her last one.  Days, possibly weeks pass without any word from Lee Gon.  This is a long distance relationship taken to the extreme, without the comforts of technology to ease the longing.  Thankfully, she is kept busy by her work. However, during a quiet night at the precinct while filling out a form, she remembers their first meeting. She smiles and pulls out his old file.  It gives her a thrill to see “Name: Unknown, Date of Birth: Unknown, Address: Unkown, Contact: Unknown” because now, she knows all the answer to them.  She even tries to fill it out using his name, Lee Gon. She is affirming his existence, and it is now precious to her.  This is her missing him.

And then she deletes his file.  This is her going from soft and then back to her hard exterior. And Kim Goeun is absolutely wonderful here with the camera up close to her face, catching the minute her soft eyes turn sad, and then hard while she grits her teeth ever so lightly before pressing her lips in a tight line.  Jeong Tae-eul is all in in this relationship yes, but she’s still a pragmatist and hasn’t forgotten that they belong to different worlds.  And she is bracing herself for the tragedy she senses is just around the corner.

When he returns to her, she realizes how intense her feelings have become after their separation.

“HOW HAVE YOU BEEN? HAVE YOU BEEN WAITING FOR ME?”

She smiles at him when he asks how she’s been. The moment Lee Gon asks her if she waited for him, she gives him a different smile, a sadder one.  It was probably the exact moment when she realized she had been waiting for him.  And waiting for him meant she had been missing him all this time.  She probably never had time to think about it because she had been so busy with murder investigations in her world, and trying to solve the mystery of the unexplainable recordings she suspected was from his world.  And when she did have time to think of him, like that time in the precinct with his file, she would only allow herself a few moment of happiness, and them push them down.

So this is what it has come down to.  I hear a lot of people saying she went from hating him to suddenly running into his arms.  That isn’t the case as you can see.  All the development happened beneath the surface, behind the words that they were saying to each other.

After their reunion, they go on their fantasy everyday, normal life of a couple.  The have dinner, they have couple phones, they hold hands, they walk with his arm around her, she winds a teddy bear/stuffed lion for him in a shooting gallery – essentially, a date like normal couples do.  This is them stealing moments in time.  

As Lee Gon says on that fake phone call,

“I ALWAYS WANTED TO TRY THIS WITH YOU. CALL YOU ON THE PHONE. ASK YOU ABOUT YOUR DAY. TELL YOU I MISSED YOU.”  

This is them trying to cram in whatever happiness and sweetness they can to make whatever fate has in store for them a little more bearable.  

Keep in mind that although this was Jeong Tae-eul showing her softer side, she was still very much like herself. She didn’t turn into a mindless, giggly little doll.  She was a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to show it.  She got them the couple phones.  They went on a date that she thought of. She won the stuffed animal. She was the one who promised him the moon and stars if he asked them.  This is not typical k-drama female lead and it is very exciting to have an alternative image of femininity.  It’s a good thing Lee Gon’s ego is as big as it is, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to handle someone like Tae-eul.

But in true Jeong Tae-eul fashion, she moves from cool/sweet soft girlfriend to business-like detective.  She tells him she had been waiting for him as herself, but half of it she waited as her detective self.  They go back to her house and exchange information on their respective cases.  And he shares his theory that his power hungry uncle, Lee Lim, has been hiding in her world and building an army.  She confirms that a recording from one of her dead bodies is from his world. They agree to cooperate with each other for the sake of both their cases.  Now, when Lee Gon notes that this investigation will take her to even more dangerous ground now that they know it involves his world as well and Tae-eul replies,

“THIS WAS MY CASE BEFORE I EVEN MET YOU,” it does three things.

One, it reinforces the idea of fate.  Their first meeting at Gwanghwamun Square was not where they first began.  Things have been going on in both their lives that wound up putting them in each others’ paths long before they even met. As I said in a previous video of mine, that short meeting on the last 6 minutes of the first episode was deliberately put in last to show how the events of both their worlds have resulted in their fated meeting that night.  Everything that happened to them had to happen so that they would meet each other.  And it’s the same for Tae-eul with all the cases she had been getting before even meeting Lee Gon.

Second, and makes her realize that her murder investigation and his investigation into the treachery and treason of his uncle are inevitably tied to each other, the way she and Lee Gon are tied to each other.  They are each others’ answers to the mysteries they’re trying to solve. As Lee Gon said before, there must be a simple and beautiful formula for how she was involved in saving his life but he is sure that she’s the answer he has been looking for.  In the same manner, she could never solve the murders that have been falling into her lap without him and his world. He is also the answer to all the mysteries she is trying to solve.

Which brings us to the third point.  Her murder investigation and the evil plot his treasonous uncle are a mirror of their relationship.  And this realization plays an important part on why she told him she loved him in the very next episode.  When Tae-eul spoke of the dead bodies in her world coming from his world,

“THE TWO WORLDS SHOULDN’T GET MIXED UP LIKE THIS.  THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO STAY ON THEIR RESPECTIVE PATHS.  BUT, THE TWO WORLDS ARE ALREADY COLLIDING AND I’VE DISCOVERED IT.  SO WHAT ELSE COULD I DO? I DECIDED TO INVESTIGATE. I’M A POLICE OFFICER OF THE REPUBLIC OF KOREA.”  

she might as well have been talking about the two of them.  This is very much a reflection of what she thinks about their relationship.  It shouldn’t be happening. But it did.  Like all the cross-world murders falling on her lap that she has to solve.  In the same manner that she can’t ignore them because it’s her job to solve them, she also can’t ignore this thing she has with Lee Gon.  Call it fate, destiny, gravity.  But there it is.  She’s a detective, she will solve murders, no matter how dangerous they become.  She is Jeong Tae-eul and she will love Lee Gon, because she is who she is. She is someone who would choose to love him, no matter how difficult things could get.  But then, she ends the statement with,

“I AM A POLICE OFFICER OF THE REPUBLIC OF KOREA.”  

This is the equivalent of her seeing Lee Gon in his navy uniform with his imperial robes behind him.  She is reminding him that she is still planted firmly in her world, with her own responsibilities.  They may not be as big as his, but they’re just as important.  She can’t just leave everything and go live with him in his world.

As they enter into a new phase in their relationship, they are now faced with this conflict. Neither of them can just up and leave their world. So they made rules for each other, 2 from Lee Gon, and 17 and pending for Jeong Tae-eul, as a way to bargain with the universe. They’re trying to right the wrongs that have happened prior to them meeting. The only thing they’re asking is that the universe would let them them be together, for now.

The very fact that Lee Gon had only 2 rules and they were what they were is significant, and kind of true to their character. His two rules mean that his solution to their situation is to continue going back and forth between the two worlds. It would be this decision that will be challenged much later I suppose, when the gateway to both dimensions would eventually crack. But as for now, he has decided to split his world into two, a world of responsibility in the Kingdom of Corea, and the world where his only dream and desire resides, Republic of Korea where Jeong Tae-eul is.

Jeong Tae-eul plays it loose by beginning with 5 rules and a pending 13 more, making it up as she goes along.  And that’s essentially how she has always been since the beginning of the series. She starts with what she can confirm, what she can believe, and then change by adding or taking from it with every new information she gets as she goes along, just as what she did with Lee Gon.  Her route to a decision is circuitous, while Lee Gon’s is a straight line.

At this point, they’ve already solidified their relationship AND their plans to investigate murders and treason. And neither of them have told each other that they love each other.  Which bring us to the next episode.

EPISODE 8

They begin to share less screen time here as the reality of their two worlds and Lee Lim’s plans begin catching up to them. More of Lee Lim’s plot is revealed.  Jeong Tae-eul slowly begins to unravel their cases.  There is no time to cross worlds to go on dates.  And I suppose this is one of the major complaints of people – that they don’t spend enough time with each other.  At least long enough to give us heart fluttering moments.

Well, the thing is, two parallel worlds are about to collide into each other, there’s a barrier between worlds that freezes time on both sides in the number or seconds of frozen time keep rising, and in the meantime, people are disappearing and getting murdered.  We have here two characters who aren’t free to go on dates and flirt whenever they want.  You know, like actual adults with real world responsibilities.

But they have done the essentials of a relationship without even doing much of that.  They’ve learned each other’s way of thinking and haven’t tried to change each other.  They’ve learned how to empathize with each other, which wasn’t that hard considering they’re both emotionally strong people.  They’ve gotten to know each other.  She knows of his traumatic past that has shaped the kind of king he is now.  He knows of her girlhood dreams that have shaped the kind of detective she is now.

They’ve opened their eyes and assessed their impossible situation.  They reacted differently, talked it out, and arrived at the conclusion that decisions about the two of them should be made together.  They were able to do all that without going on “normal” dates.

She acknowledges how they have done everything in reverse, skipping over some parts and getting right to the nitty-gritty of a relationship that challenges the rules of the universe without even saying things to each other. That’s why she’s now backtracking, and trying to do things properly.

“IN THE BEGINNING, YOU ASK ABOUT EVERYTHING. WE JUST SKIPPED TOO MANY THINGS.”

The only thing left to do, really, is to make it official. To say the words. And even that feels anti-climactic, knowing that everything she has shown him surely let him know how she feels already.   And even if he hadn’t literally said the words I love you to her, his entire existence and crossing over to her world was an entire love letter to her. So she knew it was her who had to say it first, just to be as clear, as he always had been with her.  

And ultimately, this is what attracts me to her as a viewer.  She’s a strong-willed, independent, no nonsense woman.  And she’s the same, even in matters of love.  She doesn’t suddenly turn into a blushing 13 year old who doesn’t know what to with her feelings.  She had doubts about Lee Gon even if something was brewing between them.  When the doubts were are dispelled, she dealt with how she felt with him. And when she understood that she loved him, whether by fate or her own decision, she told him.  There was no teenage angst of wondering who should say it first, no annoying ancient mindfucks of men should always do the chasing.  True to her form and character, Jeong Tae-eul felt it, so then she had to say it. It was that simple.  Their situation was complicated enough. There was no need to

So she goes to see him before a stake out on a beautiful sunlit afternoon.  There’s nothing more poignant than verbalizing a hopeless love with a slowly setting sun in the background.

She begins it with a string of questions of “What if”?  It is her way of questioning the role of human choices when fate is at play.  Lee Gon insists that no matter what she would have done, he would still have fallen in love with her.  It was his fate to love her.  It mirrors what she’s thinking in the voice over that would come next.

She had tried to deny the existence of his world, his feelings for her, and his own very existence.  They had all turned out to be true and she had found herself unexplainably drawn into his life. And she couldn’t pull away, even if she had tried.  So she had arrived at the same conclusion as well.  It was also her fate to love him.

“IT TOOK ME A LONG TIME TO REALIZE THIS. WHEN IT’S FATE, THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES.  YOUR FATE IS DETERMINED BY THE CHOICES YOU MAKE, BUT THERE ARE TIMES WHEN YOUR FATE CHOOSES YOU.”

And the thing is, she has never lost track of how dire their circumstances are.   She’s fallen in love with her eyes wide open. That’s why, as she walked back to her car, her internal monologue ran,

“THINGS THAT ARE BOUND TO HAPPEN ARE TAKING PLACE EVEN AT THIS MOMENT. I WAS STRUCK WITH A SAD PREMONITION THAT THIS WILL BE SHORT-LIVED, BUT I DECIDED TO LOVE MY FATE THAT CHOSE ME.”

This gut feeling that she has about their love being short-lived didn’t come out of nowhere. Once the murders and treason are solved, they would have to go back to their own lives and worlds, if they don’t die while trying to solve them.  At this point in time, she knows she won’t leave her world, and he won’t leave his. She knows heartbreak is waiting for her. And the audience knows too, that if one of them do decide to give up their world, it will create ripples in both timelines, which will no doubt affect them. At every turn, there is heartbreak waiting for them.

That’s why she told him she loved him.  She knows every moment they spend could be their last and what was the point of feeling all that love, if she wasn’t going to say it out loud? So, she said it.  In the most unromantic tone possible. 

“I LOVE YOU.”  

And then, Paul Kim’s “Dream” swells in the background.  The first two lines say it all, “You are my dream. You are my love.”  Because for the longest time, she was all he ever dreamed about.  And here she was, finally, telling him and showing him that in loving him, she was surrendering to her fate.  But in choosing to surrender to it, she also makes it clear, that it was also a decision on her part.

It took 8 episodes to hand him this gift in small, measly little parts.  Theirs was never going to be a love with murder in the background to prevent people from being saturated with sweetness. Theirs was a love that had to bloom in the dark. Their love had to find little spaces in between murders, parallel worlds, and evil plots.  The long wait between encounters gives them a sense of urgency, allowing them to dispose of games people play in love and just simply be loving towards each while dead bodies pile up and gateways to other worlds collapse around them.  It was an optimal situation for two people who speak plainly, who say what they want to say and mean it. No words are wasted between the two them.  Because if their fate is to steal moments in time for them to be together, then there’s really no point

in playing games, pretending to be coy, giving chase, and other expected k-drama behavior between couples.  It was also never a journey about discovering how they fell in love with each other and realizing that they were in love.  It’s going to be about finding that love and what they’re going to do with it, when murder, treason, an ambitious Prime Minister, powerful magical flutes, parallel worlds, and time challenge that love.  

That’s why the love confession happens early on in the middle of the series. The next 8 episodes would then be used to hammer at that love, testing how far it can go and how much it can withstand.

Hopefully, this helps those who are still confused as to how Jeong TaeEul’s character develops romantic feelings for Lee Gon and why she had to verbalize them on the 8th episode.

[thewatsonbeekeepers]

Chapter 3 – Death Cannot Stop True Love… [HLV 1/1]

… All it can do is delay it for a while. Whilst Westley’s hair in that film horribly resembles my lockdown hair, more happily the fantastic movie The Princess Bride continues to resemble Sherlock – there was a very popular meta on the links between the two for a while there that can be found here: X.

This chapter is going to run through EMP theory as it begins, covering mainly the second half of HLV. It’s important to note, however, that the first half of the episode provides a lot of clues about the way certain images function in the mind palace, which backs up EMP theory quite nicely – the last ideas that Sherlock has going around in his brain before he is shot inevitably swirl around in there whilst he’s unconscious and form an important part of the train of association.

I toyed with the entirety of HLV being in EMP, because parts of it are weird (think Magnussen pissing in Baker Street, or the fucky MP glasses), but I ultimately dismissed it, though I’m willing to be challenged on this. I dismissed it as being a part of Sherlock’s post-wedding drug abuse for a few reasons. The first is that we only see Sherlock wake up from his drug abuse, not go into it – EMP is something that’s going to be hard for viewers to swallow, and Mofftiss are actually quite good at dropping big hints and drawing attention to the important bits along the way. That’s really not the case in the crack den, which is well integrated into the plot and has no traces of Sherlock’s mind palace. The second is that, actually, the premise of HLV is far too integrated into the main plot of s3 to be entirely MP – the CAM stuff and Janine at John and Mary’s wedding could be Sherlock extrapolating, but it seems like a bizarre extrapolation to make given how much fuckier the s4 mysteries are (London aquarium, Culverton’s drugging, the entirety of TFP) - the only MP fuckiness we get in HLV really takes place after Mary shoots Sherlock, like the restaurant scene with CAM or the Appledore Vaults being his MP. Mary shooting Sherlock also has far too many throwbacks with Norbury and Eurus in s4 to be completely irrelevant. So, with that in mind – let's go.

To understand what’s going on in HLV, we’re going to need to understand the metafiction going on – and this is where a good knowledge of acd canon comes in. Most of HLV isn’t actually based on His Last Bow, but on Charles Augustus Milverton X. To give a brief synopsis (although I would thoroughly recommend this story, not least because it’s incredibly queer) Holmes is engaged by Lady Eva Brackwell (Lady Smallwood in our world) to stop Milverton (Magnussen) from showing her husband some indiscreet letters she wrote to a squire some years ago. Holmes realises he can’t get Milverton under the law, so gets engaged in disguise to Milverton’s housemaid (Janine) in order to break in and burgle him. Watson agrees to come too. When they break in, Milverton is talking to another woman (Mary) who shoots him in revenge for Milverton’s use of information causing her husband’s suicide. She escapes and Holmes and Watson burn all of Milverton’s letters, and then escape. They refuse to help Lestrade solve the murder.

All of this lines up pretty evenly with HLV until the moment when Sherlock is shot. Admittedly there are minor changes to the Smallwood plot line (who committed what indiscretion), but these are minor and seem to be to make the plot work in the modern day – nobody cares if someone has a working-class ex anymore. But we get huge canon divergence from the shooting scene onwards.

Sherlock believes that Mary is Smallwood because of her perfume. This is a rational enough assumption to make, but it’s not just based on perfume. We know that since Lady Smallwood has engaged Holmes, Lord Smallwood has committed suicide – so she fits the profile of the blackmailee from Charles Augustus Milverton perfectly. She fits the patterns that Sherlock expects to see in his deductions. Mary does not – our first point of canon divergence. It sets up a painful parallel between John and Mary and the couple from Charles Augustus Milverton; they never name the indiscretion that led the husband in acd canon to kill himself, and given the company that Doyle kept (Wilde, Douglases including Lord Francis Douglas, who was thought to have killed himself shortly after being ennobled – much like the unnamed nobleman - because of his sexuality) it seems reasonable to assume this silence is euphemistic. Let that mirror linger in your thoughts, because it’s important.

Mary is the housemaid who has broken in to shoot Magnuessen/Milverton – so far so good. Although Holmes was hidden in the original stories, he was still present and sympathetic; the logical canon-following route here is for Mary to kill Magnussen, and that’s exactly what Sherlock expects her to do – but she doesn’t. She shoots him instead, and Sherlock can’t understand this. As we’ll see, he spends the rest of HLV trying to justify this pattern-breaking to himself, and is finally unable to.

Once Sherlock has been shot, the Molly/Anderson/Jim/Mycroft section which sets up EMP is fairly self-explanatory – the only thing I want to dive into here to point out is that this is the first appearance of Jim in the EMP, as a kind of restrained beast, and his most pivotal line is the fear he represents: John Watson is definitely in danger. This sets up what he’s going to represent for the rest of the EMP sequence. Other people have delved into the rest of this section before, and extensively – I don’t have a huge amount to add. We know John is in danger from Magnussen, because that’s ostensibly why Mary was there, but she didn’t seem to care as much as the housemaid from the initial stories did. We also know from the original stories that Magnussen has the power to make John suicidal, but in this story he hasn’t yet – but because of this, Sherlock senses that the danger is much more than a loss of reputation. It’s heart-re-starting-ly important.

The next bit I want to jump into is Sherlock’s conversation with Janine in the hospital. A lot of people have argued that this is one of the only real moments following Mary shooting Sherlock, and that Janine fiddling with the taps is part of what induces Sherlock’s fucky mind palace wanderings. I don’t buy into that theory – the more I think about this scene, the less it makes sense as being real in the context of EMP theory. The first reason for this is, very simply, that it means Sherlock has woken up after the realisation that John is in danger. The driving idea behind EMP theory is that Sherlock has to spend s4 making that realisation and trying to wake up – having that actually happen at the very start of EMP, only to be aborted, is bizarre. Secondly, it completely negates the idea that Mary’s actions are possibly fatal, which is a theme that reverberates through s4 (and all the chapters of this meta) - if Janine fiddling with the taps is what pushes Sherlock back into his MP, then by rights Janine should appear in S4, instead of the preoccupation it has with Mary and shooting.

What, then, is going on here? Sherlock is told by MP!Jim that John is in danger – and then imagines he wakes up. In his MP, Janine appears, puts him in pain and puts him back under. She, then, is the reason he can’t wake up. Janine has been Sherlock’s beard, and it’s quite possible to read her as being a symbol of Sherlock’s repression, but I think that’s a simplification; discounting TAB, Janine doesn’t appear again, and even then it’s minimal, whereas s4 is literally built around the concept of repression. As I go into in a lot more detail in chapter 9 (X), which is about the use of drugs to mask our darkest secrets in TLD, it’s the drugs that represent Sherlock’s deepest repression, in this case the morphine that he uses to mask the pain. Having Janine be the one who is fucking with the taps simply makes the link clearer, particularly when we might not associate hospital drugs with the other kind of drugs that Sherlock normally takes to take the pain away – however, it’s clear that the drugs that anaesthesise his pain do the same job as Janine – hide his queerness. Janine turned vindictive causes him intense pain, and he needs to turn back to the drugs to slip back under. Bearding was always temporary in this show, at least for Sherlock; drug abuse is a consistent problem and becomes a running metaphor for Sherlock’s repression in the EMP.

Janine being a symbol here helps me to make sense of the couple of lines that didn’t make sense to me otherwise. If Janine were real, getting rid of the bees would be awful – she gets the future our boys want and she destroys it. But if she’s a symbol in Sherlock’s mind of that bearding, and a barrier to waking up and saving John, then her sitting there, pushing him back into a coma and tearing away the future he longs for – that makes a lot of sense, and is 100% more devastating. The other line that has never made sense to me is Janine telling Sherlock that he could have just been honest with her, that she knows what kind of man he is. This line doesn’t make sense unless she means a gay man. I would be really interested to know how else this can be construed. This line can make sense in the real world if we accept that Janine is working with Mary – which must be true anyway, because otherwise Mary can’t get to CAM – and also wants Sherlock to get involved in that situation, although God knows why – the Janine-is-Jim's-sister theory feels like it might work here, but I don’t think there’s enough evidence for me to unravel it. If Janine genuinely does open the door out of affection for Sherlock, regardless of her relationship with Mary (the two aren’t mutually exclusive), Janine knowing Sherlock is gay doesn’t make sense at all - but Sherlock’s mind turning that beard back on himself to mock him? Absolutely makes sense. Remember, this is the loathing that pushes him back into the deep coma – this scene is really pivotal.

Sherlock vanishing from the hospital bed, despite being nearly dead, is pretty much medically impossible, and is probably the first impossible thing that we see happen in EMP – but it should be a red flag that that’s where we are. It’s also nice and symbolic of his movement away from that surface level, a level which we see him return to briefly in the hospital scenes in TLD when he realises his place in John’s heart. Touching stuff.

We then move into Sherlock’s interrogation of Mary behind the facade of the houses. In case we missed the reference, Mofftiss actually have the phrase the empty house used, a reference to The Adventure of the Empty House X, the story on which TEH is meant to be based. It is telling, though, that very little of The Empty House features in TEH, other than that it is the moment when Sherlock comes back. Others have commented on the minor relevance of Moran to the story and hypothesised that Mary is the real Moran – I think that the facade scene presents that as a genuine possibility. I don’t want to overstate the similarities that The Empty House bears to HLV, but Mofftiss do draw attention to it – and there is something interesting about the criminal being revealed by Holmes only after the criminal thinks they’ve killed him. That bears a particular relevance to Mary – and links her to Moriarty as his potential second-in-command. The most important link, however, is that in The Empty House, Holmes tricks Moran into incriminating himself by creating a dummy Holmes for Moran to shoot at. It’s true that Mary doesn’t shoot at dummy Sherlock (John) here, but the dummy is set up to incriminate her, and she acknowledges that this is a basic trick, one she should have known before. The links of the empty house and the dummy, both made explicitly familiar in the dialogue, do a lot to link Mary’s character to acdcanon!Moran.

This, however, all takes place in Sherlock’s brain. In several scenes, we’ve had Sherlock engage with two concepts in his mind that he can’t know about; one is Sebastian Moran in The Empty House, which only takes place in ACD canon, but even if you think that link is tenuous, he’s also engaged with his canon future as a beekeeper in Sussex. And then, on top of this, there is the problem of Mary versus the housemaid from Charles Augustus Milverton. My suggestion is that these aren’t just jokes put in by Mofftiss to say look-we've-read-the-books – Sherlock's mind is actually using the bees from the original stories to negotiate his relationship with his sexuality, and The Empty House to try to understand Mary’s motives. This is confirmed on a grand scale by TAB – he goes back to ACD canon!Holmes to navigate the problems of his everyday life – so Sherlock is not just a modern Sherlock Holmes, he is on some level self-aware of his existence as a fictional character. As we’ll see going through, his awareness of the existing canon of stories is fascinating and tied up in his repression – how do we break out of canon character, and what has canon been hiding, are two questions which repeatedly come to the fore. Mary is the character who most consistently breaks these canon expectations – a lot of TAB is about this – and that’s something he really struggles to contend with, and is one of the reasons that the reality of canon!verse starts to break down in TAB – it's not sustainable, and it doesn’t tell the full story. These two moments early on in EMP show him negotiating his identity and his experiences in his mind in relation to what he knows about Sherlock Holmes – an early iteration of a theme that’s going to become much larger.

The first thing Sherlock does after being pushed under by Janine is go and interrogate who Mary is in his brain, whilst also working out her impact on John. Sherlock comes up with a pretty reasonable background for who she is in the Leinster Gardens scene, but this isn’t really what’s important – it's the The Empty House parallel which sees him subconsciously making the link to Moriarty. ACDcanon!Moran, unlike bbc!Moran, was the last assassin sent after Sherlock from Moriarty’s network – this means that the dismantling-Moriarty's-network plot from the start of TEH becomes more than a fill-in-the-blanks montage, it means that the show retains its key villain to the end – it structurally works, in a way that other plot-level ideas haven’t. [@ eurus holmes. anyway]

Something that’s interesting here, is that there is a real shift away from the implications of the dummy in acd canon. In acd canon, Moran attempts to murder Holmes, which is a way of catching him in the act and sending him to prison. This is about catching Mary in the act in a similar sense, but it’s about being caught by John. This is interesting, because it shows that Sherlock’s priorities have shifted from acd canon – or, more accurately, we’re seeing the priorities that weren’t reported in the Strand. The emotional impact on John is far more important than the legal ramifications – and this in itself is the shift which the creators have been pretty emphatic about taking from the original stories.

John often represents the heart in Sherlock’s MP – I haven’t quite worked out how to distinguish between heart!John and Sherlock’s imagined John yet, and am flying on instinct, which is definitely not sustainable! But it strikes me that a lot about HLV and TST is about understanding the impact of this shooting on John, and that therefore this needs to be John as Sherlock imagines him.

We’re still with Sherlock’s imagined John as we move into “the Watsons’ domestic” in 221B – but, as so many have pointed out, for a domestic between the Watsons, they feature very little as a couple! The core emotional dialogue is often said to come between John and Sherlock, but despite Martin Freeman’s excellent performance in this scene, that’s not strictly true either. The centre of this scene is Sherlock explaining John’s love for Mary. It’s not about the Watsons – it's about Sherlock understanding what’s going on, which fits into EMP theory exactly. I firmly believe that Sherlock begins his EMP trip believing that John loves Mary, and slowly unravels the threads to realise that it’s actually him John cares about, and this scene is testament to the first part – the deduction that he makes about John loving Mary is flawless, but despite explicitly referencing himself, he fails to see the obvious – hiding in plain sight - that such a deduction could equally be applied to himself. He’ll get there in the end (TLD), but right now, that’s what makes this scene so painful for me.

Turning Mary into a client is about moving into the rational part of Sherlock’s brain, trying not to let emotion cloud it, even though it’s incongruous and unworkable. We’ll see Sherlock’s brain and heart slowly integrate, finally uniting in TFP, but for now he thinks rationality is the way forward. This also helps us to set out a framework for what happens with Mary in the EMP – clients are deduced, worked out, they present problems - never forget Mary being framed as the abominable bride – and that’s what is happening here. She is the first problem of the extended mind palace to be solved.

But this scene is metafictional too, because it gets to the core nub of Mary – as John puts it, she wasn’t supposed to be like that. And, canonically, he’s right. If we follow acd!canon, Mary is not meant to be an assassin, but more importantly for HLV, she’s also supposed to save her husband. She’s meant to be all-out devoted shoot-Magnussen type – but instead she shoots Sherlock. When John says that, then, it’s not just a nod to an updated show – it’s a genuine problem that Sherlock has to contend with, because in neither acd!Mary scenario nor housemaid!Mary scenario is she obeying the framework of a woman who loves her husband. This failing marriage is not in the stories, it’s not supposed to happen, and things that come outside of established canon come outside of Sherlock’s pre-programmed mould – we can think of this as a way of thinking about our own childhood programming to be straight/cis/etc., but in a more self-conscious, literary way!

And then, Sherlock’s response: you chose her. That’s why she’s different, and this is actually a vital line. It suggests that the programmed canon that we know these boys follow, because they have to – that’s not what this show is about. Our characters are agents, and for the first time in history, their lives are dictated by free choice. John chose this Mary, not the Mary of canon – and Sherlock himself makes explicit the comparison between John choosing Mary and John choosing Sherlock. The heart of the story is the choices that can be made for the first time. How incredibly exciting.

The ambulance people coming into Baker Street (seemingly without the door being unlocked?) is, I think, the real world blending with the mind palace world here – although not paramedics, there are people currently trying to restart Sherlock’s heart, and this scene shows us that he’s trying hard inside his brain, he’s working with them – he really doesn’t want to die. The idea of the outside world taking on a physical form in his MP is not incredibly hard to believe – I really recommend watching s02e02 of Inside No. 9, written by Mark Gatiss’s League of Gentlemen co-stars Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton, an episode which pulls this off marvellously, although with a big cn: for death. In this moment in Sherlock, we get the lovely lines

Sherlock She saved my life.

John She shot you.

Sherlock Eh – mixed messages, I grant you.

These lines are delivered so quickly between the two of them that it feels like Sherlock is talking to himself, like Mary isn’t even in the room. The way BC delivers ‘mixed messages’ – it’s as though there’s still a problem, bbc!Mary hasn’t been reconciled to good!Mary yet.

The next section on our whistle-stop tour is Christmas with Mummy and Daddy. Plenty of people have pointed out how Mummy and Daddy are very clear mirrors for our boys – you can see here X, or you can just look at this picture to be honest.

The Christmas scene doesn’t make sense in the timeline – there's a great timeline diagram here X that shows how much fuckier than any other episode HLV is (excluding TSoT and everything post s3), and that doesn’t even take into account all of the jumping between scenes that we see in the Christmas bit. Jumping from Leinster Gardens to Christmas to Baker Street and back several times is chronologically odd and doesn’t seem to serve a purpose, except to show that the rift between John and Mary has lasted for months – and even that didn’t need such a complex interweaving of flashbacks that is so at odds with the show. It’s also at odds with the plot – why on earth did Mummy and Daddy invite John for Christmas, if he’s no longer living with Sherlock, and even stranger, why did they invite Mary if John and Mary haven’t been on speaking terms for months? This isn’t the way human beings behave. There’s also an old adage in writing which says to never move a conversation to a new place – it’s a waste of time and space. Have the conversation here, or have it there. Don’t abort it for no reason – and that’s exactly what they do here. Mofftiss are pretty experienced, and I’m inclined to believe that they’ve done it for a reason.

So, in MP terms, why does Sherlock gravitate towards his family home instead of Baker Street as the location to unravel John’s relationship with Mary? Bearing in mind that this is a continuation of the interrogation of their relationship, it seems interesting that he chooses to juxtapose them to the only loving couple we see in this television programme. Like a lot of parallels in EMP, this is something that our dads choose to draw our attention to; Daddy says to Mary “you’re the sane one”, as though every happy relationship has a sane one and a mad genius. And they draw attention to it again – Mary points out that Sherlock brought them here to see a fine example of happily married life.

Except, of course, like so much of this interrogation of John and Mary’s relationship in HLV and onwards, this doesn’t quite ring true. Because, of course, there is no mad genius in the Watsons’ relationship, and in terms of sanity Mary is certainly not the sane one. It’s like Sherlock is trying to fit them into the domestic bliss mould, but they just won’t quite go there. The comparison won’t quite be made.

The conversation between Sherlock and Mycroft, who has been established as his brain in TSoT (I cannot find this meta! Where Mycroft is brain and John is heart! Can anyone help?), is pretty straightforward – the brain is interrogating Sherlock’s obsession with the Magnussen case and why he can’t just let it go, and the emotion we see here from Sherlock is more powerful than pretty much anything we get in real life. I actually think this scene is one of the most vulnerable moments he has in the show – and there’s no way that vulnerability would be to Mycroft in real life. There’s also, crucially, no reason why MI6 should actually want Sherlock dead this early. It’s another tell-tale sign that the surface plot doesn’t make sense – we should be looking deeper. Sherlock has just brought down a terrorist network – MI6 should love him. What Mycroft is actually putting forward is that already, way before Sherlock kills Magnussen, pretty much as soon as he enters EMP this is a two-way fork. He can choose to die at any point. But he doesn’t.

There’s something that I really don’t understand here, though, which I think is important – Sherlock drugging the family with the help of Wiggins. This motif of drugging is something which comes back time and again to represent Sherlock’s repression – but here he’s not drugged. Wiggins is also a symbol of repression, but again he’s completely sober. Any thoughts on this would be much appreciated – I don’t like loose ends, and I don’t believe that another use of drugs is insignificant!

Then we have a quick flashback to the canteen scene. A lot of EMP theory has drawn on the canteen scene, and how phenomenally dreamlike the entire situation is. There is no way this can take place in Speedy’s – in terms of the timeline, it can’t even take place in the hospital canteen! However, it seems to draw on a mental image of Speedy’s because of the visual similarities between them (referenced in this meta, although this meta makes the argument for the reality of the scene X). Magnussen doesn’t seem to even have a bruise, despite being battered by Mary’s gun. This scene cannot exist. Magnussen picking at Sherlock’s food has often been seen as a metaphor for Sherlock being sexually assaulted whilst comatose, which is something I buy into – the food=sex metaphor has been striking from the beginning, and it suits Magnussen’s power play. It’s also quite possible in this scene that Sherlock thinks that everything fucky is real, and the absolute fuckiness of this scene draws it out – this is the scene that foreshadows the realisation that Magnussen is working from his MP, and of course that’s a realisation that Sherlock needs to make himself. The scene opens with a moment of dislocation – is this the hospital canteen or not? – and is about Sherlock working out what’s happening to him.

What’s really striking is that John has brought his gun to Christmas lunch, however. Bear in mind John-being-suicidal is the realisation that Sherlock is going to come to in TLD, but it’s prefigured here. We haven’t seen John’s gun since ASiP, when it was used to indicate that he was suicidal. It’s suddenly come back, but Sherlock misses its significance – he expects John to have it, but he doesn’t focus on the significance of the gun itself. He’s still thinking in terms of Mary and Magnussen. What’s significant is that John throws him the coat, which has the gun weighing down in its pocket. This prefigures that scene in TLD -

Faith!Eurus, who is a mirror for John in TLD, is thrown the bag, and we see Sherlock weigh it and then realise there’s a gun in it – too late. A bag is the female equivalent of a coat (*cries about pockets*) and the throwing motif with the heavy gun inside it is a clear link between the two moments. Sherlock didn’t recognise the significance of the gun in the first one, possibly because he couldn’t process the situation without mirrors (more on the importance of Eurus as a series of heterosexual mirrors later). When he realises in TLD that he’s made a mistake, that there’s something he’s missed, the implication isn’t that he’s missed it in his analysis of Faith!Eurus, because in no sense of the word does Faith!Eurus exist. What it means is that he missed it in his first, cursory analysis of John. Not the heaviness, but exactly what it meant. The symbols of John’s suicidal ideation start to appear and threaten to break in right up until the end of TLD – this is arguably the first point we start to see them.

Hypothesis theory – that Sherlock is running simulations in his MP – is not something I hold with through all of EMP, but I do hold with it to the end of HLV. It’s something that we know Sherlock does in real life because of THoB, both in acd!canon and in bbc!canon – he stages something in order to prove it to himself. In this case, he’s not able to see the war between Mary and Magnussen play out, so he’s running it himself, and we’ve already seen him desperately trying to prove Mary’s innocence, and more than that her love for John. But this trip to Appledore will prove that impossible.

It’s possible that the Appledore Vaults being Magnussen’s MP is the first time that Sherlock recognises that this is a simulation, and that this isn’t real. He certainly looks incredibly distressed, although that could also be because of the immense danger he’s put John in. However, the vaults being a mind palace doesn’t make sense as surface plot, as so many have pointed out – we’ve literally seen the letters before. (I grant that Magnussen could be bluffing, but it seems odd to draw attention to the letters having a physical form nevertheless.) However, the fact that Magnussen’s MP is in vaults underground is really interesting – imagery to do with going deeper and deeper into Sherlock’s mind is pretty much always falling or sinking, as seen in both TAB and TST in particular. That idea of descending into one’s mind is prefigured very neatly here, and should get us thinking about height generally (I’ve talked about the reverse side of this in the previous chapter X). I also think, although am not an expert on sound, that we can hear a slight eerie dripping when Magnussen walks through the vaults, which ties thematically to the water that is linked to falling/sinking in the rest of the EMP.

Fast forward past the face-flicking, and Sherlock shoots Magnussen. This is the culmination of the metafictionality of the episode, and I think it’s really fantastic. The simulation that Sherlock has run to prove that Mary loves John has failed, because the only way to save John is to kill Magnussen and he’s the only one who can do it – so in short, Sherlock becomes the housemaid, not Mary. He takes on the role, and it breaks canon completely. He’s supposed to be above that, disinterested – but instead he becomes the woman who kills out of love for her husband. He is no longer filling the traditional role of Sherlock Holmes in the narrative. He has disproven the point he needed to make – and so, as brain!Mycroft seems to suggest, deeper waters still. The cut to little Louis Moffat screaming in the firing line instead of BC is another hint that this isn’t real – we might just about accept it here as showing Sherlock’s vulnerability, but given that the entirety of series 4 is about childhood trauma coming back up, the resurgence of a screaming child of Sherlock as he recognises his new place in the narrative is brutal. (Yes, Sherlock has a lot of gay trauma – we’ll find out more when we meet Eurus.)

Eurus, incidentally, comes up here – you know what happened to the other one. I want to home in, though, on Mycroft’s line about Sherlock, that there’s no prison that he could be incarcerated in. This is a bizarre comment, given the events of TFP – it could just be sloppy writing, sure. Or, again, these inconsistencies are pointing to something else, that Sherrinford isn’t a real place and that Sherlock’s death sentence is not a sentence, but self-imposed.

So much has been said, so eloquently, about the tarmac scene, that I don’t know that there’s much more that I can say. The importance of the plane as being Sherlock going to his death is really important as an image that will repeat later – again, see previous chapter X. I’ve also pointed out that there is no point at which Sherlock is told Moriarty is back, yet he seems to know it automatically – another suggestion that this is EMP, and there’s a lot more going on.

The final thing I want to focus on in this episode, though, is the east wind. The east wind is referenced in His Last Bow, which gets very little coverage generally in HLV. His Last Bow is (I believe) the final Holmes story, and the east wind that is coming refers to WW1 – Holmes tells Watson that there is an east wind coming and Watson thinks he means it’s cold, and Holmes laughs and jokes that Watson is a stalwart who will always be there. This is a touching moment to end the stories on, and might remind us of the It is always 1895 poem that will become so important in TAB. Except, this time, John accepts that there’s an east wind coming – he references it repeatedly, actually, as a threat, both here and in TFP. The east wind is the wind of change that comes through the changing years in acd!canon. This seems particularly important here – the social changes between 1895 and 2014 are vital for the next episode, highlighting the idea that the update of the show is a really central part to it. There’s no world war ahead of Holmes (please God @2020) so the wind of change must be referring to something else… I really couldn’t possibly comment as to why the change of time period might be so important!

This chapter has been a long one, but I hoped it help to set up EMP theory on firm foundations. We’ll move into TAB next – see you there!

[mariaantonnietta]

Let’s talk about the Gintama 2 Movie!! (Be Forever Yorozuya)

AI wanna talk timelines, timelines!!, I saw the movie again and with the manga finished I want to discuss theories about it!!

Hello! Is me again, I want to talk about the second movie, because after seeing it I always want to try to desipher what happened in the timelines we didn’t see play out! Of coure these will be at best theories that are we can’t probe, but I still want to try to guess! And now with the manga finished, I think is time to revisit it with all the date we have!

I will talk about the second movie, the manga end, and everything, so stay with me having that in mind!

Firstly, this movie deals with time travel (fairly well I might add, I realycould follow all the time twists and make sense of them), and I believed it wise to add a timeline so everyone follows along. Behold my horrible graphic!

Haha, there are some things to say about the drawing. From left to right, The first line is to separate the time-points nothing else, (the movie was released at june 2013, the manga volume for the shinigami arc was december 2013, so I don’t know if I am being  a bit generous there, but in timeline I think it only matters is before Shogun assasination (after which it get serious until the end), and that it is before that point)

The other are the first (and first’s branch),  second and thrid timeline, I didn’t count Tama going to the past to bring past Gintoki as a separate timeline and more like a  little branch of the first because when Gintoki is sent forwards they converge (you can also see it as the rest of that branch dissappearing). All of them are in a sense a branch from the first timeline, but this one converges so.

(ask if something else isn’t clear, I tried T-T) 

Well now unre the cut the  rest of my silly ideas and theories!

A comment, but the only thing that is a bit out of place is Tama surviving in the second timelime?, like shouldn’t her be erased like GIntoki?, I think is either that she would otherwise cause a bigger loop (she doesn’t exist as time machine there->Gintoki cant kill his past self->Genma makes her a time machine->Gintoki kills his past self-> she doesn’t exist as a time machine->...infiinitum) She is the one that allows the timeline to exist. The other is that she is in a Schrödinger' situation that as long as the possibility that she will exist in the future exist she will (gintoki dissappeared because his posibility of future was erased as he killled his past self). Or time machine power makes her inmune to paradoxes, who knows...

Also, we don’t talk enough of  Gintoki dying in this movie. Both Enmi Gintoki of the first timeline, the past Gintoki of the second, and the  protagonist Gintoki we follow in the movie (first timeline branch) are erased, and from now on we are following the Gintoki who’s the future of the Shiroyasha of the third timeline. (the one who helped us fight the Enmi, from now on he’s the protagonist)

The same about the kabukichou people, I mean, nothing changes practically, except maybe the Joui members having seen something strange that day.

1) Now, something I wondering was if the events of the first timeline ocurred in the same way that in the third one. Was there a Shogun Asasination arc?, A silver soul arc?

Well, no. I think that there events unfloded differently...because GIntoki dissapeared for five years, and he did it  before the shogun assasination arc (this not only for the date release, but also the jovial athmosphere at the start at the cinema)

But did the events of the story play on in another manner without Gintoki regardless?, Why, I sure they did. 

Okay, follow me on this. I do not know if the shogun assasination arc happened or not (even tough a parallel can be made of Katsura and Shinsengumi alliance in both places), but I think that even if it did, it didn’t happen at all as planned.

I think everything went into disarray with the virus (don’t we know about that), any plan was left into the air, and Nobunobu or Shigeshige are in charge depending on their luck.

I also want to know what happened with Utsuro and the Tendoshou in this timelime.(Because cm’on, don’t tell me I am the only one who believed Enmi GIntoki looked a lot like a crow ) I want to know if Takasugi is dead or not, and how he died/where he is. (I asumme Sakamoto is fine, maybe helping people, is Zura with those clothes and Gintoki words, Gintoki going to the terminal that make me worry)

So, I started gathering those points and I believe I reached a theory about this.

Okay, so follow me. These are the things we know about the first timeline.

Gintok soon after watching the movie discovered he was infected with the virus. He suspected it was the Enmi, went to talk of the past with Zura to clear his mind, talked wiith Gengai about making a time machine if he didn’t came back. 

Left the Yorozuya to investigate if there was a solution, tries to kil himself when he doesn’l  find one. He fails. He has not other choice but to wander as he sees the world be destroyed by his own hands. 

I posted this photo because of the ships that surround the tower and attack it. It doesn’t say when this attack took place after he left, we could only see that he wasn’t there. But this image looks fairly similar to the one when the Altana liberation force attacks.

The tower also looks very similar 5 years later as after attacked by the altana liberation army. (I checked also with how it was when the Tegenism ship fell, it looks more like the after the attack)

(After Initial liberation army attack. Third Timeline)

(Five years later. First timeline) Probably they didn’t have resources to rebuild with everything falling down with teh virus. Why would some army attack, I think that maybe the earthlings that escape, some had the virus, that probably expanded it onto another planets, that now made the problem worse in the universe and some people really mad at the planet from where the infection came from. Or, it could be rebels, like the Kihetai, that are taking advantage of the political turmoil to attack their actual objective (the terminal, with the minawabanwu maybe too ) Or both.

(Two years later third timeline) I added this to show how it doesn’t look like the terminal we discuss, so I think if something happened, it happened earlier more than later. (Or later, but it was only one incident and not 2)

Another thing we know is that the Enmi look a lot like the Tendoushu. I compared staffs and things. Wondered if there were related to Tengenism (the weir religion that launches the last arc)

Well, It’s not basic staff like tendoushou, but the decoration is different tha the tengeism. The clothes are also similar but not the same (I know the these arcs came later, but sorachi could have used different designs and not similar ones, you know, also, it’s just throwing ideas)

(Enmi at the start, checked, Enmi Gintoki uses the same one (and same clothes))

Oboro staff is different. Tengenism have the same type. Tengenism symbol are wings (phoenix), not Enmi. But the similarities are there too.

So, we all know the Enmi are nanomachines that are used to destroy worlds right?. I wondered if Utsuro could survive that. The answer  I reached was that it depended. If the Enmi virus only worked on humans, it would probably not kill it. ut if after killing humans it affected animals, then plants, then destryed the planet vitality, well, that would do it. It would depend of how lethat it actually was. (in  the last case, he would be the last to die, and Gintoki would be the only one who survives as the new vessel...moving onto the next world until he dies naturally or some poor bastard kills him)

 Well, I’m gonna asumme that the Enmi would destroy the world to that point, because they were described as ‘beings  that caused damage enough to leave a planet uninhabitable’ and the other ‘uninhabitable’ planet we see is Kouka’s, that is dying and its Altana was almost nothing when she left. Zura said they were forbidden or being restricted because of this.

So we know the Enmi were beings that could destroy worlds,(probably up to their lifeforce), that were contained by something, that someone attacked the terminal tower looking a lot like a pseude liberation army, and that Enmi’s dress is eerie similar (but not the same) to the Tendoushu.

I believe they were also a ting the Tendoushu kept to themselves, a fraction that can destroy a planet to the point of leaving without life (Altana) sounds like something they would regulate. Maybe mercenaries was  a cover up, or maybe it was both.

Was the first timeline all Utsuro plan? Well, too many jumps there. I believe thst he vouldn’t do that trapped with Shoyou, I think that in the first timeline he did as in the last arc, he saw that mortals used that virus to harm the others, and decided to make use of that. He of course was the cause that they attacked the Terminal and is probably happy that all the universe may perish of disease.

Maybe.

Or maybe that was the plan, and Takasugi stopped him. (There are too many factors to see how things developed. But either kihetai + harusame maybe + minawabanshu and some others killed utsuro, or they died either fighting him or from disease)

The way GIn is dtanding aside as the ships atack the terminal (he can’t join) makes me think some kind of final battle took place.

(Gorilla might not know how Gintama was fgonna end, but he did have some ideas, and final fight at the Terminal tower was one that stuck all the series)

Does Gintoki know of Utsuro?, Who knows?  If you want my take, I think Takasugi and Utsuro both died figthing each other. As the terminal exploded.

I think he eventually at least, found out. Because he decided to go die there.

(also because you know, final fight at the terminal.)

2) In the second timeline everything is much more clear. Young GIntoki dies. I see 3 options unfolding

a) the one I call the normal one. GIntoki dies, people mourn him (because Gintoki just erased his future, not his past, young Gintoki body should remain), either Zura or Takasugi kills Shouyou (probably Takasugi, I’m thinkin so because Oboro mostly, he would pick if not shiroyasha, the other more known at the frontlines one, but could be either way), and is a bit diffrent but in practical mostly the same.(maybe some things are held back and the shogun asssination hasn’t happened yet, or maybe it did, who knows) We can’t tell more than thi.

b) Probably not route. shouyou discovers that Gintoki’s died and it gives him strenght to make keep Utsuru more in check, he uh...destroys things, there’s no need to kill him for now.things advance more or less like in canon,  with a lot of things we don’t see 

c) I cry route. Shouyou discovers what happened, and it kills off his personality (sends him to sleep at least). There’s no need for either Zura or Takasugi to kill him. They never find his master at the war (maybe they are told he is dead, and don’t believe it). They didin’t kill his master, but los Gintoki to who knows who, and don¡’t know what happened to master, Thingd happen more or less like in canon.

 3) Here someone (probabky kurokono!...ok no, leave me dream), wakes GIntoki from his drunk sleep and he and the joui 4 see a bizarre image of people from 15 years in the future attack the Enmi.(of course they don’t know this) They brieftly join them. They see from a distance how the future people dissapear. They continue with their life.

(That last one is canon, haha)

As you can see nothing has been cleared and these are mostly cool theories, a lot of other things are possible. But I don’t know, wanted to talk about it.

[rimmers-swimming-certificate]

Red Dwarf fanfic - Patience

The sleeping quarters on the new ship were bigger and a little more luxurious than the ones that Rimmer remembered. The last time he had been on Red Dwarf, or at least on Red Dwarf in this universe, it had been very different. This was an entirely new, upgraded model, rebuilt by nanobots for reasons that Rimmer still didn’t entirely understand, and from what he had seen of it so far, it was the kind of ship a second technician would have dreamed of being assigned to. Everything about it was better. Even the vending machines were more intelligent, better stocked, and probably much less prone to clogging.

In many ways — actually, probably in every way — it was better than the ship they had used to call home, but it was better in that ‘nice but not yet familiar’ way that a new car was better. It was going to take time to figure out what all the fancy new buttons did, and where to find the headlights and the windscreen wipers. It was going to take time before it felt completely comfortable. As someone who had spent years hopping between dimensions and encountering things and people that were familiar, yet subtly different from the ones that he knew, Rimmer was sure it was going to take time before it felt like home.

Lister didn’t seem to be having any such trouble. Of course, he had a head start on getting used to the place. To Rimmer’s relief, Lister, unlike the ship, hadn’t changed one bit. A little older, maybe, but otherwise identical in every way to the man that Rimmer remembered. He lounged slobbily on a sofa at the other side of the room, humming a tuneless tune under his breath as he casually flicked through the well-thumbed pages of a magazine aimed at women half his age and filled with celebrity gossip over three million years out of date.

All around him was a growing collection of junk. He had, predictably enough, already started to fill every available surface of the living area, and part of the floor, with things he had found around the ship. As though he sensed Rimmer watching him, Lister lowered the magazine and glanced over at him. “Hey,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “You’re back in blue.”

Rimmer looked down at his clothing. It had been time. Now that the other Rimmer had left, and taken the Wildfire with him, it was official: he was himself again. It felt good; familiar, like putting on a comfortable pair of old shoes. Ace’s clothes had never felt like that. He nodded.

“What are you doing standing in the doorway?” Lister asked.

Rimmer took a few steps into the room, to allow the door to close behind him. “Just thinking I should get my stuff out of storage,” he said. He made a show of looking at the assorted junk. “While there’s still somewhere left to put it.”

Lister nodded. “You’re still planning on bunking with me then?” he asked.

Honestly, it had never even occurred to Rimmer not to. The ship certainly had enough quarters to spare; they didn’t need to be living in each other's pockets, but he just couldn’t imagine living any other way. For all he had used to complain about Lister's snoring, he had still occasionally had trouble drifting off to sleep on the Wildfire because it was too quiet. For years, when he had woken up in the middle of the night after a bad dream, or had some funny thought occur to him as he drifted off to sleep, he had instinctively tried to talk to Lister about it only to find himself alone.

He shrugged, attempting to give the impression that he didn’t mind one way or another. “Yeah, I’ll probably stick around here,” he said. A horrible thought occurred. He had just assumed he would be welcome, Lister had certainly seemed pleased to have him back on the ship, but what if he wanted his own space? “I mean… If that’s okay with you of course,” he added.

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Lister told him. “I’ll help you move your stuff out of storage in the morning.” He grinned widely. “It’s not the same around here without your swimming certificates and newspaper clippings brightening the place up.”

Rimmer breathed a silent sigh of relief. “He didn’t have swimming certificates then?” he asked. “The other me?” He tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice, but he heard it anyway. It had been a shock to return home to find another Rimmer, a living Rimmer, no less, in his place. Not only a shock, but confusing too. For a time, he had been convinced that the computer was wrong and he had landed in the wrong dimension.

“Yeah, he did,” Lister told him. “But he took them with him.”

Rimmer nodded. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do that. When he had left, only Lister had known the truth, the others had thought he had died. It would have given the game away if Ace, who had happened to be there at the time, had mysteriously decided to take all of Rimmer’s keepsakes with him when he had headed back out into the unknown.

“I still can’t believe you convinced him to go,” Lister added. “I mean, considering how much work it was to get you to take the plunge. And he was a version of you with no experience at all of parallel universes and no clue about half the smeg he might run into out there.” Lister shook his head in apparent amazement. “When I first met him I thought he was exactly the same as you; you before you died, I mean. He changed a bit while we were in prison, loosened up a bit, if you can believe it, but I figured maybe not having to worry about duties and exams and all that stuff was good for him. Now, I think maybe he was different all along. I mean, he must’ve been, right?”

“How should I know?” Rimmer snapped. Honestly, he hadn’t known him well enough to say. For some reason though, it made him feel better that there might be differences between them. “He never met the real Ace. Maybe not knowing what an insufferable git he was helped.” Not knowing what he might run into out there had probably been a factor too. Rimmer wondered whether he should feel guilty about that. He hadn’t lied exactly, but he had emphasised having his own ship and being a hero side of things over the dangers.

Lister shook his head. “I don’t get it, Rimmer. You were Ace. How can you still hate him?”

“Easily,” Rimmer said. “Sticking on a wig and doing a silly voice doesn’t change who you are, you know. I wasn’t Ace, I was an Ace, just like your other Rimmer is now.”

Lister shrugged, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

Rimmer cleared his throat and folded his arms nervously across his chest. “Are you going to miss him?”

“Ace?”

“The other me.” What he really wanted to ask was, ‘did you miss me?’, but he couldn’t ask that. He couldn't bear it if the answer was no.

Lister frowned thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s only been a couple of days since he left,” he said. “And I’ve got you back… I mean we’ve got you back, so it’s not the same as when you left.” He shrugged. “But yeah, I probably will, a bit.”

Rimmer nodded. That was good. Someone should, and he knew that the others wouldn’t. He brushed a hand down his uniform tunic, then glanced around the room again. “Nice junk collection,” he said.

“It’s not junk,” Lister told him. “It’s salvage.”

“Salvage means things rescued from a shipwreck, Lister. This is junk you found while rooting through the belongings of your former crewmates.”

“Yeah well whatever it is, don’t worry I’ll make room for your stuff,” Lister promised. “You’re lucky it’s all still there, by the way. The others wanted to throw it out.”

A stab of irritation struck him at the thought of that. “Throw it out? My stuff? Why?”

“They thought you were dead, man.” Lister shrugged. “And I guess they’re not as sentimental as I am.”

Translation: they hated him, and they had wanted to get rid of any reminders of his existence. They had probably tried to eject it from an airlock the instant he had left the ship.

“We were still all living on Starbug at the time, don’t forget.” Lister added. “We didn’t have as much room and, well, most of it wasn’t stuff we had any use for.” Lister hesitated. “I think Cat might have been interested in Rachel, but don’t worry, I kept her safe for you.”

A muscle began to twitch just below his left eye at the thought of Cat and Rachel. Not that he had touched her since well before he had died, not even after he had got his hard light drive. Lister was right; Starbug was small, and he wouldn’t have been able to bear the embarrassment of someone walking in on them. He couldn’t imagine wanting to try it now, either. Rachel had been good to him, but it was over between them. Still, the thought of Cat touching her turned his stomach. “Thanks,” he said.

Lister nodded. “Maybe in return you can tell me a bit about what you got up to while you were off being a hero.”

Rimmer didn’t reply. He glanced around the room, looking for a way to change the subject. He strode over to a shelf filled with Lister’s things and picked up a packet of playing cards. The backs of the cards showed soft porn images of women, and he knew instantly that Lister had liberated them from Petersen’s quarters. He quickly checked the pack for anything disgusting, Finding it clean, he held it up to Lister. “Fancy a game?” he asked.

Lister looked at him suspiciously. “I’m going to get it out of you, Rimmer.”

“It’s not a secret,” Rimmer insisted. “I’ve just got back. Give me some time to be myself again before you make me talk about pretending to be him. Now, gin rummy?” he suggested. “Speed? Or how about snap?”

Lister shook his head, still looking suspicious. “Not with those cards. They’re useless. Every single one has a different picture on the back, so all you have to do is memorise which set of breasts belongs to each card. I’ll play later though, with a real pack. In fact, let's have a poker night tonight. All four of us. It’s been a while.”

Rimmer nodded. A quick glance at the deck confirmed that Lister was correct about the cards. He shuffled the assorted sets of breasts, sat down at the table and started to deal himself a game of patience.

“What’re you doing?” Lister asked.

Rimmer glanced over at him again. The magazine was discarded on the floor now, next to a dirty, curry-smeared plate and one — not a pair, just one — dirty sock. Lister was peering at him over the back of the sofa with apparent interest. “Patience,” Rimmer told him.

Lister got up from the sofa. He stepped around the magazine and old plate, and made his way over to the other side of the room, where he folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching as Rimmer continued to arrange the cards on the table.

Rimmer watched him out of the corner of his eye, as he turned over a card and started to play. Lister continued to stare down at the game as though it was the most interesting thing that had happened aboard the ship in months, and it was a little distracting. “Lister, what are you doing?” Rimmer asked, finally.

“Watching you,” Lister told him.

Rimmer put down the card he had in his hand, and turned to look at him. “Yes, I can see that. What I meant was, why are you watching me?”

Lister shrugged. “I just wanted to see what you were going to do.”

Rimmer turned over another card. He couldn’t use it, so he dropped it on the reject pile and picked up another. “I told you what I’m doing. I’m playing patience.”

“Oh!” Lister grinned and shook his head. “Right, that makes sense. I thought you were telling me to be patient. I thought you were going to do something interesting.”

Rimmer looked up at him incredulously. “The game is called patience, Lister. You know, solitaire? Did you switch brains with the Cat while I was away or something?”

“No, I just…” Lister gave him an embarrassed grin. “I just thought maybe you were going to do a card trick or something.”

Rimmer turned over another card and placed it on top of one already on the table. “Lister, the whole time we’ve known each other, have you ever once seen me show the slightest interest in performing card tricks?”

“Well, no.” Lister pulled out the chair at the opposite side of the table and sat down. He looked down at the cards. “But you’ve been away a while, haven’t you? I figured maybe you picked it up while you were off being Ace.”

Rimmer turned over another card, placed it on the table and made several more moves. “I didn’t,” he said.

“Well you can’t blame me for not knowing that,” Lister told him. “You’ve been back nearly a whole week now and you’ve barely said a single word about what you got up to out there.”

“And so you leapt to the obvious assumption that I’d spent my time learning how to do sleight of hand tricks?”

“Well, no. Not until I thought you were about to do one.”

Rimmer shook his head dismissively and turned over another card in his game. “I did a lot while I was away,” he said. “Far too much to tell you about in just a week. Dozens of heroic rescues, overthrew a couple of fascist dictatorships, organised an uprising or two.” He shrugged in what he hoped was a modest way. “Nothing special.”

Lister smirked.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just you did that hair flick thing again. It just looks a bit silly when you don’t have the wig on.”

Had he? He hadn’t noticed. He glared at Lister, just on the off-chance that he was messing with him. “No I didn’t,” he said.

“Rimmer, you did. You do it about five times a day. Maybe you should just start wearing the wig again, at least that way you’d have enough hair to have to actually flick it out of your eyes.” He shrugged. “Or you could grow yours out.”

Rimmer shook his head. “Lister, there’s a reason that Ace decided to wear a wig; my hair just doesn’t do that. Anyway, I passed the wig on to the other Rimmer.” Like passing a baton in an endless relay race around the assorted parallel universes, he had handed over the wig to the living version of himself that the nanobots had created in his own universe, and sent him on his way. “And like I was saying, I did loads while I was away, and I’ll tell you about it one day. I’ve just been too busy settling back in.”

“Right, absolutely, makes sense,” Lister told him. “Well, except for the part where you haven’t even got your stuff out of storage yet. Anyway, you’re not busy now.”

He gritted his teeth. Technically, he supposed Lister was right; he wasn’t busy. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. Not yet. One day, maybe. If it ever came up in conversation naturally, rather than when he was being grilled for information. And if it never did, well, maybe Lister would tire of asking after a few years. He pointed at the cards on the table. “I am busy.”

Lister looked decidedly unimpressed as he looked at the game. “Come on Rimmer, the only reason people play that is to kill time because they’re bored. And it’s not even a good way to kill time. Why don’t you watch a film or something, like a normal person?”

“I’m not ‘killing time’, Lister. I play because I enjoy it.”

Lister looked unconvinced. “Okay then, so how come I never saw you play it before?”

Rimmer turned over another card. “When did I have a chance before?” he asked. “Before I died I was always busy. When I wasn’t on duty, I was revising, or trying to convince you to pick up after yourself. I didn’t have a lot of time for sitting around playing games.”

“Yeah, okay.” Lister shrugged. “But I never saw you do it after the crew got wiped out either.”

Rimmer sighed in frustration and slammed another card onto the table. “Lister, why are you so interested in why I’m playing a game? I just wanted to.” God, Lister was infuriating. He could be a master irritant when he wanted to, skilled in the not so subtle art of being annoying. And what was worse, was that he revelled in it. Once he got an idea in his head, he would keep going until he got his way. Rimmer had missed him, more than he had ever realised he would, but he definitely hadn’t missed this. “Can’t you just smeg off and read your magazine, leave me to it?” he tried, knowing that Lister wouldn’t.

Lister didn’t smeg off. Instead, he tucked his chair a little further under the table, rested his chin in a hand and looked down at the cards on the table as though he were the one playing the game.

Rimmer watched him for a moment then sighed. “Fine. If you must know, the reason I didn’t play then, was because I was still soft light. Not being able to pick things up doesn’t exactly make it easy to play cards, you know. Just enlisting the skutters’ help to let me play poker was bad enough, and that doesn't take half the dexterity that this does.”

“Dexterity?” Lister shook his head dismissively. “I thought you said you weren’t doing card tricks. How much dexterity does it take to turn over a playing card and put it down in the right place?”

It took a lot more that Lister could ever realise, and a level that a skutter just didn’t possess. Not unless you were willing to spend about twenty minutes on every move. Rimmer shook his head. “Lister, until you know the frustration of spending hours coaching some idiot of a skutter to perform a simple task that should take two seconds, only to have to watch them screw it up over and over again, I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut on the subject.”

Lister looked at him, and for a moment Rimmer thought that he was going to argue. Instead, he frowned, then reached for the pile of cards. He moved slowly, as though paying attention to every minuscule movement of his hand and arm as his fingers slid the card from the top of the pile and turned it over. “Okay, yeah,” he said, and handed the card to Rimmer. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s probably a bit like that fake arm Kryten gave me that one time,” he said. “Took me forever just to make the stupid thing pick up a smegging ball. Something like this? There’d have been no way.”

Rimmer looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“Well, until Kryten upped the sensitivity, but that wasn’t any good either, ‘cos then it had a mind of its own.”

Rimmer tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but he couldn’t. He looked at Lister, specifically at Lister’s arms; they both appeared normal. They were covered by the sleeves of his jacket, making it difficult to be sure, but as far as he could tell, they looked exactly the same as they had always done. He allowed his gaze to move to Lister’s hands, where he could see bare skin. They both looked fine too; completely normal. “Lister, what are you talking about?” he asked. “What fake arm?”

“Oh, right,” Lister said. “You weren’t here for that.” He shrugged like it was unimportant, and pointed to one of the cards already turned over on the table. “You can move that one,” he said. “To there.”

Rimmer ignored him, and instead continued to stare at Lister’s hands. They both looked real. They both moved like they were real. If one of them wasn’t, it was the best prosthetic he had ever seen. “Lister, are you trying to tell me that you have a prosthetic arm?” he asked.

“What?” Lister grinned as though that was the funniest thing he’d heard all year. “Of course I don’t.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand compulsively. “Rimmer, have you ever seen those things? Trust me, if I did, you’d have noticed by now. He reached for the card he had told Rimmer to move, and moved it himself.

“Lister, don’t do that!” Rimmer snapped. He snatched the card up and moved it back to where it had been before.”

“I was only helping!”

“Well don’t. This is a one man game; you’re not supposed to help. For all you know, I was saving that move for later.” He looked at the cards, desperately trying to find another move to make first; any other move, just to prove his point. Typically, there were none. He scowled at the cards as though they had done it on purpose, then grabbed the one Lister had moved, and moved it again. “So if you didn’t lose an arm, what were you doing with a prosthetic?” he asked.

Lister shrugged. “I never said I didn’t lose it. I just kinda…” he shrugged, “found it again. But technically I didn’t lose it actually. I knew where it was, it’s just that Kryten hacked it off with a laser scalpel and flushed it out the airlock.” He winced and flexed his fingers again. “Anyway, stop changing the subject.”

“Yes, because the subject of exactly how many times I’ve played a particular card game in the past is infinitely more fascinating than the story of how you lost and somehow found an arm. Come on, what happened?”

“Actually, the subject was what you got up to while you were Ace,” Lister corrected. “Talking about your stupid card game came later.”

“Lister, I want to know how you lost an arm,” Rimmer demanded.

Lister frowned thoughtfully. “Oh, do you?” he asked. “Okay, let’s trade. If I tell you this story, you’ve got to tell me one of yours. Deal?”

Rimmer sighed, the idea that this whole thing might have been a setup suddenly occurred to him, but he really did want to know. He folded his arms and glared at Lister admonishingly. “Okay, fine,” he agreed. “But it better be a good story.”

“Killer virus,” Lister told him. “Got snogged by a three million year old corpse, caught this thing called Epideme.” He shrugged. “Kochanski and Kryten got the idea that they could chase it into my arm, then cut it off.”

Rimmer blinked. “You got snogged by a what?” he frowned. “Wait a minute, that wouldn’t work. You can’t just chase a virus into one part of the body and lop it off, or else they’d have been able to cure everything that way.”

“Turns out you can,” Lister told him. “Or you could with this one, anyway. Except for a few bits of the virus escaped back into my body, so I ended up armless for nothing. In the end they actually had to kill me so Epideme left, then they brought me back to life.”

Rimmer blinked. “Right. So you died?”

“Well, I mean not really. Not like you did, anyway. It doesn’t count if it’s only for a minute or so.”

That was a lot to take in. “And getting the arm back?”

Lister shrugged. “Nanobots. You know that part already.”

“I knew they rebuilt the ship and the crew. You neglected to mention the part where they also rebuilt you.“

“Out of the whole thing, honestly that seemed like the least interesting part.”

Rimmer shook his head. “It’s a part of the story, it’s relevant. And how could you think I wouldn’t be interested in you agreeing to let Kryten cut off your arm to save you from a deadly space virus?”

“Honestly? It wasn’t exactly something I was eager to relive. I only brought it up now because I figured I’d be able to get a story out of you in return.”

“So you did trick me,” Rimmer said. “You lured me in with a hint of a story, knowing I���d want to know more, just so that you could wheedle information out of me in return. I knew it!”

Lister grinned. “Yeah.” The grin faded. “But having one arm sucked like you wouldn’t believe. I couldn’t play the guitar.”

Rimmer smirked. “Well in that case I’m surprised you found anybody willing to help you track down the nanobots. Personally, I’d have been completely willing to sacrifice your arm in order to silence your guitar.”

“Smeg off. You would have as well, wouldn’t you? It was my right arm too. Do you know how crap I am at everything with my left hand? I could hardly do anything for myself.”

Rimmer turned over another card in his game of patience. “You’d have learned. It was only one arm, so it’s not that bad, is it? I didn’t have any arms at all — any body at all — for years, and you didn’t hear me whinging about it.”

“Seriously?” Lister stared at him incredulously. “Rimmer, you used to whinge about it all the time.”

“I didn’t. Not all the time, anyway.” He thought back to the time after he had first been activated. “I mean, maybe I complained a little bit at first, but all things considered I think I handled the whole thing pretty well. Better than you would have done, anyway. And even if I had complained, I’d say that was a whinge-worthy problem. Losing one arm, not so much.”

“This is why I didn’t tell you about this before,” Lister told him. “I knew you’d find some way to trivialise it.”

“I’m not,” Rimmer assured him. “I’m sure the whole thing was very traumatic for you. How terrible it must have been, having to brush your teeth with your left hand.”

Lister shook his head. “Fine. Go on then, you owe me a story. And it better be a good one too.”

Rimmer mulled over his options. He had stories, of course he did. The issue wasn’t thinking of a story, it was thinking of a story that would paint him in the right light; one that Lister would be impressed by, but that didn’t make him sound too much like that insufferable git Ace. He needed something that would remind Lister why he, Rimmer, the Rimmer without a wig, was the superior Rimmer.

He couldn’t think of a single one.

“You’re right, you know,” he said, hoping to fill the time. “I didn’t play patience before. I picked it up while I was off being Ace.”

Lister nodded. “Yeah, I figured,” he said. “It couldn’t have been all daring missions and rescuing the damsel in distress, could it?”

“Sometimes it wasn’t a damsel, men needed rescuing too, you know. In fact, they needed rescuing more than the women because they have a tendency to do more stupid things and get themselves into trouble.”

Lister shrugged. “Fine, so it couldn’t be all rescuing the damsel or,” he hesitated, “…or damson in distress.”

“I don’t think that’s the right word.”

Lister waved a hand dismissively. “My point is, there had to have been some downtime in between. And it’s not like you had us lot around to talk to, so you would’ve needed something to do.”

“I kept myself busy enough.”

“Well yeah, but I bet because you’re, well, you, even though you probably could’ve spent the night in bed with whatever lucky sod you just saved, you’d’ve probably convinced yourself they didn’t actually like you or something, and decided to spend your nights alone in your ship. So you needed something to do, so you got yourself a pack of cards.”

Rimmer sighed. On the one hand, it was nice to be back around someone who understood him. On the other, sometimes it would be nice if Lister didn’t know him quite so perfectly. “I didn’t have to ‘get’ the cards, they were already there, left behind by a previous Ace.”

Lister shook his head. “That wasn’t really the point.”

“Fine. Well if you must know, Lister, I did have a few liaisons. I even had to turn down a couple of marriage proposals. But in-between all that, there was still a lot of time alone. There were times when I would jump into dimension after dimension and find them completely empty. I don’t know whether humans just never evolved there, or whether they wiped themselves out before I arrived, or if I was just in completely the wrong part of the universe. All I know is, there were times that I went for months without speaking to another person. So I had to find something to do.”

Lister nodded. He was quiet for a long moment, then folded his arms tightly and nodded. “Sounds lonely,” he said quietly.

It had been. Long stretches of loneliness and boredom interspersed with the occasional terrifying situation.

Lister was looking at him now with something approaching sympathy in his expression. Lister understood loneliness; a man who had surrounded himself with a large group of friends, who had been friends with everybody, who had thrived on and drawn energy from the social interactions that left Rimmer drained and anxious. A man who had found himself marooned in deep space, the last survivor of the human race.

“It was fine,” Rimmer assured him. It was only a partial lie, half of the time it really had been. Well, a bit less than half. More like a quarter. Or fifteen percent? He shook his head. “Okay yes, it was a bit lonely. But it’s your fault.”

“Mine? How’s it my fault? Because I convinced you to go?”

Actually, that was a good point too, but not the one Rimmer had been trying to make. He shook his head. “No. It’s your fault I couldn’t hack the solitude. Over the past however long it’s been, I must have got used to having you around.”

“So you’re mad at me because you missed me?”

Rimmer shook his head. “I‘m not mad at you, and I didn’t miss you, not specifically. I just missed not being alone; having someone to talk to.”

Lister grinned. “You did. You missed me,” he said.

“Fine. And what about you? Did you miss me?” He hadn’t meant to ask that, but now it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. He held his breath and waited for the reply.

Lister folded his arms. “Yeah, of course I did,” he admitted. He glanced away and dropped his voice to a mumbled whisper. “Even had a couple of dreams about you.”

Rimmer nodded in satisfaction. Lister hadn’t even been on his own. For some of that time, he had had a whole crew to keep him company, not to mention a version of Rimmer himself, and yet he still admitted to missing him. He smiled to himself, confident that he had come out the victor in this competition. “Wait,” he asked. “What kind of dreams?”

“Just dreams, not important.”

He decided to let it go for now. “So, your turn,” he said. “What else did I miss while I was off being a hero? Did Kryten hack off anybody else’s body parts?”

“One arm wasn’t enough for you?”

“Okay, maybe that’s enough dismemberment, but something else interesting must have happened while I was away.”

Lister frowned. “What, other than the entire crew, including you, coming back to life?”

“Other than that. I already know about that.”

“Well yeah, plenty happened,” Lister told him, “but you haven’t held up your side of the bargain yet, have you? A story about you sitting around in your ship playing cards on your own doesn’t exactly count, you know.”

“Of course it does. You never specified what the content of the story needed to be.”

“Suit yourself,” Lister told him, and turned over another of Rimmer’s cards. He placed it exactly where Rimmer would have put it, which allowed him to make five more moves and take two cards out of play. He moved to pick up another card.

“Fine,” Rimmer told him. “I’ll tell you one more story.”

Lister looked up.

“I rescued you once,” Rimmer told him. He hesitated. That wasn’t true, strictly speaking. “Well, no. Not you but another version of you. And it wasn’t much of a rescue either if I’m honest.”

“Great story, Rimmer. I’m on the edge of my seat!”

Rimmer scowled at him. “It was a couple of GELFs with a grudge, and they — the other crew — would have probably handled it fine if I hadn’t shown up, but I did, so I thought it was only right to lend a hand.” As he spoke, he heard himself slip unthinkingly into the Ace Rimmer accent he had perfected over the years. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kinda like it.”

Rimmer rolled his eyes and continued in his own accent. “He was a lot like you, the other Lister. If I hadn’t known better — well, if I hadn’t had a ship’s computer that could tell me better — I’d have genuinely believed I was home. It turned out his Rimmer had already left to become Ace, years earlier. When I showed up, the other Lister thought his Rimmer had come back.”

Lister winced. “Did you tell him he hadn’t?”

“I didn’t want to,” Rimmer admitted. He looked away. “Telling him that, was basically the same as telling him that his Rimmer was gone.”

“Yeah,” Lister said. “If I was him, I don’t know how I’d have…” He folded his arms and stopped talking abruptly.

Rimmer nodded. “This thing is, it was a bit more delicate than that. They’d been…” he hesitated, “They were pretty close. Closer than you and I.”

Lister frowned. “Closer than us? Rimmer, the only way they could possibly have been closer than us is if they were…” His eyes widened as understanding dawned. Rimmer nodded, and slowly a smile spread across Lister’s face. “Oh, right,” he said. “Right.”

“It turned out they’d been together for quite some time before he went off to be a hero,” Rimmer said. He shook his head. “The idiot.”

“Hey!” said Lister. “You’re saying sleeping with me makes him an idiot?”

Rimmer shook his head. “No. Well, yes, obviously he must have been. But what I meant was why would a version of me who had someone that loved him, give it all up to go off and be Ace? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Lister shrugged. “You did it.”

Rimmer looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what Lister had meant by that.

Lister cleared his throat. “So, what did you think about that particular revelation?”

He considered the question. “Mostly, I thought that I really didn’t want to have to be the one to tell him his boyfriend had died. For a moment, I even thought about playing along, being his Rimmer for a day or two then telling him I had to go off and be a hero again.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

Rimmer shook his head. “Of course not.” He was still Ace at the time, and that would have been a cowardly move. Another time, another circumstance, maybe he would have done. “It wouldn’t have been fair to him.”

“Yeah,” Lister agreed. “Definitely not.”

Rimmer picked up another card, and rather than putting it down, he began to fidget with it, turning it over nervously in his hands. He cleared his throat. “I thought another thing too,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“I thought about how glad I was, that there was at least one universe out there where I’d been brave enough to accept who I was.”

Lister nodded, and Rimmer got the impression that he wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already known. “So how’d he take it?” he asked. “When you told him you weren’t his Rimmer?”

Rimmer continued to fidget with the playing card. “I think he already knew, really. I mean, I think he hoped I was his Rimmer, but he didn’t really believe it. He’d already accepted that he was gone. That’s how it works, isn’t it? As soon as you get into the ship and make your first jump that’s supposed to be it. It’s meant to be a one way trip, and he knew that.”

Lister nodded. “Meant to, anyway.”

“He asked me to stay,” Rimmer continued. “Not to replace his Rimmer or anything like that, just to make a home there. Stop leaping dimensions and just… just be me again. It was tempting, too.” In fact, he had stayed for a little while, but he had found that he needed to move on. “When I told him I needed to go, he’s the one that told me I should try to get home. I think he could tell my heart wasn’t in it anymore.”

“And so you came back,” Lister said. He smiled warmly. “I’m glad. No offence to the other Lister, but if you were going to settle down somewhere, it had to be here.”

“It wasn’t quite as simple as just ‘coming back’,” Rimmer told him. “It was actually very difficult. You can’t safely jump between similar dimensions, you know. It involved multiple jumps, a fair amount of danger, and a lot of luck. Of course, if I’d known you’d gone and made yourself a brand new Rimmer, I might have just stayed where I was.” He could hear the jealousy in his voice, and he didn’t care

Lister shook his head. “Come on, you know that wasn’t planned. Anyway, he wasn’t you. I mean, he was you, but he wasn’t you you, was he?”

That was the kind of thing that Rimmer might have rolled his eyes at, once upon a time. Now, it made perfect sense. He had met a lot of people who both were, and were not, people he had known. It was a strange feeling, one that he had never quite got used to. “Still, I was surplus to requirements around here, wasn’t I?” He was fishing and he knew it. He didn’t care.

Lister seemed to know it too. It was obvious that he was playing along as he shook his head sympathetically. “Of course not!” He paused, then shrugged, “I mean, two of you would’ve been a bit too much to handle, but you’re always welcome here, Rimmer. Always.”

Satisfied, Rimmer nodded. “And I suppose it’s good that you replaced me,” he said. “Because then I could replace Ace. If there hadn’t been another me here, it would’ve meant the chair was broken.” He shrugged. “Not that that’s exactly a tragedy though. Does the universe really need some smug git in a wig flying around being heroic? Really?”

“I didn’t replace you,” Lister insisted. “And I think the universe probably does need an Ace. Just like it needs an endless ouroboros cycle of List…” he stopped, then smiled. “Okay, my turn,” he said. “While you were off being a smug git in a wig, I found out who my parents were.”

Rimmer stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. And you’ll never guess who they are.”

Rimmer resisted the urge to groan. “It’s going to be something ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said. “Like you’re actually related to royalty or something.” He was never going to hear the end of it; Lister was going to be constantly lording it over him. “You’re the illegitimate son of some King or Queen, dumped in a pub by a jealous relative whose claim to the throne your birth put at risk.”

Lister grinned and shook his head. “Er, no. Not exactly,” he said.

Rimmer breathed a silent sigh of relief. The only thing worse than finding out something like that would be… oh smeg. “You’re my brother, aren’t you? Like in that reality we hallucinated when we encountered the despair squid.” Oh, that was all he needed, just when he was beginning to come to terms with the idea that he might like Lister. It was typical, and so in-keeping with his luck that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured it out sooner. “How the smeg did that happen?” He rested his head in his hands. “I didn’t even know my mum had been to Liverpool.”

Lister laughed and shook his head. “I have to give you this much, Rimmer, you’ve got a good imagination.”

“So we’re not brothers?”

“No, of course we’re not.”

Rimmer began to breathe a sigh of relief, then hesitated. “And not half brothers? Or cousins? Second cousins once removed?”

“We’re no relation at all. Well, at least as far as I know.”

Rimmer exhaled slowly. “Right. Good.”

“It’s even weirder than that, actually.” Lister paused, either for effect or to make sure Rimmer was listening, Rimmer wasn’t sure. “It turns out I’m my own dad.”

Rimmer frowned. That couldn’t be right. He looked at Lister, searching for any hint that this was some kind of a joke, but he couldn’t see any. Finally, he shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But it’s true. Me and Krissie had a baby, and it was me. Then I…”

“Wait,” Rimmer interrupted. “You and Kochanski?” He tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that came with that particular revelation, and failed. “I thought you said you never got back together with her. You said she was too hung up on the other Lister. You said…”

“Hey.” Lister stopped his words with a gentle hand on his arm. “Relax. She was still too into the other Lister, and I can’t really blame her either. I mean, they were together a long time; as long as me and you. And over that time she’d moulded him into some kinda weird, opera-loving anti-Lister. I mean, I was never going to live up to that, and I didn’t want to either. All I had to do was make a… uh, a genetic donation, and she was planning on raising the baby with him.”

“Oh,” Rimmer said. “Well, good. Not that I care, of course.”

“Nah, ‘course you don’t,” Lister agreed. “Anyway, it’s probably for the best that she wasn’t into me; I was a bit too hung up on somebody else myself too, if I’m honest.”

Rimmer wondered who it could have been. Lister’s own Kochanski, he supposed. After all, the one that had ended up aboard Starbug with them had been a different Kochanski from a different dimension. If the years they had spent together had changed the other Lister to the point where he was almost unrecognisable. Maybe there had been differences between the two Kochanskis that Lister hadn’t been able to see past.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter,” Lister continued. “So when the baby was born, we raised him for a couple of months until he was about the same age I’d been when they found me, then I went back in time and left him under that pool table so that he could be found, grow up, get stranded three million years in the future, work this all out for himself and then do the same thing to his own kid." He paused, then frowned. “Who will be me as well.”

Rimmer pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head slowly from side to side as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Of all the nonsensical things that they had encountered during their time in space, this had to be one of the most improbable, for so many reasons. “Lister, before I dignify this with an answer, tell me, are you being serious?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. Of course I am. You don’t think I could just make up a story like that, do you?”

He probably could but it didn’t sound like something he would do. For all he had always pretended not to mind, Rimmer knew how much not knowing the truth about where he came from had bothered Lister. He also knew how much it had hurt him having to give up the twins; he wouldn’t joke about giving another child away.

“So, if you’re your own dad,” he said in an attempt to break the tension, “that makes Kochanski your mum, right? So is that why you never got together?”

“What?” Lister pulled a face. “No. Why would it be?”

“Well, because she’s your mum,” Rimmer repeated. “I mean, you’ve got to admit it would be a bit weird.”

Lister folded his arms. “It’s not like that though, is it? She’s the kid’s mum, not mine.” Even as he said it, he didn’t sound convinced.

“But the kid is you.”

“Yeah, but…” Lister shook his head.

“Technically, it sounds like she’s your grandmother too,” Rimmer added, with a smile to show that he was joking. He wasn’t, actually, but Lister didn’t need to know that. “And your great grandmother.”

Lister folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Smeg off,” he said. “You’re just happy because you think you’ve got a chance with me now, like that other Rimmer did.”

Rimmer sat back in his seat. He genuinely hadn’t thought he was being that obvious. He looked at Lister, trying to decide whether he was joking, or whether he was feeling particularly empathic today. “No I’m not,” he lied.

“Oh,” said Lister. “Well that’s too bad.”

Rimmer blinked.

“So, did you ever figure out where the universes diverged?” Lister said.

It was such an abrupt change of subject that it took him a moment or two to realise that Lister was talking about the other him again. “More or less, yes. It was around the time I got my hard light drive. Remember that night we stayed up all night drinking and talking about things?”

Lister nodded. “I remember you talking for hours about different textures and temperatures, trying to make me understand why it was so great to be able to feel for the first time in years.” He smiled. “Must’ve been amazing.”

It had been. It still was, even if he sometimes took it for granted now. “Well, from what I can gather, that night played out a little differently in that universe, and ended up with the two of us… well, the two of them…”

“Gotcha.”

“What I couldn’t figure out is why that happened. There must have been something before that that changed things enough that we felt able to do that, but whatever it was, it must have been so small that the other Lister and I couldn’t figure it out.”

Lister shrugged. “Might be because there wasn’t anything,” he said. “Sometimes things just happen, you know. I bet I can guess exactly how the whole thing started out; Rimmer put his hand on Lister’s, to feel it I mean, and Lister grabbed hold of it, pulled him in closer and kissed him. Right?”

Rimmer blinked. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never asked for a play-by-play. Why?”

“Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? When realities split. You have a choice, you make it, and the other version of you makes the opposite choice.”

Rimmer nodded. “More or less.”

“So here’s the thing,” Lister told him. He picked up the pile of unplayed cards on the table and ran his fingernail down the side of the stack. “In this reality, when you touched my hand I was… well, I was kinda tempted to pull you closer and kiss you, but I chickened out.”

Rimmer stared at him, trying to process what he was hearing. “Why?”

“Because you were talking about all these different sensations you’d been missing out on, and how amazing it was, and I thought you might want to experience another one.”

“Not why did you want to, you gimboid. I meant why didn’t you?”

“Oh…” Lister hesitated. “Well, like I said, I chickened out. I thought you might not like it, or you’d turn me down. And maybe you would have. I mean, if anything that could happen did happen in one universe or another, there must also be a universe where I kissed you, but instead of whatever happened in the dimension you landed in, you freaked out over it and things got really weird between us. So I mean, maybe I dodged a bullet.”

Rimmer pursed his lips. He wanted to insist that wouldn’t have happened, and maybe he was right, but there was a good chance he wasn’t. After all, he already knew that theirs wasn’t the reality where they had ended up together. Not then anyway. He sighed. “You’re probably right.”

A shadow of disappointment fell over Lister’s face.

“No, I mean, it was different then,” Rimmer stammered. “It was a long time ago. Just because I might have reacted badly then, doesn't mean I’d do the same thing now, does it?”

“I dunno.” Lister looked at him like he was trying to figure out whether Rimmer was serious, and if so, how serious. “Does it?”

Lister put down the playing cards and rested his hand on the surface of the table. Not breaking eye contact with Lister, Rimmer slowly slid his hand across until the tips of their fingers touched. He kept going, until his hand rested on top of Lister’s. As he moved, he tried to remember how he had felt that night, when everything had been so new and every touch had felt amplified a hundredfold. He concentrated on the warmth of Lister’s skin in comparison to the cool air of their quarters, the difference between the texture of the soft back of his hand and the rougher skin of his knuckles.

He had been so afraid that night, convinced that the hard light drive wouldn’t last; that his bad luck would kick in and he would revert to his usual, soft light form, deprived once again of the ability to feel. He remembered thinking how much worse it was going to be, having experienced touch only to have it snatched away again, and he remembered how desperate he had been to cram as much sensation as he could into every second, before it was too late.

He had become complacent, he realised, as he pressed the tips of his fingers a little harder into the back of Lister’s hand, feeling the bones and tendons beneath the skin. He had become too used to it; started to take it for granted. He closed his eyes and savoured the sensation in a way that he hadn’t done in years.

After a moment, Lister placed his own free hand on top of Rimmer’s and simply held him for a while, Rimmer’s hand encased in Listers, feeling the warmth of his skin. Then, gently, he turned it over. When his hand lay palm upward on top of Lister’s, Lister began to trace the lines of Rimmer’s palm with his fingertips, then, when that was done, began to move his finger in slow, lazy circles. It felt good. It felt incredible, but it wasn’t what he had been expecting. He opened his eyes and looked at Lister, questioning.

“What? I wasn’t just going to grab you and go for a snog,” Lister told him. “I’m a bit more subtle than that. I mean, not much, but a bit.”

Slowly, he pulled Rimmer’s hand a little closer to him, lifting it from the table and toward his lips, then gently kissed his fingertips one at a time. Finally, he moved his grip further up Rimmer’s arm. Holding tightly at his arm at the elbow, he tugged gently. His grip was firm enough that he could lead Rimmer closer to him, but not so firm that Rimmer wouldn’t be able to back off if he wanted to. Rimmer didn’t want to.

Lister pulled him closer until he leaned far enough across the table that Lister could easily close the distance between them, then he touched his lips to Rimmer’s. Their lips brushed gently together, barely a kiss, barely even a touch. It left him wanting more. Rimmer leaned closer, trying to get more sensation, but Lister moved further back. He smiled and shook his head. “Wait for it,” he whispered. Rimmer felt his breath on his skin.

He moved a little closer, a fraction of a centimetre, and allowed Rimmer to feel the warmth of his skin and the softness of his lips as they pressed, slightly open, against his own. Lister’s hand snaked slowly around the back of his head, his fingers parting Rimmer’s curls as they worked their way through his hair. At the same time, Lister’s tongue teased Rimmer’s and Rimmer felt himself respond in kind.

For a moment, everything around then faded away. The living quarters, the ship, the years that they had been apart, everything but the moment. Rimmer was lost in sensation; drowning in it.

And then, it was over. All concept of time had abandoned him, and Rimmer had no idea how long it had been before they finally came up for air. At some point, he didn’t know when, he had closed his eyes. He opened them now to find himself staring directly into Lister’s eyes. Lister smiled nervously, and shrugged. “So, it’d have probably been a bit like that,” he said. “If I hadn’t chickened out that night, I mean.”

“Right,” Rimer said. He nodded, and sat back down again, unsure what he was supposed to do or say now. His game of patience was ruined, the cards scattered over the tabletop and on the floor. He tugged on the bottom of his uniform tunic, straightening any creases that might have appeared, and quickly ran his fingers through his hair in a futile effort to undo any damage Lister might have done to it. “Right,” he said again.

He could feel his own simulated heartbeat pounding in the hard light projection of his chest. His skin tingled everywhere that Lister had touched him, and he wanted more.

“Right,” he said, for a third time. He realised that he really should think of something else to say, but for some reason he was drawing a complete blank. He opened his mouth to speak again, and this time, closed it again.

“Well?” Lister asked. Rimmer could hear the apprehension in his voice, and see it on his face.

Rimmer took a slow, deep breath and tried to force his mind to regain the ability to speak. “That was…” he began, then faltered. He didn’t have the words to describe what that had been. Anything he might say would pale into insignificance in comparison to the real thing. He took another breath, slowly in and out. He needed to say something or it was going to start to get weird. “Lister, if you’d done that the day after I first got my hard light drive, you’d probably have shorted the damn thing out,” he said.

“What’s that mean?” Lister asked, appearing worried now.

Rimmer reached for him again. He grabbed clumsily at his hand before intertwining his fingers with Lister’s. “It means it was incredible,” he said. “But it would have been too much for me then. When I hadn’t been able to feel for all those years, suddenly experiencing something like that… it would have been overwhelming.” It was almost still too much for him now, but at the same time it hadn’t been enough. He wanted more. If Lister could do that with a few gentle touches, Rimmer wanted to know what else he could do.

“I mean, I’ve had a bit of time to think about it, so maybe it wouldn’t have been exactly like that,” Lister told him.

“So you’ve been thinking about it?”

“No.” Lister said, far too quickly. Then he shrugged and glanced away. “Well, you know, just now and then. Not all the time or anything like that. Just when I had nothing to do and my mind wandered.”

In other words, he had been daydreaming about it. About him. Of all the things Lister had told him about the things he had missed while he had been away, the deadly virus, the resurrection of the crew, finding out that Lister was his own father, somehow the revelation that Dave Lister had been daydreaming about him was the most unexpected. And the most wonderful.

“So,” Lister said. “It might have been too much for you then, but what about now? You’ve had a couple of years to get used to touch again, and I bet you had more than a couple of kisses while you were off being a hero, so…” his question tailed off, leaving it hanging in the air between them.

Rimmer thought about it. “It was still overwhelming,” he said honestly. “But I think…” he hesitated. “I think being overwhelmed now and then might be a good thing.”

“Want to try again?”

Rimmer nodded.

Lister got to his feet and pressed the manual lock on the door to their quarters. He offered a hand to Rimmer as he walked back past him, and when Rimmer accepted, steered him in the direction of the sofa. “Might be a bit comfier over here than leaning across a table,” he said.

He sat down and Rimmer sat next to him. He glanced down at his hands awkwardly, not sure what he was supposed to do.

“Hey, by the way,” Lister said as he edged himself a little closer and snaked a hand around Rimmer’s shoulders and then up into his hair again. “Don’t you think this gets you out of telling me stories. I still want to know everything you got up to when you were out there being Ace.”

Thank you to @coney-island-blitz for the beta on this!

[thedenimdentist]

Flame Panda: worth the hype?

Introduction

For those of you who are pretty invested in handmade, hand welted, MTM boots, Flame Panda needs no introduction. In fact, if you aren’t already familiar with this small boot making family out of a small village in China, then maybe you aren’t actually the boot enthusiast you believe yourself to be. lol just kidding. But really, for anyone interested in high quality, beautifully built boots, Flame Panda is a brand worth looking into. Their main source of advertising and business is through their instagram @flamepanda11, which is run by their Peng. They're still a relatively small family owned business, but they’re following is growing exponentially (and for good reason). 

I would go more into the background of their business and what they have to offer, but nothing I could write would compare to the information covered by Jake @almostvintagestyle on his blog: his review of his beautiful chunky monkey boots and an interview with Peng himself. So, if you’d like more background information on what Peng and Flame Panda have to offer, head over to his blog. Otherwise, on with the unboxing/review!

Ordering Process

As with most boot brands out of Asia lately, Flame Panda boots can be ordered via DM through his Instagram @flamepanda11. Unfortunately, there is no website or catalog listing all the patterns, leathers, or customization options he has available. Luckily Peng is very helpful and open to discussion regarding your MTO boots. He takes an active role in creating you the best boots possible, giving constructive input and suggestions rather than just mindlessly giving you whatever you ask for. Peng knows his materials and abilities best, and has a solid grasp on how to combine the two to create a quality product that meets both yours and his satisfaction.

The following are the exact details I requested regarding these black boots:

Model: 6 inch boots

Last: 181 last

Upper leather: black Maryam horsebutt

Upper stitching: black

Hardware: 5 copper eyelets, 2 quick hooks, 1 eyelet

Toe design: brogued cap toe, unstructured

Welt construction: 270° 2 row stitchdown (beige)

Lining: kangaroo

Midsole: single leather midsole

Edge finish: natural edge

Sole: black Dr. Sole half sole/heel

Heel design: incline curved

Sizing

For those of you who haven’t read my reviews before, my feet are stricken with large bunions on the pinky sides of my feet. As a result, picking shoe sizes have always been extremely difficult. (See my previous reviews for details). Below I’ve listed my sizes for all the other boot brands I own.

Thursdays - 10.5

Onderhoud - 45E

Benzein - 45E

Red Wing, Iron Ranger - 9.5EE

Truman Boot Company - 11EE

Viberg (1035 last) - 10.5

In trying to determine what size I would be in his boots, I sent Peng all the following images/information:

As many helpful measurements I could think, with images of how I took those measurements.

I also informed him that I wear this thick, memory foam orthotic in all my footwear.

And lastly, I provided him with a photo and the dimensions of the removable insole of another pair of boots that fit perfectly (in this case, my Onderhoud derbies). I also took photo of how my orthotic relates to these insoles, as well as a photo with my ugly foot. (TMI? Possibly. But I’d rather provide too much information than not enough, and it definitely paid off.)

Now that I think about it, I don't even know what size Peng ended up making for me. Regardless, these boots ended up fitting perfectly. This goes to show that Peng really knows what he’s doing, and can size you appropriately if given enough information. 

Price & Shipping

For this particular boot in black Maryam horsebutt, Peng charged $685 USD including global shipping. I purchased these boots on 6/29/2020, and was quoted an unusually specific 95 day wait time. However, I didn't end up receiving these until 12/29/2020. While this is significantly longer than expected, Peng kept me up to date in his progress via Instagram DMs, so I never felt forgotten. (He told me that he and his family were moving locations during this time and production was running behind schedule. I didn’t mind, as I COVID was keeping me home majority of the time and didn’t have any reason to wear these boots anyway.) These days, I believe his wait time is closer to six months (which still really isn’t too bad for MTM boots).

Unboxing

Securely packaged, with tape as no object.

A box inside a box. A nice touch, actually. A lot of other boot companies simply ship the single boot box wrapped in butcher paper and tape, which often results in some minor box damage. In this case, the outer protective box took all the beating during transit, leaving the actual boot box in pristine condition. While this doesn’t have any affect on the quality of the boots themselves, it’s a good demonstration of the care and thought that Peng puts into all aspects of his products. He really holds himself to a higher standard, and I appreciate it.

Another reason to love Peng. He typically includes a small gift with every boot order! In this case, this nice little wallet. 

In addition to the complementary thinner, cheaper single boot bags that most boot companies provide, Peng also included a larger canvas drawstring boot bag with a screen printed logo.

These boots came with three sets of laces. They were pre-laced with some standard width, flat, waxed cotton laces. Included in the box were two additional sets of laces: a pair of wider flat waxed cotton laces, and some round waxed cotton laces. 

360 Degree View

Left boot:

Right boot:

Sole:

The Leather

The black Maryam horsebutt Peng used on these boots is absolutely gorgeous. The leather feels very substantial and hefty, and has a very nice sheen. The horsebutt also has a very subtle marbling and grain that shines through from certain angles. It’s a little difficult to capture in photos due to the deep black coloring of the leather, but you can take my word for it. These are incredible.

From what I’ve seen, I believe Peng is one of the best in the business when it comes to hide selection and clicking. He is extremely picky when determining what portions of each hide he actually uses on his boots. For instance, here is an example of him picking apart a hide, circling all the imperfections that he plans on excluding during clicking for boots.

This critical eye for detail increases Peng’s overhead considerably, as a significant portion of his leather is filtered out as unusable and unfit for boots. While this does increase the cost of his boots relative to other smaller boot brands coming out of Asia, it is also a big reason why the leather on his boots consistently break in and age so well. I have yet to see a pair of Flame Panda boots that have any unsightly creasing or loose grain, and I’m sure my pair will be no exception.

The 181 Last

Here’s a closer look at the tope shape of the 181 last. It’s got a nice almond toe shape without going overboard with pointy-ness. The outer sweep of the toe box has a more gradual, soft curve than the Onderhoud last, and even more so the Benzein Kujang last. It’s a clean and strong shape, with more of a sophisticated vibe than your typical work boot.

Outsole

Nice and clean outsole stitching by hand, with no overly wonky stitches.

The Liner

I chose to have this pair fully lined with a warm brown kangaroo leather. This makes the upper feel even more robust and structured (especially noticeable around the ankle/shaft of the boot), and gives them a bit more of a luxurious feel when on foot. (Also, note the half gusseted tongue. I highly prefer gusseted tongues over the standard floppy tongue. I specified during my order that I wanted a gusseted tongue, so I’m not 100% sure this tongue would come standard. Might be worth asking when/if you do order a pair for yourself.)

The Brogued Cap Toe

This is my first boot with a brogued cap toe. While I still think I prefer plain toes on my boots, I do like how this brogued cap looks here.

270 Degree Stitchdown Construction

Peng is probably most known for his 360° storm + embedded eversion welt. However, it is on the chunkier side, and I felt it would take away from the clean, sleeker look of this boot. Thus, I opted for double row stitchdown construction, which I think turned out quite nicely.

Peng’s welt stitching is very tight, parallel, and uniform, with a higher stitch count. Esthetically, I think it looks pretty similar to the 270° veldschoen stitching on my derbies from @renavgoodsco (seen at the 12 o’clock position below).

12 o’clock: Renav 270° veldschoen

2 o’clock: Truman 270° stitchdown

4 o’clock: Ostmo boots 270° custom welt stitching

6 o’clock: Benzein 270° veldschoen

8 o’clock: Role Club 270° flat welt

10 o’clock: Onderhoud 270° veldschoen

Inclined Curved Heel

If you haven’t been able to tell already, these are not the inclined curved heels (aka woodsman heels) that I had initially requested. While this is a pretty significant misstep on Peng’s end, I actually don’t mind too much. For low block heels, these appear to have been executed very cleanly, and it does complement the rest of the boot pattern quite nicely. If I had been dead set on having woodsman heels on these boots, I could see this being more of a dealbreaker. 

Upper Stitching

Overall, the stitching on the upper is clean and tight, with a very uniform stitch count. There are a few spots where there are a few mis-stitches, which I will point out later. For now, here are a few macro shots to appreciate Peng’s stitch work.

One area on the upper where the stitching isn’t exactly perfect is along the left cap toe. As you can see below, there is one spot in the broguing pattern where it gets a little too close to the double row of stitches, and the thread actually tore into the brogue hole. Functional issue? No. But just something small I noticed.

A second spot that might be considered less than perfect is this stitching on the right boot, where the quarters meet the vamp. It looks like there may be an extra stitch in the vertical line extending beyond the horizontal stitch. This is seen on both the inside and outside quarters, and only on the right boot. (I included a pic of the stitching on the left boot a few photos back, where you can see the stitch lines come to a perfect T.) Again, this is being extremely nit-picky, and has no real bearing on the durability or quality of the boot itself.

A third and possibly the (relatively) biggest stitching imperfection was this loose thread on the front corner of the inside right quarter. It appears as though the end of the thread came out of the stitch hole. I later trimmed the loose thread and singed it with a lighter to prevent it from progressing, but there is still an empty stitch hole in the leather where the thread once was.

While we’re on the topic of imperfections, there is also a little bit of what appears to be black polish smeared along the brown welt of the right boot. Not a big issue, nor is it even a stitching or construction issue. Again, just thought I’d point it out to be thorough.

On Foot

First off, I would just like to praise Peng for absolutely nailing the fit of these boots. My feet are ugly and stupid, and sizing any footwear has always been a nightmare. However, using just the measurements and information I provided above (since getting measured in person was not an option), he still managed to build a perfectly fitting boot for my imperfectly shaped feet. I’ve worn them a few times now, and I’ve had zero pain whatsoever.

That being said, these boots are by far some of the stiffest boots I’ve ever worn—in a good way. I can tell these will require a good amount of wear to really break them in and have them relax and shape to my foot, but I’m looking forward to it. (Note, I’m in no way saying that this extended break in period will be at all painful; rather, just that it’ll take some time for the upper leather and sole to soften up.) These boots feel like tanks, and lacing these up make my feet feel invincible. I felt like Steph Curry wearing double ankle braces when I first tried walking in these, but the shafts are slowly starting to break in and roll with wear. The soles were also initially very rigid (like I was walking on planks of wood), but are beginning to flex more as I continue to wear these. Also note that I had these built on single leather midsoles! I can’t even imagine how stiff these would be if they had 1.5 or double layer midsoles (which are a quite popular request, from what I’ve seen on Peng’s Instagram).

Conclusions

I know it’s still early, but I can confidently say that these Flame Panda boots are one of the highest quality boots in my collection. They are definitely the most robust, and despite a few minor finishing issues, the level of cleanliness and finishing by Peng and his family is unmatched by the majority of boot makers worldwide (at least from what I’ve seen on Instagram). Other than maybe Goto-San of White Kloud (@show_goto), Peng is one of the best at not only sourcing beautiful leathers, but clicking as well. I have yet to see a pair of his boots with any unsightly creasing or grain, which gives me the confidence to recommend him to anyone who may be interested in purchasing a pair of these, or any of his other boot patterns. 

I apologize if this has started to sound like a sponsored or endorsed advertisement, but I genuinely love these boots, and I believe Peng is a great dude who deserves the recognition he has been receiving lately. He is super generous and genuine, easy to talk to (albeit sometimes slow to respond, with the sheer volume of DMs he now receives), and is constantly striving to improve his materials and skills. And with a personality and passion like that, how could anyone not want to support him? These may have been my first pair of Flame Pandas, but they definitely aren't the last. (In fact, they’re already not. lol)

Anyway, hit me up via Instagram if you have any questions about Peng, Flame Panda, or anything else denim/boots related. Also, follow along over there to see how these stunning black Maryam horsebutt boots age with wear. I’m excited to see how they break in, and so should you. Ttfn!

[todragonsart]

Oasis

This is my Art-trade piece from November I totally didn’t have time to post here yet :’DDD <3 It’s written for the lovliest Cero! I knew she enjoyed it, haha. 

About 16 pages of Maverick/Nomad, it’s sweet, I swear! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Erik Thorn struggled with sleeping for most of his life. His problem wasn’t insomnia, or some mental illness, it was just his brain functioning as it did. Starting from a very young age, most of his nights were one of these two: either sleepless tossing and turning, or strange dreams about emotions, colorful storms and a few times even nightmares. It would have been strange or even scary for anybody else, but for Erik, it was just… life.

During the day, his brain was working on high; during the night, it needed a fast and efficient way to store all the information he received - and for a boy who was barely allowed to leave his backyard, the amount of input was- surprising. Being homeschooled for most of his childhood, never having a chance to explore, make friends or just learn to climb a tree- it was not an easy way of living for a kid, especially when the child in question was energetic and interested in everything.

Being closed in and supervised, shielded from even the wind with such a lack of stimulus would have made any grown up go crazy. Having all the time in the world, and still nothing to do, no way to process, could push the brain into overdrive; and in order to protect one’s sanity, the mind would try to tire itself - mainly with asking every question, or opening every trauma; thinking about things a normal person doesn’t have time to think about on a regular day.

Experiencing something similar for just a few months made adults develop depression and other issues, so it was expected that a child would not be able to bear with years and years of the same cabin fever. But Erik - being as resourceful as he was - developed a way to manage. Instead of trying to escape his prison all the time, he decided to store these desires in his heart for later use. He was a smart boy and he knew more than enough that his parents wouldn’t be able to shield him for all his life, so he turned to learning. And by learning, he meant books, and by books, he meant all the books he could put his hands on, not caring if it was about tales, science, culture, languages, geography, animals or history - he wanted to read all.

And since he had all the time in the world, with nothing to do, he did indeed read all the magazines, plays and books he could reach. When other children were hanging out in school, he was reading about space and stars. When boys his age were playing hide and seek on the streets, he learnt about ancient Greece; and when they were making friends, he was making plans. After all his parents were able to keep his body in one place, but they had no power over his mind wandering to the fantastic castles of Russia, the beautiful seas of Australia or the endless deserts of Africa.

Books gave him so much inner freedom he was able to completely shut out the fact that he had never experienced a true childhood, and he was happy. At the age of 15, instead of chasing girls like a normal boy would, he spent his days reading and learning about everything, and during the night he lied restlessly, dreaming about the places he wanted to visit, things he wanted to see, goals he wanted to achieve. The images were so vivid in his head, he sometimes thought he could just reach and touch them.

He read all about the wonders of the world and, while patiently waiting for his turn to decide, he planned fantastic journeys to places his parents would never even dream about. He locked all these desires deep into his heart until he finally became old enough to choose his own path, and by the time he got asked ‘What do you want to do with your life’ he already had an answer ready.

He knew his parents wanted to keep him safe, that they wished him to become a lawyer, stay close to them, have a peaceful career, with a silent family of his own and die after a long, successful and very boring life - so of course he did the exact opposite!

Signing up to military training was his way to rebel, and soon he discovered that it was the best decision he ever made.

By the age of 25 he was able to travel to countless countries and cities with the army. Becoming an Intelligence Officer was the most suitable for his abilities and desires, and after learning Dari and ending up in Afghanistan he finally - for the first time in his life - found his place and purpose. For a while. He had all the time in the world to explore the colorful culture, the traditions, the good and also the bad sides of Kabul, and he fell in love with the city in no time. He could say that he was finally living all his dreams, but Erik still struggled with sleeping.

He was busy with all the work, all the information, all the responsibility day after day, yet it was just not enough for his brain to get tired - or this time maybe it was too much. During his childhood, the lack of input kept him awake; when he was a teenager, the fantastic future was not letting him have his rest. And when he was just fulfilling the dreams he always had, working for greater good and helping others and living in a different country, it turned out to be a bit too much to handle. It was without a doubt pretty ironic.

As the situation in Kabul grew more and more tense, he got less and less sleep. He needed to work 48-72 hours in one go, and when he finally had a few hours of peace, he fainted. It was sleep, but not rest. Both his mind and his body were strained to their limits, and as the tension collapsed in the city, so did he. He arrived at a crossroad, and in order to survive, he took the harder path and cut every connection that tied him to the outer world.

After he escaped Kabul for the first time in 8 years of active service, he felt- hopeless. Lost. Weak.

Relieved.

Relieved?

Relieved like a man who just cut all the chains that held him down would be. For the first time in his life, he had nobody to tell him what to do. No parents, no commanders, no nothing. When this realisation washed over him, he felt exhausted and energetic at the same time.

For a few days, he had been wandering close to Kabul to see if anybody would come after him, but when nobody arrived after two weeks, he understood the gift that fell into his lap.

It wasn’t simply about shaking all the chains of command off himself, but it was true and total freedom. He had the power to forget his original culture, his ways of living, his career, his belongings and even his name. He got the chance to peel every layer of paint, and start with a blank, white canvas if he wanted- and oh he wanted! He wanted to escape from his previous life.

The next day the first thing he did was to sell every item he owned, even his watch. He got so drunk on the newly discovered freedom, he allowed himself to get lost in time as well. With nothing but the money he got, a small backpack and water, he started his aimless journey around the country, and for two whole years, he didn’t even look back. Without doubt, that was the happiest time of his life… or so he thought.

He spent his days wandering from town to town, exploring more and more of the rigid beauty of Afghanistan. He was living from one day to another: when he found work, he got paid, when he gambled, he lost his money, and when he couldn’t find any food, he didn’t eat. All of his previous life experiences were stripped off him, and he became a man whose only purpose was to satisfy his needs. He fought for food, water and shelter, like an animal, and it was just such an easy way of living for him that he was able to shut his brain out for a while and live for the moment.

During his second year of complete isolation, he travelled through the Dasht-e Margo desert in order to get to Lashkargah for his next Buzkashi tournament. Crossing the endless sands on foot was a challenge on its own, and he wanted to try it for so long now.

Before he started his journey, he planned his route and scheduled in a few extra days as well. He wanted to allow himself the luxury of getting lost. He packed all the water he could and got on his foot to conquer the grim dunes of The Desert of Death .

As he arrived at the Dasht-e Margo, he allowed himself a minute of silent appreciation. He knew that it was one of the deadliest deserts of the globe, and he knew that he needed to respect it. He felt that if he could cross these sands without getting lost or going insane, he could do anything, so he set foot in the desert, having no idea about the way it would change him.

The first day and night went as peacefully as possible, but the next morning he discovered a very important factor: There was nobody here to talk to . He was completely alone, with nothing but the sea of burning sand under his feet, the september sun on the sky and his own thoughts. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he only had his mind as company, and getting deeper into the desert, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to open Pandora’s box, yet it was too late to turn back now.

By the second night came the realisation of the parallel between his childhood and this desert. His body might have not been confined in a house, but wherever he turned there was nothing except the sand and the sun. It was a physical jail in a form, with his mind having all the time to think - and as a good cabin fever worked, soon he started to ask every question, open every trauma and think about the things he didn’t have time to think about in one and a half years.

By the third day, he opened up every shut door in his soul, and gave himself into the unspeakable amount of remorse he felt for his parents and the army. He knew that he was being selfish when he cut his ties, and truth to be told, he missed his previous life. He knew that everybody thought he was dead, and he didn’t go back to tell them otherwise. He simply didn’t want to. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to do whatever he wished for, so he just did that without thinking twice. He lied to himself that it was for his survival, but it really wasn’t. He just saw the opportunity to disappear from the radars, and he took it.

He allowed himself to be dead, because death meant free from the burdens, but it also meant being free from all the good he had in his life, the things he missed! For example, he missed his friends from the army, he missed calling his father on a silent sunday evening, and he missed having people ready to catch him if he was falling. He missed being alive.

Four days into the desert, he felt the worst he had ever felt in 33 years. His body was burning, his heart was breaking, his mind was ready to shut down. He couldn’t shake the memory of his own betrayal out of his head, no matter how he tried. Even worse, every time he closed his eyes, he could imagine the worried face of his father, and the tears of his mother as his colonel told them he disappeared. He knew he needed to go back, but still wasn’t ready to accept his failure.

On day five, he couldn’t take a step. He just sat for hours, looking into the mirages the sun created, thinking about his decisions, and where he turned wrong. He shouldn’t have left Kabul, he shouldn’t have learned Dari, he shouldn’t have signed up for military training. He should have stayed home, to not disappoint his family like this. He should have listened to his parents.

The sixth morning came with a short rain, and he just stood there, eyes closed, shoulders dropped as the water was sinking into his hair, beard and clothes. It was a perfect match to his also cloudy mood. He felt like the worst shit the world has ever seen. He planted his face into his hands and let himself be weak for just a second, the rain was there to hide the pain anyway.

He didn’t know where to turn or what he wanted from life anymore. He was ready to give up. The Desert of Death was getting the best of him, yet his legs were still moving, his lungs still filled with air, and his heart still pumped blood. He felt like dying, yet he kept going on, for reasons unknown.

On the seventh evening, he reached both the breaking point and the oasis. He felt the same when he escaped Kabul, only this time, it was all his fault. All the betrayal, all the pain, all the selfish decisions were on him, there was nobody else to blame.

He dropped his bag in the sand and, collapsing next to the shallow waters of the oasis, he simply pushed his head under in an attempt to calm his storming mind. Since he was here, in the oasis, he got less and less rest, and by this point, his whole body trembled with every step he took. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to cross the desert anymore.

He pulled his head out of the water, taking big gulps of air and he just stared at the small waves he created. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to fix everything. He took a deep breath, and lied on the ground, turning towards the sky. The sun was just about to set, he could already see the first stars of the night.

He kicked his boots down, and pushed his burning legs into the chilly water, waiting in silence as the last rays of the sun disappeared. He wanted to fix it, yet he wanted the freedom. How would the two of these meet..? How could he make it work?

He knew that he needed to go back, he didn’t know how, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. But how would he still keep his independence? How would he still travel and live his dreams? He didn’t want to be stuck in the same place for eight years without change. He was still in love with Kabul, he could imagine himself living there, but not as an intelligence officer, just a native. He still wanted to travel, and explore and live his life.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed to solve this somehow.

He needed to let go of everything one more time, and start with a blank canvas yet again, but this time, he needed to make it good. This time, he needed to make his decisions based on his happiness, not out of rebellion or fear. He needed to keep himself and his well being in the focus, while still satisfying others.

He took a deep breath, wiggled his cooling toes and slowly, opened his eyes, to be greeted by the clearest night sky ever seen. When he was a child, and he read about space, he always wished to see the stars and the Milky Way in person, and now that he was here, he simply didn’t know how on Earth did he miss this until now?! What a fool he was.

Watching more and more stars lit up, one after another, he suddenly felt small… insignificant. His problems were gone as he was drinking up the fascinating view.

After a week of feeling down and tense, he suddenly felt calm, even happy. From this perspective, his problems seemed as small as he was at the minute. His lips pulled into a smile and closing his eyes, he fell into a gentle, deep sleep, for the first time in his life. That night, there was nothing in his mind, no storms, no emotions, nothing. He felt empty and peaceful, and he slept like never before.

It was the most fucked up feeling ever; spending seven days breaking down all the walls he built around himself just to end the terror fulfilling a childhood dream that washed tranquility over him, and the next morning he woke up refreshed, relaxed.

He sat next to the water and refilled his bottles, letting his mind wander again. This time, it wasn’t about hatred and remorse, but ways to fix this. He counted the memories from all across his years that he considered happy, and analysing them, he set foot on the sand to finish the journey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik spent approximately two whole weeks in the Desert of Death, and this trip on the endless sands turned to be his personal El Camino . The Erik who entered the desert died on the way, and the Erik who left was a different person. From the next day, he started to work on his return, thankfully he didn’t need to wait for too long. When Nokk found him, he was more than ready to live.

To his biggest surprise, getting into contact with the military again was easy. His knowledge and input about the country and the people came in handy, and even though he wasn’t completely off the hook because of this whole disappearance act, his help with dismantling a major insurgency operation was his testimony of loyalty, and without a doubt, he excelled. He even got the attention of a whole new circle, and when Six reached out to him, he accepted the opportunity with gratitude.

Arriving in England opened a whole new chapter for him. He never imagined living in this country, it wasn’t too appealing for him; but as he learnt more about Team Rainbow and  his new teammates, he decided it was worth every rain-soaked shoe and shitty weather. Being selected into a group with such amazing soldiers was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Here he needed to fight to prove that he was worthy of his place, and the others kept challenging him all the time for the first few months. They wanted to see if the new guy could handle the weight or not. It was hard, but he kept pushing against them, and soon, they welcomed him in the team with open arms.

He also realised how terrible he was in social interactions. He was just so bad at making friends, he worked so much different than the others, it was madness. For the first few weeks it seemed that he always spoke before thinking, he kept hurting people, making the others mad at him. It was very similar to a bunch of kids in the playground, but since he never experienced that, he had no idea how to make it work, but eventually he started to change. Slow and steady, he learnt to listen, think and answer. The team started to get used to him, and soon he was an anchor for everybody. They came for his insight and advice, and friendships started to form.

By the time the two new teammates arrived, he had already carved his name in the marble side by side with Morowa. They had been in active duty for almost three months now, and he was satisfied with how his life was going.

Both his mind and body were equally tired most of the days, he was able to rest. It was still not the same as in the desert, but he was getting there. He called his mother every week, and he actually told her stories about the places he visited and the things they worked on. He also already had a few vacations planned to countries he had yet to visit, so all in all, it was a decent way of living. He didn’t have any reason to complain, until- until the two new arrived.

He heard a few rumours about them from Mike and Jordan. He knew that one of them is some old, experienced captain of a fortress. He also heard that the other was an adventurer, and he was already excited to hear their stories in exchange for his own. He really wanted to have a friend who would be as invested in traveling as him. He couldn’t wait to meet them.

On the morning of their arrival, he had been hanging out with Yumiko, testing a few new breaches for Jordan in the workshop. When they got back to the canteen, there were the two newcomers. The old man with white beard and a real sword tied to his side, and the other was- um...

Blinking, Erik stepped next to Jordan, to get a better look at the other newbie. He felt his mouth dry, his knees weakened. The other newbie - a lady - was just- she was so beautiful. Her darker skin, her curly black hair, her features, her everything. He never expected to see something this mesmerizing in the middle of Hereford.

Around him, everybody was moving to greet the duo, and he was just standing there, questioning the existence of God.

Jordan looked up at him and slapped his upper back gently. “You are drooling, pal.”

His eyes snapped at the man. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Come, pretty boy, let’s greet them!”

Nodding, Erik followed Jordan, and soon he was shaking hands with both the old man - Jalal - and the woman - Saana. She even had a pretty name. That was just unfair. She also had a firm handshake, sparkling eyes and a sassy smirk hiding in the corner of her mouth. Erik already knew that she was amazing.

“Oh, are you really Erik Thorn? I’ve read about your work in Kabul, it sounded risky.”

Erik’s heart skipped a beat again as he nodded. “It was risky, yes. Especially keeping the tourists alive!”

Saana’s lips pulled into a wide smile hearing that, and that was the end of Erik. He felt his hands shake so he let go of Saana’s hand and looked away. He felt his face warming up. It was- it was the most embarrassing thing ever. He was 36 years old, the Afghan ladies loved him, and he had plenty of experience with them, but this- this was a whole different deal. He felt like a little boy all of a sudden. He felt so stupid. Thankfully Saana didn’t seem to notice, or she was decent enough to pretend not to notice his obvious longing. She looked up at him once more, and stepped away, to greet Mike instead, leaving Erik just enough time to slap himself in the face mentally.

He hoped that this sudden interest in Saana would fade after a few days, that it was just the excitement of something new, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. After bumping into the woman in every goddamn place possible, he realised how small Hereford base really was. His life turned into a hot mess and suddenly he missed his good old hermitage very much, thank you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Saana - it was the exact opposite. Erik found her fantastic. Sanna was not only very attractive in appearance, no! She had the audacity to be smart, funny, interesting, gentle and on the top of it an excellent soldier! She got the hostage out, she solved the team dynamics, she was flexible and confident, and she was everything Erik has ever wanted to be. Saana made life look so easy, but Erik knew that it wasn’t, even for her. He has heard about the adventures of the woman, and he couldn’t imagine how hard it was to keep everything in order, but Saana made it work and he just wanted to learn from this amazing woman.

He found himself wanting to be around Saana, not just in the terms of friendship. He wanted to show her Kabul, and he wanted her to guide him through all her own adventures. He wished to be by her side, but he had no idea how to approach somebody so perfect. He was afraid that he would mess it up, so he didn’t do anything for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His lucky day -or maybe lucky night- came on a stormy Friday in early March. The base was still freezing, and he couldn’t for the love of god fall asleep. They had a big mission going on soon, and he was lying in bed, eyes open, thinking about the new triggering mechanism for his torch, when the first lightning hit the ground. It was so loud he winced in his bed. He looked out of the window as the first drops of rain started to fall. This weather reminded him of his childhood; during storms his mother always made a cup of tea for him, and they stayed up late, cuddled in a big blanket, talking.

He scratched his beard and glanced at the other bed, where Olivier was sleeping peacefully. With a small smile on his lips, he got to his feet and put on a sweatshirt. A cup of tea sounded nice, especially in the cold. He left his room and headed towards the cafeteria. When he turned into the corridor that led towards his destination, he was surprised to see light inside. Shrugging it off, he walked to the door. His hard guess was Ryad or Timur wandering around, or maybe Dominic trying to steal some of Adriano’s delicious biscotti. Without thinking twice, he pushed the door open and stepped in, only to be greeted by Saana, hunched over something at a table.

Blinking a few times, he bit his lips. Nobody was around, just the two of them, he wasn’t even sure if that ever happened before. “Good evening!” he greeted gently, but when no answer came, he stepped closer to the woman, to notice how her eyes were shut. She fell asleep on top of her papers and notebook, hand still holding the pen. He couldn’t hide a smile. Oh, so amazons still needed rest.

He watched her sleep for just a few seconds, and went to the kitchen to put up a kettle of water to heat. Then he left into the common room, to get a blanket from one of the armchairs. Arriving back, he made two cups of tea. He placed both mugs on Saana’s table, and unfolding the blanket, he gently covered the woman with it. To his touch, Saana winced and looked up at him. Her face was wrinkled, hair messy, eyes tired. Nobody was in their best form two seconds after waking up, but Erik still found her perfect.

Saana rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulder. “Thanks. I was working on our next mission, but I guess I fell asleep.” she smiled. “Thank you” she took the mug Erik offered her, and when the man gestured to the place next to her, she nodded.

Sitting down, Erik smiled at her. “Do you always work during the nights?”

“Only when I can’t sleep!” Saana smiled and glanced down at her work.

Erik lifted an eyebrow and followed her gaze to the maps, and weather forecasts and notes. “You sure take this seriously,” he said in amazement.

Saana nodded. “I have never been to this side of Chile, and we are approaching a fortress in the mountains. I just want to make sure that we will come back in our original packages.”

“And I thought I did my homework!” the blonde snorted. He then looked at the leather covered notebook by Saana’s left. “Can I?” he reached out and with an approving ‘sure’, the woman handed him the book.

Erik opened it gently and started to scan through the pages. There were notes and amazing sketches about the places Saana visited before. He couldn’t hold back a smile as he slowly shook his head.

“What?” Saana asked, embarrassed.

“It’s just- I’m just wondering, how are you even real!”

Blushing, Saana placed a hand on her chest with an almost offended smile. “Excuse me?”

“Oh nothing, nothing! It’s just that you exist only to selfishly humiliate us, normal human beings, with this amazing, sassy elegance you have!” Erik smiled at her.

With mouth falling open, Saana rolled his eyes. “I- I will take that as a compliment!”

Tilting his head, Erik smiled. “Good. It was a compliment.”

“Oh, so you compliment every lady like this?”

Erik stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head. “No, not at all. Just the special ladies!”

With a soft giggle, Saana placed her hand on the notebook, trying to pull it away from Erik. “You are horrible!”

“Oh no, no, no! Please! I will behave! Please let me look at your amazing pictures!” Erik did not let go of the notebook just yet.

Saana shook her head. “Okay, okay, fine! But only with one condition.”

“Which is?”

The woman let go of the book and instead, she pointed gently at Erik’s tattoo. “I would like to hear about Afghanistan a bit more.”

Erik glanced down at his tattoo, then back at Saana. “Well… if you want to hear everything, one night is not enough time. I’ve spent ten years in the country.”

With a cheeky smile, Saana nodded. “I don’t think that we will be able to get rid of each other soon anyway.”

His lips pulling into a smile, Erik said. “That is true. In this case, I would like to hear more about your adventures, starting with how you lost your fingers.”

Saana looked down at her hand, and up to Erik again. “That is a gory and disgusting story.”

“I’m all ears!”

Saana poked his side with her elbow gently. “No! You owe me a story about Kabul for now!”

With a resigning sigh, Erik nodded. “But Kabul might not even be that exciting! You can’t build up my interest like that, and then leave me hanging!”

“You are such a- so we are playing mind games now, hm? Emotional blackmailing, hm?”

Erik glanced in her eyes with a pout. “Only if it's working…?”

A good hearted laugh burst out of Saana, filling the canteen with life. “I can’t believe this! Okay, let’s make a deal. You will tell me a story about Kabul now, and then we will go to have some sleep, and tomorrow, I will tell you the story of how I lost my fingers during dinner?”

The blonde shut his mouth immediately, looking the other in the eye without blinking. He considered every possibility and outcome thoroughly and started to nod furiously. “Yes, I would love that very much!”

Satisfied with herself, Saana produced one of those fantastic, bright smiles. “It’s a date then. You pick the restaurant.”

Now it was Erik’s turn to get flushed. A date-a date-a date- adate . He felt his mouth open, but the sound didn’t come out. He was shocked. “A date?”

Saana smirked at him. “You didn’t think that I would invite you to steal food from Adriano and eat it surrounded by the others, right? So it’s a date. If you want it to be a date too!”

Erik looked at her, and started to nod furiously yet again. “Yes, I would love that very much!”

The woman next to him laughed again, and turning towards Erik she waited patiently until the man’s head cleared out just enough to start one of the Kabul stories. He didn’t plan this to be so easy, but he was undoubtedly happy with the sudden turn of events.

The next day, they accidentally stayed at the restaurant talking and exchanging stories for so long, the main chef needed to warn them that they were about to close. Erik knew he would remember that day until the end of his times.

During the dinner, Saana mentioned that she never visited a planetarium, and Erik discovered that despite his undying love for space, he neither set foot into one before. With that, their second date was decided.

They spend the third date in one of Maxim’s hunting huts, eating cereal out straight out of the bag, talking about their life in the army. Erik asked what was the worst thing that happened to Saana, and in exchange, he told her about the day he disappeared. He felt insecure at first, talking about his biggest shame, but Saana just lied there next to him, in the dirt, and listened to his every word without a single word of judgement. When he finished, the woman propped herself up on her elbow, and touching his face gently, she kissed him. It was the best date of all his life, and he already knew that he wanted more. He wanted it all.

For the fourth date, Erik planned a trip for them to Arthur’s Stone, which was just about 20 kms away from Hereford. When they began their journey in the morning, the sky was clear, the sun shining bright, but in a few hours the weather turned upside down, bringing an earth shaking summer storm with it. They were in the middle of nowhere when it hit, and both of them were soaking wet in just a few minutes. He was so angry and disappointed, he could shout. He knew that there was a National park near the Stone, and Saana loved forests, yet they were stuck on a plain field, drowning in mud.

When he opened his mouth to say his apology to Saana, the woman just hugged his neck and gave him a kiss, getting him even more wet, than he was before. She then smiled at him, with that amazing, bright smile of hers and pointed at a barn in the distance. “I bet, you can’t outrun me, Erik!”

She let go of him, starting her race towards the destination, and with that Erik’s anger was gone.

They spent the night in the barn, accompanied by a few horses, cuddled close to keep each other warm, talking about the places they wanted to visit. Until this point both of them planned for only themselves, but soon, their separated trips merged into shared ones. Saana - with all honesty - told him that even though she would never want to leave Erik behind, there were still a few places , like Antarctica, where she wanted to go alone. Understanding what this meant to Saana, Erik obviously accepted her decision, and asked if he could wait for her at the end points of those trips.

With sparkling eyes, Saana put her head on his shoulder, caressing his cheeks with her gentle fingers. “Yes, I would love that very much,” she whispered.

Erik smiled at him, and hugged her close, planting his face into her naked shoulders. “I will wave you goodbye, and I will greet you again, after the 50 days.”

Saana chuckled. “You mean 52 days. The first guy who crossed Antarctica on foot took 52 days.”

With a smile, Erik looked at her. “Saana, I think both of us know that you will never be satisfied with a second place.”

Laughing, the woman nodded, giving him a kiss yet again. “I guess you are right!”

Erik placed a kiss on top of her forehead and hugging her waist closer, he closed his eyes. During that night, in a shitty barn, surrounded by horses, cuddling naked next to one other, Erik found his deep slumber again, just like back at the oasis.

The next morning, he thought it was just one occasion. He was most surprised when, during their fifth date, he fell asleep just as easily as the last time, with Saana pressed against his back, hugging his waist.

They had spent the day in a small Welsh village, exploring the history of it together, then they had dinner in a fantastic little restaurant, and arriving back to their hotel room, they spent the next hours making love to each other. He planned all these outcomes, but he was sure, he won’t be able to sleep, so waking up in the morning, to Saana’s ice-cold feet pressing against his upper thighs, was both a pleasant and an unpleasant surprise. He opened his eyes with a loud yelp, and when he turned to the woman, she just smiled at him innocently. “What happened darling? A bug bit you?”

He wanted to make a smart remark, but before he could open his mouth, he decided to look the woman up and down. Her hair was messy, her eyes sparkled, she was covered in the soft sheets of the hotel, and he knew his future was next to her. So instead of commenting on her being a mountain troll, he gently cupped Saana’s face in between his hands, and gave him a soft kiss. Giggling, she hugged his neck and pulled him closer. As they parted, he pressed his forehead to the woman’s, eyes closed, caressing her arm and that was it. He never looked back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly their relationship got stronger and stronger, and they spent more and more time together. Erik found true rest only with Saana sleeping next to him, and couldn’t have been more grateful for it. It was clear as day that they were happy together, and as he discovered more about Saana, he fell deeper into the pit.

It wasn’t easy all the time, there were days, even weeks, when both of them were stressed from work, and he started to see how Saana - despite being a goddess in his eyes - was just as human as him. She was messy, she spent way too much time working, and when she was stressed she sometimes took it out on him. He soon understood her struggles with always trying to be the best and that she often forgot that she could count on him as well.

To his greatest surprise, the biggest discovery was that he didn’t mind any of this. He wanted to be there for Saana, even if his only job was to make her a tea and cover her in a blanket, when she worked. He never asked her to change, and just as easily as he did, Saana accepted his own strange bits as well. She was by her side, when he was angry, when he was broken, when he was weak, always holding him together with all the love she could give.

Both of them listened when the other needed them to, and they knew how to help. They were not afraid to ask for help and let the other close, because both of them knew that they were just meant for each other, and that after the storm, there will always be able to see the clear skies again.

Their days together turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, and they never stopped to love and support each other.

Erik was there, when Saana was shot during a mission, sitting sleepless next to her hospital bed until she woke up. She was by his side, when his father got sick, holding his broken pieces together, shielding him from the world. And, as he promised, he was the last one waving goodbye when Saana started her journey across Antarctica, and he was the first to greet her by the goalline.

When Saana was not next to him, because she was on a mission alone, he tended to go back to his old habits of lying in their empty bed, thinking about his previous life. He got himself remembering his childhood, the early years of the military practice, Kabul, his two years long runaway, and that first date with Saana. He found himself smiling, because after all, every struggle he ever had was worth it in the end. He was happy, he loved like never before, and he was loved just the same.

He sometimes got himself thinking that what if it will be over one day? What if, Saana will get to her sober senses and just leave him behind. He wouldn’t blame her, he was not a Prince Charming on a white horse. He wasn’t rich, he wasn’t perfect, he still didn’t know how to say her mother’s name correctly, and he always left the toilet seat up. To his luck, Saana didn’t care about any of these, and she was not afraid to tell that to him over and over again, if she saw he needed it.

Saana had an inhuman sense to read his mood, even when he turned inwards. She always knew what he needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For example, now, on the evening of the 6th of May, mere minutes before midnight, just as his insecurities were about to rise in him about their wedding tomorrow, Saana sensed his distress and waking from her sleep, she placed her hand on the sides of his face. “You are not sleeping, my love,” she whispered.

With a low chuckle, he pressed a kiss in her palm. “Yes, but you can rest, I’m all good.”

Saana yawned and fidgeting, she rolled him over gently to be able to press against his cooler back with her chest. She hugged his waist, pushing her warm cheeks against his skin. “You are not, I can tell. Let me guess… You are afraid that my father will not accept you in our family. You are sad, because your dad can’t be with us tomorrow. And you are thinking that after eight damn years of strong and stable relationship, I still deserve more than what you are able to give me.”

Erik bit into his lips, listening to Saana with a wide grin on his face. “You know me.”

“Of course I know you. And I know that my father will love to have you as his son-in-law. I also know that even if your dad will not be able to be here physically, he will be looking down at us from Heaven and he will be pretty damn proud about your sexy little wife. And for the last part- Erik, I know you love me, you keep telling me every day. Not with your words, but with your actions. For example how after eight years, you still bring my morning coffee to bed in my favourite mug. How you only fill the rows of the newspaper crosswords I have no idea about but leave the rest for me because you know that I love them. How you suppress your muffled screaming every time, I press my cold feet against your skin… These are small and insignificant to you Erik, I know! Trust me, I know! But I also know that I would never want to press my feet against anybody else. I will press them against your skin for the rest of our lives, and if you have any complaints, I don’t care!”

Erik closed his eyes, listening to Saana, biting the inside of his mouth to hide a soft sniffle. He lifted one of the woman’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Have I ever told you about the Oasis in the Desert of Death?” he whispered.

He felt Saana’s lips pulling into a small smile against his back. “Only a few hundred times, why?”

“Because you are just like that Oasis.”

At that, Saana propped in her elbow to get a better look at his face. “Elaborate, please, my love.”

Erik looked up at her, with a soft smile on his face. “When I arrived at that oasis, I was nothing more, but a broken man. I was depressed and weak, I was barely able to stand. I just realised how big of a fool I was for running, how wrong I was. I collapsed on the sand ready to die, but by that oasis I found a piece of myself I lost during the years. I was just lying there, looking up at the sky, and I suddenly felt light and calm. By the water, I realised everything I did wrong, and the ways to fix it. That oasis gave me new life, and you are just the same. You are always there to help me, always there to catch me, always there to remind me why I want to keep going on. You bring me peace and rest, and for that, I love you more than I have ever loved anybody else. You are my present and you are my future.”

Now it was Saana’s turn to hide a sniffle. She rubbed her nose, and took a deep breath glancing away. After a few minutes of silence, Saana looked back at him and clearing her throat, she smirked. “If this is not your goddamn wedding vow for tomorrow, I’m going to be very disappointed!”

Laughing burst out of Erik, as he hugged Saana close to himself, pressing soft kisses on her neck and skin. Shaking with laughter as well, Saana hugged his neck and pulled him into a deep, loving kiss. Parting, she placed her hand on Erik’s face and smiled at him. “I love you so much Erik Thorn. I would not give you up for anybody or anything. You are mine, and I’m yours. And nothing can change it.”

The man looked up at her, eyes sparking with love and hope, and after a gentle kiss, he hugged Saana close to himself. They fell asleep, holding onto each other like they usually did, and that was it. That was true happiness.

[something-tofightfor]

I would like to know what Logan's most prized possession is (let's use HCTS Logan), if Ryan ever played any sports, what is Caspian's favorite book about (and what does reader think of his choice?), and what Billy's most embarrassing moment was. And I wish you well on your laundry quest.

OH MY GOD THESE WERE SO DAMN FUN. 

(Under a cut because it got long)

Logan’s most prized possession… you might think it’s one of his many pieces of artwork (Right, @its-my-little-dumpster-fire?) … but it’s not. His most prized possession is a picture of him, Juliet and his mother from when Logan was eight.

Jim’s in it, too, but he’s not the focal point of the image - he’s off in the background, on the phone. The three of them are sitting on a deck chair in their back yard; his mom’s wearing a white cover-up and a giant, floppy sun hat, seven year old Juliet’s sitting on the left side of her blue bathing suit, wide open and cheeks scrunched up in a smile as she stares at her brother, and Logan’s on his mom’s  lap, in a pair of batman swim trunks and a huge grin on his face. He’s got the same smile as his mom - same eyes too, and when he looks at himself - skin a little browned from the hours that he and Juliet spent by the pool, freckles visible on his nose and chest, his hair curling around his ears and falling over his forehead, he remembers how simple his life used to be - how happy he was, what it felt like to be loved unconditionally. (He knows again because of you, but… there were a lot of years in-between when this picture was the only thing he had to pull him out of his own head).  

The picture is his most prized possession because it shows him that it wasn’t anything that he did per se to turn Jim away; it was always like that, Jim thought work was more important than family… but he had one supportive parent, one sibling that loved him, one reason to fight. He fought for himself, sure, because he wanted to prove that he wasn’t lying, that he deserved Delos and all of the things that he worked hard for… but he fought for Juliet, too - for that little girl that looked at her brother like he had all the answers, was the only thing she could see.  

 And Logan fought hard.  

 *** 

Ryan and sports… he’s never been on a team - even as a kid, because his mom didn’t want her tall, skinny kid to get hurt… But as a teen and adult, Ryan has found himself playing sports more and more. He’s athletic - has to be, to jump the trains, to keep his breathing even and his body from getting too thin while he’s sleeping on the ground and not living an otherwise “healthy” lifestyle, so whenever he can, Ryan enjoys playing team sports, just to keep himself in shape. 

He’s not particularly fast, but he’s strong, and Ryan can throw a ball like nobody’s business. He and Cowboy would join baseball games in parks whenever they could starting in Ryan’s late teens; he knows how to throw four different pitches well - two different kinds of fastballs (a cutter and a two seam), a curveball and a changeup - and his top speed, which he tested at a state fair in Iowa one summer, and was able to hit two out of three times - was 86.  

He practices - not with ball or anything like that, but sometimes with rocks or pieces of coal he finds on the trains, while they’re speeding through the night, even though they’re not the same weight or size as a baseball. He won’t play a sport that could result in him hurting his hands, so hockey and football are out. He likes to swim, but doesn’t get to as often as he wishes he could.  

 ***

Caspian is an avid reader. When he said that the library was his favorite place, it’s not just because it gave him a place to hide from the responsibilities of being a King and being responsible for literally all of Narnia… he likes learning, too.

 Caspian’s one of the people that enjoys hands on experience because he feels that it helps him to learn and to grow as a person - but he knows that he’s not going to be able to experience everything the world has to offer, no matter how much time he spends on the Dawn Treader or traveling with his men and/or his bride … so he has to rely on books. But his favorite book isn’t an educational book, not like you’d think: Caspian’s favorite book is one of Narnian myths and fables… because he knows all too well that just because something can’t be seen or hasn’t been experienced by the masses, that doesn’t make it impossible.  

He found the book hidden in the library when he was ten or eleven, after a particularly hard lesson by his teacher that resulted in an assignment for Caspian to write a paper on the two most common types of currency, and Caspian was hooked from the moment he pulled the hard-backed volume from a shelf. It had been filed incorrectly; the library custodian was very lazy, but that worked out well for the young Prince.  

He flipped the pages open, front and back covers held tightly in his hands, drawn in by the image of the golden lion on the spine and within only a few moments, his paper was forgotten and Caspian lost himself in long-forgotten stories and legends. He read the book from cover to cover in one sitting, no one coming in to tell him to go to sleep, and the next afternoon, Caspian had taken the book to his teacher, excited and wanting to know if any of the stories could possibly be true… and that was his introduction to the Kings and Queens of Old, of the White Witch, of Narnia’s true history … and of so much more.  

And as for you? You love that Caspian’s beliefs in magic and the possibilities of other places and other people began from a young age. You love that he can tell you stories of his own - and that they align with the things you’ve read, the things that you’ve been told are impossible … that makes them much better. You appreciate the fact that even as King, Caspian won’t ever brush off something that he doesn’t understand just because he’s never experienced it. The two of you have lots of places to go and things to learn together, and you know that with his experience, Caspian will be there every step of the way… and it’ll be your turn to learn something instead of being the one to teach it.  

 *** 

Billy has a lot of embarrassing moments, but he uses them as learning experiences whenever possible. The failed loss of virginity to his teenage girlfriend is one of them, but he knows now that that was just because he was a dumb kid and he was overeager (and he’s never had the same problem with a woman since). 

But another one?  Billy knew that as soon as he turned sixteen, he wanted to get his license, even though he didn’t own a car and didn’t know when he would be able to get one. He wanted to have one just so he had it, so he could pull out his driver’s license and show it off to the girls. So he saved up the money that he earned from recycling cans and bottles and from delivering newspapers, and from helping one of the elderly women that lived near the group home with household chores. 

Mrs. Natkins was actually the woman that took him to the DMV, helped him fill in his information, and quizzed him on his driver’s ed manual. Billy passed the written test in the fewest number of questions possible. He got his learner’s permit on his first try, and was patient when it came to practicing (again, Mrs. Natkins helped him out here, as did another neighbor - a slightly younger woman that was also teaching her daughter Cami how to drive) and even though Billy was a little shit and a typical teenage boy, he wanted his license, so he studied hard.  

But the embarrassing part? When the allotted time had passed and Billy completed his pre-test, taking the driver’s ed course in his high school classes, he went ON THE FIRST DAY HE COULD to take his road test. Mrs. Natkins took him, because she saw how excited he’d been to get his license and how hard he’d worked… Billy stayed in his lane. Billy kept his speed where it needed to be, and he signaled when appropriate. Billy did everything properly except parallel park. Things were going great up until he went to put the car in park, perfectly in between the two other cars… and then he got overexcited, jerked the wheel and took his foot off the brake before he could get it into park… and hit the curb.  

The instructor, regretfully, failed him. Even though it wasn’t a huge thing, it stuck with him - and told Billy that no matter how hard he worked, how well he did something, it isn’t over til it’s over… and while it was an embarrassing thing, having to tell people that he’d failed for such a dumb thing, he didn’t let it deter him from practiciing more and more so that he was sure to pass the next time he took the test … and he passed. Years later, Billy’s parallel parking skills are unmatched - precise, smooth - He could park the Wraith in a too small space with his eyes closed if he needed to… and he did - often.

[scaryscarecrows]

Little Town (It's a Nosy Village)

Note: they're both babies (well, y'know, KIND OF) so Kitty's a little more reckless and Jonathan's accent is still very much a thing.

Jonathan privately considers Arlen to be the birthplace of every ‘small southern town’ stereotype. They’re spread out, but everybody knows everybody’s business, you go to church or else, and outsiders are welcomed in with wide smiles and gossiped about with wide eyes.

Well. Mostly. To a point. They’ve got their black side, and it’s larger than one would suppose, given the size of the place. Lobotomies happen-the last one he’s aware of took place when he was twelve. Too much of an outsider? You’ll be run out. Nothing so blatant as burning crosses or anything, just…social ostracization is a funny thing.

Why in the world the Richardsons moved here, of all places, is a mystery. They’re not churchgoers (Granny was horrified that her nearest neighbors were heathens), they’re not here for the farming opportunities (such as they are)…why.

He asked, once, out of genuine curiosity. It’s hot, it’s sunny, it’s so…small-town…it has no attraction whatsoever. Apparently Mr. Richardson was writing a book set in the area and wanted the peace. Jonathan doubts that-he was a government worker, for crying out loud-but he let it go. Selfishly, he’s glad. Their presence has granted him with what he hesitantly has dubbed a friend.

Kitty Richardson is five foot nothing of big eyes and freckles and giggling that he doesn’t try to understand. She is also, he has decided, fueled by sugar and Short Person Rage. Seriously, it’s the easiest thing in the world to tick her off. All one has to do is use her as an armrest.

Not that he would do that sort of thing, of course.

He’s read a couple of books involving multi-gendered friendships, and apart from the ridiculousness of ‘everybody decides to date at the end’, they also make the error of ‘good girl, idiot boy’.

This is a complete lie, and if he ever writes a book like that, he’s pointing that out. Kitty is always the one getting them into things. ‘Haunted bridge? Come on, let’s sneak out.’ ‘The fuck did you say about my chest, football player twice my height?’

No one believes him, because she’s tiny and because she’s very, very good at looking innocent and what-do-you-mean-I-didn’t-break-his-nose. Maybe he’s biased, but he thinks she could get away with murder, if she tried hard enough.

“Jonathan?” He blinks and looks down. “You okay?”

FINE FINE EVERYTHING’S FINE NO REASON TO DO SOMETHING STUPID.

“Just tired. Rain kept me up.” She doesn’t look convinced and he’s quick to run damage control. “I don’t think it’s rained like that since y’all moved in.”

He inwardly curses at the slip, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Good.

“Oh, good, so it doesn’t always rain like that.”

“We do get tornadoes.”

“What?” That was a squeak, and that was hilarious. “Tell me you’re joking. Please tell me you’re trying to see how much I’ll believe you.”

“No, we really do get tornadoes sometimes. Nothing awful, but…”

She stares at him in horror.

“I’m going to die.”

He nudges that mental image aside and crams the last of his books into his backpack. There. All set for the weekend, with a bit of light reading to do besides. If he gets any time, and if Granny doesn’t rifle through his backpack again.

He really, really hopes he doesn’t have to spend another night out There.

“Yeah, they might have to get you out of a tree.”

“I hate heights!”

“I really doubt you’d be conscious for that bit.” Or alive and he’d like to change the subject now, thanks. “Come on, a tree blew down last night, we have to take the long way home.”

The ground is squishy under their shoes, even after a whole day of sunshine. He wasn’t so lucky as to have the chapel catch fire, but the Higginson’s barn did-they barely managed to save the horse. Jonathan’s glad, on the horse’s behalf-it’s not her fault the owners are idiots.

And burning to death sounds like a horrible way to go.

They have to pass by the property on this route, and he can see the truck’s gone-probably into town proper for nails or somethin’. It could have been worse, as far as he can tell-the roof’s had, but the walls are still standing.

Kitty draws a sucker from her backpack, unwraps it, and waves it in front of him.

“Lick?”

“No, thank you.”

“Scared of cooties*?”

“Cooties are for children.” He leans back, spine cracking. “So are those, for that matter.”

“Only if you go to church.” she says innocently, pursing her lips around one side of it. It takes him a minute to realize what she’s implying and that mental image is going to be a bitch to get rid of. Thanks a lot.

“Kitty-!”

She cackles and promptly chokes. Serves her right.

The horse trots up to the fence. She looks none the worse for wear and she doesn’t shy back when he puts his hand out.

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“Probably not.” he says absently, letting her blow on his palm before leaning over to pat her neck. “Hey there, big girl, you have a rough night?”

She snorts and shifts obligingly so she’s parallel to the fence. Kitty takes a step back.

“Does she bite?”

“Not if you’re careful. Want to pet her?”

She eyes the horse, clearly a little nervous, and finally nods before rewrapping her sucker and sticking it in her back pocket.

“If she bites me, I’m blaming you.”

He grins-this old nag hardly snaps at flies, in all reality-and motions her over. The horse turns her head, mildly interested in the new small creature in the road.

“Put your hand up like this, nice and flat…easy there, big girl, we’re not gonna hurt you…”

The horse bends her head down and nudges Kitty’s palm. Kitty giggles, more of a surprised sound than anything.

“That tickles!”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s, uh…really big.”

“You’re very small.” he points out. She shoots him a dirty look. “I’m just saying.”

The mare finally draws her head back and bends down, cropping the grass at the base of the fence. Kitty pops her sucker back in her mouth and looks at her.

“Does she have a name?”

“No idea.” He shifts his backpack to his other shoulder and leans over to pat her neck again. “Good girl.” There’s the sound of the Higginson’s truck-a rattling thing that’s held together through duct tape and prayer-and he steps back. “We should go. They’re…they don’t like me too much.”

“Does anyone?”

“No.”

She loops her arm through his and he wonders why.

“That’s not true.”

“Mm.” No, seriously, why are they now connected. “If you say so.”

“My mum likes you. She says you’re a good influence.” That’s a first, and he’ll be smug about it once he solves the riddle of Why Is She Touching Him. “And I like you, even if you are a goddamn telephone pole.”

Well, that’s nice-wait what he’s very confused.

Also, she’s still touching him and yes it’s nice but there’s no logical reason for it. Books did not prepare him for this. Help.

“Wait. How does she like me? I haven’t met her yet.”

“I’ve told her things.”

Oh god. Like what? What sort of things do normal people tell their guardians about their friends?

He’s doomed.

* * *

He’s not doomed, as it turns out. Mrs. Richardson is a plump woman, a little taller than Kitty (not hard), who practically wrestles him to the dining room table and informs him that he will eat something of his own violation or she will bring out the feeding tube.

“Mu-um-”

“You didn’t tell me this!”

“I did, stop scaring him!”

This has never happened to him before. It’s confusing and he’s starting to wonder if he hit his head or something.

“Oh, Kitty, don’t be dramatic. What do you want to drink, sweetie?”

“Uh, just water, I think-”

“You’re sure? It’s no trouble-”

No. He needs control over this situation.

“No, water’d be fine. Please.” She eyes him as though he might sprout an extra head, but brings him a glass of ice water all the same. “Th-thank you, Ma’am.”

“Don’t you Ma’am me. Mary is fine.”

That goes against everything he knows and it’s just not going to work out. Sorry, Ma’am.

“Mu-um…”

“All right, all right. Behave.”

And with that, she leaves the room and he’s left to wonder what just happened. He thinks he might have just been Mothered, and he’s not sure how to feel about it.

“Mum’s…used to getting her own way.”

Well. He can see where she gets it, then.

He nods, a little overwhelmed, and takes a sip of his water. It’s…nice…in here. Warm. Things aren’t falling apart and his usual where’s Granny and how mad do her footsteps sound senses are quiet.

“Are you eating anything?”

“Motherrrr!”

“I don’t hear chewing!”

Kitty buries her face in her hands and groans, “My god, she’s embarrassing.”

Lest she really have a feeding tube tucked away somewhere, he takes a cookie from the plate. It looks okay. It’s still a little warm between his fingers, even.

Kitty hooks an ankle around a free chair and drags it over to use as a footrest.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a feeding tube.”

“Pretty sure?” The cookie’s not bad, and he’s relieved to find that it is indeed chocolate chip rather than deceitful bastard, raisin. “That’s…alarming.”

“She was a nurse. We may or may not have some things she borrowed from the hospital upstairs. In case of emergencies.”

“Feeding tube?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

Better be safe than sorry. He reaches for another cookie.

“I expect those cookies gone!” comes a shout from the other room. “Is that clear?”

“Watch your crap telly and stop trying to force-feed him from the living room!”

“Don’t make me come in there!”

That’s it. He knows what’s happened. Either he’s dead, or he’s dying and this is some strange dream.

“We’re eating, Mrs. Richardson.” There. Maybe that’ll placate her.

“Mary!”

Kitty plunks her head onto the table and reaches blindly for the plate.

“Kill me now.”

 *Kitty would more likely use the term dreaded lurgi, but we’ll say she picked up the ‘cooties’ term recently (because the comedic flow would be jarred otherwise, so sue me).

[crimethinc]

Between the Sun and the Sea: Icarus at 12th and L–A Voice from the J20 Black Bloc and Kettle on the Practice of Anarchy

Several blocks before the L & 12th Street intersection, I was already feeling that the march had run its course. At each cross street, we met a line of police, sirens blaring. A few brave souls still managed to fell some final windows on the periphery. Yet while the Bank of America windows had crashed in triumphant cacophony, these windows struck the pavement with an urgency that reflected our increasingly dire situation. We had no destination, no end goal. It felt as though we were running solely to evade police. I knew that it was time to break from the group, yet I still held a kind of separation anxiety.

Leaving has always been hard for me. Dispersing consistently feels liken a haphazardly unthought-out ending tacked onto an otherwise compelling novel. A novel that begins with, “Collectively, anything is possible—you can do whatever you’d like” and ends with, “Everyone goes their own way and pretends to be normal.” Leaving the bloc means leaving the safety of a powerful mass of people, often to wander the streets immediately adjacent to crime scenes, alone, with police looking to single out suspects. There was a rumor circulating that, given their history with lawsuits, the DC police would be unlikely to mass arrest. This false prediction spelled doom for us unlucky rioters, as the police did just that. It was with these thoughts circling my head, alongside memories of past dispersals gone awry, that I decided to stay with the march.

I was with a few friends. We stayed together. We kept track of each other. As the march shrunk in size, we paired off and prepared to jettison ourselves from the bloc. We turned to face an alleyway on L Street between 13th and 12th. I knew very well that this could be my chance to safely exit the march. My friends bolted down the alleyway, not knowing what lay the next street over. For a moment, I thought to follow suit, but decided that too many of us in one place might attract police attention. A few minutes later, I was trapped between a wall and a riot shield. Facing the corridor that had offered safe passage just moments earlier to anyone brave enough to step down its halls, I contemplated the hesitation that had led me to this fate. If there’s anything I can say from my experience being pinned against that wall, it is that a split second of intuition in the street is worth more than weeks of prior planning.

The kettle was where I made my biggest mistake. It was there, and the moments just before, that I put almost no effort into escaping. The police had us sardined together so tightly that I gravely underestimated our collective potential within the kettle. I thought that I was about to be arrested with at most seventy people, less than a third of our actual numbers. I was primarily among strangers. In my heart, I felt that I would participate in a second attempt to charge the police line. It was my fear of being cast as a leader, in a film produced by live-streamers and on-duty officers, that kept me from voicing my intent. Yet if there was any time to risk collective trust and courage, it was there, where we were most vulnerable.

There was larger reason I was compliant in my own captivity. I felt myself above persecution. There are two reasons why one would go willingly to their arrest. The first, they think that they haven’t committed any crime. The second, that they committed a crime so flawlessly that they could not possibly be convicted of it. Both of these presumptions involve a false sense of security; neither save you from prosecution. Though I did not delude myself with the pretense that I had performed a perfect execution of black bloc tactics, I considered myself “high-hanging fruit.” I was counting on the prosecution to be lazy, to lack the funding or time to convict me. When I was in the kettle, I was convinced that I wouldn’t actually be arrested. At worst, I would be charged with a misdemeanor, slapped on the wrist, and eventually end up with a check from a class action lawsuit. Instead, I had to navigate the next year and a half with looming felonies.

I had not come to DC innocently. I knew the risk, the potential repercussions. I chose to look them in the face. The pepper spray and stun grenades were terrifying, but not unexpected. In some ways, they heightened my senses and fortified my convictions. My heart races when I look back on the march—but not from trauma, nor from anxiety. It drums in vigorous reverie, recounts the last time it beat with purpose.

Over the following year, I was forced to tame my heart. In court, I stilled my breathing, attempted to hide my guilt. I kept a caged life. The legal procedure left me fraught with anxiety. I clung to the safety and certainty of routine. I denied every passion, every risk, in hopes that I would be able to convince a jury that I was simply not the adventurous type. My heart sat and sulked. I came to learn that, as a friend so elegantly put it, “The process is the punishment.”

Felonies change things. I catch glimpses of understanding in the eyes of my friends who have faced prosecution to this degree. One of the beauties of black bloc is that I might be anyone under this mask; a restaurant server, a designer, a nurse. Once donned, the mask allowed me to act in ways a nurse can only dream.

To be unmasked is to be held in purgatory between selves. I was no longer the person I was in the streets, yet I could not return to being who I had been just days earlier. At its core, the bloc hinges on the moment when we shed our black clothes and return to normalcy. While there have been times where I’ve de-bloc’ed with a profoundly different understanding of the world, I was still banking on returning to work with only one less sick day. As time passed after J20 and my charges remained, I realized there was a possibility that I might never return to being the person I had been before my arrest.

During the interim awaiting trial, I chose a course of action that seems common among anarchist pending-felons. I applied to college.

For me, college was an attempt to regain some agency in two different ways. In one way, I was trying to influence my potential sentencing. If I could convince a judge that I was an upstanding citizen, then he or she might be a little more lenient in punishing me. Going to college was also an attempt to salvage my future, a future I felt was starting to escape my grasp.

At the time I was arrested, I did not consider myself to have a clear vision of the future. Yet in the wake of my arrest, all successful futures seemed out of reach. Success felt like a mirage, shimmering, hazy, always on the horizon. My case continued and evidence mounted against me. I scrambled to claim any sort of successful future I could before a conviction made one unobtainable. I raced towards the horizon without drawing any closer to it, meeting the same scene in every direction. My charges sent me spiraling and forced me to examine my feelings of helplessness.

When I did so, I realized that all along, I had held within me a concrete image of success after all. It was not the unimaginable utopia I had believed myself to be pursuing. On the contrary, it was all too familiar; I had simply kept it intentionally obscured from myself. When I honestly consulted myself about what constituted my image of a successful future, what I found was indistinguishable from the world I already knew—only in the future I had been imagining, I had a little more money, a better presence on social media. I had been so disgusted by this vision that I had I banished it to the horizon of my mind.

The anarchist canon has changed dramatically over the past decade. Today, we are not as steeped in subculture. Our politics rely a lot less on consumer choices. We’ve come a long way from the cornerstone pieces of the early 2000s. Early CrimethInc. texts took the Situationist exhortation “Never Work—Ever” literally, proposing a sort of exodus that often looked more like voluntary exile; today, as work becomes more and more a part of our social as well as professional lives, the proposal seems unthinkably absurd. We have largely escaped the cultural pitfalls of the punk scene, expanded our access to funding for our projects, even created our own platforms so that anarchist ideas can proliferate. Along with these conscious efforts to grow and develop nuance with age, for me, something has shifted silently in the background.

I gave up my resistance to work—even took up office at some of the same companies I believed were bringing about an apocalyptic nightmare. I closed my eyes, clicked my heels, and repeated “There is no ethical consumption under capitalism.” I justified my increasingly indiscriminate use of money, sought to tally up my influence on the world. I became obsessed with power, quantifiable power. I searched for any sign that the anarchist movement was gaining traction, that one day way we could finally make “The Switch.” My measurements for success had paralleled social norms; now they began to overlap with them. Soon Anarchy was just something I believed in. Aside from sharing meals and resources among friends, it was not something I practiced.

To some, the black bloc is a tactic, a means to an end. For me, having lived through a myriad of outcomes, black bloc is a practice. Black blocs are a practice in timing: when to return teargas to the police, when to leave an intersection, when to smash windows, when to disperse. As in all practice, some days are better than others. To be in bloc is to experience what can be possible when the laws that typically govern us are momentarily superseded and how to act when our adversaries try to reassert them. When we participate in black blocs, we are attempting to learn the balance between exercising an otherwise impossible freedom, at the cost of our safety, and maintaining a modicum of safety so that we can continue to act freely.

Every night as I mulled over my legal predicament, I would ask myself the same questions. “Are black blocs a pertinent part of the way we do Anarchy today? Are they just hollow tradition from a bygone era? Are they worth risking the world you inhabit daily for a fleeting experience, however ecstatic?” I think of my friends who are a little older than I, who have better jobs, who were noticeably absent from the march on January 20. For many people, their little ration of worldly success is not worth the risk.

When I look back to the texts that inspired me as I was coming of age in radical politics, I trace a common thread binding them. Travel logs, accounts of underground healthcare, epics of animal liberation—at their core, all of them conveyed the same story. They told that There is a Secret World Concealed Within This One; a world that I had long since forgotten. The once-common anarchist saying “Another world is possible” is no longer spoken between friends. It is not overlaid on images of riots, nor commonly held as an anarchist truth. I mourn it’s absence. There are those who would say there is no life outside of capitalism, that we are bound to this world by birth. Only recently has the premise emerged that being born into a position invalidates your ability to transcend it.

The truth is that we alone are the visionaries of our success. We define our values, sculpt our objects of beauty. If we build from the blueprints of power and safety laid out in this world, then we will make more of the same. But I believe that we are capable of breaching the precedents of modern life. We can imagine less abhorrent futures, create lives worth living—but to do so, we must abandon the worldly successes we seek for validation. If we want to continue to experience the transcendental, unbridled ecstasy of black blocs, the practice of anarchy and experimentation, then we must create and maintain worlds in which the consequences of a felony rioting conviction are not so dire—worlds worth leaving this one to get to. Another world is not only possible, it is waiting for us. We must believe in our ability to reach it so we can find the strength to depart. We have to let go of our attachments and truly believe that we are capable of taking flight.

In the kettle at 12th and L Street, I felt like a young Icarus, hurtling towards the sun, only to plummet into the sea. All exercises in freedom have these risks. To those who dare to soar, may we also learn to swim, and never fear the consequences of singed wings.

Despite its abrupt end and unfortunate outcome, the march on January 20, 2017 was one of the most inspiring, vitalizing moments of my life. Despite its obvious challenges, I am thankful that facing charges has given me time to reflect. Let me take a moment here to explicitly state, with a clear mind and certain heart, that—having eluded conviction—I would 100% do it again no questions asked. I hope someday to share an experience of elation similar to that of J20 with the readers of this piece. If and when that day comes, may we both avoid arrest and get off scot-free.

With love,

a CrimethInc. ex-defendant

[stateofgrace-acoustic]

Why Speak Now is a lyrical masterpiece: an essay.

//it’s here!! i really wrote a 6000 word essay on Speak Now. yep, I’m a nerd and also slightly crazy. have been working on it for the last two weeks. i am really proud of this and i’m excited to share it, even if not many people read it. 

Special thanks to @bridgesburn-i-neverlearn who encouraged me to write this and also is an angel in general. Thank you for being excited about it as much as I am - I hope you enjoy! //

Speak Now is a fan favorite among Taylor Swift’s albums, even though it has always been painfully overlooked in the mainstream. It is undoubtedly amazing on more than just one level - musically, it is diverse, uniting not only country and pop but bringing rock into the mix as well; the songs are confessional, heartfelt, each one telling a different unique story. They feel almost theatrical at times, which the Speak Now tour with its musical appeal - the elaborate stage design, background dancers, and dramatic performances incorporated into the songs - capitalized on in captivating fashion.

What has made me fall in love with this album most of all, though, has always been its storytelling - and I’m sure most fans will agree with me here. In this essay I want to highlight what I believe to be a central reason behind the charm of Speak Now: its thematic cohesion, exploring the intricacies of confessions through songwriting, and of speaking - or not speaking - in the right moment. I will go through the songs on the album looking for these thematic ties, while highlighting what makes each song special in my eyes, pointing out subtle subversions and added subtext that make the songs more complex than they might seem on the surface. I’ll argue that these little subversions are what situate Speak Now in an in-between stage between naivety and maturity - between idealism and realism. It is this space of being in-between, on not quite having arrived at a specific point, but trying to make sense of the world through storytelling, that make the album so compelling. 

Taylor talked about the central idea behind Speak Now being confessions. ‘Each song is a different confession to a person.’, she stated before the album came out. ‘In the past two years, I’ve experienced a lot of things that I’ve been dying to write about. A lot of things I wanted to say in the moment that I didn’t.’* In the album prologue, she mentions specific, crucial moments where the decision between speaking or not speaking up can make or break a situation - situations in which she could have spoken up, but didn’t, and so she wrote songs about them. Songs that are, by nature, retrospective - confessions kept past the time that they should have been said, emotions bottled up from the moment they were felt. And retrospection always has something wistful about it, the knowledge of not being able to turn back time, even if your reflections may have made you wiser in time. 

This idea is central in Back to December, an apology to a lover she mistakenly let go. The progression of the relationship, but also her different states of mind associated with it, are symbolized by the different seasons - starting off light and sweet with ‘then i think about summer, all the beautiful times’, turning to the realization of love in fall, until ‘the cold came, the dark days when fear crept into my mind’. Here she directly references her fear keeping her from holding onto the relationship. Now, the constant urge to relive the mistakes she made keeps her from moving on: ‘staying up, playing back myself leaving’. But she pushes the message of the song further than regret and apology - she knows that, as much as she would want to, she can never ‘go back in time and change it’, and as much as she loves daydreaming about it, that will never make it real. With that in mind, she tells him, ‘so if the chain is on your door, I understand’. She accepts that her apology might not be enough, that she might not be forgiven; she knows she needs to make her peace with that. This sense of acceptance not only shows maturity, but gives the song an undercurrent of sincerity; otherwise it could have been perceived as manipulative, an apology constructed to win back someone’s heart. Instead, it expresses an earnest sense of regret, and at the same time, the heartbreaking realization that regret is not always enough, and fixing the past is something beyond our control. 

The pain of reflections bringing back detailed memories of something that is forever lost is also a central focus on Last Kiss. One of Taylor’s biggest strengths in her songwriting is her focus on detail - rather than talking about the relationship in general terms, she evokes specific images of ‘the smell of the rain, fresh on the pavement’ and ‘that look on your face, lit through the darkness at 1:58′. Playful moments in the relationship and traits of her former lover that she found endearing earlier - ‘you’re showing off again’, ‘you kissed me when i was in the middle of saying something’, have now become bitter as she misses not only the big emotions, but the little quirks and small moments that made her fall in love. The chorus shows the pain of having to face dreams shattering; ‘I never imagined we’d end like this’. The way she continuously recalls beautiful moments from the point of view of her naive, lovestruck side, and crushes them with questions - ‘why did you go?’- and pain from the present, gives the song a structure that parallels the repeated, sinking feeling of heartbreak. This is brought to its most unfiltered expression on the bridge, where his current life and distance from her is directly contrasted with the intimacy they used to share: ‘so I watch your life in pictures, like I used to watch you sleep. And I feel you forget me life I used to feel you breathe.’ As in Back to December, she also dedicates the bridge to a central message to the person the song is about - but it is ultimately not only one of hurt, or even anger, but of being lost: ‘I never planned on you changing your mind’. The central idea of the song is that she feels deeply insecure because she does not understand why she was left. It becomes clearest when she expresses the hope that he might feel the same longing for their times together as she does: ‘I hope it’s nice where you are [...] and something reminds you, you wish you had stayed.’ This is not the scathing goodbye to an old lover that she can master just as well on many of her other songs; its heartbreaking nature lies in the simple, evocative way it talks about the pain of being left alone without knowing the reason.

If the communication on Last Kiss is one-sided, as her former lover is long gone, on The Story of Us, it is dysfunctional and characterized by the growing divide between two people - another variation of the topic of speaking and confessing that ties together the album. Besides the many metaphors related to stories themselves - ‘i don’t even know what page you’re on’ - the clear structure stands out here the most. The first verse recalls the effortless chemistry they had at the beginning - ‘we met and the sparks flew instantly’ - and the dreams of the time when everything seemed stable. But soon the distances are too far to cross, at least for one person alone - ‘so many things that I wish you knew, so many walls up I can’t break through’. She now desperately wants to know how the other person feels, but has no way of knowing: ‘I’m dying to know, is it killing you like it’s killing me?’ The disconnection is illustrated in the second verse as the actions of both people are separated and contrasted - “see me nervously pulling at my clothes [...] and you’re doing your best to avoid me.’ and ‘how I was losing my mind [...] but you held your pride’, unlike the first verse where the ‘we’ was central. In the middle of the isolation, she feels the weight of the things that are unsaid: ‘I’ve never heard silence quite this loud’, and perhaps also the weight of her own inability to articulate her thoughts and emotions: ‘I don’t know what to say since the twist of fate when it all broke down’. The song illustrates the difficulties of communicating once misunderstandings and emotional walls are built between people. She realizes that to break down these walls, both partners would have to put in effort - “I would put my armor down i you said you’d rather love than fight’, and recognizes that she is likely not the only one who has things to say that she cannot put into words: “There’s so many things that you wish I knew’. At the same time, the issue can never be resolved if her partner is not willing to take a step forward, and so, the relationship is breaking apart without either of them finding a way back to each other. 

Instead of real life issues with communication, the idea of speaking up in a crucial situation is taken to the realm of daydreaming where situations play out perfectly on the title track, Speak Now. It presents itself innocently - the speaker being an uninvited guest at a wedding, secretly having a crush on the groom. And in fact, at the beginning, the speaker illustrates herself as the total opposite of trouble: ‘I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion’. However, from verse one, a sense of cheekiness runs through the song - ‘her snobby little family all dressed in pastel’ doesn’t make the bride look too appealing, and ironic remarks like ‘it seems that I was univited by your lovely bride to be’ makes her seem quite a bit more feisty than she makes herself out to be. And indeed, at the end of the second verse she directly tells him , ‘You wish it was me, don’t you?’ It is still sweet, but also slightly taunting - he is the one who should have known better, and he picked the wrong girl. The part of the wedding ceremony where guests are allowed to speak up one last time, gives the song, and the album its name: ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace’. Even in a song as generally lighthearted as this one, the sentiment itself is quite serious, and runs through the sadder songs on the record as well - the fleeting nature of chances and opportunities to speak up, and the possibilites of regret if you let it pass. It is a challenge, in the moment, to raise your voice, but - as Taylor says in the album prologue - ‘if there’s something you should say, you’ll know it. I don’t think you should wait.’ In her daydream, she doesn’t wait, and speaks up despite of her nervousness to a happy ending -  and the guy in the song eventually thanks her: ‘so glad you were around when they said speak now’ - suggesting that he was actually unhappy with the situation as well and was too afraid to speak up himself. Even though it is, of course, not a line that is supposed to be taken too seriously and is simply the fulfillment of her romantic fantasy, him echoing her words, it can also be seen as a reaffirmation of raising your voice, as you might not only change your own life to the better, but effect others with your courage, too. 

Even when Taylor sings about stories of love in a light of positivity and liberation, she inserts more complex emotions into it than obvious on the surface. On the opening track Mine, she recalls the classic narrative of two lovers meeting, falling in love, fighting and finally reconciliating with a happy ending, but gives it a few subtle but meaningful twists that sets it apart from her earlier, more simple and naive stories in the like, as Love Story. Suggestions that the speaker of the song had to witness love breaking apart in her childhood and grew up not believing in ideals of happily ever after are woven through the song - lines like ‘wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts’ seem upon focused listen, quite dark and uncomfortable in a song this upbeat and optimistic, even if the story does get a happy ending. And the central fight that occurs in the bridge of the song is directly followed by the insecurities boiling back up and threatening to end what both of them have built. At the end, the song is about the power of love to set you free and make you believe that stories of happily ever after are possible - but it does not happen on its own. The repeated mentions of ‘hold on, make it last’ at the end of the song suggest that only if both partners continuously put work into it, the happy ending is truly possible. A subtle sense of maturity that the simple ‘baby, just say yes’ at the end of Love Story does not carry.   

Enchanted may be seen as the most straightforwardly romantic song on the album, but there are undercurrents of darkness here as well: the entire first verse speaks of being in a situation of loneliness and alienation from all the people in a room: ‘walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy’. It is a deeply sad image that is relieved by meeting the one person the speaker does have a real, intimate connection with. And while it is sweet and beautiful, the loneliness from the beginning of the song never vanishes entirely, as the entire song is a daydream - it is left open how the person that she has caught feelings for actually feels and responds.  The sense of agitation that comes with overwhelming happiness is never really resolved - she expresses it in ‘dancing around all alone’ and daydreaming about a happy ending - but the song is never grounded back into reality, which gives it its momentum - it exists and stays in its own sphere of joy and hopefulness.

In this song, as in so many others, the important, revealing emotions occur at specific nighttime hours - here it is the anxious reflection on who the other person might love, in Mine it was the crucial fight between the lovers, in Last Kiss a remembered moment of intimacy. It is at these hours that emotions are most raw and unfiltered - which ties into the confessional nature of the whole album. 

Taylor explores the intricacies of love further on songs like Sparks Fly, which, in its lyrical themes, can be seen as a predecessor to her album Red, as she talks about falling for someone that might not be the best choice, infatuation taking away her capacities for rational thought - ‘my mind forgets to remind me you’re a bad idea’, a recurring idea on her fourth LP. As happy and liberating as the song is, there is a certain danger to the attraction that Taylor is aware of - it could all end up badly, but she is too caught up to care. She paints herself as helpless to the feelings at first - comparing herself to a house of cards and saying ‘you’re the kinda reckless that should send me running, but I kinda know that I won’t get far.’ However, this simple image of total helplessness that does not give her any agency in instigating the relationship is subtly challenged on the bridge: ‘Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, it’s just wrong enough to make it feel right’, she sings, suggesting that in some capacity she simply does not want to think about the possible results of giving into her feelings - she is aware there is something off, but prefers not to follow the thought further. It is a moment of almost conscious self-denial that not only draws strong parallels to songs such as I Knew You Were Trouble, but to another song on Speak Now that dramatizes the opposite of falling in love: a relationship falling apart - Haunted. 

Haunted with its deeply dramatic presentation gives the impression of Taylor being caught up in memories and feelings she cannot escape or move on from. More straightforwardly than on Sparks Fly, however, she states right at the beginning that she could see the damage coming: ‘I have known it all this time, but I never thought I’d live to see it break’. A small part of her held onto the hope that is might still work out. However, after everything is inevitably broken, she cannot find consolation or a sense of stability anywhere: ‘It’s getting dark and it’s all too quiet and I can’t trust anything now’. Her sensation of having lost her partner to a mysterious force that made his ‘eyes go cold’ perfectly fits the gothic atmosphere of the song, and the chorus shows that she is still to a certain extent in denial and shock as she pleads to him to come back to her - ‘something’s gone terribly wrong’ she sings, completely lost as to what caused him to turn away after she thought she knew him so well. The amount of shock she is still in is powerfully illustrated in the second verse as well: ‘Something keeps me holding on in nothing’. She is self-aware enough to know that it is senseless to keep coming back to a broken thing, but her emotions keep pulling her in. Finally, denial takes over again during the bridge as she repeats to herself: ‘I just know you’re not gone, you can’t be gone’. The song illustrates the precise state between realizing something is over, and dediding to move on. It’s the state of lingering for a while longer, being pulled from either side and being unable to let go - being ‘haunted’.

These same emotions of denial and helplessness are central in the next song as well, but it discusses many more emotional states, too- Dear John, which might be the center point of my analysis, as I consider it to be one of the most complex and impactful songs Taylor has ever written. It is a song about the dynamics of an abusive relationship and about heartbreak that gradually turns into self-empowerment. 

Taylor uses a wide array of images to convey her feeling of being trapped in the relationship in the first verse, always feeling like the weaker partner at the mercy of the other - she compares herself to a chess figure being rendered powerless by constantly changing rules, and evokes the image of a blue sky being turned into rain. At the same time, she discusses the anxiety that comes with being so powerless and being the subject of constantly changing moods - ‘counting my footsteps, praying the floor won’t fall through again’, as well as bringing up the already mentioned self denial that she is now aware of and that her worried mother brought to her attention. 

In the prechorus she frames the song as an explanation as to why she walked away from the relationship: ‘This song is to let you know why’. Then the chorus turns reflection of her emotional states into accusation, the first step on the song’s way toward empowerment. ‘Don’t you think I was too young to be messed with?’, she asks her partner to evaluate his own consciousness. But eventually, the chorus ends on a somber note as the accusation is directed not at him, but herself: ‘I should’ve known’. She regrets her denial in retrospect and blames herself for the way he treated her, a common reaction in emotionally abusive relationships. 

The second verse, then, takes the next step: she examines the reasons behind the relationship not working out, and explicitly incorporates both partners into the conversation. However, while she accuses herself of naivety, the majority of the blame lasts on him this time, presenting him as having ‘a sick need to give love and take it away’. She further disects his personality, stating that he would not actually listen to her criticisms - or anyone else’s -, but simply think of her as misunderstanding him, refusing to see any position but his own- everyone else is on his ‘long list of traitors who don’t understand’. 

Finally, on the bridge, she takes the crucial step up: instead of remaining a passive marionette in his hands, she takes back her agency, escapes his influence and therefore takes away his power: ‘took your matches before fire could catch me’, and, with her life back in her own hands, she is not only free, but a better person with a brighter life than his will ever be: ‘I’m shining like fireworks over your sad empty town’. It is the central climax of the song, but I would argue that it has a second, just as important one, as the central moment of subversion is reached at the end of the song. She turns the last lines of the chorus on its head: ‘cried the whole way home’, an image of humiliation, sadness and brokenness, is turned into the triumphant ‘wrote you a song’. And instead of the self-accusing ‘I should have known’ comes one small, but immensely weighted comment that not only makes him look like the naive fool instead of her, but places her in a position of strength on the basis of her songwriting: ‘You should’ve known’. It carries a double meaning - he should have known not to mess with her that young, but he also should have known that she would fight back by writing a song. She uses her own public image as a weapon in a line that manages to both be slightly self-deprecating, and ridiculing her former lover for underestimating her. He might have broken her heart, but she can write about it and find protection and self-worth through her art - here, Taylor discovers the power of the song as a weapon, a concept she would later bring to heights of success on mega hits like Blank Space.  

Thus, Dear John takes the journey from a place of complete helplessness to strength and empowerment through art, and it chronicles the variety of emotional states on the way with captivating precision. 

As multifaceted as Taylor’s songs about love on Speak Now are, it is not the only topic she sings about, so for the last section, I’ll take a look at the songs that illustrate topics of empowerment, revenge, and forgiveness, as well as the overarching theme of growing up. 

Mean might be seen as just one of the many Taylor songs about getting back on a hater, but it is a truly special one, as she grounds the song in different emotions that all play together; a confronting attitude, making her critic responsible for his words and actions, a sense of the cheekiness from Speak Now, and genuine expression of the effect his words had on her wellbeing. She is not afraid to call out his behavior as hypocritical and unfair - ‘switching sides, wildfire lies, humiliation’, the accusatory ‘you’ hanging over the beginning of every verse. At the same time, ‘you have knocked me off my feet again, got me feeling like a nothing’ opens up a complete insight into the devastating effect his comments had on her. At the end, ‘you don’t know what you don’t know’ is her way of telling him that as long as he does not actually know her and makes up accusations, his words do not have legitimacy at all. She even searches for roots to his actions - ‘I bet you got pushed around’ before stating that she will not stoop so low to use his own methods: ‘the cycle ends right now’. Following up on this idea, the chorus is her big, triumphant refusal to further engage with him at all, saying that some day, she will be so big, he will not even be relevant enough to hurt her. It is a much more scathing comment than actually directly getting back at him would be, completely stripping him of any relevance. Toward the end of the bridge, she seems to leave it at ‘all you are is mean’, but then fires off some more accusations: ‘and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life...and mean’ It is intentionally slightly petty, playing with restraint before she gives into her desire to express herself honestly and to get a bit of revenge, after all. She is having her fun with the rebuttal as much as she is genuinely expressing her emotions and making a mature statement about taking the higher road. She proves, on the song, that these do not have to be exclusive attitudes - you can send an important message while still having fun with the song.

But as effective as Taylor can be at balancing revenge and forgiveness, she can dive deeper into either side of the scale as well if she wants to. On Better than Revenge, she fully embraces her anger and fury to call out both her ex boyfriend and his new girfriend. She paints him as a possession of hers that was unrightfully stolen, and equates her rival to a child that hasn’t learned proper manners when she lectures her that ‘stealing other people’s toys on the playground won’t make you many friends’. Thus, in the word choice alone, she takes the conflict to a childlike level. Taylor shows herself as a person with mature attitudes who has to teach the other girl about proper behaviour - and she does have real points to make: ‘sophistication isn’t what you wear or who you know’ - but at the same time, her wilingness to engage in the battle and her desire to ‘always have the last word’ reveal her own motivations which come from a place of impulsive emotions and wounded pride, too. The triumphant and gratified way she sings ‘Let’s hear the applause, come on, show me how much better you are’ shows her taking pleasure from the fact that her rival was, after all, not worth it anyway - an attitude that is very much not mature, but she knows it, and she embraces it fully in the song, which no doubt felt cathartic to write. And here, again, we have the function of songwriting reflected in an actual song. It is only implied, but after all, the titular revenge she gets is the song itself - even if she could not win him back, she can make sure that she has the last word. 

Innocent can be seen as the opposite twin of Better than Revenge  - even though they are about different issues - when it comes to attitude. The song is all about giving a person who slighted you a second chance, the reasoning for it being that stumbling at a point in life is an experience everyone shares, and so everyone deserves a fresh start at one point with no past baggage keeping them down - ‘who you are is not what you’ve been’. She expresses sympathy in the verses, comparing adult life to easier days of childhood when a sense of safety and security was taken for granted, and you had people to look up to and guide you in life - ‘always a bigger bed to crawl into’. The line ‘wasn’t it beautiful when you believed in everything and everybody believed in you’ expresses both a sense of disillusionment that comes with adulthood and the loss of the support structure that seemed completely self-evident for all of childhood - being left alone, knowing that no one will be there to catch you once you fall, is a terrifying situation. Adulthood is the time when ‘the monsters caught up to you’, a simultaneously sinister and sad image for everything that caregivers cannot shield from us anymore after a certain age. And as this is an experience we all share, Taylor implies, we need to look out for each other instead, and give each other second chances when needed. She talks about regret, too, an idea that was already discussed in other songs: ‘Did some things you can’t speak of, but at night you’ll live it all again.[...] If only you had seen what you know now, then.’ This part not only incorporates the album theme of speaking into the song - in the form of words you won’t even admit to yourself - it also calls back to the idea of knowing a better route to past events upon reflection, but the wistful knowledge that turning back time is impossible. As Taylor herself relates heavily to this experience, as she has illustrated on songs like Back to December, she can apply the feelings to others and empathize with her supposed enemy. The song in that way shows itself to be about the power of empathy to remind us of experiences we all share and are bonded by, and, at the same time, it is just as much about growing up as it is about forgiveness. The key to dealing with the fleeting nature of life and the possibilites of missteps and missed opportunities, as is suggested in the bridge, is to keep reminding yourself that changes also bring chances, and as humans we are capable of constantly renewing ourselves: ‘Today is never too late to be brand new’. 

The topic of growing up is not left to Innocent alone to reflect; in fact, it has its very own song dedicated to it, titled Never Grow Up. The wistfulness of remembering the safety and effortless happiness of a childhood long gone takes center stage here, as she talks to a young child who stil has her entire life in front of her - yet, over the course of the song, Taylor gets lost in her own reflections and reminisces on what she has lost of her own childhood. The child’s innocence makes her think - in a heartbreaking way - of the inevitable time when this carefree nature - ‘to you, everything’s funny, you’ve got nothing to regret’ - will be lost and disillusionment will replace wide-eyed optimism. Having experienced it herself, Taylor wants nothing more than to shield her from the same fate - ‘I’d give all I have, honey, if you could stay like that’, but she knows that it is impossible. And so the chorus with its repeated mentions of ‘oh, darling don’t you ever grow up’ is steeped in a deep sense of sadness, as it’s clear that this wish can never be fulfilled. On the second verse, Taylor flashes forward to the teenage years and once again, recalls an image of naive, boundless joy, struggling to hold onto it - ‘don’t lose the way that you dance around in your PJs getting ready for school’. At the same time, she never loses sight of the fact that everyone shares the fate of growing up, and struggles with it, which might help us understand other generations’ struggles, too: ‘Remember that she’s getting older too’. The central idea of the song is the tragedy behind the constant wish to grow up as a child - ‘you can’t wait to move out some day and call your own shots’ - just to want to go back to the simpleness of childhood once you actually get there. Thus the mantra of the chorus can also be seen as a wish to hold onto childhood just a little longer, or preserve what is possible from it. But at the end of the song, when Taylor relates her own experience to the rest of the song, she comes to a rather defeating conclusion: ‘I just realized everything I have is someday gonna be gone:’ The only thing that is possible to do is hold onto the memories, they will hold on to you - ‘keep pictures in your mind of your childhood’ - and try to keep them safe in your heart.

Finally, the song that is left is the last song on the album, Long Live - and this song, too, is a reflection, but it is a much more hopeful, enthusiastic one that celebrates the people that helped Taylor get to where she is and all the memories that were made on the way. She consistently uses plural ‘we’ on the chorus of this song, illustrating the fact that it is not about her own success and story only, but about the community she has built along the way - with her band, her entire crew, and most importantly her fans, and just how much this community means to her. The song is a celebration of the things that can be moved when people come together - the way it can make the seemingly impossible come true - ‘long live all the magic we made’, and the way it can make seeming underdogs the ‘kings and queens’ of the world for just a night. She feels like she can take anyone on in this situation - ‘bring on all the pretenders, I’m not afraid’. This momentum, this power and beauty is something she wants to keep safely stored so that the memories can never be lost. At the same time, she takes a wider look into the future on the bridge, breaking her celebration for a while to think about the consequences of the fairytale ending, of things falling apart - and all she wants in this situation is the magic of the memories to be remembered, and felt even by people who were not directly there. It is, at the end, a love letter to her fans, for all that we have achieved together with her and that is yet to come: ‘I had the time of my life with you’. Thinking back on the album topic, it illustrates the wonderful things that can happen if you do take chances - if you take the courage to speak now. It leaves the album on a note of joy and a sense of magic the belief that even the highest dreams can be achieved, and everything is possible - when we find a way to connect with each other and fight for it together.

At the end, with Speak Now we are left with an album that examines love and life in all its complexities; incorporating fantasy and reality, regret and denial, revenge and forgiveness, loneliness and connection, wistfulness and hope into fourteen songs, each painted in muliple shades of emotion, all of them tied together by the topic of confessions and speaking up. It is an album that is both deeply personal and universal, and I have loved it for all of that for many years - I hope this love came through in this piece of writing, and I hope that I could make you relive your own love for Speak Now while reading it.

(If you’ve made it all the way to the end, thank you so much!! I don’t really expect anyone to read this, so if you did, I really really appreciate it. I hope you could get something for yourself out of it. And to Natasha, thanks to you more than anything - without you I never would have written this!)

*https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/taylor-swift-announces-third-album-speak-now-186288/ 

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter One

Empty In The Valley Of Your Heart.

***

It’s empty in the valley of your heart,

The sun, it rises slowly as you walk,

Away from all the fears and all the faults you’ve left behind.

***

Stardate 2507.03.22

U.S.S. Enterprise NCC 1701-I.

Whether deliberate or not on the part of several generations of Starfleet engineers, the Starships Enterprise almost all looked like ‘the’ Enterprise. There were design features that were common across the board: maybe not common to all ships, but there was always one of the key features present in every design. A saucer section, an elegant neck leading down into a sleek stardrive section, long nacelles swept back and extending out from the body of the ship. Oh, sure, a ship might miss out the long nacelles, or the swan neck might be shorter and more integrated, but there was never any mistaking the Enterprise when you saw her.

The U.S.S. Enterprise-I was the latest in that illustrious lineup of ships, and in many ways harked back to an older age. Starfleet, after a century of crises that had ranged from temporal manipulation to renewed hostility with Klingons to an invasion from outside the known universe (hadn’t that been a fun way to spend the 25th century?), had made a conscious effort (and not for the first time) to return to an age of exploration, hope, optimism. This was reflected in the classic lines of the I: her elegant swan neck leading from a round saucer to a cylindrical stardrive section, a glowing orange deflector array and thin, elegant pylons leading backwards to a pair of nacelles that were short, but stretched just far enough back to give the impression of length, movement, and speed.

This ship, Captain Alyn Jallistra had thought, when she first saw the Enterprise in drydock, was built for boldly going.

She had held onto that thought for the ten years she had commanded her, never letting it go. An unjoined Trill, Jallistra had always preferred the notion that life was short, to be lived, and then to be ended. Where all her colleagues and friends on Trill had been so eager to go and join with symbionts (or at least try to), she had been content to go to Earth, go through Starfleet Academy, and get her commission the old-fashioned way. Not that people still didn’t occasionally think she was a joined Trill.

It was an old irritant. Any time one of us is competent, or calm, or thoughtful, it’s never on our own merits, it’s because a symbiont’s doing it.

Still, she thought as she sat at her ready room desk, reading an old book. She had served as the Captain of this ship for a decade. Any old issues she might have had, she had long since gotten over.

The book was an older one, a prose adaptation of a holonovel: Captain Proton and the Dark Mirror. Written as an homage to science fiction books of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries by the late Tom Paris in the mid 25th century, it told of Captain Proton’s Encounter with an ‘evil universe’, and a gripping battle against dark forces.

It was all make-believe nonsense, of course. Real parallel universes, even the most extreme examples that Jallistra had read up on, were never so simplistic. Still, it was entertaining in its - what did they call it? ‘Campiness’?

Her computer beeped just as she reached a climactic moment where Proton had cornered his mirror self, the evil Captain Neutron (these names are ridiculous). Sighing, she marked her spot and put her PADD down, before tapping her computer's control panel.

“Authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon,” she said with practiced ease.

A moment later, the image of a striking woman with brown eyes, greying hair, pale skin and the barest hint of a set of forehead ridges popped onto her screen, a soft smile upon her face.

“Captain Jallistra,” Admiral Kathryn Paris said evenly. “Good to see you,”

“Admiral Paris,” Jallistra replied evenly. “What can we do for you?”

“We’ve picked up something strange near your neck of the woods,” Paris replied. “It’s some kind of anomaly, originating in the Harlak system.”

“An anomaly?” Jallistra repeated. “What kind of anomaly?”

“We don’t know,” Paris replied quietly, “but it’s off the charts. You’re the nearest ship to the anomaly, so we’d like you to go take a look.”

Jallistra smiled. “Of course, Admiral. I’ll have us divert course immediately.”

“Good,” Paris said. She paused. “Be careful, Captain. If it turns out to be more than just a standard anomaly, I want you to pull out.”

Jallistra nodded. “I will take all the precautions I have to, ma’am.”

Paris smiled. “Good. Good luck, Captain. Paris out.”

Her image disappeared, to be replaced by the Federation’s symbol. After a moment, Jallistra let out a sigh, and tapped the intercom.

“Bridge, this is the Captain,” she said. “Please redirect our course to the Harlak system, warp six.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” the voice of Liam West, her alpha-shift Conn officer, said.

Well, there we go, Jallistra thought. Now we just have to see what happens next.

***

Erlös.

Lorca wasn’t used to comfortable beds, and so perhaps could be forgiven for making full use of it. He was lying down, the cover sprawled over his pyjama-clad body, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The diffused light was brighter now, and he was forced to wince, but the light change was slower, so he accepted the pain.

He was lost in a flow of thoughts. One minute he was thinking of how he was going to pass off who he was - again - and the next he was remembering Michael Burnham, her eyes staring at him with…

… with what? Horror? Pity? Revulsion? All of the above?

I should never have gone back, the thought came, too quickly to be strangled in the crib. I should have stayed. Had medals pinned on me. Kept doing… what did they call it? Kept ‘boldly going’. Taken the hard jobs and won them for the Federation. I’d have been a damn legend.

And Burnham… Burnham with her gratitude, Burnham with her intellect, Burnham with that human heart that even a lifetime among Vulcans didn’t quell… she would have stayed with him. Been his officer. His protege. He’d have been able to leverage her commission, been able to win anything for her. In many ways, she was much easier than the Michael Burnham he had loved: his Michael had demanded an Empire, but all the Federation’s Burnham wanted was freedom, exploration, space.

All the things I love, Lorca thought. Or rather, all the things he had come to love. Perhaps it was the same thing.

There was a knock at his door, and before he could answer, a woman in more elaborate robes than Laurien’s entered the room. She was just as pale as Laurien, with white hair: despite this, however, she didn’t look a day over thirty. Lorca sat up.

“Captain Gabriel Lorca,” she said evenly. She looked around the room, before meeting his gaze. “I trust that the accommodation here has been sufficient for your needs. We have had few of your ilk here.”

Lorca gave another of his winning smiles. “Well, that bed’s certainly comfier than any starship billet I’ve ever been in. Any Starfleet Officer who doesn’t think that’s up to scratch probably needs a bit of a reality check.”

“I am glad,” the woman said. She smiled. “I am Eloise. I am the leader of the settlement here on Erlös.”

“Pleasure,” Lorca said. “I’m grateful you found me.”

“Perhaps you are,” Eloise said coyly. Before Lorca could ask what that meant, she continued. “Laurien reported that you say you command the starship Buran.”

“That’s right,” Lorca said, keeping his face neutral. Don’t give them an inch.

“Our people eschew technology,” Eloise said. “Dannik - did Laurien mention him?” At Lorca’s nod, Eloise continued. “Dannik is the one among us chosen to work with technology. I wanted to be sure of the details of who you are. And where you came from.”

Lorca found it was an effort not to frown, but he persisted. “Is there some confusion?”

“A little,” Eloise said. “When we found you, you had a stab wound that was quite severe, to the point where we had to have Dannik use our medical technologies on you.”

The way she said ‘technologies’ sounded like she was talking about magic. And yet she knew what Starfleet and the Federation was.

“You were also clad in clothing quite distinct from that which we are accustomed to Starfleet people wearing,” Eloise continued. “Much of it was burnt or otherwise damaged, but it was definitely not a Starfleet uniform.”

Not one you’d recognise, anyway, Lorca thought. Time to try out a story.

“That’s because it wasn’t one,” Lorca said grimly. “It was… it was the sort of attire my captors wore.”

“Your ‘captors’?” Eloise repeated.

“It’s… difficult to explain,” Lorca said. Gotta sell it, Gabe. “They were… it was…”

He shook his head, trying to give an impression of trauma. He’d certainly played that role before, thanks to his time playing Lorca of the Buran to Cornwell (damn her), Terral and just about anyone else.

“I understand,” Eloise said, apparently buying it. She smiled. “If you like, we can show you around while you’re waiting here for your people.”

Lorca nodded. “I’d be much obliged for a tour. Though, uh…” He motioned to his clothes. “Maybe if you’ve got a spare uniform lying around, I could swap into that? Walking around half naked doesn’t seem right to me.”

Eloise nodded. “Dannik will replicate a uniform appropriate to your rank, after he has sent the transmission. I will send Laurien with it shortly.”

“Thanks,” Lorca said, inclining his head. “I’m grateful.”

And despite himself, he was. These people had apparently patched him up: they didn’t have to, and if it had been his world, they wouldn’t have.

“And when we speak again,” Eloise continued, “we will speak of the means of your arrival.”

With that, she turned and exited the room, leaving Lorca to his thoughts.

‘Speak of the means of my arrival’, he mused. Be nice if I knew that myself.

***

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