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sirensmojo · 3 years

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"Oh! To remember!" - Hubby!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big fluff.

gifs from @thomasfckinshelby {here is the post}

Summary: You make Tommy a surprise by taking him to the countryside. It brings back memories of the two teenagers you used to be before the war happened.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I just want him to be happy, seriously + POLLY BEING A GRANDMOTHER???? Our Queen.

PS: I know I talked to you about a carpets story, it IS coming don't worry!

*Masterlist*

It was early in the morning when the rays of the sun fondled your face, making you open your eyes. Tommy was already up, putting on his tie and you almost jumped from bed to take it from his hands.

As you were still a bit dizzy from how early it was and how fast you got up, you stumbled on the carpet, but his rough hands caught your waist as a giggle escaped your lips.

His brows were raised, "So early in the morning, you got some' to do today, eh?" You could hear mockery in his tone and you hit his chest with the palm of one of your hands as the other was pulling on his undone tie.

As he leant forwards towards you, you teased his lips with the tip of your nose and finally gave him your lips after hearing a groan from his throat.

He perfectly knew what was happening today, you drew a black star a week from now in his agenda.

"Y/N!" Tommy called, and his desk lady pleaded with her eyes to not let her deal with him.

it wasn't as if he was a bad guy, no, he just appeared to be as cold as ice and as distant as he could be.

You were about to ignore his call along with the staring secretary but you saw her lips moving without any sound getting out "Please."

Okay, this time you will not let her be any more terrified by your husband.

It was a little game for you, to never fully talk to him, just like he did. Even though he had reasons not to talk so much and you didn't. You used to leave him pieces of evidence here and there so he would understand what you were up to.

No need to say that whenever you would sneak into his office to put a black star on his agenda, it was to his secretary he would later ask questions, and as she was oh so scared, she wouldn't give satisfying answers which made him become even more cold and distant.

You weren't working anywhere but staying Home all day long waiting for him to get back wasn't on the schedule. What you loved to do most was to organise all types of dinners and parties.

Tommy was most of the time tired but he never missed one, as he knew it was important for you.

Only, whenever he thought the party should be over, he would come closer to you and gently press his lips on your forehead, his fingers diving into your mane.

And just like that, you understood it was time to lead the people out of the mansion, so you could take care of your Shelby.

You closed the door in front of you, rolling your eyes to yourself and joined his office. Your head peeked through the door and you cleared your throat, leading Timmy to lift his gaze to you.

He patted the page, "Why is there a black star on Thursday?"

"Come 'ere" you answered, your index indicating to Tommy to come near you.

He got up without hesitation and walked towards you, making you enter his office completely and close the door behind you.

The connexion between you had always been more than mental or physical, it was a mix of both with something else, something you could never fully get, but you just knew of its presence.

Maybe it was your beings that were combining together, you were him and he was you.

Or was he more you than yourself?

Your back was flat on the door when you felt his hands on your hips. A smile instantly grew on your lips as his blue icy iris were staring into your soul that was hidden behind your iris.

A grumpy "Hm" escaped his lips as your foreheads touched. He closed his eyes for a second, the smell of your perfume filling his nostrils. He was elsewhere, in a dimension where only you and he existed. Somewhere he was safe and relieved of any pressure.

"A surprise, Tommy." You muttered only inches away from his lips.

His eyes opened softly and he raised a hand to your face, cupping one of your cheeks. You were staring at him as his thumb moved to rub your lips softly.

Nothing needed to be said in those moments, what your eyes were saying was more than enough. You understood him, and he understood you, it has been like that for so long, but the love bonding you never extinguished, and you couldn't imagine that someday it would.

"You'll just have to bring yourself, I'll take care of the rest. Only you and me." You pointed towards him, then towards you before flattening your hand on his shoulders in a tender way.

"Don't come back too late, huh?" You raised a brow as you tied his tie around his neck.

"If the answer doesn’t please you I’ll accidentally get choked. That’s the plan," He put his hand on yours to avoid you from even thinking of doing it.

You glared at him.

"I know your tricks now." He finished and you wanted to show him your tongue so badly, but you tried to stay solemn, your head high.

"I will not even comment on such calumny, Mr Shelby.”

You were so grateful he was still speaking to you fluently. He wasn’t like that with anyone but your children and you, which you found to be a blessing.

You knew he wasn’t living a life where he could be with his family as often as he would like and that his past deeply scarred him, but he almost was the same with you, still trying to joke and laugh even if his tone wasn’t following the movement, he tried. And that was all that mattered.

You had the love of your life and four beautiful children by your side, nothing would ever take that away from you. And even if you weren’t in business, by not trying to interfere, you were easing him more than you even knew.

(...)

“Beth! bring down your brothers and sisters, grandma Polly is here” You screamed toward the stairs as a maid brought the tea to the living room.

Polly looked at you with the type of stare only she, could give, ”you’re up to something, I can tell.”

You crossed your legs with a pleased smile, “Taking my Tommy to the countryside!” You said trying to remain calm, but she knew you too well.

“Well, I wonder why you’re not all over the place already, it’s not like you’re the good calm girl.” She smiled at you, “I’m sure he will be happy. But don’t think he’ll show ya.” She patted your knee with a side-eye look, her trembling voice filled with sarcasm.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it, “I know how Aberama loves having our children.” You teased and she giggled. “It’s me taking care of all of them.”

“I knew it! He, too, is a child!” You exclaimed, raising your hands in the air.

“What boy of this family isn’t?” Polly raised her eyebrows before your youngest boy ran into her, followed by the entire team. They were squeezing their grandma in their arms as if she would be gone in a blink of an eye.

You laughed so hard seeing how they were all around Polly that couldn’t even hug them all.

Your heart was full of love at this moment.

Your eldest daughter came sitting on the armchair of the sofa where you were sitting, dropping her head on your shoulder.

“It is said Aberama and grandma will bring us with them on the road, is it true?” Your fourteen years old girl knew how to make a deal, she exchanged a look with Polly and straightened her head, looking right at you.

“Are you sure it’s Polly’s idea, it sounds more like you’re taking her as a hostage, Beth?”

“It’s called bargain! You always talk about grandma Pol being a gypsy queen, I want to see her world!” Beth’s high pitched tone resonated in the room, even the cat woke up from its nap to see what was happening.

“No need to put yourself in such condition, of course, you can all go with them. It’s your family.” You took your little girl in your arms, holding her close as fondling her long hair.

(...)

It was already 5 and you began to pace up and down before the carriage. It was your horse exhaling noisily that made you look up to him and caress his forehead while murmuring things to him. Basically telling him your day.

You didn’t realize but Tom had arrived, and a smile automatically drew on his lips when he saw you talking to your horse. It was as if he rewind the time and you were back to 1911 in your father’s stable with your long muddy dress and hay all over your mane.

He got close quickly and you startled when feeling his rough black gloves grabbing your elbow. “Shit, Tommy.”

He cleared his throat while looking at the horizon. A smile grew at the corner of your lips seeing how handsome he was, his hat on his head with his large black coat, a cigarette in between his lips. This handsome husband, father and gangster was all yours.

“Come up there! We’re going,” you pointed at the sitting place.

(...)

It has been half an hour since you departed from the Arrow House and the silence between you two was peaceful. You knew Tommy will never admit it, but he somehow took a liking to your parties and dinners, because he wasn’t forced to do anything, to be anything.

He could just be the man smoking cigarettes at the back of the room or the one drinking silently while sitting from the beginning of the event to its end. He could be alone, while not quite being alone.

You noticed he needed to be alone to think about his business, and as soon as he started to go walk alone in the woods at night, you started to organise garden parties.

Thomas didn’t need to be fully alone, he just needed people not to disturb him. And with such huge parties that was what you offered him. He didn’t need to sleep all night long outside now.

He could just sit at a table in the garden and smoke while sipping on his whiskey.

You finally stop the horse in a huge field, right under an imposing tree. It was probably a hundred years old, his trunk as solid as a rock, or maybe even stronger...

Tommy got up in the carriage, looking both sides to see if he knew the place before he got down, feet on earth.

You turned to him, a smile on your face, “Do you remember?” Your voice was low. He looked down at you, a curious gleam animating his blue iris.

“There!” you told him, pointing at the tree.

You saw in his expression he indeed remembered this place, and it was enough to warm your heart. You got up and joined the back of the carriage, taking the plates you had cooked for the occasion.

When you got back, his eyes directly went into yours, as if he had been searching for you. “Yes?” You raised a brow.

“It’s your family’s field.” His deep voice made you shiver, or maybe it was the cold spring breeze?

The old farm was still present not too far from where you were, but there were no animals left.

Your eyes lifted to him in an instant, his face was serene, his mind elsewhere, surely in the tone of memories of another time. Where all you used to worry about was the size of your stables once you’ll be married to Tom.

You served him a dish of his favourite food before handing it to him which he gladly took after sitting comfortably at the feet of the huge tree, his back against the tree.

“Don’t forget the bread.” You let out pointing to the bag next to him.

You finally sit down next to him and lift your gaze to the branch of the tree. The wind was present, but not in an annoying way, in a reassuring way. It was as if he was the one singing memories of before the War to both of you.

You raised your hand to the sky and it quickly got reached by Tommy’s that rubbed his thumb onto your skin.

You authorized yourself to dive into his eyes only to find your Tommy. The same one that was seated under the same three years and years ago. The Tommy that always used to make jokes, the one that asked your father for your hand, the one that always helped your mother with her horses.

It was something you would never get tired of, horses. It was the one thing always keeping you close to the man he once was, not that you missed that man, but you cherished the fact you had such memories of him. He was so different now…

“Happy Birthday, Tommy.” You muttered outright while dropping the back of your head against his chest, looking at his face from under.

He inhales deeply before exhaling loudly. And it was you, that sealed your lips together, bearing your love to him.

#Hubby!Tommy shelby #husband tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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theflashdriver · 3 years

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Too Late

A mysterious visitor draws Blaze to the docks, having made his presence known through Marine and requested conversation with her. His reasons for this, who he is and why he's even here are all unknowns. Despite this rudeness, the ruler of the Sol dimension can't help but feel a bizarre tension in the air. Written for sonamysilvazeweek 2021, using the bonus prompt of hurt/comfort!

This one is more intended to be pure angst than romance but it is very soft, I hope folks enjoy!

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These past two days had brought a bizarre tension that Blaze knew the origin of but not how to confront. Yesterday morning, a little before noon, Marine had burst into a royal meeting with all the disruptive force that she could muster. The now adult raccoon, stood in front of ministers and community stakeholders, had freely and willingly babbled about a weird old wizard who had offered to help with her ships if he could meet with the princess. Naturally, due to a combination of the shipwright’s tone and chosen way of relaying this information, Blaze had rather exploded at her, insisting that she leave and that this so-called wizard should make an appointment. When the girl had tried to stand her ground, she’d been asked if this person was a threat. With a grumble of no, knowing she was beat, the raccoon had made her way through the halls but out the castle entirely.

That was, until eight o’clock this morning. The young raccoon had barraged her way into the royal bedchambers, claiming that the same old wizard had successfully pulled eight of her crashed ships from the ocean and aided in their repair by merely waving his hand. She said that he was some kind of psychic sent from the other dimension and that, despite how weird and old he was, he apparently knew Cream, Sonic, Tails and the others. All those things had piqued Blaze’s interest, of course they had, but none of them propagated her curiosity quite like Marine claiming he’d sat on the dock ever since he’d arrived. He hadn’t eaten or even slept; he’d simply sat waiting for the princess.

Unfortunately, just like the day before, today had been filled to burst with work. Gardon had passed away three months ago and, although the monarch was now mature, the burden of that loss was still weighing heavily on her. No longer having that confidante, that source of sage advice, was finally beginning to wear her down. Hours were spent dealing with fussy landowners and handling minor issues, with both sets of Eggman long gone too, the guardian part of her role had been regulated to a mere title. It’d taken until now, approaching night on this summer day, for her to find the time and leave the castle.

The evening was humid, even by the docks, but that wasn’t too abnormal for this time of year. A dark sky hung overhead; grey clouds formed a barrier that barely allowed the pink of the sunset to pierce through. She was dressed in her usual working garb, her purple coat and white tights, but she wasn’t entirely sure if this was work. Marine’s descriptions of this man had been sparse to say the least- apparently, he was old, would glow with a strange cyan light and looked rather homeless. Blaze wasn’t even certain that her aid was needed in the Chaos dimension and so she hadn’t brought the Sol emeralds; according to Marine, he was just here to meet with the princess.

Blaze quickly found herself at the stout dock that Marine tended to work off of. Sure enough, no fewer than eight vessels that she could scarcely recognise were happily floating along either side of the wooden boardwalk. None of them held her attention for long though, despite how ludicrous and intricate their designs were. No, Blaze’s eyes quickly fell upon a cloaked figure sitting at the very end of the dock.

Her attention was immediately captured by a set of seven quills, the formation of which she’d never seen on a hedgehog before. They were long overgrown and, though she could tell five ascended from his forehead while two stretched from the back of his head, they’d all began to matt into one continuous mass of grey fur. The cloak Marine had described was actually a garb formed from brown burlap, heavily stitched in places and acting as some strange poncho with long and billowing sleeves. Strangely, his right sleeve hung loosely at his side while his left reached up to cradle his head.

“Hello there? Are you the one who’s been waiting for me?” She called out, trying to get his attention.

“Oh, hello,” A croaking voice half-hummed from the form, he didn’t so much as turn back, “It’s a shame you didn’t come yesterday, the sunset was wonderful.”

Feeling a little slighted by the hedgehog’s cheekiness, Blaze responded in kind, “Well, I’m sorry but my role finds me rather busy.”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I think I can make this work,” Once those words sounded, the hedgehog’s back straightened and his hand left his chin.

She watched from behind as he pointed to the sky and, though she wasn’t sure what to expect, she couldn’t have anticipated what would happen next. The once grey shroud that had blocked the sun was suddenly tinted cotton-candy blue. She watched as his fingers curled into a fist and the cloud mass seemed to convulse, almost gathering at a single point, before he flicked his wrist and spread his fingers. The clouds parted into a wide circle that breached the horizon and, as it did, his hand was made fully visible. A cyan circle shone on the back of his palm; by the tears on his worn glove, she could tell that it was part of his hand.

“Oh, today’s even prettier, is that normal for this world?” It was only then that the form turned for face her, not rising and bowing like most of her subjects would but simply glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile on his face.

Behind him, the sun couldn’t be more than an inch away from the ocean’s surface and the sky was the most glorious shade of pastel pink… but that couldn’t hold the feline’s attention. Her eyes locked on the hedgehog’s face, the face of an old and tired man. Sunburn marred his muzzle, giving him a rough appearance despite his smile. Plumes of white fur breached his garb’s neck-hole, wrinkles covered his face and there was an age in his eyes that spoke volumes to the feline. Marine hadn’t been inaccurate to call him a wizard, what he’d just done was ludicrous and he surely looked the part, but something in those bright yellow eyes called to Blaze in a bizarre way.

Stumped, finding herself unable to answer, Blaze managed another step forward before catching herself, “What on earth did you just do?”

“Oh, I just pushed the clouds away,” He said, so very nonchalantly, as he turned back to the sky, “Don’t you think it’s pretty?

“It’s certainly prettier than it was,” She conceded through clenched teeth, daring to take another step closer. Though he didn’t seem threatening, this bizarre figure had just split the sky with no more than a wave of his hand, “Marine was insistent that I come down here as soon as possible, was there a reason for that?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, no. I would have happily waited for a few weeks at least,.I heard that you’re very busy,” He patted the spot on the docks next to him, smiling back at her again, “I just wanted to talk with you a little, after that I’ll be on my way.”

Under normal circumstances, Blaze would have turned tail there and then. If he was just here to talk and willing to wait then he could book an appointment like all the rest; but these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d parted the sky, brought ships back from the depths and... well, something bizarre was buzzing in Blaze’s head. As she looked upon his form, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu; she’d never seen this old man in her life and yet he looked so familiar. The term anemoia came to mind but she was struggling to recall its meaning. Without even really thinking, she found herself stepping closer still to the grey figure- soon she was standing by his side.

It was as he turned back to the sunset, releasing a sigh of contentment, that Blaze truly understood what she was looking at. When Marine said he’d raised and repaired her ships with one hand, Blaze hadn’t thought that he lacked the other. His right arm had been reduced to a stump, bound at its end, but that wasn’t where the damage ended. Only his right leg poked free from his garb to hang over the edge, this figure had seen far more than his share of adversity. Even the smiling form of his muzzle seemed slightly battered and, even over the scent of sea air, the stench he carried was that of brimstone and sweat decades aged.

“And what is it that you want to talk about?” Blaze, rather bluntly, managed to ask.

“Well, um,” He tugged at his chest fur, “I have a couple of questions to ask, but I’m sure you’ll have some for me too. How about we take turns asking things? I asked one then you get to.”

Today just kept growing more bizarre, he hadn’t come to ask her anything, he’d come to play a game of twenty questions. Even with Marine, even with Sonic or Amy or any of the others, if they tried to confront her like this then she’d ask them to simply cut to the chase. But as she stood above him, a question did find purchase in her mind. He apparently knew the others, that meant he was probably from their dimension, so why hadn’t they bumped into each other? He was an older hedgehog, was he related to Sonic? She didn’t think so, but it was so bizarre- it was like she knew where he came from, it was almost on the tip of her tongue. Even his name, it was as though she was so sure of it but couldn’t verbalise it no matter how she tried.

With a heavy sigh, not masked in the way she’d try to hide such normalities during her royal meetings, Blaze dropped down to sit beside the grey figure, “Fine, ask away.”

“What, really? O-Okay,” He seemed just as surprised as she was about her willingness to go along with this, “I’m, well, I think I’m eighty-two now. How old are you?”

Blaze blinked; this absolute stranger had just asked the princess her age in such a blunt manner. His lack of tact was frankly astounding but Blaze wasn’t off put. If anything, there was something strangely homely in how casually he’d asked, “I’m twenty-eight now, going on twenty-nine.”

“Oh wow, it’s like we’re opposites,” He immediately seemed to notice, smiling even more warmly than he had before, “Your turn then.”

A couple of ideas floated in her head, questions that felt strangely pointless to ask despite her not knowing the answers. Eventually, she managed to settle on one.

“Marine said you knew those in the other dimension,” She posited, “Do you come from there? I’ve been over a few times now and I don’t think I’ve ever…” For whatever reason, another surge of déjà vu forced her to hesitate, “Seen you.”

“Oh, yes, right. I don’t think you would have, no,” He seemed to stumble over a collection of thoughts, “I’m from there but not from then, you see. I’m from their dimension but a very different time. Two-hundred years in their future, I was born. The time I came from though, that’s long gone, overwritten by my travels,” The old man said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, “It was a bad place to live to be honest, overrun by monsters long before I was born. It took a lot but, after almost a hundred years of work, it’s finally all sorted out. I kept going back to the past and preventing disasters, now there’s nothing left to prevent,” And she found herself listening, as if it was the most regular of answers, “I guess I kind of come from nowhere now though, it’s nice there but it’s not exactly home. I’m just drifting now really…”

“Right…” The princess mumbled, trying to take that all in and finding it surprisingly easy.

Up until now things had been weird but now things were surpassing the point of strangeness. Looking past the other oddities this figure presented, for her to hear what she had just heard and feel as though that was both truthful and normal was the most bizarre sensation Blaze had ever experienced. Perhaps it was because she was used to introducing herself as a princess of another dimension but the fact she was so unphased by his words was thoroughly phasing her.

Before she could dwell on it too much, he was smiling at her again, “I’m wondering, the others mentioned that you were a pyrokinetic, would you mind showing me…?”

Again, without much thought, Blaze found this usually questionable proposal agreeable. She raised her right hand between them and, with no more than the click of her fingers, the top of her forefinger was set alight. Almost immediately he moved in closer, his bright yellow eyes marvelled at the exposed flame.

“Though it took me a while to properly control it, I’ve had this power for all my life,” She explained, snuffing the light against her palm, “What about you? What’s that symbol on your hand and what did you do with the clouds?”

As if to match her, the hedgehog raised his hand. Light seemed to pulse and ebb from the shining mark at his hand’s centre, tinting the environment around it. Once that had been shown, in such a casual way, the hedgehog turned and gestured to the sea before pointing his forefinger up. A light seemed to well in the dark depths of the water and, almost instantly, the waves ceased their lapping. Slowly coiling its way up, like some great serpent emerging from a lake, a long tendril of water, bathed in that same cyan glow, began to extend from the sea. It cut the sky, stretching a good ten metres up. Then, with a further wave of his hand, it fell away from them as though it was a tree that’d been chopped at the base. With a colossal splash, the waves restarted with a brief degree of additional aggression before, eventually, settling back into their regular pattern.

In any other situation, coming from any other person, Blaze would have taken this as some vague show of force. She knew that he could manipulate more than water, she’d seen him shift the cloud many miles in the sky, but he’d chosen to control the element that directly countered her own. Again though, for some unthinkable reason, Blaze couldn’t find the emotion to be shocked or perturbed.

“I’m psychic, I’ve had this power for as long as I remember but, to be quite honest, I’ve got no idea how it actually works or where it comes from,” His smile grew a little warmer, “I never really thought it all that important, all that matters is how these powers are used.”

“I’ve tried to embody similar thoughts myself,” She quickly responded, attempting not to dwell on that or the thoughts that came with it, “It’s your turn.”

“This is my big question, but I know this might be a little strange to ask. You don’t have to answer it if you’re not comfortable,” He said, as if everything up to this point had been normal, “Do you like living here? Do you like being the princess?”

This wasn’t a question Blaze was new to, it wasn’t uncommon for children to ask what it was like being a princess, but Blaze thought his version carried a little more weight. He wasn’t asking about the simple things, like sleeping in a big bed or heading public events. For whatever reason, the princess knew he was asking if she actually enjoyed the role she’d been born into and, again for some unknown reason, she felt prompted to answer truthfully. This stranger was compelling her to unearth truths in a way that she hadn’t dared before.

“It’s… difficult,” She muttered, “Even though I hold a privileged position, even though I know I’m luckier than most, I don’t know that I’ve ever been comfortable,” Her head found her hand, her gaze drifted to the sea, “I can’t see my friends often, I can’t choose where I go and when, I can’t even stroll to the docks on a whim,” For some reason, although that was true, saying it aloud felt incredibly selfish, “But, it would be a lie to say I’m totally uncomfortable here. Marine keeps things interesting. Though I’ve seen adversity I’ve either been able to handle it or found the strength to call upon friends to aid me. Even if it’s not perfect, I’m happy I can live here and bring justice for those around me. I don’t know that I could ever see myself giving it up or…”

Blaze caught herself, grinding their conversation to a halt, “This is hardly professional of me; I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I shouldn’t be talking to anyone like this.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I told you I minded all that or that I wasn’t enjoying our conversation,” His eyes seemed to flicker away from hers and, though he spoke positively, his grin drooped ever so slightly, “I simply have a face that a people find familiar, I think it’s got something to do with my travels through time. People tend to speak with me in ways that they wouldn’t others.”

Somehow, despite the softness of his expressions and the newness behind their interactions, the princess could see that he wasn’t telling the total truth. There was something in the bending of his brow, the way the words hung on his lips. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t to do with him at all. Maybe it was the way his words resonated with her eardrums.

Equally though, she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t see what he’d said, “You do have a rather…” She rummaged for the right words, good and polished words, but what she drew was far too flimsy, “Kind face,” Though her stomach churned at her inaccurate choice of words, she pressed on, “Though that concerns me, it does really feel as though I’ve met you before. Were you a friend of Gardon’s?”

“Gardon?” The word rolled off his tongue, she couldn’t recall hearing that name in his voice at all. She knew the answer before he seemed to, “No, I don’t think so. Who’s Gardon?”

“He was,” Her tongue hitched on words like a hoe dragging through rocks, “Like a father to me,” That seemed right to tell him, even if it wasn’t proper to admit, “I didn’t especially realise that when he was with us but, despite that, I think he knew. He’d looked after me since I was a little girl, I can’t imagine he didn’t occasionally consider himself in that role,” She found herself stumbling, emotions were bubbling to the surface but, for some reason, despite her oversharing, she didn’t care, “I probably should have said I shared his view or made my attachment clearer but, given my position, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“Well,” Hesitantly, shakily, that glowing hand of his came to reside upon her shoulder. Any normal stranger would have promptly been brushed off, told to keep their hands away, but something about that weight upon her shoulder ebbed with a further familiarity that she could not place, “It sounds as if I’d love to have been a friend of Gardon’s, I’m so sorry, Blaze.”

It was only now, having sat with him for a while, that Blaze was beginning to pick up on subtle aspects of his mannerisms. Every word seemed as though it was intently thought out, as if he was running through a thousand memories every time she finished a sentence- so often punctuated with a hum or the word well. It was as if he was doing what she had done for so many years; carefully choosing his words, trying to match her royal status. The only difference was that while she searched for professional words, he seemed to do much the opposite. Not once had he remembered to call her your majesty or your highness, regardless of how much thinking he did.

“Though it’s not the same, I’ve lost someone close to me too,” For the first time since they’d started their conversation, his gaze had flickered away from her and back towards the sea, “Then again, I-I suppose that’s to be expected when you reach my age,” He took another moment, his remaining hand slipped from her shoulder to his knee as he seemed to catch himself, “No one so recently of course, but it’s hard to forget,” She watched his brow furrow further, his fingers seemed to push deeper into his cloak as his words slowly spilled, “You never actually want to forget. If you do, you’ll regret forgetting, more than anything else in the world.”

Once again, the two found themselves sitting in silence. Blaze the cat, the cold and hardened queen of the Sol dimension, felt a few bizarre words weighing so heavily on her tongue. In a matter of moments, with only a handful of words, the tension between them had remounted and tripled. Despite that, she was about to make things even more awkward.

“D-Did you love them?” She stumbled to ask, rather immediately regretting it but finding it impossible not to say something in continuation, “The person that you lost, I mean.”

“Oh, I loved her more than anything,” His answer was so immediate, “So much in fact that I can’t help but think I very much took her for granted. She never took to the word love well, it always seemed to embarrass her, but I feel as though I should have said it a million times more,” Unlike the name of Gardon or so many other things Blaze had heard today, the word love in his tone sounded so unforgivably familiar. It made her feel as though she was some kind of demon for not knowing where she’d heard it, “She was smart, brave, strong… and so much kinder than she probably liked to think, let alone that she could stand to admit,” The way he spoke seemed to carry a nostalgic joy and love that Blaze couldn’t recall seeing in any person, across their entire life “She’d scold me so often, I don’t think she realised that was how she showed her love. I don’t think I knew it either, but I would still go too far and get myself hurt just trying to impress her. It was all with the intent to do good of course, never pointless, but...”

A spark had grown in his eye, another glow that she recognised, but so very quickly he seemed to snuff it. Worry lines appeared on the hedgehog’s brow as he turned back to the sunset.

His smile frayed away at the seams as he mumbled, that love wasn’t gone but now it was being tiptoed around, “Well, she went too far herself a handful of times…”

This old man, this man almost three times her age, had already established a connection with her that few people, inside or out of her kingdom, had managed. Somehow, in a matter of minutes and without seeming to try, he’d managed to bring her fully out of her shell and allowed her access to his. No, it was more than that, it was as if she wanted access to the walls around this history he’d lived.

“I’m…” Something about this felt weird to say, even though she knew it was right, “Sorry for your loss too.”

“I’m sure she loves watching the sunset,” He half hummed before catching himself and beginning to stammer, “W-Would have loved to, rather. This world is so very pretty, though I haven’t stayed for long, I’ve found myself rather smitten with it,” With his hand, he gestured out to the horizon and she followed his pointing, “Islands littered with limitless wonders, a glorious sunset every evening, softly rolling tides and wonderful people,” He spoke such simple words but they were so plainly from the heart, “Yes, this must be the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited. Even better than the world I made.”

Having not watched many sunsets, Blaze didn’t think she was in a good position to judge but there was no denying the prettiness of this sky. The soft pink of the ether, fading orange away from the sun and red towards, it was truly breath-taking to behold. The way the silver clouds hung, parted by his will, as if it were a picture frame surrounding the view made it all the more special. It was as if he’d revealed something she’d never have noticed, like he’d excavated some fossil or deciphered some ancient code.

“I’ve…” She caught herself before she could say something naïve again, “I must profess, I never really watched it until today. It just seemed so regular, as if it wasn’t worth noticing,” That turned his head but she kept her focus on the view in front of them, “But you’re right, it is beautiful,” In this moment, having discussed so much, Blaze felt bold enough to finally pry and ask the question she weirdly felt she already knew the answer to, “What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, I don’t think you asked so I didn’t give my name,” He’d tried to make it sound as though he’d just realised but Blaze could tell that was intentional, “I’m, um…” It took him much too long to provide an answer, “I’m Venice, yes, sorry. Its been a while since I’ve heard my name, let alone used it.”

“Venice?” That name didn’t sit fondly on her tongue, it didn’t seem to suit him at all. No, without even watching him speak it, Blaze knew that he was lying, “You mean, like the city in the other dimension? The one with the canals.”

“Y-Yeah,” He muttered in an attempt to reaffirm, “I think I was born there. I must admit, its been too long for me to really remember now. It’s really beautiful, but it can’t compare to this…”

“I see,” She didn’t feel as though she could really fight him on this, not directly at least.

In the silence that followed, Blaze couldn’t help but tear her gaze from the skyline and attempt to look upon him again. His heart seemed to always be on his sleeve; he was perpetually trying not to lie but plainly obfuscating the truth. Now closer, she could make out little details that were lost on her before. While his missing arm and leg were the most obvious marks on his body, it was clear that the tattered shroud he wore was intended to cover more. On his muzzle, just beneath his left eye, was a thin but clear gash that stretched almost the entire length of his cheek. The hedgehog’s nose looked as though it had been broken at least once, the way his left shoulder seemed to slump suggested that arm hadn’t escaped unharmed too and he was missing no fewer than three teeth.

These injuries would make any normal person feel bad for the hedgehog, but something about them was impacting Blaze a magnitude more than she’d expected. She’d been to hospitals in the wake of disaster, she’d seen people with injuries like his and even far worse following great storms and fires and floods, and she had felt for them… but it had never seemed quite so personal. Perhaps it was because he was older and she had just lost Gardon, perhaps it was because he’d shown her kindness, but Blaze doubted that. It was probably because of the bizarre connection she had felt this entire time. Who was this old man, who had he loved and what was he doing here?

Despite that question hanging in her mind, a very different one fell from Blaze’s mouth, “Do you want to talk about your partner some more?”

Equal parts of his face read that he did and didn’t want to but, ultimately, he resumed his talk, “I remember every detail, every little thing about her, as if we were together only yesterday. The way she’d flinch and brace at every bump in the night, the way she’d try to hide her laugh whenever I was especially stupid, the purrs she’d babble whenever things were truly peaceful, how she’d fuss over me while bandaging my injuries only to fuss more when I offered to help with hers,” Emotion now seemed to be overwhelming him, he went from staring straight at the sunset to turning such that she couldn’t see more than the edge of his muzzle, “There was this word she’d use, scolding me but not scolding me every time she spoke it. I didn’t even know what it meant for ages; it took me until very recently to know just what she meant by it though…”

Before she could even puppet her tongue, a question forcibly spilled fourth, “What was that word?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can stand to say it,” Somehow, by only seeing the edge of his ears furrowing and the slightest shake of his body, the princess could tell that the old hedgehog was at least hurting if not actually crying, “I’m sorry.”

Carefully, slowly, Blaze reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. That contact seemed to freeze him entirely or, perhaps, it would be better said that her touch had petrified him, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, I’m sorry you lost someone you clearly cared so much for,” For whatever reason, even though it was what so many had said to her after Gardon’s death, that didn’t seem like enough, “But, judging by what you said when I first arrived, I’m sure she’d be very proud of you. It sounds like you’ve lived a difficult life and done more for your world than people will ever know.”

“She probably would be,” He turned back, eyes red and plainly tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his stub, “I suppose, I lived up to our agreement.”

“You had an agreement?” She automatically pried before instantly regretting her forwardness.

“We promised to save our world, regardless of the cost,” Those words carried a weight that, try as she might, Blaze couldn’t shake. He concluded with five simple words that carried a tremendous weight, “That cost was rather high.”

Again, words seemed to leave her before she could question whether it was right or wrong to ask, “Do you think it was worth it?”

“I like to think this was,” Pulling his hand from his face, he rubbed where his right hand should have been, “Other things though… no, not so much, but there’s no going back now. It’s too late now, there’s no way of making up for what we exchanged.”

Blaze didn’t even need to ask the next question on her mind- the gap was filled without her permission. He lost his partner, whoever this woman was, to their task, at what stage and age she had no idea, but Blaze could feel her heart bleeding for him. He was old and so there was no real way to know when he’d lost her, he talked as if it was recent but to her it felt as though she’d vanished from his life long ago. This was just so strange, Blaze felt so many things that she couldn’t express and couldn’t recall feeling before. Why was he talking with her about all this?

Floundering, struggling for something to raise his spirits, Blaze blurted, “W-What about the others? I assume you’ve spent time with Cream, Sonic, Amy, all of them? Bonding with them helped me, did it do the same for you?”

“To an extent, I can’t deny that, but I haven’t seen any of them for decades. I’ve been dealing with their children and their children’s children and so on…” Recalling that seemed to return some of the joy to his muzzle, “Their faces began to blur towards the end, I’m sure I called one of their furthest descendants Amy more often than by her own name,” He almost chuckled, “It feels like yours is the most unique face I’ve seen in years, Blaze.”

Not once had he referred to her as princess or by the likes of your majesty, he’d asked about it as her job but it clearly wasn’t who he considered her. The name Blaze seemed to fall from his mouth and slip into her ears so easily, as if it almost belonged in the space between the two of them. Venice didn’t seem as though it’d capture nearly the same space.

“But no, there was no replacing her; not even partially,” He managed to continue, bright eyes gleamed with light even as the sun was rapidly setting, “Knowing them helped certainly but it's only now, as I reach this twilight age, I’ve realised quite how much I miss her.”

Part of Blaze wanted to believe that was the only reason he was here, that the old man was a wandering soul that’d long lost its leash, but there was something in itching at the back of her head that told her that wasn’t true. Furthermore, while it sounded like there was some truth to what he’d said, it didn’t seem like the whole truth; his talk of forgetting echoed in her mind. Regardless of that though, this sad hedgehog had rather endeared himself to her and if she could help shed some of that weight from his shoulders then she’d have done good today.

“What was she like?” She more gently questioned.

“My partner was, and always will be, the best person I ever knew,” His remaining shoulder started to relax, his whole form seemed to loosen as his stare returned to the sunset, “She knew me better than I knew myself, whenever I was pushing myself too far she wouldn’t hesitate to stop me. Without even blinking, she wouldn’t hesitate to knock me down or tell me I was being foolish. My emotions would get the better of me rather often while, even though she usually felt the same as me, she subdued most of hers. Whenever she couldn’t though, whenever things grew too aggravating or a defeat crushed her, I was there as best as I could be to help,” Even though he was looking off into the distance, she could tell he was more imagining than staring at the sunset, “She’d read poetry and prose while I liked to play games and investigate history, but we shared a number of things…”

For whatever reason, though she assumed it to be second-hand embarrassment on the part of Venice’s long-lost partner, the way he’d phrased those first compliments and briefly regaled her with their history was warming the princess’ heart further still. She found herself shifting just a little closer, entirely enamoured with the way he talked about this woman. Though Blaze couldn’t even begin to picture this other time traveler in her mind, she felt as though she was familiar too. Albeit, in a very different way.

“The world we were born into was practically devoid of nature, plants refused to grow and rain rarely fell. The world of the past that we knew came from books and, of the collections of books we found, none would interest us like those tomes containing nature photography. They let us see waterfalls, lush green grass and sights we couldn’t have even fathomed,” He reminisced, “As soon as I found out about them, I’d compare her to a star so very often. It always seemed to embarrass her just a little, how I always thought they were so very pretty. I never meant it like that at the time, but hindsight and a life of living paints a rather different story. I was so very… well, it’s not her word, but I was very oblivious to both of our feelings.”

A few clouds had begun to drift, dusting the sky and obscuring the end of the sunset, but with a wave he rearranged the sky again. As he did so, she watched as his attention was pulled from that imagined place and arrived back at reality. What was pink had gradually drifted to a deeper red and the colour had begun to overwhelm the dark clouds that lingered upon it. Even as it was nearing its end, even if the sun would dip beneath the horizon in a matter of minutes, it was all still so beautiful.

“The way the sun paints the sky in such a natural way never ceases to amaze me. I love a bright blue sky, free of clouds, but the way this one contrasts and blurs them is just so…” The joy in his voice reached a crescendo, “I’m just so glad that I finally got to see this with you.”

“See this with me?” Blaze blinked; she’d been overjoyed to hear him talk so freely but that stumble caught her full attention.

Her questioning seemed to stop him in his tracks, just as it did her. What could he have possibly meant by that? Panic and regret crumpled his face, “Um, yes… I’m glad we could have our meeting, as in…” The hedgehog’s head quickly whipped from her again, “But it’s been so long, the sun’s almost set. I’m sorry, Blaze, I’ve taken up far too much of your time,” A flash of cyan emanated from beneath his robes and, before Blaze could even understand what was happening, he’d materialised a leg from light and risen to stand tall. His remaining hand was extended down to her, “I’m sure you must be very busy…”

“N-No, I… Venice,” As she took his hand and said that name for the first time, it felt so wrong in her mouth. It absolutely wasn’t his name, “I don’t know what has happened, or even who you truly are, but meeting you…” She scrambled for the right words, “I don’t know what it is, but I feel as if there’s much more to you. I’ve never talked to someone like this, let alone a stranger. We’ve hardly been together half an hour but-

“Th-That’s why I need to go, even that’s too long,” He grumbled before a pulsing hum began to overwhelm his words. He raised his remaining hand and from the ring in his palm a disk of cyan light was projected. With another gesture, it was pushed outwards and Blaze could see a swirling blue vortex within that hole, “I’ve probably stayed with you longer than I should have, I’m sorry.”

“Why did you actually come here? What did you come here to do?” Why was her voice wavering? Why was she getting louder? What did it matter if this stranger left? “You can’t have crossed time and space just to see me, why would you do that?”

“Even if things aren’t perfect, I’m glad you’re safe and comfortable here,” He wasn’t listening to her or, at the very least, he wasn’t acknowledging her words, “Please try to enjoy yourself. If you get the opportunity, please be with your friends more and live the life you want to live. You were…” He managed to look at her again, smiling while his eyes were stained red with tears, “You are brilliant, Blaze. I’m so glad I made it here before the end,” Without turning from her, he stumbled forward and vanished into that void.

Her immediate reflex was to follow but the hole collapsed on itself and vanished in the air, spluttering out his final words, “Good luck,” as it vanished from reality.

Alone on the docks, left with only the sound of the waves and the whistling of wind, Blaze felt something inside her ache in a way she’d never ached before. Who was that figure, why did she care, what had he meant by his end and why had he come? She didn’t feel like she was watching one of her citizens die, she didn’t even feel as she had at Gardon’s funeral; this was alien to her and yet so familiar.

Having only risen to her feet a moment ago, she stumbled back and ended up sitting on the dock again. Ahead of her was the sky that he’d cleared, the sun had just dipped beneath the horizon. It was only a matter of time before his last impact on the world would be blown away, clouds were already encroaching on the space he’d made. He’d be wiped from this world, the ship’s he’d revived for Marine would surely sink again, but, for some reason, that old man had claimed an eternal place within the princess’ soul.

Why that was and who he was she’d surely never know, but she hoped her heart would stop aching soon.

#sonamysilvazeweek2021 #silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #angst #fanfic #marine the raccoon

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whitehotharlots · 3 years

Text

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc.

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism.

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable.

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself.

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing.

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse.

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back.

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure.

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aimeelouart · 3 years

Note

How about cursed cloud ending up in a universe where his and Sephiroth's roles were reversed?

The Calamity’s Cursed Child - 1789 words, ASGZC, dimension-hopping, may have a part two later

(Why do all my prompts go off the rails from what I expected? Whatever. I hope you enjoy it anyway!)

When Cloud first started bouncing between dimensions, he spent no more than a few minutes in each new world before being sent to the next. Then, slowly, the time between jumps started to stretch. First five minutes, then ten, then thirty, then an hour, then several hours. It was a mixed blessing at best. If he was in a good world, or at least a world that lacked the power to subdue him, then he had a chance to rest. If it was not, then he...endured.

Always, he endured.

This newest world took all of three seconds to go sideways, and his only saving grace was that the previous world had afforded him nearly four uninterrupted hours of sleep. He drew in a breath as the buzzing faded, immediately diving to the side and smoothly drawing Tsurugi as he heard the whistle of air over a sword’s keen blade.

Sephiroth stood across from him, silver hair rippling in the wind. Cloud had narrowly avoided being impaled by Masamune for the...well, he’d long since lost track of the number of times he’d been impaled on that blade, actually.

Cloud wasn’t surprised. In fact, it was such a familiar scenario that he didn’t feel much of anything. He didn’t speak. He didn’t attack. He waited, ready to act once this Sephiroth revealed what kind of man he was. If he had to fight, he would. If it was better to flee, he would. He had neither pride nor preference left in him.

“Strife,” Sephiroth said, voice hard.

Ah. That was a new one. Cloud cocked his head to the side. Sephiroth either called him Cloud, possessive as a hand around his throat, or he didn’t recognize him at all. Cloud had never been addressed with the cold distance of Strife before.

Zack was by Sephiroth’s side, expression equally hard. It wasn’t the first time Zack had been hostile to him, but it still burned like a physical wound. “How are you back, Strife?” he spat, sword in hand. “Haven’t we killed you enough already?”

Ah. Ah. Cloud thought he finally had an idea of what was going on. Well, this would either give him another chance to rest or he would be playing an unpleasant game of high-stakes tag against a mirror-image of the family he once knew. He blinked at them tiredly and spoke, not quite ready to holster Tsurugi yet: “Ah. No. I’m not the ‘Strife’ you know. Knew. The opposite, really. I’ve come from a different dimension entirely and I have no wish to fight you.”

Zack scoffed. “You expect us to believe that? After what you did?”

But Sephiroth held up a hand. “Wait. Zack, does he not look different to you?”

Cloud just stood silent, endlessly patient as the two SOLDIERs examined him closely. Zack’s expression in particular slowly melted from angry, wounded hostility to wary confusion.

“Yeah,” Zack said eventually, tensed muscles relaxing. His eyes lingered on Cloud’s. “Yeah, he does.”

Cloud took a risk, slinging Tsurugi back over his shoulder and locking it to the magnetic holster. They might still try to kill him, but now he would have enough warning to bolt. In response, they slowly lowered their own weapons, though neither fully put them away.

“...Cloud?” Zack asked, soft, cautious...hopeful.

A tiny, tiny smile tugged at the edge of Cloud’s lips. “Most people do call me that, yeah, Zack.”

The dark-haired man’s answering grin was absolutely blinding in its intensity. He took a step forward, only to be stopped by one of Sephiroth’s hands on his chest.

“Wait,” Sephiroth said, a hard light still lingering in his eyes. “Do you have any way to prove your claims...Cloud?”

He snorted. “I’m guaranteed to vanish into the next dimension within a few hours, but other than that, no.” He shook his head. “I doubt I could even offer you confirmable information. Where I came from⁠, and most of the worlds I’ve seen...well, I’m not the one Zack usually greets with hostility.”

They both blinked in surprise. “What?” Zack asked, head cocking to the side.

“This is just a guess, but by your reactions the Strife of this universe went Jenova-crazy and tried to destroy the world, right?”

Immediately, Zack’s expression shuttered and Sephiroth’s returned to coldness. “Something like that,” Sephiroth said.

“Mm,” Cloud hummed. “Well, sorry to spring this on you⁠—” he wasn’t “⁠—but nine times out of ten, Sephiroth is the one who gets...Jenova’d.”

Zack looked at Sephiroth, aghast. “Is that⁠—would that have been better or worse?”

“I don’t want to know,” the silver-haired man said flatly. Cloud nodded in agreement. Apparently his words, or maybe his agreement, was enough proof for the silver-haired man to relax from outright hostility. Sephiroth finally dismissed Masamune and Zack followed suit, holstering the broadsword that...wasn’t the Buster.

Cloud didn’t want to know about that either.

Then Zack bounded forward. Cloud flinched as he was swept up into a hug without any warning. His feet were no longer touching the floor. He fought down the reflexive urge to cast a point-blank Firaga. After a few more seconds he even managed to convince his body to relax into Zack’s arms.

“It’s so good to see you again, Cloud,” the dark-haired man murmured, a world of weight behind his words.

The blond huffed. He didn’t share any history with this Zack, a fact which most Zacks tended to conveniently forget (or ignore), but the lingering wounds of his own Zack’s death made him willing to return the embrace and the words. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Zack finally let go, setting him down only to take his face in his hands in a surprisingly intimate gesture. He brushed his thumbs across the dark (and probably permanent by this point) circles beneath Cloud’s eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning in close. “You look like shit, babe.”

Oh boy. Cloud suddenly got the impression that he was missing some very critical pieces of information about the Cloud of this world. He’d also never been confronted by this particular issue before⁠—his mind went blank, which was unhelpful at best.

His expression must have been something to behold, because Zack immediately let go of his face and stepped back. “Oh,” he said, eyes wide, “oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s uh⁠—” Was his face on fire? It felt like his face was on fire. “It’s fine. We⁠—I mean, you two were…?”

“Two?” Zack said, glancing at Sephiroth. “There were uh...a bit more than just us two involved?”

He stared. For once, something other than terror was steadily burning away his fog of tired apathy. “Sephiroth?” he squeaked. “We—I mean, you and him and Sephiroth?”

Then, to his shock (shock deep enough that his hand automatically jerked toward Tsurugi’s handle) Sephiroth threw his head back and laughed. In fact, he laughed until he had to lean on his knees and tears streamed down his face. “Oh⁠—” he gasped, “oh it really is you, Cloud.”

Cloud looked to Zack for help, but the dark-haired man just grinned and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Me, and you, and Sephiroth,” he agreed. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that immediately set Cloud on edge. “And... maybe one or two more.”

Sephiroth was still...giggling. Cloud didn’t think his eyes could get any wider without popping right out of his skull. “More? How many more? What the hell?”

“Oh man, is every version of you unbearably cute?” Zack cooed⁠—or maybe flirted, Cloud wasn’t exactly the best at differentiating⁠. “Dunno how you avoided it, but we five fell into each other like...gravity. It felt inevitable, really. You, me, Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal.”

“I⁠—what? While I was at Shinra?” He and Zack hadn’t even met until the two commanders defected. A thought struck him. “Was I a SOLDIER?”

Both Zack and Sephiroth shot him odd looks. “Uh, ‘course? You were practically Shinra’s golden boy! Had a fanclub and everything!”

That explained it. Part of it. He didn’t understand why he felt like he’d dodged a bullet. “I never made it into SOLDIER. I was Infantry when we met for the first time.”

At his words, Sephiroth sobered back into the nearly emotionless mask Cloud was used to. “But you are enhanced, clearly. Based on the way you spoke, I would guess that you are enhanced to the same levels that Strife was.”

“Enhanced, yes.” Cloud smiled with bitter humor. “SOLDIER, no. This was Hojo’s doing. I caught his attention by killing my Sephiroth as an ‘unworthy little Infantry brat.’”

They both winced. “I’m...sorry,” Zack said, sincere and awkward. He glanced down, arm still heavy on Cloud’s shoulders. No one seemed inclined to continue that line of inquiry, which was fine by him. “Listen, I⁠—this is selfish of me to ask, but...you said you have a few hours before you leave, right?”

“Four, give or take,” Cloud confirmed. He’d been planning on stuffing himself into a nondescript hole somewhere to sleep, but he was willing to do a lot for Zack. “What is it?”

“Would you...would you come home with us? Not like that!” He added the second part when Cloud blanched and flushed crimson. “It’s just...the others, Gen and Ange, they….they deserve to see you too.”

“Zack…” Cloud sighed, “I’m not the Cloud you knew. You understand that, right?”

Zack’s lips pressed together. He stepped away, letting his hand slide over to rest on the top of Cloud’s shoulder even as he put some distance between them. “I do. I do get that. But you’re still...you. And you are...you’re sane. You’re...whole. It’s enough just to see you. Please. I know it’s selfish. You can say no, we’d still help you, but...” He reached out with his free hand and brushed a thumb over the dark circle under his eye for a second time. “You can just go right to sleep on the couch if you want. It’s enough just to see you. Please.”

He understood the impulse. Hadn’t he been thinking earlier about how soothing it felt just to see any version of Zack alive and happy? For some unfathomable reason, Cloud glanced over at Sephiroth. He nodded in agreement, an unfamiliar softness to the set of his eyes. Huh.

“Alright, Zack,” he said, relenting with a sigh. “I’ll sleep on your couch. All the...boyfriend wrangling is on you, though. I’m not much of a conversationalist even at the best of times.”

Zack just laughed, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go entirely. “I promise I’ll wrangle my boyfriends for you,” he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Cloud regretted his decision immediately.

#ask #fic reply #cursed to strife #ASGZC #cloud strife #zack fair #sephiroth #ff7 #aimeelouwrites #my fics

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harpersplay · 3 years

Text

4x14 Thoughts

I touched on this before, but context fucking matters. Even though it erased Annie's class & Ruby's race while using Beth's momness and whiteness as a shield, the speech in 1x02 works because it's life and death. It works because these women have just been thrown into this scary world and Beth makes a desperate but savvy (she picks up on Rio being more than just a gangbanger and appeals to his business side) plea. She uses what she can (Annie has never brought orange slices to any game ever, let's be real) and saves the day. And yet we see how terrified she was even after it worked. IT WAS AN UNREAL SITUATION THAT FELT REAL. Beth's recent "boss bitch" moments do not work because it's just her fully leaning into the smug entitled white lady role. I feel like too many fans ignore 2x13-3x02. The threat of Rio (and the FBI) was GONE as far as Beth knew. But she decided to do crime. Ruby was stealing from her workplace. Beth was putting Dorothy and Lucy at legal risk by using her store and her work, respectively, to commit crimes without telling them. That's who Beth is. So reframing her actions in S3 & S4 as simply reactions to evil Rio trying to ruin her life not only removes Beth's agency. It is also hollow. Because Beth has zero problem with crime—stealing Gayle's business, bribing a city official, hiring a hitman, setting up an innocent man to be a murderer, making Dean "sell" a hot tub to Mick, selling counterfeit purses, blackmailing men into buying those purses. Beth has a problem with not getting her way. And that's not enjoyable to watch. This is not me saying Beth has to be likeable as in a "good" person. But she has to be likeable to watch. Mary Pat is a total weirdo with very questionable morality, but she's enjoyable to watch. Vance is fucking creepy as shit, but he's enjoyable to watch. And while the show gave both those characters some dimension, it never portrayed them as characters we should unabashedly cheer for. That's not how they write Beth. They still—four fucking seasons in—want us to see her as a mom just trying to survive. But that's not the story plotwise that they have chosen to write. And the fact that Beth's "wins" are almost always at the expense of other women or POC is an added gross factor.

The show needs to make up it's mind about the monetary situation. Either things are dire and they are saving every penny to "escape" to Nevada. Or they have enough money to refurbish Sweet P's and buy Kenny an iPad.

Detroit city council is by district. Why do they keep referencing Ward 5?

Nice of the show to have Dave & Phoebe literally walk thru the situation. Super FUN! that the women who have been in this for years (per date revealed in 4x13) still don't understand how it works. The only way I like this scene is if it is a meta commentary about how the majority of the show stans have never understood how any of the crime aspects work 🧐 And I see that the show is yet again ignoring Turner's whiteboard and everything else implied about Rio's business dealings in S1.

Phoebe's no Turner, but I've never disliked her. She was really good in this episode, but the Phoebe/Beth stuff from stans is annoying. Why are people so into ships where Beth is awful to the other person and yet the other person is willing to risk things for Beth? Wait...I think I answered my own question.

So much wasted time on these MRA guys. I guess they don't need to be ~mysterious~ and I love (I don't) the casual misogyny in all their scenes. Preemptive GTFOH: I know—believe me, more than I want to—that men like this exist. I know it is realistic. But, again, as I mentioned before, the show is more than happy to ignore all types of realism to make the story they want to tell work. So don't tell me that this is simply a reflection of society. Jenna & Co are choosing to write this storyline in this way and she thinks it is fun and comedic.

The show is about the 3 women and anyone asking for more screen time for Rio is a misogynist. One minute spent on Annie's new shitty white male love interest popping her pimple = crickets.

The show is about the 3 women and anyone asking for more screen time for Rio is a misogynist. Dean having the reasonable response to Beth running for city council while she dismisses his legitimate concerns = crickets.

And, btw, Denise doesn't need secret insider information. Even if Dean's police records are sealed—why tho?—the two extremely visible daytime raids on the family businesses would have been on the news. And—gag!—Beth's visit to Denise was hella stupid. Denise is not a criminal, like the girls were in S1, so she has no narrative reason not to call the cops on Beth & her "thug." It was a shallow parallel and just another example of Beth needing a man to handle things for her.

I mentioned in my 4x13 thoughts about how the Sweet P's "fun and empowering...unlikely feminist statement" is bullshit. The girls, specifically Ruby, spent a lot of time judging the dancers. Beth straight up mocked Krystal's voice. They didn't care about implicating them in crime or costing them their jobs when they set up Gene to take the fall for the money laundering. They only "care" now because they need them.

Annie & Nancy's scene would have been nicer if Annie didn't imply that Greg(g)'s cheating was Nancy's failure. Again, they could have had them talk about the cheating and difficulty that Nancy went through as an example of a hardship she overcame. But they CHOSE to have Nancy explicitly frame the business disaster as a personal failing. So having Annie respond with the infidelity doesn't come across as tough love. It comes across as needlessly callous and victim-blaming.

This is long already, so I'm not even going to get into the Beth & Rio conversation at Sweet P's.

Ugh, Rio & Nick. So fucking dumb. Where was Nick before all of this? Why is he flexing his muscle now? With what we've gotten of his characterisation & attitude, are we to believe that this is the first time in 20 years that Rio & Nick have clashed? I would think that he would have been very concerned and involved when Rio drew the attention of the FBI. But Nick was nowhere to be found. (Because these writers don't understand the difference between retconning and world expansion.) Although I did get a chuckle when Nick said, "You think you'd have any of this?" while gesturing to Rio's usually empty bar.

Yet again, no cameras in an area that would most likely have cameras. And white woman Beth implicating gangs (which to cops = Black & brown youth) with her "broken windows theory" scare tactic is disgusting.

Caribbean flair and Mahalo. I'm so goddamn exhausted at this point.

Hello, Random Bitch Wife. FUN!

Hey, speaking of context matters....that entire last scene Beth is actively working with Phoebe & Dave to send Rio to prison. Romance!!!

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #good girls season 4

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worminstuff · 3 years

Text

karl jacobs lore ish thing

by crackba- mick.

here is my karl lore/ time travel brain vomit. i genuinely do not believe this will make sense to anyone because it is SO all over the place and a lot of the things said aren’t fully explained so i can do another more organized one if that’s what people want, cause this is literally just confusing brain vomit. i condridict myself and i don’t explain each thought which is because of how confusing the topic i’m explaining is. plus i’m a tad rusty lol.

while reading this you may form your own logical theories i may not have thought of, that’s okay and that doesn’t mean i or you are wrong, nothing about this is proven it’s just gumbled insane theory’s created by logic that hasn’t been proved yet. also all of my knowledge of time traveling is back from when i was 12 and had the mind of a crackbaby, so bear with me. good luck!!!!!!!

Okay so this is going to be broken up into a couple things so bear with me. I'm gonna go through some of karls lore for background, time traveling facts and or things to generally know about it and how it works and can affect things, and how these things will affect Karl possibly or maybe explain some things.

To start, Karl first started/learned of his abilities after the destruction of l’manburg. According to the wiki page (i know i'm sorry) he was done with picking sides and just wanted to see everything be peaceful with all of his friends happy. His end goal is to find a timeline that is peaceful and happy OR try to help each timeline he can find so that it will maybe cause peace in OTHER timelines.

The thing about time traveling though, is you physically can't do it “right”. No matter what you do you're changing or messing with something you shouldn't, because of the butterfly effect. The butterfly effect simplified is where when one thing is slightly changed it drastically changes everything else. When you time travel and change something there is always the loophole of future you did that oo, so it was already bound to happen before you could change it. You can't change” a timeline in theory, because the future happens based on the past so what you're doing “right now” has already happened in the future. I hope that makes sense. This kind of cancles out the butterfly effect, but if we were to rely on the butterfly effect without that logic then that is a whole other type of problem. By changing one thing, youre causing a chain reaction for many things to happen, after. This mostly affects things when traveling BACK in time, but it can affect the future too. If you were gonna go back in time to the day prior and let's say, not eat the breakfast you ate that day. When you go back to “present day” suddenly you've got a stomach ache and your mom gets worried and then you have to go to the doctors and then you miss school and suddenly you've got a tardy that messes with your grades and transcript to the point that it changes which colleges you would've gotten into had you NOT time traveled. Make sense? No? okay.

Karl has also more recently become aware of this place called “the between '', i'm gonna personally assume this is the place that each and every dimension/timeline available coincides in some way. Some sort of middle ground. In this huge castle/heaven like place of peace are books to guide karl. Who could be writing these books? A future karl who knows he’ll find them? Do they just exist? We don't know. In the last stream we saw at the end that there were many karls passing through each other as if they were all ghosts or something, non interacting with each other, but for some reason karl could see all of them. Why could he see them all but they couldn't see him or eachother?

Because he's witnessing other timelines overlap?

Wrong. Well maybe- each time you pass into a timeline, one that is close to yours (which karl does because why would they help the smp if they weren't that timeline?) so that means there is already a karl in that timeline. But he's putting another one in, himself. By overlapping these, it can cause many things to happen.

There are MANY karls that ALL time travel. So a possibility is that when one karl does something, another does something in that same timeline messing it up further. They're accidentally crossing dimensions.

Every time karl messes with the past, he's changing a future, so every FUTURE he's been to can't exist anymore unless we were to consider that in that future karl had already gone to the past in that time line many years prior causing it to be that way. This could be confusing to look further into though.

Why does this all matter? i don’t know.

Because karl cant change anything. Whatever he has done, or will do, is already set in stone by another karl, a future karl already did it and that's why that future is that way.

One could argue that he could force a butterfly effect continuously, but again, future karl must've already done that, because he lived the same thing this karl had.

This would mostly all aply if he were going to times when he was still alive, so let's think about how it is where he's going further and further into the future and past. If he's not alive then he's going into a timeline where he has already been there (because of the many karl rule things we went through a bit) so by going there he's only solidifying what future was already there. He's still not changing anything. Because what he's trying to save already happened. How could traveling so far into the pass make things so much worse? Because what he's trying to fix hasn't happened, but he's going to do is going to cause it. No matter what he's done, if he's staying in the same timeline and dimension, he's still only solidifying what (same but different) Karl already has done.

Bringing it back to the book in the inbetween thing, another theory could be that Karl DID succeed so he put books to force his other selves to follow what he did to keep that same outcome for whatever timeline he saved. But then back to the knowledge of “how could he have put them if he would've needed them to fix that timeline like the new karls will?”

I still don't know. why are you asking me?

That's why it doesn't make sense for any good outcome of this. Karl is messing with time, and in no way will he be able to “fix” it consistently. He's Not the only karl, and because of that, time will never be consistent.

Not to mention he's losing himself, that could lead to even MORE problems.

None of this made sense to anyone. I'm sure this is literally 12 year old mick brain vomit, if you understood any of this good on you. If not, I am so sorry you read all of that.

The thing about writing about this stuff is that the further you write the more you think of and the less it makes sense.

Stupid version of all of that: (this part is a joke)

Karl go different time that time change and he do bang bang which essentially won't actually change anything, because past/future karl would have already done it. When karl time travel, future karl did it first cause future karl USED to be present karl, and past karl isn't present karl yet. Which means, the wars were all karls fault lol

#karl mcyt #karl jacobs fanfiction #karl jacobs #karl lore

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johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by anonymous; continuing from this)

The Doctor brushed his hair behind ears, frowning at his reflection as he looked at it for the hundredth time. Ponytail? Maybe that’d look better? What was his hair supposed to look like for a formal occasion? He would’ve just worn his hoodie like usual, but since this was going to be a fancy dinner, that wasn’t really an option…

A knock on his door? Now? Well, no helping it - at least he was dressed. He tossed the brush on the counter and went to dismiss his visi- “Doctor, you’re here. Good.”

“Of course I’m here, E- Zumama; I’m getting ready for the ceremony.” Despite being her award reception, the Pythia seemed to have other things in mind. “That is still happening, right?”

“It was canceled...I canceled it. They’ll mail the diploma.” She closed the door behind her with her tail.

He looked behind her. “Um, Zumama-”

“I don’t want to celebrate with them.” Zumama walked over to the Doctor’s bed and sat on it, tail draping over and off the other side. “Closure told me how long it would take, and how much filler there would be. I don’t have the patience for it.”

“O-okay, then. You want to do something, just the two of us, then?”

She nodded. “Will you help me find some doctor clothes today?”

“...Yeah, definitely.” After recalibrating his expectations, yeah, that sounded like a good idea. “Can I change out of this before we go?”

“Of course.” Zumama pulled out her phone and settled in to wait.

Hang on a minute here. “Could you, um...Could you wait outside?”

“Do I have to?” She looked up at him. “I won’t look.”

“That’s not- never mind. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He grabbed some more casual clothes from his drawers - the Pythia keeping her promise of not looking - and went to change in the bathroom, which felt utterly unnatural.

Those few minutes passed, the Doctor emerged ready to help the mechanic sell her new epithet...and found her sleeping on his bed. ‘What time is it? Wait, did I- ohhh, the AC’s still on. That might have been what did it; her body’s not meant for the cold...Did she just shiver?’ She had, in fact. ‘Well, shit. I don’t want to wake her up, honestly, but if she’s that cold-’ “Hey, Zumama?”

“Mmm?” The graduate yawned, sat, and yawned again as she stretched her arms behind her. “You’re done?”

“Yeah, but before we go, do you want something to warm you up? My tailor likes to keep the AC on high.”

Zumama nodded. “That’d be nice.”

“Here.” He grabbed some sweatpants and his ‘combat’ hoodie (which would’ve been worn over armor if he ever went out in the field) from his closet. “Try these.” If they didn’t fit, well, he didn’t really any other options for her.

“Hmm.” The Pythia looked over his offering after taking it from him, noticing the lack of space for her tail but deciding it would have to be dealt with like she normally did with her clothes: tearing it to the right dimensions. She undid her shoes and went to pull on the pants-

-and tore them trying to get them over her thighs. ‘Holy shit.’

“I’ll buy you another pair,” she noted as she finished destroying them, miraculously keeping them put-together enough to stay pants in a loose sense. Her legs were warm now, and that’s what mattered. “Do these come in a larger size?”

“Definitely...” Seeing that was going to knock him out of commission for a bit.

Eunectes slipped into the hoodie without any issues and took him by the hand. “You know where you’re taking me?”

“Oh, right, clothes.” The Doctor crashed back into reality. “It’s a bit of a walk, so I can call for a cart.”

“I’ll drive.” It wasn’t a question, and frankly he didn’t mind the Pythia taking the wheel. His hand needed a chance to recover from her grip on it…

As to be expected, the recent graduate was fully capable of driving the cart from the Doctor’s apartment to...another apartment. Stepping out of the vehicle, she gave him a curious look. “This isn’t a store.”

“Nope; I only have a couple jackets, so it’s easier for me to have a tailor keep them together than buying new stuff from a store. He knows what he’s doing.” The Doctor knocked on the door, and Aosta answered. “Good evening. Are you busy right now?”

“I can make some time. Have we met before, Miss…?”

Zumama shook her head. “Doctor Zumama. We haven’t.”

“And yet you’re wearing one of the Doctor’s coats. Understood.” The Lupo nodded. “I’ll need to take some measurements, and like any commission one of you will need to pay, but I can have one made for her by tomorrow.”

“Fantastic. I knew I could count on you.” The Doctor pulled out his wallet-

-only for Eunectes to hand Aosta a stack of 1000LMD bills. “Here.”

“...I’ll have it ready first thing tomorrow.” He slid the money into his pocket, replacing it in his hand with a tape measure. “Doctor, will you take her measurements for me?”

“Me?” Nonetheless, he took it.

With step-by-step instruction from his tailor, the Doctor took the Pythia’s measurements without entirely losing his cool; by this point, though, he needed dinner, and much to his chagrin, there wasn’t a single restaurant that felt like eating from within walking distance of the Lupo’s house. “Are you hungry, Zumama?”

“I could eat.” She checked the map of RI with her phone. “My room’s closer.”

“Really? Well, you’ve already seen my place, so...Sure.”

Leaving their cart parked where it was, the Pythia walked the Doctor to her place, his hand held and the back of his leg occasionally grazed by her tail. There was a sense of anticipation as they crossed the threshold, which Eunectes capitalized on by leading him to the couch...and letting him sit down as she went to the kitchen. “I’ll have dinner ready in twenty minutes.”

“I could order something for us.” The fridge opened in response, and he sighed. “But if you’d rather, by all means. Gives me time to breathe.”

“Did you stop earlier?” The graduate called into the living room.

He was sure she couldn’t possibly be serious. “I just meant I needed a break. If I stare anymore, my eyes are gonna pop out of my- I’m still talking out loud, aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” she replied over the sizzling of burgers. “Are you still thinking about being mine?”

“...I’ve made my choice, at least. Honestly, I thought you’d try something while we we’re in my room.” That was a bit presumptuous on his part, he’d admit-

-but then Zumama replied, “Your bed was too small. Mine has more space.”

“Ah.” That was more like he’d been expecting. “So after dinner?”

“Yeah, but not right after; I’ll need to wait for dinner to settle. Before we go to sleep tonight, though.”

That would have to do...the Doctor was starting to get impatient.

#arknights #arknights fic #eunectes (arknights)#you'd think having an extra day off would help speed things along #nope!#next two Saturdays are empty tho so hopefully at least one more fic this weekend

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 62 - SBT

Here it is!

"Right, baby, I think we're ready."

Mundy had put on his black three-piece suit and it had taken him an ungodly amount of time. He wanted everything to be perfect, and with his arm still in the cast, it was delicate. He shaved, arranged his hair and decided against using his hat. It didn't match with the very classy suit.

"Pearl, come here, I need to dress you up too."

The kitten came closer to the edge of the bed where she had been silently watching Mundy from. And that's when it struck him. She wasn't that baby tiny kitten anymore… It had been months between meeting Lucien and now; months during which Perle had grown up significantly. She wasn't an adult cat yet, but she was far from a kitten too.

"Here, that's for your collar…" He removed the pink one and replaced it with the black one that Richard had made. Mundy delicately put the heart-shaped pendant with her name through it. "And that's the bow… Did I put it correctly? Does it itch or hurt or anythin'?"

Perle sat up proudly.

"Meow."

"Alright, good, come to me, baby."

Mundy stood his back against the ladder that led to the bed and Perle elegantly went from the bed to his shoulder.

"Good girl. Now, we'd better get goin'."

Mundy took the bus to the cemetery that Maurice had mentioned over lunch that day. The other passengers gave him some odd looks. Mundy was impeccably dressed and his hair was neatly arranged. Even his cat's accessories matched his clothes…!

He got off the bus and when he passed the wrought-iron gates, shivers ran through his body. He frowned and walked deeper in, on the old stone pavement.

"Holy…"

He soon saw a horde of people surrounding a priest and one head stood up and out of the crowd. It was Maurice's. Mundy passed the crowd and went to him. As he did so, he saw the children that Maurice was taking care of, he recognised some beggars and even the Doc' was there. As promised, Richard and his family had come, as well as Eddy, curiously enough. The rest of the crowd consisted of people that Mundy did not know or recognise but they all dressed for the occasion, either all in black or in dark blue military uniform with medals hanging from their chests.

"Mundy." Maurice greeted him.

"Who are these people?" He asked straight away.

"People who knew who L was. On the day that the accident happened, I was there to confirm that both Duchemin and L… passed. And these people you see, these all knew him either by name or by reputation. Some even served with him during the war."

"Crikey… They all came from-?"

"Oui. They jumped in a plane from France and answered the call that I didn't even have to make. The news of L's passing does not need any courier to spread." Maurice answered.

Mundy's eyes went around and finally fell on what was in front of him, on the grass, next to a wide hole that matched the box's dimensions. The casket.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" The old priest interrupted. "We gather here today to celebrate the life of Lucien de Beauregard, who has now returned to his home with Our God, The Father."

Mundy's eyes snapped wide. That was Lucien's full name and he had never asked him. He had never thought about it.

The priest went on with a sermon and a prayer that Mundy did not fully hear. His eyes were stuck on the box not far from his feet. And what his mind imagined inside tore him apart. He bit his lip to stop himself and tried to pay attention to what the priest said, to distract himself from his own train of thought.

But Gosh… Even something as simple as his full name, Mundy didn't know. And yet, Lucien wanted to be buried here in Australia, by his side….?! How wild was that! They had only known each other for a few months and yet Lucien had completely centered his life around Mundy, his life and his after-life.

The priest went on and on with words, Jesus, God, the Holy Spirit and all of it.

"I was informed that some of you would like to play a song?" The old church man said.

"Yes."

A crew of musicians pushed through the crowd and Mundy recognised them.

"Hello everyone, uhm, I'm Andy, my friends here and I didn't know much about Lulu but… He gave us our passion for music back and… We wanted to pay a tribute to him, modestly, with the first piece he asked us to play." Andy looked at the casket. "Lulu, we will miss your voice."

He turned to the musicians and when he raised his hand, the violins started. The brass section was added little by little, as Mundy put a hand on his mouth to cover his shock. He recognised the melody even if the velvet voice and poetic lyrics were silent.

It was La Solitude.

Mundy heard it though, in his head, Lucien's voice, the voice he fell in love with, the elegance, the charm, the refinement; qualities that were so foreign to him but suited Lucien like his very gloves. And the tears started to stream as Mundy realised that she would be back now, the Solitude. Bugger, no, not again…

The musicians did their best and some of them couldn't hold back their tears either. When they finished, no one applauded but all nodded respectfully.

"Anyone else would like to add a word?" The priest asked.

Mundy wiped his tears with the back of his hand and when he raised his head, a forest of hands had risen. The priest let everyone talk.

That old military man related a story that involved Lucien saving him, that other one told everyone how Lucien helped him secure a strategic place, even though he wasn't part of the mission… The tales of war went on and on from all those people wearing a képi and a dark blue uniform. Their stories confirmed what Mundy had heard from Richard and Maurice: Lucien was an exceptional man, a man who did not hesitate to help, putting his own life at risk to try and make it better for others. He wasn't all arrogance and if he was, it was only a cover, to hide a generosity that very few people could understand.

"Anyone else?"

"Yes, please."

"Bastian…?"

The young man took a step and looked down at the casket.

"L, you… You encouraged me to work hard for what I want and uh… You've always been there for me, leaving gigantic tips… You helped me pay a new pair of shoes, you helped me get a haircut, you gave me advice, you gave me hope… I should have told you earlier, it's a bit late now but uh… They took me in the kitchen of the hotel, as an apprentice. They'll teach me and hopefully I'll be able to become a chef cook. I… Thank you so much…" Bastien wiped the tears on his cheeks.

"And thank you, old man." To Mundy's surprise, Victoria stepped out of the crowd, holding hands with a man. "Thank you for your company, your lunches, the Spanish lessons, the advice with… everything. It's thanks to you that I found my… Well, my fiancé, and… I intended to invite you to the wedding, whenever that would be. Anyway, thank you for being the dad I'd have loved to have."

Mundy's jaw dropped. He knew Bastien and Victoria but he had no idea about Bastien's dream to become a cook, or Victoria's Spanish lessons, or even her boyfriend…! And to think that when he had first met him, Mundy thought that Lucien was one of those like Johnson: too much money, nothing in his heart. But he turned out to be the one exception to the rule, just like for anything else.

"Thank you, my child." The priest answered. He scanned the crowd. "You… Is there anything you would add? I see you are deeply troubled."

Mundy raised his eyes and it was to him that the church man was talking.

"I can't…" He sobbed. "I-I'd love to, but I can't…"

Mundy didn't see it but Maurice gestured to the priest.

"You may speak freely. Tell us and tell him what troubles you."

Mundy wiped his face with the back of his sleeve as Maurice put a hand on his shoulder to encourage him.

"He… He was everythin' to me… He came to my life like a gift from God himself. He… He was the best friend I'd ever had and I knew him only for a few months. I trusted him with my life, I… Lu'... Why did you have to go… I… I love you."

Mundy hid his face in his hands as Perle brushed herself against him.

The casket was slowly lowered to the ground and Mundy could not bear to see it. His eyes caught a glimpse of it and his knees gave up. Victoria went to him and crouched down, brushing his back gently. He sobbed and sobbed, covering his face in shame as little by little, the casket got covered by more and more dirt.

"... Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

When Mundy removed his hands from his face, he had cried enough for his eyes to burn so much that he could hardly open them. He found himself sitting on the ground in front of a tombstone with the name of the man his heart beat for. Perle was lying down in front of the tombstone and crying too.

"I'm sorry, baby cat… I'm so sorry… I didn't want that, I didn't want any of it, I… I thought we'd make it, I genuinely did…"

The sobs went on and Mundy didn't realise that the crowd had gone and he was left alone to grieve.

"Fuck me, fuck all of me, I'm just going from one loss to the next, I hate it! Why does it have to be like this? Does it really need to be like this? And what am I gonna lose next? You, baby cat? My van? My r-oh…"

Mundy's eyes snapped wide and the rage boiling inside him made it out.

"FUCK IT!"

He grabbed Perle and ran back to Maurice's street and his van. Once he got there, he slipped in and started the engine. He floored it. It was hard to drive with one arm but compared to losing his reason to live, it was nothing.

"Meow?" Perle asked from Lucien's seat.

"We got some cleanin' to do, baby cat, and the sooner we do it, the better…!"

Mundy raced out of town and into the desert. He drove for long hours during which the shadows of the few cacti and boulders there stretched longer and longer on the orange and dry ground.

"Meow…"

Perle laid down on the seat and was staring at her Dad. He was frowning, his jaw was clenched hard and he was almost not breathing. His heartbeat was fast and suddenly his body temperature soared and more water flowed out of his eyes. He cried again and Perle understood it now. They had said goodbye to Papa and Dad was very sad about it. But it would be fine, Dad was strong and Perle wasn't a kitten anymore, she could defend them if needs be!

Still, Dad was crying long and hot tears. His eyes were red and his breath was completely erratic.

"Meow…"

Perle hopped from her seat to her Dad's and sat on his lap, curled in a warm ball of fur. Dad rolled down the window and meowed louder and louder at… at the road? He meowed loud at no one, certainly not at Perle, she hadn't done anything wrong. Her ears slowly moved down and she laid her head down.

Poor Dad… He was as mad as she was before she found Papa. In that state, he would no doubt hiss, bite and scratch anyone who would dare approach him. Of course Perle was distraught to lose her Papa, she loved him more than anyone and anything else. He had saved her, fed her, sheltered her, raised her, even loved her… Papa used to give the best kisses, those that make a funny noise, and he always smelt so good...

Oh, Dad stopped the van.

"You can stay in the van, if you want, Pearl."

"Meow." She stood up on her back legs and put her paws on his chest. Mundy looked down and hugged her. She had grown up so fast, that kitty. Now when she stood up, her head reached below his jaw.

"Right, c'mere then, big lady."

He put her on his shoulder and exited the driver's seat to go at the back. Perle looked around them but here was no one and nothing. No streets, no buildings, no nothing.

Dad went in through the back door and he retrieved a big metal box. He opened it and it contained a lot of shiny things inside. Perle had never seen those things before. As Dad was crouched down, she hopped off of his shoulder and into the box.

"Meow?"

"Don't get in there, kitty cat. It's ugly." He took her out and turned to get his blowgun and a few other things lying around in the van. He took all the big knives out of the wall and his eyes and his entire body stopped sharp.

"What the…?"

As he removed the kukris from the wall, Mundy realised that one of the pictures that was stuck there was gone. The picture of him and his parents, the most recent one..!

He looked down at the floor. Maybe the old sticky tape gave up and it fell, but no. He couldn't see it anywhere.

"Bloody hell, problems never come alone…"

He decided to not worry about it just now and focus on what he had come here to do instead. When he turned to toss the big knives in the box again, Perle was sitting back in the large box.

"Meow?"

"Get out, Pearl. I don't have time to play."

"Meow?"

He sighed and crouched down again. He gently carried her off of the box and put what he had in his hand in there.

"Look, these are problems."

"Meow?" She repeated.

"Yeah, problems. People call them rifles, kukris, weapons. I call them problems."

"Meow?"

"Because whenever I touch one, people end up dying. And this time it's… Bugger…" He shut his eyes and looked away.

Dad closed the big box and pushed it out of the van. He then took the biggest spoon Perle had ever seen and took massive spoonfuls of the ground. He kept meowing loudly each time the big spoon hit the ground. And he went on and on forever such that Perle took a nap on the van's door step. When she woke up, it was dark outside and Dad was still hitting the spoon in the ground and meowing. But this time, he was quieter. The hole he dug was now so big that the box fitted in there. It pushed it in and then he put back all the dust and dirt he had moved away with the gigantic spoon. It took him ages because of his broken short leg.

"Right…"

Dad ended up on his knees, pushing the dirt back to be flat, and the box had totally disappeared.

"Meow…"

Perle jumped down to the ground and brushed her fluff against Mundy.

"Yeah. It's over, kitty cat. I won't do that stupid mistake ever again. I'd rather die now and alone rather that touch these cursed things, find someone and end up killin' them."

"Meow?"

"My Dad was right, those things kill even when you don't pull the trigger."

Mundy sat on the ground, under the moon.

"Meow…" Perle stood up on her back legs and Mundy hugged her.

That night, as for a lot of the nights that would follow, Mundy would hug Perle as though she was all he had left, because that was what it felt like. And the night came back to being a moment of doubt, of dread, of distress. Every twenty-four hours, the same anxiety would creep up on the Aussie. He spent his nights talking to Perle, crying sometimes, other times he would brush her growing fur or cut her claws.

"Pearl?"

"Meow?"

"D'you miss your Papa?"

She raised her lagoon blue eyes to Mundy and blinked slowly.

"Meoow…" She meowed long and sad.

"I miss him too."

She purred as that night, weeks after Lucien passed, Perle was laying on Mundy's chest. His arm had healed and he slid a hand under his head on the pillow as he scratched her with his other hand.

"You know what bothers me?"

"Meow."

"There's so much stuff I wanted to do with him, but I never got the time."

"Meow?" She asked.

"What? I don't even know… But I could see us doin'... Stuff. Y'know stuff that people do, eat outside together, just walk around together. There's other stuff but uh… You're still young."

"Meow!" She protested.

"I know, I know, now you're as fluffy as a cloud and you're one big kitty, but you're still our baby."

She purred and offered more of her jaw and neck for Mundy to scratch as she closed her eyes. The Aussie sighed.

"Thanks, kitty cat… I love you."

He wrapped his arms tighter around her and fell asleep. Perle didn't fit in Lucien's jacket pocket anymore but they both needed it to sleep anyway.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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marmarparadoxa · 3 years

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Hey I was wondering if you have the time to give your thoughts on this theory I found. Its by reddit user u/EDOD_EseDelOtroDia. It should be their first post on there account called "Have you ever read a theory that takes everything into account to predict the end". The theory says interesting things like eren is the reincarnation of ymir and many other things. I would really love to here what you have to say

Hi! I found the theory and read it (here’s the link if anyone’s interested), and I recognize it’s very complex and well articulated, yet I’m not quite sure I’ve understood it entirely. Also, from what I think I’ve understood about it, I nonetheless don’t really agree with what its thematic premises are.

According to this theory, all of what we’ve seen in the story so far is the direct result of Armin’s intervention and plans, after he acquired the Attack titan abilities. Summing up, the theory posits that the SnK universe is in a time loop, that Eren was destined to use and actually used the Founding+Attack titans abilities countless times. Thus, the story would repeat itself over and over again, but according to this theory, it’ll be Armin (the narrator of the story indeed) to end this cycle. He’d push Eren to do everything he did (so the Rumbling included), he'd devour him, and realize that Eren was Ymir’s reincarnation all along. So he will send a message to the Ymir of 2000 years ago, sharing the memories of this last time loop via the Paths dimension, telling her to do what she did and that she’ll die in 13 years, with the promise that she’ll be reborn into a free world. So the “free” child in the last panel would be her, or more precisely, her soul (?) reincarnated in newborn Eren.

I can’t really agree with the claim that Eren is Ymir’s reincarnation. According to the author of the theory, Eren’s obsession for freedom, since birth, would be explained if “his PAST LIFE was someone WITH THE SAME CHARACTERISTICS”, i.e. Ymir. But even as their characters share some similarities, I wouldn’t say they possess the same characteristics. Unable to live a free life for herself, Ymir gave freedom to other, unarmed creatures, and then chose to live the life of a slave, always obeying other people’s order, both in her life in this world, both in her life in the Paths dimension. Eren, on the other hand, was ready to take away freedom from anyone threatening to steal away his, he was ready to fight for it. How exactly those two opposing views would coexist in the same “soul”? And why would Ymir wait 2000 years only to meet her own future reincarnation? In what way can two people be a single and at the same time two distinct entities?

But besides that, it’s the general framework of the theory that I can’t really agree with. If everything that happened in those 2000 years was the mere result of Armin’s scheme, what Ymir did, what Eren will later do, where is everyone’s freedom? Time and again, the message Isayama tried to convey is one of collective efforts, and communication, and working together toward a better world. Like Hange once said, it was the result of everyone’s individual choices that brought change to their world. It was never about a single individual’s will, imposing itself on everything else, it was always about the struggle to connect and link to other people, and working toward a solution together - importantly, qualities that Armin precisely, more than anyone else, was always known for.

Also, according to the theory, Ymir will be reborn into a new world, or a world without titans, but with “fully hardened” intact walls, where Marley, only because unable to engage in a war without the power of the titans (which is also quite debatable), would not attack Paradis. There’s no overcoming that never ending hatred between different people of their world, and their freedom would only be an illusory, small-scale one, limited again to the boundaries of obscuring walls, while people on the other side of the sea will still hate each other. It’s hard thus to imagine that Armin would ever pull a trick like that one, causing all those endless sufferings and deaths of innocent people and dear friends, and it’d be so at variance with how he has been characterized forever, and with the message I think Isayama has been trying to convey to his readers all this time.

That said though, Yams is still proving us wrong and reverting our expectations every month, and there are still so many obscure points and unanswered questions, so I guess everything might still happen in the next, last chapter.

#armin arlert #eren yeager #og ymir #snk theory #snk ending #hange zoe

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pheita · 3 years

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Flash Fiction Friday: Secret Paradise

And again it ended up something for my WIP “Guild Hunter Sojan”. This is set somewhere later into the story. I have no idea how to get there, but I like the idea lol So have fun @flashfictionfridayofficial

Pin’ovar

There was one thing that every demon did since the beginning of time: the search for Pin'ovar. Every time Sojan tried to explain to someone from the other tribes what it was, words failed him. How could you explain a construct that you did not fully understand? Something that is obviously different for everyone. A kind of urge that every demon at some point began to feel in themselves. He remembered his grandfather, for whom Pin'ovar was a place in the human dimension where he found peace and quiet for a short while during the Interdimensional War. Every time he was scared as a child, his mother would tell her about her Pin'ovar: the joy Sojan and his siblings brought her every day. Just before Sojan decided he would rather live as a human, his father once told him that his Pin'ovar was the thought of making the demons the rulers of this dimension. It was the moment when Sojan understood what kind of man his father was. Since she understood what it was about, his sister Arritit never grew tired of telling him that her Pin'ovar was the peace and coexistence of Demons with the other peoples. From all the personal moments, Sojan could only deduce that Pin'ovar was something that brought one personally and only to you a state of absolute peace and tranquility, or something that was similar. Never would he have thought that he would have to live 579 years and meet an unusual bard to realize what his Pin'ovar was. With a light laugh, he hugged Lyran closer, so he wouldn't end up rolling out of his bunk with the waves still crashing. He probably wouldn't wake up even if the ship went down, which was a trait Sojan envied a little. "What's so funny?" muttered Lyran into his side. "I finally understood something my mother spent ages trying to explain to me." "What's that?" Lyran slid a little higher, his ever-lengthening curls tickling Sojan. He tried to stifle the pained groan. It was clear to Sojan that Lyran's ribs must still be aching. "Which is Pin'ovar." "Pin what?" "I don't know exactly how to explain it. It's something buried deep in the demon culture. Something or someone that brings you peace and what every demon seeks." With a thoughtful look, Lyran looked at him. He tilted his head. "So like the Secret Paradise?" Once again, Sojan was surprised at all the knowledge Lyran had gathered. "Yes, something like the Secret Paradise of the Shamans." "Tell me more about it." "I'm afraid my mother would know how to put it into words better than I do. You know I'm more practical." A smirk appeared on Lyran's face. "Then tell me about her. I've heard and seen enough of your father to fill three lifetimes with it. You've never spoken of your mother until now." Sojan had to laugh again. "Oh, you'll love her. She's a dream demon, has a sense of humor, and loves to find out everything about someone. And she loves music." He could see from Lyran's face that he was beginning to understand why they had boarded the Red Pearl often the Seas two days ago and Iona could get on their nerves. Or he they were getting on the merchant's nerves. "Wait, are we on our way to see your mother, and you didn't tell me?" "Possibly," Sojan just grinned broadly. It was rare enough that he could surprise Lyran, and he gladly accepted the tap on the shoulder for it. "You secretive idiot of a demon. That's the kind of thing I have to prepare for, isn't it?" "Oh, you can't prepare for that, believe me, I've been trying for more than a hundred years. Now lie down, it's still dark and Iona will really throw us off the ship if she finds us on deck again." Lyran laughed mischievously and followed the suggestion. "I think the problem wasn't so much that we were on deck at night, but something else." "You mean you couldn't keep your hands to yourself, you cheeky horny bard, you." "You're just irresistible." Sojan only groaned in agony. Sometimes Lyran was worse than any lust demon on the five continents. "Sojan?" murmured Lyran after a few minutes. "Yes?" "What's your Pin'ovar?" For a brief moment, Sojan was surprised that Lyran had the right intonation right away. He kissed him on the forehead with a smile. "You, my cheeky, clever, lovable idiot." "Idiot yourself." "Only for you." They both laughed softly. Lyran quickly fell back asleep, but Sojan could not sleep. The events of the last few weeks added to his realization and began to understand why he was able to put an end to his father after all this time. A shiver ran through him as he realized that he would really do anything for Lyran. Once Arritit figured that out, he would be teased about it forever, but it was worth it.

#writblr #flashfiction friday #sojan #a little bit fluff

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writing-prompts-for-friends · 4 years

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Notes on Robert McKee’s Story 33: The Principle of Antagonism

I had the hardest time trying to condense this section, so unfortunately this post will be almost entirely direct quotes from the text.

"The principle of antagonism: A protagonist and his story can only be as intellectually fascinating and emotionally compelling as the forces of antagonism make them."

McKee believes that the principle of antagonism is the most important and least understood precept in story design, and this is the primary reason screenplays and the films made from them fail.

"Human nature is fundamentally conservative. We never do more than we have to, expend any energy we don’t have to, take any risks we don’t have to, change if we don’t have to. Why should we? Why do anything the hard way if we can get what we want the easy way? (The “easy way” is, of course, idiosyncratic and subjective.) Therefore, what will cause a protagonist to become a fully realized, multidimensional, and deeply empathetic character? What will bring a dead screenplay to life? The answer to both questions lies on the negative side of the story.

The more powerful and complex the forces of antagonism opposing the character, the more completely realized character and story must become. “Forces of antagonism” doesn’t necessarily refer to a specific antagonist or villain. In appropriate genres arch-villains, like the Terminator, are a delight, but by “forces of antagonism,” we mean the sum total of all forces that oppose the character’s will and desire.

If we study a protagonist at the moment of the Inciting Incident and weigh the sum of his willpower along with his intellectual, emotional, social, and physical capacities against the total forces of antagonism from within his humanity, plus his personal conflicts, antagonistic institutions, and environment, we should see clearly that he’s an underdog. He has a chance to achieve what he wants—but only a chance. Although conflict from one aspect of his life may seem solvable, the totality of all levels should seem overwhelming as he begins his quest.

We pour energy into the negative side of a story not only to bring the protagonist and other characters to full realization—roles to challenge and attract the world’s finest actors—but to take the story itself to the end of the line, to a brilliant and satisfying climax."

To make your protagonist stand out even more, he needs to have a good antagonist that not only pushes him to the very brink of his ability and willpower, but also acts as a fine foil.

Take Story and Character to the End of the Line

“Does your story contain negative forces of such power that the positive side must gain surpassing quality? Below is a technique to guide your self-critique and answer that critical question.

Begin by identifying the primary value at stake in your story. For example, Justice. Generally, the protagonist will represent the positive charge of this value; the forces of antagonism, the negative. Life, however, is subtle and complex, rarely a case of yes/no, good/evil, right/wrong. There are degrees of negativity.

First, the Contradictory value, the direct opposite of the positive. In this case, Injustice. Laws have been broken.

Between the Positive value and its Contradictor, however, is the Contrary: a situation that’s somewhat negative but not fully the opposite. The Contrary of justice is unfairness, a situation that’s negative but not necessarily illegal: nepotism, racism, bureaucratic delay, bias, inequities of all kinds.

Perpetrators of unfairness may not break the law, but they’re neither just nor fair.

The Contradictory, however, is not the limit of human experience. At the end of the line waits the Negation of Negation, a force of antagonism that’s doubly negative.

Our subject is life, not arithmetic. In life two negatives don’t make a positive. In English double negatives are ungrammatical, but Italian uses double and even triple negatives so that a statement feels like its meaning. In anguish an Italian might say, “Non ho niente mia!” (I don’t have nothing never!). Italians know life. Double negatives turn positive only in math and formal logic. In life things just get worse and worse and worse.

A story that progresses to the limit of human experience in depth and breadth of conflict must move through a pattern that includes the Contrary, the Contradictory, and the Negation of Negation.

(The positive mirror image of this negative declension runs from Good to Better to Best to Perfect. But for mysterious reasons, working with this progression is of no help to the storyteller.)

Negation of the Negation means a compound negative in which a life situation turns not just quantitatively but qualitatively worse. The Negation of the Negation is at the limit of the dark powers of human nature. In terms of justice, this state is tyranny. Or, in a phrase that applies to personal as well as social politics: “Might Makes Right.”

Consider TV detective series: Do they go to the limit? The protagonists of Spenser: For Hire, Quincy, Colombo, and Murder, She Wrote represent justice and struggle to preserve this ideal. First, they face unfairness: Bureaucrats won’t let Quincy do the autopsy, a politician pulls strings to get Columbo off the case, Spenser’s client lies to him. After struggling through gaps of expectation powered by forces of unfairness, the cop discovers true injustice: A crime has been committed. He defeats these forces and restores society to justice. The forces of antagonism in most crime dramas rarely reach beyond the Contradictory.

Compare this pattern to MISSING, a fact-based film about American Ed Horman (Jack Lemmon), who searched Chile for a son who disappeared during a coup d’etat. In Act One he meets unfairness: The U.S. ambassador (Richard Venture) feeds him half-truths, hoping to dissuade his search. But Horman preserves. At the Act Two Climax he uncovers a grievous injustice: The junta murdered his son… with the complicity of the U.S. State Department and the CIA. Horman then tries to right this wrong, but in Act Three he reaches the end of the line—persecution without hope of retribution.

Chile is in the grip of tyranny. The generals can make illegal on Tuesday what you did legally on Monday, arrest you for it on Wednesday, execute you on Thursday, and make it legal again Friday morning. Justice does not exist; the tyrant makes it up at his whim. MISSING is a searching revelation of the final limits of injustice… with irony: Although Horman couldn’t indict the tyrants in Chile, he exposed them on screen in front of the world—which may be a sweeter kind of justice.

The principle of the Negation of the Negation applies not only to the tragic but to the comic. The comic world is a chaotic, wild place where actions must go to the limit. If not, the laugh falls flat. Even the light entertainment of Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers films touched the end of the line. They turned on the value of truth as Fred Astaire traditionally played a character suffering form self-deception, telling himself he was in love with the glitzy girl when we knew that his heart really belong to Ginger.”

In Summary

“Fine writers have always understood that opposite values are not the limit of human experience. If a story stops at the Contradictory value, or worse, the Contrary, it echoes the hundreds of mediocrities we suffer every year. For a story that is simply above love/hate, truth/lie, freedom/slavery, courage/cowardice, and the like is almost certain to be trivial. If a story does not reach the Negation of the Negation, it may strike the audience as satisfying--but never brilliant, never sublime.

All other factors of talent, craft, and knowledge being equal, greatness is found in the writer's treatment of the negative side.

If your story seems unsatisfying and lacking in some way, tools are needed to penetrate its confusions and perceive its flaws. When a story is weak, the inevitable cause is that its forces of antagonism are weak. Rather than spending your creativity trying to invent likable, attractive aspects of protagonist and world, build the negative side to create a chain reaction that pays off naturally and honestly on the positive dimensions.

The first step is to question the values at stake and their progression. What are the positive values? What is the preeminent and turns the Story Climax? Do the forces of antagonism explore all shades of negativity? Do they reach the power of the Negation of the Negation at some point?

Generally, progressions run from the Positive to the Contrary in Act One, to the Contradictory in later acts, and finally to the Negation of the Negation in the last act, either ending tragically or going back to the Positive with a profound difference. BIG, on the other hand, leaps to the Negation of the Negation, then illuminates all degrees of immaturity. CASABLANCA is even more radical. It opens at the Negation of the Negation with Rick living in fascist tyranny, suffering self-hatred and self-deception, then works to a positive climax for all three values. Anything is possible, but the end of the line must be reached.”

McKee also breaks down what the positive, negative, contrary, and negation of negation are for many more common values such as love, loyalty, greed, courage, intelligence, etc. But that would make this post entirely too long. I definitely invite you to get this book and check them out yourself.

I found this section incredibly helpful to me. Until now I've always thought of conflict in terms of "good vs. bad" and...not much more than that. I had never contemplated the Contrary, let alone the Negation of the Negation. If I can manage to pull off a conflict of that level, I think I might have a really good story on my hands! This has helped me to shape my antagonistic forces and plot. I hope it helps you too!

Source: McKee, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. York: Methuen, 1998. Print

#writing prompts for friends #writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #creative writing #writing #writer #write #writers block #writing inspiration #writing inspo #creative writing theory #robert mckee #writing fantasy #writing fiction #writing fanfiction #writing novels #writeblr #writing prompts for friends notes on story

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catlliecal · 3 years

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Winx AU Drabble 1: How Stella of Solaria Got Herself Expelled.

Finally doing one of these things! This one is pretty Winx focused, and could probably fit into canon just fine if you ignore the ending. God, I love my baby Stella. I wanna give hr all the hugs. Word Count: 1.8K Rating: General Audiences

Stella, to put it bluntly, was bored.

Bored in potions class for good measure.

Her lab partner was busy recording down the teacher's instructions, but all Stella could think of was how she'd rather be anywhere but in class. Something bumped her shoulder, and she looked over and saw said lab partner nudging her to pay attention. What difference would it make? Stella wasn't the one taking notes. They were already taken care of in that department. Besides, Stella's notes were average at best.

With a minor huff, she forced herself to pay attention to the teacher. The longer she looked at her, the more Stella's mind kept drifting away from the lesson and more onto what the teacher was wearing. She had a stunning pair of red cat eye glasses that Stella always meant to ask where they came from. However, the rest of her outfit wasn't as chic. Sure, she had a lovely pair of deep navy pumps, but you could barely see them most of the time. She wore a navy button up shirt featuring pearl buttons and pair of tight red pants that hugged her figure just right, yet those were covered up by a large white lab coat buttoned all the way up. A pair of lab goggles rested on top of her head. The outfit could be quite cute if she just exchanged the lab stuff for some cute accessories like a perfectly oversized coat and some cute hair pins to go with the hair bun. Alas. The price to pay for being a potions teacher. Why did potions have to require so much protection?

Stella's lab partner nudged her again. "Got any ideas for what you wanna do?"

"Huh?"

"I should have known you wouldn't pay attention," the partner sighed. "It's a free lab today.”

"Aren't all labs free?" Stella chuckled. "Last I checked, we don't pay to enter this room.”

"Haha, very funny," her partner huffed. "You know I mean that we're allowed to show off our skills and create our own mixture to present."

"Does it have to be something we learned?" Stella groaned. "That's so boring."

"Actually, no. We can make original mixtures if we just write down what we use and explain what it does."

A lightbulb went off in Stella's head. Finally, this class could be good for something!

"Honey, take notes," Stella said. "I have a plan."

"Oh no."

"Don't give me that," Stella turned on the mini furnace before placing a large glass beaker on top. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

"And that would be..."

"Pink!" Stella exclaimed. "We are gonna make a new shade of pink never seen before!" She poured some water into the beaker.

"One, that's such a stupid idea," her partner said. "Two, can you even do that? Make a new color?"

"Clearly you don't keep up with the design world," Stella said. "A couple years ago there was this huge scandal over a designer who was charging people ridiculous amounts of dough to use his special uber dark black. So a different designer created their own uber dark black and let everyone use it for free expect that first guy."

"Uh huh," her partner rolled her eyes. "You sure you don't have any better ideas?"

"This is a brilliant idea!" Stella said. "We'll be famous for inventing Stella Pink! Now take notes. Genius is about to happen right before your very eyes!"

Stella started pulling out ingredients from the drawers and the tables, adding as many pink things as she could. This thing needed to be big, bold, buzz worthy. It needed to blow everyone away with how awesome it would be. It needed to be as special as possible.

As cliché as it was, Stella couldn't help but giggle the more and more she worked. A sprinkle of this, a dash of that. She only slowed down when she saw her lab partner struggling to write everything down.

Stella dropped in a fuzzy pink plant stem and the mixture began bubbling and sparking.

"Stella..." her partner said, way too concerned for Stella's liking. "Please don't tell me you really added that..."

"What about it?" Stella asked. "It's pink, no?"

"Yes, but that plant produces and stores a reactive chemical in it, even long after it's been picked and shelved. It's especially sensitive to hydra oil..."

"Relax, I didn't add that."

"You did," her partner pointed to the ingredients sheet, which actually did include hydra oil. A lot of it.

Huh.

The potion began shaking the beaker, and Stella was yanked under the desk just before her creation exploded.

And oh boy did it explode.

The sound of the glass breaking was enough to make you cover your ears, even without the windows joining in. A strong shockwave burst through the whole room, leaving the now pink walls with several cracks in them. Stella slowly poked her head up to find that her whole desk was covered in scorch marks.

"Whoopsie..." she said, her voice cracking.

•••

Expelled. She was now expelled from the best magic school in the whole Dimension.

Okay maybe she hadn't been the greatest student there and didn't always follow the rules, but surely expelling her for a lab mishap was a bit overkill, right? Those windows and walls could be repaired and the pink could be washed away. Really, the worst part of this whole thing was that she didn't even make a new shade of pink.

And maybe that her dad was coming to see her at school.

Okay that was the worst part of this whole thing.

Stella waited outside the headmaster's office, pulling at her skirt and checking her nails over and over as she waited for him to come. She had her phone on her, but something told her that now wasn't the best time to be on it.

After what felt like forever, Stella heard footsteps in the hall. She looked up and saw her father, King Radius of Solaria, walking up.

"Daddy!" She jumped up and ran over to give him a hug.

"It's good to see you too, baby," he said. Eventually he placed her hands on her shoulders. "I am going to hear your side of the story, but the school wanted to talk to me first. I knew you had been getting in trouble, but I didn't think it be this much."

"I learned from the best," she said, before quickly biting her tongue and kicking herself. Not the best time to mention her father's party habits.

"Just hold on a bit longer, okay?" He let go of her and made his way over to the headmaster's door. "We'll figure this out together."

For some reason, she didn't fully believe him.

•••

Stella had no idea time could move even slower than before, but her father's meeting dragged on and on. Not even eavesdropping made the time go by any faster. Eventually, after what had to be a year, Stella heard her father stand up and make his way to the door. She quickly sat back down to appear as innocent as possible.

He stepped out of the office and looked at her. "You have quite a record, huh?"

"I guess so."

"You probably heard, but I've agreed to pay for the damages and provide extra funding for any major renovations for the next three years."

"I wasn't listening," Stella said.

"You've been eavesdropping ever since you understood what words were," he said. "I'm afraid you inherited my interest in gossip."

"I just want to know what's going on," Stella twirled a piece of her hair. "Feels like no one ever tells me things."

"We don't tell you everything because you're not involved in everything," Radius said. "You could possibly spill something important."

"I can keep a secret!" Stella stood back up. "I haven't told anyone that I was the person who sneaked the geese into the castle back when you kept spending so much time making deals with Eraklyon when I was ten!"

"You just did."

"I–" She buried her face in her hands. “Me and my big mouth..."

He walked over and pulled her into a hug. "I know you mean well, but you aren't ready yet. When you are, I'll tell you more."

Stella didn't say anything.

"You know," Radius sighed. "This has been something your mother and I have been meaning to talk about..."

"About what?"

"Your recklessness," he paused. "Look, it's not bad to have so much energy like you do. But you don't think through things. You get so caught up in the heat of the moment that you end up creating a huge mess. Truth be told, I've had a lot of people back home tell me they don't think you can be a good leader…"

"They... they really think that?" Stella asked, going slow to avoid letting her voice shake too much.

"They think you're a great person, but they don't think that you have the skills needed to rule someday. They say that you're wild and crazy, that you don't know how to properly manage such a responsibility."

"I," Stella swallowed a large lump in her throat. "I see..."

"I can't help but view it as my fault," Radius said. "That I wasn't there enough for you and didn't teach you enough. Your mother feels the same."

"Mhm."

"We had actually been talking about bringing you back home," he continued, "to give you specialized lessons with tutors. Since you're now expelled..."

"Hold up," Stella pushed herself away from the hug. "Are you saying I'm not coming back?"

Radius didn't say anything, but Stella knew his answer.

"You're not even gonna try to get me back in. And without asking me. What happened to figuring this out together?"

"Stella–"

"I thought you were gonna fight with me," Stella interrupted. "You've always been so supportive. When I wanted to go to normal school as a kid, you were the one who helped to enroll me and create a fake identity. When I wanted to adopt that stray I found, you were the one who helped me to get it all those shots and bring it back to health. What changed?"

"Because it's bigger than that," Radius said. "You're no longer a kid, and you're no longer dealing with something as simple as a dog. You're dealing with your future, a future that involves taking care of the well being of millions of people. If something bad happened to you and you didn't know how to handle it, I don't think I'd ever forgive myself for letting you go so underprepared.”

Stella wanted to say something. She wanted to say something about how she could rule Solaria and take care of herself just fine. But every time she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Maybe deep down there was a part of her that believed what he said.

"Do you need help packing?" He asked.

"No, dad," Stella shook her head. "I can do it myself."

#Winx #winx club #winx stella #winx au #winx radius #cal writes

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aimeelouart · 3 years

Text

The Calamity’s Cursed Child, Part 2 - 1672 words, ASGZC, Cursed to Strife continuity

[Part 1] [Read it on Ao3]

It turned out that Cloud had showed up in the middle of nowhere, because Zack’s house just so happened to be in the middle of nowhere. Cloud wasn’t too surprised⁠—whatever the details of his curse, it tended to spit him out in the unluckiest possible position. Such as right on top of Strife’s empty grave.

It really was uncanny.

Zack explained, in their brief hike back to the house, that they all preferred the privacy and security of living in the middle of nowhere. They made trips back to civilization occasionally, to see their AVALANCHE friends or get supplies, but for the most part they were self-sufficient. It sounded...nice. Idyllic, almost. Cloud tried not to dwell on that for too long.

They paused at the front door and Zack looked at him nervously. He raised an eyebrow in response. They’re your boyfriends to wrangle, he conveyed with that eyebrow. Zack deflated a little. “Okay,” he said. “Uh. Just...be ready to dodge if you have to.”

Sephiroth moved from standing at his side to standing in front of him protectively, which was...a little trippy, but he rolled with it.

Zack took a deep breath and promptly slammed the door open, hollering “DON’T FREAK OUT!”

Cloud wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to help, but it was such a Zack move that he couldn’t help but grin and stifle a snort. Sephiroth was also suppressing a smile.

“What?” came a call from further in the house, laced with alarm.

“Zack what did you do!” someone else called, footsteps pounding down the stairs from the second floor.

“Nothing, just don’t freak out!” Zack said, stopping a few feet in the entryway. Cloud peered curiously out from behind Sephiroth’s towering frame. That was a mistake, maybe. Two sets of eyes from two alarmed former commanders locked on him as they came rushing into the front room.

“You!” they said, nearly as one.

“Seph, look out!” Angeal cried, pulling a broadsword from a nearby rack and blurring forward as Genesis cast a reflexive spell.

Cloud sighed. Sephiroth raised a Barrier. Zack quickly got between Angeal and the door, parrying with his own broadsword. “What did I literally just say about freaking out!” he scolded.

“Strife is⁠—!”

“He is not Strife,” Sephiroth said firmly, projecting his voice. He held one arm up in a very clearly protective gesture. “Calm down. I know how this looks, but he is not Strife.”

Cloud stepped out from behind Sephiroth so that the other two could see him, keeping his hands loose at his side. If they got a good look at him, they might calm down quicker. Assuming Strife was anything like Sephiroth, his battered clothing and timeworn face would be a very stark difference. He glanced between them and waited patiently.

Angeal’s hostility eased almost immediately, confusion furrowing between his brows. He lowered his broadsword. Genesis took a few seconds longer, eyes sweeping up and down Cloud several times before they settled on his face. Slowly, he frowned.

“I’m not your Strife,” Cloud said simply.

“Yeah!” Zack agreed, bounding over to sling an arm around his shoulders. “Can’t you tell by the cute face? And, you know, the lack of raging insanity and murderous intent?”

“Zack,” Cloud said reprovingly, elbowing his side. “That’s not helpful.”

Angeal huffed a laugh, then looked startled with himself for it. Zack pumped a fist victoriously. “Yes!” He cheered. “Okay, now that no one is trying to kill anyone else, this is Cloud but he’s from a different dimension and he’s going to sleep on the couch until he leaves.”

Cloud sighed and put his face in his hands. Even four hours of sleep was not enough to deal with Zack when he was like this. “Zack, please stop tormenting your boyfriends.”

“Aww, don’t worry Cloudy. They’re used to it!” He leaned in and added, sotto voce, “they’d be way more alarmed if I wasn’t acting like this.”

“Alright, Zack, you’ve made your point,” Genesis said, eyeing Cloud. “Enough with the theatrics. If he is not Strife, he deserves better hospitality than being left to linger on our doorstep.”

Both Commanders looked cautious but not hostile as Cloud was herded inside and Sephiroth shut the door behind them. Angeal was the first to step forward, after laying his broadsword on the coffee table. “Cloud?” he asked hesitantly, reaching a hand out toward his face but pausing half way.

“It’s fine,” Cloud told him. It was hardly the first time the grieving and the lonely had seen echoes of their lost lover, parent, or child in him. It seemed a theme, to be given what belonged to others⁠—both gentle touches and hateful wounds. “But you should know I never had a romantic relationship with any of your counterparts in my home world.”

“No?” Angeal asked, daring to close the distance and lay his palm along Cloud’s jaw. Like Zack, his thumb swept across the delicate, bruise-dark skin beneath his eye. “Why not?”

“Never met you. Never knew any of you, really, though Zack got the closest.”

The corner of Angeal’s lip twitched upward, just a little. “All things considered, I don’t know if I should be sad or happy for you.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Angeal stepped back, drawing his hand away. Everyone looked to Genesis, but the redhead just stood and watched with an unreadable expression. “You’re not our Cloud.”

Cloud couldn’t help but grin tiredly at that. “No, I’m not. I have to admit, it’s very refreshing to hear someone else say that for once”

Genesis looked away, closing his eyes, then huffed. A weary smirk crossed his face. “Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess. You could have fooled me. You talk like he used to. Act like it too.” Only then did he step forward, putting his hands on Cloud’s shoulders. “It’s the eyes that give you away. He never looked quite so…”

“Tired?” Cloud suggested archly.

“Worn. Zack mentioned you borrowing the couch?”

“That was part of the deal, yeah. I’ll be gone in about three and a half hours and I intend to sleep while I can.”

Genesis’s expression softened fully at that. “Of course.” He used the hands on Cloud’s shoulders to steer him over to a chair. Cloud sat willingly enough, after taking Tsurugi off and leaning it against the chair’s arm. “Just wait a moment and you can sleep.”

Like a well-oiled machine, the four men broke off to gather pillows and blankets, dim the lights, and generally make their living room habitable for sleeping. They worked fast. Before Cloud quite knew what was happening, he was laying down⁠—Tsurugi pressed against his side and boots on, as he insisted⁠—swathed in warm blankets and resting on a veritable mountain of pillows. He threw an arm over his eyes, mumbling something that might have been thanks, and dropped right off.

Of course, Cloud had long since developed the habit of sleeping without truly losing touch with his surroundings. How it worked, he didn’t know, but if he hadn’t he would have died quite a bit more often than he already did. So he heard, and retained the gist of, the conversation that the four men had around him.

“He looks half dead.”

“I know. Why do you think I insisted he come back here to sleep? He never said anything outright but I swear he was going to bunk down in a tree as soon as we left.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. He only said that he’d come from another dimension and that he was going to vanish.”

“He also said that he was not the one who Zack “usually” greeted with hostility. I believe he has been traversing dimensions involuntarily for some time.”

“He certainly looks it, poor boy.”

A hand brushed tentatively through his hair. He murmured nonsensically, shifting for a moment before settling back down. The hand resumed its motions as soon as he’d stilled.

“Is this what he could have been, do you think? Strong and selfless? Patient with us?”

A different hand traced the edge of his jaw. His mind whispered not a threat, and so he stayed asleep.

“He would have been a good man. The best, really. If only we could have…”

“Hush. We made mistakes, but our Cloud made his own decisions. And at the end...he was already dead and gone. We put a shell to rest, nothing more.”

“I know. I know that. But it still⁠—”

“—hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“I know, love.”

“...I wonder if he would have been better off like this. If he’d never met us.”

The conversation died after that. Cloud drifted along in silence until the burning sensation that warned of an impending jump became too intense to ignore. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then stood and slung Tsurugi across his back.

“What is it?” Zack asked from where he was sitting in an armchair. All four of them were in the living room, pretending they hadn’t just been watching him while he slept. Watching over him, if he was feeling generous, though he understood the impulse either way.

“Two minutes,” he murmured, rubbing at the old scar on his hip. It always burned a little more intensely than the surrounding unscarred flesh. “This is goodbye.”

Zack, of course, got up and hugged him so tight his ribs creaked. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he joked, but there were tears in his eyes. Angeal’s parting embrace was wordless, as was Genesis’s, though the latter also pressed a chaste kiss against his temple. Sephiroth was the last, as the burning licked up into Cloud’s neck.

“Be safe,” the silver-haired man whispered, releasing him.

Cloud huffed a laugh, though it lacked all but the faintest trace of humor. “Yessir, General,” he drawled, snapping off a perfect salute.

The very last thing he saw was Sephiroth’s small, amused smile, eyes glistening wetly, before the world turned to white static and he vanished.

#ff7 #ASGZC #cloud strife #zack fair #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #Sephiroth #my fics #Cursed to Strife #aimeelouwrites

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 4.5

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Four – Five Billionaires and No Wives – Part 5 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 4.1 | 4.2 | 4.3 | 4.4 | 4.5

Author: Gumnut

29 Apr - 11 May 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4259

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background. A little angst in this one.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos I started this fic before we saw it.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D

I’ve been staring at this too long and it is late. I hope I don’t regret posting this. Especially as Alan misbehaved and threw an unplanned scene at me.

Many thanks to @i-am-chidorixblossom @scribbles97 and @onereyofstarlight for reading through various bits, fielding my many wibblies, and for all their wonderful support.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

He didn’t sleep long.

Virgil was woken so they could drag him onto A Little Lightning. Scott marshalled him out of his wet clothes, into a shower and quietly redressed his healing incisions. Lunch was demanded and a sandwich shoved into his hand. Coffee was denied him and orange juice substituted.

He found himself dozing at the table.

Mel and Sam were invited for lunch aboard the boat. Gordon was busy being host, but never quite seemed to be very far from Virgil.

Sam mentioned the whales several times, but Gordon shut him down and at no point did he have a chance to corner Virgil.

Virgil felt sorry for the cetacean biologist. He must remember to talk to him at a later time. Once he had finished processing today himself.

The whole experience was otherworldly. He didn’t quite know how to express it. It was as if the music had shape and form, his mind’s eye producing a kaleidoscope of imagery sculpted by sound.

And it meant something.

He knew it meant something, but he couldn’t decipher most of it. Bits were missing, the shapes fragmented, but he did feel the emotion that travelled with it. Multidimensional, the song communicated in a way he wasn’t capable of fully comprehending.

“Virgil, you should go to bed.”

Scott again.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“C’mon.” A hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Mmm...” Musical shapes danced in his mind and he realised there was colour. Greens, violets and yellows. Patches torn from an unseen spectrum. It was frustrating to not be able to pull it all into focus and understanding.

“Virgil?”

It would be interesting to try and paint. Yes, maybe that would be a way to understand it better. He visualised forming those shapes with pencil and brush. Three dimensions...no four. They shifted according to time.

Hell. So confusing.

But he could try.

“Virgil? You with me?”

Huh? He blinked and looked up at concerned blue eyes.

A sigh. “Just thinking.”

“I can see that. You need rest.”

He did, yes, but he also needed to think, to doodle, to work it all out. He caught Scott’s eyes. “Sit with me?”

A blink. “Of course.”

There followed farewells, Virgil pre-occupied throughout. At some point Mel kissed him on the cheek, but he barely registered it. Sam said something but was interrupted by Gordon. Virgil felt completely spaced and somewhere at the back of his thoughts he was embarrassed at his lack of response and manners.

Scott didn’t leave his side.

Gordon made excuses and apologies.

John was speaking to Eos...which meant their guests must have left. Man, he was out of it. Brain overload.

Alan had concerned blue eyes so much like their eldest brother.

The yacht’s engine starting up scared the living shit out of him. It shattered his mindscape with aural static, those careful shapes disintegrating.

“Hey, hey, Virgil. It’s okay.” Scott had his hand on his arm again.

Virgil’s heart was thudding in his chest. A blink. A calming breath. A moment. He forced calm. “I’m good.”

He was, really. He just had a lot to think about.

“You sure you don’t want to sleep?”

“I’m sure.” But there was something he did want to do. “Come up front with me?”

Scott frowned at him.

“I just want to feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair.” And get as far away from the engine as possible.

“Sure.” A pause. “But you’re sitting down.”

“Sure.” Virgil pushed himself to his feet.

They found a niche on the bow, enough to sit comfortably with some back support. They could see Gordon frowning at them from the cockpit.

Virgil caught the thought and had to stop himself from laughing out loud. Apparently, he was as much a flyboy as his big brother.

The boat was moving at a reasonable speed, Gordon, no doubt, wanting to get home fast due to the day’s events. That and now they were behind schedule and had quite a long, final stretch to make it before sunset.

Raoul was little more than a smudge on the horizon already. Virgil stared at it a moment before turning and facing the wide ocean ahead of them that ultimately would contain their island. Wind streamed through his hair.

“It will be good to be home.”

Scott didn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

Virgil snorted. “Missing your ‘bird?”

“Missing land.”

“You spent last night on land.”

“Not the right land.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. “You seemed quite happy with at least one of the inhabitants.”

That prompted a smile on his big brother’s face. “Fishing for details?”

“Some. Not too much.”

Scott turned to him and shrugged. “It was fun. Mel is an interesting woman.”

Half a smile. “I’ll give her that much.” A curious eyebrow. “See it going any further?”

Scott’s expression was thoughtful. “Maybe.”

“Invite her over for Christmas.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Why not?”

“Late notice.”

“You have a Thunderbird.”

That thoughtfulness increased and a slight smile curved his brother’s lips.

“Invite Sam and Liam while you’re at it. We owe them cake. Alan ate theirs.” And Virgil owed Sam an explanation.

That frown returned. “You sure?”

“Sure. The more the merrier.” A snort. “Hell, have them over for a few days. It will give Melissa the chance to check out our ecosystem, she’ll be ecstatic.” A pause and then quietly. “It will give me a chance to speak to Sam about...” A fractured image came to mind and he realised it meant whale. An indrawn breath. Oh god. One concept. He understood something. He could not reproduce it. It wasn’t just sound. It was something else. A combination of visual and auditory. How? His throat froze up. Hell.

“Virgil?”

“I...” The concept tantalised him. His fingers itched for his pencils, his paints and his piano all at once. How?

How?

He swallowed and realised his heart rate was up again. “I...need my tablet...and stylus.”

Scott stared at him a moment before standing up and making his way aft.

It was a sign of how preoccupied Virgil was that his tablet appeared almost immediately in his hands.

He didn’t hesitate. His fingers pulled up his drawing app, his stylus connected with the surface and lines appeared.

Lines. Curves.

Shapes.

Interwoven.

No.

Not right.

The stylus squeaked across the screen.

More lines. More shapes.

The screen became black with them, so he added colour. It splashed and bled across the lines.

“Virgil.”

It still wasn’t right.

Frustration stirred and he groaned at the image.

A blink.

Sound.

He scratched more lines, but the moment of inspiration faded.

He couldn’t do it.

“Virgil.”

It wasn’t a single dimension. It was many. Visual, sound and...and...

Emotion.

How?

It all came back to that question.

He let the tablet and stylus drop, clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his face with his hands.

How the hell could he communicate emotion?

-o-o-o-

John squirrelled himself away. Eos had contacted him to give her report, but there was something in her tone that told him not to take it on an open line.

So, he waited until Gordon got the boat moving and Scott had corralled Virgil before retreating to his cabin for some privacy.

“Did you receive a clear enough signal?”

“Affirmative, John. The upgrade to Virgil’s comms worked perfectly. I am confident I received the full spectrum of the whale’s emissions.”

“Any conclusions?”

“Tentative. And at least an explanation why Virgil is so relaxed in their presence.”

John frowned. “Show me.” The tablet in his hand, the same waterproof device he had clung to as they were tossed from the boat, lit up and a hologram hung above it.

It was a series of graphs mapping sound waves, several equations scrolled down one side. The frown on John’s face deepened. That was some seriously complex math. “Talk to me, Eos.”

“Multiple carrier waves interact synergistically to create other waves which also carry data. This is truly a multidimensional sound.” The waves on several of the graphs split up to show their originating structures.

“Can you decipher a language?”

“Not a simple language, no. Initial assessment leads me to believe this is at least partially a graphical language. The mathematics reveal vector information is part of the transmission.”

John’s eyes widened. “Any interpretation?”

The graphs disappeared to reveal fragmented moving lines and clouded shape. “These images are calculated using a section of song the mother whale was singing to Virgil.”

“Can you see a pattern?”

“Not presently, however, I am still analysing. One aspect to be considered is this...”

A second grouping of graphics appeared beside the main display. This was smaller and lacked colour, the lines far more fragmented and the whole composition was fogged with what appeared to be static. “What?”

“That is Virgil’s vocalisation while he was in contact with the whale, if it is run through the same mathematical algorithm.” The two graphics were suddenly overlaid together. Virgil’s section fit like a piece of a puzzle into the larger composition, as if it was an unfinished section awaiting colour.

“How? Why is Virgil picking this up, but the rest of us are not?”

The graphs returned along with one new one. “I retrieved Virgil’s EEG readings from his last head injury.” Lines lit up in red on several of the graphs. “Several of the carrier waves create a binaural beat. The result is that at least part of the whale’s communication is nestled in frequencies that resonate with human brainwave activity. Virgil’s, in particular, appear to align well. I hypothesise that this facilitates his receptivity.”

John stared at the lines denoting Virgil’s delta wave production. A flick of his fingers and the graph overlaid that section of the whale’s vocal output. Delta waves were well known for their calming effect and their influence on sleep. It would definitely explain his brother’s thrall and lethargy during each encounter.

The red lines glared at him.

An exhaled breath. “So, no chance of a translation?”

“Not any time soon. The transmission is extremely complex and I have yet to reveal all of the carrier signals, much less decipher the entire data stream.”

Eos fell silent a moment and John stared at the graphs, watching them move in rhythm with each other. “Why hasn’t this been discovered before?”

“Recording equipment. Of the recordings I have examined, only three have managed to record enough detail to even hint at the complexity. Today’s samples are of the highest resolution ever taken. Further clarity would be achieved with multiple recordings.”

Which meant more encounters. The sight of Virgil singing on the whale was eerie and unsettling. He may have held back Scott from going to Virgil’s assistance, but the truth was he had to hold himself back just as much.

“Is it causing Virgil any harm?”

Eos didn’t answer immediately and it gave John the chance to ramp up his concern just a notch.

“I cannot locate any medical effects beyond a tendency towards inducing sleep due to some of the frequencies involved. I would recommend further monitoring, however.”

“I agree.” An indrawn breath. “Thank you, Eos.” He blinked and realised exactly what his daughter had just done. His eyes widened just a little. “Continue analysis. This is an important scientific discovery and you have done some excellent work.”

“Really?” Her voice was ever so hopeful, ever so young.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to working on this with you.” There was definitely work to be done and soon.

“Thank you, John.”

“No, Eos, thank you.”

Her giggle bounced across comms. Sometimes so old, yet always ever so young. Her youth was always surprising as was her need for guidance. “Could you please send me Virgil’s vitals, both during the encounter and now?”

“Yes, John.” More numbers appeared above his tablet. Fortunately, they were all healthy numbers, though Virgil’s heart rate was up somewhat. A flick of his fingers and Scott’s vitals appeared beside Virgil’s. Both brothers’ heart rates echoed each other.

John would have felt like he was spying on his family, but he did it so often for reassurance on Five that it now barely registered. Another flick of his fingers and he directed Five to focus on A Little Lightning. He found his eldest brothers on the bow of the yacht. Virgil appeared to be drawing on his tablet.

“He is well, John. I can see no after effects from his encounter.”

John wondered if he could coerce his brother into an EEG exam when they made it home. Roping Scott in would probably manage it, but the stress on both of them would be considerable and he hesitated to aggravate either of them.

Perhaps further down the track, or if Virgil gave him any reason for concern.

God, he hoped not.

A sigh. He had probably jinxed himself last night acknowledging the vacation they were on. Since he woke up to Virgil’s snoring early that morning, things had changed. Sure, surfing with Gordon had been fun, but seeing Scott stressing over Virgil on the beach and the events that followed right up until they returned to A Little Lightning had been anything but relaxing.

One of Virgil’s piano sonatas started playing over his tablet ever so softly.

Despite himself, he smiled. “I’m fine, Eos.”

“You’re worrying again. This is not good for your hair production.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Several sources state that stress can disable the pigment production in human hair follicles, resulting in white, often termed ‘grey’, hairs. I believe this is a negatively viewed characteristic and I have noted that your elder brothers have encountered this issue already. It causes distress, therefore it should be prevented.”

Another blink. “Both of my older brothers have dark hair. Grey becomes very apparent in contrast.”

“It will turn your hair pink.”

“What?” This conversation was ridiculous. “It is a natural ageing process. There is very little that can be done about it.” A breath. “I’m not vain, Eos.”

She didn’t answer immediately. “But your brothers are?”

“My brothers are my brothers, Eos.”

“Well, that makes little sense.”

“Just accept them as they are.”

“Is it possible to accept them any other way?”

“No, not really.”

“Then that statement is redundant.”

“Eos.”

“Yes?”

Frivolous distraction, Eos-style. She had become quite adept at it. Moving his thoughts off worrying topics. A sigh. “Thank you, Eos.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but then...

“Did you know Virgil dyes his hair?”

-o-o-o-

Scott watched his brother draw somewhat manically on his tablet. The resultant art was far from what the artist usually produced. This was all sharp lines and angles followed by random blob shapes. At first it was all in pencil, but then Virgil started adding colours. There was no pattern, it was all haphazard and, worse, it appeared to be aggravating him.

“Virgil.”

His brother groaned in frustration, his eyebrows creasing his face in half and swallowing the scar on his forehead.

“Virgil.”

But he suddenly stopped, realisation on his face morphing into disappointment and more frustration.

The tablet and stylus slipped from Virgil’s hands and Scott was hard pressed to catch them.

But he did.

Virgil’s eyes were scrunched shut and he rubbed his face with his hands.

Scott glanced at the mess on the tablet and shoved it to one side, turning to his brother. “Virgil, talk to me.”

“I can’t.” It was small and hoarse.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t...express, explain...trying to understand...it’s a mess...”

Okay, this was well outside his realm, but he knew Virgil. He slipped off his seat and knelt in front him. Gently he pulled those hands away from his brother’s face to reveal worried brown eyes. “Stop. Take a breath.”

Virgil stared at him a moment before the soft command was obeyed and he drew in air. Those eyes closed briefly and his brother’s shoulders dropped. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I ruined it again. I’ve stressed you out.”

“This time, I don’t think you had much say in it. Mamma Whale was very determined to say hello.” A small smile. “I think you have a music fan.”

Virgil snorted softly and Scott knew he’d broken through even if just a little. “She definitely wanted to talk. I just wish I knew what she wanted to say.”

“You picked up something, though, didn’t you?”

A quiet sigh. “She was happy and surprised.” Virgil looked up and stared out into the ocean, but Scott could tell he wasn’t seeing the waves.

He wondered what he was thinking.

“How could you tell?”

The frown returned. “I don’t know.” A pause caught in thought. “The sound makes me feel? The sound is...everything.”

Virgil stopped speaking, lost again to whatever was in his head.

Scott swallowed and tried a different tactic. “I think you made a mistake.”

Brown eyes snapped to him immediately. “What?”

“You should have asked Mel out. Lost opportunity, bro.”

Virgil stared at him. “What?”

“She had the hots for you, Virg, and you ignored her.”

“Last time Raoul erupted? She tried to climb me like a tree. Kay had to drag her out of the cockpit.”

It was Scott’s turn to stare. “Really?”

“She was very exuberant in her thanks.”

Scott smiled. “She knows what she likes.” And yes, admittedly, she was very good at climbing, after all Scott was taller. His smile widened.

Virgil’s stare intensified until plain, straight human communication got the message across and his brother groaned. “God, Scott, TMI.”

Total innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. The image is radiating off your skin.”

Scott sniggered.

Distraction achieved.

“Well, I did say you lost an opportunity.”

“That’s fine, Jungle Jim, she’s all yours.”

Scott shrugged. He could always hope. She certainly knew how to press all his buttons. “Still think we should have her over for Christmas?”

“Yeah, Gordon will love it.”

“What about you?”

“I need to speak to Sam.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” A breath. “Just take it easy.”

His brother nodded and returned to staring out at the ocean. “It will be good to get home.”

Scott stood up slowly and sat back down beside his brother. “Yeah, it will.”

So good.

-o-o-o-

“Are we there yet?” Alan’s voice was particularly whiny, no doubt, specifically designed to irritate.

Gordon turned away from the helm to look at him. “Do you see an island in front of us?”

Alan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nope.”

“There’s your answer.”

It had been quiet on the bridge for the last few hours. Gordon was grateful for the time to think. A Little Lightning cut through the water ever so smoothly. It was satisfying to see the swell pass by knowing that they were one wave closer to home.

Gordon loved being out on the ocean. It was his native element. But at the moment he longed for the safety of Tracy Island. That last encounter with the whales had its own sense of wonder, but until he understood exactly what the effect was on his older brother, he wasn’t entirely comfortable.

It was weird and unnerving.

And it worried him.

“They been out there long?” Alan was staring at the two men sitting on the bow of the boat.

“Yeah, couple of hours at least.”

“Do you think Virgil is okay?”

No. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

Alan eyed him. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need protecting. Since when have you become one of them?” He pointed at his eldest brothers.

Gordon sighed. “I’m not. It’s just...I don’t know, okay? It was weird and amazing and I need to talk to him and he was spaced out and his singing was...”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment, but Gordon knew it wouldn’t be long.

Sure enough.

“Do you think Virg can talk to whales?”

“I don’t know, Alan.” It was said on one long exhale.

“He communicated something, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know, okay?” And that was the problem. There was so much they didn’t know. Gordon was itching to get into the in-depth literature, to find out more and fill the gaps in his knowledge so he could help his brother. He would be speaking to Sam as soon as possible, but for the moment, the priority was getting Virgil home.

“Some vacation.” It was said with a pout.

Gordon sighed and shoved on the autopilot before turning to his younger brother. “Alan, out with it.”

“What?”

“What’s bugging you.”

“I thought that was obvious. Virgil going zombie and singing to a whale is enough, don’t you think? As if appendicitis wasn’t dramatic already.”

Gordon stared at Alan. “He is going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You just said so!”

“He sang to a whale, Alan. They are one of the gentlest creatures on the planet. If he was going to choose a weird conversation partner, he chose well.”

“But you don’t know what it did to him!”

“It didn’t do anything to him.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Alan-“

“Don’t lie to me!” The words shot across the bridge and slapped Gordon in the face.

Voice calm and quiet and not a little hurt. “I have never lied to you, Alan.”

Blue fire glared at him. “You haven’t? Not even to protect the littlest one? Scared I might burst into tears.”

Gordon stared at his little brother. “What is it?”

“Have you?!”

“No! I’ve always told you the truth. You know that!” He let out an aggravated breath. “What is wrong, Allie?”

“What do you think? First you, then Virgil, and now this!”

“What?!” Him? Virgil? Oh...shit. “Virgil is okay. Hell, I’m okay. Allie, we are all fine.”

“That’s what he keeps saying!” Alan shoved a finger in Virgil’s direction. “He’s always fine, even when he’s not. You’re all the same. Big tough guys, nothing is ever wrong. You could be bleeding to death and you’d ‘be fine’. What is wrong with admitting you’re hurt? What is so wrong with being hurt that you have to hide it?”

Gordon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared and I’m sick of hiding it. Virgil nearly fell out of the damned sky with his infected appendix. It could have killed him. And now he’s scaring everyone with this whale thing.” A harshly indrawn breath. “Don’t tell me Scott’s not worried. I’m not stupid.”

Two steps and Gordon was in front of his brother, his hands landing on shoulders that were just that touch higher than his own and tighter strung than Virgil’s piano. “Allie, he’s going to be okay.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it is true.”

Something unintelligible and Alan was wrapped around him like a limpet. Gordon held his little brother. It was unusual and alarming. Alan usually went to Scott for comfort. Gordon was for pranks and cohorting. “It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be worried. You can cry if you need to.”

“I’m not going to cry!” Alan pulled away and glared up at Gordon.

“What?”

“Now you think I’m the baby that needs to bawl on your shoulder?”

“What?!” The hell was going on? Some conscious part of his brain was aware of the yacht’s engine, the high speed they were travelling and the fact autopilot on water was vastly different from the sky and he really should be paying attention. But Alan needed...something. “Allie, you’ve lost me. What do you want?!”

“I want Virgil to be okay. I want you to be okay.”

“We are okay!”

“Then stop scaring me!”

“I didn’t scare you!”

“You....you terrified me, Gordon. You terrified all of us.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Still hurt.”

“Aww, Allie...” What could he do?

“And now, here you are ‘okay’, and it could happen again, and...” A shaky swallow. “I’m scared, okay? You’re fine. Virgil’s fine. But you’re not, and...I’m not okay...okay?”

This time it was Gordon wrapping his arms around his not so little brother. “I’m sorry, Allie.”

Muffled into Gordon’s shoulder. “Not your fault.”

“No.” But he should have realised it was still messing with his little brother. Alan was the least experienced of them all. Gordon had seen things, done things, things that hopefully Alan would never have to experience. Quietly. “I think Virgil is a little freaked out. I don’t think he understands what happened much more than we do. But we are going to find out. I’m going to speak to Sam. We’re going to do some research and we will find out why the song affected Virgil the way it did. But he is okay, Alan. Tracy’s honour. A little shaken up. A little worried. But he is okay. We’ll work through this like we always do.”

His brother’s arms tightened around him just that little bit more, but Alan didn’t say anything.

A rustle of fabric and Gordon looked up to see John standing in the doorway staring at them with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“John?”

Alan startled and pulled away immediately. Turquoise followed his every move.

A slow blink and John stepped onto the bridge. “Eos is deciphering the song. We have a good idea as to why Virgil reacted the way he did.” It was said calmly and factually for such a great discovery.

“You do?” Alan found his voice first.

Those eyes latched onto Gordon’s. “We do.”

The helm beeped.

A blink and Gordon was back at the wheel, scanning their position. A mass of volcanic rock and tropical reef appeared on navigational sensors.

A familiar chunk of rock and reef.

Tracy Island.

Home.

-o-o-o-

End Day Four, Part Five.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #kermadec fic

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