#this is the risk of taking a cannon plot device and giving it feelings

[somestorythoughts]

Narrative Role vs Personality

There was something that felt weird to me when I watched the 1st season of the clone wars, I thought I figured it out and now that I've seen a few more seasons and haven't changed my mind I'm gonna post about it and hopefully make some sense in the following ramble.

It feels like there's a bit of conflict between the writers giving the clones a narrative role and making them actual characters. Yes all characters have a role in the narrative that's not the point, the point is that, from the outside, the clones' role in the story is just to be an army. You need bodies to make up an army to show the audience that this a war, and the audience isn't supposed to really invest in them past wanting the good guys to win.

That's not a bad thing, it's normal when you have sci-fi/fantasy armies. That's the role these guys play:

We love the dramatic charge of the Rohirrim, we take a solemn moment to acknowledge the bodies in the aftermath, and that's it. We mostly feel actively sad for the characters we know, or sometimes background characters who are there for emotional impact. The role of an army in these shows/movies is to look good, die, and win or loose. It's the same kind of role characters in adventure movies like Indian Jones or the Mummy play, those people who get caught by lethal traps. You can expand that into "it's messed up that they're being used as test subjects for booby traps" outside the film but their only role in the narrative is to show that the traps are dangerous. Again, not a bad thing narratively. In a story, someone's gotta show that the 1000-year old knife trap is still sharp somehow and yes the evil scarabs are alive. And sometimes those are also minions or bad guys but it still applies.

I think horror movies do the same thing but it's not my genre so not certain how their deaths work.

And in aotc and rots, the clones are pretty much pure plot device. They've got a narrative role and they fill it. They're an army, they do the fighting the dying and the killing, we get very little personality out of them. Been a while since I've seen rots so I can't say if they get no characterization, but I'm pretty sure it's VERY low. We know the basics of their background, we don't know them.

And then the clone wars came around and it gave them personality. It gave them characterization. And sure the series seems to be largely focused on the Jedi, but they still took the time to give the clones some character beyond just being bodies to fill the ranks.

And it's not like you can't kill characters the audience cares about, everyone knows that isn't the case. But if you give characters personality, the audience is more likely to care. If the care, they might be upset that they're dying over and over so easily without much in story mention. And people really latched on to the clones.

It doesn't help that their backstory is kinda fucked up. I have no idea how much of the shit they go through on Kamino and in the wider galaxy in fanfics is canon and how much of it is fan-based (I haven't finished the clone wars series and I'm not quite invested enough to track down the comics right now) but even without that you're talking about millions of people cloned and raised for war by trainers that are at the very least unfriendly, a genetic donor that selected one for a son and does seem to care at all about the rest, and the war they're fighting is entirely engineered. They're made to fight a war and then wiped into blank slates by a bunch of mind-control chips (even if we look at the movies without the show since that was later, there's still plenty of messed up stuff in being bred and raised solely for war). It's messed up enough that people are gonna be interested in that backstory and that might be part of why people latched on to the clones in general instead of only individual troopers though I can't be sure. It's one thing if you've got people who's narrative role is to kill and be killed and look cool while doing it. It's another thing when that's their purpose in the story.

And the clone wars gives us these occasional episodes that show first that some of the clones actively don't want to be here and second that there are some even among the jedi that see them as inferior. Their reactions in the Umbara arc to Krell using numbers instead of names are strong enough that even without them saying something like "we don't like being called by numbers its dehumanizing" that idea still comes across clearly.

Umbara also tells us that they can be ordered to kill their friends, and they will have to comply.

One of the things the clone wars tells us is that this is a really messed up situation. That the story of the clones is a tragedy. But I don't think it always acts like it.

The thing that was bugging me was Plo Koon's declaration that the troopers mattered to him and Windu taking the time to rescue a trooper and later on Ima-gun Di's last stand with his troopers, juxtaposed with the casualness in the series as a whole with which entire ships are destroyed. And I know, its tricky to talk about this kind of thing when you're making a kids' show and you only have 20-odd minutes on top of that. I'm not really blaming them for treating the troopers the same way you treat an army in any fantasy war story. It's fiction. Explosions on a screen are fun. We all like a badass fight scene. I'm probably not the intended audience for this show anymore and that means my perspective isn't the one the writers are trying to hit.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is that it feels a little like the writers gave the clones too much character for their narrative role. And if you as a writer say in-universe that these people's lives matter, sometimes it might feel a bit weird when a ship full of them is blown to pieces and never remarked on again.

I want to end this by acknowledging that I am WAY overanalyzing a kids' show I KNOW so if you're going to criticize this analysis feel free but please criticize about a different point because I recognize the overthinking hell this took like three times as long as I expected to write I have no fucking clue where the time went.

[morethansky]

***TBB SPOILERS***

But on last week's episode, "Flash Strike," because my mind is currently racing in circles and I'll explode if I don't do anything for the next hour. Less coherent than usual probably, because I feel like I'm about to vibrate into the stratosphere.

Immediate Crosshunt frame within the first five seconds. Perfection. And notice Hunter and Crosshair once again leave the scene together—because Crosshair is Hunter's copilot, Crosshair is Hunter's copilot!!! Also they're so obsessed with each other, during the piloting scenes they are constantly looking at each other. Crosshair popping out of his seat to tell Hunter things when he should be watching the screens, Hunter turning around when he should be looking out the viewport?? Are the two of you going to die if you don't make eye contact every ten seconds??? Focus!

"He'll find a way." And boy does he!!! Echo, the man you are. Like in the last episode, the infiltration scene is simple but cleverly choreographed but moves at a good pace.

Bro I'm so mad that it was so easy for Echo to nab a hand and he hasn't before this point wtf

I always like when the Imperials being full of themselves wastes each other's time and allows the protagonists to elude them, while also saying something about the enemy characters. A+ Star Wars plot device.

Please let Scorch make it out and not just die as an easter egg they didn't do anything with!!!

OH NO Scalder is hot

I really like Omega being able to distinguish the rumble of the laser cannons. Everyone who was all worked up about her imitating Crosshair, there you have it. Even without the enhancements, Omega has learned to sense things like Hunter does.

"My brothers" made my siblings > parents heart full. And the line is particularly kickass because she's no longer helpless. She's not waiting for the Batch to come for her. She already has an escape plan. But now she has the reassurance that they'll be working the same mission from opposite ends.

Noshir Dalal's work this episode is ACES. Every single scream he does is so different! And each of them have so much texture.

I love Hunter shooting the rappel line mechanism to save Rampart and it risking his life being a mirror for Tech shooting the mechanism to save the Batch and it risking his life. A much more graceful reminder than just someone awkwardly saying one line about Tech every episode.

Crosshair being 100% confident about which move Hunter will make and how he'll find his way back to them, WHAT IF I CRIED. Hunter, what did you track to find Crosshair, I have to know. Was it his scent? The sound of his footsteps? The flutter of his heartbeat? No matter what it was, it was gay.

Crosswrecker crumbs!!! I can't believe we got TWO emotional conversations in this episode, this is the content I've been starving for. I love the duo of Crosshair and Wrecker so much, and Crosshair being emotionally vulnerable with him specifically is so telling about the depth of their connection.

Love the mirror of Crosshair saying he's here because he owes Omega, mirroring the S1 finale. And you can just feel the ghost of Mayday lingering over this bit. Crosshair's arc in the finale will have to be about him taking an action that shows him growing out of this mentality.

"Cover you?" "What does that mean?" I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. My headcanon for the clones is that they use so much military slang and hand signs to communicate that it's often incomprehensible to outsiders.

This moment during Crosshair's conversation with Rampart!!! And I love the way the light casts them in darkness and light during this conversation, and the way Crosshair appears to be emerging from it. Crosshair carrying Hunter's words with him makes me so emotional.

"Depends on who's giving them." SUB CROSSHAIR SUPREMACY. God this line makes me insane. Crosshair stating both his disdain for the Empire and his allegiance to Hunter in so few words. This show has once again decided to pretend the inhibitor chips don't exist, but I'll trade it for what amounts to an emotional confession / oath of loyalty from Crosshair.

I've watched the scene where Hunter is facing down the beast and Crosshair is standing literally RIGHT behind him so many times oh my god. If he leaned down he could press their cheeks together. I can't believe my prediction that they would just move closer and closer on screen every episode was right. The next logical step for them is to kiss in the finale, obviously.

Also this moment where Crosshair and Hunter help Wrecker up!!!

And this one!!! Echo representing the heroic standard I've been desperate for!!!

Echo going undercover in blank armor to save all his brothers... Fives going undercover in blank armor to save the galaxy... I am unwell. If the Echo feature these past couple episodes has been to set up his death, I will go knock down LFL offices myself.

Every time they play the clone theme for Echo or Rex I start almost crying. The soft rendition in the scene with Emerie made me so emotional, and then the dark fanfare version at the end is so sick!!!

Okay, off I go to lose the rest of my sanity...

[subtle-edge-of-rot]

Some Sinclair asks because I’m curious how other people interpret these plot holes in the movie:

1. Why would the brothers risk their freedom to fulfill the dream of their mother when she’s already dead (so it wouldnt even matter), and abused Bo as a child (at least he’s the only one we know of)? Especially since it’s implied that they may have killed both their parents.

2. When Bo is giving their backstory to Carly, he mentions that Trudy only had TWO sons. What was the point of leaving Lester out, besides so that it could be a plot twist to the audience? It doesnt make sense, it’s not like Bo knew he was a fictional character in a movie and lied for the audiences sake lol. There’s also no sign of him depicted in the wax museum either.

3. Why was Lester so calm at the end of the movie? His brothers are dead, his town burned down, and the place is swarming with cops finding evidence of bodies while he waves to the only two witnesses left as they escape? Was he just accepting that there was nothing he could do? He obviously cared enough about his brothers to help with their scheme, but I find it hard to believe he would just accept that he was about the be arrested.

4. Vincent’s wax chair setup. Its built like it can only cover people in a sitting position, but that would imply all of his figures would have to be sitting then. How does he pose the others? Can the device be moved into different positions? If not then the bodies would have to have some kind of aperture holding them in place, and he then would have to pose them while the wax was still hot enough to be malleable for it to dry in the correct position.

5. Is Vincent actually mute? I see no reason why he would be, his scarring doesn’t affect his vocal cords and I feel like keeping him not talking was just the directors way of making him seem scarier to the audience? Also, not really a question but the CGI used for his scars is so medically inaccurate that it drives me crazy. Again, i feel like it was for shock factor but it just looks sloppy.

6. Why do most people head-cannon Lester living by himself instead of with his bros? There seems to be no reason that would suggest he does if i remember correctly.

Alright I’ll take a stab at this. *cracks knuckles* im no expert but I have thoughts.

1. This is a question I struggle with, and it’s probably why I haven’t written any Sinclair fics. I want to understand their point of view more before I dive in. It all boils down to wanting to please mom, and a release of sadistic feelings and desires. That’s all I can pinpoint it down to.

2. I think he said that Trudy only had to sons simply to protect Lester from any fallout. I hc that Bo and Vince basically raised him and they’re super protective. If anyone is going to go down for their crimes, it’s gonna be the twins, not their little brother—even though he’s also guilty.

3. I think he was kind of relieved that this whole operation finally came to an end. I think all along he wanted his brothers to stop the madness, and just let the town go and move on. I think his relief that this is over overtakes his grief—plus he knows his brothers are free of the shackles of sadism that held them down. Lester is also guilty, don’t get me wrong, but he never participated in the actual act of murder.

4. I’m pretty sure he can switch up positions with his waxing setup, including wire setups that will keep the cadaver’s legs stiff so they can hold their own weight.

5. I talked about this with my beloved Blue anon—Vincent is selectively mute. It’s been found that with twins, sometimes one of them does the talking for both of them, and Vincent let that be Bo. I agree with the scar thing, they could have done better. I work in the medical field—it would look completely different!

6. I’m not really sure. I know some people think he’s more independent, and more comfortable living out in nature—camping or out in a cabin or shed on the property. I personally think he’d stay and live with his brothers—they’re close and Les is the glue that holds them together.

[king-maven-calore]

I guess since I don't get as invested as you do in books, but I really don't think Rihda dying had anything to do with her sexuality??? Why would it, when you write characters as the author you know if a character is going to die. Rhida dying wasn't "Queer character dying to forward a narrative", it was "character death to forward narrative" her sexuality had nothing to do with it? And I say this a lesbian, I didn't even think that until I saw discussion about it.

As you said Rhida wasn't a big part of the story, but she was the daughter to the monarch who didn't care if the realm fell, with her death she now has more reason to join the effort, now we have the women who indirected caused this in the war. Because her daughter was murdered.

I do agree that too many authors just throw queerness at characters so readers don't bother them about representation. But VA has always been more plot focused the character or romance. I'd, that's my take at least

listen pal, I made a whole ass disclaimer on my rant that those were my feelings regarding Ridha's storyline. You don't have to come here to try to change my mind bc I'm not arguing about whether her death as a political piece will serve the overarching narrative when we already know it does. I'm not that stupid. I'm not banging on VA's doors demanding apologies for being problematic or making tiktoks canceling her.

I never said Ridha died because of her sexuality ???

In case it wasn't clear, what I said is that when you have 6 freaking POVs, 3 straight romance storylines, and you choose to tease with a wlw romance for the POV you have already decided beforehand is the one going to die, it fucking hurts for all the wrong reasons. See? I am allowed to feel massively let down because I've been through this exact same situation several times with other media. It's not original. I'm not hurt because her death scene was magnificently crafted. Ridha was introduced, she hangs out for a while doing nothing chopping ice, some gayness was sprinkled in, she disappears for the entire book and comes back with allies that don't really amount to much, to die almost off the page (Sure Taristan delivers the killing blow but she's already one foot in the grave by then). If she was going to die so unceremoniously that most readers don't give a damn about her, then I would have preferred she had no trace of gayness so I wouldn't mind either 🤷‍♀️. Everyone else is just relieved it wasn't their fave. It's not taking risks or leaving the protagonist (Corayne) "at her lowest" when she didn't even know Ridha lmao.

A poorly written character meant to die means nothing to me coming from a random author. But coming from the same woman capable of writing Sorasa's reluctant hero arc, or Corayne's coming-of-age journey, or the absolutely brilliant chapter 22 from Erida's storyline (which is frankly on another level)... then yes I'll feel fucking betrayed. Because I see my orientation reflected in a character and a kinship sparkles to life! it's a great thing! until that character is meant to be cannon fodder a plot device. VA put such lovely effort into the others and then for Ridha it was like "cheap angst coming right up". It wasn't even like the ~boldest~ narrative move, babes.

Basically, I'm not saying queer characters can't die. You can clearly see I am a Maven fan, who also you know... is queer and dies. So sorry for holding VA's writing up to uhm 🤔🤔 VA's books standards. How silly of me.

[novarasalas]

Second Look Review: The Last Stand Pts. 1 & 2

I’m having a bit of trouble with this one. Not just this one, but the rest of this season.

I think it would be easier for me if I hadn’t just been making clips from earlier seasons for my videos. Cause damn, this is a huge departure from when we started.

And I casually throw around the phrase “shit gets real”, but, this time, I mean it.

There’s now a sense of realism that this show only barley hinted at in the first episode.

And it’s just the stupidest thing, but the part that’s messing me up the most is that, now, we’re in the military. Of course I knew what the Galaxy Garrison was. It’s got ‘garrison’ right there in the name. But… I’m not a fan of military stuff, which is a bit hypocritical as one of my favorite movies is “Independence Day”. I suppose it’s hard for me to accept that, say...Lance, the goofy, dork of a child, is part of a military institution. He’s a soldier.

I mean, the Paladins have been through war stuff already. But now it’s Earth war stuff; things that are immediately familiar.

I uh...I have some hang ups. If I’m seeming a bit down on all this, it’s a me thing. The show itself is still good. It’s now just suddenly not my thing.

Let’s get down to it.

Part 1

First thing: I love the Holts, ok? Sam is already amazing, and Colleen is a spitfire. You can definitely see where Pidge gets it. If they could adopt me like, right now, that’d be great.

That said, Sam is extremely idealistic. The first thing he wants to do once he gets back to Earth is tell the whole world what happened to him.

Sanda shuts him down:

Sanda: If we told the world there was an imminent attack, we’d set off a global panic.

That reminded me of this, from Men in Black:

And it’s about aliens too. Nice.

She’s not wrong. At least, I don’t think she would be in our modern reality. My city is one sports championship away from spontaneously combusting...again (thank god our teams all suck). I’d really hate to imagine what would happen in this situation in the here and now.

And Sanda wasn’t wrong about sending signals into space, either.

Sanda: Any contact with alien species needs to be run through the appropriate channels.

In the end, she acquiesces, only for them to make contact with Matt, who tells them to stop broadcasting.  Welp.

Sanda’s in an unenviable position. How would you react if someone told you that space magic is real and now there’s a risk of alien invasion, and a knockoff band of Power Rangers was your only hope? She didn’t excuse herself from the meeting to stand out in the hallway and scream, which is what I'd have done. But now she has to consider the safety and well-being of the entirety of the Earth, without causing mass hysteria throughout the populace.

There are no good answers. Not in real life. And this is uncharted territory for everyone involved.

So they build weapons in secret.

I have to say, I like how they’ve designed their new tech. They didn’t try to emulate Altean aesthetics, and instead stuck with a more conventional, modern Earth look.  

War planes, energy cannons, and a particle barrier. They’re working on their own Castleship. They even have “the best pilots to come out of the Galaxy Garrison in the last year.”

But it’s not enough, and Sam forces Sanda’s hand, telling the Earth about everything. As it turns out that Sanda was wrong, and instead of panic, the world comes together to help save themselves.

And in the end, it’s too little too late.

What a bunch of losers.

We’re not given much of a timeframe on these events. At the beginning of the episode, the screen reads “FOUR YEARS EARLIER”. But where in those four years does the invasion happen? If Sanda had allowed for help earlier on, would it have made a difference?

I’m thinking….no. Sendak knows what he’s doing. The Earth was screwed from the start.

Part 2

So now you’ve found yourself being overrun by alien invaders. Yikes.

And these invaders have this to say about you’re ability to fight them.

Planetary surface reports indicate offensive capability, extremely low.

I wonder if they’d say that about us now. We still have enough nukes to blow ourselves up several times over. Does this future Earth still have that?

They’ve never said much about Earth in the Paladins time, so I came up with something on my own.

I think Earth is peaceful. And I think that because the general scope of the Garrison seems to be exploration, not military power. Of course, they’re not slouch in that department either. I can’t quite explain why they’d still have active military, except that ya know...shit happens.

The overall diversity of the place tells me this, too. If this was strictly military, I don’t think they’d be letting foreigners into their ranks. This is me, assuming again, that Lance is from actual Cuba, and Hunk is from actual Samoa.

Diversity, and bases all over the world. Also, the fact of everyone coming together to protect the planet.

And I think it might be because of this:

Veronica: It’s an older setup from World War III.

That’s pretty damn significant. And it’s the last we hear of it.

Did humanity learn it’s lesson after that? Was this war so bad that everyone found their chill in the aftermath? And is it recent enough to have been within living memory for a sizable chunk of the population?

I’m gonna say yes. Look at the chiefs:

At least four of them at the table have medals on their uniforms.

So my theory is this: World War III happened around 40 years prior. The ones with the medals were awarded these medals for their services during that war. The war was so bad that everyone wised up and stopped all that nonsense. They got rid of the worst of their weapons. Now, the people of Earth have come together to explore the universe.

….hey, why not? We might find out more in season 8. Or we might go right back into fantastic space battles.

Also, I’d like to say that Sanda is also a veteran. She’s just...such a hard ass. She didn’t get that way on her own.

She’s also the one in charge.

Aliens are attacking, Admiral! What should we do?

Why, send in the least effective of our attacking fleet, of course!

Sam: You’ve just doomed those men and women.

And one, in particular.

Yeah, Adam was actually doomed as soon as he was introduced as Shiro’s ex. I’m going to talk more about this at the end of the review, because otherwise it’s just going to throw off the flow.

So, the cities of the world are razed.

Again, I’m having a hard time with this. Military movies, disaster movies….I’ve lost my taste for them. I’d rather spend my time on something hopeful. I guess, in the end, it is hopeful, because we as the audience know that Voltron will eventually save the day. But this lead up is brutal.

So, did you survive the invasion? Or do you think you’d have been one of the ‘able bodied citizens’ taken captive?

I know I’m dead. I’m soooooo dead.

Probably not in the initial attack; they always go for the cities first, and I’m at the edge of nowhere. In the end, it wouldn’t even be the Galra that get me.

It’s my chronic illnesses. If I don’t get my meds, I’m done for. So when I see a story about invasion and people getting cut off and isolated, I get a bit...uncomfortable. And that’s a bit part of why I’m having such a hard time with the back half of this season. In my head, all I can think is “oh god, I’m boned. I’m sooo screwed.”

But who knows? Maybe in this future Earth they can cure what’s wrong with me. Or maybe there’s ways to prevent you from getting sick in the first place. Then again, they couldn’t really help Shiro, so...

….

Auuuggggghhhh!!!

This is bringing me down way too much! I gotta find something great…

Ah! The squad!

The aftermath of season 7 online was a mess. I saw way too many people complaining that adding these four was a waste of narrative. Those people have toe fungus and need to get a hair cut, because the MFE pilots are great. I wish we’d gotten to see more of them.

I made a video of her moments a bit back and talked about this there, but I’ll say it again: I love Leifsdottir, and I love that she’s autistic.

Also: Veronica

Rizavi: I like her.

Same, Rizavi. Same.

I wish I hadn’t read the reviews before season 7. I’d have loved to have gone in blind, not knowing that this is that Veronica, Lance’s sister. I’d have never guessed. She’s so professional.

I wonder if she was like her brother when she was a Garrison cadet. We later see a lighter side of her, and right after that, we see Serious Lance again. Yeah...I’m going with that. I bet Lance entered the Garrison, and the instructors all began lamenting “Oh god...not another one.”.

Also, have you noticed the diversity here at the Garrison? There’s a good split of men and women, and all kinds of varying skin tones. It’s great to see.

This episode does end on a high note, or rather, as high as it can, with a message sent to Voltron with the hope that they get there in time.

And Sam Holt gives a speech.

Earth has been conquered.

We are the last holdout in an evil occupation.

And we must face the facts: our supplies are running out.

They have hammered us and hurt the ones we love.

Our backs are completely up against the wall.

And nothing makes us more dangerous.

We only have enough resources for one last stand.

Regardless of the outcome, if we stand united,

we will let them know, the planet Earth, our home,

will not go down without a fight.

…

I still really like that movie, ok?

---

Now, about Adam.

When I went online after watching the season, I was expecting to hear a bit about his fate, but I never expected all...this. And anything I have to say has already been said better by many other people.

I’m firmly of the idea that the showrunners had nothing to apologize for.

See, like I said, Adam was doomed as soon as he was introduced. He was only ever meant to serve as plot device. Take away the approval for him to be Shiro’s ex, and you’re left with Shiro’s close friend who died at the hands of Sendak. It’s meant to make you feel bad; it’s meant to make you feel unsafe. His death tells you “This is war, and anyone can die.”

But then, Shiro was allowed to be gay. And now Adam wasn’t his roommate, he was his boyfriend.  

The narrative needed someone who was close to a main character to show that war is hell, but not too close as to be excessively cruel to the audience.  The narrative also needed someone to show that Shiro was queer. It’s just how things worked out.

This is something we’ll have to get used to as better representation begins to filter in. There will be missteps, and there will be hurt feelings. But it is progress.

There are good conversations to be had about this. But none of those conversations are happening here.

In the end, Adam was a brave man, who once upon a time loved another man. He died a hero.

In summary:

This was brutal. It actually happened: Sendak has done everything short of destroying the whole of the Earth. I had really, really been hoping that the fight would stay in space.

The episodes were well made, with a great bit of story to be told. But my own issues got in the way of me liking them. Ah, well...it happens.

...

The Garrison is all 70s aesthetic. I don’t like 70s aesthetics...

Next up: The boys are back in town.

[pianopadawan]

Descent, A Poe x Hux Fanfiction Chapter 1

A/N: Decided to post the actual chapters on Tumblr for more convenient reading. This story is also posted on AO3.

Plot Synopsis: The collapse of the Empire brought not peace but chaos. The New Republic has given way to power lust and corruption. War wages on with rekindled desperation between the Resistance and the First Order, the spawn of the Empire turned disenchanted military branch of the Republic. A new generation must enter the battle, bound to one side or the other.

Amidst the inferno, the teenage corporal Armitage Hux is faced with unstable authority over a doomed mission. Meanwhile, the Resistance fleet’s most promising young pilot, Poe Dameron, finds himself climbing enemy ranks for the sake of a tenuous “greater cause”. In the most fortunate of cases, chance meetings in troubled times strengthen both parties. At other times, one man’s rise to fame will mark the other’s descent into madness.

Rating: Mature

Chapter 1: Miscalculations

11 ABY, Mineral Fields of Eadu

The boy’s hands tremble as his line of vision lurches forward. For a moment, he thinks the transport will surely give way, that the whole team will go crashing down, buried in a heap of scalding metal. But the moment passes, and he’s allowed another hurried breath, another heartbeat.

His console has fallen to the floor again. He feels the glare of the Commander heavy upon him as he bends over to pick up the device, mutters a quick apology and retreats back to the corner of the cockpit. The walls quake again. The commander barks out something about defending the western reaches, an order to which the rest of the crew can only respond with a few worried murmurs and snide remarks. It’s only a question of how it’ll end, how many more blows the transport will take before the legs give way.

No one dares to speak of evacuation. Better to die now than be blown to bits fleeing the battlefield or executed for desertion. This wordless resolution predated all understanding of the war and whatever trivial conclusions one drew from it.

Another blast makes the transport reel to the left before the pilot can regain balance. The boy fixes his eyes on his console, refusing to look up from the screen of expanding red. He knows his task – report back on the remaining transports and support ships, those in distress and those destroyed, whenever prompted by the Commander. It’s a simple task and one that’s become all but redundant. The commander stopped caring about the losses hours ago.

But the boy remains attentive, hoping to feel useful, hoping that surely, surely he can offer something before…

“Then, it’s hopeless!”

The entire team turns to the source of the outburst –a pallid youth with his index finger pointed accusingly at the Commander.

“Get back to your post, Ensign,” the Commander’s tone is stern as ever, but the Ensign is undeterred.

“We know it’s a lost cause without the shields,” the ensign persists. “More importantly, the Resistance knows. Why else would they target the generator?”

“The main generator went up in flames,” says the Commander. “There’s no use discussing it further. What we need now is reinforcements on the western reaches and your order is to shut your trap and get us there. Understood?”

“We aren’t going to make it there, Commander.” The transport dips forward again as if to prove the Ensign’s point. “We won’t make it much longer, but as far as the Resistance is concerned, none of that matters.”

“I don’t give a damn what matters to the Resistance scum! What matters is our task!”

“Our task is to counter the Resistance attack. They’re not after the western reaches. They’re after the weapons lab. Without the shields, the lab is an easy target.”

The boy watches the confrontation, wondering what could have kindled such impertinence. His father had been sure to instill in him a loathing for impudence (thinking about it made him wince), but that wasn’t the only lesson he’d learned. Above all, there was no excuse for accepting defeat when there was still fighting left to be done.

A heavy breath of silence passes before the transport pilot says in a quavering voice:

“If you would pardon my interruption, sir. There is a secondary shield generator that is not too far from our current position. I suspect it has already taken damage but may be salvageable with some mechanical work.”

The Commander frowns, giving the pilot a brief, impassive glance before asking:

“How far?”

“Roughly a mile,” the pilot replies. “In the Eastern Outpost. The work would have to be done manually, but the outpost’s transmission systems are down. We have no way of making contact with the technical squadron stationed there, even if they’ve managed to survive, but it is possible to get there on foot from our current coordinates.” He hesitates. “Though it would be… hazardous.”

Hazardous is an understatement. Such a task would be a suicide mission. The chances of success are too high to risk the lives of the expert crew members. Yet, the stakes are too high to discard the proposition. The boy knows this all too well. He shows no surprise when the Commander turns to him.

“Boy!” the Commander barks. “Come here. I have a job for you!”

“Take this,” the Ensign says, handing the boy a transmitter. “We’ll use it to communicate as you make your way to the outpost. Once you’re inside, the generator will be on the second floor. You’ve worked with similar generators in the past from my understanding. This should be much the same. Get there, and we’ll give you further instructions on activating the emergency shields. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a tracker built in,” the Ensign explains, indicating the transmitter. “So, we’ll be able to track your coordinates once you’ve activated the shields and give you directions back to the transport. Are we clear?”

The boy wants to scoff at the idea of a return trip. The odds of him reaching to the outpost alive, much less return to the transport in one piece, are miniscule. It’s a hopeless task and he is but a token, cast away to settle the Commander’s doubts that they’ve exhausted all options.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he responds with another sterile, “Yes, sir.”

The Ensign nods. The transport comes to a halt, and the exit ramp unfolds. A moment later, the boy finds himself standing on the slate ground, watching the transport’s towering legs stalk past him, a metallic skeleton returning to the grave.

He can see the battle unfolding above, the shadows of the TIE Fighters engaging the enemy fleet. A mile away, a squad of troopers are manning the ground artillery. A minute later, an enemy ship swoops down, blowing another cannon and its crew to pieces. The Eastern Outpost is a mile away, or so the transport pilot claimed. The boy can see its figure, peaking out on the horizon what feels like another fifty miles away.

He starts towards it.

A crash echoes across the field and out of the corner of his eye, the boy glimpses the crumpled remains of an AT-AT. Presumably it was shot down by one of the enemy ships.

He wonders about the precision of an X-Wing. He’s seen TIE Fighter models with enough precision to shoot down a single ground trooper. An eleven-year-old boy, armed with nothing but a blaster, making his way across the battlefield alone must look suspicious. Maybe that’ll be enough for the enemy fighters to target him. He orders himself not to speculate.

Soon after, he encounters another group of Stormtroopers manning an anti-aircraft cannon. A few of them turn to stare at him, before quickly returning to their work. The boy fears at first that they’ll mistake him for a deserter, but the worry soon subsides. Any deserter who would attempt to escape by running into a live warzone would be too foolish to pose a threat.

A shadow passes over him. He dives under an overturned transport seconds before the explosion, which leaves his ears ringing.

A cloud of debris rises a few feet away from where he’s crouched under the rubble. A stinging pain crawls up his leg, and he looks down to see a few streaks of blood running down his torn uniform. He tries to reorient himself, silently rehearsing his task.

Reach the Eastern Outpost.

Locate the backup generator on the second floor.

Send a transmission back to the crew on the transport…

The transmitter. He must have lost it during the explosion.

He leaves the cover of the fallen transport. After a panicked search, he glimpses a red light blinking a few paces away. He seizes the transmitter from the ground and barely has time to check whether it’s broken before he hears the whirring of a starfighter engine.

He expects another bomb. He expects this to be the one that kills him, but by some strange fate, the enemy ship passes by. Next time, he suspects he won’t be so fortunate. He’s already running out of luck. The lab, his team in the transport, the First Order is already running out of time.

He sets his gaze on the outpost and makes a mad dash towards it. He doesn’t dare to believe he’ll make it, but while he’s still alive he’s damn well going to try.

There’s more wreckage up ahead. Smoke billows from the heap of metal which appears to be the remains of a starfighter. It’s hard to tell what kind, whether it’s an enemy ship or one of the TIE Fighters, and there isn’t time to check. The unmistakable stench of burning flesh rises from the crash site.

The boy is all too familiar with the smell. He remembers long hours spent salvaging whatever was left of the fallen the morning after the battle. It was a task frequently assigned to the juvenile recruits. His father had always believed in teaching his cadets the barbarism of the enemy early on.

The boy had learned well. He thought now of the cadavers. Some of them lay scattered across the battlefield, unidentifiable limbs to fuel the crematorium’s flames. Others were left much as they’d been in life, glossy eyes half-opened, the head leering to the side as if they hadn’t had time to realize their death before it came. Those were the worst ones…

Another shadow. This time, the enemy starfighter is ablaze. It swoops above him, reeling sideways. After another heartbeat aloft, the ship plummets to the ground. Another wreckage, more smoke, more burning…

The outpost is closer now. Almost there. Slowly, the building comes into clearer focus. The vague outline of the entrance solidifies. Part of him still refuses to believe he can make it.

Just a little further. He tightens his grip on the transmitter and pushes himself to keep running.

The bomb falls between the boy and the outpost. There isn’t even time for him to lift his head to see the enemy ship race overhead before the blast flings him backwards.

The world goes black upon impact.

His eyes snap open. His ears ring worse than ever. His head feels as if it’ll burst pressing against his skull.

An excruciating jolt of pain shoots up his left arm. He turns his head towards the source.  The limb has snapped at a crooked angle above the elbow. Blood blooms from the crux of the injury, where the pale form of shattered bone juts from the skin.

At first, he can do nothing but stare, morbidly entranced by the fracture. Then, the tears blur his vision. He tells himself they’re only physical in nature, a reflex beyond his control, but that can only hold off the shame for so long.

The outpost, the generator lies twenty paces away. He’s so close.

He’d been reminded of his weakness more times than he can count. He recalls listening from behind closed doors as the High Command questioned his father.

I understand you have a son. Not of your wife – an illegitimate child? Will he be the best the Empire has to offer?

Even then, he had recognized his father’s doubts. Now, it seems the doubts were justified. Unless…

The boy leverages himself with his good arm into a sitting position. He stays like that for a few more breaths, shaking. A coughing fit racks his skinny frame. The transmitter is lying a foot away. The red light indicates that miraculously, the device is still working. The boy inches towards it, nearly falling down again as he grasps it with his right hand.

By the unknown grace that’s kept him alive thus far, he’s able to stand.

His arm shrieks as he limps towards the outpost. He’s moving slowly. Too slowly. But he’s still moving, still fighting…

He reaches the entrance to the outpost. The door is half-open, presumably jammed. The boy slips through and collapses on the floor. His broken arm jerks to the side and he bites back a cry. The tears slip down his face again. He brushes them away with a furious hand.

The building has not gone unscathed from the attack. The interior is dark, the few remaining lights flickering, dangling precariously from the ceiling. There’s no sign of the technician or security team.

Outside, the battle rages on. The ground shakes as another bomb lands. All it’ll take is for the next one to land on the outpost, and everything will be for nothing.

The boy can’t afford to think of that now. The elevator is straight ahead, its keypad still alight. He stumbles towards it, praying that it’ll work. After a few clicks on the keypad, the door opens and the boy limps inside.

The elevators opens on the second floor, revealing a long hallway. At the end is a long console with an array of glaring alarm lights. A trail of sickly white smoke rises from the corner. Collapsed over the console lies the body of a technician, her hand draped over a lever protruding from the floor. The boy feels his stomach sink.

He steps over to the console, coughing from the smoke. He fumbles for the power switch, prays that whatever damage the machine has taken isn’t irrevocable. To his relief, the lights of the main console flicker on.

“AT-AT Squadron 2406, come in,” he chokes out the words into the transmitter.

No reply.

“AT-AT Squadron 2406, come in,” he repeats.

He hears static on the other end of the line followed by muffled discourse. Then, at last, he hears the pilot’s voice come through:

“Go ahead.”

“I have located the generator,” the boy says. His arm throbs with every step. He thinks for a moment to mention his injury but dismisses the idea.

A shudder runs through the outpost. The boy glances upwards, half-expecting the roof to cave in.

“There is a K9 Reactive Switch near the base of the console,” the pilot says. “Do you see it?”

Leaning one hand on the console for support, the boy searches for the reactive switch, praying that he’ll remember his previous work on the generators at the academy. Another rush of pain ripples from his wound. It takes all his willpower to keep from screaming.

The corpse’s hand is resting on the reactive switch. The sight of it is enough to make his blood freeze. Before he can deliberate the spectacle further, the boy reaches out and moves the hand aside. The corpse’s arm falls back and the rest of the body rolls onto the floor with a hollow thud.

Don’t look at it, a voice inside him snaps. Focus. You’re burning time.

“Affirmative,” the boy speaks into the transmitter. “I see it.”

“Power it on,” the pilot directs him. “This will begin the reset sequence which will deauthorize the main generator and begin activation of the shields from the secondary generator. Once the shields are up…”

The pilot’s voice trails off. Someone is shouting in the background. The dreadful creaking sound of two hundred tons of steel plummeting to the ground blurs into static, and the boy is left alone.

He’s learned to suppress grief before. He’s watched the best officers usurp grief with cold acceptance. Efficiency, some would call it.

You’re burning time, the voice berates him. Wasteful. Wasteful…

He turns back to the reactive switch. It looks more like a misshapen bar than a switch and only twitches when he presses it.

Wasteful and weak.

The boy tries again, pushing harder this time. The switch shifts almost imperceptibly.

Weak. Always weak. I see my faith was misplaced.

His right arm trembles as he forces the toggle again, pushing all his weight downward. The ground rumbles again and he knows time is running thin. Drops of blood fall onto the console, mingling with his sweat. His head is throbbing, pleading for him to rest. He clenches the switch again and channels the last of his strength into the motion.

The switch clicks as it moves down to the active position. The console blinks and the monitor buzzes to life. A message appears on the screen: Beginning generator reset sequence. Transferring shield source to secondary generator.

Armitage Hux reads the notices of his achievement and manages a thin smile. Then, agony obscures his vision and he crumples to the floor.

Medical Bay of the Star Destroyer, The Herald

Commandant Brendol Hux strides into the medical bay. One hand rests on the grip of his blaster. The other is clenched into a fist.

The reports are still not entirely clear, but he’s heard enough to draw his own bitter conclusions.

At 11:26 on Eadu, AT-AT Squadron 2406 was hit by a T-85 Resistance X-Wing starfighter. The transport subsequently collapsed.

At 21:40, following the battle, AT-AT 2406 was located. The coordinates of the wreckage were recorded along with a body count of 21, accounting for the entire crew with the exception of the crew’s junior technician, Armitage Hux.

At 1:00 the following day, Search and Rescue Squad R86 located Armitage Hux on the second floor of the Eastern Outpost. On-site medics reported multiple tertiary blast injuries, including an open fracture in the boy’s left arm. He was transferred to the emergency medical bay aboard the Star Destroyer “The Herald” for treatment.

From what he’s heard, the boy’s condition is still precarious. Brendol doesn’t have time to dwell on uncertainties. What he does know for certain is that there are limited reasons why a cadet should be found nearly a mile away from his crew.

He’s dealt with deserters before. The punishment for desertion is clear in the First Order legal code. Still, Brendol has never been one to believe in drawn-out court procedures culminating months later in a death sentence. He values efficiency too dearly.

“Commandant Hux,” an older woman in a white uniform greets him at the door. “We’ve been expecting you, sir. I’ve been charged with overseeing your son’s treatment.”

“Where is he?” Brendol demands.

“Right this way,” the doctor replies.

She leads him into a long room lined with rows of cots. A medical droid zips past them carrying a basin, the contents of which lets off a foul odor. Several of the cots are obscured by curtains, through which the silhouettes of the doctors are vaguely discernable.

“He has an open fracture in his left arm, slightly above the elbow,” says the doctor. “We suspect it’s from a blast injury, judging from the shrapnel cuts. The cuts have been sanitized and bound with a bacta patch. As for the arm, we’ve completed our initial evaluation and bound the wound with antibiotic bacta beads. Since Armitage is not yet of consenting age, we’ll need your authorization for further surgery.”

Brendol says nothing in reply. He’s never been fond of too much chatter. He makes a mental note to comment on unprofessional behavior to the medical bay’s supervisor.

“Regarding his injuries,” the doctor continues, undeterred by the Commandant’s glower. “The footage is even more unbelievable. It’s a miracle alone that he survived the journey from the transport to the outpost, much less do what he did. I could hardly believe it until I saw the footage my…”

“What footage?” the Commandant interjects.

“Oh.” The doctor furrows her brow. “My apologies, sir. I thought you had heard. They recovered footage from the security tapes in the outpost. Apparently, some of the cameras were undamaged during the attack.”

“No,” Brendol says through gritted teeth. “I was not notified.”

As if the rumors alone wouldn’t be bad enough, there was now footage of the boy’s escape. At least, he can deal with the boy now before the situation escalates further. He tightens his grip on his blaster.

“There’s been talk around the Herald about your son,” Zan continues. “He’s younger than the typical age for any position of authority, but some of the officers here have taken interest in him. They saw the footage of him resetting the system to regenerate the shields and were rightfully impressed.”

“He did what?”

The Commandant stops dead in his tracks. The doctor stares at him worriedly.

“Is everything alright, sir?” she asks.

“I was not aware that my son was responsible for reactivating the shields,” Brendol says at length.

“Oh, my apologies again, sir,” the doctor replies hurriedly. “I… I had thought you’d seen the footage.”

“I will be sure to speak with the transmission team on the frequency of their reports,” is all Brendol can think to say. He lets his hand fall from his blaster.

They continue ahead. The doctor pauses next to one of the cots and draws back the curtain. Armitage is lying on the bed, his breathing shallow but steady. He appears to be unconscious. His head is turned to the side, revealing the ghost of a bruise which the doctors wrote off as “light tertiary blast trauma”.

Brendol gives a quick glance at the fracture and frowns at the grotesque angle the boy’s arm forms against the binding. Looking at the skinny child before him, Brendol still has his doubts about the footage. Yet, he can’t help but wonder if, for the past eleven years, he’s miscalculated the boy’s potential.

There are few things Brendol Hux despises more than miscalculations.

“Take care of him.” The indifference in the commandant’s voice strikes discord with the words. “Take care of him. I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave, but the doctor raises a hand to stop him.

“Excuse me, sir,” she says. “We need your authorization for the surgery. If you would like a detailed overview of the procedure, I would be happy to…”

“Have the required forms sent to my office,” Brendol says. “I will sign them by tonight.”

With that, the Commandant turns the corner and stalks off towards the exit. Hearing his father’s retreating footsteps, Armitage stirs. The doctor nearly calls the Commandant back before she thinks better of it.

The boy rolls his head to the other side and winces as his broken arm shifts. He’s wide awake. He’s been awake the entire time, and they both know it.

The doctor considers asking how he’s feeling, but figures the question is rhetorical. Besides, Armitage has not proven particularly fond of conversation thus far in his stay, not that anyone can blame him.

“Your father was just here,” the doctor remarks.

The boy gives no reply. The doctor purses her lips and decides not to pursue the subject further.

“It’s getting late,” she says. “We’d like you to try to get some sleep. I can give you one more dose of painkillers for the night. Would you prefer I give it to you now?”

Armitage nods. After administering the injection, the doctor leaves. The lights go out shortly afterwards.

The painkillers’ effects are swift. Soon, the agonizing pulses around the fracture are numbed to a dull ache. Armitage exhales heavily and gazes at the ceiling. The spectral hands of the battlefield reach back at him, claiming his thoughts with the cacophony of falling bombs and screeching engines.

He lays like that, haunted in silence for the rest of the night.

Next Chapter

[muzzmurray]

year in fic review (2017)

You can find all of the fic mentioned below on my ao3 account, savedby. If you’re looking for my football fic edition, you can find it here.

Year at a glance: Total number of completed stories: 32 Total word count: 77707

Overall Thoughts:

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? I wrote way more than I realized for this fandom, um, wow. There were a couple of months where I was writing like four or five fics and I have no idea how that happened.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? Oh, the Vegas Golden Knights! Because when they signed two, I was joking around on twitter about how I could ship them now, and my friend was like ‘well, why don’t you’ and then that evolved into Sabaton and by extension into the Bold in Gold series, which was one of the most rewarding parts of my year for sure.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? these tornadoes are for you, which was Nick/Bob and written for the Cannon Fodder exchange. The combination of magic realism, humor and their general softness was really nice to write, and @frecklebombfic did a beautiful podfic of it.

Did you take any writing risks this year? Purely in terms of style, I wrote descent, in second person, which I know tends to polarize opinions. I love it, for whenever I want to write something that feels more immediate and intimate. I actually tried to rewrite it in third person, because the friend I was writing it for told me she wasn’t a big fan of second person, but it just wouldn’t work. It had to be written exactly as it is.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I’d like to finish this chaptered Mcdrai magic AU fic that I’m working on and I’d like to continue writing the Vegas Golden Knights as their narrative unfolds, so the Bold in Gold series can become a sort of written history of the team and its fandom. Ambitious, but. We’ll see. I’m already working on the next part.

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year: armet. I think this was in the works the moment I realized that there was a possibility that Flower might go to Vegas and it ended up becoming exactly what I had hoped it would be.

My most popular story of this year: i still get jealous of your old boyfriends, judging by kudos, which is actually funny to me, because for the longest time I really hated what I wrote for that fic and I ended up posting it after having it written for a period of time.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: foundations, my Marleau/Thornton fic. I mean, it’s a niche pairing and a character study, so it’s probably as good as it’s going to get, but it’s basically peak me and my love for old men and their narratives.

Most fun story to write: world i can call mine , which was my Pod_together project with @frecklebombfic . Having her input on it was so essential (as it was in many of my fics this year) and I had such a fun time discussing Auston, Zach and Mitch, and poly with her. And her podfic ended up being perfect. It was just a great project.

Story with the single sexiest moment: Man, I don’t know, I’m an ace essentially floundering in the world of smut. But I did manage to post, like 4 explicit stories this year, which just goes to show you that you can be anything you set your mind to, kids. As it is, I’m nominating this line from wake me up come tomorrow

Oscar does, adds another finger only when he feels Adam completely relax into the first. He fingers him slow and easy, watching his face as it relaxes from discomfort to pleasure. Adam makes these noises too, cut off moans, helpless and involuntary. Oscar adds a third finger and he whines, high in his throat.

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: circumstance, which I hadn’t realized was still posted on anon until right now. So I’m owning up to it, I suppose. I’m not ashamed of it, because it still makes me laugh a lot on re-read, but please heed the warnings.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: your morning cup, my Tim Horton character study. I didn’t even really know anything about him when I decided I was going to be writing this fic. But as I researched and wrote, the story ended up being one of the most important things I wrote this year.

Hardest story to write: something like hope was an exercise in frustration, until I figured out how to frame it with quotes from Pekka’s Players’ Tribune article.

Biggest disappointment: I don’t really post things I’m actually unhappy with.

Biggest surprise: I was most surprised by how well fandom received Sabaton, because I figured it was something so niche that only a few people would actually click on, but it became one of my most popular stories. I’m really grateful for that.

Highlights + Wrap-up:

Favorite Opening Lines (4):

From tomorrow is going to be pretty pawsome

Ryan is halfway through his breakfast when he hears his front door opening. It’s 9am and he’s not wearing pants, so if he’s going to be robbed, he’s pretty much defenceless, unless he pelts the robber with some granola.

What still gets me is how real this ship became as the season progressed.

From Sabaton

There’re a few things Vadim expects to see when he lands in Las Vegas. His new teammate holding up a big sign with his name on it, decorated with footballs and pucks and glitter, isn’t one of them.

Am I still prissy about how badly they treated Shippy? Yes. Absolutely.

From LXXXVII

Sidney Crosby isn’t high on the list of people that Vadim expects to see in the hotel bar in Pittsburgh before the Knights game against the Penguins, and yet, there he is. Crosby is wearing a pair of thick rimmed glasses and a hat, presumably as some sort of disguise. It only makes him stand out more.

He also seems to be getting closer, swapping stools whenever Vadim glances away, until they’re sitting elbow to elbow.

Ridiculous Sid is my favorite plot device and he was in full effect in this fic.

From your morning cup

Strictly speaking, there’s never been a hockey player called Tim Horton.

I just liked the way this commands attention when you read it. I think it when you have something so niche, you need the first paragraph to grab your attention, and I think I did well here.

Favorite Closing Lines (5):

From dust in your veins

Then, Geno pulls him into another kiss, desperate, his chest shaking under Sid’s hands and Sid thinks that maybe he won't have to separate them after all.

That he can have this – his heart beating rapid fire in his chest, and Geno’s steadying palms on the muscles of his back, and the ghost of ice above them both.

I love the removable heart AU (not to be confused with the escaping heart AU) because it just works so incredibly well for those sports narratives.

From knight

“You know, it’s actually a pun, because I used to play for the London Knights and-”

“Oh my god, please stop.”

From we were a house on fire

“I want.”

“It’s been years.”

“Want still.”

“...yeah, okay.”

“Like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

I love how deceptively simple this is, with no dialogue tags, but it feels like it packs a lot of punch, cutting through the complexity of their situation.

From descent

The streets of Edmonton turn slick, coated with fallen snow. Daylight is scarce, and cold besides, and you wear a jersey that doesn’t mean much to you and you watch out for the boy that means everything.

At night your curl around Connor in your bed. He always runs hot, burning in your bones and warming you from the inside out.

He presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, and you blink, mind muddled with sleep, and you realize you don’t know which one of you is the one doing the protecting.

Ask me sometime about my thoughts about enforcers and their relationships with star players, and why end up romanticizing them so much.

From armet

“Fleuuuurrrryyyy,” the fans scream, without a hint of mocking, echoing off the concrete of the building,  “Fleuuuurrrryyyyyyyy!” and it’s all he can do to smile through his tears, waving at these people who have crucified and martyred him over the years, but have loved him through it all.

His crease hasn’t changed. He pats the pipes, feels them steady beneath his palm, familiar. His teammates are all on the ice now, circling his goal, and he catches sight of Nealer coming forward with the puck. His face is grim and determined, and Flower remembers he’s got something to prove too.

He gives Nealer a sharp nod and crouches. Smiles.

He’s ready.

Flower’s game against the Pens in Vegas was emotionally devastating and I can only imagine how it’ll be when they play in Pittsburgh.

Favorite Lines From Anywhere (6):

From be your spine

The Bruins seem just fine without him, which is just a metaphor for his life, really. He notices the absence of Boston, but Boston is too big to notice he’s gone.

He limits his texts to Tuukka, and eventually they taper off, growing sparser and more impersonal as months go by. It’s understandable. Anton feels the absence of Tuukka like a phantom limb, but Tuukka is too brilliant, too beautiful, to be affected by Anton’s absence.

My first fic of the year was a homage to the journeyman player, the one who isn’t a star anywhere, the one that’s expendable. And this was one of the lines that summarized it pretty well.

From teddy bear

“I just want to be a cool dad, like Bozie! You’re the lame dad, Zach is the big brother figure and Leo is the grumpy grandpa. We all have roles to play!”

Matt bites back his first comment, and the second one. They’re both swearwords.

This whole sequence between Mo and Matt still makes me laugh really really hard.

From foundations

The Sharks are Joe’s team by virtue of wanting him more than anyone else did, but they aren’t his team like they’re Patty’s, who’s left pieces of himself in every crack in the Shark Tank concrete and who wears the jersey with more pride than anyone Joe’s ever known.

This fic hurts more now that Patty got traded.

From heart like a home

Roman is still sprawled across PK’s bed, entirely naked, reading one of PK’s magazines. His tanned skin glows in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamps. The sight never fails to make PK’s mouth go dry. As if sensing his gaze, Roman looks up, arching an elegant eyebrow, a stray curl falling across his forehead.

I want to eventually try to capture the various details of Roman/PK in a longer fic but for now this image of naked Roman will have to do.

From these tornadoes are for you

Bob is standing at the stove, muttering something to himself. He still looks like he did last night, little bolts of lightning racing across his skin, and when he turns around his eyes are still glowing pale in his face. It’s a little disconcerting, but Nick goes with it.

“What are you doing?” Nick asks, walking next to him to look at the pan and wincing. He’s careful not to touch Bob, doesn’t know what it’ll do to him. “Was this supposed to be scrambled eggs?”

I really enjoyed writing the whole scene of Bob releasing his magic in the woods, but what made me happiest to write was the morning after and how all that magic becomes somewhat of a hindrance.

From i still get jealous of your old boyfriends

“Are you telling me that Connor McDavid’s favorite show is My Super Sweet 16?” he asks incredulously. Mitch grins at him.

“Oh, no,” he says and Auston lets out a sigh of relief, “it used to be his favorite show. I think his favorite right now is Extreme Couponing.”

Connor and Extreme Couponing is the greatest love story I’ve written this year.

Fic Goals for 2017: I want to finish off the four WIPs that I didn’t manage to this year. Beyond that, I don’t have any particular expectations. I hope I can continue to enjoy writing in this fandom and that people will continue to enjoy my work.

year in fic review (2016)

[aion-rsa]

A Dystopia for Our Dystopia: Janet Watson Returns in The Hound of Justice

https://ift.tt/2ynxyQf

We take a look at The Hound of Justice, the second book in Claire O'Dell's reimagined Sherlock Holmes series.

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This article contains major spoilers for A Study in Honor, the first book in the Janet Watson Chronicles series.

Holmes and Watson are back once again—not your great grandparents’ London, but in a near-future, dystopian D.C., where the New Confederacy is at war with the United States in a second, bloody Civil War. Sara Holmes is an enigmatic federal agent, on enforced leave from her job due to her actions in O’Dell’s first novel, A Study in Honor. Dr. Janet Watson is struggling to regain her skills as a surgeon following a war-time event that cost her an arm. And their old enemy, Nadine Adler, isn’t as dead as everyone thinks.

While the name references are clear to spot, The Hound of Justice pays little other homage to the Holmesian cannon, and there’s no Sir Baskerville to save from a cursed hound. Instead, O’Dell delves deeper into the world she created in the first novel, focusing on Watson’s struggle with her lost arm and her adjustment to her prosthetic before moving straight into spy-in-training territory as Watson has to come to Holmes’s aid behind enemy lines.

Watson’s ongoing development, and her struggles with guilt, worthiness, anger, and injustice, are beautifully drawn. While the hook from the first novel of the gender-swapped, race-swapped, queer Holmes and Watson will continue to grab readers, it’s Watson’s voice and commentary—and O’Dell’s vision of a truly horrible outcome for the current divide in U.S. politics—that will keep the pages turning late into the night.

Watson and Lazarus

A pivotal event in the world—and in the life of Janet Watson—is the bloody battle at Alton, Illinois, which Janet survived, and which was fueled by power-drugged soldiers created by the pharmaceuticals company owned by Nadine Adler. In a final battle in A Study in Honor, Adler shot Janet, and Adler escaped, only to die in the police confrontation that would have brought her to justice. Or so the government claims; Sara Holmes is not convinced.

A bombing during the parade celebrating the presidential inauguration sends Janet straight back to Alton, and once she pushes through the PTSD, she runs toward the center of the conflict, trying to help however she can. When she follows the injured to the emergency room of the hospital where she is still on probation, until she and her prosthetic device act as one, she’s turned away from doing anything further to help. The Bloody Inauguration, as it comes to be known, earns Sara back her position at the federal agency where she works. Holmes lunges into the investigation with the gusto of a starved woman at a feast. 

And though she gives Watson a peek into the investigation, she soon vanishes, and Janet is served notice that she will be required to find a new residence, as their apartment, sponsored by Sara’s employers, is being reclaimed. Robbed of her best friend (and the possible romantic relationship that Sara sent off its rails before she left), Janet struggles to fit the pieces of her life together, much the way she struggles with training her device.

O’Dell spends a lot of time in the novel discussing Janet’s relationship with the prosthetic arm, which Janet names Lazarus. It’s a defining characteristic for Janet: her ghost arm, which she still feels (and occasionally leans on, only to find it’s not there), and the device that doesn’t quite match up to her expectations. It’s a state-of-the-art piece of technology, a replacement given to her, along with her probationary position at Georgetown University Hospital, as a reward for her efforts in A Study in Honor—and an incentive to keep her silent on those events.

Between her therapist and her physical therapist, Janet spends a lot of time trying to connect her ghost arm with her device—and dealing with her guilt and anger. She struggles with wanting to deserve the things she’s been given to keep her quiet. She feels guilty over not doing more for her family. And she’s so very angry: at the world, at its unfairness, at the continued injustice she faces even in the United States, which claims to support equality, and at the bigot terrorists of the New Confederacy, who kill in the name of white supremacy.

While the setting is years removed from current events, they’re never far from the page. Janet references the bad old Trump years, the events that made the divide between the United States and the New Confederacy possible. The United States struggles with finding a way to end the war, but as they and the New Confederacy reach toward compromise, extremists—and those looking to profit from ongoing war—continue to fan the flames. If it all rings a little close to home, that’s probably quite intentional.

Hope in a Time of Hopelessness

When Sara disappears, Janet is faced with the prospect of moving forward without her friend. And while that means not being involved in any more undercover work, or having her dates interrupted by her erratic roommate, Janet doesn’t spare a thought for those conveniences. Instead, she mourns a friend she cares for very deeply, and when Sara needs her help, even though it means putting everything at risk, Janet agrees. Under the cover of helping her family in Georgia—the same family she’s been feeling guilty for not helping—she takes leave from her job and travels south, connecting with Sara’s even more enigmatic cousin Micah, a master of disguise (probably named for Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother).

Janet is a doctor, not a spy, but she manages with the quick changes and doubling back techniques that Micah and her network—not associated with Sara’s employers—require of her until they get across the border. There, they meet the Resistance and are reunited with Sara Holmes for a mission that returns not only to the events of the first novel, but also pulls pieces from early scenes of this novel to show that the conspiracies of war are close to Janet’s work life. To save the day, Sara needs a surgeon, and Janet has to rise to the occasion—despite all her fears of inadequacy, she must once again be a surgeon, and she and Lazarus must work as one.

O’Dell does a fascinating job pulling together all the pieces from the beginning of the novel, weaving them into a tight and intense climax. The early pages initially seem meandering in the best possible way: looking into Janet’s character so deeply is always fascinating, even when it seems unrelated to the plot. That O’Dell can seed those things in so that they only become obvious on reveal is a mark of her talent. Her exploration of Janet’s missing arm and her relationship with her device is fascinating. O’Dell also envisions what it is like to be a black woman—to be invisible, underestimated, and undervalued—in a way that feels authentic (to this white, straight, able-bodied reviewer). O’Dell is a pen name for Beth Bernobich, who is not African American; this is an #OwnVoices book for PTSD and bisexuality, but not for race and disability.

While the hook strays farther from the original Holmes and Watson premise, The Hound of Justice is a fantastic citizen-spy novel, rife with espionage tension, featuring deeply compelling commentary on current events. But it’s also a fascinating character study, and I think that even without the high stakes, I would read about Janet Watson’s adventures in medicine and in love. Thankfully, I get to have both.

Alana Joli Abbott writes about books for Den of Geek. Read more of her work here.

Read and download the Den of Geek SDCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature Alana Joli Abbott

Jul 30, 2019

from Books https://ift.tt/32TbtHg