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mercurial-madhouse · 3 years

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Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

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This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

#Being this vulnerable #is an act of courage #I never knew I had #I'm not fearless #I feel ready to vomit #I have no idea how this will be received #but I am sharing my truth #have courage to share your truth #the world needs you

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perpetual-stories · 3 years

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How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #original writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writersconnection #writersofig #writersofinstagram #writings

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lovelypale · 3 years

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Narcotics // Addict!Senjuro x Dealer!Reader

Warnings: 18+, drug use, addiction, toxic relationship, suicide mention, it’s consensual but I’m gonna say dubcon just in case, mostly plot with a bit of spice, Senjuro is college aged.

Words: 1600

a/n: Had this idea plaguing me and I just needed to get it out. Sensitive topic here (as if I write anything that isn’t) but yeah may or may not give these two a happy or sad ending. Let me know I guess!

You opened the door to the large figure in front of you, dripping from the downpour that was tearing through the city. He was imposing in stature but still very skinny otherwise; a very meek man. He was shivering, but you had a feeling that it wasn't from the rain.

"Why did you take the last train?" You tested the water with a small opener. It was very curious that he would show up so late, again. He knows what he's here for, but you wanted him to say it himself.

He opened his mouth to speak but ultimately couldn't, instead opting for a shaky wave. You scoffed and opened your door wider for him before leaving to get a towel. When you returned he was still at the door, still shaking, still appearing utterly helpless. You handed him the towel and he took it from you, still avoiding your eyes. Everything was silent.

"I'm not selling to you anymore Senjuro."

He continued to stand there, blond and red locks frayed and dripping water on the floor. He looked beautiful, always does, it was a talent that even helpless and strung out he still looked breathtaking. He nodded and hugged himself tighter. "I'm sorry. I'll do anything, please."

"You don't want anything from me." You put your hand against his cheek and felt his cool trembling against your warm skin. He was desperate again. He said he was going to quit plenty of times but he would always end up right back at your doorstep. You watched him grow from a slightly misguided kid to a truly fucked over adult. He barely knew his mom, dad's an alcoholic, and his brother seems alright but he was always busy teaching. You're sure he's messed up like everyone else and is just the type to let things fester in secret but Senjuro doesn't know that. He thinks he's the problem, the only one that couldn't cope, that can't contribute in the way that his older brother does. It messed with him so badly that it led him to you. The school's dealer. Not only can you make the pain disappear, you can make it feel good.

He doesn't need to feel good. He needs to never see you again.

"I can't stop shaking, my family will notice. Please."

"I hope you know they’d hate what you do for this more than the actual drugs itself." He looked at you with his dull red eyes through his foggy glasses, you remember when they used to sparkle. He wasn't like you, he was always so motivated and happy. At some point you used to envy his shy and upbeat demeanor.

"I understand." He smiled at you but it looked eerie and unnatural. He wasn’t lying about his shaking though, it really did look bad.

You shook your head at him and sighed, turning around to a side room to check your supply. Lucky him, you had exactly what he needed. You took just one and dropped It in his palm. He looked at you confused. "I told you I'm not selling you shit anymore. You're getting one to tide you over, other than that I don't want to see you here ever again. Get help."

He looks at you with a plea in his eyes as he gently grabs your arm. "I don’t think I have anyone else y/n, please don’t leave me alone.”

"That's not my problem, do you even have money anymore?" You pushed away from him and he quickly latched back on to you. Your heart strained in your chest, you always hated this part. This stupid hug he gave you that brought you back to your youth, the days of being in high school when he hugged you before running off to his friends. This was always just business to you but he walked into your life and you’ve felt increasingly responsible for him since. It felt less and less like making money and more like assisted suicide.

He placed the pill in his mouth and pulled himself even closer to you, ''Anything." You felt his still wet body pressed against you and you knew this fight was over.

You sighed before pulling away from him and walking to your room. He followed you, knowing exactly how this routine went. He watched you kick off your pants and your underwear. You sat on your bed in nothing but your top and watched him with guilty eyes. He was pretty, even with fading hair and way less weight than he started with he was gorgeous to you. Usually people as deep as him don’t maintain as well but he managed to keep his baby face. He looks tired, the type of tired sleep can't fix, but at least you can't tell that he's sold his life away for a drug. At least not yet, but he's getting there.

You know you're taking advantage of him, but he's also hoping you do. He’s always been a people pleaser and you can’t say no to letting him please you. It started with him running you drinks to making out in your car and now...Terrible. As sinister as this courtship is, neither of you truly want to stop. You loved him, but not enough to stop him from hurting himself. "Hurry up, you have an 8 AM tomorrow."

“I dropped that course.”

You stared at him with pure pain in your eyes. “Of course you did.”

He peels himself out of his wet clothes with a slight sway to his form, you can tell whatever issues that plague him are starting to float away. As usual, he keeps his glasses on. He smiles at you with weird reverence, like he's thankful that you're going to be the one to ultimately kill him. Your hand immediately takes hold of his pretty cock. Long, curved, and pink at the tip. You swirled your thumb around his tip as he patiently waited for you to tell him what to do. You made languid movements up and down his twitching dick, thinking to yourself that you should probably do something before he's completely spaced out.

"Lay down." He listens and slowly gets on your bed before giving his attention back to you. You can never seem to get over how dainty he looks, it makes you feel even worse about your little situation. You get on top of him and he instantly starts bucking against you, not really even aiming for anything, just trying to get the burning sensation on his skin to cool down. You didn't prep but you didn't need to, taking him was easy. Power and pity is two things you've learned to sexualize when it comes to him. His vulnerability had to be hot or else it would quickly become sad.

His legs squirm underneath you from the building sensitivity. He utters small "thank you" and gasps as you move up and down his dick. His slight curve rubbed against your upper wall, causing you to be noisier than you'd like to be. He's getting warmer and warmer, feeling found inside of you. The world is fading off into something more obscure, something that isn't tangible. Your hips feel plush against his palm, he's digging down and tearing into your skin but he knows you’ll forgive him for it.

You watch him writhe in ecstasy, getting closer and closer to his high. He looked so beautiful with his hair all over your bed and his glasses threatening to fall off completely. You never get a warning with him, your orgasms are always so sudden and violent. Your thighs squished his as you curled into yourself, he was still thrusting, seeking his own relief. You thought you were going to pass out from the feeling of him still plunging deep inside of you. "S-stop."

You pulled off of him and wrapped your hand around his sticky cock again, not wanting to leave him hanging. He seemed to be capable of the job on his own, thrusting into your warm palm with pure joy. "I'm getting close-." You didn't give him the chance to finish his sentence before you changed your hand motion to a slight twist. He came almost instantly in your grasp, you flinched from the slight splatter against your face as you continued to move your hand. He struggled to look at you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

You let go and grabbed the same towel you gave him to dry off. "You always say sorry so much, stop it." You knew he probably didn't hear that, he was past the point of holding an intelligible conversation. There's nothing but the sound of your sheets moving underneath his squirming body and the sound of faint moaning, it wasn't a pretty sight but you're used to it.

You watched him move around until he eventually stayed completely still, fully enraptured by his high. He was going to be stuck like this for a few hours. You shook your head, admonishing yourself for even letting him in. You can't keep giving him drugs, and you especially can't keep letting him pay you like this. You grabbed his glasses and put it on your dresser so he wouldn’t crush it, in that moment his phone lit up and you saw the message, it was his brother. His friends stopped asking where he disappeared to a long time ago, it was truly only Kyojuro that still cared about where he went to at night. He has to know the reason why his brother is slipping away.

Hey! I finished grading tests early and picked up your favorite on my way home. I was hoping I could talk to you tonight but don’t worry about it! Your food is in the fridge. Wherever you are, stay safe. We care about you.

You winced at the message and decided to respond for him. Thank you, I'm staying with a friend to study tonight. I'll be back tomorrow.

Nothing but routine.

#senjurou x reader #senjuro #rengoku #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #senjuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku #plot makes me thirsty I'm sorry guys #as usual if you see any mistakes no you didn't

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a-tale-of-legends · 3 years

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I'm thinking about how some of the main story lines of the main series pokemon games have, specifically the ones that fall flat to me.

For example, in FireRed/LeafGreen the story is very simple and while I don't personally find joy in playing through the games, it does it job right as an introduction of this world.

Hgss( or just the Johto games in general) the story is a continuation of what happened in FRLG. And that's fine! Great actually! But my problem is how some things could have been done better. Story wise, gameplay is a different story. In hgss , team rocket is having a revival and their end goal is to call Giovanni through the radio tower and regain power. And in my personal opinion, that just make team rocket look like a joke, cause there entire operation depends on one man. Maybe that was the point, but for the player character to try and stop something that the police should have been actively trying to stop already is very silly to me( though can you really trust the police of this world after all the shit that happens every year or so? Probably not). Not to mention the whole side plot with Suicune and the box legendary and how it's so disconnected to the main plot, when I feel it could have been connected somehow. Silvers arc is very good, but I feel like the revelation that he's Giovanni's son should come in main game ( like the mid-end), and not in a fucking event that doesn't exist anymore. Makes his hatred to Team Rocket more personal that that they're just weak. I have a few ideas on how the hgss plot could go with changes but that's a different post. Oh!

I wasn't expecting to enjoy Emerald as much as I did, but I did and it was so fun. I liked how at the end of the day, it was Rayquaza that saved the day, not the player. The characters that were important to the plot really filled their purpose. Though I will say, the evil teams reasoning could have been better, and Steven/Wallace honestly didn't do much other than a few battles( though that's still better than Cynthia). In my own timeline for my oc's, I want Oras and Emerald to be mixed a bit, which is gonna take a lot of planning and drafts from me, but that's for future me to worry about.

Dppt. Platinum specifically. The story is very straightforward, just like the past 3 games before it, and the characters are fun in their own right. I should just say it now that a good story doesn't have to be thought provoking, or a grand masterpiece. Simple stories are fun, and that's why I like Emerald and Platinum so much. The "problem" with platinum is just a few characters fall flat/ could have been expanded upon. Cyrus is a really interesting character and it would have been nice to understand him more other then the emotion thing. Cynthia *sighs* is such a disappointment as a character. I love her, I do, but she does LITERALLY NOTHING. Yes she gives some exposition, but she's, like, the champion! One of the strongest at that! Steven falls into the game category of letting the player do literally everything, but he is shown to be fighting the main evil team at. least once. Cynthia does nothing. And that's sad. She's so cool. And it's even sadder when you realize that's a trend among female characters in this franchise but that's a different topic for a different day. But other than that, the simplicity of Platinum is fine, in my personal opinion.

BW and B2W2 kinda caused a shift in the story telling of pokemon. The story was darker, the villain was more evil, the characters were just *chef kiss*. I will admit that I am biased towards these games, if that wasn't obvious enough from my ocs, so I have very little criticism. Not saying that criticism can't be made, and it should, but I can't think of anything other than the female character thing. Iris, I love you, but you too did nothing in B2W2 as Champion. I'm only excusing you cause your a literal child. Bianca is fine and deserves more love but I wish people would stop demeaning her( though I guess that was part of her growth)

XY! I used to hate it before doing a nuzlocke and now I'm just disappointed. In terms of story premise, it was good. Like really good. But in terms of execution, Arcues this was terrible. In my experience with the game, the way the game presented itself was so lack- luster, I felt like I was doing a chore than playing a game( the game was much more entertaining as a nuzlocke, but it still felt like a drag at times). The characters, I believe, where the greatest offender to this. There is very little for me, the player, to care about the rivals, let alone call them rivals, and some things feel so left-field and shoehorned in. Calem/Serena calling the player their friend near the end of the game when their was no proper build up to it? Shauna saying she's friends with Clemont and thus knows how to unlock a security door. The other two noy contributing to anything and just feeling like a waste of space. And is it just me, or was their supposed to be some sort of conflict between our "friend" group and just lead to nowhere, only to resolve itself??? Is it just me??? Diantha only appears twice before her battle, has a member of the evil team member as her elite four( who gets away just fine?????), and just does nothing. This, I feel, is the worst offender of badly written female characters in this franchise. Dear Arcues. I guess Lysander was interesting? Not really. This whole game is a mess.

SM/USUM, despite my grips with a few directional choices, are very good games. This post is getting long, so I won't go into it.

Same goes to SwSh. It's like XY, in that the plot idea was really good, but it feel flat. It's saving grace, at least to me, where the characters. And, well, the fandom just throwing out headcanons left and right, but that's a fanon thing, not a canon thing.

Okay that's all, and thank you for listening to my Ted Talk. Also female pokemon characters deserve better. And simple plot does not equal bad writing, unless the execution suck. Okay bye

#pokemon #pokemon storyline #i'm not tagging all of those games no way #its 4 in the morning #i'm not going through that

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beelzebubisbestwaifu · 4 years

Text

Flowers for my Boys (pt 3)

Coffee/flower shop au

Demons x reader - gender neutral reader, fluff, cute shit, sweet shit.

The asphalt rumbles under the large van as it cruises along the beautiful mountainous countryside. Wild grass and swaying trees fly past the windows, the brothers staring out the windows as Diavolo hums in delight to the tunes on the radio. Barbatos sits in the driver’s seat, sunglasses covering his dead-eyed expression as the group travels to a previously unspecified location.

“Are we there yeeet...” Whines Mammon, cheek pressed against the window as he glares out in the distance.

“Mammon, be patient,” Lucifer growls, looking up from his paperwork. The eldest brother clearly is disgusted by being squished between Mammon and Leviathan.

“But where are we going?” grumbles Satan, his voice drifting from behind the eldest trio.

“And is there gonna be food?” Beel whines, clutching his belly.

“If you don’t all shut up we’re turning this van around,” Lucifer snaps, a stress-based migraine forming in his skull.

“Now now Lucifer,” Diavolo hums, looking over and giving a sunny smile to his best friend, “It’s a picnic with a new business partner. There’s no need to fight.”

“Picnic??” Beelzebub glows, looking over from his spot leaning against the right rear window, “I love picnics!”

“We know,” Levi huffs, looking up from his manga and scowling, being crushed between the window and Lucifer is probably the third eldest’s nightmare.

“Oh a picnic,” coos Asmodeus, lacing his fingers together and smiling, “So romantic! I’d like to take (y/n) on a picnic...”

A soft snore from the back of the van is all Belphegor contributes to the conversation.

Soon, the van turns down a long driveway, dirt roads kicking up dust as the trees fly past. A small cottage appears, a large field of flowers and shrubs taking up the space around the quaint little home. In the distance, a figure rounds the corner, a rake and shovel in their hands. A tattered pair of overalls cover the human’s form, a wide-brimmed hat protecting their face from the sun. Looking up, the lovely face of (y/n) finally revealed to the group as Barbatos pulls up and parks in front of the cottage.

“Hello!” the florist smiles, waving a gloved hand as Diavolo hops out of the van.

“(y/l/n) Hello!!” Diavolo comes up and pulls the human into a hearty hug.

“(Y/N)!!” Mammon hollers, clambering out of the van and trampling his brothers in the process. Flopping out of the van, the second eldest races over and stumbles to his totally-not-crush.

“Hey guys,” the little cute human smiles, pulling away from the demon prince. The other demons file out of the van, Beelzebub carrying his younger brother like a princess.

“What are we doing here?” Satan hums, looking around, “Not that I’m complaining...” the blonde casts a wink to the human, drawing a blush from their cheeks.

“Well,” Diavolo pulls a small burlap bag from his pocket, “I found that these forests are able to house some native Devildom flowers. Specifically the Mirage Flower.”

“Ah,” Lucifer chimes in, “This is a chance to bring back a dying plant species. How noble.” The prince nods, patting (y/n) on the shoulder.

“So y’all, do you wanna see the grounds?” (y/n) giggles, slipping their gloves off as they set their tools aside.

“Well duh, that’s the point,” Mammon huffs, crossing his arms.

“Oh how romantic! Do you grow roses??” Asmodeus comes up, linking his arm with the human’s and snuggling up close. A dreamy smile creeps over Momo’s face as he surveys the field.

“Do you have any cherry blossom trees??” Levi chimes in, clutching his manga to his chest.

“Mhm, I have roses and cherry blossoms,” (y/n) nods, feeling Mammon grip the sleeve on their left arm.

“Well??” Diavolo chuckles, “Show us around.” The human nods, holding Asmodeus’ hand and walking off to the flowering plants. Violets, roses, tulips, carnations, sunflowers, and other vibrant blooms pass as the group meander through the beautiful landscape.

“This seems like a lot of upkeep,” Barbatos hums, gently examining a white rose.

“It is, but it makes me happy,” (y/n) smiles, walking along to a handbuilt gazebo, “After I inherited this land I...well... I realized I didn’t need to chase after dreams that didn’t make me happy. I’m a simple person, deep down, I just want to tend to the flowers and make people happy.” A glowing grin beams from the sunshiny human.

“Aww (y/n)...” Asmo coos, hugging the florist tightly, “that’s so beautiful...”

“Oh!” Dio coos, smiling, and addressing the demons, “We should get the food out of the car since it’s still cold in there. I promised (y/n) that I’d bring some Devildom food for them to try.” The group grumbles a bit, following Diavolo towards the van.

“Hey Momo??” calls (y/n), “Could you help me set up the gazebo for the picnic?” The beautiful demon grins, nodding and racing back over to hug (y/n)’s arm tightly.

“Of course, sweetie,” Asmodeus smiles, walking alongside (y/n) with hips swaying. The white-painted wood of the gazebo is hardly visible behind the gorgeous wisteria vines and blooms. A quilt sits folded on the banister, a crate with cups, plates, and silverware close by. A pile of pillows can also be found by the crate. Asmo spreads the pastel quilt out, plopping down on one of the pillows as (y/n) brings the crate over.

The duo sits in comfortable silence, carefully laying out the places for the other brothers. Once the quaint little eating area is set up, Asmo crawls over with pleading eyes.

“Sweetie?” Momo mumbles, eyes wide and pleading, “Can I lay my head on your lap?” His face is coated in the slightest blush, the pink complimenting his eyes ever-so-nicely. A soft nod from (y/n) causes an excited squeak to come from the Avatar of Lust, his head plopping down into the overall-clad lap of his companion. Gently, as though he may break, (y/n) begins combing their fingers through his hair, gently plucking out a few flower petals from his soft locks.

“Your skin is always glowing, Momo,” (y/n) mumbles, gently tracing the shell of his ear, “Is that a demon thing?”

“Nah,” Asmodeus rolls to look up at his snuggle buddy, “I just take care of myself.” (y/n) giggles, tracing Momo’s jaw gently with the tips of their fingers. The demon closes his honey eyes, shadows cast from the vines dancing across his face.

“Fair enough, Mo,” (y/n)’s eyes slide shut, their fingers gently mapping out the dips and rises in Asmodeus’ face as they enjoy the comfortable silence.

“I think this life is lovely,” Asmodeus mumbles, his body stretched out ever so slightly, “I think I could get used to it. A cute little cottage, pretty flowers, and a beautiful human partner...” (y/n) smiles, giggling a bit.

“Oh really?” They smile.

“Yes really.”

“Oi,” Mammon barks, the group coming up with baskets of food, “Quit getting all lovey-dovey with (y/n).” The group gather around, Belphegor finally awake and plopping down next to his (literally bigger) brother, Beel. Lucifer sits to (y/n)’s left, Diavolo and Barbatos next to him. The others find spots on the quilt in silence. Asmodeus has sat up, choosing to lean on (y/n)’s shoulder. Various strange pudding’s and non-heated food items are laid out, Beelzebub’s whole body tensing in restraint.

“You should try this seven-berry scone, it’s amazing,” Belphie hands some sort of baked(?) item over to the human companion, plopping it onto their plate.

“Say Ah,” Asmodeus holds up a spoon with what could be dark chocolate pudding on it. Judging by the warm look in his eyes, the food is not indeed poisoned. Taking the spoon into their mouth, the whole group watches as (y/n) squeezes their eyes closed in delight.

“Mmm!” The human’s eyes twinkle in joy, “That’s pretty good.” nibbling the scone, (y/n) looks away for a moment. In that space of not being watched, the brothers cast jealous glances at each other.

“Excuse me, (y/l/n),” Barbatos hums, pulling a parcel from his bag, “This is for you.” The handsome demon butler hands the florist the parcel.

“Consider it a gift,” Beams Diavolo, “Since you wanted to help us, its the least I can do.” Soft hands open the parcel, revealing an ancient leatherbound book.

“Aww Dio,” (y/n) smiles, “Thank you.”

“It’s a book on Devildom’s native flora and fauna,” Barbatos hums, a slight smile gracing his otherwise serious features. “to help you in your attempts to grow the Mirage Flower.”

“I’ll try my best!” (y/n) beams, eyes crinkling in another adorable smile. They’re features are sunny, warm, refreshing. The Devildom has no sun, but if (y/n) were there it would surely feel like a pleasant summer day all the time. No matter the colors they wear or things they like, they glowing shine of their soul warms even the coldest of hearts.

The group sits, admiring the scent of the lovingly kept flowers and casting affectionate glances at their little human friend. Their little crush.

Their sunshine.

#obey me #swd #obey me swd #shall we date #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #Flowers for my boys

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Ticket Crimes - Oneshot

Rating: T Words: 9,752 Characters: All Category: Gen Summary: To welcome his new crew members about the USS Foley, Starfleet Captain Janus Gaines schedules shore leave on the pleasure planet of Ya'Lotus. Janus and Virgil run into an old acquaintance who seems to have ulterior motives; Roman and Remus attempt to infiltrate a drug trafficking ring; Patton and Logan narrowly avoid death on a history tour. Content Warnings: Mild violence/violent intent, alcohol use/mild intoxication, guns and phasers (no shots fired), mentions of drugs and drug trafficking (no drug use depicted) Note: You do not need to be familiar with Star trek to read this. In fact, it's probably better that you're not, because I took a LOT of liberties with canon

Doctor Patton Kelsey's boot heels clicked along the metal floor of the USS Foley as he made his way out of Sickbay. Despite the corridors' unusual emptiness, he kept to the right side out of habit, dragging his fingers along the wall as he went. He counted the doors, mouthing the numbers to help him keep track, until he came across the door he was looking for.

There was nothing usual about Ensign Virgil Salem's door except for the fact that it rarely ever opened. Virgil emerged for his shifts and for scheduled meals and made himself scarce the rest of the time.

Patton had studied Virgil's chart extensively but found no psychological defect that would render him unfit to serve in Starfleet. Surmising that Virgil was shy, Patton privately declared himself responsible for looking after the young recruit. The fact that they had joined the crew at the same time only served to strengthen this notion.

Patton raised his fist and knocked gently on the door, knowing full well that Virgil was inside. "Ensign Salem?" No response. "Virgil? Kiddo? Our group is about ready to beam down."

"Do I really have to go to that?" Virgil asked, his voice muffled behind the door.

"You don't want to?" Patton asked. "It's a party for us!"

"I would have been fine with a bottle of Saurian brandy, but nobody bothered to ask for my opinion, did they?"

Patton smiled a little and leaned against the doorframe. "Look, kiddo, you'd better just come with me before Captain Gaines calls you over the intercom."

"Shore leave is supposed to be optional," Virgil shot back, but Patton could tell that his resolve was slipping away. Virgil took a while to warm up to things, but he could usually be convinced.

"Not when the whole reason we're here is to celebrate you!"

"And you," Virgil said, and he was much closer to the door now.

Patton stepped back and waited for the door to slide open. It did a moment later, and Virgil appeared still tugging on his gold tunic over the standard issue black undershirt. His dark brown hair, slightly longer than regulation permitted, stuck up in the back where he had been resting his head against his pillows. Patton absentmindedly smoothed it down, though he managed not to lick his hand to do so.

Virgil let him lead him down the hall toward the Transporter Room. "You know I'm not actually your kid, right?"

"But we look so much alike!" Patton smiled sunnily at him. Patton was sturdy and soft where Virgil was rail-thin, and his honey blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted with Virgil's own dark hair and darker eyes.

"Sure, pops." Virgil shook his head, but there was a fondness to it. "I look like your shadow."

He stuttered his steps as they approached the Transporter Room so Patton would enter before him. Virgil respected Captain Janus Gaines, but he was also keenly aware of their difference in rank whenever they shared space. While Captain Gaines played fast and loose with regulations and encouraged his crew to do the same, Virgil never forgot what those regulations were. They had been drilled into his head at the Academy and haunted him like a ghost no matter how casually the Captain treated him.

"Took you long enough," Janus drawled. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

"That was one time," Virgil said before he could stop himself. Not that it mattered; Janus had only ever been amused by Virgil's backtalk.

The rest of the party to beam down were milling about like guests at a mixer, largely ignoring Virgil and Patton. Janus stood out among them not only for his nonchalance, but for his unusual appearance. He made no secret of rejecting his half-Vulcan heritage and regularly spirited away Lieutenant Commander Remus Aime to help him bleach his hair and eyebrows. This resulted in unhealthy-looking white-blond hair and stark black roots. To make up for this transgression, he kept his hair at an acceptable regulation length, one that revealed his mismatched ears. The left was pointed exactly as a Vulcan's ears would be, but the right was rounded like a human's. Contributing to the asymmetry were his mismatched eyes: the left was a piercing blue while the right was warm and brown.

"We're ready now!" Patton said. He often focused on the bridge of the Captain's nose to avoid staring openly at him, and he did so now with a sunny but vacant smile gracing his lips.

"Places, everyone," Janus said, cutting off the murmured conversation between the remaining party members.

They all stepped onto the platforms, Virgil with his stomach turning with nerves, Patton staring dead ahead, still smiling.

It was over in a blink.

Janus stepped forward, turning around so he could address his party. "Gentlemen," he said, raising his arms for maximum melodrama, "welcome to Ya'Lotus."

"Uh, yeah, so what is this place?" Virgil asked, stepping off his platform.

He was interrupted by Lieutenant Roman Aime, who had made no secret of his disregard for Virgil since day one. "Weren't you paying attention the first two times we explained it to you?"

Janus rolled his eyes, annoyed at having lost control of the conversation, but made no attempt to regain it. "Logan?"

The android nodded at him, stepping forward and edging Roman out of Virgil's space. "Lotus Island, located on the planet of Ya'Lotus, is a popular shore leave destination due to its vast array of amenities and unique ticket-based economy."

Virgil, who had not been paying attention in the slightest the first two times this was explained to him, frowned. "Ticket-based?"

"Like Earth money," Remus Aime interjected.

"Yeah, yeah," said Roman.

"Ooh, like the county fair!" Patton said.

Virgil wheeled around to face him. "Is that an Earth thing? I'm from Alpha Proxima II."

"Well," said Janus, regaining everyone's attention by clapping his hands once. "Thank you, Ensign Salem, for that fascinating little jaunt into your personal history. But seeing as we're here to have fun, why don't you just stick close to me until you figure everything out, hm?"

"Yes, sir," Virgil said, squinting at Janus. He, like many others, was never sure where he stood with the half-Vulcan, and was unsure what to make of him because of it.

"Joy," said Janus. Addressing the rest of the landing party, he said, "Virgil and I are off to the Tier III Lounge. Is anyone else coming?"

"Logan said he wanted to do the self-guided history tour," said Patton, nudging the android in the ribs.

Logan nodded, causing his ash blond hair to dance along the line of his jaw. His gray eyes differed from organic beings' only in that they reflected no light, and he turned this unsettling gaze upon Patton, who tried not to flinch. "That is correct."

"An island full of debauchery and you're going on a history tour?" Remus demanded, grabbing a fistful of Patton's shirt. Despite the height disparity (Patton being the tallest member of the party and Remus being the shortest), Patton bit his lip and leaned back as much as the young Romulan's grip allowed. With his extravagant face tattoos and devilish bearing, Lieutenant Commander Remus Aime was no stranger to getting his way through intimidation tactics.

"You get free salt water taffy," Patton said, glancing around to see who might assist him.

It was Remus' twin brother who came to his aid, yanking Remus back by the hair. "Knock it off."

"I am your superior officer!" Remus said, releasing Patton and turning to face his brother.

"Oh, I do apologize, Lieutenant Commander Hair Dye," Roman said. To Janus, who was toying with his bleached locks with an exaggerated carefree expression, Roman said, "We'll go with you."

"No way!" Remus said, freeing dark hair from his brother's grasp. "I don't want to go to some stuffy lounge."

"We'll find our own fun on the way," Roman said.

"Again with the melodrama." Janus sighed and looked over at Virgil, who was slouching with his hands jammed in his pockets. "Follow me. If we lose them, we lose them."

Janus turned on his heel, an impressive feat given he was supplementing his already substantial height with three-inch heels, and left the receiving Transporter Room with Virgil in tow. Always loath to be left out, Roman followed suit, trailing Remus, Patton, and Logan behind him.

The first stop was a massive receiving terminal where they were all made to spin a wheel to receive their first round of tickets.

"How, exactly, does this work?" Virgil asked, folding his tickets into a small stack.

"If you really cared to know, you should have paid attention the first two times Logan explained it to you," Janus said, stuffing his own tickets up his sleeve like an Earth magician. "You're more than welcome to join him and Doctor Kelsey on the history tour if you think that would be a better way to spend your time than a high-end liquor tasting."

"You know," Virgil said, "I think I'll stick with you."

"That's what I thought."

A fair distance behind them trailed the Romulan twins Vrih and Vaebri i-Elehu tr'Aime, better known but their preferred names. Given that they hailed from a particularly superstitious region of the planet Romulus, the twins had dubbed themselves "Roman" and "Remus'' respectively to avoid the bad luck of giving away their full names.

"Captain Quick Step is trying to ditch us," complained Remus, his boot heels clicking against the concrete. Patton and Logan had already peeled off, leaving the brothers to tag along after Janus and Virgil on their own.

"Don't let him," Roman urged, nudging Remus to hurry up.

Lotus Island was a hectic place, bustling with all races of aliens. Music rang out loud over strategically-placed speakers and workers called out for the crowd to try their luck at a variety of carnival games from multiple cultures. Sequestered away in gravity-defying skyscrapers were gambling halls, and further inland towered the tracks of massive roller coasters.

Remus dodged an inebriated Orion and nearly tripped, grabbing onto Roman's tunic to stay upright. "He's dodging and weaving, that bastard!"

"You shouldn't have worn heels," Roman chided, grabbing Remus by the wrist and yanking him forward.

"You're wearing heels, too."

"But I can actually walk in them."

Far ahead of them and gaining ground, Janus was employing Earth-based power walking techniques. Virgil stuck close behind him at a jog, toying with his tickets, privately amazed at the unfamiliar sensation of actual paper between his fingers.

Virgil, despite his rigorous Academy training, was somewhat out of breath. Janus was not, and even if he was, would not have allowed Virgil to see him gasping for breath. He had determined long ago to take the best of his Vulcan heritage and the best of his human heritage, suppressing his weak points far beneath the surface where no one could ever see them. Despite his fondness for Remus, Janus Gaines was simply not a man who allowed himself emotional attachments and weaknesses, and this had very little to do with his early childhood training on Vulcan.

"Any particular reason you're running me like a racehorse?" Virgil asked.

"Like you've ever seen a racehorse," Janus replied.

"Okay, don't answer the question."

Despite their rapid pace, Janus managed to turn and leer at Virgil, micro-expressing as only a Vulcan could. "Because it's funny."

Virgil didn't see what was so funny about ditching crewmates, but (wisely) kept that to himself. "Why don't we catch a lift, then?" He gestured to one of the many ride services available, surreys and bicycles, rickshaws and moving sidewalks.

"We're almost there," Janus said, motioning to a blue-black building ahead of them. The rounded windows were blacked out, leaving Virgil to wonder at what was inside.

It was a regular lounge, as he soon found out, quiet and upscale. The interior was dark and just a touch too cool for Virgil and Janus' liking. Virgil crossed his arms as he followed Janus to the bar, but was soon distracted by a familiar hissing and clicking from the corner. "Is that a pinball machine?"

Janus looked at him like he'd just said something phenomenally stupid, mostly to hide the fact that he had only a vague idea of what a pinball machine was. "You can worry about that or you can let me buy you a drink."

"Fine," said Virgil, who had yet to master the subtle and esoteric art of decoding Janus' communication style. He clambered onto a barstool and picked at the piping on his sleeves that denoted his rank while Janus ordered something that the universal translator couldn't translate into English.

The sensation of eyes on him made Virgil shudder. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and glanced down the bar only to make eye contact with a pair of green eyes. They belonged to a Vulcan Virgil had never seen before. Unsure of what to do, Virgil froze, leaving the Vulcan to break the eye contact. He looked Janus up and down, then up again, his gaze lingering on his bleached hair.

"Dude," said Virgil, once he had recovered from the off-putting sensation of having been cased and rejected, "I think that guy likes you."

Janus leaned forward and peered down the bar before pulling back in an attempt to hide behind Virgil. "Shit."

Then came the voice, bassy, yet undeniably Vulcan in its even monotone. "Chu'lak? I thought that was you."

"Fuck," said Janus, already smiling, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He slipped off the barstool and landed cleanly on his toes so the click of his heels didn't disturb the lounge's quietude. "Sihok."

Sihok saluted both Janus and Virgil, though his attention was mostly on Janus. "Scheduled shore leave?"

"A welcome party," Janus said, holding out his hand for a shake.

Sihok eyed it with what Virgil regarded incorrectly as apathy and Janus recognized as disgust and a trace of amusement. After a fraction of a section of hesitation, he shook Janus' hand. "And this is the new recruit?" he asked, indicating Virgil with a small nod.

"Ensign Virgil Salem," Janus said.

Virgil, who had been trained in cross-cultural contact, gave the proper Vulcan salute with a trembling hand. Despite being unable to decipher Sihok's body language, he could sense the tension between Sihok and Janus as keenly as he could the difference between scotch and bourbon. Somewhere behind them, Virgil registered the click of their drinks being set down.

"Ensign Salem," said Sihok. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Virgil said, trying not to fidget.

"It is gratifying to know that you've held on to your manners despite your proximity to Chu'lak and his… half-measures."

Virgil's eyes went wide and he quickly averted his gaze. But to Virgil's surprise, Janus, rather than dressing Sihok down, gave a cold chuckle and put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "It's Janus. Captain Janus Gaines."

"You always did have trouble conforming," Sihok said.

"Yes," said Janus, "Mathematically speaking, I thought I would go for half acceptance. How do I measure up?"

Seeing that his companions were otherwise occupied in their strange battle of insults, Virgil rotated slightly to retrieve his drink from the bar behind him. He had a feeling he was going to need it if Sihok stuck around for much longer.

Sihok lifted one eyebrow ever so slightly. "They call you The Mad Vulcan."

"Well, now you have my attention." Janus turned and retrieved his own drink. "Shall we get a booth?" He knew perfectly well that Sihok was getting at something, and the mystery of the subject matter had him more curious than he would care to admit. He was reasonably sure he had managed to hide this from Sihok, having expressed anger and amusement as a sort of misdirection.

Virgil said, "Is this a worm?" He held his drink up to the light, examining the fizzing red liquid within to try to get a better look at the thing floating in it. "Like mezcal?" From the look Janus gave him, he judged that the universal translator hadn't been able to find a good Vulcan equivalent of the word. "Never mind. Booth?"

"But first." Janus held up his glass for Virgil to toast. "Congratulations, Ensign Salem. Welcome to the Foley."

"I didn't want to go to that stupid lounge, anyway," Remus said, crossing his arms. In a fit of pique, he grabbed Roman's braid, which ended just shy of his lower back, and gave it a yank.

"Oh, don't pick a fight with me just because you're grumpy," Roman said, flicking Remus' temple. "There's a million other things to do; I'm sure we can find something more fun than stalking the Captain and the new kid."

"Drugs?" said Remus, brightening considerably.

"I meant like a roller coaster or something, but if you want to go find an upper, I guess that's--"

"Let's go!" Remus started walking away.

"Seriously?" Roman said. "I was kidding! An island full of stuff to do and you want to get high?"

"Re-lax, Vrih. Janus will have a fit if I bring drugs onto the Foley, inside or outside of me. This is more of a personal challenge." Remus continued on his merry way, weaving behind buildings and sticking to areas so nondescript that Roman would have stayed away from them out of pure instinct.

"C'mon, Vaebri, I'm sure the heavily-regulated pleasure planet doesn't have a scary criminal underbelly for you to infiltrate. We're wasting time."

"We're almost there," said Remus.

"What do you mean we're almost there? Almost where? You've never even been here before."

"Do you ever shut up?"

Roman crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, but continued to follow Remus as he strode away from everything that made Lotus Island appealing. They ventured past a few 'Keep Out' signs written in Federation Standard and Vulcan into a gray jungle of humming machinery all locked inside tamper-resistant metal cages. Remus darted up to one particular machine and wasted no time jamming his face up against the grating.

"I'm gonna leave," Roman threatened, his arms still tightly crossed over his chest.

Remus was only half-listening, having just uncovered something he found far more interesting than gambling or thrill rides. "This powers an elevator!"

"Ooh," said Roman, barely giving the gray machinery a glance, "an elevator. Not like the Foley has turbolifts or anything."

"Someone wasn't paying attention to Logan's little spiel."

"Uh, yeah, Ensign Salem."

"No, no. You know what's under the island?"

"Water?"

Remus rolled his eyes and gave Roman's braid another tug. "You've been spending too much time with the Captain.

"Will you knock that off?" Roman demanded, kicking Remus in the shin.

"It's the staff's living quarters!" Remus said, growing bored with the argument.

"Oh," said Roman. "So we're definitely sneaking down there to take a look around?"

"Way ahead of you," Remus said, already fiddling with the control panel.

Behind them came the distinctive hiss of turbolift doors opening, followed by conversation. Roman and Remus, in a moment of synchronization, both turned on their heels and stood at attention. As Romulan twins, they were both fully aware of the attention they tended to attract once strangers figured out they weren't Vulcans. But the pair of humans, both wearing hot pink uniforms denoting them as staff members of Ya'Lotus, didn't so much as glance up as they carried on toward the Midway.

The twins exchanged a glance, then Remus dived for the closing doors with Roman hot on his tail.

"Nice," said Roman, already examining the panel of buttons.

Remus pressed one at random and the elevator began to drop, taking them far beneath the surface of Lotus Island. When the doors opened again, the twins were met with the sight of pale blue walls and concrete floors. It was eerily silent.

Roman stepped out hesitantly, looking around for any possible passers-by, but there was no one. He motioned for Remus to come out after him. While Remus held the higher rank, arbitrarily bestowed by Janus, Roman was the older (and bossier) twin and had yet to relinquish the sense of authority he had gained from a childhood of leading Remus around Romulus and, later, Decos Prime.

"What language is that?" Remus asked, nodding at the phrases painted on the walls.

Roman studied it for a moment. "Federation Standard. Sickbay is to the left, plus the Medical Staff Break Room. Living Quarters to the right."

"Break room," said Remus, already heading toward it. Roman fell into step beside him, so perfectly synchronized that the click of their heels on the concrete sounded like that of only one person. It was a trick they had perfected in childhood that had served them well in previous instances of trespassing.

"It's kinda freaky down here," Roman muttered. "Where is everybody?"

Remus shrugged. "Sleeping? Working?" He wasn't too bothered. Remus was of the mind that getting caught was half the fun of misbehaving.

"And what do you want with Sickbay, anyway?" No sooner had the words left Roman's lips did realization click into place. "Are you still on drugs?" he hissed, barely resisting the urge to grab Remus by the shirt and drag him back to the elevator.

"No, I'm not on drugs," Remus whispered back, displaying a picture-perfect shit-eating grin. "That's the problem." Upon spotting the door to the break room, he fell out of step with Roman and lunged forward to peek inside.

Roman was savvy enough to stop walking when he noticed Remus breaking away. He watched, half annoyed and half embracing the inevitable, as Remus froze in the doorway with wide eyes. With his facial tattoos, his unruly hair, and his mustache (which he had to shave before every inspection), Remus did not pass for Vulcan half as well as Roman did, even with his long hair.

Still, Remus straightened and crossed his arms behind his back, falling into a passable impression of Vulcan stoicism. "Good morning."

In the hall, Roman frantically flashed the Vulcan salute, trying to get Remus to notice.

"Officer," said a voice from within.

"Lieutenant Commander," said Remus, wiggling his fingers playfully at Roman behind his back.

"Did he send you?" asked another voice.

Remus' facade fractured for a moment, his lips twitching with excitement. He clenched one hand into a fist and shook it at Roman as much as his current positioning would allow. Roman rolled his eyes, confident now that Remus could see him.

"Yes." Remus had to fight to hold still as he stared down the two Caitians lounging at a table in the center of the room. They both had PADDs and communicators in front of them, both had half-empty mugs of a substance Remus couldn't identify.

One of the Caitians, whose name tag identified her as M'Birr, tilted her head at Remus, pupils going wide. "Shaa. What if he's lying?"

Remus rocked forward onto his toes, and he flashed several nonsense hand gestures at Roman behind his back in excitement. It was time to bring out one of Janus' favorite lines, albeit with less sarcasm than the Captain usually employed. "Vulcans do not lie."

"Yeah," said Shaa, her pupils also wide, "I have heard that. Beside, the Big Guy would have vetted him before sending him to us."

Bored with the waffling, Remus decided to take a risk. He had no way of knowing what or who the Caitians were referring to, or even if there was any mischief afoot. But Remus had a nose for trouble and he could see Roman getting bored in the hall. So he adjusted his posture and fixed M'Birr with his best impression of a calculating Vulcan stare. "I was instructed to obtain a sample of the product."

It was all he could do not to squirm in delight when M'Birr sighed and said, "He could have at least given you a Staff shirt. How am I supposed to sneak a member of Starfleet into Sickbay?"

"Incidentally," said Remus, still wiggling his fingers at Roman, who was pantomiming shock in his peripheral vision, "I wasn't told the name of the product."

"Like it matters," said M'Birr. "They're calling it 'kin.' How much did he tell you to move?"

Before Remus could answer, one of the communicators on the table chirped. "Voight here."

"Shaa."

"Starfleet's onto us."

Shaa side-eyed Remus, who took pains to hold completely still. "How can you be sure?"

"We've got two hitting all the stops on the trail. Not buying. Just looking. They went straight from the Help Desk to the Founder's Statue."

Remus and Roman sighed in tandem, both knowing full well it had to be Patton and Logan making their rounds on the self-guided tour.

"Not with us," Remus mouthed, looking M'Birr in the eye.

She exchanged a glance with Shaa, who shrugged briefly and addressed the communicator again. "What's the plan?"

"Dispatch. We can't let them off the planet."

"On our way." The two Caitians stood and moved toward the doorway where Remus was still standing. "Sorry, Lieutenant Commander, but we've got trouble."

Unable to help himself, Remus said, "You're just gonna leave me down here?"

"I'd think a Vulcan would know better than to cause trouble," M'Birr said pointedly. "Excuse me." She pushed past Remus, followed closely by Shaa. "And who's this?"

"Backup," said Roman, trying not to react to the sight of the two cat-like aliens before him.

M'Birr stared at him, calculating, but Shaa nudged her and said softly, "We don't have time for this."

"See yourselves out," said M'Birr. She and Shaa took off for the elevators, leaving Roman and Remus to stand awkwardly until they were out of sight.

"Drugs!" said Remus, stamping his heels on the floor and shimmying. "What did I tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Roman, annoyed despite himself that Remus had gotten his way. "Can we go save our friends from getting murdered now?"

"Sure," said Remus, heading back toward the elevator, "if they haven't already died of boredom yet."

After receiving their specially-programmed PADDs for the self-guided tour (along with two bags of saltwater taffy), Patton and Logan had set off for the first stop on the tour.

"Ooh," said Patton, who was attempting to read, walk, and eat taffy at the same time. "There's trivia."

Logan grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him out of the way of a group of Andorians. "I believe that all the knowledge we gain here today could be referred to as 'trivia,' Doctor Kelsey."

"No, no." Patton shoved a candy wrapper in his pocket so he could use both hands to show Logan the PADD. "There's a trivia contest at the end! We should pay extra close attention."

"Noted," said Logan. "I will make an effort to keep the information in my memory banks."

"Oh, by the way." Patton navigated back to the map of Lotus Island. "You can call me Patton, you know."

"If you're sure," said Logan. "I am aware of the human concept of 'politeness' and did not wish to overstep if you were being polite when you introduced yourself."

"Nope! You really can call me Patton," Patton said cheerfully, holding up the PADD and rotating it, trying to get his bearings. "Where's Virgil when you need him?"

(Virgil was, at the moment, weighing up the benefits of crawling under the table and abandoning Janus and Sihok to their Vulcan mind games)

"Allow me to assist." Logan removed his own borrowed PADD from under his arm. "Next up is the, ah, 'Fun Wheel.'"

"That thing?" Patton asked, pointing to the massive Ferris wheel ahead of them. At their current proximity, the hulking metal contraption dominated the horizon.

"Yes," said Logan, biting back a sarcastic comment. The Captain responded well to sarcasm and Logan's communication style had evolved accordingly, but time and experience had shown that most people found Janus' sarcasm off-putting. And Logan had seen him don the mask of diplomacy, which received much better reception. So Logan decided he would be diplomatic in the hopes that it would make Patton feel at-ease. Logan did not want to be the crewmember responsible for scaring off their new CMO.

They made for the Ferris wheel, Patton still with his nose buried in the PADD. "You get more taffy for correctly answering trivia questions!"

"What could we possibly do with more taffy?" Logan asked.

"Share it with the others!"

They reached the viewing platform of the defunct Fun Wheel and both held up their PADDs to read the description.

What the PADDs did not tell them was that less than 30 guests attended the self-guided tour per Earth year and those guests that did were rarely members of Starfleet. The PADDs had also not been programmed with the knowledge that every single stop on the tour was a tradeoff point for distributors of a new drug known colloquially as 'kin,' as the scientific name was several syllables long, untranslatable from Golic Vulcan, and contained a multitude of niche phonemes.

"Do you smell that?" Logan asked, searching his memory banks for several pieces of data at once.

Patton sniffed and looked around in confusion. "The ocean?" Most of Ya'Lotus consisted of a saltwater ocean that contained no indigenous life. The sea breeze was fresh and cool and smelled, to Patton's human nose, unremarkable.

Logan shook his head. "There is a strong chemical smell emanating from the lower cabin of the Ferris wheel. I believe it may be opioid in nature."

"Opioid?" Patton sniffed and again could only smell rust and sweet ocean air. "You can get all that just from the smell?"

Logan nodded and approached the low metal fence, leaning over it to try to get a closer look at the cabin. It was caged off and covered with a fine mesh that blocked even his keen android eyesight. He cycled through his senses, again landing on smell as his best means of solving the puzzle before him. Beneath the smell of iron and grease, there was a definite tang of something other, something distinctly sedative. He wasn't specialized to identify chemicals like this, and the sensation of answers dancing just out of reach in his databank was enough to elicit an emotional reaction. He looked at Patton and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fuck."

"Whoa!" said Patton, tucking the PADD under his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Forgive me, Doct-- Patton. I am expressing frustration because I would like to know the source of the smell."

Patton leaned in over the guardrail. "Maybe it's just an industrial agent you're smelling? I can't think of any reason why opioid drugs would be anywhere near a Ferris wheel. Not here, anyway. Not on this planet."

"You're right," Logan said. "I will let it go." To emphasize this, he let go of the railing and stepped back. "Are you finished reading?"

"Yeah," said Patton, also backing up. "Let's move on."

And they turned and walked away from the first hidden kin manufacturing still on the tour.

By this point, Janus was fairly sure Sihok was getting at something, though he was circling around the point like a seabird waiting for the kill. It was a tactic Janus could respect, though it was decidedly un-Vulcan. Virgil, meanwhile, signaled for another round of drinks with his fingers. He too had an idea that Sihok was getting at something, and that Janus was as well. While he was admittedly inexperienced with Vulcan body language, he was reasonably sure that Janus hadn't figured it out yet. With boredom and alcohol combining in his mind, Virgil sat back and decided to try to figure it out before Janus did. Sure, he was just an Ensign, but he wasn't stupid.

At the moment, Sihok and Janus (whom Sihok insistently referred to by his Vulcan name, Chu'lak) were talking lightly about their careers.

"I thought," said Janus, drawing one fingertip around the rim of his glass, "you were studying xenobiochemistry."

"I was."

"So how did you end up here of all places?" He gestured to the room at large. Virgil, tracking the movement with his eyes, caught sight of the pinball machine and gazed longingly at it before remembering himself. "As I recall, you had a natural talent for the sciences. If you'll forgive my saying so, working security at a glorified casino seems a bit beneath you."

Sihok's expression did not change that Virgil could see, but he marked that Janus was smirking just a bit.

Sihok nodded. "I discovered in the course of my schooling that xenobiochemistry better suits me as a hobby. And, if you will permit a lapse in logic, I find the the atmosphere of Ya'Lotus most agreeable."

"You dig the vibe," Virgil blurted before he could stop himself. Janus and Sihok both stared at him and before his eyes, the expressions he had mistaken for disapproval read simply as confused. A small spark of triumph ignited in him; he was learning to understand Vulcan mannerisms.

"That didn't translate," Janus said.

"I thought you spoke Federation Standard," Virgil said.

"That was not Federation Standard."

Virgil's cheeks began to burn. "Ah, never mind. You were saying?"

"I think," said Sihok, "there is a certain beauty in mathematics. Do you agree?"

"Sure," said Janus. "But why do I get the feeling that you're not referring to fractals?"

Virgil fished a maraschino cherry out of his drink and began to bat it around the table with his fingertips.

"There is an objective beauty in symmetry," Sihok said vaguely. "No one could argue that. But it's asymmetry that has my interest. Chu'lak, answer a question for me."

"Yes?"

"Where are you staying tonight?"

Virgil stilled, his eyes flicking to Janus. He had no doubt that the question had translated oddly, that Sihok wasn't seriously propositioning Janus. But Janus had been given an opportunity to tease, and even from his limited experience aboard the Foley, Virgil knew that Janus rarely passed up an opportunity to make fun.

"I hadn't decided yet," Janus said with an arch smile, staring at Sihok under his lashes. "The Foley, I suppose, or someplace lavish if I ever make it to the casino."

Virgil resumed playing with the cherry, knowing on some level that he was behaving unprofessionally. He was just drunk enough to not care, the alcohol softening the sharp edges of his anxieties.

"Why?" Sihok asked.

"Why?" Janus repeated.

"You have everything you need on the Foley, don't you? And the free accommodations here are sufficient to sustain life? Why strive for more?"

Janus made no effort to hide his confusion. His patience was wearing thin. He had been intrigued at first by Sihok's vague enterprise, but his insistent refusal to get the point left Janus struggling for diplomacy. "I didn't think you cared for philosophy, Sihok. You've changed."

"Think it over," Sihok said.

The maraschino cherry rolled across the table. Virgil grabbed for it, having flicked it a little harder than intended, but missed, and watched in a hazy mixture of horror and amusement as it rolled off the edge of the table, hit Janus in the knee, and bounced to the floor.

"Sorry," Virgil mumbled, already ducking to grab it. Movement under the table caught his eye; Sihok adjusted his grip on something. Forgetting the cherry, Virgil eyed it curiously. It looked very like the rolls of Lifesavers that Alpha Proxima II would import from Earth, little pieces of culture to keep the colonists connected to their heritage. Virgil had preferred dark chocolate bars and later, coffee and brandy, but his mother had been quite fond of the sharp taste of spearmint Lifesavers. Whatever Sihok had a grip on was wrapped in a translucent white paper that allowed Virgil to see the colorful discs within. Not wanting to linger too long, Virgil resurfaced with the cherry and set it down on a cocktail napkin. "Sorry," he said again.

"Didn't you say you wanted to try the pinball machine?" Janus asked. He was already formulating an exit strategy, but it had never been his intention to hold Virgil hostage. Sihok was taking his time getting to his point, and this was supposed to be a welcome party for Virgil. "Here." He scooted out of the booth and stood.

"Thank you," Virgil said. He walked slowly, listening as Janus apologized and Sihok began to wax philosophical once more about the beauty of asymmetry in mathematics.

A few rounds on the Starfleet-themed pinball machine only left Virgil frustrated and half-sober, overstimulated. He didn't understand why Janus didn't just make an excuse and go. They had both been drawn in by Sihok's vague manner, but Virgil knew that his continued refusal to get to the point must have been driving Janus crazy.

The music changed to something reminiscent of heavy metal, blast beats ringing loud in Virgil's ears. He practically felt in his face: the shredding guitars, the way all the conversations became louder to compensate, the beeps of the pinball machine. Virgil had been declared mentally fit to serve in Starfleet, having proven he could push through bouts of anxiety and even thrive in high-pressure situations. But subjecting himself to the torment of this noisy bar was unpleasant and wholly unnecessary, so he turned and followed signs for the bathroom.

Once inside, he leaned back against one of the cool metal walls, heedless of the potential for infection. He had been vaccinated for just about everything under the sun upon joining Starfleet and he doubted any pathogen on Lotus Island could make it through his defenses.

The door opened and shut and a human stepped in, eyed Virgil up and down. "You look like you could use a chill pill."

It was old vernacular, slang Virgil had picked up at the Academy, because no one on Alpha Proxima II talked like that. He was quiet for a moment, wondering if this stranger was merely using a turn of phrase or if they were, in fact, stupid enough to offer drugs to a member of Starfleet. He decided on the former. "Am I that obvious?"

"You're about to chew a hole in your lip," the stranger said. "Look, you're already bleeding."

Virgil had long grown used to the taste of iron on the tip of his tongue. "It's just a little loud out there."

"I've got meds that can help with that," the stranger said.

Virgil blinked and reassessed: they really were that dumb. "I'm Starfleet," he said incredulously, glancing down at his yellow tunic in case he had somehow taken it off and forgotten about it.

"So what, you're not allowed to cut loose a little? You're on vacation."

Virgil scoffed and let the back of his head rest on the wall, marveling at the audacity of this strange human.

To buy himself time, he walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands. A plan was beginning to form in Virgil's head, neurons firing and making connections. He steeled himself and turned back to the stranger. "How much?"

"So, and just so I'm crystal clear on this," Remus said, stomping along beside Roman with his unstyled mohawk ruffled by the breeze, "our heroic plan to rescue Patton and Logan is to take the guided tour?"

"Oh, shut up." Roman backed away from the Help Desk and shoved the PADD at Remus. "Ugh, I don't understand maps at all. Where's Virgil when you need him?"

(Answer: Making a drug deal in the bathroom of the Tier III Lounge).

Remus studied the PADD. Roman had already set the translation to Romulan, but it was crude and hard to navigate. "Man of metals?" he asked, squinting.

"Oh, nevermind." Roman snatched the PADD back and began to walk. "It's the Founder's Statue. It's made of titanium and platinum. Get it?"

"Well, that's a terrible translation," Remus grumbled.

"Maybe you should learn Federation Standard," Roman nagged. This was far from the first argument they'd had about it and he already knew that Remus would refuse point-blank, masking his frustration and insecurity behind stubbornness. Remus had none of his brother's knack for languages, and while he was a talented engineer, he'd always struggled with his classes far more than Roman had.

"Maybe the Federation should start using Romulan," Remus shot back, and changed the subject before Roman could escalate the argument. "You never answered my question. What's the plan?"

"We need to catch up with either Patton and Logan or, uh… the Caitians."

"Shaa," Remus said with unnecessary smugness, pleased to have something on Roman, "and M'Birr."

"Sure."

They were both out of breath by the time they reached the Founder's Statue, both privately regretting the decision to wear heeled boots. The marginal boost to their height still left them the shortest members of the crew, a fact for which Janus loved to tease them.

"Onward to the next one," Roman said, looking around and seeing no one. He held up the PADD, and Remus peered over his shoulder.

"Rotation wheel," Remus read in Romulan. He looked up at the towering Ferris wheel in the near distance. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find."

"It's called a Ferris wheel," Roman complained. "It's a proper noun. Why would they try to translate that?"

Remus paused so he could stamp his foot. "Focus."

"Yeah, yeah." Roman tucked the PADD under his arm.

They caught sight of the two Caitians just after the Ferris wheel and pulled back to avoid being spotted.

"They have guns!" Remus said, a touch too loud even for his own liking. "Real guns! Not phasers!"

"Speaking of…" Roman sighed and touched his hip where his phaser and communicator would sit. Weapons were not allowed anywhere on Ya'Lotus and communication was restricted to their own official channels. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Vulcan nerve pinch?" Remus reached over and grabbed Roman's neck.

Roman stared at him, unamused. "Right, so we'll just try to stay out of a fight. Maybe if we can get around them, we can catch Logan and Patton and, uh… Well, get the Captain, I guess."

"Running off to get Daddy at the first sign of trouble," Remus sighed. "This is why I got promoted and you didn't."

"Yes, that's why. Not because you were the only one stupid enough to risk bleaching the Captain's eyebrows for him."

"Only chemical burned him one time!" Remus said proudly. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"Oh." Roman consulted the PADD. "Banana stand."

"What's a--"

"Walk and talk."

Remus shook Roman's hand off his shoulder. "What's that?"

"It's a kind of Earth fruit. I'm sure they have them here, since the founder of Ya'Lotus was human."

"Boring," said Remus. "Race you!" He took off running, moving awkwardly in his heeled boots. Roman sighed, looked around, and grabbed a tandem bike. It was not the most dignified form of transportation on the island, but it was one he happened to be familiar with. He and Remus both had a bit of a fascination with human history: Remus specializing in weaponry and warfare and Roman preferring to study courtship rituals. He mounted the bike with only a little difficulty, found his balance, and pedaled after Remus

"C'mon, get on."

"Oh!" said Remus happily, not even bothered by the direct order. "It's like a motorcycle with pedals!"

"How have you heard of a motorcycle but not a banana?"

"Will you focus?" Remus flicked Roman's shoulder blade. "You are now officially the Navigator and Helmsman of the Federation vessel Gemini."

"Subtle." Roman would have rolled his eyes, but between trying to steer and keep an eye on the PADD, didn't want to risk it. "What does that make you?"

"The Captain, obviously," Remus said. Roman put his head down as they pedaled by Shaa and M'Birr, but Remus whooped and flashed them a rude hand sign.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Roman wheezed, a little winded from having to haul both his and Remus' weight. "Fucking pedal!"

"Don't talk to your captain like that," Remus said, giving the pedals a few half-hearted turns.

"Could you at least take this a little seriously? Our crewmates are in danger!"

"Oh," said Remus, kicking his feet out, "guns aren't that dangerous. Not compared to phasers."

Roman just huffed and didn't answer. He steered them to the banana stand without incident and, upon seeing Patton and Logan about to leave, dived off the bike to reach them. Ignoring Remus' annoyed cries behind him, he sprinted over to his wayward crewmates. "Hey!"

"Roman," said Logan, glancing over at Patton in surprise. "You appear to be in distress."

"We gotta get out of here," Roman said in Romulan. Despite the universal translator, he usually switched to Federation Standard out of politeness when speaking with Logan and their human crewmates (though Patton's native language was Welsh), but he was too stressed at the moment to try to switch gears.

Behind him, Remus cursed and examined his left palm, which he had thrown out to break his fall when the bike had tipped. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Kill me later!" Roman shouted back. "We gotta go!" He wrapped his arms around Patton and Logan's waists and started to steer them toward the crowded boardwalk. "Remus!"

"I'm bleeding!" Remus said, scampering to meet them.

"You are?" Patton stopped and turned, ignoring Roman's cursing. "Is it bad?"

"Kiss it better?" Remus asked, batting his lashes.

Roman dragged his hands down his face. "Do you want to get in a gunfight with-- Oh, don't answer that. Of course you do."

"Forgive me, Lieutenant, did you say gunfight?" Logan asked, extricating himself from Roman's slackening grip.

"We don't have time for this!" Roman stamped his foot to try to get Remus' attention, but he was too busy playing up his injury for Patton. He only had a few minor scrapes across his palm, a few dots of green blood here and there.

"Roman, I must insist that you explain," Logan said. "I understand that you are agitated, but if you simply explain the situation, I'm sure we can--"

"We don't have time!" Roman interrupted. "Is it not enough to know that we're in danger?" He turned to his brother, desperation shining in his eyes. "Back me up on this."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to murder your superior officer," Remus said as Patton continued to pick bits of gravel out of his palm.

Along the path, Roman caught sight of the Caitians. Their pace was quick but not frantic as they scanned the horizon for their target, hands on their guns. Roman whispered an untranslatable swear word and made a decision.

Abandoning his crewmates, he straightened, crossed his arms behind his back, and strode forward to meet M'Birr and Shaa.

"Greetings" he said, trying not to let his voice tremble.

"You again?" said Shaa, crossing her arms. "Where's your partner?"

Roman swallowed. "After some discussion, we agreed it would be logical to interfere on your behalf."

"How so?" M'Birr asked. She frowned at Roman, her eyes scanning him.

"We acted under the belief that Starfleet officers would be more likely to trust other Starfleet officers. As you can see, we were correct. We have gained their trust and ascertained that they are not aware of the operation." Shaa tilted her head, and Roman felt compelled to add, "Vulcans do not lie."

"If you're really Vulcans," M'Birr said, still eyeing him with wide-pupiled green eyes. "And not, say, Romulans."

Roman forced his face to remain impassive. "That is an easy mistake to make, particularly if one is not familiar--"

"Oh, shut up." M'Birr drew her gun. "We can take care of all four of you."

Roman's pulse and breathing quickened, his vision narrowing to a very small spot, centering on the matte black of M'Birr's handgun. It was bulkier than a phaser and, he reminded himself, less deadly. He stared at the barrel, mind formulating and discarding half-formed plans for escape. Regardless of what Remus had said, he really didn't want to get shot.

What Roman did not see in his narrow-minded panic, was Remus abandoning Patton and flanking his brother and his assailants. He also did not see Patton flanking the other side, nor did he notice Logan appropriating a golf cart from a confused family of humans.

Remus flew into Roman's field of vision and tackled M'Birr, followed shortly by Patton who dropped Shaa with a sweeping kick to the knees. Adrenaline kicked in and Roman grabbed Remus by the wrist and hauled him up, spotted the golf cart, and dived for it. Patton beat them there and swung around to the passenger seat.

"Go, go, go!" they all shrieked, and Logan obediently stepped on the accelerator. The golf cart began to roll forward at a leisurely pace.

"Oh, are you kidding me?" Roman demanded.

"It's okay!" Remus said. He had turned so he could peer out the back, and was happy to see Shaa and M'Birr still struggling on the ground. "Dang, Patton, I think you broke Shaa's leg."

"Don't say that!" Patton wrapped his arms around himself and instead turned his attention to Roman. "What was that all about, anyway?"

Roman explained, punctuated by interjections from Remus. This concluded with Remus sitting back in his seat with a huff. "I can't believe nobody got shot."

"Should we have confiscated their guns?" Patton wondered out loud.

"Hopefully security will deal with them," Logan said. "Does anyone know where the Tier III Lounge is, by the way? I've been making evasive maneuvers, and now I am unsure--"

"So we're lost," Remus interrupted. "Possibly with more assassins after us, if the kitties called for backup."

Roman rested his forehead against the back of Patton's seat. "I hope the Captain is having a better day than we are."

Despite the lack of immediate danger, Janus was having a much worse day than the whole of his crew, save perhaps Virgil, who was still negotiating his drug deal in the bathroom.

"So you see," Sihok was saying, his drink nearly untouched, "an asymmetrical system is beautiful not only for those at the top, but for those at the bottom by instilling hope in them that they might someday reach the top."

"Capitalism," said Janus, bored. "You just described capitalism."

"Perhaps I did," Sihok said, and displayed the Vulcan equivalent of a guarded smile.

Janus masked his utter confusion behind raucous laughter. "Sihok, what exactly are you implying?"

"Nothing at all," said Sihok primly. "I was merely displaying my admiration for the artful execution of a certain style of economics."

That was when Virgil emerged from the bathroom clutching a roll of tablets, the drug known as 'kin.' It was identical to the one Sihok was holding, and the implications of this turned his stomach. Sihok was head of security for the whole of Ya'Lotus, and the way he had spoken to Janus had implied that he was after something, though Virgil had no idea what it could be.

Virgil hurried over to the table, heart racing in anticipation of what he was about to do. He had information that Janus might need and he couldn't speak it out loud. After hearing he had been assigned to the Foley, he had made a point to study the biology and abilities of Vulcans, though he had no idea what telepathic abilities Janus might have inherited as a human-Vulcan hybrid, and a genetic anomaly at that. Virgil was taking a risk, one that might draw the Captain's ire or make him look foolish, which was as dire a consequence to Virgil as death.

He approached the booth and, before Janus could get up, gently rested his hand on Janus' shoulder.

Janus froze. Sihok marked this, and Virgil noticed him notice. Dread trickled down his spine like cold water. "Excuse me, Captain," he said weakly.

"Bored already?" Janus asked. He directed an amused look at Sihok and said, "The human attention span," in a tone of patient exhaustion, then got up to let Virgil in.

Virgil was careful not to brush up against Sihok's legs, but he could tell that Sihok was staring as he scooted back up against the wall. Despite Janus' lack of reaction, he had a sneaking suspicion that his plan had worked too well and that not only Janus, but Sihok as well had picked up on the information he had transmitted.

They all lingered for a moment in a silent standoff. It was Janus who broke the silence, laughing again and rolling his eyes. "I have to say, Sihok, I'm a little disappointed. And offended, if I'm being honest." He took the roll of kin from Virgil and set it on the table. "You're pushing a capitalist drug empire on a pleasure planet. What was the master plan? To establish a capitalist regime within the Federation with you at the top? How un-Vulcan."

Sihok ignored the slight. "I had intended to offer you a partnership. Are you declining?"

"Was that not obvious?" Janus asked, abandoning the last of his pretense at Vulcan restraint. "Not only am I declining, I'm calling you an idiot. Sihok, you are an idiot and a disgrace to the planet Vulcan, and I don't mean that as a compliment. I suppose now you're going to kill us before we can report you to Starfleet?"

"Yes," said Sihok.

"How?" asked Janus. "We're sitting down. Do you want to arm wrestle us to death?" Sihok took a breath to speak and Janus cut him off, "Don't even think about your phaser. Sure, you could get one of us, at which point the other would disarm you."

"Well," said Sihok, "it seems we have reached an impasse."

Virgil took another risk. "May I?" he asked, nodding at Sihok's drink. "You haven't touched it and if I'm going down today, I'm going down drinking."

"Control your crewman," Sihok said to Janus, deadly serious.

Virgil took the drink. "Thanks." He held onto the tumbler, using the numbing ache of chilled glass against his palm to ground himself.

"So," said Janus, disregarding Virgil, "an impasse."

"About that," said Sihok. "Your Ensign is new to Starfleet; you said so earlier." He drew his phaser and aimed it at Janus. "I do not believe he has the capacity to disarm me, especially as he has been drinking and his reaction time will be slowed."

Thinking that now was as good a time as any, Virgil touched Janus' leg and splashed his drink in Sihok's face. They both scrambled out of the booth and sprinted out the door. They paused for a moment to get their bearings, and that was when a golf cart plowed into Virgil at a speed equivalent to 10 miles per hour.

Logan hit the brake and reversed so as not to run over Virgil's legs. "Forgive me, Ensign Salem. Are you alright?"

Roman, who hadn't picked his head up from the back of Patton's seat, began to lightly tap his forehead against the metal support bar. "Please tell me you didn't just kill our Helmsman when we need him most."

Virgil scrambled to his feet, too full of adrenaline to register any serious pain. "We gotta get out of here."

"You too, huh?" Remus said. He patted the seat next to him and addressed Janus. "Climb aboard."

Janus hopped on and was forced to sit on Remus' lap. Unruffled, he barked, "Ensign Salem, evasive maneuvers. Now."

Virgil hopped into the driver's seat, which Logan had recently vacated, waited for Logan to clamber onto the back of the golf cart, and slammed down the accelerator. "Where to?"

"Evasive maneuvers, Ensign Salem. Let's lose our pursuers before we worry about a destination."

"Yes, sir." Virgil pulled around the back of the Tier III Lounge just as a dripping-wet Sihok emerged, phaser drawn. The chase that ensued was unremarkable, as the golf cart began to pick up speed while emitting a worrisome whining noise.

"I made some adjustments to the engine while we were moving," Remus said proudly.

"That's impossible," Janus answered.

"I said that, too," Logan said.

Virgil continued to steer them in concentric circles around Lotus Island, self-assessing now that he was calmer. He could already feel the dull ache of impending bruises on his hip and elbow, but the damage seemed minimal.

"So," said Roman, "who are you evading?"

"Oh," said Janus, feigning boredom, "just a would-be capitalist drug lord Vulcan hellbent on murdering us. You?"

Roman put the pieces together. "Said Vulcan's lackeys, also hellbent on murdering us."

"Oh!" said Patton and Logan simultaneously, albeit for very different reasons: Patton to express dismay and concern, Logan realizing why he had smelled opioids earlier.

"You're welcome, by the way," Remus said, addressing Patton since he was easier to reach. "Those Caitians were after you and Logan."

"Thanks," Patton said weakly. "You know, I'm not feeling very relaxed."

Janus looked around and, seeing no trace of either murderous Caitians or murderous Vulcans, leaned forward to address Virgil. "Set a course for the Transporter Building, departures terminal. Let's get the Hell out of here."

After making some arrangements on the viewing deck, Janus arranged for Virgil and Patton to be summoned from their rooms, where they had both gone to decompress. Virgil and Remus had first been strongarmed into going to Sickbay, where Patton looked them over and pronounced them fit for duty.

Remus was showing off his bandaged hand to Janus and regaling him with a greatly embellished tale of how he had received the injury when the doors slid open and Virgil and Patton appeared.

Patton came in first, Virgil lingering behind him. "Aw!" he said, looking around at the array of alcohol and finger foods arranged picnic-style on the floor. "What's this?"

"It's your welcome party," Janus explained. "Since Ya'Lotus didn't quite work out. Come sit."

Patton sat down next to Logan, leaving Virgil to occupy the empty space next to Janus. Janus offered him half a smile. "You did well today, Virgil. You may even have saved my life." He paused, then added, "Although I probably still could have disarmed Sihok before he got the shot off. Regardless." He poured Virgil a glass of bourbon. "Thank you, Ensign Salem. You did well."

"Yay, Virgil!" Patton said happily.

After ensuring that everyone had drinks, Janus regained command of everyone's attention and raised his glass. "A toast to honor our new crewmates. Virgil Salem, Patton Kelsey." He looked at them in turn. "Welcome aboard the Foley."

#spicywrites #spicywrites ticket crimes #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #platonic dlampr

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abrazimir · 2 years

Text

I have to get this sudden realisation out there into a fully typed post somewhere so apologies to any mutual who remains despite my year long hiatus but this is going to eat me up inside;

Boromir’s relationship with his mother was actually not good. It was not terrible, but it was difficult and painful and unfairly influenced by the impressions of both callous family and public opinion.

Because Boromir was a large baby, difficult to birth. He did not wean quickly, he did not like to be around strangers or left alone, he wanted to be held often and for all these things and more he was silently labelled as ‘needy’ by many. Not Denethor or Finduilas of course, they were delighted to love him as he needed to be loved and took a great deal of joy in him. However, despite this, Finduilas’ health (that had never been particularly good) worsened noticeably after Boromir was born.

It is not that people explicitly blamed Boromir for this, but Boromir was also an intuitive child and the cultural and historical concept of ‘mothers who died giving too much of themselves to their sons’ was prominent enough for him to already be thinking about it at a very young age. He did not need casual, gentle urgings from adults that ‘he had to be good, for his mother’, ‘you know how your mother is Boromir, you must give her some space’, ‘you be patient for your mother Boromir, don’t tire her too much’, in order to already begin connecting his needs with harming Finduilas, but they solidified the feeling in him that this was his fault, that he was too demanding.

Denethor only ever heard of one such comment and he was furious but there was little he could do. And the lesson for Boromir was reinforced time and again. He started pulling away from his mother at just four. Sometimes he was quietly reassured or encouraged to spend time with her and he would relax and laugh and doze in her veils and they would work on some project they loved. But at some point Finduilas would have a coughing fit. And though this might be usual for her in a day, Boromir would see it as his fault. But he also quickly gathered that his mother hated for her ill-health to come between her and the things she wanted to do, so he had to hide that from her as well.

As he grew he withdrew from her more and more and Finduilas, who did not wholly understand the reasons why, perceived this as a rejection, a boy growing away from his mother’s love and scorning her ‘gentle’ ways (which particularly hurt for Finduilas when she was conflicted by her gender already). Denethor, who had some idea of why Boromir was acting this way, tried to offer him ways to interact with his mother that felt ‘safe’ but Boromir still stopped asking his mother for help. He heard every sweet tease or reminiscence of his ‘needy’ or ‘clingy’ babyhood as an accusation and confirmation of his guilt and almost unconsciously began to ‘need’ much less. He felt he had to give back as much as he had taken, and then more.

Such comments came most often from his maternal grandparents and especially Adrahil, his grandfather. And they were especially prominent after Faramir was born, a smaller baby who was weaned earlier and who was far more gregarious and bold than his brother had been at his age. Comparisons were easy and often made and this atmosphere contributed to the narrative that Denethor ‘loved Boromir too much’ when he felt the need to defend his son from these things and give him the care that he was denying himself.

Boromir’s worst nightmare became his mother’s death, not because he would lose a mother, but because he would be the cause of it. And, though the family did manage to gentle and settle and find some equilibrium in their day to day, Boromir’s worst nightmare did eventually happen. There was so much love in him, he had built himself for care, and when his mother died he blamed himself. He couldn’t understand why Denethor didn’t.

But he also couldn’t tell anyone, he couldn’t say a word about his relationship to his mother, especially not to his little brother. And so Faramir, who hated to be out of the loop, got a lot of his answers from Adrahil. Once, when Faramir was a teenager and angry and he wanted to hurt him, he told Boromir ‘you had her the longest and you didn’t even appreciate her’. Boromir just hugged him, ever his protector after all.

Eventually Boromir did realise that he had just been a child, he had not killed his mother by just being her son and needing her. But by then there was an instinct and an architecture in him that was too fundamental to be rid of. He doesn’t want to need, it does not feel like himself to need things, it isn’t for him. Giving and loving and defending, that is when he feels most himself. And people still joke to this day, sentimental and sweet, of baby Boromir who used to be so cuddly and clingy and who always wished to be held, and how alike he is to his mother. And Boromir just weathers them with a smile.

When Boromir was young Denethor tried to tell him, ‘no Boromir, it is not your fault’. But Boromir couldn’t accept it, it seemed obvious to him, clear that his mother sickened at his hand. ‘You are just saying that to comfort me’ he said, thinking ‘perhaps you do love me too much’ as well. But Denethor didn’t hear that thought until much later, as adults, both talking through and over something painful. And Boromir said it naturally, a humorous answer to some bleak question, with a joking, sardonic tone, ‘hah perhaps you do love me too much’.

And it is the worst Boromir's ever made his father feel, because Denethor knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, suddenly, that that was still real in Boromir, it was still there in him and he wasn’t joking in fact, not in some deep painful part of him. And there was no way for Denethor to dig it out anymore.

#about:denethor #about:finduilas #;;boromircanon #this genuinely feels like a revelation that makes all the pieces fall into place #THIS IS ALSO NOT AT ALL PROJECTION BY THEEE WAY DONT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT...

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

Text

C-137 Vs. 46'\

C-137 Vs. 46'\ = A Gravity Falls & Rick and Morty crossover fic for @stephreynaart! I meant to finish this, like, forever ago, but I did my best and decided this has stayed hidden in my files long enough. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Stanchez for life!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Placement: GF = after the finale (season 3) R&M = Between S1E10 and E11 (In S2E2, Rick dates 1/12/2015 on the drop-off papers for Jerry. Though Alex hates dating cartoons, it can be estimated that GF took place during 2013 thanks to Sev'ral Timez, so the next summer would be 2014. So… yeah. I put way too much thought into this.)

The vast galaxy in front of them was an endless sea of stars and space-clouds of many different colors. Some were green, some were blue, some were magenta, it honestly looked like a generic Hot Topic galaxy t-shirt.

But Rick didn’t give a shit about some fucking space-clouds or some fucking shop for teenagers who were trying too hard to be goth. Rick didn’t give a shit about the fact that Morty barely knew how to drive the fucking spaceship. Rick only have a shit about getting away from the other fucking spaceships that were after the humans, but he couldn’t drive because Rick had to repair the fucking weapon to kill those fucking bastards. Fuck.

“Aw, geez, Rick, hurry it up!” Morty yelled.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Morty!” Rick snapped back as he tinkered with the huge ray-gun that laid by his feet.

The spacecraft jolted to the side as a beam just barely missed it. Rick caught his screwdriver as it flew in the air for a second and he finished the final turn. Rick grinned maliciously and aimed the newest invention out at the enemy. He pulled the trigger and rather than a beam of light or a bullet escaping the gun, it appeared that nothing happened, until each spaceship seemed to be covered with blood and guts from the inside, covering the windows and halting the enemies’ spaceships.

“Oh my God, Rick, what the hell?!” Morty screamed.

“Relax, Morty, you’ve seen worse. It’s just a gun that released microscopic ninjas that slice people up from the inside until they’re nothing b-b-but guts.” Rick burped through the alcohol and leaned on the big gun proudly with a monotone voice and facial expression.

“No, Rick, what the hell IS THAT?!”

Rick looked ahead to see a wormhole of pink, blues, and whites glowing brightly in front of them. Morty was trying to turn the spaceship away, but they were being pulled in by gravity.

“Well, fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel was bouncing like she had springs on the bottoms of her shoes as she held her Grunkle Ford’s hand. They were both wearing ponchos and on their way to the magical part of the forest. Mabel, Dipper, Stan, and Ford had only been back in Gravity Falls for two days and Ford wanted to start off this summer right by bonding with his favorite grandniece in the Multiverse.

Ford felt guilty of the little time they had spent together the previous summer. True, he had arrived home a little late in the season, but he had spent plenty of time bonding with Dipper, leaving not nearly enough for Mabel. Ford loved her very much, but with Dipper things were more predictable. The boy was a lot like him, so Ford knew what to expect and how to bond with him, like playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons or working or investigating an anomaly together. Ford had no clue what twelve… thirteen-year-old girls liked and Mabel’s overwhelming flood of love and affection had startled Ford like an old alley-cat.

Still, he admired her positivity and loved to do arts-and-crafts with her. They had captured time last summer for her to make a beautiful hand-turkey on Ford’s six-fingered hand; she had said that the extra feather made it special. The old scientist had no idea what he had done to deserve Mabel… no, he didn’t deserve Mabel, but she seemed to like him, so he owed her some alone-time. Mabel seemed to like the supernatural almost as much as Dipper (Dipper took a more serious approach to it while Mabel seemed to accept everything with loving arms), so Ford offered to take her out to the magical part of the forest over breakfast and Mabel nearly choked on her Stan-cake out of pure joy.

Now, as the morning sun rose and was nearly above their heads, after about an hour of traveling and quietly talking, they were starting to reach the magical part of the forest.

“So, why do we need ponchos, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked as she used her free-hand to play with the yellow hood that was over her beautiful brown hair.

“Because the fairies we’re going to investigate are… rather messy.” Ford landed on. The Barf Fairies used to turn his stomach, but after traveling through dimensions for over thirty years, Ford’s stomach had hardened and since Mabel also seemed to have a strong gag-reflex, he decided that he would try to learn more about the less-than-pleasant type of fairies. “I would hate for them to ruin a Mabel Pines original.” Ford added with a smile down at the young teenager.

Mabel grinned braces-free (she had them removed back in February) up at the old scientist, loving it when he called one of her sweaters a Mabel Pines original, and her eyes twinkled when she saw the blue sweater through Ford’s poncho, the one she had made for him with a golden six-fingered hand on the front, like his old journals. “So, these are…”

“Barf Fairies.”

“Right. What do you already know about them?”

“Only that we should avoid whatever they eat.”

Mabel laughed along with him and said, “Okay. Well… I’ve actually never talked to or met a fairy before, so looks like we’re both starting from square-one. Did you meet any fairies out in the Multiverse?”

“Yes, but they were very different than the one here in Gravity Falls. I once landed in a dimension where the seasons changing was caused by the fairies, and in another dimension I met a giant fairy-queen that looked more like a slug with wings covered in glitter.”

Mabel opened her mouth to contribute to the conversation, but they both heard a noise and stopped walking in the woods. The sound had made them think of clanking metal and yells. They looked up and around at the trees, but a little puff of smoke confirmed that they had heard some sort of machine.

“What was that?” Mabel asked quietly.

“I’m not sure.” Ford said honestly and started to walk them to a clearing.

The two Pines left the cluster of pinetrees so they could look around the skies more clearly. It was a beautiful cloudless early-summer day. As they looked up at the heavens above, a flying-disk of a spaceship was whizzing over their heads, having trouble staying up in the air. Ford held Mabel close in fear of it crashing down near them, but the spaceship staggered over the woods and crashed landed from a safe distance.

“Aliens!” Mabel gasped. “Dipper told me about the one under the town! Do you think this is like that one?”

Ford, whose mind was racing, shook his head to try to think straight, and he said, “No, I… I think I know what it is, but… Mabel, I’m afraid the Barf Fairies are going to have to wait.”

Mabel peeled off her poncho and shook her hair free, revealing her purple sweater with a heart and sunglasses on it that matched her red skirt and headband. Ford also took off his poncho, pocketed both of the big yellow articles of clothing in his trenchcoat, but then pulled out his gun. He opened his mouth to tell Mabel to stay close, but she already pulled out her grappling hook and was standing behind Ford, waiting for him to lead the way.

Ford crept back into the woods with Mabel behind him. He had a good idea of what had crashed into Gravity Falls, but he had hoped that he was wrong. He didn’t want Mabel to meet him. Ford was hoping he would never show up in this dimension, but if he was still traveling around the Multiverse…

A low hissing noise from a busted engine told Ford and Mabel where to go. They only had to walk a minute before the spaceship came into view, landing in between two trees and leaving a trail of up-turned dirt in its path before coming to a halt. Ford and Mabel slowly moved towards the ship with their weapons in hand, but they found it unnecessary as a boy stumbled out and coughed into a fist, on his hands and knees and ruffled from the crash.

“Oh geez, oh man, we’re dead. We’re dead. We survived, but we’re dead.” The boy moaned as he slowly stood up. He looked about Mabel’s age, had short brown hair, and wore jeans and a yellow t-shirt with white sneakers.

Mabel pocketed her grappling hook while Ford let his arms fall to his side, but he kept the weapon in hand, just in case. “Huh. That was… not what I was expecting.” Ford said, more to himself than to Mabel.

Mabel stepped forward with her hands up kindly and she cleared her throat, gaining the boy’s attention. He blinked at the two humans and Mabel said in a soft voice, “Uh, hi, I’m Mabel. Are you hurt?”

“What?” The boy asked. He seemed jittery from the crash, his eyes darting and his forehead glistening with sweat. “Uh, n-no. No, I’m fine. I’m…”

“MORTY!”

The boy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as he tilted his head upward. “Yup, that’s my name. Morty.”

An older man in a white lab-coat with blue-white hair stumbled out of the spaceship, and not out of drunkenness for a change. “Morty, you little…”

“Sanchez.” Ford growled and covered Mable’s ears. He knew this guy had a foul tongue, and while Ford and his brother might have sailors’ mouths, at least he and Stan knew to censor themselves around the kids. Ford’s old friend didn’t.

The old man in the lab-coat looked at Ford and his eyes widened in shock before he grinned. “Oh, no way! Good to see you again, Fordsie!” He laughed, amused by the scenario in front of him. “Great, another genius. Mind giving me a hand with this piece of… erm, crap?”

Ford groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, the sooner I can get you out of my home dimension, the better.”

The man Grunkle Ford had called Sanchez appeared shocked again and he dug around his coat. “Wait, wait, wait. Your home dimension?” Sanchez pulled out a white flat gun with a green bulb on top and he seemed to be reading off a tiny screen. “Huh. Dimension 46’\. This one’s way out of the loop. There’s no way I could’ve gotten you home with this thing. How did you manage to pull that off?”

“Long story.” Ford said and pocketed his hand in his trenchcoat.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel piped and smiled up at the visitor. “Who’s this?”

Ford looked down at his niece and decided to share this piece of his thirty-year-long journey in the Multiverse with her. “Sweetie, this is my old acquaintance, Rick Sanchez. Rick, this is my great-niece, my brother Sherman’s granddaughter, Mabel.”

“Oh, hey, nice to meet you, little lady.” Rick said with a small smile and then jabbed a thumb back at Morty. “That little screw-up is my grandson, Morty.”

“Oh, yeah, like you could do any better, Rick.” Morty huffed with crossed-arms over his thin chest.

“I could do better, Morty,” Rick said and rounded on his grandson. “You know what else I can do? I can also leave you behind on Asteroid 3924987, but I won’t. I can also feed you to a five-headed mega-bird from Bird-Person’s homeworld, but I won’t. I can also send you to the citadel and trade you in for a new Morty, but I won’t, as long as you quit being a pain in the ass.”

“Rick, please!” Ford hissed.

“It’s okay, Grunkle Ford, I heard worse when I went to get a snack and Stan was watching football.” Mabel giggled, remembering the other night when Stan’s team was losing and he let out a long stream of colorful swears that made him turn red when he realized Mabel had heard him.

“Of course you have.” Ford groaned and shook his head. “Well, let’s see what the damage is, Sanchez. What caused the crash? Did your micro-verse battery finally start a rebellion?”

“No, because they know if they do, I’ll get a new battery, Genius. When we came to this dimension through a wormhole we hit a mountain side and a part broke off here…”

The two old men examined the spacecraft and were discussing ways to fix it, meanwhile Morty walked up to Mabel and rubbed an arm nervously. “So, uh… I guess they met out in the Multiverse, huh?”

Mabel nodded; she didn’t know how these two old men knew each other or why these two humans were in a spaceship, but based on context clues, Morty’s guess made the most sense. “Wait, so you two are from another dimension?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Morty said with a shrug. “This is 46'\, right? My dimension is C-137.”

“Wow, cool!” Mabel said with shining eyes that threw Morty for a loop. “So, what’s different over there? Was Benjamin Franklin a man and never accomplished anything? Are dinosaurs still alive? Oo! I bet your sky is lavender-purple all the time, right?!”

Morty laughed a little and rubbed his arm again. “Uh, no. It’s, I think, pretty much the same as yours. My Grandpa Rick says there’s an infinite number of realities that are just slightly different from one another. M-M-Maybe the difference between C-137 and 46'\ is so small and unimportant it’s not obvious.”

“Oh, okay,” Mabel peered over to watch Rick and Ford work together for a little bit and then she smiled back at Morty. “So, do you always go on adventures with your Grandpa Rick?”

Morty sighed in a shaky puberty-voice and nodded. “Yeah, he’s always making me go on these stupid adventures with him.”

“What?” Mabel gasped with a smile. “They’re not stupid! I’d love to go to a different dimension with my Grunkle Ford! I’ve already been on one with him and Grunkle Stan when they had to rescue me from Dimension Mab3L. The other mes were a little self-centered, but it was a lot of fun to punch myself in the face and rescue my great-uncles.”

“Yeah, but from the sounds of it, your - what did you say, Grunkle Ford? - is nice to you.” Morty pointed out. “My Grandpa Rick treats me like garbage all the time, but then again he treats everyone like garbage, so at least he’s only signaling me out to stay hidden from the Federation or whatever.”

“Oh.” Mabel said quietly and held her hands behind her back bashfully, unsure of how to respond, but she decided to try to make Morty feel better. “Well, my other great-uncle, Grunkle Stan, is a little tough sometimes, but that’s only because he cares about his family and is toughening us up for a tougher world. He’s my hero!”

“That sounds nice.” Morty said with a small smile. He didn’t think Rick cared about his family like this Stan guy, but Morty wasn’t in the mood to kill Mabel’s optimism. “I like your sweater, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Mabel grinned proudly. “I made it!”

Morty’s eyes widened. “Wow, really?” Mabel held out her arm so Morty could feel her sleeve. “Oh my God, that’s amazing! You’re really talented.”

“Hey, thanks! If you want, I can make you one!”

“R-R-Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Sure! What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh… y-yellow.”

“Got it!”

Ford and Rick walked up to the teenagers and the six-fingered researcher said, “Well, I’m afraid the ship lost a part we need, but luckily I have the materials we need to build one in the lab back home.”

“Great!” Mabel said and grinned. “Let’s go! So, how did you two meet, anyway?”

Ford and Mabel led the way with Rick and Morty closely behind. “We met about twenty years ago in a high-security prison. I remember feeling relieved to see another human. I had been without human contact for a little under two years at the time since I had been stranded on some desert planet.”

“Yeah, this nerd got into big trouble for the extinction of a few million species on Planet 8824816.”

“What?!” Mabel gasped and looked up at her great-uncle, unable to believe that he would cause such mass genocide. “Grunkle Ford, you didn’t?!”

“Of course I didn’t, Mabel.” Ford quickly reassured his niece. “That was the planet I thought was a sandwich. Anyway, at least I didn’t do what Rick was in for…”

“What did he do?”

“I purposely caused mass genocide on Sector 56, Dimension “”113.” Rick said in a scaringly monotone voice.

“What?!”

“Rick!” Ford and Morty both scolded at the same time.

“Hey, it was either me or the Valakawns!” Rick snapped back. “Those bloodsucking leeches didn’t see what hit them, until the Federation caught me hanging from a tree upside-down, passed out and drunk.”

“Alright, enough!” Ford said firmly. “Let’s just build the part we need so we can get you two back to your home dimension. And, Mabel, once they’re gone we’re going to patch the wormhole with alien adhesive.”

“Okay. Last thing we want is for Dipper to get stuck in Dimension Dipp-3R or something.”

“Who’s Dipper?” Morty asked quietly.

“My twin brother!”

“Oh, cool! I don’t have a twin, but I have met multiple versions of myself.”

“Hey, me too! I’ve met Table-Mabel, Explainble, Threebel, Military-Expert-Mabel, Brainbel, T-Rex-Mabel, Fire-Mabel, and even Anti-Mabel!”

“I’ve met an Evil-Morty with one eye-patch who worked for the worst Rick in the Multiverse. I’ve also… Well, let’s just say I’ve met a lot of mes.”

The two teenagers talked while the two old men chatted on ways to fix the ship as they got closer to the Mystery Shack. Rick looked up and down the place and then snorted, amused. “Huh. Not the kind of place I’d expect from Mr. Stick-In-The-Mud over here.”

“My brother had to make some… changes in order to pay off the mortgage.” Ford explained and led the way to the back door. He opened it and said, “My lab is downstairs behind the vending machine in the gift shop. I believe Soos is giving a tour, so it should be safe to enter.”

“Gift shop?” Rick laughed and poked Ford’s shoulder. “When did you get so soft?”

“I am not< soft.” Ford said dignified.

“You’re wearing a blue sweater with a gold six-fingered hand.”

“My niece made it for me!” Ford said proudly and puffed out his chest.

Mabel rolled her eyes with blushing chubby cheeks and a smile and decided to let the old guys fight. She took Morty’s hand and said, “Come on! I’ll show you my room! I have a huge sticker collection you’ll love!”

“Oh, okay!” Morty said and allowed her to drag her up to the attic; it was nice being dragged to something nice and safe rather than some new monster of a different dimension.

“But hey, you turned your lab into a gift shop.” Rick was saying while the teenagers did their own thing. “Least you’re making a profit.” Ford wasn’t sure if Rick was being sincere or not.

“Actually, it’s all my brother’s.” Ford said and waved the subject away. “We’re getting off track. Let's just get you and your grandson out of my dimension.”

“Geez, you used to be way more fun.” Rick said with sagged shoulders. “What happened to the guy who ranked up million on Lottocron Nine and got tattoos with octopus-armed piglets? What happened to the interdimensional criminal who once shot fifty Bureaucrats to save a fellow scientist’s ass?”

“He discovered what was most important, Sanchez.” Ford growled with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, HO!” A voice laughed as he shook his head and left the kitchen. “I know this guy isn’t talking about Mr. Goody-Nerds-Shoes!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted was for his twin and his old friend to meet, but it seemed like some greater being(s) really wanted this to happen, so here we go.

Rick grinned at the sight of a conman in his suit and fez, with a can in his hand, instantly giving Rick the vibe that this guy couldn’t be trusted but would be a hit at parties and wasn’t a total snitch. “Now THIS is what I’m talking about! Name’s Rick, Ford Two.”

Stan barked a laugh and shook his hand. “The name’s Stan, Genius. And please for the love of Moses you weren’t just talking about my brother?”

“Are you kidding, this guy was a total badass!” Rick jabbed a thumb back at the fuming scientist. “He was a total idiot, had no clue how the Multiverse worked, but he was always willing to barrel into whatever crap was out there and destroy some shit!”

“Okay, you and I need to talk.” Stan tossed him the can of soda and went into the kitchen to get some snacks. “I wanna hear more about what kind of crazy violent nomad Ford was back in the day!”

“You got it! Just tell me how the hell he ended up with a cool twin? What, did you inherit all the fun traits leaving him with hobbies like collecting alien stamps?”

Stan barked a laugh and was back, looping an arm around his skinny neck. “I love this guy! Now, please tell me you were there when he got his stupid tattoo.”

“Stanley,” Ford scolded. “We’re supposed to be working on building the part he needs so he can go home. Rick and his grandson are stranded here…”

“Please, I can make that piece of shit from scratch in my sleep.” Rick said. “And Morty’s fine. That niece of yours will keep his small brain entertained for hours.” He turned to Stan and asked, “You got any booze, we had a rough crash here and I need a drink.”

“I got a secret stash in my room,” Stan muttered. “I don’t like drinking with the kids here, but I guess you can have a shot of whisky to relax. Want some soda?”

“Sure, why not. There’s a bit in my flask to last.”

And the old men walked away for the ‘Employees Only’ part of the house, leaving Ford to grit his teeth in annoyance and then bite his lip in discomfort. This could only end one way and he was not looking forward to it.

To be continued...

#gravity falls #rick and morty #stanchez #gift #fanfiction

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arethereanyoriginalusernames · 3 years

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I wanted to write a post about my story’s rival characters

And fuck it, it’s my birthday

I wanted to make a post detailing how each rival character I have contributes to the story. Now, I want to be clear that these characters aren’t necessarily villains, they simply oppose the main cast in some way.

———

Jadis the Serpent Demon

Jadis is a former 90s grunge rockstar, serial killer and cultist turned demon. She can turn into a giant fucking snake, parts of her outfit can turn into miniature snakes, and she has the same ambiguous amount of supernatural power all other demons have, although she rarely uses these supernatural abilities. She prefers hand to hand combat, doing snakey shit, and stabbing shit.

Jadis is a rival to Phoenix, mainly in ideology. Jadis is cynical, nihilistic, and a massive kill joy. Due to her past and all she’s had to deal with, she only sees the system aspect of society, and views any positive outlook on life as naive and stupid, even dangerous. This clashes with Phoenix, who strongly believes that everything in life has a purpose. She kinda has to, it’s a big part of what motivated her to become the person she is now. Phoenix is figuratively a train going full speed and Jadis is the inevitable brick wall of reality she’ll run into. It doesn’t help that Phoenix never beats Jadis in a fight. Both characters have valid position to question the other, and much of their relationship is influenced by how they both affect each other.

——-

Flaga

Flaga is a former soldier of the Northern Fairy Army, running away to join a group of mercenaries because he couldn’t take any more of seeing his comrades die more often by their own hand out of despair, than on the battlefield. He was a friend of Chronos, before a mission resulted in Chronos shooting him in the back and leaving him to die in the mirror realm. (Flaga has the power to travel through mirrors and the space between mirrors is called the mirror realm) This of course caused Flaga to turn into... essentially a living corpse, and lose it mentally. And now he stalks the world, looking to kill Chronos.

Flaga represents repressed guilt and regret. It’s easy for characters to point out that Flaga is unhinged, thus he probably shouldn’t be taken seriously. However, this is usually used to shift blame from Chronos, who is still affected by guilt he refuses to acknowledge. While circumstance was what forced his hand, Chronos is still aware that he ruined his old friend’s life. Chronos is someone who doesn’t take failure lightly, as he views himself as having this responsibility to help people, thus the situation with Flaga, including how he’s gone out of his way to not have to think about it, shows serious flaws in his mentality. Meanwhile, Flaga is set on killing Chronos because... he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to move on, and doesn’t see any way to heal. He’s motivated by the idea that killing Chronos will fix everything, which, unfortunately, is later proven to not be the case

———-

Wolfgang Dracula

The oldest of Vlad’s cousins, who you may recall from my post detailing Vlad’s entire arc. Wolfgang was the main perpetrator of the bullying Vlad went through after being named the descendant of Dracula. Wolf is the most powerful of the cousins, and the older members of the Dracula family all agree that he should have been chosen instead of Vlad. After Vlad and his parents move away, Wolf turns his sights to the other cousins. Mainly his younger brother, Ludwig. Wolf goes out of his way to establish dominance amongst the group of cousins, and has gone as far as breaking every one of Ludwig’s fingers, and causing various cousins to develop anxiety issues

Wolf is mostly a bully meant to be overcome, but he’s also indicative of the chaotic, unhealthy environment the Dracula family encourages and enables. Wolf’s behaviour didn’t just come out of nowhere, and he was very much pushed to be the way he is by the adult figures in his life. Him being eventually bested by Vlad, something that goes against everything the family believes in, is the start of a change. Plus, this serves as character development for Vlad, who comes to stand up to Wolf, and not let the past affect him anymore.

———

Skele

An orca shifter kidnapped from her family as a baby, and forced to be a child entertainer by the abusive organization Atlanta Prima. After escaping, Skele nearly dies swimming back to Greenland, hoping to find her family. On the brink of death, she’s saved by the god of frozen wasteland, Allyon, becoming his new host. She’s now in charge of a pod of monstrous void whales and is an urban legend throughout the sea, allegedly slaughtering anyone she comes across.

Skele serves as a sort of parallel to Missi. Both were kidnapped as babs and kept in the care of abusive groups. However, they both have clearly different ways of dealing with what happened. Missi detaches from reality in order to ignore what happened, and wants to leave it behind her. Skele, on the other hand, takes her fury out on almost anyone she comes across. Neither girl is more “right” or “correct” here, and both coping mechanisms aren’t helping either one. However, both girls see a bit of themselves in the other, and both want to “save” the other. To top it off, both Missi and Skele are characters considered “too far gone” to be helped by many. However, a potential road to healing comes when Missi realizes that reaching out for help from others might actually be a lifeline both for her, and maybe even for Skele.

———

Arryn the Dream Demon

Former star pupil of the Grim Reaper, Arryn finds herself in a tragic downward spiral as she becomes the unwilling lackey to Ceries, a malicious and narcissistic demon. After Ceries isolates Arryn from everyone she cares about, and takes her little sister Lithie hostage, Arryn is tasked with either killing Trix or bringing him to Ceries. Given how she and Trix were childhood friends who basically grew up together, this is already a difficult task. And of course, as Arryn fails over and over again, she becomes increasingly desperate and unstable, going as far to kidnap and nearly kill Missi. After even that fails and her sister goes missing, presumably killed, Arryn outright gives up on life and longs for death, blaming Trix for the misery she’s been through.

Trix’s story arc carries a theme of questioning your world and what you’ve been told. Trix was taught by Ceries as a child various non-existing expectations about what makes a decent demon, and encourages his flawed idea that being violent and scary required, and dispels any thoughts of nuance and moral greyness within him. Arryn doesn’t want to believe that Ceries has as much control over her as she does, and vehemently denies that she’s being manipulated. After all, she was once the Grim Reaper’s star student with endless potential. She’d know if she was being manipulated.... right? Being persuaded to cut ties with loved ones isn’t her being isolated, right? Both Arryn and Trix are also characters who go out of their way to seem threatening, while hiding their actual personalities and pretending to not care about anyone. So yay, parallels.

I’ll probably make a part 2 with the rest of the rivals later.

Who’s your favourite out of the bunch? Feel free to let me know! All characters and art belong to me.

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thebibliosphere · 4 years

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Hi,Joy! I’ve been following you for a while but don’t remember if you answered a question like this. I was wondering if you had any tips for staying comfy while working/studying at home. I currently am undiagnosed but we suspect a hyper mobility disorder, and I’m currently studying art online which means a lot of being seated upright if not standing and it’s killing me because I’ve been on mostly bed rest since Christmas. Advil is hardly helping. Considering getting a new desk chair???

I’m sorry to hear you are dealing with that, and I hope you’re able to get some relief and answers soon.

And this is something I’ve actually considered doing an in-depth post on, because I didn’t really realize how much my work set up was contributing to my chronic pain until I managed to fix some of it. I will say right off the bat, having a desk that is the right height for you is crucial. I honestly didn’t realize how much damage I was doing to my shoulders and spine by sitting at a desk every day that was a mere few inches too tall for me. We’re talking pinched nerves, RSI and just general pain and fatigue all day long.

You should be able to sit comfortably with your feet flat on the floor, with your back supported by your chair, and with your keyboard within easy reach so that you don’t have to overextend your arms or reach up. Magic Physio Man basically had to teach me how I’m supposed to be able to type, which is having my elbows tucked comfortably against my sides, with my forearms parallel to the desk.

This is actually a fairly good visual from ergonomic trends, which is actually full of really good info on how bad desk posture can really fuck everything up, as well as some good tips on how to fix it:

Source: http://ergonomictrends.com/proper-sitting-posture-computer-experts/

As it is, I’m hobit sized, and finding a desk I could adjust to my height, either for sitting and standing has made a huge difference. There are likely cheaper models out there, and I think IKEA has started to come out with some really good electric desks (I know there are ones you can lower and raise manually, but if you have any sort of hypermobility issues I’m not about to rec any of those to you. I injured myself trying to lower and raise one of those, and I’m not even hypermobile) but it’s been a whole year of use now, and I will honestly say that my Uplift desk changed my entire work life and just my life in general.

https://www.upliftdesk.com/

I got an absolute beast of a desk (it takes up the entire length of my office wall lol) so I can spread out all my work, of which there is a lot, and so ETD can join me at my desk and help me with stuff and we both have space to write/type, but they do have smaller setups that would work in a smaller space and are also more affordable. And actually looking at their site their January sale is now in effect, and it looks like a lot of their desks are half price.

The products are sturdy as all hell, and I fully anticipate having this desk for the next 10-20 years and possibly even longer than that if I take care of it. They’ve also been really good whenever I’ve had any issues about getting back to me, and have literally sent out replacement parts for my desk within 24 hours of me emailing them. I really can’t rec them enough from a customer service standpoint, and their desks are solid af. Not sponsored, not nothing, just really like them lol

Also if you are hobbit-sized like me and getting a desk that goes low enough for you isn’t an option, adjust your chair so you can sit at the above angles, and then get yourself a footstool or a box or something to support your feet. That’s what I did for several months and it did help a little.

Speaking of chairs, this is something else I am also trying to fix, cause my current chair is too big for me, and isn’t supporting my back because I have to sit on the very edge to keep my feet on the ground. I get around this with added lumbar supports, either a cushion or something like this:

https://www.amazon.com/Easy-Posture-Lumbar-Support-Black/dp/B00LGCWXCO/ref=sr_1_8?keywords=lumbar+support+for+office+chair+mesh&qid=1578291879&sr=8-8

This one is Amazon is $20+, but my chiropractor literally recommended one that was $10 from a local office supply store, and it does exactly the same thing. So trying to shop around locally in office supply stores, if you can, might prove more thrifty.

Ergonomic chairs can be extremely costly, especially if you are trying to find one not built with the average American male height and build in mind, so I don’t have any chair recommendations just now because I haven’t gotten around to that yet! I know Uplift Desks do sell their own ergonomic chairs, but I haven’t been able to afford one yet. Again, ergonomic trends has some really good advice about height and angle, including some tips for back pain caused by sitting positions. So that’s well worth a read :)

(And perhaps some others might be able to rec good chairs to look into!)

Angled bed desks are also a thing! But I’d need to go try and find all my research for those, and I have no idea where I put that, so maybe that will be another post.

When it comes to art studies, I’m not sure what else you might need in terms of what you’ll be doing, but if you want to give me some specific examples I might have some workarounds for you! I hope some of this was helpful. And good luck with recovering and resting again, I hope things improve and go well for you.

#chronic health tag #skyhighreading

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evidencefile · 3 years

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@prinita.thevarajah on @southasia.art, 11/11/2019 to 11/19/2019

“Hello, Prinita @prinita.thevarajah here. This week I’ll be sharing my thoughts about Eelam cultural identity formation through Tamil cinema (Kollywood) and the Eelam diaspora.

Eelam Tamils are native to Sri Lanka and constitute the largest diasporic Tamil community outside of India. Not all diasporic Tamils share a collective sense of Tamil identity, though Kollywood has been crucial in marking and maintaining one’s Tamil identity in the diaspora, especially where Tamil communities often hold minority status. As an Eelam kid in Australia, I often looked towards Kollywood to shape my understanding of what it meant to be Tamil. The child of Eelam refugees who fled Sri Lanka in the 80s as war between the government and Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) erupted, ongoing violence carried out against Eelam Tamils halted our community's capacity in developing a 'popular culture’ of it’s own. To be an Eelam Tamil is to be part of a community whose territorial, cultural and ethno-linguistic identity have been so heavily discriminated against to the point of genocide. The trauma of war seeped into our identity formation, and our fragmented diaspora while incredibly resilient, had not one single cultural representation to rely on. So, despite a lack of representation, Kollywood became the pillar that Tamilness sat upon. And while the articulation of Dravidian identity and Tamil nationalism is profound in Kollywood, the struggles of Eelam Tamils fit well within the profound self proclamations of Tamil language, culture and tradition propagated by Kollywood, but solidarity failed to materialize on the screens.

This week I want to explore representations of Eelamness in Kollywood, highlight artists in the diaspora contributing to an Eelam cultural renaissance and ask - what does it mean to re-imagine Eelam popular culture and how can we reclaim our Eelmaness by de-centering Indian ideals of Tamilness?

Despite yearning for a Eelam identity that is whole, I cannot discount the profound impact Kollywood has had on molding me into a proud Tamil. As a child in Sydney, my Appa contributed to Inbathamil Oli (Sweet Sound of Tamil) - a 24 hour Tamil radio station.

He would take me along to spend overnight shifts at the station, and I would listen on fondly to his musings over the air. The theme song for the station was Mettu Podu from the film 1994 Tamil film, Duet. 20 years on, the song still sticks with me as an anthem for the strength, resilience and beauty of the Tamil community.

ஆண் : தங்கமே தமிழுக்கில்லை தட்டுப்பாடு ஒரு சரக்கிருக்குது முறுக்கிருக்குது ��ெட்டுப் போடு Tamil will never be lacking & I will make music to proclaim it! எத்தனை சபைகள் கண்டோம் எத்தனை எத்தனை பகையும் கண்டோம் அத்தனையும் சூடங்காட்டிச் சுட்டுப் போடு We have seen many fights We have been through many wars Forget them all and be free of them! மெட்டுப் போடு மெட்டுப் போடு என் தாய் கொடுத்த தமிழுக்கில்லை தட்டுப்பாடு Make music, make sound With the tongue of Tamil my mother gave me Tamil will never be lacking

MATERIALIZED AS TRAUMATIZED// Today I want to focus on the representation of Eelam Tamils in Kollywood as one that is flattened without nuance: a people in constant agony and despair, solidifying us in our state of trauma. It is certainly necessary to provide an understanding of the ramifications of genocide for Eelam Tamils. Where historically, our struggle has been erased: the denial of genocide and failure by the international community to intervene or hold the Sri Lankan state accountable for war crimes, the depiction of the plight of Eelam people in Kollywood is assumed to be informative. But I ask, why all trauma and no strength? If Kollywood could make room for us as broken people, why not also portray our vigor and irepressibility? How do we see ourselves as Eelam people when the only representation of us in popular culture is a community that is defeated?

Historically, Kollywood has been uninterested in Tamil diasporic subjects. It's preoccupation has been in the entrenched ideas of Tamil culture, tradition, modernity and ethno-linguistic nationalism. The praxis of Tamil cinema is guided by the everyday practices of Tamil lives in Tamil Nadu and fails to incorporate the question of identity that the diaspora grapples with. Consider that the political struggle of Eelam Tamils heralded a new phase of militant Tamil nationalism, created a society that reformers and poets of Tamil Nadu could only imagine, and waged a war for liberation that was of epic proportions in both triumph and tragedy. It is a grievance that a culture industry in the ‘heart of Tamil civilization’ did not give adequate artistic due in its mainstream medium to an achievement that is claimed by many a Tamil nationalist to have been the ‘height of Tamil civilization’

It’s clear that diasporic Tamil identities are shored up as an anomaly to normative Tamil cinematic identity. Looking closer at the 2000 film Thenali shows the vexed and complex relationship between the Eelam Tamils and those from Tamil Nadu.

Thenali (Kamal Hassan) is an Eelam man from Jaffna. He is a hyper anxious neurotic used by his psychiatrist to derail the career of Dr Kailash. Thenali falls in love with Dr Kailash’s sister, Janaki. The film follows an enraged Dr Kailash’s attempt to eliminate Thenali despite Thenali’s naive quest to please the Dr. Subtle distinctions portray the disparate identity of Eelam Tamils. From the Dr Kailash questioning why Thenali speaks Tamil differently, to Thenali painted as a miserable jest juggling irrational fears as a result of having his home raided by soldiers, his father attacked and mother raped. The film seeks to other Thenali, the traumatized Eelam man who just can’t seem to get it right. Towards the end of the film Dr Kailaish adopts words from the Jaffna dialect, but immediately corrects himself upon realization. If Thenali is the oppressed Eelam Tamil, Dr Kailash is a metonymy for India, whose help Thenali seeks again and again, refusing to see anything wrong in the doctor or his intentions, elevating him to the position of a divine being.

The political history of Tamil Nadu is riddled with moments when the people of Tamil Nadu and the state have been sympathetic to the cause of the Eelam Tamils, resulting in policies allowing Eelam Tamils to stay as refugees and also in offering us financial aid. Much like the fluctuation between compulsions that drive its foreign policy and the sympathy for Tamils expressed in Tamil Nadu, Dr Kailash declares his predicament that he is unable to disclose the thoughts he harbours. At the point when he thinks he is close to eliminating Thenali, he declares, ‘there is no joy in living as in watching destruction’, a statement that resonates deeply with the oft-repeated criticism of the Government of India and Tamil Nadu’s silence in the wake of the Sri Lankan army action in 2009 that resulted in the deaths of 100 000 Eelam Tamils

The film features the song "Injerungo" (slide 5&6) which supposedly includes Jaffna slang - but ask anyone actually from Eelam and they’ll tell you that Kamal Hassan missed the mark almost completely - Eelam kids, what do y’all think

Kannathil Muthamittaal (2002) is probably Kollywood’s most comprehensive take on the human cost and emotional toll endured by Eelam Tamils, complete with visceral descriptions and images of war torn Sri Lanka. The film tells the story of an Eelam girl, Amudha who is adopted by an Indian Tamil couple, and the family’s journey back to Sri Lanka to reacquaint mother and daughter. Her biological parents abandon Amudha to join the ‘rebel cause’ who we can assume is the LTTE. Rather predictably, considering the labeling of the LTTE as a terrorist organization, there is no overt reference made to the group. The rebels are depicted as armed men who speak Jaffna Tamil and the audience are left to form their own interpretation. Much like Thenali remains silent about the cause of Thenali’s oppression, Kannathil Muthamittaal resists making explicit reference to the cause of conflict or parties involved. Expectedly, the film holds arms traffickers responsible for the plight of Eelam Tamils, as opposed to the Sinhalese government, erasing actual genocidal intent since 1948. After visiting the island and witnessing the helplessness of the Eelam people, Amudha and her family return to Tamil Nadu. The underlying message is that the Indian Tamil is both politically and culturally superior and more empowered than the Eelam Tamil.

A common thread in both Kannathil Muthamittall and Thenali is that in the traumatized portrayal of Eelam subjects, Kollywood domesticates Eelam Tamils for an Indian Tamil public. Eelam Tamils are removed of their political agency and are presented as an object of pity. Rather than demanding concrete political solidarity, an abstract humanitarian sentiment is requested. As if to say, “ooh, look how they suffer. Let’s marry them. Or adopt them. Assimilate them into our safe lives. Let us be their providers.” Charity is the gesture appealed for, but there is always something fundamentally depraving in charity.

Tonight I want to make space to think about what it looks like to reimagine and reconstruct an Eelam Tamil cultural identity, away from Indian Tamil ideals.

An accurate portrayal of the political, social and existential condition of the Eelam Tamils is yet to be found in Kollywood. And as Eelam Tamils, we reject being labeled as Sri Lankan as to do so means aligning with the very state that attempted to erase our existence. What does this then mean for our capacity to develop as a people within the island? The North-East of Sri Lanka, the Tamil homeland, is one of the most heavily-militarized regions in the world. Currently, according to the Adayalaam Centre for Policy Research, in the Mullaitivu District - where the last phase of armed conflict was fought - at least 60 000 Sri Lankan army troops are stationed. That’s 25% of the 243 000 military personnel of the whole country. Our people in Eelam are under constant surveillance and control, the military's presence in Eelam facilitates displacement and land grabbing that consequently destabilizes and disrupts the day to day activities of our community. Survival becomes the goal with the preservation and development of culture an understandable after thought.

Considering the impossibility of any free Eelam Tamil cinema developing under the Sri Lankan state, we turn to the diaspora. This year marks the 10th anniversary of the genocide against Eelam people, and as we move into the new decade, it's vital to reflect and consider deeply the history we pave forward as a community. How are we creating stories for ourselves away from the narrow narrative that has been bolstered by Kollywood? How are we reclaiming the identities that the state of Sri Lanka tries to squash daily? At what point do we move away from memorializing genocide to depicting our resilience and expansiveness?

In the pursuit of an Eelam identity that is total, fragmented identities of caste, kinship, class, and region are devalued, uniting diasporic Tamils and strengthening our affinity to ūr. I want to spend the next few days exploring what it looks like to embrace our Eelamness fully as a diasporic people. I believe that in doing the work to understand and articulate ourselves wholly, we as diaspora Eelam Tamils begin to heal the trauma that has trickled down through our bloodlines. Our narrative has a destiny that is full of autonomy, solidarity and collaboration.

HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE/READY/RAW

I begin my imagination on the embodiment of diasporic Eelamness by exploring the legacy of Mathangi/Maya Arulpragasm, M.I.A. Not to revere or glorify, instead to honor and applaud her immense strides to give us visibility while fully embracing the multifaceted and radical notion of being an Eelam Tamil. Maya remains one of the only widely known representations of our community, from our community. That she is as revolutionary, innovative & resilient as she is is a reflection of the immense talent, ingenuity and pure force of Eelam people. Through her art, she amplifies the placelessness and the cultural and political contradictions that come with being an Eelam Tamil in a hyper-globalized world. The fact that she is so often dismissed, ridiculed and as of late ‘cancelled’, is clarification of her power in undermining and challenging unequal systems of control. From flipping off the Super Bowl to being banned from Sri Lanka, Maya is an unapologetic weapon of freedom.

Maya is a DIY artist guided by her trajectory from refugee to icon. Her strength in bringing bits and pieces together: beats, words, images, ideas - to create something new while centering her narrative as an Eelam woman, epitomizes the journey of an Eelam Tamil. Against a culture that glamorizes reality & equates beauty to consumption, Maya provokes a discussion about how the minority live, closing the distance between here and everywhere else. To be a diasporic Eelam Tamil means to be gaslighted by an entire nation, and yet moving uncompromisingly forward in being deeply inspired in our current contexts to bring change, revolutionize & decolonize. And while M.I.A. cannot go back home, we can.

Sunshowers came out when I was 9 years old. One Saturday morning, I crawled out of bed to watch music videos and inhale cereal and suddenly become entranced when Maya appeared, the hypnotic jungle beats blowing my mind. Up until then, the most representation I had as an Eelam kid was my reflection on a blank TV screen.

Reflecting on the music video now and it's images of brown women organizing, I draw parallels to the ideals and aims of the Women's Front of the LTTE. While it is not productive to linger on what could've been, I do believe that a radical imagination will set us free - and perhaps, this was Maya's intention, to provoke profound fantasies to revive the legacy of our ancestors.The aims of the Women’s Front were to: secure the right of self-determination of Tamil Eelam, to abolish oppressive caste discrimination and feudal customs such as the dowry system; and to eliminate all discrimination, secure social, political, and economic equality.

At the end of verse 1, Maya chants 'like PLO, I don't surrendo', making reference to the Palestinian Liberation Organization, emphasizing the interconnectedness of struggles throughout the world and the need to collaborate with and show solidarity with groups of people who experience similar discrimination under colonization. How can transnational, decolonial solidarity allow evolution to our identity as Eelam people? What does it mean to maintain the radical, non-violent goals Eelam within the diaspora?

BIRD FLU

2006/The track draws on the sonics of urumi/gaana that most Eelam kids will recognize. You know the sound cos when you hear it you can’t stop moving: it’s an infectious outbreak/dance break. Maya swims in a sea of folks who look like they could be my Anna or Thangachi - the visuals look like the homeland. It’s the noise of freedom, the resistance of dominant interpretation. Within the sonic dance break of Bird Flu, Maya cultivates themes of militarized warfare and global dispossession spins them into a collective resource for imagining the alternate for Eelam Tamils.

Running with this idea of ‘flu’ and ‘contagion’, with the sound and it’s accompanying visuals, Maya emphasizes the need to spread ideas of alternative utopian possibilities, collectivity, belonging, and pleasure in the midst of & despite devastation by warfare. For me, Bird Flu provides a refreshing moment of criticality—an opportunity to reactivate our political imaginations and reconceptualize eelam community.

SRI LANKA JUST ELECTED A WAR CRIMINAL AS PRESIDENT and I continue my attempt to unravel Eelamness. With the ache in my heart and rage in my chest I ask: how do we move forward?

When Sri Lanka repeatedly assigns power to murderers and thieves, Kollywood tries to cement us as wounded and the rest of the world exclaims ‘oh Sri Lanka! That’s near India right!!???!!?' how are we as a community dealing? Where our experiences of genocide are dismissed transnationally, how do we divert fury and desire for validation of our struggle to healing? How are we to heal when the scab keeps being torn open? What are our responsibilities, as artists, to bring rejuvenation and radical change?

As we grieve for the homeland, I encourage you to think about the privilege that comes with being in the diaspora. Our access to resources expands our capacity to strategize and organize: we cannot limit ourselves. Christopher Kulendran Thomas is an Eelam artist based in London & Berlin. Thomas’s 'New Eelam’ disregards the boundaries of the white cube to project an alternate reality of citizenship and ownership. Provoking the art world itself, Thomas is interested in how his work as an artist can bring structural and social change. New Eelam is presented as a real estate start up of sorts with a housing model grounded in collective international co-ownership: subscribers pay the same amount to access different houses across the world. Working alongside an architect and team of real estate, finance, law and tech folks, Thomas seeks to provoke conversations around property and migration. Our identity as a people is one that is marked by consistent displacement and disruption. We are dispersed but profoundly connected. New Eelam imagines a future that brings autonomy in migration and allows us to maintain the idea of an Eelam the transcends borders. Freedom of movement increases opportunities to collaborate, and our collaboration as a diaspora is essential in the liberation and legacy of Eelam.

When the riots began, My Thatha was the principal at Jaffna College in Killinochi. His school shut down immediately and when I was 6 months, he moved to Sydney and into our home on Burlington Road. Being in a war affected refugee household brings with it a plethora of traumas & my relationship with my grandfather was my safe space. He is an artist - and his idea of child minding was reciting Thirukurral to me as I listened at his feet, entranced: my fingers often swirling in acrylic paints or homemade clay. When I was scared, he would serenade me with sangitham, gamakas cartwheeling from his belly through his chest. Sometimes at night I would tip toe out of the bedroom I shared with my parents and older siblings into Thatha’s room. More often than not, he would be in a state of hypnosis, brushing away at a canvas with images that usually resembled home. Reflecting on this time in my life, I understand that creative expression was Thatha’s device for healing. Not only did his art allow him to reconnect with Eelam, but it also allows him to rewrite and reimagine his narrative.

My attempt to dissect our Eelam Tamil identity has been perplexing yet empowering. As a community heavily persecuted against within the island, distressingly traumatized within the diaspora and yet profoundly capable and irrepressible, I wonder - how can we as a community of diasporic artists begin to shift our narrative? They burnt down the Jaffna library for a reason, they saw our vision and were threatened by it. How can we harness the collective rage we feel productively in a way that not only allows for the liberation of our own people but inspires expansive radical change?

My fellow Eelam people, I challenge you to think large - move away from the commodified and the curated, the white cube and other structures and systems that attempt to contain our ideas. I encourage you to think about art as a a movement for change as opposed to an aesthetic. Organizing is a form of art, protest is a form of art and so is survival. We must use our creativity as an imaginative space that provokes discussion, dialogue and education across struggles. How, through our art, can we make the invisible, visible while listening and working alongside our Eelam community at home?”

Original posts available here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Wanted to repost this from @southasia.art on Instagram because of how informative it was.

#tamil #tamil film #sri lanka #kollywood #m.i.a.

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