#does this ship have a name yet? because if not i am hereby calling it jaspabelle
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The First Time - an L.A. By Night Fanfic
I received a positive response to my inquiry about people being interested in my new L.A. by Night fic, so here we go. Because I got my start on fanfiction dot net back in the day, I’m going to give my warnings thusly:
I obviously don’t lay claim to any of the characters involved. This fanfiction is part one of several, maybe as many as five parts, depending on when I run out of ideas. It is intended for a mature audience, and it is the beginning of what will end up being a pretty heavy multi-part Jasper/Annabelle story. SPOILERS for the end of campaign 1, but not for the one-shots. This is going to go off canon pretty quickly, so consider this an AU. Written before the premiere of Season 2.
Annabelle is going to try to help Jasper with his problems in finding food. He reluctantly accepts her help. They both have a better time than they thought they would.
Very, very special thanks to @cravatfiend, for their encouragement, ideas and enthusiastic reactions to reading the first drafts.You are the weird person into weird things. I dragged you into this fandom and we are both hopelessly down the rabbit hole now, friendface. ;)
First posted Jan. 11, 2019.
Now can also be found at my Ao3.
The Entire ‘Feeds From’ Master List Can be Found Here
The First Time
When Jasper excused himself early from their coterie meeting, Annabelle was the only one who followed him. Though Victor asked if anything was wrong, Jasper brushed him off. He was fine. He didn't like Victor or Nelli involving themselves in his problems. They both said they understood him, and perhaps they did, but despite their shared experiences, it was only a surface level of understanding. Other than sharing their already mutual coterie spaces, neither of them had done anything else to help him.
Annabelle caught him just before he got to the elevator, just before he disappeared.
“Jasper, are you okay?”
There was something in her tone that made him stop, or maybe it was because she had followed him and she was the only one making an effort. Normally, he did not like being followed. That was his job, not the other way around. Tonight, however, he was feeling more vulnerable than usual. He hated it, but he knew that he had to do something about it. He glanced at her over his shoulder and put on a fake smile.
“Sure, I'm fine.”
Annabelle saw through it instantly. She thought he looked awful, like what he did before his early and frantic departure from the Highland. It wasn't his physical appearance, nothing could be done about that, but it was something in the way he moved, in his tone of voice. There was something very important bothering him. She glared at him critically. “No, you're not,” she said softly.
He sighed.
“When was the last time you ate?” Annabelle asked, zeroing in on the issue.
“I can take care of myself.”
He went to leave, to continue to brush her off, but she was not having it. She closed the distance between them and put her hand on his elbow. His muscles were tense, like a bowstring that's been pulled back. He didn't pull away from her.
“Jasper, I... I know you can take care of yourself, but one of the things that has helped people survive as long as they have is others helping them when they needed it. Please, let me help you.”
His icy, inhuman eyes met her deep, dark, emotional ones. There was a beat where he weighed his options. She was stubborn, one of the most stubborn Kindred he had ever met. She was also still kind, still had the streak of humanity that he had all but lost a long time ago.
“Alright,” he relented. “Come with me. We'll talk.”
Her eyes lit up a little with this forward progress. “Okay, where are we going?”
“We'll go... back to my home,” he said reluctantly. “It's private.” He glanced back to the board room. The others could be listening in.
“Okay,” she nodded. She trusted him, but while they were in the elevator, she sent Victor and Nelli a text to tell them she was with Jasper and they were going to talk. She felt a little guilty about doing so. It made her feel like she was going on a dangerous date and texting someone about it just in case things went south and she needed the cavalry to come in and get her, or someone to tell the cops about the last person she was with if she went missing. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Jasper was her friend, and she had no doubt that if he really had wanted to hurt her, he would have done it already. Jasper was invisible now in the elevator, but she knew he would have seen her text.
“I can call an Uber,” she offered. She had a mental image of Jasper sitting perfectly still and invisible in the back seat while she chatted with and distracted the driver.
“No,” came Jasper's disembodied voice in her ear. She suppressed the urge to flinch. “We'll walk. It's not that far.”
She nodded and started walking. She did her best to ignore the shivers Jasper had given her down her spine.
They left campus and headed for the L.A. River. Once they were more or less alone and definitely out of ear shot, Annabelle felt it safe to be able to talk to him out loud, but softly.
“Jasper?”
“Yes?”
His voice was coming from her left. She glanced towards him, swishing her hair out of the way, but of course, she couldn’t see anything.
“You never answered my question. When was the last time you ate?”
“I haven't really... not since Tara.”
Annabelle blinked in surprise and mild alarm. “But that was weeks ago!”
“I know.”
“But, you...” She was suddenly much more afraid. His Beast, his hunger... it must be so bad, but he was only just now starting to show any sign of it. She admired the restraint, the willpower he had been quietly using all this time.
“I ate a stray dog the other night,” he admitted, “I haven't found another solution yet, but I will. Don't worry.”
“You ate a dog?! Of course I'm going to worry, Jasper,” Annabelle snapped. “You're telling me you haven't eaten in weeks! I – argh!” She made a sound of frustration and sighed. Anger wasn't the answer. “This has gone on long enough Jasper.”
“What are you going to do? Kidnap someone for me to feed on?”
“No! God, no! I... why don't you feed on me instead?”
She had said it without really thinking. She stopped walking and got the vague feeling that he had stopped too.
“No,” she heard him say.
“Well... why not?”
“Because... I don't want to hurt you.”
She hated that she couldn't see him. “You won't hurt me.”
“I could though. If I lose control, I could kill you.”
“You won't though, Jasper. You've never done that. You're too strong to do that.”
He was quiet for several moments. She wondered briefly if he had left. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Are you still here?”
“Yeah,” he said very softly. She didn't think he had moved based on where his voice came from.
A thought surfaced in her brain. This wasn't the first time she had thought this, but it was the first time she was going to ask about it out loud.
“Has anyone ever offered themselves to you before? To be fed on, I mean.”
“Let's keep walking.”
She thought she could hear him move, but she wasn't about to let him leave without her. “Jasper-!”
“Come on,” he invited her along. He wanted to walk and talk.
She fell back into step beside him, or so she assumed.
“To answer your question, yes, I have been offered,” Jasper's voice came in hushed tones by her side. “At the Succubus Club, I could have fed and no one would have protested. I've been to other vampire social gatherings and declined to feed there. But that was the others being polite and having to obey social rules. Outside of those circumstances, no. No one has offered themselves to me before. No Kindred, and definitely no mortals.” He chuckled softly. “The little game you were playing on campus before Victor and Nelli and I found you... I can't do that. It's different for me, for Nosferatu in general. We can't...” He sighed quietly, forming his thoughts into words. “We don't tend to get very many opportunities where people are happy for us to feed upon them. Have you ever seen Nelli feed?”
“Yeah. She um... she gets people who want to sit with her and she kisses them and...” Annabelle made a face. It was kind of disgusting.
Jasper chuckled again. “Yeah. I can't feed like that. No one is ever going to want to sit in my lap with champagne.”
Annabelle tried to play it light. “Oh, I don't know... there's a lot of weird people who are into weird things out there.”
“It's nice of you to say so, but none of those people have found me yet. To be honest, I don't know what I'd do if they did.”
Annabelle smiled a little. They walked in silence for a few minutes. They were close to the river now. She found her thoughts circling back around to her biggest anxieties about choice and consent. “So... you've never gotten consent before you fed?”
“No,” he said quietly, reluctantly, truthfully. “I wish I could though. As I said, that's not an option for most of my kind. Being a Nosferatu is like... hard mode vampire. We don't get the luxury of having people want to be in our company, and most of us aren't wealthy enough to pay people to be with us. People see us and scream and run, or scream and attack, unless they have been mind controlled, but in that case, are they still giving their consent?”
She chewed that over in her mind. It had dreadful implications.
They were quiet again until they were almost at Jasper's front door. Victor had paid to get the door replaced so it would be just as secure as it had been before. It was a nice gesture, but it didn't change the fact that the location of Jasper's home was still known to them, and that he wished it wasn't so.
“My offer still stands, by the way,” Annabelle said at the door. “You can feed on me if you want to, just to get you through the night, just until you... can find another option. Please, let me help you, Jasper.”
He become visible suddenly. His hand was on the work hatch-like door and he was pulling it open. He paused and looked at her, and she was relieved to be able to see his face. He seemed deep in thought, considering his options once again. As she watched, she saw him flinch and growl to himself. She knew then that this was his version of talking to his Beast. They all did it, Annabelle knew, some more vocally than others. She waited to see what he would do, what, if anything he would say in reply.
“Okay,” Jasper said at last.
Part of her was surprised, and almost hadn't expected him to say that. “What?”
“Okay. I'll do it, but... there are conditions.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “I want you to be safe.” He glanced around suddenly, up and down the river. They were alone, but he still seemed spooked. “Let's go inside.”
She nodded and followed him. He held the door open for her, and made sure it was shut tight behind them. He led her through the twisting path down to his living area, through the secret passages. He moved with utter confidence. This was his space. She wasn't hesitant, but she had to admit she was a little nervous.
“This is the first time I've had someone in here... who I've invited,” Jasper said as they emerged into his workshop room. Annabelle saw that Tara's cage was in the corner. She swallowed.
“Why is that still there?”
“The cage? It's very difficult to take that apart. I built it to be very... durable.” he smiled to himself and Annabelle could see his fangs. He was remembering something amusing, something she probably wouldn’t find amusing at all. Her nervousness grew, and doubt bloomed inside her. She found herself involuntarily taking a step back. Jasper saw her reaction and frowned. It was his own fears and doubts coming back to the surface. He hoped that saying yes to Annabelle to let her help him wasn't a mistake.
“Are you going to use the cage again?” she asked him softly.
“I hope I won't have to, but...” he shrugged. She took his unsaid meaning. It's still there if he needs it.
He moved past the cage, towards the pivoting door that lead to his living room. He beckoned Annabelle to follow. He correctly assumed that Annabelle would be glad to be out of the cage room.
Annabelle found his living room was more or less as it was when she, Victor, Nelli and Strikes the werewolf had been through. Some of the books on the table had changed, but the furniture was still sparse. Jasper turned on the lamp and gestured to a chair, offering it to her to sit. She did so. It was fairly comfortable, but in an inexpensive way. Far from any kind of plush leather seating that Victor and Nelli couldn’t seem to do without. Annabelle found her gaze drifting back to the closed metal door on the other side of the room that lead ultimately down to the labyrinth. She swallowed, and tried not to shiver thinking of that place. She forced herself to look at his painted landscapes instead. It was beautiful and sad, to think of someone who spent so much time in the dark tunnels under a modern concrete and glass city to want to admire green, rolling hills instead. Maybe that was why he liked to live near the park as well, she thought.
Jasper sat in another chair near her. He seemed suddenly awkward, unused to pleasant company in his personal space. He pulled his hood back, exposing the black veins that crossed his bald scalp and disappeared down the back of his neck. It was his equivalent of letting his hair down, she supposed, now that they were in the comfort of his sanctum. Annabelle caught herself wondering if the whole rest of his body was darkly veined like that... and surprised herself by some small curious bit of her wanting to see his torso without the black hoodie.
“So, um...” she said, trying to break the awkward tension.
“So...” Jasper said at the same time.
They laughed. Tension broke.
“So... feeding?” Annabelle asked. She wasn't so nervous as to want to back out on her offer to help Jasper.
“Right.” Jasper licked his fangs as he collected his thoughts again. Back on track. He leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “Are you're still sure you want to do this?”
“I am,” she said with a nod.
Jasper nodded back. “Okay. So, here's how I want it to go. Just... going to lay out a plan here. I'm only going to take enough from you tonight to keep me going for a little while. I don't think that this should be a reoccurring thing between the two of us.”
Annabelle nodded, agreeing and following along.
“I'm not so hungry yet that I'm about to frenzy like I did before,” Jasper continued, “but I don't want it to get to that point, and I know that you don't either, so that's why I'm agreeing to do this, just this once.”
Annabelle nodded again.
He had been looking at her, but his gaze moved down and away. “I don't think that the others need to know about this.”
“Oh, no. No, I agree.”
He looked at her again, sharply. “Ever.” There was a note of warning in his voice now. “We'll never hear the end of it if they do find out.”
“No, I totally agree. I won't tell anyone. I promise.”
Jasper nodded. “And... if you want... you can count me as owing you a favour afterwards. A boon.” He made air quotes around the word 'boon.'
Annabelle's first instinct was to deny him that. “Oh no, I'm not doing this for-”
“Actually, I insist,” Jasper cut her off. “I owe you one. This is... kind of a big deal. Kindred usually don't take feeding from other Kindred lightly.”
Annabelle nodded. “Okay,” she said softly.
Jasper nodded as well, satisfied. “Take off your jacket, please.”
“Um... okay,” Annabelle stripped off her red leather jacket and lay it over the back of her chair. She was wearing a grey T-shirt underneath with an Anime character printed on it. She was still a little nervous, but now it was a little more excited than fearful. She wondered where this excitement came from.
She could see Jasper considering her body in a way she had never seen him look at her before. His eyes drifted over her neck very, very briefly and settled on her hands. He reached one hand for hers. “May I?” His voice was soft. He was nervous too. He wasn't used to getting permission, or having it given.
“Yes,” Annabelle said, steadying her courage. She offered Jasper her hand. He took it and turned it over to expose her wrist. His fingers were long, pale and cold. He looked into her eyes, one last time, one last chance to back out, but she wasn't going to.
Jasper moved. Without letting go of her wrist and hand, he slid off his chair and down onto one knee on the floor in front of her. He was so tall, his limbs so long, that this was a more comfortable height for him to do this from without her having to move from her chair. It was a submissive gesture she wasn't expecting. He exposed his fangs, his terrifying long, gleaming, dangerous canines and with a tenderness that surprised her, sunk them into her wrist.
She gasped at the sudden pain of it and resisted the instinct to pull her hand back. His grip on her hand wasn't at all strong. He was just using one hand to lightly steady her wrist against his mouth. She could pull away at any time if she wanted to end this early.
She gasped again when the pleasure hit a half a second later. Oh, she wasn't expecting that either, not at all. A kind of ecstasy began to cloud her brain. It reminded her oddly of sexual pleasure, of her first time in bed with Elleanor or Mark, but at the same time not quite the same at all. She had a sudden sensational memory, one she had heavily suppressed until now, of an entirely different set of fangs entering her throat and the smell of well-worn black leather. She could feel her Vitae moving down her arm and into Jasper. Her Beast squirmed in her chest. She could feel something delicious and eager coiling down deep inside her lower belly. If her heart could still beat, it would have been hammering away like a rail road piston going full steam. She wondered if his heart would be doing the same if it could, and decided that yes, yes it would be.
In the haze, she managed to notice a few things about Jasper. His eyes were tightly closed while he fed from her, and his free hand, the one not holding hers to his mouth, was clenched in a tense fist. It was as if he were holding an invisible leash, and whatever was at the other end of that leash was straining against it with all its might. She could feel Jasper's lips, his tongue, his fangs and the rest of his teeth on her, violent and a little disgusting but at the same time, so, so gentle.
She realised suddenly that he was holding back with every ounce of his being. He could bite down harder, she could tell he wanted to, but he was resisting. It was intimate and much more... loving than she imagined. She concluded that none of this was how she pictured it would go. She had a sudden urge to touch him, maybe to caress his head, but her other hand was clinging tightly to the arm of the chair and by the time she wrenched her fingers free, Jasper had let her go. What had seemed to last for ten or fifteen minutes was really only a few seconds.
She felt him run his tongue one last time over the wound he had made to seal it closed and he released her arm. She withdrew it slowly back to her chest, staring at him. She was breathing hard, a left over human reaction to the extreme stimulus she just went through. She felt dizzy and light headed and she was glad they had done this with her sitting down, or she feared she may have swooned like some Victorian lady in a too-tight corset. Her hand trembled, just a little.
Jasper was perfectly motionless for a moment, still on one knee, staring up at her. She could see a faint line of red on his lower lip, which he quickly licked away. He seemed to realise the pose he was in, and lowered his other knee and leaned back so he was still on the ground, but a little further away. He didn't want to be further away from her though. He had been expecting this, and was fighting it back. Both he and his Beast wanted to be closer to her, to be consuming her still. Instead, he was giving her space to recover. He watched her, and waited.
“That was..” she panted. She took another moment to collect herself. “That was good,” she exhaled. “I didn't know it would... feel like that.”
Jasper gave a tiny, humble shrug. “There's a reason why most vampire victims stop fighting once they're bitten.” He cocked his head a tiny bit to the side, still watching her, unblinking. “Did you never notice?” Annabelle would have found it creepy before, but now she found it oddly... adorable.
“Yeah, but... wow...”
Jasper made a small sound of amusement. He smirked a tiny bit. “You'll be dizzy, maybe weak for a little while. I tried not to take too much, but... you should probably feed tonight also, if you can.”
Annabelle nodded. “How do you feel?”
“I feel better.”
He certainly looked better, Annabelle thought. A lot better. She told him as such.
“You look better.”
“Thank you,” he said with feeling, “for letting me...” He gestured toward her.
“You're welcome.” She felt pleased inside, more than just the fading ecstasy, at having helped him. She remembered suddenly Tara saying she had felt that way too, but fought to push that out of her mind.
She must have frowned, because Jasper suddenly looked a little worried. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just... that was more... it wasn't like what I thought it would be.” Her eyes felt wet and she put a thumb to them to stop any tears before they began.
Jasper moved back onto his chair. “Well,” he said softly, putting a long, pale hand on her knee. He was suddenly more willing to touch her. She wondered if the blood had anything to do with it and knew it likely did. She also noticed that she did not mind the touch, not in the slightest. “It's over now, Annabelle, and we don't have to ever do this again if you don't want to. Thank you again for tonight though.”
She put a hand on his. It was the one he had been sucking from such a short time ago. She smiled at him. “You're welcome,” she repeated. She hesitated, looking at their hands together. The cloud of pleasure had lifted now, but it left an invisible memory on her body and soul. She realised that she would probably not mind at all if they did this again. “Can I ask a weird question?”
Jasper chuckled. He hadn't pulled back from her touch yet and he was a little surprised at himself at that. He hadn't been quite like this with any of the other Kindred he had fed upon in the past. Maybe actually liking the person made all the difference. “Sure. Ask.”
“What do I taste like?” Annabelle asked shyly. Her nose wrinkled adorably. This was just this side of taboo, she knew, but she was so very curious.
Jasper smiled and she saw his fangs again. They were clean. She felt an odd little ache in her wrist. “Are you worried that you don't taste good?”
“No! No, I'm just... curious?”
“You taste good,” he assured her. He almost didn't want to admit it, but it was the truth.
“Better than a dog?”
He laughed out loud, fangs flashing. “Yes, Annabelle, better than a dog. Animals taste... nowhere near as good as other Kindred do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Feeding from you...” he shook his head. He didn't want to elaborate too much on how fucking good her Vitae had tasted, and it had been good. He couldn’t taste any of the terror he had on the others. Terror was delicious, but this was different. He didn't want to scare Annabelle and he was relieved that he hadn't, not really. She had been nervous and excited... in more ways than one.“I could taste your emotions.”
“Oh... you could?” Annabelle squeaked.
He nodded, amused by her reaction.
She put her hand to her mouth, drawing away from him for a moment. “Ah... no, that's cool,” she assured him. “I kind of enjoyed it, so...”
He was very well aware that she did. “Yeah.” He pulled his hand back.
Another little moment of awkwardness set in. “Well... what now?”
“You should probably go home,” Jasper advised. “Feed a little if you want. Don't go using any crazy powers tonight. Please understand, I'm not kicking you out, it's just...” he ran his tongue over his fangs and Annabelle was again finding herself surprised at how oddly aroused that made her feel. She tried to shake it off. It was probably just because the intimate moment they had shared was still so recent. At least, she hoped that was why. “It's just that I think you should have some 'you' time tonight,” Jasper concluded.
Annabelle nodded. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.” She stood up slowly and yes, she was a little light headed. Jasper rose too, and put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. He held up her red jacket for her to slide her arms into, like a gentleman, and she did.
He walked her back to his front door. She didn't even look at the cage on the way past it this time. She was only watching him. At the threshold, they paused.
“See you tomorrow night?” she asked.
“Yeah. See you tomorrow night. And remember... this is just between us, right?”
“Yeah,” she agreed.
In a stupid rom-com, she realised, this would be a moment for a kiss.
Instead, she pushed the door open. Jasper lingered back in the shadows, but she could see him give her a wave when she looked back. She waved back and made sure the door was closed securely behind her.
She realised she had a text from Victor asking if all was well with her and Jasper. She bit her lower lip in a sudden urge to laugh out loud. She confirmed that she was fine, that Jasper was fine, and they'll see him tomorrow. Then she went home.
#l.a. by night#la by night#vampire the masquerade#jasper/annabelle#annabelle/jasper#fanfic#fanfiction#does this ship have a name yet? because if not i am hereby calling it jaspabelle#times jasper fed from annabelle
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BnHA 6th Popularity Poll Reaction Post - Risky Spoiler-Dodging Edition
hey guys, so seeing as the results from the 6th popularity poll were leaked today, I figured I would do a separate reaction + analysis post this year, rather than piling it in as an extra on top of the chapter reaction post tomorrow. I figure this makes more sense anyway, since they’re really two completely different things. also this way I can write as much as I want lol.
also, just fyi, I am still completely unspoiled for chapter 293. and probably the smart thing to do to keep it that way would be to log off tumblr and hold off posting this until tomorrow, but I apparently have no impulse control today so oh well. anyway, so I’m hoping you guys will keep this spoiler-free if you don’t mind! as always, I would prefer to just jump right in completely unaware tomorrow like Troy returning to the study room with the pizza boxes lol.
okay so this first part is just going to be my predictions. fyi I am writing this part on Wednesday night, and then I’ll add on the results part on Thursday or Friday (ETA: Thursday, apparently, since I am impatient.)
okay so first of all, just as a refresher, this poll was open to Japanese voters from Aug 3 to Sep 30. meaning chapters 279 through 285. meanwhile last year’s poll took place around the tail end of the MVA arc. so between then and now we had Heroes Rising, the Endeavor Agency arc, and the War arc up to the part where the 1-A kids took on Gigantomachia in Gunga, and started battling Tomura in Jakku. so technically only a couple of arcs, but a LOT of stuff going down in them. oh and season 4 of the anime as well
so! firstly, I predict that my truculent africanized honeybee son will hold on to his crown at #1, coming off a year in which he did some internship-boosted soul searching, borrowed OFA in movie canon, and finished out the voting period as the my-body-moved-on-its-own character development MVP. like CALL ME CRAZY lol, but I’m pretty sure his title is safe. and then after him will be Deku and Shouto as usual
Aizawa should hopefully also have a strong showing because the dude had a banner fucking year. reunited with his old dead friend, took on Tomura with his hopelessly inept hero pals, and then chopped his fucking leg off. he had better be in the top 10. his fucking leg died for this, idk what else he has to do
Endeavor also stands a decent chance of doing well given the internship arc and the final episode of season 4. which I’m sure will go down just swimmingly if that does happen lmao. especially if he somehow manages to rank higher than...
Dabi, which I don’t think he will btw, but you never know. anyways though, but I’m thinking Dabi’s going to have a stronger showing than in past years (in the last poll he only got 367 votes and was ranked 19th). mostly because of his fight in the Gunga mansion, and his cheekily censored name reveal to...
Hawks, who is also going to rank pretty high here, I think. might be he loses some points for killing off Twice, but his back was basically to the wall there. and he has always been very popular, and I think season 4 will also give him a boost, along with his heavy involvement in the first half of the War arc
Tomura was already in 6th place last year and I think he cracks the top 5 this year. he’s gotten exponentially more popular since the MVA arc, and got a boost in the last poll even though his flashback had only just barely happened, and he hadn’t finished Awakening yet and all that stuff. anyway, so he’s only gotten cooler and more tragic since then so I think he makes a big play here
Kirishima, Momo, Tokoyami, and Mina should also hopefully do well, since the poll opened right in the middle of all that Gigantomachia action, and Toko had just got done being an absolute badass and protecting his birb dad. I don’t think he’ll quite make it to the top ten, but he should
and last but not least, I’m hoping that Mirko will come out and take the polls by storm, although I have no clue how popular she is in Japan lol. she’s clearly Horikoshi’s favorite though. she SHOULD be everyone’s favorite, but I mean, we’ll see how it goes
anyway that’s it as far as predictions! and so now, through the magic of writing stuff at different times, we will fast-forward to the part where we actually find out the results!
OH MY GOD YES, STEAMPUNK KHLKSLLKL. HERE FOR IT. JOLLY GOOD SHOW. 5 STARS
Kacchan looks SO COCKY and SO HAPPY and SO ADORABLE, YES I SAID IT. he is adorable as FUCK. I don’t quite know what it is about this particular Kacchan that just screams “LOOK HOW FUCKING CUTE MY STUPID, LOUD SON IS WITH HIS BIZARRE WINDOWPANE-LOOKING CONVERTIBLE SUNGLASS GOGGLES and his POORLY TIED CRAVAT”, but I think it’s because he looks like if a Digimon character and a FMA character had a baby
anyway, so it looks like most of the people present here are more or less who we expected to see. except that I can’t tell for sure if that’s Dabi or Shindou, and if it’s Shindou I’m going to punch somebody in the face so you will have to excuse me
Iida wearing a TRENCHCOAT and a TOP HAT with ENGINE EXHAUST GOGGLE ACCENTS is my new favorite Iida of all time. take note how there is no possible way he can wear those goggles with them sitting on top of his hat like that. plus he’s already got glasses on. these are just purely for aesthetic and IF THAT AIN’T JUST THE STEAMPUNK WAY
Deku out here speaking softly and carrying a lead pipe. Kacchan you best look out. seems like he’s done watching you take first place year after year while he languishes in the number two spot. your only hope is that he trips while attacking you because his boots are unbuckled
Shouto’s standing over there with the rest of the non-first-and-second-place characters, but what are the odds his results are actually within spitting distance of Deku’s same as always. anyway he doesn’t mind, though. also his outfit is by far the most sensible one here, but if you look closely he’s got some sort of fire extinguisher/jet pack thing strapped to his back that’s got a control switch on his belt. Shouto are you jetpacking or putting out fires
Kirishima out here all “I’m not sure what steampunk is so I’m just going to take off my shirt and pose”
AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH SKLKSDLKFJLSKJLDFKJSLDFFJLDKSJFL:KS. SIR. SIR. also, lowkey furious that Horikoshi refuses to show us the automail leg that he is clearly sporting here but which we just can’t see, SHOUTO MOVE GODDAMMIT
Endeavor has TWO fire extinguisher-slash-jetpacks. THE BETTER TO... WHATEVER. look at you here in the top ten again. you really live for that controversy
HAWKS OUT HERE WITH HIS STEAMPUNK BEATS BY DRE AND HIS WEARING A RING ON EVERY FINGER. nice to see you’ve still got your wings there, kiddo. then again Deku still has both of his arms too so who even knows what is going on
BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, IS THIS DABI OR SHINDOU. as if I don’t know the truth deep down in my heart. y’all I am gonna flip lmao. it’s not that I dislike Shindou, strictly speaking. but just... I can’t explain what it is, but if you put him and AFO next to each other and told me “you can only punch one”, I would be having a serious crisis. just, THIS FUCKING GUY, idek. STOP SMILING
Tomura looks like he just wandered onto the set here by mistake and has no idea where he is or what is going on. it’s because you’re wearing a bigass severed hand that’s blocking your entire view, Tomura. just take the hand off your face my sweet murder dumpling
anyway! so I managed to also find a link to the full poll results while somehow managing to avoid spoilers, and then I wanted to compare the results to last year’s poll, and so I made... this
hopefully you can all see this. if you’re on desktop you might be screwed, but on mobile you should be able to click and enlarge it. I mean, assuming you actually give a fuck about boring poll analysis spreadsheets lmao
anyway, so there were actually 13k fewer votes cast this year which is a bit of a surprise. is the series not still growing in popularity? do people apparently have better things to do during their quarantine lol
anyways but despite this, and despite getting 8k fewer votes overall, Kacchan still managed almost twice as many as his closest competitor. well fought, Deku. please put down that pipe
I somehow always underestimate the power of ship popularity to influence these things. but for example, it looks like Present Mic got that Vigilantes Trio bump. ride that wave for all it’s worth my man! hell, you got me on board
Iida fucking Tenya somehow got some sort of POWER BOOST out of NOWHERE which I can’t explain at all lmao, but I’m here for it. NOT BAD FOR AN OLD MAN
Sero managed to get the exact same number of votes in both 2019 and 2020. clearly the most loyal fans in the business
Mirko being all the way down at #20 is, of course, a travesty, and I hereby nominate her to be the one to punch Shindou in the face
ngl though, the lack of a single female character in the top ten hurts just a bit. it’s not overly surprising, but still. the worst part of it is that even if you kicked Shindou to the curb and moved everyone else up one slot, it would still be all dudes since Mic beat out Momo by a margin of a little more than a hundred votes. hard to stay mad at Mic for too long, though. ah well
Tomura actually lost a bunch of votes which is a genuine surprise to me. I know the villain standom isn’t as dominant in Japan as it is in Western fandom, but still. you can go ahead and punch Shindou too I guess
Tokoyami lowkey doubled his vote count over the past year while hiding down there at #18. he is slowly becoming more powerful. biding his time
anyway so I think that’s it! I mean not really, but I’m getting kind of tired lol. so just, you know, insert the usual gripes at Overhaul’s ranking here, although we can be happy about Magne making her way onto the list (r.i.p.), and Mineta and AFO taking a very satisfying slide down (all the way out, in AFO’s case; good riddance you bum). Hadou also got a huge boost which is awesome. Mustard’s persistent ownership of the #36 spot will forever remain a mystery to me, but oh well
anyways, this was fun. and I really do feel like everyone is looking away on purpose so that when Deku brains Kacchan with that pipe in about two seconds from now, there will be no witnesses, oh my fucking god
#bnha 293#bnha popularity poll#bakugou katsuki#midoriya izuku#todoroki shouto#aizawa shouta#shigaraki tomura#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
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Light | Wrecker
This is #1 of at least half a dozen or more fics I am gifting my Twitter kids for Christmas! I wanted to give back this year, and so I decided to write some things for characters I haven’t really tried anything for yet. Regardless of that, I hope you enjoy!
I played around with the clones ages for this considering we don’t know how old The Bad Batch is - like with Rex physically looking like he’s in his twenties but not actually being so.
This reader is a mom to the clones and uses she/her pronouns - exactly like the type in my headcanons - and she happens to have a favorite...
***
This was supposed to be a no strings attached type of job. The Kaminoans had recruited you, a simple human, to be a caretaker - of sorts - for the hundreds of babies that occupied their nurseries within the cloning facilities.
“There’s no point in forming attachments, Miss. Soon enough they’ll be handed a gun and told to go play war.”
Yeah. Well. You intend to give these children as much love as you are physically able, and that all starts with the first gaze you set upon one of the clones in the back of the nursery with the mutation.
He’s among 3 others who are specifically mutated for purposes you are not privy to know as a civilian. That doesn't matter. You pass through lines of cradles and approach the four in the back, peering over the side to gaze into the wide and vulnerable eyes of the largest baby.
“Hello, sweet boy.” You murmur, grinning as he coos happily at your voice and lifts his arms upward for you to sweep him upward and into your warm embrace. “You’re stunning. I bet you’re going to be such a big, strong boy!”
The baby’s response - despite only being old enough to hold himself upright in your lap - is only to clap joyfully and pound his tiny hands against your legs.
Big, strong boy. You’re gonna change the world. I just know it.
Wrecker, Age Four
His brothers named him Wrecker. It’s fitting, given how much larger he became then the other clones, but you’re too attached to the boy to leave Tipoca City at the time that the Kaminoans have asked you to.
“Buir!” You’ve been moved to the rooms in which they house the clones who are toddlers, and the first thing you see upon waking from your nap is a child sprinting as fast as he’s able to launch himself into your lap. “You’re awake!”
You beam and press a kiss to his forehead. “Hi ad,” You whisper, peering over his shoulder as he wraps his arms around your neck and buries his face in your shoulder. “Something you need to tell me? I gotta go take care of your brothers.”
“They gave me a name today!” He says, and your eyes widen as you gaze at his three brothers who stand before you.
“Only because he nearly broke Viper’s nose!”
You raise an eyebrow and gently pry Wrecker away from your chest. He’s definitely larger then the other clones despite how young he is, but he’d never use his size and strength for violence. Never. Your son is soft, innocent. He’s good.
“Wrecker, what’s-” Your gaze snaps back to the clone with the darker hair who then replies to your query with Hunter. It’s a fitting name. “Hunter, talking about?”
That’s the same day you learn that the clones who will eventually make up the spec-ops team known as The Bad Batch are fiercely protective of each other. They must have learned it from the person who protected them.
Little to the knowledge of most people, you took these four clones - the special ones, the ones who got the stares, the ones who got picked on and bullied by their brothers - under your wing. You saved them.
And in turn they save each other.
You are so proud to be Wrecker’s mother in that moment as he hastily recants a story of how he almost broke Viper’s nose simply because he was bullying Crosshair.
“Ad,” You ruffle his hair and beam with pride as you wind your arms around his body. “I am so proud of you.”
When Wrecker climbs into bed that night, the words he never hears from his trainers and superiors rings in his mind as he burrows under the thin blanket the Kaminoans have given him and his vode.
“I am so proud of you.”
As he falls into sleep, he dreams of his mother. A home, a family, and a mother standing in the kitchen unit - who gives him real food, real food he likes and he’s allowed to eat that tastes salty and sweet and sour and he’s so excited to have it - who treats her son as if he’s the whole world. The whole galaxy.
Wrecker, Age 10
The day he returns from a training mission with the rest of Clone Force 99 is the same day you have your first real battle with panic. According to what Crosshair and Tech tell you upon return, Wrecker was injured in a way that leaves him partially blind and with significant scarring.
You’re terrified. He and the rest of the Batch have already had a difficult time integrating themselves in with their brothers to the point where they’ve taken to calling the non-mutated clones regs and now only associate with each other. You don’t particularly care much about that anymore. As long as they’re looking out for each other.
When Wrecker is released from the medbay, you search the cloning facility for your son until you find him in the quietest room - the nursery - with his back against the wall and his chin resting on his knees. His face is scarred. His eye is cybernetic.
Maker, you love him.
“Wrecker,” Hunter had warned you about approaching him - claiming he’d become hard of hearing with the explosion that had injured him - and had brought up a fantastic idea with Tech’s help that you were going to initiate as soon as he was ready. “Ad.”
Your son lifts his eyes to meet yours.
“Buir,” He replies softly, always so careful to not disturb the babies who lay in their cradles around him. “Did you need something?”
You tilt your head and sit in front of him, parting your legs and resting your elbows against your knees. Wrecker watches you intently as you do so. He’s always been perceptive - not as much as Hunter, but enough - and with the lack of his sight, he’s having to rely more on his limited senses.
“Do you see this?” You take your fingers, press them all together, and rest them against the bottom of your chin before moving your hand forward. “This is sign language. It means thank you. It’ll be an easier way to talk to your vode when you can’t hear them so well. Is that something you’d be willing to learn?”
He nodded and frowned. “I’m gonna miss blowing stuff up.”
You reach outward, brush what remains of his hair away from his eyes, and repeat the sign for thank you and you’re welcome. He watches your hands mimic the movements before repeating them for you to see. Wrecker does them perfectly.
“Don’t worry.” You murmur. “You’re gonna get to blow stuff up again. I promise.”
Your only response is his smile. It’s more than enough.
Wrecker, Age 12 (Set during S7)
'Сause you are loved
You are loved more than you know
I hereby pledge all of my days
To prove it so
After a while, the Kaminoans have had their uses for you. Your services are no longer required and so you are sent back to the boring home world that you have barely stepped foot on since being sent to Kamino to be the caretaker to infant clones.
Your experience with the formed Grand Army of the Republic is what gets you into the military, has you trained, and eventually what lands you on Anaxes.
Though your heart is far too young to realize
The unimaginable light you hold inside
“Ma’am,” Cody’s voice rings out from behind you as you stand in the hangar bay, arms crossed over your chest with your eyes on the horizon as if waiting for the arrival of a ship. “I’ve cleaned your blasters. Just how you like them.”
You turn to acknowledge the Marshal Commander and smile softly at him. While you spent much of your time with The Bad Batch on Kamino, the greater majority of the Commander Batch and the younger clones have considered you one of them for quite some time.
“Thank you Kote.” You murmur. He nods his acknowledgement and before he turns back to Kenobi, lays a hand on your shoulder and says something about the arrival of Clone Force 99 for a mission they’re assigned to do with Rex. “What?”
The less then graceful landing of the ship known as the Havoc Marauder signals their arrival. You don’t dare move. It’s been too long since you’ve seen them, seen him, and you want to value the moment while you can.
I'll give you everything I have
I'll teach you everything I know
They had never really known the lengths you went to in order to protect them - to protect him - and give him the life, the childhood, you felt he deserved. The Bad Batch had still had it rough, but your gentle nature upon meeting them had impacted them significantly.
“The Calvary has arrived!”
The first thing you see is the personalized armor. You are not the slightest bit surprised they threw in all their effort into ensuring their armor - out of the entire army - was the most notorious. Not to mention that as someone who watched them all grow up, you can see each of their personalities within the way they’ve painted it.
Then you see him. It’s unmistakeable that it’s Wrecker considering how much taller and broader he is then the rest of The Bad Batch, but it’s not him that notices your presence first.
It’s Tech. Ever the perceptive, constantly absorbing as much information as able, constantly recording everything, who sees you standing in the hangar and nudges his brother in the midst of speaking to Rex and Cody to point you out.
“Mom?” Cody asks skeptically, followed by a gasped “Buir? That’s the buir I never got to meet?!”
Kix is laughing hysterically at the way Jesse guffaws upon realizing that you are the infamous mother to the clones, but only these four and specifically Wrecker, but the way your heart swells when Wrecker notices you standing there far outweighs the reactions of all the other vode around you.
Instead of a greeting, Wrecker does one thing. He sees you, beams like the sun lives deep within him, and very promptly tosses you upward to sit on his shoulders. He looms over all his brothers. That doesn’t stop him.
Oh... oh, that boy has not and will never change.
With every heart beat I have left
I will defend your every breath
Bonus:
“I get to blow it up? The whole stinking thing?” Wrecker asks, to which he then looks to you with wide eyes. “You made a promise!”
You smirk and pat Anakin’s shoulder as you pass him. “Oh, I know I did.” You reply. “Anakin is keeping up on my promise for me.” When Wrecker begins to take the detonator, you turn to the Jedi and meet his gaze. I’ve been promising him this since he was old enough to know how to blow things up.” You coax him into fully handing over the detonator to your son. “Go on. Make his year.”
Admiral Trench’s cruiser explodes in a cloud of sparks behind The Havoc Marauder.
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Space AU and Time Travel for Juke 👀 <33
Holy shit holy shit holy shit ok ok ok ok first of all AKDBJSJSJJEJE YES
Okay okay so let me try to iron out the mess in my head skxbjsjjd I hereby apologize if things get out of order or whatever but I am literally vibrating with excitement someone please write this I'll love you forever
Ok so I'm thinking also an aged up au for ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* reasons *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ sjsnnsn
Also, I've done this before and I'm gonna do it again, but Bobby and Trevor are two different people for the sake of the timeline here.
Time frame for this would be WAY into the future. Humanity has gone galactic. We also had our asses handed to us by several alien planets but we probably deserved it. Anyway, after we got rid of Elon Musk, we eventually made peace with the aliens and now roam the galaxy freely. 20-30yo generally try to get into a different fleet, just to learn about other races. Think all those alien ships adopts a human posts.
Julie, Carrie and Flynn are my three girl geniuses. They're like,,, the smartest people in every room. They've been like this since freshman year of college. Julie, Carrie and Flynn also all want to get into the student exchange program, which is exactly what you think it is. Alien races (and this now includes humanity) swaps out older students with each other so they get a feel of what the other race is like. It's fun, educational, and! You get to make super long distance pen pals!
I'd also have so much fun making up new memes???? It would be so fucking stupid tho but I love it.
Anyway, so after a few years of jumping through the exchange programme, hoping from planet to planet, unfortunately, without their bestfriends :<, the three of them qualify to board research ships!!!
So at like 23-25, my girls come back together on the same ship!! Its a massive thing and so they've hired so many interns from so many different races. It's like a landing hub for several smaller ships. They have like 10 interns per species and that's only because there are laws against having too many of one kind after they put 50 humans on a space station and the humans tried to take over. Also, humans multiply faster than the others. This terrifies some races.
Anyway, the ship's really just a bunch of college kids from different planets trying to avoid exam season by submitting research papers from their ship. They all bond over deadlines, breakups and coffee (or the alien equivalent thereof)
Flynn dated an alien girl for a while. They were cute. Flynn: as a lesbian, it's my duty to date all the women in space
This is also where they run into Willie!!! Yay, Willie!!!
Nick Danforth-Evans and Kayla Evans-McKessie are around ... somewhere ... in bunk beds like the little toddlers they wish they were, crying about the 15 page essay on why Xjsbsjdjd is a very intelligent race that we could learn a lot from (yes, that is a keysmash I'm too buzzed to be creating alien species names sjdjjdjd)
Carrie and Nick do date for a while but then Carrie hooked up with Kayla. Bisexual queen who?
Julie met Willie that time she didn't sleep for over 48 hours because she had a research paper due within a week and she hadn't started yet and it was 10 000 words on her experiences with the Psjxjjdkeiwj race. Luckily for her, the kid she bumped into and spilled an energy drink all over had the same paper and helped her finish it. Willie sometimes goes by the nickname Lifesaver, thanks to Julie. This confuses the metaphor-less people because Willie's never saved anyone's life?? So why is he a lifesaver??
ANYWAY ON TO THE TIME TRAVEL BIT
On their own, Julie, Carrie and Flynn are professional smart people who know what they're saying and are clever enough not to do things with too many risks. In the same room, however, they turn into dumb geniuses who can and possibly may blow up the entire ship. It's a good thing they have Willie, Nick and Kayla to babysit them, right? WRONG. Willie Kayla and Nick egg them on.
They decide there going to gather all the information there is on time travel and they're going to decipher it and make it work! Yay!
When they find stuff in alien languages they start calling up their alien pen pals "hello what's this word mean in this context? What, haha oh no, it's a research paper on why time travel projects were abandoned before completion. Okay, thank you!"
Before long, they have a working time machine. I mean,, they hope so. And so they enter a random date from the past and prepare to pop their heads through just to see what the world looked like approximately 200ish years ago
2020s, post covid because that exists for joke reasons later, Sunset Curve is performing live for one of their biggest audiences yet when mid-song, the floor just opens them up and swallows them whole before vanishing. The crowd things it's a stunt but Sunset Curve's managers are flipping their shit
Back on the ship, the machine starts sparking and with a soft boom and a hiss, the power in that quadrant goes out -- not before Willie's is pelted in the face with a pair of drumsticks and then a whole person.
It's a miracle the drums survived the trip, pet alone everything else.
So now these sleep deprived geniuses and co. have to hide three people and several musical artifacts, plus the smoking remains of a time machine, from their Supervising Officer, who is regrettably, a human too.
And none of them are very good at lying.
Luke and Bobby are though, and after piecing together bits and pieces from the frenzied rambling around them, Luke and Bobby save the group.
Shenanigans ensue as they try to rebuild the time machine under the watchful eye of the SO, while trying to mantainbfake credentials for the boys and trying to explain their very dated clothing. (Yes, Sunset Curve STILL rocks the 90s vibe. In the 2020s. It's their thing.)
Willex happens in the background -- and I mean that very literally. (Jukebox having a tension moment, Willex making out in the background.)
Honestly I'm not sure yet how theyd solve the problems, whether they'd send the boys back or not or what, but I do know that they will all cause a BUNCH of problems in between.
Sometimes they play music just because they still can. Sunset Curve becomes a house band for the ship. They get broadcasted to neighbouring or passing ships like "hey, losers, we have live music, SUCK IT!"
Focusing on the jukebox aspect of this whole fic, that's gonna be a fucking hilarious slow burn.
It will definitely contain the lines "Oh my god, I have a crush on Julie." "Congratulations, you're officially the last to know." "What? Even [SO's Name] knows??" "Dude. The ship's navigation crew knows." "Does ... Julie know?" "No, you're both morons."
Julie is having the exact same conversation four hallways away.
They'd talk a lot about sending the boys back home and it'd be really quiet conversations when everyone else is asleep.
Julie and Luke write music together and after a while, Julie performs a few of them too. Thanks to the concerts, they meet the other human interns that were on the other end of the ship and Carrie and Kayla form Dirty Candy.
The ship becomes known as the party bus.
A thing that will happen: Luke helps Julie write one of her history papers that she gets an A+ for and a comment about how dedicated she was to have delved so far back in the history records to get authentic insight.
Julie and Luke speak in memes but they don't speak the same memes and it drives them both up the wall.
Luke says yeet one day and Julie's soul leaves her body because she hasn't heard anyone say yeet since she was a toddler back on Earth.
Julie: odd display, but acceptable.
Luke, physically experiencing a record scratch: what the fuck did you just say
That is all I have to offer because I'm afraid of plotting further and causing angst somehow.
oh one more thing, someone gets to bang an alien and it's probably Flynn.
Oh oh oh another one more thing. Reggie says "this is just like in Star Wars" for literally anything. The band goes along with it for shits and giggles. The rest of them are very interested in this ancient tale called Star Wars. Reggie sees a picture of Flynn and her green gf and says "hey, you dated photoshopped Yoda" and Bobby just loses his shit.
#julie and the phantoms#jatp#julie and the himbos#julie and the fat ones#jatp fic idea#ask#ask meme#thanks for the ask!#trope mashup ask#long post
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Basler to the Beardmore 2: Errands
As always, no matter what Tumblr does with it, this post is available in its intended presentation at twirlynoodle.com/blog along with the rest of my Antarctic travel diary.
On this flight to the heart of Antarctica, I was only a hanger-on. We had two errands to run before entertaining me and my historical interests, the most important of which was restocking a fuel depot at the base of the Transantarctic Mountains.
There are many busy science teams in Antarctica, and while some renewable energy sources are starting to be used, the fact is that everything runs on a reliable supply of fossil fuels, mostly petrol. The aircraft that keep people and their essentials moving around the continent have a network of fuel depots, both for relay stops and for emergencies. Contrary to some conspiracy theories, anyone can fly to and around Antarctica if they have the money and resources to get there, and many do. As the national science programmes have a very tight margin, and their fuel depots are expensive to maintain, they cannot afford jet-setters raiding their supplies, so the locations of these depots are kept secret. Therefore I am not going to tell you where our first stop was. The chances of a private pilot reading this blog are slim, but it may be possible to deduce from my photos where this particular cache is: if you are that outlier, I hereby ask you please to do the decent thing and leave the fuel alone – or if you absolutely must access it, then let the USAP know what you've taken and make good on it as soon as you can. Everyone in Antarctica looks out for each other, and that includes you. OK? OK.
So, we've taken off, and done our acrobatics to get the skis up, and are now facing a couple of hours' flight time before we reach our primary destination. There is, quite frankly, nothing between Williams Field and the Transantarctic Mountains, besides hundreds of miles of the Ross Ice Shelf. This was known as 'The Barrier' to the early explorers, because when James Clark Ross sailed down to explore in 1840 it was a great while wall that prevented his ships from going any further. In later years it wasn't so much a barrier as a highway – clear and flat, and not much off sea level, it provided a route deep into the high latitudes without the perils of the high windy Polar Plateau. Among people who frequently travel out there, it is sometimes referred to as 'the Flat White' – my impression is that this term came from the Kiwis, and the espresso drink of the same name is also antipodean in origin, so I wonder which came first. It is undeniably Flat, and White (though the refraction of sunlight through ice crystals makes it look anything from peachy to periwinkle, depending on the angle), but none of its various names communicate just how big it is.
I have flown over the Canadian tundra many times, and over the Greenland ice cap, but the view from 35,000 feet is like looking at satellite view in Google Maps compared to flying at cloud level, where the parallax with the horizon gives you a much keener sense of distance. The Barrier is BIG. In fact, 'big' is too small a word to communicate it. 'Massive', 'mammoth', and 'gargantuan' are more melodramatic than descriptive. Its vastness puts all of human consciousness, never mind vocabulary, in proper perspective. For my money, it outdoes the night sky as a visual approximation of infinity.
Getting a sense of its size, especially in a still photo, is difficult without an object for scale. For your education and my good fortune, we happened to fly over the RAID convoy as they made their way from the Minna Bluff site to where the Ross Ice Shelf meets the Antarctic continent. Rapid Access Ice Drilling has been supporting various scientific projects for a few years now, whether their interest is in the ice itself (its trapped air gives a record of Earth's atmosphere in millennia past) or what's underneath (marine environments far removed from the open sea; the bed of an accelerating glacier). Their units are about the size of a shipping container, and are pulled by enormous tractors, so if they are this dwarfed by the Flat White, imagine how much more puny a sledge party would be.
Before too much longer we were at the depot. Landing at an Antarctic field airstrip is even more complicated than taking off: we circled once, to do a visual check, then skimmed it with the skis to make sure no hidden crevasses had opened up since the last time someone landed here, then finally touched down for real on the third go-round. The plane crew rapidly got to work unloading the fuel drums; I offered to help but was assured I wasn't needed, so spent the time taking photographs and mucking around in the snow.
The first thing that struck me was how beautiful the mountains were in colour. The best photos I've seen of them have been black and white, so the rich variety in shades was remarkable. What you can't see in this small photo was how the lighter rock was banded with strata of blue-grey and orange-brown sandstone, giving it a luxurious marbled effect.
I've read a lot about how conditions on the Barrier are so much different than on the coast. This was far deeper into it than I was ever expecting to set foot, but I was surprised how tame it was. Now, it was an idyllically calm and sunny day – had it been any different we would not have been there – so the only time I realised that it was actually much colder than McMurdo was when a slight breeze wafted past my bare hand and broke the warm spell that the sunshine had cast.
What was different was the snow. Around McMurdo, the snowbanks which did build up had been repeatedly blown over with volcanic dust which warmed up in the sun and made the snow gritty, icy, and rotten – if you live in a snowy city, think of the texture of snowbanks alongside busy roads. Out here, there was nothing but snow, all the way down to where it became ice – powder blown off the mountains, maybe even off the Polar Plateau, deposited here to be compacted in the sun and polished by the wind. The crust made by these processes was smooth and, in many places, thick enough to support my weight, so I hardly left a footprint – a 'good pulling surface' as sledgers would have it – but without warning there would be a thin spot where my foot would break through and sink in the sugar-like snow below.
Before long, the crew had finished their restock, and playtime was over. After our exciting takeoff manoeuvres, we started climbing the mountains to the second of our tasks for the day.
The Transantarctic Mountains, according to our pilot, are still something of a mystery. They are a very high mountain range, but unlike the Rockies for example, they show little or no sign of buckling or other geological forces – they seem to have been lifted whole, keeping their layers of sandstone and coal and fossil-rich deposits mostly flat, with occasional intrusions of igneous rock. The range acts as a sort of massively oversized dyke, holding back the miles-deep polar ice cap from spilling over West Antarctica, the Ross Ice Shelf, and the Ross Sea, as the mountains cross the continent.
Ice appears to be solid, but it actually behaves more like a stiff jelly or fondant icing – if it finds a change in altitude it will flow, very slowly, downhill. This is what a glacier is: snow gets deposited over many years without melting, turns to ice, and when its volume can no longer be held at elevation, starts to creep down the valley. The ice of the Polar Plateau finds gaps in the Transantarctic Mountains and pushes through them, forming glaciers which pour out onto the Ross Sea and, merging, form the Ross Ice Shelf. The Beardmore Glacier is one of the largest of these, but there are hundreds of smaller ones, and many tributary glaciers that feed these. In flying over the lower Transantarctic Mountains, there were plenty of opportunities to see ice dynamics at work:
Our destination was up near the head of a narrow glacier, where it broadened out into a snowy plain called the Bowden Névé – névé being a term for young snow which has not yet compacted into glacial ice but is in a position to do so. This was CTAM (pronounced see-tam), a geology camp established to be a hub for teams doing work in the Central TransAntarctic Mountains. The névé afforded an open, soft, flat place to land planes carrying supplies and people, who could then move on to less accessible places overland. At least, it did, until a wind event a few years ago scoured deep furrows in the landing strip.
As we flew over, doing the visual check, I was astonished the site could be spotted at all, as it was only a small clutch of bamboo poles in the vast expanse.
Having proven that the landing strip was landable, the next task was to see what condition the building was in. What building, you ask? Why, the one completely covered in snow, under the markers. Once upon a time it was a couple of modules standing on the surface of the glacier, but Antarctica gradually swallowed them up, so now one has to dig down through the snow to reach the roof hatch, eight feet above the floor.
On the way from the Basler to the camp site, I was treated to one signature snow effect I had missed out on, at the depot. 'The Barrier Hush' is frequently mentioned in journals: it was described as a 'whoosh' or a 'hush-shh-shhhh' that sighed out from underneath the walker as he broke through the top crust into a pocket of air underneath, where the loose snow had settled after the top crust was formed. The pocket could sometimes extend quite a long way from where the crust was broken and the sound followed the exchange of air as far as it went. It would startle the ponies and excite the dogs, until they learned there was nothing to chase and catch.
I was walking some way behind the plane crew as they made for the camp with shovels, and suddenly heard what I thought was a small whirlwind – a sharp and intense, almost whistling sound that seemed to race across my path. This being the sort of place one would expect to see dust devils (or snow devils, I suppose they would be) I looked around to see where it was, but the air was as still up here as it had been down on the ice shelf. It was only after the second or third time it happened that I realised what it was – it was so completely not how I had imagined the Barrier Hush to sound. If you make a little whirlwind sound by whisper-whistling whshwshywshwhwwsh with your lips really quickly, that's what it sounded like. Having heard it, now, I can completely understand how the dogs would have thought there was a small creature scurrying around under the snow. It sounded much more animate than it had been described. I felt so lucky to be let into that secret.
The crew got the hatch open and the first of them climbed down into the pitch darkness to report everything OK. The rest followed, and invited me along, but I am not the most coordinated travelling artist, and couldn't see a way down for me that didn't end in a concussion. So I stayed above while they explored the submerged camp, and enjoyed the view. It was really spectacular – not just the stunning mountains but the thin, brittle blue of the sky and the hardness of the sunlight, as if the whole world were a taut drumskin.
And, best of all, from here the horizon was the Polar Plateau – another Flat White stretching to the South Pole and beyond.
#antarctica#travel#basler#dc3#CTAM#air freight#mountains#transantarctic mountains#bowden neve#geology#field camp#photos
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Exploring a New World (8/30)
Pairing: James T. Kirk x Reader
A/N: Sorry this chapter kind of sucks. It’s a filler... I’m definitely going to be fixing this chapter soon to add more Y/n in it. You don’t even need to say anything about how crappy this one is because trust me I know this one sucks lol.
Once you along with Kirk and Scotty were led onto the bridge by the officers, Spock marched his way over. He brought his attention to the soaked man beside you and asked, “who are you?”
“I’m with him,” Scotty said.
“He’s with me,” Kirk responded simultaneously.
“We are travelling at warp speed,” Spock remarked. “How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?”
“You're the genius, you figure it out,” Kirk retorted.
“As acting captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question.”
“Well I'm not telling, acting captain,” Kirk stated. “What now? That doesn't frustrate you, does it? My lack of cooperation, that doesn't make you angry?” You and Mr. Scott gave each other a confused look at Kirk’s response.
Spock ignored Kirk as he brought his attention to Mr. Scott and asked, “are you a member of Starfleet?”
“Yes. Can I get a towel,” Scotty asked.
“Under penalty of court martial I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard the ship while moving at warp.”
“Well-”
“Don't answer him,” Kirk interjected.
“You will answer me,” Spock ordered.
Mr. Scott hesitated to which you immediately blurted out to him, “don’t take sides right now.”
“And you doctor, I expected better actions as you are the daughter of a captain.”
“Wha- I was only-“ you started.
Kirk interrupted you as he said, “she didn’t do anything wrong so leave her out of this.” He took a step towards Spock acting as a barrier, “what is it with you, Spock? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you're not even upset.”
“If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship you are mistaking,” Spock informed.
“And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command,” Kirk continued. “I mean, did you see his ship? Did you see what he did?”
“Yes, of course, I did.”
“So are you afraid or aren't you?”
“I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion.”
“Then why don't you stop me?”
“Step away from me Mr. Kirk.”
“What is it like not to feel anger? Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you.”
“Okay, Kirk you need to cool it,” you warned.
“Back away from me.”
“You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you. You never loved her,” Kirk yelled.
Spock roared and punched Kirk across his face. They fought for a bit until the Vulcan got the upper hand and pushed Kirk over a control board and proceeded in chocking the blond.
“Spock, stop it. You’re killing him,” you shouted.
Spock didn’t budge until he heard the voice of his father behind him who only called his name. Spock slowly took a step back then reported, “doctor I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time, and date and the ships log.”
As Spock left, all the crew that remained on the bridge stood still while staring at each other in silence. “I like this ship,” Mr. Scott said aloud disrupting the silence with a bright smile. “You know it’s exciting.”
“Well, congratulations Jim,” Leonard said. “Now we have no captain and no goddamn first officer to replace him.”
“Oh no,” you mumbled to yourself as you remembered one of the final orders given by your father.
“Yeah, we do,” Kirk made public.
“What,” Leonard asked as the blond made his way to the captain’s chair and sat onto it.
“Pike made him first officer,” you informed.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Leonard stated.
“I wish I was,” you gave a small chuckle.
Kirk looked at you both and gave a small nod, “thanks for the support guys.”
Nyota walked up to Kirk, “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.”
Kirk sighed, “so do I.”
“You’ll do great, why else would he pick you,” you said as you gave him a reassuring smile causing his lips to curl up. You turned to Scotty as you clapped your hands and called out, “alright Scotty, come with me. We’ll get you that towel and some fresh clothes.”
~
“Whatever the case, we need to get aboard Nero’s ship undetected,” Kirk divulged.
Leonard said, “we can’t just go in there guns blazing, Jim.”
“Especially not with their technology,” you added.
“I’m telling you, the math doesn’t support what you’re suggesting,” Sulu stated.
“Captain Kirk. Captain Kirk,” Chekov called out as he approached the group.
“Yes, Mr. Chekov. What is it,” Kirk asked.
“Based on the Narada’s course from Vulcan, I have projected that Nero will travel past Saturn. Like you said, we need to stay invisible to Nero or he’ll destroy us. If Mr. Scott can get us to warp factor 4, and if we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn’s moons, say, Titan, the magnetic distortion from the planet’s rings will make us invisible to Nero’s sensors. From there, as long as the drill is not actuated, we can beam aboard the enemy ship.”
“Aye, that might work.” Scotty chimed in which still drying himself off with a towel.
Leonard frowned in confusion, “wait a minute, kid. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, sir,” Chekov happily replied.
“Oh, good, he’s seventeen,” Leonard repeated to Kirk.
“You be quiet,” you said as you smacked Leonard’s chest. “The kid’s smarter than you anyways.” In response, Leonard nudged your shoulder playfully.
“Doctor,” Spock said bringing everyone’s attention to the Vulcan. “Mr. Chekov is correct. I can confirm his telemetry. If Mr. Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero’s ship, and steal back the black hole device. And if possible, bring back Captain Pike.”
Kirk slightly shook his head as he replied, “I won’t allow you to do that, Mr. Spock.”
Spock smirked, “Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ship’s computer to locate the device. Also, my mother was human which makes earth the only home I have left.”
Kirk took a step towards Spock, “then I am coming with you.
“I would cite regulation, but I know you will simply ignore it,” Spock said as he cocked his head to the slightly.
Kirk chucked, “see? We are getting to know each other.” He then smacked Spock’s shoulder and walked past him to the exit of the bridge.
“Kirk,” you said as you sped towards the blond. “Can I come along as well?” He opened his mouth to object, but you interrupted him before he could say anything. “Before you start, nothing you say will stop me. I’m only asking because I’d rather not go against your orders.” Kirk hesitated as he pondered for a moment. “Please James. He’s my father,” you pleaded. Kirk’s shoulders dropped as he sighed then nodded.
Tag List:
@chook007 @imjustassaneasyou @carrietrekkie @uniethenlfer @bubblyglimmer @maddie1504 @distinguishedkryptonitecreator @movieinmyhead @azure23x @badbitxhbuckybarnes @tyzerman91 @zizzlekwum
#star trek#star trek imagine#james t kirk#james t kirk imagine#james t kirk x reader#jim kirk#jim kirk x reader#jim kirk imagine#captain kirk#captain kirk x reader#captain kirk imagine
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So ...about "The Warrior in the Woods"...
Okay so this morning, this squiggle meister took a read at a preview for one of the stories that would be featured in the upcoming RWBY: Fairy Tales of Remnant set to release this year September 15th. It’s titled “The Warrior in the Woods”. If you haven’t read the small preview of the tale for yourself, you can find it right here on kobo.com where you can also preorder a digital copy of the book.
Speaking of, does anyone know where one can preorder a hardcopy version of this book? Or do I have to wait till it comes out in September to order the hard copy version then? Of all the upcoming RWBY-related projects that I was most looking forward to, it’s definitely this one and I’d definitely love to own a tangible copy of the book for myself if it’s available.
Anyways let’s talk about “The Warrior in the Woods” story specifically. Obviously I read it and without spoiling much from the short story, all I can say is that I definitely loved it. I think right out the gate, I’m going to peg this one as one of my favourites of the fairy tales purely because I found it to be a rather sweet one.
[SPOILERS AHEAD! NUFF SAID]
Plot-wise, the tale focuses on a young boy who ends up getting lost in the woods after wandering out too far from his home village while out playing with his friends. Basically the gist is that the people of this boy’s village have lived in peace away from the Grimm; so much so that the villagers; as well as its youths had never encountered a creature of Grimm before.
While lost in the forest, the boy is attacked by a Bolbatusk Grimm (I believe) during which he is rescued by a woman with silver eyes. In a nutshell, the boy is saved by a Silver Eyed Warrior which leads into a routine where every year from the day they met, the young boy would always return to the forest in the hopes of meeting the Silver Eyed Warrior again.
Let’s get into what I liked about this tale: The whole relationship between the young boy and the Silver Eye who I will hereby refer to as “Warrior”. From the get-go, it’s very evident that the Boy is infatuated with the Warrior but what I found adorable was that this boy’s interest in the Warrior was what encouraged him to brave the forest in the hopes of seeing her time and time again for two to three more years (I believe if I’m remembering correctly). And what I thought was interesting was that each time the boy ventured into the forest, he was described as being much braver and stronger than previous encounters.
During his first encounter with the Warrior, the boy was completely powerless during his first run in with a Grimm but as the years went by, the boy would learn from his experiences and would go in a little more prepared each time. While he still needed the Warrior to come to his aid (which she always did in spite of saying she wouldn’t save him and telling him never to return), I definitely dug how much the boy began to mature with each time he met the Warrior as reflected in his growing combat competency.
I liked the angle of the Boy being motivated to become a stronger person thanks to his meeting with the Warrior. I liked that just as much as I love the angle of how much the Warrior in turn grew to care for the Boy in her own way.
When we first meet the Warrior, she described as strong and beautiful (by the Boy) yet hardened and reserved due to her past experiences since according to her story, her kind were known to be hunted and slain by humans because of their power (as we the readers are aware of from the main series as of V4-V6).
So due to this, the Warrior has basically settled into a life of solitude and survival. This is even reflected in her initial attitude towards the Boy since after saving him the first time, she warned him never to return again.
Unfortunately for the Warrior, she had underestimated the Boy’s persistence since he did return to her and each time they’d meet in the woods upon her saving him, the young boy would bring her gifts as a token of his appreciation and fondness of her as well as a symbol of their growing bond.
And in spite of pushing him away at first and all the times they would “meet” afterwards, I liked how it was shown how much the Boy had grown on the Warrior and how his compassion had warmed him up to her to the point that I think she began looking forward to seeing him in a way---or rather she expected him to always return to her in a sense.
Until one year when the boy returned to woods, he would find his Warrior gone. Whether that meant the warrior had eventually met her fate or simply moved on, I don’t know. It is of my assumption that the Warrior was ultimately killed in battle. The ending of story in regards to the Warrior’s fate felt a bit ambiguous to me. The story mentioned the possibility of the Warrior being dead but honestly never confirms it. Not really. So for me, I’m only assuming that the Warrior did die since that’s how the tale left her conclusion.
Now for the real meat of this post---the comparison that I’ve already seen my Rosegardening peers make after reading this tale and now I’m going to chip in and basically say the same thing too.
Yes, the Boy and the Warrior definitely remind me of Oscar Pine and Ruby Rose.
It’s actually kind of hard to NOT make that stark comparison.
After finishing the tale, my theory is that the Boy was probably around the same age as Oscar is currently when he first met the Warrior. Probably 14-15 years of age and I’d like to think that he was probably 17-18 years old by his third and last encounter with the Warrior since later in the story, the author began referring to the boy as a “young adult man” (I believe).
As for the age of the Warrior, that one has me stumped to be honest. In the story, she is described as “woman”. I also recall the author describing the Warrior having strands of silver in her hair which made me think she was probably a much older woman---probably in her 40s.
Then again…women in their late 20s to early 30s can start showing signs of grey hair. Not to mention that people as young as 18 can start greying out due to family background and stress.
So…in that case, I dunno. Going off the featured artwork of the Warrior in the preview, she doesn’t look to be that old at all. So I’m going to safely assume, that compared to the Boy, she was probably in her late 20s or so.
That’s my cookie crumb deduction.
Either way, here we have yet a second example of a RWBY content featuring an adolescent male expressing romantic interest in an older woman with the writers behind the tale treating this dynamic as something wholesome and rather quite sweet. I would be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn’t rooting for the Boy and the Warrior to end up together-together. I am NOT sorry. My hopeless romantic of a shipping heart couldn’t help but find the boy’s interactions with his Warrior to be adorable since the story treated it that way.
It’s for this reason why despite the story’s ending, a part of me is still kind of hopeful that the preview isn’t the whole story for that specific tale; y’know what I mean? Like I’m kind of hoping that once the full book is out, there will be more to the Warrior in the Woods story that potentially reveals the young boy and the Warrior reuniting and having their happy ending together.
I could be completely wrong here but dagnabbit, they got me again folks. Not gonna lie. I want this now. I need Roosterteeth to adapt this book into a new animated series like World of Remnant. These characters don’t even have names and already I adore their bond and story together.
Overall, as you can tell, I’m smitten with the relationship between the Boy and his Warrior. And the ending where the boy; now a man, professes his love for his Warrior since the day they met only made me gush even more over this pair. In the squiggle shire, we stan “A Boy and his Warrior”. That’s what I’m going to call this pair.
I guess the point that I’m trying to make here is that it’s nice to see a love---even if it was unrequited in a sense---between a young man and an older woman be treated respectfully in literature. We live in a time when people would screech over the slightest age difference while ignoring the context of the relationship itself.
Though only a short story, I’m happy that the author of Fairy Tales of Remnant portrayed the rapport between the Boy and his Warrior as a sweet relationship.
It’s here where I’m reminded of the Rosegarden dynamic. For the most part, the CRWBY Writers have always treated the bond between Ruby and Oscar as wholesome. It’s what makes the arguments against it in regards to their small 2-year age different sound so silly in my opinion.
So that being said, thank you CRWBY and E.C. Myers for creating yet another sweet dynamic between a young adolescent teenage boy and an otherwise “older” and much more experienced Silver Eyed Warrior.
“…I wish I could have been there for her,” he said slowly, “the way she was there for us.” If she was dead, she had died alone.
“Why did you keep going back there, year after year?” a village woman asked him. “Because she saved you?”
“For that reason, and for many more,” he said slowly. “But I believe she knew the deepest reason of all.”
The group waited. He gazed into the fire.
“I fell in love with her the moment I saw her silver eyes.”
- “The Warrior in the Woods” | Fairy Tales of Remnant by E.C Myers
I would like to say more about this story but I’m afraid right now, all I can give are my first impressions. In a way, my mind is all a tizzy with how much this tale got me thinking in respect to the growth and potential future of the Rosegarden relationship.
I’m not trying to imply that I’m taking this as a sign of their endgame. Nah. That would be too premature of me. But it did get me thinking and excited for them in respect to Oscar’s continued development.
I think what I loved and enjoyed the most out of this tale is how much the Boy reminded me of my favourite little prince and how his endearing love for his Warrior made me think of how much Oscar looks to Ruby as someone to believe in and perhaps, even fall in love with.
And what got me the most was the line about the Boy wishing he could’ve been there for his Warrior the same way she had been there for him and by extension the people of his village.
That line hit me deep since that’s exactly how Ruby has been with Oscar from the moment the two met!
Out of everyone amongst the hero team, Ruby has supported Oscar the most from the start. She’s always stood by him. Looked out for him. Protected him and believed in him or supported him even when others were reluctant about that.
She was the first person to mention how brave he is in spite of his fears. And above all else, Ruby inspired Oscar to be a stronger person. Not just for himself and the huntsmen in his care; like his teammates. But for her.
The Boy was inspired by the Warrior to become a stronger man, not just for himself but also the people of his village. Not only that but I loved how the young man even wanted to be strong enough to support his Warrior too
“…I wish I could have been there for her,” he said slowly, “the way she was there for us.”
I love that. I love that line because it reminds me of everything I’ve been saying about Oscar and his inspiration from the Little Prince.
What was the lesson the Fox taught the Prince? Love and responsibility. To be responsible for the people who love and support you just as much as you love and support them.
I got the same vibe from this story from the relationship between the Boy and the Warrior. The sad reality is that the Boy never got a chance to be there entirely for his Warrior and thus she was believed to have died alone; never truly knowing the whole truth of how much she meant to him and how much he loved her.
This is a parallel that I’m hoping for in V8 in respect to Oscar’s side of the story with him on his own in Mantle with only Oz. I’m hoping that during his journey back to Atlas; Oscar comes to terms with his feelings for Ruby. What would even be amazing is if at some point, the tale of the Warrior in the Woods is brought to life and told in the main series.
I would absolutely love it if at some point Oz would tell Oscar the Tale of the Warrior in the Woods when the little prince starts thinking about his rose. Even better, what if…“The Warrior in the Woods” is how Oscar learns the “Fox’s lesson to the Little Prince”?
Imagine if…Oz, fairy tale and it through hearing that story and learning of the Boy’s dedication to his Warrior that it helps Oscar realize how much Ruby means to him!
Overall, what I’m mainly anticipating is for Oscar to come to terms with his true deepest feelings for Ruby. For me, I would love it if Oscar really is no different than the Boy in the fairy tale.
What would even be more of a trip is if Oscar is a descendant of the Boy or meets someone in his travels who is related to that boy in the tale and it’s a story and lesson that’s been passed down throughout their family for generations.
I know that might be pushing it a little bit but it’s not a bad concept. Either that or…Oz is the one who tells Oscar the Tale of the Warrior in the Woods. It would make sense for Oscar to hear that tale through Oz since, ironically, isn’t he the one who compiled the Fairy Tales from Remnant book? Correct me if I’m wrong. I know his notes are a feature of the book.
Anyways, either way, I want to see Oscar realize how much he loves Ruby and it’s his love for her that further fuels his drive to support and protect her.
The Boy never got his chance to be there to protect his Warrior. While he kept her legacy alive through her story, the sad truth is the Warrior died alone never knowing how the Boy felt for her.
This is something I’m expecting NOT to be repeated with Rosegarden. I want to see Oscar promise to Ruby that he will always be there for her; fighting by her side for the cause they both believe him: Saving humanity. And above all else, I want to see Oscar realize his love for his rose in the hopes of one day telling her that to her face.
While I don’t know if we’ll have Ruby return Oscar’s feelings. Regardless, this is what I’m anticipating to see at least for Oscar’s side of things and this fairy-tale gave me more believe for that. Then again, it’s just a story and only time will really tell for what the CRWBY Writers have in store for V8. But a squiggle meister can wonder and hope, right?
In the meantime, like I said, I’m excited for the official release of Fairy Tales of Remnant.
I don’t plan on reading any more of the previewed stories though. I don’t know about some folks, but for this squiggle meister, I more want to wait till the book is out so I can hopefully get a hard copy because I do want to own the book itself.
That way I can read it through, make notes of things and always have that stuff on hand when I want to make a point of analysis for future musings and headcanon posts. Plus I really want that book. This is one of the sure-fire times where RoosterTeeth will actually get my money. (Still waiting patiently on dem Oscar merch though).
So with that being said, I think “The Warrior in the Woods” will be the ONLY story preview I will read and talk about for now.
I know there are previews for the other stories available but I’d rather not read them now. I think I’ll wait for the full book to go through and give my official thoughts then. We’ll see. Until then, this is all I got to say for now folks.
~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)
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A fool to believe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mention of war and injury
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Daemons, though they barely feature here tbh, Getting Back Together, Misunderstandings, mention of serious injury, but no details given, Fluff, the lightest of angst, Epistolary
Series: Part 3 of foolish, perhabs
AO3: /18771535
When Jason Todd is tired, frustrated, angry, happy - in short, when he feels any emotion at all -, he writes a letter. Here are six letters he never sent.
A letter that was torn up by the writer in disgust at himself:
Dearest Dear Tim,
I know what I’ve done will be a shock to you. I know you will be angry. So am I. As I write this, I am in London, waiting to be shipped out to France, maybe Spain.
However, what could you expect if your father tells me that your family will never accept me us and that we’re over? Of course you choose them. Why wouldn’t you? I understand. But you could’ve at least told me yourself, not through your father! He’s always looked down on me. I could tell he was utterly convinced he was saving you.
I expected better from you. I thought you would at least tell me yourself. Why didn’t you? I don’t understand.
Do you even remember what you told me? How it didn’t matter that I don’t have a family anymore, because we would make our own? Ha.
Was I just a diversion? An amusement because you were bored? Do you not love me?
Why? I just don’t understand
Damn it
A letter that was replaced by a terse note of acknowledgement:
Tim,
I see that I have my answer then. I was wondering - hoping, even - if it hadn’t just been a misunderstanding, your father testing me, perhaps, that somehow, you still loved wanted me. But no.
“It is obvious that our visions for the future do not match.”
What vision was that, then? A vision where I am somehow highborn, with rank and income enough to impress your family? Because it can’t be the future we have been talking about, with us together, come what may, for better or worse, in sickness and health, or you wouldn’t have had your father deliver the notice and only write me yourself weeks later.
Could you at least explain yourself? Tell me what made you change your mind? Was it really just the pressure of potentially losing your family? What did I do wrong? I love loved you so much; why wasn’t that enough?
A letter that Roy found and threw away because it wasn’t legible:
How is it that I still find myself talking to you in my mind? I want to tell you about the people I met here. About General Prince, who is the most amazing fighter I have ever seen and the best person, too.
It wasn’t her fault. Sometimes, the enemy is just too strong.
I made friends, you know. I talk to them. I’m not alone but for you anymore. One of them carried me out of that hell.
And still, I keep thinking I hear your laugh. Or, more likely here, your sarcastic comments. You would have had that coward cowing at his knees…
I’m not making any sense, I know. They fixed me up, we thought, but fever is setting in. My hands are shaking. I just wanted to say… I miss you very much.
Maybe your father was right. You would have been a widower within a year.
A letter that was thrown into the fire, unnoticed by cheering sailors:
Dear Mister Drake Wayne,
I would hereby like to inform you that I have just received my commission as an officer. I am navy, now. The General saw how I fought and gave me an opportunity to transfer and buy my commission. I must confess to being very pleased. Not only does this mean a much better income and chance to advance, but I have also always longed to see more of the world than an infantry soldier could.
My new rank also means that I was informed about your and your family’s activities for the Crown, by the way. I cannot escape you, it seems. So there is no need to keep that a secret anymore.
I suppose you wonder why I am writing to you, three years after we’ve broken our engagement. I must admit that there is some curiosity still lingering after that event, that I would hereby seek to satisfy.
Back then, you spoke of different visions for the future. My lower social status, in particular, was objectionable, as you insinuated. What do you think now? Would I fulfil your standards? Or would my birth still speak against me? Am I good enough now?
I am glad to inform you that others do not find me as repulsive. Now, if only I could stop comparing everyone to you and find them wanting. Hopefully, I will find myself married soon enough, so that we both may be spared any embarrassment when I return to Gotham eventually, as I am sure you have found another long ago. Is it the oldest Kent boy? Some wealthy stranger, perhaps, sweeping you off your feet, giving you everything I never could
A letter that would have arrived in Gotham after the writer did, anyway:
Dear Tim,
How are you? I’m doing well, thank you for never asking. It’s “Captain” now. Captured two ships, made money, made the General proud. I was even able to pay her back.
So now it’s back to England for us. I will not leave the navy - where would I go? - but we have accumulated many days of leave, and Roy Harper wants to go to his best friend’s wedding. That’s Sir Roy Harper, now, in case you are wondering, and that best friend is your brother. Small world, huh? He wants me to come along, and I have no excuse to give.
I suppose I should have known that I couldn’t avoid Gotham forever that this day would come.
You told me about Dick and Barbara Gordon. I remember the exasperation in your voice when you spoke of his puppy love and their inability to see how true it ran. There will be no way to avoid seeing each other at this wedding.
I don’t know how I feel about that. I miss you - I can admit that now - but I don’t want to see you. What if you are still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? What if six years did nothing but make me love you more?
What am I saying? We both know that my pride and temper will prevail once I see you.
Hopefully, our meeting will show me that I have been holding on to a phantom all this time. My idea of you, that idealized memory tainted by nostalgia for peacetime, cannot possibly compare to reality.
A letter that the writer left on his writing desk, but that Tisiphone and Lachesis hid under Tim’s pillow for him to find upon waking:
Dearest Tim,
Do you know how many times over the last seven years I have found myself in this exact position? Sitting at my desk, thinking of you, writing a letter that you will never read… Yet today I write with the hope that it will be the last time, for tomorrow, I will stand in front of God and vow to be with you for the rest of our lives.
I do not kid myself that we will never be apart. You have your work, and I have mine. We are both quite stubborn about it, too, which I think we have adequately proved in this lifetime. But I swear to you that I will not let words go unspoken anymore. Everything I write here, I have told you or will tell you, if need be, again and again. I will not see us hurt for lack of communication again.
When I returned to Gotham, I was so angry to see you behaving as if nothing had happened. You introduced me to eligible bachelors - it seems so ridiculous now. What in God’s name ever possessed us to do such a thing?
Still, I knew you better than we both remembered, and I couldn’t understand how you could look so sad even as you were smiling and surrounded by your family. Yet something in me recognized that feeling and echoed it. It’s a loneliness that’s not borne out of a lack of friends or family, but out of want for a heart that calls to your own.
There is, simply put, no one else I could ever imagine spending my life with.
I know what marriage means. I know it means more than just declarations of love and long walks together; that there will be hard times. I swear to love you even when you are in a foul mood or withdrawn; when we fight again and again over the small and big things; when one of us has to leave for long periods of time, and we don’t know when we will see each other again; when one of us wishes the other would just go away for need of some quiet. I will even endure weekly dinners with your family. Yes, even Damian. There, that is a proper declaration of love, is it not?
I started writing this as a way to prepare for my vows tomorrow. Now that I think about it, though, I am reconsidering my strategy. As much as you’ve always secretly appreciated my letters (and you needn’t lie about that - Lachesis told me), public displays of affection still make you blush.
Well. With the notable exception of the day I proposed a second time, of course. You always know just what I need.
Still. Perhaps you would not appreciate it if I poured out my heart in front of everyone. I think I will keep my vows to the most crucial point, the one thing you need to know:
I love you.
Yours,
Jason
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What if Ax joined the team in the first book?
[Someone asked me what would happen if Ax joined the team at the same time as everyone else. Whoever it was: sorry that I lost your ask; drop me a line so I can credit your idea.]
When Aximili asks to come along for the fight, Elfangor — against his better judgment — relents. «Stay close,» he says, and «Don’t touch anything.»
«Yes, Prince Elfangor,» Aximili says.
Elfangor flashes him a quick smile, stalk eyes only. The use of the title shows that Aximili understands the seriousness of the situation. This is no driftball game where they can argue over the rules. This is combat, and thus Elfangor’s word must be law.
Elfangor knows he made the right call. That Aximili is mature enough to be cabin boy (as the humans would say) for the GalaxyTree. He was right to insist to his captain that his little brother is ready for combat, aristh or no. And he proves to be right in letting Aximili come along in his fighter. Otherwise, Elfangor is reasonably certain, Aximili would have perished along with the rest of their crew.
It’s mere seconds into the battle that the Blade ship’s dracon cannon strikes the Dome ship square in its broadside. Mere minutes that pass between the T.O. first spotting the yeerks and a thousand warriors crying out in a single thought-speak shout of despair, only to be horribly silenced.
In that moment, Elfangor’s mind races in a dozen directions at once: Andalite fighters aren’t equipped for planetary landfall. The Time Matrix is down there on that planet. The G-force of attempting to reach it could kill them both. There’s an Escafil device stored in his fighter’s center console. The yeerks are on Earth. Loren is on Earth. Tobias is on Earth. Aximili is right here in the fighter with him, sharing the risk and the blame if anything goes wrong. The Time Matrix... The G-force... The Blade ship... The humans...
Elfangor makes an impossible choice, because all the choices are impossible. «Strap in,» he tells Aximili. «Brace for impact.»
Aximili doesn’t ask. Doesn’t point out that Elfangor’s out of his mind. Instead, he scrambles for the crash harness.
A nudge of the controls. Almost slowly, almost gently, the little fighter surrenders to the planet’s gravity well. It tilts. It slides. And it starts to accelerate.
Elfangor yanks back on the thrusters with all his strength, even as the hydraulics scream at him and the craft judders with hull-cracking force. They are become a meteor, arcing across Earth’s sky in a jet trail of flames.
Bracing all four hooves against the floor, Elfangor struggles for fast calculations of half-remembered geography. That’s North America... That’s the west coast... No, no, further south, struggling to force the craft to obey... That patch of light must be Los Angeles... That satellite is San Diego...
Aximili is whispering the oaths to prince and people and honor, the oaths repeated before death. He does not have to do it so that Elfangor can hear, and yet he seems to want to share this small comfort before the end.
Elfangor slams the secondary braking system into place. The craft goes from thousands of miles an hour to mere hundreds in half a second. Gravity flips sickeningly.
Aximili, safe in the harness, gets jarred but nothing else. Elfangor, who had no time to join him, slams into the far wall with a breath-destroying crunch. He staggers to his feet, weak gasps of pain escaping without his permission. He’s bleeding internally, ribs broken, his lower heart sending out horrible judders of pain with every beat. He remains hopeful, however — until he looks down and sees a wasteland of concrete and half-finished buildings where an empty field should be. «No,» he whispers, helpless. «No.»
«Elfangor...?» Aximili’s voice is so tentative it verges on inaudible.
Elfangor is staring at the nav screen showing a familiar set of coordinates and also at the fifteen feet of solid cement between him and the Time Matrix. Still, a part of him refuses to believe.
He lands anyway. Stumbles out, just to be sure — and finds himself face-to-face with five human children. Five children on a planet on the brink of subjugation. Five children surrounded by threats on all sides and yet unknowing and defenseless. Five children, one of whom has Loren’s wide grey eyes and soft yellow hair and the round-shouldered build of a long-lost human named Alan Fangor.
«Aximili,» Elfangor says. The yeerks are coming. Visser Three will kill him, either now or after the kind of hunt that will tear this planet apart. Better to let it happen now. Better to use these last moments to give Earth a fighting chance. «Come out here. Bring the Escafil device.»
Ax is reeling, spinning, too far into shock to take it all in. Elfangor is dead. Dead because of Visser Three, the Abomination. Dead partially by his own choice, as well. Because when Ax tried to insist that they stay and fight, or that they morph and run, Elfangor held up a hand to stop him.
«Aximili, I can’t explain everything right now, but this is what has to be done.» His private thought-speak was rushed, harried. «I need you to go with Tobias and the others. They’ll keep you safe. And they’ll need you to guide them.»
«I can’t do this,» Aximili had whispered. «I don’t know enough, I don’t know how...»
«Aristh Aximili, formerly of the GalaxyTree, formerly of Mother and Father’s awful lopsided scoop they’ll never get around to fixing.» There had been a catch of emotion to Elfangor’s voice, thought-speak letting more leak through than the words alone.
Aximili felt himself go cold all over, knees locking, breath struggling with unshed tears. He understood a field promotion when he heard one. He knew what was coming.
«I hereby relinquish my command to you, Prince Aximili. I do so in utmost trust that you will serve our cousins faithfully, both on the homeworld and here, though we are far from home.» Elfangor bowed his head. «I am the servant of the People. I am the servant of my prince.» He lifted his eyes to look straight at Aximili, leaving no chance that he could be referring to their captain. «I am the servant of honor. My life is not my own, when the People have need of it. My life is given for the People, for my prince, and for my honor.»
It went against everything they’d been taught, but Aximili allowed the tears to fall then. He’d listened, one last time, when Elfangor told him to take the humans and run. To flee this place and not look back. To avoid knowing what was going to happen next.
They take Ax (they call him Ax; he doesn’t care) back to the house of the human called Jake. Ax staggers along, awkward on two legs. He acquired the human called Tobias, for now. Later, he will have to make himself a properly unique human morph, but for now he’s too sick at hearts to perform a proper frolis maneuver.
The humans were very concerned with putting artificial skins on Ax’s human shape; the two females refused even to look at him until he wore a windbreaker from the human called Jake and the human called Rachel had fashioned him a sarong of sorts from her overshirt.
“My parents are going to think that Tobias is a raging nutjob, but that’s okay because they’ve never met him before,” Jake says, by way of apology.
“Nutjob. Nut. T-t. T-job.” Ax understands most of the words, but for those two. It’s comforting, even in this strange shape, to allow the dual click of his human tongue: once at the very front of his mouth for T, once further back for J. “T... Tuh. Juh. T’Juh.” The repeated motion calms him, keeps him from thinking.
“Yep, you’re really proving my point right about now.” With a sigh, Jake pushes the front door open.
Jake shepherds Ax up to his room after a bare minimum of interaction with the rest of the family. He offers a padded tube known as a sleeping bag (Ax declines) and assures Ax more than once that they’ll work out a better solution tomorrow. Ax finds the human dwelling strange and uncomfortable; it is all blocky angles and enclosing walls. He cannot even see the stars, and the thick fabric covering the floor proves to be inedible. After demorphing, he folds himself into a corner to try and sleep.
At first Jake asks many questions: about Elfangor, about morphing, about yeerks and controllers. Ax does his best to answer without giving too much away. Finally Jake’s voice tapers off, his breathing becomes slow, and he starts to make a steady noise that Ax will later learn is called snoring.
Ax tries to sleep. He lists z-space theorems in his mind, breathes slowly, tries to think of nothing. He recites the ritual of death. Recites it again. Continues to turn the phrases over in his mind. Hoping that soon they will take on meaning and cease to be mere words.
They are both awakened the next morning by a staccato tap tap tap against Jake’s window. Jake sits upright, rubbing at his eyes. “What the...?”
There is a small quadruped balancing on his windowsill, batting at the glass with one front paw. «Let me in, would you?» says the quadruped, in a voice that Ax recognizes as Tobias’s. «I’m still learning how to balance as a cat, and it took me forever to get here.»
With an ease startling to Ax, Jake rolls to his feet and shoves the window open with strong human arms. “How are you doing this?” he asks.
«How long have you been in morph?» Ax says over him, alarmed. Elfangor told the aliens about the time limit last night, and Ax emphasized it again after they left the construction site. This kind of behavior — morphing unsupervised, using an untested animal, failing to track the time — is shockingly careless.
«Not sure.» Tobias drops lightly to the ground. «This is hands-down the coolest thing I have ever experienced. I don’t know how you andalite types ever get anything done, with this kind of fun to distract you —»
«Demorph immediately!» Ax speaks so sharply that both Jake and Tobias stare at him.
«Okay, but I’m kinda naked—»
«It is imperative that you demorph! Do you wish to become a nothlit?»
«Fine, fine,» Tobias says. To Ax’s enormous relief, he is resuming his human form as he speaks. «What’s a nothlit?»
Jake removes some artificial skins from the much smaller room adjacent to his desk and hands them to Tobias.
«A nothlit is a person who has become trapped in morph and cannot resume andalite shape,» Ax says. «The process is irreversible. Fifteen percent of andalites in the first generation ever to morph suffered this fate. It is the terrible price of this gift.»
“Huh.” Tobias finishes pulling one of Jake’s garments over his head. “And then what happens to them?”
«They are trapped. Unable to demorph. Forever.»
“Yeah, but I assume you, like, accommodate them as animals or whatever, right? You said fifteen percent of some groups. So there’s probably a lot of people like that, and you probably have some fancy tech to help them do stuff, right?” Tobias’s eyes are wide in what Ax is beginning to recognize as a human expression of hopefulness.
Ax shifts position on the carpet. «No. Not really. They are usually secluded from society.»
“What, just because they’re stuck as cats forever?”
«They are vecols.» Seeing Tobias’s confusion, Ax clarifies, «warriors who are permanently wounded. It is best to allow them their privacy, apart from mainstream andalite society.»
“Separate but equal, huh?” Jake says, a darkness to his tone that Ax does not understand.
«Yes, exactly,» Ax says.
Tobias and Jake look at each other. Tobias makes a wordless sound in the back of his throat.
“So much for the superior alien society coming to enlighten us,” Jake mutters.
«It is for their own good,» Ax tries to explain.
“Oh, so you polled every single one of them, and they prefer the ghettos to —” Jake cuts himself off. “Okay, this is not what we need to talk about. Aliens. Yeerks. Let’s go get the others, yeah?”
The next few days are... overwhelming. All of them assemble near the home of the human called Cassie, in a space filled several other species of Earth animal. They have questions for Ax, dozens of questions, and they talk over each other in their eagerness to learn about andalites and thought-speak, interstellar travel and dracon beams. Marco and Cassie want to recuse themselves from the war entirely, while Tobias and Rachel want to throw themselves headlong into the fight with an eagerness that shows they don’t truly understand how hopeless the fight will be.
Ax does his best to tell them what he can, while keeping state secrets to himself. He reminds them time and again to be careful when morphing, because it’s the only thing he knows that they must be told.
He doesn’t know how to lead them. He’s not qualified to be a war-prince. He has no idea how to balance Seerow’s Kindness against their demands to understand why their home is being invaded and destroyed.
In the end, Tobias helps Ax set up a scoop in the woods. Jake’s appalled at the idea of Ax being alone out there with no human domicile, but eventually Ax succeeds in impressing on him that this is what he wants. Finally he wins them over. It’s a relief, to be out in woods that are not quite familiar but nevertheless closer to what he knows from the homeworld. It gives him the chance to be alone, away from the aliens and the infinite answers he doesn’t have for them.
All of the humans come by with gifts for his scoop: books, a small television, magazines and newspapers, a material called plywood that keeps out the rain. Marco provides several cans of a delicious substance known as Spam, and an even more delicious condiment known as kerosene. Their worry is... touching. But Ax also suspects it is not right. A prince should look after his warriors, not the other way around.
At their next team meeting, Ax walks in to find an ongoing argument between Marco and Jake.
“You don’t have any proof,” Jake is saying.
“That cop knew him.” Marco crosses his arms. “That cop, who was definitely a controller, was like ‘oh, you’re Tom Berenson’s brother? Never mind then.’ Not to mention the fact that you said yourself he’s been acting weird. And yeah, him deciding to give us the ninth degree about UFOs and how we know Tobias was really fucking weird. So you just don’t want to admit that your brother —”
Which is when Jake hits Marco across the face with a closed fist. Marco staggers back a step, cursing and cupping his jaw.
“Stop!” Cassie shouts.
Marco presses the heel of his hand to his swelling lower lip. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he spits. “Tell me the Sharing isn’t sketchy as hell. Tell me the way he talks about it is totally normal. Go ahead. Look me in the eye and tell me you actually believe that.”
Jake is gasping for air, face flushed, staring around himself as if lost. His knuckles are bleeding. “Ax,” he says. “Ax, I’d know, right? I’d be able to tell if — If —”
They’re talking about Jake’s older brother. Ax briefly met the human in question on that first night, and didn’t get much of an impression one way or another. “I don’t know,” he says at last, very slowly. “I have not known... nnnnooonne... any controllers. Oll-lers. The yeerks can access all the memories of their hosts, so it would be possible... ssssib-bble...”
“Possible.” Jake takes a breath. “Possible. But not guaranteed. So we... we use this morphing thing. We go to a Sharing meeting, and we prove that there’s nothing wrong with the Sharing, because Tom would never get involved with a yeerk organization. In the process, we prove that there’s nothing wrong with Tom.”
It occurs to Ax that he shouldn’t allow his team to take this kind of risk, especially not for the sake of a single human who is likely lost to yeerk control already. He knows, too, that Jake may even be right about his brother being unlikely to join the yeerks willingly, but that it makes little difference if so.
Only, the thing is, it occurs to Ax as well to wonder what he would do if it was Elfangor who’d been taken.
“We can do this,” he says aloud. “Th—ssssss. But we must be careful.”
Ax’s suspicions about Marco’s suspicions prove to be correct. Tom, and most of the Sharing’s other full members, are in fact controllers. Jake proves to be right as well that Tom isn’t voluntary, sparse consolation though it is. Ax doesn’t like Jake’s plan to go charging down to the yeerk pool to free Tom and the other hosts, but this is a human affair and perhaps a human decision. So he goes along with them to acquire DNA — and when Cassie gets taken, he commits fully to leading his first-ever battle.
“Tobias has been in morph for kind of a while, right?” Jake asks Ax as they walk to the middle school.
Ax has warned Tobias already about timing; he doesn’t feel capable of doing it again. “I am sure that Tobias knows how to be safe,” he says.
Ax has read about battle. Studied it extensively. Listened to Elfangor’s stories, asking incessant questions. Learned all the theories. Even watched holos of famous fights. In short, he is as prepared as it is possible for an untested aristh to be.
He knows nothing of war.
The battle happens all at once, from more directions than even he can watch with stalk eyes scanning frantically all around him. Humans and animals and hork-bajir and taxxon clash and scream, shoot and claw and die. Blood slicks the floor, spilled kandrona slopping over the sides of the pool as bodies crash down among the yeerks. He doesn’t know who is a controller, who is a host, who is a friend or an enemy.
Hork-bajir charge him, dozens of blades at the ready. He bashes them back with frantic graceless tail swings. A taxxon is already down, intestines spilling across the floor, before he has time to plan the strike. No time to think. No time to feel. Exhaustion and foreign gravity drag him down.
He’s going to die down here. He’s going to die like his brother, slaughtered on an alien planet and devoured. He’s going to die, and his parents will never learn what happened to either of them.
«Ax! Ax!»
He strikes at the shape. Luckily fatigue slows his swing. Luckily Jake ducks with cat reflexes. Too late he registers blood-matted orange fur.
«We’re losing ground,» Jake says, gasping for air. «Time to get the hell out of here while we still can.»
«But...» Ax is crazy; why is he objecting? «But we haven’t saved anyone... We haven’t...»
«This is— Ax, we stay, we die.» He’s right. He’s right.
«We go, then,» Ax says. He’s a failure. A coward. He’s running from his duty. If Elfangor knew— «Everyone! We have to go!» Ax shouts.
Rachel raises her trunk, bellowing. She shoulders aside controllers and hosts alike, clearing a path for the rest of them. She’s not going to make the stairs, not with that bulk. Marco is loping behind her, but Cassie is pinned down by three hork-bajir clear across the room. There’s no sign of Tobias.
His warriors are dying around him. He doesn’t know what to do. All the choices are wrong. Enemies are on all sides, far too many to fight.
«Help Rachel and Marco!» Jake calls. «I’m going for Cassie.»
Ax doesn’t question. He leaps, clearing the heads of a dozen human-controllers, and lands next to Marco. Together they brutalize their way forward, cutting down or shoving aside anyone that gets too close.
The battle swells and screams and roars around Ax. It’s too much to keep track of. He loses Jake and Cassie, still hasn’t found Tobias. All he can do is keep swinging, keep yanking his tail back bone-sore and flinging it gore-slick into yet another hot sick piece of flesh.
He stumbles over a small protrusion in the floor. Marco steadies him roughly. It’s the first stair. He struggles up the first several too-small steps, hooves sliding on the blood-slick stone.
Rachel is shrinking, half-crushed by the crowd of fleeing hosts. She goes down. Marco and Ax haul her upright. They pull her forward with unforgiving speed in spite of her many injuries, trying to keep the mob from eating her whole. Ax feels the strange sizzling non-pain of a fourth-degree dracon burn along his left hind leg. His collapse halted by the press of the crowd, he shoves onward.
Ax bursts into the bizarre empty quiet of the high school hallway. Marco is just ahead of him, carrying Rachel with her face hidden against his dark fur.
Half a dozen hosts are fleeing in every direction. «Godspeed,» Marco murmurs, looking after them. His thought-speak is shaky with unshed tears.
It’s nearly a half an hour — long enough for Ax to show Rachel how to morph to be rid of injuries — before there’s a clatter of hooves. Cassie, still in horse morph, bursts through the doorway. Jake is slumped across her back, clinging to her mane with the arm that isn’t severed at the elbow by a hork-bajir blade. His right side and Cassie’s entire flank are soaked with blood. He slides off the moment they’re safe, green-white with shock. Ax rushes to his side to tell him to morph.
When Jake has morphed and demorphed, he slowly sits up. He looks from where Rachel is punching a locker door repeatedly to where Marco crouches over the custodian’s sink to vomit. Finally, he looks up at Ax. “Where’s Tobias?” he asks, soft and hoarse.
Rachel whirls away from the locker she was abusing. “We thought he was with you!”
They all stare at each other in silence for several more seconds.
Jake curls forward to bury his face in his hands. “We have to go,” he says into his palms. “If... if I don’t get home before Tom does...”
There’s another long moment of silence. Marco becomes the first to turn and walk away.
Tobias finds Ax, later that night. He’s not dead, anyway. And he’s not a controller, not in that form. Ax knows better to voice such sparse consolation. He can’t offer hope, not really. Instead he does his best to listen, and to let Tobias say what he will.
Their next meeting in Cassie’s barn is... tense.
“How could we let this happen?” Jake demands. “How could we have done this? I should have known—”
«Jake...» Tobias says.
“Anyway, I’m out.” Marco stands up.
“Fine, then get out!” Rachel shouts. “What are you waiting for? Go run home to Daddy!”
“What I’m waiting for is to see if I can convince any of you people to come with me!” Marco says. “Because, for the record, we should all be out.” He takes a breath. “Ax... Jake... I know you both have more of a stake in this. But...”
“It’s your call, dude,” Jake says.
“Okay, but back to the real problem,” Rachel snaps. “How do we fix Tobias?”
Ax takes a step back. She didn’t look directly at him, but both Jake and Cassie did. «I... I wish that I had more answers... Escafil’s paradox of zero-space delay...» He has no answers. No words.
«In short: we don’t.» Tobias jerks his head. «So. Guess I’ll be hanging out with Ax a lot more in the future.»
“But even if we can’t demorph him...” Cassie is definitely looking at Ax. So is everyone else. “There has to be something we can do, right?”
Ax’s tail hits the stall door behind him. He’s been backing away from them the entire time. His chest heaves with panic, eyes skittering from one target to another. Except Tobias. He can’t look at Tobias.
“Ax?” Jake says, and then, “Hey, Ax, hey. Just, just, take a second, okay?”
“Take a second?” Rachel crosses her arms. “He’s the one who got us into this, and now Tobias—”
«I’m a fraud!» Ax bursts out. He’s shaking, still gasping. «I don’t know what I’m doing — I’m just a stupid incompetent kid. I ran last night, like a coward, and I left Tobias to be killed. I’m not a war prince, I’m a fake! A stupid, useless fake!»
Tobias flutters down to land on the stall door across from him. «There’s a big difference between being inexperienced and being a liar, Ax-Man.»
«You don’t — You don’t understand.» Ax wraps both arms around himself. «I can’t lead, I can’t do anything right. I have less than four months of training from living on the Dome ship, and even that was only because of being Elfangor’s brother. I never should have tried to pretend to be a war-prince, because I’m not. I’m not even a warrior.»
“And, what, you think any of us are?” Jake asks quietly. “We’re all dumb kids with even less training than what you have. But we all went down there anyway. Not because you told us to. Because I asked for it.”
«I still had responsibility for you all,» Ax says miserably. «And I failed you.»
“You screwed up, yeah,” Rachel says. “So do better next time.”
“Next time?” Marco demands. “You saw that place— You heard— Are you out of your mind?”
She rounds on him. “You’re right. I saw. I heard. There are little kids down there right now, Marco. My cousin is down there. And so are thousands of other people. If you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it, that’s your problem, but I’m not letting that stop me.”
«I’m still gonna do what I can to help,» Tobias says. «So count me in.»
“I’m in too,” Jake says. “Ax?”
«I can’t lead you,» Ax insists. «I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. It’s not my place.»
“Hate to say it, but we need a leader,” Cassie points out. “Ax, we can’t make you do it if you don’t want to. Tobias, should you lead us?”
«What? No! I’m nobody’s leader.»
“Okay, okay.” Jake looks around. “We don’t have to decide this right now. We’re all tired, so let’s just take a breather and meet back here tomorrow when we’re clearer headed. Yeah?”
None of them argue. Cassie and Marco murmur agreement. Rachel’s already turning away, asking Tobias where he plans to stay tonight.
Interesting, Ax thinks. The vote isn’t until tomorrow, but he suspects he knows already who they’re going to choose.
Jake is not what Ax would’ve expected from a prince. He calls for a vote any time there’s a major decision to be made. He always explains himself to his team, after the fact if not in the moment. He becomes the first one to admit when he made a mistake, and sometimes even when a mess wasn’t his fault at all. He asks Ax questions. A lot of questions.
But he leads them. He makes the calls in the battles. He takes responsibility for them all, and he carries it well enough to get by. Unless, of course, the situation calls for an official chain of command.
«Prince Elfangor asked me to lead in his stead,» Ax tells the andalite commander on the long-distance call. «I accepted the honor, and was humbled by it.»
«Very well, Prince Aximili.» Ithileran’s expression is stiff, but he doesn’t argue. «We would like to discuss the nature of your strategy for leading the Earth resistance.»
Throughout the conflict on Leera, Commander Galuit seems to be almost bemused by the Animorphs. «I’ve heard a great deal about you, Prince Aximili,» he says. «What do you suggest we do about these explosives?»
«I wouldn’t dream of making such a decision without consulting my warriors,» Ax says diplomatically. It’s Jake’s cue to make a polite suggestion, but that Marco can also be expected to weigh in with an opinion.
«Yes,» Galuit says, as much to himself as anyone. «You’re an interesting one, indeed.»
“You’ll have to forgive him,” Tobias says loudly to the security forces. “He’s visiting royalty, you see. Extremely important prince. From a place you wouldn’t have heard of.”
Ax has consumed what is, perhaps, slightly more than a typical quantity of mini quiches at what is supposed to be an all-you-can-eat banquet. He fails to see why this is an occasion for law enforcement.
“Anyway.” Tobias is now shepherding Ax out of the room, which is unfair because he has only made it halfway through the platter of crab rangoon. “It’s considered a compliment where he’s from. And if you even think about filing a report, you will be hearing from the rest of his majesty’s security team.”
“We will not be falling in line,” Jake tells Arbat, chin lifted, eyes narrow. “We will not be deferring to your command. We will do what Prince Aximili tells us, and I suggest you do the same. Because you can either help us, or you can get out of our way.”
Standing on the bridge of the Blade ship, hand resting on the pad that broadcasts footage of the Animorphs to the entire Andalite Electorate, Ax does his best to look confident. «We have won a great victory this day, but now is the time for peace. Now is the time to work with the humans to help them rebuild. Now is the time for forgiveness, for yeerks and taxxons alike.»
«Who are you?» the Technical Officer demands.
Marco opens his mouth to make a smart comment, but refrains.
«I am War-Prince Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill,» Ax says. «And as of this moment, I am officially ceding my position to Prince Jake Berenson, Commander in Chief of the Earth Resistance.»
Jake steps forward. Grieved but unbowed. Nervous but resolute. All eyes are on him.
So no one notices when Alloran nudges Ax gently in the side. When he says in private thought-speak, «I can say with utter certainty that he would have been proud of you.»
#au#animorphs#animorphs au#Ax#Aximili#precious cinnamon bun#oh look there's ax#aximili esgarrouth isthill#oh look there's elfangor#canon character death#gore#violence#ableism#shorms
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“you’re not doing this, the effort would kill you”
okay guys, so I’ve been thinking for a while about a couple of Kylo Ren’s lines that I don’t find obvious in terms of meaning/justified by the plot at the point when he says them.
namely, these lines are:
“you mean the murderers, traitors and thieves you call friends?”;
“you still want to kill me” from TFA (which, I think, are both connected to some other lines from the novelizations)
“you’re not doing this, the effort would kill you.” from TLJ
I will hereby present my take below (and also a bit of context interpretation which is necessary to highlight in order to make my points clear - however, I’m not doing a full Reylo dynamic or Kylo Ren’s character analysis, because there are many excellent ones out there and I don’t have anything intelligent to add), but I’d also like to know what you guys think, so feel free to share your thoughts!
also, this is my first analysis whatsoever, so be gentle please :P
tl;dr summary at the end ^^
also, I used some gifs I found on Google, which are not mine - I noted the source each time, which I hope is okay. I mean no harm and don’t want to step on any toes, so if there is some other way I should approach this, please let me know.
all right, so my initial hypothesis will be that there are a couple of lines which are a bit ambiguous and not obvious from the narrative perspective, both in TFA and TLJ, and separately these lines can be interpreted in various ways which make sense, but put together they have another meaning and shed some extra light on Kylo’s state of mind and how he thinks about Rey.
so what we see in TFA is this:
Kylo Ren gets a report about a lost droid and he’s a bit pissed off about that (understandably). he throws a tantrum when he learns that Finn helped BB8 escape, and then calms down - being his sarcastic, dry self, asks “anything else?” and Mitaka is dumb enough to tell him about A GIRL as well. this shouldn’t be that important, right, to get him from destroying objects to harming people? he has already learned the worst part, so basically Kylo Ren has no actual reason that we know of to be triggered enough to Force choke poor Mitaka and again lose his shit. but he does. “WHAT. GIRL?” of course, possible explanation here is that it’s just the final straw for him in this situation, as we know that overall he is not the most patient and put together character in the galaxy.
(gif from Inverse)
he again hears about THE GIRL who was spotted headed west with a droid once he arrives fashionably late to the battle field on Takodana. he proceeds to hunt her down like a goddamn tiger as she fires at him repeatedly. he doesn't harm her in any way though, but instead freezes her in place - even though he does not know that she has seen the map at this point, so he does not have a tactical objective to keep her alive yet. THE GIRL he’s heard so much about. yup, like literally twice, and mostly that she existed and was pals with BB8 but okay. again, it’s not uncommon to use that kind of line as an indication that despite that’s the first time characters meet, they’ve already caused some trouble for one another.
then of course he hovers over her closely during initial interrogation, and is a bit spooked out once the stormtroopers show up, at which point he stops touching her face and takes a step back from here immediately, like a teenager making out with his girlfriend after parents suddenly burst into the room. and btw, I didn’t expect stormtroopers to be able to sneak up on Kylo Ren like that - the guy who is normally quite focused okay:
(gif from Uncyclopedia)
but hey, girls are distracting. she knocks her out, bridal-carries her to the ship - my head canon is that he held her all the way to the Starkiller Base - and then we head into The Interrogation Scene.
(pic from Jedi Council Forums)
Rey wakes up restrained, on the goddamn bed torture chair, with a dude who hunt her down and kidnapped her crouching right in front of her. she has every right to be freaked out and not be very friendly towards him, right? she immediately demands to know where she is. he says she’s his guest, which is a villain enough, ironic line which has been used before and can easily be attributed to Vader parallel and generally “bad guys being good hosts”.
note: in the book, there is gentleness to his voice, and in any case less hostility than expected in this situation.
and then.
“where are the others?”
“you mean the murderers, traitors and thieves you call friends?” in a condemning tone (sniffing disdainfully, as the book tells us).
okay, so what is happening here? a guy who ordered a whole village to be killed suddenly has something to say about other people? he accuses them of being murderers, but also traitors and thieves? like, stealing is a problem for Kylo Ren now? yes, they did act in a way that caused problems for the FO, but what is with this self-righteousness? yes, Kylo Ren is an elitist, but there is something more happening there as well, I believe. again, he is referring to Finn and Han, and so this line could be attributed to his father, particularly considering Kylo Ren’s thoughts from the novelization - “not a general, not a hero. just a small-time thief and smuggler.”; “Han Solo’s days of cheating and disappointing people were over” - Kylo doesn’t have that great of an opinion about his dad and he expresses it here (not to mention Finn the traitor, and I guess they both shot a number of people so technically are murderers). but I think it’s something else as well.
for now, he says he has no idea.
note: in the book, he also highlights here how he could lie to her and tell her they’re dead, but he wants to be honest with her. from the beginning. of the interrogation, but only? why would that matter if he was honest with his prisoner whom he could interrogate with the force? he didn't seem much concerned about that with Poe...
“you still want to kill me.” with an adorable head cock. like. what else does a sound person expect from a prisoner in this situation? it is perfectly logical that a person strapped to the interrogation chair, kidnapped and about to be tortured for information, wouldn’t exactly have much love for the person responsible, right? also, the “still” part is what I find interesting, because it’s like something has changed in the meantime that - in his mind - should change her attitude. was it that he spared her friends?
note: in the book Kylo Ren said that in a response to reading her mind; Rey was worried before he said that line and she warned herself to be careful around him because he might lose his shit at any point if she does something to trigger him. again, she didn’t exactly think of harming him then.
then we also have another lines from the TFA novelization which are not in the movie, but were also interesting.
“something... there is something. who are you?” when they first met at the forest, even before he proactively read her mind. he knew her. he sensed her. she was his.
then, during the interrogation, Kylo Ren sees something in her mind and thinks that “there was something there, of interest. not the image of the map. that would take another moment. but definitely something worth investigating.” in the end he doesn't get there, as she responds with the Vader thing. WHAT IS IT?!
then there is famous line of “Hux was not worthy of such attention. the girl, on the other hand...” mmhhmm...
“taken aback, he whirled - to see the weapon land in the hand of a girl standing by a tree. Rey appeared equally shocked that her reach for the device had exceeded his. she gazed down at the weapon now resting in her grip. <<it is you>>, Ren murmured. his words unsettled her: not for the first time, he seemed to know more about her than she did about herself”.
(gif from We Heart It)
I can't how he looks and sounds like young Snape in these forest scenes
now, moving on to TLJ.
first force time.
“you’ll bring Luke Skywalker to me.”
she huffs and does nothing.
“you’re not doing this. the effort would kill you”.
like, what?
basically from this point onward, Kylo Ren loses interest in tactical knowledge about Luke Skywalker. he becomes more interested if Rey knows his version of events and how Luke screwed up, so she doesn’t see him as a monster anymore. he's also very curious about the force time and how it works, enough to relieve potentially tactically relevant information to her - “I can’t see yours.” he never asks her anything about Luke whereabouts again.
of course, the first line serves to establish that he can’t manipulate her into doing anything she’s not willing to do (explicit in the novelization).
the second line though? like, this is something a girlfriend might say to her boyfriend when she asked him to do something 2hs ago and he’s still playing Battlefront II or whatever. this does not fit into the situation.
now, I read some analysis that this is related to Luke’s sacrifice, namely Kylo Ren knows how the force projection works and understood immediately that his uncle would die and was devastated because of it.
while I think it does make sense in general, I disagree with this interpretation, because if you put all of these pieces together, I think you get a more holistic interpretation which convinces me a bit more.
additionally, in the first line he doesn’t mention force projection or teleportation, I don’t think it makes much sense for him. what would happen? she would show up with Luke, without being able to do anything to him (the blaster bolt didn’t hit Kylo Ren, so he didn’t have much basis to assume he could kill his uncle via force projection - “so no, this is something else”) - and I doubt that Kylo Ren’s intention were to talk it out in “it was 2 AM!” style. I think if Kylo Ren thought much about force projections, he wouldn’t have humiliated himself as he did in front of his new army on Crait, because - being a smart ass - he’d figure it out. so no, I think he wasn’t referring to force projection effort there.
tl;dr summary and overall conclusion and The Point I want to make:
I think Kylo Ren knew about Rey for a long time now. she saw him in a dream, in a nightmare, and since Kylo is 10 years older, I think he’s more aware of this connection and its nature than Rey is. it might have been dreams, it might have been glimpses, but she’s been there with him.
I think because of that, in his head, they are way more advanced in this relationship than would make sense based on the plot thus far, and it’s almost surreal for him that they’ve just met, because they were connected for so long now.
that’s why he's freaking about when he hears about A GIRL. that’s why he is not happy with the company she keeps, while he would be obviously a superior choice. that’s why he is surprised she wanted to kill him while being strapped to interrogation chair, because he himself was so gentle (in context) with her. he is sassy with her and oblivious to her rage at the beginning, because in his head they are on another level.
#reylo#star wars#kylo ren#meta#tfa#tlj#force awakens#last jedi#rey#force bond#tlj novelization#tfa novelization
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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 54 - 57
I’m going on vacation for a couple of days so we’ll cover some extra chapters to make up for it.
The last leg of the trek the next morning was the longest yet, Manon thought.
At least we’re in Manon’s POV for now. They’re all still traveling through the marshes.
Dorian Havilliard’s tense tan face
Since when the hell was Dorito tan??
The others were swiftly pulling ahead, but Dorian remained still. Even had the audacity to grip [Manon’s] wrist—hard.
^ me when Dorito lays one slimy finger on my baby Manon
Dorito tells Manon he killed his father and Manon isn’t bothered by it, because y’know, she’s a witch and all. They finally stumble upon the temple that holds the Lock.
When Lysandra’s solitary, swift roar cleaved the air, Aelin murmured to Rowan, “What’s the catch? Where is the catch? It’s too easy.” Indeed, there was nothing and no one here.
Oh, there will be a catch or trap waiting, y’all are just fucking stupid and wouldn’t spot a trap if it punched you in the face.
“I keep a tally, you know, Princess. To remind myself to repay you the next time we’re alone for all the truly wonderful things you say.”
[Aelin’s] toes curled in her soggy boots. But she patted [Rowan] on the shoulder, looking him over with absolute irreverence, saying as she walked ahead, “I certainly hope you make me beg for it.”
You two are goddamn disgusting and I hate you. Also, why does Rowboat call her princess when he’s constantly referred to her as his queen before? Consistency who?
Alien asks Manon what the name of her sword is.
“Wind-Cleaver.”
Aelin clicked her tongue. “Good name.”
“Yours?”
“Goldryn.”
A slash of iron teeth as they were bared in a half smile. “Not as good a name.”
lmfao roast her
Alien is about to tell Rowboat something, presumably important, but chickens out and says she’ll tell him later. That’s pretty much a guarantee that it’ll bite them in the ass. Anyways, they find a chest on the altar that presumably contains the Lock.
Manon leaned over the chest to study the lid but did not open it. Studying, Aelin realized, the countless Wyrdmarks carved into the stone.
Nehemia had known how to use the marks. Had been taught them and was fluent enough in them to have wielded their power. Aelin had never asked how or why or when.
*sobs* these books were so much better when Nehemia was around......
Before they can do anything, Lorass sends them a warning signal that the Ilken are approaching.
Rowan’s throat bobbed, and [Aelin] knew he’d been taking in the horizon and surrounding lands not for any chance of winning the battle that was sure to come, but for any shot at getting her out. Even if the rest of them had to buy her time with their own lives.
I know it’s only logical to try and get the royalty out safely but I’m goddamn sick of everyone being so ready to lay down their lives for Alien, when she wouldn’t lift a single finger to help anyone who doesn’t kiss her ass. Alien is such a goddamn Mary Sue please free me from this hell.
Next chapter starts with Lorass and Elide making a run for it.
Lorcan sent out another flickering blast of his power. Not toward the winged army that raced not too far ahead, but farther—toward wherever Whitethorn and his bitch-queen might be in this festering place. If those ilken reached them long before Lorcan could arrive, that Wyrdkey the bitch carried would be as good as lost.
Oh my goddd, thank you for having someone’s motivation be anything besides hailing Alien as the best queen ever. Lorass, you’re at least interesting and you’re actually improving enough that I can stomach your POVs, plus you might kill Alien off and that’s a major bonus. You are hereby promoted back to Lorcan.
We immediately shift back to Alien and her group of jackasses making a run for it.
And Lorcan … somewhere out there. [Aelin]’d think on that later. At least Fenrys and Gavriel had remained, rather than charging off to fulfill Maeve’s kill order.
Of course they stayed to save your dumb ass rather than fulfill their orders. Of fucking course. Alien suggests she uses the Wyrdkey again and Rowboat gets all pissy, which I kinda understand because the last time Alien used the Wyrdkey she killed a bunch of innocent people, destroyed part of an island, and was possessed by a goddess. She really is fucking stupid.
Aedion let out a low, bitter laugh. “You wanted to send a message to our enemies about your power, Aelin.” (...) Aedion jerked his chin toward the army approaching. “It seems Erawan sent his answer.”
IMPOSSIBLE, ALIEN MAKES A BAD DECISION AND ASSDION IS CALLING HER OUT ON IT??? I know Rowboat is gonna shoot him down but holy shit, Assdion is thinking independently for once in his life! Maybe he’ll be promoted back to Aedion.
Aelin hissed, “You blame me for this?”
Aedion’s eyes darkened. “We should have stayed in the North.”
“I had no choice, I’ll have you remember.”
“You did,” Aedion breathed, none of the others, not even Rowan, stepping in. “You’ve had a choice all along, and you opted to flash your magic around.”
FINISH HER
I am fucking living for this Alien roast tbh, I’d read a whole book of the characters taking shots at her dumb vain ass. That's right Alien, you thought you could kill innocent people for no reason other than to show off and get away with it but you were WRONG BITCH!!! WRONG!!!!!!!
Aedion’s lip curled off his teeth. “This isn’t a game. This is war, and you pushed and pushed Erawan to show his hand. You refused to run your schemes by us first, to let us weigh in, when we have fought wars—”
I LOVE THIS SONG!! I know Assdion has done shit in the past but oh my god, I am living for this redemption!!! Has SJM become self aware and is redeeming her characters last minute??? Even Rowboat thinks her plan is fucking stupid!
Only [Rowan’s] anger was directed at [Aelin]—perhaps more livid than she’d seen him since Mistward.
This is the best chapter no competition, I am loving this Alien roast. I know it probably won’t last but I am crying, finally we’re acknowledging that Alien’s plans are selfish and stupid.
But [Rowan’s] pine-green eyes were bright—almost soft—as he said, “Remember who you are. Every step of the way down, and every step of the way back. Remember who you are. And that you’re mine.”
Now we’re ripping off the Lion King? I mean, I know it’s a semi generic quote but given SJM’s past of ripping off other novels, I wouldn’t be surprised.
The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart …
I feel like at this point, SJM, you should’ve realized you’ve given Alien waaaaay too many titles, none of which she’s done anything to deserve or earn. Can you say, Mary Sue?
Chapter ends with Alien firing out a huge fire tornado out of her ass that is most certainly going to drain up all of her magic. Gg dumbass, you’re gonna be useless for a few days after this. Fingers crossed that this bites her in the ass afterwards.
Lorcan knew they were still too slow, warning signal or not.
Next chapter opens with Elide and Lorcan again. Lorcan has given her Maeve’s ring to protect her, which is honestly really sweet. Maybe I’ll ship them. Maybe.
Elide staggered one step—one step toward Aelin, a small noise coming out of her.
No please SJM I’m begging you, don’t make Elide into a mindless Alien worshiper like Assdion... please SJM I’m begging.......
“What is … ,” Elide breathed, but Lorcan lunged for her, hurling them to the ground, covering her body with his. He threw a shield over them, plummeting hard and fast into his magic, the drop nearly uncontrolled.
Lorcan puts the safety of Elide over his own need for revenge against Alien. I’ve gripped about his character development before, but it’s probably the only real character arc in this entire novel, so I’ll take it.
There’s a switch to Assdion’s POV, but it lasts for like half a page before it returns to Lorcan. SJM really just wants to splooge over how uhmazing Alien is through Assdion. Gag.
Lorcan watched in silence as Rowan slid a hand over her waist, the other cupping the side of her face, and kissed his queen.
Embers stirred her unbound hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close. A golden crown of flame flickered to life atop Rowan’s head—the twin to the one Lorcan had seen burning that day at Mistward.
Ewwww at least Lorcan is only saying what he’s seeing and not splooging over the shitty Ratlin ship.
Ash continued to fall, clumping on Elide’s silky night-dark hair. [Lorcan] gently picked out a bit, then put a shield over her to keep it from landing on her again.
P-pure...
Anyways Lorcan and Elide decide to stroll on over to say hello to the group of jackasses. Weird, since Elide just pointed Lorcan isn’t on friendly terms with Alien, but eh, maybe he knows they won’t prioritize attacking him due to the circumstances-
Slowly, Lorcan closed in on his prey, too focused on the fire-breathing bitch to notice that Fenrys and Gavriel had vanished from their positions in the reeds.
Oh my god, I...I actually feel... panic! Like, I actually do care about Elide and Lorcan a little bit now? I don’t want them to be hurt? What the fuck, how did you manage this, SJM?
Well, Chapter 57 picks right back up with Elide’s POV.
Elide had never been more aware of her limp. Of her dirty clothes; of her long, unshaped hair; of her small body and lack of any discernible gifts.
Christ I get it SJM, no one is even worthy of getting to lick Alien’s boots, I get it, stop rubbing it in my face.
[Lorcan] said coolly, “It would seem our bargain with each other is about to end anyway. I’ll be sure to explain the terms, don’t worry. I’d hate for them to think you were slumming it with me.”
Aww, Lorcan is putting her needs above his own......
Gav and Fenrys, understandably, attack Lorcan in furry wolf/lion form. Elide pushes him out of the way and one of them bites her arm.
[Lorcan] growled to the lion and the wolf, his shield a swirling, obsidian wind
around them, “You’re dead. You’re both dead—”
I’m a sucker for that “Character A doesn’t know how much Character B cares about them until they’re injured and B loses their mind” trope, so I admit I’m warming up to them a tiny bit more.
Lorcan’s onyx eyes were unreadable as he scanned [Elide’s] face. And then he said quietly, “I wanted to go to Perranth with you.”
Lorcan dropped the shield.
Damn.. can’t believe SJM’s writing is improving a tiny bit towards the end... it’s rather late, but not completely unwelcomed.
Gav offers to heal Elide while Fenrys and Lorcan wave their dicks around some more at each other. Can’t believe I’m grateful for Rowboat’s presence for once, but he comes to put a stop to the Alpha Male competition. Alien also shows up so SJM can splooge about her via Elide’s POV.
Aelin strode closer, eyes never leaving Elide’s face. Young—she felt so young compared to the woman who approached.
Ain’t they like, the same age, though?
And Elide sobbed as Manon Blackbeak emerged, smiling faintly.
PURE AND WHOLESOME................I hope we get more Elide/Manon interactions.
Fenrys feels legitimately sorry for injuring Elide, and I’m inclined to believe him. She did push Lorcan out of the way of a bite that was intended for him.
“I’m here,” Elide said as Aelin fixed those unnervingly vivid eyes on her, “because of Kaltain Rompier.”
So apparently Kaltain gave Elide the stone because she owed Alien for... giving her a warm cloak. What the fuck? Alien slutshamed Kaltain, insulted her, didn’t bother to free her from prison, did I mentioned she slutshamed her? And Kaltain wants to repay a debt for Alien doing the bare minimum? Fuck outta here with that nonsense.
“M-majesty,” [Elide] stammered, inclining her head. She should really get up. Really stop lying on the ground like a worm. But the cloth and stone still lay in her hand.
Elide, baby, it’s okay. None of these people are worth the dirt on the bottom of your shoe.
[Lorcan] didn’t let go of Elide’s arm, and she tried not to lean into his warmth. Tried not to make it seem like she hadn’t just met her queen, her friend, her court, and … somehow now found Lorcan to be the safest of them all.
Honestly fam, don’t blame you. These people are batshit insane.
“We like to call it ‘territorial male nonsense,’” Aelin confided. “Or ‘territorial Fae bastard’ works just as nicely.”
The Fae Prince coughed pointedly behind her.
Unghhh this shit again. We’re almost done, my dudes, we’re almost done....
Lorcan had been willing to die for Elide. Had been willing to put aside his quest for Maeve in order for Elide to live. And had then acted territorial enough to make Rowan wonder if he seemed so ridiculous around Aelin all the time.
How can I hold all this self awareness??? Like what the fuck was SJM high writing this book but sobered up for these final few chapters???
“Aelin can decide what to tell you.”
“Such a good dog.”
Rowan gave him a lazy smile but refrained from commenting on the delicate, dark-haired young woman who now held Lorcan’s own leash.
Holy fucking shit, SJM really did want these guys to be werewolves.
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🌐\\MAY DAY! MAY DAY! DAY. DAY.
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Sir. Hi. Can you bee a can a peas made in this for me and I can but holy only you vast a teased to it as it is for me. Ah; it's just laught like I'm a bee bibles aim right but no not yet it is open to. Okay.
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sHANty i.E.t.S. productionz
CraigoNEilmaRTin:*🔯
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As they ran away come take me and run. Put me in your pocket and run don't let him see you.
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Happily fairly tales.
Flowing air.
Hi calls.
Nature fall.
En.-glish/
Hey there's a great terms to come over caught upon me is DAY daily Vail hot top is term to we were yours orders is great as mine minding gear landing into people's as dreads as a looking out interested aware dot on happiness happens inz zincz pilez pillz into humanitarianz!!!
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Warrh Spitting spelt I am Spirit.!
Searching; sequence. sequence. sequencing.
Sequencings. sequence. sequence. sequencies; sequence.
@Frequency; frequnce; Frequencing. Frequncings.//ฯ°
Pole!.
Yea thoughts are as yea lower than Then Thought thinking thinks these Things Think offer To Offence that It; Is More Over There's Are Maroons Stood Up For Moore.
As we are these oh Lord they psalm pieced a blizzard into cold hot tops that sat thee lights isn't his owed but my mind to be strong as it is Cool is Far off this isle osle Is Of Here idle Heights Of their Name avoid These Songs Creators Names.
There are spirit on a lot off to been being been a being as menes is as stronger then grapes are yet but once.
The sun set upon a pathwaves that he see these love in a storm Saith to me in names I am can called. So been is if it is all fall laughter being into a shot that one eye's see an answered sayings I am I an high heights fell fall.
Flowing found a tame unto they that sink out off to be a great freed call as memo is isn't him his imperials incorrect hug to being with shipping of merchandise land fall en these his.
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SAT :1.
For a star; stars are star. And star started start as a stars.
Star star's is his he him starting star's stars Star.
Ain't a star sat on control coming comets reads years came thoughts or tears off starting searching as started star.
DAY star sun.
Sun stars is status stated star as onces oz.../°/STAR SAT THEE LIGHTS|©.
Ray Roll 'A' River Ra Ras.. °. ..|©| when we all thoughts seated as he were there to Sea; Ocean's carry away a Waves that has a strong Storming Cloudy Blues Blue Rain Rays Float Although Modes and Made he Broken Tides to Covered all Vail. Tales Meaning Strongest Frets Searches for Vail. Verifies DAY as Moon Night Lit Lights Upon all Main.
Nighty Night to Well which is into you wised.
Wisdoms is greatest long great had been seeing a conquest to a announcing than none; it is I too heavily incontrol to cast vote to be stronger then storm clouds to be able until MAY DAY DAY daily DAY.
🔯Craig O'neil Martin .com
Ye.. these are acknowledgement of people of Great Kings and Queens.
There is until death is of they that has quest until they are called upon as nubian. These people are set to rituals that as they are in their owed their fought brought them to a Great Dynasty that there is a Kingdom left behind those off to be offered into these people.
KINGDOMS ARE KINGDOM : (1.)
Kingdom are kingdom that have great leaders; as they are Mighty Men in The Throne Crowned as Great Leader's.
Many as King's House's off to a war to told their tale aren't as King Menes the first KINGDOM off to Chaos upon his Thrones.
If weren't grapes of great vine's as thereof those very leading KINGDOM stoop upon him had nevertheless been in his KINGDOM to his coming to these Computing.
Haile Selassie I all this of this Solomonic Dynasties are standing going out to an Earth worthy King and Queen unlikeliness of thinking about father in a Kingdom of his ark of acknowledgement until understand cast all open cause of his father sight hisses as a grape of his controller sir and madam to King the brother stupid stands into him; Esteeming's that's a men's army shield he to kill the cast on until the Vail of his eye's is wished to his mother into all computing but before his murdering Hailey Kings aren't be sabathically studies to these days of self praises.
@//.. .Hailey The Trinity Only Holy Wisdom Visit Vail Gatherings.*)
These are Rituals tamed for a King and Queen the knowing to be a cast to task all verse of their KINGDOM to as strong as many would before towards coming to this world Created by them; /Their belief as a believing they're to believe captain of all merchant's schooling of a as to be until as is if is as upon a Kings Crown be forth as names if he him is of Grapes.
Personnels as much surity a unit to be as Haile King Selassie I stood up as a Harmsmen for the world's most won't be this strong as nurturings are his name on his pathway. Mr. Mrs. Storming Cloud standing Strong.
Churches a grape.
Temples.
Cast Net.
Asap web.
Comings hah yah/ra/selah/amen//yahweh the all mighty strongest www new worlds orders controllers.com//@.
Events are just as is it is justice as courts are just on Moses and as those killing is off to justify their esteem to care for self; flags Smokes as Incents are Clone to Operating Conjunction Punctuation Marks are into these Grapes. KINGDOM steer into all thoughts live Jesus named.
Hailey Selassie I.
Hail they King they love Queen as I am afraid off to Thee. As a as I opening these worlds cast to never need off to offered Vail on this knee of they fails until I died as a grapes to you on thinking of my obeah!!; thus thas thyn thy whence thee thee's believeth werty upon thence.
There's aren't there as dear is more to before as concern to their.
Merry Thankzgivings!!!
//°°|©@™®🌐.. .
Cerly ..Craig O'neil Martin.
Seal.)
Frets.
Afraid.
Halloweens.
Scan.
Set's.
Sun.
Freed.
Gree.
See.
Term.
Saith.
com..con..att..app.https..web..net..mail's..date..searching..data..dat..records..count..grapes.comm.
Thee is it these words to say upon my path. That I may not yet be off to. For ever is isn't these as those natures unto man. And as there is place to live.
Love livities.
Lives loves within.
I am.
Am I.
I
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And the peoples people's is forever
Terms that I most i
Come.
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Hey!!
Hey!!!
I am Hey.
MAY DAY.
MAY DAY.
DAY. DAY.
😭MAYHEM!!.
😰MAYHEM..
As we are there in the storm I to be this as you are..oh. Yes. I think so. If is it you're me. Oh then; looked.
I can't gather you're awaken in a strong morning; as if it is yet but I'm; gone!.
😳sHANty i.e.t.s PrOdUcTiOn!!!
@//°°|©😎Craig!!/.com
Mar/onei\\*)
Sincerely Craig O'neil Martin.....;
#seekie (i )#seeki.
It is like a day nothing wrong but do I see that I can't believe I see that had.
Craig what are you doing.. I'm good I'm just sitting down. Oh!!!
I fear a steering whist; that hit me; as it hit a song.
Standing off; to know that I ain't; a dame.. Oh! I'm too much to myself.
Oh I just can been able to be searching how I got to be like a skull that need someone to give up my loves. It is a love Lord God Almighty is if there was and still mines but another to be three is a waste to be mine; but only for another person; were I being this place to live.
(@these are vision of all thoughts to belief.°©.)
MAYHEM😙... Hi. What's up with these words handling; you're mad.
Ah/. No. but okay.
Bye!!!.
Mayhem there's a searching to the mountain that is like a big reef towards these water fountain that they are in a open turning point of flocks to the air so camping is off or what.
No but I think it's the best thing that we are going to do is just sit and wait for that time which can shows us a better day: if I wasn't thinking of all of this then I would be more understanding of none at launch makes up for it but if these saying ate what you have in mind then the time is more near than you expecting.
Just fear nothing going down with nothing but something only for us okay!!.
Oh: I think same.
So; we looking at a time more than last time into these visits opening; like that sea sailing vessel that we caught up first up like your me say can we do it here but I could be that one into this strong modes here look sea watching and the breeze too; so much is watching we.
Oh: it make a joy now you'll see. but why. It's just a easy evening looking out with you so I can't bathercthis time going out like we are going on a first date but only observing the cool leafs I'm on. Alright it's good no more.(at.)@//*°°|ฯ©´
§hAnTY i.Et..$™productioN
Creaignopdopescraigoneilmartinan##/
It took MI Vail to cover up on this feets and nothing can see me but MAYHEM I'm hungry off this are we're going utter space or going lose open air at these atmosphere we are casting or video these looks on our face.ah come to this conclusion to make a mass then going home. Yes.okay then.
Oh Mr Nightly. I'm saying good good morning.
To you morning.
Mornings.
To you.
Mornings.
Who's you calling.
Mr Nightly it's a badge I need for this one fears is if I am in these..%#55090987654324437543315.°°·°°°°°°°°°°°°.°.°°=01876.
If that's what's on then okay sir checking in sir.
Grapes oh I just can't thinking about but I'll be these two or more put it over these desk that's not my own but wait it's looks beautiful that I look low to see pencil steering me Oh go on go what it's a dream world I'm into with my fologicalinetermsipoy.
Spit on me what's that for okay.
Thanks for this.
Yes you're more likely.
The End.
Just as I seek at my best today tomorrow will be a better for we as it is for our esteem as it is yo be best of our lives we live.
(The End)
And as the angel came to the earth see the midst of all the earth and the myth of all the flock that see the death of he that know nothing of they and out of the heaven of they the coming of him that sat upon them that see him in death upon the land and the sea and of the ocean.
They that hid away from him come to pass to be seeing and rush to sure that he is the coming of they as they knew nothing of him but of what is to come as his name say yea low am I the king of glory as I speak off to you now I am and these are the sweat of my life off to buried to these named.
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Homeward, ch. 5 (POTC OC)
Synopsis: Eleven years ago, Adonia Barbossa was abandoned as a child by her father for no discernible reason. Now a pirate captain in her own right, she seeks him to finally demand answers.
Rating: T for language and any various and sundry innuendoes.
A/N: Fun fact--this is the longest chapter so far! It’s about twice as long as any of the previous ones. There was a lot to get through. Plus I got a lot of time to play with Thom the bosun. And use some more of Jim’s French. And introduce... The Big Bad.
Shoutouts: @soulventure91, @and-will-nice-hat
The first boarders to come over from the EITC ship were met with the echoing crack of pistol fire and the shing of angry steel. A half-dozen Company marines fell before they even had a chance to form up and fire on the pirates. In fact, they barely had a chance now, as Adonia's men rushed them, blades drawn, howling curses. Swords met bayonets with clangs like a broken church bell. Adonia lunged for the closest officer, a nondescript bewigged man wearing the blue and gold coat of the Company. She raised her cutlass to slash down across his collar bone, but he whirled, sword raised, to block her attack. The officer froze, immediately, his brown eyes wide with recognition, though for Adonia the memory of his face was faint, the way a dream became hazy upon waking.
"Captain Barbossa!" he gasped. His voice was warm and smooth with a proper gentleman's accent.
Adonia squinted at him. The cut of his jaw and the tone of his voice were... familiar... She knew she'd seen him before, but she'd never met a Company officer before, nor did she particularly enjoy the experience right now.
"Have we met?"
The officer opened his mouth to respond when a gunshot ripped through the air. Adonia yelped as it the shot tore into her shoulder, and she whirled away to fold in on herself, cutlass falling to the deck. The officer she'd almost killed rushed to her side, a hand on her back, and she shrugged him off, the heel of her palm pressed into the gaping wound. She heard Jim yell out "Capitaine!" before marines surrounded her, separating him from her. Adonia looked up to see a swarm of marines had flooded her deck, holding her men at gunpoint. Damn it!
"What a delightful buccaneer greeting," called a clipped voice from the other side of the deck.
Adonia turned, nostrils flaring with sharp breaths, to see Cutler Beckett striding onto her ship as if he owned it, hands tucked in the small of his back. His brown frock coat fluttered in the sea wind as he looked around, chin raised just enough to give him the appearance of leering at everything. Adonia forced herself to stand upright despite the fire ripping through her shoulder. She was a noticeable two or three inches taller than Beckett when he finally stood before her, his eyes narrowed with cold calculation and disdain.
"Is it yer custom, Mister Beckett, to fire upon any passin' ship which strikes your fancy?"
"It's Lord Beckett, actually," he sniffed, "and no, I'm quite selective. Which is why your little boat, Miss Barbossa, has sailed right into my harbor."
"It's Captain Barbossa, actually," Adonia growled in reply. Beckett gave her a tight-lipped smile.
"Of course. My error. How ever do you keep from being confused with your father, my, my." Beckett paced around her toward the deck rail to inspect the fallen mainmast. "He is why you're here, after all, is it not? A long-lost daughter seeking her elusive father, I believe?"
"I'm here because there are still parts of the ocean for free pirates to sail."
"Is that so? Hm. Odd, because I have a friend in Tortuga who was very adamant that you lapped up his information and were quite eager to be on your way here."
Avery. Adonia's eyes narrowed. That gutless, recreant bastard. She should have known. He was so quick to pass on vague information, and she latched onto it without her usual efforts to check authenticity. She had always been so careful, verging on cunning, but the one time her emotions leaped leagues ahead of her brain, look at the cost. Her ship, crippled; her men, captured. Never mind her own wound, blood oozing from the gash despite her attempts to hold her arm immobile. She leaned toward Beckett, eyes afire. A pair of bayonetted rifles crossed between them, keeping her back.
"Tell your traitorous swine of a confidant," she hissed, "that the next time I am in Tortuga, I'll be sendin' him to the depths myself, and I'll keep his tavern as recompense."
Beckett sniffed. He took a step back as if to make it less apparent that he had to look up to meet her eyes.
"I would, except it is most unfortunate that you will be unable to exact your vengeance," he said. "You may not have noticed, captain, but I have taken your ship."
"What! No. I thought ye'd come over for tea."
Beckett's lips twitched as if contemplating a smirk. Adonia's face was unmoved, stone-cold and angry despite her sardonic utterances. This insolent twat thought he could take all he wanted on both land and sea? Adonia's nature was to fight and resist, but part of her was scared because she knew, deep down, that Beckett could do it. She looked past him at her crew. They were her responsibility, not her pride, not her sarcasm. She had to keep them safe.
"Fine then," she spat before Beckett could speak. "What d'ye want?"
"I have reliable information indicating that the Brethren Court plans to convene," Beckett said, "and your father, as I'm sure you know, is one of the pirate lords of the Court."
"Aye, but that hardly has a thing to do with me." Papa a pirate lord? Since when?
"Does it not? Perhaps I was mistaken. I assumed in your eagerness to locate him you would accept any opportunity to do so. And I'd hoped that he might return your sentiments and be equally eager to locate you. If that's not the case, then there's no reason to continue this conversation."
Beckett turned to go, and Adonia's gut dropped. No, no, she had to keep him talking, keep bargaining. Otherwise he'd broadside her little brig and it'd all be over. She wasn't going to do that to her crew. They trusted her. She looked at them and saw the panic lurking in their eyes, hidden by their stoic expressions.
"Lord Beckett!" She took a lunging step forward. The officer was immediately behind her, and the rifles crossed before her again, but she shouldered past them. She saw Beckett pause and continued toward him. "Ye've not explained your plan, milord. I can hardly come aboard if I can't find the ship you're sailing."
When Beckett turned to her with his calculating little smile, Adonia knew she was trapped. He had her cornered, like a kitten surrounded by hounds. She could hiss and arch her spine all day, but he had bigger claws and teeth right now. Perhaps he had never intended to open fire on her ship. He just wanted her to do exactly as she had done. Damn him!
"My plan, captain, is to rid these waters of piracy and make way for progress, as I am sure you have no doubt already observed. However, to effect this goal, I must know where the Brethren plan to meet. If you possess that information, I pray you, share it now and save me some precious time."
"...I do not," Adonia said.
It was entirely truthful. She had already been taken by surprise with Beckett's information that her father was a pirate lord. He must have been one already when she was with him, or else obtained the title after she was gone. If he had already been one, was that why he called her his sea princess? She knew nothing of the function or dealings of the Brethren Court; she had only ever heard the name, whispered as a relic from past ages. Did that make her pirate royalty? What a foolish, childish thought to entertain, especially now, here, with her and her crew's lives at stake! Yet there it was, lingering in the back of her mind, hungry for acknowledgment. With a title like that, she could be a person of quality, not just a common thief.
"That's unfortunate," Beckett quipped. "Ah, well. I'll continue with the rest of my arrangements, then, which do, in fact, include you. I cannot think of a father alive who would not go to great lengths to ensure his daughter's safety—or, in fact, any father at all, but that's neither here nor there...
"The point remains, captain, that your father, distant though he apparently is, will not be able to resist the lure to rescue you from my clutches the very moment he hears I have you. Then you shall receive the family reunion you so desperately crave—enough to accept information at face value, I see—and I shall receive the location of the Brethren Court.
"Therefore," Beckett went on, raising his voice to be audible by all, "you and your crew are hereby pressed into the service of the East India Trading Company, and your ship shall sail as my personal escort, to be captained by you as I order you to captain it."
Chills raced down Adonia's spine. Her crew broke out in roars of defiance and revulsion as they heard him, but she said nothing. Press-ganged to be bait for her father—nay, for the entire Brethren Court. She wanted to laugh and spit in Beckett's face and bark that her father would never come for her, that he had abandoned her to the seas over a decade ago and he'd not come back for her now. But she knew if she did, she would be signing her crew's death warrants. She'd not do that to them. No decent captain, no captain worth following, did that to his crew. She would not be doing it to hers.
"Don't do it, mon capitaine!" Jim yelled to her from where he was restrained. Adonia saw shackles clamped around his wrists and fumed. Jim had already come from chains; he would not go back to them under her watch.
"Fuck 'im and his orders!" Thom shouted too. "Rather we all die here than sail wit' his lot!"
"Do you agree with your crewmen, capitaine?" Beckett asked her, clipped and sneering. "Would you prefer death to my employ? That can be arranged, believe me."
Adonia looked at her crew again, helpless. Pain throbbed through her shoulder from the still-embedded bullet, but that was not why hot tears stung her eyes. At her side, she heard the officer with the brown eyes inhale slowly, as if discomfited by the situation. Part of her desperately wanted to break the tension of the moment and turn to him with glinting eyes and an easy smirk and ask "Your face seems all rather familiar; I'd not soon forget something so handsome," if only to relieve herself of this agony. Die here by sword and rifle and cannonade, or swear to sail, living physically but dying in spirit?
No, she thought, this bastard does not get the luxury of owning my spirit. I survive. It's what I do. And if he thinks I'll not fight to free myself, he doesn't know me half as well as he likes to pretend.
"What becomes of my crew, my ship, and me once you have the Brethren?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady in the face of her terrified men.
"Well," Beckett said with a slow smile, "that depends entirely on your performance—and your loyalty. I am not without mercy, captain; I reward those who serve well."
"...aye," Adonia said. "Ye'll not find a better crew in these waters. But if we're to serve then I demand a say in our treatment. If we're to be your bait for that father of mine, then I'll not have your men aboard my ship."
"You expect me to simply trust you? When pirates are so notoriously fickle with their loyalties?"
"Yes, and you know I'll scuttle this ship before you can take her if you don't trust me."
"You're hardly irreplaceable, you know."
"Am I? The daughter of a pirate lord, irreplaceable?" Adonia shifted her weight and squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. "So you'd prefer my father come down upon ye with fury and all hell to avenge my loss, rather than fall so neatly into your hands? Well, if there can be no agreeing between us, I suppose there's naught I can say."
"Your point is well taken," Beckett snipped. He drew in a long inhale, as if buying himself time to ponder. "Very well. My men will stay aboard your ship until it has been repaired and then take their leave. Is that your only condition?"
"Ye'll not replace a single man of my crew with one of your own, but neither will we be treated as second-class sailors. The Dainty Lass is your bodyguard; we won't be treated as trophies or slaves. Furthermore, if you fire upon my father's ship before I as much as yell hello to him, I'll come aboard your ship and blow a hole in your skull. Do we have an accord?"
"You drive a hard bargain." Sarcasm dripped down his words like water off a gutter. "But yes, agreed. None of that will happen."
Adonia stuck out her hand to shake on it, and when Beckett gripped her palm, he shook just hard enough to make fresh pain spike through her shoulder. She grimaced but tried, too slowly, to hide it. Beckett gave her a cool smile as he turned to take his leave.
"Lieutenant Groves," he said to the brown-eyed officer, "see that this ship is set to rights."
"Yes, sir," Groves said. Groves, Groves—where do I know that name? He looked at Adonia with an almost sorrowful gaze before turning to order his cadre of marines and some Company sailors to action. "Step to, men! Haul up the rigging out of the water and prepare tow lines!"
Then he was gone, and Adonia inched away, shaking as she headed for the wheel despite being unable to do anything with it. When she reached the wheel, she slumped down against its housing, holding her shoulder and fighting tears. Maybe it would've been better if I'd had us all killed.
Footsteps on the deck boards made her turn her head without looking up. She knew she sound of Jim's boots, and she figured Thom was right behind him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to them. She turned away, trying not to let them see her tears. They needed a strong captain, not one who was so easily cowed and who sat crying from pain. "You'd rather us all die than submit but—the ship—the men—I can't—"
"Hush up, capitaine," Jim chided her. "You're lettin' that bullet do the talking for you, here, let's see it."
He crouched beside her and took her arm, peeling back her coat, vest, and blouse to get a look at it. He tsked softly.
"Thom, fetch up the cap'n's kit," he said, and Thom was gone without a word.
The Lass's small crew often wore many hats. They were too few to have a dedicated barber and surgeon, so Jim often did his best. Under a previous captain, Adonia, too, had received rudimentary training in medicine, enough to remove bullets and patch up cuts. She and Jim shared the toolkit Thom had just gone to retrieve. She bit her lip as Jim prodded at the bloody hole in her shoulder.
"Doesn't seem too deep," he said. "Don't think anything's broken."
"No," Adonia said, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a deep breath and tried to force her way through the haze of confusion and throbbing pain. What have I done to my crew? Have I just delayed their deaths to another day? "It was just enough to stop me, not to really harm me. Really fucking hurts, all the same."
"Well, you did always have a low pain tolerance, n'est-ce pas?" Jim chuckled softly, a deep rumble in his chest, and Adonia smirked.
"Yes, yes, I'm weak," she said just as Jim returned with both the toolkit and a bottle of rum. He pressed the rum into her hands—she glared at it with disdain but popped the cork stopper and took a long swig to dull the ache in her shoulder—and the kit into Jim's. Then he crouched nearby to keep an eye out.
"That all's not what I'd've done, cap'n," he noted. He sighed and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I'd've scuttled us."
"I know it, Thom. But I was not about to watch the lot of you die and have it be my fault. Even if I died with you, I couldn't live out me final moments like that." Adonia took another gulp of rum and grimaced as it burned down her throat. "Why don't we have wine on this ship... "
"Next port," Jim noted as he selected the tools for his work. "Hold still."
Just as he got to work—prodding inside the wound with a metal tool to fully locate the bullet—and Adonia closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch, Lieutenant Groves came up from the main deck.
"Captain Barbossa, the ship is—ah, ma'am, I'd be happy to take you across to the Endeavour for the ship's surgeon to help..."
"Jim's got it covered, lieutenant, thank you." She cracked one eye open, then both, to look at him. "We've met, aye?"
"Yes, we—we have." Good God, is he blushing? Whatever for? "Port Royal, about three years ago."
The memory surged in her mind as his face and voice fully clicked into place, and she laughed hard enough that Jim growled at her to sit still and shut up. She took a third swig of rum (better stop, though, or else she'd be good for naught).
"And how," she chuckled, "are your shirts, lieutenant?"
Thom looked at her like she'd lost her mind. Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. Groves noticeably blushed and fidgeted with the large gold cuff of his coat.
"Just fine, thank you," he muttered. He cleared his throat and ducked his head. "Excuse me, I'll... leave you to your cure."
With that, he was gone, and Adonia leaned her head back, warmed through by the rum (despite the pain from Jim's surgery) and amused despite the day's terrors.
"...shirts?" Thom asked, a brow arched. Adonia grinned at him with the tense, tight smile of pain tempered by humor.
"I'll tell ye when you're older, laddie," she mocked with a bad impression of his brogue.
"Fuck you, cap'n," he snorted, though he gave her a smirk and a wink as he got up to get back to work.
"Aye, and same to you, bosun. Keep my ship afloat or I'll hang ye from the yardarm!"
"Promises, promises!" Thom yelled back to her.
Adonia settled in quietly at that, eyes closing again while Jim chided her for moving. Of course she resorted to humor just now. What else was she to do? She felt the ship move under them as the tow cables were tied off and the Endeavour began to haul them away. This was only what she deserved for being such a fool, for entertaining such childish hopes of reuniting with her father. That was not like to happen. He'd not come for her because Beckett had her as a glorified hostage. He hadn't come for her in eleven years. Why would he start now?
At least this situation would afford her the chance to know more fully what was happening in the world. She hadn't known the Brethren Court planned to meet. Hell, she hadn't known Papa was a pirate lord. She hadn't known Groves had left the Royal Navy, or perhaps been press-ganged out of it. And she certainly hadn't known Beckett knew as much of her as he did. Things were not looking up for the Dainty Lass and her crew. But at least this way, she could gather information. She could buy and barter time. And then, someday hopefully soon, she'd be able to strike.
#long chapter is long#pirates of the caribbean#potc fic#potc oc#adonia barbossa#cutler beckett#theodore groves
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Dreams and Visions (10/51): Victoria Sails
Time Period: Victorian
Chapter Summary: Mycroft's got a case for Holmes and Watson. Or does he?
This is set two weeks after 'The Worth Of A Wound'.
Read it on AO3
Note: Note: I hope I have made this as historically accurate as the internet (sans Bradshaw) allows me to be, and any liberties taken are entirely artistic (also we are in a world of dreamwalking gay detective-doctors, history may be rewritten a tad).
The telegram came early that morning. Holmes had just finished a hasty breakfast when Mrs. Hudson laid it on the table. “It’s from your brother, Mr. Holmes,” she said.
Curious, Holmes opened the telegram. “Come to Plymouth docks. Case for you. Wear your best. Bring Dr. Watson.” It was signed Mycroft, which meant that his brother was anxious yet happy. Odd.
“What is it, Holmes?” Watson was half-asleep, coming down the stairs without limping for the first time in two weeks. Lovely.
“Mycroft wants us to join him on a case.”
“Interesting…”
“In Plymouth.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not.” Holmes held out the telegram and Watson examined it.
“What on earth is happening?”
“I’ve no idea. Look up the trains in Bradshaw, will you? Unless you don’t want to go,” Holmes added, suddenly concerned.
Watson waved his hand and smiled. “Mycroft going so far as Plymouth? Such a case must be highly interesting, or at the least dangerous. I refuse to let you go alone whichever is the case.”
Holmes shook his head fondly. “I’ll let Mrs. Hudson know.”
Thankfully they caught the early train, but it was still nearly supper time when they reached Plymouth. Holmes led Watson down to the docks, growing more puzzled by the moment. There were no obvious signs of political unrest, and the summer crowds made the town far more crowded than Mycroft liked. If his brother ever left London, he tended to retire to their old family home in the country. What on earth would possess him to come here, especially if he could simply send him and Watson?
Can’t make bricks without clay, Holmes.
Holmes spotted his brother the moment they reached the docks—a person of Mycroft’s stature tended to draw attention. Here, in a suit far better suited to Parliament than holiday making, he stuck out even more so than usual.
Mycroft smiled when he saw them. “Good afternoon Dr. Watson, Sherlock. Fine day, is it not?”
“Very,” Holmes agreed, still looking about for signs of trouble.
Mycroft shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “Why don’t you two get settled aboard? We’re nearly ready to cast off.”
Holmes looked up in surprise. A small clipper ship floated just beyond them, her name proudly emblazoned on the side, Victoria.
“Mycroft, is this your ship?” Watson asked with no small amount of confusion.
Mycroft nodded, pleased. “I don’t sail her often, but every now and then I enjoy the sea.”
Holmes stiffened. Something was wrong. It was entirely possible that Mycroft owned a ship, but clippers were more often used for trade than pleasure. Where were they going?
“Mycroft—”
“Sherlock.” His brother’s voice was mild but firm. “You and your friend should go aboard.”
Don’t question me, little brother.
Holmes got the message. “Come along, Watson,” he called.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting so long, gentlemen.”
Holmes glanced up. He and Watson had spent the last two hours exploring the ship and then attempting to find their bags, which had mysteriously disappeared from where they’d left them. A deckhand had finally told them that their belongings were safe but they weren’t to disturb the several locked rooms. It was enormously frustrating, and if Mycroft had not been aboard the ship Holmes would have taken Watson and escaped via on of the lifeboats.
Now Mycroft was heading towards them, looking immensely satisfied.
“Brother, what is going on?” Holmes snapped. “What is this case?”
Watson shot a glance at him, but Holmes was tired of waiting. “Why all the secrecy?”
Mycroft didn’t seem offended. “I couldn’t tell you until now because we hadn’t reached our destination.”
Holmes looked about, but he couldn’t see any sign of land, nor even another ship. “Which is where, exactly?”
“International waters,” Mycroft said calmly.
Watson raised his eyebrows. “And why is that necessary? Are we condoning a felony tonight?”
“Oh I expect more than one, if the two of you are amenable.” Mycroft’s eyes were twinkling. “You see, I wish to perform a marriage this evening.”
“And who are the lucky couple?” Holmes yawned, relieved. “Jack the Ripper and Amelia Sach?”
Mycroft merely stared at him until Holmes grew nervous.
Watson drew in a deep breath beside him. “Mycroft, you cannot possibly be serious. We can’t—”
Then Holmes understood.
“Are you insane, brother? We can’t—there’s no—”
“Both of you stop.” Mycroft’s gray eyes were steel. “We are far from judging eyes and laws. You are safe here, and why not take advantage of that?”
“A marriage between men will never be recognized!” Holmes spat. Then he remembered a pale man in the mist asserting the exact opposite.
“It will someday,” Watson said. He shared a look with Holmes, eyes raised, clearly thinking of the same night. “But Holmes is right, Mycroft, what is the point?”
“The point is for the two of you to have things that others in love may have!” Mycroft cried exasperatedly. “Perhaps only those of us onboard may know of it, but you will be bound together. I know that you both wish it, why not have it?”
Holmes opened his mouth, then let it close as he considered Watson. John. His John. He’d always hated the idea of marriage, but now that he had John…he’d thought more than once if he could place a ring on John’s finger he would, if only to show the world that he loved this man.
Watson was looking determinedly at the ground.
“John,” Holmes asked softly. “Do you want this?”
“Do you?” Watson asked, looking up.
“I don’t know if I’ll be a very good husband,” Holmes admitted as he reached out for his lover’s hand. “But if you’ll give me the chance I’d be grateful.”
Watson took his hand in his, stroking the long fingers tenderly. “I…yes, I think that would be lovely. I will be your husband, and I don’t care if only we know it.”
Mycroft nodded. “Then we’d better get in place, though that shouldn’t take long.”
Fear seized Holmes as the deckhand came up to them. Could this man be trusted? Then a wig was removed, a mask slipped to the side and Stanley Hopkins stood there grinning. “Good evening Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” he said happily.
Holmes stared at him, stunned and Watson laughed. “I would never have known it!” he said, shaking his head. He glanced up into the sails. “I see you now though, Wiggins! Who’s that with you?”
“Ross and Emma Lee,” Wiggins called back from his lofty perch. “Congratulations, Doctor!”
Holmes threw his hands up. “Who else is here?”
“Just two more, I think,” Mycroft replied, eyes twinkling in the fading light. Footsteps—Holmes groaned as he recognized the treads—announced the arrival of the final two wedding guests, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.
Watson was laughing as he stood, taking Holmes’ hand casually as they crossed the deck. “So you knew all along?”
“We’ve been planning for months,” Mrs. Hudson replied. She had her best dress on, and she looked ten years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.”
Holmes considered Lestrade, who looked steadily back. “And you, Inspector?”
Lestrade shrugged. “I’ve known for years, Mr. Holmes. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on Hopkins.”
Hopkins looked like he wanted to protest, but kept his mouth shut.
“Shall we begin?” Mycroft asked a little impatiently.
Holmes looked at Watson, a little non-plussed.
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, come here!” Watson dragged Holmes to stand by the mast. “Will this do, Mycroft?” he asked.
Mycroft strode over, the others following. “That should do nicely, John. Now we’ll have to make this quick, because I have a notion that my sailors want to see the whole thing.”
“Damn right we do!” Wiggins called from the sails.
“Get down then, so we can begin!”
Three pairs of feet hit the deck almost instantaneously.
Mycroft drew a small box from his pocket. “I know I didn’t give either of you much time for thought, but I also don’t know if the traditional vows quite work for this occasion.” Opening the box, he drew out two identical gold rings. He handed one to each of them.
Holmes stared at John, a lump coming into his throat. How could he put what he felt for this man into words? Even if he’d had a hundred years, he would never be able to say it exactly.
Then John smiled and Holmes knew exactly what he should say.
“John, I love you. I vow to stand by your side forever, no matter what challenges we face. I vow to cheer you in sad times, to comfort you in hard times and to rejoice with you in the good. I give you my heart, such as it is.” He slid the ring onto John’s waiting, trembling finger.
John cleared his throat. “Sherlock, I can offer you only my promise to be your partner in all our life together, whether we are hunting criminals or cleaning the bookcases. I love you…more than words can say.” He put Holmes’ ring on, voice thick with tears.
Mycroft raised his hands. “As the captain of this vessel the Victoria, I hereby pronounced these men married. Any who object are getting thrown overboard immediately.”
Holmes didn’t wait to hear the amused chuckles. He drew John close and kissed him tenderly.
Their rings would have to be hung on chains, there would be no photographs of the wedding supper (which was a shame, Mrs. Hudson dancing was a sight to see) and their only honeymoon would take place on the overnight trip back to London in a locked room with one double bed. Only seven other people would ever know what had happened that night. It would always feel like a dream.
But it didn’t matter, Holmes realized, and he could tell John knew it too. They were married now because they loved each other and they had a family who loved them enough to make a special effort to see them together. That was more than enough proof that it had happened.
And after all, dreams had always been good to them.
#sherlock fanfiction#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock AU#johnlock#crossover with original canon#acme146 fanfiction#dreams and visions#sleeping on it 'verse#victorian marriage#hush it's wish fulfillment
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Matthew 13:1-9 | The Parable of the Sower
That same day Jesus went out of the house & sat by the sea. Such large crowds gathered around Him that He got into a boat & sat down, while all the people stood on the shore. And He told them many things in parables, saying, “A farmer went out to sow his seed. And as he was sowing, some seed fell along the path, & the birds came & devoured it. Some fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun rose, the seedlings were scorched, & they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up & choked the seedlings. Still other seed fell on good soil & produced a crop—a hundredfold, sixtyfold, or thirtyfold. Those who have ears, let them hear.”
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Joseph Benson Commentary (1749 –1821) | Matthew 13:1-2
The same day — On which Jesus delivered the discourse, & performed the miracles recorded in the preceding chapter, being unwearied & incessant in the blessed work in which He was engaged, He went out of the house, into which He had retired for a while, & sat by the sea-side — Namely, the sea of Galilee, or lake of Gennesareth, that He might give the people an opportunity of going to Him, & being instructed by His blessed doctrine.
great multitudes gathered to Him — The calumnies [false & defamatory statements] of the Pharisees not having had the effect intended.
On the contrary, the crowd was now become so great, that neither the house, nor the court before it, could contain the people.
So that, for the conveniency of being better heard, & less incommoded by them, He went into a ship, & sat — A small vessel on the lake, which, it seems, constantly waited upon Him while He was on the coast. [Mark 3:9]
Mark 3:9 | Jesus asked His disciples to have a boat ready for Him so that the crowd would not crush Him.
Here, being conveniently seated, at a little distance from the shore, on which the whole multitude stood, & which probably might be somewhat circular & declining, He could be both easily seen & heard.
Matthew 13:3 | And He told them many things in parables, saying, “A farmer went out to sow your seed.
v.3 — “Delivered many doctrines of the highest importance, wisely making choice of such for the subject of His sermons, when He had the greatest number of hearers, because on those occasions there was a probability of doing the most good by them.”
parables — The Word parable sometimes signifies a sublime discourse, elevated beyond the common forms of speech, as Numbers 23:7; 24:15; Job 27:1; Job 29:1, where see the notes: sometimes a mere proverb, or adage.
Such as those mentioned Luke 4:23, Physician, heal yourselves; & Luke 6:39, Can the blind lead the blind? in both which places the Word παραβολη, parable, is used in the original, & in the former place is rendered proverb in our translation.
Numbers 23:7 | And Balaam lifted up an oracle, saying: “Balak brought me from Aram, the king of Moab from the mountains of the east. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘put a curse on Jacob for me; come & denounce Israel!’
Numbers 24:15 | ..Balaam lifted up an oracle, saying, “This prophecy of Balaam of Beor, the prophecy of a man whose eyes are open,
Job 27:1 | Job continued his parable:
The remainder of Job’s speech—now, for the first time, called his parable—consists of his determination not to renounce his righteousness. [2-6]
Job 29:1 | And Job continued his parable:
Sometimes the word means an apologue [moral fable], as Ezekiel 17:2, “Son of man, pose a riddle; speak a parable to the house of Israel.
Notes: A continued metaphor or figurative speech: an allegory. The prophets frequently delivered their instructions in this way, as being well calculated both to engage the attention of their hearers, & to make a deep & lasting impression on their minds. It was a mode of teaching peculiarly adapted to the eastern people, therefore often adopted by their instructers, whether inspired or uninspired. It is well known that our Lord frequently used it in preaching His gospel.
But here, & generally in the gospels, the Word is to be understood, according to its Greek etymology, as signifying a comparison, namely, taken from the ordinary affairs of people, & used to illustrate the things of God.
As this is the first time the term occurs in this history, & as we shall frequently meet with it hereafter, it may not be improper to make the following general observations, applicable, more or less, to all our Lord’s parables.
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1] It is not necessary to a parable that the matter contained, or things related in it, should be true in fact. For parables are not spoken to inform us in matters of fact, but in some spiritual truths, to which they bear some proportion.
This we see in Jotham’s parable of the trees going to choose themselves a king, Judges 9:7 to Judges 15:2.
Judges 9:7 | When this was reported to Jotham, he climbed to the top of Mount Gerizim, raised his voice, & cried out: “Listen to me, O leaders of Shechem, & may God listen to you.
Judges 15:2 | “I was sure that you thoroughly hated her,” said her father “so I gave her to one of the people who accompanied you. Is not her younger sister more beautiful than she? Please take her instead.”
It is not necessary that all the actions of people, mentioned in a parable, should be morally just & good.
The actions of the unjust steward, Luke 16:1-8, were not Song of Solomon 3 dly.
Luke 16:1-8 | Jesus also said to His disciples, “There was a rich man whose manager was accused of wasting his possessions. So he called him in to ask, ‘What is this I hear about you? Turn in an account of your management, for you cannot be manager any longer.’
The manager said to himself, ‘What shall I do, now that my master is taking away my position? I am too weak to dig & too ashamed to beg. I know what I will do, so that after my removal from management, people will welcome me into their homes...’ And he called in each one of his master’s debtors. ‘How much do you owe my master?’ he asked the first. ‘A hundred measures of olive oil,’ he answered. ‘Take your bill,’ said the manager. ‘Sit down quickly, & write fifty.’ Then he asked another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ ‘A hundred measures of wheat,’ he replied. ‘Take your bill & write eighty,’ he told him. The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly. For the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the children of light.
For right understanding of a parable, our great care must be to attend to the main scope of it; or to what our Lord had chiefly in view, & designed to teach.
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4] This may be learned, either from His general or more particular explication of it; or from what hath been termed the pro-parabola, or preface to the parable; or the epi-parabola, or conclusion of it.
5] It is not to be expected that all the particular actions or things represented in a parable, should be answered by something in the explication.
Lastly, Though the scope of the parable be the main thing we are to attend to, yet it may collaterally inform us in several other things also.
This way of teaching, extremely common in the eastern countries, & much used by our Lord, was particularly calculated to draw & fix our attention;
to excite the inquiry of such as were well disposed, & to lead them to a serious examination & diligent searching after the truth veiled under such emblems;
to teach, in a manner most natural, beautiful, & instructive, by common & familiar objects, the most divine & important doctrines, &
give clearer ideas of them than could have been otherwise attained;
to cause divine truths to make a more deep & lasting impression on men’s minds, & to be better remembered.
Add to this, He taught by parables, that He might convey in a manner the least offensive some very unpalatable truths, such as the rejection of the Jews & the calling of the Gentiles.
It must be observed, also, as we learn from Matthew 13:11-15, that, by an awful mixture of justice & mercy, our Lord intended hereby to throw a veil over some of the mysteries of His kingdom, & to conceal from the proud & careless those truths which, if they understood, He foresaw they would only abuse to their greater condemnation.
In this chapter our Lord delivers seven parables, directing the four former, as being of general concern, to all the people; the three latter, to His disciples.
He begins with the parable of a sower who cast His seed on four different kinds of ground, only one of which brought forth fruit, not because of any difference in the seed wherewith the others were sown, or any defect in the cultivation of them, but because of other reasons specified in the parable.
And these were designed to represent four classes of hearers of the Word of God, only one of which bears fruit to His glory; not because a different doctrine is declared to the others, or less labour bestowed upon them, but because of the hinderances of fruitfulness spoken of in the explanation of the parable.
How exquisitely proper was this parable to be an introduction to all the rest! inasmuch as in it our Lord shows us why, when the same sower, He himself, or any messenger of his, always sows the same seed, it does not always produce the same effect.
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Matthew 13:4-9.
When He sowed, some seeds fell by the way-side — By the side of a beaten path which lay through the ground He was sowing.
This wayside being neither broken up by the plough nor hedged in, the seed that fell here lay uncovered, & was partly trodden down, & partly devoured by the fowls, Luke 8:5, so that no fruit could be expected.
Some fell upon stony places, επι τα πετρωδη, upon rocky places.
Luke says, επι την πετραν, upon the rock; where they had not much earth — Either above them to retard their springing, or under them to nourish their roots; & forthwith, ευθεως, speedily, they sprung up, & looked very promising.
And when the sun was up, & shone hot upon them, that is, upon the tender blades, they were scorched by the warmth of His beams, & because they had no root — No room for taking root in so shallow a bed of earth, & lacked moisture, [so Luke,] they withered away & perished.
Observe, if they had had sufficient depth of earth, wherein to take root, & had not lacked moisture, the heat of the sun, however great, would not have caused them to wither, but rather would have promoted their growth.
And some fell among thorns — Under the Word thorns is included brambles, thistles, & every other kind of weed which is apt to spring up among corn, & to prevent its growth & fruitfulness.
Weeds, of whatever kind, do not usually appear immediately when the corn is sown, nor perhaps till long after.
The corn takes root, springs up, & perhaps even covers the ground, & bids fair for a plentiful crop, before they make their appearance: but as they are the natural product of the soil, they thrive better & grow faster than the corn, & soon overtop it.
And, if they be suffered to remain, they absorb the moisture, & exhaust the fertilizing virtue of the ground; they also shade the corn from the kindly influences of the sun & rain, & so choke it that it has not room to expand itself.
It therefore gradually declines, & at last dies away, & renders the husbandman’s labour, & the seed sown, fruitless.
But other, the rest of the seed, fell into good ground, soft & ploughed up, not hard, unbroken, & trodden down, like a way-side; not a rocky place, but a deep soil; not a bed of thorns, brambles, & weeds, but ground purged of all such obstructions to fertility; & brought forth fruit — Being deeply rooted & nourished, it grew, & increased so as not only to produce an ear, but full & ripe corn in the ear, & that in rich abundance; some of it thirty times as much as the seed sown, some sixty, & some even a hundred times as much.
Who hath ears to hear, let Him — A proverbial expression used by our Lord, when He spake of things of very great importance, & which deserved peculiar attention.
Such were the things now declared; they merited, & will merit, the most serious consideration of all who would not be forgetful or unfruitful hearers of the Word of God, but would bring forth fruit worthy of their privileges.
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T. Carpenter, The Trial of Col. Aaron Burr on an Indictment for Treason, 1807
Page 113: Sir, we are aware that there never has been open deed of war committed by any person or persons whatever, but more especially by the prisoner: and then the Court are told that this is our defense, what are your honors to do between the contending advocates? Must you not say, “satisfy us that the fact has been committed, and then we will do you justice.” But it is in vain for you to say that you will connect this business with the Treason, when you are called upon to prove the facts. Why should we not now hear the facts as to the Treason, and afterwards, those which relate to intention? Now, is there any sort of reason to be given why the prosecutor should be indulged in his belief that he can prove, what he supposes, will amount to an open act of war? Open, I say, because it is to be known—it is to be understood by all men—it is not to be left to a man’s mind—all metamorphoses are to be excluded–all deductions of fine traits of treason are to be excluded. It is to be open to the sense of every man in our land. The same reason will satisfy the poor, the learned and the ignorant, that the act of war has been committed. This is the bound which our Constitution has placed upon the “overt act of levying war.” And if our Constitution has not prescribed its limits within narrower bounds, shall the Attorney be permitted to do it? Now, sir, the officers of justice are herein limited, because the number of treasons shall not be increased; and it is bounded within those limits because they shall not be decreased. They cannot be made fewer, nor more.
Page 206: I have gone through all the points, Sir, that I consider necessarily attached to this subject. There is another point however, which on account of its immense importance, not particularly respecting this case, but all others of this nature that may come before a Court. It is, that before any evidence can be given—(even admitting every one of these points to be against us) towards the connection or participation of Col. Burr in the Treason said to have been committed, the overt act of Treason itself must be proved. And of that the Court must Judge. Upon this ground we fear not to meet the testimony: admitting all that has been said: even admitting the declarations of that unhappy wretch who was brought here to give testimony respecting the transactions on BI’s island, who was so ignorant that he could not even name the month when he was there: and who was so unprincipled as to declare, at one time that arms was leveled at Gen. Tupper, when no one who was present besides knew of such a thing, and when himself even had differently related it. Admitting his testimony, even, to the fullest extent, and that (if the gentlemen please) it proves an act of war, yet this is a solitary witness, and the act and constitution require that there should be two witnesses to produce a conviction in cases of Treason. But if all of it is believed, we seriously declare that no part of the transaction bore the least semblance of war. Why, Sir, there really was a smile on the countenance of every gentleman, except the prosecutor, when they found what slender evidence h had to depend upon to support the charge of levying public war, or any war at all.
Page 209: Chief Justice. When there are distinct propositions, the Court will decide them; but when there is a distinction in the argument only, how can the Court separate them? Now, if I understand the course of the argument advanced, it is continued under four different heads, or reasons: first, that Mr. Burr not being present, he cannot be charged with the Treason, secondly, that under this indictment he cannot be tried, because it is stated to be deficient for specified reasons, thirdly, that the guilt being of a derivative nature, the principal ought first to be convicted; or that a proof of his conviction ought to be in Court before the accessory can be tried. And now he is, fourth, about to required it to be proven that the act charged was “an overt act of levying war against the United States;” and therefore eqnuiers what is levying war. He says before any testimony can be let in to connect him with that crime, it is necessary to prove that there was an overt act of war: which he denies to exist.
Page 210: This is an important dissection.—“It must be avowedly levying war against the United States.” Justice Foster to be sure allows of potential force, but if you examine all his writings, you find that it was his opinion that actual violence must e used before the act of Treason could be said to be committed. Now surely it would be an actual violence, if they were to go to the palace of the King, and order him away, if the force was sufficient to compel his obedience: even though there should be no act of war committed. We shall not find a case in the books that goes farther than this. Vaughan’s case comes the nearest to the prosecutor’s advantage. He had been carrying on war against his country under a foreign commission from a foreign prince (France) in a ship called the Royal Clencarty, but meeting with a ship of superior strength, he struck without battle. Therefore two counts in the indictment: one for levying war against the King; the other for adhering to the King’s enemies. Lord Ch. Just. Holt, on that case says, that marching with arms is levying war, if the act be of a public nature. The Court even doubted how far the sailing with a French commission, or privateering, would support the prosecution since there was no open act of war done, but they depended upon that count which charged him with adhering to the King’s enemies. I shall therefore rely upon the form of the indictment, and think it necessary to be proved that there was an overt, or open act of hostility commenced and carried on. I do not know but I might have gone too far when I considered the indictment vitiated by the omission of the word “public.”
Page 213: Mr. Wickham. We say, Sir, that having proved everything that they can prove, as to what relates to the overt act, that it is not, in itself, an act of war; and therefore, all declarations, or all evidence that relates—even I will say to the quo animo, is inadmissible: for if there be no overt act proved, the proof of intention is not admissible by law. Now, Sir, how can I show that there is no sort of evidence of the overt act, unless I am permitted to state what that evidence is? Mr. Woodbridge states that everything was peaceable and quiet on the island when he was there; (which was the night of their departure) and everyone else says the same. He is asked what passed between him and Mr. Tyler? He says that he would not oppose the constituted authorities of the country, if he should be attacked by authority, but should patiently submit—but if he should be attacked by a mob, who had no powers, he would resist. Mr. Dana perfectly agrees with Mr. Woodbridge. He passed over there and not a word was said to him, or a question asked, though the people did not know who he was. And yet this was the period of the existence of this bloody war!
Page 268: But if, after all, this Court should be of opinion that the prisoner’s presence on the island was necessary to make this an overt act of war, is not this a question for the Jury? The question whether there has been an overt act of war, or not is a mixed question of fact and law: ti is the question made by the issue in this case; it is the very question which the jury are sworn to decide. If, for this objection that presence is a material ingredient in the composition of the act, the court exclude all farther evidence, will this not amount to saying that we have not proved the overt act to the satisfaction of the Court; that the evidence we have introduced, and all we proposed to introduce, will be insufficient to satisfy the Court of the overt act? And will not the Court, hereby, take the place of the Jury; forestall them in the very question which they are sworn to try, and snatch it from them by a coupe de maine?
Page 287: we are brought back to the constitution and act of Congress; and the enquiry is, what is levying war? Gentlemen on the other side speaking on this subject, have very artfully dropped the word ‘levying’ altogether. “Show us your open act of war,” they exclaim; “hard knocks,” says Mr. Lee, “are things we can all feel and understand; where are the hard knocks?” “Where was this bloody battle, this bloody war?” cries Mr. Martin. Nowhere, gentlemen; there was no bloody battle; there was no bloody war. The energy of a despoiled and traduced government prevented that tragical consequence. I reply to all this blustering and clamor for blood and havoc, let me ask calmly and temperately, does our Constitution and act of Congress require them? Can treason be committed by nothing short of actual battle? Mr. Wickham shrinking from a position so bold and indefensible, has said that if there be no actual force, there emus be at least potential force—such as terror and intimidation struck by the treasonable assemblage. We will examine this idea presently. Let us at this moment recur to the constitutional definition of treason, or so much thereof as relates to this case. “Treason against the United States shall consist only in levying war against them;” not in ‘making’ war but in ‘levying’ it. The whole question, then, turns on the meaning of that word, ‘levying.’
Page 305: The first proposition which naturally occurs in the investigation of this subject, relates to the act of war. I say that the acts which are proved to have taken place on Blannerhasset’s island, were not, in themselves, acts of war, and that no proof, whatever, of intention, could make them acts of war.
Page 306: Now, Sir, the proposition on the other side is, that the acts (which have been enumerated) on Blannerhasset’s island, were overt acts of war.—They certainly must be, either against New Orleans, (2500 miles off,) or they must be intended against Wood County in Virginia, I do not know which; for we have never had any evidence to tell us!—Boats, oars, provisions for a long journey, and the descent of the river, are all the materials which the prosecutor can collect to prove an overt act of war! It is probably that the gentleman might calculate upon an overt act of war being meditated against the people of Wood County, because they were provided with such sort of apparatus, as axes, rifles, etc.
But, it is said that the party fled, in consequence of a fear that these people should attack them. Now, I think, that instead of this proving the meditation of an act of war on their part, it proves the contrary. According to this reasoning, if I should run away, to avoid a beating, I am to be considered as guilty of assault and battery. It was upon such suppositions they drew a conclusion.
But, if the act was not against the Western Country it was against New Orleans. And here is Mr. Hay’s definition of treason: “any assemblage of men, convened for the purpose of effecting, by force, a treasonable design, which for is meant to be employed before their dispersion”—is treason. But, Sir, I have collected another definition from the gentleman’s arguments it is this—“any assemblage of three or more persons, without arms, organization, or treasonable thought: and with every mark of peace and patriotism in their hearts: but they have a communication from a fourth person, then 3000 miles off, informing them in terms, not generally understood, of a project, and promising his assistance in it, will constitute an overt act of war, though there be not even the appearance of war in it.”—This monster, Sir, is the common co-partner and child of the three gentlemen on the other side. I have picked up, here and there, as they have scattered them, the limbs, the trunk, and the head; and I have put them together, and will show that it is the genuine offspring of them. I say that an assemblage of three or more persons without arms might constitute a riot, or an unlawful assemblage; but they say that three or more persons meeting, under particular circumstances and with particular intentions, will constitute a levying of war.
Page 308: Now, I will oppose that such a fourth person was on his trial before your honors: he would probably urge, that three person cannot commit war; and that in all the cases put in all the books, no instance has been found in which less than 100 had levied war: he might urge the pages which have been read from Foster and Hale, where it is said, that the number is of no consequence, whether it be 103 or 1000, (an evident proof that 100 is the lowest number expected to levy war)—he might say that in pulling down houses in England, it would require less men, (although 100) than to levy war against the United States. To this perhaps it would be answered, that three men is enough to constitute an assemblage, and therefore, it was enough to make war: and against, that building boats, and fitting them up for a voyage, is enough here to be called warlike preparation. But it might be replied by him, that these boats had no warlike appearance, and these men had no arms—it would be answered, that arms are unnecessary: the assemblage is enough! But, if they had had arms, he might have urged, it was in no wise uncommon in this country for persons to carry arms, where they had the right so to do: he might have produced Tucker’s Blackstone in his favor; and have urged, that a few arms would be necessary for the purpose of killing ducks. But no arms are necessary, the gentleman says, for without them there may be war; and if so without them, what must it be where there were so many. It would not, therefore, be bettering his condition, to prove that they had no arms! It is, then, in vain to say, that one man cannot make war, or that he cannot of himself commit treason, if treason can be wrested out of any transaction. Such an accused person might urge that there was no act of war committed. Ah, in vain would be such a plea, for it would be said, that there was an inevitable evidence of guilt, for they flew secretly and in apprehension, in the night! Nay, this would, of itself, be construed into an act of war! And I am sure, this is the only one that can be found.
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But, Sir, the prisoner, which I have supposed, would go on to urge that it was acknowledged that Gen. Wilkinson had prevented this civil war, and yet, he would say, “you have charged me in your indictment of having committed an act of war; and an open act of war. I therefore oppose your own declarations to your indictment.” But, say the gentlemen, this was a civil war. Well, Sir, what sort of a war can be treasonable, but a civil war? What sort of magic could be made use of to transform any other war into a treasonable act of war?
Page 311: I hold it as a just position, that a war must have existed, else no person could be charged with the commission of an act of war. In vain might one of us be assailed by the oath of anyone who should swear that we had expressed a guilty intention, if nothing were done towards the execution of a guilty act. And in vain would one be taken up and tried for murder, upon the oath of anyone, if no death and taken place. In vain can one be charged with stealing a horse, upon the oath of another, that he declared his intention to steal it, if no horse were stolen.—The murder is the fact that must be stated and proved, before the accuser can be permitted to go father into other facts.
Page 314: But, of how many men must these “particular bodies” consist? Will three do, or does it require 20 or 30? or must there be a competent number to effect a war against the United States? No, I understand that the traveling of individuals to a place of partial rendezvous, would not be an act of war, because it would not have a warlike appearance; and because it is not a direct marching to the scene of action; but, the “meeting of particular bodies of men” would constitute such an assemblage. Now, I could not understand how it could be made out that three or four unarmed men, marching to a place of rendezvous, would be called war, while a thousand armed men marching to that place of “partial” meeting, would not be considered as guilty of war.
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I now come, Sir, to another proposition: which is, that the Supreme Court, whilst they were deliberating on these points, had not the subject before them; and therefore, whatever judgment they gave, it was extrajudicial—or a decision upon a case not necessary to be settled before the Court. It is proper, then, for us to ask, whether this was a case necessary to be settled before the Court? Was it incumbent on the Supreme Court to say, whether that was a warlike assemblage or not? Mr. Hay has admitted, that if it was not a necessary decision, it could not be authority. Now, as there was no question brought before them, the authority must cease, upon the admission of the gentleman himself. How could it be necessary for them to say what constituted a levying war? Could it be necessary for them to say, that force should be used, or that a bar assemblage of men should be considered an act of war upon the depositions of gen. Wilkinson and gen. Eaton? They might have proved that there was, or was not war intended, but surely they proved nothing about any assemblage! the question was not before the Court. Then, Sir, if there was no assemblage proved before the Court, nor any argument used upon it, how could it be necessary that they should enquire into the facts of an assemblage? If the subject had been judicially before them, they were about to do an act that should bind future ages, and affect the lives of thousands. Nay, the very existence of the government itself would have hung on their subject of deliberation. At least then they would have called of the assistance of the bar. And yet, I aver it, from authority, that the question of what constitutes an assemblage was not moved, or debated, at the bar. I now ask your honors, whether you would sit down and deliberately decide upon any supposed question not before you, in a case not called for, nor argued? I ask again, whether, if it had been their (the Supreme Court’s) wishes to have settled so important a point, they would not have wished, and called for the united labors of the bar to assist them? Yes, I will say, that the Court would have pursued that course.
Page 315: I think I may venture another surmise upon a point of so much importance. The doctrine of treason in this country was complicated and undefined in some respects, and no subject of consideration could be more unwelcome to legal minds, for they had not taken it into consideration. [I believe that your honors will accord with me in this point, and I know that I am speaking to your judgment.] The judgment of the Supreme Court was made without a case before them, and therefore, turning over page after page of English books, would illy qualify you to decide on the nature of an overt act of war in this country, where there had been no war committed. Sir, there never has been a case yet in this country, where such a subject has necessarily been taken up; because, there has been no case of treason but where there was war. The cases in Pennsylvania were where there was direct hostility commenced, and therefore, any decision made upon them cannot be applicable to a case where they was no hostility. In England, there are two great classes of treason—the one relates to the mind; the other relates to the actions. The one is compassing the death of the King; and the other is levying war against the realm. And yet, although these treasons are so distinct in their nature and so contrary in their description, even the elementary writers (Hawkins and others) have often confounded cases of compassing the King’s death with cases of levying war, in their defining the nature of treason; and this mixture of cases of a very different nature, which has produced an ubiquity of doctrine, has found its way into our Courts, and proceed error upon error. Thus the Judges in Pennsylvania, and the Judges of the Supreme Court might have been mistaken: and it is impossible to obtain a well matured decision, except there should have been some case or question and argument to aid the decision.
Page 317: I have said that those parts of the opinion of the Supreme Court relied upon, and which do, in express words entrant themselves upon parts of the opinion of the Pennsylvania Court—that those parts are utterly irreconcilable with other parts of the opinion of the Supreme Court. There is a general, and undefined mode of expression, which must support the ideas that I have advanced upon that opinion.—When you speak of an assemblage, you do not define what an assemblage means: you do not say whether it should exhibit a warlike appearance or not. It must, therefore, be controlled by other parts of the opinion which do go to explain. I will barely allude to those parts (at present) which are inconsistent. Judge Chase, Iredell, and yourself, thought that an overt was not an ordinary act, but an extraordinary act—one that could not be done in secret, but that must be done in the face of the world, and which would admit of a number of witnesses. Now, if the crime consisted in intention, or in any sort of an assemblage common to all men, it consequently could not be so denominated. The intention, the assemblage, and the act must be combined. Now the Supreme Court declared that actual force was necessary: the Circuit Court of Pennsylvania, in two instances, declared the same. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Dallas, whose concessions have been quoted upon us, contended for the contrary, but they were met by Mr. Sitgreaves, and Mr. Rawle, who contended that actual force must be used, to constitute the act of war. [I shall presently come to those parts of the opinion of the Court, and the concessions of the counsel, which will prove these facts.]
The act of Congress declares that, to every overt act, there shall be two witnesses—and not merely to any overt act, but to any act of treason—not only the act, but the character of that act. not only prove that a treason has been committed, but prove the identical acts of that treason—not only to prove the act or war, but to prove that it was an act, and that it was an act of war.
Page 318: Again, Sir, both of the gentlemen have admitted that it is necessary to quality the opinion of the Supreme Court. One of them says the opinion was incorrect, because it was said, that if the people dispersed before the object which they had declared, and had in view, was committed, it could not be war. Another objects to it because you say that every unlawful assemblage would not be an act of war. Now, Sir, all that we want of the gentlemen, is, that when they look to particular words in the opinion, they will look to other parts of it, in order to explain the reason why those words were used.
Page 320: Now, as to the indictment. When this jury bring in their verdict, if guilty, it must be in the manner specified in the indictment. The jury must speak jesuistically, or falsely, unless they find everything stated in the indictment to be true: it is necessary that the indictment should state the act of treason from its commencement to its consummation. Any indictment that charges an overt act, and yet omits the circumstances attending that act, would be vicious, and could not be supported. And can all this be mere form? Must it not be proved in matter of substance as well as form? What is the substance, but the acts done? I ask whether a jury can give a verdict upon any indictment that is equivocal in its meaning? I ask whether it is consistent with reason, that an indictment should charge a treason in making preparation for war, and yet not charge an act of war? Need I refer you to precedents, Sir? If you look into any indictment on record, you will find the words “prepared, obtained, and levied war,” etc. All these things are matters of substance and must be proven—it should state that the war was made.
Page 328: Mr. Botts. I will answer the gentleman. I always say and do what I think is right, regardless of consequences. I have no hesitation in declaring that every word I said was correct; but I had no reference whatever to the integrity of that gentleman. I can attribute nothing dishonorable to the gentleman; he contended that the bar act of enlisting soldiers was sufficient to prove the intention; but, if that be the case, what is to become of the opinion of the Supreme Court, so much relied on? That opinion says, that an assemblage should be formed, in order to compose an act of treason. Now, in England, where intention constitutes the crime of treason, anything may be called an overt act: but, where the crime does not consist barely in intention, but of an act of war, there any act cannot be construed to an act of treason.
Again, Mr. Hay has said that the potential force used on Blaunerhasset’s island, might have been brought to operate either in Wood County, or at New Orleans. Now, it could not be bright to operate on Wood, because no act of war was, or could have been intended there; and whatever might have been intended against New Orleans, was yet but intention, which cannot be construed to be an act of war. Potential force then could not make an overt act of war.
Page 333: Before I enter into the investigation of this very abstruse and important subject, perhaps it may be as well to offer a remark or two as to what those gentlemen have said who followed me in my first remark on this subject,—The counsel have clamorously called for us to produce evidence of an open act of war. “Give me,” said one of them, “evidence of an open act of war.” Another asks whether there was, at Blannerhasset’s island, any roaring of cannon, any rattling of small arms, or clashing of swords! Sir, the gentlemen mistake this subject altogether: they are taking ground which, by the Constitution of their country, they are not authorized to stand upon; and using language which the Constitution never put into their mouths. The Constitution says not one single word about an open act of war. I repeat, Sir, that this word is not to be found there. And yet, with as much frequency, with as much earnestness, and with as much zeal as though the book was lying open before him and every person could read it, the gentleman contended for his principle. “Treason against the United States shall consist only in levying war against them, etc.” This is the overt act of which we speak, and what the gentleman has repeated over and over again must be “an open act of war.” But he has further said it must be an open deed: Of what?—Of war—of battle, and blandishing of arms? This is not the language of the Constitution; according to that, a person must be convicted of an overt act of levying war. These words will bear a very different meaning from those expressed by gentlemen on the other side. If so, they are mistaken in the very commencement of their argument. These words are certainly most important words in our Constitution, and merit our attention. Will the gentlemen say there is no difference in the over act of levying war, and the war itself? if the framers of the Constitution had thought proper to make Treason consist in the open act of war, why did they not say so? If they had meant so, then might you justly have said that Treason should consist only in making war against the United States! There is so essential a difference between the two things, that it is impossible they doll have used words in so unusual a light. When forces are prepared for battle, then there is an “overt act of levying war” committed: but, when the battle is fought, or when the parties rush on to battle, then there is truly an open act of war. This explanation is not merely founded in plain common sense, but it is a necessarily obvious construction of the Constitution, and is as distinguishable as is possible from their construction.
Page 334: Now, Sir, what is the thing that the gentlemen concerned for Mr. Burr, are calling upon the Court to do? Why, to deliver an opinion upon a question of fact, before that question has been argued before the Jury! They call upon you to decide whether there has been an overt act of war committed, or not! and they contend that you are authorized to decide upon that question.
Suppose it should be the opinion of the Court that an overt act of war has been committed, and the Trial should go on and all that evidence which it is their object to exclude, tending to confirm the facts which have been laid before the Jury. I ask whether this Court, knowing that it is not their promise to answer questions of fact, would be willing to give such an opinion to the Jury? The gentlemen will excuse me when I say that they manifest some degree of inconsistency on this subject: they call upon this Court to do what no Court ever did, from the creation to the present time, undertake to decide—to decide upon facts, and which alone can be referred to the consideration of a jury.
Page 384: Here Mr. Martin referred to the cases of Bentwood, and Damarree and Purchase, 8 St. Tr. 218—to show that there must be the overt act of war specified in the indictment, or else, that the charge was for compassing the king’s death. What was the charge in the latter case? It was for pulling down conventicles or meeting houses.
Page 395: What then, Sir, is levying war? That is the question; they say that levying war is levying war! not making war: but it consists in levying troops, in enlisting soldiers, and in preparing for something or other which they may suppose to be like war. I should rather suppose (from the temper and caution with which our Convention progressed through every measure of it,) that they wished to secure to the citizens every right which impartiality could demand. That, if they had meant by “levying war,” enlisting soldiers, or even raising an army, they would have used those terms. The intent for levying that army might have even been declared; but if they stop there, they do not levy war, even if they declare it is with an intent to subvert the government. Levying an army is a preparatory step towards levying war, if that is their object; but a man may levy an army without levying war; that is, he cannot levy war without levying an army first. thus, these are two distinct things; the one must be a preparatory step towards the other. That is, you may levy troops with an intention to levy war; but the preparatory act cannot be the treason, because the treason consists in levying war. In whatever sense, or from whatever authority we may draw our descriptions, it will always appear that levying war is making war: it is an act of war; and it is entirely immaterial which word is used.
Page 396: The decision in Vaughan’s case cannot in any way be considered as conclusive. He had adhered to the king’s enemies, and sailed in the ship Clencarthy, for the purpose of capturing British vessels: he was desirous of taking one ship, but finding it was too strong for him, he did not make the attempt. It was not attempted to prove this an act of war, however; but an act of adhering to the king’s enemies. Foster, 218, makes a distinction between bellum levatum and bellum precussum, as will be seen by the reference and argument. he says, however, that enlisting and marching are sufficient overt acts, without coming to action. If he means an overt act of war, I will venture to say that he is unsupported by a single case: if he means an overt act of compassing the king’s death, there may be many such. This shows us the necessity of forming a proper distinction in such cases. This, however, refers to Vaughan’s case; where the acceptance of a commission from a king, who was the enemy of his lawful sovereign, was one of the acts of treason. The same would respect writing a letter to the king’s enemy, giving him information.—Foster, 220; 1 East, 78. Did the Court, in this instance require that “he, with certain other persons that were with him,” did levy war? No, Sir, because the very indictment specified the acts that he had done: he was considered as having levied war against the king, by adhering to his enemies.
Page 400: I shall now make some few observations which relate to the great Constitutional question, whether persons who would, in Great Britain, be merely accessorial agents, can be guilty of levying war in the meaning of the Constitution of the United States, and thereby be guilty of treason. And here let me observe, as to the argument, that the person who would be most guilty of the crime of treason, might pass unpunished. Sir, the question is not, whether a person counseling or commanding treason be done, is guilty of the crime or not? the simple question is, whether he is guilty of the crime of treason or not? Nor person would say, that he who procures another to do the crime of treason, should pass with impunity. It is not contended, that crimes which would, if completed, amount to levying war, should be permitted to go on without restrain. Persons who advise others to commit a crime, are liable to be punished by the laws of the country. But nothing that may be denominated coming towards levying war, can be denominated an act of war; and nothing is treason but acts of war, and done with a view to change the government of the United States. Every person is criminal that is making preparations for such a purpose; and government, whoever they have good reason to believe that preparations are making for such a purpose, have an undoubted right to make use of the force of the country, so far as the laws will hold them out, to suppress, and put an end to any such measures. The question, therefore, is not, whether government is to look on and see all the preparations made and completed, which is intended for its own destruction, until it is brought to such a pitch that the blow may be struck successfully? No, Sir, government has a right to prevent its being brought into that situation which may be denominated levying war.
Page 445: It has been thought proper to discuss this question at large, and to review the opinion of the Supreme Court; although this Court would be more disposed to leave the question of fact, whether an overt act of levying war was committed on Blannerhasset’s island, to the Jury, under this explanation of the law, and to instruct them, that unless the assemblage on Blannerhasset’s island, was an assemblage in force, was military assemblage in a condition to make war; it was not a levying of war, and that they could not construe it into an act of war, than to arrest the farther testimony which might be offered to connect the prisoner with that assemblage, or to prove the intention of those who assembled together at that place. This point, however, is not to be understood as decided. It will, perhaps, constitute an essential enquiry in another case.
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