The diary of Prince Rupert von Landbeck is a thin volume made of cheap paper, bound with twine, and is kept hidden between the prince’s mattress and his bedframe, the only place which the servants do not regularly clean. It does not bear his name or any other identifying marks on the cover, and it is kept in a barely legible scrawl, which is not made more decipherable by the Prince’s decision to write his diary with a lead pencil rather than using a pen and ink.

( peek into the diary )

Here's the plain text, for those who prefer it

In Of Other Worlds, C.S. Lewis argues that a science-fictional "leap into the future" is only justified if a writer is writing about a situation which could-not be illustrated in a contemporary setting, and where a historical setting would be either impossible or awkward. Lewis gives the example of the short story "Tom's A-Cold" as an illustration of a story that could have been set in the past, rather then the future- in the dark ages after the collapse of the Roman Empire rather then after the collapse of our present western civilization, but not without taking space from the plot to explain historical events and various Roman household conveniences.

However, I would argue that a story which could have been set in the here and now can profit from a leap into the future if the author intends to explore the ramifications technological change will have for the ordinary life of humanity. I am thinking of A Civil Campaign by Lois McMaster Bujold in particular. The story itself could be set in the present or recent past quite easily. A decorated covert-ops officer has been discharged from the military for medical reasons but has found a high position in the civilian beaurocracy of his nation's autocratic government. He falls in love with a woman, a widow with an eight year old son, courts her, deals with multiple misadventures as his friends and relitives hatch their own plots, foils and a determined but repulsive rival, sees that his sovereign marries his fiancee without incident, and eventually wins his lady's consent to marriage. The basic plot could have been set in the USSR before the fall of Communism, or in any state with an autocratic government. Indeed, A Civil Campaign is primarily about taking the tropes of a Regency romance novel and putting them into a space-opera setting.

However, the story goes into great detail about how the technological changes Bujold has forseen affect things like courtship, marriage, and inheritience. For instance, uterine replicators have, in the Vorkossigan universe, made it possible to completely divorce reproduction and sex. The fact that this has allowed for people to essentially make disigner babies, and even clone themselves is explored.

A FtM person in this universe can be made into a fully functional man - one who can reproduce as a man- and ends up inheriting lands because of male primogenture. At the end of the novel he gets engaged to a demure young maiden and will soon be siring his own (male) heirs. Has he transcended sexism or reinforced it by forcing everyone in his society to give him male privalage?

In short, while A Civil Campaign could have been set in the present or the past, its future setting makes it distinctive and allows the author to take the plot in directions it could not go in a present day setting- it explores the ramifications technological development will have for everyday life. CS Lewis seems to have missed the exsistance of this sort of story, perhaps because it was not very well developed in Lewis' lifetime. He noted that he was so out of sympathy with stories which were all about some technological triumph that he could not judge their literary merit objectively, and in the 1950s stories about the effects of future technology on human life tended to be of this triumphal sort. In addition, science-fiction of the 1950s tended to assume that technology would improve but social mores would remain the same- later writers have not made this foolish assumption. In fact, Bujold almost seems to believe that technology determines morality. The Barryarans are a sexist, militaristic, feudal society because they got closed off from the rest of the galaxy and technology decayed to a medieval level. Therefore, they had to adopt a mideval society, and, while they've gotten the technology back, their society hasn't caught up with their tech level yet.

One wonders what Lewis would have made of cyberpunk? I suspect that he would have considered it depressing but accurate.

Because some people find script fonts hard to read, I've put a plain text version of the diary below behind another cut.

( click here for plain text )

The Journal of Johnathan Hakkon is a black, leather-bound volume, with parchment pages. Its title is embossed on the front cover beneath the Hakkon coat of arms, a skeletal arm argent clutching a saber argent on a field noir. The book is locked with a small padlock, and sits proudly on the boy’s desk.

( open the book )

This is part of a paired set of fics, its counterpart being "The Diary of Prince Rupert von Landbeck", which I will link to when I have it written and posted. Time permitting, this only the first entry in young Johnathan's journal, which he will record through his sea voyage and beyond. Yes, it is in a script font. The other diary will, assuming you have all the nice Vista fonts, display in a different script font to simulate the other boy's handwriting. The plain text of the diary is here.

I wonder if anyone would be so generous as to give me an invite code for dreamwidth?

I've also submitted this to the MMSA under the same psudonym I use here.

( long fic follows )

OK, so I've played the free trial of FFXI, and am now subscribed to both Warhammer Online and WOW, a situation that I know cannot continue indefinitely. I've cancelled automatic payments in WOW- my goal is to tie up Bia's plotlines, by the time my current payed time runs out, then move over to WAR full time. I'm going to post a side-by-side comparison of the games sometime.

I know it's been a long time since I posted something here, but here goes. I've been playing a free trial of FFXI during this break week, along with my now usual WOW playing, and am pondering whether to keep playing FFXI after the break and the trial are over. I know I'd have to cut back WOW time severely if I do- I can't afford two of that sort of time-sink, though they do keep me out of other sorts of trouble!

Things that FFXI does better then WOW:
1. You can communicate, party, and cooperate with members of rival fractions- in fact you can even switch between fractions, and fractions and races aren't tied absolutely- Humes come from the Republic of Barstock normally, but if you want to play one who comes from the Federation of Windaria, you can- all you miss is a minor magic ring that you'll throw away as soon as you find something better. This allows for all sorts of unusual backgrounds and RPed backstabbing that WOW can't deal with.
2. Servers aren't limited to regions- people from the US, Japan, and Europe play on the same servers.
3. The community is actually helpful to newbies!
4. Conqest: Player actions actually have an effect on the game world- slay enough monsters in a particular area while under the buff "Signet" and the area comes under the control of your nation, which gives you both cosmetic and game play benefits.
5. Jobs are not restriced by race, and you can change jobs and keep the same toon.
6. FFXI's KO is a real consequince... you loose EXP, and can even go down a level! WOW's death is a slap on the wrist unless you do it too often. Also, I prefer "KO" to "death" in games as a consequince of losing fights... save death for a big, plot-related threat.

Things WOW does better then FFXI
1. The interface, oh man, the interface. WOW's interface is clean, customizable, and intuitive.... FFXI's is not, to say the least, especially on a laptop with a compact keyboard. Three points: WOW has a jump button, WOW allows add-ons, and WOW's action buttons are a lot easier to use then FFXI's menus.
2. WOW has dedicated RP servers for roleplayers to go to to avoid griefers and find an immersive fantasy environment- this doesn't always work, and some servers are better then others, but the ruleset is there. Girefing and stupid names see less common in FFXI then in WOW generally (though they're still there), but there are no RP servers, and server assignment used to be completely random unless you got a "world-pass" from a RL or online friend, so there's no one server which maintains a really immersive environment, and you have to work to find the RPers.
3. There are no in-game languages. Really, there should be a happy medium between WOW using in-game languages to cut off cross-fraction communication and FFXI's having everyone speak your native language... in my ideal MMO PCs would start off speaking their fraction's language and their race's language if it has one, but could learn to speak others.
4. Quests are very hard to find in FFXI, and there are relatively few of them- there are no quest icons above quest-giver NPCs heads, etc, and if you alt-tab FFXI to look up a quest online it quits you out of the game. All in all this is "fake difficulty" - making the game harder by ways that don't require the designers to make encounters more challenging, IMHO.
5. Graphically, WOW is light-years ahead of FFXI in terms of environments- the toons and monsters are about equally sophisticated, but the backgrounds in FFXI are a mess of pixils, WOW's are breathtakingly realistic.
6. WOW allows duels between players and true PVP between fractions- and in certain areas between members of the same fraction- FFXI doesn't have 'lethal' PVP anywhere, and only allows duels in the context of a mini-game. This limits RP possibilities...and conquest + true PVP would be an ultra-cool combination.

Beginnings of Biancus

Chapter 1: Beginnings

Biancus actually liked learning and thinking things through, just like his mom and dad did, but this did not make him popular with his peers.  Furthermore, while his pale hair and skin were regarded as a sign of the Loa’s blessing by his elders, they marked him as a freak to his peers.

            Once, when he had been swimming in the ocean, looking for clams, an older boy named Ieason had held him underwater until he nearly drowned.  Ieason had actually been caught that time; his father saw the bullying and pulled his son off the younger boy, but the severe spanking  Ieason received only served to make the bigger troll nastier when no grownups were around. 

After that, Biancus was very careful to stay away from other troll children as much as he could.  He listened to the elder’s tales, or he borrowed one of his father’s books, and spent the day reading about the glories of the lost troll empires.  He learned about the glories of the troll’s past civilization, and wept for his people’s present state.  He also learned that in the aincent Gruubashi tounge, his name meant ‘white’, a reference to his complexion, obviously.

The pale troll child, now about seven, was now sitting in the back of the a hut on , embarrassed by his father.   He was holding forth on the glories of the ancient troll civilization.  Young Biancus just wished that his father would stick with telling the old tales like a storyteller should, not trying to figure out the “truths behind them”.  That was boring, not exciting like a proper storyteller should be- he wanted them to learn things, and to think them through.   Right now, he was saying “and therefore, the legend of the Gruuubashi, while true in its outline, is obviously flawed, in that Hakkar”. Then he was interrupted, by a loud, quite adult, voice clearing his throat.  Standing at the hut’s entrance was the great witchdoctor, Sen’Jin! 

“May I talk to your son for a bit, Fan’ton?”, asked the witchdoctor. 

“De boy can speak for himself”, his father replied, and young Biancus’ heart swelled with pride. 

“Yes, I’ll go”, said Biancus.

The great witchdoctor took the pale boy outside the hut, and the two trolls walked along the beach for a while, before Sen’Jin spoke, saying “Young Biancus, we’ve always thought dat your white hair meant de blessing of some great loa. You’re smart, you tink a lot, an you know a lot ‘bout de history of our people. An I tink dat when you talk, people will listen. I’d like to take you on as a ‘printice houngan, teach you our magic an’ our ways o’ honoring de Loa for de good of de tribe.  But it’s up to you, you have ta say yes.” 

Biancus thought for only a moment before saying “yes, I want to become a houngan, for the good of de tribe.” From then on, his training in the ways of troll Voodoo began. 

And thus, Biancus grew in wisdom and in years, until he reached the age of twelve.  Then the humans and the murlocks arrived, and his people were under attack from all sides at once, it seemed.  And then the orcs came, led by the great green chieftain, Thrall.   Thrall led a reckless assault on the human base, got captured by the murlocks, and got Sen’Jin captured along with him. Thrall managed to escape from the Murlocks, but Sen’Jin, Biancus’ beloved mentor, was sacrificed to the murlock’s Sea Witch.  Not that Biancus learned this for some time, what with the volcanic eruption and all!

Biancus did take part in that battle, despite his few years and his half-trained status.  He healed everyone that the orcs sent him, blue furred spearmen, green-skinned grunts and shaman, and even a fellow witchdoctor, using magic when he could, bandages and herbs when he could not.  He was covered in blood and gore, yet the boy still managed to not throw up until the battle was over and he and the wounded orcs and trolls he cared for were safe in the hold of one of Thrall’s ships.

It has been a long time since I last wrote in this journal. I have done much, seen much, and learned much.  

I have abandoned my dream of revenge on the Scrouge and the restoration of Londeron for now.  I have joined a new guild, dedicated to exploring strange lands, in the hopes of founding a new haven for Londeronian culture. 

Well, that merchant of Ara’s turned out to be a pretty unpleasant character.  He will die in pain, of course.  I intend to instill fear in him, then curse him with agony until he dies.  Not the most efficient mode of combat, but a fitting end for a rapist.  I do suppose I may offer him a chance to surrender and face the King’s justice rather than my own, if Ara so wills it.    Of course, as Eoclastia reminded me, I cannot be certain that the merchant was responsible.  My beloved priestess (an unrequited love, I fear, and as yet an unconfesssed one)  was hurt by a fool who fears neither Light nor Man. He shall fear both when I am through.  Then I shall confess my love!

 

Alchemy! I spent years refusing to learn it and now I’’ve picked it up.

An Excerpt From the Journal of Walachia von Fursten:

The nerve of that undead beast! Her shambling minon knocked me out with a single blow- and then she failed to kill me! It is an insult! Worse, she seemed concerned by what she had done! Why!?! It is a fact that the scourge knows no pity or mercy or love! I have lived my entire life, trained everyday so that, immersed myself in the black arts that will surly stain my soul, all so that I might lay to rest the Undead.(And all who uppose the Alliance!) and yet it takes but a single blow from the pet of the first rotting zombie I come across to send me into unconsciousness. I burn with fury and shame! What will become of me now!

Indeed, I seem to be spending as much time unconscious as awake in Westfall. I rather think that I should further hone my skills before returning to this area.

Wall could smell blood and decay over the stench of wine from the barrel that he had hid in for days. He could no longer hear the groans and moans of the living dead around him. He knew that he had not eaten for more then a day, but he felt no hunger. He thought that he would never be hungry ever again. “Taty, you stay here, I’m going to see if it’s safe”, he told the young girl clinging to him.

Slowly he raised the lid, and peaked outside. The cellar was untouched, the undead having no need of provisions. Young Wall made his way to the cellar door, and with all the strength his slender, nine year old body possessed, pushed it open. Immediately his frame was wracked by a coughing fit, as Wall breathed in the odor of soot. What had once been a prosperous manor house had been reduced to charred rubble. Exploring the area, the lad saw that the same was true of all the peasant’s houses, and the village church where he had learned his catechism, and his sister had resisted learning hers. All the fields were ruined by blight, the cattle, hogs, and sheep dead and cancerous. There would be no food from this land for the foreseeable future.

He was not surprised to find his father’s body at the entrance to the church, rent by claws and pierced by swords. His mother’s body was in the great hall of what had been the family keep, broken bow at her feet, and dagger in hand. In neither parent’s body was there a single wound in the back. Of his older brother, however, there was no sign.

Using tools improvised out of rubble, Wall gave his parent’s honorable graves, so that his sister would be spared the sight. It was hard work for the sickly boy, and after he was finished, he collapsed and had a coughing fit that ended with him spitting up blood, and then in disgust that he had held back, young Wallachia vomited, though he had eaten nothing, so he spat up nothing but acid. He knew, however, that as a Human Lord and a follower of the Light he had a duty to his sister, and so he ventured back down to the basement.

“Taty, you can come out” wall called. “The walking dead are all gone now” . Slowly, a blond haired girl of about seven climbed out of a wine barrel. One of her pigtails had come loose. “I’m sorry, but Mom and Dad are dead, and I can’t find Johann.” The child bust into tears at the news, and Wall tried to comfort his sister with a hug, but the tears he had kept inside himself burst forth in a torrent of grief.

Eventually, when there were no more tears to cry, the two children lay down, and slept an exhausted, fevered sleep. The next morning, they gathered up the supplies they could salvage from the keep’s basement, and decided to head to Stormwind to see if they could find work there.

Filth – A 2x4x2 Adventure

Chapter 1: A Desert Snog

Quatre was uncomfterable. He was too polite to use stronger language, but he had been living rough in the desert with Duo for two weeks following the destruction of the Mauguanac base, which meant two weeks without water to wash in or food other then reconstituted rations. He was filthy with sand and sweat; he had never in his life gone so long between baths, or so hungry or thirsty. Duo's attitude of devil-may-care humor toward their plight ought to have been admirable, but was in fact acutely annoying – though Quatre hid his annoyance well.

Duo, on the other hand, was quite used to filth and starvation, and had a passing acquaintance with dehydration. Growing up "deprived of practically everything" on L2 had provided this practical education. He attempted to keep his new acquaintance's spirits through humor, a classic L2 technique.

One night, camping in the desert, their lives changed forever.

"I've never been so filthy in my life! How do you stand it?", complained Quatre.
"Well, we dun have 'nough water to wash, so we havfta stand it", replied Duo.
"I know that, but I don't need to like standing it."
"Noboddy LIKES being filthy or starving, Quatre, no-one does it by choice. That damn OZ blew our base, and so we're stuck in the desert. Fuck me if I dun try and lighten the mood a bit!"
"We are in a very serious situation here, and I fail to see how making jokes will improve it." This was said in a sharp tone, as close to angry as Quatre got.
Duo thought it prudent to change the subject. "Say, if ya dun mind me askin, why'd ya leave yer family and become a Gundam pilot anyways. Ya had a good life, why give that up."
"Some things are more important then life, Duo. If Oz takes over everything, my money will mean nothing and my pacifist father and sisters will never be safe."
"I getgcha; an I thin' that's just swell of ya. If I'd hada good life, I'm not shure I'd be willin ta give it up."
"Let's turn in. Tomorrow we should be able to get to a town, with a motel that will ask no questions if we push ourselves."
"Yeah…Ya know, I like you better like this, all dirty and nasty. It makes you seem more human, kinda."
"Really", said Quatre, and burst out laughing. Duo was puzzled by Quatre's sense of humor; Quat had ignored his jokes but laughed when he said that he liked Quatre better when he looked and smelled like a real guy rather then a rich brat. Still, his face, which was cute enough all the time, positively lit up when he smiled.

Before he could stop himself, Duo leaned over and kissed Quatre, full on the lips.

Quatre was shocked by this sudden intimacy, but not displeased. He kissed Duo back and opened his mouth. Their tongues caressed each other, tangling gleefully, as each tasted the plaque and grit of the other's mouth. All this was very familiar to Duo, but totally new for Quatre.

Duo ground his crotch into Quatre's and found that the blond princling was just as painfully hard as he himself was. Duo's stained and callused hands groped Quatre's crotch through the fabric of his dusty khaki trousers. Duo fumbled for Quat's zipper and pulled it down. The blond boy was wearing underwear, battered briefs that had once been white. Duo broke the kiss and ignored Quatre's little whine of disappointment, sliding down to investigate Quatre's lovely erection. He nuzzled his face in Quatre's briefs, while at the same time freeing his own meat with a dexterity born of long experience. Duo wore no underwear, he never did. He just didn't see the point of pants under your pants. They'd just be an extra thing to wash, and they itched.

Duo's dick was uncut, and he worked the foreskin back and forth over the head. He got harder and harder as his oral ministrations stimulated Quatre. Duo flicked his adept and sensitive tongue over the spongy head of Quatre's cock. Being a Moslem, the Arab boy was cut, and therefore did not produce precome. His cock tasted of skin and sweat, with a light undertone of smegma. And then suddenly there was a sharp salty tang that had to be Quatre's semen, less greasy and less bitter then most men that Duo had sucked, and the braided boy swallowed it down eagerly.

Duo worked his cock rapidly after that, foreskin rubbing up and down over the sensitive head. Duo's rubbing soon allowed him to join Quatre in orgasm-land. He came in an energetic fountain, not having had time to 'rub one out' for the past few days.

After their mutual bliss in the desert heat, the two boys took some time to recover.

"Wow", said Quatre, "That felt great! … but why did you do that."

"Well, "yer cute, an I wanted to do ya ever since I firs laid eyes an yah", drawled Duo, with a wide Cheshire-cat grin.

"Does that mean that you fell in love with me at first sight?", asked Quatre, with a kind of puppy-dog eagerness.

Duo was taken aback. For Duo, who had been a child prostitute, sex had never had much to do with love. Duo didn't really even believe in love. Sex was either an expression of power and control, a good to be sold, or, as in this case, a simple, fun thing to share between friends. Love had never entered into his calculations.

"I dunno" said Duo, looking down at his feet after a long pause. "I'm not sure I'd know love if it walked up to me in an OZ uniform and tol' me I was under arrest."

Quatre thought that was funny in one way, and very sad in another, but did not know quite what to say, and so kept silent, but his heart reached out to Duo's heart, and Quatre knew that there was love within it, if only the other boy could let it out.

"Let's talk about this in the morning, Duo. For now, we should turn in, for the sun is setting and the desert will be cold at night, were his only words."

Duo and Quarte slept side by side that night, each pondering what the other had said in his heart.

TITLE: Picking Up the Pieces - Ch 1, Poverty
AUTHOR:Yaoifunboi
RATING/WARNINGS: Overall, R, this chapter PG-13. Hints about past noncon.
PAIRING(S): Terry Boot/Draco. Later in the series Draco has a het romance.
BRIEF SUMMARY:Draco Malfoy has served his three month prison sentence for his actions in HBP and DH, now he has to work for a living. Horrors!

( A year after HBP )

Title: Different Houses, Same Rivalry

Rating: PG - some naughty language and schoolyard violence

Pairing: Could be considered AS/S pre-slash, but basically gen.

Words: 276

Summary: Here's a little drabble that I wrote. It's not my actual vision for the relationship between Scorpius and A. Severus, but it was a weird idea that I thought I should put down. I wrote it in Greek class.

( They Aren't Just Like THEIR Fathers! )

Title: “Special Cuddles”- The world’s first English-language Riku x Soma fanfic.
Author: Me
Fandom: Onmyou Taisenki
Pairing: Riku x Souma
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: PWP, Foot Fetish, TwT (sometime before Riku goes to the Earth-Style building), Shota.


( Here be Shota!!! DON'T Look if you Don't like that sort of thing! )

If anyone could tell me of other places to post this, I'd be grateful.

Constructing Homosexuality in AC 195

See, I like settings, and I like to think about background, after being fed up with fics that had all the pilots shagging eachother or being sappily romantic with one another with nary a thought devoted to the reactions of the world around them. I came up with three ways people in the Wing-verse might look at gayness.

Option A- Regression: Society has regressed to the 1800s in all ways except technology. Therefore, no-one is ‘gay’. In western countries and L2 and L3 and perhaps L4, those who engage in homosexual acts are ‘sodomites’ and face severe social and perhaps legal sanctions; the public has no notion of sexual orientation, though queer persons themselves may have a notion of being different from normal men and women, and may see homosexuality as something permanent and consisting of feelings as well as acts. Queer persons probably have their own specialized slang. In non-western countries in this option, being the seme is acceptable for a man, and does not change a man’s heterosexuality. However, the uke is seen as having a different ‘sexual orientation’ from ‘normal men’ and is looked down on as useless and effeminate. So, Wu-Fei might have sex with Duo, then proceed to ignore everything he says and treat him as worthless or at least stupid thereafter. To Wu, Duo has become a ‘weak onna’. Duo would be puzzled, because to him, both pitching and catching are equally wrong. Yaoi fics set in such a G-verse could be very interesting, but constructing an entire clandestine gay society is a big project, and I for one would like to believe that society will progress rather then regressing.

Option B- Everyone is Bi: In this vision of the future, the glory of the GLBT rights movement was its dissolution. People are attracted to the people they are attracted to without regard to gender, and most people experience attractions to people of both genders at some time in their life. Some people may only find the same sex or the opposite sex attractive, but they do not think of themselves a minority; heterosexuality and homosexuality are kinks, like a foot fetish. All religions will marry two people of any combination of genders, and from the poor to the upper-middle class the ration of same sex to opposite sex couples is about 50/50. Nobles, royalty, and the mega-rich favor m/f unions for dynastic reasons, marriage in such circles is not about love, it’s a matter of business. However, there are probably technological work-abounds whereby a same-sex couple can conceive a child, after all, there are artificial wombs in GW canon. This is probably the most convenient option for yaoi fic, because it allows you to pair characters according to their compatibility with eachother without regard to gender. This is the only sort of setting where a fic with 1x2, 3x4, AND DxR* makes any sort of sense. However, even in this setting, I don’t think that most teenage boys would admit to bottoming. Some exceptionally macho subcultures, such as the street gangs of L2, insist on a very clearly defined seme and uke, and might even view the uke as a ‘woman with a dick’. I would say that this option is easiest to write badly, but the hardest to write well. It’s an effort to imagine a totally homophobia-free society. how are masculine anxieties are expressed without gay bashing, are dorm-rooms single-sex, what does a Catholic marriage between two men look like?

Option C- Like Today, More or Less: For whatever reason, things haven’t changed much since the early 21st century. Some people identify as gay, most people identify as straight, a very few people identify as bi. Some ‘straight’ people will have homosexual sex under certain circumstances.
Some societies accept gay people, some are violently anti-gay, most are in the middle. Some people are violently anti-gay, some are completely accepting, most are somewhat uneasy around gays. This option is probably easiest to write well, because we have the real world to research, and it is the only option for writers who want their fic to speak directly to contemporary issues, but shouldn’t Gundam Wing sex be as fantastic as Gundam Wing mecha?


*Yes, Dorothy is seme, in a mental and emotional sense, at least, and probably in a physical sense as well.

Title: Swords and Words: A Tale of Two Friends
Author: yaoifunboi
Pairing: 6x9 in the narration, 6+13 (friendship) in the flashback in this chapter. For the uninitiated this means that the adult Zechs narrating the flashback has a relationship with Noin, and that little Zechs and little Treize are friends.
Rating: G here. The rating could go as high as R later on.
Warnings: More cuteness then you could shake a stick at. (AKA Sap)
Summary: A holodocumentary about Treize Kushrenada makes Millardo Peacecraft reminisce about his relationship with Treize, and the time he spent under the name Zechs Marquise in general. Milllardo is speaking from memories, some of them terribly distant, and so this story will have something of the ephemeral and disjointed quality of a memory.
Disclaimer: If I owned Gundam Wing, there’d be a wing of some place of higher learning named for me somewhere, and I would be on a Caribbean island, not enduring Ohio winters.

“Swords… when I was a child (that brief, blissful period), a sword was not a practical weapon, and most people thought that it never would be again. Fencing was a stylized sport for those with too much money and not enough sense. Missiles and lasers ruled the battlefields of Earth; infantry and armor were for holding ground, not taking it. Not that there had been a major war for a century. Now fencing is a staple of physical education classes, as a method of self-defense as well as exercise. The strip has been widened, and blows to the face are no longer off limits. Beam sabers and other melee energy weapons are necessary to MS combat- they are much more powerful then firearms because they are sustained rather then intermittent; and training with ordinary blades became part of basic training for MS pilots, then part of basic training for all officers. This return to close combat is a profound and positive thing; war is once again a noble, human contest”

That was enough- I turned off the holodocumentry; I would let no historical analysis sully my memory of that glorious speech on that glorious day!

I am Millardo Peacecraft, husband of Lucrezia Peacecraft, father of Walker and Otto Peacecraft, a rambunctious pair of first-generation Martians. Yet I will never forget Treize Kushrenada, and I am glad that there are others who keep his memory alive. Yet, everyone else (Except, perhaps, the dear Lady) is concerned with Treize the politician, Treize the symbol of an era. I am concerned with Treize the man.

Aye, Treize is dead, the Kushrenada family name will die when Maremaia marries, and violent era that he belonged to is a distant memory. In turn I have called Treize Kushrenada a ‘meanie’, ‘big brother’, ‘commander’, ‘friend’, and ‘more then a friend’, but the last time we met we met was across a battlefield, and we called each-other ‘mortal foes’.

Trieze wanted a beautiful, glorious life, and a beautiful meaningful death, and he did, in the end, get his wish. He got his death in honorable battle against a worthy foe, a foe that embodied his ideal of a soldier better then he ever did.
Treize cared about people, more than anything else. Even his precious roses and swords. But he never cared enough about himself!

I first met Treize when I was five and he was ten. Our fathers met about politics frequently; General-Duke Acturius Kushrenada was one of the leading liberals in Romafeller, and an old school-friend of my father’s. The General was of course no total pacifist, but he and old King Mohandas were allies in opposing the Alliance’s efforts to take over the colonies.
His only son, Treize, was given the task of keeping me amused and out of the way of the grownups. Relena was only an infant, and was consigned to a different wing of the palace with her wet nurse. Treize had freckles then, and braces, and his hair was a more fiery shade of red, not unlike Marimaia’s. His eyebrows were as wild as ever they were. My hair reached down to my collar, then. I remember that I wore a white sailor suit. Treize was still in short-pants then.

The first day of the Kushrenada’s visit was rainy, so we stayed indoors and read. We could have played with my RANT*, but there were no games that I had that Treize liked. I was could read books with chapters, and bragged about it, and then he told me that HE was reading The Wind in the Willows, a novel from before people went into space. I said that I bet I could read it, and Treize smirked and let me. I started reading the first chapter out loud, and Treize was shocked that I could read all the big words in English! I remember his exact words, “Thunderwater! A kindergartener and you can read a very old book in a language that is not your fatherland’s”. We were speaking German.

I giggled at Treize's comment, and reminded Treize “In Sank** most people speak French or German, but we Peacecrafts come from America, and Mommy was an English princess before she married Daddy.”

“Oh! So you speak English with your mother?” Treize asked. I nodded my head yes. “You are still a very remarkable boy”, he concluded.

“Thanks” I said, a bit shyly. I was very ready to defend my intelligence, and my family from all insults and all comers, but I took compliments less well, especially compliments from grownups. Remember that to a five year old a 10 year old seems practically an adult!
We read The Wind in the Willows aloud for the rest of the afternoon, each of us taking a chapter, and by dinnertime, Mr. Toad was in jail, and I had learned many new words (I could sound them out fairly well, and Treize would tell me the meanings). It was a very pleasant way for two boys to pass a rainy afternoon.

Dinner that night was a family affair, not a full court dinner, so Relena and Treize and I sat with our parents in the small dining-room. The whole room was painted a delicate pink and white; I hated it and thought it was girly. I had once told Daddy that, but daddy only laughed and told me that “my own mommy liked this room, and I keep it that way because I love her”. I was only a toddler at the time, so I simply boggled at the idea that Daddy had a mommy of his own. I remember we had asparagus soup at that meal; something I detested, that Relena managed to eat some peas, and that the grownups laughed a lot, and gushed over us children, but it all seemed fake to me somehow.

The next day of the Kushrenada’s visit to our home was taken up by affairs of state, which meant that I had to dress up in scratchy dress clothes, tolerate Nanny combing my hair (she always pulled too hard), and sit still while Treize’s Father and Daddy made very long speeches that I couldn’t really understand.

I remember Treize muttering to himself in German, but when I whispered to ask him what was wrong, he told me “you’re too young to understand, it’s politics, and it’s bad; your daddy is being silly, and Father only wants to help him.”

“Daddy is never silly!”, I declared, too loudly. I was firmly shushed by Nanny.

On the third day of the Kushrenada’s visit to Sank, all of us went fox hunting. That’s fox hunting with hounds, not with guns. An ancient saying referred to this pastime as “the unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible”, and as an adult both Treize and I preferred shooting, especially shooting pheasant and other game birds. But that one fox hunt in our childhoods was a wonderful thing. The thing about fox-hunting*** is that it is not just a sport for aristocrats. On the contrary, practically whole household is involved. The grooms ride out with the gentlemen and ladies, as does the Master of Foxhounds and the rest of the kennel staff. The Cook and the rest of the kitchen staff come out with a picnic luncheon, and the parlor staff help serve it. Really, the only people not involved in the ritual are the lady’s and gentlemen’s personal attendants and the butler, and they may ride with the hounds themselves, especially the butler; a butler is very close to being a Gentleman himself. Our butler, Pargan, did ride with us; he was a tall, pale young man; I didn’t think he was very nice because he never played with me or smiled at me.

On that blessed day it seemed like Mommy and Daddy were able to forget whatever was making them sad as everyone gallivanted over the Sancian countryside. Sank was a very green country then, with rolling hills and little brooks. I remember that the fox swam a little river, and Treize horrified his parents by jumping his pony over it rather then finding a bridge or swimming his pony. Daddy laughed, and followed Treize.

After the hunt, Treize and Daddy talked quietly for a bit. I had a PB&J sandwich with no crusts for dinner, and Treize had sliced egg. Odd the things that you remember. Treize and his family went home to Russia the next day. The next time I saw them would be under much more trying circumstances.

*RANT stood for Really Awesome Nintendo Tech, which was at the time the latest gaming system. The Japanese have never quite mastered marketing in English.

**Sank was created when the Rhineland declared its independence from France and Germany in 152 PC (Pre Colony). Our loathing for war comes from being fought over, conquered and reconquered for centuries.

***The target of a fox-hunt is not necessarily a fox. On L2 rat is the only legal quarry, but the sport is still called fox-hunting. On the other hand, I am working to ensure the importation of proper European Red Foxes to Mars in the course of building the Martian ecosystem.

162 Word Ficlet about Young Duo being confused by a hymn:

Little Duo didn’t think that he believed in God, but he sure did like the Mass. He liked the bright colors of the stained-glass windows and the bright circle of cloth that Father Maxwell wore. Duo liked the air-conditioned church, and the sweet smell of the incense, but most of all Duo liked the singing. Father Maxwell would sing something, everyone’d sing back at him, then they’d all sing together, while Sister Helen led them. The song was upbeat and fast “Some bright morning, when this life is over, I’ll fly away” were the words. Duo was puzzled. He’d wanted to fly away before, but not from This wonderful place, and he was almost positive you couldn’t fly away from somewhere if you were dead! “I’ll ha’ to ask Father after the Mass”, Duo thought.


I imagine the Maxwell Church's music program being heavy on Gospel music and Afro-American spirituals because they speak from a context of oppression to a context of oppression.

This fic takes place before KHI. Pure wanking smut.

The day began when Riku and Sora met at the beach, as usual, to work on their raft.
They arrived at around ten in the morning, at more or less the same time. They shot the breeze for a while, then, typically, Sora asked Riku “wanna fight?”.

Riku’s response was somewhat ironic; “want me to kick your butt? You always try to fight me and haven’t one once since we started sparring two years ago.”

Sora laughed and responded “maybe today’s my lucky day.”

Both boys grabbed their swords and saluted, before commencing their duel. Sora was more aggressive, swinging wildly at Riku, but Riku parried Sora’s every stroke with ease. Riku then closed on Sora, feinting towards Sora’s chest. Sora fell for the feint, allowing Riku to smack him on the wrist with the flat of his wooden sword, sending Sora’s identical ‘weapon’ flying.

“Give up?”, Riku asked with a laugh.

“For now” Sora replied.

“Where’s Kairi?” asked Riku. “She’s normally the first one of us here!”

“If she’s sleeping in, we ought to go wake her”

The Destiny Islands were a large island chain, but Riku, Sora, and Kairi lived in a small town on the tip of the southernmost island. Therefore, it took only a few minutes for Riku and Sora to walk to Kairi’s house.

Unfortunately, at Kairi’s door, Kairi’s adoptive mother informed the two boys that Kairi had caught a cold and would not be joining them that day.

Clasping his hands behind his neck, Sora thought for a second. “Hey Riku, want to put on our suits and have a proper swim this time? Since Kairi’s not here we ought to save working on the raft ‘till she can help us.”

Riku thought for a second to himself that Kairi wasn’t much help- he seemed to shoulder more of the labor then Sora or Kairi combined. But Riku loved feeling the ocean on his body, and he hadn’t had a proper swim (unlike Sora, Riku did not enjoy jumping into the water in his clothes) since they had started the raft project. “Ok”, Riku said after a few moments thought. “Just let me go to my place and get changed; I’ll meet you back at the beach in a bit.”

Riku’s mother was in her office at work, so Riku had to let himself into his house. His room was as messy as any other teenage boy’s- his mother seldom entered his domain.

Riku’s suit was an ice-blue Speedo, and he slipped on a pair of blue flip-flops to keep from burning his feet on the way to the beach. He also slathered sunscreen on every exposed inch of skin- without such protection, Riku burned like dry tinder, so Riku decided to take the sunscreen with him as an afterthought.

He met up with Sora on the way to the beach, Sora’s swim trunks as bright red as his usual pants, though they had a white stripe up the side, and his flip-flops were black. Sora always tanned rather then burning, a trait Riku was mildly jealous of.

“Race You!” Riku challenged, then kicked off his flops and dashed into the surf. Sora followed suit, entering the water seconds behind Riku.

For a while the two boys frolicked in the ocean, Riku trying to get in as much touching as was possible, but then Sora declared that he was tired.

After Sora and Riku got out of the ocean, Riku could not help but stare at the way his friend’s wet swim trunks caressed his body. His eyes lit on the tube of sun block, and Riku had an idea.

“Sora, do you want to try that thing that Wakka showed us how to do again, since Kairi isn’t around?”

“What, you mean jerking off? I’ve been doing it everyday!” beamed Sora. “but we don’t have anything to do it with”, said Sora.

“Yes we do” said Riku, triumphantly holding up the sun lotion.
Soon thereafter, Riku and Sora were squatting in the shack with their swimsuits around their ankles, facing eachother.

Riku drizzled a generous amount of sun oil into Sora’s outstretched palm, then drizzled an equally generous amount directly onto his cock.

Riku was farther along in puberty then Sora, and his cock was surrounded by a halo of icy-white pubes. Sora’s own brown brush was just starting to sprout. Neither boy was circumcised; boys on the Destiny Islands rarely were.

Riku and Sora commenced their masturbation, each boy grasping his cock and tugging the foreskin back, then rubbing up and down vigorously.
The boys’ eyes met, and by mutual, unspoken consent the two boys switched hands, so that Sora’s tanned hand was stroking Riku’s translucent member, while Riku’s pale fingers fondled Sora’s cock.

The two boys wanked each other, each of them panting, their breath becoming more rapid and shallow. Riku skinned back Sora’s foreskin and stated toying lightly with Sora’s sensitive head. This was too much for Sora, and he came, shouting “Oh! Oh! Riku!”, as his cum dribbled out and over Riku’s hand.

The sight of his hand covered in Sora’s semen, the knowledge that he had made his best friend (was Sora his boyfriend now?) shoot, nearly drove Riku over the edge himself. Standing up, Riku stepped out of his Speedo, leaving him clad only in his flip-flops. The white haired boy spread his legs wider and motioned for Sora to move closer. The younger boy continued wanking Riku’s member as he moved in close for a better view. Experimentally, Sora stuck out his tongue and licked his best friend’s dick. Riku’s penis tasted of salt and lotion and something else, something wonderfully organic. Sora’s lick drove Riku to an explosive orgasm covering Sora’s face in sticky white fluid.

The two boys sat still for a moment, awed by what they just did. Then Sora broke the mood by saying “that was … great! Let’s swim again and rinse this stuff off, ok?” And Riku was left feeling vaguely disappointed.