#I just think its funny that I keep managing to draw Alan with his hands in his pockets

[radjerda]

Please accept some Tron doodles set once again in some universe in which Kevin Flynn decided that maybe this whole 'people can be digitized' thing should be shared and brought Alan (and Lora, and Roy) in to help him. (Thank you to @graedari for allowing me to use her wonderful grid armor design for Flynn!)

I've got some description and some close-ups under the cut, because why not, right?

These doodles are featuring:

Flynn secretly watching the (non-lethal, totally friendly competition) grid games as they were intended to be. I kinda like to imagine the grid games when all was peaceful were kinda like the games in the Tron Evolution Battle Grids game (the Wii game, if anyone else had that) where anyone could compete and all was friendly. Flynn would totally sneak into that from time to time so he could watch without drawing attention to himself -- or maybe he was competing and is watching while waiting for his next turn.

A full reference for Alan's grid armor, further demonstrating my inability to draw Alan without his hands in his pockets. (It really wasn't intentional, I just keep ending up with reference photos of him or people standing like that, somehow.) But I thought it was fun to remember how I took inspiration from Tron's Legacy design, Jet's design in Tron 2.0, and Alan's regular outfits to make him a grid outfit.

[tokyo-debunkers-headcanons]

Eyo I've been looking forward to seeing blogs pop up for this game since I started playing, now as we know the mc is a fairly short/average height female so I was wondering for either vagastrom and/or frostheim reacting to a reader who is taller then them. Which ironic considering how tall a couple of them are😂 can be platonic or romantic idrc -👾

I don't think I can do a drabble with this one, so sorry! but I can write the little blurbos! And I'll do both! And I'm just gonna go ahead and give the MC here a big height difference because I think its funny. For the sake of comedy, this MC is 6'9

JIN KAMURAI

Platonically: I think he wouldn't like it. He's not necessarily the tallest, but he's not used to that big of a height difference. To have a sudden 'honor student' be forced to come along on missions was already a pain in the ass, but with the added height, it made recon a lot hard. On the up side, longer limbs meant easier access to their stigma enhancement.

Romantically: he'd get used to it but he's not a fan of the Frostheim elite gossiping about how tall his partner is. More than once has there been a ball at Frostheim and he's used his eyes like daggers to shut someone up. He'd use his stigma but dealing with the consequences would be too much of a pain. He again, like the longer limbs though, but now its more for hand holding and kissing their palm to embarrass them.

TOHMA ISHIBASHI

Platonically: I think Tohma is one of the few that don't necessarily care all too much. As long as they get the job done and don't get themselves or the second years killed then its whatever to him. He will however keep their height in mind for any future purposes.

Romantically: He still doesn't care. He's more of a brains type of person. Of course everyone has their preferences, but Tohma's ideal partner doesn't have a specific height range to them. He would want someone more intelligent to play chess with and talk.

KAITO FUJI

Platonically: Platonically speaking i think he'd find their height an inconvenience, not that he'd ever tell them that. At the very least he wouldn't be able to lose them in a crowd. When he tries to impress them however, he finds their height taking some of the wind out of his sails. But in certain situations he is using that "big dog energy" that they give off.

Romantically: he's not even hiding the fact that he's using big dog privileges anymore. And now he loves that their height draws attention to them, like look at his amazing partner! They're a couple! They chose him! He pretty much brags about how great their tall partner is. He will fight anyone who makes fun of his partner though, no questions asked.....or he might tell Luca to do it, but its the thought that counts

LUCAS ERRANT "LUCA"

Platonically: Luca here is another one that I don't think would care. The biggest difference though is that he doesn't intend to use their height to his advantage. He might ask them to use their height to help with something but he would be straightforward and tell/ ask them about it.

Romantically: okay, if they manage to get his one track mind off of his brother to get all romantic with him, then they're absolutely in on the plan now too. He starts adding them and their height into his plan to subjugate a demon to help find his brother. If they actually go along and take it seriously it's some serious brownie points with him.

ALAN MIDO

Platonically: two words. Sparring! Partner! Because of their height, he will want to spar and get some practice with something bigger than him. He will want to spar in the pit each and every time they come to Vagastrom.

Romantically: he will actually not want to spar with them anymore, or at least he say he won't. He's more of a protective kind of guy. Height doesn't necessarily matter to him, just so long as his partner is safe.

SHOHEI HAIZONO "SHO"

Platonically: number three in guys where it doesn't really matter what height MC is. He might ask them to grab a few things from top shelves while he cooks, but other than that and asking with lifting some stuff. He hesitates to take them out for rides on Bonnie (his bike) however, because of their height.

Romantically: In a relationship, he once again doesn't care his partners height. He does however make them more food, to make sure his partner has enough energy to get through the day. He's more likely to take them out of a ride on Bonnie but he still hesitates and makes sure their long limbs won't accidently touch something that could get them hurt, all before he even CONSIDERS taking his partner out on a bike ride

LEO KUROSAGI

Platonically: he would 100% make jokes about their height. He would also constantly want help getting things from top shelves, even if he can reach it himself. If he's gonna keep them around, he's gonna make sure they're useful for something.

Romantically: okay, i hope his partner is ready to be a pair of hands in his posts. He would try his best to convince his partner to make a tiktok account with him. If not, then he would absolutely get them to take pictures for him. Congratulations! They're his new personal camera person. He's the type to not post it unless its PERFECT, so they might be there for a long time.

[cg29fics]

Pick and Mix Collection

A selection of Little Tracy fics for @gordonthegreatesttracy and @psychoseal

All can be found with other short stories in my Pick & Mix Collection on AO3 & FFNet: CreativeGirl29

School Reports. Aged 8.

Scott Tracy:

Scott is a bright young boy, who is extremely popular with all his classmates. He is always first to put himself forward for team challenges and is a natural team leader. However, Scott tends to be impulsive and rush into an activity or challenge, which on occasions as cost him a higher mark. Scott excels in English, Geography and Physical Education but tends to struggle in maths.

John Tracy:

John is a quiet, introspective and intelligent young man, who excels in Science, Maths, English and Information Technology. John as the potential to go far in life and could be moved up a grade if he was to apply himself to what he once referred to as the ‘boring subjects’ and stop correcting myself and my other colleagues when we are trying to teach.

Virgil Tracy:

Virgil is a lovely, thoughtful boy, who always listens in class, speaks when he is spoken to, and on occasions has gone out of his way to support other classmates when they are struggling. Virgil has a gift for art, music and history. He also recently earned top marks when we taught first-aid in his class. However, I would like to bring to your attention Virgil’s tendency to day dream when he is not taking part in one of his favourite subjects.

Gordon Tracy:

Gordon is a conundrum and seems to have two sides to him. On the one side, you have the sweet boy who will always be there for his friends, excels in physical education, especially swimming and did surprisingly well when we did our big baking day. However, the other side of Gordon has a habit of constantly chatting in class, despite being asked to be quiet and as unfortunately become known as the school clown. If Gordon were to apply himself in all his work instead of drawing pictures of himself as a fish, he could gain good marks in all his classes.

Alan Tracy:

Alan is a smart boy who as always got a smile on his face. When he is interested in a subject, or as been caught by an idea he is an absolute pleasure to teach. However, like his brother before him, he tends to chat in class, and on many occasions, has had his portable computer console confiscated when he has been found playing on it, instead of learning. Alan struggles in History but excels in science and maths. I would also like to bring to your attention Alan’s report on ‘Our Heroes.’ All the children in his class decided to write about a celebrity, sports personality or historical figure. Instead, Alan wrote a fantastic and touching report where he named his older brother John as his hero and who he would most like to be like when he grows up.

5 more fics beneath the cut

**

STAR BOY:

"John you've been told not to run in the house." His father complained, catching his 4-year-old son in his arms.

"I'm not John." John answered with a serious face.

"Oh, you're not?" Jeff remarked, observing the cape John had attempted to make out of his comfort blanket. "Well, I must say, you certainly look like my John!"

"Shush! Daddy." John whispered. No one can know my secret ident…" John paused, thinking about the word he was struggling to say. "Ident…"

Jeff smiled. "Identity."

John grinned. "Yeah, my secret identity."

"So, who are you then?" Jeff inquired curiously.

"I'm Star Boy." John shouted, as he managed to struggle free and started running around in circles.

Jeff let out a chuckle at his son's exuberance. "So, Star Boy. What powers do you have?"

"Fly in space." John cried with joy.

"And what's your current mission Jo… I mean Star Boy?"

John ground himself to a sudden halt. "Find baby Virgie!" He stated with a thoughtful look.

"Virgil." Jeff corrected. "And he's not missing, he's nice and safe in your mummy's tummy."

John stared at his dad in confusion. "But I heard you and mummy say that he was late, and then mummy said if he didn't turn up soon she would…"

"Okay, John." Jeff said cutting John off. He would have to have a word to Lucille about what John had overheard. He knew she would be mortified but John seemed to have exceptional hearing and they both knew that their boy was very bright for his age. Jeff held his arms out for his current youngest son. John happily ran into them, and let himself be pulled up onto his father's lap. "Now, Virgil is still safe in your mummy's tummy, the reason he's late is because your mum has made it so comfortable in there that he doesn't want to leave yet."

"But I want to find him, cause then I'll get to be big brother like Scotty." John frowned.

Jeff pulled John into a warm hug. "And you will be a brilliant big brother just like Scott." He assured him.

As Jeff held John tightly in his arms, a shout from his mother came from in the kitchen, followed by his oldest son running into the room.

"Daddy, Grandma said to tell you mummy's waters broken!" Scott panted.

Jeff pulled himself to his feet, keeping John firmly in one arm, and taking Scott's hand with the other. "Well, my Star Boy." Jeff said, looking at John with pride. "It looks like your mission was successful!"

"It was?" John asked with a puzzled expression.

Jeff beamed as he stood John next to Scott, who automatically took his little brother's hand in his. "Yes, you did!" He added, with a concerned look towards the kitchen as he heard his mother and Lucille call for him once more. "Looks like baby Virgil is on his way!"

Several hours later:

John grinned with joy, as with his mother's help, he held his new baby brother in his arms. "Hey, Virgie." He said softly. "I'm John, your big brother… And my secret is I'm also Star Boy." He whispered. "I helped find you today!" John looked at Virgil who gazed at him with his big eyes. "And my next mission is to be your big brother." He said with a contented sigh.

**

4 little brothers.

12 year old Scott Tracy stretched out in his bed, enjoying the warmth from is duvet on a cold winters night. Yes, this was his time. His time to relax after a full on day spent with 4 hyper younger brothers. His time to bask in the peace and quiet his room provided…

… THUNDERCLAP … the pouring rain began hammering at his window …

Scott sighed, threw back his blanket and began counting "5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

… THUNDERCLAP … 4 scared little brothers rushed into his room …

"Come on then, jump in."

… THUNDERCLAP… 4 scared little brothers scurried noisily into the bed.

Pulling the blanket over them all Scott smiled when he felt each of them snuggle up to him. 'Forget the peace and quiet,' he thought to himself. He would prefer to have his 4 brothers any day!

**

First Day.

“Don’t want too…” Alan whined, clinging desperately onto his father’s trousers.

“But you have to,” Jeff returned, trying to loosen his son’s grip.

“Why?”

“Because…” Jeff paused, then exhaled, he had no answer for his baby. Honestly, he was out of his depth, normally this was Lucille’s job, but she wasn’t here like she had been for his other boys… He glanced at his four sons standing close by, none of them had wanted to miss this moment, none of them wanted Alan to feel like he was missing out on something, even though they knew that he was. After all, it shouldn’t be them doing this, it should be their mother. They’d all had her here for their first day, but Alan wouldn’t… And even though he hadn’t said anything they could see it in his eyes that he knew he was different from all of the other kids who were being dropped off by their moms.

“Because,” Scott said, stepping forwards, “you will get to make some cool new friends.”

“I will?”

“Yes,” John replied, “and you can play with some neat toys.”

“And when I was here,” Gordon added, “they had some awesome toy dolphins, and a submarine…”

Alan scrunched up his tiny nose.

Gordon grinned. “They also had some cars and toy rockets!”

“Wow!” Alan exclaimed.

“You can also draw and paint,” Virgil informed him.

“Without getting told off for using your paints?”

“As long as you share with your classmates,” Virgil said with a big smile, “then you can use whatever you want… And maybe you could bring me a picture back of your favourite toy?”

Alan nodded enthusiastically, then looked up to his dad. “I’m ready to go now daddy!”

Jeff knelt down so his eyes were level with Alan’s. “Have a brilliant day son.”

Alan beamed, loosened his grip, then immediately ran towards his teacher.

Standing, Jeff reached out and brought his four other boys into a warm hold. Knowing that whenever he was out of his depth then his amazing sons would always have his back.

**

The Beast

It was dark. Only a few rays of sunlight managing to penetrate the lair he had entered. He had been warned on numerous occasions about the beast that inhabited this area and was known to attack when woken, but he had not believed. Yes, he had seen it on many occasions, but all of those times it had been funny, friendly and caring. Surely, just because it was woken early it wouldn't attack. Especially since it was him.

He creeped closer. Currently it was lying on its stomach, eyes were tightly shut, and bizarre noises were emitting from it. Finally, reaching his destination he leant towards it, his hand reaching out, but then a sudden snort from the thing in front of him was released causing him to jump back. Maybe it wasn't best to disturb it? Maybe Gordon was right, and the beast did attack if provoked this early? Although his brother was known to make things up. This probably was just one of his jokes and the usual encounter would be received. He had to be brave and find out the truth. Straightening himself up, he stepped forwards, and placed his hand confidently on the shoulder in front of him…

"Virg…"

No movement, no signs of him waking, so he tried again…

"Virgie?"

This time a groan emitted from his brother, then once again he grew quiet…

"Virgie," he pushed harder on his shoulder, "please wake up."

A yawn, and a pair of bleary eyes opened, grumpy and nothing like the kind-hearted peaceful ones he was used to… He moved backwards… Maybe this was a mistake… But then there eyes met, and a soft gentle smile illuminated the features of his brother.

"Hey Alligator, what's up?"

"Nothing," Alan replied with a little snigger at the nickname.

Virgil regarded the three-year-old in front of him. "Nothing, really?"

"Well, Gordy said you were a beast in the morning, but I didn't believe him, so he said I should come and see for myself."

"Did he indeed?"

Alan nodded his head.

"Well, I'm not a beast."

"Knew it!" Alan cheered happily.

"But," Virgil looked at his clock, "when I am woken this early, I am known to turn into a bear."

Alan gasped in shock.

"And you know what bears do, right?"

Alan scrunched up his little nose and shuck his head…

"Well, they are known to attack."

"Really?"

"Yes, with…" Virgil paused for dramatic effect… "tickles!"

A fit of giggles erupted from Alan when Virgil pounced, flung him over his shoulder, then onto the bed where he began tickling him madly.

**

Baby Talk

"Hi, I'm Scott, I'm four years old, I love aeroplanes and jumping off the couch. Although mummy and daddy tell me off for that one. My best friend became a big brother to a little sister last year, he's really good at it, and I want to be the same. So, I will always cuddle you, care for you, and when you get bigger I will help you to learn all of the things I found hard. I promise that I will be the best big brother you could ask for…" He leaned in and kissed his mother's tummy, feeling a kick back in response… "Love you too!"

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 8

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 8 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 8/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

“Take a punt,” the Doctor told Clara. He was doing some sort of math on one of his chalkboards while Clara sat down near the console.

“Right,” Clara said.

“Your choice. Wherever, whenever, anywhere in time and space.”

“Well, there is something, someone that I've always wanted to meet. But I know what you'll say.”

“Try me.”

“You'll say he's made up, that there is no such thing.”

“Go on.”

“It's…it's Robin Hood.”

“Robin Hood.”

Clara walked up the steps towards the Doctor. “Yeah. I love that story. I've always loved it, ever since I was little.”

“Robin Hood, the heroic outlaw, who robs from the rich and gives to the poor.”

“Yeah.”

“He's made up. There's no such thing.”

“Ah, you see?”

The Doctor pulled a book off his bookcase. “Old-fashioned heroes only exist in old-fashioned story books, Clara.” He thumbed through a few of the pages before setting the book back in its place.

“And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You stop bad things happening every minute of every day. That sounds pretty heroic to me.”

“Just passing the time. Hey, what about Mars?”

“What?!”

“The Ice Warrior Hives.”

“After what happened on that submarine? I don’t think so,” Elise told him. She wanted to forget that adventure. She still had nightmares.

“You said it was my choice,” Clara argued.

“Or the Tumescent Arrows of the Half-Light. Those girls can hold their drink,” the Doctor rambled.

“Doctor.”

“And fracture fifteen different levels of reality simultaneously. I think I've got a Polaroid somewhere.” The Doctor came down the stairs towards the console with Clara following him.

“Doctor! My choice. Robin Hood. Show me.”

“Very well.” He put in coordinates and set the TARDIS in flight. “Earth. England. Sherwood Forest. 1190AD. Ish. But you'll only be disappointed.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You can’t wear a black dress! You’re not going to a funeral!” Clara told Elise. Clara wanted to look the part and dragged Elise along with her. Clara looked through the dresses and pulled out a green one.

“It’s perfect! It’ll go great with your hair.” She shoved the dress into Elise’s arms. “Well go on, get dressed.”

Elise changed into the medieval style dress. It felt wrong not to be in her leather jacket and boots, but she had to admit that she looked rather good.

“Might have to cover that though,” Clara said pointing at the roses winding down Elise’s neck. She’d still yet to understand why she had the tattoo in the first place.

Clara managed to cover it up with some heavy concealer.

The two women stepped out of the TARDIS.

“Might be a little bit much, but what do you reckon, Doctor?” Clara asked. She stopped when she saw him. Robin Hood.

“By all the saints. Are there any more in there?” Robin Hood asked.

The Doctor noticed how Robin’s eyes lingered on Elise and he moved slightly in front of her.

Clara patted the Doctor’s chest in disbelief. “Is that…?” Clara asked.

“No,” the Doctor told her.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God! It is, isn't it? You found him. You actually found Robin Hood.”

“That is not Robin Hood.”

“Well then, who, sir, is about to relieve you of your magic box?” Robin asked, pulling out his long sword.

Elise nearly rushed forward, but the Doctor pushed her back. He stepped onto the bridge, facing Robin. “Nobody, sir. Not in this universe or the next.”

“Well then, draw your sword and prove your words.”

“I have no sword. I don't need a sword.” The Doctor opened his coat and twirled around to show Robin. “Because I am the Doctor.” Instead, he donned a gauntlet and pulled out a spoon. “And this is my spoon. En garde!”

They started sparring and Clara and Elise watched on in excitement.

The Doctor got the upper hand and hit Robin on the back of the neck with his spoon.

“You're amazing,” Clara praised the Doctor.

Even Elise had to admit the Doctor was rather dashing.

“I've had some experience. Richard the Lionheart. Cyrano de Bergerac. Errol Flynn. He had the most enormous…”

Clara cleared her throat, cutting off the inappropriate comment.

“…Ego.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Robin lunged forward and sliced a button off the Doctor’s coat. The Doctor held his arms out and Robin got ready to strike the killing blow. The Doctor dodged this attack and spun around so he and Robin were back to back. He bumped Robin and Robin fell into the river below.

“Doctor!” Clara said, rushing to his side.

The Doctor polished his spoon on his coat. “Like I said. My box.”

“Doctor?”

Robin was nowhere to be seen in the water below. He popped up behind the Doctor and pushed him into the water.

Clara and Robin laughed.

Elise rolled her eyes and waded into the water. She helped the Doctor up and asked, “Are you okay?”

“More of a bruised ego than anything.”

“I’ll fix your coat later.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Robin led them to a small encampment. “Let me introduce you to my men. This is Will Scarlet. He is a cheeky rogue with a good sword arm and a slippery tongue.”

“My ladies…”

Clara giggled and looked at Elise, who had no reaction.

To this day, the only man to ever make Elise blush was the man in the café after they met Clara the second time.

The Doctor pulled out some of his hair as he bowed and scanned it with his sonic screwdriver.

Will cried out and grabbed at his head. “What do you want with my hair?”

“Well, it's realistic, I'll give you that,” the Doctor told him.

“And this is Friar Tuck. Aptly named for the amount of grub he tucks into,” Robin introduced.

“You skinny blaggard.”

The men around them laughed.

Friar Tuck stepped forward and nearly fell.

The Doctor was on the ground behind him.

“What are you doing?” Tuck asked him.

The Doctor stood up, holding one of his sandals. “This isn't a real sandal.”

“Yes, it is.”

The Doctor sniffed the sandal. “Oh. Yes, it is.”

Robin turned to introduce another one of his men. “This, er, is Alan-a-Dale. He's a master of the lute, whose music brightens up these dark days.”

“Stranger you are welcome here, in Sherwood's bonny glade,” Alan sang. He suddenly cried out as the Doctor stuck him with a needle.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Blood analysis. Oh. All those diseases. If you were real, you'd be dead in six months,” the Doctor told him.

“I am real,” Alan insisted.

“Bye.”

The last of Robin’s men was huge.

“And this is John Little. Called Little John. He's my loyal companion in many an adventure.”

The large man stepped aside and a smaller man jumped out at them. The men laughed.

“Works every time,” Will said.

“Oh, I cannot believe this. You, you really are Robin Hood and his Merry Men!” Clara giggled.

“Aye! That is an apt description. What say you, lads?” Robin asked.

His men laughed in response. “Stop laughing. Why are you always doing that? Are you all simple or something?”

Elise was beginning to become annoyed as well, while Clara looked to be enjoying herself.

The Doctor picked up a goblet and poured out the liquid before walking up to Robin. “I’m going to need a sample.”

“Of what?” Robin asked.

Clara quickly pulled the Doctor away from them. “What are you doing?”

“Well, they're not holograms, that much is obvious. Could be a theme park from the future. Or we might be inside a miniscope,” the Doctor told her.

“Oh, shut up.”

“A miniscope. Yes, of course. Why not?”

The Doctor ran over to the encampment, leaving Clara and Elise.

Robin walked to them. “Your friend seems not quite of the real world,” Robin observed.

“No. No, he's not really. Not most of the time.” Clara looked at Robin. “Dark days?”

“My lady?”

“You said that these were dark days. What did you mean?”

“King Richard is away on crusade, my lady. His tyrant of a brother rules instead,” Will explained.

“And the Sheriff. Cos there is a sheriff, right?”

“Aye. It is indeed this jackal of the princes who seeks to oppress us forever more,” Alan said.

“Or six months in your case,” the Doctor quipped.

Robin spoke in a soft voice. “It is a shame to dwell on murky thoughts when there is such beauty here,” Robin said.

Elise felt like she was intruding, so she simply squeezed Clara’s hand and joined her father instead. She glanced back at Clara and Robin talking softly with each other and she felt a pang in her hearts.

The Doctor saw the look on Elise’s face and walked over to Robin. “What time is it, Mister Hood?”

“Somewhat after noon.”

“No, no. Time of year? What season?”

“Oh, Dame Autumn has draped her mellow skirts about the forest, Doctor. The time of mists and harvest approaches.”

Elise frowned. That didn’t seem right.

“Yeah, yeah. All very poetic. But it's very green hereabouts, though, isn't it? Like I said, very sunny.”

“So?” Clara asked.

“Have you been to Nottingham?”

“Climate change?”

“It's 1190.”

“You must excuse me. The Sheriff has issued a proclamation and tomorrow there is to be a contest to find the best archer in the land. And the bounty, it's an arrow made of pure gold,” Robin said.

“No! Don't, don't go. It's a trap,” Clara begged him.

“Well, of course it is! But a contest to find the best archer in the land? There is no contest.”

The men laughed.

“Right, that isn't even funny. That was bantering. I am totally against bantering,” the Doctor snapped.

“How can you be so sure he is not the real thing?” Clara asked.

“Because he can't be.”

“When did you stop believing in everything?”

“When did you start believing in impossible heroes?”

“Don't you know? In a way, it's rather sweet.” Clara joined Robin and his men, while Elise stood next to him.

He looked into her green eyes and saw…was it hope? He was going to show her he could be the Doctor again. That he could be the heroic man she knew him to be.

[a-motivation-to-study]

Books to Read in 2019

This past year I finished reading MAYBE 2 books. How incredibly disappointing is that? In high school I read ALL THE TIME, and I have a whole wall covered in books, yet I have barely read! I’m really going to force myself to read more this next year. I know for a FACT that my semester next year will hinder my goal, but I’m hoping to follow this plan as closely as I can (although I am darn positive that I probably won’t be able to finish all of these). Most of these books I have selected relate to other personal goals I hope to achieve. The boldened titles are the books I feel are most important in my personal growth (and thus the books I will read first). I’m also hoping my love for reading can be reignited. I know a lot of us can lose the habit of reading, especially with busy college schedules, so I’ve added the descriptions of the books (from the back or from the amazon descriptions) I hope to read in case any of you would also like to read more!

Productivity Books

1. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey

In The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People People, author Stephen          R. Covey presents a holistic, integrated, principal-centered approach for         solving personal and professional problems. With penetrating insights and pointed anecdotes, Covey reveals a step-by-step pathway for living  with       fairness, integrity, honesty, and human dignity- principles that give us the      security to adapt to change, and the wisdom and power to take advantage of the opportunities that change creates. 

2. Getting Things Done by David Allen 

In today’s world, yesterday’s methods just don’t work. Veteran coach and        management consultant David Allen shares his his breakthrough methods for stress-free performance that he has introcued to tens of thousands of people  across the country. Aleen’s premis is simple: our productivity is directly   proportional to our ability to relax. Only when our minds are clear and our thoughts are organized can we achieve effective results and unleash our creative potential. From core principles to proven tricks, Getting Things Dones can transform the way you work an live, showing you how to pick up the pace without wearing yourself down. 

Meditation and Buddhist Books (from Wisdom Publications mostly)

3. Zen Vows for Daily Life by Robert Aitken

Zen Vows for Daily Life is a collection of gathas, vows in verse form for daily practice, similar to prayers or affirmations for use at home, at work, and in the meditation hall itself. Reciting these poetic vows can help us be fully present in each moment and each activity of our lives. These gathas serve as gentle reminders to return again and again to our highest aspirations, with acceptance, joy, and compassion—for ourselves and all beings. Zen Vows for Daily Life will be a steadfast companion in keeping the reader inspired and committed on their spiritual path.

4. A Heart Full of Peace by Joseph Goldstein

Love, compassion, and peace—these words are at the heart of all spiritual endeavors. Although we intuitively resonate with their meaning and value, for most of us, the challenge is how to embody what we know: how to transform these words into a vibrant, living practice. In these times of conflict and uncertainty, this transformation is far more than an abstract ideal; it is an urgent necessity. Peace in the world begins with us. This wonderfully appealing offering from one the most trusted elders of Buddhism in the West is a warm and engaging exploration of the ways we can cultivate and manifest peace as wise and skillful action in the world.

This charming book is illuminated throughout with lively, joyous, and sometimes even funny citations from a host of contemporary and ancient sources—from the poetry of W.S. Merwin and Galway Kinnell to the haiku of Issa and the great poet-monk Ryokan, from the luminous aspirations of Saint Francis of Assisi to the sage advice of Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama.

5. Open Mind by B. Allan Wallace 

Lerab Lingpa (1856–1926), also known as Tertön Sogyal, was one of the great Dzogchen (Great Perfection) masters of the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries and a close confidant and guru of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama. This volume contains translations by B. Alan Wallace of two works that are representative of the lineage of this great “treasure revealer,” or tertön. This volume will be of great interest for all those interested in the theory and practice of the Great Perfection and the way it relates to the wisdom teachings of Tsongkhapa and others in the new translation schools of Tibetan Buddhism.

6. Interconnected by Ogyen Tinley Dorje

Plucked from a humble nomad family to become the leader of one of Tibet’s oldest Buddhist lineages, the young Seventeenth Karmapa draws on timeless values to create an urgent ethic for today’s global community. The Karmapa shows us how gaining emotional awareness of our connectedness can fundamentally reshape the human race. He then guides us to action, showing step by step how we can change the way we use the earth’s resources and can continue to better our society. In clear language, the Karmapa draws connections between such seemingly far-flung issues as consumer culture, loneliness, animal protection, and self-reliance. In the process, he helps us move beyond theory to practical and positive social and ethical change.

7. I Wanna Be Well by Miguel Chen

A punk rocker’s guide to grow, learn, and appreciate the present moment—in short, to live a life that doesn’t totally suck.

8. Discovering Your Soul Signature by Panache Desai

Your soul signature is your spiritual DNA - it is who you are at your core, the most authentic part of you, and your singular contribution to this world. And yet, we reject our authentic selvs. We allow our soul sigature to become blocked by any number of emotional obstacles that life throws in ou path: anger, fear, guilt, shame, sadness, despair. Any or all of these feelings overtake us and create a density, a heaviness that doesn’t permit us to embrace who we truly are, deep inside. We are energetic beings, Panache Desai reminds us, and emotions are energy in motion. When we are blocked we feel unworthy, less than, unloved, incomplete. 

In Discovering Your Soul Signature, Panache Desai invites us on a 33-day path of meditations-- shot passages to be read at morning, noon, and night that are designed to dismantle the emotional burden that holds us back and open us up to changing our lives. Through this distilled, poetic, practical, and inspiring course, he invites us to live a life of authenticity, to rediscover purpose and passion, and to believe from our soul in the possibility of all things.

9. As Man Thinketh by James Allen 

This little volume (the result of meditation and experience) is not intended as an exhaustive treatise on the much-written upon subject of the power of thought. It is suggestive rather than explanatory, its object being to stimulate men and women to the discovery and perception of the truth that -

"They themselves are makers of themselves"       by virtue of the thoughts which they choose and encourage; that mind is the master weaver, both of the inner garment of character and the outer garment of circumstance, and that, as they may have hitherto woven in ignorance and pain they may now weave in enlightenment and happiness.

Religious Books 

10. The Miracle of Forgiveness by Spencer W. Kimball

In The Miracle of Forgiveness, President Spencer W Kimball gives a penetrating explanation of repentance and forgiveness and clarifies their implications for Church members. His in-depth approach shows that the need for forgiveness is universal; portrays the various facets of repentance, and emphasizes some of the more serious errors, particularly sexual ones, which afflict both modern society and Church members. Most important, he illuminates his message with the brightness of hope that even those who have gone grievously astray may find the way back to peace and security. Never before has any book brought this vital and moving subject into so sharp a focus. This classic book is a major work of substance and power.

Science Books

11. God’s Equation by Amir D. Aczel

In God’s Equation, Amir Aczel tells the story of what lies between these events: the history of modern physics and the development of the sciene of cosmology, the study of the nature of the universe. 

Other Books

12. A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

In Anthony Burgess's nightmare vision of the future, where criminals take over after dark, the story is told by the central character, Alex, who talks in a brutal invented slang that brilliantly renders his and his friends' social pathology. A Clockwork Orange is a frightening fable about good and evil, and the meaning of human freedom. When the state undertakes to reform Alex—to "redeem" him—the novel asks, "At what cost?"

13. Walden and Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau

In 1845, Thoreau moved to a cabin that he built with his own hands along the shores of Walden Pond in Massachusetts. Shedding the trivial ties that he felt bound much of humanity, Thoreau reaped from the land both physically and mentally, and pursued truth in the quiet of nature. In Walden, he explains how separating oneself from the world of men can truly awaken the sleeping self. Thoreau holds fast to the notion that you have not truly existed until you adopt such a lifestyle—and only then can you reenter society, as an enlightened being.   These simple but profound musings—as well as “Civil Disobedience,” his protest against the government’s interference with civil liberty—have inspired many to embrace his philosophy of individualism and love of nature. More than a century and a half later, his message is more timely than ever.

14. The Art of Worldly Wisdom by Baltasar Gracian

In the Art of Worldly Wisdom Baltasar Gracian gives us pertinent and pithy advice on friendship, leadership, and success. Think of it as Machiavelli with a soul. This book is for those who wish to have an ambitious plan for success without compromising their integrity or losing their way. Audacious and captivating!

15. For One More Day by Mitch Albom

For One More Day is the story of a mother and a son, and a relationship that lasts a lifetime and and beyond. It explores the question: What would you do if you could spend one more day with a lost loved one?

[gnomesagetion]

Missing Gears Chapter 3

Things always go wrong when something good happens. For example: The Thunderbirds were just starting up when Gordon Tracy was the only survivor of a holfoil crash. An engagement of a Tracy son and an ex FBI agent when someone is out to get International Rescue. But sometimes good things come from the bad things in our lives.

Read on: Fanfiction.Net AO3 Wattpad

Three weeks later, Gordon was walking down the streets of New York City. For someone who was going to be late, Gordon was incredibly calm. He had every right to be. It had been over a month since he had been kidnapped. Over a month that he had learned to look at the world even closer. To appreciate what the world was. Sometimes, however, it was better to look at the bigger picture. Gordon was so engrossed into his thoughts that he walked right into a young doctor. This event caused the young doctor’s open book bag to fall to the ground, spilling its contents. “I’m so sorry,” Gordon said, immediately dropping to the footpath. “That’s okay, it’s my fault for rushing everywhere,” The doctor said. Her curly brown hair was tied in a ponytail which rested over her left shoulder. “I should have been watching where I was going,” Gordon apologised, handing the female her work. The female smiled. Both looked at their watches. “I have got to go now,” The doctor said “I’m going to be late,” She started running. “And so am I,” Gordon muttered as he picked up his pace.

Stassia Aulman was running through central park at 4:30pm. She normally wouldn’t run this late but because she had missed her morning run, she had to make it up somehow. Of all the days for a small problem with her electricity to happen – it had to be the one where she had a very important meeting. It was her fault that she didn’t own a battery powered alarm clock. Sure she had her phone but Stassia liked the digital alarm clock her foster brothers had given her when she went off to college. It had become a bit of a habit. Luckily she wasn’t the only doctor late to the meeting. Apparently there were a few others who had similar problems. Landlords. The song changed from a smooth classical to a classic rock song. The intro had her hooked in. And just like the morning, Stassia managed to bump into someone. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” A semi-familiar voice said. Stassia could hear the laugh in his voice. She saw the red hair and brown eyes. The very same red hair and brown eyes from this morning. “I’m so sorry,” Stassia apologised, taking her headphones out. “It’s okay, my brothers keep telling that I’d bump into something with my running,” The man said “Glad it just happened here instead of back home,” Stassia laughed a little. The man smiled. “I’m Stassia Aulman,” Stassia introduced herself. “Gordon Tracy,” The red head held out his hand. Stassia smiled. She accepted his handshake. “So what’s the good doctor doing out here in this weather?” Gordon asked. “Missed my morning run,” “From the way you bumped into me this morning, I would have counted that as your morning run,” “Ha ha, very funny,” Stassia rolled her eyes “What about you?” “Just needed the exercise,” Gordon said “No swimming pool here in New York for me to use. And my brother’s fiancé thinks it would a good idea for me to run more often,” “Well your soon to be sister-in-law is kind of right. Running does help with your swimming a lot,” Stassia explained. Gordon smiled. “She is always right,” He said “When she gets all of the facts,” “Sounds like you like her,” “Of course I do. She’s like a cousin to me. She baby sat me when my older brothers were busy with all sorts of things,” Stassia checked her watch. “I’ve got to get going,” She said “If I want to make it back to my apartment before it gets dark,” “I’ll see you around Stassia,” Gordon said “And thanks for not freaking out about my last name,” A goofy smile appeared on the face of the red haired male before he started running off. And that’s when it clicked. Stassia had just meet Gordon Tracy. The fourth son of the billionaire Jeff Tracy. The Olympic gold medallist, Gordon Tracy.

It was the next day at work that surprised Stassia the most. One of the ER doctors, Megan Greenwood, gave her a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “Gordon came to visit this morning, said he wanted me to give this to you,” She explained “He also said something about getting a hot chocolate together sometime tomorrow,” “Thanks Dr Greenwood,” The doctor laughed “You do realise that it is Valentine’s Day tomorrow right?” “It is?” Stassia said surprised. “It is. You’re one lucky lady Stassia Aulman,” Dr Greenwood told the Cardiologist “Tell him, I expect to see his soon to be sister in law for her check-up for me please. He rushed off in a hurry this morning,” “Of course, and thank you again Dr Greenwood,” “No problem Dr Aulman,”

Gordon was eating dinner when his phone rang. The caller was unknown. But Gordon instantly knew who it would be. He had been waiting for this call all day. He picked the phone and answered it. “Gordon Tracy,” “Hey Gordon, its Stassia Aulman. Dr Greenwood said I should call you,” “Hey Stassia,” Gordon replied “I was wondering if you’d like to grab a hot chocolate or maybe a coffee tomorrow. I’m heading back home for a while and I wanted to say goodbye before I go,” Stassia could feel herself blushing. “Yeah sure. I’d love to get a drink with you. I get off work at 4 tomorrow,” Stassia told him “Great. Do you want to meet at Robert Harris or shall I come meet you at work?” Gordon asked. “Robert Harris is a good spot to meet. Are we going to the one near the hospital or the one by Tracy Towers?” “The one near the hospital – it’s closer to the airport,” “So it will be a quick visit then,” “No. We have a tradition in my family that I get to finally partake in. My brother, Virgil, is coming to pick me up for it,” Gordon explained “I won’t be leaving until the day after but you’ll probably be at work,” “Speaking of work. Dr Greenwood said to tell you that she expects your sister in law to be to come see her for a check-up,” “Naomi’s got one booked for Monday,” “So I’ll see you tomorrow. Half past four,” Stassia said, smiling. “It’s a date,” Gordon confirmed.

Stassia saw the red haired man walk through the doors of Robert Harris at 6:30. Their date had to be pushed back when one of Gordon’s meetings went over time and an emergency surgery on Stassia’s end had forced Stassia to stay at work. “We have got to stop doing this,” Gordon said, smiling “We’re always late for everything it seems,” “Sometimes being late isn’t a bad thing,” “Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor? I thought that doctors were all about being on time,” Stassia laughed “When it comes to medical matters, then yes we do like being on time. But since when have you ever had an early doctor’s appointment?” “Never,” Gordon said, laughing. He caught his breath. “So we have 15ish minutes until Virgil and Naomi come to meet me. What would you like to drink Miss Aulman?” “I’ll take a Hot Chocolate thanks Mr Tracy,”

“You did what?” Stassia laughed as Gordon told the story of his senior prank. “Yeah – we managed to get the entire school to ditch for a whole day. The teachers went nuts,” “At least it wasn’t as bad as my brother’s prank,” Stassia said “Percy managed to tip buckets of ice and water on all of his teachers,” Gordon laughed. “I appreciate good practical pranks but one of the best senior pranks I have ever seen was the one pulled by Scott and Naomi. They managed to fool all the juniors into thinking that they wasted that years prank on one person, namely my older brother John, when their real prank wasn’t for a few months. They along with their friend managed to give the entire junior year the walk of shame to the office to collect dry clothing after being bombarded by flour and water,” “Okay. AS of this moment, Scott Tracy and Naomi Winchester are King and Queen of the senior pranks,” Stassia announced. “But I doubt we’ll hold that title for long,” A tall female said “Alan’s the last Tracy to graduate and I’d hate to be at his school when his prank starts. While Gordon is the prankster, Alan has four older brothers plus myself to draw ideas from,” Gordon started to cheekily smile. “Don’t you dare give him any ideas Gords,” The accompanying male said, laughing “You’re both terrible enough on your own,” “Stassia, may I introduce my brother Virgil and his fiancé, Naomi Winchester. Guys, this is my friend Dr Stassia Aulman,” Gordon introduced the couple to the curly haired doctor. “Nice to meet you,” Naomi said, holding out her left hand “Sorry about the awkwardness. MY sling will hopefully come off tomorrow,” “You’ve had it…” Virgil quickly covered his little brother’s mouth “Let me guess,” Stassia said, laughing “You’re a right hander and you’ve been using it,” Naomi nods meekly. “I was going to get bored otherwise,” “Well if you kept movement to a minimum, you should be alright but if not – I’m guessing here, two to three weeks more,” Stassia diagnosed the situation “But I don’t know what Dr Greenwood’s reaction will be,” “The downside of your doctor dating your best friend,” Naomi muttered. “Well Gordon – we have that thing we were planning to do,” Virgil said “We better get going,” “Don’t drink too much boys,” Naomi reminded “Gordon might be a light weight,” “I will not be a light drinker,” Gordon pouted. Naomi and Stassia smiled at the red head. “You’re be fine getting back to the towers by yourself?” Virgil asked quickly. “I’ll be fine, Virg,” Naomi told her fiancé “While I may not be able to use my gun, I still have ten years’ worth of training under my belt. Now go. Don’t let us stop you from showing Gordon the world,” “I’ll call you tomorrow Stassia,” Gordon said “And I’ll see you back at the towers Naomi,” Virgil kissed his fiancé before the two Tracy brothers left Robert Harris. “I don’t know about you Stassia, but I’ll stay here for a while,” Naomi told the young doctor “But a word of advice. Gordon’s a bit of a player. Always has been so be careful,” “Nice to meet you Naomi,” Stassia said as she left the building.

[tb5-heavenward]

artwork by the fantastically talented @birdologist and animation by the lodestar of my heart, the inimitable @awkwardarbor

There’s going to be a transitional chapter in between this one and the one previous that makes the time skip a bit more apparent, but it’s a pain in the butt to write, annoying to format for tumblr, and I’m lazy. And I thought people might be more interested in 4.6k words of Scott and Jeff instead, considering that I’ve kinda shafted the lot of you when it’s come to their interactions so far.

So, here’s some Scott. Next up is Virgil. There is a theme.

a_moment_of_dawn

You can find Heavenward on Tumblr // Ao3 // ff.net

a_moment_of_dawn - part 15

The boardroom is adjacent to his father's office, and the meeting starts in half an hour. It's a nice office. It's all leather and wood and glass and it looks like a little piece of the island, transplanted high above the Manhattan skyline. It hasn't changed from the last time Scott was here, only now he's no longer expected to take his father's place, because his father's back where he belongs. This is his father's office again, and this is the sort of detail that Scott keeps catching hold of, the sort that still brings a giddy thrill of gratitude burgeoning up from the heart of him, regardless of the reality outside of the office door.

A glance at his watch tells him that there's still a few more hours before Tracy-1 lands on the island, finally bringing John home, along with the rest of the family. A little less than a week of hospitalization, and he's been deemed well enough to be remanded to private care. A few more weeks of antibiotics. Quiet. Care. Rest. Family to look after him, people to talk to. In short, all the things Scott should've ensured, the first time around.

Scott's in a three piece suit, navy blue. He wears it like it was made for him, which it was, perfectly, expertly tailored to compliment his height, his whip thin frame. A grey silk tie picks up the threads of silver at his temples. He looks more like an adult than ever, but feels, irrepressibly, younger than he has in years. He stands at the window, using the reflection to surreptitiously watch his father, who's just exactly where he's supposed to be, seated comfortably behind his desk. Jeff's just taken a call from Lord Creighton-Ward, and Scott is waiting politely for this to come to a close. There's a meeting due to start in half an hour, not, of course, that it would start without them. And there's a conversation he and his father need to have.

It's going to be a conversation about his brother.

Because his brother's been through hell. His brother's been broken so utterly and completely that Scott sometimes has a hard time thinking about him. Sometimes—and only sometimes, and it hasn't even been a week, so it's not like just sometimes could even amount to very often at all—sometimes Scott tells himself he has more important things to think about than his brother, just to give himself a break.

He'd last seen John on Sunday, four days ago now. Virgil's birthday. It's an unfortunate truth about Virgil's birthday that it tends to get buffered and buffeted aside, swept away from proper celebration by the currents and tides of their family's frenetic day-to-day. It's almost a running joke, although it's rarely funny. Something always comes up on the fifteenth of August, and this year was no different. Virgil turned twenty-six in a hospital room, with his grief-stricken older brother for a birthday present, all wrapped up in pain and anguish.

Scott had entered the room, late in the afternoon, and it had been him in the doorway; Virgil, sat in a chair on the far side of the hospital bed; and their brother, between them. John had been curled on his side with his back to the door, nestled in a tangle of disarrayed hospital blankets, still and silent. At first glance Scott taken him to be asleep—but approaching, it became apparent that Virgil was talking to him, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows resting on the edge of the bed and his head bowed close, speaking gently and carefully and in a softer voice than Scott had been able to hear. He'd stopped when Scott took the chair on the other side of the bed. He'd put a hand protectively on John's shoulder and quietly said something further, and only then had he lifted his gaze to meet his eldest brother's.

And there'd been something new in Virgil, then. Something fierce and ferocious and defiant, a titanic shift in attitude from the moment before, when there'd been only gentleness, compassion. And he'd asked, taut and terse, "Dad with you?"

Even just the mention of their father had been enough to send a bodily shudder through the brother between them, and to draw a low, anguished sound from the heart of him, something like strangled pain. It had been animal and alien and disconcerting, especially from John. And Scott hadn't entirely known what to make of it when Virgil's grip had tightened John's shoulder in response, and his eyes had flashed with something like anger.

The answer was no, that their father was back at the hotel, closeted in a meeting with TI higher-ups, and that Scott had come to let the rest of the family—Virgil and Alan and Grandma, and John, for as much as John was aware of anything—know that Dad was going to be heading to New York, back to the East Coast HQ. There was so much going on. So much needed to be managed; the press, first and foremost, clamouring for information about Jeff Tracy's reappearance. The GDF, intent on finding out just how their father had enacted project Heavenward. Tracy Industries itself, ready to be brought back beneath the helm of its owner and founder.

What he hadn't expected, upon his rather hesitant delivery of this news that their dad would be leaving Zurich for New York, was the way Virgil's jaw had clenched, and the way he'd said, almost snarled, "Good. And he can stay there."

Scott's still not sure what Virgil had meant by that.

Of course, it's not like there was a lot of ambiguity about it, but Scott can be remarkably dense when the mood takes him.

So Virgil's angry at their father.

Virgil's right to be angry at their father.

Their father secretly undertook a massive, almost impossible task in the GDF's stead, for reasons that sound noble and altruistic, but which Scott still has the sense to suspect had more to do with ego and power. Their father refused to accept the impossibility of said task, and instead made the mistake of allying himself with a war criminal in order to accomplish it. Their father had been betrayed. Their faked his death. Their father spent three years in hiding with next to nothing, stubbornly trying to cobble together a workable solution to a billion dollar problem. And, when the game was up, when he'd been caught out in the middle of all of it, when John had finally run him down and cornered him—instead of coming home, Jefferson Tracy had bent Scott's little brother backwards over the altar of his ambitions, and carved the heart right out of him, in sacrifice to his goal.

Scott should probably be angry at his father, too.

He's not sure if it's cowardice or weakness or just plain old pedestrian denial that's the reason he isn't. Even if he can forgive Jeff for everything else, for all the bad choices and bad luck that led up to the end of it; Scott should be furious about what's happened to John. Maybe he is. Maybe it's why he's avoiding even the thought of his brother. He's here on John's behalf, anyway. He's here to help their father put everything right—and there's a lot to put right. John had gone tearing across the world with very little regard to the lawfulness of what he was doing. Their father had had eight years to carefully construct a bunker of legal protection around his actions. John had nothing of the kind.

And so that's why Scott's here. It's on John's behalf that he's plunged back into the corporate half of his family's legacy. Their father's going to take care of it. Scott's going to help.

Behind him, as he watches his father's reflection in the glossy surface of the window, he hears the call come to a close, a series of short, brusque affirmations, and then—"—Right. Thank you. I'll see you in London, Hugh."

Scott glances down from the window, shifting his posture into something casually inattentive, and pretends to be studiously examining his neatly trimmed fingernails, until his father clears his throat to get his attention. Scott makes sure to smile as he turns back into the room, careful not to betray the line of his thoughts.

His father's in dark, ascetic gray, his suit conservatively cut, double-breasted, with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie. He carries the gravitas of his attire with a sense of poise that Scott can't match. He rises behind his desk as Scott takes the seat in front of it, and goes to the liquor cabinet on the other side of the room. The smokey, possessive scent of whiskey fills the air. Ice cracks in crystal glasses. Jeff doesn't say anything as he pours two drinks, and when he returns, he sets a tumbler of Scotch in front of his son, who murmurs his thanks, and then Jeff takes the seat beside him, instead of behind his desk.

Scott wonders if his dad remembers the bottle of thirty-year-old McCallan that had gained three further years of age, sitting in the lower right hand drawer of his desk, back on the island. He wonders if John had known what he was doing, when he broke it open. It's always been hard to tell anything, with John, and that night it had been harder than ever. Jeff can't know how appropriate it is, how it parallels the last time Scott had been forced to really think about John.

His father raises his glass just slightly, just enough to give Scott pause as he catches the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"To your brother," he says, with uncharacteristic softness, when Scott looks over to match the gesture.

Hell. Maybe he does know. That's the thing with Dad, and it's one of the things Scott had missed most about him. His dad just always knows.

"To you, sir," he answers, and means it with the parts of himself that haven't thought too hard about what his father has done.

The parts that have note the shadow of a grimace that pass across Jeff's features. His father nods a brief acknowledgment, and they drink.

And, just as Scott had anticipated—or had guessed, really, because unlike his father, he hadn't known—the conversation starts with, "I do need to talk to you, Scott, about John."

Scott answers with the part of himself that doesn't think too hard about his brother. The part that only wants to hear the good news. "I hear he's doing much better. Starting to turn a corner, Grandma says." He sits a little too close to the edge of his chair, has to make a conscious effort to keep his posture somewhat casual, instead of sitting upright and eager and at attention. He takes another sip of his drink, maybe a little hastily. "John's tough," he adds, as an afterthought.

His father's expression is neutral, unreadable. The hand not holding his drink rests on the arm of his chair, the wedding band he still wears glints on the ring finger of his right hand. Late afternoon sunlight slants through the window of the office, and it catches the amber in his father's glass. "He's made it through a hell of an ordeal," his father says, after what seems like a little too long. He doesn't quite say it as though he's agreeing with Scott's assessment of his brother's resilience. "What I need to know, Scotty, before I can start to talk to people about just what he went through, is just how well he really handled it." There's a meaningful pause, and again with that softness in his father's voice, "Because you know it's true about your brother, that he hates for anyone to know when he's struggling. It's why things got so bad with him after your mother died."

This is going to feel like an indictment. Scott can already feel guilt starting to squirm in the pit of his stomach, and he attempts to douse the feeling with another swallow of Scotch. He has to clear his throat slightly before he can answer. "Well...you mean after the malaria, I guess. And everything else. I never should have let it all happen to him, and I know that, and I—"

His father cuts him off, absolves him with a dismissive flicker of his fingers. "I don't know that you could've done anything, Scott. It's neither here nor there at this point. What's done is done, and I'm mostly concerned with what led him into everything that followed."

Guilt twists like an augur in Scott's stomach. Everything that followed was dependent upon the fact that John had staked out the bounds of a massive blindspot in his family's view of him, and had managed to maintain the illusion of composure—control, cohesion, coherence—when reality had rendered him fractured, frantic and desperate, and delusional on the point that he could find, retrieve, and ultimately save his soulmate from certain demise. Not for the first time, Scott wonders if it might all have gone easier on his brother, if he could've been convinced that EOS was a lost cause, if he could have come to understand that her loss was inevitable.

But then, it's not certain that Scott would be sitting high above Manhattan, drinking Scotch alongside his father, if that had been the case. Sometimes—usually the same sometimes when he carefully avoids thinking about just how deeply his brother must be hurting—he thinks that the cost was worth it, and that John's going to see that, one day.

He knows better than to say that, though.

What he can say is what's true about the last time he'd been here, drinking his father's liquor and thinking hard about his brother and the state he was in. That's what his dad's asking, after all. Scott's had this discussion before, too. Quietly, with Brains, pulled discreetly aside and away from anyone who might've overheard, or misconstrued what was being said. There'd been a particular way Brains had put it. A very careful choice of words, as though he hadn't wanted to make things sound quite as dire as the language he'd couched them in.

Scott has to concentrate to call up the specific memory, and he hopes he manages the same level of tact, as he begins to choose his words, halting, but deliberate, "There were...we were all watching him. Trying not to be obvious about it, but everyone...everyone was more or less aware that he was having a hard time. He'd been so sick—and Dad, I don't know if anyone would've told you, I don't know how well he really remembers, but he was really—just, he was godawful sick. He ran a fever that hit a hundred and five. Had three seizures. He was comatose for three days after that, and almost as soon as he came around, he got fucking kidnapped." He realizes what he's said the instant after he says it and a flush of heat rises in his cheeks immediately. "Sir. Sorry, Dad, pardon my language, it's just—"

"No, I understand. What do you mean by a hard time?"

Scott shifts uncomfortably, and finishes his drink. He notices, more than a little self-consciously, that his father's barely touched his own. But there's nothing for it now. Father knows best, anyway. He'd needed a drink, maybe, as a catalyst for the honesty necessary to talk about his brother. "Well, the words 'post-traumatic' might've been used. Not wrongly, I don't think. He didn't—John didn't want to cop to that. He said that, specifically, that if he admitted to PTSD, then he'd use it to cover up grief. It would've explained a lot, though, about the way he was acting, before he left."

"Hm."

It's nothing much, just a small, considered little sound, and indication that Scott should continue. The ice in his glass has barely had time to melt, and it slides and clinks softly against the side of the tumbler as Scott tilts it slowly back and forward. He looks at this in lieu of looking at his father, as he goes on, "It's hard to sort out what was what, exactly, with everything that had happened to him, between the stress and the trauma and what he had to be planning...he seemed different, maybe, by the time we got home. Forgetful, sometimes. Less focused, I guess. Distant. Cagey."

"Would you say it's possible he wasn't in his right mind?"

Scott can be remarkably dense, when he wants to be.

And so the question drops, sudden, like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He'd expected that his father would want to talk about John. He knows what the meeting in half an hour—twenty minutes, now—is going to be about. Knows it's going to be a meeting with lawyers—but there hasn't been a meeting he's been to, since accompanying his father to New York that hasn't had lawyers present in some capacity. He'd expected to talk about John, because he'd known this meeting was going to be about John, and about what John had done, while he'd been gone. What the repercussions were going to be. The reasons his father would ask a question like that.

Scott's answer comes after a moment short enough that it still seems immediate—and it's instinctive, a flat denial in his brother's defense. "No. I mean...no, sir. Dad. No." He feels it, when his father fixes him with a serious, evaluating stare, and his voice starts to run away from him, as he continues, "I mean, I think...I think that's overstating it. He'd just been through such a hell of a lot, was all it was, really. He just needed time, and he didn't get it. He would've gotten better if he'd just gotten some time. That's...I-I mean, that's my fault." He swallows, hard, and reiterates, "Dad, he's not crazy. He's just—he'd been hurt and he was about to lose something important, and he was scared, and he needed more help than I knew how to give him. And when I thought I could trust him to take care of himself, he bolted. I should've known better. I should've done more for him. I guess maybe I'm trying to make up for it, now."

Beside him, his father shifts in his chair. The ice moves in his glass, chimes softly against the sides, but he continues not to drink. Scott continues to feel embarrassed about how quickly his own glass had emptied, liquor to wash away his nervousness, to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts. It seems almost non-sequitur when his father says, "I appreciate that you're here, Scott. But I'm starting to wonder if it might not be better if you went home."

This is alarming. This has Scott sit bolt upright in his chair, searching for the reasons why his father might want to send him away, trying to work out what transgression he must've committed, that his father wouldn't want him here any longer. "Dad, I—"

"Not because you haven't been valuable to me. And not because I don't want you here." Jeff dismisses his son's fears brusquely, without a great deal of warmth. "But because this is about your brother, and the things he's done. I'll tell you now, Scott, nothing's going to happen to him. What he's been through—he's done so much, and lost so much—it's more than anyone will ever understand. No one's going to take him away, no one's going to punish him. No one's going to do anything to your brother, not the GDF, not the World Council, no one. I won't permit it. But the means to that end—" And now his father pauses, exhales a slow sigh, and drinks. Drains half his glass, while Scott watches, intent. "—it's going to be ugly, Scott. I'm going to leverage money and power and influence, I'm going to pull strings and cut deals and do all of the dubiously ethical things that get done, in situations like this."

"I understand that."

Jeff glances at his watch, and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the office door, and the boardroom that waits beyond. "In fifteen minutes, I'm going to go through that door, and a dozen highly intelligent—highly paid—attorneys are going to try to convince me of the value of having your little brother declared insane. Legally and mentally incompetent to the repercussions of his actions. None of them know John, but they know the details of who he is and what he's done, probably better than he does, at this point. They will render your brother in terms that make him sound like a madman and a criminal. They will make an excellent case. They may not even actually be wrong. They will propose an easier, gentler alternative to a protracted legal battle, and I will be tempted to take it."

Scott almost scoffs at this, at the audacity of it. The things lawyers will say. "John's not crazy."

"No? I wonder. Crazy's an ugly word for it, and not the legal term. PTSD, you said. That's not hard to believe. Would you swear to it, if it were his sake? Even if you wouldn't, there's more than that. Three days in a coma. Neurological sequelae related to cerebral malaria, actual, physical damage to his brain. I do know a thing or two about malaria, Scott. A demonstrable history of complicated grief and the prospect of terrible loss. When your mother died, he stopped speaking. He was hospitalized because we couldn't get him to eat. There's plenty there to work with. It's not difficult to make the case."

Scott's glad he has a chair, because he's pretty sure the floor's fallen out from under him, and it's a long, long way to the ground. Maybe it's the Scotch that's causing the sudden sense of vertigo, the way his palms have grown warm and his mouth has gone dry. He can't think of anything to do but repeat, less certain now, "John's not crazy."

As though his father could make it true.

"I know."

And maybe he can.

For the first time, with the late afternoon sunlight growing ruddy as sunset approaches, Scott gets a glimpse of the depth of the sadness in his father, the remorse. The office around them is empty and silent, and Scott feels a moment of deep, intense connection to the man sitting beside him, and knows in that instant that they both want the same thing. His father goes on, sober and sorrowful, "I think that might be the worst of it all—just how sane he is; how tightly he held onto the things he knows, and his ability to know them. Your brother is stronger than I can even comprehend, Scotty, and he deserves better than to be maligned and discredited by a plea of insanity. So we'll need to do it another way. It's just going to be a matter of working out what that is."

The way the tension goes out of him, it's like a line's been cut. Scott hadn't realized the way his limbs had all drawn taut, the way his spine had stiffened. Even here, just sitting with his father, talking frankly about the state his brother's in—it's hard. And his dad, in just the way he always does, knows that, and gives him a way out.

"You've never wanted to be part of this side of things, Scott. I've never asked you to be, and I won't ask you now. It's going to be difficult and it's going to be ugly, and you don't need to be a part of it. You can go home. You should go home. Take care of your brother, Scott. He needs you more than I do."

That might be true. Scott had gone to John's hospital room, four days ago now, with a decision as yet unmade. Their father was going to New York, and he'd left it to Scott to deliver that news. He'd also given Scott the option to come along, to take TB1 and follow afterward, across the Atlantic. And maybe if it had been Alan at John's bedside, instead of Virgil, Scott might have decided to stay. Maybe if Virgil had been radiating sorrow, instead of pure, molten fury, Scott would've felt like his presence was wanted—warranted, even. Maybe if his father hadn't asked, he never would've offered, would've known that his place was with his brothers—with John.

But instead he'd made his apologies, and said that he would be joining their father. Just for a little while, he'd said, just to make sure everything was under control. John was out of the woods. Alan and Virgil and Grandma had everything in hand. At the time they'd felt like reasons, but Scott realizes now that he might have been making excuses, at the same time he said his goodbyes.

Because as hard as it is to think about his brother, it's harder still to be around him, and know that their father is the reason for what he's suffering, when all Scott wants is for his father to be the reason he has his brother back. He doesn't want to think about everything else.

So he can pretend that he's here for John's sake. He can pretend that his dad needs him, even if he says otherwise. He can make that same decision again, to be at his father's side, instead of his brother's. John's got Virgil and Alan, Grandma and Gordon, Kayo and Brains. John's got an entire family of people looking after him, and he'll be taken care of. He doesn't need Scott.

His father has to stand in front of a roomful of lawyers, and tell them that—despite all readily available evidence to the contrary—his son is not out of his mind, and that they're going to find a way to clear his name. Scott's been there before. Scott remembers wishing he didn't have to be there alone.

Scott gets to his feet, wanders back over to the window. Makes use of the reflection again, as he pretends to stare out over the Manhattan skyline, and instead watches his father's image, watches to see if his dad changes at all, when he's no longer got his son by his side. Not appreciably. Doesn't matter. Scott's already made his choice. He doesn't turn as he says, "With due respect, sir, I think I can do more for him here than I can at home. If it's all the same to you, Dad, I'd like to stay. I know there's a lot that needs to be done for his sake. I'd like to help you make sure it gets done, however I can. Whatever it takes."

He hears ice chime against crystal again, as his father finishes his drink. He closes his eyes for a moment, against the light of the setting sun, and listens to his father behind him, with a soft little sigh before there's a grunt of effort, and he gets to his feet. He's not entirely expecting it, when there's the warmth of his father's hand on his shoulder, and a gentle, grateful squeeze, and the gratitude in the older man's voice is genuine, sincere, when he says, "Well, then I'll thank you, Scott. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, Dad. Me too."

[supercoolgamesstuff-blog]

Board Gaming - Explaining Modern Board Games to Non-Gamers

New Post has been published on https://www.coolgamingzone.com/board-gaming-explaining-modern-board-games-to-non-gamers/

Board Gaming - Explaining Modern Board Games to Non-Gamers

Your Hobby is What?

How many times have you heard this question?

Your hobby is what? You play board games? Are You Kidding?

As I started to become fascinated by these modern eurogames, I got a lot of funny looks from people – my wife, brother, and sister included. Their response was “Ok, if that is what you want to do… I’ve never even heard of Settlers of Catan or Carcassonne.” What they did not understand is that there is quite an underground community developing around these games.

Over the past half a year or so, I have had to come up with a description for what this community affectionately calls Eurogames. They go by many names, none of which are known to the general public – adult board games. modern board games, designer games, German games, or Ameritrash games. Not one of these explains it well to the non-gamer. It really just digs you into a deeper hole.

You Can Not Answer Like This

We actually don’t play “board games” like you may think. We actually play modern designer games from Europe. They tend to be fairly complex and take several hours to play. Nobody is usually eliminated, so everyone actually has a really good time. They tend to be more interactive and engaging, yada yada… Right. Now their eyes have glazed over and you look like a board game snob.

You are Familiar with Monopoly, Right?

When introducing the games, touching a nerve is important. Asking about Monopoly tends to be my first response to them. This is a game everyone is familiar with. They understand that it is a game more complex than your average 7 year old child can handle, that it has aspects of fiscal responsibility, scarce resources, cards, and strategy. They also know there are no trivia questions, movie quotes, drawing pictures or putting words together. Good, we have a starting point. You are dealing with a game that is mildly serious and can go for over an hour.

Now, Think About Chess

Then, I go to the other end of the spectrum, chess. Again, this is a game most everyone has seen or played at some point. Heck, it even shows up in the first book of Harry Potter. They understand that this is a deep strategy game that many play and only some master. They also know that it is two players ONLY and those watching need to be very, very quiet…like golf. They are probably also aware that if you are good at chess, you are respected and considered intelligent, by most.

Now, you have your two extremes.

Next Up…Risk

This is a third game that is more complicated, and closer to the standard modern board game. And, everyone is fairly familiar with it. The thing you have to watch out for with this game is that not everyone has had a positive experience with it. It tends to be long and drawn out with two sides battling it out until the wee hours of the morning – while the eliminated players go and watch TV or munch on snacks and watch the clock.

So, Modern Board Games Are like Risk

You can actually say that a lot of the adult board games are like “Risk on steroids”. But, people actually enjoy them and most of the time everyone plays for the entire game. These games are strategy-oriented. You get to shape a country or landscape, manage an economy, manage energy infrastructures, or handle political races or micromanaging small businesses.

Unlike typical board games, the Risk board looks like a map of the world, with zones that have value. This is much more like a eurogame, than Monopoly – where all you do is go around and around hoping to land on GO! or Free Parking.

Also, you can talk to them about the imagery of the games. This is something that really attracted my wife. When she saw the level of art involved with Ticket to Ride, she was really interested. Carcassonne is similar – the art is more cartoon-like, but you build the city as you go. It is very rewarding to see the final city once it is done.

Have You Ever Played Video Games?

This is a really good leap because most 30-year-olds have, at some point, seen an RTS (real time strategy) game on a PC. They may have played Warcraft, Age of Empires, Rise of Nations, Command and Conquer, or Civilization. Or, they may have played games like The Sims, SimCity, Railroad Tycoon, and Roller Coaster Tycoon. If so, they are in! These are the PC game cousin to the modern board game.

Sid Meyer, Will Right, John Romero, Chris Sawyer

These names are familiar to PC gamers. They created games like Civilization. SimCity, Railroad Tycoon, Doom, Quake, Roller Coaster Tycoon. One of the cool things about Designer board games is that the designer of a good board game can become a star in his own right.

If they know the PC designer names, you can share your excitement for Klaus Teuber, Alan R. Moon, Richard Borg, and Andreas Seyfarth. They should understand the respect.

Blizzard and ID

If you don’t hit the note with the designer names, just throw out these two names and you should get a nod of recognition. Blizzard has put out several games (all of them hits, by the way) such as Warcraft, Diablo, and Starcraft. They are also responsible for the Online Multiplayer game World of Warcraft. ID is the gaming company that busted down the doors of the first-person shooter game with Doom – the most downloaded shareware of its time.

Rio Grande, Days Of Wonder, and Fantasy Flight

If you have hit the nerve talking about PC gaming companies, you can make the logical jump to Adult Board Game Companies. These three companies should be at the forefront of the discussion. Most of the “hit” games come from these. Oh, and don’t forget Mayfair with Settlers of Catan.

Here is an interesting point you can share with your new-found connection…

Many PC Games are also Board Games

And, they land squarely in the modern board game genre. This is what some of the gamers call Amertrash games. But, they are games you can point to that might draw the non-gamer in. Point them at Fantasy Flight Games For example, they will recognize Starcraft, World of Warcraft, and Doom. They will also be familiar with Age of Empires and Railroad Tycoon. It really should not be too much of a leap to get them to Puerto Rico, Ticket to Ride, Memoir ’44 or Power Grid.

What You Don’t Want to Do

Unfortunately, when people think of board gaming as a hobby, and they have never tried it, they get a single image in their head…it is a bunch of geeky guys with greasy hair in a basement or back room with funny shaped dice, a bunch of metal figures, and lots of paper. This image also usually involves someone screaming “Shoot my +3 Fireball at the hill troll for 2d Damage…roll for initiative” What?

They had a friend at some time that was into Dungeons and Dragons. This crowd is always portrayed in the same manner as trekkies.

You also don’t act like a snob about how your games are better than their old games from when they were younger. This will just turn them off.

The Best Defense is a Good Offense

Just keep a couple of games in your car trunk or at the ready. When the opportunity arises, offer to bring it out and show it. Let them see the rules, touch the game, maybe even give it a shot. If they like it, great! If they don’t, oh well. You gave it a fair shot and shared the gems with one more person.

Not Everyone is Going to Be a Fan

The one thing in all of this that you can not forget is that you can not please all the people all the time. Personally, converting my wife was not a hard sell. She loves puzzles. However, my sister and her husband, on the other hand, run in completely different circles than I do and I don’t think they will ever try a eurogame. I might get them to try Pizza Box Football, but that is where it will end. My brother might actually convert at some point.

Don’t let it bother you. Just keep talking about it and we will eventually create a few more addicts together! Keep on playing the best games in the WORLD!

Source by Barry Nadler

[shadowstryker]

keep your eyes on the stars (and your feet on the ground)

Under the sea, there aren’t a lot of warm colors. When there is light to see by, everything is cast in shades of blue and green. Sure, some creatures have reds and yellows in their scales and in the sea flora, but it’s always so very overwhelmed by the dull blue of the kelp forests. It’s honestly a large part of the reason that she loves the surface so much. Everything is bright, and vibrant, and so different. The trees were a shade of green that she had never seen under the ocean, and the sands were golden, and the skies at dawn and dusk turned the most brilliant shades of orange and red that warmed Marella inside and out. So when she sees the preparations for the Translocation Festival start to pop up with those oranges and reds, speckled with the blues of her home (which, no matter how far she may go, will always be a part of her), she’s so excited she immediately makes plans for three separate concerts in the days before the festival.

She ropes some of the locals into helping her set up a temporary stage in front of the Tower that housed Rattles the Lich (just a few days earlier than they would have anyways). She shares some of her music with Alan in her preparations, swearing him to secrecy as she shows him some of the songs that she took with her from her family. To unwind at the end of the day Marella plays a few card games with Adeon and a few other local residents, laughing at Adeon’s horrible luck.

All in all, she’s a lot happier than she’s been in a very long time.

And as she stands on the hastily set up stage and sings and acts and dances her heart out, she finds that she loves Phandalin, and the people of Phandalin, and everything to do with Phandalin. Marella loves being able to look out and actually find friendly faces- Alan, the little bard with such potential that hollers out the most outlandish song suggestions in the middle of her performances (and she would usually do half a chorus, just to humor the kid), and Adeon, the most nonchalant rogue she had ever met who would just shoot her an amused smile and a wave. She even manages to get an approving nod out of Skrung every once in a while, and she would swear up and down that the little goblin was actually tapping his foot to the beat. (Friends, she would call them, even if she would never say it out loud.) The town itself is thrilled, not only with the music, but even with Marella herself, held up as a town hero with her friends after they freed the town from the oppression of the Red Brands. She could get used to this (she knows she already has and she doesn’t want to leave any time soon). And as the crowd grows larger for each performance, so does the warmth in her heart.

And the crowd does grow- it’s the day of the festival and the little town is packed, full of visitors from nearby settlements. Marella has seen far larger groups before, but for the little town of Phandalin? These are practically record numbers. She supposes it’s not often one gets to experience a piece of mainland being turned into a new island. The Translocation Ceremony only happens so often, much less within traveling distance, so people were more than willing to make the trip back home if it meant being able to experience this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (and oh how she would curse that turn of phrase later). Marella throws herself into the festivities, Mending the delicate streamers when they tore, helping rearrange the bright orange flowers as they were brought in, and making sure the vendors all have their space. Everything has its perfect place, and she’s going to do her part to make sure it remains as perfect as possible.

And when the day finally arrives, it’s everything Marella hoped for (and far, far more).

It’s midmorning when the party truly kicks into swing, when Marella lifts her violin to her chin to begin a jaunty tune, stepping in time around the cobblestone square in the center of town. It doesn’t take long for others to pick up their own instruments and carry the song with her. Children watch her closely and stumble around as they try to copy Marella’s movements, and couples begin twirling together in their own dances. The wind itself seems to frolic with her, carrying bright orange and blue petals through the air and around the dancers, drawing a laugh from some of the children and Marella herself. Beside her, Alan pipes away on his little recorder, stumbling over his feet as he tries to keep up (he eventually puts his instrument down for a second to do a little jig in place that he insists on calling the vape). Marella rolls her eyes, hiding a smile as she finds Adeon’s gaze across the circle, sitting at one of the tables set near the dancers. She jerks her head, trying to beckon the rogue into the circle. He shakes his head, grinning as he raises the glass in his hand and shrugs with an exaggeratedly helpless look on his face. Marella huffs and gestures to him again, glancing at Alan at her side. Adeon sighs and stands, reluctantly setting his glass down and stepping towards them into the dancing circle. Victory.

She makes her way towards him, lowering her violin and allowing the other instrumentalists that have turned out to carry the song. “You’re going to dance with us?”

Adeon snorts, raising his hands aimlessly. “I will… try.”

“Good enough. Alan!”

The kid pops out of the crowd almost immediately, waving his recorder. “Yeah?”

Marella nods towards Adeon. “Teach him how to dance until I get back. I’m going to try and drag Skrung into this too.”

Adeon laughs. “Good luck with that.”

“Okay so,” Alan begins, clapping his hands together as Marella turns away to find Skrung. “I call this vaping. One of the other kids suggested we call it flossing but what kind of dumb name is that? Anyway...”

Marella rolls her eyes, smiling fondly as she leaves Adeon to Alan’s whims, heading to the last area she had seen Skrung in. It isn’t hard to find him, smiling at the festivities as he leans up against a pole with her trident by his side- he had waved her away to dance earlier with the offer to watch her prized weapon. He nods towards her in greeting and raises an eyebrow at Marella’s determined expression. “…What do you want?”

She grins and kneels down to put her violin into its case, quickly securing it and propping it up next to her trident. “What makes you think I want anything?”

“Ya’ got that look on your face like you want something. I know those looks by now,” Skrung grunts, eyeing Marella warily.

Marella smiles innocently. “…Come dance with us.”

He barks out a laugh, lighting a cigar. “No.”

“…what if I ask really nicely?”

“Still no.”

“Okay.” Marella hums. “Whaaat if I remind you that you nearly got me killed when you turned us in to the Red Brands?”

“I also saved your ass. The answer is no, kid.”

“Fine.” She shrugs and turns away. “Can’t say I didn’t try. Be boring then!”

“I could let someone steal this trident! I’m sure it would sell for a pretty piece of gold.”

Marella hesitates, then settles for glaring at Skrung as she stomps back to the dancing circle, quickly finding her friends. Alan grins at her expression as he vapes vigorously. “Failed?”

“Shut up, kid.” Marella ruffles his hair. She elbows Adeon in his side when he snickers. “It’s not that funny.”

“Sure it’s not.” Adeon chuckles, dodging another halfhearted swipe from Marella. “So, as big a fan I am of vaping, am I going to learn how to do any of these fancy spins here, or…?”

“Oh! Me too!” Alan chirps, sliding his recorder into his pocket.

Marella shakes her head, laughs, and lifts her arms. “Okay, okay. First you step to the side- opposite your partner, yeah, like that…”

By the end of her little lesson, she has both Adeon and Alan doing… fairly okay.

They’ll get there eventually.

The energy in the air shifts as it grows closer to noon, the dancing dying down as the crowd begins to gather around the stage. Marella pauses, gauging to see if she should actually stop right then, but Alan stumbles into her side, only to be caught by Adeon. She laughs, brushing her hair from her eyes as she surveys the crowd. She waves Skrung down as she sees him headed to the front of the stage. He rolls his eyes but pauses to wait for them, passing Marella her trident and her violin as they meet up. Marella stops for a second to slide her trident into its holster on her back, then jogs to catch up.

She finds them in one of the front rows near the stage with Onslow and Risf.  Risf is practically quivering as he speaks with Alan, his ears trembling with excitement. Onslow laughs and claps a large, scaled hand on Adeon’s shoulder- she snickers behind her hand as the rogue stumbles under the weight of Onslow’s hold. Marella manages a nod to them before Rattles steps up onto the stage. Whispers break out across the town as Rattles raises his staff. His voice echoes across the crowd, magically amplified to be heard. “It is almost time for the Translocation spell to be cast! Take a last look around, because within the next minute, there will be nothing but sea surrounding Phandalin!”

The crowd cheers and some begin counting down and Marella can practically taste the excitement humming through the air. Rattles seems just as eager. The intensity of the magic gathering around him almost seems to prickle across Marella’s skin, serving only to make her more excited as her trident practically hums in her hand with arcane energy. Onslow turns to them as the countdown enters into its last few seconds. Risf’s nose twitches as Alan steps back to stand beside Marella and Adeon.

“Now,” he drawls,”I’m sure you think the town itself has thanked you enough already, but you three honestly have done so much to free this town just in the nick of time. So I myself just want to say-”

The countdown reaches zero.

The world flashes around them, and the air goes thin, and- honestly? It’s not a very pleasant experience at all. But it’s over and done with in a heartbeat, and Onslow is still talking. Marella doesn’t hear him. Her breath is stolen by the sight of her home, the sea, wrapping Phandolin around in a friendly hug. The waves lap at the ground, already going to work at creating a beach, and the sky blazes a brilliant orange- Marella’s favorite shade of orange- above them. The crowd breaks into gasps and cries that echo the longing of her soul. Her heart swells again as a smile breaks cross her face. (And she has to fight the urge to just bolt for the saltwater she hasn’t felt for ages but she can’t she has no clue how close they are to-)

“Something’s wrong.”

The urgency in Adeon’s voice jerks her back to the present. He’s staring at the sky, gaze searching for something. Marella frowns, following his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“It’s noon.” His voice is tight. Marella’s heart constricts in worry.

“Yeah?”

“So why is the sky orange?”

And then a lot happens at once, and Marella can’t quite keep up. She can hear Rattles yelling (“Get to the tower there’s a portal get below hurry!”). The ground trembles as what seems to be a giant piece of rock just hurtles into the ground, sending up a spray of dirt. The audience surges, scatters. Panicked. Marella thinks she screams, clutching at her ears as she falls to the ground as a shrill ringing rolls across her senses. Her heart climbs into her throat and she gets the faint urge to vomit. (Distantly she recognizes the feeling as fear and she hasn’t been truly afraid in so very long and that in of itself is almost more terrifying than the world ending).

A hand wraps around her upper arm and pulls her to her feet. Marella looks up to see Adeon, his own face pained, hauling Alan up with his other hand. The poor kid also grips at his head, blood trickling from his ears. Adeon’s shouting, she can see, but her hearing is faint, delayed. Adeon points to the Rattle’s tower behind the stage, where the entirety of Phandalin surges towards safety. Marella nods and begins to stumble towards safety, checking to make sure Adeon and Alan are with her.

The ground rocks again as another sky missile careens into the ground near them. Marella flinches, curses, her own voice loud in her head. But as she watches the sky fall down around them, a shimmering, reflective shield spreads from the topmost point of Rattle’s sanctuary. With every sky missile that hits it, it shakes, but holds. Fow now.

Rattles is at the door, waving people inside. As they lurch inside, another Rattles (or maybe the original Rattles, she doesn’t know, a Rattles), quickly surveys the damage before casting the most painful healing spell she’s ever experience. Marella cries out again as her hearing snaps back to her, the damaged reversed in time for her to hear Adeon.

“Rattles, what is going on?”

“If I knew that, it wouldn’t be happening!” Rattles snaps back. “Now get downstairs and to the yawning portal or-”

“My brother,” one of the halfling twins that run the secret experimental shop lingers near the door, clearly panicking. “He’s still out there, he’s stuck!”

Marella whirls around, scanning the destruction of the town. Her heart plummets when she sees a good number of people still out there. She sees the pit that the halfling claims his brother has fallen in to. Across the plaza, she sees Onslow, trying to stand but unable to actually manage to lift his hulking frame off the ground. And closest, tucked under that stupid stage- Skrung, trapped under a pile of shattered lumber and other rubble.

She swallows tightly. “How much time do we have, Rattles?”

“Not much,” the lich answers. “If you go out there and you aren’t back before I have to close the portal, then you’re stuck.”

Marella glances at Adeon and Alan, who both nod back at her. “Noted.”

“I’ve got the halfling,” Adeon says before sprinting out the door.

“I’ll get Onslow!” Marella shouts, bolting after him. Her sweaty palms clutch onto her trident desperately as she runs. Her footsteps echo in her ears as they pound across the stones she had so joyously danced over not ten minutes ago (or maybe that’s just the slamming of the sky missiles against Rattles’s shield). Marella skids to Onslow’s side, skinning her knees as she kneels beside him. Onslow looks up at her. His leg is mangled- easily healable, but she’s no cleric. She flounders helplessly for a second.

She’s nowhere near large enough to help support Onslow’s weight, even if they had all the time in the world. And she’s no cleric- if only she’d sent Alan here but there was no way she was sending the kid this far out into the hit zone. How the hell could she- oh.

Marella passes her trident to Onslow- with no hesitation, but with a heavy heart. Onslow nods in thanks as he uses her prized possession, her magic, her last tie to her past and her family, as a crutch. She winces as the prongs of her trident crumple a little as they’re levered against the stone.

Standing, she surveys the scene for one heart-stopping second (a second she can’t afford). The shield looks seconds away from shattering. Rattles is continually sealing the doorway with magic and unsealing it to check on their progress before resealing it once more. Onslow is well on his way to the tower with her arcane focus. Alan is bolting back to the tower as well, with… not Skrung. The kid clutches a young child in his arms. Marella whirls towards what remains of the stage, already running when she sees Skrung, still buried beneath the rubble of the stage.

Skrung just grins weakly- sadly- when he sees Marella trying to reach him. He lifts his arm, sending her a thumbs up. She just laughs hoarsely.

“Oh hell no.” Her vision blurs and for a second she thinks Rattles missed something when he healed her, but no. She’s just crying.

Marella reaches Skrung finally finally and immediately tries to lift the debris off of him. She hardly manages to move it and she curses her choice to become a wizard because everyone knows that wizards have no arm strength and Skrung is going to die because she can’t lift a few pieces of wood!

Some of the weight lifts and her head snaps around. She first sees a glowing, spectral hand, and then Adeon, running to help her. Breathing heavily, he nods to her and grabs a handhold, straining with the effort to help her shift the debris. Marella swallows and redoubles her efforts, nearly letting loose some hysterical laughter as they manage  to lift it enough for Adeon to reach down and pull Skrung free (she cries out as the weight bears down on her but she can handle for a few seconds hurry hurry).

“Got him, let’s go!” Marella stumbles away from the debris, arms screaming in pain. She turns and races after Adeon and Skrung. Rattles opens the door one last time, looking as relieved as a lich can as they practically dive into the tower. Risf, bless that little cleric, is there almost immediately to take care Skrung. Marella distantly, numbly, registers that Skrung has lost an arm.

“Where’s Alan?” She asks. Her hands clutch at the air and she wishes desperately for the familiar weight of her trident.

“He’s downstairs at the yawning portal, waiting on you, so go, we are not safe yet,” Rattles responds, ushering everyone downstairs.

Marella squints as she enters the basement, blinded by the emerald green arcane energy that stretches against the far wall. Alan and Onslow both wait for them, relief clear on their faces. She exhales shakily as a weight she didn’t even realize she was carrying (worry) flees her at the sight of the kid, completely unharmed. Onslow returns her trident to her as Rattles begins ushering them through the portal.

“The yawning portal can only carry four at a time, so you three grab someone and go.” Rattles gestures to Adeon, Alan, and Marella. She briefly thinks about arguing for someone else to take her place, but figures that would take more time than just doing as he says. Marella exchanges a look with her companions before turning to Rattles.

“We’ll take Skrung. He needs the most urgent medical care.” Adeon takes Skrung back from Risf’s care, then lines up with Marella and Alan at the edge of the portal. Marella swallows, clutching her trident. “Okay. Together.”

She gives one last concerned look to Risf and Onslow, before turning her back to them, and to the remains of Phandalin. Her heart feels so heavy, yet so empty all the same. Such a far cry from that morning.

They jump.

(She’ll never be able to look at an orange sky the same again.)