#and only lost a bunch of coloring progress

[monstertsunami]

my laptop has bluescreened two days in a row and keeps making weird noises and has crashed 4 times today . my charger broke and my spare crashes it every time it plugs in or out. my csp file for the keychains got corrupted after a crash. maki yamazaki's music is the only thing keeping me sane rn

[contentment-of-cats]

Fun and Games

This has been kicking around in drafts for a few months. I was cleaning it out and...

With thanks to @shards-of-silver for getting me off my ass.

Upon promotion to senior lieutenants, there are perks.

Ensigns sleep a dozen to a barracks, junior lieutenants share a four-rack of bunks around a common area and share sanitary facilities. Senior officers of lieutenant commander or higher have their own private quarters increasing in size and amenities, and at flag rank a suite of rooms. But nothing beats the heady rush of getting your own room with a door that closes. Despite what the contractors say, those bunk partitions don't do squat to stop you from hearing every snore, fart, or wet dream from your fellow juniors. There's a corresponding increase in cubic storage along with the bigger room and one may trust the newly-minted senior loots to go a little crazy.

Thrawn as a new commodore aboard rearranged officers' quarters by duty station, so now all bridge officers are housed a literal thirty second run to the bridge or assigned six-man lifepod. Faro has always run a looser ship in terms of culture, and there are times when bridge officers' country is decorated for various holidays and observances. For example, observances of Longnight see small dishes of food and lanterns set out to guide and appease the spirits of those lost in the vastness of space. But today there is something new outside of Agral and Pyro's twofer.

A sign-up.

It's a datapad on a sticky at reading level with a stylus on a cord.

"Sign up for tabletop games night - Quests & Quarries, Pirates & Privateers, Hyperspace Hellscape, Ancient Lands Archaic Warfare, and other RP games coming to a horizontal surface near you!"

The list is growing fast.

A note above the hatch control says, "Game in progress. ENTER QUIETLY."

"Already the social hub," Faro mutters and then jumps out of her skin when Thrawn agrees with her. Even in boots, he moves almost silently. "Let a lass know, sir! You almost scared it out of me!"

Thrawn's shadow - Vanto - is not here or otherwise she'd have stood a better chance of hearing the approach. He is looking at the sign-up sheet and then at the door sign, then turns to her.

"These are not like Scrabble?"

Pyro's love of table games is legend. She even collects them.

"No, Commodore. These are, well, a kind of strategy game." Thrawn visibly brightens. His skin changes color, his pupils disappear as the nictitating membrane crosses them in a three-part blink. "Players create characters and ascend levels in different scenarios called dungeons. It's kind of like academy war-gaming, but more flexible and personalized."

"They will not mind if we enter and observe?"

"They'll snap to attention for a flag officer on deck or I'll have them cleaning the stormtroopers' urinals with ear swabs, but I do not think they'll object."

Faro taps the hatch open and as they step in Vanto barks, "Commodore on deck!"

The response is satisfyingly swift.

"Officers, as you were," Thrawn nods. "I do not wish to disturb the game in progress, only to observe."

Of course, the furniture is bolted to the deck, but there are an additional folding couch and two additional folding chairs added to the room and-

"Pyrondi, where did you get the holotop?" Karyn hasn't seen one in probably twenty years. This one replaces the low table normally issued to this accommodation, bolted down as per regs. "It's got to be a month's pay."

"I bought it at an antiquities shop on Coruscant. Lomar did the new innards, and then all of us wrote code." Us being - apparently - herself, Lomar, Hammerly, Barlin, Agral, Yve, and Carvia.

"Major Carvia, what is your part in this madhouse?" The man budges loots up the couch to make room for their captain and commodore in the armchairs. "Surely you're not a player?"

"I helped Pyro carry this up here and did the coding for groundpounder dungeons. No offense, but this bunch is all Navy." The major wags his finger at Pyro. "I will thank you, youngster, not to refer to items as 'antiquities' that I am old enough to have owned brand new."

"Everyone do a stretch, get some snacks, and we'll come back into it in fifteen?" Pyro asks and everyone agrees, getting up a little stiffly after hours gaming. "Sync and go."

Thrawn looks over the table, at first studying the current dungeon, but then with more interest at the leather-bound manuals of flimsi, and beautifully made sets of dice and other paraphernalia.

"Please, Lieutenant, explain." Thrawn settles in one of the armchairs, accepting one of Pyro's fruit teas and a packet of sweets.

"Well, first these are the handbooks for players and dungeon masters. These others are for aspects - beings, arms, character classes." Pyrondi takes a small bag and empties it into her hand. "These are my dice."

"Is a gambling chip counted as dice?" Thrawn looks intently. "These are thystine and aurum leaf, correct?"

"If a binary decision is needed, yes, it counts. They are thystine, but as you can see, every player has their set and aside from the chip they can have sets of seven to fifteen, it depends what games they play."

Vanto's set is doonium, which makes Thrawn smile fleetingly. Carvia's is some kind of bone or ivory. Agral's is synthetic fireopal. All sets are as individual as the player.

Oh, no. ART.

"And what about the crystal ball?" Karyn asks. It's a perfect sphere set on an elaborate base.

"Oh, that's a toy I picked up from a junk dealer. He said it didn't work, but when you ask it a yes-or-no question it gives you a nonsensical answer. Watch. Is the mess going to serve hash for firstmeal again?"

The sphere roils with smoke and then shows a wavering answer in its center.

Better not tell you now.

"See? It gives positive, negative, or non-committal answers. To be fair, I don't want to know if we're having hash again."

The players filter back in and take their places as Thrawn is given a rough crash course in play. Pyrondi looks around, sets up a triptych screen to hide her materials and plans, and then asks if everyone is ready. Snacks and drinks to hand, all affirm and the game resumes. Karyn watches her superior as he watches the game with eyes bright. Pyro is a force of chaos and order, handling players firmly but also throwing wild situations at them. The dice can't be rigged or fooled on a dice pad, holding them firm.

Thrawn reminds his officers that night phase is coming, and they have watch coming up. The party breaks up with others putting the room back to order and bidding good rest.

"If you do not mind, Lieutenant, Captain Faro and I will join for the next game."

"Please do, sir. The more the merrier."

Karyn almost groans but holds it in.

"As I remember, you said the same thing before you wiped the walls with me at Scrabble."

Pyro only grins. "Good rest, sirs."

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 28)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 27

Warnings: canon inconsistencies (general warning #1: just going to say this here—I'm not planning on following clone wars plots in this at all, so just go with it haha), mentions of death/grief, implied spice (still and always rated teen!) (plus general warning #2: the chapters that are coming will be heavier/angstier as the war progresses, so...tread carefully)

*temporarily using Lorenzo gifs for the "short curls" effect*

Summary: You struggle to master a new skill, all the while being plagued by new nightmares; a sweet reunion is interrupted

Word Count: 3.6k

"This is useless," you grunted, wiping sweat from your brow and pulling your saber back into your favored defensive position.

       "Imagine where you would be," Master Yuma said in her annoyingly calm, even tone, "if you gave up each time a skill proved difficult to master." You sighed.

       "No skill has ever been this difficult," you complained, watching Master Yuma hold her green blade up in front of you. "I think we might need to admit we've finally come upon the limits of my ability."

       Master Yuma cocked her head, then clicked the button to switch off her lightsaber. The training room was now illuminated only by your saber blade, its green light still alien to you. You'd lost your lightsaber—the one you'd made yourself, as a youngling—on Geonosis. When you'd undergone the process again, you'd found yourself with a different colored blade. This had worried you; could this perhaps be indicative that your powers were changing? That perhaps you were losing some of your ability? Everyone had told you not to worry about it. You'd heard stories of Jedi who had forged different colored blades at different points in their training, you reminded yourself. And, of course, Master Yuma's saber blade was green. Surely the color didn't mean you were less powerful now; Master Yuma was one of the most powerful Jedi you knew. Still, while you swung your new blade around, something felt off. Different.

       "Maybe we should try a different approach, today," Master Yuma said, exhaling slowly. You followed her lead, switching off your lightsaber.

       "What do you mean?" you asked warily. Master Yuma gestured for you to follow her over to the meditation chamber adjacent to the training room. In here, the light was even lower, and the fabric-covered walls muted the sounds of the traffic outside. You couldn't hear the passing speeders from this room—all was quiet.

       "Sit," Master Yuma instructed, and you let the air out of your chest, trying to push out your frustration.

       "Master, it's been six months, and we haven't made any progress. Don't you think—"

       "No," Master Yuma cut you off, putting her finger to her lips to shush you. You felt your eyebrows pull down into a frown. Master Yuma had insisted, after the Battle of Geonosis, that you learn greater control of your empathic abilities before you be given the task of commanding a battalion of clones in the war. At the time, you'd agreed, wanting to pacify your Master, and thinking that it wouldn't take long for you to learn the skills necessary to make sure no dark-sider was ever again able to incapacitate you through the Force. However, though you'd put all of your effort into it, you just couldn't seem to turn your intuition off. Together, you and your Master had tried everything. Still, you couldn't help but read in Master Yuma's presence now her patience, her understanding at your frustration, and, above all, her intense worry for you. You could even feel the presences passing by outside in the Temple hallway. Though you had been working to turn off your ability to intuit what others' were thinking and feeling, it seemed like all of the work you'd done had had the opposite effect. Your powers were growing more sensitive. It was like a bunch of hushed emotions were passing around you, all the time. You had to actively work to ignore them, to focus on the moment.

       If you were being truthful with yourself, your eagerness to become a general had nothing to do with a desire to help the war effort. When you thought about the war, you felt an odd, displaced feeling in your middle. It was like taking a bite of  something that didn't taste the way it should—something was just a bit off, but nobody else seemed to notice. Of course, you wanted to do your part to help preserve the republic, but you knew your desire to get onto the battlefield had more to do with joining him in the trenches than it did with becoming a soldier.

       Anakin, now the leader of the 501st clone battalion, had been off-world more and more as the war had progressed. You longed to join him, to fight alongside him, to make sure you could protect him from harm. Above all else, you missed him terribly. When he was gone, thinking of him felt like physical pain. It felt as if the walls of the Temple, once your safe haven, were closing in on you, like you were trapped here.

       You tried to wipe the scowl from your face as you sat on the meditation ottoman facing Master Yuma's. You recognized that she had felt where your thoughts had turned, and you breathed, pushing out your anger and frustration. You knew it wasn't anything but care and protectiveness that made Master Yuma so hesitant to let you join in the war effort. You knew this, and you knew also that, as a Jedi Knight, you weren't beholden to her judgement the way you had been as a Padawan. Though you'd thought about appealing to the council, about trying to convince them it was time for you to join in the fighting, you'd decided that you couldn't betray Yuma's trust like that. Not after everything she'd done for you.

       "Okay," you said, breathing evenly now, your thoughts calmed. "What did you have in mind?" You felt the answer swirling in Master Yuma's thoughts, and you frowned.

       "It won't be pleasant," Master Yuma began, looking at you with apologetic eyes.

       "Shocker," you said, the sides of your lips pulling up in a small grin.

       "I've been wondering for some time, now," Master Yuma explained, ignoring your sarcasm, "about the proper motivation. About how to make you want to shut out the presences of those around you." You held your breath, waiting for her to continue. "If you are willing..." Master Yuma paused, watching your face.

       "I'm willing. What do you want to try?" You asked, impatience slipping into your presence once again.

       "Instead of thinking of certain things, trying to distract you in combat," Master Yuma explained, her eyes lowering, "I want to try to...enter into a meditative state, with you. I want you to see if you can find a way to keep my presence out."

       "And you want to motivate me to do so...by thinking of things..."

       "That I believe you will find unpleasant. Yes." Master Yuma's eyes softened, showing her concern.

       "Let's get on with it, then," you said, breathing out through your mouth and closing your eyes, flipping your palms to face them upward in your preferred meditation pose. You heard Master Yuma breathe out as well, and felt her discomfort and guilt. You pushed out with your feelings, trying to encourage her. Couldn't she see that your frustration wasn't with her? That your impatience had nothing to do with her training? You hadn't seen Anakin in over—

       It began quickly. You felt yourself descending into Master Yuma's presence, feeling with her into the depths of her mind, into her memories. It was all so much more real in meditation than it was when you read her passing thoughts during combat. You felt as if you were experiencing Master Yuma's memories, as if you were there, seeing with her eyes. She was meditating on you, as a small child, watching Dallum push you down in the courtyard. You'd scraped your elbow, and started to cry. Yumi stood nearby, laughing with the others. You flinched, slightly, but it wasn't a bad memory, really. Not anymore. You wondered where Dallum was now. You remembered, though, that you were supposed to be blocking out Master Yuma's presence, and you began trying to extricate your mind from hers.

       The memory shifted quickly. You felt with Master Yuma another memory, this one less familiar. It was a memory you weren't present for. Anakin and Henry were staring at each other murderously, the ground of a senate apartment littered with debris and shards of glass that were rumbling in the Force. Obi-Wan said something to calm the situation, and you watched as Anakin's face turned away, his angry façade falling into a pained expression. This tugged at your heart strings a bit more. You hated to watch him in pain.

       The memory shifted again before you could get your bearings. Here was Anakin, again, charging at Count Dooku, trying to take him alone. You gasped. You watched in terror through your closed eyelids as Anakin was quickly overtaken by Dooku, watched as the love of your life screamed in pain, watched as the lower third of his arm was cut from the rest of him. You balled your open palms into fists. Master Yuma replayed this memory, and you worked in your mind, trying to pull each of the fibers of her thoughts away from you in the Force, trying to push away Master Yuma's memories, push her entire presence out of your head. It wasn't working.

       Master Yuma's mind shifted again. You'd been here before. You stood, now, in the arena on Geonosis. You watched yourself kneeling over Eha, screaming for her, watched her dead eyes staring into nothing. You clenched your teeth with the effort, trying in vain to push Master Yuma's presence out of your mind, but you couldn't do it. It felt like each mind fiber of connection through the Force needed to be carefully disentangled—but the problem was, there were millions of fibers, and even as you used your effort to pull back two or three of them, more grew into place. You just couldn't sort through the mess enough to dispel Master Yuma's presence from your mind.

       And, truthfully, there wasn't anything Master Yuma could show you that would motivate you in the way she was suggesting. She didn’t know that you were already plagued by visions much worse than the ones she showed you.

       You hadn’t told anyone about the nightmares, the visions that came for you every night when you went to sleep. When you closed your eyes after a long day of training, you already saw unpleasant, terrible things. It started out like a fog, like some kind of cold darkness descending after you when you were alone. It felt like an echo of what Count Dooku had done to your mind, on Geonosis, and part of you worried that the Sith had infected your mind, somehow, that they'd left their mark on you. Whenever you were alone, if you closed your eyes to sleep, you saw all of it, every horrible vision Master Yuma could think of and so much worse. Anakin killing and maiming every member of that indigenous tribe on Tatooine; little Leve, unmoving in the Geonosis sand, her limbs splayed out from under her; Dallum’s screams as Eha stared into the black nothingness of death. Not Yuma, not even Anakin knew what you saw when you closed your eyes at night. You saw other things too, things that hadn’t happened. Things you hoped never would: a war torn galaxy; people fleeing from huge ships and men in white armor, men that didn't look like clones, men who were attacking people at will; a coldness seeping across the universe, into everything. You sucked in a breath.

       "It's not working," you exhaled, opening your eyes to find Yuma staring at you.

       "What was all that?" Master Yuma asked, her eyes narrowing. You felt your stomach drop. You'd forgotten to pull your presence back into yourself, in the effort of trying to wade through the tangle of Yuma's memories.

       "Nothing," you said unconvincingly, looking down at your hands.

       "That didn't look like nothing." Master Yuma's voice shook. You sat in silence for a moment, avoiding her eyes. Suddenly, the door to the meditation room opened.

       "General Ohno," the clone stated, walking through the door and nodding to you and Yuma. You broke your meditation pose, flexing your fingers, sore from being balled into tight fists.

       "Marlo," Yuma greeted the commander of her clone battalion. "What is it?"

       "You're wanted in the council chambers, General," Marlo reported, all business. "It's urgent." Master Yuma nodded, and quickly stood up.

       "We aren't finished with this," she mumbled under her breath, giving you a severe look before turning and following the clone out into the hallway. You groaned, watching her retreating form.

You walked through the halls of the Temple and back to your quarters slowly, lost in thought.

       You couldn't pinpoint the exact reason for your unease. Was it that you weren't making any progress? New skills had always come easily to you, and you could admit that the difficulty you were facing now, in trying to halt your intuitive abilities, had you feeling a little downhearted. But—no. It wasn't that.

       Was it the war? The general emotional atmopshere of the Temple and its inhabitants had changed drastically in the last six months. You knew this better than anyone, being able to sense the feelings of those around you. But that didn't seem right, either.

       Was it restlessness? This was the longest you'd gone without a mission since you were a youngling. You knew the long days of training in the Temple, and the days of studying strategy while Master Yuma was away, were starting to wear on you. But—no. You knew that wasn't it.

       The feeling inside of you now felt heavy, dark, and empty. It was like your insides could contain an echo—there was too much space. It frightened you. You were feeling lonely, you realized. You felt alone, very much alone. You couldn't share with Master Yuma all of the things that troubled you. You'd lost your best friend, you'd lost some of your other old friends, and you barely ever saw any of the friends you still had in the Temple. When Anakin was away, it felt like you were alone in the universe, the center of your own very empty galaxy.

       You sighed. There was nothing you could do, you realized, but bear this feeling the best you could. There wasn't a way out of this emptiness. You simply had to endure it.

       You pushed the panel on the wall and entered the opening door into your Jedi apartment, kicking off your boots. The apartments afforded to Jedi Knights were simple, but comfortable. The one-bedroom unit had a spacious living room with seating and a table, attached to a kitchen that contained all of the basic fares and necessary appliances. The bedroom, too, was comfortable. However, as of late you'd found the big bed too empty. Sleep had been torturous, whenever you'd been able to sleep at all.

You flicked on the lights and glanced out the window at the setting Coruscanti sun. The best part of this new apartment was by far the windows—they were much larger than those in your Padawan dormitory. You loved the natural light. You stood, for a moment, admiring the view, allowing the pangs of your empty feeling to overwhelm you, wiping a quick tear from the corner of your eye.

       It was only then that you felt the disturbance. Faster than lightspeed, you pulled your presence back into yourself, assessed your surroundings, and tensed your muscles, readying to strike with your hand on your saber. In this millisecond of preparation, you reached out with the Force, trying to sense what the danger was. But—

       "Oh," you breathed, feeling the Force presence in the air and almost collapsing as you turned, quickly, and reached out for him.

       "You're usually more difficult to sneak up on," Anakin said in a low, quiet voice, his smile illuminated by the golden sunset streaming in through the blinds.

       "Ani," you sighed contentedly, putting your arms around his neck and holding yourself close to him, allowing his presence to wash over you, bathing you in the feeling of rightness and peace.

       "I missed you, too," Anakin said, a little louder, putting his hands on either side of your face and pulling you back so he could look at you. "More than you know," he continued, leaning in and holding his face inches from yours.

       "What happened on Florrum?" you tried to ask, but Anakin was pressing his lips to yours, enthusiastically, without restraint. He lifted you up into his arms and placed you on the counter in the kitchen.

       "I'd rather discuss that later," Anakin whispered hastily, slyly sliding your knees apart with his hand and stepping between them.  

       "That sounds reasonable," you agreed breathlessly, completely amenable to his desires. You felt Anakin's shoulders move as he laughed, then felt him press his hands more firmly around the sides of your neck, kissing you with reckless abandon. You loved Anakin when he was like this—when the passion of your reunion took away some of his politeness, when he was just a little bit less careful with you, when he couldn't help himself. He grabbed onto you now, his Force presence blaring his joy into the air, and didn’t let go.  

       You woke up the next morning with the feeling that you'd slept longer than usual. With Anakin next to you, your nightmares had evaded you, and you smiled, your eyes still closed, reaching out for him through the sheets. Your hands came up empty. Your eyelids blinked open.

       You saw the light of the morning through the blinds on the bedroom window, saw from a distance the traffic passing by outside. You saw the sparse room and soft white sheets mussed. But you were in this room alone.

       Panic struck your heart quickly, and your eyes widened. Surely Anakin couldn't have left already? Surely he wouldn't be gone again so soon, leaving you alone here, with your feeling of emptiness, your impossible training, your nightmares—

       You got out of bed, breathing a little too quickly as you walked, barefoot, into the kitchen.

       Here you let out a slow, relieved sigh. Anakin stood with his back to you, working the caf machine, his tunic tied sloppily, the hair on the back of his head messy from sleep. You glided over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

       "Good morning," he said quietly, and you felt him grab your hand and pull it up so he could kiss your fingers. You stepped back as he turned to face you.

       "I like your longer hair," you smiled, reaching up to run your hand through his new, short curls. Anakin smiled back, the praise causing a slight pink to grace his cheeks.

       "I like your everything," Anakin laughed, tracing your face with his fingertips. You stood this way, looking into each other's eyes, for a long moment. The caf machine beeped at you.

       "What have I missed, while I was gone?" Anakin asked as he turned and started to pour the caf into small cups. The way Anakin phrased this question was odd—as if he were being careful, as if he were worried about the answer.

       "Absolutely nothing," you grumbled, taking the cup from Anakin and following as he lead you over to the couch. "Everything's been the same, here. Painfully so." Anakin sat next to you on the cushions and put his arm around you, leaning over to kiss the top of your head.

       "I doubt that," Anakin said, still careful.

       "It's true," you answered, staring straight ahead. The only updates were ones that you needed to keep to yourself. "I'm sure you have much more exciting stories."

       "When does Master Yuma think you'll be ready? You know, to join us—"

 "Tell me about Florrum!" You cut him off, avoiding his eyes. "You were there for so long—has the situation improved, at all?"

       "Well," Anakin said, grinning, leaning forward to put his cup onto the side table. You knew he was gearing up to tell you of all of his strategic maneuvers, all of his triumphs as general in the war. He truly was a natural at this, and though you admired his skill, as always, there was a part of you that felt a disquiet. Was it because you were envious? You didn't know. For now, though, you were happy to change the subject.

       "We had secured the western front," Anakin was saying, and you snapped your attention back to focus on his story. "Rex was—"

       But Anakin was cut off by a beeping, coming from the chrono he'd taken off last night. It sat on the kitchen counter, blinking up the codes from its illuminated face. Your heart sank so far, it seemed to you it had disappeared out of your body all together.

       "Not yet," you said softly, your eyes widening, your breathing fast. "You can't leave again already." Anakin kept his arm firmly around you, but you could feel his eyes on your face. You realized you'd absentmindedly grabbed onto the sleeve of his tunic with a vice-like grip. You loosened it, with effort.

       "We don't know what it is," Anakin said, his voice unsure, leaning over to kiss your cheek before getting up to check the chrono and read through his summons. "It could just be for a strategic meeting, or—" Anakin broke off, turning his head back toward the direction of the bedroom. It was only then that you heard another beeping sound. You got up quickly, going to the door.

       "It's coming from my chrono," you whispered, your panic turning to confusion. Anakin's face broke into a wide grin. You turned around to look at him, your eyebrows upturned, not understanding. "I'm...being called to the briefing?"

       "It's about time," Anakin said smugly. "We're back!"

************************************************************************

WE'RE BACK!! AND THERE's A NEW CHAPTER finally :)

divider credit to @racingairplanes

taglist: @iyoogi @cluelessgurl @layazul @annadastra @graciexmarvel @galaxiasy @organasith @indigoblues1207 @outoftheregular @katsukiswrld @prettyboyrryy @jellydodger @wildflower57 @padmeamidalaslover @em-asian @heavenseraph @iloveinej @leapofblank @sahverah @elsyyie @usuallyunlikelyfox @jadeonce @papadragun @dopejellyfishfury @stxrrielle @lilianashomaresparza @prettylittlecarstairs @deadunicorn159 @atoelicker @arelisskywalker @maythefloorbewithyouanakin @your-local-crzy-lady @dontmindme262 @xenochuguardian @cassiopeiashift @allihavenegativethoughts @hamiltonwc @1-800-nostalgiaaa @heyitsaloy @haydenchristensenluvbot @sunflwrsunnieshine @muthafuckingstargirl @window-to-nothing @shadowhuntyi @jedi-archives @inmourningforanakin @vivsmcdo @betrund @ahqkas @aquaamethyst96 @escapepoet @randomstuff2040 @kenjikishimotosupremecy @nycweb-slinger @anxlaufeyson @magic-magnoliaa @theezlife @unipugrose22-blog @anhsoka @lucyysthings @hopefulpursepeanutdeputy @captainson-of-coul @zelzablues @chrisevansslutttt2

[ladypeggington]

One thing I wanted to say before I devolve into an incoherent puddle based on whatever happens in the season finale is that the effects look so much better! Like, aside from the colors, the way everyone uses the One Power is so fascinating to me. I know the Seanchan are already a really obvious and great example, but my personal favorite was in Episode 7 when Moiraine and Lanfear were opening the ways. Moirane makes this big Celtic knot behind her to slowly pull it open, and Lanfear accomplishes the same with the flick of her wrist. I thought that, in addition to their differences in strength in the Power, it also showed the huge difference in the two character’s philosophies towards Channelling.

As much as the Aes Sedai of the show use the One Power, there are still these layers of mysticism built into their traditions, in my opinion largely because of the lost knowledge and residual trauma from The Breaking affecting Tower culture. Lanfear, on the other hand, always Channels in a way that I feel can be best described as brutally efficient. She knows how to use Saidar in a way that literally no one else alive even comes close to (assuming the other female Forsaken are still sealed) and she uses it much like a tool, with so little ritual or fanfare that really it just leaves the Aes Sedai so vulnerable when they have to face her. The difference in speed between her and Siuan was just brutal. Lanfear wasted none of the time Siuan did on posturing (regardless of my personal opinions on her choosing to make a bunch of air knives. But whatever, the other Aes Sedai do this too, the point stands) and instead just knocked her down hard.

Also, Rand using Saidin was fascinating to me too. I really need to see Ishamael or another male channeller work in these new effects, but his style feels so raw and uncontrolled. That moment when he cut Moiraine’s shield and the spike just kept flicking up ever so slightly towards her neck, agh! I might be reading too much into it, but that totally felt like a moment of him struggling to control the power and madness that are just only going to get worse, Plus, Saidin’s effects just looks thicker than Saidar, which I love as a subtle little detail to show the two being different visually(and I hope the show does some great stuff with the combination of Rand fighting Saidin + madness as he progresses).

[thislovintime]

Photo 1 by Gene Trindl/Alamy Stock Photo, photo 2 by Gabe Palacio/ImageDirect.

“I won’t go nearly so far as to say that everything that came up in the 60’s was valid, but as far as I’m concerned, the 60’s were to what will come as Greece was to democracy. Remember that in the 60’s the political officeholders had lost all touch with the needs of the nation…kind of like the Bush administration now. Back then the voice of the establishment, Life magazine, was discovered to have doctored photos falsely indicating that LSD caused chromosomal damage. That proved what we (then) kids already knew: that those at the top preached fair play and honesty, but had no more need to honor those concepts than what would give them the next dollar without too much trouble. We saw perfectly clearly that we were on our own, that no one in authority cared about us. Now, like any bunch of kids left to their own devices, some, many, went off the rails. Every false step by somebody walking around under the cloak of the liberal hippy 60’s was used as a pretext for dissing the entire generation. Those of us who were truly interested in liberty, fraternity and equality, however, knew we were onto something good and real. What had been called democracy was, and to some extent still is, a pretext for wrapping the will of the greedy and aggressive in a mantle of public acquiescence. Now, the business of wresting power away from those who make a specialty of wielding it will be a long and protracted struggle, with a lot of setbacks along the way. The outlines of the new style of governance are only dimly perceivable, and won’t become clear for a long time to come. In the meantime, our job is to practice the principles of fairness and service to the extent possible. One thing is clear: there is a much higher joy in service than there is in acquisition of wealth. (Remember that it isn’t money that’s the root of all evil, it’s the love of money.) Hanging together in brother - and sisterhood is so happy-making you want to sing right out loud. Yeah, I feel the same about those ideas as I did then…in case you couldn’t tell. heheheh, Peter” - Ask Peter Tork

“I believe very much in all that I believed in back in the 60’s. I hope I’m more aware of the practicalities than I was then, but I am positive that the values and principles I held then are critical to the well-being of the planet, or at the very least, critical to growth and contentment in the population. As to the practicalities: the chance of no more war in our lifetimes is so close to zero that I don’t imagine it possible, tho’ there well may be progress along these lines. May be. Sometimes I see the world as an eternal horse race between salvation and dissolution, now one, and now the other gaining the lead. But to the extent that we can learn, each and all of us, that the cooperative good is good for the greatest individual good (with safeguards, to be sure), that forgiveness is the route to true inner peace, and that not everything we deem wrong or bad may be so, to that extent hassles of all shapes, sizes and colors will diminish. I am so sure of all this that I would, I hope, be willing to bet my life on these principles.” - Peter, Ask Peter Tork (x / x)

[the-final-sif]

c!Dream has a very confusing day. So he makes it other people's problem. This is not a good long term plan.

Dream stared at the offending object, unsure of his own emotions about it. There was so many of them that they had all blended together into a soup.

He' been staring at it for nearly 15 minutes now. Trying to make sense of what it could possible mean.

Figuratively and literally.

Sam had brought the cake in 15 minutes prior, mumbled a bunch of stuff that Dream had no hope of making out (the man hadn't even bothered to remove his mask to let Dream have a chance at lip reading), and then left.

Dream had been so lost he hadn't managed to collect himself in time to say anything. So here he was, left staring at the cake on the nightstand.

The core question he was wrestling with at the moment felt like it should be so simple.

Was Sam a fucking idiot or was this cake intended as a threat?

....

15 minutes in and Dream had made no real progress on that question.

The main issue at hand was that the cake itself was chocolate, very obviously from the smell and color.

Now, Dream had a mostly human digestive tract, but he was still a hybrid.

Everyone knew that no animal hybrids should have chocolate, save for piglins.

Hell, Dream was pretty sure chocolate wasn't great for creeper hybrids. Sam must've known that chocolate would be poisonous for him.

On it's face, that felt like an obvious threat. Or maybe Sam was just hoping that he was fuckin' stupid and would just eat it and... end up sick? It was just frosting, so it wasn't going to be enough to kill him. It'd fucking suck and make him throw up, but that was about it.

That presented an issue though; Dream was already pretty sick. Sam already knew Dream couldn't walk on his own (although he was getting closer to that with each passing day). What more would he get out of poisoning him?

Not to mention Sam of all people knew Dream was careful with his food. He wasn't starving right now, he wasn't falling for this.

That brought back the second issue, the writing on top of the cake.

The cake had been topped with a blood red icing, but... Dream was struggling to tell if it was messy on purpose, or if Sam had just put the icing on without letting the cake cool properly and it was melted.

Giving that the frosting seemed to be in a similar state, Dream was leaning towards the later.

That added to the very unsteady, messy handwriting, meant that Dream could only pick out a few words.

Prison was one of them (or imprisonment, still, the same implication). He was pretty sure that the starting word was his own name. The last one was Sam's name for sure.

He thought one of the words might be hybrid, but it could also be 'highly' or 'hardly' or maybe hydras. There was little context to help understand.

That would lead to this being some sort of attempt at a threat. Maybe threatening to put him back in the prison?

Dream would like to accept that everything pointed to that but...

Okay. Listen.

Sam can write a fucking letter if he wanted to be threatening. He could just say something out loud or figure out some sign.

Who the fuck makes a cake to deliver a threatening message?

It just didn't add up.

Which lead Dream to wonder if maybe Sam was just a fucking moron and didn't think about the chocolate thing. Maybe this cake was some sort of sincere offering?

But then again, maybe there was the poison aspect? Or maybe Sam wanted plausible deniability? He could just claim to.... Ponk? Maybe? That it wasn't meant as a threat?

After fifteen (now nearly 20) minutes of turning these argument over in his head, Dream was fed up.

Still, he didn't have a great solution, until his communicator silently buzzed against his wrist.

Oh. right. Check-in time.

Punz was the one who messaged him this time.

'You good? Sam tried anything? Ranboo says sorry for nearly getting caught btw. Also he said you were a rabbit hybrid? Unclear where that's coming from. Are you lying to him or is he lying to me?'

Shoot.

Dream forgot that that would get back to Punz.

It wasn't really a big deal. It shouldn't be a big deal.

All the sudden Dream found himself frantically reviewing everything he knew about Punz, interrogating his memory for any indication that somehow, this would be what split Punz off. Not being strong enough, not being what Punz needed him to be. Dream forcible shut that part of his brain off.

Sure, Punz might not be happy about not knowing, but he'd understand. It wasn't even an intentional secret. At some point... Dream just forgot he wasn't born human.

Snapping back to the present, Dream moved to type out a reply before Punz got worried.

'I'm fine. One weird situation but it's probably okay. Neither Ranboo nor I are lying.'

There was a long, long pause.

'okay. i have. questions. is the weird situation urgent?'

For a moment, Dream considered if he could successfully distract from having this conversation using the cake.

Ehh, probably better to answer the basics then get into the cake to avoid deep questioning.

'Not really.'

Punz only took a moment this time.

'how long have you been a rabbit hybrid?'

That one was easy

'22 years, I think. I don't remember the date right now.'

'okay. so this isn't, new? are you like. 1/9th rabbit on your grandmother's side or something?'

In reality, Dream actually wasn't sure what the breakdown was. He went with the easier answer.

'Nope. Full rabbit. Ears and legs.'

There was another long pause. At this point, Dream was fucking with Punz a little bit, but in his defense, it was fun.

'am I just the most blind motherfucker in existence? i know you keep your hood up and like to wear socks but i feel like ive treated enough injuries on you that i woud've noticed that.'

Alright. He should probably be nice now.

'Nah. Mask keeps it all hidden. Wasn't ever really a secret, but I got so used to it that I never mention it. Once I'm healed up I can put the mask back on and be back to normal.'

The pause wasn't quite as long there.

'i dont wanna push, but is there... like, a reason? also im not a hybrid expert, but isnt that not great long term?'

Ugh. Dream didn't want to get into this. Time for the cake distraction.

'It's nothing bad. Lets me eat chocolate and stuff safely. Can't without it. Speaking of which, hypothetically if Sam brought me a chocolate cake with blood red writing on it that's mostly garbled, would you think that'd be a threat or just him being dumb?'

He held his breath, and...

'he fucking what??'

Hook, line, and sinker.

'I can send a photo? I can't figure it out. Wanted a second opinion.'

Who knows, maybe Punz could help make out Sam's terrible handwriting?

It was worth a shot.

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #1 | 01.31.23

Welcome to Ravenstar Games' first devlog! ✨💜 We are so excited to finally share this month's progress with all of you! It has been a surprisingly productive month for the team, and we have not only done everything we scheduled for January, but also some extra work!

I want to first and foremost congratulate my team for their wonderful job this month. We hope February will be another amazing month for us and the game!

We want to thank you all so much for sticking with us, for sending us asks, showering us with love and good vibes, and overall for just being here! Without further ado, let's jump into the devlog, shall we? 💜

One of January's highlights has been, without a doubt, Vycar's debut! He's one of six supporting characters you will meet in the demo, and he is very dear to the team.

Calm, shy and a bit of a workaholic, Vycar is the complete opposite of his Lord and close friend, Amon. The dynamic of these two is extremely fun to write, and you'll be seeing a great deal of it in Amon's route!

We did his concept art around late 2022, but this month we focused on his clothes, the color palette and his sprite.

He's not our first finished supporting character, though: we already did Neela's sprite—a character you'll also meet in the demo, and one of the main supporting characters of Envy's route— a few months ago. We want to do some tweaks as her sprite sadly is a bit outdated now compared to the rest of the cast, but you most likely will be meeting her soon! 💜

Ah, yes, the team's personal nightmare! This month we have made outstanding progress with our backgrounds: as of now, six out of ten backgrounds are ready for rendering, or are already finished!

I may as well point out that Raquel, our lead character artist, is also in charge of rendering the backgrounds, which is a ton of work. As we'll be focusing on the characters next month, it'll be a while until Raquel can keep working on finishing backgrounds, but the wait will be worth it! 💜 In the meantime, Astro and Kayden will keep working on them.

Here you have a WIP of one of the first places you'll visit in the demo: your kitchen! We also wanted to show how the background department works with this little gif. Every member of the team is in charge of a different stage; I, for example, write down a briefing for each background and create a moodboard for Astro, and then we all offer our feedback as he works.

Well, this is your mother's kitchen, but it counts...right?

Astro, our lead background concept artist, has also been working hard on bringing Lost in Limbo's world to life. We don't want to spoil too much, but as the director, I wanted to highlight Astro's work today, so I'm leaving here one of the concept pieces he did for another background, as a treat! 💜

What could possibly be happening here, I wonder...?

As of today, 76% of the demo script is coded! ✨ Courtesy of Seyl (that's me!), who has suddenly become a Ren'Py pro (quotation needed).

Jokes aside, we are slowly but surely getting closer to tie all the knots and solve all the mysteries behind Lost in Limbo's demo programming. The pronoun selection works great, the choices don't make the game explode, and variables change when they have to, which may not sound like a lot, but for us first-timers it is like a dream!

You can punch Amon in Lost in Limbo's demo! Yay!

For me, the most complicated thing has been programming the LIs sprites, as they will change clothes in the future, they blink, etc. A bunch of unexpected problems came out (as they always do) as I got familiar with Ren'Py, but fixing them has been an equally rewarding and maddening experience. There's a lot of work left to do and I'm sure I'll suffer a great deal trying to figure everything out, but isn't that the fun part?! Coping mechanism!

Honestly, as an adult who still has to count with her fingers, finding out that I can program with Ren'Py quite correctly is making me feel kind of smart.

Our UI is still on the making, but we hope we can show y'all some sneak peeks real soon!

Seyl's programming adventure also includes absolutely beautiful placeholders like this one, made by yours truly. We promise your mom looks better than this.

As for the writing department, I keep saying the prologue / demo script is finished, but I find myself going back to it to modify stuff. To this day there's still some changes I think can benefit the narrative—but I have to sit down and think about them thoroughly first. As the story grows and the plot thickens, it is my job to make the demo as engaging as possible, and I'm committed to it.

The first chapter of Amon's route is done, and the second is on the making. My plan is to at least write three chapters of every route before focusing on finishing one, to make sure all of them are coherent and cohesive.

January has been a good month for the team. I'd say that the progress we have made especially in the programming and background department has relieved us from a lot of stress.

Sadly, as you all know, Raquel, Astro and me are full time students, and our master degree is being quite intense. How much time we can dedicate to the game depends on the amount of work the master demands from us, so February could be as good as January for the game, or it could be not as fullfilling. Only time will tell! Know that in any case, we regularly work on the game.

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for your time! 💜 I hope it wasn't too boring, and please forgive my overworked brain if there's a bunch of nasty typos around. I promise I'll check the post (again) soon, just in case.

Sending you all a lot of love from the Ravenstar Team! Have an incredible week, take care, and remember to drink water!💜

[imgoingtocrash]

Hello there! It's your Rebelcaptain Secret Santa :) Hope you had a wonderfull week and that you have something great planned for the weekend. I'm probably around 1/3 into writing your gift, and I was just wondering: is there anything you absolutely DON'T want to see, any tropes that give you the ick, any characters you avoid? Also, on a completely different note: if you were to choose your top 3 favourite rebelcaptain fics, what would those be?

Oh hello!!! It's been a busy work week but that means money sooo we're going with it lol.

As for anything I don't want to see, I don't think there's anything?? I feel like my prompts were pretty vanilla so I can't imagine anything particularly shocking or appalling that you could do that would make me not want to read something. (And I love angst, so anything darker there is always encouraged rather than discouraged lmaooo)

Now asking me for my favorite fics on the other hand...I'm notorious for making detailed fic rec lists. That's dangerous.

For now, I'll do 3 all time favorites of MANY more, and 3 more recent reads (though some of them are older, because I'm back in the tag rn)

Top 3 All Time Favorites:

cassian andor nonsense + assorted nonsense timestamps by theputterer

I love this series. It's Cassian centric at first, and then it's about their relationship in the context of their pasts and I am just!!! Overflowed with love for it all of the time. I binged it when I first read it, and there are some oneshots in the verse that I come back to and re-read when I'm in a mood. (Blood Brothers, where Jyn gets to meet Cassian's Imperial brother, is a weird favorite, but I think I've re-read it like 4 times. I love that sort of 3rd person POV on a ship I just DO.)

only fools rush in by andromeda3116

I re-read this fic almost every holiday season, that's how much I love it. Fake dating trope, holiday vibes, bickering but well-meaning family that learns to come together. It's catnip to me.

Color My Cheeks by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)

Another older but beloved favorite that I've re-read multiple times. One of the first fics I ever read in the fandom, and I think one of the first sex pollen fics I'd ever read. It's not just trope-y sexy fun, but the fact that it goes into the AFTER of a sex pollen event and what that means for them emotionally feels so unique and interesting. Now I'm thinking about re-reading it again. Sigh.

Definitely could give you more all-time favorite recs, but here are some more recent fics I've read:

Lost and Found by mosylu

As of today, just completed, and WOW what a journey! I left rambling, crazy comments on this fic almost every week for good reason. It was sweet, it was angsty, it was just!!!! Amazing. I'm probably going to come back to this one again down the road for sure.

Delivery Week by SleepyKalena

I've read quite a few Film/Production based fanfics over the years, but this one is for us post girlies!!! An edit bay meet-cute, bitching about color correcting/matching--truly this fic has it all and feels tailor-made to me as an editor, even if it's at an animation studio rather than live action.

spy games by skitzofreak

I'm basically reading through all of their star wars fics right now, so highly highly recommend this author as a whole. (The fact that I've apparently left kudos on some of them before and don't remember it at all is...funny.) This one is just a great, cute starter where Cassian and Jyn have an entire silent conversation in front of a bunch of recruits. So good.

Your asks remind me to send asks to MY giftee, so I'm so happy to hear from you each week! Have a wonderful week and good vibes to your writing progress! 💖

[your-local-uwu-artist]

HAIIII how about 1, 11, 26, and 34 for the OC ask game :3

alola >:D

1.Have you ever picked up a habit from developing/writing one of your own characters? And if so, who and what?

i don't think so actually. generally I give my habits (and habits from friends and family and other irl people) to ocs instead. I have picked up some odd habits from drawing and cartoons in general though, especially anime. mostly cause my brain can't exit artist mode and i'm constantly thinking about how i would draw stuff, so it's like that 'making weird faces when your drawing an expression' but instead it's 'over exaggerates my every movement because i am thinking about how i would draw that movement'

11.Which character has been through the most design changes?

gosh! a lot of pokemelody characters have beeen through DRASTIC design changes but not like, the most. so probably my sona character! here's a sketch i did once showing the basic progression. during the redesign segments though there's a bunch of mini phases of drafts that didn't stick. they've been through a few different eras. I like to split it into three main eras! the primative era (defining traits are galaxy hair and high fantasy aesthetics) the Sailor era (this era had the most story as a self insert oc, defining design traits is a sailor-fuku outfit and pigtail buns.) the confused era (era where i rebooted my sona but was still figuring stuff out, this era's defining traits is a visible ribcage, and way too busy/unfocused of a design) And finally the modern era! (simpler and more focused design but has a couple other forms with the shape shifter aspect. notably while theres still some scrapbook/sewing aesthetics the entire body is now bjd/doll instead of being a confusing mix)

fun facts about the design/s

-sailor era design had no heterochromia and had my irl brown hair, because i was younger and cringe culture was still super prominent: specifically that part where every 'character design tips thing' would tell you to avoid stuff like heterochromia and fangs and cool colorful hair unless they god forbid look like a mary sue.

-i think i've said this before but a year or so after I added that front bangs super long back hair short thing (plus litterally had my hair cut to match) a popular/influential artist made a character with this trait and it suddenly became a more common design trait. obvi i'm not trying to 'gatekeep' the design or claim i'm the first guy EVER to come up with it. but i would be lying if i didn't say i feel 'ahead of my time' and think it's funny to joke about this super big artist that def doesn't know i exist having 'copied' me fndjask

-one main design shift is the shift from the angel aesthetic to adding in some demon aesthetics

-all throughout the confused era the angel wings changed color according to mood, the chart used was to inconsistent and complicated though so this trait ended up being lost.

-starting with the confused era and sitll present in modern era my sona is a shapeshifting shiny mimikyu :3 and the idea is that their humanoid form is like, lowkey hollow, so the mimikyu body is inside

-despite having more inhuman traits i'd actually say modern era sona takes more inspo from my irl appearance than any previous design

26.What's your favorite relationship/dynamic between a set of OCs?

afndsjkfna i can't choose because i love different dyanmics for different reasons fnsdjkaf. ummm heres some honorary mentions!

-Sunny and Daisy, they're dorks in love, nice simple and wholesome! good ol' healthy loving relationship! classic malewife x girlboss lowkey

-kazumi and fukusha have this thing where they hate each other's guts, it's fun!

-SCOTT N TIP i've only posted about them once and they're lowkey co-owned sorta? (i designed them on my own and then an irl friend of mine took a likeing to them and started writing short stories with them, we'd like to make a point and click game series called 'Dectective Cardimen Scott + Tip' with them someday :3) Scott and Tip's designs litterally came from a little excercize I did on designing duos. Scott's a private investigator and was looking for an assistant, the enthusiastic Tip took up the job! they have this cartoon-inspired dynamic where their relationship is vague and up for interpretation. They're business partners and roomates at the least :3

34.What scene that you've written/imagined is your favorite?

hmmmmmmmmm generally speaking i prefer the like inbetween anti-climatic slice of life-y scenes but theres this climatic/hyped-up scene in arc '1.5' of Pokemelody that I'm excited for in the theoretical future where i make this a thing. arc 1.5 is the start of a redemption arc for the final villain of arc 1, the plot is the villain searching for someone she did something unforgivable too with the goal of apologizing.

also scenes where the characters are finally happy and content and theres shojo sparkles to express this my beloved.

scenes i include a lot of because they're what i want to see more of is like, characters having weird inhuman-physical traits both as casual details that are dispersed throughout but also like, when it's directly addressed or played around with. I feel like everything only ever gives me little hints of that sorta stuff and fanfic focusing on it is hard to come bye so i guess i'll just have to do everything msyelf around here lmao.

[voidconversations]

BLOG NAVIGATION

here lies rules, info, links, +more

—links

most recent fic. ➛ masterlist.

—blog rules

THIS IS AN 18+ ACCOUNT! i am putting this here for a plethora of reasons, but mainly because i will not be held accountable if some ignorant minor decides to read something they shouldn’t. if you are under 18, back away, get lost, hit the road, be literally anywhere but this account. you are not welcome.

no hate of any kind will be tolerated. i’d rather not have to read a bunch of hate comments in my inbox or in the comments of my posts. if you don’t like a story i’ve written then just click off of it, it’s that simple. that being said: i’m not opposed to criticism. as long as it’s respectful, i will take your comments seriously. i’m always looking to improve my writing.

discrimination is also not tolerated. this should go without saying but the world is full of bigots, big surprise. if you say anything that even smells of hate against anyone for their: race, sexuality, gender, etc? BLOCKED. idc, you’re gone.

—blog info

characters i write for: leon kennedy, claire redfield, ada wong, simon riley, john mactavish, john price, and kyle garrick.

i take requests, if you’d like a certain scenario or character written for, just leave it in my inbox. i will attempt to write it to your liking. but i will not write for characters i don’t want to, same goes for scenarios. requests currently: closed!

my hashtags are ‘voidconversations’, ‘voidtalks !’ and ‘voidreblogs !’ for easy access.

—about me

you can call me ‘a’ or ‘void’ if you’d like. i’m 19 years old and i love video games. some of my favorites are; any and all resident evil games, the last of us (2), the walking dead (4), stardew valley, call of duty (only the campaigns), and a whole lot more. i watch a variety of movies and tv shows so i don’t have a short enough list to put here for those, but an easy category of tv shows and movies i like is anything marvel! uhh what else… i started writing in middle school when i had a bunch of vivid pictures of stories in my head that i couldn’t stop dreaming about. i started this account as a way to track my writing progress and let my creativity free. this account is purely for personal entertainment, so i may disappear from time to time as my real-life activities may interfere with this hobby. also my favorite color is green. that’s all! read on my friends :)

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | The Terror (Corman, 1963)

I'd mostly known The Terror as an example of the work of the fading horror star played by Boris Karloff in Targets, a movie which in part was borne out of Roger Corman wanting to make more money off the movie and get more shooting days out of Karloff. In that movie it represents the old horror, fantastical, stodgy, out of touch with reality, and is juxtaposed against the new horror unsettlingly ordinary and commonplace, most memorably when it plays at the drive-in during the climactic shooting rampage. But the contrast between old and new is present in this movie as well, if less intentionally foregrounded. On one hand, you have Karloff, cast for his legendary stature in the horror genre and also because he needs money. On the other hand, you have Jack Nicholson, who by the end of the decade would represent the cutting edge of film acting.

Now, where Targets shows the old school being outmoded, it appears relatively robust in The Terror. This isn't a career highpoint for either Karloff or Nicholson, the former, while looking a little unhappy still imbues his role with a great deal of presence, especially with those booming line readings he could do in his sleep. Nicholson would go on to become a great actor, but such greatness is not evident here, and the bulk of his line readings come across as stiff and uncomfortable, and he spends a lot of the movie tilting his head up and looking down from an unflattering angle. There's a scene where Nicholson and a possible ghost played by Sandra Knight are conversing in a cemetery, and she keeps talking about how she's dead that might be the least energetic, most under-emoted scene that Nicholson's ever been in, which I suppose is appropriate for Knight given she might be dead but definitely not for Nicholson. If you'd heard of Nicholson's reputation but had somehow only seen this movie, you'd think everybody lost their minds.

The actor who acquits himself best is Corman regular Dick Miller, who gets a little bit of swagger. Apparently what little of the plot kept changing as the production progressed (with multiple directors chipping in, including Francis Ford Coppola, Jack Hill and even Nicholson himself), and I suspect given Miller's history of bit parts, he was comfortable stepping into scenes as needed. In Miller's words:

"When we were shooting in the castle, none of it made any sense. Some of the things I did were ridiculous because I was a butler and I was there just for Karloff to talk to, for Jack to talk to, just a butler."

And:

"In the rewrite I became the heavy. Now all these scenes I were played with different dimensions with fantastic character changes. So this came out at different levels, as well as my hair length and body weight. I was walking in and out of doors changing 20 pounds during this picture. And because the one part was shot in the winter and the other in the summer, my color would change. I would leave the castle white, come into the sunlight and I was practically black, really suntanned. And my hair was a different length; my sideburns were moving up and down. It was a wild thing."

This messy production history also explains the total lack of narrative momentum, with scene after scene spent hanging around a castle with little in the way of plot progression. To a lot of people, this movie will be torture with its molasses-like pacing. But for those like me, who just marathoned a bunch of Corman's Edgar Allan Poe adaptations, who like gothic horror elements in any capacity, and for whom just traipsing through a castle and all its creepy corridors, especially if the one or more characters are wearing something flowy or puffy and there's some Hammer/Bava lighting inside and some fog outside, it's a good enough time.

[tsuukirana]

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟏 | 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎)

𝑨 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕.

Sumeru Akademiya has lost one of its most prized researchers to the Tsaritsa. Legends say that the Cryo Archon had locked them underneath a thick layer of ice, forcing them to commit experiment after experiment underneath her cold gaze, so that she may one day conquer Celestia.

You would like to describe yourself as the pioneer of human research. A simple lover and science and all things mysterious. When someone from another nation offers you an opportunity of a lifetime, you never once looked back. Even when your hands are permanently stained with blood, your eyes remain focused on the ultimate prize.

𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 & 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘏𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 (𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦)/𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘰𝘷𝘦: 𝘋𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘌𝘢𝘵

Back to  𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓?

Explore 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓?

A short story depicting Doctor! Reader. This is an expansion of the original: “The Experimentalist and the Damned.” There is no canon story progression and only serves as an open-ended idea.  

The Balladeer has only heard short stories about you. From the best to the worst cases, he cannot deny that out of everyone in the Fatui, you were the most capable of shaping his dream into a reality. For you would understand his dream of becoming a god. Swallowing a thick wad of saliva, he looks up at the expansive, double doors which frame the outside of your office. Your title: Sovereign of Dawn is carved into a golden tablet.

He did quite a lot of research about you. About your time in Sumeru and the experiments which brought you here. He knows you as a great scientist. Someone who seemed to have found a miracle underneath the rubble of doubt and scarcity. He remembers stories about how you cured an entire village of their mysterious illness. Gossips about you traveling to Fontaine to satisfy your curiosity about human prosthetics. Tales of your time in the Spiral Abyss, experimenting on what he could only describe as mortality. 

He surely didn’t come to you on a whim. He wouldn’t have even bothered to request your audience had he not known you were the best of the bunch. To him, you were everything the Fatui could have offered to him: power and retribution. You will be the person who can mold him into the perfect doll, a perfect vessel for gnosis. You could make him into something Ei was not, and the idea was enough to satisfy his greed.

His hands grow slightly clammy at the thought of seeing you. To say that he didn’t fear you was an understatement. He could throw insult after insult to your protégé, calling him anything from a freak to a monster, yet when it comes to you, he knows better and holds his tongue. Especially when you cheerfully roam these halls with nothing more but an empty smile. If he didn’t want to see it on the operating table, he should stay quiet, he thinks to himself. Pressing his hand against the door, he slowly opens it to reveal your sitting figure at the center of your office. Your legs are crossed over one another as he enters the room, the entrance slamming shut behind him as he grows close to you.

“So you must be the Balladeer,” You hummed in amusement, peering into his dark, soulless eyes. He only grumbles in response. Resting your chin against the edge of the clipboard, you admire his body. You must say, you like the violet color he carries. It seemed to have the right amount of storm of trouble. You think you would like it even more if you had it tacked onto a wooden board. Placing your papers on the table, you fold your hands over, letting them rest upon your lap. 

“How about you join me for a cup of tea while we discuss your deal.”

He hopes this isn’t some ploy. He stays silent as he pulls up a chair in front of you. He feels his body sink into the cushions. His fingers fidget with each other underneath your table. You worsen his anxious feelings by ringing a bell, calling upon your assistant to bring you two cups of tea. He hardens his gaze. He is unnerved, however, that would be the nicest and simplest way of describing his conflicted emotions. Despite your overwhelmingly warm invitation to discuss his offer in your office, he likes to think that your bright smile was infectious and soul-sucking. 

While you may have tried to tidy your office space just a bit, you never made any real effort to take down the wicked display which hangs behind you. You sat in your chair with enough grace to match a swan but the rather crude, stitched-up tarp made from anything but animal skin sent shivers down his spine. Each stitch was meticulously placed with intention, not a single string was sagging and the seam was too clean. He might have thought you hunted a beast if not for your grim record.

You were like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A kind-hearted scientist on the surface, cooing over some small slimes stationed outside of the palace. Underneath those covers, you were just some unhinged experimentalist who wanted nothing more than to further their research. You cared about no one but yourself. You were that much of a barbarous, selfish monster he despised. Hundreds of empty, dull visions dangle above him like stars, waving at him like trophies. He doesn’t need to ask you to know where you got them from. 

“Your tea, my Lord.” Your assistant said, their heads lurching downwards to not meet your eyes. They set down a steel tray. Two cups lay side to side, one smaller dish with cubes of sugar. The Balladeer slowly reaches out for his cup, not wanting to show fear in front of your eyes. How amusing, you think to yourself. That a small doll such as himself is capable of feeling human emotion. You let out another hum before waving them off. 

You stir your drink, watching as the Balladeer takes short sips. He is still hesitant. You know that he wants to cut to the chase and demand something outrageous from you. You swallow from your porcelain teacup, not bothering to add any sugar.  Yet as absurd as it might be, you think it might still be in the realm of reality. After all, you never liked to be told you couldn’t do something. “People who have been poisoned are strong against poison. Have you heard of it?”

“I have heard a few stories about it.” He replies, rolling the handle of his cup between his fingers. He watches as his drink dances in its small cage, the liquid threatening to dip over the edge. “It relates to the theory that as you consume poison in small doses, you’ve built immunity.”

“I suppose you aren’t all just talk then. I once heard from a friend that it works quite well. Slimes, nightshade, bane lotus, exotic frogs. . . they all eventually taste the same to you.” 

“Have you found any uses for this information?” He asks, curious about your research and studies. 

You take another sip, “I have. If you keep building your immunity, it’d get to the point where you wouldn’t be able to feel anything anymore. It’s very useful when creating soldiers you see.” You raise your cup, holding it from its edges as the navy-haired man frowns. “When exploring Sumeru, I make sure that all my men have at least half of Teyvat’s poison running through their veins. It’s a safety precaution you see.”

“Seems like you’ve taken great joy in it.”

“I did.” You chuckle, “At least a dozen men drop dead before you can administer a second dose. Human life is quite fragile isn’t it?”

He cannot deny this fact for he knows it all too well. Human life, at least to him, was one of the biggest failures that a Creator might have created. What was the point of making something so great, it dies so easily? It seems like a misstep or a mistake. He hates the idea that he has to bend his knee over this idea of mortality. This idea of having to wait for someone or watch them slowly fade away in his eyes caused him great anger.

“Is that why you helped Dottore create segments of himself?”

Pressing your lips together, you lean back against your chair, swaying slightly back and forth. You aren’t too surprised that the Balladeer has hold of this short information. You indeed helped him on several occasions in the past. You resist the urge to smile wickedly. What else could you have done? He was your precious protégé, after all, you would be a fool to turn him down. You even think some of his younger segments are quite cute. Their curiosity holds no bounds. They’ve done quite a lot to advance your research.

“That’s right, every segment he made was all done under my supervision,” You place your cup down on the table, eyeing the man in front of you, “I will say, it’s not my greatest work but it is one of few that I care about.” 

“And so what is your greatest work? What are you most proud of?”

You don’t hesitate to clip your Delusion from your waist, laying it on the table for display. His eyes loom over it slightly as he observes the shape and color. It was different from the ones he has seen at factories. Your guard was rather extravagant, something he didn’t seem all too started about. He thinks that if you were to be proud of something to this great extent, you might as well flaunt it for the world.

“This is my best creation.”

“A delusion?”

You shake your head. You suppose it was easy for anyone to mistake it for one. It was a good disguise. “It’s not quite the same as the one the Tsaritsa distributes.” You tap against it with the tip of your nail, “As long as this exists, I will have no trouble finding a new host and body.” 

“So you can come back from the dead as long as this remains unharmed,” The Balladeer stares at your Delusion in awe. To think that such a tiny, vision-looking object could hold so much power and control seems rather inhuman, he would say. He figures that if you were to make this for the rest of the Tsaritsa’s armies, they would never lose a single war. He thinks that if you were to have given this to Dottore, he would not need his segments. He would just need to have one of these to stay alive. However, this begs the question: “What about their consciousness and soul? Where would they go?”

You drone a small tune from under your breath, your hand reaching out to take back your Delusion. He swears that your expression seems a lot more childish than he would have taken it for. Tilting your head off to the side, you shrug your shoulders, “I guess they just get kicked out and sent to the afterlife?”

“You truly are a horrible person.”

It’s not a surprise you would reply in such a way, for you had little to no care in what comes in human life. It was fragile, just as you said. People die all the time and while it’s a small tragedy, it weighs so little on you that you could hardly bat an eye. 

The Balladeer tilts his head down slowly, noticing a small petal drifting at the top of his tea. It is violet and blue, with small tints of pink at the base. It seems familiar and for a moment, he thinks that it was a harmless flower. It was only when he finds his tongue feeling numb that he senses there is something wrong with this drink. His eyes widen.

“You!” He suddenly stands from his chair, knocking it back as he slammed his cup down on the table, some droplets flying onto the surface. 

“So you aren’t human,” you laugh. You press the base of your chin against the palm of your hand, looking at him with a bizarre, victorious grin. “Something like this would have knocked you out minutes ago, but here you are. Say, what does morning glory taste like to you?”

He quickly raises his hand, pulling out a small knife which he thrusts forward. Loose papers fly off the desk by the sheer force of his power. Visions tied to string dance and wave in the air, their dull colors flicking small beads of light around your room. However, instead of plunging it deep within your skull as he wanted, he stops only a mere centimeter from your pupil. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” You sense his hesitation. Teasingly pressing your fingers against the tip of his blade, you let it pierce the outer layer of skin. He watches as your blood drips onto the wooden surface, some of it leaking over his steel knife. You are unaffected by his sudden resistance. He notes that you’ve never once flinched, nor have you shown any sort of fear towards him. 

“Even if you were to kill me here, I’d still just come back with a new body.” You gesture for him to sit back down to which he obligates once more, knowing well he might not leave this room alive. His attempt seemed futile.

He supposes you are right. He pulls his weapon back, sheathing it. After what you’ve done to Dottore’s body and his numerous segments, he can be assured knowing that even when he kills you, over and over again, you will return. This might not even be your body in the first place, just a hollow shell of a person you’ve taken over like a parasite. If he was just a puppet, then what does that make of your previous incarnates? 

“Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?” You pick up your clipboard. Tapping your pen against the edge you raise your eyebrows, “What is it that you desire? Since you came to me first, you must already know what will happen.”

“That’s right,” He says, “I came here to ask that you experiment on me. Anything you can do to try to get this seal off of me,” He presses his hand against the back of his neck, the symbol of Electro shining brightly underneath his grasp, “I want you to take it off so I can return to my divine self.” 

“Oh?” You smile. “What do I get out of this exchange?

“Don’t act like I don’t see your excitement,” The navy-haired boy gave you a cocky smirk as he leans forward, moving closer to you as he grabbed onto your chin, “You’ll be testing with one of God’s puppets. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to even touch someone so close to an Archon. And if you are successful in giving me the power I want, I might even let you rip my skin out to create a door to Celestia.”

“. . . If that’s not enough then I’ll give you all of me until your research is satiated.” He announced, making his final proposal to you.

There was a moment in which both of you did not speak. Not one word was uttered and not a single movement had been conducted by either muscle. The two of you shared a conjoined silence, letting the room fill with nothing aside from the sound of footsteps echoing from the halls. After a minute has passed, you let out a boisterous laugh at his offer. He flinches slightly at the booming sound. His legs trembled a bit, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of your skin against his.

“Well if that isn’t something. . .” You licked your lips before standing up, finally reaching your correct height as you made eye contact with the shorter man.  If his proposal was boring, you wouldn’t have hesitated to break his wrist for trying to touch you in such ungraceful matters. However, because of this rare opportunity, you can’t decline.

Mold him, pamper him, and worship him, he thought. Give him the power that he craves so desperately. Give him something that Ei couldn’t, and do it better.

“Make me a product of your success, Sovereign of Dawn.”

[book-of-baba-fett]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter 16

Captain Rex x OC

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: Captain Rex meets up with a few of his brothers, but the weight of the war and recent events take their toll. Talia has some time alone to recover and train.

A/N: I’M ALIVE! So sorry for the delay in this one; life has just been a LOT lately. One of the reasons this took so long was I wrote a giant chapter, which I actually decided to break in two so I can promise you another update in a week! Thanks to the wonderful @galacticgraffiti for not only beta reading, but also for the amazing new cover photo!!!

Chapter Rating: M

Warnings: Angst, mourning, general post breakup sadness, implied sex, drinking

Ao3 Link Series Masterlist

19 BBY - Coruscant

79’s was quiet. Well, as quiet as 79’s could get.

Clones of various battalions in different colored plastoid filled the booths and seats at the bar, but the dance floor was practically vacant, a more somber atmosphere hanging in the air tonight.

Rex had thought, almost three years ago now, that they would have made some progress in this damned war, but the longer it dragged on the further away victory seemed. Apart from the group he was with, Rex didn’t recognize any clones in the cantina. The generation ones were something of a myth now, something the shinies stared at as they whispered tales of rumored feats, hoping to live up to the status one day themselves. Rex could see why, as he sat at the booth with the Commanders; they all looked like they had been ravaged by war. Cody and Wolffe bore the obvious facial scars, with Wolffe’s eye particularly unnerving the shinies. Neyo’s reconnaissance helmet naturally set one on edge, with the two smooth edges and thin visor slots for his eyes. Bacara was…Bacara. Huge, and gruff, his face in what some took to be a perpetual grimace, covered with a full beard. Bly was the least intimidating of the bunch, but the lines on his face alluded to his age as well as an air that portrayed some inexplicable and unspeakable knowledge.  All of their armor was scuffed by blaster marks; the tally marks of campaigns and missed encounters with death.

It was rare for them all to be on Coruscant at the same time, as they usually mounted campaigns in the farthest reaches of the Republic, but leaves overlapped this night. There was a strange calm lately in the war, like the smooth swell of a wave about to break; you could see the threat of water about to burst but nothing could stop it. The troops all felt it, perhaps this group the most. They had been around so long, they now knew these nights on leave were little more than a false comfort. A brief escape from the beckoning of fate, because how much longer could this stand still go on?

Even for a lower energy in the bar, the drinks still flowed and the bass pounded on a level that threatened to form a headache in his ears, Rex couldn’t help but recall the last time he was at 79’s a far busier night than tonight.

It came to him like flashes of the strobe lights in the cantina; the loud laughter and the music, the way Tup had slyly grinned, Fives’ head tilting back in raucous laughter, Talia’s eyes sparkling at him as they danced together, the way she blushed when he leaned in to kiss her. Rex grabbed his glass and took a gulp, trying to bring himself back into the present.

The burn of his whiskey did little to numb the ache in his gut, the emptiness he felt at all times since he last saw Talia. The fight in her quarters had replayed in his head about a million times as much as he wished he could block it from his memory.

The hurt expression on Talia’s face lingered in his brain, the way her eyes welled with tears and her lips pursed in anger. The last thing he had ever wanted to do was hurt her; in fact, he had almost lost the resolve to do what he had to do as soon as her voice started to crack in the moment. He’d had half a mind to step back on his words, tell her he didn’t mean any of it. But there was that voice in the back of his head, reminding him that they would only hit this point again. That, just like this war, there might be points of calm and even what might bring him happiness, but something was bound to crash and end it all. He made the decision to end it. For their own good. That didn’t mean he was happy with it.

Rex had never been so dedicated to his work as he had been in the past few weeks. Maybe early in the war, when he was a shiny hellbent on following protocol, but now it gave him an excuse to occupy himself. The work kept him busy and prevented his mind from wandering. It delayed the flashes of everything that had happened on Turia from playing in his mind.

Sleep was evading him as of late, half his dreams were spent still digging through rubble, or waiting outside the room of the medical station, where no good news came. The worst dreams were the ones where Talia was standing and staring at him, her beautiful features hauntingly so as the argument repeated. In some, she regarded him without a care, reminding him that he was beneath her anyway. In others, the scene replayed like it had in real life, with Rex shutting the door and walking away, hearing Talia crying from the other side of the door.  

Rex felt guilty, like the ache in his chest wasn’t something he was allowed to feel. After all, he didn’t feel the burn of the blaster shots he had fired. He was the one who ended things with Talia, he should be a man enough to come to terms with that. But it didn’t ease his own pain. And Talia’s reaction, and the words she had thrown at him still lurched his gut every time he thought about them.

Is that what you really think or what you were bred to? It wasn’t the first time he had similar words tossed at him. Normally they came in prejudiced tones from someone talking down to him, or occasionally from a brother trying to encourage him to see things a bit differently. But never from Talia. Those words were venom spouting from her lips, the same lips that had spoken to him so sweetly, curved in that mesmerizing way that his eyes couldn’t help but flick to them before he would steal a kiss. He didn’t know they had the capability to be cruel.

What was worse, in a way, was that he knew Talia had not meant to hurt him. But she had been so careless to say it, it flew off her tongue so easily. Was that all he really was to her, just another clone bred for war? He couldn’t believe that, not from her, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

“Credit for your thoughts, vod?” Cody asked, his brow raised as he elbowed Rex in the side. Rex shook his head out, trying to clear his thoughts as he returned to the table.

“Just tired is all,” Rex shrugged off Cody’s questioning look; he knew Cody saw right through him, but wouldn’t say anything with the present company around. Cody frowned and glanced over at the bar.

“That girl over there has been staring at you,” Cody mumbled, “Could be a good idea to get out some stress.”

Rex glanced over at the bar, sure enough there was a woman sitting at a stool at the corner of the bar, long, curly brown hair falling to her waist. She kept tossing glances over to the table, offering Rex a sly smile when he made eye contact. He could see she was attractive to some, and maybe if Rex were a younger man he would have gone for it. But things had changed, and the woman sitting at the bar wasn’t the woman he would be wanting to go home with.

Rex just shook his head at Cody and returned to his drink, “Not interested.”

Before Cody could make another attempt, Bacara huffed a deep laugh across the table. “What, not blond enough for you Rex’ika?”

Rex glanced at the commander across the table, his brows furrowed as he tried to read the teasing smirk growing on Bacara’s face. Rex was used to teasing remarks about his hair from vod, something that came from naturally standing out when the Kaminoans were usually sticklers for uniformity. Bacara shrugged and leaned in, “Heard you had a little fun with a certain general here a while back.”

Rex’s blood ran cold as he processed Bacara’s words, but he maintained a straight face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Rumour has it you and General Riva got a little bit close on the dance floor,” Bacara shrugged, his eyebrow wiggling as he took a sip from his drink.

“It’s a bar, people dance sometimes.” Rex answered bluntly, his jaw clenching. Beside him he could feel Cody shift, releasing a slight sigh.

“Come on, nothing to be ashamed of Rex’ika,” Bacara teased a flash of white teeth peeking between his beard. “I haven’t worked with General Riva much, but when I have, she was pretty attractive and if you could get with that-“

“He wasn’t getting with that,” Wolffe grunted from the other side of the table. All heads turned to Wolffe; Rex met Wolffe’s for a second before the commander rolled them to meet Bacara’s. “I was there, they were dancing. I know you don’t get enough action to tell the difference, but that’s not ‘getting’ anything.”

Bacara’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Wolffe, flicking his eyes to Rex then back to Wolffe. He huffed and leaned back, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “I heard they made out on the dance floor.”

Wolffe snorted a laugh, “I think Rex’ika had a little too much to drink and got carried away with himself. He could never hold his liquor, isn’t that right, Rex?”

“Yeah,” Rex gritted out, a bit too bitter at first. He dropped the tone and fixed Bacara with a cool gaze and leveled words, “You know how it is when you have one drink too many, one thing can lead to another-“

“Ehh, whatever, I’m just messing with you,” Bacara waved off, already bored with the conversation since it really didn’t give him the information he wanted. “Should’ve known you didn’t have the balls to pull something like that.”

Rex worked his jaw but kept his mouth shut. Wolffe shot Rex a quick glare that simply read ‘you owe me’ while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose before tossing back his drink and returning to the conversation.

Fuck, Talia was the last thing Rex wanted to think of right now. And having his own carelessness flung in his face just stung, a reminder of why things had to end the way they did. How many people were talking?

Rex leaned back in his chair, and even with the group already on to another topic of conversation he still felt eyes on him. Rex glanced up to see Bly carefully watching him, a curious, almost pitying look on his face.  The perk of sharing a face with his brothers meant it was easier to tell the emotions they wore; even though each brother had his own way of expressing himself, a brother could see things on another’s face that natborns could miss. Still, there was no way to really read the thoughts inside Bly’s head, but Rex was suddenly brought back to something else from that last night at 79’s; a conversation with Wolffe about Bly and General Secura. Was Bly staring at Rex so pensively because, even if Rex had brushed it off, Bly had a gut feeling about the truth behind Rex’s denials? Rex wanted to ask Bly if he and Aayla were making it work, how they were making it work? But Rex also knew that he could never ask, and that even if Bly and Aayla were together, the answer would only be complicated. A clone and a Jedi. Two paths that were smooth when walking side by side, but once they crossed the road became rocky.

One drink turned into another, and soon, Rex’s head was foggy and the lights blurred a little bit as he turned his head. The boys got a bit rowdier, and a few of the girls who worked as dancers in the bar had come over to join – Rex wasn’t sure if they had been called over or if it was just such a dead night in the bar they had to resort to a more personal way of attracting clients. After so many years, Rex recognized some of them, and had even had conversations with them on similarly slow nights such as this. But he wasn’t in a chatty mood tonight. Something his brothers didn’t seem to notice or mind, only Cody casting a frown at Rex every now and then.  At one point their voices rose in greeting and Rex’s gaze finally lifted from his focused gaze on the melting ice in his glass, but his stomach turned.

Two figures in Corrie guard red had entered the bar, their footsteps leading them in the direction of the booth as they were hailed. Thire and Fox. He couldn’t stay here.

He mumbled an excuse under his breath and began to slide out of the booth, as he stood, he caught Cody’s eye once more that night. Cody just nodded at Rex, a look of exhaustion on his face. Rex made his way to the bar, on his way passing the guard members; he was sure Fox stopped for a moment, maybe even said his name, but Rex couldn’t hear over the music in the club and the rushing blood in his ears.

Rex slid into a stool at the bar and clenched his fists, trying to steady his breath. He didn’t blame Fox, not really. The only thing he could fault him for was not setting his blasters to stun. Rex knew how things were in the heat of the moment, and he couldn’t begrudge a brother for a judgment call on the field. Hell, he knew Fox was accustomed to grieving a close brother now since the recent events on Scipio and Thorn’s death.  But Rex had a hard time meeting Fox’s eyes, or staying in his presence too long knowing he had been the one to kill Fives.

The last time they were here, he and Fives had been in almost this exact spot, squeezing their way through the throngs to order drinks from the busy bartender. Rex couldn’t remember what they had been talking about, but Rex knew that at some point in the conversation, his eyes had caught on Talia as she stood at a nearby table, chatting with some of her men from the 412th. Her smile was wide, her hair a bit wild and astray from being in the club, her cheeks flushed, and Rex couldn’t take his eyes off her. There had been the comforting warmth in his chest, a soft grin on his lips before he’d been nudged in the gut. Rex straightened and glared at Fives, who was wearing an all too smug smirk. 

“Have you told her yet?” Fives had asked, nodding at the bartender as she handed over his and Rex’s drink. 

“Told her what?” Rex had been confused, not sure what Fives was getting at, grabbing his glass and leaning back against the counter, his eyes once again instinctively flicking to where Talia stood. 

“That you love her,” Fives stated quickly, nuding Rex’s arm once more as his eyes lit up. “That your galaxy revolves around her, you would do anything for her, or something along those lines; that's what they say in the holos anyway.” 

Rex shook his head, ignoring the nervous twist in his gut as he avoided what Fives had pointed out, “Things aren’t as simple as they are in the holos, Fives.” 

Fives rolled his eyes at that, “But what are you waiting for? And, you can’t tell me you don’t because you’re a horrible liar.”

Rex did laugh at that, even if he was annoyed at his brother’s pestering. Rex sipped from his drink, knowing he couldn’t just ignore Fives completely. He fixed his brother with a look and glanced back at Talia, then back to Fives. Rex had known then that Fives was right; time wasn’t something they were graced with, Rex didn’t take it for granted because he had seen too often what time cut short looked like. 

“Fives,” Rex’s voice lowered, a frown creasing on his lips as he fumbled for words. He looked at Talia again as he continued, “If something were to happen to me…if i didn’t…you would keep an eye out for her, right?” 

“Don’t talk like that,” Fives’ grin had disappeared, that determined look he often had falling on his face. “You’re Captain Rex, you're basically invincible.”

“If only,” Rex added in a huff. “Just promise me-”

“I said don’t talk like that,” Fives insisted, he sighed and nodded. “You know I would, but I don’t like to think like that. We’ve lost too much. We’re going to make it out of this mess, and at the end of this you, Tal, and I will probably be back here at 79’s celebrating.”

 Rex had sat at this bar so many times with Fives. Sometimes he drove Rex crazy, but he was also one of the people Rex trusted most in this galaxy. And now Rex couldn’t help but feel like he had failed Fives.

A drink slid in front of him, another whiskey on the rocks and Rex glanced up curiously; a server droid had dropped it off so he couldn’t even clarify that he didn’t order it before someone tapped his shoulder.

“You seem stressed, figured you could use a drink,” the stranger said, a human woman with pale skin, freckles speckled on her nose and kind brown eyes. She had long golden hair, sleek and shiny as it framed her face. Rex nodded in thanks. The woman took the seat next to him, holding her own drink, something bright pink and fruity looking,she held it out, clanking it to Rex’s and took a sip.

Rex sat in silence, watching the replays of a bolo-ball match before she spoke again, “I’m Naobe, by the way.”

“Rex,” he stated, glancing at her again. She was completely facing him, the dip of her neckline showing the curve of her breasts. Rex’s eyes darted back up to her face. She offered him a coy grin.

“So, do you come here a lot, Rex?” Naobe asked, a light giggle in her voice as if she were making a good joke.

“When I’m not shooting clankers,” Rex answered bluntly, something Naobe seemed to find more hilarious than her own comment as she laughed out loud. 

Rex raised a brow at her but was jolted with familiarity. She had a dimple on her left cheek like Talia had. Rex tried to ignore it, the little innocuous detail that probably belonged to half the people in the galaxy, but now he was just flashing back to another moment with Talia, her head bent back and laughing, how she would smile, and that dimple would come out.

Naobe was insistent, continuing to make conversation with Rex and he did warm up; she was friendly, and even without the aid of alcohol he would find her attractive. Maybe that’s why he didn’t care how she shifted closer to him, her foot nudging his, her knuckles grazing the back of his as he held his glass, her hand resting on his shoulder. When the lights of the bar turned brighter, signaling the end of another night she mentioned her place nearby. Rex offered to walk her home; it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

As they go to the apartment doors, she offered to invite him up for another drink. Why not, Rex thought, it’s a long walk back to the barracks anyway. 

In her small apartment, it was clear she had little intention of finishing the drinks she poured for them. Rex didn’t stop her when she straddled his lap, taking her shirt off and leaned down to kiss him. It felt good to touch her, to hold someone. He wanted this. A chance to work out the stress that had been building up. He just had to ignore that strange sense of guilt gnawing at him.

Talia awoke in darkness, the weight of the room enveloping her, the unfamiliar surroundings stealing the air out of her lungs. She lay in bed, her limbs tight and still asleep, her skin clammy as her heart pounded, gasping breaths leaving her body. Slowly her reality came back to her as her eyes adjusted to the shadows in the small room, even without light there was an unnatural glow to the white of the surfaces. She steadied her breath, trying to block out the images tattooed in her mind from her nightmare; the rocks falling in, the flames scorching her skin, the child crying as she tried to hold on, the rain from Turia continuing to pour and seep through the cracks of the rubble.

But the rain pelting against her window wasn’t the constant drizzle of Turia, and the terrain wasn’t the lush forests that bled into mountains. It was the torrential downpour of Kamino, no green or plantlife outside, just the massive waves breaking against the structures of Tipoca City.

Talia slowly pushed herself to sit upright in the small bed, her sheets all messy from her restless sleep. She glanced out the window, watching the streaking water droplets race to the bottom of the rim, her breath calming as she watched the rocking and swaying of the waves. They almost looked like mountains with how high they rose, with the seafoam bursting as the waves broke being their snow caps.

It had to be early dawn, by the eerie glow across the sky from behind the cover of clouds; the grey clouds mingling with the deep blue of the ocean as they met on the horizon. One time, Rex had told Talia that her eyes reminded him of early dawns on Kamino. Talia had never liked her eyes, feeling they weren’t remarkable blues to stand out, but dulled by grayness.  But Rex had made them sound more beautiful and precious than gemstones, telling her how they reminded him of home. Talia shut the blinds and started to get ready for another long day.

The 412th stopped over in Kamino as a convenient stop when they needed repairs, and it gave them a chance to integrate some new troops into their forces. The Kaminoans were eager for Talia to meet with them; they didn’t have a Jedi trainer on Kamino at the moment and it seemed they were hoping the Council would send her to fill the spot Shaak Ti had left vacant when she had returned to Coruscant. But Talia struggled to think of worse scenarios than being trapped on a planet with men who shared the face of the one who broke her heart.

It had been a jolt to the gut, walking down the halls the previous day and hearing his voice echoed along the walls. But to Talia, the worst pain was knowing it wasn’t him; everything felt like a shadow of Rex - close but not quite right. And what hurt her most was how little the Kaminoans seemed to regard the clones when they talked about the future of the army. The Kaminoans clearly saw them just as property, an order they were producing for the Republic. They asked Talia for her thoughts on how the clones acted in battle, had her examine training sessions, she even sat in on an instruction for a group of cadets. Young boys, the age where they should be playing and having fun, sitting in a room staring at screens all day to study warfare. Talia understood the need for training; as a Jedi she had learned how to fight and defend herself from a young age; but there was more to Temple life than just the lessons. There were trips to other planets, holidays at the Temple, and goofing off with the other Padawans; there was fun.

The Council had thankfully been clear with the Kaminoans that Talia wasn’t there to stay, but they had their own plans in mind for her future. Talia had returned to Coruscant after Turia. The 412th had shore leave and it gave Talia a proper time to heal from her injuries. But Talia had had little time to relax, from being summoned to talk with Master Plo about how the Council felt it was a good idea for her to think about training a Padawan. I took every bit of Talia’s restraint to not laugh in the Master’s face; her, with a Padawan? How could she bring a Youngling under her wing and train them with all she knew when it seemed her only knowledge was failure? 

Talia assumed it was the Council trying to prod her into a different direction, give her a sense of maturity like they had done with Anakin when he began to train Ashoka; but look how well that turned out for the parties involved. Master Plo spoke of Talia’s future path in the order, how a Padawan could be a good step for her to continue her own training and eventually become a Master. Plo had always had high hopes for her, yet Talia felt like he was just another person she would let down.

Talia felt stuck. Torn between wanting to withdraw from the war effort because she couldn’t handle the back and forth of victory and death but she was unable to stand by and do nothing. She was too devoted to Storm, to all of her men, to leave them in the hands of another. Sometimes she wondered if she would be better off alone, working as an investigator for the Temple like she had always trained to do, disappearing for months at a time in a position where she had her excuses to ignore the Council’s constant badgering. But the idea of being on her own for too long terrified her; she knew of some Jedi who went years without contacting the Order, who lived in such remote corners of the Galaxy that it was like they didn’t exist. Would that be her future? Or would she train her own Padawan, rising through the Temple hierarchy and potentially sit on the Council one day? What scared Talia most, was how she couldn’t see anything she understood in her path. She was not blessed with keen foresight like the Temple Seers, but she did have visions from time to time.

The ones of Maul were what haunted her the most, but it had been months since she had seen the burning eyes of the Zabrak. She was now thinking Dooku’s taunts were nothing more, some tool he had used against her to try and bring out some sliver of fear in her.  Perhaps what she had thought of as visions were really nothing more than nightmares, her mind playing tricks on her using dark memories of her past. Another dream she had, one that had recurred ever since she was a child was one she couldn’t explain; each time she had it, it came more clear than before, the edges of her mind less blurred, the detail crisper and even though it wasn’t real she couldn’t ignore the sense of foreboding it held.

It always started the same. Talia was floating, up in the air of Coruscant outside the Jedi Council chamber. There was a meeting, but she couldn’t hear what the Masters were saying, their voices muffled and lost to the wind. The sky darkened and one by one each Master faded into shadow until the sky was black, the only light in the room from a blue saber, with a hooded figure wielding it.

Talia never truly understood it, at first looking back and thinking it was a warning sign for the start of the Clone Wars. But she still had it from time to time, the eminent feeling of danger prickling her skin every time she awoke after it, even though the dream itself wasn’t frightening. The only thing she could ever understand from it was that feeling she had of always being on the outside, out of reach for what the Council was planning.

Talia glanced at the chronometer, she had too busy a day ahead of her to dwell on dreams, but still had enough time in her morning for a training session.

One good feature of the Kaminoan facilities was the amount of training rooms. Most were large and sprawling, meant to handle large drills and exercises among the cadets. But a few smaller rooms existed, better meant for close range and hand-to-hand training. Talia knew she could have called Storm in, but she felt he deserved more than to be poisoned by her down mood. Gone was the panicked chill of her dreams; now, a burning anger festered in her body. 

Talia took her wrath out on an innocent punching bag, hitting it until her knuckles were raw, kicking it, and even launching it across the room with the Force in an attempt to channel her rage. What frustrated her the most, and added to the fire, was that she really couldn’t define her irritation by one specific reason. She was frustrated that she had been fighting a war for almost three years now that it seemed no one could win. She was pissed that she had lost more men than she could possibly remember the names of, and that at this moment she was in a facility that cranked out more of them to fill the places left vacant, as if they were replaceable parts of a machine. She was mad at The Council for letting this war go on as long as they did, for getting involved as much as they were, for not seeing it coming in the first place.

The anger cooled with each blow against the bag, but it didn’t cease. It just festered, a chilling wrath that seeped into her bones. Because it wasn’t just anger; Talia was also afraid. She didn’t know what her life would be outside this war. She couldn’t see it; she just saw the clouds of death approaching. That prickling feeling that she would be lost like so many others, another body in the mass grave of lives claimed by this maddening war.

Talia summoned the bag back with the Force, only to smash it back against the wall. She called it, and slammed it away again, each time grunting and letting that cool rage simmer. Faces flashed in her mind; all the men and villagers that were slaughtered by Maul, Sergeant Church before he was gunned down by droids, her Master being shot down on Geonosis by the very template for all the clones she cared about.

Talia screamed, a guttural and anguished yell escaping her as she pulled the bag back to toss it away again, but instead of flying across the room the bag was struck by blue bolts leaving her fingertips. The room glowed from the lightning expelling her body, her arm rigid as the energy surged through her. Talia grunted, forcing her arm back down and the lightning ceased. Her knees hit the cool floor, her other hand lowering to catch her fall as Talia fought to catch her breath, staring at the hand that just shot the lightning.

She hadn’t been able to recreate it since her captivity by Dooku, not that she had tried to; the Council made it very clear that it was forbidden, a power she had only used when channeling the fear and anger inside her. Talia turned her hand over, expecting to see some sign of injury but it looked the same as always, not as if unimaginable power had just struck from it. A power that terrified her. But it felt good to use, to expel that negative energy and rage from her system.

Like the last time, Talia felt a bit weak, but she pushed herself up; the bag was a bit singed but still useable. Talia summoned it back and took her stance; it wouldn’t hurt to practice this a bit more really; no one from the Council was there to know anyway. And a part of her wouldn’t care if they did find out.

—

Next Chapter

IA Taglist:

@djarrex @justanothersadperson93 @paige6768 @saltywintersoldat @clonecyaree @dinner-djarin @whore4rex @raven--queen @swlover2187 @collectoroffics @pinkiemme @twistedstitcher27 @frietiemeloen @a-c-lee @ashotofspotchka @galacticgraffiti @itsagrimm @rexandechosandwich @immortalhdx @thebitchformerlyknownaskenobi @stankferrik @aquaamethyst96 @mavendeb @alwayssnivellus @rain-on-kamino @nyravioppri @staryskyforever @amyroswell @Sailingthehighseas @ilikemymendarkandfictional

[lavender-silk-sheets]

Oh oh OH! I have been obsessed over my silly little guys and I need to get them OUT of my freaking System!!!!! Waaaaaaa!!!!

Okay okay so I'm making a little story and it's all about loss and war and change and the want to go back to some sort of "Normality". Like, how you can make your own normal, even through the chaos. Make a new better normal as long as you try and put the work into it..!

Oh it's so personal to me and it's been such a good outlet for my brain and AHH!! All of those good things and now I just want to show off the too many works of art I've made

Okay okay okay so first I need to go RAHHH about my main gay- I mean guy. (I should probably say now that none of the characters have names yet!! I want to wait a bit so I can give them names with meanings even though there's a chance I miiight not haha!) ANYWAY my deer boy oh how I love him so and his silly little egg shaped head I mean just!! Look at him!!! Ahh!!!

As you'll see soon all the other characters have alt outfits!!! He will soon too but I'm still working on them!!!!! I just finished his drawing for me to add outfits too not that long ago :]

He's got tons of baggage and trauma up his sleeve it's almost funny. Dead dad, dead mom, and he's searching for his lost sister who ends up dead anyway? Poor boy. But it's okay because all of that was caused by a war his soon to be boyfriends dad started wahaha!!

And here's a quick glance at his sister for a moment.. her design is very much subject to change! I think I might change her outfit a bit and tweak a few facial features :]

And now onto her little found family replacement basically! This goober of a computer head is new to emotions and the world. She's just trying to get by while making her own clashing outfits :D

She's still in a bunch of development (as is much of the rest of this world and story!) And at first I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep her! I'm still not sure.. a little worried she'll be in the way. But I imagine her as a sort of comedic relief character.. one that's silly but helps in the story in her own weird way!

Enough about her though.. We MUST talk about the Prince! Another gay who also has trauma! A dead mom, and unfortunately an alive dad who is NOT very supportive or kind in any sense of the word.

His mother was part of the royal DragonKin line (better name still in progress). A family history that arose from two ancient God like creatures, a Dragon and a Demoness, who gave birth to a child adorned with the twos features. As a gift to their kid, they made a whole new race based on his image. EXCEPT none shared his purple hue, for he was the only one allowed to adorn the color. As did his kin and their after. The more purple you are, the higher class you are basically.

MY that was alot and not even on the Prince theirself! He's very talented and well trained in many ways due to his father being a prick. He fights, plays piano, reads all sorts of books for his studies. A very jack of all trades character. Knows alot about what's going on, about war strategies, about why there's a war in the first place. He's a great foil for our main deer boy protagonist who knows NONE of that stuff.

And for a good little end point here's concept sketches for the Princes dad.. Though not true royalty, he's higher class since he was born into a noble knight family. One with high enough statis that once he became head of the gaurd, he was given the opportunity to marry the princess at the time :]

[nuagederose]

As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Thirty-Nine: Avalanche

ao3 link

Christine could hardly keep her composure all day long, especially when she took the drawing out of her black case and began to work a little more on it for the class period. It was wild to her how she had made enough progress on the drawing that she knew she could finish early. All the while, she kept the point of the pencil down to the surface of the paper and she strive to keep the shading in the hair in check.

She ran her fingers through her hair at one point, and she tried her best to think of Chris again, especially when she tried to picture him as an older boy once again. It was nearly impossible as she kept on shading his hair from the roots outward. She slowed down when she saw the two girls across the table from her show her a look of concern about her speed.

The warmth crossed her face right then, and she thought back to her encounter with Alex in the spare room. How she wished to do it again, and with the heavy blanket from the back of his car wrapped around them that time around. The mere thought of being snuggled up next to him was enough to make her feel even warmer than a solo night in her own bed. The heavy blanket around their bodies and her arm around his thick waist, and the mere suggestion brought a slight droop to her eyelids and a tingling sensation between her legs.

The meeting of coziness with the sweetest caresses on that cold wintry day.

Christine leaned back in her chair and rested her pencil on the surface of the table before her, and she looked on at the paper before her. She knew for a fact that she was going to finish early on that drawing, and she wondered if there was any extra credit like in high school. Drawing was without question her easiest class but she remembered all the times she found a way to make extra points for her time.

She sighed through her nose. There had always been that one side to her that yearned for chaos, especially when she thought about her relationship to Alex. The part of her that wanted a mess, that wanted to subvert and wedge between the two planks of normalcy, and the part of her that wanted her to indulge in the apple and bring home the honey when no one was looking. To earn those extra points when the stakes already seemed through the roof for everyone else in the room, and to have her arms around the thick waist of the hot professor when she could feel the pressure from her classmates around her. The mere memory of having lost Chris was enough to drive her as well.

The Sundaes may have been locked into another schedule for the winter, but after the discussion in French literature the day before, she knew that she looked down the thick of an avalanche. It was bad enough that she had Captain Howdy to worry about, but now she worried about more eyes on the sexy bespectacled teacher with the shock of gray in his hair.

Christine returned the tip of her pencil to the paper before her and she began more shading right up until the time ran out for the class period, and she made her way throughout the rest of the day. It was only a few hours, but a few hours would make a world of difference for her, however. If she could make a move on him at some point during the class time, she could perhaps have him all to herself.

She strolled into the classroom, ready to take off her jacket right in front of him as a sort of tease. A means of teasing him right in front of the whole entire class, and with Eric right there with her as well. Alex breezed into the room wrapped in a fitted black sweatshirt with a trio of buttons below his color and baseball sleeves: his black hair seemed to float around his head like the lace from a bunch of willow leaves; the gray streak followed him like a bolt of lightning fanned out from the roots. He rolled up his sleeves which showed off the fine bones in his wrists. It was right then she realized that she hadn’t seen Alex with his wristwatch, and she only just noticed his lack of a phone some time prior to then.

“Yeah, we’re talking some Anaïs Nin today,” he declared with his eyes fixed on Christine. The class behind her fell silent as he plunked open the small, narrow book on the surface of the podium before him. “‘The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, and—‘” He lifted his head and looked on at Christine. “—wine’.”

He took off his glasses and shook his hair about.

“Now you all know why I’m so obsessed with sex,” he joked, and everyone laughed at that. “But in all seriousness, this is how we remember writings, is remembering our roots. Even if I have to be a bit crass about these things.”

“I don’t think it’s crass,” Christine confessed.

“Yeah, it helps us remember everything,” Eric added. “Sex and humor.”

“So, you guys would much rather have someone like me who is just bullshitting most of the time to teach you a thing or two about French literature than someone who makes you write papers all the time,” Alex said with a sly smile on his face. “That actually makes me feel a lot better about myself. This being said—” His expression then turned serious. “—I’m still required to assign you guys a couple of papers.”

“Aw, man,” Christine cracked.

“It’s not going to be hard, trust me,” Alex assured her with a shake of his head.

“It won’t be hard?” a girl two rows behind Eric asked him.

“It won’t be hard at all,” he said with a chuckle. “Basically, just tell me about your week coming up here. You know, take stock of your feelings and thoughts over the day as things happen to you, from the moment you get up to the time you go to bed. Understand, I don’t want your standard ‘First day, I got up. I had breakfast. I went to school’, I don’t want that. I want more of like… how you feel, be it happiness or anger or arousal or tears. I would say the only difficulty is if you never did it before, but that’s about it, I would think. You can do it starting today or tomorrow or Sunday. It’s only five days worth of cataloguing channeled into a paper. You could probably easily get a thousand words out of it. I think that’s more than fair.”

“When is it due?” Eric asked him.

“Next Monday,” Alex replied as he leaned his elbow against the edge of the podium’s top. “‘We write to taste life twice, to live in the moment and in retrospect’, as Nin herself says.” He then tapped his finger on the hard wooden surface. “Sound easy enough?”

“Absolutely!” Christine chirped, and he flashed her a wink.

“And just like that, after five minutes, we’re dismissed,” he proclaimed as he put his glasses back on. He then turned to Christine. “Miss Peck! A word?”

She gasped at that. Eric turned to her with his eyebrows raised and his smile devilish. She packed in her things and then bowed on over to him there at the podium.

“What’s going on?” she asked him, and then he wagged a finger at her.

“Wait for it,” he said to her in a low voice. She turned around to find her classmates filing out of the room to the hall outside: Eric slung his bag over his shoulder and gave his hair a toss back with a flick of his head. He was one of the last ones to leave. Christine returned to Alex.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked him.

“We should go out to breakfast,” he offered her. “You and me.”

“Shall we go to the place not too far from me, down in Queens?”

“We can go there, we can go to… the little place up the street from the school here. You know, I just say because Nelly’s not around right now.”

“So you’re saying you’re feeling a little hungry?” she quipped, and he showed her a playful little smirk.

“I guess you could say that,” he retorted back with a shrug. She looked down at his body, at that black shirt accentuating his belly and the buttons bringing attention to his chest. “You know, I’m just… thinking of Denver omelette for you, a pesto one for me. A cup of coffee. Some fresh fruit, if you know what I mean—”

“I’m in love with you,” she confessed to him, and then she swallowed and shook her head. “No. I can’t believe I said that.”

“Why?” he asked her, taken aback.

“Because…” She paused for a second with her lips pursed, and she knew full well that she had overdone herself.

“Because why?”

“You’re getting married,” she sputtered out.

His face fell as the words left her lips. Christine held her hands upon his shoulders and bowed her head a bit.

“You’re with her,” she added. “I can’t be in love with you when you’re with another woman and you seem madly in love with her instead of me.” She sighed through her nose, and she could feel the tears coming on again. “Sometimes I wonder if you even really do love me because you keep going back to her and you just seem better off without me. She’s better than me in every way possible and she makes you happier than me.”

Christine closed her eyes and bowed her head as she awaited the pain. Instead, she was met with his hands on either side of her face and a kiss on her lips. She opened her eyes to meet with his own, and he brought his face closer to hers. She needn’t have to say anything to him as he let the silence speak for the both of them. He leaned in for another kiss on her lips yet again, a softer touch that brought a curl to her toes.

“If and when Nelly comes back,” he began, that time in that silky tone of voice whereby she knew he was turned on by her, “I am going to ask her for a pie.” He rested his hand on his belly. “And I’m going to get nice and full all for you. If anything, because it’s winter time, I’ll gain a little weight back. I could use the extra pounds, anyway, it’s been getting cold at my place and I feel like I need to be nourished.”

Christine massaged his shoulders again. “But what about your health?” she asked him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “If anything, I was actually at my healthiest when my belly was a little bit bigger. I felt very full and strong, like I could do anything. I feel a little bit weaker than I used to. I really want to eat all the pies for you, Christine Sixteen. All the pies and all the food. Every last morsel of it.”

“You’re going to get so fat, though,” she said with a chuckle.

“That’s kind of the point, though,” he assured her with a gentle massage of his belly. “I’m going to get a big belly.”

“Be nice—warm—and very soft,” she declared, and she put her arms around his waist to feel him. “And really sexy.”

“I think it’s so cute that you think I’m sexy with a big belly,” he confessed.

“You just look so… round and warm and sweet,” she sputtered. “Like your voice.”

“Like my voice?”

“Just like this sensual voice of yours.”

She moved in closer to her with her chest up against his own; she then reached for her zipper pull just under her shirt collar and gave it a tug down. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of her snug white sweatshirt underneath her jacket: it was white to show off the outline of her bra once she unzipped down below her chest.

“Yeah, I noticed that you’re very sensual, dear Christine,” he remarked. “Drinking wine, hanging out with boys, loving to eat, making all kinds of art when you believed you didn’t have it in you—” He shifted his weight and looked down at her arms around his waist. “—loving every inch of my body.”

“Your mind, too,” she added as she pressed her lips to the side of his neck.

“You’re feeling pretty good after that, aren’t you,” he quipped.

“Oh, you bet.” Christine held back to look into his face and rest a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat inside of there. “Wanting to kiss you, be close to you, hold you, kiss you some more, love you… wanting to cozy up next to you under the covers.”

“Ooh, yeah,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows at her. “That sounds really good. Maybe a… little extra lovin’ in there, too?”

“Of course! I’ll hold you and give you all the softness and tenderness that you could only dream of before, all night long.”

“And I will give you all the things, all the love that you never had before, all of it from the very depths of my own broken heart and the pit of my belly.” She moved in for the kiss on his lips, and he staggered back to the chalkboard behind him. Christine never moved her arms away from his waist, and she never moved her lips from his own, that is until she placed a hand on his belly to feel the gentle curve there.

“So full. So gorgeous.”

“Goddamn, you’re so cute,” he breathed back to her, and he slipped his fingers into her hair at the back of her head. Those long and lanky fingers entwined in her roots as if he dug for gold within the midst of her head. His lips were soft, his chest was warm, his belly served as a pillow, and his entire body found its communion with her own.

“I wish I was yours,” he confessed to her in a soft whisper.

“You kind of are at this point,” Christine breathed into his lips before she indulged in another tender caress on his cherry skin. Alex leaned his head back for a look into her eyes: a piece of hair fell onto the side of his face to accentuate the handsome shape as well as the color of his eyes. It helped matters that the blackboard behind them had slight smears of white chalk here and there as well.

“I really am yours,” he whispered to her. “I’m yours forever. I am yours forever, dear Christine. I may go off to a marriage in the arms of a different woman but I am yours forever.” She ran her fingers through his hair before she gave him another kiss on the lips, a heartier one that time around, one that coaxed a gentle groan from him.

“So good, so good…” He kept his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, and she knew she had him in the palm of her hand.

“By the way, should I account this for the paper?” she asked him, and he opened his eyes at the sound of that.

“If you’d like,” he assured her. “It is eroticism, so I would reckon that it counts as part of your documenting.” Christine gave him another long kiss, and with a little bit of tongue mixed in there to seal the deal between them.

“Phew.” Alex nudged the stray lock of hair back from his face all so she could see the slight blush in his skin. “Sexy. Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

“From kissing you,” she replied with a stroke of her finger down his chest. He showed her a little smile and a nudge of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, shit,” he then groaned, and he bowed his head.

“What’s the matter?”

“I have band rehearsal tonight,” he said. “I have to be there in about thirty minutes.”

“Better get moving,” she insisted with a light tap of the tip of his nose. He leaned in for another kiss for her before he moved on over to the desk for his book bag and his jacket. Christine zipped up her jacket and picked up her things; the two of them walked on out together.

“I’ll catch you later, baby,” she told him, and he blew her a kiss and gave her a wink before he walked at a fast clip up the hallway. Christine watched him go all the way to the very end, and then she turned and headed the other way. She had plenty of time before she had to head on over to the bus stop for the ride home, and thus, she figured to head on over to the library for a while.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention, and she turned to find a small black knit cap as well as a head of black hair right behind her.

“Valentina,” she proclaimed.

“Oh, Valentina!” Christine threw her arms around her and held her close to her. “Wow, it’s been a while, how are you?”

“Busy as hell, let me tell you,” she said as she adjusted the left strap on her backpack. “Sabrina and I have been up to our eyeballs in homework, and Marlene and Colette have been working among other things. How have you been?”

“I’ve been hanging out and making art,” Christine replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“I saw you and Alex in front of the classroom door,” Valentina pointed out with a little smile on her face. “How are, uh… the two of you doing?”

“Passionate,” Christine replied. “He’s teaching French literature now, if you can believe that. It’s been very hot with him there lately.”

“Something warm to keep you warm during these cold winter nights, I see,” Valentina quipped with a flash of her eyebrows. “Oh! I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“Nelly’s been locked in her apartment for almost two weeks,” she said. “I tried to visit her yesterday and her doorman said she hasn’t left since the third. There’s a ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging off her doorknob. Even he doesn’t know what’s happening with her.”

“She could probably leave her place after he clocks out,” Christine suggested. “You know, to do some grocery shopping or what have you.”

“Also, I bumped into… what’s her name, she’s with Alex.”

“Oh, really?” Christine raised her eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, I ran into her a few nights ago at the fruit stand not too far from Nelly’s place. I went there after I visited her, and I ran into her at the fruit stand. She was rather standoffish so I never got to talk to her face-to-face.”

“How’d you know it was her?”

“She mentioned Alex’s name to the clerk. I didn’t hear everything she said, I just heard his name coming out of her mouth. Who the hell does that?”

“Probably does it to get a discount on fruit.” As the words left Christine’s lips, the warm wonderful feeling inside faded out. She faced on the ultimate mission to take Alex for herself from thence forth.

“That’s a weird thing to do, though,” Valentina pointed out. “I never heard of a discount on fruit before because of a relationship. And if there is something like that at that fruit stand, it doesn’t seem fair to him, either, like she’s taking advantage of something from him.”

“Taking advantage of him,” Christine muttered under her breath.

“Even if it is fruit, it’s food, it should be his,” Valentina continued.

“The fruit stand by Nelly’s place?” Christine stopped her.

“Yeah.”

“What was she even doing there, I wonder? Especially when he lives over in Brooklyn, over by me.”

“You know, come to think of it, that is weird,” Valentina remarked. “There’s a bunch of them down there.”

“I should ask, are you going home any time soon?” Christine then asked her as the thought crossed through her mind faster than the zipper on her coat.

“Um, yeah, I have to pick up something over at the bookstore and then I go home. I live up in the Upper West Side, hence why I saw her there.”

“Oh, excellent! Maybe we could swing by Nelly’s place and see if she saw her at the stand at all.”

“I don’t know, like I said, she hasn’t come out of her place in a long time. She might not want visitors for all we know.”

“It would be worth a shot, though,” Christine pointed out. “I could go to her apartment and try and get her out of there for us.”

“Well, you’re in luck, Chris,” Valentina assured her. “I can call you Chris, right?”

“Oh, yeah! Eric and Nelly both call me Chris all the time.”

“Good, good, good. Anyway, I brought my car to school and we can hitch a ride up to her place together. Although… what’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll take the subway,” Christine insisted.

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Val, I’m a New York girl—I’ve been taking the subways solo since I was fourteen and I’m almost thirty.” She resisted the urge to mention Chris right then as she needn’t Valentina to know about her story yet.

“Wow, that’s longer than I have, I’ve been riding them since I was fifteen, and I’m only eighteen.”

“You’re eighteen, really?” Christine asked her with a sly smile.

“Yeah, Sabrina and I are fresh out of high school. Colette’s been everywhere and Marlene’s the old lady at thirty-eight.”

“Colette’s been everywhere?”

“Navy brat,” Valentina explained as the two of them started walking towards the doors at the end of the hallway. “She was born in Juneau, Alaska, believe it or not. Her family moved to Tokyo, then to the Philippines, then to Denmark, then to Britain, then to Canada, then San Francisco when she was like ten, I think. Her parents transferred to Connecticut before she started high school and now they live in New York.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, she speaks like seven languages, and she grew up surrounded by military people, so—you know. Smart and tough.”

“What languages?”

“Uh, Japanese, Tagalog, French, German, Danish, English, and I think it’s… Yup’ik? One of the Alaskan dialects. I remember her telling me that one was the first language she learned, followed by Japanese and Tagalog. She didn’t learn English until she was like seven years old when they lived in England and Canada.”

Christine thought about Captain Howdy and all that she had accomplished in life. As far as she knew, she had nothing on Colette. Valentina held the door for her and they trekked out to the snow and towards the bookstore; Christine held the door for her that time, and they ducked inside together.

“So what do you have to get?” Christine asked her in a low voice once the door behind them.

“I have to get a journal for one of my writing classes and I really don’t feel like going to the stationery place clear across town.”

“Don’t blame ya.” Valentina ducked over to the row before them in search of the notebooks and journals, and it was right then Christine remembered assignment for French literature: she wondered if that would help her with the paper given she never really had any chances to audit her feelings to of that extent. She followed her over to the shelves, where she spotted the blue leather bound book in the shelf right in front of her face. She picked it off the top only to find that it was that familiar robin’s egg blue, the same color as Nelly’s car and the same car in that dream about the accident. Valentina meanwhile took a dark red one for herself, the same color of red wine.

They checked out together and walked on over to Valentina’s car, a cute black car that looked brand new: as they came closer, Christine saw that it was actually a rich dark pink color rather than solid black.

“Sweet little ride here,” she remarked as she climbed into the passenger seat first.

“This is actually my first car,” Valentina explained as she closed the door behind her. “I got this baby right when I got my license. My dad, my grandpa, my aunt, and my uncle all promised to find me a car once I passed my test, and grandpa found this one for me.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Christine noted.

“It really is!” Valentina started up the car, which fired up in almost complete silence. “I’m his only granddaughter so he likes to spoil me.”

“Only granddaughter, really?”

“Yeah. We’re a big Ukrainian and Romanian family, too, so… imagine of all the grandchildren, there’s me.”

“How many grandchildren?” Christine asked her as they eased over to the street.

“I’m thinking… around twenty.”

“Oh my god.” Christine chuckled at the sound of that.

“There’s me and my three brothers, my uncle Yuri has six sons, my aunt Adriana has two of her own and two stepsons, my uncle Adrian has four sons, my uncle George has four of his own and a stepson, and my aunt Sonia is the only one without kids. She and I are the radical ones.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“Nah. Too much work. Big family, even I have a hard time keeping track of everyone, especially when I have an uncle Adrian, an aunt Adriana, and a cousin Adrian by my uncle Yuri.”

“I feel you,” Christine said with a chuckle. “I’m starting to get too old for that, anyway.”

“That’s what Marlene said,” Valentina pointed out as they pulled up to a stoplight. “She turned thirty-three and believed she was too old. Then she had twin girls within a couple of years. Happened to my aunt Jillian, too, my uncle Yuri’s wife. They got married when she was twenty-eight, and they wound up having six boys before she turned forty.”

“Wow. So… be careful in how I go about with Alex is what you’re saying.”

“Exactly, yeah! No idea what his plan is, but… tread carefully. There are a lot of girls with their eye on him and the way his pants are fitted, too.”

“Oh, definitely,” Christine said with a sigh.

The light turned green and they rolled ahead to the heart of town. Valentina merged over to the left for the next turn and ultimately, the trek up to the Upper West Side.

“At least we’re not Sabrina’s family,” she started up again.

“Big one, too?” Christine asked her.

“Not really. She’s got only three cousins, but it’s more… dysfunction. She and her brother don’t talk, her mother fucked off to nowhere’s-ville some time ago, and her aunt and uncle want nothing to do with her. She only has a relationship with her dad and her grandmother, the former of whom works long hours so she doesn’t see him often.”

“So it’s just her and her grandma,” Christine said in a soft voice.

“Her sister, too, I remember she also has a twelve-year-old sister. I’ve never met her, though: Sabrina doesn’t like bringing people home. Can’t blame her, honestly. I have met her grandmother, though: she’s a very sweet lady who always wants to make bread. The couple of times I’ve been over there, it smelled like fresh bread.”

“Do you know why there’s dysfunction at all?”

“She explained it to me at one point. Something about her dad bringing home the bacon to of great extent and her mom using his money to spoil herself and the kids—you know, the whole ‘rich housewife’ nonsense. Her brother was tired of it so he left home at seventeen. Her dad found out what was happening and broke it off with her. I guess it all just went to her head because she left with all the money and without Sabrina and her sister. No idea what’s going on with her aunt and uncle, though.”

“Wow.”

Valentina then cleared her throat. “The four of us just met and we became friends almost immediately. The big family with the traveling family, the late family, and the broken family. We all came together that way.” She made the turn and took to the middle lane of the street for the time being.

“What about you? What’s your story?”

“You wanna know?” Christine asked her.

“It’s going to be some fifteen minutes before we reach Nelly’s place.” Valentina turned to her and shrugged her shoulders. “May as well.”

Christine sighed through her nose and clutched at the lapels of her jacket even though the car was warm and dry.

“Well, my parents are both recovering alcoholics, more so my dad—he actually overdosed on morphine a few months back.”

“Oh, my god!” Valentina gasped at that.

“Yeah, that was uh… that was scary.”

“Are they still together?”

“No, they divorced when I was in high school. I live across the hall from my mom and he lives down by Coney Island. I’m recovering from an eating disorder and horrible mental problems. I lost my best friend when I was thirteen, and I have no doubt that contributed to my problems. He died in a car accident.”

“Oh, man. That’s horrible.”

“I was telling Eric and Nelly about this, too: I actually had feelings for him, and they were real. I was never able to tell him.”

“Does Alex know?”

“No, and I keep forgetting to tell him, too. I have no doubt that it could deepen our relationship, and Nelly is always trying to get me to tell him.”

Valentina paused for a moment as the traffic motored ahead to the next block up. She then merged over to the right lane and took the turn first before a few taxi cabs did just that.

“Do you think Nelly acting weird as something to do with that?” she finally asked.

“It’s not a bad guess, but we won’t know until I ask her.”

They fell into silence again, that time for much longer as the streets buzzed on by through the snow and the frost on the windshield.

“What was his name?” Valentina finally asked as the fruit stand entered their view.

“Chris. My dad would call us ‘the Chrises’.” Valentina chuckled at that. 

“Chris Pereira,” Christine added, and Valentina gasped and looked on at her with her eyebrows raised.

“Another Jewish boy!”

“Yeah. He was the love of my life before Alex. To this day, I’m sure of that. It’s funny because I actually don’t remember most of that period or the time thereafter. I’m trying to remember, though. I want to remember, Valentina.”

“And I reckon you’ll be able to once you meet up with Nelly,” Valentina assured her as she rounded the corner, and Christine was met with the playground across the street, now blanketed in snow. “Tell you what. I’ll wait here for you and let you go and talk to her. It’s just the Romanian in me but I don’t want you to be alone.”

Christine smiled at that. “Thanks, that’s—really sweet of you. I don’t think I ever met anyone that kind.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here,” Valentina promised her. Christine closed the door and made her way up to the front door where the doorman Jasper awaited on the other side. She ducked inside and turned her attention to him,

“Here to see Nelly?” he asked her as he held the door for her.

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a nod.

“I haven’t seen her in nearly a week,” he confessed. “But have at it, though, young lady.”

She showed him a smile. “Thank you.”

She kept on going towards the elevator and made her way up to Nelly’s apartment. A pit emerged in her stomach as she walked on to the door. She stood before those solid wooden panels with her hands tucked into her pockets.

All she wanted to do was check on her, especially when she hadn’t been to the school, not since that night at the cemetery.

Christine sighed and knocked on the door panel.

“Nelly? It’s Christine. Are you home?”

Silence. She nibbled on her bottom lip and tried again.

“Nelly?”

She thought about the fact that Nelly lied about taking her to the cemetery, and when she had no desire to do such a thing at such a late hour. That alone was enough to bestow her the force she needed.

“Nelly!” She knocked on the door again, this time with her open palm, only to be met with more silence. Christine smacked on the panel another three times. “Nelly! Are you home?”

Something caught her eye. She glanced down to find a small piece of paper right before her feet, as if Nelly had slid a piece of a receipt to her. She stooped down for it and read the other side.

“‘Sign him the truth, Christine.’” She turned her head to the door once again. “I’m confused. Sign what? And who are you talking about?” She smacked the door panel again with her open palm. “Nelly! Sign what? What is going on? What are you doing?” More silence. 

Christine looked down at the piece of paper in her hands and sighed through her nose. She looked on at the door panels, to which she knew that Nelly was on the other side there with her arms folded.

“Sign what exactly?” Christine repeated, that time in a lower voice. She tucked the paper into her jeans pocket and straightened her coat. She once again looked back at the door: the only thing that separated her from Nelly’s feathery blonde hair was a single panel of wood. She tugged her hood over her head and walked on to the end of the hallway. When she returned to the front lobby, she spotted Valentina’s car still parked outside under a veil of falling snow and she tugged on the edges of her hood to keep it in place.

Jasper awaited her at the doorway. “Nothing?”

And she shook her head. “Nah, she slid a piece of paper under the door for me, but that’s about it,” she replied, and she fetched up a sigh. “I thought I understood Nelly. You know, she knows everyone in my school and she helped me find the right track of my relationship.” Christine hesitated and glanced back to the stairway. “She’s my friend. She’s my friend and I’m worried about her.”

“I would think every single one of us are worried about her, young lady—what did you say your name was?”

“Didn’t. It’s Christine.”

“Yeah, I would imagine a number of people worry about her, Christine. Keep trying, though. That’s all I can say.” He held the door for her.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod of her head and a sigh through her nose. She returned to Valentina and the dry safety of her car. She thought of offering Valentina some of the strawberries from the morning earlier once she showed up at her place.

If only she could say something to Alex. If only she could say something to Chris.

[thislovintime]

Photo 2: from an old eBay listing, an advertisement for a National Conference on New Politics mass rally at the L.A. Sports Arena on February 2, 1968; featuring appearances by Nina Simone, Steppenwolf — and Peter Tork.

“I won't go nearly so far as to say that everything that came up in the 60's was valid, but as far as I'm concerned, the 60's were to what will come as Greece was to democracy. Remember that in the 60's the political officeholders had lost all touch with the needs of the nation...kind of like the Bush administration now.  Back then the voice of the establishment, Life magazine, was discovered to have doctored photos falsely indicating that LSD caused chromosomal damage. That proved what we (then) kids already knew: that those at the top preached fair play and honesty, but had no more need to honor those concepts than what would give them the next dollar without too much trouble. We saw perfectly clearly that we were on our own, that no one in authority cared about us. Now, like any bunch of kids left to their own devices, some, many, went off the rails. Every false step by somebody walking around under the cloak of the liberal hippy 60's was used as a pretext for dissing the entire generation. Those of us who were truly interested in liberty, fraternity and equality, however, knew we were onto something good and real. What had been called democracy was, and to some extent still is, a pretext for wrapping the will of the greedy and aggressive in a mantle of public acquiescence. Now, the business of wresting power away from those who make a specialty of wielding it will be a long and protracted struggle, with a lot of setbacks along the way. The outlines of the new style of governance are only dimly perceivable, and won't become clear for a long time to come. In the meantime, our job is to practice the principles of fairness and service to the extent possible. One thing is clear: there is a much higher joy in service than there is in acquisition of wealth. (Remember that it isn't money that's the root of all evil, it's the love of money.)  Hanging together in brother - and sisterhood is so happy-making you want to sing right out loud. Yeah, I feel the same about those ideas as I did then...in case you couldn't tell. heheheh, Peter” - Ask Peter Tork

“I believe very much in all that I believed in back in the 60’s. I hope I’m more aware of the practicalities than I was then, but I am positive that the values and principles I held then are critical to the well-being of the planet, or at the very least, critical to growth and contentment in the population. As to the practicalities: the chance of no more war in our lifetimes is so close to zero that I don’t imagine it possible, tho’ there well may be progress along these lines. May be. Sometimes I see the world as an eternal horse race between salvation and dissolution, now one, and now the other gaining the lead. But to the extent that we can learn, each and all of us, that the cooperative good is good for the greatest individual good (with safeguards, to be sure), that forgiveness is the route to true inner peace, and that not everything we deem wrong or bad may be so, to that extent hassles of all shapes, sizes and colors will diminish. I am so sure of all this that I would, I hope, be willing to bet my life on these principles." - Peter Tork, Ask Peter Tork, 2009