#got it right after emulating her “Yeah!!!!!!!!” drawing

[tsyllaes]

Drawn from a footballer who very obviously had a mouthguard in so I tried to make that not happen when I was drawing him and now I think his top lip is too pulled in. Oh well. I otherwise like his gritty look.

NAME Jed WHO IS THIS PERSON Thiras' estranged husband GENDER Male AGE 40

Jed and Thiras married when Thiras was 19, after she and her mother joined his crew in the search for a wind witch to teach Thiras. Jed's ship had such a wind witch, meaning it's a pretty snazzy ship, because wind witches can pick and choose where they crew and of course they're going to pick the best. She fell in love with Jed as a teenager, because he's hot, then they got married and had a daughter, Kesi, who you'll meet in a sec.

After nine years of marriage, Thiras told Jed and Kesi she was a bastard, but stopped short of telling them who her father was because she could tell things were going poorly. Jed of course told his captain, and the ship dropped Thiras and her mother at Ni-Badra never to see them again.

Jed regrets this every day, cos Thiras is frigging awesome and to abandon her just cos she was a bastard… yeah, he regrets it, but he's not man enough to look for her and try and repair things. It wouldn't take much to track her down--she was in Ni-Badra for a couple of years, and has been in Ryas for the last five years, and she doesn't make a point of hiding, but nope. Can't do it.He'll still keep wearing his short bandana and show hair in her memory, tho.

Head tilted back and a toothy grin? Why would I do this to myself? She came out all right, though, I think. Jaw a bit wonky but I'm happy with her eyes and mouth. I was debating whether to draw Kesi as the teenager she is, or the 7-year-old Thiras left behind. Just in case I do anything with either of these two, tho, I decided to draw her currently.

NAME Kesi WHO IS THIS PERSON Thiras' estranged daughter GENDER Female AGE 17

Kesi thought her mum was the absolute coolest when she was a kid, emulating her with her sense of style (as much as Tsaythis have style) by growing her hair into dreadlocks. Thiras did a good job of teaching her being a bastard doesn't change people at all, so Kesi was always kind to those on-shore but cultural bias is hard to shake and she still felt like they were inferior. When Thiras spilled the beans and admitted to Jed and Kesi that she was a bastard herself, Kesi didn't understand why her mum--and her Nanna--had to leave the ship.

After Thiras had left, Jed explained it wasn't so much about her being a bastard, but more about how Thiras had lied. As Kesi grew up, that stuck with her and morphed into her thinking all those life lessons Thiras had taught her, about bastards being fine, actually, was all just Thiras protecting her own skin. She still carries those lessons and is still nice to the people on-shore, cos they're not lying about who they are, but she does feel betrayed by her mother. That said, she keeps the dreads, just in case Thiras might recognise her some day and Kesi can show her a piece of her mind.

[lokiondisneyplus]

Richard E. Grant has been in so many notable franchises that it's easy to forget him making multi-episode appearances on Doctor Who and Game of Thrones. But it's highly unlikely anyone will forget the Oscar-nominated actor's turn as Classic Loki in Disney+'s Loki, from his exquisite costume meant to emulate the Silver Age of the comics to his big heroic moment in Episode 5, "Journey Into Mystery."

As a variant of Loki (Tom Hiddleston), Classic Loki is meant to be similar but different from the "mischievous scamp" in key ways, and in a one-on-one interview with Collider, Grant explained how that fact, as well as a key bit of the script, affected his performance. He also revealed how he and Hiddleston had talked about potentially working together in the past (in, admittedly, a very different capacity), and his pitch for a Loki spin-off that I think we can all agree is an instant greenlight.

Collider: To start things off, what does it mean to join the MCU in this capacity? Is this something you've been looking forward to?

RICHARD E. GRANT: Oh yeah. I'd had experience because I was in Logan about five years ago, so I'd had a taste of what this is, but Tom Hiddleston has said to me, he said, "You know, I think that when people see Classic Loki there's going to be a big response." I thought that he was just blowing smoke up my fundament on the first day to make me feel better about coming into work for one episode, Episode 5, after they'd be doing it for practically a year before. Then I saw my Instagram and Twitter feed and the reviews that came out last Wednesday and I realized that he saw into the crystal ball in a way that I didn't. So Tom was right and I stand gleefully corrected.

Did they tell you anything about the costume before you signed up?

GRANT: Yeah. They sent me the costume design with my face on it. It was the classic Loki of the Jack Kirby illustrations of the '60s and it was a fantastic muscle suit. As you can see, I'm born without any. When I got to Atlanta and I said, "So where's the muscle suit that I get into before I get into the green tights?" They said, "What muscle suit?" And I said, "Well, like the drawings." They said, "No. We don't have one for you." And I said, "Well, I don't have any muscles to fill this out." And they said, "Ah, don't worry about that." And I said, "I do worry about that." And I'm still worrying about that and I'm still grouching about it because I wanted those muscles.

I think you look lovely.

GRANT: Thank you.

But I love the fact that they sent you the costume design. Recently, I talked to Kate Herron and she said that you were their first choice for the role.

GRANT: Wow. I didn't know that.

Does that surprise you, at this point in your career — that you would be the first choice on somebody's list?

GRANT: It always surprises me, but what didn't surprise me is that I had... Because I've known Tom Hiddleston socially and from his career and I'd seen him backstage at the theater and things over the decades, we'd always joked about playing father and son, because of our vague similarity in the way that we look. So, when I saw that I thought, "Oh, I've been cast because I have a similar physique or look to Tom." So that's what I thought, but I had no idea. Kate didn't tell me that I was her first choice. People never tell you this stuff. Maybe they think you're going to get too above yourself, but I don't know. I wish people would tell you. I'd love to hear, so thank you for telling me that.

You're welcome. I mean, she called you their north star.

GRANT: Aw. Thank you. She was a delight to work with.

Was there anything specifically Loki-ish that you were trying to incorporate into the performance?

GRANT: I knew that rather than Tom Hiddleston's God of Mischief, [Classic Loki] has this line explaining his past that he is the God of Outcasts, and has been so lonely and isolated on this planet, and is willing to be arrested by the TVA in order to get back in contact with his brother, and to sacrifice himself ultimately to Asgard, I thought that was a way into the character that was not trying to imitate, because I couldn't hope to, what Tom does so brilliantly and has done for over a decade now. So I thought that was the way into doing it.

Looking over your career, you've gotten to be a part of a lot of really exciting franchises, including Doctor Who and Star Wars. Is there anything else on your bucket list? Are there other franchises, and/or other fantasy costumes you want to wear?

GRANT: Classic old Loki with muscles and Alligator-dot-com, the subseries of the sub-sub-sub series. That's what I want.

Given the audience reaction to Alligator Loki, I think that there would be a fan base for that.

GRANT: Yeah and classic Loki is the only one that can talk to him and understand him. It's a given. It's a scriptwriter's dream. Get it done.

The season finale of Loki premieres Wednesdays on Disney+.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Please do 61 with Ransom.

61) “If you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.”

Hmmm, more OTP for all you lovely hoes! You nonnies just keep lobbing em right at me.

This ended up sparking something in me and I ended up writing a full length fic about more escapades with the asshole bunch.

Tagging my babes @chrissquares @stargazingfangirl18 (I’m targeting you a little with this one Siri cuz lacrosse Ransom is def wearing Fila) @subtlebucky @egcdeath

Quick, dirty, outdoor smut!!! No minors!!!

You and Ransom had decided to meet at the park with the other couples in his little asshole group of friends.

It was finally starting to warm up some, and when the boys had brought up getting out the sticks for some lacrosse you had jumped on it. Ransom didn’t have the balls to tell you it was really just a guy thing, you looked so excited about it.

He parked the beemer at the park entrance and grinned when he saw your Volvo already there. He grabbed his sticks and the cooler full of beer from the trunk and headed towards the field where he saw the rest of you gathered.

He groaned as he drew closer and finally got a good look at you as you waved at him. You looked like a preppy dream in a polo shirt and tiny shorts, a headband around your forehead and knee high socks under your cleats.

“Hey baby!” You said giddily as you ran towards him with your stick slung over your shoulders. “Can you believe I still fit in my high school uniform?”

“I think you’re taking this a little too seriously sweetheart.” He grinned, dropping the cooler and catching you when you jumped into his arms and pressed your lips to his with a satisfied hum.

“Says the man who showed up wearing his letterman’s jacket.” You teased as you hopped down and helped him carry the cooler the rest of the way.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.” He purred in your ear as you set down the cooler, wrapping his stick around your back and drawing you close.

“Ha! I’m not playing lacrosse in pants, Hugh!” You said with a shake of your head. “But keep that in mind for later. Can you believe none of the other girls brought sticks?”

“Honey, none of them play lacrosse.” He chided as he watched you stretch.

“Well then what’s the point of... oh goddamn it!” You rolled your eyes as you stood up. “This was supposed to be another boy’s outing where I sit with the other girls and get wine drunk wasn’t it? Don’t answer that! Chauvinist assholes...”

He just chuckled as he watched you mutter to yourself angrily, grabbing your extra sticks and storming off towards the other girls, gesturing wildly as you tried to go over the basics with them.

“So, the girls are playing then?” Dylan asked as he came to stand by Ransom, grabbing an IPA from the cooler and taking a gulp.

“Sure seems that way.” Ran answered as he watched you shove a stick at Lexi and make a throwing motion that she tried to emulate feebly.

“Is this gonna be another day of your girlfriend showing us all up, Drysdale?” Chaz asked as he joined the two of them, chuckling as they tried to figure out exactly what you were trying to instruct the girls on now. “Cuz I don’t think my ego can take it.”

“I dunno what to tell you man.” Ran said with a shrug, grabbing himself a beer and drinking deep. “Quit inviting us to this shit if you don’t want her to hand your ass back to you.”

“Alright douchebags, lets play some lacrosse!” You screamed at them, a massive grin splitting your face.

“I can’t decide if having her on my team or playing against her will be worse.” Logan groaned as the four men walked towards the field apprehensively.

“Alright, should we split this up by couples or what?” Dylan asked as Lexi moved to stand next to him.

“Sounds good to me.” You beamed.

“Great, so Y/N, Ran , Chaz and Brit, you guys can play together and me, Jess, Logan, and Lex will be the other team. Girls play defense.”

“Sounds good.” Ran said fast before you had a chance to start an argument, guiding you away from the center of the field quickly.

“But I play attack, babe.” You whined as he walked next to you and stopped in front of the goal.

“Yeah, I think that you playing attack might be a little too much all at once sweetie.” He said with a shrug as he moved to middle position. “Just channel that frustration babe, you’ll do great!”

You just chewed on your lip as you watched Logan and Chaz grapple for the ball. Logan won out, barreling over Chaz and spinning past Ran like a pro. You smirked as you pivoted towards him, bracing yourself as you charged each other.

He shifted his weight to spin around you and you grinned before full body checking him, ripping the stick out of his hand and helicoptering it out of his grip as you tossed him over your shoulder. You scooped the ball up and lobbed it to Ransom as you sprinted up the field. He passed it back to you when Dylan tried to take him down and you snatched it out of the air before diving around a confused looking Lexi and chucking the ball at the net, grinning when it sailed past Jess for a point.

“Goddamn it!” Dylan groaned as you jogged past him back to your position, giving Ransom a celebratory high five that he followed up with a smack on the ass as he grinned at you.

Logan was still trying to stand up as you returned to your defensive position, glaring at you as he ran a hand through his hair.

“How the fuck was that not a foul?!” He seethed at you.

“A foul?!” You shouted with an air of disdain. “Don’t be a pussy Van Doren! You bring that weak shit to my house and I’m serving it right back to you! Right babe?”

“That’s right babe!” Ran shouted back to you as he shrugged apologetically at Logan when he stalked past him.

The rest of the game went about the same, you hardly let anyone past and Logan flinched so bad every time you got near him it was easy for your team to dominate. Dylan finally called a stop after an hour, he and Logan covered in dirt and bruises from the rough play.

“That’s it, we’re done. I need a fucking drink.” He huffed as he dragged himself off the field, Lexi bouncing next to him excitedly. Apparently, one of the things you had been teaching the girls was how to hit, and she had cracked Chaz and Ransom a couple of times. You grinned and congratulated her and the other girls on a game well played as you moved to grab a porter from the cooler.

“Jesus Christ, Drysdale. That woman is a damn menace.” Logan groaned as he grabbed a bag of ice and pressed it against his ribs.

“Yeah, how the fuck do you keep up with her?” Chaz asked, shaking his head as sipped his lager. “She’s barely sweating.”

“I don’t even know man.” He said with a shrug, gasping for air as he chugged his IPA. “She’s a fucking pistol.”

“Not the word I’d use but whatever.” Logan said, annoyed at you two.

“Shut up, L, you’re just pissed she beat the shit out of you.” Dylan said with a grin. “Where you going, Ran?”

“Gotta take a leak!” Ransom lied as he jerked his head towards the trees suggestively after making eye contact with you.

“Scuse me gals, I gotta help Hugh with something.” You said around a grin after chugging the rest of your beer.

“Jesus, you two will do it anywhere, huh?” Brittney said with an eye roll.

You just shrugged at her as you jogged after Ransom towards the small clutch of pines.

Ransom grabbed you around your waist and swung you off your feet when you reached him, making you squeal before he smashed his lips against yours.

“You were amazing.” He purred as he pressed you up against a tree, running his lips up and down your throat and making you whine.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking legend babe. I told you.” You muttered around a grin. “Did you see those hits I landed?”

“Mmhm, sure did.” He mumbled, nipping at the hollow behind your ear that he knew drove you crazy as his hips ground against you.

“You ever eat a legend’s pussy, Hugh?” You teased, starting to shove his head down between your legs.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Y/N!” He whined as you forced him to his knees. “I was kinda hoping we could both get something out of this.”

“Sorry babe, middle gets whatever attack says they get.” You said with a shrug as you slid your shorts off and hooked your leg over his shoulder. “Make me come with that pretty mouth and maybe I’ll let you get your dick wet.”

“Bitch.” He murmured as he started brushing his lips over your inner thigh, no real malice in his tone as he gazed at you through his lashes.

“That’s right Hugh, I’m the fucking bitch. Now lick it.”

He ran his nose over your clothed core and inhaled deeply before shoving your panties aside. You moaned as he dragged his tongue over your slit, lapping up the evidence of your arousal before swirling his tongue through your folds.

His hands moved under your ass and tilted your hips towards his face, giving him even more access to your dripping heat. Your fingers gripped his hair painfully when he flicked his tongue over your asshole in a quick series of kitten licks before moving it in a heavy stripe back up to your clit.

You had to bite your lip to keep from screaming when he slid a finger inside you, curling it in a come hither motion at the same time he pressed his tongue against your clit. He lashed your bundle of nerves lightly as you writhed against him, your head thumping back against the tree as he slipped in a second finger.

His lips wrapped around your clit as he started fucking you with his digits, curling and twisting them inside you so he hit every spot he knew would drive you absolutely crazy. You felt him grin against you as he shook his head to bury himself deeper in your folds, groaning when he felt you clench around his fingers.

“Fuck, Ransom! I’m so close.” You panted breathlessly, grinding your pussy into his face as you neared the edge.

You felt him slide his pinky into your puckered hole, spearing past the tight ring of muscle until you felt the cool metal of his ring against your entrance and you fucking lost it.

Your thighs tried to crush his skull as you came violently, somehow managing to swallow the shriek that tried to rip out of your chest. He moaned as he ran his tongue over your pussy to collect your release as it ran over his fingers while you clenched and fluttered around him.

“How was that, champ?” He said around a wicked grin once you finally released his head, sliding his hands up your body as he stood up.

“Good... it was good.” You panted as he buried his face in your neck.

“Yeah? Good enough for you to help me out, babe?” He asked, grinding his hips into you to show you how hard he was at the same time he wrenched your polo and sports bra up to expose your breasts.

“I think we can work something out.” You murmured as he palmed your breast with one hand while the other splayed over your ass.

“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?” He hummed as his lips moved over your throat softly.

“Oh, I dunno. Something extra special for my favorite middle.” You purred, pushing him away from you a little bit so you could turn around.

“Fuck, really?” He beamed, running his hand over your ass as he pressed you into the tree.

“Really, you did such a good job, baby, you deserve a reward.” You said as you peeked are him over your shoulder. “Now fuck my ass until I come again, Hugh.”

He chuckled darkly into your hair as he slid his shorts down his legs and drew his cock out of his boxer briefs. You moaned as he ran his length through your slick before he pressed his tip against your pretty hole. The groan he let out as he speared into you made your pussy clench around nothing, fluttering as your body tried to draw him as deep as possible until he was fully sheathed in you and his hips were resting against your ass.

“Shit. Oh my god.” He hissed into your shoulder as he stilled his hips for a beat. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Yeah, I know.” You mumbled as the tree bark scratched at your cheek. “Could you move? I’d like to have another orgasm sometime before noon.”

“So fucking bossy.” He groaned before sliding out of you halfway and slamming back into you, making you yelp.

You moaned as he finally started fucking you, his hips moving at a vicious pace as he bounced you against the tree. He wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed lightly as he drew you back against his chest.

“Love when you let me fuck your ass, baby.” He growled in your ear as his hips slapped against your cheeks, making you mewl as slick started leaking down your thighs from your aching pussy. “Love how wet you get and how you strangle my cock. You want my fingers in that tight little pussy?”

“Yeah.” You whined as he teased his fingers over your clit. “Need you in my pussy so bad Ran, I’m gonna come.”

He sucked your earlobe between his teeth and spanked your pussy before shoving three fingers inside you as you came with a shriek, your body arching against him as you spasmed uncontrollably.

“Jesus, you’re squeezing me so good.” He groaned as you came down, sobbing with pleasure and sagging against him. “I’m gonna fill this ass up.”

You felt his cock throbbing inside you at the same time he twisted his fingers and you screamed, your release gushing out of you and soaking his thighs as he filled you with his spend, pressing you against the tree and sinking his teeth into your shoulder as his hips jerked. He groaned into your hair as he shoved his cum deep inside you and pulled his fingers from your swollen cunt.

“Holy fuck.” He mumbled into your hair before sucking his fingers into his mouth and groaning at your taste.

“Yeah.” You murmured as you yanked your bra and shirt back down and pulled your panties back into place before bending over to slide your shorts back on. “You should’ve lettered in that.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: Not just regular assholes, preppy jock assholes!!!

[frigidfries]

susie for the ask meme

(JUST GOT THIS SECOND ASK AS I WAS POSTING THIS AHA)

daughter!!

favorite thing about them:

she's the heart of the team!!! she cares about her friends!! she's ride or die baby!! once you show that you really do care about her- in a way that words can't always reach- her walls go down so quickly!

she's gonna be such a cool healer. im so proud of her already

least favorite thing:

gosh. i remember right after finishing SURVEY PROGRAM in 2018 i still felt a bit weird about susie's change in behavior towards kris, hoping that it'd feel like a natural transition in the next chapter... but of course chapter 2 does an AMAZING job LOL.

so yeah i guess my least favorite thing was the in-between time of me meeting her and me realizing that she's the coolest ever LMAO

favorite line:

*(The hell is a ferris, anyway?)

brOTP:

kris and susie bffs FOREVER. the two weird kid solidarity. susie provides a valuable role for the ecosystem. the ideal for a introverted neurodivergent weird kid in highschool is to get adopted by a tall neurodivergent girl who is ready to maul people who are mean to you

but really their friendship is so important to me. just. aughh

also susie and ralsei!!! i think its great for both of them. susie is so excited to show off her healing magic!! ralsei seems so much more comfortable around her. they understand each other a lot more now i think. and i think susies die-hard belief in doing your own thing will be a good counter to ralsei's cheery exstitential nihilism hes got going on

OTP:

suselle. ive discussed this b4 but tldr; its so cool to have a butch girl seen as desirable and likable and noelle is so right

...not really a fan of anything else!

random headcanon:

uh uh uh i think susie actually really likes turn-based rpgs in general! some action rpgs go so fast it kind of pisses her off with how much they throw at her at once, and turn-based lets her set her own thrashing pace.

also she's only played the older Dragon Blazers on emulators because those are the only ones that are able to run on the libarby's computers lmao

unpopular opinion:

what unpopular opinion is there to have... look at her.

um i think its super cool to draw her tall and fat. thats the platonic ideal of susie

song i associate with them:

Limp Bizkit - Break Stuff (because of this comic that i think of ALL the time)

favorite picture of them:

of official art and my own

[timelesslords]

Girl’s Night

Read on AO3

In which Annabeth has a little too much wine at Girl's Night and feels very guilty about it. Thankfully, Percy doesn't mind taking her home.

Annabeth Chase was very good at holding her alcohol.

In all honesty it was mostly because she didn’t drink that much to begin with. Being drunk had never been all that appealing to her— years of being on edge for the next fight made it difficult for her to intentionally dull her senses, and she never liked how foggy it made her brain either. Living in New Rome for the past few years hadn’t completely squashed those instincts, despite its top of the line anti-monster security.

But still. Annabeth could keep it together pretty well, when she chose to indulge. She’d gone to a few wild parties earlier in college, mostly at Piper’s behest, and she didn’t mind having a few glasses of wine every once in a while.

Girl’s Night was every once in a while. Every first Friday of the month, if you wanted to be exact about it. In all honesty the practice was probably a bit dumb and middle aged for a bunch of people (and, okay, ‘a bunch of people’ was generous- it was really only Piper, Annabeth and Hazel) in their early twenties, but Annabeth didn’t care. It was hard to keep up with people these days, and Annabeth appreciated the emphasis on female camaraderie and friendship.

Plus, Piper had really stellar taste in wine.

Tonight’s had been especially good, and after a long and stupidly stressful week at school (Annabeth wished she could emulate Percy’s senioritis, but unfortunately the Architecture program only got harder as it went on, not easier) Annabeth found herself a little extra appreciative of the relaxing effects of alcohol.

It seemed like all of them had had a tough week, because they were all buzzed pretty fast. Piper was even happy to deliver the latest Hollywood gossip, courtesy of her dad, and Hazel was telling them a story about a probie getting stuck in the unicorn stables that made Annabeth laugh so hard she was practically sobbing. Piper and Hazel were not much better; Piper had completely fallen off the couch from cracking up so hard, and Hazel could barely get a word in edgewise before she completely dissolved into giggles again.

It was then that Annabeth caught a glance of the two completely empty bottles of wine in front of them, and realized that all of them— though mostly she, specifically— had made a grave mistake. She had no idea how many times her own glass had been filled and then subsequently emptied, but it was enough that she was well past tipsy and solidly in drunk territory.

It was hard to care about the bad parts of being drunk when you were currently drunk, Annabeth was finding. Everything was just so much funnier.

Apparently Jason had also sensed that they were drunk, or maybe he just had heard the deranged cackling coming from the living room, and wanted to make sure they were all still alive.

“Are you guys alright?” he asked, sticking his head through the doorway.

“I’m fantastic. I mean, I don’t know about you two, but I am—” Piper paused, letting out a small hiccup, “Feeling awesome.”

“I feel great,” Hazel agreed, barely able to stop laughing long enough to let the words out.

Annabeth wasn’t sure she remembered how to form coherent words anymore, so she just gave a thumbs up.

“You guys are really drunk,” Jason said, voice an impressive mix of concern and amusement. He walked into the room, picking up one of the empty bottles of wine they’d left on the table and examining the label.

“That’s my man. Very smart,” Piper said, apparently completely seriously, leaning against Jason’s leg.

“Pipes, you realize this wine is like, 20%, right?” Jason asked, ignoring her declaration of his intelligence.

Piper frowned. The expression seemed very exaggerated, or maybe Annabeth’s head was just messing with her. It was very funny either way, and she had to stifle a laugh.

“Shut up Annabeth. Let me see that,” Piper said, holding her hand up for the bottle. Jason very wisely did not let Piper hold the bottle herself, instead holding it at eye level in front of her. She gripped the bottom of it, pulling it towards her and squinting at the label.

“Nevermind. I can’t read anymore,” Piper said, relinquishing her grip on the bottle. That sent Hazel and Annabeth into another fit of laughter. They would probably be drunk even if the wine wasn’t that strong, but it certainly explained why Annabeth felt like she was floating right now. She hadn’t been this wasted since at least freshman year, maybe ever. Everything was a little blurry at the edges, and she was dizzy in a kind of delightful way. She let out one last giggle.

“And that means we are officially at the me-calling-your-boyfriends time of the night,” Jason said, setting the bottle back down on the table. Piper groaned.

“Party pooper,” she grumbled, though she didn’t move herself off his legs.

“Sorry babe,” he said, apologetically, “You guys are welcome to crash here, obviously. I’ll just call Frank and Percy to let them know.”

“S’fine,” Hazel said, yawning and pulling out her phone, “I’ve been texting him. I’ll just tell him now.”

“That’s against the spirit of Girls Night.” Piper said, pointing an accusing finger at Hazel, “You’re a cheater.”

“I had to tell him about your dad’s friend secretly dating his co-star! She was in his favorite movie!” Hazel protested.

Annabeth had not texted Percy tonight, in part because, as Piper had said, it was against the spirit of Girl’s Night, but also because he was probably asleep. Usually he’d stay up and wait for her to get home, even though New Rome was probably the safest city on the face of the planet, and the chances of anything happening to Annabeth on the six block walk between their respective apartments was ludicrously slim. But he’d been practically dead on his feet when she left, and had agreed pretty easily to turn in early when she suggested it.

She immediately felt bad about the prospect of waking him up. She knew she should though— he’d much rather be woken up in the middle of the night than wake up in the morning with her not there. Even though it would take about three seconds to check his phone and realize everything was fine, old habits die hard and it would unnecessarily stress him out. Especially since it was the one night he’d agreed not to stay up and wait for her.

So waking him up was inevitable. Worse, she was starting to realize that she really wanted to be home with him. As comfortable as Piper’s floor was (and given how drunk Annabeth was, it was genuinely pretty comfortable) she just really wanted to be in her own bed, preferably with Percy also in it.

“Annabeth’s gonna want to go home,” Piper predicted, drawing Annabeth out of her thoughts, “She gets boyfriend clingy when she’s drunk.”

“I do not,” Annabeth said, even though she most definitely did.

“You’re a bad liar,” Hazel said, patting Annabeth’s leg sympathetically.

“I’m an excellent liar,” Annabeth said. Under normal circumstances this would be true. Unfortunately being drunk was not normal for her.

“Uh huh.” Piper said, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want Percy to come pick you up.”

Annabeth looked into Piper’s eyes, currently a very pretty green shade. Not as pretty as the shade of green Percy’s eyes were, but nice, for eyes that were not Percy’s. What was she supposed to be doing again?

“This feels like a trick,” Annabeth said, squinting.

“She wants Percy to pick her up,” Piper said, tugging at Jason’s pant leg.

“Yeah, I got that,” Jason said. Annabeth was pretty sure he was laughing at them, but in her current state it was a little hard to tell. “Let me go get my phone.”

Piper whined as Jason walked away, leaning back against the couch.

“Can you even walk, Chase?” she asked, looking dubiously at Annabeth “He’s going to have to carry you home.”

“I can walk,” Annabeth said, very offended even though she didn’t entirely know if her statement was true. Piper snorted.

“You’re lucky Percy is strong.”

“This is all your fault, McLean. Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Annabeth said, aiming a soft kick at Piper’s leg.

“Okay, in my defense I didn’t read the label,” Piper said, pulling her leg back just in time to avoid Annabeth’s foot.

“How is that a defense?” Hazel asked, though she was giggling.

Piper did not have time to further defend and/or implicate herself, because Jason appeared in the doorway again.

“Percy’s coming, he’ll be here in ten.”

“Was he mad?” Annabeth asked anxiously. Piper rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think Percy is physically capable of being mad at you,” she said.

“He thought it was funny, actually,” Jason said, ignoring Piper.

“Told you so,” Piper said smugly.

“Shut up,” Annabeth grumbled.

The next ten minutes passed in a very drunken blur. Now that she had fully realized she was intoxicated, the feeling only seemed to compound, each uncounted drink catching up to her with a reckless abandon. She was vaguely aware of Piper crawling back on the couch to lie down, and Hazel curling up in an armchair. Annabeth just stayed on her little patch of floor. If she got too comfortable, she wasn’t going to want to get up.

She could feel something anxious starting to prickle under the surface of all her artificially happy feelings, but it was sort of difficult to dissect when she couldn’t really think straight.

“Hey, Wise Girl,” a familiar voice said.

Annabeth looked up to see Percy smiling down at her. He looked so pretty she almost started crying. Almost. Crying as a normal human function was fine and good and emotionally necessary and all that, but crying because you were drunk and your boyfriend was hot was just embarrassing.

“I’m drunk,” she told him. Might as well get right to the point.

“Yeah, I gathered,” he said, still looking at her with entirely too much affection, “You feel okay enough to walk home?”

“Yeah. I wanna walk,” Annabeth said, accepting his hand and pulling herself to his feet. If he hadn’t been holding her she probably would have fallen over.

“You sure about that?” he asked skeptically, putting his other hand around her waist, steadying her. She leaned into him, because she always leaned into him, and yeah, okay, maybe she needed his support to walk straight, but what about it.

“Very sure,” Annabeth said. Already she was adjusting to being on her feet. Percy half looked like he wanted to protest, but making it out of the living room seemed to convince him that she was okay to at least make it a few blocks home.

Sitting down on the bench in the front hall to put her shoes on was somehow worse than walking. She managed to shove her shoes into her sneakers, but getting them tied was probably not going to happen.

“I can’t remember how shoelaces work,” Annabeth admitted, looking up at him, “Does that mean I’m screwed?”

“Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” Percy said, leaning down to tie her shoe for her. Annabeth shut her eyes tight, then opened them again, trying very hard to focus out her vision. It didn’t work.

“What’s the bad news?” Annabeth asked, because bad news tended to ruin good news, and she’d rather just get it out of the way.

“You’re going to be very hungover tomorrow.” Percy said, straightening up. She thought he was smiling, but considering there were two of his head floating around in front of her, it was kind of hard to tell.

“Are you laughing at me?” Annabeth asked. He was definitely smiling now.

“I would never,” Percy said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “C’mon, lets go.”

Their goodbye was not as extended or elaborate as Annabeth expected, mostly because Piper and Hazel were already half-way to being passed out. Still, there were some waves, some I-love-yous and a partially incoherent apology from Piper, though who it was aimed at was something of a mystery.

Stairs were just a bit tricky, but she managed to stumble down them without seriously injuring herself. She was sure Percy helped somehow, but she could barely tell the difference between his arms supporting her and her own movement.

“What’s the good news?” Annabeth asked, once they were safely on the sidewalk, heading in the direction of her apartment. It was probably cold, but between Percy’s body heat next to her and her own drunkenness, she could barely feel it.

“You haven’t thrown up?” Percy offered, half-heartedly. Annabeth swallowed down a gag.

“Don’t say those words again,” she warned. Percy winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

“That wasn’t even good news, that was irrelevant news,”

“I think it’s excellent news, personally.” Percy said. He was laughing at her again, probably, but she also probably deserved it. Probably. She was wrapped under his shoulder because his arm was still helping hold her up, so it was kind of hard to see his face. She focused her eyes down at the sidewalk in front of her instead, focusing on not tripping.

“You would,” Annabeth said, “You didn’t have good news, did you?”

“I was sort of hoping you would forget,” Percy admitted.

“I never forget,” Annabeth reminded him. She had an excellent memory. Especially for things that had happened only 2 minutes ago. Admittedly the rest of the night was already starting to get a little blurry.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Annabeth felt a small stab of guilt. He was teasing her, sure, but he was also being stupid nice even after she’d dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night to practically carry her intoxicated self back home.

And now she was remembering where that little wiggle of anxiety had been stemming from. He didn’t like being around drunk people. He never really said anything, because he was him and thus was probably allergic to the mere thought of even mildly killing anyone else’s fun for his own personal comfort or convenience. But she knew him well enough that he didn’t need to say anything. He’d never taken up Piper’s offer to go partying with them, even though he encouraged Annabeth to go when she’d wanted to, and he hardly ever drank himself. Even then it was only in social situations, and usually just one drink that he probably didn’t even feel.

So maybe he hadn’t flat out said he didn’t like people being wasted around him, but he had told her about Gabe; how he was a drunk, abusive asshole. It wasn’t too hard to put the pieces together.

“I’m sorry I got drunk,” Annabeth said. It was kind of a lame apology considering she was probably slurring her words a good amount, but she meant it anyways.

She felt something shift in his demeanor— if she was sober, she would know instantly what the slight change in pressure meant. As it was, she was kind of in the dark.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. She thought he sounded surprised, but maybe she was mishearing, because it would be dumb for him to be surprised by that. At the very least, he should understand she felt bad about ruining his night.

“Because, I got messy and you had to wake up and take me home even though I could have just slept on Piper’s floor,” Annabeth said. Words were sort of flowing out of her without her completely approving them, in a jumbled rush. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t quite remember how to stop it either.

“I don’t mind,” he said, just as she’d known he would. He meant it too, even drunk off her ass she could tell he wasn’t annoyed at her at all, even though he would be totally justified to be.

“But I could have just slept on the floor,” Annabeth repeated, though even the thought caused her to lean deeper into him.

Percy slowed his pace, almost stopping. Annabeth tried looking up at him to decipher what he was thinking, but she couldn’t really make out his face well enough to tell.

“This isn’t just about waking me up, isn’t it?” he asked.

Ugh. Why did she forget in her drunken stupor that he knew her just as well as she knew him? Obviously he was going to pick up on something deeper that was making her feel guilty.

“I just—” Annabeth started, then stopped. It was difficult to pick words precisely enough for the thoughts she was having.

“I know you don’t really like parties and stuff. Or drunk people. And I’m a drunk people right now, so I’m sorry.”

Great job, Annabeth, Annabeth thought to herself. Very delicately put. The lack of subject verb agreement, that was a nice touch. You didn’t sound completely fucked up even a little bit.

God, she hated being drunk.

“I didn’t want you to wake up alone, tomorrow,” Annabeth said, trying again, “But I forgot that me being drunk might be worse, so that's why I feel bad.”

Percy stopped walking. At first Annabeth thought it was in response to what she’d just said, but then she realized they were in front of their apartment building.

Then she realized he wasn’t making any moves to go inside, so it was about what she’d said after all. Instead he turned her around so she could see his face, keeping his arms around her waist in support.

She couldn’t quite read his expression, yet another reason why alcohol was the devil.

“I have a feeling we’re going to need to repeat this conversation in the morning when you’re sober,” he started, “But just for the record, you being drunk doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

Annabeth studied his expression, searching his face for any signs of mistruth. She found none, but she also couldn’t entirely trust her senses at the moment.

“Are you just saying that?” Annabeth asked, suspiciously, “Because that’s the sort of thing you would lie about.”

She had sort of expected him to sigh in annoyance, but to her surprise he smiled instead.

“I’m not lying, I swear.”

“But you don’t like other drunk people,” Annabeth insisted. For some reason the two ideas could not coexist in her mind.

“I don’t like drunk strangers,” he corrected, “You’re not a stranger.”

“Well, duh,” Annabeth said, which made him laugh. She hadn’t meant to, but she liked hearing him laugh, so she would accept it anyways.

“But doesn’t it— I don’t know, bring up bad memories, for you?” she asked, cautiously, “I don’t wanna do that. I don’t even really like being drunk.”

He just shook his head.

“If it did, I would tell you. But it doesn’t, I swear.”

Annabeth frowned. It was probably just her stupid wine brain, but she couldn’t quite connect the dots between all the points he was making.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” he said, somehow still smiling, “You’re you.”

“That’s a lame answer.” Annabeth said.

“It’s true,” he said, in that stupid earnest honest voice of his, “I mean, maybe if you started throwing beer cans at my head when you got tipsy it’d be different, but you’re the opposite of aggressive when you’re drunk. You actually get really cuddly, it's kind of cute.”

Annabeth knew he was trying to comfort her, but she also knew that Gabe had done a lot worse than throw beer cans at him. She felt a surge of anger on his behalf, but more powerfully a wave of sadness looking at his upbeat expression. It was so supremely unfair that she wanted to cry, but she just hugged him instead. She was probably proving his point about being cuddly, but she didn’t even care.

“I’m so glad your mom made him into a statue,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Me too,” Percy said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I love you so much,” Annabeth said, because she really, really did. Like so much. An embarrassing amount, if she were capable of feeling embarrassed about anything having to do with Percy Jackson, which she was pretty sure was impossible.

“I love you too,” he said, kissing the top of her head to prove it.

“Piper said I get boyfriend clingy when I’m drunk,” Annabeth admitted. He laughed, his chest vibrating beneath her.

“She might be right about that.”

“She’s usually right about things,” Annabeth said, without thinking. Then—

“Don’t tell her I said that.”

He laughed again, but it was quieter. She felt it more than she heard it this time.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he promised.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Annabeth said, because she really did feel bad about that, even beyond all the other stuff, “I should have paid more attention to what I was doing.”

She felt him shrug underneath her.

“Stuff happens, it's not a big deal,” Percy said easily, “We’ll just sleep in tomorrow. Speaking of, we should probably go inside.”

As soon as he said ‘go inside’ Annabeth’s brain suddenly registered that she was exhausted. It was late, her head was swimming, and his chest had been very warm and very comfortable. She’d fallen half asleep without even realizing it.

“Inside sounds good,” Annabeth agreed, yawning.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” Percy said, finally pulling away, brushing a few stray curls out of her eyes.

Maybe if she had been sober she would have protested. As it was she was pretty happy to climb on his back and rest her head on his shoulder. He looped his arms under her legs and lifted her up easily. Gods, he was stupidly strong. She should appreciate that more.

“I love you,” she mumbled one last time into his shoulder. Whether he’d heard or responded was a mystery to her, because she was asleep before he finished climbing the stairs.

[0poole]

I LOVE No Straight Roads

Honestly it’s hard to keep me away from a game with great visuals and even greater character design. I knew from the INSTANT I saw these characters that I was going to love it. I just finished it because it’s (unfortunately) pretty short, and even though I cheesed the final boss through it’s very lenient death mechanics (Instant respawn at the cost of a good rank) I actually appreciated that it wasn’t a pure cake walk. I’ve yet to rematch all of the bosses, but since I had genuine trouble with the later ones I’ll hold off on that.

But who cares about gameplay, am I right? I sure as hell don’t. I would’ve bought the game no matter what the hell it was. I wanted the characters (and the music, although I realized that second) and that was it. 

First of all, I love any world that is super fantastical but cheesy in its concept, ala a city powered by music, and battles between artists using music. Ideas like this only spawn from a mind that wants to create a fun atmosphere, if nothing else, and it was sure as hell fun. I genuinely love when someone goes so far into a crazy idea and doesn’t waste your time explaining it with real world logic. Wanna know how a city can be powered by music? Shut up and look at the cute virtual mermaid. Lord knows I did. Every once in a while, it does you good to just let the player/reader/viewer just revel in the idea without having to go out of your way to make things seem realistic. It’s not about “turning your brain off” or whatever, it’s picking your battles.

Also, I can seriously love a world with great background characters to it. Any game with the right situation to insert the random nobodies you find onto the streets into the art in the credits really played into the greatness of the world’s less important characters, and that’s always a good thing. It’s technically world building. But, since I always love to pick favorites, I’d have to say my favorite background character is easily Mia, the NSR infodesk assistant. It’s funny, because you can literally search “nsr characters” into Google and she’s the third image result. I love how jumpy she is when you first interact with her, since NSR probably spread the word about B2J suggesting they’re rock thugs who’d beat up anyone, so for all she knows she could die right then and there with a guitar lodged in her skull. She’s probably just some intern trying to pay for college. She don’t want trouble.

Also, I just realized that 90% of the characters in this game have the same body structure that I always love, that being having arms/legs that sort of fan out in width into relatively large hands/feet. It’s a kind of limb structure I fall into so much because it just really hits me right for some reason. I really can’t explain why.

Anyways, I gotta talk about the big boys individually:

Mayday and Zuke are an amazing duo. I’m always a sucker for a cute and crazy girl, but honestly Zuke hit so many of the right notes too. I will say it’s weird to pair the martian Zuke with the humanly-skinned Mayday, but honestly it doesn’t even matter because he looks so cool on his own. I love his weird blocky blue dreadlocks, and his weirdly shaped shirt which bares his chest in the weirdest way... And, oh my god, Mayday’s weird Spongebob background flower eyes? It’s little tidbits like that that really make me jealous. How could I have ever thought of that? It looks so perfect, and I don’t know why. And her little booty jig she does in her idle animation? Adorable. I played as her as much as was reasonable not only because I’m a filthy button masher with little strategy but also because she’s so damn cute. I can also appreciate how she has a tough-as-nails persona while still keeping a semi-girly attitude, like with her falling for 1010 and Sayu. Characters are so much better when they’re a perfect blend of characteristics, instead of being all one-note, like how Zuke is the quiet one but gets heated against DK West, and all. 

Honestly the voice acting for every character is great, but I love when Mayday’s VA’s accent shows through. It’s a perfect twang to accent (consider this the only acknowledgement of a pun in this post) her snarkiness. 

DJ Subatomic Supernova was going to be an easy favorite since he’s all space-themed. Also, I don’t know why I always end up liking the egotistic characters. Not in the sense that I like their egotistic-ness, but in the sense that I like everything else about them and they just so happen to also be egotistic. The same applied with Empoleon (maybe like my 2nd favorite Pokemon) and Rarity from MLP, probably among others. Either way, I’ll never not love space themes. Not to mention he’s got a funky disco theme, and I’m slowly starting to realize that I am in extreme love with techno-funk styles of music. The instant I heard his music he cemented his place into my playlists. 

As for design, I still have no idea what the fuck he is. Clearly AI is at human levels in this world, but if he’s a robot why does he still have hairy legs? But, if he’s a human, is that weird orb his head? Is it just some sort of puppet which he controls from inside his giant jacket? I know I dissed explaining things realistically but I actually want to know with this guy. Even the wiki doesn’t say. Either way, he’s clearly the logical extreme of “being at the center of your own universe.” Even his jacket depicts a solar system, with his hood being the sun. Didn’t see that until I tried to draw him. I really wish this guy wasn’t so tied to his DJ stand so I could reasonably draw him without it. I don’t want to draw his hairy ass legs. It is a great touch for his design though (although I prefer his beta look with pants and long boots, another design trait I tend to gravitate to) since DJs could reasonably not wear pants, since they’re always behind a table.

Sayu is my favorite. It’s so plainly obvious. It’s weird to say that sometimes, because some characters like Sayu are so clearly engineered to be as adorable as possible, to the point where they’re basically a parody of whatever they’re supposed to be emulating, but then they do that so well that they are still likable for what they’re trying to parody. Also, even though I’ve never looked into any vocaloid superstars myself, the fact that they exist and are loved in real life is absolutely perfect to be used as a character design in a world like this. It’s so weird conceptually, but we all know it’s normal and realistic. But yeah, she’s a giga-cutie whom I’ve already drawn and I’ve listened to her theme on loop on many different occasions. Favorite character, favorite track, favorite weapon of choice (What did I say about Empoleon?), which, and I wouldn’t have noticed this myself, looks like the USB symbol you see above USB ports on computers. How crazy perfect is that?

Even apart from my unbridled love for cute monster robot(?) girls, her boss fight is probably the 2nd greatest of them all, at least conceptually. She’s just a hologram, so you can’t touch her, but you CAN disconnect the artists which control her in order to defeat her. It’s the kind of concept for a boss fight that could only work for this type of character. I’m a sucker for the cute girl that provides her voice, but I love how the animator (video editor? the yellow one) actually attacks you with a mouse and lowers the brightness of the setting once he appears. Also, the mocap guy being the deeply-voiced type but still providing the adorable movements of her body. It’s such a great combo of characters, and their little extra art in the credits makes me like them even more. I just wish we could interact with them individually.

DK West was probably one of the most interesting characters visually, especially since I knew of every other NSR member long before the game came out, but I only just heard of him closer to the release. I wasn’t sure where he was placed, but I definitely assumed his gig was the weird shadow demon we saw in the trailers. When I finally saw him in game, I was shocked to hear him speak an entirely different language most of the time, which was really cool. Also, finding out he was tied to Zuke and wasn’t strictly an NSR artist really made him more interesting. You know, if his fucking shadow clone magic didn’t make him crazy cool enough. Even though I suck at his game and am not especially fond of his raps, the visual of him rapping with this giant monster behind him and dozens of weird shadow wingmen by his side hyping him up was probably one of the coolest in the entire game. The dark way they were hyping him up too gave such a bizarre atmosphere, especially since it parallels his seemingly chill and smiley demeanor. 

I definitely hope they’ll introduce new bosses as DLC in the future, and make them sort of in the same vein as DK West, where they aren’t the biggest artists ever, but they want to pick a fight with B2J. I’d kill for any extra content this game can provide.

Yinu is obviously special since she was the subject of the demo they put out for the game. Even though I knew all her bells and whistles, she and her mom still beat me a few times in the full game. Considering she’s semi-tied to story-ish spoilers I kinda want to go more into her in a separate section. It is worth considering playing the game first since it’s not hard (with the easy going deaths) and it’s short length.

1010 seriously grew on me as I learned more about them and interacted with them. I got their shtick when I first looked at them, but after seeing that animation of them touring the city on Youtube I was kinda falling for them. Then, I learned that they’re apparently repurposed navy war robots? I mean, maybe not them specifically, but it seems to heavily point in that direction, with the warship cars and “attention!”s and all. It took me a bit to get into their music too, but once I actually fought them and put their actions to the music I fell in love with it. I swear, Neon J’s weird dancing can has some of the smoothest moves in all of gaming. I don’t know whether they mocapped out those movements or got one of the greatest animators ever, but it looks so impossibly clean his part of the song gets me like 30x more hype than it would normally. 

Also, their little art piece of them looking at fan mail in the credits is probably one of the most adorable things ever. Even if they’re just Neon J’s puppets, that piece of art really makes it seem like they love every one of their fans. I’m not gonna lie, I might swoon a bit too if they picked me out and gave me some special attention.

Oh yeah, and the fact that Mayday was super sad in her showstopper against them was adorable and hilarious at the same time. The little tweaks they made to the showstopper for each fight were great.

Eve just has to be Lady Gaga, right? Like, an even crazier Lady Gaga. DJSS is Daft Punk (or any artist with a helmet persona, you know what I’m talking about), Sayu is Hatsune Miku, DK West is Kanye West, Yinu is a generic child protege, 1010 is a KPop boyband (just pick one) and Eve is Lady Gaga. That’s just how things are. But, again, this is the kind of boss fight that only this type of character could provide. It’s not just surreal imagery, it’s ARTISTIC surreal imagery. The fight is so mesmerizing in every way, especially by how it starts off so slow and calm and progresses to insanity, as well as the increased emotional investment in the fight making you feel so much more into it than just “That’s the boy band. Let’s fight.” Not only does it get you more invested, but it makes her artistic persona go deeper than just “she looks weird.” She is genuinely conflicted about her relationship with Zuke, and naturally that leads her to literally split him and Mayday apart. That mechanic specifically was the coolest, although I do wish they made it more obvious when you needed to switch over to a different side. I was getting pulverized by her fight too, since there were so many things to pay attention to. Her fight was definitely the best one. 

Tatiana and Spoilers:

Let’s be real with ourselves, the twist was so obvious. I do also think, though, that obvious twists aren’t bad if they’re just good reveals. At some point, a person just has experienced so many stories that “only pretty good” twists are easy to spot. It doesn’t mean that the twists are bad, it just means you yourself experienced.

I feel like her transition from rock to EDM was pretty understandable, even as a non-musician. She was so caught up in what she assumed was popular that it basically consumed her. It’s easy as an artist to want to forgo what you truly want to make in favor of what makes you popular, and clearly since her transition to EDM made her the CEO of the biggest company in the city (world?) that probably made her think she truly needed to change her outlook. Then, when she saw B2J try to bring it back, she sort of coined them as being as misguided as she was and knocked them down a peg. Plus, they were kinda being jerks about it.

It’s kinda like the Trolls sequel, where everyone pegs rock music fanatics as being too stuck up in their own heads to appreciate other types of music, which honestly seems more like the case than the alternative. When I first heard of the story of the game, I was seriously hoping they did put an asterisk on B2J’s ambitions because they were a bit sketchy from the start. 

That’s kinda where I want to talk about Yinu, because she was the true turning point in what they were doing. She’s literally 9 and yet she’s getting dragged into all this BS. When she said “I hate you all” at the end of her fight, and played a somber tune on her broken piano after the fight destroyed it, you kinda got a kick in the face to realize you’re kinda being an asshole to some of them. Sure, they fight back, but they wouldn’t fight in the first place if they didn’t have to. They are just people who play music under a joint name that B2J just so happened to get in hot water with. 

Then, of course, there’s Kliff, who also reeked of surprise villain, and who’s basically the embodiment of the bad side of B2J, where he just wanted to destroy for his own sake and not for the actual greater good. Once B2J realized their mistake, they backed off, but Kliff was so hard pressed to do what he planned on in the first place he wouldn’t stop. I kinda wish he got a bigger fight to his own since he’s clearly a big enough tech genius to divert a whole satellite into one specific building. Maybe the Elliecopter chase bit was his thing, but I do kind of wish he was there to fight against them too.

Even though Tatiana did kind of reform a bit quick, It’s still not too crazy to assume she could see that B2J was just misguided and the fact that they worked to revert their wrongdoings for her sake would make a pretty strong impressions. They clearly can hold their own, so it’s not like she wouldn’t want them to join NSR too. 

Oh yeah, and her boss fight was clock/time themed. If there’s a theme under space that I love, it’s clocks/time. 

And If I am to be respected by the internet, I must provide a negative opinion to balance out my positive one. I will say that the character model physics (like Mayday’s braids, DK West’s vest thing, Neon J’s fluffy neck thing, etc) got kinda funky at times. Especially DK West’s vest, which was completely messed up for every scene he was in... Also, even though the voices are mostly great, some lines felt a bit off. Just a bit. That good enough? Good.

But yeah anyway that’s another favorite game to add to the pile. Eventually I’m gonna have to compile a true list of my all-time favorite games/movies because I do kind of want to have a solid idea of what my all-time favorites are.

[maxwell-grant]

Have you read the short story Norvell Page wrote as a wedding present for a Big Name Fan about Dick and Nita's first meeting? Any thoughts on it? My main is that Page does not go where you expect him to based on that description.

I did! Actually it was one of the first Spider stories I read. And yeah, to an extent, it's absolutely not what you'd expect from something set in The Spider's world. And on the other hand, it's absolutely what makes the most sense for these two characters. Because, yeah, Norvell Page could have done what he usually does, and written some over-the-top action where Dick and Nita happen to meet during it.

But no, that wouldn't work. Because, for all the turmoil and chaos in The Spider, for everything that he and Nita go through, there are many times when, sturdier even than Dick's resolve is their love for each other, the deep understanding and affection that carries them through hell itself time and time again.

And so, when it was time to showcase how such a romance started, Page wisely deviated from his usual narrative style, and instead told a very, very intimate and personal story, a long and extended conversation between the two, and more importantly, between Page and the reader. Between The Spider, and You, peering into The Spider through the eyes of Nita van Sloan.

I think for a start, it's an interesting coincidence that this meeting takes place on a cruise ship, and it involves Dick rescuing Nita from suicide. I say this because Margo Lane's first meeting with Lamont Cranston, in the pulps, was stated to have taken place on a cruise ship, and of course, the first time we see The Shadow in the pulps, he's rescuing Harry Vincent from suicide, and both Harry and Margo are The Shadow's main supporting characters. I'm not saying it was intentional, but it's an interesting fact. And more so because Dick doesn't really rescue Nita.

Her scarf whipped in the wind on deck, and it blinded her... and a hand touched her arm, and a voice spoke to her.

"If it's intentional, don't let me stop you," the voice said, "but you're heading straight for suicide."

Nita looked then at the stop toward which, blindly, she was going, and it was a chain barrier beyond which was the sea. And she looked at the man who had stopped her and it was Richard Wentworth. And his words had been a shock to her.

"You wouldn't try to dissuade me from suicide?" she asked.

Wentworth's brows were tilted whit a hint of mockery, but his eyes were very grave. "Every man is master of his own soul, and hence of his body," he said. "And your eyes are wide open and awake. So it would be a considered action. I'm not sure, under those circumstances, that I would have a right to meddle in another's business."

Nita said, "I think you can help me."

Wentworth shook his head. "Only you can help yourself," he said, "but it may be that someone else could help you find the way."

The whole text is a great example of how wonderfully realized of a character Nita van Sloan is in ways so unlike the typical pulp or superhero girlfriends at the time, because the text is written from her perspective, and half of the text reads like an extended character breakdown of who Nita is as a character and person. And the other half of the text is almost entirely comprised of Dick Wentworth spouting philosophy and talking in-depth about his reading of her and what's upsetting her, talking about God and fate and so on. And like so many other attempts to explore serious theological/psychological/philosophical/etc concepts explored through pulp fiction, half of it is bullshit, and half of it is fascinatingly disturbing and thought-provoking bullshit.

"Self-contempt," Wentworth's words were very quiet now. "Is second only to self-pity among the greater sins. Self-analysis is a dangersous thing. You need so much charity. And any person who is advanced enough to think about himself at all is apt to be over-stern in his judgment of himself."

He said to her, "If you don't honor youself, who will honor you?" And, a few moments later, "There is conceit in ruling others, but none in mastering yourself." And, "There is no arrogance so great as self-righteousness."

Nita clashed with him violently, "You are being self-righteous in judging me!"

Wentworth laughed. "I am speaking only truism. It is you who judge yourself, not I." He was serious, then. "My dear," he said, "I would be presumptuous to try to teach you. No man can teach another. But one who has been along that same trail would be less than a man if he failed to mark certain signposts and certain places where there is water to drink so that another, traveling that same road, may know where another struggled and what he has learned. But, as no man can travel a road for another, so no man can teach another. You must work out your own salvation."

"That sense of separation between the inner and outer self," Nita rushed on, "between yourself and the world ... while you were talking, I could almost feel that difference disappearing. The feeling is gone now, but ..."

"All progress is three steps forward and two back," Wentworth said, slowly, "and this is good because thus all ground is three-times covered and triply learned."

And I should probably clarify by this point that, it's not so much Dick Wentworth talking in this story, as it's Norvell Page himself. In fact, he admits as much in another letter he had sent to his readers that he was prone to talking philosophy by this point.

There was a time when the burden of writing just one more Spider seemed too much to undertake. (After all, the magazine is in it's ninth year!) But I never feel that way any more. I know now that the Spider actually does help people; that there are those who appreciate his idealism even though it is expressed in violence.

Especially in the last half dozen Spiders, beginning with the 100th I believe, I have tried very earnestly to teach a little of the philosophy and faith, of which we all need so much in these days.

Here's the thing about The Spider: It's not that the character is mad. Well, okay, he IS mad, I don't pull these over-the-top maniacal cartoon meme descriptions out of thin air, but that's because he lives in a batshit insane disaster horror world where there IS no sane response other than joining the carnage to overcome it. It's not just that Wentworth who is a madman. It's that Norvell Page was a mad man, and Dick Wentworth was Norvell's Page alter-ego, by the man's own admission.

Friends have informed me that I moved about the company as one in a trance: there were some who were concerned about my health, so oddly did I behave. Of course, only my body attended that occasion. My mind was entirely engrossed in Dick Wentworth's big problem - back in my study on a sheet of paper stuck in my typewriter

I did not dream that night; in the morning I restlessly paced my floor thinking, thinking, thinking. I sat down at the typewriter, stared at the words and the keys. Suddenly, as if by magic, Dick Wentworth seemed to move of his own volition. My hands raised, my fingers literally flew over the keyboard.

No matter how ridiculous it seems, I will always feel that Dick Wentworth, creature of my own fabrication, guided me through that tough scene.

No two people can live together without being influenced by each other to some extent. So constantly has Wentworth been in my mind, it is as if we were roommates - partners in everything.

Page has talked about how close of a connection he feels to the character, about many ways he's emulated his mannerisms, even some pretty embarassing anectodes where he claims to have "accidentally" used the character's "indomitable will" to scare waiters or drawing connections between The Spider's cast and real people he's met. Others who met him remarked that he talked of the "Spider" characters as though they were members of his family, or drinking companions.

Even before I got into The Spider, I had heard of rumors that he used to present or discuss stories in his office by putting on a cape and jumping from desk to desk, swinging a yard stick in his hand, and I can't find any source that confirms it, but I don't doubt it in the slightest. A lot of pulp writers had really weird lives, and Page was no exception. He was a journalist who frequently dug into his newspaper clippings for grisly stories to incorporate into narratives. I mean, just look at the dude's eyes, he's seen some shit.

When he was 3, his mother fell down a manhole while they were walking down a Chicago sidewalk. Norvell, terrified, thought she had dissappeared and never quite got over the experience.

When he was a little older, according to some family members, his parents had tickets for the Titanic and escaped disaster when Norvell begged them to cancel the trip for reasons unknown.

Norvell again played a hand in the family's escaping disaster when, one Christmas the family home caught on fire. Candles on the tree had been left burning. He quite arguably saved everyone's life. Waking first, he threw his mattress out of his window, grabbed his infant brother and sister and ran screaming through the hall as he went back to jump to safety. His screams woke his parents who then jumped to the mattress themselves.

Norvell lied about his age and experience to the Norfolk "Observer", claiming to have been writing for Richmond's "Times Dispatch" and was hired there.

His father managed Thomas Edison & Hugo Wurlitzer's ad accounts, and had always encouraged him to write, envisioning him as another Poe, whom his Great-Uncle had worked with as an editor

It is rumored that, in NYC, while at the "World Telegram", he became involved in fellow editor Varion Fry's effort to rescue artists and scientists from occupied Europe. President of the American Fiction Guild, he edited their newsletter for some time. Among his closest friends were fellow writers Ted Tinsley and L. Ron Hubbard and Surrealist painter Max Ernst.

WRITER'S REVIEW 35.08: Norvell W. Page, whose bloodthirsty Spider novels would do justice to Ghengis Khan, demonstrated his bloodlust the other day by accidentally killing a sparrow.

He wrote until 1943, when he abruptly stopped without warning. He dissappeared, for all intents and purposes, from both New York, the arts world and the pulp world for good.

His wife of 20 years, Audrey, had died and this, along with the U.S. involvment in WWII, led to his returning to VA where he would go on to be an intelligence worker in the Truman, Kennedy and Eisenhower Administrations.

He died suddenly of a heart attack in August of 1961.

Surviving family members do not know where he is buried.

I think this is a story that Page might have told differently had he written it earlier in his career, before he got tired, before he underwent his depression and loss of weight that caused him to briefly stop writing pulps all together, in a time period before the World War had cast an oppressive miasma on the world. In a time period where most of the horrifying nightmares he infused into the stories were really just that, nightmares, that he didn't live long enough to see turn into prophecies.

Because that's another thing about The Spider that makes the character more than just a batshit vigilante: As over-the-top as the stories were, a lot of them also inevitably turned out to predict some form of catastrophe in real life.

Written with an eye to the horrors festering in Germany at the time, The Mayor of Hell now reads as an infernal vision of the Homeland Security Act.

The poisoned products found in The Red Death Rain and The Pain Emperor call to mind the Tylenol killings of the summer of 1982, and the hundreds of poisoned products cases that followed.

Bio-terrorism plays large in the Spider mythos, with bubonic plague in Wings of the Black Death, rabies in The Mad Horde, and cholera in The Cholera King foreshadowing the Anthrax scare of 2001. The same could be said of the terror gases from Kingdom of Doom and Green Globes of Death and the nerve gas attack in the Tokyo subways in March of 1995.

Masters of the Death Madness unfolds as a nightmare meditation upon suicide, which has become one of the principal weapons of modern terrorists. One scene involves suicide bombers.

Another scene chillingly presages the Jonestown massacre of 1978: a grand procession lines up to drink from a bowl of poisoned wine while surrounding gunmen pick off anyone who refuses to drink.

The modern reader will recognize the psychological and sociological effects of a citizenry living under the threat of terrorism, so chillingly evoked by Page: the grating loss of safety, the imminent threats lurking in familiar objects, the way security can no longer be taken for granted, the kind of skittishness that empties a building at the first sign of an unknown white powder.

The eeriest of all the modern terrorist parallels appears in a novel called The City Destroyer, originally published in 1936. It features a set piece involving the collapse of a fictitious gigantic building, supposedly the tallest in New York City, called “The Sky Building.” When it fell, it wiped out five city blocks and claimed 1,000 lives. And perhaps it’s worth noting a further parallel that occurred in the 1970’s, when Pocket Books tried to revive the Spider; they repackaged him in a paperback series, striving for an image of what was then cool and thrusting Richard Wentworth into a contemporary setting.

When Pocket Books reprinted and updated The City Destroyer in 1975, the collapse of the Sky Building was replaced with the collapse of the World Trade Center - Stuart Hopen's essay on The Spider

Regardless of how much reality Page was infusing into his stories (because, again, he took a lot of his material from newspapers) or how much he foresaw intentionally or not, writing The Spider definitely took it's toll on him, and as the magazine neared it's final stretch with him on the helm, certain parts did began taking a more philosophical or religious tone, as more of Page's own beliefs, more of Page's attempts to use it as a vehicle to do good, began to bleed through the page.

And ultimately I think that's also what the story of Dick and Nita's first meeting is about, sort of an extended analysis not just of Nita, who Page himself said was a character he conceived as "the epitome of womanhood" and everything he thought admirable about it, but also of Wentworth's own character, and the things Page wanted to get through in his time.

Religion crept deeper into the series with each succeeding year. By all accounts, Norvell Page was a man of deep faith and spirituality who just happened to be writing the exploits of a hero whose idea of mercy was a bullet in the brain instead of the stomach.

In the 100th novel, Death and The Spider, Wentworth battles Death itself - or so it seems - and on Christmas Eve, he is shot so badly while protecting the President from assassination that everyone believes he's dead - including himself.

Dead or not, he forces himself to fight on, sustained only by reciting the 23rd Psalm over and over again.

Nita laughed and accepted a cigarette. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Don't," Wentworth's voice was sharp. "I told you I am only a channel. Don't confuse me with the Source."

It stopped words on Nita's lips, and it gave here a new respect and a new and sudden attitude toward this man beside her, this man who could laugh and jest with everyone about him, and who could teach like a very oracle ... and who carried about him such a sense of dedication to high purpose. He might seem apart from the world, but he was utterly and completely of it.

Nita said, half-laughing, half-serious, "May I like you? And may I admire your ... adjustment?"

"Don't envy my adjustment," he grinned at her. "Have one yourself." He snapped flame to her cigarette with his lighter, and his lean, strong hand was steady and sure as his eyes, as his voice. He was speaking to her but he was looking at the lighter. "I have found my mission," he said quietly.

[twh-news]

'Loki' Actor Richard E. Grant Is Ready for a Classic Loki and Alligator Loki Spinoff

Richard E. Grant has been in so many notable franchises that it's easy to forget him making multi-episode appearances on Doctor Who and Game of Thrones. But it's highly unlikely anyone will forget the Oscar-nominated actor's turn as Classic Loki in Disney+'s Loki, from his exquisite costume meant to emulate the Silver Age of the comics to his big heroic moment in Episode 5, "Journey Into Mystery."

As a variant of Loki (Tom Hiddleston), Classic Loki is meant to be similar but different from the "mischievous scamp" in key ways, and in a one-on-one interview with Collider, Grant explained how that fact, as well as a key bit of the script, affected his performance. He also revealed how he and Hiddleston had talked about potentially working together in the past (in, admittedly, a very different capacity), and his pitch for a Loki spin-off that I think we can all agree is an instant greenlight.

Collider: To start things off, what does it mean to join the MCU in this capacity? Is this something you've been looking forward to?

RICHARD E. GRANT: Oh yeah. I'd had experience because I was in Logan about five years ago, so I'd had a taste of what this is, but Tom Hiddleston has said to me, he said, "You know, I think that when people see Classic Loki there's going to be a big response." I thought that he was just blowing smoke up my fundament on the first day to make me feel better about coming into work for one episode, Episode 5, after they'd be doing it for practically a year before. Then I saw my Instagram and Twitter feed and the reviews that came out last Wednesday and I realized that he saw into the crystal ball in a way that I didn't. So Tom was right and I stand gleefully corrected.

Did they tell you anything about the costume before you signed up?

GRANT: Yeah. They sent me the costume design with my face on it. It was the classic Loki of the Jack Kirby illustrations of the '60s and it was a fantastic muscle suit. As you can see, I'm born without any. When I got to Atlanta and I said, "So where's the muscle suit that I get into before I get into the green tights?" They said, "What muscle suit?" And I said, "Well, like the drawings." They said, "No. We don't have one for you." And I said, "Well, I don't have any muscles to fill this out." And they said, "Ah, don't worry about that." And I said, "I do worry about that." And I'm still worrying about that and I'm still grouching about it because I wanted those muscles.

I think you look lovely.

GRANT: Thank you.

But I love the fact that they sent you the costume design. Recently, I talked to Kate Herron and she said that you were their first choice for the role.

GRANT: Wow. I didn't know that.

Does that surprise you, at this point in your career — that you would be the first choice on somebody's list?

GRANT: It always surprises me, but what didn't surprise me is that I had... Because I've known Tom Hiddleston socially and from his career and I'd seen him backstage at the theater and things over the decades, we'd always joked about playing father and son, because of our vague similarity in the way that we look. So, when I saw that I thought, "Oh, I've been cast because I have a similar physique or look to Tom." So that's what I thought, but I had no idea. Kate didn't tell me that I was her first choice. People never tell you this stuff. Maybe they think you're going to get too above yourself, but I don't know. I wish people would tell you. I'd love to hear, so thank you for telling me that.

You're welcome. I mean, she called you their north star.

GRANT: Aw. Thank you. She was a delight to work with.

Was there anything specifically Loki-ish that you were trying to incorporate into the performance?

GRANT: I knew that rather than Tom Hiddleston's God of Mischief, [Classic Loki] has this line explaining his past that he is the God of Outcasts, and has been so lonely and isolated on this planet, and is willing to be arrested by the TVA in order to get back in contact with his brother, and to sacrifice himself ultimately to Asgard, I thought that was a way into the character that was not trying to imitate, because I couldn't hope to, what Tom does so brilliantly and has done for over a decade now. So I thought that was the way into doing it.

Looking over your career, you've gotten to be a part of a lot of really exciting franchises, including Doctor Who and Star Wars. Is there anything else on your bucket list? Are there other franchises, and/or other fantasy costumes you want to wear?

GRANT: Classic old Loki with muscles and Alligator-dot-com, the subseries of the sub-sub-sub series. That's what I want.

Given the audience reaction to Alligator Loki, I think that there would be a fan base for that.

GRANT: Yeah and classic Loki is the only one that can talk to him and understand him. It's a given. It's a scriptwriter's dream. Get it done.

[panharmonium]

@captain-jaybird​ @solo-by-choice​ - i love you guys XD

So, the fic in question was originally a collection of ten location-based vignettes following the development of Obi-Wan and Padme’s friendship from AotC to RotS.  I wrote it seven years ago and only ever showed it to my sister and @dyingsighs, so unless I fall hard back into Star Wars at some point, I probably won’t ever post it in its entirety, because I don’t think I have quite enough energy to do the kind of rewriting it would need in order for me to feel like it meets my current standards.  HOWEVER - given your replies, I pulled the only two vignettes from it that I do actually still like, because I know it has been literal years since I made any Star Wars-related work for you, and I feel like this is the least I can do to thank you for your many years of fandom friendship! 😊 

@all my old Star Wars peeps: Ancient fic snippets under the cut!  Consider this an affectionate “hello there” from me - I hope you guys are all doing well out there! <3

-naboo-

Anakin is insistent.

“Come on, Padmé,” he cajoles her.  “Just a little walk.  I get to be here without breaking any rules for once and you want to just sit inside?”  He flings open the embassy’s balcony doors and gestures out over the city.  “Look at this day!”

Sunny skies or not, Padmé can’t quite wrench her gaze away from the festival itinerary in her hands.  However many times she’s been over it, she can’t help but feel they must have missed some small detail, and in a situation as precarious as this one, the slightest slip could be deadly.  “I can’t, Anakin.”

Anakin’s carefree expression starts its rapid but familiar descent into a scowl.  “Why not?  No one’s going to bust a Senator for showing one of her Jedi guests around.  We can just walk the perimeter of the Festival platform – ”

“Anakin – ”

“You can pretend to show me the security arrangements or something – ”

“Anakin!  You’re supposed to be here to prevent an assassination attempt on the Chancellor.  This isn’t a social call.”

Anakin lets out his breath in a huge gust, waving a hand dismissively.  “That?  We’ve got that under control, Padmé.  Don’t even worry about it.”

“I am worried about it.”  Anakin opens his mouth as if to make another placating remark, but Padmé cuts him off.  “This is serious.  I can’t leave the embassy right now.  I’m not going out for a stroll.  I’m not doing anything until the Festival is over and done with tonight.”  When Anakin’s scowl does not subside, she sighs and makes a passing attempt at smoothing things over.  “I’m sorry, but the Festival of Light is enough of a headache without adding assassination threats into the mix.  I’m just a little tense right now.”

Anakin comes extraordinarily close to signing his own death warrant by rolling his eyes at her, but he stops just short of an irrevocable mistake.  “Yeah, you and everyone else,” he says instead, a very particular brand of irritation edging into his voice.  “But whatever.  Go ahead and read that thing again.  I’ll just come back when everyone’s got their bad feelings under control.”  He sweeps out of the room with the type of stormy bluster only he can manage.

Wrestling down a surge of irritation of her own, Padmé tosses the itinerary onto the desk.  Anakin, for all his moodiness, is partially right – she has the elegant program memorized back to front, and poring over it further is only going to make her feel worse.  And, come to think of it, there are a few other security measures she needs to double check with the rest of the Jedi task force.  

Pushing back her chair, she sets off in search of Anakin’s derisively referenced “everyone else.”

Most of the embassy’s guests, including the recently arrived contingent of Jedi knights, appear to have vacated the premises – emulating Anakin’s shining example and enjoying the day, perhaps, or, in the case of the Jedi, probably walking the security perimeter in preparation for tonight’s festivities.  After making inquiries, Padme finds a staff member who directs her to the rear of the ornately decorated building, where she discovers Everyone Else in the courtyard, boots and cloak discarded against the wall, dappled sun playing over his inner tunics.  

She hesitates on the steps.  It’s bad form to interrupt a Jedi in meditation, not that she has much opportunity to commit such faux pas.  Anakin rarely meditates, resorting to the ancient art only when he has failed in his attempts to outrace or outright beat his troubled thoughts into submission.  

But this doesn’t seem like meditation, exactly, not the kind she recognizes.  Obi-Wan is performing what looks like some kind of kata with a ritual slowness, pivoting and stretching with unhurried grace, flowing smoothly out of one stance and into the next, like liquid filling a clear vessel.  He holds himself suspended for an interminable count between each position, bare feet rooted on the sun-warmed flagstones, the only thing moving around him dust motes drifting through heavy beams of sunlight.

She doesn’t really mean to stay and watch, but there’s an almost hypnotic quality to the rhythmic motion – exertion of the body, sun and warmth and muscle and bone intertwined with stillness of the mind, an empty calm space, peace in the eye of the storm.

He sinks into a low stance with his back to her, head bowed, upward-facing hands loosely fisted, elbows bent and tucked in at his sides.  Then, after a long, still stretch of time, the calm murmur of his voice, rippling with something like amusement.  “Good morning.”

She blinks.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s quite all right.”  He seems to come back from some far place, and straightens, turning to address her.  Holding her gaze for a moment, searchingly, he draws some private conclusion.  “You are disturbed.”

She presses her lips together by way of response, grudgingly impressed yet cursing Jedi perception to the lowest pit of Chaos.  “It’s not important,” she says.  “Just the festival.”  She changes the subject.  “What’s that you were doing?”

Obi-Wan paces over to the courtyard wall to retrieve his footwear.  “One of the alchaka forms,” he says, pulling on the soft nerfhide boots.  At her blank look, he adds, “It’s...a type of moving meditation.  One of the oldest known to the Order.”

“It looks relaxing,” Padmé says.  Would that she could expunge her own anxieties with such artfulness.

He shrugs slightly.  “In theory.”  He bends down and scoops up his cloak with an easy physicality.  “The intended goal is to clear one’s mind.  To...release troubled thoughts.”  

Something about the crease in his brow seems to belie this statement.  Thinking back, she remembers suddenly what Anakin had said earlier, and, surprised, frowns. “Are you worried about the festival tonight?  About the assassination attempt?”

He blinks at her for a moment, as if she had only just reminded him about the possible catastrophe.  “No.  No, I don’t think so.  Even if the intelligence we’ve gathered is accurate, I doubt the Separatist forces will be able to achieve much when they must first go through six Jedi.  And Naboo’s finest,” he adds, glancing up at the overhead balconies, where far-away security personnel stand sentinel, their uniforms smears of dark red across the golden walls.

“But you are worried about something.”

A beat.  Then, “No.  Merely practicing good habits.”

She laughs humorlessly and sinks down onto the steps.  “Tonight could be a disaster.”

Obi-Wan thinks for a moment before responding.  “If so,” he reminds her carefully, “it is one which all your worries will be completely unable to prevent.”

“I know.  But when it’s my people concerned...and the Chancellor, obviously...”  She ticks things off on her fingers.  “Public support for Queen Neeyutnee...the well-being of the Republic...”

“Fate of the galaxy.”

“Little things.”  

They exchange almost shy grins, private smiles.  Padmé feels one tiny knot of tension uncoil inside her, and she breathes out an exasperated sigh, ineffectually commanding the rest of her anxieties to untangle and be gone.  “I need some of that alcha-whatsit business, clearly,” she says ruefully.  “I’m a mess.”

Obi-Wan takes a step back and looks her up and down.  “I agree,” he says.

Excuse me?  Padmé suppresses a surge of indignation.

“You will forgive me for saying so, but a senator is no good to her people preoccupied.  She must keep a cool head about her at all times.”

“I beg your pardon –

“Therefore,” Obi-Wan plunges ahead, and Padmé suddenly sees the glint of humor starting in his eyes, “I feel it is my duty in this case to help you attain such calm.”

She narrows her eyes at him in mock severity, but inside, she feels her mood beginning to lighten.  “By insulting my competence?”

“By exposing you to some of that alcha-whatsit business,” he says.  “If you like.”

Padmé hesitates.  This is Jedi business for sure, far outside her arena.  But Obi-Wan just smiles reassuringly at her and extends a hand.

“Not to worry, Senator.  I have it on good authority that I am a reasonably competent teacher.”

Padmé eyes his hand for another moment, then slaps her own lightly into his open palm.  “Very well then,” she says.  “I submit myself to your reasonably competent tutelage.”

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think this is for me.”

Padmé looks down at her bare feet, torn between luxuriating in the warmth of the sun-soaked stones and fretting over the ever-widening stance Obi-Wan is asking her to assume.

“Patience.”  He sticks his own soft-booted foot against the inside of her ankle and slides one of her feet out to the left.  

“Obi-Wan – ”

Still applying a gentle pressure against one foot, he pushes the other further away.

“I don’t know how to do a split, Obi-Wan,” she warns him, tamping down on a little flare of alarm.

“That’s far enough.”

Thank goodness she’d worn a relatively uncomplicated dress today.  Senatorial garb was nowhere near so flexible as the Jedi’s simple tunics.

She looks up at Obi-Wan, who, by virtue of her lowered, bent-kneed stance, is now slightly above her.  “What now?”

“Now,” he says placidly, sinking into the same low stance beside her, albeit with considerably more familiarity and ease, “you do as I do.”

All right, then.  She waits for him to begin, but the only thing he does is close his eyes, and she can’t close hers if she’s going to follow him, so she waits, doing nothing.  Her legs begin to protest the prolonged exertion in this unfamiliar position, but the trace of fire starting to bloom in her muscles doesn’t bother her.  It’s...ferocious.  It burns the way she does inside, sometimes.  

Obi-Wan cracks an eye open and looks at her.  Padmé doesn’t flinch.  “What?” she challenges.  “You aren’t doing anything yet.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.  “I am breathing,” he says.

“So am I.”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says, and in the span of a moment, he seems to grow in authority before her.  His voice shifts into the calm certainty of a millennia of tradition, the well-worn tracks of an ancient, unbroken line of instruction.  “Attend.”  

He closes his eyes again, and this time she watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of tunic as his ribs expand.  “All meditation begins with the breath.  You breathe in life, I breathe in the Force; without either of those things both of us are nothing.”  

What a strange thing to say.  “I’m not Force-sensitive, Obi-Wan.”

“It does not matter.  You are not Force sensitive, but the Force is in you nonetheless.  We are all of us full of it.  Your people are full of it.  Your planet is full of it.”  He breathes in, slow, and she attempts to follow him.  In.  Full.  “Your breath must fill more than your lungs.  Without breath, the body starves.  Without the Force, life starves.  Therefore you must let it suffuse you.  Breath; the Force.  Everywhere.  Small, forgotten places.  Empty places.  You must allow yourself to be full.  A gas expands to fill a container – your breath will expand to fill you, if you allow it.”

She does not answer.  She is breathing.  He falls into silence beside her, joining her rhythm.  Inhale, beat, exhale, beat.  She does not count the minutes.  They slip by into nothing.  

“Now,” he says.  “With me.”

She trains her eyes on him and follows as he moves, one bright light and its smaller, slighter reflection, moving in a bumpy sort of unison.  The fire in her leg muscles climbs higher, but it doesn’t faze her.  She breathes it out, from everywhere, the small, forgotten places.  She exults in it.

“Balance,” he says, maneuvering her hands to the proper places, the knuckles of one fist pressed flat against a vertical open palm, two hands meeting just in front of her lower abdomen.  “Two opposing forces.”  He sticks his foot back against the inside of her ankle, and she slides her feet apart without needing to be told, dropping back to the correct position.  “Close your eyes.  Breathe.”

In.  Full.  Small, forgotten places.

“Now,” he says, stepping back from her.  “You will count.”

“How high?” she asks.  Her legs are screaming with a pleasant sort of exhaustion, but she’s wobbly, and this position isn’t easy to maintain.

“One hundred,” he replies.  Then – “Three times.”

Her eyes fly open.  “Obi-Wan, that’s – ”

His eyes are glowing with suppressed mirth.  “Three times, apprentice.”

If she starts laughing, she’s going to fall.  “Obi-Wan, three times is too many – ”

“Protest again and it shall be six.”

“You know,” she grunts, wriggling down in an attempt to find a slightly more comfortable position, “I’m beginning to think I’ve done Anakin a disservice.”

He raises an eyebrow archly.  “Because...?”

“All this time, he was telling the truth about you.”

Obi-Wan snorts.  “Impudence.  I’d have been running circuits around the Temple for that kind of insolence.”

“Somehow I doubt that ever stopped you.”

And there’s the smile – trademark Kenobi, dimples and all, subtle and half-hidden behind the close-trimmed beard.  “No,” he agrees.  “You are quite correct.  I became an accomplished marathon runner.”  Dropping down to the same low, planted stance she is struggling to maintain, he returns to the matter at hand.  “Let us begin.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“Mm.”  He has already closed his eyes.  She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made it to twenty while she’s still dithering around trying to get her breathing in order.

“This is the silliest thing I’ve ever done with anybody.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but the corners his mouth curl up.

“But,” she says, never one to skimp on gratitude, “I like it.”  Her legs are shaking and she can’t count the number of joints she’s heard crack since they started this ridiculous exercise, but the anxious tangle in her chest is now tiny threads blowing in the wind, unwound and strewn about by breath and motion.  “And I do feel better about tonight.  So thank you.”

“I come to serve, Senator.”

Formal response, for someone who just moments ago had been shoving her into positions more suited to a gymnast than a senator.  She smiles to herself in private amusement and closes her eyes.  Reminds herself to breathe, full, everywhere.

And begins to count.

-chandrila-

Padmé has to give Obi-Wan credit.  By now, she has watched him extricate himself from Senator Se’lab’s clutches three times, and while a moonlit cocktail party in a garden of this size provides the Jedi with plenty of spaces to hide, the shadow cast by a group of hulking Ithorian senators is a more creative choice than she had expected, even from him.  Observing him from her position on the other side of the lush garden, she bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the deadly seriousness with which Obi-Wan keeps the Ithorian delegation between himself and the beverage table towards which the Bothan senator had stumbled.  

She cannot pass up such a rare opportunity to tease him.  Excusing herself from her group of colleagues, she sidles across the garden towards him, ensconcing herself in the shadows behind the wide backs of Ithorian senators Stonk and Bendon.  “Master Kenobi,” she greets him, smoothly.

Obi-Wan’s cool voice betrays nothing.  “Senator.”

Padmé fights to keep a straight face.  “I see you’ve made Senator Se’lab’s acquaintance.”

“I have made his acquaintance several times,” Obi-Wan replies.  “He had little memory of our first meeting at our second, and no memory of our second at our third.  Forgive me, but if I can avoid a fourth such performance, I will.  I grow tired of introducing myself.”

Padmé stifles a smile.  It isn’t fair, that one so skilled in diplomacy to earn himself a galactic-wide nickname should hate it so much.  “And did the Honorable Senator from Bothawui tire of your company?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Then how – ”  She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.  “You didn’t – ”

Obi-Wan gives her an affronted look.  “Senator Amidala, what sort of nefarious rogue do you take me for?”  He chances a harried glance past the Ithorians, checking for any signs of his unwanted companion’s return.  “Along with the memories of our previous two meetings, the good Senator appeared to have forgotten how exactly it was that he’d been able to achieve such an impressively amnesiac and befuddled state.  I merely reminded him about the open bar.”

“Formidably underhanded,” she says, approvingly.  “But then, that’s why they call you the Negotiator.”

Obi-Wan makes a face at the nickname.  “Yes,” he says.  “And if I could only negotiate myself out of this whole affair, I would perhaps believe the title to have been aptly bestowed.”

“Obi-Wan,” she chides him.  “The best negotiators know when to call for assistance.”

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, in what might be a faint feather-brush of amusement, then follows her gaze over his shoulder, to where the clearly intoxicated Bothan senator is making his weaving way through the festive crowd back towards them.  Obi-Wan’s eyes widen very slightly, in definite alarm.  “Indeed.  Very well said.  In that case, my lady, consider my distress signal activated.”

She extends an arm to him formally.  “Walk with me.”

Thanks to the friendship she and Bail share with Mon Mothma, Padmé knows the Chandrilan Diplomatic Gardens better than most in attendance.  She knows Obi-Wan, too, better than most, not because he opens himself to her, exactly, but – well, being in her position, one hears things, and Padmé is well-practiced at extracting trivia and truth from Anakin’s well-worn litany of complaints, worries, and fears.  

She guides them serenely down a lesser-used path, the raucous festivities behind them fading into a murmur.  “Here,” she points.  They turn through a simple, cream-colored arch into a wider space, far-away party sounds now faint, distant enough not to grate on the nerves.  All about them, only the cheerful babble of water, tumbling from multiple small falls into a network of mossy pools and rock-bordered streams.

Obi-Wan turns his head from side to side to take in the shimmering falls and eddying pools, chin rising as if in response to some sound only he can hear, features lightening. “We’ve a place very like this, in the Temple,” he says.  “The Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Padmé knows this.  Knows too that it is a favorite haunt of his, though she will not tell him so.  Better he think her fortuitous choice a welcome coincidence, for she knows what she knows about him from Anakin, and, strictly speaking, should not have access to such confidences.  

“I’ve heard of it,” she says instead.  “It’s much larger than this, though, I think.”  She waves a hand at the small garden.

“Size matters not,” Obi-Wan intones, as though reciting an oft-repeated adage, and extends a hand gracefully under one of the falls’ streams.  To Padmé’s surprise, the water curves around his upturned palm, bending as if repelled by an invisible barrier before continuing its swan dive into the clear pool below.

“Just a game,” Obi-Wan says, in answer to her unasked question.  “And an exercise in control.  One practiced by Temple younglings.”

Not any game Padmé knows.  She and her sister – then later, her handmaidens – were more apt to occupy themselves with jumping straight into the water, shrieking with glee, than with avoiding its flow.  “What’s the objective?”

“Just this,” he says.  “Stay dry.”  He curls his fingers up to his palm and then flat again in a gentle wave, the water above his hand twisting in a delighted dance before resuming its tumble around an untouched sleeve.  “Even the youngest initiates, when exhibiting proper control, can easily redirect a flow of water around their forms.  One stands under the falls, keeping dry, while their agemates or teachers attempt to break their focus.”  He quirks a smile, one laced with equal parts memory and mischief.  “One gets distracted, one gets wet.”

She smiles at him.  “I take it you were good at this game?”

“I was passable,” he says with a diffident shrug.  “But I did not win every time.  My own clan members’ antics were at times difficult to ignore.”

“And Anakin?” she asks.  She can’t help herself.  

Obi-Wan pull his arm out from the falls, hand disappearing back into the long sleeve of his robe.  “Terrible,” he says bluntly.  “Without a doubt the worst in his class.”

Padmé refrains from making an unbecoming snort.  So she will have something amusing to hold over Anakin’s head when she returns to Coruscant.  

“You mustn’t misunderstand me, of course; Anakin is highly capable and could easily manipulate the water were he left to his own devices, but I’m afraid his mental discipline left much to be desired.”  Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head.  “Anakin is so easily distracted – he reserved his limited ability to focus for very singular pursuits.”

“Such as...?”

Obi-Wan looks to be almost on the verge of rolling his eyes, but that would be un-Jedi, and he settles for a narrowing of them and crooking his fingers sardonically into the universal sign for quotes.  “‘Fixing stuff,’ I believe he said.”

Padmé can’t help but laugh at that, and Obi-Wan indulges her merriment graciously.  Looking re-energized, far more hale and hearty than he had in the reception area proper, he stretches out a hand.   Ribbons of water arc away from the falls all around them, streaming through the air and coalescing into a shining globe above his palm, a miniature model of Mon Cala.  The sphere’s globular surface ripples and turns slowly, casting small refractions of moonlight over the courtyard.  Small-scale beauty, to be sure, but Padmé only has eyes for Obi-Wan’s face, lit with reflected light from below, a study in simple happiness.

A Jedi at play, she realizes.  Most people didn’t believe there really was such a thing.

“That’s lovely,” she says, peering into the globe’s transparent yet distorted depths.  Something about it...she is suddenly reminded of Anakin, in another time and place, levitating a muja fruit in much the same way, and with the same burst of simple enjoyment.  “But I thought frivolous uses of the Force were discouraged.”

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows at her, accepting the friendly challenge.  “Frivolous?”  He turns his hand so that the palm now faces outward.  Rippling with light, the globe coasts several feet away and comes to rest over a pathetically drooping momus bush, its leaves yellowed and cracked, balmgrass spiky and dry around its exposed roots.  Obi-Wan twitches his fingers downward, and the globe disintegrates, water sluicing down in a joyful shower onto the parched earth, transforming the yellow dust to a rich, wet brown.  He gives her a significant look.  “The preservation of life is never frivolous, Senator.”

Her smile climbs its way out of her with ease.  Of course.  An answer for everything.  “I stand corrected.”

In the distance, a chorus of laughter rises above the sound of burbling water, followed by what sounds like someone calling for a toast.  Obi-Wan casts a lingering glance at the falls, then back at the arched entrance to the grotto.  “We should return,” he says, and if that is reluctance in his voice she will not comment on it.

She nods in agreement.  “You’re right.  Typho will start to worry.”

Taking her outstretched arm, Obi-Wan frowns.  “I am quite certain I gave Captain Typho my word that no harm would come to you whilst I am your escort.  He must learn to trust me.”

“He does trust you.  But he’s a worry-woolamander.  It’s his job.”  It was, after all, why she had personally selected him to replace his retired uncle as her new head of security.  But, at the same time, she had grown weary of the constant trail of guards orbiting her at all times, rings of human satellites, so many she can hardly blink without catching a glimpse of security burgundy in her peripheral vision.  Far preferable to have an escort of one Jedi, especially this Jedi, than that wall of armed guards.  

And besides, Obi-Wan had promised.  While Captain Typho may not appreciate the import of such a gesture, Padmé does – Obi-Wan Kenobi’s word is worth his weight in solid aurodium bars and more.  He has nothing left to prove to anybody, on that count.

At the threshold to the main garden, wide flowering pathways thronging with diplomats and officials and lackeys alike, Obi-Wan takes in a resigned breath.  “Once more into the breach,” he proclaims, with tragicomic stoicism.

She cocks her head at him in sympathy.  “Straight to the dance floor,” she advises, and they set off, she steering him in the proper direction.  “I doubt even a Bothan will try to cut in on a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan snorts under his breath.  “Her Highness is grown very devious, in her slippery Senatorial position,” he murmurs.

“And Master Kenobi very witty, in his old age,” she shoots back.

Obi-Wan favors her with a grin, a real grin, full and shining with rarely displayed pleasure.  He bows to her, ushering her onto the formal dance floor with a graceful sweep of his hand.  “You had better hope your earlier supposition is correct,” he says, eyes glinting with the same clever playfulness she’d seen in him earlier.  “The Bothan senators have hooves, you know.”

[aclosetfan]

Lunch Break Blues

The wind whipped Blossom's hair as she tried wrestling it into a top knot. It had been raining on and off all day, and no doubt it would start up again soon, but while the rain had momentarily ceased, she and her sisters took advantage of the rare sunlight pouring through the broken clouds. It was the first lunch in a long week that they took perched atop one of the skyscrapers far from any prying eyes. Usually, a weather report full of rain made Townsville dull and would drive Buttercup crazy, but this week's unprecedented downpour had done little to stop Townsville's villains. Blossom suspected it was because they were feeling a little stir crazy too.

She didn't know what was worse, staying home and doing nothing or flying around soaked to the bone each day. Her hair was a frizzy mess, and she was pretty sure a nasty cold was on the horizon. The rain was such a nuisance that Bubbles had begun to forgo her tennis shoes or steel-toed boots for her daisy-print rain boots. Buttercup had busted out her rain repellant windbreaker. And Blossom had personally opted for her ugly yellow polka-dotted raincoat and matching hat, which yes, she knew looked ridiculous, but she dressed practicably not for fashion. She didn't care who laughed (her sisters and a choice selection of villains); at least she was staying reasonably dry!

The skyscraper they were at was far too windy for her hat to stay on, so she had shoved it in her pocket and went to task on taming her hair. An awful frizzy mess. She pouted and sighed, dropping her hands from her mangled top knot. Generally, the wind did very little to bug her, having the capability to fly and all, but it kept spraying rain droplets and puddles into her face and her hand itched towards her rain cap once more.

A dejected sigh from her left pulled her attention away from her own problems. Glancing over at Bubbles, whose pigtails had gone limp, stabbed absentmindedly at her salad. Her sister took a sad, miserable bite and chewed slowly as she watched the next round of clouds blow in with watery eyes. Bubbles had seemed to be feeling blue (har har) for the last few days, and it wasn't because of the rain. What for though, Blossom didn't know. Bubbles hadn't decided to pour her heart out just yet. However, that didn't deter her from trying to pry the problem out of her sister. Blossom was a problem-solver after all—it was one of her core defining traits.

"Bubs?" She asked with a tilt of her head, "You okay?"

"Oh, Bloss," Bubbles sighed, putting her salad down in favor of ringing out the water from her pigtails, "I'm just feeling a lil crummy. Don't worry."

Blossom snorted, "It'd be easier changing the tide."

That tugged a small smile out of Bubbles.

"Is it the rain?" She asked, already knowing it was the wrong answer.

Bubbles sighed, "No, it's not the rain—it's just, well, it's kind of silly actually."

"I could go for a good joke about now that isn't about my raincoat," Blossom shrugged.

"It's an affront to fashionable society, Blossom," Bubbles sniffed, "You look like a drowned clown!"

"On the outside!" She huffed, "But I'm perfectly dry, thank you, unlike some people."

"I look cute, rain or shine. Jealousy isn't a good color on you." Bubbles blew a raspberry at her before going back to stabbing her salad.

Blossom rolled her eyes and muffled an annoyed groan, "So you're not going to tell us what's up?"

"You'll just tell me it's silly."

The response stung a little, but Blossom shook it off, "Come on, I promise I won't—" she held out her pinky, "—I swear!"

Bubbles regarded her hand for a moment with a thoughtful look before linking their pinkies together. Simultaneously, they lifted their hands and sealed the deal with quick kisses to their fists.

"So," Blossom tried again, "what's up?"

Bubbles sigh was loud and dramatic as she brought one leg up to wrap her arms around, resting a cheek on her knee.

"It's my art," her sister complained, "I wanna make something big, you know, like real profound, but all I ever draw is cute stuff!"

Blossom felt her eyebrows furrow, "But you love cute stuff?"

"Van Gogh didn't get famous for drawing fluffy bunnies, Blossom!" Bubbles whined, "Real artists have really thoughtful ideas! They mean things, and anytime I try to do the same thing, it comes out stupid!"

"Van Gogh drank paint and killed himself. So I don't think he's someone you should be comparing yourself to."

"But he was a genius!"

"He was sick." Blossom counterpointed, "And couldn't find the help he needed. I prefer you sane and alive. Everyone does. The world doesn't need another tortured artist."

Bubbles pouted, "Yeah, but they don't need another goofy doodlist either. I want to make stuff that means something to people."

"They do mean something." She smiled, nudging Bubbles' shoulder with her own, "Your drawings always make me smile. They're happy and fun, and even if they're sometimes silly, that doesn't make them any less valuable to me. That counts for something, right?"

Bubbles smile brightened, and she giggled, "That's really sweet, Bloss, thanks. I think I needed to hear that, but—" there was another dejected sigh, "—I dunno, I just feel so uninspired and bored, and I really want to make a statement. I know there's something great inside me—"

"Because there is."

That earned her another smile, "—yeah, but I can't get it out! It's like all my hand can do is silly cartoons!"

Blossom nodded, "Well, I'm no artist myself, but I'm guessing there's nothing better than practice."

Bubbles flopped back onto the wet concrete, and Blossom cringed in sympathy as she imagined the water soaking its way through Bubbles' shirt.

"Bubs don't lay on—"

"I need to be more introspective!" Bubbles interrupted, "More in tune with myself and nature and the world! I need more life experiences, ya know, so I have stuff I can really pull from when I draw."

Outside of Bubbles probably being the most "self in-tuned" person Blossom knew, it was "life experiences" that threw her the most.

"Bubbles, life experiences? You're a superhero. You face the most depraved of society every day; you met people at their lowest moments. You've faced adversity larger than most will ever dare encounter!"

"But none of that has affected me! I need to get sad! I need to get in touch with my blue period!" Bubbles waved her hands around in exasperation, "I need to be relatable!"

"You've faced the worst and have come out better because of it," She scowled, "and you don't want that? Do you want to be emotionally scarred? To be relatable?"

Bubbles groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I knew you wouldn't get it!" Then came a muffled whine, "This is why I didn't wanna tell you!"

Blossom tsked, "I certainly don't see how being a beacon of hope as opposed to a cesspool of depression and self-pity is worse."

"It's not like that!" Bubbles shot up, "I don't want to be dark and depressed, but that's like what all the great art is!"

"Great art is the art that makes you feel, Bubbles; it doesn't matter what emotion that is, you know that. And if your art makes people feel happy, then what's the big issue?"

Bubbles deflated, "I dunno. I just want to make something that'll make people remember. Centuries from now, I want it to inspire people! Go, oh, I want that! Whatever that is." Bubbles looked up back at the clouds, "And that means I've really got to come up with something good. Something meaningful, but I've got zero ideas."

Blossom considered what she was saying for a moment before nodding, "Okay, I think I understand what you're saying. It's like you're in an art block."

"Yeah," Bubbles nodded, "I'm on creative hold. Everything I make, I don't like."

"Well, this weekend, why don't we go to the art museum, look at the stuff you want to emulate, and try to get into the head of the artist, you know?"

Bubbles perked up, "That's a good idea! You'd really wanna come with me?"

"Of course. We'll drag Buttercup along too. You know she needs some sophisticating." Blossom murmured, shooting their other sister a sideways look.

With the hood of her windbreaker still partially up and wet dripping hair curling in every direction, Buttercup sat perched on the ledge of the building a few feet away, hunched over her sandwich. She chewed mechanically in what looked like deep pensive thought. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she seemed to study the cars far below. She had been mostly quiet this afternoon, happy to be outside but pissy about the rain, and had spent much of their lunch hour shooing away a group of hungry pigeons that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. The pigeons, however, seemed to be appeased at the moment with the few chunks of bread and potato chips Buttercup had relinquished to them.

Blossom expected Buttercup to snap at her for the comment, but it seemed she was so lost in her own little world, watching the cars whiz by, that she hadn't heard them talking.

Bubbles giggled, "Actually, Bloss, I was thinking I needed to be a bit more like Buttercup."

She gave Bubbles a look, jabbing a thumb towards their sister, "Buttercup?"

"Mm-hmm," Bubbles nodded.

"Our sister?" Blossom asked again for clarification, "Buttercup?"

"Ah, come on! Look at her!" Bubbles grabbed her by the cheeks and swiveled her head back towards Buttercup, "She's got the look down."

"What look?" Blossom asked, but because her cheeks were being squished, it came out like, "Wa'ok?" Bubbles understood her regardless.

"That dark, introspective look." Bubbles explained, "Ya know, mused hair, dark under-eyes, stained fingers. The look of a moody artist!"

Generally, Buttercup's hair was mused because she refused to brush it since it was "short for a reason, Blossom." Today, it was also because of the rain. Furthermore, Buttercup had dark under-eyes partly because she insisted on wearing dark eyeliner that smudged halfway down her face every day without fail, and also because she had stayed up until 3 a.m. last night playing video games. And finally, Buttercup's fingers were stained not because of any artistic endeavor but because she had stuck her whole hand into a vat of black and mysterious sludge this morning. She had done so because Blossom had explicitly told her not to stick her hand in the vat of black and mysterious sludge they had been investigating, which had been a mistake on Blossom's part. She knew her sister couldn't resist doing something after it had been brought to her attention, so why she had decided to tell Buttercup not to mess with the vat of sludge was beyond her.

And while Buttercup was often quote-unquote moody, it wasn't because she was broody or introspective. It was because she was either hungry or bored or sometimes both. Bubbles was actually the moody and overly sensitive one, but Blossom knew better than to say that out loud.

"She looks like she needs a bath." Blossom huffed, pulling her face from Bubbles grasp.

"Don't focus on that." Bubbles waved her off, "Look how deep in thought she is! Buttercup isn't much for talking, is she? I bet she's got a lot going on in that head of hers."

"Buttercup?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion once again.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and gave her shoulder a playful wack, "Don't be mean! I'm serious. She's been sitting like that for half an hour now, looking, thinking—"Bubbles tapped her chin in thought, "—I wonder what she's thinking about. From the looks of it, it must be important."

Blossom looked back over at Buttercup, tracing her eyes over her sister's face once more to look for something she may have missed. Her look was pensive. And it was admittedly artsy even if it was on accident. She supposed that even if Buttercup tended to evade artistic endeavors in favor of more physical hobbies, she could still be a poet at heart.

Buttercup was done with her sandwich now and handed off the crumbs to the birds. She still seemed lost in thought. However, she had moved her attention away from the hustle and bustle of the city to the clouds above. She didn't smile, but when a beam of light broke through the clouds and landed on her face, the stress lines on her forehead disappeared, and contentment passed over her features. Blossom couldn't help smiling at the sight of it. It was nice to see her like that. Maybe she was thinking about something profound and meaningful. Bubbles was right. Buttercup wasn't one to share her every single thought unless she was pissed, annoyed, or pressed for an answer. When Buttercup was in a good mood, she simply vibed, enjoying the quality time.

Blossom hardly thought she was mysterious, though. Buttercup's body language was more than enough to determine her mood. If she liked a song, she'd bob her head to its beat. If she liked a certain food, she'd inhale it without breathing. But now that Bubbles had said it, what was Buttercup actually thinking about?

Suddenly, Blossom felt guilty for never asking.

"Hey, Butters?" She called out to their sister, snapping a few times to get her attention.

Buttercup blinked back into reality and turned to face them, "Mhm?"

"What are you thinking about?" She asked.

"What am I thinking about?" Buttercup tilted her head, giving them both a look, "Why?"

"Don't worry about it." Bubbles spoke up, "Just tell us, right now, what you're thinking about."

Buttercup shrugged, looked away, smacked her lips a few times, and looked back, "Lizards."

"Lizards?" Blossom heard herself echoing as every kind, and warm thought she had regarding Buttercup came to a crashing halt.

Buttercup shrugged again, picking at her teeth, before looking back up at the clouds, "They're cool as shit, dude."

Blossom blinked once and then twice before turning back to Bubbles, who looked a little bit dumbstruck. 

"Well, you're right when you're right, Bubbles. She's a real Van Gogh in the making," She snorted dryly.

"Ah, shut it," Bubbles huffed, crossing her arms.

"Wait," Buttercup spoke up over the wind, "why you dumbasses talking about vans?"

"Face it, Bubs," Blossom smiled, ignoring Buttercup, "you don't give yourself enough credit. If there's someone here proficient in artistic musings, it's not the pigeon whisperer. It's most definitely you."

Bubbles uncrossed her arms and sent her a warm smile, leaning her damp head on her shoulder, "Maybe you're right, Bloss, but could we still go to the art museum?"

"Yeah, duh." Blossom smiled, leaning her head on Bubbles, "You know I love museums."

"Hey!" Buttercup shouted, hands on her hips, "Seriously, which van are two laughing about, and where is it going!"

[ofieugogyshz]

Fic;; Memories: Riolu IV

Word Count: 8900 officially over 9000 now

Summary: Sarah accepts Cynthia’s invitation to visit her in Celestic Town. On her second day there, she finds herself visiting Cynthia in her grandmother’s home, and, once again, facing an internal struggle that her Riolu, Lance, and Cynthia, were set on helping her with.

Warnings: Lots of bad mental health, self-depreciation spirals, abusive thoughts to self. Also some awkwardness. (But it gets better!)

Notes: This is the thing that’s just been. taunting and harassing me for weeks, and i am so done with it. i am so sorry that it’s like, 2x as long as the others. I really hope it’s worth it to you guys, because I am just so done with it. Edit: Fixed up some spots, and re-pasting it added paragraph indents, so ????

(Series Masterpost)

---------------------

After helping me with my Riolu, Cynthia invited me to visit her in Celestic Town.

“I'll be there for a while, researching more myths.”

I told her yes, but when she offered to take me with her, I declined. I said that I wanted to walk the rest of the route to fulfill my Pokedex.

“Oh, you're working on a Pokedex? That sure takes me back...” She had a wistful look on her face. “I went on a big adventure with a Pokedex when I was younger.” I told her to share with me some of those stories when I met up with her in Celestic Town. She gave me her number, and we parted ways for the time being.

I spent the rest of that day and the next playing with my Riolu named Lance to make up for the issues we had ran into. Totally not connected to the Lance of fame. Yep. Definitely not. But it wasn't like I had that much of a choice. My friend, his father's trainer, had named him that for me as a cute little joke. I suppose I could have picked a name and told my friend to name it that. But I wanted to know what a Pokemon was like before I named it; and without the Pokemon in front of me, it was so hard to find an appropriate name. But watching Riolu-- little Lance fight our way up Route 210, I couldn't help but think that maybe my friend Blaze had the right idea in naming him after him. He was definitely strong and determined like his namesake, and showed plenty of care towards other Pokemon.

<<Can we call my namesake today? I wanna tell him how strong I got!!>>

I laughed. Now that I had accepted it, it was cute whenever he asked to talk to Lance. Lance—the human-- thankfully couldn't understand what the little Riolu was saying, but watching him entertain the notion was cute. Endearing. Enjoyable.

I looked at the time. Lance might be available now...? I had tried calling him earlier, but it went straight to voicemail. Probably working, I thought to myself.

“Let's try again after we get to the Pokemon Center in Celestic, so you guys can see each other with the videophones.”

And so we went through the rest of the route. It was a rather annoying route; there were many obstacles in our way, not including the fog that limited visibility. It took a few days to traverse the rest of the route by foot. I was able to train up my Pokemon a lot more than I expected. But even with the great training it provided, I was so relieved when I finally saw the rustic buildings nestled away in the mountain range. Even if it hadn't been Celestic, I would have been grateful just to stay a few nights away from the mess that was the foggy mountainside.

It was daytime when we arrived. I immediately looked for the Pokemon Center and checked in. When my Pokemon were returned, I let Lance out of his Pokeball.

“You know what, I think I'mma call you 'Little Lance', if that's alright with you? It's a little confusing talking to my friends about the both of you...” That was only partially a lie. I thought it might help distinguish them, yes, but I also still felt a little embarrassed calling him by that name... I was hoping a working towards a middle-ground might help.

Lance considered it for a moment, then shook his head.

<<Nope.>>

“Aw, but c'mon! It's super cute, calling you 'Little Lance'. Ooh! I could even call you 'Lil Lance'”

But he wouldn't budge.

“Ugh, fine then.”

<<Can we try calling Lance now?>> he asked, pointing to the videophones. I thought about it for a moment.

“I suppose so... It's almost time for our weekly call anyways.”

<<Yes!>> Lance curled up his fist and pulled it back in excitement. It was so cute to see him emulating a human gesture; he must've picked that up from me in the last week.

I picked up one of the receivers and dialed Lance's number. My heart was pounding, as it always did whenever I called him. Often I worried that I was being a bother. Things like, “Maybe I should call back later,” would plague my mind. But for some reason, I felt less nervous about it now. Maybe because Lance the Riolu was there, just as happy as I was to talk to him, that it made me feel less scared.

No answer still.

“Hmm... Weird.” The landline recording asked if I wanted to leave a message; I hung up. It wasn't that important to me to miss once. I had to let it not be important.

<<What's wrong?>>

“He isn't answering. Hope everything's alright. He's probably busy with other stuff right now.” I wonder if they officially made him Champion yet, or if they're still filling out the paperwork on that, I thought. He had mentioned that a few weeks ago; though that had little to do with him not answering. My thoughts were wandering far away on the topic, musing on what that conversation would be like when he told me that it was officialized. Lance tugged at my pants.

<<Can we visit Miss Cynthia then?>>

“Yeah, let me just see if she's available.” I pulled out the number she gave me, slowly typing it in. It rang once before being answered. There was no visual, so I found myself staring at a screen that just said “No Visual”, accompanied by the image of a Chatot.

“Hang—Hang on a moment.” Cynthia's voice sounded far away and strained, like she was just out of reach of her phone. The distant sound made me curious on how she had answered it, but I didn't have time to think about that, because she suddenly came in much louder and clearer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Cynthia? It's Sarah.”

“It is! I'm glad to hear from you! Are you nearby? I can go out and meet you if you want.” She sounded eager, excited. Had she been looking forward to this? I didn't think so. I was just a trainer she had met twice; and younger than her, I would later discover. Maybe the sound of her happy voice was because she just had a breakthrough with her research, and she couldn't wait to tell someone. I highly doubted she was excited to hear from me, after all. Not after the impression I gave last time.

Lance looked at me, his ears drooping a little as he examined me. Ah. Right. I shouldn't be thinking a thought like that. I guess that was something both Lances wanted me to work on.

“I'm already at the Pokemon center,” I told her. I scritched behind Lance's ears, making him feel better. It helped me, too. “I just got in.”

“Oh! That's perfect! I'll come get you.”

We hung up. She arrived in about fifteen minutes, brushing dust and dirt off of her coat as she arrived. Based on what I had seen of her in pictures and in person, I never would have imagined that she could look so disheveled.

“Where were you?” I asked. Lance and Pika both ran over to greet her.

“Oh, excavation. Have you learned about the Celestic Ruins yet? It's why I love coming back here so much! I can show you later, if you'd like.”

“N-no, that's fine for right now...”

We hadn't made any plans for the visit, so Cynthia gave me a short tour of the small town. In its center was a crater, and in the center of that crater was a small shrine. She told me that it dates back to ancient times; many of the town's residents still prayed to the deities and Pokemon they believed were tied to it. Behind the shrine was a cave; on each side of the cave's entrance were two large drawings, of what I presumed were ancient or mythological Pokemon. Beyond that, there was little of interest to passing trainers. The town was so small that it lacked a proper Pokemart. Instead, an old couple sold things from their home for any passing trainers that needed to restock between Mt. Coronet and their next destination. I wasn't sure if it was surprising or just interesting that the Champion considered this town her favorite.

For lunch, she took me to one of the few places to eat in the small town. While there wasn't much to catch Cynthia up on, I found myself excitedly telling her how Lance and I got along better since we last saw each other. She listened intently, speaking thoughtfully and giving me advice. I found myself asking her for a casual battle-- not one with her title on the line, but as between new friends.

“Very well then,” she said. “I should let you know-- I plan on going all out!”

“Couldn't ask for a better match myself!”

I sent out a Luxio and a Roselia, both Pokemon that I had caught here in Sinnoh. They were doing great at Gym Battles, and I figured the experience with a Champion might help them grow even stronger. Cynthia quirked an eyebrow, interested in the unspoken challenge of a doubles battle. She sent out a Garchomp and a Gastrodon. The double Earthquake duo had a huge advantage over Luxio; Roselia could handle Gastrodon, but that still left her Garchomp. As we battled, I did my best to keep my two Pokemon from fainting, but there was only so much they could do at their current strength. We both called back our Pokemon when the battle was over.

“That was a great match! The confidence in which you issued your commands allowed your Pokemon to trust you, and they responded well! I can't wait to have another battle with you when they've gotten stronger.”

“Tch...” Though she gave me high praise, the defeat still stung. “We should have another match with my aces.”

“Hmm. Perhaps another day... Don't forget that the key to growing as a trainer is to challenge yourself! Playing it safe is going to deprive yourself of new possibilities.”

She was right on both counts. One battle was enough for now. I had gotten a glimpse of what waited for me when I would challenge the Sinnoh Elite Four and its Champion, and I felt myself eager to train with my Pokemon for when that day would come. Beside me, Lance had looked on in awe, little tail wagging during the battle.

<<I want to battle too!>> he said to me. I knelt down to pat his head.

<<Maybe next time.>>

The next day, I headed over to where Cynthia was staying. We realized that we had a shared interest in mythology, so she invited me over to look at some of the texts that her and her grandmother kept. Pika followed behind me with Lance. I could hear the both of them talking happily amongst themselves, and I smiled. It was nice to hear him feeling like a member of the team again.

When I got to the address Cynthia gave me, an older woman answered the door. She adjusted her glasses, looking me up and down.

“Um, hi. I'm here because Cynthia invited me. This... is the right address, yes?” I looked at the address she had hastily scrawled down for me, and showed it to the woman. She didn't bother looking at it.

“That's correct. My granddaughter told me that she would be having a friend come over. Didn't think it'd be someone so young.” I winced. She motioned for me to come in, closing the door behind her. I took a look around. Stacks and stacks of paper were all over the living room, or what I thought was supposed to be one. Cynthia's grandmother followed my line of sight and sighed. “Pardon the mess. When we both really get into our research, it shows.”

“Ahaha, it's okay. Kind of reminds me of my room,” I said without thinking. Woops. Probably shouldn't've mentioned that. That wasn't a good impression, but hopefully it wouldn't mean something bad to them, if it came back up.

“In here.” Cynthia's grandmother had led me down the hall and stopped in front of one of the doors. “Cynthia's already in the library. She said she wanted to pull out some texts for you to read before you got here. Knowing her, she's probably already got a huge stack prepared for you. I'll be going out for a walk, so if you need anything, let Cynthia know.”

I was alone in the hall with my Pokemon. Lance and Pika stood on either side of me, looking up at me. I was a little nervous, and her grandmother's comment on my age left me feeling a little unsettled. Was she expecting someone older? How much older? I just realized that I don't even know how old Cynthia is! Is it really okay to call ourselves friends if she's much older than me? But I found the nerves paling in comparison to my excitement. I was excited to have someone else to call a friend; excited that the local Champion had called me a friend to her grandmother. But more importantly, I was excited to see the library that she had. All the books, all the texts, the myths and years of research that people had put into studying these things-- even if I was only interested in reading only the myths, being surrounded by so many books would be so exciting! Old books had that especially exciting aesthetic appeal to them, just thinking about it...

<<Are you okay?>> asked Lance. He tugged at my clothes, pulling me out of my reverie.

“Ah, yes. Thank you. Sorry, I got a little excited...”

<<You must really like books.>>

The comment made me smile. I took a deep breath and knocked loudly on the door.

“Come in!” I could hear Cynthia's faint response through the door. I turned the doorknob and pushed.

The sight of so many books greeted me. They were on the walls, stacked against shelving on the walls. Some stacks were so high that some of the desks and chairs were buried and hidden from view. Everywhere I turned was littered with books, folders, and handwritten notes.

“Sarah! I'm so glad to see you!” I could see Cynthia in the center of the room, holding a cup of tea. I could barely make out the sight of some fancy-looking seats centered around a coffee table in the middle of the room. I smiled, and closed the door behind me.

“Thanks for inviting me!” I said. I started walking towards her, my Pokemon carefully hopping from low bookstack to bookstack like the floor was lava. I began to talk excitedly, sentences running into each other as I couldn't wait to share what I had to say. “I'm so glad you asked me to come over, this is so amazing, and---L-Lance!!! W-w-what're y-you doing h-here?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, face flushing, unaware that there was going to be company. Much less company that I liked.

<<I'm sorry, was I not supposed to jump on the books?>> asked my Riolu. The sudden change in my reaction, the strange query mentioning his name, had left him confused. It took him a moment to realize what was going on with me. He looked to where I was stuck staring, as though I were stricken with a Glare attack and could not look away. I heard a happy yip from him, and he ran towards the red-headed trainer that was seated on the couch.

<<It's him!!! It's him!! My namesake!! We get to meet my namesake!!!>

“You must be the little Riolu that I've been talking to over the phone!” I heard Lance say. He caught the little Riolu, ruffling the top of his head. My Riolu looked up at him, starry-eyed, before turning back to me. I was still stricken to the spot. Cynthia came over to me, gently pushing me behind the back to lead me to a chair that was seated on the side, between both of theirs.

“Come on in! Don't be afraid to sit down with us!”

“I-I'm not!” I said quickly, the words out of my mouth before I realized what they were. I shut my mouth right then, glancing at Lance, before looking back at Cynthia. She gave no indication that this was intentional, but I had the underlying sense that it was... I was suddenly hyperaware of how I presented myself. I quickly placed my hands in my lap. I kept my legs together, though one foot would begin bouncing in place before I knew it.

Pika had heard the excited commotion and came over to me, peeking her head over a pile of books to look. When she saw who it was, she ran over and happily nuzzled Lance on the cheek.

I felt simultaneous embarrassment and envy of her at that moment. I could have cried. I wanted to cry.

Sensing the conflicting emotions, Lance-- the Riolu-- came over to me and climbed into my lap. He was emanating so much happiness from meeting Lance –the human-- that it started to put me at ease. I wrapped my arms around my Riolu, gently resting my chin on his head, wishing I could have fiddled with something instead.

I watched as Lance picked up my Pikachu and set her down on the couch, gently scritching her under the chin.

“And hello to you too, Pika! It's been awhile since we've seen each other, hasn't it friend?”

“Chu! Pika pikachu!!”

<<My namesake! My namesake!!!>>

This was going to give me a headache, if I didn't die from embarrassment first. I tried to suppress a groan, and looked to Cynthia once more, trying to get help from her. Any kind of help. But her attention was already towards Lance, ignoring my distress.

“I'm glad to see that you're such good friends with Sarah's Pokemon already.”

“I've met her Pikachu several times, both in and out of battle. The Riolu is new.” He turned towards me. “I hope he hasn't been giving you too much trouble?”

I sat up straight when he addressed me. “Hm?! Oh! Um, n-no, not recently,” I said, lying a little. But I could feel Riolu become a little angry with me for the lie. He didn't like me being dishonest, it seemed. “A-actually, Cynthia helped us with a, uh, misunderstanding about a week ago, so things are actually better than before!” I gave him a nervous smile.

“I see.”

“It was moving to see. Sarah really is passionate about her Pokemon.”

“Y-yeah, I am.” I turned towards Lance, asking him the same question that I asked earlier when I came in.

“W-what are you doing here, Lance? I thought you were busy, with, um. League stuff?”

“Cynthia invited me to come out. She said that she's found an ancient connection between Sinnoh and Johto, and asked if I was interested.”

“But aren't you supposed to be at the league right now?”

“Since we're still in the process of obtaining a new Elite Four member to replace me, the League's been closed. I normally have time off from the Pokemon G-Men when the League is open, so I haven't had as much to do for the time being.” He looked at me, a curious expression on his face. “Why, did you want me to be there?”

“W-what?! Uh, no, I guess? I think?” I didn't know if that was the right answer or not. This was making me so nervous, so on edge. I didn't know which way I should play into this. “I just thought that you wouldn't be able to come this far north, is all.” I looked away, cheeks flushing a little. “You never mentioned it in any of our e-mails or calls.”

“It was last minute,” Cynthia interrupted. I looked over at her; she had been watching the conversation. Her legs were crossed, one elbow propped up on a knee as she rested her chin on the back of her hand. She had an inscrutable smile on her face, but the body language told me all I needed to know. She definitely planned this. I felt my face grow hotter as I realized it, and all the implications that could mean. Riolu squeaked as my arms tightened around him.

Cynthia continued. “I had the breakthrough a few days ago, and I thought he'd be interested. I found some text that suggests that Sinnohans may have moved over to Johto, but the connecting thread mentions a cave that no one's been able to find in Johto. Not yet, anyways.”

“She thought that I might like to try and find it.”

“Ah.... I see...”

“Oh! Before I forget, these are some of the books I wanted to show you, Sarah.” Cynthia got up to grab a small handful of books. She placed a few of them on the table in front of me; I was so apprehensive of the situation now that I couldn't even glance at their titles. My Riolu looked at the books curiously. “You might enjoy familiarizing yourself with Sinnoh's myths and traditions. It's a region that's full of beauty and history!”

She handed Lance the other books she held. I watched as she spoke so passionately to him about the ruins that she had found mentioned in her texts. I found myself a little jealous. Cynthia was a beautiful, confident, and an amazing trainer. She had no problems talking to Lance and keeping him invested in a conversation. And I could barely talk to him without becoming extremely flustered, stuttering and stumbling over my words, uncertain of which ones to say at all. I wanted to say all of them, in all the ways and combinations, until I could find the best ones to say to him. But with that desire to talk to him came the same conflict of being noticed, of being watched, of being paid attention to. As much as I wanted it, I didn't want it; because if he saw me, then he was watching me. And if he was watching me, then that meant that I could be judged one way or the other over something I did. Something I said. The way I looked, the look I gave off. I didn't want him to think less of me because of that. Cynthia, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about the mess that her library was in. She knew who she was and confident that it was more than enough to be liked, to be respected. I yearned to have that kind of confidence, that fearlessness. But I had to be liked. I had to be well-liked. I couldn't stand letting someone think worse of me for an accident or lack of attention or knowledge.

So I sat there, quietly watching the two of them as they became more invested in their conversation, until I thought myself forgotten about. The things they spoke about were beyond my current knowledge, and I, for once, could not interrupt. The two of them got up to look at something else in the library, ancient maps I think. I sunk into my seat, letting out a long sigh. Riolu looked up at me from where he sat in my lap, confused and concerned.

<<What are you feeling right now? I know the confusion.>>

Jealousy, I thought back. I was jealous of her. Not to a bitter extent, but... She probably could have-- I couldn't finish the thought, the mere idea of it making me hurt. I wanted to cry. Riolu turned around to press his forehead against mine.

<<I don't understand your feelings, but I do know that you're in pain right now. I hope you can feel better.>>

“Thanks.”

I watched as Cynthia helped Lance find reference materials for the Sinjoh ruins that she talked about. He hadn't heard of it before, and Cynthia speculated it was somewhere far north of his hometown. Lance placed a hand on his chin as he thought, looking carefully at the maps she had on the wall and the documents she showed him. It looked natural, seeing them together. Perhaps if I was in a better place emotionally, I could have enjoyed watching him in a different element.

The two of them seemed to flow well together, I found myself thinking as I observed them. I didn't want to, but it came unbidden. They looked good together. People probably think... nicer things about the two of them together than if it were me with him. I was not pretty. Today, I didn't feel smart enough to even join in their conversation, though I obviously could have picked up the information. I couldn't deny that, and so, the argument inside my head began.

My thoughts struggled between telling me I was worthless as a trainer and proving all of it wrong. I was good at Pokemon battles, and I had defeated the Champions from Kanto and Hoenn, but I didn't choose to take that role of responsibility that came with being Champion. It wasn't something I could do. It required a lot of work, and I wouldn't have been free to continue on my own journey. On the other hand, it wasn't impressive to not take up the position. That was the only thing I was confident about. All those achievements didn't mean that I'd be interesting to someone. Someone that I struggled to initiate a conversation with, and sometimes procrastinated replying to text or email messages to, and thought for hours on a reply, just because I didn't want to worry about him thinking awful of me. But...

My eyes roved over to where the two of them talked. I felt something awful in the pit of my stomach. A pang of jealously.

I wish I could be like her.

Anyone but myself.

Ugh. I hated these thoughts. But once they started, they wouldn't stop coming.

If he got with me, it would be such a joke. The media would have a field day. And why would he even get with me? Because I have a one-sided crush? That's bullshit. Plus, she can talk to him about things, and hold a conversation, and, damn, even get him to travel to another region for just a myth that she thought he might be interested in? I can't even do that. I mean, I never asked him, but why would I? I know he won't show, even if he didn't have all those responsibilities. And I'm strong as a trainer, but I'm not as experienced as her. I can't even accept that my own selfish feelings might be hurting my Pokemon. I thought I knew a lot, but it's just as much hot air as Eusine. And then there's just... UGH. Expecting someone to get with me, looking like this? A Milktank, no a Snorlax-- wait what was that cat they have here? Purugly. I'm so ugly, so awful--

<<Sarah?>>

It was a sound like a cold drop of water. The burning, burdening chaotic swirl of thoughts stopped, for just a moment. Riolu's thought was like a cool, soothing balm. I opened my eyes. I hadn't even realized that I had them shut, tears welling up in the corner. He touched his forehead to mine. After a few moments, I felt a calming wave of energy sweep through my body, relaxing all the muscles that had tensed.

<<Better?>> he asked, thoughts full of concern.

Yeah, I thought back. I hugged him tight, closing my eyes again. That helped a bit. Thanks.

<<Good. Because you got Miss Cynthia's attention.>>

That made me jump. I opened my eyes again to see her standing nearby, a gentle smile on her face.

"Are you doing okay, Sarah?" she asked me quietly.

"Uhm.. Mm… y-yeah. I-I'm okay now."

"That's good. I'd hate for you to feel awful while we're all here." She gently ran her hand along the back of my head, and rested it on my shoulder. "Please, have some tea. Or, if you'd like, there are more beverages in the kitchen. I could get you something to drink.”

I looked at her, then looked over to where Lance was, still invested in the scrolls.

"Uh, um. No, I'm okay. I have water in my bag. Thank you."

It was strange. She had such a caring aura about her that I wanted to break down and cry to her. To let her know about everything that was upsetting me, including how I was both jealous of her, and that I admired her. That I hated my conflicting feelings. That I lacked the courage I would otherwise have, when it came to Lance. I wanted to ask her for advice, but I hated the idea of needing to seek it. Knowing that she showed so much care to me, a trainer she had only met a few times, was enough to make me want to break down.

But my Riolu, Lance, continued to emanate calm energy, keeping me from reacting in a way that I would have hated. He didn't understand it, but he understood enough to know that keeping me calm was what I needed most at the moment. Crying was one of the last things that I had wanted to do.

<<Thank you, Lance.>> I thought to my Riolu. I'd have to remember to give him a good treat later on.

"Do you want to step outside for a bit?" Cynthia asked me suddenly.

I blinked. I looked up at her, confused. Was she… Trying to get me to leave the room? But… did that maybe mean….

As though reading my thoughts, she quickly added, "I could give you a tour of the house. Though, I suppose we should avoid my room, it is a bit messy from all the paperwork…."

"I, uh…"

"Great!” She turned her head, calling out over her should, “Lance, we'll be back in a bit. If you're interested, there's some books I found on the Johto region, pre-dating the Tin and Brass Towers in that corner over there."

She got me to take off my bag and come with her. Riolu followed, though he didn't have much choice as my emotional support Pokemon at the moment. Pika stayed behind; she was enjoying the small snacks that Cynthia had left out. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her.

Cynthia gently guided me towards the back of the house. And by gently, I meant that she gently pushed me towards the back, ignoring all confused protests with cheerful replies. She led me outside, to where there was a wide, empty dirt yard. She let out her Lucario, much to the joy of my own Riolu, who now squirmed in my arms so he could say hello to his newfound hero.

"Gahhh… I'm sorry about all this. I should have thought more carefully about it or let you know that he was coming over."

"Wait, so it was planned?" I said, turning around on her. I didn't know if I should have been more angry or shocked that she knew all along about my feelings towards that Lance, and still let this happened. “Or at least the him coming over part…?"

Cynthia leaned against the banister of the porch. She didn't say anything for a moment, as though she was trying to carefully word her thoughts. I waited, trying not to be angry, trying not to be embarrassed.

"I thought it might help," she finally said.

My emotions decided: I was angry, mad at her, though I couldn't put into words why. But…. I believed her. She really was trying to help me. I could feel it. And as I stared angrily at her, I felt my conviction weaken. Her Lucario stood nearby, palms out; he was using his aura powers to connect our spirits so we could better understand one another.

"...You're really scared about this," she said with a mixture of pity and understanding. “And you're right to feel angry; I should have asked or talked to you about this beforehand.” She slapped her forehead, muttering a simple idiot to herself.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I really am. Both angry and scared. Because I already did this once, like an idiot, and erroneously assumed that that's what you do to like people. That you just... Decide to. And then you tell them that you want to date them and then you become boyfriend and girlfriend or whatever and it all goes uphill from there. But it didn't. And I'm lucky at all that he still let me get to know him after that. But I guess not enough, if I didn't know that he was coming here..."

Cynthia paused, giving a thoughtful hum. Then, she said in a hopeful tone, "Well, what if he wanted to surprise you? When was the last time you guys got to see each other in person?"

Her questions gave me pause to think. I never considered that, but I also didn't think I was important enough for something like that. Like he'd come all the way out here just to surprise me, when my Pokemon journey meant that I could be anywhere between a city and a route, even stuck somewhere. Sure, I normally tell him where I was heading or planning to go; but there wasn't a guarantee that I would have been here. Or anywhere. Planning a visit was one thing, but a surprise one....?

"C-c'mon now…" I looked away from her, eyes searching ground for things to say. Burnt orange dirt greeted me as an answer. A single rock, a couple of weeds, more dirt. Nothing useful that could be said. “There's no way that he'd... wanna... I mean, I'm not someone important. I'm just a stupid, annoying teen, annoying some guy that I kn--” I stopped, horrified. “Oh Arceus, I should be leaving him alone, shouldn't I?! I bet I seem like some crazy stalker fangirl and-- ugh. Damnit, Sarah, how could you be so stupid!? You're bugging him so much--"

I was cut off as an unlikely hand-chop came down on my head, causing me more surprise than pain. Doink.

"Owwwowowowowow." I clutched at my head, tears curling up in the corners of my eyes from the pain. I looked up at Cynthia, whose hand was still vertical and poised to chop me on the head again. “What'd'you do that for!?”

“What about all those calls?” Her voice was stern.

"Courtesy. He's just doing them out of courtesy, or to be nice, or because I seem crazy enough that if he doesn't he's worried I might--"

Doink.

Another hand-chop to the head.

I rubbed the top of my head, tears welling up in frustration now.

“You need to stop the negative thinking! He wouldn't take the time out of his busy schedule to do all that just because you annoyed him, Sarah. Trust me; I've had my fair share of crazy fans, and I wouldn't let any of them near me like I've let you. I'm not saying this to get your hopes up, but it's clear that he think you're someone worth keeping near. For people like us, where we're constantly being hounded by media and trainers looking for personal gain and not much else, that's a lot. We have our own lives; but it's hard to let people in them. And with the frequency of those calls that you guys have--”

“E-EH?! W-w-wait, y-you know... a-ab-about.... th-those!?” The way she had so casually said it this time had caught me off guard. I don't know why I hadn't froze up at the first mention of the calls mere minute ago.

“Lance told me.” At the sudden deep blush that set across my face, she clarified. “Your Riolu, I mean. ...I see now why the name might have been difficult for you.”

“Oh.” I still felt alarmed, but I relaxed a little. That meant he wasn't sharing stuff like that with other people. Not that I wanted him to. I didn't want to think about what it meant if he was sharing that to someone else, especially not with Cynthia.

“I apologize, for not telling you that he was coming over. You were so afraid and scared to say Lance's name,” she said, nodding towards my Riolu, “that I thought having you come over while he was here might have helped. I didn't let you know because I thought that you might run away... And I thought that you might appreciate the surprise of getting to see him again, in person.”

“I--” I stopped to think about it. She was right; I would have thought about running away. But I realized that, despite all the fluster and frustration and everything else that just happened, it was nice to see him again, in person. I hadn't gotten to see him in person very often the last few years; part of that happily avoiding the awkwardness awarded to me by my thirteen-year-old self, while also us having our own, vastly different paths in life at the time. But, even with the information that Cynthia had now shared with me, I thought that maybe I should keep my distance from him. To leave him alone, and not bug him like I usually did. To not repeat the mistakes of the past. To make sure that I didn't do that.

I really wished I could have been better about that.

“You do like getting to see him again, right?” Cynthia asked me, noticing that my thoughts had started to spiral again. I felt myself flush right up, stammering out a reply.

"I-I… I'mma… Y-you're n-n-not… wr-wrong about… about that…." I crossed my arms, looking away for a moment so I wouldn't have to face the consequences of admitting it.

Cynthia laughed. "Who knows. Maybe this might help you get closer to him, so you're not always stuttering!"

"I'M NOT STUTTERING!!!" I shouted at her, face red. “I just…. Fumble… and stumble… over my, uh, words………."

"Can you even refer to him by name?" she asked, sounding concerned for a moment.

"Err, um… that is to say…. Uh…." I hung my head. "N-no… n-not r-really."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Um…." I paused to think. Why do I have trouble using his name? ...ah. That's why. I looked down, and I picked at the sleeve of my shirt. I didn't want to say the words.

"Because I don't think I'm worthy of saying it."

There was a solemn moment between the two of us. Putting it into words made it feel so surreal. It made no sense to think that way, or feel that way. After all, I was a human. I was a damn Champion; I've beaten his ass at Pokemon battles more times than it was worth, when I was much younger. So then, why did that not mean something? Why was I venerating a name that anyone could have? Even my own Pokemon had suffered because of those feelings.

Then, as I was contemplating the absurdity of it, Cynthia started laughing, wiping tears from her eyes as she approached me.

"Wh-WHAT?!" I shouted, embarrassed and confused. "I REALLY DO THINK- er, feel… That way… I guess."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for laughing. But just… The way you said it--"

"Ugh! Why did I even come out here with you?! I should have just gone off and trained!" I turned away, crossing my arms angrily. She came up and gave me a consoling hug.

"You really shouldn't feel that way about yourself," she said quietly. "Regardless of whether or not you're in love. It's not good to hate yourself like that. You are worth so much, and I see so much potential in you, both as a trainer and as a person. Don't give up on your dreams, because someone told you to feel this way once."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will myself not to cry.

“W-what if...” It was a struggle to get the words out. “Wh-what.. i-if.... it w-was... m-m-more... se...several... people?”

“Not even then. Their lies are not what's true about you.”

Her words and compassion had finally gotten me to cry. Feelings that I kept pushed down inside myself burst forth. I turned around and pressed my face against her, trying to hide it, but so painfully aware in some part of my brain that it would result in some snot on her coat. It was embarrassing. But she didn't show anything other than kindness as I broke down. She soothed me with comforting words and hushes, gently rubbing my back. When I had finally stopped, spent of the emotions that I had kept bottled up, she recalled her Lucario and guided me back inside. We stopped in the kitchen for a moment; Cynthia suggested that I get something to drink before returning to the library.

Riolu had followed behind us, watching everything with quiet awe. I could feel that he had a query for me, but he couldn't quite formulate it clearly. And even if he had, I wasn't sure that I could answer him.

“Lance,” Cynthia called out sweetly to my Riolu. “Do you understand what just happened here?”

He shook his head, mouth slightly open.

“Ri.”

“Sometimes, when things hurt for us, we try to hide it. But if we keep doing that, then it gets to be too much to hold back. Sometimes you have to let yourself cry. Or scream. Or whatever it is that your emotions are making you feel. Sarah seems to be especially fond of holding them back. I can't say she's particularly good at hiding them, though.”

“Thanks, Cynthia,” I said wryly, face heating up as I took another drink. It was embarrassing having her explain things to my Pokemon, because it also felt like she was trying to wink-wink-nudge-nudge me about how to solve my own emotional issues. I should have been more than capable of doing that myself, without the explanation from someone else. She continued.

“So if you feel like she's ever in need of letting out her feelings, you might need to pull her aside and get her to open up to you. It might not be as easy as it was today. Sometimes, in order to protect herself from her feelings, she might fight you on it. But you'll have to be patient and wait her out, letting her know that you're there for her.”

“Ri...”

Riolu jumped up to hug me, startling me for a moment.

<<I promise to help take care of you!>> His feeling was sincere. The energy behind it, the strength of his feelings, almost made me cry again. I shook my head, trying to focus elsewhere.

When I calmed down, we walked back to the room. I was staring at the door again, mentally preparing myself once more to enter. The calm that I had gained was slowly giving way once more to nervousness. I found myself worrying that it would show all over my face that I had an emotional meltdown. (Cynthia told me it didn't look like I had been crying, but I wasn't convinced.) I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down while it felt like every fiber of my being was racing. My skin felt like ants were crawling all over it. I rubbed one of my arms and took a final deep breath.

Cynthia smiled at me.

“You ready?”

“Y-yeah. I'll be fine.” I picked up my Riolu, hugging him tightly. “I've got this Lance with me to help keep me calm.”

“Ri!” His tail wagged.

“We're back!” Cynthia called out when we entered. I could see Lance's tuft of red hair over by the table that we had been seated at earlier.

“Welcome back!” he replied. We walked over to him, and I could see Pika curled up beside his lap, taking a nap. I instantly felt envious of her. To just so casually....! Lance noticed that I was looking at her, and gave a small laugh.

“I came over to read some of the books, when I noticed that Pika had been left behind. I thought it was odd, but she didn't seem to be bothered by being separated from you. In fact, she curled right up next to me and fell asleep.”

I blushed. My Riolu looked up at me.

<<She felt confident that I could help,>> he said. <<I'm not sure why that is. Miss Cynthia was the one to help you the most! I think she just wanted to eat the cookies without sharing...>>

I frowned when he told me that. I put him down and picked up Pika, sitting down on the couch as I did so. I held her up, away from me, waiting for her to wake up.

Pika gave a sleepy little yawn. She squeaked when she saw me staring at her with an unamused expression. She squirmed, giggling as she tried to get out of my grip. I let go of her with a short sigh, and she fell into my lap. With a carefree attitude, she climbed back up the couch to sit on my shoulder, nuzzling me. She was definitely trying to be trouble.

“Honestly...”

“Is everything okay? It's not often that I don't see her without you.”

I jumped up for a second, forgetting that he was there. I tensed up, and feigned ignorance. “Hm? Oh, uh, Riolu said that she wanted to eat all the cookies and not share.” I gave him a nervous smile. “Some days, y'know?” I had no idea what I was trying to get at, honestly. But I hoped it was enough of an answer to avoid any future questions.

Now that I was no longer giving my Pokemon a condescending stare, knowing what her real motive was, I realized that I had sat next to him. On the same couch. I felt my face heat up and I slowly started to scoot away. Ah, but that's too obvious. Ah, quick! I patted the space next to me, motioning for Riolu to come sit there. He tilted his head at me, but obliged, climbing onto the couch. I scooted over more so he could sit between us; Lance raised an eyebrow at me.

“Ah, I forgot to mention it earlier, but Riolu's really excited to meet you!” I gave him a nervous laugh, and fumbled around for a further explanation. “Though I guess that much was obvious earlier... Ahaha... I thought, um. Well, uh... I don't really know how else to explain it, so just! Accept that he wanted to sit next to you!!”

Smooth.

As if picking up on the cue, Riolu turned towards Lance and wagged his tail. It wasn't disingenuous, as he really was excited to meet his namesake.

<<Hi, I'm Lance! I was named after you!!>> He stood up on the couch and held out his paw to Lance.

Panic coursed through me. My face instantly turned red and I grabbed Riolu. I pulled him away, hand over his mouth while trying to resist the urge to grumble something into his ear.

“What... did he say?” Lance sounded concerned, but I could hear muffled laughter from Cynthia, seated across from us. I had forgotten about her, but now wasn't the time to deal with her.

“O-Oh! Uhhh...ummm... y-y'know... how some.. Pokemon, just... say.... silly....things? To, um, their heroes?” I winced, feeling like the lie wasn't much better. My Pokemon wasn't satisfied with it either, and frowned. I could feel the dissatisfaction, right there, in my arms.

“I can't say that I know... Seeing as I haven't had any Pokemon talk to me in the same way that Riolu seems to with you.”

“Oh!” I let him go, and Riolu crossed his arms, pouting. “That's, um...” That's great! I wanted to say, but I knew that it was a very enviable thing to be able to understand Pokemon clearly. In specific words.

“That's, err, too bad, I think?” I relaxed, relieved that my Riolu hadn't somehow instantly been able to connect to and bond with Lance like he had with me. “I mean, it sucks, when they um, just have a lot of cool things they want to say to you! He thinks you're really cool!”

“And what else does Riolu think,” Cynthia said from the sidelines. I gave her a sharp look, and she stifled her laughter.

“Okay, I don't know what Cynthia thinks is so funny, but he really does look up to you!” I said, finally giving a genuine statement. “He's wanted to meet you for awhile now. And, it's, uh, it is nice to see you outside the league, for once. And not because of work!” I added, remembering that one time I had run into him. He was on a mission with the Pokemon G-Men, and somehow the events of that created this... issue. “I was just, um, surprised earlier to see you anywhere but Kanto or Johto, really. So I'm sorry if it seemed like I was being rude.”

Lance seemed to be confused by what I was saying, and I rolled my eyes and shook my head, frustrated at myself.

“Nevermind. Sorry if that didn't make any sense.”

He gave me a strange look, perhaps because my own words were strange enough without all the context on my end.

“I accept your apology, though I'm not really sure what it's for.”

“Um, 'cuz I thought maybe it seemed like I didn't want you here?”

“It didn't seem that way to me.”

I paused, trying not to overthink on what he just said. “I—oh, um. Good.” I nodded, trying to sound certain of myself.

An awkward silence followed, but it was shortly interrupted by Cynthia.

“Sarah,” she turned to me. “Where is your next badge located?”

Bless her for changing the subject to something less nerve-wracking. Riolu perked up at the mention of the Gym Challenge, and uncrossed his arms. I looked up at nothing in particular, trying to recall where I was told to go next. It was on the west side of Sinnoh, somewhere closer to Twinleaf Town than this side of Mt. Coronet.

“Umm... I think the city's called Canalave?”

“Then you should definitely make sure to train up your Riolu!” Cynthia looked excited, eyes brimming with energy and the teasing forgotten. “The Gym Leader is Byron; he's a steel-type user. Would you like to stay for awhile and train with me?”

I blinked. The offer was extremely honoring, and I couldn't figure out a reason to say no. “Sure, I'd love to! Thank you very much Cynthia.” I looked down towards the little Pokemon beside me. My Riolu jumped up, looking starry-eyed at Cynthia, tail wagging excitedly. “I'm sure Riolu would love it too, if he got to train with your Lucario!”

“Of course. I'd be more than happy for them to train together!”

“Would it be okay if I joined the two of you for your training?” Lance asked suddenly.

I felt myself freeze. I was not expecting that. I looked at him, scrutinizing him. Was there a joke in this? A prank? I was suddenly suspicious, wondering if somehow he and Cynthia were in on something. But if they were planning something like this all along, I couldn't tell; not from him. I quickly looked towards Cynthia, who clasped her hands together, smiling.

“That would be great! Incidentally, how long are you planning to stay in Sinnoh?”

“I've got a few days before I need to head to Blackthorn City.”

“Excellent! Then it's settled. We'll all train together!”

So maybe it wasn't planned. That didn't stop Cynthia from flashing me a devious smile right after. I couldn't help but feel apprehensive that she had something else up her long, black sleeves.

“That reminds me!” She pulled out a poster from under one of the books, and showed it to us. It had a drawing of a starry night sky, with what looked like shooting stars falling across it. Under that was the shrine, and the area around it was decorated.

“We're having a festival in a few days. Because we're away from any of the larger cities, the night sky is really clear. It makes it easy for us to see a meteor shower that happens once a year. It's one of the few things that draws visitors to Celestic Town, giving them revenue. The both of you should go! I'll be busy helping the town run it, so I won't be able to show you guys around, but I think you'll have plenty of fun exploring it without me!”

I felt my insides go hollow, instantly recognizing what Cynthia was doing. She was setting up an opportunity... for... a... I couldn't finish the thought, too frazzled to think it. I could only hope that, between the blanched feeling I was having and the inevitable blush that was to follow, my complexion looked relatively normal. Because I wanted to scream. And run away. And never come back.

Cynthia just gave me that, sweet, innocent, inscrutable smile, now decipherable, as a little nudge forward. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I hated that I wanted to thank her for it, too.

[gumnut-logic]

Chuckles (Part Two)

Part 1 - 2035 | Part Two - 2036

This is the next chapter of my @tagsecretsanta​ fic for @angelofbenignmalevolence​ There is more to come....lots more (though most of it isn’t written yet). Many thanks to @scribbles97​ and @tsarinatorment​ for the reading and support ::hugs::

Warnings: None other than wee!Tracys :D

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

2036

Christmas in the Tracy household was a big family affair. The house itself was a big one. Big enough to house extended family and the bustle and noise that involved.

Scott loved it. Loved everyone being together, the hugs, the jokes, the fact that Uncle Lee always called him ‘Little Jeff’ and told the best stories about planes and rockets. Aunt Val always brought the best Christmas cookies with various aircraft drawn on them with icing. Grandma Taylor had different coloured hair every year and this year was bright blue and included glitter. Grandpa Taylor invented toys for a living so he was always welcome. Though Virgil tended to hoard his attention and Scott wasn’t really sure why because Virgil pulled apart everything Grandpa Taylor gave him anyway.

But the best part of Christmas this year was that Daddy was home.

Daddy spent a lot of time away. Scott understood why, but that didn’t stop him from missing him. Dad had stories much like Uncle Lee and often they starred in each other’s tales, but there was something about his father that Scott just looked up to even more.

It didn’t hurt that Uncle Lee made a point of placing Scott’s father in the spotlight in all his stories.

Dad was an amazing person. A hero.

Dad was also very tall and strong and always had the answers Scott needed. While Mom looked after him and his two little brothers and he loved her very much, Dad was…Dad.

And Scott wanted more than anything to grow up and be just like him.

It certainly didn’t hurt that his father had the same colour hair and everyone said Scott looked a lot like him. Scott bore those comments proudly and made a point of doing his best to emulate what his father might do in any situation.

Scott was going to grow up, join the Air Force and do his father proud.

A clatter in the hallway and Virgil barrelled into the room. Uncle Lee, who had been retelling the Mars landing, stopped mid-word and frowned.

His biggest little brother’s eyes widened as he skidded to a halt and straightened himself up. “Uh, excuse me, Uncle Lee.” A blink, and he looked fit to burst. “Could I please speak to Scott?”

“Sure….squirt.”

That caused Virgil to frown. Scott thought it was funny. Uncle Lee never seemed to be able to remember Virgil’s name.

And besides, Virgil had a thing about being smaller than Scott and didn’t like it being pointed out.

However, Virgil hurried over anyway. “Scotty, can I borrow Chuckles?”

Blink “His name’s not ‘Chuckles’, it’s Chuck.”

“Oh, okay.” Virgil bit his lip. “But can I anyway?”

“Why?”

“Johnny won’t leave me alone.”

“He’ll eat his goggles.”

“Better than him eating my nuts.”

Uncle Lee made an odd sound that dissolved into a cough when Scott and Virgil looked at him.

Scott sighed. “Virgil, it’s Christmas. We’re supposed to share.”

Virgil dragged Scott part way across the room, away from Uncle Lee and lowered his voice.

“I tried, but the kit contains small bits. Mom said Johnny wasn’t allowed to play with small things. She said he was too young.” It was almost hissed under Virgil’s breath. “I don’t want him to get hurt or to get into trouble. Chuckles always distracts him.”

His name wasn’t ‘Chuckles’, it was ‘Chuck’ after Chuck Yeager, the first pilot to break the sound barrier. But Virgil had called the bear ‘Chuckles’ once as a joke, Johnny had picked it up and now it was all about Chuckles. It was annoying.

“Well, give him the nuts and tell him to go eat them somewhere else.”

Virgil stared at him aghast, but then his eyes widened. “Nuts. As in ‘nuts and bolts’, Scott! I’m building the robot Grandpa Taylor brought me. Johnny keeps trying to eat bits of metal.”

Oh.

Uncle Taylor had picked up his tablet, but was now staring at them, a question on his face. “You boys okay?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, Uncle Lee. Virgil just needs some help with his kit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Blue eyes gauged him, but Scott was more worried about his littlest brother and dragged Virgil out the door.

“Where is Johnny?”

“On the floor outside my room.”

“You didn’t leave the door open, did you?”

“No.”

Scott hurried down the hall. “Why didn’t you call Mom?”

“I tried. Mom is talking to Aunt Val and she sounded sad. I didn’t want to interrupt and I didn’t want Johnny to get into trouble. Chuckles will fix it.”

“His name is not Chuckles!”

Scott rounded the corner and to his horror, Virgil’s door was wide open.

He didn’t bother to acknowledge Virgil’s gasp of horror, but instead barrelled on through the door terrified he would find his little brother choking on the floor.

But Virgil’s desk was empty except for the scattered pieces of his project. A quick glance around the room and Scott quickly found Johnny.

He was no more than a tuft of red hair wrapped around Scott’s pilot bear, half buried in Virgil’s bed covers.

Two wide eyes popped up over the top of those goggles. “Scotty!”

Scott hurried over to the bed. “Johnny, are you okay?”

“Chuckles!” Johnny held up the bear and grinned.

Scott sighed and sat down on the bed next to his littlest brother. His heart was beating fast - he had been so scared.

Virgil stood in the centre of his room staring at Johnny, his lip trembling. It was obvious he realised what could have happened when he left to get help.

Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Scotty. I thought he couldn’t get in. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“Virg, he’s okay.” The fright in Virgil’s eyes had the eldest hurrying off the bed from one brother to another. “C’mon, Johnny’s fine. He went and got Chuckles, didn’t you, Johnny?”

The three-year-old’s eyes peered up at Virgil registering his distress and soaking it in like a sponge. His grin vanished and his brow crumpled. “Virgil?” Johnny clambered out of the bed and scampered over to his next eldest brother. “Chuckles? Chuckles make it better?” He offered Virgil the bear.

Virgil stared at Chuckles for a moment before reaching out and taking the fluffy toy. He poked at it gently before hugging it to his chest.

John threw himself at his brother with a huge hug almost knocking Virgil over. Scott reached out and steadied him before adding his own arm to the mix and hugging both his brothers at once. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Scott had to scrub snot off Chuckles’ ear later that night.

-o-o-o-

Christmas Eve was family relaxing time before the busy of the next day. Mom, who had been in the kitchen with Onaha since just after breakfast, called a halt to everything at six in the evening and they sat down for a light buffet of a meal. Every family member donated time or a dish which was mostly warm finger foods like pie and things on sticks.

Scott always looked forward to dessert on Christmas Eve because there were all sorts of interesting things to be had. Aunt Val’s Christmas cookies was one of them.

He stood staring at the different planes so artistically drawn on each of them. They were good enough to be recognisable and none of that generic kiddy stuff kids’ books tried to throw at him. Some were historical, some more modern.

“Trying to decide which plane to eat this year, honey?” Grandma Tracy crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Her long blonde hair flopped over his shoulder as she leant in to kiss him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Scotty.”

“Merry Christmas, Grandma.” But he was still frowning at the cookies. “I can’t see Dad’s plane.”

“Your dad has flown several of those.”

“Yeah, but I want the Sparrowhawk Anderson ZX3.”

Grandma snorted. “Then you’ll have to chase up your father. I saw him nab it earlier.”

Scott turned to his grandmother. “Really?”

“Really.” And it was his father’s deep, smiling voice as Scott was suddenly scooped up in strong laughing arms. “C’mon, ‘Little Jeff’, I’ve saved you your favourite cookie.”

Scott giggled and squirmed, but ultimately clung to his dad, resting his head on his shoulder for just a moment as he was carried across the room to his father’s chair and plomped down on his lap as the man sat down. The longed-for cookie was produced and Scott grabbed it. “Thanks, Dad.”

A big hand on his back, another on his knee, Scott was held close.

“So, what have you and your brothers been up to this week?”

Scott stared at the cookie with the grey, blue and red jet iced on top. “Virgil, did a good drawing of a plane. He didn’t get the tail quite right, but I helped him with that. Johnny learnt some new words.” He couldn’t hold back any longer and bit into the cookie.

It was the best.

Dad snorted. “I heard. I suspected it was you who taught Johnny to say ‘extra-orbital’.”

Scott grinned, his mouth full of biscuit crumbs.

“Swallow before you talk, son.” But his father was smirking.

Scott downed the remains of the cookie, caught between enjoying it and the opportunity to sit and talk with his dad. “He knows all the planets, too.”

“Really?” His father frowned. “He’s only three years old, Scotty.”

Scott sat a bit straighter. I taught him all the names and showed him Mars where you and Uncle Lee went.”

The smile that appeared on his dad’s face only encouraged him. “Virgil drew him pictures of each of them and we stuck them on the wall in his room.”

“That was very kind of the two of you.”

“It made Johnny happy.” Scott didn’t want to mention that Johnny was sometimes sad and always serious. “I want to help him.”

“It sounds like you are doing an excellent job.”

“I’m the eldest.” And Scott knew what Dad was going to say.

“Yes, you are, and that means you have to look after your little brothers. They look up to you and they are your responsibility.”

Scott stared up at those serious grey eyes and for just a second Dad looked like Johnny. “Yes, Dad. I will, I promise.”

His father’s big hand patted his back. “I know you will.”

Scott smiled.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 33

“Fumi?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a story.”

“A story?” he says, glancing over. In the vent there’s nothing but the soft squelching of our cleated feet and a drip-drip-drip of a flowing river of sluggish, phlegmy mucus running along a divot over on the left. I nod.

“Yeah, a story. Like, about work. Ranger stuff. I’m sure you’ve got some good stories.”

He laughs. “A few, maybe,” he concedes.

Getting across into the actual flesh of the Pit from the wreck of the LVC had been easier than either of us had thought it would be. The gantry we had been looking for was long gone by the time that we got to the bottom of the LVC, with the only evidence of its passing being a couple of rigid metal rods and torn, rusted grating, but above us was our lucky break – due to the way the Visitor Center had fallen, it had actually cut into the Pit’s gullet on the way down, leaving a long, jagged scar of porous tissue in its wake and, at the very bottom, a gaping, partially-healed hole leading directly into what Fumi said was once the trail downwards to the Gastric Sea. It was a little hairy to begin with; the wound had ruined the previously neat trail, and the Pit had begun to reclaim it. Paths branched off, seemingly at random, that our maps had no record of. Here and there we’d see skittering things darting away from our flashlights, fleeing into pores or deeper, smaller vents we couldn’t see into.

Just copepods, Fumi had said when I asked. Harmless unless you’re alone and they’re feeling particularly brave or hungry. But even so I noticed that he kept his hand resting comfortably on the butt of his pistol, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice, and so I emulated him, and kept a wary eye behind us as we picked our way through the nest of tunnels and warrens and veins.

After I while I became afraid that we might hit a dead end and that we’d not be able to get through to the trail proper, which Fumi said would curve up and around down to the ballast bulbs, but just when I was getting to the point where I thought I might say something about it the vent widened out and Fumi had let out a triumphant whoop. We’re on the right track now, he had assured me, pointing to where we were on the map, and I had let a little involuntary shudder of relief pass over me because finally, finally we could really get going.

Now we’re clambering through a stinking vent that once housed a pedestrian trail. The thing Fumi hadn’t really mentioned is how long it would take. The path that looked so easy and short was in actuality four or five miles, a solid two or three hour hike in an environment like the Pit. My leg is holding up alright so far, especially now that I’m doing less running and jumping and falling, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do more than a couple days’ worth of this. Even with the boot I put my foot down occasionally and get a worrying, bone-deep twinge like a jolt of electricity, feeling like it’s running up some magic conduit from my heel all the way to the top of my head.

You can still see the remains of the trail here and there. Plastic placards, partially dissolved and stained beyond legibility, peeking out from behind masses of tumorous flesh. Rusty chain-link here and there, little strips of it grown over by pale, moisture-slick skin. If you look too closely at anything down here you shudder.

“Alright, I’ve got a story for you,” Fumi says. “Most of the work we do involves escorting supplies down to the deeper installations within the Pit, looking after science teams, making sure nothing and nobody bothers the few little extractions operations for stuff like ballast and bone plates. It’s a lot of wildlife control, basically. Very, very occasionally we’d do interdiction stuff. People get in, try to hide out in here, do all kinds of crap. I remember hearing a story about some guys who were running a drug lab in a trailer out on the very edge of the restricted area on the surface. Only got busted because Makado had to rush out somewhere in a hurry for something or other, I don’t remember what exactly, and she took a helicopter and they happened to fly right over. That really made her crack down on the topside ranger teams, let me tell you.”

“Topside?”

“So basically there are two teams,” he explains. “Us, the Sergeant’s team, we’re Venterial Ops. Anything underground, inside the Pit, we handle. That’s why we have Elena, for example. I don’t know if she told you but her main specialization is cave diving, she used to be in the Coast Guard. The other team is larger, they hang out in the other barracks topside. Overland Ops patrols the surface of the restricted area, handles anything that doesn’t concern the actual Pit itself. A lot of people don’t realize this but the restricted area isn’t just, you know, the Pit, it covers a whole lot of the ground above as well. You need manpower if you’re going to patrol it. With me so far?”

“Yes,” I nod. “So the overland team, they never go down into the Pit?”

“Oh, they train in it occasionally,” Fumi says, waving his hand. “But not to the extent that we do. It’s expensive and difficult and time-consuming just because the Pit is not a particularly good environment to make mistakes in. What if you can’t recognize a digestive pit or a triocanth sign? I mean, there are so many ways to die down here if you’re careless, especially now that we’ve cut down on our impact down here so much. If you’re stuck down here your options are either getting to the Control Center, getting to one of the very few listening stations and outposts we still have down in the depths of the Pit, or trying to call for help. That’s it.”

“So it’s easier logistically to have two separate groups like that?”

“Yeah, exactly. It hurts the overhead a little but if everybody was Pit-trained they’d be spending even more on them, so…”

“Right,” I say. There’s a long stringy mass of fibrous tissue stretching from the roof to the pitted ground, and I duck around it, let Fumi pass behind. “So what was the story?”

“Oh, right. So we were escorting some science folks down to that listening station in Oyster’s Shame. Shift change, essentially, except they way they do it is two weeks on, two weeks off. They rotate like that, make sure nobody’s spending too much time down in the Pit, that kind of thing. There are health checks that they have to do. If you’re in Science, half the time you’re up in a lab over in the science building doing egghead things and the other half you’re down here in a lab doing egghead things,” he laughs.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” I suggest, and Fumi nods.

“Exactly. So we’re taking these guys down, pretty simple trip, one we’ve all done dozens of times. One of the science guys is new, and he is just absolutely gushing over everything he’s seeing down here. Some sort of environmental scientist type, real nerd. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nerd but sometimes you just – certain people fulfill the stereotype more than other people, right? Anyway, Crookshank decides to play a prank on the guy. We’re taking a break for lunch and Crookshank pretends to lick a nerve ending in the wall. Now, first off, don’t ever do that, but Crookshank is – was – a maniac and you can’t keep him down. This egghead sees Crookshank do it (of course, he didn’t actually do it, just pretended to) and starts to freak out, but Crookshank is like ‘oh, it’s cool, it enhances the flavor in these MREs, you should try it.’ And of course Slate gets in on it, because Slate has – er, had – the mind of a middle-schooler and can’t resist clowning around, and together they gradually convince this nerd that it makes your standard run-of-the-mill MRE taste orgasmic.”

“Why shouldn’t you lick nerve endings?”

“Have you seen anything down here that you’d want to lick?”

I try unsuccessfully not to think of Elena and end up just shaking my head.

“But on top of that,” Fumi continues, “Pit nerve fibers can do weird things to the human nervous system. Not usually permanent or even really harmful things…just weird things. A big one was an ability to see into the ultraviolet spectrum. You might have heard about that; they made some big breakthroughs in optics in the 80s thanks to experiments with Pit nervous tissue. But there can be weirder stuff too – occasionally you’d see some spooky things going on in the Cord thanks to all the nerve tissue there. Intrusive thoughts, ‘occult’ stuff like objects levitating, seeing things out of the corner of your eye, ‘hauntings…’ in some places down here there are still little alarms that go off if they read too much nervous activity. So you can imagine that it might be a bad idea to lick one.”

“What happened to the guy?” I ask. The further we’ve gotten the more horribly rank the air has grown, to the point where we both have put on our helmets. The path we’re following opens out after a torturously twisting, intestine-like track and we find a series of bulbous, swollen sacs protruding from the floor and the walls, filled with a noxious, chunky liquid a lot like raw vomit. I can feel my gorge rising and I fix my eyes resolutely on my feet and end up just taking shallow breaths through my mouth for the long ten or so minutes it takes for Fumi to guide me through to the other side. We squeeze through a rough, suppurating sphincter and find a set of stairs, so rusty and dilapidated they might as well have come straight out of a Silent Hill game. Here and there long strands or trickles of flesh have melted or grown through the chain-link cage surrounding the stairs and pooled in rough, saggy, wrinkled puddles on the floor. It’s such an unspeakably bizarre image that we both stop and stare at them.

“I bet those feel…absolutely horrible to step on,” Fumi says.

“I’m not stepping on any of those,” I murmur.

“And with the cleats…” Fumi continues.

“Oh god,” I say, wrinkling my nose. A particularly swollen one seems to glisten at me. “Why does it do that? Why does it grow stuff like this?”

“Why does the Pit do anything?” Fumi shrugs, jerking his head forwards. “At least we’re on the right track. This is the staircase down to the ballast bulbs.”

“Is it even safe to walk on?”

“Do you see a different option?”

“Fair point,” I grunt. I take a ginger step forward and put my weight on the stairs, cringing inwardly. My foot nudges against one of the nodules of flesh. I can feel it pressing against me through the fabric of the suit. I grimace and take another step, and then another. “Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

We get a couple of flights down before I remember. “Oh, right – what happened to the guy?”

“Which guy?”

“You know,” I say. “The nerd who licked the nerve ending.”

“Oh, right. It made him see…something. Gave him the fright of his life, ended up pissing himself in his suit.”

“Oh,” I say. I had been expecting something funny but this just seems sad. Fumi reads it in my face, nods at me.

“Yeah,” he says. “Elena actually got really pissed off at Crookshank for that one. They’ve never liked each other very much but that little stunt kind of pushed her over the edge. They got in a shouting match right there and the Sergeant had to break it up.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “That’s my girl,” I murmur.

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Uh, well it turned out that she was sleeping with the nerd and that’s why she was so heated about it.”

I look at Fumi for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious.”

I think about it and then shrug. “What?” I ask. “Am I supposed to get jealous?”

“I just find it so strange that you aren’t.”

“That’s in the past,” I tell him. “I don’t care what she did before we met, I care about how she treats me. I mean, she has to have treated me pretty well to get me to risk my life for her like this.”

“True,” Fumi admits. “Or maybe you just don’t value your life very much.”

Before I can think of a response that would be both truthful and a denial of the accuracy of that statement, Fumi takes a step forward. As he puts his weight down on the next step the staircase groans sonorously and we both freeze. I feel a little stab of fear piercing the bottom of my stomach and reach over quickly to grab the guardrail, for all the good it’ll do me. We stand there frozen for a minute, maybe two, waiting for the entire thing to collapse, and when it isn’t forthcoming I slowly, gradually unclench my insides and put my weight back on the step.

“Jesus,” I murmur.

“Yeah, these are probably a little unsafe.”

“You think?”

The next four flights go by quickly. The blobs of flesh haven’t spread this far down, or at least they haven’t yet. The meat beyond the retaining walls, buckled in places, is a strange, waxy tone that makes it look like it’s fake. If it didn’t shudder and writhe in time with whatever alien rhythms govern the Pit’s heartbeat I’d think it were a model.

Ahead of us, rising like vapor off a bog, I can smell the stench of ballast, combined with the familiar meaty Pit-smell pervading the air, along with something earthy and sour that lingers at the back of my throat. It makes my heart race and my gorge rise simultaneously. That accidental encounter with Crookshank in the ballast bulb…I had never been so scared or so turned on in my entire life. The memory of it leaves me vaguely nauseous.

“You doing okay?” Fumi asks, nudging me.

“I’m fine,” I murmur through gritted teeth. I do not want to throw up in this helmet. I take a deep breath and then let it out. I’m okay. It’s going to be fine. Elena is down here and the ballast totally healed her and everything is fine, just peachy-keen. We’re going to kiss and hold hands all the way out of here and then…

“Do you really think she’s down here?” Fumi asks.

“Where else would she be?” I say. “It’s either here or she’s dead somewhere and I’m still trying to be optimistic at least.”

Fumi says something else but I’m not paying attention. We’ve finally reached the landing, and past a pair of crooked, bent, rusted doors is something that must have once been a utility corridor for servicing the machinery used to keep the ballast pools running. The entire corridor is so thickly covered with dense, clustered mushrooms that I can scarcely see any surface that isn’t completely blotted out by coarse white fungous flesh.

“Shit,” Fumi murmurs.

The acrid, weird smell is stronger down here and I’ve finally recognize it – it’s the reek of those horrible, throat-coating spores from the nightmare of the fungal jungle deep down in the Pit’s rancid guts, where Marcus and Peter and Erica and – and Klaus had died.

Where I had killed Klaus.

Thinking about it makes me shiver. This past day – there hasn’t been time to think. Everything has been sweeping me along with the same force and velocity as a riptide. I haven’t had time to – to acknowledge it.

Unbidden, the image of him clapping his hand to his throat springs to my mind. The gun had felt like a dead weight in my hand. It hadn’t even felt like my hand, it had felt like I was controlling it at a distance, like I was playing a video game. I remember the way his eyes had widened in shock and how he had staggered back, the knife clattering out of his trembling hands. He had tried to swipe at me with it even then but the strength had left him.

I’ve already sealed my suit. I hadn’t wanted to waste the filters or the battery before by running the rebreather but these spores aren’t going to give us a choice. I don’t want to be hallucinating again.

At the end of the hallway is a door. It takes the two of us some serious effort to pry it open, levering at the rusted, mossy handle, but once we get it open we stumble into what must have once been one of the main baths. The fungus grows here too, in greater size and density. There are things living here; a dozen little things scurry and hop and slither away from us, darting away from the reach of our flashlight beams. Some of the mushrooms, the bigger blue-veined ones with the caps that look like they’re melting, visibly deflate as we rake our lights over them, puffing out clouds of hazy spores.

“I’m not sure that Elena’s here,” Fumi says softly, looking around. I feel my insides tighten even as he says it.

A massive hole has broken open in the tile over on the far end of the pool. I think I see something within it move. I reach over and tug at Fumi’s sleeve. “Fumi,” I hiss. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Over there,” I point. “Inside that big fucking hole, I thought I saw –“

“Whatever you saw,” Fumi tells me, “it wasn’t Elena. If she even came down here, she’d have taken one look at it and then turned right around and left. You said that Erica took her helmet. Look at all these spores. Do you think that –“

“God damn!” something cries out of the murk and darkness down at the far end of the pool. The milk-white ballast seethes incontinently beneath the wan glare of our flashlights, and I can feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. “God damn!” it repeats.

“That’s Elena,” I say.

“Roan, no,” Fumi says. I shoot him a look like he’s gone mad.

“Listen to her,” I tell him. “That’s her voice! I’d know it anywhere.”

As if to punctuate my argument, the voice cries out again. “Oh god! Oh fuck!”

I charge forward, stomping into the ballast with reckless abandon. “Elena!” I call out. My heart is jumping in my chest and I have to consciously force myself not to grin madly. Elena is here! God, she’s here! I was right, she did come to the ballast bulbs, she did –

“God damn!”

“Roan, stop!” Fumi yells from behind me. I can hear him starting to stomp after me but I don’t have an iota of brainpower left to devote to the question of why he’d want to stop me. The ballast ripples around my legs, but it’s relatively shallow, at least this end of the pool. I hope I don’t have to swim in it to get to her.

“God damn!”

“Elena, I’m coming!”

“STOP! Roan, it’s a –“

My foot catches against something in the ballast and I lose my balance. I try to catch myself on my hands but the pool deepens just ahead of me and I end up pitching face-first into the murk. “Goddam,” I mumble. I don’t know what I tripped on, it feels like a log or something, but that doesn’t make a ton of sense to be down here. What is –

The log wriggles to life and wraps itself around my ankle. I have enough time to let out a small, terrified squeak before it whips me bodily off my feet and starts tugging me through the ballast towards the hole in the tile. I hear a splash from behind me as Fumi wades it, and I realize that I’m screaming.

Another rope or vine or tentacle joins the first, and this one fixes around the thigh of my other leg. I reach down, fighting against the thing’s pull, and get my hands on my pistol. I jerk it out of the holster so fast that I almost lose it, flick the safety off, and then fire off three rounds into the darkness lurking where the tentacles converge, but I don’t think I hit anything. Another tentacle seizes around my wrist and though I try to get loose, I end up dropping the gun.

Fumi calls out from behind me but I can’t pull myself together enough to answer him. Another tentacle has fixed around my midriff, another around my neck, and it squeezes so tightly that almost immediately I see stars bursting in my eyes and everything goes off-kilter like the world’s been tilted.

My flashlight skews across the face of the thing that’s tugging me in and for a moment I can’t comprehend it. It looks like a…a flower, all folds and delicate fleshy petals, but the colors are off. I can’t think, I’m not getting enough oxygen.

A mouth opens in the center of the flower, unfolding like a piece of origami. I see delicate, foot-long, razor-sharp teeth, almost translucent in the light.

The tentacles around my neck and leg loosen, and then drop me entirely. I smack into the surface of the ballast and rapidly sink under. I’m still too woozy to do much about it other than flail my arms helplessly. The air is hot and stuffy in this helmet and I can feel a tingle somewhere along the side of my ribcage, accompanied by a stinging wetness that makes me realize my suit has a hole and ballast is leaking in.

I can’t think, my brain feels like it’s been unplugged. I’m going to drown inside my suit down here and I can’t do anything about it –

The last tentacle loosens and slips away and then I feel hands tugging at my arms. Without thinking I cling to them, the slippery ballast making my grip clumsy. I batter against my rescuer, trying to get a grip on them. There’s a horrendous noise filling the air, making the ballast vibrate with the force of it. Amid the torrent of sound I can hear someone yelling at me, telling me to stop, and when I crack my eyes open I see Fumi tugging me closer to him and trying to swim us away at the same time. I get my arm around his waist and we both dip under.

“Fuck this,” he says when I come up next and then he cocks his arm back and punches me in the side of the head. I go limp immediately and for the next few minutes I am not quite unconscious but I am definitely woozy enough to let Fumi drag me bodily out of the pool and then pick me up and carry me out of that horrible room and back to the staircase we came in at.

I manage to hobble up two flights of stairs on my own before I stumble and Fumi has to let me lean on him to get up another two. Up here the air is clearer and I can finally pop my helmet and breathe in deep, grateful gulps of it without feeling the spores trickling in and lining my throat. I sit down heavily on a step that isn’t encrusted with bloody moss and lichen and give Fumi a bleak look.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid,” I mutter. Fumi tries to put his arm around me but I shrug it off. “Goddam it, I’ve been so stupid.”

“Roan –“

“Fuck!” I shout. It echoes up and down the rickety staircase, my own voice reflected back at me in a mocking tone. My neck and arms are still sore and if I close my eyes I can feel that horrible thing’s tentacles or vines tugging tight around my throat and choking the life out of me…

“Roan,” Fumi tries again. “You aren’t stupid.”

“Elena was never down here,” I say. I can hear the cheerlessness in my voice. “She’s probably dead someplace ten minutes from the Cord. I should never have –“

“Roan!” Fumi barks. I look at him, not bothering to wipe my eyes.

“What?”

“Roan, you have to stop trying to throw your life away,” he says. His eyes are dark and serious and suddenly I find I can’t meet his gaze. “No, look at me,” he says.

“I’m really not into this paternal bullshit,” I start, but Fumi takes my head in his hands and very gently turns it so I don’t have any choice but to stare into his eyes. I almost slap him. At the very least I snarl out the beginning of an imprecation, but Fumi just stares me down. “I don’t –“ I start, but he shakes his head.

“Your life isn’t over,” he tells me. “You still have plenty to live for.”

“But if Elena’s dead –“

“Fuck Elena! Even if Elena were dead you’d have something to live for. When we find her do you think your relationship with her is going to last very long if you’re just hanging your entire existence off of her?”

“I – “

“I don’t need you flaking out on me right now,” he tells me. “When Ellis died, I –“

“Ellis?”

“Oh, fuck it. Forget it,” he says, standing up. “Do whatever the hell you want, you want to be a clingy son of a bitch when we get to Elena, be my goddam guest –“

“No, Fumi, I’m sorry, I didn’t –“

“Forget it, I said,” he tells me. My cheeks are burning. I’ve gone and broken the camel’s back. Of course him and Ellis were close, but…it doesn’t matter.

“Fumi, I didn’t mean –“

“Elena’s alive,” he says, his voice harsh. “Or at least she was, recently. Because ballast sirens can only repeat sounds they’ve heard. She probably pried open a door, took one look at that place, said ‘god damn!’ and ‘oh fuck!’ and left, and the siren’s probably been parroting it back for the better part of a day since then, hoping something would be stupid enough to wander into reach…”

“How was I supposed to know?” I yell. “How was I fucking supposed to know? I’ve never heard of a fucking ballast siren! I don’t know what they do!”

“I was yelling after you telling you not to go!” Fumi shouts. “If you had just fucking listened to me you wouldn’t have –“

“Yeah, well you fucking punched me!”

“I punched you,” he hisses, taking a step towards me, “because you were fucking panicking. You were going to drag me down with you and if I let you, we both would have died back there. I had to make you go limp, so I punched you! Of course you probably would have been okay with the two of us dying, given your fucking martyrdom fetish –“

“I don’t have a martyrdom fetish!”

“Then fucking act like it!”

“Fuck you!”

“You need to calm the fuck down,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “I can’t believe you talked me into this damn-fool errand. I had no idea you were such a –“

“Fucking leave, then,” I tell him. There’s a part of my brain screaming at me to stop, but I can’t stop. I’ve already let the words out. “If I’m so much of a fucking burden and too much of a loose cannon then fucking leave. Just go back up. I’ll find Elena myself.”

Fumi’s face falls. When he speaks his tone is gentler. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to –“

“Just go!” I yell, pointing up the stairs. “Just fuck off!”

“Roan, don’t do this.”

“Just leave!” I say. My voice is thick and raw and I realize that I’m crying. “I can do this myself! I don’t need you!”

“Roan, you –“

“Go!” I shriek, and then before I know it I’m clambering to my feet and pulling up my sleeves, clenching a fist and getting ready to swing at him. Everything’s taken on a red tinge, even redder than normal down here in the Pit, and the horrible throbbing thump of my heartbeat is ringing in my ears like an immense drum.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Fumi says, throwing up his hands, and then he turns and hurries up the stairs.

I stand there for a long, long while, breathing hard, letting all of my anger drain out of me. Eventually I feel empty enough to find a nice clear spot on the rusty steps, brush away the mushrooms and polypous clumps of pooled flesh and sit. I think about burying my head in my hands, but I don’t.

After a moment I take out my radio from its holster on my belt and look at it. Fumi had warned me not to even try anything with it, he’d said that it’d be easy for anyone listening in, such as the FBI or people in the Control Center, to triangulate my position and there’d be no guarantee Elena would even have a radio to respond with if I did try to call her.

But I don’t see another choice. My hand is shaking a little and I feel as though if I stand up I’d just fall right over again. If I don’t do something I’m going to have a panic attack.

I crack the radio up to its broadest range-band and hold down the broadcast button. I can’t think of what to say. Eventually I shake my head and then lick my lips and give it my best shot. “Elena?” I ask. My voice catches a little but I swallow hard and force it back down. “Elena, it’s Roan. If you’re – if you’re out there and you can hear this, l-let me know. Please.”

I let the button go and then wait, heart pounding. I try to keep myself from counting the seconds, but I can’t. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty. I stop after a minute and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the hot tears from leaking from them. She’s not out there, she’s dead or trapped somewhere without a radio, I knew it was a long shot, I shouldn’t have even bothered. If I hadn’t bothered I could at least pretend that –

The radio clutched loosely in my hands crackles to life. I glare at it, half-expecting to hear Fumi chew me out for using the radio in the first place.

“Roan?” Elena says. “Oh, my god, Roan, baby, is that you? Oh god, is that you?”

Continue with Part 34

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[only-lonely-stars]

The Future is Bright, Chapter 6

[Chapter 1 (Beginning)] // [Chapter 5] // [Chapter 6 - you are here!] // [Chapter 7] // [Chapter 10 (End)] (FFN)

Cole now knows what he’s seen, but he still doesn’t know what it means. There’s still so much to know, and the mystery is centered in Shintaro. Good thing he has an ally who can help him find answers!

Summary: What would happen if Cole had indeed had a reflection in the tomb of the First Spinjitzu Master? How would that have changed his life later? What would it have been? This story follows what might have happened if he had seen something, and what it was; who he would have become. What if his future was already decided?... (Rated T for safety. Alternate title: the Cosmic Spoilers AU.)

Chapter 6: Drawing Conclusions

With the drawing from the First Master's tomb in tow, Cole hadn't wasted much time in going back to Shintaro, and had left a couple of days later. If he had any luck– assuming luck was real, like destiny apparently was– it would be enough to help him find whoever he was meant to find. Then it was just a matter of dealing with whatever that was.

When he at last arrived back in Shintaro, Vania greeted Cole with an enthusiastic hug, almost knocking him over. "Cole! It's good to see you!"

Cole laughed and hugged back, grinning. "Good to see you too, Queenie! I missed you!"

She beamed at him just as widely, almost vibrating in her excitement. "What's going on? I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon!"

He nodded, brushing his hair back. "I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I figured in-person was better than a letter."

Immediately, her brow creased with worry. "Something to talk about? Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all!" He put up his hands defensively. "It's okay– everything's completely okay. I just wanted to talk to you about something that happened, and maybe get your opinions on it? If it's not a problem, that is."

"Oh! No, it's not a problem! I love talking to you." She turned her head questioning. "Did you want to talk somewhere private, or just anywhere?"

"Somewhere private, I think." He smiled awkwardly. "It's kind of... personal."

"I can do that!" She clapped her hands. "Follow me!"

Cole did as she asked, and she led him into the palace. They followed a few hallways, going deep into the palace, until they at last stopped in a private room with a fireplace. She shut the doors behind them, and together they sat on a couch before the fireplace.

When they were at last comfortable, she smiled at him. "So, what was it that you wanted to talk about?"

He sighed. "Okay, so I have to explain a little bit before I can get to it, but I'm kind of wondering if you can help me figure something out. It has to do with Shintaro."

"Okay." She nodded. "What do you need to know?"

"Well…" He shrugged. "I guess I kind of need to know about Shintaro customs, and stuff. There's a bit of a backstory to why I need to know."

"Go ahead and tell it," she urged him enthusiastically. "I have plenty of time, don't skimp on the details."

"Okay." He sighed, relaxing a little and managing a smile. He was just talking to Vania. There was nothing scary about that: she wouldn't judge him. "So, you probably heard about what happened a few years ago in Stiix, right?"

"Of course. All those ghosts!" She laughed. "That's one of the stories we heard about the soonest, I think."

"Probably, it was a big deal." He found himself talking with his hands as well as his voice, waving them around a bit. "Anyway, right before that, we were dealing with Morro. He wanted to get the Realm Crystal to summon the Preeminent. Still sound familiar?"

"Yeah, completely!" She leaned forward, invested. "What about it? Did you stop him?"

"We had to find it before he did– not that we succeeded, but it was okay." He thought back to the events. "It was hidden in the First Spinjitzu Master's tomb, and he made it only accessible to Spinjitzu Masters like him. Morro had possessed Lloyd so he could get in."

"That's terrible!" She frowned. "Is he okay after that?"

"He's okay." Cole smiled at her concern. "This was years ago, remember?"

"If you say so. I just wanted to make sure." She smiled back.

Cole chuckled. "Well, that's sweet of you."

She smiled a little more. "I try."

He grinned back. "Okay. When we got there, we found a bunch of traps that only Spinjitzu Masters could survive. One was this huge maze of ice– and when I say huge, I mean huge. Gigantic."

"A maze of ice? Wouldn't that melt?" She frowned in confusion. "Unless it was enchanted…"

"Maybe, I don't know. Whatever it was, it wasn't just normal ice." He paused, attempting to describe it. "When you look at your reflection in the ice wall, it shows you a reflection of your future self, and when we made our way through, I saw mine."

She gasped, staring at him in rapt attention. "You're kidding. It shows the future?"

"Yup."

That's– that's incredible! It must have been fascinating!" She grinned brightly. "Future vision sounds incredible!"

"It's really cool- no pun intended. It kind of showed me that I was going to be human again, which was really nice. Made it easier to deal with being a ghost."

"I can imagine." She leaned in a little closer. "Speaking of which, what was it like being a ghost?"

He chuckled. "Numb, really. You don't feel anything, just kind of cold. Not on my list of top ten recommended experiences."

"Probably not." She sat back, trying to control her excitement, but still clearly enamored with the story. "So… did you just see yourself as human? How does that connect to Shintaro?"

"I'm getting there." He pulled out his sketchbook as he spoke. "When we saw our reflections, Kai, Zane, and Jay saw themselves dressed like senseis. Jay even saw Nya with him, which was just proof that they've always been meant to be. Thing is, I didn't see the same thing." He flipped to the right page and handed it over. "Jay, Nya and I went back last week to take another look, and I drew what mine looked like."

She took the sketchbook gently and examined the drawing, tracing the lines with a light touch. A soft smile bloomed on her face. "You're an incredible artist," she commented.

"Thanks. I'm okay." He smiled, watching her look at it with that sweet look on her face. "So… what do you think?"

She hummed. "Well, it looks like Shintaran robes, obviously."

"Yeah, it does." He shrugged. "I don't know what the heck I saw, but I've kind of been on edge about it since we first visited. Do you know anything about what it means?"

"Hm…" She looked at him, and then back at the drawing, and held it up to compare. "Well… I can kind of tell some things." She examined it a little more closely. "In this, you're wearing white and blue. That's something not many Shintarans wear, because it's the royal colors, but it's not unheard of for non-royals if they want to emulate the royals. Plus, you're wearing your own crest, not the royal one."

"Wait, there's a royal crest?" He looked at her quizzically. "I've never seen it."

"Oh, absolutely!" She smiled at him, brushing her bangs out of the way. "It's a spear and some clouds. You might've seen it around the palace somewhere if you looked close enough."

"I don't know." He laughed. "Last time I was here, I spent most of my time underground."

"That's fair." She laughed too and looked back down, pointing at the sketch to direct him. "See your belt? That's where you might wear your crest in Shintaran formal wear."

"Huh! It's still my dragon..."

"Yep. Either that's the crest you stuck with for just yourself if you came here, or that's the crest your family would take on. Either way, it's not unheard of either." Her brow furrowed. "That said, the style of robes is pretty impractical for everyday wear. This is formal clothing, like I said, so I think it's probably likely that it's royal clothing. That explains the colors better."

His heart caught in his chest. "Royal clothing? Are you saying I become part of the royal family?"

"If you got married and your yin was a Shintaran royal, yes." She smiled up at him again. "Sounds like you'll be moving up in the world."

"Huh." He smiled faintly, head spinning with the possible meanings and making him feel a little dizzy. He had thoughts about how little he knew of Shintaro, yet it was clear how much this meant here… was there extended royalty in the Shintaran royal family?

Eventually, he found his voice. "That's… that's a thought."

"I bet it is." Her smile formed into yet another infectious grin. "That said, it would be awesome!"

That threw him for a loop. "Huh? How come?"

"Because then you'd live here! Then we could see each other all the time!" she chirped. "I mean, it's obviously not great to leave Ninjago, because that's your home and you love it and you've always protected it, but it would be amazing to have you around! You'd love to live here in Shintaro, I guarantee it."

He shrugged. "Oh, I wouldn't know... I haven't put much thought into that part of it."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe…" He reached over and pointed at a gold smudge on the paper next to the sketch of himself. "Okay, see that?"

"Yeah. Is that supposed to be there?"

"Yep. The ice walls sometimes show other people, too, but all I saw was a blur. It's my one clue to whoever my yin is supposed to be. She's got really bright blonde hair– just like yours, actually." He shrugged. "I don't know how common that color of hair is here, but either way it narrows it down."

"It's not that common," she noted. "I haven't met many other people with the same color. Most people here are brunette."

"Then it's even easier."

The conversation fell quiet, and a familiar anxiety crept back into his mind. His mind spun tales of the possibilities, some of which he dared not even think... but he was snapped from his thoughts when he felt Vania's hand on his arm. "Cole? Are you okay?"

He laughed humorlessly and nodded, shaking himself. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. I'm just– it's a lot to think about."

"I can imagine." She smiled compassionately. "I know you haven't really liked the idea of a relationship– just about everyone knows that. It must be pretty hard, knowing in the future you've got that, despite how much you don't want it yet."

He nodded. "Yeah, uh, you hit the nail on the head." He brushed his hair back anxiously. "I don't do relationships; never have, actually. Now the creator of entire realms has given me cosmic spoilers and told me I'm marrying someone from another country. It's hard to process."

"I'd bet it is." She nodded along with his story. "Having your future set for you before you get to it isn't fun."

"You must know about that, right?"

She let her hand rest on his arm comfortingly. "I do. I didn't really ever get told I could be anything but the queen in the future. It made some things easier, but others harder." She laughed quietly. "I can't imagine what it must be like to be told that, but about whoever you're going to end up marrying."

"Yeah, that's it. I don't know what to do, if I'm honest."

"Well, you could do a couple things." She shrugged, letting go of his arm.

"What do you mean?" He leaned in, listening intently.

Vania giggled at his blatant interest, and then began counting on her fingers. "One: you ignore it. Not the best idea, in my opinion, but it would work for a little bit. The future comes to pass whether we want it to or not."

"Yeah, definitely can't just expect it not to happen. Already tried that." He smiled.

"Yeah, exactly." She smiled back. "Two: you wait. You can let it happen in its own due time and do other things now, instead. Instead of pushing it and trying to find her, you can let her find you."

"But that'd leave it hanging over my head," he dismissed. "That's happened for long enough already, too."

"I figured you'd say that." She laughed quietly. "Three: you start looking for her now with what you know. She's got to be a noble or royal, and since she's blonde, you've got plenty of clues." She shrugged absently. "Of course, you could be wrong about part of it, and get mixed up, but you could try at least."

He nodded, thinking it over. Would it be worth it to look for her? Of course, there was always the possibility that he, Jay and Nya had been wrong. What if he was wrong? Or… what if she was right under his nose? What if they were right?

He sighed. "I guess I should figure out who it is, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm right about what I actually saw."

"Well…" She paused. "You drew it while looking at it, didn't you?"

"I did." He shook his head. "I just– my mind's playing tricks on me. I kind of wish I could see it again, but a third visit, and going alone at that, doesn't sound like much fun."

She hummed. "You have a point… I must admit, I'm extremely curious. It sounds fascinating to see the future!"

"It really is." Would it be worth it to go alone?...

She closed the sketchbook and handed it back. "Well… what if I come with you? We can look at it together and figure out what we're doing to find your yin."

"Really?" He took the book back. "You'd want to see it? I thought you wouldn't want to."

"Sure! It sounds fascinating, and I'd love to know a little more about my future, even though it's already mostly laid out for me. It would be another adventure!" She grinned. "That is, if you don't mind me coming along?"

"No, I'd be happy to bring you!" He grinned back. "That place is a little creepy when you're alone, seeing as it's a tomb."

"Well then, let's make it not creepy!" She got to her feet gracefully, seemingly energetic. "Let me just change and talk to Hailmar, and then I'm ready to go. We can make a day of it."

"Okay. It's a bit of a trip, dress warmly." He pocketed the sketchbook.

"Will do!" she chirped. "Make yourself at home! I'll come find you when I'm ready."

"Okay." Instinctively he wanted to come with her, but he kept himself back. There wasn't a reason to follow her, just that... well, she was the one he came to visit, but it would only be a little wait. There wasn't a need to miss her already.

Having gotten his thoughts in order, Cole stayed in the room and took the book out. As he looked at the sketch, his thoughts swirled in confusion. Who was this blonde royal he was supposed to be marrying? His suspicions fit too perfectly… but was it what he suspected?

[meloncubedradpops]

Repo! The Corona Opera: Final Countdown

This is the third and final installment of Repo: The Corona Opera. In the first piece, I made the argument that the surreal events we are experiencing in 2020 remind me of the world in the movie Repo! the Genetic Opera. My second essay compared the characteristics of fascism with the same movie. Here we will tie together ideas in both works to highlight a dark path that America is on, based on what we know about Repo!, in the hopes that we can reject the evils of those who are sacrificing our health and safety for their own selfish reasons. 

When I began thinking about this movie through the lenses of COVID-19, I saw uncanny patterns that just years ago seemed like an exaggerated storytelling. Millions of people dying from organ failure. Yeah, but how? 

Then 2020 happened. Oh, that's how. Sure the disease doesn't affect everyone in the same way, but its wrath and potential to harm are tremendous. The death toll in the United States alone is, as of today, is 231,000. At least, that is the death toll we are know so far. It will take time when the dust settles and we can analyze the excess death data to truly know how many of our fellow Americans have died. 

And while our world does not currently emulate those opening comic scenes in Repo, the impact from the sudden loss of life will be felt for a long time. There are a lot of really great themes in Repo: the concept of the family, drug addiction, the impact of corporate monopolies, and let's not forget it's a gothic coming-of-age story too. I am going to highlight three concepts that weave together our current reality with the world of Repo: the parallels of the Trump and Largo family, the Graverobber as the symbolic "other", and organ repossessions is genocide.

As mentioned in my previous entry, I highlighted the ways that Rotti Largo is a fascist. I went into detail supporting the argument that his company GeneCo holds tremendous and unyielding power in the city we see in the movie. And despite his efforts to save humanity from extinction, his assumed heirs and blood-related children are nothing short of entitled mediocrity. I will draw many parallels between President Donald Trump and Rotti Largo throughout the duration of this essay, but let's take a few minutes to talk about their children. Believe it or not, this meme was made by myself and my friend FOUR years ago, almost to the day! 

But unlike 2016, I had no idea that I'd find multiple comparisons to draw upon. And frankly, if we all knew how bad this presidency would be, for both America and the rest of the world, we might have made less jokes from our complacency. I ask the the real question though, which Trump and Rotti offspring are most alike?

Now, I've wanted to do this thought exercise since the inception of my essays. The surface level combinations would look something like, Amber and Ivanka (since they're both women, obvs), Donald Trump JR as Luigi (oldest child), and Eric Trump as Pavi ("you're just his useless brother!"). 

However my boyfriend raised a great point that had me rethink this: Donald Trump Jr is ACTUALLY Amber Sweet. When I took out the gender aspect out of the equation, it made so much more sense. In my next point, I will go into drug addiction in a much more dignified manner. But let's just take a moment here to consider the following. 

We know that Amber Sweet is addicted to two things in life: surgery and pain killing drugs to make surgery bearable. Amber Sweet's character provides an incredible insight to the daily life of the people in Repo. If you subtract the Zydrate Anatomy scene, you would hardly even know that zydrate is devastating lives of the people addicted to it. We hear about zydrate in the graveyard as a commercial and the media spends its first opportunity asking Rotti about zydrate's "use and abuses". After Sweet becomes a no-show in the presser, we quickly learn that she runs a support group for fellow addicts, or at least she is supposed to. 

How does this relate to Trump Jr? Quite simply, many are speculating that Trump Jr abuses cocaine. The most compelling evidence is his speech during the Republican National Convention. Now, obviously we don't have solid evidence that he is indeed consuming and abusing cocaine, and quite frankly if he is, that would not be incredibly surprising or even a huge deal. 

But the conversation doesn't end here. President Donald Trump did not hesitate to bring up former vice president Joe Biden's son Hunter Biden and his battle with addiction during the first Presidential Debate. It was a low jab, especially considering that the United States is going through a crippling opioid crisis, which he even admits is exacerbated by covid-19 and related lockdowns. Both Donald Trump and Rotti Largo exploit their own children in this manner. I mean, Donald Trump helped fucked up the Trump Foundation where his children were held prominent positions, which was caught stealing from a charity intended to help children with cancer! Every time we see Donald Trump Jr on our doom-screens, we get another glimpse into Jr's downward spiral. And with every additional crime that all of president Trump's children become implicated in, the more and more we can see that this family is rotten to the core. 

If Trump Jr is Amber Sweet, then Ivanka is Luigi. In Repo, Luigi can be described as nothing short of a homicidal maniac. I am not saying that Ivanka commits murder, at least not directly, but she does hold a lot of power in the White House. Spend any time learning about the machinations of the White House, particularly in the early days, and you will learn Ivanka competed with Melania for a voice in the administration, and still works for the White House today. Even if you exclude all of the shady business ties, such as the dozens of Chinese patents (including for voting machines!!!) Ivanka has filed, clearly the boundaries of nepotism do not exist for this family. Luigi somehow kills multiple people in the movie and faces no consequences for it. How can this be? Obviously corruption, but that is too simple. If there were multiple checks and balances at one point that would have forced Luigi to face justice for his crimes, they have obviously failed to come to roost in the movie. The obvious common denominator between today and the world of Repo is that those who want power will do anything to obtain and maintain it. Does the public know about every murder committed by Luigi? Does the public know about every crime committed by Ivanka (and also by proxy her husband Jared Kushner, who by the way, failed to pass mandatory security clearances but still has access to the intelligence of our government)? Jared intentionally made it difficult for many of the states hit hardest by covid-19 in the early weeks to acquire the necessary medical supplies because the electorate did not vote for Trump in 2016. That. IS. MURDER. Just as Luigi calls the common citizens in Repo "filthy mice", “Jrvanka” (and the Right at greater) frames the nation as two groups: us and THEM. Luigi is much less calculated, but the comparisons are there. If given the chance, the Trump and Largo family will kill because of their sociopathy, greed, and egos. 

Admittedly I don't have as compelling of a comparison for Eric Trump and Pavi. However I will say that both Pavi and Eric do the bidding for their father's empire, and I would also argue that both feel like they have to compete to get a modicum of attention and love from a paternal figure devoid of basic empathy. And at the end of the day, they do not reject their father's tyranny. And honestly that is enough of a comparison for me. 

Last but not least, I can't ignore the fact that the official Republican Party platform for the 2020 election is loyalty to Trump in the absence of any other political or philosophical idea. A majority of the speakers at the Republican National Convention were members of his family. Their pitch to Americans is “Just Trust Us”. However, a quarter million Americans aren't here to agree or disagree with that statement. With each passing day, more and more Americans are getting sick, to the tune of tens of thousands of cases a day on average currently. The Largo family and GeneCo are not much different. Remember that scene in 21st Century Cure where Shilo and Graverobber are in a mass grave where we can see truck loads of humans being added to the pile of corpses? 

The only real thing separating the corpses from the rest of the city is a poorly constructed brick wall and the years of propaganda that normalizes what I imagine would be a terrible pungent smell of death. 

The entire Trump family came into the first presidential debate without masks. The president was literally sick with a virus that statistically speaking, could kill his opponent; and he was on stage shedding this incredibly contagious virus screaming and shouting, spreading his droplets everywhere. The Trump family failed to show up early enough to be tested for covid before the debate. 

This was not an accident. Jared Kushner bragged to journalist Bob Woodward back in April that Trump was going to take the country "back from scientists". As of this past weekend, we learned that Trump is floating around the idea of firing our nation's leading disease expert Anthony Fauci in a time where our cases, deaths, and hospitalizations from covid-19 are surging. It is almost grotesquely poetic how similar this is to GeneCo. GeneCo is a company in the healthcare industry, but they exploit the worst parts of society, which I will go into very soon. And in its effort to achieve maximum quarterly profits, the ends always justify the means, even if that results in fascism and excess death/suffering. Rotti's body guards kill the doctor who gives him his grim diagnosis. Trump didn't kill the doctors treating him during his recovery with covid, but information we got from the White House doctors were straight up WEIRD. We witnessed a Gentern being killed by Luigi in the Mark It Up Scene for no other reason besides existing in the proximity of him. Trump has spread misinformation about how there's more money to be made when a doctor declares a death as a covid death. I am finding it hard to see the difference. I think I've made my point regarding the parallels of the Trump and Largo family quite clearly, but you may see additional points I bring up as the rest of my essay unfolds. 

Society is complex with more nuance than we give it credit to. The different ways that various groups of people interact with are endlessly interesting, and one of the reasons I love Repo so much is because there's an incredible amount of unpacking that you can do, even in the absence of written dialogue about it. 

If you don't know, Repo started out as a story originally penned as "The Necromerchant's Debt", which gave the Graverobber character a more active role in the world crafted by Darren Smith and Terrace Zdunich. When watching the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera, the Graverobber is certainly a character seen in multiple scenes, but in a lot of ways, his importance is left out. An entire scene was cut from the film, see Needle Through a Bug below if you're interested. 

Regardless the parts that we do see are still greatly impactful. Graverobber is essentially the symbolized "other" living in a world that is greatly stratified by social class, and he's doing what he can to survive. 

Now if you have been living on this planet we call Earth and have ever paid attention ever, you probably have noticed that there are a lot of power structures that influence the resources and opportunities that aid in our development and maintenance of our needs. The access to being able to elevate ourselves above basic survival are typically contingent upon a few things, one namely our ability to draw a paycheck. As I mentioned in my last essay, so many things went wrong to have what would equivalently be either a drug trafficking felony in today's terms or maybe theft, result in permissible extra-judicial murder. And I am not saying that Trump's bragging of the extra-judicial murder of an ANTIFA activist is at all related, but look at the way Trump compares his dissidents with the way GeneCo treats Graverobbers.

 We are experiencing the early stages of economic collapse, millions of people are hungry, soon-to-be evicted, jobless. And yet, the Republicans in power just HAD to rush through a Supreme Court justice. When arguing against lockdowns that would have saved lives, the Right spent countless hours arguing about increase suicide, drug use, poverty, domestic abuse, blah blah blah, you know all the things that were there and as equally as important pre-pandemic? And they did NOTHING to help mitigate this disaster beyond the bill that was passed this spring. The house passed the HEROES Act back in May, and senate majority leader Mitch McConnel declined to take a vote on it. 

Never mind the fact that landlords are still expected to pay the banks their mortgages on their investment properties. Never mind the fact that rent wasn't cancelled. Never mind that the Trump administration sought to prevent any oversight into the first bill passed previously to prosecute fraud. So you know, we can make sure the money went to small business owners, and not instead to the many, many crony ties to the administration who were approved for huge amounts of money. Honestly to think about this is kind of sickening, particularly when you relate it back to Repo and my essay I wrote on fascism.

I could probably talk all day about our failure with the "War on Drugs", but I feel like you can probably see based on the efficacy of its policies that drugs still exist and people are still abusing them. I bring this up because the Graverobber's occupation is essentially a drug dealer. However he sells a counterfeit of zydrate derived from the body of a bug who naturally borrow in a corpse's body, which is and also isn't stealing from the corpse / their estate, but is somehow still "bad" enough that you can legally be killed "on site" if a Gene Cop thinks you're harvesting the blue brain goo. I mean this entire concept makes my brain hurt. 

The Graverobber, as a concept, is a perfect example of the enemy who is simultaneously the biggest and the least threat, and the only way to stop them is to kill them before they can appeal before the jury of their peers or go to prison to pay for their crimes. And I am sure the propaganda that justifies this is beautifully orchestrated. It literally mimics Russian propaganda, AKA the biggest foreign intelligence threat since, I don’t know, the Cold War? I can picture authoritarian stump speeches now: 

"Here the Graverobber who comes in the night, tempting your children. They sell the promise of a good time, but did you know they are raping your daughters for this drug?? They can get your husband hooked on zydrate, and you won't know it's coming until he comes home unrecognizable. These thugs are stealing your grandmother's ring off her corpse, and you will find her half-rotted corpse thrown askew across her tombstone when you go to pay your respects."

And yet Graverobber defends himself:

"Industrialization has crippled the globe (Enjoy GeneCo's day and nighttime formula of Zydrate) Nature failed as technology spread (Ask a gentern if Zydrate is right for you) And from this wake a market erected (Buying Zydrate from an unlicensed source is illegal) An entire city built on top of the dead! And you can finance your bones And your kidneys For every market a submarket grows But best you be punctual With making your payments Lest it be you on the concrete below It's quick! It's clean! It's pure! It could change your life! Rest assured! It's the 21st century cure! And it's my job To steal and rob GRAVES!" 

He then goes into detail about how this is just the cost of doing business with his modern world. How many of our current and future stories by those who will not make a single sentence in our history books will be casted as enemies of the state who were ultimately just trying to make end's meet? You can deport the illegal immigrant but neglect to prosecute the American company who hired them to work here? How is that much different? If the people in Repo need this drug to cope with the deaths of their loved ones and their livelihoods, then what does that say about the soul of their nation? 

If you are still with me at this point, I want to thank you so much. I am going to conclude on a fairly heavy topic, but it is one worth having. Organ repossessions in Repo are genocide and in America, we are currently also committing genocide. 

The whole premise of the film is the justification that those who fail to make payments on their surgeries deserve to have their organs repossessed, because what other reality is there with unrelenting end-stage capitalism? People are losing their whole lives as I type this, through no fault of their own. Most Americans cannot afford a $400 emergency expense pre-covid-19. Millions are unable to pay for basic life expenses, such as rent, healthcare or food. Our president specifically shoved a Supreme Court justice because he wants the American Healthcare Act to be deemed too unconstitutional for public policy. Never mind the 100+ million Americans with pre-existing conditions. Never mind the millions who acquire their healthcare through the ACA marketplace. Never mind the fact that we are in a once-in-a-century PANDEMIC. Never mind that we spend more per capital on healthcare than anywhere else in the world. Never mind that the Right does not have ANY sort of plan to replace something in its place. How could MILLIONS die in an organ failure crises in Repo anyways? We already know that the Trump administration already stopped caring about covid deaths when we learned it was hurting people of color disproportionality than the general population. 1 out of 1000 black Americans have died from covid. Reread that sentence. If you don't believe me, go out and seek those facts for yourself. When we think of genocide we think of Hitler killing thousands of people via gas chambers. But there are SO many other steps that lead to the normalization of that. 

Undesirables, aka the "others", are easy to discard. Is it a surprise to anyone that ICE gynecologists are removing the uteruses of detainees? I almost made my whole essay about that one controversy alone. Genocide is insidious like that. 

"Oh but if she didn't want that hysterectomy, she shouldn't have tried to come to America for a better life, even if that's what my ancestors did." 

Of course not, she's the "other", and you're the law-abiding citizen. You were able to afford the extra $30 a month for the upgraded booby package that gave an otherwise unremarkable kidney transplant a fun twist by including breast implants. The orphan who works the streets because his parents died during the plague who needed a new pancreas because insulin became too expensive is threatening your suburbs. Bonus points if the orphan has a hint of melanin in his skin or if your daughter shows favor towards his antics, completely ignoring the fact that his mommy and daddy were killed by preventable disease. I have no idea if this was intentional or not, but look at the makeup of people who get their organs repossessed in Repo and try not to tell me there's a trend. Yes it could have been the coincidence of casting, but nevertheless it is worth mentioning. We don't see many people of color in this movie, but of the few we see, they get murdered by GeneCo/Wallace. And I don't care how stupid coincidences are because that is exactly what is happening with covid-19. The so-called essential, working class citizens (who are disproportionally POC) are putting their whole life on the line to serve everyone else who works at home. 

The ends justifies the means, kill enough elderly and the federal government won't have to pay out on social security. Force everyone to get back to work and fuck you if you think you deserve money for the hours you weren't allowed to work (oh and by the way we want to make it so you can't sue for covid-19 related liabilities). Oh you lost your job, "try something new", as told by Ivanka Trump earlier this summer. 

My main point is if you let fascism get control, they will normalize genocide and put you in jail for even making the connections of corruption. "Millions of people dead from organ failure, what's adding a few more to the pile in the name of law and order?" "The only good Democrat is a dead Democrat". Once again, I am failing to see the difference. 

Okay I threw a lot at you just now, and the fact you made it to the end is a miracle. If you skip around because you have a squirrel brain like me, I thank you as well. The fact we get out of bed everyday and do anything right now is a miracle and I know attention can be finite. 

I am writing this on the eve of the United States General election after having wanting to write this since June of this year. I am tired. We are ALL Shiloh right now. Our lives have been on pause. "I must be brave", "I'll capture it", "Run back inside". Yeah girl, same! I haven't talked about her much throughout any of my essays, but I have to give credit where credit is due. 

Humans are a resilient creature. We have millions of years of experience on this Earth, and much of our survival has been based on pure dumb luck. But we have blown so many other species out of the water in one way alone, and that is our ability to communicate. 

We don't have to let people who exploit our weaknesses control us. The sociopaths who try and run our society did not historically aid in our survival. They didn't care if we ate the mushroom that killed us or would have protected us when threatened by wildlife, it was our tribe. The Right has successfully hijacked that bond between the self and the tribe so that it can fit the needs of sociopathy and greed. It is not normal for a president to tell a nation that "it is what it is" when over 100k citizens die from a preventable disease. Do not let the sociopaths throw us in that tiny pine box in a mighty small drop in a mighty dark plot, hastening the trip to our epilogue. Because every inch you give, they will take a mile and charge you by the hour. Never forget that.

[fulcrum-agent]

Comatose

Darkness.

Silence.

Distant gunfire.

Muffled clashes of metal.

Humming magitek.

Distant...

...closer...

...closer...

Her eyes open, sky blue gaze sweeping across a battlefield. Blue hues reflecting raging fires, glinting twisted metal, pools of blood. Her brow furrows as she realises where she is.

The Bozjan Southern Front.

She freezes in horror as it registers where she is.

When she is.

Eyes wide, she turns slowly, slowly...

A body lies on the ground, clad in familiar raiment, blood pooling beneath the figure.

***Blink.***

She kneels beside the body, frantically casting spell after spell, the weak regenerative and heals seeming to do nothing. Instantly, tears stream down her cheeks as she cries hysterically, rapidly burning away her still-meagre aether reserves. Her gaze flickers about the area, and she wonders why her twin and her lover aren't there.

"Because it's a dream, daughter-in-law."

Wide eyes refocus on the dying man she's attempting to save, her jaw falling at his voice and at his words.

How was he speaking? He couldn't speak...shouldn't talk...and why call her *that*...

A soft smile crosses the dying man's lips as he reiterates gently, "...because it's a dream, Aquila."

Slowly, the aether stops streaming out of her hands as she blinks at him over and over. And then the corner of his lip turns up in a faint smirk as she begins to understand what's going on. Then, weakly, his hand moves to lower hers entirely, placing them on her lap before covering one with his.

"So you're...still dead?" she queries with a deep frown.

The man nods as he replies, "Yeah. Nothing can change that. It was time."

His answer causes her to sigh before she places her other hand over his.

Brow furrowing further, she murmurs, "I...don't understand why we're here..."

She's given that slight smirk again as he states, "...you're sharper than that - my son wouldn't love you if you weren't."

Blue eyes widen again as she whispers a single word, "...Talekeeper..."

The man who would have been her father-in-law nods a few times, the motion just barely noticeable.

"Did he explain what the blade is?" he asks, glancing at the weapon on her right hip. "And what I was?"

Nodding again, she answers, "A little. He told me you were a Blade of Queen Gunnhildr and that the sword was forged for you."

Her response is greeted with a sigh and the faintest shake of his head.

"Telling you everything and nothing," he fondly murmurs, "sounds just like my son."

And then, the dying man does something he shouldn't be capable of at all - he sits up, albeit slowly. Reflexively, his other hand covers the worst of his wounds, blood flowing over his tanned skin. Otherwise, he seems undisturbed by the failing state of his body.

"Everyone in Bozja will tell you something different about what it means to be a Blade, outside of the obvious task of being the Queen's guards," he begins to explain to her. "Even within the Blades, you won't find an exact consensus - we all had different motivations for accepting the position."

She tries not to stare at the wound in his torso, at the blood spilling over his hand, forcing herself to focus on either the hand she's holding or his features and gaze. Had this been real and not a dream, he would have already bled out.

"When I first joined, it was during a time of peace - before the truth of what happened to save Bozja the first time was known. That's not to say we didn't have skirmishes with bandits and the like," he continues, nodding out to the battlefield. "This place wasn't at all like it is now; most of the country wasn't. Hells, sometimes it felt like I had to attend more social functions than actually fight."

"Then...why leave? I know Leth wasn't raised in Bozja," she asks before adding, "especially not going to a bunch of social functions..."

Her expression makes the dying man laugh, blood briefly gushing with each contraction of his midsection. He shakes his head a little, smiling at her for a brief moment.

"I am sorry for that. You've got your work cut out for you, but I'm sure you'll manage," he states, still grinning. "You'd already done quite a bit of good for him before we even met."

She can't help but flush a little. She'd known that her lover had changed in the time they've known one another, but she was surprised that it was as much as her dead father-in-law-to-be was claiming it was. But, unfortunately, she also has no idea what to say in response, so she just gives him a sheepish smile while waiting for him to continue.

"Anyroad, aside from serving my Queen and Bozja writ-large, I thought that it would provide a suitable environment for my wife and later Byleth," he resumes, his expression softening at the mention of his family before becoming worn again. "And then the Garleans invaded, and everything changed..."

There's an awkwardness about her now, at the mention of her homeland's penchant for conquest. He notices and gives her hand a squeeze, exuding reassurance and care.

"You're okay, daughter of mine. While I was a little hesitant when you all arrived in Bozja, I quickly realised you weren't like the people we were fighting," he quietly comforts. "If more Garleans had been like you and your twin, we'd never have had to fight in the first place."

Her head shoots up, her now wide-eyed gaze shifting from their hands to his features, jaw falling again.

"Why-- why do you keep calling me that?"

Despite having a gash across his back from shoulder to hip, despite having a fatal stab wound on his front, the question makes the dying man laugh hard. He's too amused to notice how much blood the movement causes to spill from his wounds, though it's much harder for her not to see.

"Because you're going to marry my son," he replies with mirth. "I'd planned on walking you down the aisle since your dad's well...more of a sperm donor than a dad."

For a moment, she has a stray thought, wondering why her lover hadn't inherited his father's humour - as shocking as his words were. She stares at him, much like some surprised little critter, mouth hanging open with surprise.

"I'm kidding. I know your brother'd likely be the one to do that part," he adds after a long moment of laughing at her shocked expression. "Anyroad, that established, I should finish explaining everything to you before it's too late."

"Too late?" she echoes in confusion.

The dying man nods a little as he points out, "It's a dream, kiddo. You're going to wake up in a little bit, and it'll all be over."

His words make sense, and she nods a little as she gives his hand a squeeze, waiting for him to continue speaking. Faintly, she can sense the presence of her twin, close at hand yet incredibly distant.

"I was nearly captured during the invasion, but my mentor managed to help me escape. For a time, Sitri, my wife, and I went into hiding," he continues, the amusement draining from his features as he speaks. "After she died, I felt it was safer to leave Bozja entirely, and so Sylvain and I took Byleth and started our company once we were well away."

As he speaks of his dead wife, she gives his hand a gentle pat and a squeeze, trying to emulate the comforting air he used on her. He notices the shift in her emotions, swiftly realising how uncannily similar his earlier concern had been. Realisation dawns, and he gazes at her with an entirely new understanding.

"Can you do that with anything?" he asks her.

Confused, she murmurs, "...do what?"

He hadn't expected that she wouldn't be consciously aware of her ability, but he nods faintly at her confusion before he attempts to explain.

"It's one thing to express the same emotion as someone else," he theorises, bloodied hand lifting to rub his chin, seemingly oblivious to the blood that covers such. "It's a whole different thing to express the same emotion with identical intent and reason. Most of us do the former, but you do the latter. I wonder how far such can go."

She's quiet for a brief moment, looking away towards where her brother would be back in the waking world. Then, she murmurs softly, "...it goes pretty far. I learned an Ilsabardian technique without being told how it works - I only saw it in use. I didn't even know what it was at the time. I just...summoned a weapon made out of aether...then had trouble drawing it back in because my opponent hadn't done so."

The revelation causes the man to pause, primarily due to having only ever seen or heard of the Blades of Gunnhildr being capable of the feat. His eyes fall to the blade on her right hip again before they shift back to stare at her.

"So...you have no way to regulate the use of aether?" he seeks clarification.

"I...sort of do. The Captain gave me a piece of Magicite to channel it through - it works sorta like a focus does," she clarifies for him. "But...I have to be conscious for it to work. The whole reason I'm asleep right now is that I got knocked out while using it...and it nearly drained me."

And then, all of a sudden, it becomes even more evident that this is a dream. Withdrawing his hand from between hers, the man who should be dead several times over by now...stands up. He reflexively covers the stab wound with his hand as he straightens, the other motioning to her blade.

"Let me see that a moment, Quil," he requests as he holds out his other hand.

For a very long moment, she just sits there staring at him with a pallid expression before she manages to nod. Then, standing as well, she passes the blade back to its original owner. He flicks his wrist several times, reacquainting himself with his old friend. He makes several slashes with it then, before falling into as much of an en garde as he can manage, with his insides trying to fall out.

"Watch and learn, daughter of mine," he softly states before suddenly channelling aether into the blade; he means it quite literally. He makes a series of motions with the sword, an aether trail forming behind it, and then suddenly flings the excess aether from the blade. It lodges into the husk of a mantis magitek nearby. Before she can even comment, he reactivates the rapier's Royal Armoury, mock-fighting once more before lowering the blade, the aether retreating back into his form - without his consciously thinking about it.

Falling into a more relaxed stance, he looks over to her with a questioning expression. "Do you need me to do it again?" he asks, head inclining just a little. "It's not something you'll master immediately, but do you think you can do it already?"

There was only one way to find out.

She holds her hand out for the sword, and he passes it back to her. Then, taking a deep breath, she assumes the seemingly counterintuitive stance she uses for fencing. Another deep breath, and she begins channelling aether down into the blade, although she doesn't make the series of cuts he had.

Instead, she focuses solely on how he'd discharged the aether from the blade. Without any sort of telegraph, she suddenly makes the same slashing motion he had. The aether that's released is far more chaotic than what he released, its form barely cohesive before it splatters against the same mech.

"The lead-up motions were important, though it might not be quite so obvious," he corrects gently. "It's a matter of piggybacking the aetheric energy off the kinetic energy."

Nodding, she tries again, this time executing an identical series of motions before releasing the aether. It has more form this time, though it's still quite pitiful compared to his; he nods his approval anyway, as he'd already stated it wasn't going to be something she could instantly master.

"Now, the other one," he instructs.

Taking another deep breath, she refocuses on the blade. Although she doesn't assume the mock-fighting was entirely necessary for this one, she did think it was likely good to learn how to cut off the Armoury amid combative movement. Again, she executes an identical series of motions before falling out of an aggressive mindset - not that there's much visible difference in how she stands or how she holds the blade.

Some of the aether flows back into her, but some of it still lingers within the blade. Frowning, she makes the same series of motions again before falling back out of combat.

"Stop thinking about it," he orders, tapping a finger to his temple. "Let your mind empty as you lower your guard."

"...it's not as easy as it looks," she murmurs, looking confused as he bursts out laughing again.

That doesn't sit well with her. However, it causes her to redouble her efforts.

Deep within her mind, the frayed remnants of the conditioning her father had created and her stalker had tried to erase finds something to finally cling to. It wraps itself around the techniques, around the ephemeral mantle being passed, reviving old triggers and creating new. Her eyes close as she concentrates, and she takes another slow, deep breath.

When her eyes open, they're not entirely focused. Instead, a trance-like quality stirs as she begins to execute the motions again - this time identical down to the tiniest fraction of measurement. And then, just as suddenly as she began repeating the moves, she drops out of combat once more; this time, the majority of the aether flows back into her.

He's torn about praising her for her success, debating on whether or not the cost was too high. Unsure of whether the battle-trance was something she learned by watching someone else, or something more, there's a moment of hesitance before he speaks.

"Aquila..." he softly calls as he moves over to her. A hand is placed on either of her upper arms, gently gripping. "I don't know what just happened, but I hope someday you can accomplish this without having to do that."

She gives him a confused look as darkness starts to invade upon the edges of her consciousness. He frowns, sensing not only her confusion but her mind's shifting towards wakefulness. His gaze drops to the sword she's holding, then back up to her features.

"Ask my son about my nickname," he urges in a manner that implies there's more than meets the eye to the request. "And...take care of him for me."

Her brow furrows as the darkness encroaches upon her vision, but she nods at the pair of requests, murmuring, "I promise...dad..."

Without warning, everything goes dark.

Sitting up, she reaches her hand out to where the dying many should have been.

"JERALT!" she shouts before she really focuses on the room.

Beside her, her twin startles from his sitting sleep, rising immediately, hand reaching for his scythe until the word finally processes. Then, hand lowering, he looks at her in confusion.

"You...had a nightmare about his death again, didn't you," he murmurs as he lowers himself down beside her, pulling her into a hug.

She shakes her head a little as she slumps against him, all of the pain her sleep had been keeping at bay flooding over her, especially her left hand.

"No, not a nightmare," she clarifies to him, "more like an extraordinary dream."

Frowning a little, her brother begins to gently pet through her hair, murmuring, "Well, you'll have to tell Leth and me about it once you've recovered."

Nodding, she rests her head against her twin's shoulder, eyes closing as his comforting presence begins to lull her back to sleep.