#mr archives please you have so many issues

[jumper-insectia]

I have been listening to so much tma recently and I have finally gotten into season three and more specifically the arc I’m gonna personally call “mr archives realizes some shit and now he can’t stop realizing and also mannequins want him to adopt a new skincare routine”

[ikroah]

I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole, and then I followed it in, I watched myself crawling out as I was a-crawling in. I got up so tight, I couldn't unwind, I saw so much, I broke my mind… —“Just Dropped In (to See What Condition My Condition Was In),” The First Edition (1968)

It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin’ #28 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding VII

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Transcript:

Notes

Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to type those words? "End of Volume 2?" We have been on Volume 2 for just over three years. Obviously it's unfair to compare it to the breakneck pace of Volume 1, because... I got burned out (I got better), I got divorced (I got better), and most importantly, I've spent all three of these years overhauling my approach to art, which is to say, I got better. My canvas size doubled because my initial naive approach of "smaller pages means less art, which means faster art" was holding me back: I wanted more art, and the subjects of too many panels had gotten flubbed due to what was basically a pathetically low rendering distance. I revamped my approach to coloring entirely, leaning into a vibrant, saturated, and faux-comic halftone style that I vastly prefer to my more grounded, gradient-driven work beforehand. I changed IKROAH's font (Unmasked!), I changed Agnes's appearance slightly (she's far less gaunt, which was an early design choice I've thrown away, plus I think I'm much better at drawing her consistently now), and so much more. Comics are a time-consuming artform and while a lot of what made this volume take so long was out of my control, and well worth not pushing myself through, the total reinvention of how I actually make comics was the single best thing to come out of Volume 2.

It's a lot of lessons and groundwork that I'm very eager to take into Volume 3, which I have spent every single one of these years viciously impatient for. Now, it's finally here. See you at the cover reveal.

Original Pencils

Something that I have been working a lot harder on with my art lately is inking: actual inking, not merely "outlining" and figuring out the rest by the seat of my pants digitally. I've come to realize that the fewer steps of my production process that I try to do digitally, the more fun it is to make art as a whole, and inking was something that I was very intimidated by for the longest time. What happens if I mess up! It's permanent marker, after all! But after all the practice that I've done, I'm really happy with how bold and confident the shadows are on this issue, and they're perfect for how moody and dramatically lit the whole thing is. You can compare the pencils to the inks to the final products and really see how I planned out the overall composition.

Transcript

INT. LUCKY 38 PRESIDENTIAL SUITE, VERY LATE AT NIGHT. The lights are all off in this luxurious, distinctly pre-war abode. It is almost empty.

RADIO: Welcome back to the program, folks. This is Mr. New Vegas—and I hope I'm not coming on too strong. We've got some news for you, coming right up.

The only real light in the suite comes from the glowing screen of the Securitron VICTOR, standing in front of the private elevator.

RADIO: Tops Hotel owner Benny has been killed by an unidentified assailant. According to his fellow Chairmen, shots were heard in his private suite, and his body was found inside. They are urging all visitors to please keep an eye out for suspicious individuals and behavior on the New Vegas Strip. The new head of the Chairmen, Benny's former right-hand man Swank, consoled mourners: "If I know my pal Benny, he's swinging with the Big Cat Upstairs as we speak. Or he's chasing some angel broad with cans as big as her halo!"

RADIO: In other news—

In a guest bedroom off to the side, ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY is sound asleep. Her belongings are neatly folded on the dresser, except for the cocktail dress that she was wearing, which has been thrown onto the ground.

RADIO: —refugees at Bitter Springs are giving startling accounts of the legate known as Lanius, who is said to be Caesar's top field commander. One refugee told us the legate took over an underperforming squad of troops by beating its commander to death in full viw of everyone. The legate then ordered a tenth of his own force be killed by the other nine tenths. And you thought your boss was a pain!

RADIO: You know, I think all news, whether it's good or bad, brings us closer together. Don't you?

Directly across from the elevator, across from VICTOR, are the shut doors to the master bedroom.

RADIO: These headlines, brought to you by Vault 21...Vault 21! Everything is better when you experience it...in a vault.

Inside the master bedroom, AGNES SANDS sits on the edge of the bed, wide awake. The RADIO plays from her PIP-BOY, which provides a slight amount of light in the dark room.

RADIO: Gonna play a song for you right now—it's about that special someone, that you can only find once...in a "Blue Moon."

"Blue Moon" begins to play from the radio. AGNES's head remains lowered in rumination.

Suddenly, the radio broadcast cuts out.

SFX: KZZRRRSSHHTTZ

RADIO: Has your life taken a turn?

A NEW VOICE speaks on the radio. It's dreamy, seductive.

RADIO: Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind?

AGNES remains in thought.

But then: she lifts her head.

And she looks over at the radio.

RADIO: If so, then the Sierra Madre Casino,

The PIP-BOY displays: 11.09.81, 4:13. <<Signal Unknown>>

RADIO: in all its glory, invites you

AGNES listens.

RADIO: to begin again.

AGNES is now somewhere else.

EXT. MOJAVE DESERT. At sunrise, AGNES SANDS is perched atop a ridge somewhere in the desert. Her overcoat billows behind her, and her shoulder-mounted flashlight beams straight ahead. She looks manic. In one hand, she clutches her duffel bag, full of every belonging she has. Her other hand is wearing her PIP-BOY, and the radio broadcast continues:

RADIO: Come to a place where wealth, excitement, and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort. Make new friends...or rekindle old flames. Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert, under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our scenic Villa rooftops. Countless diversions await. Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you...and cater to your every whim.

Below the ridge is a pile-up of wrecked shipping containers. One of them opens up toward the surface like a gaping throat of metal. It leads somewhere, deeper into the earth.

RADIO: So if life's worries have weighed you down—if you need an escape from your troubles—or if you just need an opportunity to begin again—

The source of the broadcast signal is coming from INSIDE.

RADIO: —then join us.

AGNES descends into the container, revealing a makeshift staircase of sheet metal that leads into darkness.

RADIO: Join us, let go, and leave the world behind...

The signal from inside the tunnel is now audible. It overlaps with AGNES's PIP-BOY...

RADIO: Join us, let go, and leave the world behind...

Until she sees it.

RADIO: ...at the Sierra Madre Grand Opening.

A pre-war, art deco type radio, sitting on a metal pedestal. It speaks to her.

RADIO: ...at the Sierra Madre Grand Opening.

AGNES stares at the radio, bewildered.

She barely notices the HULKING FIGURE about to grab her from behind.

RADIO: We'll be waiting.

END OF VOLUME 2

[apk02]

I need anyone who loves Sirius and doesn't mind reading Sirius/Hermione to read this fic.

It's unashamedly long lol with 212 chapters and one more to go. BUT. The characterization of Sirius is so so on point that I fell in love with this fic so much. And generally the major problem I have with Sirimione is Sirius being just the funny goofy guy with Hermione being the all powerful super badass woman. But here, oh my god. They're both badass but they have flaws. They have so many flaws and Hermione is not Mary Sue. And Sirius is just so good. I could probably read so many more chapters of this and not get bored. If you love Sirius as much as I do, please give it a go.

I also love how the age difference and some very serious issues are addressed. But without that also, the characters are so fleshed out which make them just so real.

[sivarcher-sivvie]

Another slice of life

It's me and another slice of life short story! This idea is based from S05E17 when Raymond learns Yoga from Charles he said: "My doctor tells me to be more active." So I loved to look into small details 🤣

Also Happy Lunar New Year to anyone who celebrates it by the way!

And since there are two SOL one-shot now, I combined them and posted them on AO3 as well XD If anyone want to read there, please proceed to: A day in the life of Raymond Holt & Kevin Cozner - Chapter 1 - SivArcher - Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

---Doctor's Appointment---

Every once a year, at the summertime there is one specific day is their annual body checkup day where they will spend the whole day doing all the health screenings needed or suggested by their doctor.

"Raymond, can you help me bag these supplements that I've taken for the past year? I've forgot to keep the receipt in. " Kevin was calling the doctor to reconfirm their appointment while asking Raymond help for the supplement showcase later. Normally Kevin will be taking Iron and Vitamin D as his daily supplements because A: He had anemia that is caused by iron deficiency, and B: He rarely go outside to be under the sun, thus Vitamin D needed. On some occasions where he was sleep deprived, he will take Vitamin B as well, and every year he will be showing the doctor what kind of supplements he has in his daily life, despite the doctor already know since he's been their doctor for like 10 years.

On the contrary, Raymond does not believe in supplements needed in his daily life, he believed he can get everything he needs from daily food intake and he has been right. After all he is much more active than Kevin and being under the sun is a normal to him ever since his beat cop day.

"Dear, have you been taking these sleep aid supplement again? " Raymond found the melatonin bottle along with the other supplements and so he asked.

Kevin just finished his phone call with the doctor's receptionist and so he looked at him sheepishly: "Yes, I have. But not every day, only when I couldn't sleep. "

"How is it that I do not know this? How long has it been happening? " Raymond puts down the bottle and getting near to Kevin, almost holding him in his arms.

"It was… It was nothing, really. Just a couple of times. " Kevin looked at him in the eyes try to convince him, but he can tell his husband is lying.

"There is nearly half the bottle gone, Kevin. I am worried about you. " Raymond soften his voice so he doesn't appear to be interrogate his husband. Kevin slumps his shoulder to know that he could never deceive his husband, it has proven many times that Raymond is an exceptional detective and furthermore, he can read him like a book.

"Ever since the… Safe House incident, sometimes I will have nightmare and so I… took some of the sleeping aids. I didn't tell you because it was really just happening sometimes and I was able to sleep more normally these days, truly. " Kevin lean into him and pat him in the back to assure Raymond that he is fine, he doesn't have to worry about him.

Raymond knew that incident must have some aftermath for Kevin, it was such a traumatize experience yet he failed to notice his husband changes: "I am sorry, Kevin. You should have never been through all of that. "

Kevin shook his head and kiss him on the lips gently: "Stop apologize to me, it was not your fault. Raymond. And you have done everything you could, I am still here, aren't I? "

He looked him in the eye, the striking blues that fulfilled every moment in his life, and so he said: "Yes, you are. "

The trip to the doctor was smooth and the checkup has been performed swiftly, one week later they have another appointment where the doctor will review their screening report.

It usually went well as he and Kevin remain a pretty healthy lifestyle on their food and exercise, albeit lesser in the recent years but Raymond trust that they will have no big issue.

It was partially correct though.

"Mr Holt, your cholesterol level has been climbing up to the borderline number. " The doctor circled up the shockingly close to the unhealthy checkpoint number and said to him.

Raymond stares at his report, he could not believe it. After all, he's been eating healthily, doing exercises regularly with the fencing and squash, how had he come to this?

"As well as your liver function has been exceeding the normal number a little bit. The others have been perfectly in range and healthy! " Raymond looked at that number where it's higher by 2 points from the normal range.

To be fair, he does drink a lot more compared to before he came to the 99, mostly is they gathered at the bar a lot, and the cheap liquor has such nasty effects.

"Mr Holt, do not need to be too worried about these. At your age, your number is still very good. I wouldn't worry a lot about the cholesterol level or liver function number, but I do suggest you to be more active and less drinking if possible. " The doctor closed his report and gave his insights.

"I understand, thank you, doctor. " Raymond nods and put a mental note in his mind to be more active and he should drink less in those team gatherings at the Shaw's bar.

Or maybe he should just drink water only from now on.

"Your turn, Mr Cozner. " The doctor opens another report while Raymond and Kevin switched places on the chair. Kevin puts his hands on Raymond's shoulder to signal him comfort.

"How was your knees and throat? Are they doing okay? " Though before the doctor review the report, he asked about Kevin's current wellbeing due to Kevin had history of Osteoarthritis and Chorditis.

Kevin nodded along: "Yes, they have been improving a lot. " Raymond knows Kevin's knees has been in suboptimal state, according to doctor this is unavoidable as it was a natural degrade of his knees. That's why he never let Kevin hold any heavy object or doing any movements that require squads. And ever since couple years ago he had that Chorditis, his throat had become easily sore due to overuse them in the class.

These were old problems that Raymond hope that pain can leave Kevin alone, but to no avail and he guess it's just part of the life progress.

"That's good. Keep up with the medicine and you'll be alright. As for your screening report… " The doctor flipped on the pages of the report, from Raymond's eyesight, it seems everything is alright.

"Your result are very good! Nothing was excessive and every single number are within range. " The doctor smiled at his report and gave a clearance to him.

"That is wonderful. Thank you, doctor. " They finished their session soon after Kevin picks up his medicine from the pharmacy.

On their ride back to the house, Raymond still couldn't believe that he was not the perfect result man that he always secretly prided himself with. Even after they reached the house, he's still thinking about it.

"I could not believe that I had a red number this year. " He still stares at his report, on the sofa while Kevin is making them tea.

"It is okay, Raymond. We are getting old, and the doctor said do not worry. " Kevin puts out his tea and comfort him.

"I'll have to be more active I guess. Sadly, our squash club had been turned into a racquetball club. The audacity of those people. " Raymond picks up Kevin's report and read that it was indeed a flawless healthy report.

"I agreed. " Kevin is taking his Osteoarthritis medicine with the water, he will have his throat protection medicine after the dinner.

"I'm glad your results are good. Congratulations, Kevin. " He sips his tea while watching his husband swallowed the white pills in a weird face. His Kevin is not fond of having pills and always have it hard to swallow.

"Thank you, Raymond. Although I am the one who needs to keep having these medicine even though I have a perfect score on the screening. " Kevin pointed his medicine bag and sigh.

"You know these are two different things. And if you don't take it, your knees might be in great pain again. " Raymond hold his hand to be an emotional support, he has seen Kevin when his knees acting up, he couldn't afford to see that again, it breaks his heart.

"I know. I won't want to experience that pain again. " Kevin lies his head on his shoulder and happily sigh.

"Do you want a massage on them? " Raymond looked at Kevin's legs, it's been sometimes that he gave Kevin a massage. He normally done it to his neck and shoulder but he's very good at legs too.

"Yes I do. Thank you, Raymond. " And so Kevin moves his body to a proper position so that Raymond can massage his legs comfortably.

While Kevin looked at his man, his husband, and feeling the big warm hand from him on his knees, his eyes were soft and so he smiled.

'What a good day. ' He thought while he slowly falls asleep.

---

I normally write these in between of the long fics so I can escape to other ideas sometimes hahaha. These one-shots have not been edited though so 😅😅

[poohnotpiku]

Pooh & Dad

Today let me introduce my Dad, the primary reason why people link me to Piku!

Dad is not old like Amit ji’s character in Piku, but his body is like that of a 70-years old with many ailments. Life has not been fair to him or, may be, he has not been fair to life…we will not go there…Coming back to Dad’s age, he is just 3 years senior to Mr. Salman Khan (the first official hunk of Bollywood) :D

I would not want to bore you guys with Dad’s medical history but will point out his two major health-problems around which his life revolves.

First comes his ‘Bowel Movement’ (yeahhhh…go ahead….link this to Piku!). I am not sure what’s with these aged men and their bowels! (Inner Pooh : “At least, it’s the most important thing for Dad!”)

His second issue (which he is not aware of) is his Bipolar Disorder. Depending on where his mind is on the Bipolar scale, I am his ‘Gulab Jamun’ one day and a ‘Hellcat’ on other days!! I can accept Hellcat but which girl (Inner Pooh : “You mean old lady!”) would like to be compared to a GULAB JAMUN??? If it was a perfect Haldiram’s gulab jamun, made with pure ghee, dipped in saffron infused syrup, with a silver coating and a topping of pista, it would still have been great! But I am more comparable to those poor gulab jamuns in a dingy sweet-shop with sad-looking faces and no ghee or silver coating (forget pista!!). Now you see? We want to be Candies of the World and not damn Gulab Jamuns (Dear God…another item to be addressed in my next-life!!!)

Life with Dad is a mixture of laughter, tears, and anger. It’s a real roller-coaster ride! Let me share few funny anecdotes from Pooh&Dad archives.

Scene#1 :

I am in a deep sleep, floating away in the void of outer-space…. suddenly there is a bright light…(Inner Pooh – “Has the Sun blasted???”)….I wake-up with a start…my eyes flew open….I am back on my bed…..and as I see upwards, I see Dad staring down at me….Inner Pooh shriekkssss….

Me : “What is it Dadda? Why have you switched on the lights? It’s 4am!!!”

Dad : “Are you sleeping?”

Inner Pooh : “Yeah we are sleeping and now we are sleep-talking with you!!!!”

Me : “I WAS sleeping, now I am awake…What happened?”

Dad : “It’s ok, if you are sleeping we can talk in the morning…”

Inner Pooh : “grrrrrrrrrr…..”

Me : “Abhi I am awake…bolo na…what is it?”

Dad : “I was thinking when I will get well, you book me a 3-tier Railway ticket to Amritsar…I will go own my own…I need to visit Amritsar again…”

Inner Pooh : “Yesss…we too NEED to go to Paris….so we will first drop you off at Amritsar and then fly away…”

Me : “Ohk…we will discuss this later…first get well and stabilize your body….now let me sleep…”

Dad : ……

Inner Pooh : --------

Me : …….

Dad : ….

Inner Pooh : ????

Me : “Dad please switch off the lights now!!”

Dad (while switching off the light) : “Accha(btw), I did not had my bowels since two days, you are not giving me my Dulcoflex (laxative) tablets??”

Inner Pooh : “Not Again, Old Man!!!!”

Me : “Wait till tomorrow, if the issue persists, I will give you an extra dose!”

Lights off, Dad and his cane walk away…..Inner Pooh dozes off…..But Me?? I am left wide-awake, praying for my dearie sleep to return!!!!

Scene#2 :

Dad is a very bigggggg fan of Amit ji (Mr. Amitabh Bacchan). In fact he has literally asked me to find out Amit ji’s mobile number so that he can talk to him directly…(Inner Pooh : “Yeahhh, why not?He has his number published in wikipedia!!!”).

One day Dad was looking at Amit ji’s pic in the newspaper and calls me over and says : ”You have no idea what a big superstar he is….he is the DON!!”

I left the room, rolling my eyes (what else to say)….

But this gave me an idea to gift him a framed pic of Amit ji. I searched online, could not find any option….and then I went to our local photographer’s (who will be referred to as Bhaiya henceforth) shop….and….

Me : “Bhaiya, show me some photo-frames….”

Bhaiya : “Madam ji…look at this one….this is beautiful….” (he shows me 2 heart-shaped frames joined in the middle with lovey-dovey symbols all over)

Inner Pooh : “Ewwww…..”

Me : “Not this one bhaiya…show me a ‘simple’ one….”

He excavates an old box, from inside the box he takes out one dual frame piece…old but simple design…I had to take that one. Those where pandemic days…..I was lucky to even find this guy’s shop open…

Me : “Do you have internet? Please search for Amitabh Bacchan and Dharmendra (Dharam ji is dad’s another favorite) and let’s download one good-looking picture of each… you then print them out and put them in this frame…”

Bhaiya looks at me as if I have gone mad!!!

Bhaiya : “For whom are you getting this?”

Inner Pooh : “Should we tell him it’s for Dad? He will think we all are insane!!!”

Me : “It’s for an old uncle…he has his 80th birthday coming up…so just want to give him something which he will cherish…”

Bhaiya looks satisfied with the explanation and I leave the shop with a sighhhhh…..

The frame, with Amit ji’s and Dharam ji’s pic is still lying on Dad's bedside table….And every time I see the frame, I just can’t help smiling….

Scenario#3 :

I am in a meeting with my screen shared and presenting to my seniors in another part of the globe…..suddenly in my corner-vision I feel some disturbance….I look up from the screen and find Dad standing there, with his cane in one hand and beckoning me by doing gestures with his other hand…I do my random hand symbols to explain to him that I am in a meeting….but no use….he starts speaking in his loud voice…I excuse myself from the meeting, go on mute (Inner Pooh : “Thank God!! Else it would have been a live Indian drama for our foreigner colleagues…”)

Me : “I am in a meeting….What do you need?”

Dad : “I need 2minutes of your busy schedule….” (He stresses on the word busy)

Me : “Ohk…What is it?”

Dad : “You think you are the Lord of this house…you will control everyone….but I am telling you…you cannot control me…I will do whatever I want to do…you will not stop me…I do not need you or anyone…”

Inner Pooh : “Ooppsss…He has started again…moving towards other end of his Bipolar scale….note to call the psychiatrist…”

Me : “Okies…do whatever you want to do….now will you let me continue my meeting?’

Dad : …..

Inner Pooh : ……

Me : ……

Dad : “Ok….When you have time….play Anil Kapoor’s Laadla movie on my TV… “ (Mr. Anil Kapoor is Dad’s latest ‘crush’ :D )

Me : “Okkkk”

After completing my meeting, I go to his room and take the remote control and start surfing for ‘Laadla’ movie (Dad’s somehow not comfortable with any technological advancements….)

Dad : “Next time DeeDee comes, I will ask her to teach me how to operate this YouTube thing…”

Inner Pooh : “He has no expectations from you…LOL”

Me : “Where is the damn alphabet L…oh it’s here….now where is A?...”

Inner Pooh : “How I hate searching for anything on this television…such maze-like keyboards and you need to click each damn button one by one!!! If only you could handle advance technology, it would save so much of my precious time....”

Dad : “This Anil Kapoor Guy is also too good….there is no one like Amitabh….but Anil Kapoor is also a great actor….”

Me (still struggling with the on-screen keyboard): “Where are you hiding damn ‘D’….ahh…found you!!!”

Inner Pooh desperately looking at the recommendations panel of YouTube to show me ‘Laadla movie’ and stop me from typing anymore!!!

YouTube AI rocksss….we found the movie in the suggestions panel….set it to play….Mission Accomplished!!

Dad : “If you have sometime in your busy schedule…sit and watch this movie…”

Inner Pooh rolling her eyes!!!

Me : …..

And there are many more such anecdotes…..may be, I will share them some other day…

So, now what do you feel? Am I a Piku? Let us give you all some time to analyze this :D

Until then, ciao!!

P.S.: Do I need to say it again??? Please refer to the P.S. of my first blog..!!!!

[therivergirl]

Chapter 7...that is not the last chapter because I added one more!

While the Gladstone-Glomgold issue is resolved, another plot starts to thicken. Someone with nefarious intent might be rearing their ugly head... But before that, some important conversations need to happen. And Gladstone has to figure out what to do with all of the mental breakdown pizza.

Chapter:

1 hour earlier.

Scrooge McDuck burst out of the lab and was immediately a frantic Gyro.

“Mr McDuck, finally!” the scientist said as he practically dragged Scrooge deeper into the lab.

“Gyro it took me less than 15 minutes to arrive and I was only delayed because Hope from accounting had a really urgent issue to deal with,” Scrooge grunted, releasing himself from Gyro’s grip, “Now what is this nonsense about parts going missing?”

“I wish it was just nonsense!” Gyro grumbled.

“Please tell me I misheard you over the phone and those parts weren’t…”

“They are! They are for the Ramrod project,” Gyro conceded, “That is for the beta version of the scale model, as this thing requires immensely careful planning. We can’t allow this thing to run around being wildly misunderstood. So yes, they were meant for this project! And now they are missing! I mean, I can always order more parts, the project will go through.”

“Then what is the issue?” Scrooge frowned, “I was about to chew out those delivery men, and really, they should be more careful, but you sounded like it was the end of the world over the phone? If you’re worried about the funding, I told you, this is one of the few occasions when it’s no issue!”

“No, no, it’s that, well…they were stolen!”

“WHAT? What do you mean stolen?”

Gyro groaned, “I mean, someone robbed the delivery truck!”

“I know what stolen means, Gyro! I mean where, how, by whom? Get Gizmoduck on the case, immediately! If the robbery was reported, police will be there any second and we need our people there with them!”

“Fenton still can’t fight as Gizmoduck,” Gandra said, approaching, “he can use the suit for minor tasks, but no fighting. Doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t need him to fight, I need him to talk to the officers!” Scrooge said, looking around, “Where even is the lad?”

“Gyro gave him the day off because he is terrified of Fenton’s mother!” Gandra snorted.

“I’m not!” Gyro shouted indignantly, “You are terrified of her!”

“I’m may or may not be a bit nervous around her. Which is normal, I’m dating her son! Have you never been nervous around your significant other's relatives?”

“I have never dated, and I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Gyro said simple, nodding, “And I’m not scared of officer Cabrera!” he ignored the sceptic look Manny and Li’l bulb exchanged.

Gandra stared at him, her eyes half-lidded, “Uh-huh! And I’m Marylin Moncrow!” she retorted, then turned her attention to Scrooge, “Long story short, there is this actor Mrs Cabrera likes, he is signing autographs today, she asked if Fenton could get a longer break to go get one and Gyro got spooked and gave him a whole day off instead!”

“True story!” Many confirmed.

Scrooge stared at the trio in disbelief, rubbing his temples, “Of all the nonsensical…if you said the lad had to go to the doctor's, or even if you just said you believe he deserves a day off, I’d understand! But an autograph…” he shook his head, “So, is he done with the task? And where is he?”

“He is not answering currently, I don’t know,” Gandra said, “However, the good news is, all the incoming calls for Gizmoduck are redirected here. And then we contacted the one person in the police station we know we can fully trust!”

“Detective Cabrera,” Scrooge smiled, while Gyro shivered.

“Yes! And we managed to get in contact with the delivery men before the police arrived on the street. They stopped at the gas station, when suddenly, everything was engulfed with red and yellow smoke,” Manny informed Scrooge, “From the way they described it, I’d say the attackers used a gas bomb. Four men attacked, a short round bull, two taller robbers but they haven’t managed to get a clear look at them due to the thick smoke. They say one might be a ram. And the leader was a somewhat broad-shouldered duck of average height. They say it seemed he was wearing a cape of sorts.”

“They didn’t appear to have a getaway vehicle,” Gandra filled in, “They seemed to appear out of nowhere, managed to break the security lock of my own design. Not to sing my own praises, but that is impressive.”

Scrooge’s frown grew deeper. Gandra's electronic locks were something else, with what he understood to be excellent anti-hacking systems and, in addition to that, they would shock anyone who tried to break them physically. It would take someone of intellect that matched Gandra's or someone with immense physical strength-and some immunity to shocks-to break them, which was the very reason he had mass-produced and installed on all of the priority delivery vehicles,  “So, it sounds like it was a planned strike by a group of professionals? Do they sound like anyone we know?”

“Not that we are aware of,” Gyro said, “None of the escaped F.O.W.L. agents fit the description.”

Lil Bulb was jumping on the desk, trying to get someone’s attention, but nobody paid him much mind, all immersed into the robbery case.

“And neither do any of my nemeses...” Scrooge pondered. “I’m guessing we’re at a roadblock until the police are done with their part?”

“Yup!” Gandra added, “But Mrs. Cabrera said she would get us any information she can without straight-up breaking the law or risking her career.”

“Good! Even if the project continues as planned when we get new parts, and I shall find a way to get them here with less risk this time, I want to know who is put there stealing it. My gut tells me that this is too deliberate to be a random act of villainy, and I have a feeling my gut will be proven right once we get more evidence. Curse me kilts, can this day get any worse?”

At that moment, Lil Bulb had enough, he flashed bright red, literally heating up and momentarily touched Gyro’s arm.

“OUCH!” Gyro rubbed the spot, “Li’l Bulb what has gotten into you? What is that?” he looked at the phone Lil Bulb was holding, “I don’t have time for Blue Nephew’s show!”

Li’l Bulb shook his head and tapped on the screen aggressively.

“All, right I’ll give it a look-what is that purple idiot doing there? Wait? Why is Fenton there?”

“What?” Scrooge groused and looked at Gyro, “I thought you said you sent Fenton to get an autograph for his mother, not to be a guest on Dewey’s show?”

“Well, Darkwing is there, that is Drake, and he is a former actor…” Manny mentioned.

Gyro snorted, “Pffft! What did he win Cabrera's mother over with, that one shampoo commercial?”

“No, the actor she likes, it’s that Vasco guy! You know, Blackwing from Arcane Rangers,” Gandra came to see what Gyro was looking on the screen, “Hm, it’s not like Fen to use a day off for attention hogging. Wait, are they in Augorix?" she wondered and then took notice of the other two guests, Penumbra and, weirdly enough, Flinheart Glomgold, "Mr McDuck, you might want to come to see this.”

Scrooge approached the group gathered around Gyro’s phone, “If they are at Augorix than something fishy is going on. The lad is usually filming in his room or in the attic, thinking nobody can see him but- CURSE ME KILTS!” Scrooge bellowed as he noticed one of the guests on the show, “Glomgold’s one of the guests?!?”

Gandra cringed, as Scrooge cursed in Gaelic, “Maybe you didn’t want to see it…”

“See, therefore you never ask can this day get any worse, sir,” Gyro said, “Universe sees it as a challenge!”

But, after a few moments, Scrooge blinked away the shock and smirked slightly, “That is where you’re wrong Gyro. Well, I do admit that asking such a question was foolish on my part, but today, I think we’re not going to see the cliché play out. See, Dewey and Louie were with me today morning when we heard about Glomgold’s most recent escapade. And I know the lads have a plan.”

“I only see one lad there,” Gandra said.

“Dewey might be on the stage, but trust me, I know that Louie is not far behind!”

“Great! They are still interviewing your biggest rival,” Gyro noted.

“Yes, they are, but I’m sure they have a great reason behind it. Wouldn’t be the first time Louie played Glomgold like a fiddle. If you don’t mind, I’ll pay them a visit. I trust you can deal with this issue for yourselves for a while? Also, do set me up with that video-viewing doohickey so I could follow what’s going on!”

Gandra took her tablet, opened the ap on it and handed the device to Scrooge, “There you go, it’s not possible to watch it on your flip phone. But please, return it.”

“Yes, and please, tell Fenton that when he doesn’t get the autograph to his mother, he can't put the blame on me! He is the one who squandered that chance! And that next time he gets a day off for a certain purpose, he should use it for that purpose!”

“I will deliver the message. Do keep me informed if you find anything out. And good luck to you.” Scrooge said leaving the lab. He trusted Team Science fully with the task, and he had another one.

Because his gut was telling him, there was something behind Dewey’s show, something that explained why he decided to interview Glomgold on this very day, in the company of Gizmoduck, Darkwing and Penumbra of all people.

And Scrooge McDuck’s gut was rarely wrong.

……

Present

The entire group gathered in the salon in Gladstone’s suite. Gosalyn and Dewey chatted with Penumbra. Darkwing now as Drake Mallard, since everyone in the room was aware of his secret identity sat in Gladstone’s fancy robe next to Launchpad and Louie. Scrooge sat in an armchair, deep in thought, and Gladstone was in the barroom getting everyone drinks.

Fenton has just walked into the salon, having left the armour in the other room.

“Oh, I see, that jerk Gizmoduck is making you take his position again!” Darkwing alleged.

“What-no, I-“

“First you, then LP has to take over, now you again.”

Fenton stared at him blearily, “We convinced LP to take the mantle or the suit, that one time because…”

“Because you are ten times better person than Gizmoduck! And because LP deserved to be a hero, because he is a hero,”

“Aw, thanks DW, but I think you don’t realize…” Launchpad tried to explain. Even he, with his seemingly infinite patience, was starting to find it ridiculous that Drake couldn’t comprehend that Fenton was Gizmoduck. To be fair, the first time he saw Fenton in the suit, he thought he was a robot. But he was still aware that it was Fenton.

“That you both work with a total asshole-“

“Language!” Gosalyn warned him teasingly.

“Hmph!” he huffed at her, while she laughed, “That…total jerk is willing to take the glory but does not want jobs he deems beneath him of too risky!”

Gladstone, having just walked in with drinks, observed the situation in disbelief, then turned to Louie, “Ok, I’ve been called unobservant before, a couple of times by you specifically but I don’t think I’m that bad! You can’t tell me he doesn’t get it!”

“Nope! He doesn’t!”

“But he literally unsuited in front of all of us when we were trapped in F.O.W.L. base!"

"I know!"

"But..."

“Uncle Gladstone, trust me, whatever argument you have, someone already threw it out there. Drake is not unobservant. His denial is simply deeper than Marihen’s Trench."

Gladstone shook his head, setting the drinks on the coffee table.

“You know what, forget it!” Fenton said with a sigh “I think we should start with, erm, the explanation, heh!” he turned to Scrooge nervously, but the old duck didn’t look angry.

“No need to be nervous, lad. I just want to hear how this all came to happen, so, who will start?” he said, sitting upright in his armchair, his hands planted on top of his cane. He didn’t look upset, but the air of authority he gave off still made everyone slightly antsy.

Nobody in the room spoke, so Gladstone took a deep breath and started, “I guess me?” he said, oddly nervous, “Since this, all started with me.”

Scrooge simply nodded, a slight frown on his face, more inquisitive than harsh.

“See, I wanted to try something new, for me at least. I tried to get a job! Who wouldn’t want to employ me, right? Well, apparently, there are a lot of people!”

“Wow, Gladstone using self-deprecating humour is unnerving,” Dewey whispered into Gosalyn’s ear.

“Are my ears deceiving me?” Scrooge asked, surprise evident on his face, “You tried to get a job? Well, that is commendable, lad!”

“Well, um, thanks! But I didn’t find one and then one day someone approached me in an alley, offering a job and, well, I thought what’s the harm!”

“Wait, wait, wait! I must’ve zoned out on for a moment!” Drake said, “You took a job offered to you in an alleyway!? As someone whose job is to break up back-alley deals…Fenton, are you hearing this?”

“Yes, yes I am. Trust me, I had the same reactions!”

“Ok but…”

“What if it was some smuggler!” Gosalyn asked.

“Yeah, or a drug dealer!” said Drake.

“Just some shady guy trying to get you into a really, really shady MLM!” Launchpad said, surprising everyone in the room. “They almost go my mum once, though they came to our door, it wasn’t in a dark alley!”

“Ok, ok, you got the point across!” Gladstone said, “No signing contracts in alleys!”

“Jeez,” Gosalyn turned to Drake, “what did they teach you in schools back in the day! No stranger-danger? And I thought schools today lack common-sense classes!”

“Hey, I’m younger than him!” Drake said, looking between himself and Gladstone. Well, that man does look young for his age, he thought it’s easy to make a mistake. I certainly don’t look as old as he is!

“Calm down everyone!” Scrooge said, “But really Gladstone, all of them are right, ye should be more careful!”

“I get it! But hey, it wasn’t some frog demon who wanted to syphon my luck, so I thought it be fine…it wasn’t obvious! To me, at least."

He went on to explain how Glomgold tricked him, convinced him into working for him, how he was terrified of Scrooge’s reaction if the man found out. Then Dewey and Louie cut in, explaining how they met Gladstone while waiting for Vasco’s autograph, and how they were suspicious. They explained how they decided to help, Louie graciously skipping over their argument, and how they realized how they had to help.

“Before you continue,” Scrooge said, “Lads, and I’m talking to all three of you, and you too Fenton, come to me next time. I’m not promising I wouldn’t get irritated, or even angry but I would help.”

“Yeah, you were already so angry about the whole thing this morning…” Louie said awkwardly.

Scrooge rubbed his forehead, feeling slightly guilty for burdening his great-nephews, “Aye, but I know how Glomgold operates. He” Scrooge looked away, frowning, “He tricked me in the past, for heaven’s sake! He prayed on Gladstone’s naiveté this time. But what’s done is done.”

He turned to the sofa on which Launchpad, Drake and Penumbra said, Gosalyn perching on the armrest, “Now, I want to know, how the three of you fit into this. And how in the world did you convince him to come here again, after pulling that trick on him the last time, Louie?”

“Well, I didn’t, that’s the thing,” Louie said, looking at Dewey.

“I did!” Dewey pointed his thumbs to himself proudly, “I mean, Louie told me some of the things to say, but otherwise, I convinced him to come to the show. I improvised quite a bit. I…may or may not have told something about how he is,” Dewey lowered his voice so it was a barely audible squeak, “cooler than you…”

Scrooge raised an eyebrow.

“But, but it was just for the sake of getting him on the show! I promise!” Dewey raised his arms, claiming innocence.

Scrooge chuckled, his eyebrow still raised but his eyes became soft, almost amused “I know, lad, I’m teasing ye! It was quite a successful tactic, I might assume?”

“Oh yes, after that he practically teleported himself on set,” Dewey said confidently. “Said something like Oh, Scrooge’s nephew thinks I’m cooler than him! And will have me on his show!” Dewey imitated Glomgold’s voice “This will hurt that- aaand I’m not sure I can say what he said about you then without being grounded, so…yeah, you get the point! Louie, please continue!”

“Meanwhile, we knew we had to make it seem legit, so we wanted someone other than Gizmoduck. You know, Glomgold knows he works for you, so we thought, he might get suspicious. Fenton went to get Drake, or Darkwing, LP was in St Canard, so he came with, as moral support, and Dewey convinced Gos to be a camerawoman,”

“And I was great at my assigned job if I say so myself,”

“You did!" Dewey exclaimed, "And then I realized that we also need someone to get him angry, so who better to do that than Penny, the one who will not stand for her achievements to be taken!”

“I was happy to assist. It was an honour to bring that man down the peg! I hope I’m using that expression correctly.”

“Close enough,” Gosalyn nodded.

“How’d you get the hotel staff to agree to let you use the conference room as a set?”

“Oh, I asked,” Gladstone said, “You know, my natural charm did its thing, plus it seems like they don’t like that Glomgold guy much more than we do.”

“I would hardly say that they hold the same dislike for that poor imitation of a Scotsman as I do, but if you say so,” Scrooge groused.

“Last year he was here, and he trashed the place, insulted the owner’s mum and made one of their best chefs cry,” Louie explained, “And we offered the guests the place in the audience too and they were just kind of, cool, an event, I want to see.”

"I was just here to cheer everyone on!" Launchpad said.

“And then we improvised like crazy with everything,” Dewey added.

“I’m most impressed how Louie managed to read that contract,” Gosalyn said, “And you won’t hear me say I’m impressed often! But I just find those things boring!”

“It’s fun trying to find loopholes, and Glomgold’s contact had some, but this was easiest to use and, had he tried to complain, hardest to refute!” Louie said, not missing Scrooge narrowing his eyes at him. It was an expression that meant Scrooge knew there was more to Louie’s reading of the contract than his natural talent for noticing loopholes and seeing the angles. It was a look that said, we’ll talk about this later, or rather, I’ll pretend not to know anything and then I’ll jump you one day with the question about that suspiciously thick book you got from the library.

“It was incredibly easy getting under his skin,” Penumbra concluded.

“Oh yes, Flinty can be quite sensitive. Especially if he thinks you are taking accomplishments he perceives as his. I do have to say that the bits of the show I’ve seen was rather entertaining, and I’m glad his ruse is revealed.”

“Well, if that is settled,” Gladstone said, noticing the empty glasses on the coffee table “how about I go get all of us some more lemonade. Or would anyone like something different?”

“Nope, we’re good,” Drake said, and Gladstone went to the bar room.

Scrooge followed the younger man. They have never seen eye to eye, but Scrooge still cared for him and, while they were not blood-related, Gladstone was, and still was one of his kids. A spoiled, entitled brat more often than not, but still his kid.

And unlike most of his kids, who went through the existential crisis of who they are and what they want to do and what that means about who they are in their late teens and early 20s, Gladstone apparently hit that in his late 30s.

“Oh, uncle Scrooge I can get the drinks myself,” he chuckled, oddly nervous, “You know, as a thank you for everyone for getting me out of a really sticky situation. And you not blowing up at me on a public channel, or in front of everyone.”

“I’m not here to help ye with the drinks, Gladstone.”

“Oh, right,” Gladstone seemed awkward, a strange look a the usually overconfident and smooth duck, “Look I’m sorry-“

“Save it,” Scrooge said, raising his palm, “as I said, I’m nae angry. In fact, for once I’m proud of ye.”

“What? But I managed to start working for your biggest enemy after signing what apparently even children consider a really shady deal! And I haven’t exactly taken the hardest job ever…”

“Look, Gladstone, I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending I ever approved of yer lifestyle. Or that I appreciate relying on luck in general. But you were born with it, I don’t think you had much choice in the matter, and I’m sorry I never saw it. Didn’t give you right to never take accountability or treat others with disdain.”

“Hey, you were not always the kindest most accepting person either,” Gladstone countered, then cringed, expecting Scrooge to snap back.

But the old duck simply sighed a small, sad smile on his, “I know. Maybe in that regard, we are not that different. And true, you messed up, again, sure. However, Glomgold is a sneaky bastard, you should have seen him how he gloated when he realized he employed Donald, my nephew!”

“Wait…what?”

“Oh, Donald never told you about Atlantis?” Scrooge asked, sounding amused.

“Well, I guess he missed out on a couple of details,”

“To Donald’s credit, he didn’t know Glomgold was my rival back then. I’m assuming my reaction back then was what prompted Glomgold to choose you over all the luck granting thingamabobs!”

“Wow! Not even chosen for my own luck, but because of how it would affect you,” Gladstone said solemnly.

“If it means anything, it was the right path to make me upset. Not just because he’s winning but because I’d hate to see my family join his side, I’d hate to lose you,” scrooge smiled and Gladstone smiled back.

“So…you’re really not angry? Like, truly?”

“I’m upset with Glomgold for trying to use you, even as you really ought to be more careful! And I was upset with you when I first realized what was happening. But, as I said, I’m proud of ye today. This is the first time I saw you take accountability since you broke that vase in my foyer as a child.”

“I still needed Dewey’s and Louie’s help…after I refused it!”

“Why’d you refuse it?”

“I wanted to prove I can do something for myself…apparently I can’t, because when they left I had no idea what to do, so I just laid down and, well, these did not come here by accident.” He gestured to all the pizza boxes around him.

“Gladstone, we all need other people to help us with certain things in our lives,” Scrooge said sympathetically.

“Even the great Uncle McMoneybags, Mr tougher than the toughies, cleverer than the cleveries, or however it goes?” Gladstone smirked.

Scrooge frowned, “Even for ye, this teasing is pushing yer luck, lad. But yes, even me! And ye can’t expect to get yourself out of a faulty contract after a lifetime of just drifting by through life,” Scrooge poked him playfully with his cane.

“That sounds mean, but also oddly encouraging. And I still want to do something!”

“Good! So, what are you going to do with that newfound motivation for something beyond laying around?”

“Well,” Gladstone said, taking a tray with drinks, “I think I might rest for a bit!”

“Gladstone!”

“What, I’ll get into the market again, That’s the right expression, right? I don’t even know where to look for a job!”

Scrooge facepalmed, having momentarily forgotten how inexperienced Gladstone was exactly, “The yellow pages! Or go to the internet, you young folks find all sorts of things there! My company has online job applications, I know that much! I shouldn’t be teaching you about online advertising, you young generations should be teaching me,” he took the other tray with the drinks and went after Gladstone.

“I don’t want to find a job just because of my luck.”

“No offence Gladstone, but with your current track record with job hunting, I don’t think it will do much good, I think you’ll have to figure out this one on yer own.”

“Ugh, sounds hard,” Gladstone groaned.

“Most things in life are.”

“But you know what, my luck got me out of a scrape, again!”

“It was Dewey and Louie, not yer stupid luck!”

“But who brought them to me, I ask you that. Luck!” Gladstone said, and before Scrooge could protest, he looked at his two nephews fondly, “It’s not dumb luck if it knew to send me those two geniuses, but I am a very lucky man to have them!”

…..

Scrooge and Gladstone re-joined the others and Scrooge allowed everyone a few more minutes of casual conversation before he cleared his throat.

“Now that this is behind us, I have to tell that something else happened today, however, I would rather discuss it in the lab.”

“Wow, Uncle Scrooge, so serious all of a sudden,” Gladstone said, then looked around himself, “Before you start, though, does anyone have any idea what to do with all of this pizza?”

“Feed it to me!” Gosalyn suggested.

"Organize a pizza party!" Dewey said.

"Share it with everyone in the hotel!" Launchpad suggested.

“Give it to a homeless shelter,” Drake suggested, “Something serious?” he addressed Scrooge.

“Wait,” Gosalyn said, now munching on pizza as Gladstone took her suggestion seriously, “Mr McDuck, you can’t tell me you will let that guy keep the comb.”

Scrooge chuckled, “Oh, don’t worry, lass, I would find a way to get It from him. But this time I think someone was slightly ahead of me!”

Gosalyn frowned, “Oh, yeah, I think Louie hinted at something earlier, but can you please tell me who this person is so I can admire them properly?”

“Aunt Goldie,” Louie said.

“Wait, Goldie O’Gilt?” Gladstone asked, “So what, you two are together again?” he turned to Scrooge.

“Oi, now is not the time to discuss my love life-”

“Oh, I think I med her briefly back at the F.O.W.L. prison! Wait, she is your girlfriend?!”

“Gosalyn!” Drake chided.

“What, it’s a legit question! And not even an inappropriate one!”

“Well you see Gos, Uncle Scrooge and Aunt Goldie are…erm…” Louie turned to Dewey, “Help! This is one of the few times that words fail me! I need a quick pop culture reference that can serve to explain those two!”

“Ok,” Dewey cut in, “Let’s just say that if those two had Beakbook and had their relationship status there it would be it’s complicated.”

“I said not discussing it!” Scrooge grumbled.

Louie snapped his fingers, “Basically, they call each other their ex-partner, ex-lover, ex-rival, ex-everything while at the same time being the current everything!” he said, “Found words again!”

“See, this one time, I got wrapped up in this adventure with Scrooge and Della and Donald” Gladstone jumped in, “And, if I remember correctly, she helped Scrooge, she paid for us to go to a theme park, so we don’t bother them in their hotel room which, oh god I only now realize why they actually didn’t want to be bothered…childhood ruined!” he blanched.

“Hey, if you realized now, why are you sharing it here around kids!” Drake chided, trying to put his hands over Gosalyn’s ears.

“Dude, we’re 13 and 14, we had health class!” Louie said while Gosalyn removed Drake’s hands from her ears and Dewey laughed. “Also, trust me, you can’t spend more than five minutes around them together without realizing something is happening. And I’m ace!”

Scrooge buried his face into his hands, “What part of do not discuss it do ye all not understand?!”

Gladstone laughed, “Ok I think we should stop before Uncle Scrooge dies of embarrassment! But yeah…basically she saved all of our lives, but then she robbed us blind and it was only because I found 20$ that we managed to pay for the cab and get back home. This was before Della was a pilot. I’m done!”

“So, this lady is his kinda-sorta girlfriend and stole the comb from Glomgold? Keen gear!” Gosalyn concluded.

Scrooge looked over the room, his face still somewhat flushed, “Are ye all finished? Good! Now I would like to say that the issue I brought up is serious, and it concerns you two,” he turned to Drake and Gosalyn.

Gosalyn gasped, “Wait, is it about what I think it’s about?”

“Aye!” Scrooge nodded seriously.

“Well, why didn’t you start with that! Let’s go to the lab!” not waiting for anyone she rushed towards the exit.

“Gos, wait…” Drake, still dressed in a bathrobe, “Oh for crying out loud!”

“I’ll go after her,” Dewey offered, rushing after Gosalyn.

“And I’ll go make sure that they don’t hurt themselves!” Penumbra said.

“And I’ll go get the car!” Launchpad ran after the two.

I should pack the suit!" Fenton went to the room where the Gizmosuit was.

“Do you have any clothes you can lend me?” Drake asked Gladstone, “I mean, other than this?”

“Well, of course! And I’m guessing you need it-“

“Now! Yes! Quickly!”

“Ok, ok!” Gladstone ran to his living quarters,

“Mr McDuck, I’m so sorry….” Drake said as he waited for Gladstone to return with something for him to wear.

“Nah, don’t worry, Drake. I’m afraid that when Gosalyn hears the details, we can expect her to be even more upset,” he said grimly.

“That…how is that a don’t worry statement!?”

“What I mean is, don’t think I’m angry with the lass for reacting angrily,” Scrooge said reassuringly.

“Here you go my friend,” Gladstone came with a suit, “I hope it fits you’re…um..”

“A bit more broad-shouldered than you, right?” Drake smirked.

“Hey, it’s genetics! Look at uncle Scrooge and me!”

“Gladstone, we’re not blood relatives!” Scrooge said, he, Louie and Gladstone all turning around to give Drake some privacy.

“Ok, I’m changed, let’s go!” Drake said and when they turned back, he was fully dressed in a light green shirt and he even put the vest on.

“Wow, you’re fast!” Gladstone blinked in surprise. It always took him over 15 minutes to change

“Worked in a community theatre, quick changes are my expertise. One of many.”

"Everyone ready now? Let's go then!" Scrooge didn't need to give the order twice.

Everyone in the room rushed to the door, including Gladstone who felt like he, for once, would like to be part of the adventure or at least, observe this one.

......

Notes:

I added another chapter , for a few reasons a) the plotline that started at the beginning of this one was only supposed to start down the line in the series, but I figured it fits here to give a bit more of a progression to it before dropping the bomb that is coming later. b) pacing, it just felt better to cut off with Gladstone rushing after everyone for once c) it simply got too long and I wanted Gladstone's plot to have a bit more weight before starting the other thing d) I don't have much time to write so I wanted to post what I have so all of you guys have something to read.

Hope from accounting is named after my mum, who is an accountant, her name is one of the Croatian versions of the name Hope.

[kittystargen3]

Hello, I've updated Time Travel: To the Past Yoda Goes. Below is a small selection. To read more, please use one of my links.

Story Summary: A time traveling Grandmaster, to the Prequel Era, trying to fix the mistakes the Jedi made, and get rid of a certain Sith too. Only Time Travel is not that easy, as Yoda will soon learn.

Chapter 43 - Lightsabers

‘...Systems Online.  Memory bank is 33% full.’  As Huyang’s systems start up, the usual status updates come across his consciousness.  Well, It isn’t exactly the same.  That boy, Anakin Skywalker, must have increased his memory banks while he was down.  That is good.  In the Millenia since Huyang had first been activated, he’d stored away terabytes of information, much of which he still finds useful in solving the practical issues that come up in saber construction.  

“Aaaah,” Huyang opens his jaw and lets out a long sigh.  He notices that the odd click that had been in his jaw for the last 300 cycles was not there.  Another thing he assumes he can give Anakin credit for.  Huyang opens his eyes.  Two bright blue ones were staring back at him.  

“Well, take a few steps.  Let's try out those balance stabilizers,” Anakin says with pent up excitement in his voice.  

Huyang cooperates.  He walks in a small circle around the lab and back to his power terminal.  “I can feel it.  Why, I feel like a Hundred again.  This is satisfactory!” 

It wasn’t a joke, but Initiate Skywalker laughs anyway.  Sentients were prone to have the most illogical sense of humor, Huyang has learned.  

“Probability of falling is less than .001 percent.  Hmm this is new.”  Huyang reads the internal report he was receiving.  

Anakin smiles even bigger.  

“Initiate Skywalker, You didn’t install the probability module, did you?”  Huyang sighs.  He is not programmed to discipline younglings.  The worst he’s dealt with were the occasional unapproved alterations to a saber constructed in his mists.  “Master Windu said no.”

“But…” Anakin tries.

Huyang looks down at the youngling.  “As Head of the Council, he said he forbade you.”

Anakin rolls his eyes.  “What the council doesn’t know, won’t hurt them.  It’s what my grandmaster always says.”  And Huyang tries, but he cannot defeat that kind of logic.  His probability module determines a probability of harm from him having these modifications at near zero.  

“I believe his objections were based on other factors besides the probability of harm.”  Huyang finally says.  “Like the fact this module was built for casino droids.”  

Anakin shakes his head.  “But there are so many other uses it can have.  Besides, I built C3-PO with one, and he’s a protocol droid.”

Huyang blinks, “You’ve built a protocol droid!”

“Yup.”  Anakin smiles, then it falters.  “Well, I didn’t build him completely from scratch.  What I did was I reprogrammed an older droid’s processor.  Then I used discarded junk and parts that weren’t functional anymore to build his body.  To get his Power regulator I had to climb through about three meters of trash.  I smelled like Poodoo for a week.”  

“Were you disciplined for this endeavor?”  Huyang asks.

“No, well…” Anakin hesitates.   “Watto was mad I didn’t get the Labor droids for him which he sent me in there for, but they were rusted to the core.  It would’ve been pointless to drag them out, only to have him throw them back.  I was six and they weighed a ton!”  

Huyang finds this information conflicting with Jedi standards.  He files it away for later.  

“Anyway,” Anakin continues.  “3PO now helps Mr. Lars in the senate, so it was all worth it.”

“I see.  I do have to inform the council of this upgrade.  It is regulation, but I can send the report with the mission’s technical logs and equipment reports.  The probability of them noticing it there is less than 20 percent.”

“Good.  I doubt they’d care, but.”  Anakin shrugs.

“How goes your other assignment, Initiate?  Have you awakened the Force in your crystal?” Huyang asks.

“It's-sss going," Anakin doesn't sound very confident.  "I’ve got a schematic drawn up, only something still seems off.”  Anakin shows him a piece of flimsy with, as he described it, a lightsaber hilt’s schematics drawn out.  

“Hmm,” Huyang hums “Most younglings don’t draw out a schematic.  Most go straight from conceptualizing to construction with the Force."

"Yeah, but I work with plans like this all the time.  It'd be harder not to make one." Anakin explains.

"Hmm, you know these symbols were not designed for saber construction.  There are several things that are non-mechanical that weigh in as well."

"Yeah, the Force.  That's why I added these." Anakin points to some wavy lines around his drawing. 

"Um-hmm.  Then I think I can…" Huyang picks up the writing instrument and draws a stick figure beside the tool.  He then makes wavy lines back and forth between the two drawings.  

Anakin looks up at him questioningly.  

"It's not a closed system," Huyang explains.  "The Kyber Crystal, in one theory, is a lifeform.  And in its life, it will form a bond with one Jedi and one Jedi only.  This one chose you, and that means from you it will get the qualities that make it what it is.  Including its color.”  He adds, knowing most Initiates obsess over the color more than anything else.  

"Oh-hhh," Anakin hums

"And when that crystal connects to you through the Force, when you awaken its inner power, it will show you the form it needs to take.  These plans are good.  I can tell you understand the technical process.  Now you must demonstrate them through the Force.”

Anakin nods.  “I know how to build a Force Bond.  My master and I have one.  And my Crechemates.”  

“Yes, then I’m sure it won’t take you long.”  Huyang puts a hand on the boy's back to lead him out to the main workshop, where the other younglings were working on this same thing.

[squishmallow36]

Fitz Vacker and The Secret Museum

I've watched too much Xavier Riddle and the Secret Museum so I inevitably decided to make it into a Fedex fic.

For those of you who don't know, Xavier Riddle and the Secret Museum is a show on PBS kids where Xavier, his sister Biana, and their best friend Brad travel back in time and meet various historical figures.

Tw: homophobia

I'm sorry but I needed an inciting incident and Fitz being all Aldeny and horrible was my first instinct.

On ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/35409928 or below the cut

Ready for Adventure? 🎵 Who’s that kid who can travel through time? Fitzy Vacker and the Secret Museum Which great heroes will we find? Fitzy Vacker and the Secret Museum Every single boy and girl Has what it takes To change the world Fitzy Vacker and the Secret Museum Dex and Biana and the Secret Museum Mr. Snuggles and the Secret Museum Fitzy Vacker and the Secret Museum🎵 Shh!

“Hi there, and Welcome to the show!” Fitz’s crisply accented voice somewhere between British, Italian, and I didn't even bother to ask rings out. Just another intro. Just like any other.

Except it isn’t. There’s a gigantic projection, courtesy of Keefe, of my number one historical crush on the wall behind us, and that just spells disaster.

“Today we’re meeting a brilliant computer scientist, Alan Turing!” Biana adds.

I recite from my mental script drawn from too-memorized Wikipedia, “He was a codebreaker for the British during World War II, and designed the Turing Machine.”

“That’s basically a model for the computers we all know and love. I’ve been told that enough times for it to finally stick. A little,” Fitz clarifies.

“I’m proud of you,” I say quietly.

Biana explains, “Much of the modern technology we have today, like phones and laptops, wouldn’t be possible without him!”

Fitz glances at me and his mouth forms a different word. “He’s done a bunch of other cool things, but I refuse to make Dex wait any longer. Start the show.”

The big red button appears at Keefe’s command, and I press it excitedly.

~~

I’m sitting in my room, working on my newest comic. My art might not have improved much since ever, but for some reason I keep trying like it’ll magically improve overnight just because I had some dumb idea.

Usually at two or three a.m..

This time is no different, although it might be a dumber idea than usual. Or ever. I still haven’t figured out how bad it’ll be.

I don’t notice Fitz until he scares me by asking, “Whatcha doing?”

I pop an earbud out and turn off my music, immediately defensive. “Just working on a comic,” I try to say nonchalantly.

“Can I see? Is it another issue in the adventures of Bikeman or Dexman?”

I feel my cheeks heating up and I close the drawing app. “Bikeman was discontinued years ago, and, no, he’s not getting resurrected. You can see it when it’s done. And I’m not answering your question.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“That’s a big word for you.”

Fitz shrugs. “Frederick Douglass, what can I say? Are you going to tell me about it or not?”

Frederick Douglass is actually one of the more memorable heroes we’ve visited. Maybe it’s because I’m hearing ‘surreptitious’ all the time, but for some reason his love of learning and humongous words stuck.

“Hmm...not. You can see it when it’s done.”

It takes many more hours than I’d hoped and Fitz leaves to go scavenge for food twice before it’s done and the sky is starting to turn pink.

“Alright. I think it’s ready…” even if I might not be…

“Please don’t tell me we have a Zora Neale Hurston situation.”

A couple months ago, I had to pick a book to do a book report, and a book by her was on there. That reminded me of when I made the comic about how I got my cape and the fact that we had to go back a bajillion years just because Fitz and Biana wanted to see it.

Yeah, everything turned out fine, but I will not be making that same mistake again.

“I learned my lesson last time,” I tell Fitz, handing him my drawing tablet. “I don’t feel like a secret museum trip today either way.”

“Do you ever feel like a secret museum trip?” He asks, not waiting for an answer before his attention shifts to the comic.

He takes a few seconds to read before looking up and the bottom falls out of my stomach. “Does this mean what I think it means?” he whispers.

I can’t form a coherent response, and I feel the hot tears start climbing their way up my throat, and I start running. Down the stairs, out of my room. I normally don’t like the outside but I can’t breathe with these walls around me.

I vaguely see Biana out of the corner of my eye standing in the kitchen and she says something I don’t quite catch as I race past.

I lean against a tree Fitz used to beat with a stick for no good reason when he and I were, like, seven, and slide to the ground.

I hear Biana yelling at Fitz but don’t pay any particular attention to it. I do take note that I don’t hear him arguing back.

It gets quiet for a few seconds, until Biana says, standing just inside the front door, “Stay, Fitzroy.”

It’s a dark day when I can’t even dredge up a smile at ‘Fitzroy.’

Hands on her hips, just out of alignment with the sun so that when I try to look at her I get blinded, Biana asks, “What happened?”

“Not now, Bi. How about you go ask Wonderboy,” I snap.

She says, “Come on,” grabbing my wrist and trying to drag me to who knows where.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, lying limply on the ground so that she won’t take me wherever she wants me to be.

“To the secret museum. Obviously. That means you too, Fitzipoo. Get over here.”

“You know I can walk, right?” I ask Biana.

She looks at me, and slowly releases my wrist.

~~

It takes longer than I’d like to reach the museum.

And by that I mean it’s a lot of running.

I have to stop halfway through and tell Biana to wait up to catch my breath. I don’t run much. She just keeps going.

Fitz is part of the track team still, so he’s perfectly fine even though track should be for short distances at high speeds, not forever and a half at Biana speed.

Getting up the stairs to the museum is a major challenge, almost as much as when it’s covered in snow and we have to shovel it.

I trail just behind Biana and Fitz, making sure to wave to Verdi the T-Rex, and feel a disproportionate amount of relief when we don’t have to use the tornado to get into the secret museum.

“I wonder who the museum will take us to meet,” Fitz says with none of his usual enthusiasm.

Biana, trying desperately to make up for it, adds, “And where we’ll go!”

“And when,” I finish, voice cracking for no good reason.

Biana isn’t totally insane and lets us use the chair.

Although that’s not as good of a thing as I originally thought.

The last time it fit all three of us comfortably, Fitz and I were maybe ten, while Biana was maybe nine.

And Fitz sits in the middle because that’s how it’s always worked.

I don’t hesitate to press the statue’s tooth to send us down there after noticing the visible distance Fitz is maintaining around me.

Biana says, “Look out below,” like she always does while sliding down the pole.

“Hi Keefe,” Fitz greets, more out of politeness than actually wanting to say hi.

Keefe is a small, spherical red robot with antennae that match Fitz’s translator that he used to always wear. I sometimes wonder what happened to that sweatshirt.

It’s probably around here somewhere.

Biana makes up for it, doubling her usual excitement, when she greets Keefe.

I still haven’t figured out this whole-sliding-down-a-pole thing. I hit the ground ungracefully and say, “Hi Keefe. You couldn’t have installed stairs since last time.”

Biana is still filling in for Fitz, from the excited humming as she runs towards the screen that shows all of the relevant information.

I don’t have much energy left and stand up shakily before starting to walk. There are stairs over there. I don’t understand why the pole is necessary to get down here.

I only get distracted once by Bach’s piano because I almost walk right into it.

“We’re getting something,” Biana says from the dais, in a not-so-subtle attempt to make me hurry up.

I get up there and Fitz says, “It’s...I have no clue what that is.”

I smile because I know exactly what it is. “That is a very rough Turing Machine. Which’ll probably be explained at some point because there’s no cell service down here to check Wikipedia.”

“Well, it belonged to Alan Turing. That’s who we’re going to meet,” Biana says.

“And we’re going back to England in 1928. That’s like a hundred years ago.”

“Don’t give me that tone, Dexter. We’ve gone back to Ancient Egypt.”

“Technically Cleopatra was the last Greek ruler before the Romans took over Egypt, but I get the point.”

“Yeah, well, I hope Alan Turing can help you two figure out whatever happened because this is way out of my league.”

“Only one way to find out...ready for adventure?” Fitz asks flatly.

“Ready!” Biana declares, aggressively excited.

I reply, “Ready,” nowhere near ready.

We start levitating, you know, as you do, and Biana says, “Here we go!”

Automatically, Fitz says, “It’s happening!”

Biana throws Mr. Snuggles onto Fitz’s head as always, saying, “Hang on, Mr, Snuggles!”

I really don’t know how he stays on Fitz’s head but I don’t know how time travel is supposed to work, so, I mean, it just kind of falls under suspension of disbelief.

I don’t understand how to stay upright, like Fitz and Biana can. It’s probably a Vacker thing.

It's their museum after all, both the normal one and the secret one, and I’ve just been dragged into it because I’m their friend.

~~

A library materializes around us, and the smell of old books actually helps with the dizziness inherent to time travel.

Keefe starts scanning people to figure out which one’s Alan Turing. Like it isn’t extraordinarily obvious because there are literally three others in here, two of whom are blond.

“Keefe says he’s that one,” Biana whispers, “he’s cute.”

It’s things like that that convince me that she knows all the secrets anyone has ever tried to hide.

I know he’s cute. Don’t you even make me think about that.

I, unsuccessfully, look at her like she’s gone crazy.

Fitz has wandered off, distracted by some old books. Sometimes I want to bring him back to the library of Alexandria before, you know, it got burned down.

Just to watch his head explode. He’s still mad about that.

I realize that I shouldn’t just be standing around, so I find a book and sit not directly across from Alan Turing, at the same table.

I pretend to read while stealing glances at Alan until he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs.

I raise an eyebrow, and he notices me as his head tilts forward again.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just a problem being a bit...never mind.”

I see his scribbles that look sort of like math, and suggest, “Do you want me to take a look? Maybe a fresh set of eyes could catch something.”

“You know what? Have at it,” he replies, shuffling the papers over to me. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Dex Dizznee. And yours?”

“Alan Turing. Pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Alan.”

Okay, is this level of barely-contained excitement what Biana felt when we met George Washington? Because if that’s the case, I am fully ready to make a fool of myself.

I study the pages Alan’s given me, one of which is the one from the secret museum of a very early Turing Machine sketch and equation scribbles, and it takes a few minutes of Alan holding his head in his hands, massaging his temples to find the issue.

“You’re gonna hate me for this,” I say when I’m certain of the problem in his equations.

“May I ask why?”

I turn the paper towards him and point near the middle of a major step. “You dropped a square in the denominator here.”

“Ah. That’s what I get for working all through the night I guess.”

“I understand. I’ve started a project at a decent hour--let’s say ten--and the next thing I know is that it’s dawn.”

Alan smiles and says, “Speaking of having no sense of time, I’ve just realized that I’m late for class. It was nice meeting you, Dex.”

“You too, Alan.”

He reaches his hand out for a handshake over the table as he stands up, and I have no choice but to take it, trembling hands and all.

He leaves, and before I can even turn back around, Biana is slipping into his seat.

“I still say he’s cute.”

I glare at her, “He plays for the other team, Bi. I don’t think he’d be interested.”

I’m seriously hoping that’s too modern of a metaphor for being gay, but you never know. I read somewhere that ae/aer started being used in like the 1920s but the word gay didn’t take on its current meaning until the 1940s so who knows?

“Wait, really? That’s disappointing.”

Not for all of us, Bi.

“Yes, really.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Wikipedia. How else would I learn things? School?”

Biana shakes her head. “Oh Dexter. Of course you’ve memorized the Wikipedia page of the cute British tech guy from 1928. I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Like you haven’t memorized George Washington’s Wikipedia page. And Abraham Lincoln’s. And maybe even more that I don’t know.”

“Like you don’t have a gigantic crush on Franklin Pierce.”

Why does she know that?

“Have you seen his hair?”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

Fitz appears from behind a bookcase, just to glare at us for arguing and interrupting his quiet reading time.

Biana walks over to him, and pokes his shoulder. “Perk up, Fitzy. You love time travel. Almost as much as you love old books. And mind-numbing documentaries on the History Channel.”

He makes a disgruntled sound in response, and Keefe decides that’s the cutoff point for us, sending us to a different time.

~~

“Keefe says we’re still in 1928, but around a week later,” Biana declares.

Fitz sighs. “So we missed the point. Lovely.”

“Don’t think of it that way,” Biana argues.

“How should I think of it then?” Fitz snaps.

Biana counters, “Dex gets to talk to the smart British guy whose name is eluding me.”

I gasp.

“We’re not all you, Dexter. I thought you knew this.”

I glare at her because how can she have the audacity to both think Alan Turing is cute and forget his name?

Alan interrupts my mental rant by waving me over, saying, “Hi, Dex, was it? If you don’t mind, could you proofread another problem for me? It’s not making sense.”

I smile and slide down into the seat across from him. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“You have to understand, I have three tests between today and tomorrow. I had to stay up all night reading the Aeneid. I’ll sleep this weekend.”

“Oh I had to read an excerpt from that earlier this year. Literally all I could think while reading was that it was an Iliad and Odyssey fanfic.”

Turing smiles and I add, “Sorry if I ruined it for you.”

“Trust me, that’s not possible.”

I take a second to check squares and negative signs in the calculations before pulling out my phone to check the actual numbers.

“We’re doing Astronomy today? What about your English test?” I ask while fighting with my phone calculator.

“I, uh, I got distracted.”

I glance up and realise that he’s staring at my phone, which is to be expected because technology.

I slide my phone over with the answer. “This the number you want?”

“...yeah,” he replies, choosing not to ask about the fact that I just threw a phone from almost a hundred years in the future at him.

He is, however, pressing buttons to figure out how it works. Honestly, he’s about as comfortable with it as I am. Handheld calculators are vastly superior to phone ones.

My phone buzzes, and I see an airdrop notification from Biana who must’ve discovered some new meme format and sent it to me. She’s done it in the middle of class a few times.

I slide my phone away from Alan before his brain starts melting, and he notices Fitz exploring the library behind me.

“Who’s your friend over there? I saw you talking to him earlier,” Alan asks, pointing his chin towards Fitz.

“Not sure I’d call him a friend. Just came out and now I’m pretty sure he hates me, so, yeah…”

Alan tilts his head. “Came out?”

Just another reminder that most of the gay words we have today aren’t going to make sense in the past. Coming out became a thing in the 60s-70s. And even then, it wasn’t exclusively gay.

“In the most indirect way I could figure out, I maybe told him that I like him. Like like like if you know what I mean.”

Alan glances around, surveying for possible eavesdroppers. “Oh, I certainly do. I wish I could give you some advice, but you’re braver than I, Dex.”

I desperately want to tell him that his childhood best friend that he likes, will die of bovine tuberculosis in 1930 before Alan gets to tell him any of it, so maybe he should go take that chance.

Another not so fun fact: homosexuality was illegal in the UK until 1969. Learned that from a fanfic but that’s an irrelevant detail. (A/n it was actually 1967 for england and wales. this is what I get for not double checking wikipedia)

“Yeah, well, his sister Biana who’s floating around here somewhere dragged us both over here in an attempt to fix it. But she greatly underestimated how stubborn we both are.”

Alan smiles. “Maybe you should try to be a bit less stubborn. Both of you. To placate Biana at the very least.”

He stands up and continues, “Now. I’ve got to go take an English test and hope I don’t fail.”

Alan leaves, and I turn to face Fitz, who is avoiding eye contact at all costs, instead focusing his attention on Keefe.

Keefe’s programming says that we have completed our goal, although I don’t see how that’s possible.

Fitz seems the same and I’m just a giant mess because of Alan Turing and I kind of want to watch The Imitation Game with Buttercup Cucumberpatch even though I know a lot of it is highly inaccurate.

Just from iMDB.

It’s not the first “historical” movie that’s been ruined by learning actual history.

Keefe gets Biana out of earshot with a game of hide and seek, and I turn to Fitz, saying, “Look, I’m sorry. I could’ve handled this better with, I don’t know, words, but--.”

“No 'but' necessary. I should be the one sorry here. I messed up. I could explain, but I really don’t think an explanation would help. It’d just make me place the blame on something else, and I should take the responsibility here.”

Is this really happening? Or is this just a hallucination? Is this the real life? Or is this fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

I forcefully turn off the Queen song in my head because Fitz is speaking again.

“I’m a giant dirtbag and for some reason it took a gay guy in the 1920s for me to realize that. So I’m sorry. For everything. Please don’t hate me.”

“As long as you promise to not hate me.”

Fitz blushes slightly, mouth forming a different word before closing. He closes his eyes for a second, debating, and I’m just waiting for him to decide this was all a massive waste of time.

“While we’re on the topic...I’m bi. I’ve known since like 7th grade when we visited Oscar Wilde. Just thought I should take this opportunity to tell you that or it’s never gonna happen.”

This cannot be happening right now.

“And...and I just told myself to shut up because everyone thinks their best friend is cute at some point...because there have been so many childhood friends-to-lovers arcs on TV...and here we are…”

“...wait a second. You thought I…”

I can’t finish my sentence out of fear that I’ve missed something.

“That’s when I started to realize. But three years later...nothing’s changed. Please just stop being so cute. I can’t handle much more.”

He’s smiling, but avoiding eye contact.

I take a risk and gently lace my fingers into his, so he can run if he wants.

But he doesn’t.

At least not yet.

And that’s enough for now.

~~

We’re back to standing in front of the giant projection of Alan Turing. Yay.

“Thanks for joining us on an a-mazing adventure to meet Alan Turing,” I say, making sure to add extra emphasis on the first syllable of amazing like Fitz always does.

“Who used to be a kid just like you and me,” Fitz continues.

Biana looks proud of herself because I know she can read minds and says, “So kids like you can change the world!”

“I am Dex.”

“I am Biana.”

“I am Fitz. And I will try to be more accepting of the LGBTQ+ community. Which just so happens to include my bi self. Is that...?”

Biana is smiling from ear to ear. I guess she didn’t have confirmation. Just a ton of suspicion and Fitz just proved her theory correct.

“Yeah. I’m not an expert though--,” I reply.

Fitz, I’m sure, stopped listening after the initial yes, which prompted a small fist pump. “I mean technically he wasn’t bi as far as we know from meeting him and Dex’s mental Wikipedia page, but just like Alan Turing.”

For some unknown reason, he feels the need to add finger guns at the end and I can’t stop myself from laughing.

[greenjacketwhitehatdocmui]

Frozen:  In the Details

Summary:  Sometimes, the simplest of tasks can have a deeper meaning.  Agnarr muses on what washing the car has meant to him in the past, and possibly the future.  This was written for the “Summer Lovin’” issue of @frozines on Tumblr. Modern AU, Agduna and Kristanna.

This story can be found on @frozines and at Fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own.

Enjoy!

--Pearson “Doc” Mui

Frozen:  In the Details by Pearson “Doc” Mui

           Agnarr awoke early on a Saturday. With some grumbling, Iduna released him from their bed as he prepared for the day. She understood that this task had to be done early in the morning, but she didn’t have to like it. If things worked out, however, it would have been worth waking up early for.

           After a quick breakfast and some cleanup, Agnarr trotted to the garage. The spring in his step ran counter to the occasional crackling sound in his knees. Even the projected thirty percent chance of rain did nothing to dampen his spirits.

Eyeing one corner of the garage, he chose his tools for the day’s task. Buckets, wash mitts and car soap were laid out on the garage floor. After a moment, he opened up some folding chairs and a small table.

           Opening the garage door, he smiled at the sight of his girls coming home, if only for today. They were adults now; Elsa was working on her PhD while Anna was a year into graduate school. The nest was never empty for too long, thankfully. They made time to visit, even if it was just for small talk.

           Elsa eyed him ruefully before accepting a quick hug. She had a pretty good idea of what he had planned for their incoming guest. Anna, on the other hand, was pouting.

           “Dad, are you really going to put Kristoff through this?” Clearly, his youngest wasn’t pleased at the prospect.

           Agnarr raised an eyebrow. “The way you’re talking, you’d think that I was going to torture him. It’s just a car wash between men.” He sighed. “You used to love helping me wash the car.”

           “I remember that you loved using the hose,” Elsa reminded Anna. There wasn’t any real bite to her words, though. “We used to help while wearing swimsuits.”

           Anna’s pout faded as she sighed, briefly lost in nostalgia.  “Those were good times, weren’t they?”

           Iduna folded her arms and sighed. Both of her girls were wearing swimsuits underneath their shirts and shorts. Anna eagerly fingered the trigger to the hose while Elsa made sure the supplies were in order.

           Elsa was having a good day. It hadn’t taken too much cajoling to get her outside. Anna’s puppy-dog eyes were a formidable weapon, especially at the tender age of eight.

           Most men would have insisted on doing “man stuff” by themselves. Agnarr wanted to have as many family activities as possible. Everyone had a job: Agnarr would wash the car, Anna would rinse it off and Elsa would take care of the windows. Iduna was there for spot-checking and refreshments.

           “Is everyone ready?” he asked enthusiastically.

           “Ready!” Anna piped up.

           “I’m ready, Papa,” Elsa said more demurely.

           He nodded.  “Well, let’s get this car clean, shall we?”

           Iduna marveled at their coordination. Everyone worked their roles admirably. Of course, a family wash like this was more for fun than work. There wouldn’t be any intensely-detailed work like Agnarr had done before—

           She suppressed a shudder. Agnarr’s father had been a cold taskmaster. He was more of a sire than an actual, warm father figure. While she took no pleasure in anyone’s passing, she had admit that the town had been the better for it.

           The calm lasted almost the entire time the car was being washed. Then Anna got a little overzealous with the hose and sprayed into the air.

           “Look, Elsa! Look Papa! I’m making rainbows—oops.” Anna laughed nervously as she realized that both Elsa and Agnarr were soaked.

           Iduna sighed, safe in the garage. She knew that it was going to end up like this.

           With calm, deliberate steps, she retreated further into the garage and grabbed a third, covered bucket from its hiding place. She and Agnarr had prepared this little surprise last night. With some effort, she hoisted the bucket to the driveway and uncovered it.

           Iduna reached into the bucket and grabbed a water balloon. She gestured for everyone to do the same.

           “On three,” she said firmly. “One, two—“

           “THREE!” Anna squealed.

           The battle was joined. When it was over, they were collapsed on the lawn, soaked through and basking in the summer sun.  It had been a good day.

           “Morning, girls,” Iduna greeted them. “Have you had breakfast yet? I could fix something up.”

           “We’re fine, Mom,” Elsa reassured her. “We ate before we came here.”

           Anna blinked and winced as she ran back to her car, an unassuming Honda Civic.  Rummaging around, she extracted a bag and jogged back.

           “We stopped by Hudson’s Hearth,” Anna said. “Destin and Halima say `hello.’” She opened it up and the three women sniffed deeply at the smell that wafted out.

           “Hmm…chocolate,” they chorused. For a moment, they were lost in the smell of the pastries.

           Agnarr tried not to chuckle. The apples didn’t fall far from the tree.

           He turned away from them and tried not to look too anxious or expectant. In the brief encounters he’d had before, Kristoff had seemed like a nice enough young man. It was clear that he cared greatly for Anna.

           Unfortunately, Anna hadn’t been so lucky the first time. At first glance, Hans had seemed like a good person, too. But the devil was always in the details—or, in this case, the detailing.

           Hans had pulled into their driveway in a Ferrari. To Agnarr, this was the first clue that the young man might have been trying too hard.

           “Good morning, Mr. Arendelle!” Hans greeted him enthusiastically. “So, who’s going to get the royal car wash treatment?”

           “We’ll be taking care of Anna’s car,” Agnarr said. “I already waxed our cars last week. I figured that Anna’s car could use a cleanup.”

           Hans’s smile froze. There was a dark shadow of disappointment in his eyes.

           “Oh,” Hans said simply. Then he rallied. “Oh, of course,” he agreed. “Nothing but the best for Anna.”

           “I’m glad that you agree,” Agnarr said. “I have all the supplies in the garage. Was there anything you needed?”

           “Thank you sir, but I brought my own things,” Hans said smoothly. He almost strutted to the Ferrari and pulled out some high-end detailing supplies from the little trunk. They were all brand new and still in the package.

           “Do you use all this on your own car?” Agnarr asked.

           Hans paused. Then he smiled in an ingratiating manner. “I don’t compromise on quality, Mr. Arendelle. As I said before, I want only the best for Anna.”

           As the time passed, Agnarr noticed several things he wasn’t sure that he liked. Hans insisted on doing it all himself, even though Agnarr had offered to help. Whenever Anna caught his eye, Hans flexed and winked.

           It was clear to Agnarr that Hans had never washed a car in his life. He was washing randomly instead of methodically, “politely” refusing any suggestions. He was sloppy applying the wax, squirting a long line on the car and working from there. Furthermore, when Hans thought that neither Agnarr nor Anna was looking, he scowled.

           Agnarr did not have a good feeling about Hans. He tried to voice his objections to Anna, but she was entirely captivated by how charming, selfless and helpful he was. Hans was, in her eyes, flawless. It was not a good sign.

           “I’m not sure it’ll work out,” he admitted to Iduna later on. It pained him to see Anna clinging to Hans’s every word. It was obvious that Anna was utterly besotted with Hans.

           “I didn’t know that a car wash was a personality test,” she joked. Her smile faded as she noted his grim expression. “You’re serious?”

           He sighed heavily. “He doesn’t take any suggestions or criticism. He shows off when he knows that people are looking. When he thinks nobody’s looking, it’s obvious that he’s not really enjoying himself.” He paused. “And honestly, even Anna could see that he did a terrible job of it.”

           “Elsa doesn’t like him, either,” she said. “Something about how he seems insincere to everyone except the person he’s focusing on.”

           “Dad had that kind of charm,” Agnarr admitted. “He was better at it, though. Hardly anyone saw his dark side.”

           She flinched. “We should warn her.”

           “I’m not sure she’d listen. She has an incredibly forgiving heart and Hans will take full advantage of it. You saw how besotted she was with him. I could practically see the hearts floating from her.”

           “So we do nothing?” Those words left a bad taste in her mouth.

           “No.” He shook his head. “We hope for the best and prepare for the worst. If he tries to isolate her, we find ways to keep in contact. Elsa’s ready to intervene if she has to.”

           She nodded. “And what if he goes too far?”

           His expression darkened. “Then I will make certain that he never huts anyone again.”

          “Just you?” she asked. “You never let me have any fun.”

          “Fine, I can go after you,” he sighed. “Not that there would be much left.”

           Anna’s enthusiastic greeting to Kristoff’s truck broke Agnarr out of his reverie.  He chuckled as Kristoff parked his truck on the side of the road. It was a small gesture of consideration, one of many that he’d observed. Kristoff wasn’t rich and he hadn’t been able to afford the best education, but he was kind and sincere.

           “Woof!”

           Oh, and Kristoff had a big, friendly dog. The girls had taken to him almost immediately, with Anna babbling baby-talk as Elsa looked embarrassed. Iduna was not immune to Sven’s “puppy in a big body” charm. As for Agnarr, he was fond of the big dog as well—though he tried to be restrained about it.

           “Mr. Arendelle,” Kristoff greeted Agnarr politely—and a bit nervously. “Um, I hope you don’t mind that I brought Sven. The big lug didn’t want to stay home.”

           “That’s fine,” Agnarr said reasonably. “As long as he behaves himself, I don’t have any problem.”

           “He’s a total sweetie, Dad,” Anna said from behind. “Want me to keep an eye on him?” She asked Kristoff.

           “That’d be great, thanks,” he said.  “If he gets fidgety, you know what to do.”

Opening the door, he grabbed Sven’s leash. The big dog jumped out and waited for Anna to accept the lead. After the obligatory scratch behind the ears and baby talk, she and Sven headed to the shelter of the garage.

           “So, um, I brought some stuff with me,” Kristoff admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture. “Of course, if there’s something you want to use, I’m okay with that.”

           Agnarr scrutinized the equipment in the back of the truck. The microfiber towels had been neatly folded in their own, zip-locked bag. Two buckets with grates inside met with his approval. He did arch an eyebrow at the orbital polisher and pads, something that his late father would have taken issue with. There were spray bottles of wheel cleaner, “ceramic wax,” something for the upholstery and something called “instant detailer.” Everything was in good condition, but it was obvious that the equipment had seen some use.

           “Do you think I brought too much?” Kristoff asked nervously. “Maybe I overdid it.”

           “I think this will be just fine,” Agnarr said. He turned towards Anna. “What are you in the mood for today?” he asked.

           “Well, I really don’t need anything fancy,” she replied. “Why? What did you have in mind?”

           “I could probably get rid of some of those swirl marks,” Kristoff suggested. “If you want, I mean.  Think of it as kind of exfoliating your car.”

           She lifted an eyebrow at the metaphor. “Well…maybe just the hood and the trunk,” she allowed. She quirked the corner of her mouth in amusement. “You just want to use your little toy, don’t you?”

           “Well, I saved up for it,” he admitted. “So, smooth out the hood and trunk, got it.”

           Agnarr tried not to chuckle. “You have a polisher, don’t you?”

           “It’s nothing fancy,” Kristoff said. “I saved up for it, so I figured I might as well get some mileage out of it.”

           “He waxes his truck every few weeks,” Anna said. “You know, I kind of feel bad that you’re doing all this for my car. Maybe I could take care of the upholstery or something?”

           The two men shared a look. Anna was dressed practically for the warm weather. There was nothing objectionable about her jean shorts and t-shirt. However, crawling around to wipe down the seats would have been awkward, to say the least.

           “How about I walk you through getting your trunk polished?” Kristoff suggested. “It’s not that hard.”

           “You’re letting me touch your baby?” Anna asked dubiously.

           “My polisher is not my baby,” Kristoff protested. Then there was a warmth in his smile that made her flush. “I trust you.”

           “So…you’d let me wax your truck?” she teased.

           “Why don’t we start with your car first?” Agnarr gently interrupted. “We don’t want to wait too long, after all.”

           Elsa quietly smiled as the men worked on the car. They had been surprisingly efficient and coordinated well together. There were moments when one man had to offer feedback to the other, but neither of them took any offense. It was an unusual kind of camaraderie.

           Kristoff was a vast improvement over Hans. What he lacked in funds, he more than made up for in heart. He may have been a little rough around the edges, but there was no doubt that Anna was the most important person in his life.

           She heard one breathy sigh, then another. She noted the very contented looks on the faces to either side of her. Then she noted that even in the relatively cool summer weather, Kristoff and her father had worked up quite the sweat, their shirts clinging to them.

           With a quiet, resigned sigh, she went into the house. Her sister and mother were oblivious to her absence.

           A few moments later, she returned with a tray of drinks and two towels. She set the tray on a nearby work bench and took two tall glasses of lemonade with her.

           Anna still had a dazed, dopey expression on her face. Iduna wasn’t much better.

           Elsa took Anna’s free hand, the one that wasn’t holding Sven’s leash, and gently placed the glass in her palm. With a start, she blinked as if she were coming out of a spell.

           Elsa did the same for their mother. Iduna’s reaction was much the same as Anna’s.

           Elsa couldn’t resist a little smirk. “I thought you two might want something to drink,” she said. “You both looked…thirsty.”

           Iduna and Anna rolled their eyes at the double-entendre. Behind the cool exterior that Elsa projected, she could be quite the joker—even if her humor tended to be on the dry side.

           “Very funny,” Anna returned. “We’re just appreciating their hard work.”

           “We certainly are,” Iduna agreed. “Both of them are very diligent.”

           “Well, maybe we could reward their diligence with a towel and a sports drink?” Elsa suggested, gesturing to the tray. “I think they could use it.”

           Agnarr wiped the sweat off of his forehead. While he still enjoyed washing cars, he was reminded that he wasn’t a young man anymore. Even though he and Kristoff were cutting the workload in half, he was still going to be sore tomorrow morning.

           Still, it was gratifying to see how seriously Kristoff took things. He was methodical and, more importantly, he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. He concentrated on the job at hand and accepted feedback.

           “You’ve had some experience,” he observed. “With washing cars, I mean.”

           Kristoff gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I worked part-time at the car wash one summer,” he replied. “I guess it kind of stuck.” He wiped at his brow. “I wouldn’t want to do it for a living, though.”

           “I had to…earn things by washing cars,” Agnarr said. “My father was a big believer in hard work.”

           Kristoff said nothing. He could tell by the older man’s tone that there were mixed emotions.

           Agnarr wiped the sweat off his brow, if only to not drip on his father’s Cadillac. The “beast,” as he jokingly called it, was an ostentatious symbol of his father’s wealth and practicality. It was practical in that any repairs or maintenance could be easily obtained within the town.

           As he wiped off a clear path in the baked-on wax, he saw his tired, sweaty reflection in the black depths of the “beast.” He had just spent the last four hours under the hot July sun. Every detail had been supervised by his father, who was resting in the shade with a beer. Every once in a while, his father would shout words of—

           “Come on, boy!” Runeard exclaimed. “Put your back into it! In my day, we had to deal with Blue Coral. You’ve got it easy with that wax!”

           Agnarr said nothing. His father often deducted from the anticipated payment if he talked back. It was one of the little ways that the family company kept people in line.

           It took another half hour to clear off the last of the wax. His arms trembling, he stood up straight and awaited judgment—and hopefully, payment.

           Runeard took one last draw of his beer and got up. He circled around the Cadillac and murmured in—well, it wasn’t quite approval. It was more like he acknowledged that the job had been done.

           Agnarr tried to keep calm. He didn’t dare show how eager he was to get paid. He couldn’t ever let his feelings show, not in front of his father.

           Runeard wiped his index finger down the hood and felt for any errant wax. There was one last murmur as he nodded.

           “It’ll do,” Runeard declared. With exaggerated magnanimity, he took out a twenty and handed it to Agnarr. Then the scowl returned as his nostrils flared. “Get cleaned up before you go, boy. And you’d better stay away from those filthy people.”

           Agnarr nodded once. The less his father knew about his outings with Iduna, the better.

           With one last scowl, Runeard shooed him away from the car. It was the same dismissive gesture he might have used for a servant. It certainly reinforced Agnarr’s place in the world—at least in Runeard’s mind.

           Agnarr trudged back into the house. He didn’t have to play up his muscle aches. He did have to remind himself not to smile in front of his father.

           Those long, hot hours had been worth it. The aches had been worth it.  Above all,   Iduna was worth it.

           Agnarr forced himself to take long, slow sips of the sports drink as he toweled off the sweat. The exterior had been cleaned and dried, including the wheels. All that was left was the interior and waxing the car.

           “You’re in good shape for your age, but don’t overdo it,” Iduna warned him gently. “There’s no one to show off to.”

           “I’m not showing off,” he replied. “I’m just…enjoying the moment.”

           “What moment?” she asked.

           He turned his gaze to where Kristoff was showing Anna the bottle of detailer spray and some sort of yellow clay. He sprayed the hood and wiped the clay across the surface. Then he took a microfiber towel and wiped off any residue.

           “See these little dots and specks?” Kristoff pointed to the clay bar. “These are contaminants that stick on your paint. We want to get rid of those before we polish out the swirls. After that, we put on the wax and we’re all set.” He paused. “Here, feel where I just cleaned it up.”

           Anna tentatively brushed a finger across the surface. Blue eyes widened in amazement.

           “Whoa, that’s…really smooth,” she said. “So, you do this every time you wax your truck?”

           He shook his head. “No, this is only once or twice a year. This used to be a big secret for the car shops until a few years ago.”

           Iduna turned back to Agnarr and nodded in understanding. There wasn’t a hint of arrogance or condescension in Kristoff’s voice. He merely wanted to inform Anna about something he liked.

           As the morning went on, Agnarr noted how patient Kristoff was with Anna. He was a good teacher, putting his polisher in Anna’s hands. It was obvious that Kristoff trusted her implicitly—and she felt the same about him.

           By the time they were done, Anna’s Honda had never looked better. Anna and Kristoff took a moment to bask in their shared accomplishment. The car gleamed in the light, despite the clouds coming in.

           “Good job, feisty pants,” Kristoff complimented her. “She looks great.”

           “Oh, I didn’t do all that much,” she demurred. “You and Dad did all the hard work.”

           “Oh, it’s not as hard as the old days,” Agnarr chimed in. “Believe me, I would have been a lot less sore if we had that ceramic wax back then. It’s a lot easier to take off than baked-on Turtle Wax.”

           Any further comment was forestalled when Sven sniffed the air. The big dog made a dissatisfied, grumbling sound. Moments later, the sky darkened with an ominous rumble.

           “Oh, no…” Agnarr groaned. “There wasn’t supposed to be any rain today!”

           “That figures,” Kristoff sighed heavily. He eyed the back of his truck.

           Elsa checked her phone. “Looks like there’ll be heavy showers for an hour or two.”

           “But we just finished it!” Anna groaned.

           Kristoff perked up a little. “Well, I’ve got a tarp in the back of my truck. I could cover up your car until the rain stops.”

           Anna blinked. “You’re prepared.”

           He shrugged. “Sometimes life is like that. You get little bumps in the road and do the best you can. Experience is the toughest teacher. C’mon, let’s get this done.”

           Moments later, Anna’s car was safely covered just before the deluge hit. Everyone watched the rain from inside the garage. Kristoff and Agnarr were toweling off their hair. They were both soaked form the rain.

           “Sorry it didn’t work out, sir,” Kristoff said.

           “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Agnarr replied. “I’d say that this was a very productive day.”

           Kristoff looked at him quizzically. “How so?”

           Behind him, Anna looked puzzled while Elsa looked satisfied. Clearly, something was going on.

           “Do you have anywhere you need to go?” Agnarr asked casually.

           “Not until the rain stops,” Kristoff replied. “Why do you ask?”

           “Well, until then, I suppose that you and Sven are our guests. Do you have any requests for lunch?”

           Kristoff held up his hands. “Sir, I really don’t want to impose. I’m sure you were looking forward to time with your family.”

           “I am,” Agnarr acknowledged with a nod. “Of course, this can include prospective members of my family.”

           “But Sven—“

           “He’s covered,” Elsa said. She reached in her purse and held up a can of dog food.

           Kristoff blinked as Sven leaned against Elsa. “Did you know about this?” he asked Anna.

           She shook her head. “Nope. It’s news to me.”

           “Relax,” Agnarr said calmly. “I’m not bringing out the shotgun for you two. I’m just asking if you’d like to stay for lunch.”

           “I—sure, if it’s no trouble,” he agreed.

           “No trouble at all,” Iduna reassured him. “There’s plenty in the Instant Pot to go around.” She opened the door to the house and the smell of hearty stew wafted outside.

           “Useful, isn’t it?” Elsa remarked. She paused and dug out something else from her purse. She handed a large, folded square of cloth to Kristoff. “You’ll need this.”

           He grimaced at the t-shirt he’d been handed. It wasn’t his, but it was definitely his size. The words “love expert” were boldly emblazoned on the front, complete with hearts.

           “Elsa!” Anna exclaimed.

           “Yes?” Elsa could not have pretended to be more innocent if she’d batted her eyes.

           “You are a stinker. No, you are a scheming, plotting stinker. This was a conspiracy!” Anna declared.

           Elsa and Agnarr had matching smirks. That was unsettling to both Anna and Kristoff.

           “Well, I didn’t plan on the rain,” Agnarr admitted. “You are welcome in my house.” He paused. “While you are in my house, I do expect you two to…mind your manners.”

           Agnarr turned to go inside. He only briefly paused when he passed Elsa.

           “They’re blushing, aren’t they?” he murmured.

           “Oh, yes,” Elsa agreed.

           “Good.”

           Elsa lingered for a moment, a smug little smirk on her face. Then she tapped her thigh and Sven followed her inside.

           “Your Dad really doesn’t have a shotgun, does he?”

           “I…don’t think so. I think he likes you.”

           “That’s…good,” Kristoff got out awkwardly. “I mean, it’s better than the alternative.”

           Wordlessly, Anna reached out. He gently took her hand as her eyes shone.

           “Come on, Mr. Love Expert,” she said. “Let’s have a family lunch.”

           Kristoff’s expression softened. “Sounds good to me.”

The End

[four-loose-screws]

An Interview with Mr. Toshiyuki Toyonaga about Fire Emblem (Claude‘s Japanese VA), Pg. 6

The Process of Creating a Historical Story that Feels Realistic

When you went to record your lines, were you given any directions about Claude’s role?

Toyonaga      When I got to the recording site, before we started recording, the development staff explained to me that the Golden Deer “give off the sense that they are really relaxed, and want to differentiate themselves from the other classes,” or, in other words, they make you feel like you’re home. So I decided it was best to make Claude sound like he was a part of the class that seemed the most comforting.

About how long did recording take?

Toyonaga      About two months or so. I remember that about ten days of my schedule during that time were devoted to recording. I think the total number of words I recorded was around twelve thousand.

Were you shown the game footage after recording?

Toyonaga      I was shown the animated event scenes as I recorded for them. Besides that, the action scenes were recorded similarly to conventional anime, so they were easy to voice. It was also easy to do things like ad lib.

How was the dialogue recorded?

Toyonaga      We usually recorded by ourselves, even for the dialogue, but for the scene in Claude’s support with Annette where she sings, I didn’t know what kind of song it was, so they let me hear it.

It would be difficult to know how to react otherwise!

Toyonaga      When I asked “Does the “creepity creep” song in Claude and Annette’s C Support Conversation have a melody?” I was told, “We have a recording of it, so we’re going to play it now!” and thought ‘Now I understand!’ as I recorded the conversation.

In that scene, you see a different side of Claude, so it’s really impressionable.

Toyonaga      In scenes where he is joking around a bit, like in his supports with Annette and Ingrid, I wanted to express that it wouldn’t be historically accurate for him to always be on guard. It left an impression on me whenever I tried to portray the feeling that he really is joking around when he jokes around, and his love for parties as what he’s like when he “switches himself off.”

(above) Claude’s support with Annette. Be sure to listen to Annette when she sings the “creepity creep” song!

Are there any other scenes that left an impression on you when recording?

Toyonaga      (Spoiler warning for the War Phase of Verdant Wind, the path followed if you choose the Golden Deer.) The scene after you save Lady Rhea. Claude usually doesn’t get very angry, and he wasn’t really meant to be very angry in this scene either, but… because he has such a broad outlook on the world, I wondered if this would be a moment when his anger would come out. Lady Rhea was still being vague about the truth that he’d wanted to know for so many years, so it seemed impossible that he would just let it be. Because of that, I performed him raising his voice towards her, regardless of how it was originally written.

That certainly is a scene that leaves an impression!

Toyonaga      It was the first time he raised his voice when he wasn’t on the battlefield, so it likely left an impression on everyone. Thankfully, everyone directing me gave me the okay to go ahead with the idea, so I felt really accomplished.

To hear that Claude raising his voice came from such a story makes the scene all the more enjoyable!

Toyonaga      Thank you! To all of the readers out there, please play the game after the five year time skip once more after reading this.

(above) Rhea, the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, which controls all of Fodlan. This screenshot depicts Claude and the others getting closer to finding the true history of Fodlan so they can bring the continent closer to peace.

Spoiler warning!

Claude von Reigan’s True Character and New Reality

We were wondering if there were any documents that stated that Claude is actually a foreigner to Fodlan, or the Prince of Almyra, or anything like that.

Toyonaga      The documents weren’t that detailed; it felt more like I was reading from the script. I got a grasp of what kind of person he probably is from the flow of the story and conversations.

Did you know that Claude isn’t his real name?

Toyonaga      Yeah, about that! Is it okay that I didn’t know…? I have something to say to the staff that announced it. Laughs.

The DLC gave us the hint that it might not be his real name.

Toyonaga      It did, but because he didn’t reveal his past in the beginning of the game, even though he hinted that Claude isn’t his real name, I said, “I mean, I guess so,” and couldn’t accept it. I also thought, ‘You just have to trust what he says.’ But he’s wise and cunning, and if he’s using a fake name to help bring peace to the world, then I thought it must be for a good reason. I was just so surprised! I thought, ‘What?! Claude isn’t his real name?!’

Because you thought you were performing the role of Claude.

Toyonaga      Yes! I thought that I was performing the role of Claude von Reigan. Now I feel like I can’t trust anything about Claude anymore, even though I’m his voice! Laughs.

They didn’t have the opportunity to tell us in the game, but they revealed in an interview that his real name is Khalid.፠

Toyonaga      Huh!? Gasps while reading the script. What!? Laughs.

Both      Laugh.

(above and right) In the Cindered Shadows DLC, Claude hints at “Claude” actually being just a nickname. In FE Heroes, this form shown here presents Claude with the title “King of Almyra.”

፠ “His real name is Khalid”: From a Three Houses staff interview published in Nintendo Dream’s May 2020 issue. It is also available to read on the website’s archives (https://www.ndw.jp/).

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (3)

summary: virgil decides roman deserves a day off.  words: 2,100 / ship: prinxiety (roman/virgil) author’s note: this is part three of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts)  read on ao3

— — —

“Best two out of three.”

“I thought this was a birthday gift!”

“Yes and?”

“So why don’t I automatically get to pick the first movie?”

“Because I know you’re on a princess kick and full offense, if I have to deal with a talking animal as the comedic relief sidekick, I might actually die.”

“... Okay. Fine, okay, that’s fair.”

“On shoot.”

One, two, three, shoot — Virgil’s scissors versus Roman’s paper meant that the birthday boy did, in fact, not get to pick the first movie. He feigned upset for only a few moments longer before flopping back into their pillow fort. He supposed, given all the hard work Virgil had put into this, he could put up with one non-princess Disney film.

Earlier in the day, Virgil had rather unceremoniously kicked Roman out of his own room, claiming he had something important to do. Were it not for how close they’d grown, Roman would have been upset and suspicious; he trusted Virgil now, though, and knew that nothing would go wrong. He’d spent an hour playing cards with Logan and Patton before Virgil shouted for him from upstairs. When he’d arrived back to his room, it looked almost unrecognizable. It was mostly illuminated by fairy lights, providing a cozier feel than what he was used to; the floor to ceiling windows looked out into a rainy forest instead of the usual rolling hills; his bed had been turned into a truly impressive collection of blankets, pillows, cushions, and stuffed animals. The canopy had been removed which bothered him a little but only until he realized the projector that had been set up, pointing at the ceiling. There was a basket at the foot of the bed, filled with snacks and bottled drinks. Roman figured they could stay here for the next twenty four hours and be perfectly fine.

Surrounded by what was possibly every soft thing to be found in the Mindscape, Roman clutched Mrs. Fluffybottom to his chest as Virgil got the movie set up. She’d been his favorite plushie for the entirety of his existence; he’d taken her on many adventures over the years but she’d comforted him through a number of breakdowns too. He swore there was actually something magical about her.

Virgil threw himself down next to Roman; he had swapped out his usual hoodie for one that was fully dark purple and had even longer sleeves. After Roman had stopped gawking around his room, Virgil had tossed a sweater at him. It was so bright it was practically neon but it was rainbow print and he loved it. He’d immediately changed out of his t-shirt and had grabbed Virgil in a tight hug. Roman definitely intended on starting a sweater paw fight at some point during their movie marathon.

“You good with Hercules?”

“No comedic relief sidekicks, huh?”

“Phil is not a sidekick!”

“What? Are you trying to tell me right now that Philoctetes is a main character? You can’t say he isn’t comedic relief! He gets hurt just for laughs way too often!”

“No! I mean. Maybe?”

Roman laughed, bumping his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Whatever, you dork. Of course I’m good with it. You could have picked The Black Cauldron and I would’ve been good.”

“Talking animal. Comic relief. Sidekick. Gurgi checks all of those boxes. I would’ve been going against my own word.”

“Hmm, fair,” Roman said, humming a little.

As the Muses began singing them through the opening, Roman took a moment to appreciate everything Virgil was doing for him. The basket of goodies was stocked with every one of Roman’s favorite snacks, including enough chocolate to make him sick. In fact, it’d been the first thing he’d decided on, before Virgil could even tell him what the plan for the day was. Not that it was really much of a plan, anyway. Today specifically had been set aside just for Virgil to spoil Roman however he wanted. That apparently meant marathoning Disney movies, napping as much as they pleased, and eating all the junk food they wanted. It was a far cry from how Roman usually spent his time; what with all of the projects he was constantly juggling, or the content he had to help Thomas produce, or the issues to take care of in the Fantasy Realm. He didn’t really realize even how hard he was always working.

Apparently, however, Virgil had.

Something was shoved into his face, startling him out of his thoughts. He shot a glare at Virgil, who was watching the movie and acting totally inconspicuous. The item turned out to be a stuffed dragon, one he didn’t recognize from his usual pile of plushies. The scales were shimmery, a nice ombre of purple and blue shades, the wings were tucked against the body, and… Holding his hand against the stomach was warmer than the rest, as if it had a belly full of fire. That was so cool! He squeezed it tight in his arms and went back to watching the movie, feeling even comfier than before.

With the credits rolling, Virgil ushered them both out of bed and into a couple minutes of stretching.

“I’m not having you complain to me later on when your bones start creaking.”

“You make it sound like I’m so old, Virgil!”

“Older than me,” Virgil teased. He ducked out of the way of a thrown cushion. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?!”

Roman took a face full of pillow and suddenly it was on. He couldn’t begin to guess how long they fought for, darting around the room and over the bed, swinging their feather-filled weapons at each other. He did know that by the time he collapsed on the floor, he was breathless with laughter. Virgil was so far gone that he’d dissolved into alternating between wheezes and complete silence. Eventually, they did manage to get back into their nest of blankets, though there was plenty of shoving, poking, and tickling as they did so.

“I dunno if I’ll make it through this next movie so pick one that I won’t mind falling asleep during.”

“You besmirch the name of Disney if you think there’s a single film boring enough to allow that!”

“You dozed off the first time we watched The Good Dinosaur.”

Roman spluttered. “I had just come back from a week-long quest! And that’s Pixar!”

Virgil actually cackled. “You can’t pull that excuse! Disney owns Pixar!”

“Stop bullying me,” Roman cried, “it’s my birthday!”

“It’s two days before your birthday, actually, so I can bully you all I like.”

“I’m picking The Black Cauldron, then! See how you like dozing off during your favorite movie.”

It perhaps hadn’t been his best choice. With Virgil snuggled into his side, warm and soft, the sound of his even breathing accompanying the utter lack of any songs… Well, Roman really didn’t last much longer. They found each other in the Dreamscape. Edges were fuzzy, sounds were muffled, and touch was electric. The Dream Palace was a blurry shape in the distance, attracting his attention every so often when its crystal spires caught the light. Virgil sort of just appeared, as if created from the colors of the setting sun. Roman had a feeling he was made of the field of flowers he’d woken up in.

“I like it here,” Virgil said, sitting down next to Roman.

“Remy does a nice job with it,” Roman agreed, slowly picking daisies and dandelions to weave into a crown.

“You do, too,” Virgil argued. “You have a hand in almost everything, you know.”

Roman frowned at him. “I do not.”

“Yes, Ro,” Virgil insisted, “you do. The Memory Archives look the way that they do because you and Logan watched one episode of Doctor Who together and had the inspiration to redesign.”

Roman chuckled, a little nervously. “I guess.”

“Memory Lane doesn’t hurt Patton because it knows better than to hurt anyone you love. It might be connected to him and his room, but you’re the one that created that safety net.”

“Virgil…” Roman tried, voice slightly strangled.

“I just need you to know how important you are. You aren’t told enough.”

“It’s fine—”

“You’re important, Roman. You matter. You make a difference.”

Roman finally stopped trying to tie together the stems of the flowers. Virgil took his shaking hands into his own and held them tightly. It was just enough that Roman could actually feel it versus the tingly sensation that the Dreamscape normally worked with.

“We love you. We appreciate you and your hard work.”

If it weren’t for that everything around them was already blurry, Roman might not have noticed his vision swimming when tears filled his eyes. It was hard to not know suddenly that he was crying, though, regardless of how physically present he was in this space.

Virgil let go of his hands and instead, cradled his face gently. “I know I go against you sometimes but in the long run, I want you to be just as happy as you make the rest of us.”

He waited a moment longer before smiling and squishing Roman’s cheeks. Roman giggled a bit in response. Virgil gave him two careful pats before pulling away. Picking up the flower crown Roman had abandoned, he set to work on finishing it. Roman wiped his tears away and sat still in the sunshine, content to simply let himself soak it up until he was completely warm from the inside out.

When they woke, the screen projected onto the ceiling was displaying a screensaver of 3D pipes. The forest outside the windows had been replaced with a cliffside view of the ocean. Virgil stirred next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek before getting out of bed. He was gone for a little while, during which Roman found two more plushies that he didn’t recognize. They were a gryphon and a lion, both extremely soft to the touch, and with fierce expressions that reminded Roman of how Virgil looked when he was in fight mode. He wondered how these new stuffed animals kept sneaking into his collection but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Virgil returned, Roman burst into laughter, because yes, he supposed there was no chance of sneaking that one into the pile.

“There won’t be any room for me in bed, Virgil!”

“Guess you better get used to sleeping on the floor then,” Virgil said, dropping the massive Simba plushie on top of Roman.

This just made Roman laugh harder. The fabric on this one was fluffier than on the others, something he could sink his fingers into if he wanted. It was nearly as big as him, or maybe it just felt like that right now since it was smothering him. Before he could move it, though, Virgil sank himself down onto it as well.

“Virgil!!” Roman gasped between snickers. “Get off, you fiend!”

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed, pondering. From where he was laying, he could just barely look directly into Roman’s eyes. This made it all the funnier when he finally decided, in the most deadpan tone, “nah.”

After some wrestling, which led to them both falling out of bed and Roman bumping his elbow and howling for five minutes about his funny bone before Virgil kissed it better, they were finally settled back in to continue their movie marathon.

They watched Moana, Tarzan, and, Mary Poppins before sleep began to take them once more. Seeing as the sun had sunk below the sea quite some time ago, it was safe to assume it was late enough to call it a night.

“I got you…” Virgil paused to yawn. “Got you one more thing…”

“Vee—”

“‘S not much.” He held out Mrs. Fluffybottom for Roman to take. “I just… I made it so that she can never be hurt.”

For a moment, Roman’s lethargy was chased away by astonishment and surprise. He could feel the enchantment just from holding her, though it was passing by the second as the magic was fully absorbed.

“I know you… take her on adventures a lot. Fightin’ bad guys ‘n stuff.” Virgil shifted further into the blankets as sleep continued to take hold on him. “Wanna keep her safe. Know you will, anyway. But jus’ in case.”

Roman rolled onto his side so that he was facing Virgil. He kept the bunny plush tucked between them and took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “Thank you…”

“Love you. Happy birthday, princey,” Virgil told him, papping him once more on the cheek.

Sleep settled over them quickly after. Roman would wake in the morning, feeling more secure and warm than he had in quite some time, surrounded by plushies and Virgil’s arms, and know that he had so much to be grateful for.

[demivampirew]

The American

Napoleon Solo x OFC (Carmen Martínez)

Triggers: talking about coup d'état (no descriptions of violence, though), talking about sex (no descriptions/ no smut); the death of a friend.

A/N: I talked a bit about the Argentinian history. I think I did a decent job with what I remember from one of my classes from college 😁 There’s some Spanish, but everything is translated, so don’t worry if you don’t speak Spanish.

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Tag list: @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @mary-ann84 @desperate-and-broken @peakygroupie @summersong69 @ivvitm1109 @madbaddic7ed @iloveyouyen @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @whyyoudothistomecavill @thetaoofzoe​ @thereisa8ella​ @darkbooksarwin

Date: March, 1962

Place: Buenos Aires, Argentina.

The handsome man smiled at the waitress when she brought the black coffee he requested moments before.

“Muchísimas gracias, señorita.” (Thank you so much, miss) he said with a big smile on his face. 

“No tiene nada que agradecer, señor. Por favor, hágame saber si necesita otra cosa.” (No need to thank me, sir. Please let me know if you need anything else) she replied very politely.

“De hecho, hay algo más que necesitaría que haga por mi.” (In fact, there’s something else I would need you to do for me) he prompted as a devilishly smirk appeared on his face. “¿Podría darme su número telefónico?” (Could you give me your phone number?) he finished asking and the young woman got really nervous.

“She can’t give you her number, she’s married to the asshole looking at you from inside the Coffee place and he’s going to beat her if he finds out you’re flirting with her.” The man heard a female voice explained and he looked to the other table placed on the outside of the store and there was a woman in her late twenties/ early thirties sitting there, drinking coffee. This woman gave a slight nod to the waitress and she smiled at her and the gentleman and ran back inside.

He looked at his coffee for a second, lost in his thoughts and then grabbed the cup and went to sit next to the lady. She rolled her eyes but said nothing. There was a minute of silence in which the handsome stranger took a sip of his hot beverage and then he spoke:

“How did you know that I spoke English?” he asked, amused and curious.

“Being an American, I would be surprised if you didn’t,” she replied while she continued to read the newspaper she had on her hands.

“And how did you arrive to the conclusion that I’m an American?” 

“Two things: A) your clothing. You’re wearing a suit and the fabric is quite expensive. Here, with the economic state of the country, only extremely rich men could afford a suit like that. B) Earlier, when you got here you saw two foreigners argue in English and you said to the waitress “ja, americanos” (Ha, Americans) while laughing at their behaviour.

“And how is that proof that I’m American?” he questioned while raising an eyebrow. 

The woman looked at him smirking, very amused by the situation.

“You would never hear a local call someone from the United States Americano (American)” she stated.

“Why not?” he was surprised and confused.

“Because we’re taught in school that America is a continent, not a country. So for us you are Americans, but so are we, because we live in the American continent, darling,” she explained.

“Hu, I didn’t see that coming” he replied amused by the new information he learned and her deductive skills. She could easily be a spy if she wanted to.

“Jack Deveny” he said as extended his hand.

“Carmen Martínez” she replied while shaking his hand.

“What a pretty name.” 

“Thanks, yours is very pretty too, Mr. Solo” she said in a soft voice, making sure no one heard her say that name. 

Napoleon froze. His eyes were wide open. How did she know that name?  What else did she know about him? Not very often it would happen, something that would catch him by surprise.

“H-how…” he started asking but she interrupted him.

“I constantly check the list of people coming to this country and their backgrounds.” she began to explain “I saw that a man by the name of Jack Deveny was coming to the country for vacation purposes and it caught my attention. You’ll see, “Mr. Deveny”, we haven’t had many American visitors in the last couple of years due to our tense political climate. Only people dealing with business or political related issues to attend would come to Argentina. So, whenever I see someone from the United States or Europe coming here, I follow them to see what they’re up to.”

“And what am I up to, Mrs. Martínez? Is that even your real name?” he asked and she smirked.

“Your orders were to find out if the rumours about Fidel Castro coming once more to Argentina to talk to the President were true; that’s what the papers you left on your hotel room said. You know, for a spy you’re terrible at hiding important documents. I would work on fixing that, sir.” she shrugged and giggled. “And believe it or not, yes, that’s my real name.”

“Hu. You criticized me for not hiding my secret and you’re out there giving away your real name,” he said amused and, to be honest, a bit offended.

“That’s because I’m here to have an honest conversation with you and I think for that to happen there should be no covers here.”

“What do you want to talk about?” 

“Your boss is fucking you,” she said, lowering her voice.

“Pardon me?” 

“They lied to you. They send you here not to spy on Castro, because they know he’s not coming here any time soon, but because they know a coup d'état is about to happen and they want someone from their team to witness it and to find out who’s going to take charge after President Frondizi is forced to resign and how that will affect your country.” she explained to him. “And I say they’re fucking you because they made you believe this was an easy mission but they did not inform you properly about the political and social state were currently living.”

“Ok. Would you care to do what they failed to do?” he requested.

“What do you know about my country's politics?”

“Not much, to be honest. I know your president has tried to keep a good relationship with America but he also supported the Cuban Revolution, which tensed up a bit the relationship with my country.” Napoleon replied.

“Well, trying to play both teams it’s something he not only did with the USA and Cuba. What do you know about former president Perón?” Carmen inquired.

“Military man. Help create the syndicates. Big, big following.” 

“He has a big, big group of enemies as well.” the woman told him. “The social politics that he applied while in office made a lot of people who saw themselves affected by his rulings hate him and do everything in their power to move him for his charge. He helped with the creation of syndicates and other groups that fought for the rights of workers, but some of the leaders of those groups became powerful men that had their own following and some anarchist groups were born. Those groups were extremely protective of Perón and his politics and would even go violent if they felt they needed to protect those beliefs. After he was forced to resign a year before he could finish his second term, a decree was passed that forced syndicates to cease activities and practice any worship of Perón and his politics.” she paused for a moment and continued, “When Frondizi was campaigning for the presidency after democracy was once again installed, he made a no so secret pact with the former president, promising him that if he convinced his followers to vote for him, he would reinstall syndicate activities and the practice of his political beliefs. The thing is that Perón kept his part of the deal but the president did not. He did allow syndicates to resume activities, but the ban against him continued. And later on, his support for the Cuban Revolution really put the conservative military leaders against him. His constant desire to have the support of both sides made him lose all his allies. As far as I know, in a few weeks or maybe just days, the military is going to take charge once more.” she finished and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” said Napoleon. He could feel her distress.

“You need to leave, Solo, before things get dangerous. And nor the rebels or the military like people from your country,” she warned him.

 Carmen took some money from her purse and put it under the cup’s plate. She stood up and walked away. Napoleon followed her with his eyes until he saw her disappear.

 For the next few days, Napoleon tried hard to find things about her but he couldn’t. She told him that was her real name but he started to have doubts about it. But she was right about the nature of his mission: after their encounter, he talked to his boss and he admitted that he was there as a witness and to collect information about the political state of the country. She was right about the hate of people like him, the rich-looking Americans. He got his ass kicked by a group of anarchists -he could have protected himself, but he tried to keep the appearances up so showing his fighting abilities wasn’t the smart thing to do, he would have given himself up. 

 The coup d'état happened two weeks after their encounter, on March 28th. Napoleon was already back in America at that time. He was supposed to stay longer, but he made the mistake of taking a married woman to bed and his husband was a high ranked officer on the military who threatened to kill him if he didn’t get out of the country. Solo wasn’t the kind of agent that failed on his missions so this was a first for him, or at least that’s what he thought. Thanks to a folder he found among his work archives, that contained all the information about the previous government and the military group that was going to take charge, he was able to leave with his reputation intact and nobody found out about his mistake.

Now he was safe back at his house, resting before his next mission was assigned, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her, Carmen: Was she safe? Would he ever see her again? He thought that was improbable, but he wished he could see her at least one more time; he needed the change to thank her for the folder.

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

After the success of the first mission of his new team U.N.C.L.E, Napoleon decided to take a much-deserved break. He went to Saint-Tropez hoping to meet some beautiful women, have some drinks, party and relax.

The sun was shining bright. Solo grabbed two cold drinks and walked towards a woman who was laying on the beach all by herself.

“I hope you put on sunscreen lotion, don’t want to burn that beautiful skin of yours,” he said with a smooth voice while looking at the sun. “Drin…” he turned to look at her, offering the glass on his hand when he abruptly stopped, surprised by what his eyes were seeing.

It was her.

“Carmen.” he said, almost whispering.

“Hello, Napoleon. It’s nice to see you again.” she greeted him and accepted the drink he brought her.

“Are you still following me?” he asked, smiling and raising an eyebrow.

“Ha! You wished” she replied laughing, amused.

Napoleon joined her laugh and sat next to her. They shared a moment of silence, enjoying the view and the noises provided by the water dancing around and some birds singing. 

“I’m glad to see that you’re ok,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Me too. I’m glad to see that you’re still in one piece, American” Carmen added and made him laugh.

“How’s everything in your country? I’ve heard that you got a new president...Arturo something.”

“Illia. Yes. Humble and trustworthy guy. Most people like him, the military not so much; he’s too liberal for their taste.” she explained. There was a bit of bitterness on her voice.

“You think there’s going to be another coup d'état?” he asked, worried.

She was looking at the sun. She nodded and sighed.

“That’s why I left. I didn’t work for the government. I belonged to a group of men and women who worked from the shadows trying to help the country. We didn’t follow any particular political view, we just wanted to create a country with freedom of speech, with equal rights for everyone and where no one had to be afraid, but that’s hard to achieve. One of our men died and everyone got scared. Most of the members of our secret society fled to other countries, seeking asylum before their families got hurt. Me, I wanted to keep going, but I couldn’t do that alone, so I moved to the States and joined a group of strong women who are fighting for equality. I think there I could be really helpful.” she finished.

They looked at each other for a moment. Napoleon smiled at her and they remained in silence, enjoying the beautiful view. 

 After about twenty minutes of silence, the handsome man spoke once more.

“I never got the chance to thank you for helping me; you truly saved me.”

“You’re welcome. I hope that taught you a lesson about the downside of being a womanizer.

“ she said and he shrugged. Carmen rolled her eyes as she smiled.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Napoleon asked suddenly.

“You’re not getting into my pants, mister? she replied.

“What about your heart?” he prompted, smirking. She couldn’t help herself but smile. No one can resist his charm.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

More therapy thoughts part 1/?

Behavior Theory Frameworks/Conditioning and What the fuck does Master Chief talk about in therapy?

Ramblings below - like a lot, like I spent too much time writing this and you should not read this

Behavioral Theory could work well as a framework with rehabilitating Spartan IIs if the case worker focused on Operant Conditioning Theory and Cognitive Social Learning Theory, which I talked about in this ask because I think I’m funny and this blog is an archive of me applying human behavior theories to video games.

Spartans have always been taught the mission comes first! Always! The 2s are indoctrinated from age 6-14 and then have that reinforced the rest of their lives. From the beginning they are taught to push themselves to the limits, earn their food by winning, form bonds with teammates but be ready to sacrifice them for the mission. The whole lives wasted vs spent conversation between John and Mendez after the augmentation surgery!

What the UNSC/ONI wants comes before their lives, the lives of other soldiers, civilians, AI etc. This constant conditioning of expectations and rewards has created the norms cemented in their minds. This becomes standard operating procedure.

Spartans are also an entirely separated social group, other people have made really great posts on how they are Othered and have their own way of communicating with body language. ODSTs hate Spartans, marines see them as cyborgs or saviors, and while they’re allies, Spartans are not seen or treated as human, by literally everyone. They are a means to an end, with the original goal being to maintain the UNSC’s position of power and crush the insurrectionists in the outer colonies, but uh oh Aliens!

Maybe the 2s aren’t as expendable as the 3s but the mindset and reinforcement of “mission first, people second” being repeated their entire lives is going to stick. So is the constant mistreatment and abuse from their fellow soldiers and handlers. 

Addressing the cognitive distortions that come from their upbringing while also balancing the fact that Spartans are so fundamentally different from the way they developed to survive would be so much work, especially considering how much information on them is given to their therapist.  The main distortion I would apply is minimization, making large problems small and not properly dealing with them, and specifically for John, personification, accepting blame for negative events without sufficient evidence. 

Like these are grown ass super soldiers who can kill you in less than a second and calculate the amount of gravity in a room on the fly but then also can flounder when trying to comfort civilians or make small talk because their experiences and values are so alien to adults who had more developmentally “normal” lives. 

Literally applying therapy to Spartans would be like, what was done to you was wrong, the ends do not justify the means, you were children and the adults in your life failed to protect you. You are a human person who is fallible and did the best you could with what you had. And the Spartan would say, “sounds fake but okay, can I pass my psych eval and go back to war now please?”

Jumping back to Behavior Theory

Different approaches to therapy under the Behavior Theory umbrella help modify negative behaviors with treatments like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical behavior therapy that teach individuals adaptive coping like emotional regulation, distress tolerance, cognitive distortions, and interpersonal communication. And that’s just one framework under the umbrella of human behavior theories.

Social work therapy is different from psych as it approaches individuals with heavily researched, evidence-based theories and frameworks in a holistic viewing of person-in-environment, instead of a strong focus on internal psychology. 

Social work looks at all the interacting systems, environment, history, and internal and external factors affecting an individual. One of the most useful frameworks is the Biopsychosocial-Spiritual Frameworks (BPSS) when helping a client. It helps with identifying all the intersecting factors, both risk and protective, that shapes a client’s lived experiences. The most important thing to remember is that the individual is an expert in their own life, they know their experiences best.

The hardest part is applying this to Spartans because they Are So Fucked, their lived experiences, their environments and systems and institutions interacting with them, and the amount of their personal information that is probably so classified.

BPSS is a tool to help social workers assess individuals and their situations by collecting info that is related to the presenting issues and current and past circumstances. Info like medical history, hospitalizations, substance abuse, mental illness, personal relationships, family history and background, culture and norms, education, legal history, spirituality and participation etc. is all under this framework. 

For Spartan 2s most of this info is lost or classified and helping someone who has repressed every negative emotion they've had for the sake of the mission would be so much to unpack but that’s also why you’re reading the mad ramblings over an over caffeinated nerd on the internet.

Life Course Theory which looks at developmental milestones and the individual’s experiences versus the socially expected markers, how do you apply that to children who were taken and have lived such different lives? 

While early adolescence is when “normal” development of thoughts of self and identity take place alongside the physical changes of puberty, Spartans were being turned into emotionless calculating weapons. Sorry John, no forming a sense of identity and peer bonds for you, go kill that Watts guy who betrayed us and joined the insurrectionists. 

And now that I’ve gone this insane and opened 2 whole textbooks up, let’s get to Master Chief thoughts. If you’ve read this far thank you, I swear I’m normal, 2020 has just been a weird year. 

Why the fuck did I think I could write a therapy fic on a guy with 20 minutes of actual dialogue across almost 2 decades of games?

I make fun of him and call him a himbo, but he’s smart, he knows he’s being used and there is resentment there that’s been building for years. 

There’s also decades of trauma and combat experience, physical, and emotional abuse, the lack of a support network,  lack of an identity, the biological factors and aftermath of the augmentations and injuries he’s received, a whole lot of grief and self-inflicted guilt. 

The loss of a third of his peer group with the augmentation surgery, Sam’s death, the loss of Reach (the only place he’s considered home), Keyes, the Pillar of Autumn crew, Miranda Keyes, Johnson, Cortana. He cares about the marines who fight with him!!!

He just stands there and takes it and rarely snaps, and even then it’s just small cracks on the surface with fissures running deep. The few details I will pull from Halo 5 are Blue Team’s reactions to John pushing himself so hard from the beginning of the game, and the literal crack in his armor from the fight with Locke. Like dude.  

John’s a leader and will get the mission done but he tugs on the leash. He’s earned enough of a reputation and uses it to get his way.

Halo 2’s “Permission to leave the station” with Mr. “I’m going to hand deliver a bomb to the fusion reactor of a covenant supercarrier and hope my friends catch me”. 

Halo 4 is when we see him say no to a superior officer and then 5 is him going AWOL. Palmer literally points out that no one is going to stop him.

Halo 5 kills me for many reasons but John bringing up Halsey and what she did to him and also pointing out that he knows Halo 5 Cortana is trying to manipulate him with psychological tactics hurts. 

He knows what’s been done to him!

I cannot remember which book it was but John isn’t used to working alone. He literally takes fire because he was expecting someone to have his back! 

He’s lost without Cortana! She was in his brain! Y’all! I played Halo Combat Evolved on the original xbox when I was like 8 and I knew these two were meant to be together. From the moment they met they had great chemistry and relied on each other! Cortana literally goes after people who have it out for John! John wants her approval and shows off for her in one of the books. 

I’ve already written too much here but like all of the games have John showing off for Cortana, making dry jokes, jumping out of things he shouldn’t. 

The whole point of this rambling is to try and get my thoughts about how to approach John’s character under control.

And that’s the thing. He’s lost control. He’s lost people, he’s losing his position and being phased out as an aging spartan, a relic. John’s used to following orders and making some decisions on the battlefield but it was always short term.

He has no identity beyond being a weapon. Complete the mission, clear the LZ, get put in cryo. Rinse, repeat. 

The timeline of the games are what I'm most familiar with but with the comics and books too it’s one long run from Halo 2 to Halo 4. Cairo station to the Dreadnought to the crash landing to Forward Unto Dawn to Requiem to “The Didact is Dead but not really but we’ll deal with him off-screen”.

I know Hood apparently gave John R&R orders before Halo 5 that he ignored and kept running himself into the ground. This is a man who has to keep moving and keep being useful. 

I imagine him giving in and seeking help as a last resort to fix any problems he has with performing his duties rather than helping himself be healthier. 

Any professional he sees is going to have to approach him like they’re approaching a self sacrificing feral cat, with lunch meat and quiet. This man needs to have his support network closer, set up long term goals, and do some serious, and most likely incredibly painful, self reflection on where he’s come from and where he wants to go. Get him out of that tin can and into therapy. I don’t have a nice neat ending because this was a ramble and also therapy is not neat and tidy. Thanks for reading my words about mr halo

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 61

Chapter Sixty-One: Everyday life

.

“Ah, Dr. Faust!”, Dr. Lanyon said, “You're here for your appointment?”

“No, I want to learn how to dance ballet”, the German doctor retorted sarcastically.

Lanyon mock-gasped: “What, you can't dance ballet???”

“I don't need it in my everyday life, so why would I learn it?”

“Point taken. Do sit down. So, tell me, how have you been?”

The alchemist arched an eyebrow. “Do you want a typically English answer, or-?”

“An honest one.”

“Breathing is unusually hard lately”, Dr. Faust told him. “Must be the asthma and the permanent after-effects from smoke poisoning.”

“If you don't mind, smoke poisoning from what?”, Lanyon queried.

“The Thirty Years War. Everything was on fire back then. Then there were the witch hunts – I can't even remember how many times they tried to burn me at the stake.”

“Oh my god!”

“The 17th century was that brutal, Dr. Lanyon. Don't mind it.”

“But I do!”, Lanyon protested. “And don't act so nonchalant! If you're not traumatised after those horrible experiences of war, I seriously have to question your humanity!”

Dr. Faust sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose: “It's long in the past. And I'd rather not talk about it to you. I may be able to look into your mind and hear your thoughts, but that doesn't change the fact, that I hardly know you.”

Trust issues. That was something Lanyon was more than familiar with.

“You're right”, he gave in. “Let's talk about it no longer. Right now, the more pressing issue is the surgery.”

.

Lady Summers was filing her therapy protocols.

A tedious task, but it had to be done.

More than often it took hours to sort everything into her abundant folders, of which some were thicker than the others. The countess always sorted her folders alphabetically and the protocols and notes inside them chronologically.

The one she was working on right now was the newest folder of her friend Victor Frankenstein – it was one of the biggest ones in her archive. After all, he had been alive for almost 130 years, she had known him for over forty years and the man had a lot of issues, some of them impossible to get rid of. Victor was a complete mess (and kind of a tool) and most of it he had brought upon himself. Sometimes Lady Summers couldn't help but question, why they were still friends. Probably pity and a tad of sympathy – they had been through the same torture all those years ago.

With a sigh, she finished filing the newest of her notes and protocols. She would need a new folder for Victor's case and he already had six of them.

All of her friends had several folders, even Dr. Jekyll, who had been her client for only a few months (then again, he had more problems than most of her clients).

Lady Summers closed the file, put it back into the shelf, went downstairs and prepared to go out.

It was Monday evening, when she would habitually visit the local police stations and prisons.

Not because she liked going there, but because the police liked to spare themselves the trouble of actually doing research by employing her mind-reading abilities. They tipped her handsomely for her service and that was the only reason, why she cooperated with them.

But that didn't stop Lady Summers from taking her frustration out on them for not using their own brains. Really, was it too much to ask, that they just did their job and deduced their cases without the help of a civilian?!

Her butler helped her into her jacket, cloak and shoes, Aoimoku handed her her parasol and they went on their way.

Marie would handle everything in the meantime.

When the three arrived there, Lady Summers gave a curt nod to the porter, before entering the building.

Almost everyone in the room turned to look at her and there was some mumbling from one or the other.

“Good evening, inspector Grumman”, she greeted the oldest of them.

Then she turned to the youngest man in the room: “I see, you're new. Well, good evening, officer Joyce. I hope your wife is feeling better?”

She almost laughed at how the young man stared at her for solid five seconds.

But then he recovered: “U-uhm, yes. M-my wife is feeling better, thank you. But how did you know my name and that she was sick?”

She smiled sweetly: “I'm Lady Summers. It's a pleasure to meet you. Anyway, inspector”, she turned back to Grumman. “I assume you have new-”

“Oh, good evening, Lady Summers!” Another inspector stepped forward and she withheld a groan, when she recognised D.I. Blackwood.

“How good to see you, Milady! If I may say, that's an exquisite dress! You look queenly toni-”

“Yes, yes”, she interrupted him, “words are cheap and so are your attempts at flattery. Let's get started, shall we?”

.

“Thank you so much for your time, Dr. Jekyll”, the woman sighed in relief. “You truly are one of the best physicians I have ever met.”

“Oh, stop it, Madam!”, Jekyll chuckled. “One of these days the flattery will get to my head and I can't possibly let that happen! Who knows, what that would do to my judgement! Anyway, you don't need to worry. It's just a common cold. Be sure to keep warm, drink lots of herbal infusions (peppermint, sage, lavender and ginger, mixed with honey, do a world of good against a sore throat), rest as much as you can and be sure to air the room regularly. But if it gets worse, be sure to send for me. Have a good day and get well soon!”

The woman nodded and saw herself out.

Jekyll took five minutes to air the room, before calling the next patient in.

“Good morning, Mr. Blake”, he greeted the man. “Oh dear, I see the pollen season is taking its toll on you.”

Before the man could answer, he sneezed violently into the room.

The Doctor couldn't help but frown. “Mr. Blake, how many times do I have to tell you to please sneeze into a handkerchief or into the crook of your elbow! It's common decency!”, he added pointedly, when the old man opened his mouth to nag.

This is going to be a long, long, week.

.

“Alright, Sir Carew”, Utterson spoke to his elderly client. “Is there anything more you have to discuss with me?”

“No, no”, the old politician chuckled. “This is all for now. Thank you kindly, Mr. Utterson. You're always such a big help.”

“It's always my pleasure”, the lawyer replied. “Before you go, I heard that you're going to retire from the Parliament?”

“Ah, yes”, Sir Carew confirmed. “I'm beginning to feel my age, I must admit. I'm planning to retire into the country, once I am retired and my daughter has got married. And once that day comes, I would be happy, if you could assist me in ordering my possessions.”

“I will gladly do so”, Utterson promised. “How is your daughter anyway?”

Carew smiled: “Ah, she is as darling as ever. To be fair, it worries me how many suitors she has. You can never know, if they just want your daughter for her beauty, if they truly love her.”

“Well, I have no children, so I can't really relate”, Utterson stated.

For a second he wondered how an old man like Sir Danvers Carew could have such a young daughter (she was not quite twenty), but then he remembered, that Carew had adopted her.

Maybe my own memory is getting rusty.

“By the way, how is Lady Summers?”, Carew inquired out of the blue, startling the other. “After all, she was quite ill used at the royal gala over a month ago.”

“Oh. Her Ladyship is fine”, Utterson told him. “In fact, she visited her father-in-law in Cornwall earlier this month. She returned to London a week ago, you can visit her yourself, if you wish. I'm certain she will be delighted to have tea and crumpets with you.”

“Oh, wonderful”, the older man cried in delight. “Really, that baron was such an animal towards her! She could have died from internal injuries!”

“Hm, she had the good fortune of several capable physicians being there as well”, the lawyer pointed out (wishing Carew would stop talking about that accursed gala already).

“Indeed. The Lady always had fortune on her side – then again, fortune favours the bold. And speaking of them, how are they? I seem to recall, that they are intimate friends of yours?”

“You could say that”, Utterson confirmed, albeit apprehensively. “We have known each other since our school days, so we're very close.”

“Well, give them my regards and my thanks for being such good friends to you and to the countess. And while you're at that, won't you give my thanks to that young brown-haired man, who saved my daughter from that scoundrel's clutches? What was his name again …”

“Mr. Hyde”, the lawyer supplied.

“Right! Anyway, give him and Dr. Jekyll my thanks. As Lisa's father it put me quite at ease to see two gentlemen help my daughter out without ulterior motives.”

Utterson nodded. “I will let them know next time I meet them. Have a nice evening, Sir.”

Then he saw his client off.

He didn't ask, whether Carew remembered, that Hyde was the very same man, who had almost killed him the year before and if yes, how he was feeling about that.

I will just have to ask Lady Summers, he decided. I pray she will be willing to enlighten me, because something about this is making me anxious.

[lesbianlotties]

the only touchstone of truth

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives

Chapter 2:

There was something different about Marla that day. She wasn’t bored, she wasn’t idly waiting. She was waiting, true, but only because that was part of her plan. Standing behind her counter, her shop more or less back in shape, she wore a different blouse, higher heels, and a smile that sharpened, even more, when somebody came in. Marla sent a quick nod to Curtis, who had instructions on what to do. He pulled out his phone and walked away toward the storage room of the place.

“Marla,” the man greeted her with a perfectly polite and respectful tone that already started to crumble on his second sentence, “I wonder, what on Earth are you trying to do?”

“Mr. Nelson, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marla replied, “It’s a pleasure to have you visit us.” What an honor to have you millionaire, corporate, chain store, ugly ass step on my broken dreams physically this time.

“You cleaned up the store,” he sighed, looking around as if to take a hold of his emotions.

This promptly reminded the blonde of the couple of hours she spent with Curtis destroying her own shop and then putting it back together again. In the upcoming years, Marla would learn just how far she was capable of playing dirty, and many would accuse her of being unscrupulous, among worse adjectives, but nobody would ever dare call her lazy, that was for sure. With or without morals, Marla was an extremely hardworking woman, and she wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty, for better or for worse. A practical habit that she cultivated during her days of playing fair, and kept, for some reason. Most likely because idleness simply went against her nature, and she had promised herself not to rest until she achieved her goals. 

“We did, yes. Lots of hard work,” the blonde nodded, “such a shame what happened.”

“Such a shame,” the man echoed the sentiment, speaking on autopilot, but when he focused his eyes on Marla again he was all ice. “You’re accusing us of doing it,” he said.

Purposefully, Marla gave him a deep shrug and another shark-like smile. “I believe it’s the police who marked your company as suspects,” she replied in a mockingly innocent tone.

“We didn’t do it. And the accusation is bad publicity for our business. Drop the lawsuit,” he ordered, his voice starting to shake just slightly. When Marla only shook her head slowly, he scoffed. “You’re nothing, Marla Gray,” he seethed, “Your little business is over. Why would we try to boycott you out of all people? You’re not even competition. Drop the lawsuit.”

“Grayson.”

“What?” he was still laughing with a combination of awkwardness and annoyance.

“My name is Marla Grayson,” she stated using the full power of the commanding nature that she knew she had, “and I will fight for this shop until the end.”

He scoffed again, clearly losing his patience. The man walked to the door of the store and back to the counter once, twice, until he calmed down and not quite looking Marla in the eyes, he offered, “Twenty thousand dollars, and you’ll drop the lawsuit.”

“No,” Marla denied it immediately and before she could fully think about how offensive the offer was, he continued.

“Fifty thousand, Marla,” he said, his face red and his voice trembling. It was a pretty number that put Marla at a crossroads between the attempt to feel offended and the impulse to just ask for more. Either way, that number would not do. She only tilted her head and her expression said it all. “A hundred thousand dollars, dammit! Final offer!”

At this point, Marla made it a point to pick up her vape pen and look as bored as possible. “Please get out of my store, Mr. Nelson. I’ll see you in court,” she concluded.

He shook his head, he was breathing heavily and wildly waved a finger in her direction. “No! This is not over,” he protested, “How dare you say no to me?! I’ll make you regret it, you know?” He made a pause and after seeing that his threat did nothing to disturb her, and in fact, she only exhaled the smoke in a terribly irritating way, he slammed his hands on the counter right in front of her, “Dammit just take the money!”

“I will not,” Marla fumed back at him, barely letting show a hint of her patience running out.

“And you better stop screaming.”

Both Marla and her unwanted guest hastily looked toward the door of the shop. There was Fran, casually leaning against the doorway, not so casually showing off her plaque. At first, the man didn’t even move from his place. But Fran let out a quick whistle and said, “This aggressive visit will not look on your case, Mr. Nelson.”

Finally, the big store owner groaned loudly and without even sparing either woman a word, he stormed away from the place for good.

This quick turn of events left Marla and Fran alone in the shop. Marla stayed behind the counter that she managed to handle like an equivalent to a throne, and Fran took a couple of effortless steps forward until she stood in the middle of the place, directing a small and easy smile at the other woman.

“I must say,” Fran started to say, “I didn’t expect to receive this ‘Marla needs help, come over right now’ text from a number, I assume, that isn’t yours.” She waved her phone once for emphasis.

“Personally, I don’t usually give my number to strangers,” Marla replied, earning herself a chuckle from Fran, who looked away for a second, but when their eyes met again, Marla was sincere as she said, “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Fran nodded, accepting her gratitude without making a big deal of it. This gave Marla an opportunity to study her again. Fran looked similar to what she did that night showing up to the shop after the staged attack. A ponytail holding on for dear life to wild hair that just begged to be freed, a more or less regular detective’s outfit that most likely wasn’t designed with the purpose of fitting Fran’s curves so scandalously well on every single right place. And then there was the way she simply stood in the middle of the store with immeasurable confidence. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to lean into, just her in an open space without any issue with Marla’s eyes glued to her. She wasn’t standing there like she owned the place, not exactly. It looked like she couldn’t care less about ownership, but her world consisted of only her, and she didn’t care enough about any authority to give them the power of deciding if she belonged or if she was out of place. Fran carried herself as if the rest of the world’s ideas of right or wrong were mere suggestions. Nothing sounded more appealing to Marla.

“You weren’t exactly in trouble though,” Fran contemplated, reluctantly breaking the silence, “you looked like you had it handled.”

“But you did scare him off,” Marla grinned.

“And you didn’t take the money.”

“Do I look like someone that would have taken the money?”

Fran laughed, because they both knew the answer to that question very well. She walked forward until she could lean her arms on the infamous counter, not quite in front of Marla, just a little to the side. “Maybe you should have,” she finally mused, “this might be bigger than you, gorgeous.”

This development in their interactions came with considerable consequences for Marla, who had underestimated the effect it would have on her to have Fran again standing so close to her. She wouldn’t back down though, she wouldn’t lose her higher ground, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Fran shook her to her core in a magnitude previously unknown to Marla. She couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer until it was obviously too late, so she stayed silent, picked up her pen, and after taking a drag she left it on the counter. This seemed to spark Fran’s attention, who had previously been content to just study Marla’s face from up close and during the daylight.

“So, are you going to offer me one of these,” the brunette wondered, lightly tapping with her fingertip the tip of the pen standing between them, “or a coffee… a drink… should you at least walk me to my car?”

“I will… walk you to your car,” Marla decided, after a quick and not exactly pleasant assessment of the situation. There was nothing she’d love more than to take Fran’s hand and either lead her out of that damned store or guide her to the other side of the locked door of her office. But there were already smoke signals in the air between them that she couldn’t ignore. This could be dangerous, this was possibly great, this was certainly bigger than either of them was accustomed to. Marla was stunned by the undeniable fact that she wasn’t sure how to handle Fran, and equally as unsettled but no less excited about the fact that she had no idea how Fran would handle her. She had no doubt they could handle each other, but until she felt completely confident in a perfect plan of action, she would have to see for how long and how much she could feed this ferocious and inexplicable fire that was burning between them.

As they approached Fran’s vehicle, Marla made two statements. “I will not take the money,” she said, followed by, “and that’s not a car.”

Fran winked, “My mistake.” She leaned back on the motorcycle and focused her attention on the blonde in front of her.

“I’m taking that asshole to court,” Marla managed to say, despite that unexpected and entirely alluring image of Fran standing just like that. She should have known that even the safest option among all that the brunette had offered would still come with a trick to test Marla’s hesitant boundaries.

“For something you did?”

“I’ll have to close either way,” Marla rolled her eyes, “He took me out of business. I have to take something from him. Something big.”

Fran tilted her head. “Do you have experience in court?” she wondered.

“I’m confident I can manage,” Marla smiled.

“Of course,” the other woman chuckled. “Though,” she added, “if only you had… an acquaintance, who happened to be knowledgeable in the shady alleyways of court and would be willing to give you a hand.”

Fran was barely done with her word when suddenly Marla was almost on top of her. Marla had moved quickly and swiftly, standing impossibly close to Fran, somehow not touching, but if any of them were to so much as breathe a little harder than usual their bodies would meet in all the right places. Which was maybe the reason Fran was suddenly holding her breath. Marla had placed both hands on the bike, on either side of Fran’s hips, trapping her in place, while holding her face just inches away from the other woman.

“What do you want,” Marla slowly asked, “Fran?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

Being softly hit with Fran’s breath on her cheek was an unexpected consequence of Marla’s plan, but she held her ground. Very deliberately, one of her hands moved slowly and confidently to one of the back pockets of Fran’s pants. The brunette, to her credit, her only reaction was a noticeable clench of her jaw, but she stood still while Marla pulled out her phone and mercifully stepped away to let both of them breathe a little easier.

“Unlock it, I’ll save my number,” Marla held out Fran’s own phone for her and proceeded to follow through with her words. 

Fran got her heart rate almost back to normal as she watched Marla quickly tap the screen, and deciding the only right thing to possibly say at that moment was to answer Marla’s question, she said, “Give me a percentage of the money you’ll make with the lawsuit. So I can finally quit the police.”

Beyond pleased with that answer, Marla bit her lip for a moment then returned the phone. “And here I thought you were just trying to have dinner with me,” she said to Fran right before walking away from her, but not before looking back just in time to catch the other woman staring, and adding a final smile she threw over her shoulder, “See you soon, Fran.”

[annaofthenorthernlights]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney) Characters: Anna (Disney), Kristoff (Disney), Sven (Disney: Frozen) Additional Tags: Post-Frozen 2 (2019), One Shot, Fanfiction Summary: Queen Anna and prince Kristoff receive an invitation to a royal celebration by the kingdom of Svezia. It contents the information about a parade taking place. All guests are expected to bring their horses for the mounted parading. Will Arendelle participate in this show off?

Anna held the letter in her hand and mused over the fact that the conditions might get tricky.

 It had been a few weeks since the wedding and she was happy with things going fairly smooth, with her stumbling on her duties here and there. And she was proud of Kristoff, the way he had stepped into his tasks as prince consort, facing positions of which he hadn´t even known before, they existed in the first place. He had taken part in parliamentarian discussions about education administration for less fortunate citizens. Another part that had took more and more of his focus was the unity of guilds´ policies. He had set his mind of optimizing their trading and working conditions. She would let him have his way. Anna recognized the passion growing in him, that was astonishing.

 Only now, she would not know how to confront her husband with this invitation they had received this morning. She had asked Kai to call for the stablemaster. She needed his advice.

 Mr. Hansen was announced and entered the royal office.

 Anna explained to the experienced horseman, that in short time he would have to indulge in teaching his majesty, him riding a horse.

 Mr. Hansen was a keen man, straight forward. A characteristic type, Kristoff liked very much. But now, Mr. Hansen swayed his weight on his feet, to the toes and heels, slowly, hands locked on his back, considering the queen´s request. After a while, he curled his lips and then sighed, “by all respect, your majesty. I´m sorry. I´m aware this is what is asked of the young prince. But I doubt he will like it. Not that he wouldn´t like the animal, but this is not his type of riding partner.”

 “I know that. And believe me, I hate the thought of leaving Sven out. But I can´t possibly riding on a horse, and him not. How would that look?” Anna shrugged and sighed.

 “Maybe her majesty would discuss this with his majesty in the first place. Once he agrees, I will help the best I can. Besides, I´m sure he would learn it easily. You know, I wouldn´t know about riding a reindeer.  But with his balance routine it might not be that difficult to swop the style.”

 Anna thanked the man and then braced herself on telling Kristoff.

 She would find him in the library, going through a documentation he was looking for earlier.

 “Hi there,” she approached and laid a hand on his shoulder, bending down to perk a kiss on his cheek.

 “Hi sweety,” he replied and grinned up to her, always delighted to see his delicate wife. His face sobered when he noticed her looks. “Hey, what´s wrong Anna? You look worried. Anything happened?” He got up that fast, his chair tipping over in the haste, putting his hands softly on her shoulders.

 Anna sighed and shrugged. “I don´t know. No. Nothing, at least in particular. We received a letter from King Berthold and Queen Maria of Svezia. You remember?”

 Kristoff thought hard, then he nodded. Far back in his mind he had heard those names before. “So, what´s so terrible with that letter? Declared war?” he mused jokingly.

 Anna frowned and shook her head, “that´s not funny.” Kristoff tilted his head, apologizing to her. “So, what is it then?”

 “It´s an invitation to their royal festivity, celebrating their round anniversary.” Anna looked down at the letter, then glancing up with pressed lips, nearly whispering, “it beholds a request…”

 Kristoff knew that facial expression of his lovely spouse. He started musing, “okay, they want us to dance all night through till we all drop dead. Or we must parade like the overdressing aristocracy, riding white horses with ribbons in their manes.” He laughed; the thought was too hilarious.

 Anna still didn´t laugh, she pulled a face, remarking, “almost. Just, without the dancing part.”

 “Wait what?!”

 She would read out the part, where the royal guests were asked to bring their finest horses for a show-off parade, to the greatest delight of their hosts.

 Kristoff glared at her, then at the letter, then back at her. “Okay, say you´re kidding, right?!”

 Anna still didn´t laugh.

 “Okay, I´m not going to mount a horse! Especially not showing off like an idiot all decorated like a Christmas tree.”

 Anna sighed, “I know you don´t like that. The thing is just… Well, this time, I mean for that occasion… You can´t bring Sven.” She kind of ducked her head in, like expecting some sort of explosion happening.

 She hadn´t said that hadn´t she? Kristoff stared, shocked, in disbelief. He had turned all pale, then red. Anna had seldomly seen him like that. She dreaded, having hurt his feelings. She didn´t like it either. She loved Sven.

 “Anna, please say, who don´t want me to drag into this.”

 “I´m sorry. We can of course deny the invitation or the participation. It´s just. Normally, we should go along with such things.”

 “What things?”

Anna didn´t know what to say. She hated the piece of paper in her hand by now. But then, she like the idea of a journey, and taking part in some festivity.

 “Why would Sven not be good enough?”

 “Well… em… Maybe he wouldn´t fit that nicely into things…”

 “What things?”

 “Well… em… Maybe he´s just not so royal…”

 No, she could impossibly mean that. Not Anna! What had gotten into her?

 “I will not sit on a horse!” Kristoff´s voice had turned icy. He shook his head and with no other word he would leave the room. The door slammed and Anna sank down on the chair.

 ****************

 How could she?

 Kristoff´s mind raced with troubled thoughts, just as fast as Sven ran up into the mountains beneath him. Sven! He was his best friend and loyal companion. He had carried Anna like a maniac down the mountains back to Arendelle. He had run like the wind to have Kristoff snatch her up, just from beneath the stomping giant´s foot.

 Not royal….! How could she?

After a while, he would let Sven slow down and give him some rest. Kristoff dismounted and let the animal have some time for rolling on the ground and chewing some gras. Meanwhile he strolled along the woods.

 His anger had subbed and given way to disappointment. Sven! His best friend, not royal….

 But then, had he not known that some day that very question might be a topic? What prince would ride if not a horse? But then, Anna had always appreciated their riding with Sven. So, what was the issue?

 The royal duties and demands. Maybe she had been swept off with the imagination of that parade. He would not blame her for that. She could tell him so. It would be easier. But then, all those fancy events were normal to Anna. Surely, it hadn´t occurred to her, that he wouldn´t know what that all would look like. Then on the other hand, would it be so terrible to at least try to sit on a horse? It would not hurt unless he fell clumsily from the steed. He grimaced and looked over to Sven. The friend, sensing his companion´s doubts, trotted over, nudging his buddy into his chest.

 Kristoff chuckled and stroke his best buddy under the chin, then embraced his head with compassion.

 *******************

 There must be another way!

 Anna mused over her terrible attempt to convince Kristoff, that they could not show up with two different animals. And, sitting in front of him, like she sometimes would, was not allowed this time. She hated the thought of having hurt him that much. She had to think of another solution!

 Dear Sven! He had run like the wind so many times for her. Bringing her down to Arendelle in time and having Kristoff snatch her in the last instant before her being smashed. All thanks to the brave reindeer.  

 Of course! How blind had she been! How blindfolded by that dumb letter, having entangled her with the stupidity of false meaning about royalty!

 The idea spread not only in her mind. It made its way all down into her heart. That started pounding with a fierce stroke.

 Anna ran out of the library, down to the kitchen. On her way she met Gerda, asking her to help with packing some clothing and necessities for a few days travel. She would explain later, why.

 Then, she rushed on to see Olina, the cook. She would need supplies for a few days. They would leave right in the morning at sunrise.

 Then, Anna would go to the stables, waiting for her husband to come back, after Kai had told her about Kristoff´s leaving earlier with Sven. Of course, he would. She waited, and if she had to sleep in the strow. It was royal enough to her!

 ********************

 Indeed, Anna had drifted of and dozed cosily in Sven´s bed.

 When Kristoff led the animal into the stable, he halted abruptly, surprised, and then not surprised to see his ginger-sweet love lying in the golden nest. She had done that before, many times. When she had awaited his returns form a harvesting season. Or when they had a dispute about any nonsense. They had it all sorted out before. They would, now, too.

 Sven made his way to his food bowl and water barrel and started his evening meal.

 “Hey feisty-pants, what´s up?” Kristoff traced a finger down her cheek, wiping away some strand of hair out of Anna´s face.

 Her eyes fluttered open and when she spotted her man, she sat up immediately. She breathed heavy and blurted out her apologies and how sorry she was about hurting him. She didn´t want that!

 Kristoff smiled and nodded, “yes, that was something.”

 Anna then took his hand and grinned proudly, “I got an idea and it´s perfect!”

 “Now I´m curious,” Kristoff said, “what´s that now?”

 Anna straightened her neck, got up, and went around to give Sven a nice hug. The animal grunted happily and nuzzled into Anna´s chest.

 She then turned back to Kristoff and declared proud, “I have it all arranged. Tomorrow morning, we set out for a few days journey!” She paused, waiting for him to applause.

 “Aha. Okay. Well, and where to?”

 “To the enchanted forest!” Pause.

 “Aha. That´s nice. To see Elsa and company. And what has that to do with the invitation?”

 “There!” Anna came closer, got down to the floor and grabbed Kristoff´s hands, looking into his eyes, “we will find a companion for Sven, fitting for me to ride.”

 Kristoff stared at his wife, comprehension dawning on him.

 Anna continued, “I´m sorry for having called Sven not royal. That was the most idiotic thing I have ever said,” she squeezed her love´s hands, “he is majestic and the most royal riding animal on earth. A horse would not be as honourable next to him. And Ryder once offered an animal to me, remember? Together, we set out with the royal reindeers of Arendelle. Our riding companions. Worth more than any horse breeds in the world.” She waited for a while. And when Kristoff would not answer, captivated by what she just had said, she asked quietly, “what you say?”

He would say nothing.

 Kristoff pulled her close into his chest, buried his face into her neck, and holding her tight. Mumbling he exclaimed his thanks. For her great heart and love!