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maddmuses · 4 years

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Earth Broly (Rather than) AU

(art credit: Shochikubai-ume)

Biography On Planet Vegeta, in Birthing Facility 4, a saiyan baby was born. Considered an anomalous mutant of sorts, with a power level that seemed to fluctuate between roughly 10,000, and 920, much of this was assumed to be malfunctions of the hardware, but one thing was certain.

This child, Broly the son of Paragus, had singlehandedly shattered every record that the saiyans held for Combat Potential.

General saiyan wisdom estimated that a saiyan child would ultimately express 100 times their power as a child during adulthood, assuming a reasonable amount of training and combat to keep them from being stunted. This would mean that, if the saiyans only took into consideration his bottom level, he would have a power level of 92,000. This would make him not only more powerful than every member but one of the Ginyu Force, but essentially only second-only to Freeza himself, except when fighting with a power level of 920,000 as an oozaru.

That was even stronger than Freeza (assuming ignorance to his second form).

Paragus saw the potential for such a child as an asset to the saiyan race, not only as a means of finally throwing themselves free of their servitude, but possibly even proving to Beerus that they had the ability to go further as a species. But alas, the jealousy of King Vegeta was too strong.

The king had planned to send the boy away to a worthless, intolerable, planet named Vampa. Though he was a warrior, Paragus was more clever than to simply swagger into the king’s chambers to demand an explanation. He knew his son’s power, and decided to take things into his own hands, to redirect his son to a more hospitable world, make a scene, and then storm out to head to earth and rescue Broly.

This plan would not go totally according to his script, however, as while Paragus would be successful in changing the ship’s destination, he didn’t account for the king being aware of this, and executing the man on the spot.

Still... Earth wasn’t a particularly valuable planet, and even if it was a world with living targets, its denizens had barely managed to reach its own moon, they wouldn’t be able to send this monster back to him.

When landing on earth, Broly’s ship would crash somewhere in the region near Mount Paozu. Within moments of departing from the pod, Broly would see a full moon and begin to rampage through the wilderness. Though as morning came, Broly would return to the pod from whence he came, after gorging himself on the carcasses of the animals, various dinosaurs and other fauna, using it as a makeshift shelter. It was through the routine, if somewhat broken directions, of the pod that Broly knew his name, though it seemed that the blutz wave projector had been damaged on entry.

Over the following years, the great ape that prowled on full moons, rampaging through the wilds, would become something of a local fairy tale. Though the villages near the area didn’t explicitly believe in the monster, it became rather infrequent for locals to wander out on those nights, just in case.

Thought he was often a nocturnal hunter, due to his time as a mindless beast, Broly would still often act during the days as well, occasionally wandering near settlements, hunting and scavenging for food.

It was thanks to these brief encounters with society, even occasionally meeting the old man who lived among the mountains as well, that Broly was able to learn some ability to communicate, though he was more naturally prone to isolation and never developed a particularly strong relationship with any human.

However, when it came to some animals, Broly would enjoy their presence, particularly a sort of bear that had mutated to have green fur, prompting it to remain alone, even moreso than other bears, which were usually solitary. To the point that it didn’t even have a mate. Spending time with this bear, often watching what it would scavenge and eat, he developed the same habits and hunting patterns as the creature.

With this, Broly and the bear, which he named “Ra” for the noise that it made, became good friends, and over the years, as the saiyan grew, so did its power, and the width of his rampages as an oozaru. And as Broly’s nocturnal rampages became more destructive, so too did the alertness of the region’s residents, such as Gohan, who had fought the great ape on several occasions.

Eventually, though, Ra would be killed, as a result of poaching. Hurt by the death of his only friend, Broly promptly skinned the pelt of Ra, and began to wear it as a silent reminder of his loss. This would also cause Broly to become more aloof and removed from humanity.

As Broly grew towards adolescence, though, eventually his rampages as oozaru became too destructive, eventually resulting in a battle with the warrior Gohan. Broly’s great ape form would kill the old man, and wreak destruction through the land, fulfilling part of his function as a saiyan, essentially killing all humans in the nearby region. Only animals, and ruins would be left in his path, though Broly refused to depart from the region, wishing to simply be alone.

While scavenging the ruins for food on multiple occasions, taking to hunting less often for a time, Broly would eventually discover a glinting orb with four stars in it. Though it served him no purpose in his survival, some sort of compulsion in his (stupid monkey) brain told him to keep it.

Some years later, after Paozu had essentially become a wasteland entirely, a girl named Bulma would wander into the region, searching for the very ball that Broly had.

Initially distrustful of the girl, Broly didn’t want anything to do with her, though after several days of pursuit, coaxing, and offerings of food, the saiyan allowed the human girl near enough to talk to him. With some convincing, Broly would accompany the girl on her journey for the other dragon balls, one that interested him, as he grew older he’d become curious of the area around, and her ability to produce houses with a small device, it would give him an opportunity to travel and exist without the risk of turning into a great ape.

And so would begin Broly’s grand magical adventure to pursue the Dragon Balls.

Key differences and events beyond: -The adventure in which they get captured by Pilaf would likely result in the dragon balls being gained much sooner, but with no wishes that the dragon could effectively grant, Bulma simply wished to return home. -Yamcha and Broly would go on to train with Roshi, eventually being joined by Krillin. --During this training Broly’s tail is removed by Roshi to prevent him from going on rampages, and relying on such a trick in future fights. -The 21st, 22nd, and 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai would be cleanly swept by Broly -Broly’s rivalry with Tenshinhan results less in a purification of Tien’s brutal nature, and more the realization that the strong don’t have to fight dirty, or humiliate and kill opponents. --Broly and Tenshinhan’s duel did not occur in the tournament and was a proposed “duel to the death” following Tien’s desire to kill Broly, after being defeated/humiliated from his point of view, by Yamcha. -Broly did likely destroy the Red Ribbon Army, but likely more in a taking on challengers way, when trying to take from him his 4-star ball. -Broly’s fights would likely be not challenging in the least until possibly the fights against Piccolo-Daimo and Piccolo, the former of which could give him a fight, and the other being able to outwit him repeatedly. -Krillin’s death resulted in Broly’s first use of the Rage form, and subsequent killing of Piccolo-Daimo, who only just narrowly had the time to produce Piccolo. -By the time he’d fought Piccolo Jr., Broly was able to repeatedly access Rage Form and deactivate it to keep a clear head during the battle, though it was still uphill given Piccolo’s greater intelligence. -Broly wouldn’t receive any training by Kami, but would be offered the position of Guardian (he would defer to someone more like Roshi who was suited for the job) -The use of Dragon Balls would become more conserved, as Broly has little interest in using them, and

-The saiyan saga is greatly reduced in scope of battle (largely because Broly has no offspring and I’m not forcing mate(s) into the story) -Broly’s battle with Raditz was a singular affair, with Raditz’s survival being the result of quick thinking, and an offer to bring him to people who are like him -Broly briefly joins the saiyans, though not formally as a member of the Freeza Force he is given similar equipment. -Namek saga essentially doesn’t occur and is instead filled with various space adventures in which Broly seems to just display nonsensical levels of strength beyond that of even his projected 90,200. By the point that Broly is at here, his Combat Power is considered immeasurable by the scouters. -The Saiyans, Nappa, Vegeta, and Raditz, are far more powerful for their presence with Broly and providing him sparring partners. -Ultimate confrontations against Freeza’s elite guard, and the Ginyu Force (who were scrambled to their emperor’s side after Freeza began to anticipate intent to coup) results in an almost tournament mini-arc itself with various environments and battles occurring. --I think the battles would be the likes of Vegeta v Recoome (Vegeta Win) Raditz and Nappa v Jeice and Burter (Natch Saiyan win) and Broly v Guldo (Broly win) --During this mini-tournament arc each pairing is challenged in some way, Vegeta through having to deal with Recoome’s raw power, the duo battles coming down to Raditz and Nappa learning to work as a unit, rather than in spite of each other, and Broly struggling with what is ultimately a weak (but more strategic and utility-oriented opponent). --Ginyu promptly would attempt to clean up the saiyans as he fought them, slapping around Vegeta around, but not being able to kill them as Raditz and Nappa jump him. Ultimately Broly would reappear (his fight took the longest to win) and through coordination and preventing Ginyu from stealing Broly’s body, they were able to ultimately beat him. ---Broly’s struggles in battles will mostly, especially at a space level, be against opponents who are difficult to defeat in a straightforward fashion. -Eventual battle with Freeza, going largely the same way as-is canon. Broly’s repeated battles against Guldo and Ginyu, which challenge him in an unorthodox way, leave him with a number of injuries that force the others to hold off their enemy for him. Broly was only able to defeat Guldo by being able to activate his Rage form, which seemed to “Super Saiyan Blue Kaioken” his way around time manipulation powers. --Raditz, Nappa, and Vegeta die. Broly comes to the scene just as Freeza has killed Raditz (the first person he met who he felt understood him on some level beyond a love of fighting), which pushes Broly into a rage that unlocks his Super Saiyan State, in addition to his Rage Form. It’s at this point that Broly promptly brutalizes Freeza, and presumably dies on a collapsing planet.

-Broly is brought back to life via Dragon Balls after the discovery of his death. While in the afterlife, Broly was sent to train with North Kai by Kami Roshi’s recommendation. Broly also requested that his friends be trained as well, but due to their hearts had been sent to hell. --While training with North Kai Broly developed a better understanding of how to utilize his chi, as his physical abilities were beyond that of what this teacher’s training could do for him. Broly learns the Spirit Bomb. Broly’s heart is considered to be pure by the standard that he was repentant for the destruction and death he’d wrought during his rages as an oozaru, as well as subsequent instances involving his missions. After losing those close to him, Broly had changed for the better, and had become able to use the technique without the risk of backlash. -Upon Broly’s return to life, he would travel to Namek, taking two years roughly, to resurrect the other three saiyans. -The Android Saga would largely play out the same way until Cell was introduced, though as time would go on the Androids would become a tolerated nuisance once it became clear that they couldn’t kill Broly. Though this would not be a wholly disregarded thing, Broly never suffered from the same heart disease, and likely was unwilling to kill 16-20 in cold blood, though Gero would still be killed by 17 and 18 once it became unclear that 19 wouldn’t be able to handle him. -Cell wouldn’t hit the scene until Age 786, at which point Broly would experience a nearly world-ending battle, as this Cell would be the strongest in the multiverse. The ability for Broly to defeat Cell would likely hinge on Broly’s ability to think creatively, could be seen as ultimately a completion to a character arc for one who largely was able to power through fights, but was finally on the receiving end of a stronger unstoppable force.

-Majin arc probably didn’t occur? Or if it did, it was very brief since no Vegeta/Broly rivalry to force Buu to awaken, or if Buu did awaken it’s likely Broly would have been able to destroy him.

-Battle of Gods arc likely didn’t result in any permanent extension of contact between Whis and earthlings. It is highly likely that Broly simply killed Beerus, or nearly did, possible replacement of Beerus as GoD with Vegeta. -No Rez F, Broly keeps too tight a grip on the four-star ball for that. -Likely no future timeline Trunks so likely no Goku Black arc for same reason of obtaining the dragon balls just simply not occurring -If Beerus is dead or asleep after fighting Broly no Univ 6 v 7, meaning likely no Tournament of Power either.

#Earth's Lonely Protector (Earth AU Broly)

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markoftheasphodel · 5 years

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The Blue Lions and the Burden of Tradition

Note: spoilers related to multiple Fire Emblem games including FE1/11, FE2/15, FE3/12, FE5, and FE8 follow.

The classic Fire Emblem plot line is the one sketched out by its first installment, Dark Dragons and the Sword of Light, all the way back in ’90. Young Prince Marth loses homeland in surprise betrayal, mopes in exile, gathers allies, retakes homeland, unites continent, defeats dragon, settles down to become virtuous ruler with love interest at his side. Then Fire Emblem Gaiden offered a counterpoint narrative in which a scrappier hero, village boy Alm, unites half a continent through military prowess before he even finds out he’s the prince, whereupon he too can defeat a big bad monster and settle down with his childhood companion/love interest as his consort. Marth restores order to The Way Things Were, But Better. Alm sweeps away a corrupt order entirely and puts something else in its place. One can be viewed as fundamentally conservative, looking back to an idealized past and trying to recreate it without the old mistakes. The other is revolutionary, but the way the revolution plays out the New Boss has an awful lot in common with the Old Boss (kings, nobles, churches). Any way you slice it the best outcome is a Just Ruler with the blessings of heaven and democracy ain’t in the cards. These two basic narratives have shaped every single installment of Fire Emblem to date. Some lean more heavily on the Marth narrative (Binding Blade), some on the Alm narrative (Path of Radiance), and others combine elements of both— Thracia 776, Sacred Stones, and Awakening all take some of Column A and some of Column B and and achieve strikingly difference outcomes.

The Blue Lions route of Three Houses offers the latest iteration of that classic Marth narrative, and it proves the deepest, richest, most nuanced look at that storyline to date even if it’s ultimately constrained by its own tropes.

Its protagonist, Prince Dimitri, is introduced as a polite and courtly young man, the image of a Fire Emblem princeling, and as Part I of Three Houses unfolds the viewer is let into just how much of a Fire Emblem Prince Dimitri is. He’s the last hope of his house and kingdom, an orphan who lost his family under traumatic circumstances, and he’s struggling to maintain his peaceful ideals in the face of his lingering trauma and suppressed rage. As Dimitri receives both character revelation and character development through Part I, he echoes not just Marth but Thracia 776’s Leif and Ephraim from Sacred Stones, and those echoes carry over strongly to Part II of this route.

Likewise, Dimitri’s fellow Blue Lions, initially just another lot of fresh-faced schoolchildren, reveal themselves to be the Three Houses iterations of some classic “archetypes” of Fire Emblem. We have the “steady” traditionalist knight in Ingrid, the more unruly “rowdy” knight in Sylvain, the sullen swordmaster in Felix, the bright-eyed archer in Ashe, the bright-eyed mage in Annette, the demure healer with the convoluted backstory in Mercedes, and the battered old retainer in Gilbert. If you expect your “Christmas Knights” and “Navarre” and “Lena” and whatnot out of a Fire Emblem game, Blue Lions offers the entire set; they’re just a little harder to detect thanks to the open class system and lack of convenient color-coding.

Where the Blue Lions breaks with three-decades-old expectations is in its handling of the resident heavy; Dedue fills a slot on the starting team usually given short shrift (see: Draug, Bors), but in terms of plot and character and— critically— personal value to Dimitri he transcends both the stale Armor Knight niche that his character design nudges him to be and the Devoted Retainer trope that’s gotten a bit weird in recent years. Some recent games presented “devotion” in ways that were kind of twisted yet the games didn’t seem to really acknowledge how off-key it all was; Three Houses takes a full dive into what Dedue’s devotion to Dimitri (and vice-versa!) can encompass, how it’s a double-edged blade that can uplift or utterly destroy. That Dedue manages this while also being saddled with the role of being The Stigmatized Other to the Blue Lions cast is nothing short of remarkable.

Your core Blue Lions party is essentially the conservative wing of the Officers’ Academy. Ingrid may be the most orthodox knight of your house, but ultimately the entire core party is royalist and traditionalist, even when the system they’re holding up has hurt them personally. Annette, Sylvain, and most especially Felix offer some degree of dissent, but ultimately all of them fall in line behind King Dimitri and his unified continent— and in supporting Dimitri, by default they support the Church of Seiros under its new archbishop. This unswerving support of the Church structure on the Blue Lions route is hardly happenstance, as the game is basically waving a flag at the audience to let them know yes, this is indeed the conservative Restorationist faction— un roi une loi une foi. Still, the inner tensions of these loyalists as they play out through supports and in-game chatter— Felix against Ingrid and Dedue and Dimitri, Annette against Gilbert, Sylvain in his asides to Byleth— provide a multifaceted critique of the very concepts of Knighthood and Faith that the franchise has been trying to pull off since at least Thracia 776, whose beats the Lions’ plot structure samples more than once.

The game takes some risks; New Mystery of the Emblem supplied Avatar Kris as a mechanism to keep Marth’s fingerless gloves from getting dirtied by the grunt work of conquering an continent; Three Houses lets Dimitri’s hands get so filthy that his knights and vassals are appalled by it. He regains his moral compass and everyone’s respect after a tragedy that is one of the clearest call-backs to Thracia 776, but in Leif’s case the shock he received was a spur for a naive youth to grow up and look at the larger picture instead of his narrow goals. In Dimitri’s case, he’s got about five years of atrocities to atone for. That said, Thracia 776 arguably had a more realistic resolution to the Lord’s character development, as endgame Leif STILL has some growing-up to do, whereas Dimitri gets markedly better after a couple of conversations despite spending five years in the abyss.

And then we get to the Childhood Friend, one of the moments of the Blue Lions route that strongly evokes Sacred Stones. On this route we learn that Dimitri and antagonist Edelgard shared a fleeting but precious bond in childhood— but whereas antagonist Lyon uses a similar bond to his repeated advantage against the Sacred Stones Lords Eirika and Ephraim, Edelgard doesn’t even make the connection between Dimitri and her own lost childhood friend until he confronts her with the memory. It’s a one-sided bond that fuels Dimitri’s rage and regrets but is essentially irrelevant to Edelgard’s ambitions. The final wordless confrontation between them finally has Edelgard use Dimitri’s nostalgia as a literal weapon against him… and he silently runs her through with his lance for it— far cry from Lyon whispering “C’mon Ephraim, smile like you used to” as he dies in Ephraim’s arms. For a series that has leaned heavily on the trope of “Friendship is Magic” in recent years, it’s interesting to have the idea of the sepia-tinted childhood memory rendered impotent— but then again, the developers were supposedly inspired by Genealogy of the Holy War and the way that events pitted sworn friends and allies against one another.

The grand scope of Genealogy may be more apparent on other routes of Three Houses, but the Blue Lions route is fundamentally more narrow in scope, with this Thracia-like focus on Dimitri’s traumas, Dimitri’s loves and losses, Dimitri’s redemption, Dimitri’s ability to spare enemies and kill former friends. This in turn hobbles the ending of the route, much as Thracia 776 was hobbled by its status as a midquel, a singular if vivid chapter in the overall saga of Jugdral. Alliance and Empire totter, everything falls into Dimitri’s lap, the church is bolstered without any significant onscreen reforms or even onscreen questions on what the hell was going on under Rhea, and everything becomes as it was, but better— one king, one law, one faith (or one major faith with ecumenical tolerance for the rest, per Seteth’s ending), and apparently some reforms for the sake of The People. Dimitri’s going to be fine, and we all just have to have faith in the rest of it.

All in all, it brings to mind that Marth’s most successful game (Mystery of the Emblem), and the GBA game that hewed most strongly to the Marth Narrative (Binding Blade) both had Bad Endings in which the real answers, the true resolution, was never achieved. The Blue Lions route feels at once like a beautiful love letter to the Marth plot-line in all its iterations, in which the elements of its predecessors are revisited to grand effect— and a Bad Ending, a dead-end, an eternity of the curtain abruptly coming down once Marth defeats Hardin or even the hollow “is that all there is” moment of Leif besting Veld. It almost feels like a rebuke to the player for choosing to spend eighty, ninety, one-hundred hours in the company of Dimitri and his traditionalists, for choosing to glory in the multi-layered nostalgia offered by the Blue Lions. Perhaps it’s simply a cue that this is the route to play first, that it’s best to be guided into Fodlan by a familiar set of faces before choosing to open the doors of perception that the Golden Deer or Black Eagles offer. Given how heavily the pre-game marketing hyped the Black Eagles, that seems a bit weird.

I suppose the only way to get answers is to play another 200+ hours of Three Houses….

#fe16 spoilers #fe16 #fodlan meta #blue lions meta #fire emblem meta #jugdral meta #archanea meta #magvel meta

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generaltravis-blog · 5 years

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Star Wars Episode 9 theories and possible spoilers.

The ending of a saga, the passing of the torch from a generation to the next, the beginning of something rising? Redemption, loss, family, strength for good, fighting for goodness sake; not your own life... All of these things can be taught in a Star Wars film.

Wrapping up the Saga that began when my father sat down in theaters to watch the opening crawl, the beginning crawl, rather. After this he would use these movies, along with countless others to show me a lesson. In this life there is good, not so good, then people who are just straight up evil. In my opinion we have not had full Sith allegiant character. If so, Rey would be dead.

So the following is my take on Star Wars Mythos and possible plot details to the upcoming ninth installment that will stamp the end to this saga were the force will be headed, and the plan for upcoming movies.

Star Wars and the Bible have correlations, mainly in the initial creation of things. Firstly there was the dark (sith) then by the will of the force the light (jedi) would rise, illuminating the force in general as a whole for all to see. The darkness and sith wanted it all to themselves and had attributes of vanity. Seeing their broken ways the Jedi would eventually lead to an uprising that would unlock the force and to our ‘new hope’ we cling that good will win, but does it have to?

Just like the bible, Jesus takes us in grey washes us white as snow to become warriors for his name.

Similarly the Jedi are led either by a teacher or by their own will to the good of the force. Usually these beings have attributes of patience, stability, control, and selflessness. In this saga the meek inherit the force per say?

The direction of the films if not picken by up clothing, symbolism to games, color’s chosen by certain at certain times; is grey the fact that a little boy of no royal bloodline or chosen race had the force shows us this fact. I would argue we are already seeing the beginning of the grey jedi ethos in The Last Jedi and The Force Awakens, mainly through the arc of Rey.

In the context of balance of the force we have seen two movies, especially Last Jedi, we have seen the light side poke it’s face to the surface. Now with a sinister laugh we are beginning to see the arc of sith rise.

Since this current phase of movies we have learned two things, force sensitive beings who are strong users of the force can implant their feelings, and/or will in to objects to call to others to carry out their will. Also force sensitive beings, can communicate across space and time.

With these new details I can surmise a lot about were we are heading plot wise the obvious thing being choice. Dark vs. Light

The Sith

The power of the sith is strangely something I have been interested in since the video games came out (mainly Knights of The Old Republic, I am also working on the trilogy D.B Wiess and David Beinehoff will be writing based in the period of the “old republic/knights of the old republic era”).

Although conceived and portrayed to be evil and bad, the sith are actually a race. So imagine your whole life in the Old Republic you are carrying out missions doing tasks for an emperror who only cares about himself. Somehow you and everyone around you are convinced this is correct; that somehow this was right, pure conquest with no diplomacy. Regardless the force, had other plans though. After ruthless ruling and killing of millions of innocent lives, we see characters like Bane, Revan, all struggle with the choice of going against the grain. Eventually this notion would prove correct.

The rise of the light side

People, and all races who were positive to the force would rise up to form a place between the great divide not seeking goodness, not seeking a reward. The beginning of the jedi were created literally from the sheer will of the universe needing balance. Yoda and other force sensitive beings would become strongly that this balance would need to be maintained.

The pre-quel movies are very good mythos pieces to explain the force. On one hand we have people dedicated like an army cadette (Obi-Wan) and we see people who know what is good and speak it and live it out, and would rather not be obliged to the establishment (Qui Gon Jin). Also we see characters who understand anger but are good, and we also evil characters understand good choices. Mace Windui and even Yoda come to mind. The power of shooting lighting is a sith power so how could yoda perform this?? Yoda did what he had to, he fought fire with fire.. and literally caught the jedi texts on fire.

In order for this battle to be won, in my opinion both sides will have to sacrifice. Rise of Skywalker stuck out to me title wise initially because adding ‘the’ just makes it seem better. Although to a singular person this could mean everything and there is one only Skywalker left. And if the Jedi ended, being called a Skywalker wouldn’t be something to be ashamed to off.

POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD.

Ben and Rey are our main characters and at this point. After suffering a massive embarrasment Ben will not be happy in my opinion. Nothing he has planned has gone his way, the sith do not like this. Rey is figuring the force out with the help of hopefully ghosts/spirtis of Luke and Leia. This leaves no one to keep Ben in check, with anger growing in him the force will sense this and I believe we will see the force ghost of someone that will turn him (see ya round kid).

After Kylo is led by coniction that he can do good once he is redeemed, he will turn in my opinion. After this he will gain full power of the light and dark side, at the same time training Rey in some awkward gatherings and maybe fights.

From what I know of Star Wars this path of mythos means a lot of duels, lightsaber construction, and people discovering good and leading others to it.

It has already been said by cast that we will be losing a big character. What ‘big’ means exactly is left to be seen. In my opinion someone who we have taken as ‘big’ in this run and not really to the saga as a whole will go down. Poe, Finn, and maybe Rose are on my top three to go. Balance cant be achieved if both Rey and Ben (Kylo) die. Balance also can’t be achieved if either of them go to the polar of their force ability.

If Rey goes full Jedi, and Ben goes full Vader (which would take a lot of rage and anger much more than we have seen thus far in my opinion) balance will not be achieved. In order for their to be balance their must always be ‘a new hope’

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gerryconway · 7 years

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Star Wars, The Generations

Time to talk about “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.”

(I’m going to assume that by now, Sunday of opening weekend, you’ve seen the movie, because, if you haven’t, a: what’s wrong with you? and b: why are you reading my blog?)

In a terrific piece for Vulture.com, @abrahamjoseph discusses “Last Jedi” as the first truly populist Star Wars movie. [http://www.vulture.com/2017/12/rey-parents-star-wars-last-jedi-populism.html] I fully agree with Abraham’s reading, but I’d add a further observation: it’s the first story in the Skywalker saga to honestly address tensions between generations– in particular, tensions between the Baby Boom generation and the generations that have come to adulthood since its rise, Generation X, and the Millennials.

George Lucas was the avatar of the Boom generation, and his obsessions, fantasies, political beliefs, life choices, myopias, and sense of destined self-importance are all hallmarks of the generation he embodied and spoke to.

Rian Johnson is a true representative of Generation X, a talented and gifted man whose singular voice has been muffled by the presence of aging giants taking up creative space around him. If Johnson had arrived on the scene in 1972 with a film as smart and accomplished as his debut “Brick,” I could easily imagine him having been embraced as were Lucas or Spielberg or Friedkin, and given the same opportunities they received for far less accomplished debuts. (“THX-1138,” for all its technical achievements, suffers from an intellectual coldness of execution; no one ever has made a case for “Sugarland Express” as other than pleasantly forgettable; and the less said about “The Night They Raided Minsky’s,” the better.) But Johnson, and his fellow Generation-X directors, men and women, came of age as young filmmakers in the early 2000s– an age dominated by Baby Boom filmmakers like Spielberg, Lucas, Cameron, et al. Johnson’s opportunities (and theirs) were diminished. To contrast, in the ten years starting with “Sugarland,” Spielberg made eight films; Johnson made three. Not everyone is a Spielberg, of course, but it’s a fact the Baby Boom generation sucked up most available funding for filmmaking between the mid-1970s and the late 2000s. Talented filmmakers like Rian Johnson (and fellow Generation-X director Patty Jenkins) paid their bills and honed their skills directing television, where they contributed (with other shut-out Generation-X creatives) to an explosion of remarkable narrative experimentation unequalled on the big screen itself.

Ironically, the director of the first new Star Wars film, J.J. Abrams, seems to have more in common with the aesthetic, emotional, and political concerns of the Boomer generation than his fellow Gen-Xers, possibly because, at age 51, his childhood in the late Sixties and early Seventies was surrounded by the Boomers’ cultural triumph. Rian Johnson and Patty Jenkins grew up as the Boomers’ idealized liberal world collapsed into Reaganesque cultural exhaustion.

It’s this ‘80s collapse of the Boomer’s liberal dream into conservative exhaustion that informs Rian Johnson’s aesthetic and narrative approach to “The Last Jedi.”

Episode VIII, unlike Episode VII, recognizes the Boomer fantasy of cultural and political renewal through rebellion and the power of elitist “destiny” actually ended in disappointment, failure, and despair. The Baby Boomer Rebels who fought an Evil Empire that invaded the jungles of Endor and burned Ewok villages (an easy Boomer metaphor for U.S. miltary action in Vietnam) ultimately collapsed into a corrupt generation of disillusioned idealists. Those despairing former idealists then empowered the rise of a new militarism, unopposed by an out-of-touch political establishment so distant from average citizens its destruction is a barely noticeable flicker in the sky.

Rian Johnson deconstructs the myths of the Baby Boom generation that adopted Star Wars as its foundational fiction. The rebellion against the Empire produced not a healthy new Republic but a remote and disconnected government with no productive impact on the lives of its poorest, weakest citizens (Rey and Finn). The heroes of the Rebellion either retreated when confronted by failure to fulfill their “destiny” (Luke), turned back to their previous lack of convictions (Han), or soldiered on in an attempt to reclaim old ideals in the face of diminishing odds (Leia). Thirty years after the death of Emperor Palpatine nothing really has changed in that Galaxy long ago and far away. It’s a bleak recognition the 1960s Boomer Revolution was an utter political failure (but not a cultural failure, since we live in a culture that pretends to realize Boomer ideals).

To be fair, Abrams nods toward these notions in “Force Awakens” but undercuts their impact by hewing closely to the undergirding mythic structure of the original Boomer-fantasy “Star Wars.” The idea that destiny and mysticism will produce ultimate victory is a Boomer trope thoroughly embraced by “Force Awakens” and totally dismantled by “Last Jedi.” At every turn, in this latest film, Rian brings to bear the judgmental eye of a somewhat cynical Generation-Xer– surprisingly, and pointedly, not just upon the self-serving fantasies of Baby Boomers, but on the inexperienced surety of the generation following his own, the Millennials.

Just as Luke, Han, and Leia are revealed as heroes with feet made substantially of clay (Leia comes off best of the three, but again, notably, is out of action when crucial decisions must be made), the four featured Millennials in the story are also subjected to Rian’s cool Gen-X appraisal. Kylo, Rey, Finn, and Rose embody familiar traits of today’s Millennial generation.

With Rey, we are presented with the idealistic Millennial archtype– a passionate young woman who embraces the professed beliefs of an earlier idealistic generation, even when she doesn’t quite understand them. (The Force is a “power that helps you move things.”) She’s hopeful, convinced the old ways can restore justice, even though those old ways failed before. She hasn’t come into her own yet. She still seeks strength and validation from others. She wants to be rescued, but slowly, over the course of the story, realizes she must do the rescuing. Her idealism is as yet untempered by experience, but the disappointments she experiences both with Luke and Kylo finally make her stronger than ever.

With Finn, we find a Millennial beaten into submission by a system that appears impossible to resist. His first instinct is always to escape any way he can– but opposing that instinct, and empowering his initial rejection of the First Order’s ruthless militarism, is a strong sense of empathy. Instinct tells him to run; empathy makes him run toward those in need. The first time he sees Rey, in “Force Awakens,” he thinks she’s in danger and impulsively runs toward her. His first word on waking in “Last Jedi” is “Rey!” Even when he’s about to flee the doomed Resistance fleet, he’s combined his instinct to run with an instinct to protect. Like Rey, at the beginning of “Last Jedi” he isn’t who he will become by the end. He’s conflicted, uncertain, immature, and inexperienced. He learns a lot hanging out with Rose.

Rose, Finn’s new friend, is the most emotionally developed and self-aware Millennial in this group, possibly because she’s had the benefit of a close relationship with an admired older sister. Rose knows who she is and what she believes. She has enough experience in life to understand the structural injustice that underpins the Galactic order, and is dealing with the kind of personal tragedy that gives one perspective. Of all the Millennials in “Last Jedi” she changes the least during the story because she’s already who she will always be: a capable, brave, empowered woman who knows her place in this world– a worker and doer, not a dreamer.

And Kylo. Kylo Ren is the most obviously political figure in “Last Jedi,” the embodiment of alt-right Millennial nihilism. Feeling abandoned by his late-life, self-involved Boomer parents, attacked with suspicion by the substitute parent who became terrified by his potential, embraced and manipulated by a cynical monster, another substitute father– Kylo Ren is Millennial rage incarnate. He embraces anonymity behind a mask while striking out in unbridled anger against all who oppose him (sub-redit, anyone?) and yet, pathetically, yearns for the approval of a woman he scorns. If Rey is the light side of idealism, the promise of hope, Kylo is the dark side of idealism thwarted, the nihilism of despair. Rage is the expression of Kylo’s hopelessness, not its source.

This is a fundamental difference between Lucas’s vision of the dark side of the Force and Johnson’s. To Lucas, the eternal Boomer idealist, the dark side was always incomprehensible– the explanation he provides for Anakin Skywalker’s turn to the dark side in the prequels never feels right. (Tellingly, in the original trilogy, Vader’s origin is never explained.) Because Lucas himself wasn’t thwarted in pursuit of a dream, never faced exclusion from the idealistic fantasies of the Boomer generation, never despaired from lack of hope– he couldn’t articulate what gives the dark side of the Force its bleak alure. “Fear” and “anger” are meaninglessly abstract without personal context. Rey and Finn are often angry and fearful, but is there ever a real question they’ll despair? Even in their darkest moments they cling to hope. Why does Anakin succumb to the dark side? Lucas doesn’t really know, and the manner in which he structures Anakin’s story provides easy answers but not convincing ones.

Rian Johnson, however, the Gen-X filmmaker initially thwarted pursuing a career must understand the seductive lure of despair. He can empathize with Ben Solo, and make his embrace of the dark side comprehensible, in a way Lucas could not with Anakin Skywalker. (Or J.J. Abrams, who portrayed Kylo’s dark side persona as a combination of twisted ancestor-worship and petty father resentment.) Johnson’s approach to Kylo Ren is tempered with sadness and maturity. It’s the sighing judgment of a Gen-X middle manager watching a potentially valuable younger employee destroy himself. Such a waste, but so understandable.

This aspect of the complicated Generation-X perspective brings me to the two Gen-X characters in “Last Jedi,” who, fittingly for Gen-X, may seem less important compared to the colorful and dominant Boomer and Millennial stars, but prove to be the heart and soul of the moral argument at the core of this great movie: Poe Dameron and Vice-Admiral Holdo.

On the surface, Poe Dameron is very much a Han Solo knockoff– the cocky, smart-talking pilot who achieves the impossible with style. In Episode VII, by Boomer-influenced J.J. Abrams, that’s all he was, and apparently, until Oscar Isaac made a case for continuing the character, he wasn’t even intended as more than a one-off. With Rian Johnson at the helm, however, Poe becomes a crucial figure whose character arc encapsulates the lessons Johnson seeks to impart with this film: victory isn’t achieved by miracles, it isn’t only a product of self-sacrificing heroism, it’s hard won, complicated by tough choices, and sometimes what needs to be sacrificed isn’t a life– but the notion of heroism itself. Poe begins the movie believing victory is possible only if you’ll dare to pay the price; by the end, he understands “victory” isn’t victory if the price is life itself. That’s an incredible statement for an American blockbuster to make (a theme underscored by Rose preventing Finn from making the ultimate sacrifice himself). In 2017, after 16 years of America fighting an unending war with no “victory” in sight, it’s as political a statement as the original Star Wars metaphor of Empire trampling the jungles of Vietnam/Endor.

But there’s another side to the Generation-X cynism about war’s futility: , the fact that, despite cynicism, and awareness the battle might not be worth the price, Gen-X is still willing to do what needs to be done. Knowing hope may be unjustified, the Gen-Xer still hopes. This conflict between cynicism and hope is at the heart of the Generation-X dilemma, and at the heart of “Last Jedi.” That conflict, with its ultimate decision in favor of hope, is given form and power in the noble sacrifice of Vice Admiral Holdo.

Vice Admiral Holdo is the older, wiser, unimpressed but still hopeful Generation-X leader who understands the risks of action and so refuses to act recklessly. She didn’t start the war– the Boomers did. She inherited it. She wants to minimize damage and salvage what she can. She knows, when the bill comes due, she’s the one who must pay it– and she does, without hesitation, because that’s what the men and women of her generation always do. She cleans up the mess Leia and the Resistance leaders left behind. She guides the retreat. She does what must be done. Practical and blunt, she has no time for Poe’s heroic bullshit. Because she knows the Resistance may never achieve what the Rebellion tried to accomplish, she understands despair, but she’s too busy dealing with the problems before her to indulge it– or to hope. She does what’s necessary. It’s what Generation-Xers always do. Even if it means flying a cruiser at light speed into a First Order fleet.

Great movies reflect an era through the eyes of artists who embody that era. George Lucas embodied the era of Baby Boom “destiny” and self-conceit (“I’m the most important individual in the Galaxy because of my mystical understanding of reality”). Rian Johnson embodies our era of diminished heroism, cynicism and near despair– tempered by the hope, if we can but learn from our heroes’ mistakes, that somehow, some way, some day, we may yet restore balance to the Force.

#the last jedi

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Top New YA Books in March 2020

Deathless Divide by Justina Ireland

Type: Novel (Second in series) Publisher: Balzer + Bray Release date: 2/4/20

Den of Geek says: Justina Ireland’s Dread Nation was a buzzy historical zombie novel with a keen awareness of racial dynamics in Civil War-era America. The sequel looks to be just as intense as the first.

Publisher’s summary: The sequel to the New York Times bestselling epic Dread Nation is an unforgettable journey of revenge and salvation across a divided America.

After the fall of Summerland, Jane McKeene hoped her life would get simpler: Get out of town, stay alive, and head west to California to find her mother.

But nothing is easy when you’re a girl trained in putting down the restless dead, and a devastating loss on the road to a protected village called Nicodemus has Jane questioning everything she thought she knew about surviving in 1880s America.

What’s more, this safe haven is not what it appears—as Jane discovers when she sees familiar faces from Summerland amid this new society. Caught between mysteries and lies, the undead, and her own inner demons, Jane soon finds herself on a dark path of blood and violence that threatens to consume her.

But she won’t be in it alone.

Katherine Deveraux never expected to be allied with Jane McKeene. But after the hell she has endured, she knows friends are hard to come by—and that Jane needs her too, whether Jane wants to admit it or not.

Watching Jane’s back, however, is more than she bargained for, and when they both reach a breaking point, it’s up to Katherine to keep hope alive—even as she begins to fear that there is no happily-ever-after for girls like her.

Buy Deathless Divide by Justina Ireland on Amazon.

Cast Away: Poems for Our Time by Naomi Shihab Nye

Type: Poetry Publisher: Greenwillow Books Release date: 2/11/2020

Den of Geek says: This unique book of poetry seems perfectly suited to today’s environmental and humanitarian issues. What happens to the things we throw away? What happens to the people who aren’t wanted? The metaphor is rich.

Publisher’s summary: Acclaimed poet and Young People’s Poet Laureate Naomi Shihab Nye shines a spotlight on the things we cast away, from plastic water bottles to those less fortunate, in this collection of more than eighty original and never-before-published poems. A deeply moving, sometimes funny, and always provocative poetry collection for all ages.

“Nye at her engaging, insightful best.”―Kirkus (starred review)

“How much have you thrown away in your lifetime already? Do you ever think about it? Where does this plethora of leavings come from? How long does it take you, even one little you, to fill the can by your desk?”―Naomi Shihab Nye

National Book Award Finalist, Young People’s Poet Laureate, and devoted trash-picker-upper Naomi Shihab Nye explores these questions and more in this original collection of poetry that features more than eighty new poems. “I couldn’t save the world, but I could pick up trash,” she says in her introduction to this stunning volume.

With poems about food wrappers, lost mittens, plastic straws, refugee children, trashy talk, the environment, connection, community, responsibility to the planet, politics, immigration, time, junk mail, trash collectors, garbage trucks, all that we carry and all that we discard, this is a rich, engaging, moving, and sometimes humorous collection for readers ages twelve to adult.

Buy Cast Away: Poems for Our Time on Amazon.

Rebelwing by Andrea Tang

Type: Novel Publisher: Razorbill Release date: 2/25/20

Den of Geek says: Robot dragons? What more to say? The fantastical war story setting and high-energy cast of characters looks like it’ll make this one a good read for fans of Pacific Rim.

Publisher’s summary: Things just got weird for Prudence Wu.

One minute, she’s cashing in on a routine smuggling deal. The next, she’s escaping enforcers on the wings of what very much appears to be a sentient cybernetic dragon.

Pru is used to life throwing her some unpleasant surprises–she goes to prep school, after all, and selling banned media across the border in a country with a ruthless corporate government obviously has its risks. But a cybernetic dragon? That’s new.

She tries to forget about the fact that the only reason she’s not in jail is because some sort of robot saved her, and that she’s going to have to get a new side job now that enforcers are on to her. So she’s not exactly thrilled when Rebelwing shows up again.

Even worse, it’s become increasingly clear that the rogue machine has imprinted on her permanently, which means she’d better figure out this whole piloting-a-dragon thing–fast. Because Rebelwing just happens to be the ridiculously expensive weapon her government needs in a brewing war with its neighbor, and Pru’s the only one who can fly it.

Set in a wonderfully inventive near-future Washington, D.C., this hilarious, defiant debut sparkles with wit and wisdom, deftly exploring media consumption, personal freedoms, and the weight of one life as Pru, rather reluctantly, takes to the skies.

The post Top New YA Books in September 2020 appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Ro14iD

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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hermanwatts · 4 years

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Science Fiction and Fantasy New Releases: 25 July, 2020

Uncover professional wizards, generation colony ships, heroes from another world, and buried alien starships in this week’s new releases.

Dragontiarna: Defenders – Jonathan Moeller

The realm of Andomhaim reels beneath the invasion of Warlord Agravhask, and Ridmark stands in his path.

Ridmark knows that Agravhask is only the servant of the mighty Warden of Urd Morlemoch, and the realm must be ready to face its true foe.

But the Warden knows that Ridmark can stop him, and has dispatched the Heralds of Ruin to slay the Shield Knight.

Third of Nightmane Forest has seen the trap, and rushes to save her friend.

If she fails, the Warden and his dark Heralds will triumph, and darkness will swallow the world…

Entropy (Forgotten Starship #3) – M. R. Forbes

The generation starship Pioneer continues her centuries-long journey across the vastness of space. Joseph has returned to hibernation. The passengers are safe.

For now.

When the ship suffers an unexpected malfunction, Preslan is brought in to help identify the source. Joining Tyson on the bridge, it isn’t long before they determine there’s more to the anomaly than meets the eye.

Much, much more.

Not only is the ship off-course and headed into the middle of an ancient intergalactic war, but their best defense against the looming danger is the same thing that’s forcing them into it.

The stakes are higher, the odds are greater and time is running out. If they can’t escape the impending chaos, it won’t only be the passengers and crew of Pioneer that are lost…

…it’ll be the entire human race.

Peace Talks (Dresden Files #16) – Jim Butcher

As a professional wizard, Harry Dresden knows firsthand that the “everyday” world is actually full of strange and magical things—and most of them don’t play well with humans. And those that do enjoy playing with humans far too much. He also knows he’s the best at what he does. Technically, he’s the only at what he does. But even though Harry is the only game in town, business—to put it mildly—stinks.

When the Supernatural nations of the world meet up to negotiate an end to ongoing hostilities, Harry Dresden, Chicago’s only professional wizard, joins the White Council’s security team to make sure the talks stay civil. But can he succeed, when dark political manipulations threaten the very existence of Chicago—and all he holds dear?

Pearl (Murphy’s Lawless #5) – Mark Wandrey and Charles E. Gannon

Taken from their planet and their century, they are…the Lost Soldiers.

Some of the hijacked Twentieth Century troops known as the Lost Soldiers have made planetfall on R’Bak and are working to establish their base there, but their commander, Major Murphy, has a problem. He knows there are weapons and equipment caches that haven’t been activated yet by their immediate enemies—the Satraps—although they are moving as quickly as they can to get to the caches so they can turn those weapons upon their new off-world foes.

Victor Allen Thomas—“Vat” to his friends—was escaping an arms deal gone bad when the helicopter carrying him crashed and he was hijacked by the mysterious Ktor. While he had military experience, he had left the military years before under suspicious circumstances. With a general discharge in his past, he shouldn’t even have been in Somalia to begin with.

As an arms dealer, Vat has plenty of experience learning new languages and cultures, and he is used to cutting risky deals and making unusual alliances. Murphy is counting on Vat to find the equipment caches—his ‘pearls of great price’—before the Satraps can use the weapons against the Lost Soldiers.

But Vat has never been good at forming relationships. He’s going to have to overcome that failing, because there are only two possible outcomes for his mission. Either he finds the pearls of great price that will allow the Terrans to securely establish themselves on R’Bak, or—if he doesn’t—the future of Murphy’s Lawless isn’t merely bleak; it’s likely to be nonexistent.

The Raging Tide (The Volatar Saga #4) – D. K. Holmberg

The tide of war begins to turn, though all might be washed away.

Hevith begins his initial assault and as the fighting brings him south, he calls to the Jahor, building his numbers. When he discovers a place where the Jahor have gathered, he finds those he’d thought lost and realizes the Jahor have known the dangers of the Hith far longer than he’d imagined. For him to end the fighting, he will have to unify his people, but that means hurting those he cares most about.

While the Volatar searches for the tu’alan to understand the war he’s waged since he was young, he finds a new challenge but thinks he might finally have a way to end the war for good. Chasing down answers leads him to new questions—along with a realization that even the tu’alan might have been wrong all along. How can he stop a war when he doesn’t even know how to find those responsible for starting it?

The Rising of the Shield Hero #17 – Aneko Yusagi

A return to Kizuna’s world! Now the party must face a horde of traitors?!

At a request for aid from Ethnobalt, Naofumi heads back to Kizuna’s world. There he is safely reunited with Raphtalia, as well as other friends including L’Arc. They tell him that enemies, presumably a vanguard for the waves, have defeated the Heroes in this world and completely taken over. Naofumi and his party hurry to confront these foes, both to rescue the captured Kizuna and finally discover the adversary behind the waves. However, among their opponents they see a number of familiar faces!

“If it’s revenge you’re after, I’ll lend a hand! I despise all liars and traitors.”

Time for payback!

A Testament of Steel (Instrument of Omens #1) – Davis Ashura

A young man with no past must progress into a warrior out of legend.

Cinder Shade’s life begins on a fateful afternoon at the bottom of a well where he awakens, bruised, battered, and bereft of all memory. His only understanding is a driving imperative—to protect those who can’t defend themselves and become a warrior worthy of the name.

He discovers within himself a peculiar gift, one in which the codes of combat are made evident and the language of steel is made clear. When he earns a place at a prestigious elven warrior academy, Cinder fights to enhance his knowledge and perhaps even humble the proud elves who believe no human is their equal.

His hard-earned skills are put to the test when strange rumblings emanate from deep in the Dagger Mountains. Monsters out of myth emerge. And so does something far worse . . .

An ancient god. The world believes this deity long dead, but he is very much alive. And he remembers his enemies all too well. Even if they don’t remember themselves.

Warrior: Embraced (The Singularity War #3) – David Hallquist

On the run to the red planet…

Brandt Wills tried to prevent a final cataclysmic war between Terra and Luna. He failed, but he was able to escape Singularity’s clutches, fleeing with the genetic experiment known as Psyche in an alien ship. They’re going to Mars—to where everything started—to finish Singularity once and for all.

The War Planet is where Singularity uncovered an alien mother-ship in Ophir Chasma, and the technology they unearthed is at the dark heart of the evil corporation. And, even though the war between Terra and Luna may be over, the fighting’s just begun for dominance in the Solar System. All the planets want a piece of Brandt and the alien technology inside him.

Weird Venusian bio-constructs are on the way to Mars, along with the computerized cyborgs of Saturn and the genetically modified super-people of Jupiter. Every world is sending their forces to Mars, and the red planet will soon run with blood. Brandt has a head start on them, though, but will it be enough? Will he finally be able to unlock the mysteries of the alien symbiont—and the ship in which he rides—or will he ultimately be captured and become a science experiment for Singularity or one of the planets?

Science Fiction and Fantasy New Releases: 25 July, 2020 published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

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bates--boy · 4 years

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Was it worth it, sweetheart?

#hetalia #droid doodles ( art )#rage against the singularity saga #emaciation tw #*risks draining half of my cellular data to post this*

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junker-town · 7 years

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What lessons have we learned from the 2017 NBA Playoffs?

We’re two weeks into the 2017 NBA Playoffs. In this week’s Flanns & Zillz we consider the surprises and truths that have been exposed so far.

By the end of Tuesday, all eight NBA teams still alive will have a second round game under their belts. That makes this a good time to reflect what’s happened in the NBA playoffs so far.

FLANNERY: We're through the first two weeks of the NBA playoffs, and while the games get more meaningful from here on out, they are never as hectic as the first round. The first round is a singular entity within the larger playoff ecosystem and has a pace all its own. It's more random and charmingly weird.

I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted by the end of the first round. It makes me feel like the playoffs truly start in the second round because that's when normalcy and the scheduling snap into place.

But before we get there, let's revisit what we've learned.

Let's start with the Most Valuable Player race that is still raging. We had every narrative and every argument come to life during the first round and there still is no consensus.

You and I both had Russell Westbrook. I felt bad about shortchanging James Harden, who really didn't do anything to lose his hold on the top spot, and I wasn't at all surprised by the 4-1 series outcome. Is it wrong that I still back Russ?

ZILLER: Not at all. Nothing about the series made it clear Harden is more valuable than Westbrook right now. The Thunder continued to revolve around Westbrook in every way; the Rockets continued to be better than the Thunder because of Harden's excellence and a superior supporting cast. That series was essentially a microcosm of each team's season (though the Thunder obviously had a good deal of success in the regular season).

Kawhi Leonard, however, certainly gave his MVP voters great cover by completely dominating on both ends in a surprisingly competitive Spurs-Grizzlies series. (Let’s ignore Game 1 of Rockets-Spurs for now.) I thought LaMarcus Aldridge would play a bigger role, but he struggled to make an impact. San Antonio revolves around Kawhi, and boy is he amazing. LeBron was also phenomenal in the Cavaliers' sweep. We started the playoffs with four amazing contenders for MVP, and we're still there even though one has been eliminated.

What was your biggest surprise of the first round? The Grizzlies' ability to stick with San Antonio for six games threw me off, as did the Bucks' friskiness against Toronto.

FLANNERY: I expected the Bucks to be frisky and the Raptors do love to make things hard on themselves. As I said earlier in the series, if anyone can get blown out like they did in Game 3 and come back and a win a series, it's the Raps. God love them. So that didn't surprise me, although it did satisfy my appetite for sluggo basketball. I've had enough now, thanks.

The Grizz were more surprising to me, but that's probably my fault. I wasn't fully in tune with how good this version of the Grizzlies has become and how they'd give the Spurs problems. A lot of that stemmed from trying to keep Mike Conley in check and that will be a recurring theme for as long as San Antonio is in the playoffs.

I've moved from undecided to on board with keeping the Grizz mostly intact, by the way. Your piece changed my mind.

I am far less certain about the futures for Indiana and Chicago. The Pacers kind of have trade Paul George now, don't they? And the Jimmy Butler saga feels like it needs resolution.

Photo by Joe Robbins/Getty Images

ZILLER: Yes, Indiana needs to trade Paul George. Without Larry Bird or a reasonably short path to contention, he's too huge a flight risk to leave in free agency in one year. Once we find out if PG-13 makes All-NBA -- I think he won't -- the Pacers need to offer the biggest extension they can. If George demurs, trade him and build around the return and Myles Turner.

Butler's a tougher decision because he's under contract an additional year. I think you keep Jimmy going into 2017-18 and weigh how the season goes before potentially shopping him at the deadline and making a decision next summer based on where the team is. I'm not convinced Butler's value will decrease closer to his free agency -- you listen now, but there's no real rush for the Bulls in my estimation.

Where are you at on those guys and the Hawks' future?

FLANNERY: Bleak. If I have to choose any of their futures, I'll take Indiana because of Turner, but I like Milwaukee's much better and Miami is now dangerous. Teams come up, teams go down. It's the fundamental nature of the league.

Let's look out West. Safe to say we both think the Blazers will be a factor next year with Jusuf Nurkic and a few roster-clarifying moves? I'm really interested in what Sam Presti has up his sleeve now. The Thunder can't maintain the status quo and they know that.

And the Clippers ... this is gonna get ugly.

ZILLER: I think we need to see what exactly Neil Olshey does to clarify the roster before I'm on board with Portland to be better than what they've been, which is a team winning 45 or so games. They still don't have perimeter defense, and one month per season of strong play doesn't instill a great deal of confidence in Jusuf Nurkic in me. Evan Turner seems like a difficult contract to move, no?

I'm extremely interested to see what both Olshey and Presti do to gain an edge. The Thunder so badly need shooting, but Blake Griffin might be available. Do you chase that?

If I can briefly bring in a team outside the playoff picture, it's a critical summer for Denver, too: they know Nikola Jokic is their centerpiece now, and they can build around that. The Nuggets chased Dwyane Wade last summer, and I wonder if they'll be looking to vets again.

Where are you at on the Clippers? I'm usually on Team Run It Back, but that payroll with the repeater tax is simply outrageous. The West isn't getting easier.

FLANNERY: I think the Clippers’ time is done. It just can't keep going on like this with the same ending year after year after year.

I'm going to assume that Chris Paul comes back, but beyond that I really don't know. J.J. Redick can have his pick of situations and so can Griffin. And what of Doc Rivers? There seems to be some uncertainty there.

They could all come back, of course, but it seems unlikely that everyone signs up for another year or two of this. Just don't ask me what they would do instead of Option Run It Back, because I don't have any useful suggestions at the moment.

Sure, I'd look into Blake if I was OKC. The list of NBA superstars who grew up in Oklahoma starts and ends with Griffin, and so might the list of stars who would seriously investigate the Thunder's situation this summer. Presti is resourceful and I'm sure he has several viable plans under construction. I highly doubt any of them are labeled, 'Blake or Bust.' If you are a roster management nerd, then what Olshey and Presti do this summer is fascinating.

Ah yes, Denver. It's always a critical time for Denver. They finally have a centerpiece player in Jokic, and I am quite fond of much of their young talent. They really need to figure out that point guard situation, though. And the veteran logjam. I'd like the Nuggets to be good again. That was a great basketball market back in the day and I think it can be again with the right combinations.

Let's spin this forward. What second round series has your attention? I'm all in on the East right now.

ZILLER: Spurs vs. Rockets should be educational. Houston brought the beatdown to San Antonio in Game 1, but series are long and full of twists. The Spurs will have something to say. We’ll see if the Rockets can hold up. Cavaliers vs. Raptors could get interesting too, assuming Monday’s game was more about Toronto’s typical Game 1 malaise. (I know better than to doubt LeBron. Man, what a rookie mistake not picking Cleveland to make it back to the Finals.) It's pretty clear that Wizards-Celtics will be a series of barn burners.

The good thing about the second round is that none of these teams would really be plunged into crisis with defeat. I mean, the losers may make some real changes (especially in the face of blowouts). But there are no referenda of the teams' very existence as we saw with the C's, Clippers, Raptors, Hawks, and Pacers in the first round. Now it's just basketball.

FLANNERY: True, but I do think the Raptors (and the Celtics to some extent) are still on the clock. If the Raps get dusted by Cleveland in five games, can they really afford to pay everyone? On paper, I liked their chances, but then Game 1 happened and I'm reminded of just how hard it will be to take down Cleveland. Just give me one game where the Cavs need to play up to their potential to win. That's not too much to ask, is it?

I'd also like to talk myself into Utah giving Golden State a run, but I think the Dubs are peaking at the right time. You see anything so far that makes you think we're not getting Round 3 of the Cavs-Warriors in the Finals?

ZILLER: No. You?

FLANNERY: No.

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bates--boy · 4 years

Text

He couldn’t put it off any longer. With his wounds healing properly and his oppressive psych meds successfully cleared from his system, there was no need to hold off studying his target and preparing for round two. No, three, right? The memories of the battles were fuzzy, and reaching for them knotted his stomach something awful.

At least he couldn’t see the spirits. Not that they weren’t there, anymore, because he knew they were there, he simply couldn’t sense them at all, let alone see or talk to them. And it was well that he didn’t, because how much longer could he withstand the cycles of heatstroke from the radiation of those weird globs of energy and existence? Maybe hundreds of cycles, but there was no need for him to test that theory yet.

Still, it would be a lie to say that he didn’t miss some of them, like the souls of the mice that always bound around him, unafraid of their slaughterer, or that of the man who was so certain that the love of his life still dwelled in the plot that this condominium was built on. Most of all, Peter missed her.

It still crushed him every time he tried to imagine himself safe in her arms, curled up on her lap. Six years old all over again, shielded from everything he hated and feared by the first person he ever loved and trusted, a mother he knew even more than the actual woman (whoever she may be) that brought him into this godforsaken world. Peter was sure he wasn’t suicidal (there was no point if he was going to come back, anyway) but to meet her again and have those precious few minutes of solace, he’d eat bullets every time he came back to life.

Or, well, eradicate black holes.

The sheets of notes were spread on his desk, the textbooks propped up and open next to the computer monitor. He still needed to receive that book of studies from Viktor, but until then, he’d do some basic studying from the other scientific journals he had bookmarked on his browser. He clicked them open and picked up his pen, ready to write.

He managed three paragraphs of the first article before something strained his head and made the text too blurry to read. It could have been the cocktail of medications, or the overabundance of sleep that Peter was just not used to, with his body trying to battle the long hours of rest with self-induced restlessness. Maybe it was the lack of nutrients that Peter had yet to make up for, falling back on the comforts of cigarettes and coffee instead of picking up a vegetable or two.

None of it was the true reason, and Peter knew, drumming his writing utensil on the desk and bouncing his leg. With a sigh, Peter chucked the pencil on the desk and minimized his browser, clicking on his videos folder and scrolling through for that special one. He clicked it open and maximized the player; he just needed one second, one glimpse, a reminder of what he was doing this for. It took a bit of clicking around on the progress bar, all the while cursing himself for not saving the snippet as a separate file or even a screenshot. But he found the approximate clip and changed up the contrast. He sat back and waited.

And waited.

And, despite the cinching of his chest and the growing dryness in his mouth, he waited.

Until the video had reached its end. He leaned forward, furrowing his brows as he dragged the scrubber back. “What the fuck?”

He played the video over and over at different parts, constantly changing the contrast and brightness and sharpness, watching the spot just above his shoulder where he knew she should appear, the angel among souls that he drew to his kitchen.

The video went through its fourth full playthrough, and Peter slumped in his chair, his hands quivering and his eyes boring into the screen at the nothing. No one. Through shallow breaths, he murmured, “That.. that can’t...” he shook his head and swallowed back the vomit bubbling up his throat. He checked the video’s properties, because it had to have been corrupted, somehow. Then he searched the rest of his folder, because he must have forgotten that he did save that specific clip with his mother in it, it had to be somewhere. She was there, he saw that she was there, he felt that she was there.

And he shot out of his chair, the sheet of summoning instructions clutched in his hand, going to the closet to dig out the skull. The last one, because going back to the medical research campus for more without drawing suspicion was not an option, anymore. Peter arranged the site, setting the skull in the bowl, lighting the candles around and beneath the tiny altar. He went over to the knife stand and snatched up the chef’s knife to bring back to the table. With his hand spread open over the bowl, Peter dug the blade across the meatier thenar of his palm and clenched the muscle. The blood coated the top of the skull.

Peter knew he had to be patient, because the first ever time took how long? Nearly an hour? But he needed this to happen. It had to happen now! He sliced into the other palm and watched his blood pool around the skull, chanting, trying to breathe, blinking back tears. “Marion, please,” he begged in that soft, hoarse voice. “Marion, please, come back.” He needed her, he needed her now, he needed to press his ear to her chest, pretend to hear the heartbeat that he knew from memory, or smell the salt of the sea that clung to her apron. Please, it was getting so loud in his head!

“Come on, come on!” he said through gritted teeth, and curled his nails into the gushing gash, the knife clattering onto the table. “Somebody, goddamn it, please!” Because it was real. It was all real! He had a war to win, for fuck’s sake! He had souls to save, those terrified entities of energy and memories so desperate to escape that they latched onto Peter in order to come back to the other side. Peter burned in their goddamn selfish embrace, so they must be real! It happened!

It all happened!

He stood above the summoning site, his palms slick with thick, sticky redness. In a kitchen just as empty as it was when he first awoke this morning.

A painful tightness twisted his chest; he knew he was breathing faster, but he couldn’t hear it past the ringing. He swayed on his feet, staring into the empty space around him where they, the legion of souls as far as the eye could see, should have stood.

He was curled up in Marion’s lap. He was in her arms. For once in his life, he was safe.

His eyes fell to the bowl, and he took a deep breath. Of course, they weren’t appearing, there wasn’t enough blood!

He picked up the knife once more. He tugged up the stained and damp sleeve on the opposite arm and turned his wrist towards him. He clenched his fist and eyed the thick, blue line raised against his skin. His grip shook even as Peter swallowed deep, useless gulps of air.

She was so close to coming back. Peter only had to find her again, and convince her to fight for her reincarnation or haunt his home. Either way, he’ll have his mother, and the loud ringing will stop.

The knife stilled in his hand. He drew it back, his hand sure despite the wetness making the wooden handle slippery.

Then a sudden pinch. It came out of nowhere, more a surprise than a shock of pain, but it was enough to make Peter yelp and drop the knife.

“Son of a bitch!” He roared in frustration. He looked down, hoping to find that maybe the pain came from the burning sensation of his dead mice friends climbing up his leg.

Jack released his jaw from Peter’s bare ankles and stared back up at him. It was so loud in Peter’s head, yet Jack’s persistent, scared meows wailed louder. And Peter just watched the fat little bastard bump and rub his head against Peter’s leg in between choruses of feline anguish.

And please, please, love yourself better.

Peter planted a hand on the table, feeling his legs shake and ready to give out under him.

She didn’t say that, did she?

Because I love you.

He eased himself onto the floor, drawing his knees up and rocking back and forth. With Jack roaming around Peter and butting his head against Peter’s back, Peter tangled his hands into his hair, his chest heaving quiet sobs.

Soon, the loudness died down, the shivering stopped. In the chilling emptiness that followed the heartbreak, Peter had one thought, one glimmer of hope amongst the crushing weight of reality. He grinned, tasting the salt of tears and snot that came quicker than he could wipe away.

Take great care of yourself, and try to stay out of trouble.

Marion didn’t say that.

I can do whatever I want...

#life thus far ( story )#rage against the singularity saga #figured I should write this now and put an end to this adventure before I completely throw #off the timeline #oh uhm #self harm tw #suicide mention

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bates--boy · 4 years

Text

He set the collection of mice skulls in the tin bowl and stared at them. They looked like tiny, discolored stones carved with holes, more cutesy Halloween decoration than the product of hours of trapping prey in the alley between his flat and the next. And the skinning.

Oh, god, the skinning...

At least his anaconda is set for snacks for the next couple weeks. But there were bits of clarity in his exhaustion and mild panic where he wondered if this would even work with rodent skulls. The only reason he even had them was because he didn't feel right taking ones from the corpses of the primates that passed in the animal center, and he had to save the questionably legally-acquired human ones for later in case this did work.

Because that was what this hesitation came to: the fact that this might not work. The man knew he was being driven by a moment of asphyxiation and an eternity of hallucination, but those souls...their voices...

YOU ARE WRONG

They still crawled over his skin, breathed against the back of his neck, still thundered in his head and made the very little sleep he tried to attain impossible. He still felt that black hole inhaling, trying to swallow his screaming form and those unfortunate, judgemental souls.

What was he wrong about?

He eyed his set-up on the dining room table, checking off the list in his head, and leaned forward to switch on the camera.

"To anyone who may be viewing this: hello. I'm Peter Kirkland, and today, I'm here to answer a question as old as time, itself: what happens after we die?

"As an atheist, my answer was once and always: nothing." He shrugged. "Nothing at all. But, er, there have been some recent developments..."

He thought about the conversation with Matthew, of heads rolling across floors.

He thought about the cycles of regeneration Roderich went through under the unforgiving ocean.

He thought about how he had to carry Roderich back to his hotel room, and wait in a corner until the man came back to life.

He thought about those stories of children claiming memories they were much too young to have, past lives returning to them.

He thought about the black hole, the howling, hungry black hole.

"...that made me wonder if the answer was as simple as emptiness beyond here. Now, don't get me wrong: I'm still an atheist. Truthfully, I don't see how religion would tie into this. Or anything requiring rationality, really. Heh, there goes my angry atheist joke for the day." He tipped an invisible fedora to the camera.

"And now, to make myself absolutely hypocritical, I have here a sort of necromancy equipment." He reached to the camera and turned it at different angles to show the bowl of skulls resting on a trivet, the vials and tubes, the pile of notes, the candles and lighters, and the plasma separator machine.

"But this has less to do with merely communicating with the dead, and more with entering their plane."

He returned the camera back to its place eon the tripod and shrugged. "Now, whether or not that means I may die, I don't know. That does seem like the only outcome of this, doesn't it? 'We all die someday', and hell, today might be my day!" He tried to chuckle, but ended up nibbling on his lip.

He picked up the notes stacked on the corner of the table. "Anyway..."

He gave a brief outline of his theories, some stuff about plasma and energy and stars that sounded more like hopeful sci-fi the longer he spouted it to the camera. After, he wrapped the rubber tourniquet around his upper left arm, struggling to tie it near and tight one handed.

Like the many medical videos he'd watch, he practically doused his inner elbow with rubbing alcohol and pressed his fingers about, looking for that sweet spot. "God damn, it's always so hard to find. Semper Do to my nurses who had to struggle with me." He gave the camera a fleeting, awkward smile.

There. It thumped through his flesh, popping against his fingertips. Okay. Okay. He picked up the needle and flicked off the protective cap. The metal was cool against his skin.

...Okay, he was pushing the syringe in...

...On the count of three, he will push the syringe in... One...two...

...He just needed to take a deep breath, and he'll be able to stick it in.

He inhaled, held it, exhaled. Inhaled, held, exhaled. Inhaled, held, exhaled. Inhaledheldexhaled, inhaledheldexhaled, inhaledexhaled inhaledexhaledinhaledexhaledinhaledexhaledgoddamnitdoitforscienceinhaledexhaledinhaledexhaled

"AAAAAGH!" He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his fist up.

He cracked them open. The needle was stabbed through, with only minor drops of blood bubbling up at the injection site. It'll have to do, so he connected the syringe's tube to the vials' stoppers, one at a time, his body overcome with shakes as he watched his blood run down the sides of his elbow as well as fill the plastic containers.

He gave the vials a shake and set them in the separator machine. While that was at work, Peter bandaged his wound and cleaned up his spills, then downed a half bottle of sports drink, at least whatever he could drink past his quivering lip as he lied down on the couch to recover.

The centrifuging was complete, and Peter returned to the table. He retrieved the tubes and, using the same needle as before, he drew out the plasma from the cells vial by vial, and pushed it out into the bowl. He capped the needle as a precaution and took a moment to lay his hands flat on the table and breathe.

"Next step," he said mostly to himself, reaching for the lighter and a votive candle, "Fire!"

He put the lit candle in its hold under the bowl's trivet, and set the rest of the candles around the vulgar set-up. "Oh, these candles make me feel like I should set some mood music. What music would even be appropriate for this?" He looked off into the distance, grimacing. "Hmm... Death metal? Nah, too cliched."

Still, he was sure that this practice required some silence, so Peter let the joke pass and reviewed his notes one more time, coming to the slips of paper with the procedure he created.

1: Establish a channel.

Wait until the plasma comes to a gentle boil. The steam will be the gas like the ones that make up stars, the candles the fire that make them glow. This will be beacon to you, the skull will be the home for them.

Make sure all distractions are removed; there is no telling what may scare off souls. ("Oh, I guess music was a no-go, anyway," Peter murmured.)

2: Connect

Relax your body to a state of semi-sleep (asphyxiate again?? Give meditation a try)

Place hands as close to the beacon as possible without disturbing it

Mimic the black hole noise

3: Collect information

Invite the sound to take you to their plane

Ask for names and stories

Mingle, I guess

He wished he had thought this through more. Nevertheless, he laid his hands flat between two candles and closed his eyes. He breathed through his nose and out his mouth, gagged at the taste of his own plasma burning in front of him, and tried again. He went back to that place, that void, that place of condemnation and confusion. The bumps returned to his skin as he waded through the screaming of souls, as he faced the ruling entity in his mind, the one that swallowed the dead and existing like smoke from a cigarette.

In the hallucination, when he was right there in front of it, the black hole screeched destruction and vengeance, it howled with an insatiable frenzy, it crackled like the unending fire that it was, making even the frightened cries of the souls it consumed mute and damn near rendered Peter deaf.

But when he recollected that moment of looking the end in its blinding and dark face, when he thought he would lose his voice trying to scream louder than it...

A hum. It was a breathless hum, a droning and tuneless lullaby to soothe the frightened children to sleep.

It had to be wrong. It had to! Nothing so soft could inspire what Peter felt in that place!

Yet Peter leaned back in his chair, and felt the hum reverberate in his chest.

The heat from the candles traveled through his fingertips and up his arms, the warmth crawling up his neck and brushing across his face. The darkness behind his closed kids thickened, almost like time was easing towards night. In the calm, Peter had wished that he used scented candles so the smell of his very essence burning didn't choke him and made him nauseous, but he was slowly getting used to the smell, that the sensation of it clogging up his throat lessened the more he hummed and leaned his head back...

WHOAREWHATDOYOUTHINKYOU'REAREYIUDOINGHERE?!

Peter's head snapped forward, his eyes popping open. He had to stop himself from toppling his chair over as existence flickered around him. He watched as his home, gray with not exactly darkness but still a lightlessness that sucked the life and time out of everything, disappear into that black void. It flickered through the cycle like the flame of a candle, from his flat to the black emptiness to a warping of the two then back to his flat where his bird was so still in his cage but Peter could still hear him go batshit and beating his wings against the bars and above his head in the emptiness was the Black Hole and

He gasped.

Standing before him, phasing in and out of the planes like the planes, themselves, we're switching back and forth, stood the souls. Whether in his flat or in the void, these faceless beings stretched out before him in legions, as far as Peter's watering eyes could see. These beings converged, looming higher, looking down on the heaving young man cowering in his chair. They had no mouths, yet still they screamed

HOWDAREYOUINVADEWHOAREYOUWHERESMYMOMMYDEIDREDEIDREWHEREAREYOUDUMBFUCKRUNBEFORETHEBLACKHOLE

Peter presses his hands to his ears, clawing his nails into the back of his head. Too many...there were too many.

THEBLACKHOLEISHUNGRYRUNWHYAMIHEREWHOAREALLOFISTHISHEAVEN

What were once beads of sweat trickling down his nose and cheeks was now a full layer of sticky sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, drenching the front of his shirt until the collar hung heavy. He swallowed, gasping and blubbering, his lungs searching for fresh, cool air, but only finding the stench of his plasma and heat -- god, the heat of these souls! The candles were pointless! He's being burned alive. These souls drew closer to him and they were nothing but fire and burning energy and they didn't care that this whimpering bastard curled up in his chair was being roasted down to his bones!

THISISWHATIGETFORFIGHTINGINTHEWARYOUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONGDOYOUKNOWMAGNUSYOUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONG

He pressed his hands harder against his face. A droplet ran down the bridge of his nose, and he couldn't tell if it was sweat or a tear.

CANYOUHELPMEFINDMYDADDYTHEVIEWFROMHALFWAYDOWNYIUAEWWROMGYIUAREWRONGYOUAREWRONG

God, make it stop--

Peter?

Peter opened his eyes and lowered his hands. That voice. Through the devastation of these numberless voices that crashed through him like stars and asteroids, he knew that voice. The gentle, loving one, the one that sang him lullabies and told him stories of places afar and promised him a happy home when the war planes stopped flying over his fort. The family he had before he knew what family was.

He whipped his head about, searching these faceless entities. "Marion?!"

Peter!

"Marion!" Peter shot out of his chair, standing on his toes and craning his sweat-soaked neck out as if that would help him seek her out among this cruel, burning mass.

"Marion, I--!"

The flickering worsened, but he found that the flat he lived in stayed longer and time tried to continue. No, no no no, the channel! He had to keep the channel open!

Peter lit more candles, replacing the one under the tin bowl, and grabbed for the needle-- shit, where was it?! He looked for the needle he used-- god damn it, where was it, where was it?! He looked all over the table, under the mess of papers and discarded candles. The souls, the ones he hated and wished was swallowed up by that damn Black Hole flashing in and out of existence above him, started fading. Along with her voice.

"No!" He wailed, his voice hoarse. He looked down at his hands, blinking rapidly to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

And then he bit himself.

His teeth sunk into the tender flesh under his thumb, stabbing deeper until his blood filled his mouth. He spat it into the still heated bowl. The souls' fading stopped, though they still flickered. He bit into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, sucking until he choked on the blood that he had to spit out into the bowl. The mice skulls turned dark.

Peter, what are you doing?!

He chomped down on the opposite palm, and his wrists, and up his arms, sucking, spitting, choking, crying, screaming through his own skin and meat he had between his teeth. The flickering between planes slowed. Everything slowed, except for hi is rapidly blinking eyes Peter tried to maintain consciousness. Her voice stopped fading.

Peter, please stop!

The darkness of sleep and the darkness of the void were indistinguishable as Peter collapsed into it.

#hetalia #droid noodles ( writing )#animal abuse tw #self harm tw #death tw #blood tw #uuuuuuh i don't know what ekse to tag this as soo #might be good to just ignore it #long post #since read mores don't work on this godforsaken app #rage against the singularity saga

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bates--boy · 4 years

Text

In the true stillness, there she stood. All the scars and bruises gone from her skin, even the bullet wound mark was no more. Of course she'd be pure and resplendent in her afterlife, cleaned of all her suffering in her life. What hadn't change were those eyes, deep and dark brown yet so warm, always so warm when she looked at him-- the hot chocolate eyes that provided him the comfort of love and belonging, like a fireplace during winter.

At first, he thought the heaviness in them was that familiar tiredness, but then she smiled in that sweet melancholy way of hers.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away, but still saw that heartbreak on her face. "Don't look at me like that."

"How else am I supposed to to look at you when you're tearing yourself apart like this? What's this even all for?"

He swore if they have this conversation one more time, he will lose his goddamn mind. "Like I said," he managed to get out evenly, if a bit tensed, "I was going to bring you back. Keep you safe from being eaten."

He expected her to use that same argument from before -- how long will you keep chasing my soul?-- as if she didn't know the answer -- forever -- but she chuckled softly, low and quick and in a tone that made Peter's back gradually tense up.

"That isn't the only reason, though, is it?"

What do you mean by that?! He was going to demand, because for all the feather-like gentleness in her voice, that sounded like an accusation. But the tension along his back found its way to his shoulders, and then his throat, and whether it was because he was truly flabbergasted or he simply could not raise his voice at her, there was not enough defensive fire in him to say anything.

Then Marion held her arms open. "Come here."

Still reeling from what he was sure was an accusation, Peter blinked at her in surprise. His hesitation didn't deter her, though, as she waited. The longer he watched, the more that everything in him began to fall apart, until all that was left was this overwhelming depletion, a hollowness that followed screaming at galaxies and ripping apart imploded stars. So, he fell into her arms.

In a blink of an eye, he had found that she had guided them both in a sitting position, that he was suddenly small enough to curl up in her lap. Resting his head against her chest, he felt the blue, thick fabric of her uniform shirt scratching his cheek; she even willed this illusory shirt to smell like the flour and ocean salt from their happier days. He looked up into her eyes, partly afraid to see the red bullet hole in the middle of her forehead even though he knew she wouldn't do that to him.

And she didn't, he could see from her smooth and bloodless forehead. Instead, there was a new form of weariness drawn on her face. He knew what that meant.

So, despite her not rushing him back to his body, and cradling him right against her for as long as they both needed it, Peter knew he needed to ask now. In his high voice, he murmured, "Why don't you want to come back?"

Marion combed her fingers through his hair, shocking him at how short it was until he remembered the ghastly bowl cuts she used to give him at this physical age. "It's not that I don't want to. Heck, sometimes I do. But things are out of my control."

"But I can bring you back!" He pleaded, feeling so foolish for trying still.

"I know."

"I brought those others back with me! It works."

She stopped stroking his hair long enough to reach down to his sleeve and tug it up. The teeth marks down his arms were glowing painfully against the rest of his skin, despite their being partially sealed.

"It's not worth this."

Peter started to argue, but the steadfastness in her face was too much to bear. His own started to twist and flare up, and he had to bury it in her shoulder.

She kissed the top of his head and murmured into his hair, "But it's okay. Whatever happens to me, happens. I can accept that. I have to... I do."

--cc of steroid--

Peter gasped, tasting stringent, sterile air. He pressed further into Marion, holding on to the weakening ocean salt in her clothes.

"And that's what I want you to remember, sweetie, okay? To accept the things you can't change and learn to move on. There's no need for you to keep hanging on to all this pain, 'specially not on my account."

--arging up the defibrillator!

Clear!

Peter jolted in Marion's lap and choked, heaving and rasping. Marion placed another kids on his forehead and slid him off her lap, keeping him facing her. He was suddenly taller than her again, but felt no less small as she brushed a thumb across a tear sliding down his cheek.

Peter Kirkland, can you hear me?

She pressed her hands around the wounds on his arms. It burned. Peter hissed, but did not jerk away. She moved her hand, freeing the crescent scar underneath and moving on to the next one.

"If you're so set on doing things for me, though, then do me this favor."

Administering CPR.

Peter closed his eyes and nodded, choking back a sob.

"Take great care of yourself, and try to stay out of trouble."

--27, 28, 29, 30! 1, 2, 3--

"And please, please, love yourself better."

She wrapped her hands around his, squeezing tight, feeding a part of herself this one last time to seal the wounds.

Because I love you.

"We got a rhythm."

His eyes darted around, finding white-clad doctors standing around him. One eased her hands off his chest and moved it up to below his jaw. He felt his pulse throb against her gloved fingertip.

"Pulse stabilizing. Mr. Kirkland, can you hear me?"

Peter nodded belatedly, still searching for the souls that he knew had to be wandering behind the staff.

"Good,", the doctor replied. She looked to the nurse across from her. "We'll reduce the fever and prep him for lung drainage. Oh!"

She reached behind her and turned back around, dabbing a wad of tissue along Peter's temples to dry the tears. "It's okay, Peter. You made it. You're going to be okay."

#rage against the singularity saga #droid noodles ( writing )#hetalia #long post #well this all amounted to a whole lotta nothing

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bates--boy · 4 years

Text

[Splitting into 2 parts because why there is no read more feature in the app, I will never know.]

He kept the bandages off this time. They were useless, anyway; one minute they were clean, the next they were soaked through the gauze and tape, sticky and soggy and thoroughly disgusting because -- and Peter knew this -- the souls didn’t let his injuries heal. For all the skulls and heat and chanting he could ever use, it was Peter who was the biggest, most important component of the beacon, and it was his blood that kept the channel between the planes whole. He should have realized that the first moment he broke his skin with his teeth, driven to primal self-destruction when initial contact with the other plane was made.

It was why this time, he left the other two human skulls in the closet and simply lit a match, holding it under one of his palms until a drop of blood fell from the torn web between his thumb and index finger, and into the flame.

He felt himself collapse in the living plane, but here, Peter rose high, his face hardened and upturned. It seemed he had made it just in time for the feeding, as a ghostly ringing had spread throughout the space closest to the Black Hole and there was the gentlest tug on his body as the ugly entity began to swallow.

In their desperation and urgent need to escape, the souls closest to him, ones who have not resigned themselves to their fate, latched onto him like many had did before -- the beacon! The one to take them away, the one who can bring them back to the realm of the living! Their second chance!

Peter tethered them to his existence, sensing their relief and joy in the back of his head. He was a little sad that this part of the plan came too easily.

He reached away from the growing mass of sentient energy hanging onto him, combing through the space with his fingers until he found what he needed and drew it out. Peter didn't know what to expect when he found it (he almost expected to not find it at all, and having to resort to a new plan or go straight back to trying to claw into the Void's core and hope he succeeds the second time) but the thing settled into his palm, with his fingers closed around it, felt like Nothing. As if a tiny dot of existence was carved away and left this speck of emptiness.

The antiparticle.

Enough of the souls had merged themselves to him, many of them becoming impatient in their wait, and frightened that the Black Hole's consumption grew hungrier, yet they were still there. Holding the antiparticle tight and jealously, Peter tightened his connection to his crowd of escapees and

(For Marion, some part of his mind not infected with a thirst for blood and exhaustion and, honestly, a whole lot of grandeur spoke softly. He lost that unpleasant conversation--

Do you think it will fix how I died?! IT WON'T!!

"...You don't want to come back."

I love you, baby blue. Go home.

-- in a white, fuzzy haze until it was no more.)

fell up.

Too late, the souls realized that Peter had no intention of returning to the living plane, and try as they might to wrench themselves free of Peter's grasp, they were soon pulled into the Black Hole, trapped as soon as they all breached the corona. Peter ground his teeth against the stretching of his atoms, feeling his eardrums burst against the wailing of the souls and the sucking of the imploded and hungry star.

The mass of souls, with Peter as its core, fazed into the surface.

He remembered how he had frozen in the nonsubstance of the Black Hole from when he first flung himself into it, so he knew that he had to act quickly before he was trapped and couldn't moved at all. He pushed the souls away from his body and into the surface, willing them to feel his sorrow at what he had to do-- it's the trolley dilemma all over again. And still, they weren't enough; this big ball of crushing density must eat millions of metric tons of stars in one space- dilated hour in the living realm, and right then, millions more of souls failed to escape the event horizon, thus making the Black Hole swell even more than its usual girth. So, Peter reached into himself, hoping that yet another quantum physics theory will prove true, and pulled.

And, as always, Peter screamed.

He was splitting into halves, then quarters, feeling himself becoming fractals, becoming a point where realities crack like the surface of a weak and impure diamond and reflect nothing but grotesqueness and impossibility of his angry multiversal self. His will reached into the burning cold hole that is himself, searching and grasping, and his screams, his howls of agony that seeped through the cracks of other realities (and the Sealands and Peter Kirklands -- ones who survived the great floodings, became whole great nations, or settled into a quiet contentedness of being a small and unassuming speck in the North Sea; or ones bouncing their grandchild on their knees despite the joint pain and swelling, or doing pre-calc homework at the dinner table or just being born-- whipped their heads toward the skies or in the empty space in front of them, collectively wondering what the hell was that?!) morphed into a laugh, another sound the Black Hole drank in with ease. This, of Peter's entire life, this is when he felt the most in control, ripping himself apart to find--

He finally pulled it free, with a great huff and gulping relief he can feel his physical body doing. The Higgs boson. His very own God Particle.

Peter had no time to admire the barest make-up of himself, though he wished he could commit it to memory and share what it is and what it looked and felt like to physicists in the decades to come. Instead, he pushed it into the Black Hole.

The corona flickered, and the wild spinning and sucking slowed, and Peter snapped back into his normal shape, almost losing himself into the awe of watching the Black Hole shut down. It was one thing to read about it in a science journal, it was another to cause it by his own hand, to rip the power away from it until it was, at the moment, just a globe of light-eating shadow.

And why not keep the luck going? Peter reached his other hand back, vaguely hearing someone call out Peter?! What are you doing?! STOP!

And, in the silence of the Black Hole that was currently knocked out, Peter's voice rang loud and true:

"Fuck you!"

And he forced the antiparticle into the Black Hole's surface.

Peter didn't get farther into the articles about Black Hole deaths than his much-needed confirmation black holes can die, so he didn't learn that as black holes evaporate into nonexistence, they burst with radiation so powerful that whole galaxies can be destroyed with the brush of a gamma ray. Even more, he didn't parse that the bursts of energy would not only be the particles of consumed stars and light, but the imprisoned and eroded souls. As arbitrary as which souls get to be born again and which will be trapped in a black hole for the rest of the universe's time, this shrinking black hole's rays tilted away from the solar system that Earth inhabited, and sliced through asteroid belts and the rings of moons of a planet not yet born.

Then, it was nothing. When the great pulsating light stopped blinding Peter, he saw absence in the Black Hole's wake, an eerie yet beautiful coldness that soothed Peter's aching presence like a dip in an ice bath. He started to drift. They all did, with no Black Hole to hold them in place with its gravity.

He closes his eyes for a moment's calm, but felt a tug and popped his eyes back open again. Another one, dancing its way over to fill the vacancy of its fallen sibling. "Son of a bitch," Peter grumbled as it started to pull everyone close to it. His curse came out with less fury and irritation, though, because he knew that it wasn't just going to be just the one point of infinite density, he just didn't think it would come so soon, the goddamn vulture.

He swung his body until he straightened, reaching out for another antiparticle, reaching in for another God Particle. Already, the cluster of souls pressed themselves into Peter, surprising him-- did they not see what he did to the last batch of the hopeless escapees? But he wasn't complaining, not when they made his job easier.

He curled his lip at the new Black Hole; one down, tens of millions to go in this universe--

You need to stop, a gentle and familiar voice echoed in his ear.

And then they dragged him.

#droid noodles ( writing )#rage against the singularity saga #;;- ... huh. [eats my hat]#long post #sci fi

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