#sopping wet dog lookin

[dotflare]

Echos of Failure

lighting study turned into a full piece! enjoy

[wackyrumble]

Charisma House v.s. Fusakin

Charisma House - Charisma House

Seven guys living together. Iori: makes people sign slave contracts to treat him like a dog, Terra: self obsessed, Rikai: drinks boiling water instead of alcohol, Saru: rebel who crashed a wedding with a metal pipe, Oshe: tried to kill himself because Rikai was nice to him, Amahiko: "world sexy ambassador, minister of sexy affairs" and gets seasonal dick pains, Fumiya: the normalest one. Read more about them below.

Fusakin - MARIKINonline4

Fusakin was once a balloon that fought with sharp weapons, despite the risks, and eventually gave himself a body through alchemy. Forbidden alchemy, which put him on house arrest. Through a series of events, he creates a beast which he attempts to destroy his soul in order to kill it but it kills him before he can. Read more about Fusakin below.

Full description of the Charisma House:

“apologies im submitting all of the characters from here. you can pick your favorite(s)/the weirdest. **my personal picks (they always get a “wtf”)

**IORI: (bottom right) so basically his entire thing is hes a slutty malewife and loves doing things for others.. but hes also a masochist (in denial). he makes people sign slave contracts with him and forces them to burden him with tasks. he calls himself a dog for the people… he barks… he wears a collar… yeah. also he was a jealous girlfriend (tm) in a valentines day track and shot (we dont actually see it) rikai for “sneaking in chocolate” (he didnt do it) because he wanted to be the only one to give chocolate.

TERRA: (blonde) he loves himself. he’s obsessed with himself. hes married to himself. hes also genderfluid in my heart just look at him. he has 41 mirrors in his room as well as a giant painting of himself.

RIKAI: (glasses) the second normalest out of all of them. hes obsessed with keeping order and is kind of strict but we love him. he doesnt drink alcohol, instead drinking boiling water. he also thinks holding hands before marriage is illegal.

SARU: (pink) his names kei but they call him saru. hes the exact opposite of rikai. he rebels against every little thing like its hardwired into his brain (terra uses this against him). he acts tough but hes scared of ghosts. he tried to crash someones wedding and bring a metal pipe. he also has a lone wolf motif. hes an orphan.

OHSE: (trashbag head) hes really sad and sopping wet and pathetic. every time he makes a mistake his first response is “im sorry ill go die.” he likes reptiles. he never wears shoes his toes are always out. he has ugly ass neon yellow pants. his wiki page has a cw for suicide on it. he jumped out the window to try and kill himself because rikai was nice to him (hes kind of gay for rikai tbh).

**AMAHIKO: (youll know by the desc) dear god. hes basically the ceo of sex. like. he says his occupation is “world sexy ambassador, minister of sexy affairs.” hes also 30 btw. he has NINETY NINE POLES. he calls everything sexy. i mean everything. also he gets seasonal dick pains. he flirts with basically everyone. he wanted to pole dance for the elderly at a grocery store as a greeting. HE STRIPPED HIMSELF NAKED as his christmas present. hes a very silly and whimsical man.

FUMIYA: (orange jacket) hes 19 years old but has probably committed crimes. he has a sweet tooth. his entire thing is hes morally grey so hes by default the normalest. he cant swim. hes the one who invited everyone to the house.. somehow. he breaks the fourth wall and asks the audience for money.”

Full description of Fusakin:

"there are multiple factors contributing to this guys general weirdness so i am going to go over all of them. 1. his character design: like come on just look at the guy. ·×· lookin ass. his design weirdness is further exacerbated by the fact that hes the only playable numa (species name) to wear a shirt (most of them are naked, one wears a rudimentary cloak) so he stands out on account of his epic fashion win. he is gods strongest white boy 2. his general personality: this guy puts stars at the ends of his sentences sometimes this guy uses tildes. he considers himself 'everyones idol' and he is pretty much the most flamboyant character in the entire game. he gets more voice lines than practically any other character he will literally not shut up. did i mention the bushido thing yet i dont think i mentioned the bushido thing he considers himself some sort of honourable samurai type guy. hes just kind of a lunatic though he introduces himself like this

3. and this one is important - the shit hes pulled: so okay this is gonna take a minute. this guy used to be a balloon, right? he used to be a literal balloon, his arms were balloon strings, he fought with a shitton of swords and knives anyway despite the risk, you get the idea. then he decided he wanted a normal body to be on par with his friends because his balloon body was too weak for his liking, so he did dark forbidden alchemy to get an actual body! ...which put him on magical house arrest due to the law of equivalent exchange, so he wasnt able to leave. no one except like two guys checked on him for years. when the party shows up he has them go on some fetch quests to get the ingredients to make a powerful magic pendant. one of the items he has them get is a limited-edition strawberry daifuku that isnt even necessary he just eats it. then he makes the pendant in the microwave. he gives it to the party without saying what it does other than to use it in their hour of need, they use it way way later in the story to fight a powerful enemy, a dude shows up in a giant red suit of armour to fight for them. ...then someone pulls his helmet off and its just fusakin in a suit of armour thats way too big for him because he made it without taking measurements, and it turns out all the pendant was ACTUALLY for was to break his house arrest curse so he could just kind of show up and be cool at a critical moment. oh yeah hes a blacksmith he made that suit of armour and giant sword himself, in his forge room that he hid in the yard of the house he lives in (which is some kind of weird temple) underneath a stone lamp or whatever and its always sweltering hot in there because he leaves the forge running at ALL TIMES so its always at "peak efficiency", also you have to have him use his forge to upgrade your weapons to the highest tier and he goes fucking apeshit with it and theres a bunch of cartoon sound effects as he works. anyway in postgame he shows up and joins your party and everythings going well until way later in when the main fucked up and evil guy pushes a button in his fucked up mecha that causes the maidonium (FUCKED UP IF TRUE MAGIC MATERIAL) in fusakins artificial body to resonate with the traumatized evil spirits being used to power the maidonium in the mecha or whatever im not really sure how that worked. but the important part is it causes a tiny fusakin beast to chestburst out of his back and turn into a fucked up monster creature that immediately steals his sword and starts Killeing People and then later fusakin shows BACK UP in balloon mode again and helps his homoerotic bestie fight off the beast (he has a homoerotic bestie. you fight them during the main story and they have COMBO ATTACKSlike come on. he has the other guys name saved in his phone as "chikorita") hes like "hey i knew this might happen. anyway i promised my master id cut my head off if anything like this happened" and he tries to kill himself by destroying his soul forever to obliterate the beast but then it just fucking kills him before he can do that and thats where things just leave off for him right now we dont know what happens next because the postgame isnt finished yet! if you think this description is long please imagine with me how difficult it is to explain the rest of the plot of the game because good fucking lord i have tried and its always an hourslong explanation Anyway i hope you can consider fusakin for the weird character bracket"

[yandere-fics]

Well that’s one way to ruined trust Eliza my girl 😧

but if I ever found out she did that I would yell at her leaving her lookin like a sopping wet dog. (I mean I’m on the fence with kids. But if Eliza ever pulled that I wouldn’t even want to have kids wit her period. Anyways point is Raffie better)

Lmao, I think I could forgive her for it but only because i would see it coming and hide my birth control much better plus she only does it in situations where she thinks she's gonna like lose you completely and I could never do that to my Eliza(plus I think if she did it even once she'd feel guilty and might whine and confess to it, though if you really do seem like you're gonna leave her then she'd just sit there guilty but not confess. As long as you make up with her she'd confess almost instantly though.)

[reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle]

OC TROPE CHALLENGE

✨ DAY TEN - ACCIDENTAL KISS

Crash was exhausted. There was no way around it, no way for him to deny it any longer as his knees threatened to give out under the weight of his body.

He carried that alcohol soaked body into the kitchen, putting on his third pot of coffee for the day, the warm drink barely doing the job of keeping him awake.

Rain pattered against the trailer windows as Crash stood next to the coffee pot, the pitter patter of the droplets and the distant sounds of thunder putting him at ease.

Ah, Crash thought, dreamily, What perfect napping weather.

The idea of sleep was so tempting, calling out to him from the back of his mind; Crash couldn’t remember the last time he had slept longer than an hour, but he still had a whole chapter of his novel to finish. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the exhaustion that made him so forgetful, but he knew if he were to take a break now, he’d lose his train of thought for the chapter.

He willed his heavy-lidded eyes to last just a moment longer, just so he could finish the chapter. He found himself wishing he had someone to keep him company, to talk at him in order to keep him awake.

As if his wish came true, his front door flew open and in walked his good buddy Felix, inviting himself inside, with a hearty, “Helloooo!” He was practically drenched, shaking his head vigorously, water splashing from it in all directions.

“You’re worse than my dog,” Crash mused, as he leaned up against the kitchen counter.

“Reckon I’m better-looking, though,” Felix retorted, a smile on his face as he shrugged out of his sopping wet jacket.

Crash let a breath out of his nose, nodding slowly, “Reckon so.” He chuckled, “Dry off, there’s some towels in the bathroom. I think some of your clothes might have ended up in my laundry, too. Check my top drawer.”

Felix just nodded, squeezing past him in the small kitchen, making his way toward the bathroom down the short hallway.

Crash clapped him on the back as he passed, before saying fuck it and deciding not to wait for the coffee pot to finish it’s job. He pulled the container off of the warmer, the stray drops of coffee dropping onto the hot plate, sizzling quietly as Crash poured himself another cup of coffee.

When Felix returned, he was dressed in clean, dry clothes, his hair wildly poofy after using Freyja’s hair dryer.

“Lookin’ sharp, bud.” Crash murmured, regarding him with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes.

“Thanks,” Felix returned the smile, only wider and brighter, as he took a seat on the couch, making himself comfortable on the beat-up piece of furniture. “How’s that next chapter coming along?”

Crash leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face and over his mouth as he narrowed his eyes at his typewriter. “Good, I think. I just… can’t remember where I was going with it.”

Felix craned his neck to peek at the typewriter, squinting to get a better look at the words. His mouth moved silently as he read over them.

“This is the part where Duncan is supposed to come in, right? With the prophecy?”

Crash’s eyes widened as he stared at the typewriter. “Shit,” He mumbled, nodding slowly, “You’re a lifesaver. I could kiss you right now.”

If Felix realized the depth of what Crash had just said, he didn’t show it. Instead, he seemed to be analyzing Crash’s face, gazing intently at his sunken eyes.

Crash suddenly felt very self conscious. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Crash must have taken too long to think about it, because Felix frowned, a sight Crash didn’t see too often.

“That settles it.” Felix clapped both of his hands on his knees, grunting quietly as he stood up from the couch, “It’s naptime, my friend.”

Just the word nap made Crash’s eyes grow unbelievably heavy.

“I can’t,” Crash shook his head, although his body was very clearly betraying him, “I have to finish this.”

Felix gave him a very fatherly stare, one that said, Nap. Now. End of discussion.

Crash knew the stare very well, having given it to his rowdy children more times than he could count.

“Listen, your brain will function way better if you get some sleep,” Felix murmured, trying to assuage his worries. Another crash of thunder rolled in the distance. “This is primo nap weather.”

Crash really couldn’t argue with that.

So, he let Felix help him up and guide him to his bedroom, Felix’s strong hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

Once Crash’s back hit his small bed, his aching body suddenly felt so much more relaxed, though his brain still buzzed a million miles an hour. Could he really afford to take a (very-much-needed) break like this?

As if reading his mind, Felix scooted himself onto the bed, grunting and groaning as he tried to fit on the small mattress, nearly scooting Crash all the way against the wall.

Crash just looked over his shoulder, his eyebrow quirked, as Felix let out a knowing, booming laugh.

“Don’t give me that look!” Felix wagged his finger at his friend, “I know you. Known you for years. You’ll pretend to sleep, and the second I leave this trailer, you’ll be back up again.”

Crash couldn’t argue with him. He was definitely thinking about it.

“Ain’t gonna happen, my friend. Sleep time. Now.”

“Ugh,” Crash groaned, snuggling himself further into the bed. “Fine. Turn the lamp off, at least.”

Felix let out another hearty laugh as he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Good choice.”

Crash only rolled his eyes before shutting them tight, lulling off to sleep, the distant sounds of thunder and the rain pattering against the window putting him at ease once again.

About an hour had passed when Crash’s eyes fluttered open, and he suddenly realized his side was just aching, as if he had slept on it wrong on the hard mattress. He sighed heavily, mad at his old man body, before turning over.

Felix was much closer than he had anticipated.

As Crash turned over, his nose bumped Felix’s, startling the man awake just as Crash’s lips accidentally brushed over his.

There was a beat of silence, as neither of them moved, their lips just millimeters apart.

Why was Felix not moving? Why didn’t he move? What was happening?

And then, slowly, Felix’s calloused hand was on his cheek, stroking Crash’s unkempt beard gently.

Crash’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest as Felix closed the gap between their lips, his own beard scratching against Crash’s face.

The kiss was hesitant at first, soft, as if Felix was looking for an invitation to continue.

Crash was, to say the least, in disbelief. He’d harbored a crush for Felix for a while now, finding comfort in the other man after his messy split from his ex-wife, but he had never imagined that the feelings might be returned. He was just happy to have him in his life, as a friend.

Felix pulled away then, a beaming smile on his face, staring into Crash’s sleepy eyes.

“Felix, I-“

Felix shook his head slowly, a kind smile on his face. “We’ll talk about it later. Get some more sleep.”

Crash, completely unsure of what to say, only nodded, snuggling further into Felix’s warm body, relishing in the way Felix wrapped a strong arm around him and placed a kiss on his forehead.

taglist: @randomfandoming1 @hughstheforcelou @annibunnysworld @thecaptainsgingersnap

[edierone]

26 and 77 for the mash up list

Five Miles Is a Long Way to Walk In Florsheims

She really did it. 

She — she just pulled over, told me to get out, and — kept on driving. 

I know I was pissing her off this entire case (but especially today), I know I probably (definitely) pushed it too far when I did the vehicular version of Dutch-ovening her just now, a little juvenile humor to lighten the mood … ok, honestly, with the heat on, it was really kind of nauseating, even for me. 

She’s threatened to dump me out before, like a dad yelling at the kids to pipe down or he’ll make ‘em walk home. 

But — this time, she really did it. And here I am, by the side of a two-lane road in the far yonder of cow country, in a cold drizzling rain, in my suit (minus the jacket, which is … still in the car) and cheap dumb dress shoes from JC Penney — thank god I left my Nunn Bush oxfords at home, I guess? — watching the rented Ford’s taillights recede in the far distance.  

I’ll wait a few minutes. She’ll come back. 

Nope. It’s been fifteen already. New plan: Walk till I’m just over that next rise — probably she’s sitting there, waiting for me to catch up, parked on the narrow shoulder with the radio on one of her channels (theory: might’ve been the fourth airing of “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid” that pushed her over the edge; note to self, that’s enough classic rock for today). I’ll show up, she’ll forgive me, and we’ll get back to finding the Phantom Murderin’ Cowboy of BFE. 

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

Nope. Fox and his tired old dogs are walkin back to Cowburg. 

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

Five miles is a long way to walk in Florsheims, especially when the seams start to give and your socks are soaked and your hair is in your face and even your belt is ruined. It’s enough time to get titanically self-righteously angry, then run out of steam on that and rethink your position, then feel like utter dogshit for the way you’ve treated the most important person in your life, then script and rehearse your most abject apology speech dozens of times, refining it to remove all traces of self-pity and accusation and adding a few jokey lines so she knows it’s you and not some shapeshifting asshole wearing you as a skin suit or something. 

I’m — I’m properly chastened, is what I’m saying, and all I want is to get back in her good graces. And maybe get some dry clothes on; my balls are rubbed pretty raw at this point. 

Room 27, adjoining room 28, the last two on the end farthest from the road. I start to feel just how bad off I am as I cross the parking lot: I’m freezing, my left knee hurts like a bastard, my ankles feel swollen to the point of sloshiness, my back is killing me, and my feet — oh god, my feet … I limp to good old 27, then realize with a wave of despair that my key is in the pocket of my suit jacket, which I can see crumpled on the floor of the Taurus’s backseat. 

Shit. 

Rather than add “broken rental car window” to my list of crimes and expense items, I gather what’s left of my dignity — there ain’t much — and shuffle over to 28. 

“Knock knock, it’s the bog monster of Black Rock Creek, I’m here to —”

The door swings open so fast I almost fall through it. 

There she is, keys in hand and coat on — that determined/worried little furrow between her eyes quickly smoothing out and hiking skyward as she takes in my bedraggled state. I don’t get a chance to give my apology speech, because she’s already launched into hers: “Jesus, Mulder, you look like a drowned rat! I’m so sorry — I thought it was only a mile or so, but it took you so long, I got worried — you — I was so angry, I guess I just didn’t realize how far it was — oh, look at your shoes! I was coming to get you — god you must be so cold —”

The whole time, she’s dragging me inside, running to the bathroom to grab towels which she tosses at me, bending to help me shuck the worthless bits of leather that used to be size 11 Fed footwear, checking through my sopping-wet hair for head trauma — at least I think that’s what she’s doing, but I don’t really care cause it feels pretty good. 

But I can’t let her do all the apologizing, so all the while, I’m trying to interject with my own mea culpa — about how it’s OK, I’m OK, I was being a dumbass and I deserved it and I’m sorry for questioning her take on the third vic’s cause of death (she was right, I was reaching, and being a dick about it besides), if she wants to Dutch-oven me as revenge, I’ll take it like a man … 

That one finally makes her stop fussing and laugh, her big surprising Scully-laugh that makes me feel like a god for bringing it forth. 

“Mulder …” she finally says, looking me up and down with a mixture of pity and amusement that kinda makes me tingle. “I’ll save that idea for another time. Why don’t you go get a hot shower and I’ll — try to find something to eat. I’m already dressed to go out anyway.” 

I agree to this plan, and in less than an hour, we’re side by side in comfy warm sweatpants on the surprisingly decent couch, eating some of the best tortilla soup I’ve ever tasted. She brought icy cold glass bottles of Coke, too — “Hecho in Mexico, oh man, Scully, that’s the stuff!”

She puts hers down and hops up, going to dig something out of her trench pocket. “I almost forgot! I found something else to warm you up.” She holds it out to me — a pint bottle of Jameson’s. 

“Heyyyyyy!” I reach for it, cracking it open and smelling it. “Where’d you get this? I thought this was a dry county.” 

“It is,” she smiles, with an arch aren’t-I-clever look. “I bought it off the front desk clerk — smelled something on her breath and took the big investigative leap. She charged me a pretty big markup, but I thought it was worth it, under the circumstances.” 

I agree, and ask if we have glasses — but this isn’t the kind of place that furnishes barware, so I guess we’ll have to swig it like a couple of winos under a bridge. 

“I don’t mind swapping spit with you, Scully, if you’re ok with mine,” I say, landing a pretty ill-timed glance at her lips that I hope she doesn’t notice. 

She does. It makes her blush a little, which she brazens through with a big manly belt of the Jameson’s. She hands the bottle to me and dares me with her eyes to do better. 

I can’t, of course, but I try, and as the first gulp slides down my throat, warming me from the inside, I have one of those hot pulses of the deepest kind of affection for her — the kind that just shouts in my head, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, so loud that I almost give it voice for real. 

But, of course, I don’t; we finish our dinner, taking occasional nips of whiskey, calling out increasingly sloppy answers at Jeopardy! and then Wheel of Fortune on the crummy motel TV. 

The news is next and neither of us is in the mood, so I click through the five working channels and get lucky: North By Northwest is just starting. I scooch around to get comfortable, but I must’ve stiffened up — both of my hip joints and something up high in my back crack audibly, and the girly scream whistling out of me at the way my calf just seized would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

Well, I guess it’s funny to Scully — she laughs, but apologizes. Then laughs again. She’s ruthless, not to mention mean. I tell her so. She laughs harder. I pout dramatically, and eventually she relents.

“All right, all right — you’ll be useless in the morning if I don’t get you fixed up, and I don’t plan on carrying your bag through DFW airport. Get up on that bed, I’ll massage the kinks out.” 

I swear I do not even have time to open my mouth before she warns, deadly serious: “And if you say one word about this is how some of your favorite movies start —”

Ahh, she knows me, doesn’t she? 

I make like a totally innocent man — pure of heart, mind, and deed — and lie down on my stomach with my feet toward the headboard, propping my chin up on a pillow so I can keep watching the movie. Scully gets to work. 

And she’s good. Got those doctor hands. Whoever’s in 26 must think we’re making the world’s weirdest sex tape in here, or else that we’ve kidnapped a moose that sometimes converses with Cary Grant. 

By the time she gets to my feet, I feel like a melted marshmallow.  

Scully says dreamily, “I remember watching this once somewhere when I was about twelve, and thinking Eve Kendall was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.” I make an inquiring noise. “You know — this scene —”

They’re on the train. Eva Marie Saint’s lookin ol’ Archibald in the eye, telling him she’s twenty-six and unmarried and likes his face, how it’s gonna be a long night, and

“And I don't particularly like the book I've started,” Scully murmurs along. I crane my neck to look back at her; her lips curve upward in the most delicious-looking arc, her eyes twinkling with that sort of mischievous/impressed look she gets toward me sometimes. 

I love it, but it makes me a little jealous, so I tell her so. She just giggles and says, “Oh, don’t be jealous of old crushes!” I want to ask her who’s the crush, Eva Marie or Cary, but she grabs the other pillow and flops down on her stomach beside me and suddenly I can’t talk — I just lie there, grinning like a fool. 

She passes me the one-third-full Jameson’s — one more sip each before she caps it for the night. We watch for awhile longer. During the next commercial break, she turns to me, studying me with a gentle smile.  

“You look a little dopey,” she says fondly, and I laugh. 

“I’m also happy, sleepy, and tipsy — wonder where the other three dwarfs are?”

Her eyes are on the TV again. “Doc … Bashful … Horny …” 

Suddenly my heart is thumping way too hard. When I talk, it comes out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t think ‘Horny’ is one of the original septet, Doc …”

She shifts a little. She’s smiling but she won’t look at me. “Neither is ‘Tipsy,’ but I spotted you that one — fair’s fair, Mulder.”

“Oh, we’re being honest?” Where did this voice come from, the one that makes her shiver? There — just then — she did, she did shiver. I saw it. “Well, maybe there was a Horny. And a Woody, and a — Smitten, and a —”

“I think you better stop there, Prince Charming,” she interrupts, finally half-turning her face toward me. She still won’t make eye contact; maybe she knows, like I do, that if she does that, we don’t stand a chance of keeping this from happening. 

The thing is, I want it to. I have for a long, long time, and I think — so does she, so has she. 

That’s the source of so much of the tension between us; that’s really why we fought earlier, why there’ve been so many of these little flareups lately, embers dropped into dry grass and then stomped out with such vigor. We’ve been careful not to get into situations like this one, where the space separating us is so small that we can feel the other’s exhales on our own skin. 

I drop down from my elbows to lie flat, facing her. I can see her eyelashes silhouetted against the washed-out lights of 1959 onscreen. “Scully,” I say, barely above a whisper. 

It’s a long moment before she finally whispers back, “Not here.”

I know what she means, of course I do. Not on a case, not in a janky motel, not even a little bit under the influence. 

“Then where?” 

She shakes her head, a tiny movement that makes her hair fall forward, obscuring any part of her I could read. 

She doesn’t know? Or she doesn’t want to say? I can’t tell, so I try another question.

“Soon, do you think?”

She tenses, and for a second I think she’s going to get up, or order me out of here. But then she drops her head to the pillow, facing me. Her eyes are huge, serious, full of something unnameable that I nonetheless understand. 

“Soon,” she agrees. 

I nod, nearly overwhelmed by my love for her, the tremendous weight of this moment, the desire that’s been there for so long I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t. 

She reaches to touch my face, skimming lightly along one side, barely barely barely there on my eyelid, so softly; I close my eyes as she traces where she likes. 

Her hand falls eventually, coming to rest in the little valley between us. I take hold of it, gently, risking a glimpse at her. Her eyes are shut now, but I’m not sure she’s asleep. 

“I love you,” I say, but silently, the coward’s way. “So much.” 

If she hears me, it’s only subliminally; that’s all the daring I have tonight. Sweet dreams, Scully, I think as I drift off. Sweet dreams. 

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

[Thanks for the long-ago prompt, anon -- from the Fic Trope Mashup list, Massage Fic and In Vino Veritas]

[edogawatranslations]

999: Alterna (2) - Part 5, Chapters 4-6

Table of Contents | Previous: Part 5, Chapters 1-3

Chapter 4

Clover’s sudden words took me aback.

“Esper... You talkin’ ‘bout someone with psychic powers or somethin’?” Seven snorted in laughter. “If that was true, I’d teleport with you outta this ship right now.”

“I’m not joking. I think you might have the power of precognition.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“Experiencing déjà vu is one form of precognition. You said you’ve seen this operating room before, right? That’s probably because you’ve perceived what happened today in a dream.”

“Yeah, right.”

“But you were also the first one to notice that my brother couldn’t see!”

I didn’t necessarily believe in precognition, but as Clover said, Seven was the first one to point out Snake’s blindness. Until Snake admitted it, I hadn’t noticed anything off about his eyes.

“That’s not precognition. It’s a detective’s intuition -” Seven froze. His eyes opened wide and stared off into space. “...Detective?”

Repeating the word that stumbled out of his mouth, Seven brought his hand to his forehead. His head must have started throbbing again.

“Was I a detective?” He struggled to recall something, but it didn’t seem to end well. “Damn. I can’t remember.”

He shook his head with great force. Large beads of sweat streamed down his forehead, reaching his cheek and the back of his neck.

“Please. Use your powers to figure out where my brother is!” Clover begged with puppy dog eyes.

“Sorry, but all I’ve got is a big body. I don’t got psychic powers or nuthin’. Besides, stuff like that doesn’t even exist, right?” Seven answered bluntly, while wiping away the continuous stream of sweat with the back of his hand.

“You don’t believe in precognition?” Clover asked, raising her voice. “Even though there are tons of clairvoyants in the world?”

“They’re all frauds.”

“Sure, some of them might be frauds, but there are plenty of people who aren’t!” Clover got worked up, her voice turning into a yell. “Don’t you know? Someone even accurately predicted the sinking of the Titanic!”

“What? The hell you sayin’?”

“It’s not a lie. It’s written right there in a book published a whole fourteen years before the incident.”

I had known about that. It was a novella titled Futility, written by an American author named Morgan Robertson. In it, a large passenger liner sank after colliding with an iceberg.

If that was where the similarities stopped, then it would easily be brushed off as mere coincidence. But somehow, the name of the ship, the ocean route, the time of disembarkation, the specifications of the ship - the length, displacement, top speed, the number of passengers and crew, even the number of lifeboats equipped to the ship - all of it was eerily similar to the characteristics of the Titanic. From the location of the accident, to the reason behind the incident, even the damaged parts of the ship - it was almost as if the scene was elaborately sketched out by someone who had witnessed the accident with his own eyes.

...Huh?

I felt dumbfounded.

It happened again. Why do I know these things?

“What’s wrong? Junpei? Your face don’t look so good. You tired?”

I snapped back to the present and saw Seven scrutinizing my face.

“No... It’s nothing.”

I shook my head vigorously. Knowledge of the Titanic seemed to flow effortlessly into my mind, like search results on a computer. If I told them the truth, I would quickly be labeled a person with ESP. It was probably better for me to keep quiet.

“Let’s find that pink key,” I said, changing the subject. I took the key to the medicine cabinet from Seven’s hand and opened the glass door.

“Seven, please tell me. Where is my brother?”

Still unwilling to let it go, Clover continued pestering Seven.

“We gotta open that door first. If you wanna see your brother, help us find that key.”

As I carefully took out bottles of medicine from the cabinet, Seven’s perplexed voice reached my ears. Since the labels were all written sideways, I couldn’t figure out what was written on them.

After moving all of the bottles from the bottom shelf of the cabinet onto the ground, I peeked inside and noticed a small key.

“Found it!” I yelled as I grabbed the key. Seven and Clover quickly rushed over.

“Well done, Junpei,” Seven said, patting my back with force so great that I started coughing.

“But that key... isn’t the right color,” Clover pointed out. She was correct. The door was painted pink, but the key I found was yellow.

I tried using the key on the door, but the shape didn’t quite fit, and it got caught halfway in the keyhole. Our excitement was short-lived.

Giving in to frustration, I attempted to hurl the key onto the ground. However, my grip was weak, and the key flew out of my hand towards the medicine bottles. It hit one of the vials I had placed on the ground dead on, causing the glass to shatter into tiny pieces.

“...Oh.” A sigh escaped my lips. Just how much luck did I have? A pink key appeared in the center of the spilled liquid. It must have been hidden inside the vial.

Right as I was about to step forward to pick up the key, white smoke began to spout vigorously from the wet floor. The liquid must have been one that vaporizes at room temperature.

The scent of sweet olives filled the air. I had smelled the same scent very recently.

The image of the figure in the gasmask popped into my head. The canister he held in his right hand... The white smoke that erupted out of it...

All of the blood in my body suddenly ran cold.

This was the scent of the anesthetic gas I inhaled at that time.

Both Seven and Clover seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

“This ain’t good! Hold your breath and run!”

Before Seven could finish his sentence, I had cupped my mouth and taken off.

Chapter 5

Returning the way we came into the room, we burst into the hallway.

I shut the door behind me and slumped my body against the wall, breathing heavily.

“That smell...” Clover murmured.

“Yeah, there’s no doubt about it. It’s the anesthetic gas Zero put us to sleep with.”

The white smoke seeped into the hallway through the gaps around the door. It would only be a matter of time before the whole area was filled.

“We got no choice. We gotta run back in there holdin’ our breaths, and get that pink door open. You two ready?” Seven said, taking off his beanie and bringing it down to his mouth.

“But what about the question?” Clover asked, her voice quivering.

I patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get the answer by checking the label of the broken vial.”

“Alright, let’s divide up our roles,” Seven said. “You two run to that pink door. I’ll go pick up that key and toss it over. Then I’ll read out what’s written on the label, and you two punch that into the screen.”

Clover and I nodded simultaneously. If things went smoothly, we would be able to get into the next room within ten seconds or so. We could definitely hold our breaths for that long.

“Got it? Then let’s go.”

“Wait.” Clover stopped Seven, and pulled out something resembling a pendant from her pocket. She held it close to her chest and closed her eyes in prayer.

“Whatcha got there?”

“It’s a charm.”

Clover opened her hands, revealing a piece of silver in the shape of a four-leaf clover. Didn’t Santa have an accessory like that too?

“You see, each leaf on a four-leaf clover has a meaning to it: hope, faith, love, and luck. ‘You must not ever lose hope. What’s important is to have faith, and to have love. When all of those conditions are met, good luck is never far behind.’ My brother taught me that.”

“Can I see that for a second?” I asked.

After Clover handed me the piece of silver, I turned it over. The letter <R> was engraved on the back.

“Did you get this from Santa?”

“Huh? Why do you ask that?”

“Oh, it’s just that he had the same thing.”

“What? So Santa was also part of that experiment nine years ago-”

“We’re runnin’ outta time. We gotta go.” Seven’s deep voice cut Clover off.

...That experiment nine years ago?

What Clover said intrigued me, but our top priority was getting out of here. The white smoke was slowly but surely filling up the hallway.

“Three... Two...”

With his hand on the doorknob and a nervous expression on his face, Seven started counting down.

“One...”

I took a deep breath.

“Zero!”

On that signal, the door flung open.

Chapter 6

The room was so utterly white that I couldn’t see where I was going.

Pulling Clover by the arm, I pushed forward to the target door, bumping my shoulder against the wall multiple times along the way.

“Junpei! I’m tossin’ the key over!”

Amidst the white haze, I saw a large, dark silhouette. From that direction, a pink key flew at me in a parabolic arc. As soon as I caught it, I thrusted it into the keyhole.

The screen displayed the question. I pressed the <ANSWER> button, and our bracelets began to flash.

“Seven, the answer!” I yelled.

“Gimme a minute. The smoke’s blockin’ it so I can’t see... Here it is.”

“Hurry!”

I felt my breathing getting heavier by the second.

“I’m no good at English. S... Sop...”

“Soporil!” Clover shouted. “The drug that Ace injected into himself earlier! Soporil was written on the capsule!”

“That’s right. Soporil - that’s gotta be it!” Seven’s voice echoed out from within the mist.

The top of my head started throbbing due to a lack of oxygen. I was close to my limit.

Filled with hope, I typed in <Soporil> and pressed the Enter key.

The detonation timer stopped, and the door swung open.

“Seven, the door’s open! Hurry up!”

The three of us stumbled over one another as we flew through the door. After taking a deep breath to replenish my oxygen supply, I shut the door behind me. Fortunately, this door closed perfectly and had no gaps, preventing the white smoke from leaking out.

I looked around. A dim and dreary hallway stretched endlessly before my eyes.

“...I need a break,” Clover said, clutching her chest in pain while crouching on the cold floor.

“Then wait here. Junpei, you look after Clover. I’m gonna continue lookin’ around.” With those words, Seven dashed down the hallway.

Watching as his figure shrank, I let out a big sigh. Even though we were able to safely overcome the danger, my heart still felt clouded.

Just how many more times will we have to taste this anxiety?

I had a feeling that the goal was still far away from us.

However, the time limit was the only thing that was closing in.

Next: Part 5, Chapters 7-9

[10monthsandoneday-blog]

Shortaki Week, Day 6:

Also on Ao3

First, Previous

Soulmates / Proposal / Shelter  Edit: I’m so, so sorry D: tumblr ate my read my read-more! Sorry! Thank you for reading Last of the fics for this, the other two are comics (which i’m noticing people prefer :o) )

Warning for potential for future polyamory (there’s mostly just teasing towards that idea and it can be taken as platonic). Also there’s a bit of swearing. 

Helga had known who her soulmate was since she was almost three years old. The words carefully sketched into her wrist had been quite clear and distinctive. They were the first words she’d learned to read.

Olga had taught her, in one of the few quiet moments where their parent’s attention was on something other than the elder girl. Helga was two, and hadn’t yet developed an apathy for her sister, so she was happy for the help and attention.

Olga had pulled Helga onto her lap and pointed out the words, letter by letter. “Hi,” she said, tracing the word with her finger. “There’s the ‘h’ and there’s the ‘i’ and together they make the word ‘hi’. Mkay?” Helga nodded seriously. Olga giggled. “Then, there’s an ‘n’ and another ‘i’ and then ‘c’ and finally ‘e’. What’s that spell, Helga? Can you guess?”

Helga thought for a moment, then shook her head sadly. “Sorry.”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t need to apologize.” Olga cuddled her sister for a moment. “It spells ‘nice’. Like when something is good and you like it.”

Helga smiled at her hopefully. “Nice big sister?”

Olga squealed a little. “Nice baby sister too.” She began tracing the last word. “That’s ‘b’, ‘o’, ‘w’. Which spells ‘bow’.” She grinned sweetly at Helga, tugging on the big, pink bow atop the little girl’s head. Helga giggled a little. “So, as a sentence, it says, ‘Hi, nice bow.’ Baby sister, your soulmate sounds like a sweetheart, just like you!”

“Hi, nice bow,” Helga repeated softly, beaming as wide as she could. She brought her hand up to the fabric, clutching it a little.

She vowed to always wear it.

Smiling, suddenly curious, Helga looked at Olga. “What’s yours say?”

Olga’s smile became slightly fixed. “Oh sweetie, that doesn’t matter.” Her hand wrapped around her own wrist, shielding words Helga couldn’t even read. “I’m not my soulmate’s soulmate, and that’s okay.”

Helga gave her a horrified look. “But why? You’re pretty and smart and know ev–every–all the stuff.” She traced over the unreadable words.

‘My name is Mai, do you know where room 209 is?”

Her big sister gave her a sad smile. “Because sometimes, the person you love doesn’t always love you back.”

“Maybe, they don’t know?” Helga said optimistically. Olga looked even sadder.

“Sometimes, it’s nicer to not tell them, because it’ll make them sad.” She shook her head then, and grinned, wide and plastic, around the sadness in her eyes. “Now, enough about that silly stuff, I wanted to teach you piano!”

The next year, as she drifted further and further away from her elder sister, and continued to be ignored by her parents, Helga trekked the twelve blocks to her new preschool. It was raining, a dog stole her lunchbox, and she got mud all over her new jumper, and her bow. It was the worst day her young brain could remember having. She was cold and sopping wet by the time she reached the building.

Suddenly though, the rain stopped. There was a warm, sweet voice from behind her. It made her heart jump in her chest.

“Hi, nice bow.”

She could be excused, then, for the next word to come out of her mouth. “Huh?”

Helga turned then and looked at the face of her soulmate. He looked like sunshine, beaming at her. She loved him immediately.

“I like your bow, ‘cause it’s pink like your pants.” Then he shuffled inside and the rain came back.

Staring at the beautiful boy, she didn’t even feel it.

Later, after the teacher had cleaned her up, there was roll call and Helga learned the sunshine boy’s name: Arnold. She held the precious word as close to her heart as the first three.

She was desperately looking forward to after snack, when there would be free play and she could go say ‘hi’ back. Perhaps she would compliment the nice hat he was wearing, with its pretty blue color. Maybe she could tell him how much she liked the interesting shape of his head, or his sunshine smile. Maybe she would start with an apology for such an uninteresting soul mark.

At snack time, though, the older boy, Harold, stole her crackers. And that was when things began to go very wrong. Arnold walked over and held out his own crackers in offering.

“Want mine?”

For a moment, she stared at his open face, then at his hand, holding the plate of crackers. She nodded and he handed them off. As he waved goodbye, she noticed the odd, long collection of words tangled around his wrist. She blinked, but she was too far away to read it (if she even could).

It wouldn’t connect until a little while later what that would mean.

At that point, though, she was simply filled with elation at his kind gesture. She stared as he made his way back to his friend with the funny hair who held out one of his own crackers for Arnold. She sighed helplessly and stared at the boy with the oblong head, hands clasped together.

Then the laughing began….

——

Helga was certain by the time she was four that she was not Arnold’s soulmate. Her heart ached at that, and she knew she could never tell him. Arnold could never know that he was her soulmate.

After she decided that, she made herself a bracelet–like the one she saw Olga wearing all the time–and covered up the carefully written script.

The bracelet covered up her soulmark, and her hateful words covered up her love.

Because her love for Arnold didn’t simply go away because she knew she was one half of a soul (but, oh boy, did she try). No, it simply grew with each passing year. As he continued to be sunshine personified, she fell more and more in love with the unknowing boy.

She didn’t get a good look at Arnold’s soulmark (which remained uncovered even as he got older) until she was six and a half. As she sat next to him, she eyed his wrist as she pretended to work on their school project.

“You have a funny lookin’ head. I like it. Wanna play blocks?”

She’d known from almost the start that she wasn’t his soulmate, but it still kind of hurt to get the confirmation.

(Which might have been why she took out her heartache by dumping glue on his head.)

——

When Helga was almost ten, she confessed her feelings to Arnold. She told him everything. She told him about the stalking. She told him about her shrine, and about all her poetry.

….She told him almost everything.

She couldn’t tell him about her mark. She couldn’t bear to. Because to have that part of her rejected would be horrible. But what would be worse than rejection would be obligation.

She couldn’t do to Arnold what had happened to her mom.

Miriam had never had a soulmark, but Bob had had hers. So, though they had nothing in common and barely knew each other, they had dated and, eventually, married. But Helga wasn’t blind. She could see how trapped in her marriage Miriam felt.

To do that to Arnold was just unthinkable.

So, she kept that part a secret. And when the time came that Arnold gave her a way to deny her own confession, to go back to hiding her love from him, she gladly took it. With that, she went back to loving him in secret.

—-

When Helga was ten and a half, she went to the jungle on a class trip.

She knew the real reason the trip had came to be–that was, so that Arnold could look for his missing parents. Arnold didn’t know that she knew, but when push came to shove, she obviously helped him out.

Of course, accidents were bound to happen, so Helga shouldn’t have been surprised to lose her bracelet. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Arnold noticed it.

She was surprised by both, mostly because Arnold was not the only one capable of being oblivious.

She had passed out after the waterfall. When she had awoken, Arnold was tending to her. Had she had time and ability to be alone just then, she would have swooned over it. There was an odd, almost blank look on Arnold’s face though. He seemed upset about something. Helga chanced a question.

“What’s wrong, Football Head?”

Arnold blinked and made a bad attempt to smile at her. “Hi, Helga, are you feeling better?”

She scowled at him. “I ache like no tomorrow and I never want to look at water again, but I’m just peachy. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He was lying, badly.

Helga gave him a flat look. “Spill paste-for-brains, You’re no good at keeping secrets.”

Arnold scowled. “But you’re great at keeping secrets,” he said, voice hard. He tapped her wrist.

Her bracelet was gone.

“Ah,” she said, sitting up and lifting her wrist to look at Arnold’s neat handwriting. She had avoided looking at the thing too much over years, to avoid more heartache than necessary, but the script had shifted and changed somewhat, as Arnold’s handwriting had improved.

“Helga, please don’t lie. Is that mark mine?” Arnold’s voice was quiet. It lost the edge it’d had. Now, he just sounded kind of sad.

“Yes,” Helga murmured. She stared at the ground. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

When Helga replied, her voice came out sharp as glass. “What exactly was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Football Head, along with being freakishly in love with you, you’re also my soulmate, but I’m not yours.’”

“Yes.”

Helga felt like crying. “Why? Why would I do that to myself? And more importantly, why would I do that to you? You already have a soulmate.”

Arnold grabbed her hand. She looked up at him, past the burning and blurring building up in her eyes. His face was intense. “Because you are my soulmate Helga.”

Helga blinked away the tears in her eyes and scowled, pointedly staring at his wrist. He followed her gaze and let out a short laugh. “I guess you haven’t been stalking me close enough, if you don’t know about the other one.”

He let go of her hand and pulled off one of his shoes, followed by a drooping sock. Etched into the fine knob of his ankle, in the purple pen that Helga preferred, was an single word.

“Huh?” Helga echoed herself from so very long ago.

She was very confused. It must have shown on her face, because Arnold spoke.

“I’ve always had more than one soulmark, it runs in my family.” He blushed. “Grandpa says it’s something to do with having a lot of room for love in our hearts.”

He’d said the word. He’d said the word that had freaked him out so much on that rooftop. He’d said it while talking about his soulmark.

Helga might’ve swooned slightly. But, she was still confused. “But if that’s mine, then who does this mark belong to.” She pointed back to his wrist.

Arnold grinned. “That’s Gerald’s mark.”

Helga wasn’t actually that surprised. But…. “I was almost certain that he liked Phoebe, and he’s never seemed to like boys like that….”

Arnold actually grinned cheekily at her omission of him seeming like that. “He does like her, and he’s pretty certain he only likes girls. The marks don’t have to be the d-dating kind of love. I’d’ve thought you would’ve known that.”

Helga shrugged shyly. “After I’d decided you didn’t have my mark, I didn’t really wanna think about it…..”

He gave her a sympathetic look and then glanced at her hand briefly, before grabbing it. “So, um, if it’s okay with you, can I give you my answer to what you said on the roof of FTi?”

Helga gulped but nodded.

He gave her the sunshine smile and began speaking. “Uh, well, I’m still only ten, so I don’t really know if it’s completely in the r–rom—the dating way, but I think I might love you Helga.” Then he leaned forward, kind of slowly, and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. It was the utter opposite from Helga’s kiss almost half a year before, but Helga melted.

She would take Arnold’s kiss over the first one any day.

“Hey, guys, are you in–”

Helga and Arnold pulled back from each other to stare at Gerald. He was grinning widely, arms crossed.

“We were just–”

“He was only–”

“There was a bug–”

Helga sent Arnold a flat look at this and rolled her eyes at Gerald. “We were kissing.”

Arnold went beat red.

Gerald sighed in mock sadness. “Guess that means you’re off the market then, Arnold.”

If anything, the blond boy went redder, slouching against Helga. “Gerald.”

Gerald held up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway if you two are done with the smooching–”

“Gerald!” Helga and Arnold said together. Their faces were now a matching shade of red.

The other boy laughed. “We really should get going.”

Even with Arnold helping, Helga wobbled as she got to her feet. She wasn’t sure how much of it was from her impromptu trip down the waterfall, and how much was from just the last few minutes. After she took a moment to get her balance, the trio were off once again.

Their moment was set to the side, to be picked up after Arnold’s parents were safe.

—–

When Helga was fifteen, she broke up with her soulmate.

Arnold was going to go live with his parents in San Lorenzo. Or, at least, he had the opportunity. He had been debating it, and he’d been leaning towards staying in Hillwood for Helga.

But she knew how desperately Arnold coveted his time with his parents. And she knew that he would miss either party he left behind. So, Helga made the choice for him.

She put a hand on his cheek, brushing away a stray tear. “Darling, I’ve had you for thirteen years, they’ve had barely five.”

“Helga, I….”

“They need you, Arnold, and as much as I–” need you. “–want you here with me….you need to go with them.”

They were both crying then, hugging and pressing kisses wet with tears to each other’s faces. She breathed in his warm smelling hair, ran soft hands over the lovely shape of his head, listened to the soft hitching of his breath, and committed it all to memory.

Finally, she pulled away, still leaving one hand pressed to his cheek. He leaned into it, almost desperately. “It’s only for a couple years,” she told him.

He turned to press a kiss to the palm of her hand and she resisted the urge to start crying again.

“I’ll miss you,” he told her, rather plaintively.

She gave in to a few more tears. “Oh, my dearest, you know I’ll miss you too. But, please, smile for me, and enjoy the time we have left.”

Arnold gave her a variation of the sunshine smile. Since they had started dating, Helga had seen many different versions of his special smile. But she had never seen this one:

This one, where he was smiling around the shards of a shattered glass heart.

She immediately burst into more tears. “I love you,” she wept.

Arnold folded her into another another hug, and she nosed into his shoulder, shaking them both with her crying. “Oh Helga, you know I love you too.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and Helga felt tears in her hair.

That wouldn’t be the last time either of them cried that night.

——

When Helga was almost eighteen, she proposed in a letter.

It’s the first letter she’d sent to Arnold. She had written more than a hundred letters over the past two and a bit years that her soulmate had been gone, but she could never bear to send them. It felt like sending her heart through the mail, and it would rob her emotionally to do so too much. Arnold had sent her plenty, and she cherished every one she got, but she never sent any back.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t keep in contact with her technically-ex-boyfriend. They spoke on the phone whenever he was able (Bob did not appreciate the long distance fees, but she could care less what he thought). And whenever Arnold had an internet connection, they made good use of their Instant Messenger.

But the only letter she sent was also the only one she would ever have to.

“My Dearest Arnold,

Surprised? Me too. I didn’t think I would ever get up the guts to do this, but here I am, writing you a letter with actual paper. And, of course, my purple pen that we both adore. I know we’ve talked over the phone about why I haven’t done this before, but I still wanted to apologize. You’ve been so very, very patient with me, and I still say I don’t deserve you.

Also, I wanted to remind you that you’ve got a hundred and twenty-five letters (and counting!) waiting for you here when you get back.

Anyway, before I get to the actual reason I’m writing this thing, let me fill you in on what’s been happening since the last time we talked on the phone (mostly because I’m a chicken-shit and want to put off what I’m writing this for, but what can you do).

Gerald and Phoebe are still together–though Gerald has said that he’s still waiting for you to come home to him….and I think he was only half joking. (I swear the two of you’s romantic/queerplatonic/what-the-fuck-ever tension is as bad as his and Phoebe’s was. When you get home, me and Phoebe are probably going to lock the two of you in a closet until you talk it out or make out.)

I’m not kidding dollface.

Grandpa and Grandma and the borders are all fine. Oscar finally got around to taking his GED and he actually passed. Suzie is over the moon. Mr. Potts proposed to Lola, freaking finally. Mr. Hyuhn is over that nasty bout of bronchitis. He’s doing good now–and Mai Hyuhn has all but officially moved in to help out around the boarding house, now that grandpa and grandma are nearing their nineties (though with that social work job of hers, she can only give up so much of her time). They all say ‘hi’.

Actually, speaking of Mai, I’ve been, maybe, working on a matchmaking project–probably since, with you not around, I have to get rid of all my hopeless romantic-ness somehow. I don’t think I ever told you, but the reason I was so convinced in grade school that I wasn’t your soulmate, is because that’s what Olga said about her soulmate–that they’d already had a soulmark for someone else. But, I noticed a few weeks back that Mai keeps both her wrists covered, and I asked her about it (yeah, I’m as rude as ever, what else is new?). She says she found one of them, but the other one she hasn’t seen since high school–and she even showed me them. And one of them totally matched with Olga’s. So, lately, I keep setting the two of them up to run into each other. Mai’s definitely catching on, but she so doesn’t mind, and Olga is more oblivious than you used to be. Hopefully they’ll figure things out before you and I are in our thirties or something.

So. Um. I was thinking of coming up to visit you soon. I know my last visit there didn’t go so well (what with me being sick the entire time), but I really miss your dumb face. Like a lot. And I was thinking about some other stuff too. The last couple times we talked on the phone, we talked a bit about getting poli sci degrees, and about me being a writer, about you doing something with all your experience in San Lorenzo. We did talk a bit about colleges, but what do you think about UoW? It’s got a bunch of good programs and scholarships, and it’s only about a three hour drive to Hillwood. What do you think?

Heck, to save on financials, we could get married before we go!

…That wasn’t how I wanted to put that sentence….But I’m forcing myself to keep it.

I know we haven’t officially gotten back together yet (though I don’t think we officially ‘broke up’ either), but I’m serious. I’ve thought about this for a while now, and I genuinely want to marry you Arnold.

The question is though, do you want to marry me?

I’ll wait for your answer before I do anything serious.

(I maybe might have already bought you a ring)

Love,

Your Helga”

Arnold was in Hillwood within a week, at her door.

“You asked me to marry you through a letter,” he stated blankly as Helga opened the door.

Helga blushed, but couldn’t help but grin. “Hello to you too Arnold.”

Arnold blinked, and then laughed and pulled her in for a hug and peck on the lips. “Hi, My Helga.”

She hugged him back. “I missed you,” she whispered into his neck. His hold tightened.

“I missed you too.”

When he eventually pulled back again, his eyebrows were raised. “You asked me through a letter to marry you,” he said again. “You said you bought me a ring.”

Helga’s laugh was nervous. “I can’t tell if you’re mad at me for it or not.”

“I’m not mad,” he reassured her. “And I shouldn’t be surprised, but you’re so good at surprising me.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, but after a bit, Helga shifted uneasily. “So, I assume, if you’ve made a rather impromptu visit to Hillwood, you have an answer….”

He beamed at her, and it was the sunshine smile, wider than she had ever seen it before. “Of course I want to marry you Helga.” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly. “I was actually planning to propose to you when I got back officially….you’re not the only one who has a ring….” His last words were a mumble.

Helga tugged him in suddenly for a kiss, joy rushing through her veins like sugar. Arnold kissed her back, his delight just as obvious as her own.

“I love you, soon-to-be Mr. Shortman-Pataki,” Helga said, pulling back just enough to murmur against his lips. He grinned against hers.

“Well I love you back, soon-to-be Mrs. Pataki-Shortman.”

Then he went right back to kissing her and that was all they did for a time.

——

“You know I wasn’t kidding about Gerald and that closet.”

“I know.”

“I might do it at the wedding.”

“I wouldn’t even be surprised.”

“Yeah, you would.”

“Yeah, I would.”

[one-of-us-blog]

GoldenEye (1995)

Today Drew is forced to watch and recap 1995’s GoldenEye, the seventeenth James Bond adventure. It’s time for a new Bond, baby! After a potentially devastating satellite is hijacked, it’s up to Bond to find out who’s behind the theft and what they’re planning. Can this new Bond grapple with the skeletons in his closet long enough to prevent an orbital apocalypse?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, thanks for bearing with me while I’ve been slacking off on my One of Us! duties! I know you’re in the midst of a 2.5 streak right now, quite understandably given the level of quality The Golden Palace is known for, but I hope you’re still enjoying this last gasp of fun before your time with the Girls is done! Speaking of, my brief time with Timothy Dalton is behind me, and that means it’s time for me to get used to brand new Bond! I’m sure these next few movies will be the best ones yet!

Buttocks tight!

Screenplay by Jeffrey Caine, Bruce Feirstein, Michael France & Kevin Wade, film directed by Martin Campbell

After a revamped gun barrel sequence, we start off with some high stakes action as Agent 007, James Bond (Pierce Brosnan), and Agent 006, Alec Trevelyan (Sean Bean), storm a Soviet chemical weapons plant with the intention of blowing it sky high. The agents are discovered before Bond can finish planting the bombs, and Trevelyan is executed by General Ourumov (Gottfried John). Man, even when you know Sean Bean is inevitably going to die you still hate to see him go before we’re even out of the cold open! Bond manages to make it out of the facility and hitches a ride on a plane that’s just about to crash. He flies to safety as the facility explodes behind him.

We cut to our opening credit sequence, featuring a lot of hammers and sickles (so you know those Russians are up to no good once again), eye imagery, explosions and sexy ladies half-heatedly destroying Soviet monuments with sledgehammers. All of this plays out while Her Majesty Queen Tina of Turner belts out the film’s titular tune, “GoldenEye”.

Jumping a few years into the future, Bond is terrorizing an MI6 agent sent to evaluate him by driving recklessly and pursuing a sexy lady (Famke Janssen) in a sexy red car. The agent’s had enough of this and orders him to pull over, so he does and they bang. Oh, James! Bond catches up with the sexy lady at a casino (I’m beginning to realize Bond just might have a gambling problem, dude spends a whole lot of time in casinos). They flirt over baccarat and the lady introduces herself as Xenia Onatopp. Bond gets a little too curious about Onatopp and she makes a speedy retreat on the arm of an admiral. Bond checks in with Moneypenny (Samantha Bond) through his car radio, and she informs him that Onatopp has ties to the Janus crime syndicate.

Meanwhile, we find out that Onatopp is a F-R-E-A-K. She kills the admiral she left the casino with by choking him to death with her thighs while she apparently nuts and someone steals the admiral’s credentials. The mystery thief uses the stolen credentials to board a French Navy ship where a fancy new helicopter is being shown off. Bond snoops around and finds the real admiral’s dead as hell body while Onatopp and her mystery pal start killing people left and right and steal the helicopter while everyone else thinks they’re just flying it as part of the demonstration.

We cut to Severnaya, Siberia, where some nerds are busy doing some nerdy satellite stuff. One of the scientists, Boris Grishenko (Alan Cumming), has fun sexually harassing his colleague, Natalya Simonova (Izabella Scorupco). Simonova goes for coffee while Grishenko goes up for a smoke. His smoke break is interrupted, though, by the arrival of the stolen helicopter. It turns out Onatopp’s fake admiral friend is none other than General Ourumov! Oh shiiit! Ourumov has the personnel of the facility give him the control disks to the GoldenEye satellites, and then every single nerd in the facility is gunned down by a sopping wet Onatopp. Every nerd, that is, but Simonova, who was safely in the kitchen while all her friends were being massacred.

Onatopp and Ourumov bring one of the GoldenEye satellites online, but one of the guards in the facility stays alive long enough to trip an alarm. Onatopp discovers Simonova hiding in the kitchen’s ventilation shaft and fills the ceiling with lead in an attempt to kill her before she and Ourumov beat it in their helicopter.

Bone arrives at MI6 and we get our first look at our new Moneypenny, who holds her own against Bond’s flirtations and honestly just seems cool as hell. Bond gets the skinny on the Siberia Situation from a fellow agent who makes a point to mention what a bitch the new M is, but, uh-oh, M (living legend and all-around icon Dame Judi Dench) is standing right behind him. Back in Siberia, it turns out that Simonova tricked Onatopp and was actually hiding in some cabinets. She emerges just as one of the GoldenEye blasts the whole facility to hell, destroying several nearby jets in the process. Simonova barely manages to survive the chaos around her, but even though she’s still alive she’s now stuck in a non-functioning underground facility she can’t get out of. Luckily the roof nearby collapses, allowing her to climb to the frigid Siberian surface. She stumbles across a team of sled dogs mourning their former master, and hallelujah she’s saved.

M and Bond he a little tête-à-tête and M reveals that Ourumov is likely involved in all of this. Bond is still smarting from the death of 006, and M knows he’s got a vendetta on his mind. M gives one of the best monologues I’ve seen in this series, laying out exactly what Bond thinks of her, what she thinks of him and her willingness to send him on the mission to shut down GoldenEye even if it will get him killed. She still tells him to come back alive, though, and I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

General Ourumov reports to his higher-ups and tries to blame the whole thing on some pesky separatists while also lying about there being more than one GoldenEye satellite in the skies. Ourumov reveals that our good pal Grishenko was not found among the dead at the lab, and he learns that Simonova also survived. Uh-oh, now he’s got a witness to deal with!

Bond visits Q and gets a new car with all the bells and whistles, a belt with a grappling belt and an explosive pen. These Svoboda’s Condoms are really starting to pile up! Bond flies to Saint Petersburg where he meets… No… No, it can’t be! Joe Don Baker? AGAIN?! What in the name of hell is that dude doing back in a Bond movie? This is like J.W. Pepper all over again! Ugh. This time Joe Don is playing CIA operative Jack Wade. And the way we get to see Bond confirm his identity is by showing him a rose tattoo on his ass. I honestly can’t take this. Meanwhile, Simonova is doing it for herself and, after sledding back to civilization, makes contact with the very much alive Grishenko and he tells her to meet him at a church. He brings Onatopp with him to the meeting, so Simonova is able to deduce that her gross friend was in on the workplace massacre she barely survived.

Wade arranges for Bond to meet with Zukovsky, a business rival of the mysterious Janus. Zukovsky agrees to set up the meeting, but later Bond is met by not Janus but Onatopp. Onatopp begins to fightfuck Bond, but he’s able to overpower her. He holds her at gunpoint and she takes him to Janus’ collection of dismantled Soviet statures. Bond makes his way in to confront the mysterious Janus. Turns out Janus is none other than Alec Trevelyan, very much alive and evil as hell! Oh shiiiiit!!! Trevelyan explains how he’d become disillusioned with MI6 and life as a spy and how now he’s just in it for himself. He’s also mad at Bond for surviving the incident back at the weapons facility, because Bond was supposed to die back there but he got away and set off the bombs, resulting in Trevelyan getting some nasty burn scars all over his mug.

Bond is shot with a tranq dart and the next thing he knows he’s tied up in the stolen helicopter with Simonova. The helicopter’s rockets fire, but they’re programmed to blow up the very helicopter they were just birthed from. Bond is able to activate the ejector at the last second and he and Simonova manage to survive. Unfortunately they’re immediately swarmed by troops and locked up in a prison somewhere. Bond demands answers from Simonova, and after some gentle roughing up she relents.

A Russian interrogator arrives and demands to know where the controls for GoldenEye are. Bond says he doesn’t have them and the Russian doesn’t believe him. The two squabble before Simonova cuts in and admits that she saw Ourumov get the controls, and finally clues the Ruskie in on the fact that there’s a second, still-functioning GoldenEye satellite to worry about. Speak of the devil, a disheveled Ourumov storms in and promptly shoots the interrogator and the guard. He tosses Bond his own gun so he can make it look like he killed Bond while he was trying to escape. Bond gets the drop on him and he and Simonova actually do manage to escape while narrowly avoiding being pumped full of lead curtesy of the General’s guards. Through some bad luck Simonova winds up being captured by Ourumov, but Bond manages to escape.

He’s not letting Ourumov go that easily, though, and he pursues the General through the streets of Saint Petersburg in a goddamn tank. Wait a second, we all know these movies have a long, long history of chase scenes, but I think this might be the first time Bond has been the one actually doing the chasing! We really are in a new era, folks! Ourumov manages to get Simonova onto a train before Bond can catch him. Oh, and Onatopp’s here, too. Simonova is introduced to Trevelyan, who promptly forces himself on her and if she hadn’t landed a well-timed slap I shudder to think what that Two-Face lookin’ jerk would have done to her. Bond’s always a quick thinker, so he simply parks his tank in the path of the train and causes it to crash. Bond boards the train and holds Trevelyan at gunpoint, but Trevelyan points out that he’s got the only bargaining chip in this situation. He has Ourumov bring Simonova in at gunpoint, and tells Bond to choose between shooting him or saving Simonova. Bond attempts to bluff Trevelyan and say he doesn’t care about Simonova, but Trevelyan doesn’t buy it and he makes a break for it. Bond shoots Ourumov to save Simonova, and that’s one less name I have to keep copying and pasting while I type this up.

Trevelyan informs Bond via radio that he’s going to blow up the train like Bond blew up his jacked mug, but Simonova realizes she can use the computer on the train to track GoldenEye’s satellite dish. She hacks into Grishenko’s system and gets to work while Bond laser cuts a way out of the locked train and Grishenko tries to stop her hack. Simonova is not to be deterred, however, and she figures out that the dish is in Cuba. Bond yanks her out of the train right before it explodes. She’s hot to trot after almost dying, so we take a break from the action to watch them make out.

We jump right to Cuba, where Bond is met by… uggghhhhh… Wade. We only have to deal with him long enough for him to give them a plane to do an aerial search for the dish with, then we hang out with Bond and Simonova for the night before getting back to that plot thing. They’re soaring through the skies, looking for that dish, when a rocket comes out of nowhere and shoots them down. They both survive, but they’re knocked out and the next thing Bond knows Onatopp is rappelling out of a helicopter toward him. They scrap for a minute, then Bond uses her machine gun to shoot down the helicopter she’s still attached to, causing her to be crushed by her own harness against a tree.

In his Cuba facility, Trevelyan pressures Grishenko to get the dish ready sooner than he’d like. Turns out the reason no one could find this giant satellite dish is because it was disguised as the basin of a dam, but once the water is drained it’s ready to broadcast. Trevelyan spots Bond and Simonova and has his men go after them while he and Grishenko prepare to fire GoldenEye. Bond and Simonova make it into the facility and Bond allows himself to be captured, leaving a handy mine on a gas tank behind him. While everyone’s distracted with him, Simonova gets to work hacking into the system to stop GoldenEye. Unfortunately for Bond, Trevelyan is familiar with Q’s handiwork and knows he can disable the mine Bond left behind with his wristwatch. Now that he’s so close to the action, Bond figures out that Trevelyan is having Grishenko hack into the Bank of England and steal all its money right before GoldenEye is fired. GoldenEye is basically an EMP, so it’ll erase any traces of Grishenko’s dirty work and leave Britain’s economy in ruins while Trevelyan is rolling around on a mattress covered in spondoolies like that kid from Blank Check.

Bond attacks Trevelyan’s ego by calling him a petty thief. Simonova is captured, but not before she activates a decryption. Simonova is brought face to face with Grishenko, and my girl decks him flat on sight! It’s truly a delight. Bond notices that Grishenko is clicking away at that exploding pen Q gave him, but more on that later. Trevelyan tells Grishenko to go undo whatever Simonova did, but Grishenko is so busy being a cock and insulting Simonova’s programming abilities that he’s taken off guard when an alarm alerts him to the fact that Simonova’s told GoldenEye to fall into the atmosphere. Trevelyan holds a gun on Simonova and tells her to fix his satellite, but Grishenko insists he can do it himself. He’s clicking away at that pen but not enough to activate it, so eventually Bond gets bored and just tosses the pen into the tank of gasoline from earlier and causes a massive explosion. Bond and Simonova both make it to an elevator and split up, with Simonova heading for a helicopter and Bond attempting to manually disable the GoldenEye dish. Trevelyan leaves a guard holding a gun on Grishenko while he tries to do something with the computers and Trevelyan himself goes after Bond.

Trevelyan catches up to Bond and the two get into a knock down, drag out fight that ends with Trevelyan holding Bond at gunpoint. Bond escapes by falling down a ladder, but Trevelyan is right behind him. After a quick twist and tussle, Bond sends Trevelyan falling down onto the GoldenEye dish after making sure he’s not just doing it because it’s his duty. GoldenEye burns up in the atmosphere and Simonova holds a helicopter pilot hostage so she and Bond can get a ride out of there. The machinery of the dish falls onto Trevelyan and kills him, and Grishenko dies when some liquid nitrogen explodes and freezes him solid. Talk about a tidy ending!

Now safe, Bond and Simonova begin to make out until… ugghhhhh… Wade shows up and informs them that they’re surrounded by hidden Marines. They all head off to Guantanamo and Bond and Simonova presumably have sex in a helicopter.

The End

~~~~~

What a wild ride! This is one of the few Bond movies I’d seen before starting this phase of the blog, and it was just as much fun this time as it was the first time I saw it. I love Simonova, and I felt Brosnan did a fantastic job as Bond. As much as I loved my dear Roger Moore, I felt that Brosnan managed to make the character a bit more serious without majorly overcorrecting and taking himself way too seriously like Timothy Dalton did. Sean Bean was a great villain, but for me Judi Dench really stole the show as M. I’ve never had much of an opinion about M one way or another before now, but I absolutely loved Dench’s take on the character. I actually also really loved Samantha Bond’s take on Moneypenny even though we didn’t get to see much of her, and I hope she gets a bit more screen time in the future. Also, Grishenko was obviously the worst, but I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for Alan Cumming. Aside from all these great performances, the story of this movie was tight and fun, and never got too convoluted or overly ambitious with a bunch of unnecessary side plots. Just to show you how much I enjoyed this movie, I’ll admit that I usually find the chase scenes in these movies to be… well, let’s just say I think most of them could be a lot shorter. But seeing Bond in a tank in this movie was fantastic! I really had a blast with this flick, and I can’t say enough good things about it.

What the hell, I’m giving GoldenEye a full QQQQQ on the Five Q Scale!

The good times just keep on rolling around here, and before you know it Eli will be back to share his recaps of the problematic as hell “Camp Town Races Aren’t Nearly as Much Fun as They Used to Be” and the not as problematic “It's Beginning to Look a Lot (Less) Like Christmas”, the next two episodes of The Golden Palace, and after that I’ll drop my latest hot recap on you as I cover the next James Bond film: Tomorrow Never Dies.

Until then, as always, thank you for reading, thank you for hacking and thank you for being One of Us!

[wolf-with-no-pelt]

Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone

Mood music.

It'd never really been the sound. The sight. Or even the noise. It was the fuckin' smell. Death had a scent. Copper and iron. Hot, then cold. Shit. Bile. And something inherently missing. Maybe if he was more poetic or some bullshit, he'd be able to name it. But all he had was some kinda lack that stung and burned, and made his stomach upheave.

That was why he liked being out and above, away from the reek. But Sean and Connor had gotten that duty and were holed up somewhere above the prison safe and out of sight where they wouldn't be found so they could watch and be sure shit didn’t hit the fan. Probably all sorts of fuckin' cozy too, with dinner and being in the heat away from the goddamn rain. 

When was the last time they'd had a dry day? He was pretty sure it’d been raining since Alannah had come home tattered and broken, big blue eyes glassy with disbelief and detachment. All that light gone.

It was like the heavens were weeping for what had happened. 

He silently scrubbed his worn fingers over Celty's head, the Shepard sitting in the passenger seat of his beat up truck. For a split second, he glanced at the dog who panted quietly in the humid damp, then looked back up to the dim light of the prison's release doors. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, or the anger would get the best of him before he was ready to let that devil free.

All this fucking cold and dampness made his knee ache, stabbed into his bones. He shoulda brought another dose of meds, but he hadn't thought he'd be outside so damn long.

He was pretty sure it'd been close to an hour when the doors finally fucking opened.

Squinting through the downpour, he finally clocked Albie as he came through the doors, out of his uniform. Shunting the truck door open, Riley swung out onto the pavement to hustle through the rain, feeling grim. His knit cap quickly became sopping wet, and he could feel each cold trail of water slinking past the collar of his shirt and down his spine as though some portent, but he gave up on trying to wipe it away. 

What a shit fucking day. Then’d all been shit since Alannah.

"Albie! Lookin' like ye los' some o'tha' weigh', ye fa' bastard," Riley called out as he jogged up, stepping under the protection of the awning as he kept his head tipped down under the brim of his knit hat.

He only had a precious few seconds where the copper was in the camera's blind spot, and as Albie looked up to see who was talking to him, his inquisitive gaze was met with a meaty fist. Riley felt the crunch and snap of the man's nose giving out, blood and snot pouring over his quivering mouth while both hands flew up to cup his face instinctively. He stepped in close and gut punched the cop. The fat fucks were hard to tell sometimes if shit connected beneath all that blubber, but Albie hunched inward as though he'd been stabbed with a mighty wheeze that echoed in the soft patter of rain.

Half hanging on the bruiser's arm, he struggled to gain air and probably yell for help, but Riley swung around to sling a heavy arm over the stout fellow's shoulders and clamp a hand over his mouth before he could get a sound out. Like they were old drinking buddies about to hit the bar, Riley hoisted the man up to his feet and guided him along at a quick shuffle so that he could stuff him into his truck and slam the door shut.

Celty had hopped to the backseat, but kept her maw poked between the two of them, teeth bared in a savage but silent snarl in a warning as Riley slung himself in and peeled out of the parking lot. Tearing off the hat as he drove, he scraped his hand through his hair and flicked the wipers on, glancing at Albie from the corner of his eye as the man’s head lolled loosely. Musta hit harder than he'd thought.

Before he'd even registered that they were really driving, he was already half carrying the reeling man through the door of the humble base of operations they'd taken over, blessedly out of the rain. He gave a sharp whistle for Celty to follow, meeting with a couple of men who took Albie off his hands.

"Good on ye," one of them spoke, clamping a hand on his shoulder in a quick bulldog's grip, then they disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.

"Fucker's gonna pay, ay ma'e?" Riley didn't recognize the second man, but that wasn't all that odd.

"Jus' call me when shite's settled, yeah?"

Hellfire had a way of digging in deep inside of him, burning like a hungry wildfire on the highlands that the rains couldn't stop. He had been angry before, but it had been a razor sharp focus, like a ravenous beast stalking his meal for the evening. But now it promised a volcanic eruption, beat knuckles tangling white as he clenched his fists.

When he lashed out, it was right at Albie's face again. He wasn't sure when he'd gotten there, but fuck all if it didn't feel good. Curses tumbled out of him like shards of glass, each punctuated with a blow rained down on Albie.

"Who the feck told ye tha' ye could pu' yer 'ands on 'er?!"

Blood popped and spat from Albie's mouth, teeth stained pink. One was missing that hadn't been before. Alannah would like that tidbit. It might even bring a bit of light back to her eyes. They were so dull now, just a grey sky instead of the unbound blue.

Riley heard a faint crack through the haze of bloodlust -- and he woke with a start.

The scent of blood was still in his nose, and something missing. Something intrinsic.

He rolled, groping wildly in the black for the small wastebin near the bed as he vomited into it. The springs creaked under his weight, mingling in with the rush of his heart in his ears as the reek of whiskey and bile scraped out the scent of death. It wasn't much better, but it at least it meant his stupid ass was still alive. Hazy eyes roamed to the clock when he was finally done, neon red numbers slurred across his vision.

4:06 AM.

Still drunk, but not drunk enough. His knee burned and his hands felt on fire. Nudging the tiny lamp on at his bedside table, he screwed his eyes closed, pinprick sight examining the mottled bruising of his hands around the bandages still wrapped tight. They'd swell when he took them off.

Feckin' eejit.

He scraped himself outta the bed like gum off a shoe, the rattle of an orange pill bottle following him as he limped to the kitchen. Snagging a beer out of the fridge, he pried the cap off his pills to shake a couple into his palm, then his mouth where he washed down the bitter bite of them with the bitterness of ale instead. He grabbed a big bowl too, dumped ice into it and a bag, then limped out to his little balcony that overlooked the parking lot of his apartment in Westend. 

He dumped himself into the sagging lawnchair and propped his leg up on the wicker table so he could set the bag of ice on his knee. Taking another hefty swig of beer, an eye closed against the dull pound of his head as his thoughts raced, he started snipping off the bandages with the scissors that had been left out since the last time so he could dip his bruised knuckles into the ice.

If he squinted just right, the vivid blue of his bruises looked just like her eyes.