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soon I will rant about Jumba (and how all the Lilo and Stitch characters are great, actually) one day. But him in particular. I don't think there's another character quite like him. Affable villains/evil scientists, sure. But none of them are played quite like he is. The 'clearly loves evil more as an aesthetic/vibe' than the ACTUAL evil. Or does he? At first you're not sure. He's genuinely jovial and pleasant then flips to mad cackling. Completely nonchalant about certain familial concepts/emotions that would come off as tactless/insensitive but he's an alien so it's more a cultural thing at times. (Then learns to love them anyway.)

Delights in the property damage and inconvenience of others. Probably due to the rating of the film, but his goal is never to wipe out civilisations. Just...wreck their stuff. Creates a little monster then is surprised when that little monster chews on his arm and sends him bouncing across the sea.

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not me realizing Lilo and Stitch have the same 'lack of confidence' arc in the Glitch movie. And how Jumba working through his setbacks with building a machine to save Stitch is just as important, as is Pleakley's encouragement of Jumba, juxtaposed by Lilo Stitch trying to do the same for Lilo, and Lilo being so caught up in her inner turmoil she misses how much Stitch is going through.

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He misses his wife, Tails. He misses her a lot.

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The watches the eyeballs zip back into position with a slow, considering nod. There is some kind of field there, keeping them from wandering too far for long. Some default pose, if you will! Fascinating. Out of one pocket comes a little flash-light device, fished out oh-so inconspicuously. With it held between two fingers, he somehow manages to continue stirring his drink. Those giant digits are more dexterous than they look.

"And where is it you would be coming from, my well-flossed friend? And would it trouble you if a certain scientist had a teeny look at jaw?"

So many beings hated poking and prodding, Jumba never understood the aversion to it when so much was to be discovered.

He wonders if he could persuade his new acquaintance to let him borrow an eyeball. For science.

Caine popped into existence in a new location -- someplace sunny and warm, where the wind carried a salty scent he wasn't used to. How had he never visited wherever he was now, before? It looked positively lovely!

As he looked around, he heard a very strange laugh come from the side. His floating set of teeth turned well before his body swiveled to line back up with it, facing the source of the sound. What a strange person! One that didn't seem to be afraid or startled by him, like many others tended to be.

"You know, I never really gave it much thought!" As he spoke, his eyes rolled within his head, full circle, as a fist propped against his lower jaw. "I suppose whatever stuff I'm made of is what keeps them floating inside my jaw -- and OUTSIDE my jaw!"

Without warning, mismatched eyes zoomed out from between his teeth and closer to the other, before they snapped back in place as if pulled on a rubber band.

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Whatever is left. That's the thing about some of the colder, viler things in the world, they tend to linger.

"Don't get into too much mischief, now." Says her!

She gently untangles herself from the gaggle, petting each on the shoulder as she finally begins her unhurried walk. Still, there's something resolute to her. Even with a basket and shall, she doesn't look like she's on a leisurely stroll at all.

A longer goodbye would simply makes things more difficult, but she's assured herself she'll see them again. It won't be long.

And over a snowy hill, her figure inches out of sight.

geez lady , you gotta make this harder for them , huh ? the gesture leaves an odd warmth in the youths' wake , like a familiar scent that reminds you of home , try hard as they might to play it straight . darn it all , they're not deprived of tenderness , but it's uplifting . perhaps there's magic in that , yet .

“ follow the north star . he lingers in whatever is left of polaris . ”

the eisworlders had long since departed from that place , settling in burrows amidst the country & frozen woods . that shattered , grand dome now lay like the skeleton of some great , white whale at the bottom of the deep . a fitting place for a monster , one would think .

“ good luck , mrs. crystal . ” bully doubles that . she will most certainly need it .

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I think one day I'll cave and make an interest tracker 'cause I don't know which followers know which muses...but I suck at using google docks.

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The book whimpers at the mention of cuts and bleeding. "Don't use words like that! It'll get ideas!"

Was the isle of the horror section always this wide? And where the floorboards always that worn? It's still very much a library, very much inside, but it's chillier. Maybe someone's left a door open somewhere.

The little pumpkin doesn't understand. Horror plants his hands over his eyes and mumbles incoherently to himself.

He's tried to warn others. Most get scared at the sight of him and scamper, or even kick and throw him. Either way, they never listen. Why is he surprised?

The library cannot be explained. It has to be experienced. It won't be denied.

"All I wanna do is escape," he sits down on the lowest shelf of the book-cart, heaving a big sigh. The ancient pages in his back crinkle with it. He almost wishes the little pumpkin man's bravery was contagious.

With a long finger, he draws in the dust, etching out the 'exit' sign.

"Don...doncha wanna know where the exit is? That's what everybody asked before."

Even before being let go, he did not make an effort to hide the fact that he started eyeing the place as soon as the implication was made. ❝ Sooooo it is haunted then. ❞ Because, unfortunately, it did not look like it to him.

Small steps were taken as his small sightseeing session continued, humming to himself. If there were haunted things, then there had to be things doing the haunting. Which, in other words, should have meant that the library itself had to be haunted, right? As he had already said, he was not reading... between the lines. Yet everything looked normal, and boring. Nothing spooky about it.

If he was supposed to be scared, or even just unsettled, it was not working! Hence the look of confusion the pumpkin kid gave the living book as he turned to look at him and his cart.

❝ What's so scary about books? ❞ He responded with an equally-genuine question. ❝ Getting paper cuts and bleeding all over them? ❞ Silence as, judging by his face, he pictured a gruesome scene in his mind. ❝ ...That could be spooky. ❞ Sharp pages!

This discussion was far too unconventional for him to grasp but, at least, he had the imagination to back himself up. And without needing to read anything!

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"Doubt they lock up direlect buildings. But on the off chance they do...ever broken into a place?"

Who's going to come after them, the dust bunny police? The pudgy furball notes his hesitance, though. He probably won't be tagging along, besides, shrimp boy here looks like the adventuring type.

"Hey, c'mon, the goop monster only terrorizes on Halloween now. Went through that 'family rehabilitation' and all that. Ain't no threat but to your eyesight."

"Anything, huh?" He props his elbow up on the counter, rests his chin on the palm,

"Ever seen a haunted crane machine?"

"That could do just the trick! How easy is it to get into this house outside of town? And is the goopy monsters still there? That would make stealing a candle-bra a little more difficult."

Pepe had dealt with worse, honestly, than a goop monster... but that didn't mean he wanted to deal with one if it could be helped. This prawn preferred an EASY task.

The snark didn't go past Pepe, but he simply just nodded his head enthusiastically as his hands began to make sizes as he spoke. "Oh, sí-- I have seen big ones, medium ones, ones as small as apartments even. Anything can be haunted, jou know."

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I love Stitch and Jumba's dynamic in the first movie because his feelings of:

A, it's so cool that I made this little monster, he is the greatest thing ever, look he can hold plasma in his hands, I'm so proud

B, this little brat won't stop biting me and won't do as I say and keeps swearing he aggravates me and If I don't turn him in my butt's in jail forever

Are both 100% genuine and happening at the same time.

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PICK A SONG FOR EACH LETTER OF YOUR URL.

W - Wherever You Are (End Title) - Vonda Shepard · Barry Coffing (Crystal, Jana, Marina.)

H - Hanging on the Telephone (Funky Jan)

A - All is Blind - Michael Kramer (James, Richard, Petrie)

T - That's the Life For Me! (Randy Newman) (Centipede)

E - Everything Is New To Me (Fievel, Sackboy)

V - Veneen Vesille Lasku - Moomins Soundtrack (Crystal, Jack Frost)

C - Carrying You - Joe Hisaishi (Marina, Jana, Frost)

R - Right Here In My Arms - Island Princess (Crystal)

U - Underground - John Powell, Tom Waits (Scratch, Mullet Stan)

S - Sometimes I Wonder (Pebble and the Penguin) (Marina)

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Just some images of Marina, from The Pebble and the Penguin (1995).

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What's a snowman, in a world with no men? That's what Crystal was pondering as she came upon the rubble of the castle. Even in the bare bones of the place, she could tell that it hasn't resembled any of the palaces the children had described in books. And if she hadn't known what to look for, she'd never have known it was a building at all.

The ground opened up like a cenote, and below she could see tunnels receding into the dark. The moonlight couldn't show her much --- but there must've been a vast grid of tunnels beneath what used to be Polaris.

And she knew in her snowy heart she'd found the right place. Moonlight outlined her figure from behind as she stared into the pit, one hand on the edge of the slope to steady her.

Frozen pools reflected the light enough so that when she came to the bottom, she could still see. But the dark was like a mass from then on, swallowing everything.

Her footsteps crackled. The silence was a heavy, unwelcoming thing. The snow-lady paused, and waited.

There was movement to the left. When she turned to look, she saw nothing amiss...until it moved again. She was a gleam of two, pale lights blurring and vanishing again, and the sudden knowing was like whiplash.

She was no longer alone. The presence seemed to be all around her, but she didn't startle, didn't run. She did, however, clasp the knot of her shawl at her chest.

Again, a glimpse. Blue lights, twinkling in the darkness. Gone again in minutes.

"...Arktos?"

The shadow rose up from behind her, swallowing her own. Crystal stilled. When no attack came, she cautiously turned to face the only other being for miles.

Arktos was not what she expected, and was, all at once. The buttons, the hat, the gloves and carrot where all familiar. Yet something seemed off. The buttons were too small, too uniform to be coal picked out with gloved, clumsy hands. The gloves ended in sharp points. She'd expected him to lurk in the dark while they spoke, like some ghoul from legend. But in the moonlight, he was bright, pale, and terrible.

He regarded her coolly, and they appraised one another. Fear came to Crystal not in trembling, or cowering, but like goosebumps on the skin. She felt it come, and let it wash over her. It was her spirit's way of keeping her safe. Perhaps fear was not the right world. The gravity of the situation is what she understood.

He had to stoop down, and hunch, just to be at eye level. Fingers flexing one by one, drumming the air.

"Welcome."

There was a conversational lilt to his voice, glaringly false. That had reached out, open, for her to take. Crystal stared at it.

He didn't seem surprised to find her here. He must have been watching her.

Fae rules, perhaps. Crystal offered her own mitten-like hand in turn, and how small it looked beside his. The black digits curled around her palm, and the skin-crawling sensation that danced through her make the tips of her mop-hair stand on end.

"...thank you. I've come a long way to speak with you." She kept her own voice plain, not accusatory, not overly friendly. He didn't blink, as his mouth curled down on one side, full of disdain. His teeth were made of coal.

"All this way on my account? My, my. I'm in for a treat." He let go, straightened up to splay his fingers together.

"Nobody comes within miles of this place anymore. I've been bereft of company."

One arm tucked behind his back, in half a bow, he gestured with the other --- further in.

"The blizzards will be back shortly. Why don't you come inside?"

Crystal's face was strangely blank. A soft wind pulled at her hair. He made no move to force her, didn't smile too wide. Not overly eager. He didn't seem ready to chase her, if she ran.

But they both knew she wouldn't. She came here for a reason, after all.

And so, Crystal stepped further away from the moonlight.

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Can we talk about how well animated the emotion is in this scene? The camera movement to show us Stitch quickly glancing around the thicket? The fact that despite being very powerful he's clearly afraid of Jumba and at his most vulnerable, he's only been alive for a short time, and Jumba hasn't gone through his character development yet - and speaks so callously to him.

I'll always commend 'Stitch Has a Glitch' for highlighting Stitch's struggles, as well as just how much Jumba would come to love him. What gets me is that Stitch is waiting for his family to show up and Jumba appears.

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He knew better than to climb atop the wagon with him. Initiations are dangerous, among the fae. That's why he'd liked hanging out with mortals, accepting help and aid from them carried no strings, and when they did, there was no pesky magic involved.

Puns aside, he was out of his element here. Frost follows along, disquiet. This place and its architecture do come as familiar, but...old. He hasn't seen houses like this in a century. The barn awaits, and he thinks to old, lonely days, when such places where alight with candles, bunting strung from the top to posts, as villagers gathered inside to eat and dance.

He doesn't think such festivities await him. Frost clenches gloved hands as the cat approaches it.

"...Is everybody in the barn?" He feels foolish, asking the child-like question, but that's where he's at.

the beastie squeaks in reply , satisfied .

snapping the reigns , the turkeys begin pulling the cart towards that sleepy town nestled in the midst of the vast , surrounding fields of pumpkins , corn , & golden wheat . some cleared land holds nothing at all . perhaps for readying the next season .

as the two steadily roll in , they'd pass an array of houses , a chapel , & make their way towards a great barn . it's a cozy picture , plentiful & warm in its preparation for the coming winter months .

but that silence ... outside the creaking of the wooden cart & the warbling of the turkeys , the occasional mewl of that odd cat when the wheels dip & bump against the brown & auburn soil ... as though the very grounds are held in some breath of autumn'a  vortex . there wasn't even a welcome sign .

pulling the cart to a stop , the black cat would jump down . it acknowledges jack frost with a little trill , then goes to open the barn's doors .

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he's getting out the vials and Bunsen burners

do jurassic park next he wants . friends

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"I am an environmental conversationist."

"No he's not!" A shrill voice calls from the other room.

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A starter for Jumba?