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deniigi · 3 years ago

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Please take this section from a piece about Baby Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bonding post Bandomeer.

I’m sure that this isn’t how their master-apprentice relationship was formed but I refuse to read so this is it for me 🙃🙂

Title: platelets

Summary: After the smoke clears on Bandomeer, the Agricorps gathers 12yo Obi-Wan into their ranks and prepares to train him to become one of their own. Qui-Gon thinks they should wait a damn minute here. He’s had a change of heart.

---

Obi-Wan was no longer in the med bay. It took Qui-Gon two hours to find him and two years off his life trying to look casual under the irritated gaze of so many suspicious Agricorps members.

The foreman (forewoman) was the first to crack under Qui-Gon’s very charming smile—and she didn’t so much as crack as tell him that his attempts to be subtle disgusted her to the core.

Obi-Wan had been given over to a young lab manager. A friendly man in need of his first supervisee. He was soft at heart and, according to the foreman, very good with kids.

Qui-Gon understood implicitly and rapidly that this was his new competitor.

He asked the foreman what the knights had done to incur the corps’ ire and she told him to search his fucking feelings.

She closed the door behind him, effectively locking him into one of the Agricorps terrarium-lab bubbles.

Qui didn’t like to snoop. He loved to snoop.

Nothing was more satisfying then having a poke through the lines upon lines of glasses and test pockets that covered the tables. He had a sniff around the experimental cuttings taking root in their glasses and then took cover when he heard a voice break out into a laugh.

He peered over the edge of the counter and spotted the familiar green smock-tunic of the corps. Its owner had tan skin and narrow eyes and his back stooped into an arc. Qui-Gon craned his neck and found that the arc came over the tuft-y red hair of his future apprentice (because there was no real question here, regardless of the corps’ agitation; the knights would always get first choice over the initiates).

The lab manager, however, gave no sign of trepidation. He held in front of Obi-Wan a handful of seeds that sprouted and curled under his smile. Obi-Wan watched them with wide eyes. The manager turned his gentle face down towards Obi-Wan and nudged his hands until Obi-Wan was holding the mass as it grew.

“Look, you’re a natural,” the man said.

Obi-Wan sucked in a lip and focused hard. One of the plants’ first adult leaves began to unfurl.

“Well done. Fantastic,” the manager said. “Look at you already. Great job and for that, a reward.”

“A reward?” Obi-Wan asked, handing the tangle of roots off as the manager held out his hands for them.

“A reward,” the manager agreed, plucking one of the fat stems from the bunch and holding it out to Obi-Wan, “A snack.”

Damn. This guy was good.

The foreman was smug as a dungbeetle in shit when Qui-Gon skulked out of the lab. She asked him how his proposal had gone. He scowled at her and made off back to his quarters.

Normally, he would call someone to lament the traitorous actions of these supposed-allies, but no one was going to be sympathetic right now—not even Tahl. She was going to say what everyone else was going to say which was “Man, you had how many chances to get this right?”

He smashed his face into the pillow of his bunk, then flung it off and flattened his cheek against the mattress.

There had to be some way to turn these tides back in his favor. He wasn’t losing to the Agricorps. Master Dooku would have a heart attack. Qui’s failure in this—more than Xanatos—would kill him and then he’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

UGH.

Alright, Jinn. Think.

He had a brilliant plan. It involved a lightsaber. Obi-Wan loved lightsabers. Qui-Gon had witnessed him loving them many a time.

He scrounged up some tools and squeaked past the Agricorps security for a quick bounce off to acquire a crystal. A blue one. Obi-Wan looked like a blue saber sort of kid. It took a while to find one because everyone, everywhere, was conspiring against Qui-Gon on this. Even the Force seemed to be telling him that he was too late.

But for once, he didn’t care. There were only so many times you could fuck up before you started fucking up at least in the right direction.

He got the crystal. He brought it back to the corps headquarters and went on the hunt yet again for his (his damnit) future apprentice.

This time, Obi-Wan was in the dormitories. Qui-Gon almost gasped in horror to find him outfitted in an over-large green smock-tunic. He flapped the too-long sleeves with a goofy smile while his lab manager reached around him and tightened the belt at his waist as far as it would go.

“You’re so scrawny,” the lab manager told him. “We’ll fix that.”

Obi-Wan beamed up at him and held up his sleeve-covered hands.

“I like green,” he said.

A small piece of Qui-Gon screamed internally.

“I think you’re more of a blue, actually,” the lab manager said. “But this is what we’ve got for now. When you get bigger, we can see if there’s a blue that fits you.”

“There are so many colors,” Obi-Wan said as the manager trapped his arm and started rolling up one of the sleeves. He tried to do the same with the other on his own, which just made the manager’s job harder.

“There are,” the manager said.

“Do you get to pick?”

“You sure do.”

“How do you pick?”

The manager patted Obi-Wan’s head and turned around to hunt down something else from the spare clothing supply.

“It comes to you,” he said, muffled.

There was a long silence. Qui-Gon had just decided to step out of hiding, when Obi-Wan, looking at the rolled edges of his sleeves said,

“I think I want to leave.”

Qui-Gon’s heart stopped. The manager’s rummaging did, too. He pulled himself carefully out of the cupboard.

“Leave?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said to his sleeves. “I think I want to leave.”

No.

“You’re a little young to leave, aren’t you?” the manager said awkwardly.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’ll figure it out. If I can survive those people in the mines, then I can figure it out, can’t I? And then I can pick my colors out there. You get to pick, right? Maybe I’ll do blue after all.”

Fuck. No. Qui-Gon was gonna—

“Hey, why don’t we do this?” the manager said, setting aside a set of gaiters to kneel down in front of Obi-Wan. “Let’s give us a trial run, huh? Two months, max. I know we didn’t make the best first impression, but give us two months—eight weeks—and after that, if you don’t like it, we’ll make sure you’ve got somewhere to go when you’re ready to leave. Does that sound okay?”

Qui-Gon held his breath. Obi-Wan studied the knuckles of the hands holding his. He rubbed his split lips together.

“Eight weeks?” he asked.

“That’s all, no more and if you really, really can’t stand it, then even less,” the manager said.

“And you’ll help me? Even if I say I don’t want to stay?”

“Even if you don’t want to stay.”

Maybe Qui was operating on another, less child-friendly level here, but why in kark’s name you’d even give the boy the illusion of choice was beyond him. The answer was, truly, that the second Obi-Wan set foot away from the jedi, he’d be signing his own death sentence.

Xanatos wouldn’t care if he wasn’t Qui-Gon’s true apprentice. He wouldn’t ask those kinds of questions. He’d just seize the opportunity the moment Obi-Wan no longer had someone standing behind him, and when he was through, he’d bring the body to the Temple and lay it out cold and open-eyed on the front steps.

There were no other options for the child now. Qui-Gon was being kind with this process of trust-building. In reality, if he really needed to, he could contact Yoda and acquiesce to his previous wisdom and arguments for Qui-Gon to take the kid on. Yoda would then change the boy’s assignment and orders; he would return to the temple and thereafter again go through the selection process. But this time, Qui-Gon would select him without hesitation.

That wasn’t how Qui-Gon wanted to do this, but if the boy thought that he was going to leave, to step out into the cold of space, then to spare him a cruel, meaningless death, Qui-Gon would.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly to the manager.

“Anytime, hon,” the manager said. “Who knows, anyways. You might even like it here.”

The trouble with the damn Agricorps was that they were phenomenal talkers. They talked to people about their problems and all these insecurities and they gave them food and drinks and told jokes and laughed and hefted their littlest supervisees up onto their shoulders and all that served to make their members loyal to each other to a fault.

In short, Obi-Wan’s lab manager was winning this battle more every day.

This was not helped at all by the fact that Qui-Gon had discovered through a surprise meeting that Obi-Wan was afraid of him.

They’d bumped into each other in the hallway as Obi-Wan came from the mess hall and Qui-Gon went to drop off some documents, and the kid scrambled away from him and flattened himself against the corridor’s wall.

Some serious meditation (and agitating Mace, great tower of sleep-deprived wisdom) had brought Qui-Gon to the conclusion that yeah, a month in forced labor, being banished to a mine, food deprivation, physical assault, and so on really did a number on a twelve-year-old’s trust in people and their associates.

Further, Mace pointed out that Qui-Gon was approximately ‘half a mile tall and covered in overgrowth.’

He did not appear to be a soothing presence to children. Mace said that if he’d deigned to join him and the other masters in chatting and cuddling the younglings in the crèche, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but alas, Qui, you stuck-up nerfherder. You reap what you sow.

Mace’s hind and foresight was, as per usual, invaluable.

Qui-Gon decided that he was going to be the nice version of himself. He was going to smile at Obi-Wan. That would do it.

It didn’t do it.

The foreman came to Qui-Gon’s quarters to gleefully tell him not to approach the corps’ young supervisees unprompted. He was giving the children hives.

He explained to her outright that he intended to take Obi-Wan on as his apprentice.

She told him good luck. Obi-Wan, she claimed, was already settling in with the others. He was making friends. And Qui-Gon wasn’t so cruel as to separate such a traumatized boy from such comfort, now was he?

But there, she was mistaken.

He definitely was that cruel.

The foreman told him to die miserable and slammed his door.

It took another two tries, but eventually, he managed to find Obi-Wan tucked away on one of his breaks from his training in the lab. He appeared to be at a loss for what to do with himself. He’d settled against a window and had splayed both hands on it as he stared out into the cracked soil of Bandomeer.

Qui-Gon watched him for a little while and then cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan jumped. His eyes came up for the briefest second and then his head went down.

“Master,” he greeted.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You seem bored.”

Guilt colored the boy’s cheeks in a flush.

“I’m not bored, Master,” he said, fidgeting with his rolled sleeves.

“May I sit?” Qui-Gon asked, gesturing next to where Obi-Wan knelt. He nodded and arranged himself in a more dignified posture. Qui-Gon let him; he sat down next to him, grumbling and creaking and popping.

His bones weren’t what they used to be.

Once he was finally more or less comfortable, he turned to notice Obi-Wan staring at him with eyes like a cat’s.

“What? You never seen an old man sit?” he asked.

“What happened to your hair?” Obi-Wan asked.

Oh.

“It’s in a bun,” Qui-Gon explained, reaching up to release the mane. It tumbled down over his shoulders and cheered for fresh air.

Obi-Wan’s gaze became even more cat-like. Qui-Gon fought off a smirk.

“You want to touch it?” he asked.

The kid looked away abruptly.

“It’s okay. You can touch it,” Qui told him. “It looks better than it feels, I must say. Needs a trim—look at these ends, little one. I ought to be arrested for crimes against decency.”

Aha. Gotcha. Look at that wobble in those lips. Trying not to smile. They’d see how long that worked, now wouldn’t they?

He badgered Obi-Wan until he finally broke and reached up to brush his fingers against the hair Qui-Gon put within his reach. His attention snapped into place.

“It’s soft,” he said, amazed.

His fingers started combing without permission. Qui-Gon let it happen.

“Very useful for cold climates—have you ever felt a snow-yak, Obi-Wan?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. Of course, he hadn’t.

“Do you know what they look like?”

Another shake.

“Well, perhaps one day, you will see them,” Qui-Gon said indulgently. “When I was a boy, my master told me not to try to pet them—he told me at every step of the way, he knew me well. But you know what I did?”

There was that smile now.

“You pet them?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I sure did,” Qui-Gon told him. “And you know that they did?”

“Kicked you?”

“Me? No. I was too small a target. They charged my master—Master Dooku; you may have heard of him.”

Obi-Wan shoved his giggles into his palms.

“I want to pet one,” he said.

“Yes, you do look like the type,” Qui-Gon said. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, what are your feelings on pathetic lifeforms?”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me. What’s a pathetic lifeform to you?”

Obi-Wan settled in and thought about it as he gazed out the window’s thick glass.

“Me,” he decided.

Bless him.

“You?” Qui-Gon said incredulously. “No, no. You saved a jedi master. I said ‘pathetic.’”

“Me,” Obi-Wan insisted again.

Qui-Gon held a finger out between them.

“If you are a pathetic life form, then I am in grave danger,” he said.

The giggle this time wasn’t hidden. It make Qui-Gon’s own grin grow.

“I was thinking a lothcat,” he admitted. “Or a dragon—love a dragon. Of course, the yak—perhaps not pathetic to my master, but to others yes. They’re not smart, Obi-Wan, poor things.”

“You like animals,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon weighed this statement with his head.

“’Animals’ isn’t quite broad enough, but yes, they fall into the category,” he said. “I’m also a big fan of rescuing the plants that no one can keep alive.”

Obi-Wan brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He settled a soft cheek onto the top of the right one.

“That’s what I’ll be doing here,” he said.

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause. The boy sniffed softly.

“You will be happy here,” Qui-Gon told him gently. “They will take care of you.”

Another sniff. An eye scrubbed with a too-long sleeve.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Well, this was a conversation Qui-Gon hadn’t wanted to walk into. There were, from his vantage point, a few ways out of it, but at the end of each of those paths was a set of brown eyes framed by intense, wispy green brows.

“You are good enough,” Qui-Gon said. “I am just a foolish master. You deserve someone better than me, Obi-Wan.”

“There is no one else,” Obi-Wan said.

“There will be,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, there won’t. I’m out of time. All that’s left for me is...this,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the landscape beyond the window.

Qui-Gon studied it; the cracks in the soil, the piles of broken stones.

“It is a little bleak,” he admitted.

“What is it like for non-jedi people?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do they go to school? How do they find somewhere to sleep?”

“You will not be a non-jedi person,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause.

“What?”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath and let his shoulders fall.

“Unless you really want to be one,” he added. “Apologies, I spoke without thinking.”

Those blue eyes were the same color as the crystal in Qui-Gon’s pocket. He put his hand inside of it and pulled the carefully wrapped parcel out so that Obi-Wan could see it. He rolled it slowly until only the crystal sat in his palm.

“There is greatness in you, Obi-Wan,” he said. “And I am not a good enough Master, but you are more than a deserving padawan.”

The eyes flicked from the crystal to Qui-Gon’s face once, then twice.

“Do you mean it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Are you okay with having a silly master?” Qui-Gon asked. “I will not sugar-coat it—one of my students has already fallen. I am the type of person who Master Windu has been dreaming of the unfortunate demise for since we were children.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked with eyes only for the crystal.

“Excellent question. I am told that my brain is fundamentally ill-suited for human interaction,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

Obi-Wan huffed.

“Does Master Windu really dislike you so much?” he asked.

“He speaks to me in such ways only out of love. My other friends say that I am dedicated intensely to the flight of fancy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Obi-Wan said.

“You know, funny thing,” Qui-Gon told him, reaching over to take his hand and press the crystal into it, “Neither do I.”

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #qui-gon jinn #I think Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon should be the kind of apprentice and master who deserve each other #and by that I mean that they both do shit that make the other's teeth grind but they bear it with a smile #fic #ficlet

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years ago

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Maxing out our global credit-card with authoritarian debt

People who fret about the debt we’re taking on to deal with climate change are (half) right. Because there’s two ways of dealing with the climate emergency: either we can avert it, or we can seek high ground and erect high walls. Guess which one we’re doing.

Yeah.

The world’s richest countries are on track to spending more on their “border defense” than they are on their climate commitments. Molly Taft breaks it down for Gizmodo: Contributions to the Green Climate Fund are dragging behind their (inadequate) commitments, and countries are spending more than double their GCF funding for militarized border controls.

https://gizmodo.com/wealthy-countries-are-spending-more-on-border-security-1847931924

This isn’t an arbitrary comparison. If you are planning to let the world’s poor people literally roast inside their own skins, or drown along with their island homes, then yeah, you will need to build high walls a-bristle with guns to keep them from coming to you.

https://www.tni.org/en/publication/global-climate-wall

Though the climate emergency is new, this dynamic is an old one: as societies become more unequal, the ability of elite minorities to suborn the political process to benefit themselves at everyone’s expense grows. The more they do this, the more unstable society becomes.

Elites understand this. That’s why billionaires are buying bunkers in New Zealand. It’s why Silicon Valley VCs compare anti-billionaire sentiment to Kristallnacht, painting themselves as beleaguered victims, the last minority that it’s okay to hate. (Paging Mike Godwin, Mike Godwin to the white courtesy phone).

https://www.npr.org/sections/alltechconsidered/2014/01/26/266685819/billionaire-compares-outrage-over-rich-in-s-f-to-kristallnacht

The wealthy are obsessed with risk-hedging. Elite philanthropy is a hedge: a way to make obscene inequality seem palatable. If you’re careful, you can make your name synonymous with art galleries, museums and hospitals and not, say, depraved indifference to human life in the relentless pursuit of billions beyond measure or use.

Or, at least, you can do that for a while. Eventually, reality catches up with you. The Louvre takes the Sackler family name off its paintings. The Whitney follows. Your family name becomes synonymous with murder, not generosity.

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/10/winners-take-all-modern-philanthropy-means-that-giving-some-away-is-more-important-than-how-you-got-it/

Reputation-laundering is Plan A.

Disappearing into a luxury bunker to LARP the Masque of the Red Death is the last resort.

In between the two is “guard labor.”

At a certain point, the most cost-effective way to keep guillotines off your lawn isn’t endowing hospitals, it’s building machine-gun turrets.

Here’s where the “debt” part comes in. The more guard-labor you hire, the more societal debt you incur: destabilizing and discrediting institutions and creating vast, traumatized cohorts with nothing to lose.

Redistribution stabilizes society over the long term, creating a sense of mutual obligation and shared destiny.

Wealth-hoarding and guard-labor *destabilizes* society over the long term, with ever-larger populations convinced that society has nothing to offer them, even as their homes, lives and families are destroyed by policies that benefit the rich at the rest of our expense. (Paging Joe Machin, Joe Manchin to a white courtesy phone)

People who worry about “maxing out the national credit card” fighting the climate emergency are running up far more insidious forms of debt: social cohesion debt and climate debt. Every day we fail to address the climate emergency is a day that we doom more people to being traumatized climate refugees with no reason to accept a social contract or heed society’s laws.

Societal debt and climate debt accrue compounding interest, and they multiply each other. When emergency strikes — when a zoonotic pandemic sweeps the globe — institutions that have discredited themselves by carrying water for pharma giants struggle to convince people to heed their advice. The pandemic gets worse, throwing our politics into chaos and tanking the economy, incinerating much of the political will for meaningful climate action.

So the amount that rich states are willing to spend on “border security” is inseparable from the amount they’re willing to spend on averting the climate emergency.

And the joke’s on them. As Poe taught us with The Masque of the Red Death, our species has a shared destiny. It takes an act of will (or perhaps an Ayn Rand novel whose pages are all stuck together) not to see this.

For a fantastic case-study in the fallacy of guard-labor as a substitute for good policy, check out Naomi Klein’s interview with Olamide Olaniyan in The Tyee.

https://thetyee.ca/News/2021/10/22/Naomi-Klein-Stage-Before-Breakthrough/

Klein lives in Canada, where she’s a professor at UBC’s new Center for Climate Justice.

Canada is the epicenter of the guard-labor/good policy tradeoff. Its leader, Justin Trudeau is, to quote Klein: “somebody who likes campaigning more than governing and is better at giving the speech than enacting the policies.”

Trudeau gives off a lot of cuddly vibes, but his unwillingess to enact good policy combined with his deep authoritarian roots are a catastrophe in the offing. Canada needs good climate policy: not only is the country a world-leader in carbon emissions, it also exports the world’s filthiest oil, extracted from the tar sands, and it is the global headquarters of the world’s most savage and unrepentant mining operations.

Back in 2019, Trudeau marched with Greta Thunberg, demanding a change to Canada’s climate policies. It was the ultimate Trudeau moment: the literal Prime Minister of Canada marching against the policies he, himself, had enacted.

Oh, Justin.

https://www.news18.com/news/world/canadas-justin-trudeau-to-march-with-teen-climate-activist-greta-thunberg-2324165.html

Now, to be fair, Trudeau doesn’t get to govern the way he’d like, because he has a minority government. But Trudeau’s minority partners aren’t Tories who are pulling him away from climate justice — they’re NDP, pulling him *towards* planet-saving, humanity-saving policies.

When Trudeau called unnecessary, snap elections earlier this year, it was a bid to win a Parliamentary majority, one that would free him from having to listen to anyone else when he governs.

Such a majority would allow him to continue to claim to be an environmentalist, while continuing to assure the tar sands gentry that “No country would find 173 billion barrels of oil in the ground and leave them there.”

https://www.cbc.ca/player/play/894872131944

It would let him continue to claim to be an environmentalist, while rescuing the world’s deadliest oil pipeline with a $4.5b public bailout.

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-55773243

Trudeau understands that the price of climate inaction is guard labor. By any measure, he is an authoritarian. This is a leader who fired his Attorney General to spare Canada’s most corrupt corporation from prosecution for its continued collusion with the world’s worst dictators:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/trudeau-wilson-raybould-attorney-general-snc-lavalin-1.5014271

He’s the party leader who whipped his caucus to vote for Bill C-51, a warrantless mass surveillance bill, while they were in opposition. Trudeau claimed the move was needed to avoid looking soft on terrorism just prior to an election, and promised a repeal. That “repeal” arrived years late — and it left behind the most grotesque and over-reaching elements of the bill.

https://www.vice.com/en/article/wjzk94/the-trudeau-government-peels-back-bill-c-51-mostly

Remember when Trudeau tweeted that Canada would welcome the refugees Trump was terrorizing, then refused to end the “Safe Third Country” agreement that would actually enable those refugees to come to Canada?

https://www.policyalternatives.ca/publications/monitor/safe-third-country-agreement-must-end

Trudeau’s spin machine make a big deal out of his political legacy: he is the son of the legendary Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau, the PM who gave Canada its own Constitution. But if we’re going to discuss the Trudeau legacy, let’s not forget that Trudeau the Elder also imposed martial law on Canada, sending the secret police to raid a wide swathe of dissident groups.

https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2020/10/23/wmat-o23.html

If Canada is going to run up a climate debt, it’s going to have to spring for a spiralling guard-labor bill. Because Poe was a prophet and the Masque of the Red Death is a warning: there is no wall high enough to keep disaster out.

As Klein says, last summer’s wildfires didn’t just wipe out forests and towns — they also created waves of *domestic* climate refugees: homeless, traumatized, bearing Canadian passports.

Border security won’t insulate the nation from defaulting on climate debt. It just delays the reckoning and makes the default infinitely more painful.

Because weak institutions that no one trusts are not going to be able to respond to that default. As Klein points out, Hurricane Maria only killed 30 people, but then 3,000 more died “because of a failed health-care system and a failed electricity system and a failure of care in the months that followed.”

The debt pearl-clutchers are right: We *are* saddling our children and grandchildren with a bill they won’t be able to pay. But that bill doesn’t come from minting the money we need to save our species and civilization from the emergency on its doorstep — it comes from the false economy of skimping on climate and buying guard labor instead.

Image: Cameron Strandberg (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fire-Forest.jpg

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic

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frankendykes-monster · 3 years ago

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Space Jam: A New Legacy is content to be content.

The original Space Jam was a calculated marketing exercise. Michael Jordan was the biggest sports star of the nineties, and Space Jam capitalised on Jordan’s brand potential while also allowing the athlete to refashion his own narrative into a family-friendly mythology. Space Jam packaged Jordan for a generation, smoothing the wrinkles out of his story by presenting a wholesome family man making an earnest transition from basketball to baseball.

It also helped Warner Bros. to figure out what to do with their Looney Tunes characters, which had largely laid dormant within the company’s intellectual property vaults. There had been a conscious effort to revitalised the company’s animation with shows like Tiny Toon Adventures and even Animaniacs, but those classic and beloved cartoons were a merchandising opportunity waiting to happen. So the logic of the original Space Jam was clear, it was an excuse to tie together two potentially profitable strands of intellectual property.

Space Jam itself was something of an afterthought. The movie struggles to reach its ninety-minute runtime. It often feels like the production team have to utilise every scrap of film to reach that target, with extended riffs focusing on Bill Murray and Michael Jordan on the golf course and with a lot of the improvisation from the voice cast included in the finished film. The movie’s ending comes out of nowhere, and Space Jam struggles to hit many of the basic plot beats of a scrappy sports movie.

The movie itself was immaterial to the success of Space Jam as a concept. After all, the film only grossed $250m at the global box office, enough to scrape into the end of year top ten behind The Nutty Professor and Jerry Maguire. However, the film’s real success lay in merchandising, with the film generating between $4bn and $6bn in licensing and merchandising. Key to this was the success of the six-time platinum-certified soundtrack which remains the ninth highest-grossing soundtrack of all-time.

In some to trace a lot of modern Hollywood back to the original Space Jam. So much of how companies package and release modern media feels like an extension of that approach, the reduction of the actual film itself to nothing more than “content” that exists as a larger pool of marketable material. After all, the unspoken assumption underlying AT&T’s disastrous decision to send all of their blockbusters to HBO Max was the understanding that HBO Max itself was often packaged free with company’s internet. Movies would no longer be their own things, but just perks to be packaged and sold as part of larger deals.

In the decades since the release of Space Jam, the industry has become increasingly focused on the idea of packaging and repackaging intellectual property. It has become increasingly common for films to showcase multiple intellectual properties housed at the same studios. Simple crossovers like Alien vs. Predators or The Avengers now seem positively humble when compared to the smorgasbord of brand synergy on display in projects like The Emoji Movie or Ralph Breaks the Internet.

Interestingly, as Disney have steadily securing their intellectual property portfolio with additions like Pixar and Lucasfilm and Marvel Studios and 20th Century Fox, Warner Bros. have becoming increasingly bullish about showcasing the depth and breadth of their bench. The LEGO Movie imagines a wide range of properties consolidated under one brand. Ready Player One depicted a pop culture user space lost in nostalgia for properties and trinkets. However, those movies also managed to tell their own stories, even as they grappled with the weight of brand synergy pushing down on top of them.

Space Jam: A New Legacy has no such delusions. It understands that it does not exist as a story or as a feature film. Instead, it has distilled cinema down to a content-delivery mechanism. The plot of the movie finds basketball star LeBron James sucked into the “Serververse” and forced to ally with the Looney Tunes in order to play a basketball game with the fate of the world in the balance. However, while the original Space Jam ran a brisk and unfocused ninety minutes, A New Legacy extends itself to almost two hours. There is always more content to repackage and sell, after all.

A New Legacy slathers its cynicism in nostalgia, directly appealing to a generation of audiences who have convinced themselves that Space Jam was a good movie and a beloved childhood classic. A New Legacy is built around the understanding that the original Space Jam walked so that it might run, counting on the audience’s nostalgia for the original film to excuse a lot of its indulgences. After all, it would be a betrayal of the franchise if A New Legacy wasn’t a crash and vulgar cash-in. In many ways, A New Legacy does what most sequels aspire to do, scaling the original film’s ambitions aggressively upwards.

As with the original Space Jam, there is layer of irony to distract from the film’s clear purpose. In the original Space Jam, the villainous Swackhammer planned to abduct the Looney Tunes and force them to play at his themeparks. The implication was that the characters did not want to be sold into corporate servitude, stripped of their own identity and rendered as crass tools of unchecked capitalism. The irony of Space Jam lay in the fact that the entire movie was a variant on Swackhammer’s themepark and the Looney Tunes were dancing to that theme anyway as Daffy puckers up and kisses the Warner Bros. stamp on his own ass.

In A New Legacy, a sentient algorithm – Al G. Rhythm – is cast as the movie’s primary antagonist. The film gestures broadly at a satirical criticism of the modern film industry, with Al G. Rhythm shaping and warping the future of movie-making by suggesting things like computer-generating movie stars and producing a constant array of recycled intellectual property. A New Legacy recognises the machinations of Al G. Rhythm as unsettling and horrifying, with throwaway jokes about the theft of ideas and the violation of privacy, but the villain largely serves as a smokescreen to let the movie have its cake and eat it.

After all, A New Legacy revels in Al G. Rhythm’s plans. LeBron James is turned into an animated figure and dumped into classic Looney Tunes shorts like Rabbit Season and The Rabbit of Seville. The film understands that while the audience might be afraid of the algorithm, they also yearn for it. After all, it isn’t Al G. Rhythm who structures A New Legacy so that the film spends an extended sequence touring the company’s beloved intellectual properties.

A New Legacy is really just an investors’ day presentation that celebrates the sheer amount of content that Warner Bros. own. It’s not too difficult to imagine the film screened investors before the Discovery deal, as proof of just how many viable franchising opportunities existed within the copyright of the company itself. It’s a weird and unsettling showcase, in large part because it feels like that warning from Jurassic Park. The studio were so obsessed with whether they could do a thing that they never stopped to consider whether they should.

The film’s middle section includes a whirlwind tour of the properties owned by Warner Bros. After Bugs “plays the hits” with James, the two set off on an adventure to recover the other Looney Tunes from other beloved Warner Bros. properties. Some of these advertisements make sense: Daffy and Porky are living in the world of Superman: The Animated Series, while Lola seems to have found the Wonder Woman from the Bloodlines animated films. Others make much less sense in a movie aimed at kids, like the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote hiding in Mad Max: Fury Road or Yosemite Sam living in Casablanca.

Of course, it’s debatable how much of A New Legacy is aimed at kids, as compared to the kids of the nineties. Its target market seems to be kids in the late nineties who never grew up, because they never had to. Elmer Fudd and Sylvester are hiding out in Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. Granny and Speedy have taken refuge in the opening scenes of The Matrix. While the original Space Jam featured odd pop cultural shoutouts to things like Pulp Fiction, at least that was somewhat contemporaneous.

To be fair, there is no art driving these choices. Many of these references serve to point the audience towards established properties. It is a sentient recommendation algorithm for HBO Max and a handy way of stoking audience interest in upcoming projects like The Matrix 4 (December 2021) or Furiosa (June 2023). It is a helpful reminder that Superman: The Animated Series has been remastered in high definition to stream on HBO Max. Foghorn Leghorn even rides a dragon from Game of Thrones to remind viewers that the show is streaming on HBO Max and that there are prequels coming.

It’s all very bizarre, but also strangely lifeless. The climax of the film finds the inevitable basketball game played in front of a crowd of familiar pop culture icons drawn from a wide range of sources: King Kong, The Iron Giant, Batman ’66, The Wizard of Oz, The Mask and many more. It feels very much like a surreal power play, a company showcasing the depth of its own vaults at a turbulent time in the industry. It leads to weird moments, like Al G. Rhythm even quoting Training Day, perhaps the film’s most unlikely draw from the “Warner Bros. Intellectual Property Vault.”

The most revealing aspect of the movie is its central conflict, with Al G. Rhythm cynically manipulating LeBron’s son Dom. Dom is convinced that his father doesn’t understand him, that his father is unable to see that his skill lies in video game coding rather than old-fashioned basketball. Rhythm is able to create a schism between father and son, using Dom’s code and his anger to attack and undermine LeBron James and the Looney Tunes. It’s a very broad and very archetypal story. There are no points for realising that Dom eventually comes around to his father and accepts that Rhythm is a villain.

However, it signals an interesting shift in these sorts of narratives. Traditionally, these sorts of generational conflicts played out between fathers and sons, with fathers presented as antagonistic and sons presented as heroic. The original Star Wars saga is built around Luke Skywalker trying to wrestle and grapple with his father Darth Vader. In Superman II, the eponymous superhero is forced to confront Zod, a representative of his father’s generation and the old world. Even in Batman Begins, Bruce Wayne is set against his surrogate father figure Ra’s Al Ghul.

The metaphor driving these sorts of stories was fairly simple and straightforward. Every generation needs to come into their own and take control of their own agency within the world. Star Wars: Episode VI – Return of the Jedi ends with Darth Vader dead and Luke staring out into the wider universe. Times change, and each generation has an obligation to try to create a better world than the one left to them by their parents. In the conflict between parents and children, it has generally been children who have prevailed.

However, in recent years, the trend has swung back sharply. It’s notable that the villain in Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens is an errant child who doesn’t properly respect his parents, and that Star Wars: Episode IX – The Rise of Skywalker ends with order restored when the protagonist takes the name of the beloved heroes of the older films. Shows like Star Trek: Picard are built around the idea that kids need their older generation of parents to swoop in and tell them how to properly live their lives.

A New Legacy is an interesting illustration of this trend. The movie ends with a reconciliation between LeBron and Dom, but it is very clearly on LeBron’s terms. Dom is manipulated and misled by sinister forces, and his father has to save him while realigning his moral compass. Father knows best. It demonstrates how the underlying logic of these stories has shifted in recent years, perhaps reflecting the understanding that perhaps the older generation won’t surrender the floor gracefully.

As with Ready Player One, there’s a monstrous Peter Pan quality to A New Legacy. It is a film about how the culture doesn’t have to change. It can be recycled and repurposed forever and ever and ever. At the end of Space Jam, Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny parted ways. There was an understanding that the two worlds existed apart from one another. However, A New Legacy ends with the collapse of these worlds into one another; the “Serververse” manifesting itself in the real world. As LeBron walks home, Bugs asks if he can move in.

Of course, with HBO Max subscription, the audience can take Bugs home anytime they want

#long post

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thoi2020 · 3 years ago

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u have advanced??????? wow. tips to qualify mains please??? help me with my modules.how do i solve them?????????

hnnng idk bestie here's some short tips n like if u want something more specific u can send another ask or dm me?

pay attention in class. sit in the front. listen out for what things the teacher puts an emphasis on. ask questions. yes, even the stupid ones. especially the stupid ones bc those are fundamentals u cannot miss bc a shaky foundation leads to a shaky building. also pay attention to ur teachers. theyve been doing this since before u even knew about jee they know what theyre doing. most of them want whats best for u, and if not specifically that, whats best for them n their institute which are usually similar things. im not saying blindly trust them without criticism but have some faith. dont dismiss them they prolly know better than u. if id followed my teachers instructions i prolly wouldnt have had to drop (but thats a discussion for another day lol).

revise notes on a regular basis. like. the day u studied it in class. then the next day. then a week later. then 2 weeks later. then a month later. google the curve of forgetting for more accurate time stamps. use flashcards for formulae n stuff that u have to memorise like inorganic chem.

analyse past papers. recognise the most important topics. but also there are some small chapters that are quite easy and some people skip them thinking there wont be any questions from them. ive given 4 papers of mains, and i can confirm that is utter bullshit. 1 question each from units and measurements, mathematical reasoning, stats, chemistry in everyday life, polymers, are guaranteed. u can easily secure at least those marks by spending just a little bit of time on them. esp for jee mains its relatively better to cover a wide range of topics with medium depth instead of just some but with deep understanding (the latter works well for advanced tho).

make a friend or two whos in the same boat as u, preparing for jee n try to keep each other accountable. tell each other everyday what ure going to study that day n then check back the next day. remind each other hlep each other out. also be friendly with the class toppers sometimes they can solve ur doubts better than teachers just bc something they explain clicks better. whenever i get confused about logarithms i think back to what my 9th grade classmate told me when i asked him to explain in 1 sentence n had him repeat it slowly to me multiple times. its burned in my memory and helped me so much.

practice tests. set the proper 3 hour limit and solve them. be honest w urself ure doing this for u. no point scoring 256/300 to impress ur teacher if u cheated bc on the day of the exam ure going to be screwed. in the beginning try out different strategies, different ones work for different ppl. like for me, math is my favourite and i find it easier than the other 2 so i do it first and it gives me confidence. then i move on to physics and then chem. some people look over the entire paper n solve the easiest from every section first, then the medium ones, then the tough ones. experiment in ur practice tests n figure out whats best for u n ur test taking. after the test, analyse. see what u got wrong, why u got it wrong. clarify doubts. mark problem questions to revise and solve again later. no point in solving more n more questions if theres no retention or learning.

for solving books specifically under the cut bc this is getting too long lol:

stick to 1 or 2 books max per subject. make them ur holy books and swear by them. if ure doing coaching then the modules provided by them are a very good option bc theyre specifically for jee and will cover what u need. coaching teachers will have a lot of experience with them too so u'll have an easy time with doubts clarification. if u choose other books tho, still consult with ur teacher and ask them to tell u what's relevant and what isnt and dont waste ur time on whats not. it might make u look or feel smarter to be solving questions on stuff thats beyond the scope of the exam but u literally dont need it and the syllabus is already very vast so ure just going to waste time and brainspace. like sure if ure interested study it in ur own time but dont make it an Important Must Do thing.

ok now that u have ur book with everything relevant to jee, make sure u devour them. study the theory alongside ur class notes. solve a few questions of corresponding topics the day they are covered so u dont have so many questions lined up at the end of the chapter. like if i studied friction in newton's laws of motion today, i'll solve the questions relevant to friction today itself. or u know this week. like,, keep it current. then while solving, speak out loud and explain the problem to urself like ure teaching someone else (or better yet, find someone to teach them to. stuffed toys, younger siblings, ur classmate, grandparents, online friend, whichever works). mark all the questions that took u longer than 5 mins or u cant solve at all. dog ear the pages. try them again the next day. then again a few days later. take the ones u still cant solve to ur teacher. try n ask for just a hint once and try again. and then if u cant then ask for the solution. DO NOT go on the internet. ur brain doesnt have to work for it then n u think u got it but u dont got it. make ur brain work for the solution so it'll remember.

now that uve given a good shot to every question and figured out where u stumble. analyse a bit. find a pattern if theres any: like a certain concept that is weak or something ure not understanding. read the theory for it if u have to n ask questions to clarify. then solve these problem questions again and again until u know every question well enough to be able to explain to someone. skip over the easy ones u dont gotta do them again n again, focus on the ones u stumbled on. theyre the weak spots. no use strengthening whats already strong enough.

and uh keep a notebook of the solutions of the questions u solve so that u dont have to go crazy searching for them in an emergency. like ur paper is tomorrow and u cant figure out this question that uve been trying for 1 hour then its a good time to review ur previous solution and refresh ur memory. often if uve practiced enough n its just exam stress etc thats making ur mind go blank then just a hint will be enough to remind u.

also this is more general but just. be consistent. small consistent efforts over multiple days instead of a big one in 1 day. u’ll retain better and ur brain does better with multiple small chunks spread out over an interval than a lot of stuff in a small one. and its ok to to have an off day dont kill urself over academics ur health is more important always. not getting into ur dream college might fuck u up but itll heal but ur health is more precarious and not getting enough sleep or food will def fuck u up and the consequences are a lot harder to deal with. dont think about the big picture or u’ll freak urself out just think about the next small step u can take. getting 99 percentile feels impossible but solving 10 questions for it does not. dont get disheartened by test results if ure working hard n smart u wont fail. even if u dont get into ur dream college u’ll have an excellent work ethic that’ll take u places u never thought of in ur wildest dreams. more than anything, be kind to urself and work n play hard.

#good luck!!!#sorry for the unpunctuated typing this was long i cba <3 #anonymous #again this is just from my experience plus teachers' advice that i liked and saw worked #tw iit jee #lmk if u wanna know sth else?#hope this helps #long post

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silyabeeodess · 3 years ago

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FusionFall Headcanons: Albedo

As if being stuck in a human body wasn’t bad enough for him, Albedo was still stuck on Earth when the invasion hit. Getting past Planet Fusion, on top of finding a spacecraft and evading arrest from the Plumbers, would be difficult to say the least. He was close to just turning himself in if it meant staying alive; however, when he saw how Earth was able to fight back through nanos and imaginary energy (IE), he chose to just bunker down for a long while.

As the war went on and the situation for Earth improved, Albedo returned to his old habits and his goal to get revenge against Ben. Ben’s status as a hero may have allowed Albedo to make a living at one point, but with the end of his stage-show, Ben 10 Live, that was pretty much over. It was something he only used to stay on his feet, so, after a point, he tried using their shared appearance to ruin Ben’s reputation instead. This is what leads to the events of the mission “Let Me Tell You About Rath!” and his plan to reap havoc at Mojo’s Volcano. After capturing an Appoplexian, the idea was to let him loose on humans, particularly Rath’s fanclub. As much as his species enjoys fighting, the Appoplexian would naturally retaliate at being caged and forced into combat for someone else’s entertainment, pinning his heightened aggression on the crowd. Moreover, with the event held in a section of Mojo’s Volcano, it would possibly turn the villain against Ben as well for ruining his home.

There are a couple reasons for there being Spawn Simians in this area. First it that this indoor location was just a part of the volcano that Mojo had to abandon when the Spawn Simians were created. Second, Albedo needed something for the Appoplexian to initially fight for the “fan gathering” that would make a sensible opponent for Ben, feeding the idea that he couldn’t control his alien self. Lastly, the Spawn Simians wouldn’t care about the Appoplexian being a bystander and attack him on sight in-mass, adding as an extra security measure to keep him trapped and ward off any curious eyes until the event took place. Past escape attempts are what led to the initial sightings that Max talked about.

After this failed attempt and the end of the mission, the Appoplexian was fine. The Plumbers arrived to calm him down, free him, explain the situation in-full. The worst it led to was a bunch of would-be disappointed fans if it weren’t for the fact that they all worked something out. When the Appoplexian found out that the fanclub was innocent, its members were meant to be his victims, and all they wanted was to see Rath in-action, he took it in stride. He showed off his strength/fighting prowess for them, feeding his pride and giving him a safe means of letting out his anger in turn. Albedo is on his hitlist though if he ever sees him again. Albedo himself was arrested.

Nevertheless, Albedo was able to work out a deal by offering to help the war effort as an extra scientist. People were hesitant to agree at first, especially anyone who knew Albedo’s background, but having another genius on their side was better than not. Moreover, some wondered if Albedo would help them on projects that Azmuth refused to, which was extremely tempting.

At the end of the day though, Albedo is only interested in saving his own skin. He’ll try to cause rifts between the Plumbers and Earthlings as a means to get them to be more wary of each other than him. He’d sell out the Earth in a heartbeat if it meant getting off-world himself before Fuse could take over it. He’s even gone so far as to sabotage the Fusion Fighter’s efforts a few more times trying to get to Ben. The only exception to his selfishness is when he feels he’s made a rare ally--one that feeds his ego and that he feels can’t easily betray him.

#fusionfall #headcanons #video games

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gamer2002 · 4 years ago

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Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair - Review2002

Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair is a sequel to Danganronpa that focuses on a new cast that, this time around, is trapped on a tropical island. The game is an improvement when it comes to writing, mechanics (mostly), characters, and executing own premise. It’s pretty much a perfect sequel that is a genuinely good game.

Like in the first game, we have a set of cases where one of participants of the killing game commits murder and tries to frame somebody else for their crime. This time around, our main character is Hajime Hinata, who doesn’t remember his own Ultimate Talent. Hajime is much better main character than Makoto, not just because of an intriguing mystery about him, but also because of being a better character with a better story. Sure, since Makoto was a painfully generic goodie-goodie, it isn’t saying much. And, Hajime isn’t really an outstanding character. But he is relatable, sympathetic, and funny, as the only sane man in the cast. He does a good job as a protagonist, while going through his own journey. He actually experiences far more hardship and Despair™ than Makoto did in his game. Which is why, at the end, you really want the guy to overcome it.

The gameplay also has improved, mostly. I like new blue statements in the Nonstop Debate. I like new trial minigames, though Rebuttal Showdown is more a neat idea than a good execution (you can’t really focus on what the characters are saying). I like that now, from the start, there is some logic element in the rhythm minigame. The so-called Improved Hangman’s Gambit is an overcomplex crap, though.

Outside of trials, the game also has improved acquiring new skills. Now you gather skill points from Free Time events, and you can spend them on buying available skills from a list. You can also unlock characters’ skills, by maxing out their Free Time events. It’s a much better system that gives you more control over gaining new skills. And you also have more control when it comes to getting presents, as you can buy few from a vendor machine, or spend coins on rolling random ones. Acquiring coins is also improved. Now you don’t need to examine same locations all over again, you just hunt hidden Monokumas. You can also get coins from taking care of Tamagotchi.

Music is pretty much the same, with just few new tracks. Island is much more interesting environment than the school. Direction is also more interesting during the trials. And also, we have better characters, but I will elaborate on that later on. There is still meme writing with hope and despair, but it is twisted into something far more interesting.

There are flaws, tho. I say that finale, while it had great last third, was exposition-heavy and also was relying on pretty heavy retcons. The world lore is expanded on, but is pretty unimpressive. But I still say - it’s a good game. A ridiculously animu edgy shonen that relies on selling underage waifus and a shock value, which can be not to your tastes, but a good one. The previous game was just fun, which means that you could enjoy it despite its flaws. The sequel fixes quite a lot of flaws, and also improves its strengths. And one of such strengths is its set up that allows to experience brutal treatment of likable kids. Yeah, the kids actually earn that they can be called likable, this time around.

It is an 8/10 game, even though I maybe should have given it a half point lower. I enjoyed it a lot more than the original, and also was more moved by it. I think that sequels that strive to improve the series deserve recognition.

But now, to expand on my review, I’m going to tell more why Danganronpa 2 gives us better cast than the first game, and why it is such a good sequel. In the spoiler section, I’ll be focusing on the new, much better, villain, and expand my thoughts on the game’s finale. So, let’s start with the characters…

Prepare them likable before the slaughter

In this game Danganronpa finds its strength as a series, which lies in its set up that allows building up likable characters, before brutally killing them off. While the new cast is still is mostly a bunch of two dimensional ridiculous stereotypes, they are more likable and useful to the player. Because they actually try to be.

The first cast wasn’t really good at giving us reasons to like or respect them, with two or three exceptions. Especially if you didn’t happen to make free time events with them. Most treated Makoto like a pushover (albeit deservingly), or plainly neutral at best. The motives, while understandable, were just realistically understandable, not sympathetic. Most of those that didn’t end up being killers still mostly focused on self-survival than improving anybody’s else situation. It wasn’t a group of people you’d be happy to live with, let alone be locked with. It wasn’t even much of a group. Even in the final case, after everything that survivors went through, Monokuma still could make them turn against one another with a rather unimpressive trick. While it’s realistic that kids in such situation would be self-centered, even if they didn’t end up becoming killers, such characters’ deaths rather can’t make you feel devastated. Not you can feel glad over their survival. Even if you happened to like their personalities, which is subjective anyway.

Hajime has better relationships with his cast. Only Fuyuhiko and Hiyoko (after her personality has shifted from killer of little animals into a foulmouthed shortie) ever treated him like crap, but they were like that towards everyone. And one of them had proper character development. Everyone else was neutral towards Hajime at worst, not best. One character has noticed Hajime’s reliability, and asked him for help with keeping security of others. Other character wanted to watch girls on the beach with him. I also don’t remember the first cast to mourn the deceased ones as much as the second cast does. Neither I remember them trying much to be supportive to those that were feeling down. The motives that are meant to be understandable are also more sympathetic, so even the killers are more likable.

And the usefulness? Let’s do a spoiler-free comparison of both first cases. In the first game, everyone, but one person, falls for the set up that framed Makoto. During the investigation, aside from the most reliable person in the cast, nobody really was much of any help, excluding one person witnessing something helpful. During the trial, Makoto had just one ally to count on, until he managed to clear himself from wrongful suspicion. But even afterwards, the trial was still carried by just two people. It doesn’t help the mystery wasn’t really complex.

The second game? The situation isn’t better just because nobody is wrongfully accusing Hajime. Excluding the two smartest characters in the cast, three Ultimates use their talents during the investigation, and each provides us with useful information. There are also two others that were screwing around, but still accidentally allowed us to learn something of use. During the trial, everyone tried to be involved, and just one character was briefly idiotic about it. Other than that, mistakes happened, but they were understandable due to the crime’s complexity.

The difference in the first impression is pretty self-evident, and that was just the start. Needless to say, 2nd game’s emotional peak is higher than the 1st game’s. Actually, more disturbing and sad things are happening in the 2nd game. And that’s where Danganronpa can shine. While this game can turn people off for being a ridiculous animu nonsense, when you get past that, you do get likable and pretty useful characters that experience terrible things. This is what this series has to offer, with the writers realizing that in their second game. Because, let’s face it, most of the first game’s cast were either caricatures, or had no proper chance to shine.

But this game isn’t just what the first game should have been. It is also what its sequel should be.

How to sequel

There are three kinds of sequel: betrayals, cash-ins, and genuinely good ones. Danganronpa 2 is the last one. An example of a cash-in sequel is second Ace Attorney game, Ace Attorney: Justice For All, which is my least favorite game in the series.

JFA is pretty much everything you’d expect from an Ace Attorney sequel, and that’s simply not good enough. While it’s always nice to be able to follow the story further, long-runners are popular for a reason, good sequels are more than that. They are supposed to do more than just deliver another set of cases that are rather similar to the previous game. They are supposed to give us a better rival than just watered down amalgam of previous ones, but with boobs and a whip. Expansions are more of the same, sequels are meant to have a game-changing aspect to them. And it’s not supposed to be only used as the final case’s main gimmick. An example of good sequel is Virtue Last Reward, because it uses the concept introduced as a final twist of 999, as the core element of the game. Even Zero Time Dilemma, the disappointing finale of the trilogy, does add an interesting twist to said concept.

Danganronpa 2 is a good sequel because it improves a lot from the previous entry. The main character actually has an interesting story that isn’t just “an optimistic guy tries to remain optimistic, so he does”. A new setting allows for more different murder mystery set-ups. Ultimate Talents are frequently used during crimes and investigations. And, like I’ve said earlier, many game mechanics are improved. And there is also a game-changer.

Years before Among Us becoming popular, I was playing with my friends Battlestar Galactica board game, which is also about managing a space ship with a traitor, known as Cylon, among us (hah). In a way, Danganronpa series is similar to those games, with a killer being a hidden withing the group traitor, that will doom everyone, if remains undetected. Anyway, an expansion to Battlestar added new characters, new environment, and also a game-changer – Cylon Leader, a character that is a known Cylon, but at the same time may be not, due to own mysterious agenda. While regular Cylon players wins when Battlestar Galactica is destroyed, and human players win when they reach their destination, Cylon Leader player was a wild card. At the start of the game, Cylon Leader randomly draws its own secret victory condition. And it not only could go either way, but also had special requirements. A Cylon Leader could want Cylons to win, but only after specific game phase. A Cylon Leader could want humans to win, but only after specific losses of resources. Other players didn’t know Cylon Leader’s exact agenda, only that he could shift sides depending on situation.

That being said, Cylon Leader was a controversial addition to the game, and not every fan liked it. But regardless, it was a game-changer. Which is what Danganronpa 2 offer, by quickly introducing its own Cylon Leader. But that’s for the spoiler section.

The superiority of Hope Man over Despair Thot

Nagito Komaeda is a superior villain to Junko, and this is simply an objective fact. Like you could tell from previous paragraph, he is this game’s Cylon Leader.

When I started the sequel, I’ve already been spoiled that Nagito is a psycho. What I expected was him being the sequel’s hidden in the plain sight Junko, a nice guy that befriends us just to be revealed as the mastermind in the finale. Well, I was wrong about that. In the very first case, Nagito tries to kill somebody, but this is all part of his plan to drive somebody else to murder, because he has no interest in his own survival. The killer was executed, but Nagito remained, declaring own readiness to aid anybody who wants to kill him and escape, at the cost of everyone else. And this put the new cast in a situation the old cast never was.

Some people say that Nagito has Byakuya‘s role from the previous game. But Byakuya was just openly outspoken about wanting to accomplish what every other killer wanted, until he was hit with character development, before delivering anything as an antagonist. Fuyuhiko is more similar to Byakuya. Meanwhile, Nagito delivers, first early, and then later on, after his character development goes wrong, orchestrating the most twisted and personally devastating crime in both games. He successfully forces us to sacrifice the Ultimate Gamer Waifu, how can you get more personal than that?!

But doing twisted and devastating stuff is what Junko is all about, so what makes Nagito better? First of all, even though he has literal good luck superpower, he doesn’t pull things out of his ass. Nagito doesn’t have Junko’s unexplained endless resources, he just finds opportunities in what is available to everyone. Even in case 5, where he has ton of crazy tools, we know that he obtained them during case 4.

Nagito also does have his twisted philosophy. For Pate’s sake, Junko herself admits that causing despair is nothing more than main characteristic of her one-dimensional character. He also does have a past (if you complete his Free Time event), even if it is the Joker-style multiple choices of past. Maybe he lied to Hajime about being terminally ill. Maybe he lied about lying, to motivate Hajime into killing him and escaping. The game never tell us, and this makes it more fascinating.

There are also opinions that Nagito ultimately plays into hand of Junko, nearly delivering her 15 bodies to control. I don’t agree with that. In the event of Chiaki being the sole survivor of her trial, she wouldn’t have a reason nor intention to graduate and allow Junko to take over bodies of the deceased. Neither Makoto and co. would have a reason anymore to risk themselves getting trapped in virtual world. Wrong and twisted as it was, Nagito plan would’ve neutralized Junko, forever trapping her with Chiaki in her virtual prison.

In the end, Nagito is a highly dangerous enemy, a highly useful ally, and a highly unpredictable wild card. He is an interesting character and he actively makes the game more interesting. Did I mention the sequel has Junko again and it is same old, same old? Ok, Junko/Monokum is slightly better now, but she still has many of her old issues.

The good and bad things about the finale

Overall, I liked the finale better than the first game’s, but it had some issues. One problem is that the investigation is an lazy exposition dumb. The first game was better at handling its revelations during its final investigation, as we were receiving more vague clues, not fucking walls of text. Not to mention, there were emotional moments, like Kyoko visiting her father’s office. Here, we are hit with a wall of text after wall of text, and there isn’t any meaningful scene. The only exception was meeting Alter Ego and receiving message from Makoto, but that was it. And those weren’t really strong scenes. The final investigation of the first game did much better job at handling its reveals. Even the final trial was better in the original, until the confrontation with Junko.

Also, retcons. The sequel wants us to believe that Junko, who was easily defeated, was constantly screwing herself over, and whose successes at driving people to murder were more attributed to weak opposition than anything, was the one responsible for the world’s collapse. When I played the first game, I saw Junko as a part of Ultimate Despair, whose task was to infiltrate Hope Peak Academy and broadcast a killing game to lure the groups’ opposition. A high and mighty Doctor No that only works for SPECTRE. But her being a manipulative genius that has turned the entire cast into her devotes? Have you seen her doing that in the first game? Where she could left Aoi devastated and resentful towards everyone, after the 4th trial, but she blew it so hard that fucking Byakuya had a change of heart? Where she was ultimately beaten by Makoto like it was nothing? Please.

That being said, Junko/Monokuma are better in this. Because the game is set in simulation, there is no problem with Junko being able to do whatever. Because the cast has stronger morality than the previous one, she does have to be more cunning with driving them to murder. Junko also sticks better to the rules, even if she is forced to. Her plan and the final dilemma she has for the cast is also actually a good one. But that actually wasn’t Junko anyway, just Junko-based Alter Ego. If I was writing this, I wouldn’t try to retcon a turd villain into something she never had been, I’d just state that Hajime/Izuru was behind everything in the first game and he has used Alter Ego to recreate Junko and lure Makoto and co.

One last complaint about the finale I have is that they retcon Kyoko’s father into a doctor Mengele, without her even reacting to it. The twist itself with the Academy fucking over Hajime was good, but they shouldn’t just carelessly (and without noticing it) turn a character that wasn’t evil, but good-intentional albeit flawed, into a monster that was experimenting on children. Or, at best, a detective family’s failure that had no idea what was happening in the Academy he was running.

After all that complaining, what is good about the finale? Well, things have slowly picked up since it was revealed that Monokuma/Junko wanted the cast to graduate. Everything related to Hajime was also good. The dude really went through a lot, starting from doubts about his lost talent and Nagito’s betrayal, through the revelation that he never had any talent and the loss of Chiaki, up to learning that the Academy has altered his very identity. The idea of everyone from the cast being part of Ultimate Despair was also a good twist, a much better one than “lol, the world is already destroyed”.

Besides that, the last moments of the game have masterfully used gameplay for storytelling. Movies and books can make us feel two things – pain or pleasure. Alternating between those is how stories have impactful twist and turns, causing them to be engaging. But in video games, we can experience a spectrum of feelings that other mediums cannot provide. In games, we can also feel power or powerlessness. And the game’s final gameplay segments put us at start in a state of powerlessness, in form of a choice between bad and worse, then letting us slowly regain power, culminating in a satisfying beat-down of helpless Junko. The point of that section of the game was death and rebirth of Hajime into SSJ Chadiyan, and the game makes you experience all of it.

Also, unlike the previous game, this one makes a proper statement. In the bad and worse situation, where you can either allow the devil to triumph at cost of other people, or become a martyr to stop the devil, what you say is “screw the devil, there’s a chance we will still survive, and we are risk takers!”. This is exactly the statement that the first game should have made. You can’t fall into despair and give up in face of overwhelming hardship. But you can also be betrayed by a false hope of everything working out. But not much can be accomplished without facing the risk and taking your chances, even if you odds are desperately small.

Overall, the finale did drag and relied on retcons, but its climax was truly enjoyable and worthwhile.

#danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #vn #game review #review #review2002 #video game #video game review #writing tips #super danganronpa 2

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beerecordings · 4 years ago

Text

Poison - Chapter 5

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4

So this was going to be the final section but it was longer than I expected! So there will be one part after this, I think, or one part and an epilogue. It should be posted next week :)

Marvin is, at last, rescued. But whether or not his brothers have been quick enough to truly save him - and what is to be done with the broken amalgamation of Anti and Chase, bound together in confusion and agony by a possession which out-stayed its welcome - is yet to be seen.

Trigger warnings for trauma reactions and hospitalization, including intubation, major illness, and forced psychiatric hold with restraints and drugging (Anti-Chase is the one in psychiatric holding). There are parts of this that could be interpreted as soft!Anti, but mostly it’s just Chase’s influence on the merged character they’ve made.

All that being said... hope you enjoy and thanks for reading :)

-----------

white

room.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, whispers the machine pumping oxygen into his lungs with a hiss.

The only noise.

Silence and oxygen.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Hisssss.

Can't feel anything at all.

Even his skin is a stranger.

Untouchable.

Colors and images and words with a vile sound to them – memories, realizes some part of him – filter through his mind like dust through the air.

Meaningless.

Empty as a white

white

room.

White coat. He stares up at it. It moves. Someone's wearing it.

White sheets. They do not fidget. His body is frozen beneath them.

White man.

His blue eyes are the only color in the room.

White

room.

Dark.

Cool.

Silent.

“Schneep,” his mouth attempts, just once, and then he is asleep again.

Henrik lets himself touch his wrist. Only for a moment. Just to feel the heart still beating beneath his own fingers.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, and hopes it reaches him somewhere, a light in dark dreams. “Stay with me, my brother.”

The first night is the vital one and he’s done everything he can.

Now he has to wait.

“I’ll finish up the last of it,” murmurs Kaashif, a nurse he’s worked with for two years now, touching his shoulders. “Go check on your brothers. Get something to eat. Your hands are good ones to be in, Henrik.”

“You can say that if he survives,” answers Henrik, clapping him on his shoulder and sending one look back at Marvin, small and as white as a gutted bird in that great blank bed.

Stay with me, my brother.

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

The cool walls of Henrik’s office surround him, comforting in their familiarity. The table is glass, a customary splattering of papers discarded across the smooth surface. A Newton’s cradle with smiley faces on the balls that Chase bought for him rock back and forth, back and forth, soothing white noise to Jackie’s ears. He stares up at the abstract blue and orange painting on a full meter of canvas pinned up above Henrik’s chair. Jameson made it for him himself. Just some nice colors. Just something to brighten up his office. For you, Schneep.

Hospitals can be scary. Jackie knows. But for his family, this place in particular has never been an omen for them. This is where they come to pick up Henrik after long days of work. This is where they’ve shared over-priced cafeteria food and smuggled-in Taco Bell at four in the morning. This is a piece of their city, of their home, of their family. Most of the staff know them by name, or at least as Henrik’s brothers. They can get roof access just by begging Cameron the security guard hard enough. And even when they’ve come here because someone was sick or Jackie broke a bone or that one time Marvin stepped on a piece of glass after breaking a crystal ball that wasn’t working, this was never the place to come to out of fear. It was the place to come because they knew Henrik was in the hospital, and Henrik would make it better.

JJ signs something incoherent and burrows deeper into Jackie’s shoulder, sighing against his shirt. Jackie wants to smile at his sleeping face, but he’s so tired, and so full of adrenaline, and so, so, so scared.

They’ve waited for hours by the time Henrik finally slips into his office behind them, letting the door shut behind him with a tired click. There’s a long silence. Jackie closes his eyes. Please don’t let them be gone.

“You made yourself at home,” Henrik teases, stepping forward, though his voice cracks slightly on delivery. He has a point, however. Wrappers from vending machine candy and a couple bottles of fizzy drinks lie abandoned around the chairs in front of his desk, the drawers of which have been ripped open in search of entertainment – or, better put, distraction. Not that the caffeine or the many drawings of sheep given to Henrik by Chase’s kids were enough to save Jackie from the full, shaking weight of his fear. He strokes his thumb across his little brother’s wrist and reminds himself to breathe steady.

Henrik moves to Jackie’s side and puts a hand on his free shoulder. He doesn’t even look up. His tired eyes have drifted down from his painting to the glass that makes up Henrik’s back wall, where snow is drifting out of the sky.

Henrik crouches down beside him and puts his head against his arm, and for a long moment they just rest, together, listening to Jameson breathe.

“Can you talk?” asks Henrik. “Do you need somewhere quiet to go? The lights off?”

“I’m okay, Schneep,” whispers Jackie, touching the bandage over Henrik’s cheek where Marvin burned him. “Just worried. Is he…”

“He’s alive.”

Jackie’s gloved hand squeezes around Jameson’s, making his little brother’s sleepily-clutched rosary clink and glitter in the starlight. Henrik looks up to see Jackie’s face squeezed just as tight, his eyes closed.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“I can’t make any promises,” whispers Henrik. “JJ seem okay to you?”

“You heard that he fainted just about as soon as we got here?”

“Magic is exhausting. I could have gotten him a bed somewhere.”

“He just wanted to be in your office. He likes it in here. There’s been a nurse checking in on him anyway. You know how much all the nurses here love him.”

“Yeah, cause he’s always bringing baked goods to the break room for ‘my big brother and his coworkers.’”

“Aka, being the cutest person in the world.”

“Yeah. Well, when Marvin is better, he’ll know what to do to take care of magical exhaustion better than I do. And he can teach JJ everything he needs to know. And everything will be okay.”

Jackie stares up at him, seeing himself reflected in Henrik’s glasses. His fear reflected – shared – in Henrik’s eyes.

“What happened?” he whispers. “Tell me everything.”

What a fucking night. What a fucking night. Henrik laughs without knowing why and goes to sit down on his side of the desk, burying his face in his hands.

Jackie waits, watching him. Eventually he leans down and picks up a Dr. Pepper, sliding it towards his brother.

“I’m going to pretend this is whiskey,” says Henrik, and he pops the cap and chugs the half that remains, making Jackie give him a faint, amused smile, which is all that matters to Henrik right now, really, because it’s all he can do.

He explains to Jackie what he can, trying not to go too fast. Jackie sits there holding Jameson and listening quietly to Henrik talking about things like renal failure and sedatives for seizures and a cool white room with all stimuli set to a minimum and muscle relaxants pumping into their brother to stop any more convulsions – not to mention what sounds like enough activated charcoal to detox a sickly elephant. Marvin’s intubated, Henrik explains, and extremely unwell. He won’t know for a couple days how bad the damage to his body will be. He could still die. And no, they can’t see him. No one can. Not for days.

“I could wear all white,” Jackie tries to bargain, voice rasping. “I could be really quiet and not touch him.”

“You can’t, Jackie. The risk is too high.”

“I can’t just sit with him? I can’t see him through the window of the room?”

“There is no window to the room. He has to rest. Alone. Quiet. No color. As little movement as he can. He won’t even be conscious for a couple days.”

Jackie bangs his fist against the arm of the chair in an effort to be contradictory, but he doesn’t take his head off Jamie’s. He buries himself against his brother’s hair, hoping Henrik won’t see him cry.

“Listen, Jackie… I need to give you the medical professional talk now, okay? I need you to know this. I’m not trying to be pessimistic and I’m not giving up hope, just – ”

“It’s okay, Schneep,” says Jackie softly. “I already know most people who get poisoned this badly die.”

A silence falls between them. Henrik stares at his own hands and says nothing.

“Cottonmouth?” he manages eventually, looking up at his brother.

“Dead,” mumbles Jackie. “I’ll let the cops handle that one. It’s horrible, really... even for her. Wonder what Moccasin will do.”

“Right,” says Henrik, his voice a little dark, and Jackie thinks that his little brother doesn’t think it’s so horrible at all, that she got what she deserved. “Yeah.”

Jameson shuffles sleepily on Jackie’s shoulder. The snow is quieting outside.

“And Chase?” Jackie whispers.

Found after all this time. Found after all this time.

Found like this.

“What did the police say?” asks Henrik.

“They almost tried to take him back to the station! I could have pounded them for it! But I looked after him til the emergency responders said he should go to the psych ward of the hospital. Wasn’t going to let pigs touch my little brother.”

“Is he going to be arrested once he’s better?”

“I don’t think so. Max is pulling some strings for us. He knows Chase isn’t… himself. He’s going to buy us time to deal with this.”

“Well, if they do try to put him on trial, I can always smuggle him back to Germany.”

Jackie laughs despite himself, covering his face with his hands for a moment, trying to keep it together.

“I won’t let anything happen to him. He can’t, like, glitch away, right?”

“As far as we can tell. He’s heavily drugged.”

“And how is he?”

“I, um. I don’t know.”

“What?”

Henrik looks up at him, face drawn and guilty.

“Schneep, they told me you were looking after him.”

“I meant to. I mean, I wrote up his treatment plan and everything and I had the nurses give him everything he needs. But I couldn’t go in there. I got – I got…”

Henrik trails off, mouth pursed. Jackie sighs and pulls his face up from JJ’s hair.

He got scared.

“He doesn’t really look like Chase, does he?” he murmurs.

“Or act like him,” Henrik all but whimpers, clutching at the white sleeves of his coat that hide the pale string scars underneath. “He acts like… like him, and I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay,” says Jackie. “It’s not your fault, Schneep. I’d be nervous too.”

“Will you go with me?” he asks.

“You still want to see him?”

“Yes.” Henrik tries to look resolute when he nods. “I do, yes. I need to help him with this. I need to find a way to save him, Jackie. I think I can do it. If you’re there.”

Jackie grins at him, hallowed by the stars and the snow outside. There’s his Schneep. That’s his tough little brother.

“Course, man. That’s what I do. They don’t call me Jackieboyman for nothing.”

“They call you that because you are a dork. Come on. He’s in the psych ward.”

“Wait, what about Jamie?”

“Oh, I talked with the nurse. He’s just sleeping. For once. So he should be okay to keep resting a while. Call me when he’s possessed and/or someone’s fed him gopher poison in revenge for imprisoning their drug lord partner.”

“Don’t even joke, von Schneeplestein. Don’t even joke.”

He picks Jameson up and readjusts him in the chair, leaving him sleeping deep and dreamless beneath blue and orange canvas, warm with Jackie’s hoodie wrapped around his shoulders.

At least Jackie gets to see this one resting.

Now it’s time to go poke a bear.

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

“Where am I?” he asks himself, staring at the ceiling above him.

White ceiling. White bedsheets. White light, painful on the eyes after so long in unconsciousness.

“I think… a hospital?” he answers, his voice weak, his tongue terribly thick in his mouth. “Please, no words… oh, I ache…”

He’ll think instead. It’s easier.

This is a hospital?

I think it is.

I don’t want to be here! Let’s get out.

Look, in the doorway… the men who look like me.

He turns his head more fully towards the door, breathing anxiously.

Those are the men I ran away from?

I don’t remember… did I? Oh, our head… we have to lie back down.

He sinks into the pillows and nearly passes out again, his head throbbing and his limbs sluggishly motivated, tasting blood in his mouth.

He doesn’t remember much of that day he went away.

In fact, he doesn’t remember much at all.

He thinks there was a train that day, or maybe not a train. A train underground. He was holding… something soft. He was holding something soft. He was smiling.

He was on his way to see his children.

He was on his way to see his kids. Yes, he was smiling. He was smiling very big.

The subway rattled merrily around him as he sat clutching the stuffies he had bought them to his chest, his eyes bright, grinning at the exhausted assemblage of people headed to work around him. Things were good, and Hunter had been excited to see him on the phone, and Stacy was going to go out of town and let him stay with them, and everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be better than okay. Everything was going to be perfect.

And then he wasn’t who he was anymore.

There was nothing theatrical about it, really, nothing like in the movies, with throes of passionate fighting against the thing inside your head or a look of horror as the eyes turned black in the mirror. Anti did sit suddenly down beside him, yes, emerging from the crowd though he had not been there when the subway doors closed, and Chase’s heart took flight like a bird after a gunshot cuts through the air. He said nothing. Clutched Izzy’s stuffed seal tighter to his chest. Tried to breathe. Anti did not speak either.

A few minutes later, he was aware of a change in himself, and then he was lost, and as time went on, Chase only grew more and more lost within the dark tangle of trees and bristle and thorn in which he found himself. He cried out for his family. No one could hear him. He struggled. His hands tore open on the sharp wood and blood would seep through, moment to moment, staining together his consciousness and Anti’s, embedding him deep within the forest until, at last, he looked up and found Anti looking back at him, gripping his shirt, his arm, his hair, his body, desperate to tear him out of the forest they shared.

Entirely without success.

This was not what either of them meant to have happen. They were bound and bolted together, both caught in a constant recoil and a constant coming together. Anti was as tangled up as he was. Their blood seeped into the earth. Eventually the creature that remained – fae and man and monster and brother – forgot that there had ever been two to begin with at all. There was just him.

In pain.

And in confusion so great as to match it.

But despite that confusion, he thinks, now, as his eyes flicker open, that he recognizes the man in front of him, the one who has come into the room, leaving the other out in the hall, looking anxious and defensive.

He had recognized the other man a couple days ago, hadn’t he? Hanging from handcuffs? Convulsing with poison? They had stalked him, he thinks, and then, when he saw him in those chains, something in inside him snapped like a tree branch on the forest floor. Who was he? What was his name?

I wanted to see him die so badly.

He… loved me…

“Chase?”

He blinks drowsily, trying to come awake.

“Let me the fuck out,” he hears his own voice, thick and strained. “No…”

He is hand-cuffed to both sides of the white bed.

Confinement. No. Not this. He can’t bear it. To be chained down. Filthy mortal flesh, keeping him stuck, keeping him static, his whole being drowning under muscle and bone, unable to get out from the man’s body, from… his body?

We’re okay. I’m okay. Stay calm. Here I am.

He’s nothing but a sniveling excuse for a healer anyway.

Yes. He’s pathetic. I am strong. I’m here. We’re here. Hold on to me.

“Chase. It’s me. Are you okay? Please say something.”

He looks up again, eyes burning.

“Oh,” he says, feeling a smile, a sneer, grow malignantly across his face. “I knew I recognized you somewhere.”

“Yes,” the man whispers, eyes warming with relief. “Yes, my brother. It’s me. It’s me.”

“Of course,” he whispers back. “I still remember how beautiful you were chained to my basement floor. My lovely little torturer. I knew you’d come back to me one day, my doctor.”

Henrik’s body tenses, his pupils going small, his heart caught in his throat.

“I’m not scared of you,” he manages after a minute, but his eyes turn down to the ground, his posture shrinks small and submissive, and his hands clutch together as though he can hold his own heart and protect it inside of them. In the hallway, Jackie puffs up with worry, not allowed into the room by the shadowy figures Anti can see guarding the door. “I want Chase. Give him back to me.”

“Give him back to me,” he mocks, tilting his head, and when his eyes flash black Henrik whimpers and leaps up from his chair, jerking back towards the door and almost falling over his own feet. “Stupid little doctor.”

“Where’s Chase? I want him! You’re not him! You stole him from me!”

“I am and always have been the AntiJack,” he laughs, tearing against his restraints, panting as he tries to force the flesh to glitch, but, oh, he feels so heavy, so sluggish, so pinned down. Needles protrude from his arms. He cannot reach back to tear them out. “The one who is not him and the one who pretends to be. I am the reverse and the imposter. I… I am… ungh, Schneep, what did you even give me?”

“Enough calmatives to keep a horse on its knees,” spits back Henrik, wiping his hair shakily from his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Little fucker,” he mumbles, feeling his head drop onto his chin. “Bet you had to have the psych ward nurses do it, huh? Little man? You were always such a little coward, Schneep… letting everybody else do the big boy work… sitting in your little office, sorting through your papers, pretending you can do anything to save anyone. You just… you… fuck, I h-hate this flesh… fucking let me go.”

He tries to palm at the old scar on his head, groaning as pain lances through his brain. Another one of the random aches the body gets. He needs to lie down and sleep through it if he can. That’s what he does when the body is in pain. Maybe get some of the bitter, fermented liquids that humans like to help him quiet himself down. He’s gotten such a taste for whiskey. He can hear himself mumbling, trying to reorient himself, and his hands burn for his neat little notebooks. He has to keep track. He can’t just lose himself. He can’t just keep losing such big pieces of himself.

Hold on. Hold on to me. We’re okay!

I’ll get out of this like I always get out of trouble.

Yes, I’m okay. Focus on this little bastard. Confining me… who does he think he is?

We should rip him open like a candy bar wrapper.

“I can’t let you go,” the doctor tells him, slipping nervously back towards him. “Don’t scratch at your palms like that.”

“I’m going to cut you up like the little sardine I always meant to make of you,” he purrs, sing-song, scratching away at his palms until the blood comes, relieved for the pain to focus on. “I’m going to pluck the feathers off you, little bird, alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai.”

His own singing begins to calm him, his exhausted eyes flickering shut. He thinks the song was an old lullaby anyway.

“I will pluck your feathers out, I will pluck your feathers out. On your head, on your head, and your neck, and your neck, and your back, and your back… and your chest, alouette… ungh, too much medicine, Schneep… my head hurts. I’m going to skin you and make you into a hat for Jay… for J… for the other boy, the one with the… what’s his name, I…”

Henrik touches his bloodied palm.

He stills.

The doctor wipes the wet blood gently from his hands and bandages them. The soft pads of his fingers drift along the veins of his palms. Of his wrists. Of his fingers.

Someone is touching him.

Someone is touching him, touching him gently.

“Marvin?” he hears himself say. “Brother? Are you there? Where are you?”

“He’s resting,” whispers Henrik. “I am looking after him.”

“Yes,” he says. “Schneep. Look after him. Alouette, gentile alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…”

A needle is jammed into his throat. He screams, his fingers tightening around the hand holding his own and digging down into the back of it, his black eyes flashing open to stare at Henrik even as the world seeps rapidly away.

“You won’t be in control much longer, Anti,” murmurs Henrik, some deep and agonized fury glowing in his eyes as he shoves him back onto the bed. “Don’t pretend to be my little brother. I am not your slave anymore. I will find a way to set Chase free too.”

Anti can hear himself laughing as the darkness swallows him up.

“Please,” he thinks his mouth moves to say before he loses consciousness. “Yes, please, someone set us free.”

He is so lost, and this forest is blacker than blood.

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

“What do we do?” whispers Henrik, hiding in both the stairwell and Jackie’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Jackie whispers back, letting himself slump against his little brother. “I don’t know.”

They stand in the cold of the stairwell and they hold each other.

“Try to remind him who he is,” suggests Jackie finally. “Try to help him get himself free, since it doesn’t feel like we can do hardly anything. And… wait for Marvin to wake up?”

If he does wake up. Henrik grinds his teeth and presses closer into Jackie’s shoulder. “I hate waiting,” he growls.

“I know, man. Me too. Me too.”

But they’re doing everything they can already.

Please let it be enough.

Please don’t let them be gone forever.

They stand – for a long time – in that cold stairwell. They hold on to each other.

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

Marvin sees, in his dreams, the poison.

On his handcuffs he is immobilized as an insect in dark amber, his blue eyes glittering, agonized, in his skull. There is nothing left in him. He can feel death like a dog at his throat.

“Marvin,” sobs Chase. “Marvin!”

“Here I am,” he needs to say. “Here I am, amata! I’ll help you. I’ll fix it!”

But he can’t speak and he can’t move. He can barely stare down at Chase beneath him, watching the poison fill his little brother up.

“Marvin, there’s something in my head! Please help me! Where are you?”

His eyes flicker and drip blood and Chase whimpers, clawing at his head as his irises move through a dance of different colors. In the end, they settle on black. He heaves and something like ink comes pouring out of his mouth.

“I don’t know what to do,” Marvin croaks. “I don’t know how to help.”

He can feel his body convulsing on a bed and strong arms holding him gently, protecting his head. He can feel their heart beating through the point of contact. He can feel Henrik’s hands.

“Here I am, here I am,” he is whispering to him. “I’ll help you. I’ll fix it. Just hold on for me, my brother.”

“Schneep,” he tries again. Maybe he could speak this time, but something cold and plastic has filled his throat up, and his pain is so high his whole body trembles from it.

“Here I am. Here I am. Marvin, don’t die. I can’t lose you. Just rest. Here I am.”

A needle slides into his throat. Fog fills his head like a lake at dawn. He sleeps.

But he doesn’t sleep forever.

-----------

Someone is whistling softly around the room.

Back and forth, back and forth with a sweet song Marvin doesn’t recognize. Maybe he’s just too tired to search his brain for the sound of the song and find its name. Memories have been painful recently anyways. He will just stay right here in the present. And listen to the pretty song.

He lies there for a long time, feeling stunningly comfortable and incredibly cozy for the first time in days. Being awake is nice. He thought it would be scary again, but it’s nice. Nice with pretty music. He can tell he’s been taken out of that silent white room where he was all alone for so long, and he’s glad of it. His eyes slide open. Nice with pretty music and a comfortingly familiar figure wandering across the room, back and forth, back and forth.

There’s a rush of dazed fondness through Marvin’s head. He hears himself giggle strangely, his head flopping back against his pillows. He’s so sleepy but he feels so nice, really nice.

Jamie’s whistling cuts off and his nice shoes tap against the floor as he hurries to Marvin’s side, sitting down in a hard plastic hospital chair at his side and reaching tentatively for his hand, though he doesn’t quite touch him. Marvin turns his head again to look at him, smiling dizzily. He sees the trepidation in his little brother’s face and tilts his head quizzically, his fingers twitching for his hand. Jameson should know he can always hold his hand if he wants to. Everyone has different boundaries in their family, but Marvin doesn’t think he’s ever been bothered by Jameson touching him, at least not since they first became friends.

Jameson smiles softly and touches his hand. Or his fingers, more like. Marvin frowns and looks down his arm.

Did he break it? There’s a stiff white cast from beneath his wrist all the way up to his knuckles. Jameson makes a soft, soothing sigh of a noise and scoots closer to him, cradling his weary fingers and rubbing his arm above the cast.

Marvin decides he feels too nice to be distressed about it. He smiles again and tries to make the sighing noise back at Jameson. Jamie smiles and Marvin feels delighted about it. He finds his other hand after a moment of mentally searching his body for all of its parts, and this hand is only bandaged around the wrist, so he reaches out to touch Jameson’s face, carding his fingers lovingly through his beard. Jameson’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment, but he doesn’t protest, still smiling gently down at him.

Is Marvin in the hospital? He doesn’t know why. He feels great.

Jameson’s free hand reaches up to sign, but Marvin snatches it out of the air and draws it fondly to his face. Jameson looks surprised for certain at that, but he only laughs. In his right mind, Marvin would probably realize it was rude to stop him from signing, but he isn’t exactly in his right mind right now.

Jameson frees his other hand from Marvin’s broken one and holds it up flat above his head. It’s a sign that usually means “tall.” Right now, Marvin’s pretty sure it means “high.”

He giggles wildly, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s so funny. He is, yeah. He’s so high. He’s high like a teenager. Henrik must have gotten him the good stuff, the really good stuff. Mhhh. It’s nice. He’s high! He laughs and runs Jameson’s fingers across his cheek, though a sting of pain stops him and he jerks in surprise, opening his eyes to look up at JJ, alarmed.

“Broken,” signs Jameson gently, bringing Marvin’s hand back to his cheek. He feels bandages and, beneath them, scratchy stitches. “Healing.”

He doesn’t want his cheek to be broken. That’s so mean and sad and he’s going to look so ugly. He scowls at Jameson and shakes his head, tears prickling in his eyes. Jamie smiles with real sympathy and sighs at him again, massaging his good hand.

Okay, that’s nice again. Marvin takes the hand and puts it in his hair and Jameson runs his fingers across his scalp without protest, close enough that Marvin can feel his familiar warmth. Marvin blinks sleepily and touches his mouth. Jameson chuckles and begins to whistle for him again.

That’s nice.

That’s all really nice.

He feels good.

Everything’s okay.

“Okay?” asks JJ.

Marvin nods, a dopey grin fixed on his mouth.

“Talk?”

Marvin pauses, confused.

“Talk,” repeats Jameson slower. It’s a sign that means speak or sign. Communicate. “Feeling okay? Talk to me?”

Oh, yeah, talking. That’s something people do. Marvin coughs and looks up at the ceiling.

Um… talk.

He can do that.

It’s easy. You just kind of open your mouth and make sounds. For words you know the meaning of. Or you just put your hands up and move them. Come on, Marvin. You’re a fucking linguistics major. He has to be able to find the right words somewhere in his addled brain.

But he just… can’t.

He looks over at Jameson, who’s assuring him it’s okay if he can’t talk or doesn’t want to. “Just need to rest,” he’s soothing, and Marvin can read the words perfectly on his hands, understands and processes immediately. “Just take it easy, okay? Should I get Schneep?”

He understands everything he’s saying. He’s not intubated anymore and his throat is sore, yes, but not sore enough to silence him. But he can’t speak. He can’t find the right words.

Something’s wrong.

“It’s okay,” promises Jameson, moving forward quickly to thumb away the tears sliding down his face. “Poor Marvin, big brother, it’s okay. Love, love.”

But it’s not okay. Marvin stares up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words, and he begins to realize just how not okay everything is.

This is the hospital. He’s in the hospital and he’s high on morphine or whatever it is Henrik gave him. He’s in the hospital and his cheek is broken and his wrists are bandaged and beneath the warm haze of the drugs there is an undercurrent of pain waiting to swallow him whole the moment his medication is reduced. A thrill of fear squirms down his aching spine.

Something bad must have happened to him.

Something bad happened and then… and then…

In his dreams, poison.

“Ch-chase.”

Warm water runs down his face. He stares up at the ceiling, mouth trembling. Jameson leans in close to him, his face sad and worried, and all Marvin can seem to do is reach out and touch him, running his fingers through his hair as his memories float back to him, faraway but painful still.

“Chase,” he whimpers.

In the whole of his brain, it seems to be the only word he can find, and he clings to it, staring up at Jameson, begging him to make it all better and tugging at him, trying to bring him closer, closer, wanting to know that his little brothers are safe.

“Chase. Chase.”

JJ sighs his soothing sigh and climbs carefully into the bed beside him. Marvin’s never been more grateful to have someone next to him in his whole fucking life – except, maybe, when Jameson and the others arrived in that cold and terrible basement to save him from his torment. The memory turns his tears into quiet sobs.

Jameson wraps his arms around him and puts his head in his chest. Marvin runs his fingers through his brother’s hair and cries against his pillows, exhausted and unhappy, feeling broken and sick. Jameson’s body and the soothing of the drugs are his only protection against everything that happened, and he clings to them like the lifelines they are, repeating Chase’s name in a soft, miserable daze no matter how many times Jameson tries to tell him he’s alive and receiving treatment in the psych ward.

That’s how Henrik finds them perhaps an hour later, though Marvin can’t seem to get any track of how time is moving around him. He’s gone quiet, but still the hot tears are dripping down his cheeks. Still he’s stroking Jameson’s hair and remembering all too clearly the things that happened to him and the sight of his little brother filled up with Anti’s poison.

“Marvin,” Henrik whispers, real fear in his voice, and Marvin looks up and sees his own mortality in his friend’s eyes.

I’m not okay, am I? he wants to ask, but even for this, he cannot speak; he cannot find the words.

Henrik touches his unbroken hand. Marvin wraps his fingers around Henrik’s and Jameson cuddles closer against his chest. The three of them breathe together, in silence.

Eventually, Henrik turns Marvin’s medication back up, and the world becomes warm and pleasant again, and he listens to Jamie whistling for as long as he can keep his eyes open.

--------

“This place really is a shithole,” says Max, teething at his lip as he stares around the trashed little apartment. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Jackie tears the drawers open and then slams them shut again, shaking his head as he continues his ransacking. “Just anything that’ll help Chase, I guess.”

“Couldn’t you get something from his room back home? This place is a dump. I don’t think Anti’s been buying him souvenirs or anything, you know?”

“I tried bringing him stuff from home. Actually he played Animal Crossing for a little while after I had the nurse bring him his Switch, but he didn’t even look at the pictures of Hunter and Izzy and he doesn’t really seem to… get it. It’s like he doesn’t even remember.”

Jackie sighs and closes the fridge, tossing out a couple packs of rotting deli meat. There isn’t much else in there and the cupboards are bare of anything but an empty pack of Oreos and half a jar of black olives.

“Schneep won’t listen to me when I tell him about the journal,” he says. “About how Chase and Anti both got, like, mashed together. He thinks Anti’s trying to trick me and Chase is just tucked away somewhere in their head, sleeping or watching or trying to get out.”

“Well, there’s a chance he’s right, right?” In his boredom, Max has begun cleaning, wetting one of the abandoned shirts on the floor with water and wiping the counters down. “Schneep probably knows Anti better than you do, to be fair. Maybe that journal was just moments of weakness.”

“Okay, yes, he does know Anti better than me. But I think the fact that Anti’s done so much to him is making it really hard for him to see anything but Anti in that person. Even when he acts like Chase, he thinks it’s a trick. I don’t know. I just want to try everything I can.”

“That’s fair,” says Max. “I mean, he can act all he wants, but we found those toys still here, so he can’t be entirely immune to some cute shit, even if he is mostly Anti.”

Jackie stands up straight. “Max, you’re a genius.”

“Oh,” says Max, flushing dark and shifting his weight from side-to-side, a shy smile on his mouth. “What did I do?”

“Where are those stuffed animals? They were for his kids. If he kept them, they have to mean something to him, right? Or he would have destroyed them. Plus they’re just nice to cuddle with, I bet.”

“They were by the mattress.”

Jackie moves over to the mattress and finds the stuffed animals flopped against the wall where he left them. He takes them back in his hands and buries his face in them, rubbing against the soft fuzz of Izzy’s dragon and the smoothness of Hunter’s squished seal.

“I hope you guys have been keeping my little brother company while he’s been trapped,” he mumbles, shoving them into his hoodie pocket. “Let’s get these back to the hospital.”

“Get you a coffee and a snack on the way?” offers Max, still dark in the cheeks.

Jackie frowns up at him, getting to his feet. “I should really get back.”

“You’ll make Schneep more stressed if you don’t take care of yourself,” says Max.

“That’s… true.”

“Come on. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Jackie can’t help but smile, chuckling as he steps towards him. “You’re too good to me, man.”

Max is definitely blushing now, but Jackie’s always known him to be shy. “That’s what, uh, friends are for,” he answers, smiling back. “I’d, well. I’d be happy to get you something, Jackie. I like to.”

“Hey!” A voice in the doorway makes them both turn to find a disgruntled-looking old man regarding them uncertainly from the hallway. “Here to tell me why my tenant’s gone missing? He’s about three months behind on rent and now he’s disappeared.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replies Jackie easily, picking up Chase’s old bracelets from the windowsill and heading towards the door. “I’ll pay you that and however much it is to end his contract. He’s not living here anymore. My little brother’s coming back home.”

“And if Anti comes back here,” adds Max. “Call the cops. He’s wanted for murder. Like… a lot of murder.”

“What?”

“Send us the bill! Bye!”

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

“Hey, is that Jamie?” asks Jackie, still shoving fries in his mouth. He hasn’t eaten all day. Luckily he funneled all of the rest of Henrik’s leftover pasta into his mouth while crying last night at eleven while home alone because Schneep forced him to go try and get some sleep at home, but other than that he’s been missing meals. It was pretty good pasta. Salty.

“What?” says Max, tilting his head.

And then, after a moment:

“Yeah, that’s definitely Jamie.”

“I wish that just once it wasn’t one of my little brothers being weird in public. Just once!”

“Says the vigilante!”

Jackie snorts and rolls down Max’s window. “Hey! Dippin’ dots! What are you doing standing mysteriously in front of a random alleyway with a tray full of hospital cafeteria food? You okay, Jamie?”

Jameson turns around, blinking down at the tray of food in his hands. He looks confused as to how it got there and looks up to shrug at his brother. His eyes are burning silver.

“Fuck,” swears Jackie, leaving his fries behind and getting out of the car. “Here, give me the tray. Another vision?”

“I just felt like I had to come here,” mumbles Jameson’s hands as he stares dazedly down the alleyway. “Like it was important.”

“You walked a couple blocks from the hospital in a trance?”

“I… guess I did?”

“That sucks, bud, I’m sorry you got confused. We’re going to have to keep an eye on you while you get this magic stuff figured out. Got your location on on your phone?”

“Yes, Jackie, like you always tell me.”

“Thatta boy. Come on, poor guy, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Max grins at Jameson as he gets back in the car. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he teases.

Jameson smiles back weakly and rubs at his quieting eyes. “Thanks for picking me up. It smells like Wendy’s in here.”

Max looks at Jackie. “Should we turn around and go back to Wendy’s?”

“We should turn around and go back to Wendy’s.”

“This must have been what my trance was for,” signs Jameson cheerfully, setting aside the cafeteria food, and Jackie laughs and passes him the rest of his French fries. He’s glad Max made him take a break. He’s been stressed. In retrospect, the crying into his pasta might have been a red flag about his anxiety levels.

But everything will turn out okay. It has to. It has to.

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

Marvin needs surgery on his wrist.

“Just going to put you under for a little while and I’ll do it myself, okay?” says Henrik, sitting at his side. “Quick surgery, not too many wrists. Risks, I meant. Dammit. You had some tearing from the convulsions while you were in the handcuffs and it’s broken, but it should heal okay in a few months after this gets done. Does that sound okay?”

He tries to smile at Henrik. His little brother smiles back, rubbing his shoulder slowly. Marvin can tell he’s scared, but not about the surgery. He wants to ask him more questions, but he still can’t seem to speak, and Henrik isn’t offering up a lot of information. Probably for his own good. He’s still on a lot of medication and Schneep keeps saying he doesn’t need to stress. Just rest and keep fighting. Rest and keep fighting. Marvin doesn’t know how to choose to do that.

He doesn’t know if he can.

But a surgery on his wrist isn’t too scary, not while he’s this high and Henrik is here reassuring him.

“Sign this for me, okay? Saying you’ve been informed.”

He hands Marvin a form on a clipboard. Marvin can read it just fine – basic shit about informed consent and risks involved. Apparently there’s a chance of losing all feeling in his hand, but he figures he’s a lot more screwed over if he doesn’t get the surgery, and he trusts Henrik anyway, even if he probably shouldn’t be performing on family. He signs the paper with his good hand.

Or tries to.

All that appears on the paper in one long squiggle.

He stares down at his attempt at a signature, faintly alarmed through the haze in his mind, and then up at Henrik. A faint whine falls from his mouth, a weak attempt at his brother’s name. Henrik frowns and scoots forward, worried, looking at the paper as he holds it out to him.

His mouth purses. He looks back at Marvin and doesn’t speak for a moment.

Marvin touches his throat. “It’s probably just the drugs,” murmurs Henrik, trying again to smile for his sake. “But I think I’ll have the speech specialist come see you when you’re ready. Lie back down, alright? I bet Jackie will be a ball of energy as soon as he hears you were awake, and I’m going to schedule your surgery for tonight. Okay?”

Marvin nods.

“You can understand me just fine, right, my brother? Can you blink twice for me?”

Marvin blinks, once, twice.

Henrik smiles and grips his good hand, eyes warm and concerned. “Okay,” he says.

And then, to Marvin’s surprise, he takes off his coat and he stays.

“Technically I’m on my vacation days,” he murmurs by way of explanation. “So I told Nadia you’re the only patient I care about. Okay, you and that really cute kid on third floor. He’s my favorite.”

Marvin smiles wide and earnest this time, and Henrik smiles right back.

“Should I read to you?” he asks.

Marvin nods. He would like that. Henrik gets out Life of Pi. Marvin’s been meaning to read it.

“This book was born as I was hungry. Let me explain.”

His accent is so warm and familiar these days. Marvin remembers long nights spent up with him, Henrik home from a graveyard shift and Marvin home from a night with his friends. A night like the other night, but without getting kidnapped before he could go home. A good night, and Henrik’s dry wit and unspoken love when he came home maybe the best part of it.

“In the spring of 1966, my second book, a novel, came out in Canada. It didn’t fare well. Reviewers were puzzled, or damned it with faint praise…”

Marvin listens to him read and thinks that he could write a book of his own, just about his wild little family and everything they’ve been through. He thinks about how this could have been the end of his book. Maybe it still will be. He made his peace with it when he was in those handcuffs, or at least when he got the chance to see Henrik and the others one more time. Maybe they should have let him go then. Maybe that was the end of it, and the chapter closed, and the book would leave you feeling sad, but also moved by it in a way that mattered more than you had realized it would when you began reading.

“… Green hills heavy with mists would lie at my feet and the shrill cries of monkeys would fill my ears. The weather would be just right, requiring a light sweater mornings and evenings, and something short-sleeved midday…”

Green hills heavy with mists. Monkeys and clean warm air and bright light somewhere on the horizon. He daydreams to Henrik’s voice and Martel’s words and thinks that this isn’t so bad, not really. Yes. Maybe this is meant to be the end of him yet.

But Chase.

Chase.

The only word left on his tongue.

He has to help his little brother. He can’t end the story without him. Without knowing he’s safe, and well, and maybe even, if Marvin can swing it, happy.

Marvin registers vaguely that his eyes feel oddly swollen, and then he lets himself loose in the world Henrik is presenting for him, and drifts without fear, on a boat in the ocean with a tiger still sleeping in the empty bed on the other side of his hospital room.

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

He stands in the doorway in black and white, with a pair of stuffed animals clutched to his chest.

“What do you want?”

His voice is loud and slurred, his head rolling back against his pillows, straining his neck and coughing. Determined wrists pull weakly at their restraints. The ferocity of his words is undermined by the low, agonized groan he gives out afterwards.

“What do you want?” he repeats again, shrill and screamed. “Let me go, let me…”

Jameson sits quietly down beside him, the seal and the dragon on his lap.

“Little fucker,” mumbles Anti, mumbles Chase, looking up at his big blue eyes and his all-too-sweet expression, so soft and concerned. “Pinned me down. Gave me a concussion. Little brat. I’d be home right now if not for you.”

Jameson nods, tilting his head back and forth a little as though admitting it.

“I’m tired, Jamie,” he says, thunking his head back against the pillow.

“You’re on a lot of medication.”

“How are you in here, anyway?”

“Jackie’s friend is distracting the cops for me.”

“Jackie having a friend,” he growls. “There’s the real shocker.”

“You and Jackie are friends,” answers Jameson calmly. “You love him.”

“Shut the fuck up, you sappy, weepy, pathetic little child of a man. What you come in here for, huh? You want to see your papa? Does Chase take care of the little baby? Everybody knows you can’t take care of yourself, after all. You’re just a whining, mute, needling little – ”

“Is your pain very high?”

Jameson can see him trying to breathe. It doesn’t look easy. He’s stressed. He’s scared. He stares at Jameson and doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Anti,” he says, his hands clear and careful. “Chase. I know you both very well. And the truth is that I don’t want to see either of you in pain, even after everything Anti did to me. I still remember the days when I thought of you as my family. When I loved you.”

He stares down at his bedsheets. Jameson sighs and gets to his feet, standing over him, and he shudders and gives a soft whine, curling in on himself, his face pale and frightened.

“Do the nurses treat you well?” asks Jameson. “The cops leave you alone? Have you been out of this room at all?”

“I want to go,” he whispers, licking at his dry lips. “I want to go back home. I want to – I want to – I’ll make you all pay for this. I’ll slit Henrik’s white throat like I always meant to do and you and Jackie can writhe for trapping me here. Your fault, your fault… please let me go, p-please, I’m…”

Jameson places the seal stuffie on his lap and the dragon on his shoulder.

He breathes in the smell for a moment, his hollowed eyes flickering. The last six months have not been good for him, for either of his fighting parts, but they did manage to hold on to some things here and there – most importantly, a place to stay, a place where he wasn’t trapped and no one hurt him, where there was a soft, if broken mattress and a couple soft animal toys that made him feel happy somewhere in the back of his mind. This dragon smells like home. His fingers touch the soft body of the squished seal.

“I don’t know what you think this is going to accomplish,” he mumbles, wishing he could wrap his arms around himself, because he is the only person who has held him in months and his flesh is aching for it. “I’m not… I’m not… not what you think I am.”

“Like I said.” Jameson sits down beside him again, his hand resting gently on the bed beside Anti’s. A little closer and he could touch him. “I know you both pretty well.”

His fingers touch Chase’s.

He goes very still.

Jamie holds his hands and they sit together for a long time.

The lights buzz above them. Outside the window of the room, a pair of finches flicker back and forth. The sunlight touches their skin.

Jameson draws away a moment. His brother chokes, shaking his head, groaning for the loss of him, but he only gets to his feet and places his body against him, wrapping him into a careful hug. Warm arms encircle him like a sweater and squish comfortingly against his body, and all he wants to do – all he wants to do in the whole fucking world – is wrap his arms around JJ in return and pull him into his lap and be held for hours. He’s panting and burying his face against Jameson’s chest, whimpering to be touched at last, to be kindly touched at last.

“Chase,” Jameson signs against his heart. “Chase, my Chase.”

Chase clings to his hands and cries.

“Please let me go,” he begs. “Please, please, I can’t get it out!”

“I’m right here,” promises Jameson, kneeling down to look at him and stroking his hair. “You’re going to keep fighting, okay? You’re going to cast him out.”

“No, I can’t,” he cries. “We can’t tell each other apart anymore. You have to help me, I can’t, I got lost, I got stuck! I tried, I promised, I wanted to go home. Now I can’t even remember what home is. We’re too tangled up!”

“We’re going to help you get him out, okay?”

“There’s nothing you can do. Please, you have to let us free. Kill us, JJ, we’re tearing each other apart.”

“Hey.” Jameson takes his hands in his own for a moment and squeezes them before drawing away again to speak. “Don’t say things like that. You will only get yourself stuck in this place longer if you do. Besides, Anti’s always said things like that to manipulate me. You won’t move me with words like that.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” he screams, and when he grabs Jameson by the side – the only place where he can reach him with his hands restrained – and digs his overgrown nails as hard as he can into his little brother’s stomach, Jameson does not so much as flinch, just closes his eyes and waits for the rage to go away. “Stupid little boy! This isn’t something you can remove with kind words or Henrik’s scalpels.”

“Then we will find another way,” answers Jameson, soft crescent moons of blood welling against his shirt. “You have to trust me.”

“You betrayed me,” he hisses. “Left me behind to go be someone else’s family. Left me alone!”

“You didn’t treat me well, my brother. I’m happier without you. Without Anti, at least. I gave you everything I was. If you had been kind to me, I would have stayed.”

He scowls and shoves him away, gritting his teeth and seething, nuzzling his face against Izzy’s dragon, tears running down his cheeks. “Look how weak we are,” he cries. “We both broke each other. There’s nothing you can do… nothing anyone can do… I’ve been trying to get free for so long.”

Jameson sits down again, tucking away the small bloodstains on his shirt without anger in his eyes, and when he takes his brother’s hand again, he does not try to dig his nails into his palms. Just holds on to him.

“I can’t promise you I have everything figured out right now,” says JJ after a moment of comfort. “I don’t know exactly how to save you, Chase. But here’s what I do know – you are touch-starved. You are scared and you have every right to be. You’re not well and you’ve lost a lot of weight because you’ve never known how to take care of human bodies well. So here’s what we can do. I’m going to make sure you’re getting some Cymbalta, because that was Chase’s prescription when he was suicidal. And I’m going to sit here with you as long as I can so you’re not alone and I can touch you. And I have Wendy’s. And you’re going to eat it.”

He holds up a brown paper bag with a pig-tailed girl on it and smiles. “Because the hospital food is pretty shit and I don’t blame you for refusing it.”

He stares at him, eyes wide. Jameson stares back, smiling.

“You’re out of your mind, baby brother,” he says, and then he laughs despite himself, weak and shaken, and takes Jamie’s hand again.

“Probably,” he signs with one hand, and gets up to kiss the side of his head and feed him a handful of fries.

There’s only so much he can do. But he will do it. He will do it. And he will love him with every moment that passes, harder and harder, until Chase can find his way back to him.

“When did you get so grown-up?” he whispers, when an hour has passed and they are sitting together in silence.

“When someone gave me the chance to grow up,” Jameson replies gently.

“I loved you, you know.”

“No,” says Jameson, and his eyes still love him, but his heart knows better. “No, Anti, you didn’t.”

They rest together, hand-in-hand, and the finches come and go, singing.

#writers of jack #jacksepticeye #jse egos #bee writes #see tws #poison

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yourdailykitsch · 4 years ago

Text

Introduction to the ‘Shadowplay’ characters

Max McLaughlin (Taylor Kitsch) 31 years old, raised in Brooklyn, third generation in NYPD. His mother was a German immigrant and he has a big brother, Moritz. One evening when Max was nine, his father came home drunk and had an argument with Max's mother. He threatened her with his service weapon and a shot went off, which killed her on the spot. Max ran to his dead mother, which provoked his father even more, so that he pointed the gun at Max. He shot again, but Moritz threw himself into the line of fire, intercepted the bullet and thus saved his little brother's life. The father then committed suicide. A traumatic experience that connects the brothers for better and worse to this day. Max married a girl from the neighborhood early, but the relationship didn't last long. There is something in him that keeps him from enjoying life, from engaging in relationships. Today Max has little contact with his wife, but they take care of their ten-year-old son Jimmy together. Max writes a letter every week and speaks to him regularly on the phone. Thanks to his mother, Max speaks German quite well. She also gave her sons German names, derived from the famous brothers Max and Moritz, who are notorious for their vicious pranks. Max travels to Berlin with the attitude of a blue-eyed idealist and is there responsible for rebuilding the Berlin police in the American sector. But there is also a personal reason for Max to come to Berlin: he suspects his long-missing brother there.

Elsie Garten (Nina Hoss) Late 30s, born and raised in Berlin. Torn like the city of Berlin. Her husband Leopold is missing in Russia. But Elsie suspects he's still alive. She is right: he is being held in a prison camp in Berlin. Elsie is going to spy for the Russians to get her husband back. To get more food stamps, Elsie first worked as a rubble woman. Then she got the idea to apply to the police, and she quickly rose to the top. This work makes just as much money, but it is not as physically demanding. Nowadays Elsie believes that she can create a better Berlin, a new Berlin built on the ashes of the ruins. As in most police districts in Berlin, mainly women work in Elsie's district. Elsie is the head of the section, her district is in the American sector. Elsie's noble goal is to create a better future for herself and her husband, whom she knows deep down that she will see him again. But the price she has to pay for it is high.

Tom Franklin (Michael C. Hall) 45 years. American Vice Consul. Eloquent and clever. He studied law at Stanford because his family wanted it. Art because he wanted it that way. He also made the decision to go to Germany against the will of his family. Franklin's official job in Berlin, his position as Vice Consul, is more representative, but his real mission is espionage. Its job is to control the Russian sector. His approach is characterized by pure self-interest. Berlin is the perfect place for him. Tom Franklin is Max's official supervisor. He encourages Max to gather information for him that he can use for his espionage work. Franklin is married to Claire. Their relationship has gotten a bit old, which may also be due to the dominant appearance of Franklin.

Claire Franklin (Tuppence Middleton) 35 years old, born and raised in Sussex, England. Nobody knows what it really looks like inside her. On the one hand she enjoys life in the upper class, on the other hand you can see the great loneliness in her. Parties and glamor, the founder of the American Housewives Club in Berlin, always a smile and a brisk saying on her face: She is the perfect host, but she drinks too much and has numerous affairs. When Claire meets Max, she is immediately drawn to him. Claire's father and her two brothers were all killed in the war while they were in Washington D.C. met Franklin. She only experienced the war from across the Atlantic, but her brothers and father were close to her and her hatred of the Germans runs deep. The dark side that shapes her character emerges when she realizes that her husband Tom is helping ex-Nazis escape.

Moritz McLaughlin (Logan Marshall-Green) 35 years old. Max's older brother. Soldier of the American 45th Infantry Division. Reported missing, but active on the streets of Berlin with his own agenda: He tracks down old Nazis on whom he wants revenge and kills them. His sense of justice is biblical and relentless, highly pathological. A traumatic experience in his childhood and the war destroyed him. The picture stories of Max and Moritz provide him with the basis for his cruel acts of revenge. In his twisted worldview, he hopes Max will join him on his raid.

Karin (Mala Emde) 25 years old. Before the war, Karin worked as a waitress in a beer house in Neukölln. She was an all-round optimistic and happy girl. Then came the war and then the Allied occupation. Lonely and a little naive, she meets two sympathetic American soldiers in a bar. But the two turn out to be brutal rapists. She barely escapes death and then has to find out that she is pregnant. In her need, Karin decides to contact a man from whom she has only heard rumors so far: the "angel maker" who helps women with abortions. She knows that she will have to pay a price for it, but has no idea how high it will be. Karin is developing more and more from victim to perpetrator. The humble waitress from Neukölln becomes one of the most important handlers for the "angel maker" by helping him expand and secure his empire.

Hermann "Engelmacher" Gladow (Sebastian Koch) Mid 50s. Works in all sectors. Brutally. Intelligent. Compassionate. "Der Engelmacher" is Berlin's Al Capone and his expertise extends to robbery, kidnapping, black market, murder and prostitution. He has a team of 70 people and most of them are women. He is discreet and few people know who he really is - except for the people who work for him. He is a legend in Berlin and everyone calls him "angel maker". Before the war he was a gynecologist. His nickname is derived from the fact that he helps women with abortions, which they mostly cannot afford. For his service he asks the women favors. These favors cover the entire spectrum of his criminal machinations: from prostitution, smuggling and espionage to murder. "Engelmacher" is as complex as the city of Berlin - he is a villain, but also shows a lot of compassion for the victims. This compassion ensures the loyalty of his people.

#taylor kitsch #Shadowplay #Max McLaughlin #logan marshall-green #Michael C Hall #Tuppence Middleton #nina hoss

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lalaytight · 3 years ago

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Nct Dream as University Students

-Information Prior to Reading-

Clearing - When applying to University after the official date of the A level results, national results, the clearing section opens which allows people who did not get the required grades or have changed their mind in term of courses, apply to university and get a spot.

Dissertation - he final project completed in the last year of University, is normally around one set topic and makes up a good chunk of the final grade awarded at the end of the course.

Pre's - Stands for Pre Drinks a social event where alcohol is consumed prior to going to the clubs.

Masters- A second degree normally 12-18 months long in addition to the bachelors degree when you first graduate. Normally more specific than the first degree.

Gap Year- A year taken between finishing up school and going off to university, normally spent either saving for university or more commonly travelling the world and 'finding' yourself in a third world country on a beaten path.

Pull/ going on the pull- The act of trying to get a date or take someone home with you whilst on a night out in the clubs/ pubs. Can be either successful or unsuccessful but is a great past time.

Tactical chunder- The act of throwing up whilst drunk in order to sober yourself or remove some of the alcohol from your body. Is often done to make room for more alcohol.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Mark Lee

Mark is currently a second year university student studying Art history. His entrance story to university was not easy nor common, at first he took a gap year working out just what he wanted to do with himself for the rest of his life. About halfway through this gap year he decided university was not for him and he wanted to take a gap life rather than just a gap year. However, his mother was not impressed and insisted he went to university. Therefore, he entered as an Art History student but did not put any effort in resorting in him having to retake his first year of university. As his parents told him that if he dropped out that he must have a full time job in place before doing so and Mark was too lazy to find a job.

Mark is part of the university football, soccer, team. He wasn't a first pick for the club and he is mainly kept as a reserve for the team. It's not that he isn't a team player, rather the opposite and his club members absolutely love him as he's their biggest hype man. They always want him on their society nights out but they just don't want him playing. Mark might be a team player and somewhat well coordinated but he isn't the best under the pressure of the game and can get overwhelmed by the large groups of players he has to go up against.

After his first year plunder where he was forced to retake the year considering he passed none of the assignments or exams, Mark got his act together. He is now one of the hardest working members of the class trying to constantly prove to himself and his lecturers that he can in fact do it. When it comes to group projects he generally takes on the role of the person trying to convince the others to do the work. However, when this is undoubtedly unsuccessful he will then pull his weight to the max and complete the work that was missing from the other project members. The epitome of a stressed bunny at all times whilst trying to do uni work.

Mark is a terrible lightweight who attempts to keep up with his friendship group, who are all younger than him. And he is not very successful at it, he will only drink liquor partially because its a ploy to get him drunk faster and because his stomach cannot stand anything yeasty in terms of alcohol. He is fully under the belief that apple sours is a very strong drink. When drunk Mark seems more than willing to share his insane knowledge of Justin Bieber songs, he knows nearly the entire discography it would seem though not in the right key, Haechan has still to find a song he doesn't know the words to yet but the younger man has made it his mission to do so. Mark will get chatting to the prettiest person in the room accidentally whilst drunk and the others are definitely jealous of him especially when said person not only offers to help Mark back to his room and into bed but will also give Mark their number before leaving.

Huang Renjun

Contrary to popular belief Renjun is not an arts student, though he throughly enjoys the subject and can be seen frequently floating around outside the building he is in fact a classics student. No nobody knows what that means and Renjun is more than likely to study a masters on top so he can actually do something with his degree, maybe teaching though he's not a fan of small children.

Renjun is not part of a society but he is well known on the campus. He is considered two things firstly the one kid who spends way too much time around the art building considering none of his lectures occur there. He lurks with the intent to be able to sneak his way into the building and this is where he is not directly known but known for. This is because he steals from the department to supply his own personal art supply. He has a mission to never pay for his own supplies again he will only use the university's. To do this he tries to sneak in using a different unsuspecting person's swipe card access as this doesn't bring anything suspicious to him or another person. Hence the lurking but he tries to play it off that he's waiting for his partner though tends to walk off with a different person each time the security guards overly catch him.

In terms of being in class, Renjun is that one quiet student. Considering the register is done by tapping yourself in on the wall and not physically answering your name, it is more than likely you won't hear him speak for weeks on end. It's also like this in group projects as he doesn't tend to turn up to group meetings preferring to email you instead or when he does he still remains quiet. The one other noticeable thing about Renjun in class is that he goes all out in terms of appearance. He has never attended a lecture, seminar or meeting in jogging bottoms and his fit is normally very much on trend. He even went through a little time period where he was dressed like an eboy but realised he suited the softer colours much better and swapped it out for the normal yellows and oranges he is more commonly known to wear.

Just like Mark, Renjun is a pretty big lightweight. He is the first to vomit throughout the night and will continue to do so throughout the night. But he tends to pretend or try to convince the others that he is actually much more sober than he actually is. It doesn't go swimmingly well, as they coin onto the fact that every time he disappears it's to the toilet to vomit. In fact he almost accidentally locks himself in one of the stalls in the mens toilet and has to be rescued by one of the other boys in order to get out. Will try to brush it off as that he wasn't that drunk in the first place but is not doing a very good job about it. In terms of trying to pull on a night out Renjun tends to go for the friend of the poor person Jaemin is flirting with non stop. The two make rather great sidemen even though its not always on purpose.

Lee Jeno

Jeno studies architecture which is actually a really long degree. But in order for him not to appear as nerdy as he is, he tells everyone he is studying something to do with sports. Normally going for sports psychiatry as his go to or back up degree only his housemates, or closest, friends know what he is actually studying. He is convinced by telling everyone he studies Architecture that it will ruin the image he has so carefully crafted for himself.

Jeno is a rugby player and proud of it. He tends to wear it with pride like it is a personality trait and can often be seen walking around the University City in his rugby jumper with his initials and nickname plastered on in the most obnoxious font. Though he joined the sports society for the game he very quickly fell in love with the social aspect to the society as well. He can always be seen on a rugby boys night out going full out for whatever theme they have chosen for the night sometimes getting the other boys to help him with the makeup for some of the different costumes he wears. He gets really excited when its his turn to sing the dick song around the hughstreet chanting his own made up verse about his own sexual endeavours despite being completely unexperienced.

Jeno is a lazy student. He tends to do the bare minimal for everything related to the degree. This includes actual attendance, if he attends, which he often tends not to do, you can bet the clothes he was in was the exact same outfit he wore the week before. Most of the time he is found back at his uni accommodation just chilling with his other housemates when they ask him why he's at home and not at uni his go to response is 'I just couldn't be bothered to walk there so I decided to stay home' or 'I slept through my alarm and decided to take a self care day'. Even if his self care day had literally been the day beforehand. However, despite his lack of effort in actually producing work, especially in group projects, its hard for anybody to get overly mad at him considering he normally brings out the big guns and will get up to present the project making most of it up considering he did not do any of the research or work. When he actually wants to get work done you can only find him on the silent floor of the library hidden in one of those single person cubby holes right at the back. He is the kind of person to hiss, maybe even bark, at someone if they made noise around his quiet space.

On a night out Jeno is that one drunk who likes to bring out his talent at 'playing' the guitar. Like most people the one song he actually knows how to play is Oasis 'Wonderwall' and he will play this multiple times during the night. The only way to stop him doing this is to let him be completely in charge of the music for the night and therefore a lot of grime music is played throughout the evening only being interrupted by the odd song one of the other boys has managed to sneak onto the playlist. Is the best at holding their alcohol but does take a tactical chunder right before going to bed in order to reduce the banging hangover he knows he's going to have in the morning. When the boys are playing games whilst at pres Jeno is the first to flake out and give up on the game never have I ever considering he has done nothing and feels like he is the only one not drinking and doesn't find the game fun.

Lee Donghyuck/ Haechan

Haechan studies theatre studies. No surprise there as he has a talent for the arts, he is a well versed triple threat and is thought to be an actual threat to his other students or as he likes to call them his competitors. He is one of those who you cannot be sure whether he took the degree because he wanted to study what he was so good at or because he enjoyed the drama between the students on the course more. Considering there was so much between the department. He knows everything going on, exactly who's sleeping with who. You want to know the tea he's got it.

As a part of his course Haechan is very often involved in the shows the university puts on every semester. Yes all three of them, and he's pressed when they actually cast a female to play the female lead. He's also joined the music society and is a proud treasurer. He is in charge of how the club spends their money and doesn't hesitate to put most of their budget aside for the recruitment events in September and following bar crawls. The society has gained many members due to the legendary parties they throw curtesy of the budgeting planning Haechan performs.

Haechan is very friendly with nearly everyone in his tutor group. He's not shy to introduce himself to others and this has granted him a very nice reputation around the class. It's worked in his favour as everyone has deemed him someone safe to tell their stories and feelings to, well nearly everyone, and therefore he is the gossip queen. He promises to keep your secrets but his entire set of roommates know everything by the end of the day. He's a hard worker, extremely hard worker and this shows in his work as he constantly remains at the top of his class. He stays late all the time to work and books out the many rooms in his building over the weekend to work. His dissertation out of all the boys was probably one of the best, because he actually cared for the subject he was writing about.

At a Pre's Haechan is the one who hacks the playlist. He loves to add just a little bit of Bieber to every playlist, it's a guilty pleasure. But Jeno never seems truly angry at him, a little miffed that his password keeps getting guessed but other than that the hacking's allowed. Haechan is also the one to bring out the drinking games first. He's a sucker for any card based drinking game but will totally come up with his own rule set and spend most of the time arguing with anyone trying to tell him that the rules are incorrect. By the time they've hit the club he's had a cheeky little vomit on the side of the path only to continue to laugh it off. Alcohol just makes him even more daring than he was anyways so out comes the jester. The sudden courage to do anything when drunk is a blessing and a curse. He is the only one up to climbing over the stools to release a trapped Renjun but he is also always up to dancing on the tables pint in hand. The most reluctant to leave the club. And the one pulling when he really doesn't want to. He's there to party not to get numbers. At the end of the night he's gained like 5 snapchats he never intends to use.

Na Jaemin

Jaemin studies English Literature. He was given two options, start work or go to university. And Jaemin's too pretty to be working so university it was. In his opinion. He entered university, barely, but he got the grades he needed irregardless. And after all who cares what A level's you hold when you have a degree?

Jaemin isn't in any society's or on any sports teams. He doesn't care about university that much to get involved. What he is at is every single student night held by the student union. He's always there right in the centre of the room having the time of his life and chucking the empty cups onto the floor.

Jaemin's a lazy student in the way that he attends university because he doesn't want his attendance to plummet but he has no intent to involve himself in the lectures. Barely completes his coursework and he once tried to pay a ghost writer to write his essay. He can always be found sat at the back of the lecture hall sitting in a strange silence alone. He's dressed to the nines and looks completely at peace air pods in and Netflix show playing. He doesn't have to worry about getting notes he'll just flirt his way into getting someone to send them to him. The official crush of the English Lit course, but he's just a little too far away for comfort. He does not participate in group work, he's always sending the work but it never arrives. You'll have to do his part as well and he'll get the same grades the rest of the group does. Because even when you send those sheets in about what everyone did, the lecturers don't read them or care and he gets away with it.

Jaemin has one intention on a night out to pull. But he isn't looking just for a casual relationship. He's determined to find the one whilst at uni. He's looking for his other half. And he'll use any of the other guys to help him pull. Anyone and everyone is his wingman. Except Jisung who's the house baby and he can't ever see dating. Jaemin can hold his alcohol pretty well, he's had enough practice. He's always the one to suggest shots on a night out. And he always picks a Jaegar bomb. To the point where nobody in the house can smell Jaeger without getting the urge to vomit.

Zhong Chenle

A boy from a well off background studying economics. Couldn't get more cliche. But the truth is that Chenle loves the subject he picked it not because it was a typical rich boy thing to do, but because it generally interested him. He worked hard to get into university. But he won't tell anyone. If anyone asks he just laughs it off with a shrug of his shoulder as to query what else he would he do?

Chenle joined the music society Haechan is the treasurer of. And he's gunning for Haechan's chair when the older guy leaves university. He loves the society and everything they do, from the self produced songs to the nights out and the editing of self made music videos. But this isn't the only club he's a part of, he's joined the university extreme Frisbee sports team. He joined as a joke back in first year but he felt almost guilty just quitting. So here he is still part of the team. But hey they get to go to varsity each year and he gets to parade around in his sports uniform. And its a hit with the ladies.

In class, Chenle is one of the most active participants. He loves his subject, loves his study and he rather enjoys arguing with students and professors alike. It has lead to a rather sour view of him from many of the students. But he has his solid core of friends and couldn't care about what the others think. What he does care about is the way one of the lecturers teach and his goal is to drive them to insanity so that they quit. After all who makes group work a necessity in every single seminar. Evil people. And he's here to rid the university of evil lecturers. No matter what it takes. Despite his hate for the obscene amount of group work, he's an active participant and always willing to give the presentation working for many of his more shy classmates. But he will drag out the presentation what was supposed to be five minutes is more like 20 and full of jokes and one liners which mean you never forget what he was talking about. Even if it was completely down the wrong track.

Chenle is a great mixologist at a pre's. He'll make anyone a drink. And its strong, pungent and straight to the point. You want to get drunk, he's your man. He'll help you take a tactical chunder before you leave for the club as well. But he's also ridiculously responsible and won't let you get black out drunk in his own house. He knows when you've hit your limit and will totally supply you with water he pretends is gin so you can sober up slightly. Toaster is also always on to provide those carbs you need so desperately if you've gone overboard too fast. He's also the one who demands you go for food once you've left the club. Whilst in the club he's down for anything. Mariah Carey, break up songs or heavy metal he's here for it all. Finger guns at the ready he's going full out. Will draw the room's attention and unsuspecting targets, namingly Jisung, onto the dance floor with him.

Park Jisung

A humanities guy through and through, Jisung studies History. Another not ashamed of the course he's studying, Jisung will happily tell anyone that he's studying history. He'll also tell anyone that History was the only subject he passed well and it was just fate. He came in through clearing but he'll tell you the story of how desperate the university was to have him that they didn't care about the U he got in Maths.

Jisung is an active participant in the shows the university puts on each semester. He doesn't take to the front of the stage but rather works in the back. He's a sound technician and a rather good one. He can mix and sort out the mic's levels like nobody else. And if he turns up Haechan's mic when he's got a solo he'll always say his finger slipped. And he's charming enough to get away with it, every single time.

Jisung loves history, but he hates participation. If he could join every single lecture and seminar from the comfort of his bedroom he would. But alas he cannot, lecturers actually want you to attend. So begrudgingly he does make his way in for scheduled lessons. But he's sat in the very back corner where its so dark nobody can see him there. He listens and takes notes but if a questions asked to the class he'll slump down into his chair to avoid being seen to be asked the question. In terms of working with others this is also not something he wants to do. Jisung already has his friends, his housemates, he doesn't need any more. And therefore, he never ever makes any of the meetings set up by the group. He's active as much as he physically has to be in the group chat but that's all. He does however, send his piece of the work in super early. So there's a silver lining to his complete and utter reluctancy to work with others. Even if he does leave the group feeling as though he's a bit of an ass.

Jisung is the house's baby. And therefore, they're always trying to get him drunk. He's a lightweight and he's drunk within two hours of them starting. But he's an adorable drunk sat in the corner of the room on the sofa covered by a blanket that has been taken from someone's room nursing a bowel of snacks and laughing when someone loses ring of fire and has to drink the mixture of alcohol in the middle of the table. He makes it to the club, always does, but is banned from drinking any more when he gets there. He's also constantly under the strict watch of the others as he has a tendency to wander around the club and get lost. Though when in doubt you can always find him in the smoking area getting hit on by much older woman.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream #university au #college au #nct fluff #oneshot #thatcollegeaunooneaskedforpart1

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bufomancer · 5 years ago

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Ornate Pacman Frog Care (Ceratophrys ornata)

Why are pacman frogs so popular? Their large size? Their voracious appetites? The many beautiful morphs they come in? All of the above, and more! Unfortunately, there are downsides to that popularity. Misinformation abounds, and their sit-and-wait lifestyle leads to small, minimalistic keeping. If you haven’t already, I wrote another article (How Can We Do Better By Pacman Frogs?) that addresses some of these misconceptions and more.

This care sheet is not intended to be used as the sole source for pacman care information, it is merely a guideline. It is important to always do further research of your own to determine the best way to care for your pacman frog. There are eight species of pacman frogs, plus hybrids. This article solely focuses on the ornate pacman frog. If you have a different species of pacman frog, please do further research into your species specifically, as they live in different habitats in the wild and may need different care.

Quick Stats

Species: Ceratophrys ornata Tank Size: 20 long minimum for a male (bigger is ideal), 40g breeder minimum for a female Size: 4.5 inch max for males, 6.5 inch max for females Sociability: must be kept alone, they will eat other frogs Heating: gradient. hot side around 75-85, can be turned off at night Humidity: soaking dish, keep soil damp, 70-80% humidity Lighting: Ferguson Zone 1 Diet: insects, can also be feed pinkie mice and frogs/lizards occasionally Origin: Pampas region of Argentina Lifespan: 10 years on average

The native habitat of the ornate pacman frog is mostly subtropical grasslands and seasonal wetlands. There are few trees, just grasses and shrubs. They can also be found in irrigated cropland and ditches. Humidity stays pretty high around 70-80%. Yearly average temperatures range from 55 to 75 degrees Fahrenheit.

[source]

Part of the pacman frog appeal is their adorable appearance. A typical ornate is primarily green, with brown spots on the back. Some red may be present as well. The ‘high red’ morph is just about the same, but with increased red coloration. Size of spots, intensity and spread of color, etc are all pretty variable. A male may reach a length of 4.5 inches, while females are larger and may get up to 6.5 inches. Smaller sizes are also common.

Minimum vivarium needs depend on the frog’s gender. Males are several inches smaller and can be kept in a 20 long minimum. The females are larger and would require a 40 breeder. Regardless, bigger is always better! Height is not very important except for as needed to safely provide heat and light, and to provide room for deep substrate. A few broad, sturdy objects that can be climbed will make a good addition and are recommended.

When it comes to substrate, eco earth, moss, or foam/paper towel are the popular options. However, these are not really the best choices. Paper towels are fine for quarantining, but pacman frogs love to burrow, so after quarantining, frogs should be switched to a loose soil substrate. Organic topsoil, sand, eco earth, leaf litter, clay, and some commercial reptile soils can be used as parts of a nice, quality substrate. Moss is okay, but not as the entire substrate. Substrate should be deep enough for the frog to burrow itself entirely.

Pacman frogs may destroy live plants, but hardy ones may be able to withstand a frog climbing over or burrowing under them. They will also need to tolerate high humidity and damp soil. Pothos, philodendron, spider plants, and dracaena are a few options to look into.

Pacman frogs like high humidity. When the soil gets dry, they may begin aestivation, burrowing deep into the soil and covering themselves in a protective layer of skin. Keep the soil damp, but not soaking, a drainage layer can help prevent this. Hydrating the soil directly may be more effective than misting, but again, you don’t want the soil to be so wet that it turns to mud.

Hides and decor, like for all other herps, are necessary in some form or another. Ornate pacman frogs come from the Pampas region of Argentina, where vegetation is primarily shrubs and grasses. Some amount of cover is important so that your frog can easily hide from the lights if they choose. Their native grassland habitat means that the vivarium does not need to be especially cluttered, but a bit of cover may help them feel more secure.

Supplemental heating should be provided to achieve a gradient. Never use a heat mat on the bottom of the enclosure, as pacman frogs burrow to cool down. Some use heat mats on the side of the enclosure, but this is hardly effective. Heat mats only produce IR-C, the infrared wavelength that penetrates tissue the least, and they only increase the temperature of what they’re touching, not ambient temps. A halogen bulb is your best bet, putting out a combination of IR-A, IR-B, and IR-C most similar to the sun. Deep heat projectors, radiant heat panels, and ceramic heat emitters can also be used, but a halogen bulb is ideal. Unless the room gets very cold, pacman frogs will be just fine with no supplemental heating at night, room temperature will be okay.

I really recommend providing UV lighting. They are Ferguson Zone 1 animals, meaning they are primarily active at night and will cryptically bask when they need UV. In the wild, they can be found burrowing with their heads poking out during the day. Make sure there is plenty of room to avoid the light, but overall UV lighting is a very good idea.

Never keep a pacman frog with tankmates. They are aggressive and may cannibalize each other if kept together. A pacman frog will eat just about anything that fits in its mouth. This means feeding is very easy. Feeder insects should make up the bulk of the diet, but they’ll happily take small mice, frogs, lizards, or even the occasional feeder fish. Vertebrates should be fed sparingly.

Breeding can be difficult, but not impossible. Many breeders use hormone injections to induce breeding, I recommend against this. Instead, allow your frogs to aestivate and then place them in a rain chamber. Much of the difficulty in breeding frogs results from the natural seasonal cycle not being mimicked. Be warned that pacman frogs are aggressive and an unreceptive female could injure or kill your male. Before attempting to breed, you will definitely want to do further research and speak to people who have bred them before. Breeding is a big responsibility, but it can be very rewarding. Keep in mind that some sections of the pacman frog market are pretty saturated already. Do you have space for the offspring who may not sell right away, or ever?

My male ornate pacman frog’s vivarium. This is a 36x18x12, with topsoil, eco earth, and leaf litter for substrate. The heat source is a 50 watt halogen bulb and the UV light is an Arcadia PureSun mini, which is a good choice if you have a short enclosure like this. For a standard 18” high 40 breeder, you’ll want a higher output UV light. As you can see, live plants are not a necessity- I’m using silk aquarium plants. The wood piece and the log hide also provide cover. More often than not, my pacman frog simply burrows into the substrate with his head visible, out in the open.

Sources / Further Reading https://www.britannica.com/place/the-Pampas

https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/56340/11464790

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Climatic_regions_of_Argentina#Statistics_for_selected_locations_5

https://bioone.org/journals/south-american-journal-of-herpetology/volume-9/issue-2/SAJH-D-14-00008.1/On-the-Diet-of-the-Frogs-of-the-Ceratophryidae/10.2994/SAJH-D-14-00008.1.short

https://www.jzar.org/jzar/article/view/150

#my guides #pacman frog #ceratophrys

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misskikuwrites · 5 years ago

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Pretty in Pink (3/3)

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Two full weeks passed without Gloria dropping in randomly. No abrupt visits to Bede's Gym, no unexpected phone calls. Ballonlea felt strangely calm for once. Too quiet.

Bede had fallen back into his routine. He prepared for the next challenger in the waiting room, making sure his pokemon were healed and ready to go again. He pulled out his phone and bit back a sigh. Gloria had been weirdly silent for the past week. Up until now, she had been updating him on their Pokemon, on any interesting raids she'd faced. But now, there were no messages, no forwarded pictures of his Rapidash and her Ditto together. No random pictures of the Bede-doll in various situations.

He absently noticed the Gym Trainer approaching him from the corner of his eye and he shoved his phone away.

"Checking your phone before a battle?" the Gym Trainer chided in a familiar voice. "Who knew Gym Leaders had it this easy."

Bede frowned and turned to face them, about to bark that it didn't concern them, when the words lodged in his throat. His mouth dropped open. Heart skidded to a halt.

"Gloria?!"

She laughed at his surprise. "Got you! Oh, it was totally worth digging this uniform up to see that!"

The blood that had drained from his face in shock began to pool on his cheeks. Gloria wore a replica of the Fairy Gym uniform the Trainers wore. She had the whole set - stockings, gloves and shoes included. She grinned at him cheekily, hands clasped behind her back. Bede scowled.

"I thought you were busy," he snapped, his chest beginning to flutter distractingly.

"I was… but then I got this!" She revealed what she'd hidden behind her back, holding an egg-incubator with a large white egg, speckled with pink and green, fitted securely inside.

Bede's eyes widened. "Is that…?"

"Yup!" She smiled brightly, almost giddy. "We're going to be Grandparents!"

Bede froze. His breath caught in his throat. "What?!"

"Well, since it's your Rapidash and my Ditto-"

"That's not how it works!"

Gloria pouted. "Fine, then you don't get any visitation rights!"

Bede huffed. "You… are an absolute nutcase, you realise that, right?"

"I was joking!" She rolled her eyes despite the smile lingering on her face. "But, seriously, this wouldn't have happened without you. I know I said this before, but I owe you, Bede."

She said his name so softly, so gratefully, that Bede couldn't meet her eyes. He looked away as casually as he could.

"I know," was all he managed to say in reply.

"If it isn't Gloria dear." Ms Opal walked into the waiting room, a pleasant smile on her face. "It's a lovely surprise to see you here, isn't it, Bede?" She directed her smile at Bede and he stiffened.

"Y-Yes, it is," Bede replied, looking elsewhere.

"Good morning, Ms Opal!" Gloria chimed.

Ms Opal studied the egg in Gloria's arms. "And what do we have here? I haven't seen a pokemon egg in years."

"It's a Ponyta," Gloria explained. "I just got it this morning! Bede was kind enough to lend me his Rapidash so I could breed it."

"Well, that was mighty generous of him." Ms Opal's smile widened.

Bede had to force himself not to stiffen further under her knowing gaze. She was reading him like an open book.

Gloria smiled happily at the egg. "I know. I'm so excited for it to hatch! Oh, and I've got your Rapidash!" She placed the incubator on the bench and pulled the Rapidash's Pokeball from her bag. "Here you go! Thanks for letting me borrow it."

Bede took the ball, making sure not to let their fingers brush at all as he was acutely aware of Ms Opal's eyes on him.

"You're welcome," Bede said quickly. He handed back her Mimikyu and she took the ball happily. Ms Opal watched the exchange with a glint in her eyes.

"Gloria dear, since you're here, would you like to join in and help with the Gym Challenge today? You've already got the uniform and we could always use an extra set of hands," Ms Opal said.

"What?" Bede blanched.

Gloria perked up. "Oh, can I? That sounds like fun!"

"Of course." Ms Opal turned to Bede. "I'm sure Bede wouldn't mind at all, am I correct?"

He knew not to argue. "Sure. Though you won't be able to use your own pokemon when battling the challengers."

"That's fine with me!"

Great. Bede wasn't sure what Ms Opal was playing at, inviting Gloria to help, but he decided to go with it. For now.

After all, it meant spending more time with Gloria which… wouldn't be bad at all. He just had to make sure to keep an eye on Ms Opal. He wasn't about to let her witness anything between him and Gloria. Not that he planned on anything happening.

Gloria left her egg, safe in its incubator, along with her bag and pokemon, with the reception desk, and readied herself for the challengers to arrive. She'd been given two pokemon, a Clefable and a Ribombee, and was the last of three Gym Trainers for the challengers to fight. She pulled her hair up into a messy bun in a lazy attempt to make herself look less like the recognisable Champion she was.

The Gym interior still had the homely feel of a theatre, with bright lights strung overhead. The passageway for the Gym mission has been updated, however, refurbished with new wallpaper and gorgeous wooden floorboards. Thick theatre curtains blocked off sections of the mission, opening only when the preceding trainer had been defeated.

Gloria grinned and got into position, awaiting a challenger who could defeat the two before her. Bede had taken his position behind the glass partition, a long separate hallway that ran parallel to the one Gloria was in, and she couldn't see him as he began to quiz the challenger.

Soon enough, the curtains before Gloria parted, and the challenger walked through. He eyed Gloria up and down, a bored glaze in his eyes.

"And here I thought this gym was full of old birds," he quipped, grinning at her. "You're a nice change of pace."

It was the way he said it, the way his eyes slid up and down Gloria's body, that made her tense. Made her feel like a scrap of food being eyed down by hungry, scavenging pokemon. She narrowed her eyes as Bede appeared behind the glass and took his seat. He swung a leg over his knee and leant back, a wary look in his eyes.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot that the Gym Leader's a guy," the challenger laughed. "Bit hard to tell with that dress he's wearing!"

"Are we going to battle or not?" Gloria snapped. She grabbed the Clefable's pokeball and gripped it tight.

"Feisty!" He grinned at her, and Gloria held back the impulse to gag. "You should be thankful; I'm about to you a real battle - from the one who's worthy of becoming the next Champion!"

Gloria hid her grin at his obliviousness to who he was battling and sent out her Ribombee. The challenger, who hadn't introduced himself, sent out a Toxtricity.

A Poison-Electric type. Good choice against the Fairy Gym, Gloria noted. At her command, her Ribombee set up a glimmering, invisible wall of light that shimmered in the space between the pokemon.

"Venoshock!" the challenger commanded. The Toxtricity shot forth a stream of purple, poisonous gunk. The Rimbombee whizzed around the hall with practiced grace, dodging the majority of the spray, a few wildly flying droplets splattering on its wings. Rimbombee cried out. Despite Light Screen weakening the blow, even just a glancing droplet of the poison was enough to hurt.

Gloria winced, her mind racing as she planned her next move, when Bede spoke.

"Question three; how many turns does it take for a Timer Ball to be more effective than an Ultra Ball?"

Gloria gaped. Since when were the questions this hard?

The challenge scoffed. "That's easy - ten turns. That's when they're the most effective."

"Incorrect. They become more effective than an Ultra Ball after four turns. Max effectiveness is ten turns. Perhaps you should listen to the question properly before you answer."

Gloria heard the smug lilt in Bede's voice. The challenger's pokemon was doused in a spray that lowered it's Special Attack and Special Defence. Gloria grinned as the challenger scoffed bitterly.

"Ribombee, use Psychic!" Gloria called, and the dextrous bug chimed eagerly, swooping down to launch it's attack. Despite the challenger's cry for his Toxtricity to dodge, it couldn't avoid the blast of energy that sent it tumbling across the room. The Toxtricity shuddered as it tried to stand.

"Discharge!" The challenger clicked his tongue, snapping the command. Still struggling to stand, Toxtricity send a blinding burst of electricity shooting through the air. Ribombee zipped around in the air in an attempt to dodge but couldn't get out of the way in time. Ribombee quivered in the air from the hit before dropping like a stone.

Gloria sucked in a tight breath and recalled the fainted pokemon. "You did well," she whispered to the pokeball before sending out the Clefable. "Use Attract!"

Toxtricity, who had finally gotten to its feet, stiffened under the effect of Clefable's move, and swooned.

The challenger cursed under his breath. "Venoshock, Toxtricity!"

His pokemon clambered over to Clefable, completely ignoring his command, and fawned over the Fairy-type. Gloria smirked.

"Use Zen Headbutt!" Gloria called, and Clefable mirrored her grin as it swung its head at the Toxtricity with a flash of light.

Toxtricity flew back, toppled over itself, and fainted. The challenger glared, then composed himself and huffed, sending out his next pokemon. His Corviknight took to the air with heavy beats of black wings, circling above the battle.

"Attract, again!" Gloria commanded.

The challenger scoffed. "Steel wing!"

Clefable's attract barely slowed the diving Corviknight, its wings taking on a bright, silver sheen. It cut through the air like a knife, striking Clefable head on. The Fairy pokemon braced too late. The impact knocked it flying, skidding across the field before coming to a stop and falling limp.

Gloria breathed a gentle sigh, recalling the fainted Clefable and praising it quietly. "Good job," she said, smiling softly at the pokeball before she tucked it away and went to congratulate the challenger on passing the Gym mission.

"Not bad," the challenger said, taking Gloria's hand in a tight handshake. "You're better than the rest of those old bags, at least."

Gloria's expression twitched as she tried to maintain a professional smile. Arceus, she wanted to smack that arrogant smirk off his face. A quick Pyro Ball to the face would do the job.

The challenger used their handshake to tug Gloria closer so that she fell into him. His arm snaked around her waist. Her body stiffened at the sudden contact, her mind skidding to a halt in shock, blood in her veins running cold.

"Why don't you join me after I'm finished wiping the floor with the Gym Leader? I'd be more than happy to show you the rest of my team," he said with a chuckle, the low insinuation in his voice making her stiffen. Gloria saw Bede stand with a jolt in the corner of her eyes.

Before Bede could say anything, Gloria grabbed the hand sitting on her waist and twisted it hard. The challenger yelped, and she smoothly extracted herself from his grip.

"Oh, I have a feeling you won't be winning the next match," Gloria said, smiling at the challenger. She leant in close, letting the venom in her smile sink in as she hissed, "and if you do, then I'll gladly show you the rest of my team. I'm sure they'd be glad to meet you after this."

She threw his wrist away and the challenger balked at her, rubbing the reddening skin as she stalked away. She heard him mutter a string of profuse curses at her but continued on his way to the stadium. When he was out of sight, Gloria's shoulders slumped in a heavy sigh. She rubbed her back where the creep had touched her.

"Gloria - are you okay?" Bede stormed up to her, meeting her eyes, studying her gaze, with concern. The worry in his voice was so unlike him, foreign and yet what she needed to hear in that moment.

"I'm fine." Gloria huffed, a lingering feeling of disgust rising in her throat. She swallowed bile. "Bea taught me a bit of self defence; if he'd actually tried anything I would have walloped him good."

"I'll disqualify him. A pathetic creep like that has no right to challenge my gym-"

Gloria caught Bede's arm before he could turn away, and a menacing smile pulled up her lips. Her eyes narrowed sharply, keenly, and the wicked grin she gave him made his breath hitch.

"I have a better idea," she said. Her whisper was full of vitriol, of dangerous, righteous fury. Bede suddenly remembered that this was the woman who had defeated the Legendary pokemon that threatened Galar. "I want you to thrash him on the pitch. No mercy. Show him what happens to challengers who make a mockery of the Fairy Gym."

A strange jolt of heat tingled down Bede's spine at her voice. It sparked something deep inside him, and he returned her smile with pride. "No mercy," he repeated with a confident nod. A challenge blazed inside him.

"I look forward to it." She whirled on her feet, giving him one final, coy smile, and left to take her place at the stands.

The challenger maintained his smug grin as Bede met him on the pitch. The Fairy Gym leader gave nothing away on his face, his posture, and greeted the challenger like normal. Deep in his violet eyes, a steady, determined flame burned bright.

No mercy.

The match begginned, the challenger sending out his Toxtricity with that cocky grin of his. Bede set his plan into motion.

"Go, Hatterene!"

The challenger blinked but the smirk returned. He looked down his nose at Bede and scoffed.

"Venoshock!" the challenger called.

Before the move could land, Bede drew his Hatterene back into the pokeball to the surprise of the challenger, the crowd, and the Toxtricity who froze in confusion. Bede held the pokeball out in his hand, his dynamax band glaring to light in a swirl of energy that enveloped the Hatterene's pokeball. He tossed the enlarged ball behind him, gigantimaxing his Hatterene in the first turn.

The challenger paled. Toxtricity shrunk in the shadow of the towering pokemon.

"Max Mindstorm!" Bede called. Hatterene drew a surge of psychic power and levelled it straight at the Toxtricity. There was no room to dodge. Nothing to do but brace as the beams of energy showered down over the pokemon.

Toxtricity shuddered under the onslaught, before collapsing. The challenger recalled it with a sharp tsk, sending out his Corviknight.

Bede smirked.

No mercy.

"Steel wing!" the challenger ordered. His obsidian bird streaked through the air. Wings flashed in a coating of steel and the Corviknight dove through the air at the gigantimaxed Hatterene. Bede's pokemon didn't flinch. The usually sizeable bird was like an annoying fly to his Hatterene.

"Max Flare."

A surge of heat filled the arena. The challenger cried out, his Corviknight squawking and trying to dive beneath the torrent of fire, but it disappeared into the roaring flames. The stream of fire dispersed, licking into the air as cinders, and revealed the fainted Corviknight on the ground.

Two turns down. One more until his Hatterene reverted to normal, one more to defeat the challenger's final pokemon.

A team of three meant his pokemon had more experience in battles than most challengers usually had, but also left him vulnerable. The challenger hissed something beneath his breath and sent out his final pokemon, his Rillaboom.

The challenger didn't look so cocky now. He dynamaxed his Rillaboom instantly, his pokemon finally matching Bede's in size.

"Max Overgrowth!" the challenge barked.

Bede countered it with another brutal Max Flare. The blaze swallowed the Rillaboom's attack before it reached Hatterene. The blast of heat threw the Rillaboom off balance, skidding back across the pitch before the sweltering flames devoured it. The flames died with a flash of light, the challenger's final pokemon fainting and reverting to normal size.

The match was over.

No mercy indeed.

The crowd roared to life in an explosion of cheers, screams and clapping. Bede looked to the stands, to where Gloria sat with a satisfied grin, and smirked. His job was done.

The challenger fumed as Bede approached.

"That's against the rules!" the challenger snapped.

Bede raised an eyebrow, displeasure sneaking into his voice as he replied. "There are no rules regarding the dynamaxing of a pokemon on the first turn. It is, however, widely accepted to wait until your final pokemon before dynamaxing. That, however, is not a rule. Only a common occurrence."

"This… this is a farce!" the challenger barked. "You just didn't want me to win because you know I'd become the next Champion!"

Bede narrowed his gaze at the brat who was no less than two years younger than him. Arceus, he hoped he hadn't sounded like that.

"You are right about one thing; I didn't want you to win. However, you're way off base when it comes to my reasoning. If you can't recognise that then there's no hope for you to ever become close to defeating the Champion."

With that, Bede marched off the pitch without another word.

Gloria was sitting in the waiting room when Bede returned, hugging her egg incubator tight. The fire in her eyes had petered out. She seemed small. Shoulders drawn close.

"That was easy," Bede said, averting his eyes from her lest he make her shrink further from the attention.

Gloria managed a smile, but it faded quickly. "Thanks, Bede."

His heart flopped. Her eyes carried a far-off look, clouding over as she stared at nothing. Her confidence, the sinister venom she'd exuded earlier had vanished. An empty shell remained where she sat.

This wasn't what he was expecting to find. Not after he'd done what she'd asked, after he'd given that brat what he'd deserved. The words Bede had planned to say were lost in his throat. A sharp needle drove deep into his heart at the shadow in her eyes.

"Gloria-"

"Ah, there you are!" Ms Opal said, trotting into the room with a gentle smile on her face. "Gloria dear, do you have a moment? I have an errand I need to run in Hammerlocke. Would you care to join me?"

Gloria looked up at Ms Opal, taking in the soft smile on the older woman's face before nodding.

"Sure," she said. The usual energy in her voice was nowhere to be found. She stood, gave Bede a quick, forced smile, and followed Ms Opal out.

Bede wondered what he'd done wrong.

Gloria trudged beside Ms Opal, her mind reeling and swirling and sinking heavily in her head. The match hadn't been fair. She shouldn't have snapped like that. Shouldn't have hurt the creep, even if he did grab her like that.

She was supposed to be representing the Fairy Gym. Bede's Gym. Not letting her emotions get the better of her and making a scene. Not dragging Bede into her mess.

Ms Opal slowed, and Gloria glanced at the storefront they'd stopped at. A cafe. She looked at it quizzically before Ms Opal opened the door.

"Are you going to come in, my dear?"

Gloria blinked a few times in quick succession and nodded. She followed after Ms Opal as they joined the queue.

"What errand are you running here?" Gloria asked. The cafe was quaint, a faint trickle of orchestral music in the background beneath the gentle lull of conversations. Indoor plants hung on the walls, flowers spilling out of the pots like green waterfalls.

Ms Opal smiled gently. "Morning tea."

Gloria's mind blanked. She stepped up in the queue next to Ms Opal, confusion widening her eyes.

"What would you like? It's on me."

"Oh, um…" Gloria glanced at the menu above the counter. "I'll… just have a hot drink. I've never had rooibos tea before but I've heard it's nice."

Ms Opal nodded. "Good choice." She greeted the waiter who recognised her and ordered a pot of rooibos tea for two, as well as a scone with jam and cream. She chose a table by the window, and they sat in the warm sunlight as they waited for their tea.

Gloria placed the egg incubator on the floor by her feet, cupping her hands in her lap. Her stomach churned, unsettled and queasy.

"I heard what happened with that boy," Ms Opal said. Gloria shot her eyes up in a flash of panic, but Ms Opal's smile remained gentle. A kind light glimmered in her eyes. "The other Trainers overhead and informed me."

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have acted the way I did and dragged Bede into it as well-"

"Now, now. Slow down a bit. I'm not upset with you."

Gloria paused. The panicked skittering of her heart began to slow. "You're not…?"

"Of course not, dear. You reacted to an unfortunate situation, while still remaining professional, and Bede's match didn't break any rules. There's nothing for me to scold you about."

Gloria sank in her chair slightly. "I still… feel bad about it though. I shouldn't have gotten Bede involved."

Ms Opal chuckled lightly. "I'm sure he would have involved himself regardless of whether you asked him too or not."

Gloria pursed her lips slightly, a dusting of heat curling on her cheeks. "Um… Bede and I are not actually… we're not a couple."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

Gloria stared, mouth hanging agape for a few, silent seconds. "But… earlier you said…?"

Ms Opal smiled with a bright chuckle. "I was only teasing. I find that it does Bede some good to experience a bit of shock every now and again."

"Oh." Gloria nodded sheepishly. Their tea and scones arrived, giving a brief moment of respite as they poured their tea and Gloria breathed in the rich scent. Ms Opal sliced the scone in two and shifted the plate between them.

"Help yourself," Ms Opal offered. "You can't go wrong with fresh scones, fluffy cream and rich jam."

Gloria looked at the delectable scone, her stomach rumbling in response. "Thank you." Gloria spread a generous amount of jam on the scone, topping it with a thin layer of cream, and took a bite. "Mm…!" she hummed in delight. It was warm and fluffy, the jam sweet and slightly tart, and practically melted in her mouth. It was heavenly. Gloria downed the scone with little restraint, sipping satisfyingly at her tea to wash it down.

"So," Ms Opal began, taking a delicate bite of her scone, swallowing before she continued. "How do you feel about Bede?"

Gloria inhaled her tea. Hot liquid burned her throat and she coughed, covering her mouth and wincing as her chest heaved in protest. Tears pricked in her eyes as she choked.

Ms Opal handed Gloria a napkin, still smiling keenly at the young girl. With a few hasty gups of her tea, Gloria finally got over her coughing fit, wiping at her tears with the napkin.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to shock you that much," Ms Opal said. "I must admit that I am curious as to how you feel about Bede. You two seem to be quite close lately."

Gloria's cheeks warmed. "He's… he's a friend. A good friend. I like being with him. He's a bit rough at times, and still not honest with himself, but he's also very kind. He's been very good to me. And…" she looked up, seeing Ms Opal's interested eyes on her. "Well, I'm really happy with the way he's changed and grown. He's fighting for what he wants to do, he's living for himself. I'm so glad to see him step out from Rose's shadow."

Gloria flushed, not having meant to say so much. "I kind of… rambled on a bit there, sorry!"

Ms Opal smiled sweetly. "Are you in love with him?"

Gloria squawked. "What?! Me? With… with Bede?" Her heart jumped in her chest, sending a rush of heat through her body, making it hard to breathe. Her chest felt tight, throat rigid and stiff. She looked down at her tea. Her cheeks burned darkly.

"I… I don't know. I've never actually… been in love before," she admitted quietly. "I like Bede, I enjoy being with him, but… but being in love…? I'm not sure I know what that feels like."

"You've never had a crush before?"

Gloria traced her thumb around the rim of her cup slowly. Absently. "Not on anyone I've known in person. I've gotten starry-eyed at celebrities before but that's not the same thing. I didn't have friends other than Hop as a kid and he was like family to me, so…" She shrugged. "I don't know if what I feel for Bede is a crush or… or something more, or if he's just a friend. I've… never really thought about it before."

"It won't do you any harm to think about it," Ms Opal said gently. "It's alright to be a bit confused about your feelings. You're only young. If you give it time, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Gloria nodded, her cheeks still aflame, staring at her tea as if it were the most captivating thing in the world.

"I'm sure Bede is well aware of what his feelings towards you are."

Gloria snapped her head up. "Wh-What? What does that mean…?"

Ms Opal had that knowing smile on her face. A cheeky glimmer in her wise eyes. "If you want to know, you should ask him yourself, my dear. Though, I can say for certain that he does see you as a friend. He wouldn't have offered you tea otherwise."

"Y-You knew about that?" Gloria flushed.

Ms Opal chuckled. "I happened to see the open Applin tea packet and the kettle on the stove when I interrupted you two the other day. Wasn't very difficult to put the two together."

"You… you weren't interrupting anything." Gloria sipped at her tea, finding her throat dry. The glint in Ms Opal's eyes suggested that she had indeed interrupted something that day.

"I'm glad he has you," Ms Opal said. "You're good for him."

Gloria didn't know how to take that. She nodded slowly, stiffly, wishing the embarrassed blush would fade from her cheeks.

"How are you feeling?" Ms Opal asked. "I find that a good tea does wonders for your nerves."

Gloria took a slow breath, then another. The heavy weight in her stomach was gone, replaced with a strange flutter. The tight, painful construction of her heart had eased, now feeling light and full. She felt warm, no longer chilled to the bone in regret.

"I feel better, thank you." A smile came upon her face. "I didn't realise how much it had affected me. I guess I took it harder than I thought."

"I'm glad to hear that." Ms Opal's bright smile calmed Gloria's heart. "A good dose of embarrassment can make you forget your troubles for a while."

Gloria raised her eyebrows. "You did that on purpose?"

"I had my reasons. That may have been one of them."

Gloria couldn't help but smile. The morning tea expedition with Ms Opal ended with a short grocery shop, stopping at her house before returning to the Gym. With a new shot of energy in Gloria's veins, she eagerly jumped back into helping with the Gym Challenge.

It wasn't long before she came across Bede in the waiting room again. Gloria cradled the egg, walking over to him as he entered the room after winning another match.

"Nice job," she congratulated him with a smile. He studied her face for a moment, his keen gaze not giving anything away in his eyes. "Sorry about earlier. I'm feeling much better now."

"That's good," he said, and turned his eyes from her. Despite his standoffish demeanor, the concern in his eyes faded and his expression relaxed. A sheepish dusting of pink settled on his cheeks when he turned away. "You looked like a zombie for a while there."

Gloria pouted with a scoff. "It's hard to look perky all the time when you're running on five hours of sleep!"

"What?" Bede frowned. He looked at her in disbelief. "What are you doing getting that little sleep? Are you trying to run yourself into the ground?"

"It's nothing, I've just had a few bad days of sleep, that's all." She waved his concerns off. "I had a busy week and ended up staying up late yesterday with a Dynamaxed pokemon that appeared in the wild area. I was going to sleep in this morning but then I got a call about the egg!" She grinned as if that excuse made perfect sense.

Bede sighed. "Go home and take a nap, then. We're fine here."

Gloria swayed on her feet as if debating Bede's offer. "Hmm… but I was having so much fun…"

Bede poked her forehead with his index finger. He pressed firmly, making her rock slightly on her heels, and narrowed his violet eyes at her. "Sleep now, fun later. You look like you're about to fall over."

She swatted his hand away. "Am not! But a nap does sound really good right now…"

"Then go. I'm sure we'll find a way to manage without you."

Gloria stuck her tongue out at Bede with a dramatic huff. He smirked at her childish response. It sent a strange spark crackling in her belly. She still wasn't used to getting this kind of response from Bede. She wasn't used to him actually reacting to her snarky comments or the dramatic expressions she'd pull. Instead of scoffs and rolled eyes, he played along, smirking or throwing a reply back her way. The air in her lungs felt too light as if she'd swallowed helium.

"Take the back door," Bede offered. "It can get pretty hectic in the lobby at this time."

"All right. Will do!" She gathered her bag, turning away as she did to hide the giddy smile on her face. She swung her bag over her shoulder and gave him a wave. "See you later!"

Bede nodded a goodbye, giving her a brief wave, only watching her go when her back was turned to him.

The fresh air of Ballonlea enveloped Gloria in a cool embrace as she stepped out the back door of the Gym. She took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs and revitalise her. The gentle cries of pokemon filled the air. It was calm, peaceful, and placid. Gloria left her worries behind her, hugging the egg tight to her hip as she fished out her phone from her pocket.

Someone stepped in front of her. She glanced up, then froze, staring at the rude challenger from before. His expression was hard with anger.

Gloria stiffened in cautious trepidation. Her heart hammered uneasily in her chest. "You again. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the challenger echoed. "What do I want?! It's because of you that my eligibility for the cup is being challenged!"

"How is that my fault?"

"You teamed up with the Gym Leader and sent a complaint about me!"

"That wasn't me - and I specifically asked Bede not to."

The challenger stamped forward. "You're lying! If I lose my endorsement then you're going to pay! I've prepared my whole life for this, I'm not going to lose it all because of you!"

He lunged forward and grabbed Gloria by her arms.

"Hey!" she yelped and tried to tug herself free. His nails dug into her skin. She squirmed in his grip and he threw her to the side, making her tumble to the ground. The cracking of glass, the egg incubator tumbling from her arms onto the path, was all she saw. She didn't see the guy approach a second time. Didn't see Bede rush up behind him, his Hatterene close behind.

Bede yanked the challenger away from Gloria and slammed his fist into the brat's face before he could react. The challenger roared in pain, spitting curses. Fury blazed in Bede's veins. Venom and bile burning his throat. The challenger threw himself at Bede, swinging his fists wildly. One caught Bede's shoulder. He ducked from the second, blocking the blow with his arm.

League staff members poured from the Gym and swarmed the thrashing challenger before he could strike again. They pulled him off Bede, arms held tight behind his back.

"Knock it off!" the staff cried as the challenger spat and kicked and struggled. They dragged him away and Bede whirled to find Gloria, saw her on her knees, trembling hands reaching for the incubator.

The cracked incubator. Cracks bloomed across the glass like bolts of lightning splitting the protective case. It lay on its side in the dirt.

Bede recalled his Hatterene and rushed over to Gloria, knelt beside her so quickly his knees impacted the ground hard.

"Gloria, are you okay?"

Her eyes were frozen wide open, staring at the incubator in silent horror. There was nothing behind her eyes. No light, no life, nothing but a dark shadow of panic.

Bede's heart fractured. He clenched his jaw and dug deep into his heart for the clarity, the strength, to fight. He took Gloria's trembling hand. Her fingers were cold like ice, quivering with terror, and he held them tight. Let the warmth from his skin leech into hers. She flinched from his touch.

"Let's get it to the Pokemon Centre," Bede said. He swallowed his fear, the prickle of panic that threatened to take hold in his throat. "They'll know what to do."

He had to take the lead now. Had to help her fight. He stood, still holding her hand, and gave it a gentle tug. She obeyed his gentle command and he helped her stand before picking the incubator off the ground carefully. The fractured glass crackled as he handed it to Glora when she reached out for it.

"Come on," Bede said. He gently coaxed Gloria with a touch on the back of her arm. "This way."

She followed him in silence. Walked stiffly, quickly. Her gaze was hollow, a dark endless pit expanding beneath her eyes as she stared ahead at nothing. Unseeing. Empty.

Bede pushed onward and they came upon the Pokemon Centre quickly and headed directly to the counter. Nurse Joy stifled her gasp at the broken incubator in Gloria's arms.

"Please, can you help it?" Bede asked. He cautiously took the incubator out of Gloria's arms, making sure she didn't object before handing it over to Nurse Joy. "It hit the ground pretty hard. It happened only a few minutes ago."

Nurse Joy steeled her expression and nodded. "I'll see what I can do." She whirled on her feet and disappeared deeper into the Pokemon Centre.

Another, identical Nurse Joy appeared from a side door. "Come this way - you can wait here, if you'd like."

Bede nodded, finally noticing the shocked onlookers watching them. Peering, curious eyes honed in on him and Gloria from around the room. Bede didn't waste another, tense moment and led Gloria into the room, giving Nurse Joy a thankful nod.

The room was small and secluded from the rest of the Pokemon Centre. It functioned as a waiting room for Trainers of more seriously injured Pokemon who wanted to be out of view and in private. A couch sat against the far wall, a small wooden table a few feet in front of it. At Bede's direction, Gloria walked over to the couch with him and sat down.

A heavy silence fell. Bede glanced at Gloria, her expression hidden beneath her bangs as she hung her head. On her lap, her hands trembled despite being clenched. Her shoulders shook and a broken sob escaped into the silence, sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room.

Bede stiffened. His hand froze, halfway through the action of touching her shoulder. A jolt of panic once again coursed through him as Gloria began to cry. Quiet sobs deafening in his ears. Her shivering form so close to him yet seemingly so far away, so out of reach. She drew her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her knees. She curled up tight. Became small and tiny and fragile.

The shattered remains of Bede's heart dug into his chest like tiny needles. The pain rippling through his body drove away his hesitation and he shifted closer to her, wrapped his arm around her back and held her close.

Damn it, if this was all he could do now, if all he could do was offer her some comfort, a shoulder to cry on, then that's what he would do. He ached for her as she leant into him. He became a solid purchase for her to cling to, a strong foundation to quieten her trembling. He discarded any thoughts that lingered; that he didn't know what he was doing, that this wasn't natural for him, that comforting was far from who he was, and held her.

He held her as if he could absorb the pain shuddering through her body for her. As if he could drain her tears and dry her eyes with a simple embrace. He held her because there was nothing else he could do. Because she needed him and - deep inside - Bede knew he needed her.

He wasn't going to let her go through this alone.

Gloria's tears continued to fall long after the sobs had left her, long after she stopped trembling in Bede's arms. Her tears ran onto Bede's shirt, her cheek pressed to his chest, as she leant into him. He kept his arm around her shoulder. Slowly, gently, he rested his cheek against the top of her head. His eyes closed. He surrendered to this moment, to her. Let his heart ache, let it bleed for her because he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't.

Strangely, holding her like that began to feel normal. Natural. There was no embarrassment in the way he held her, he didn't flush as she sank into his arms. Even when Nurse Joy came and offered Gloria a blanket, when the owner of the cafe gave them a hot chocolate each on the house, Bede didn't flinch. He accepted the blanket and draped it over Gloria. He mouthed a 'thank you' to the barista. He felt warm, but not embarrassed. Fuzzy and light, but no flush burned across his cheeks. The ache in his heart kept those away. The vacant, empty look in Gloria's eyes made it impossible for Bede to even think about appearances.

Gloria shifted slightly, a sharp sigh escaping her lips. "It's all my fault…"

The pain in her voice, barely above a quiet whisper, twisted his heart.

"No, it's not." He answered as quietly as she'd spoken.

She stole a shaky breath. "What if it's…? What if I've killed it…?"

"Gloria, they're doing the best they can. They'll look after it."

"But…"

"No buts. This isn't up for debate. I can't promise you that everything will be fine but I can promise you that none of it was your fault."

He felt her take a shuddery breath. Felt each and every breath she took, sharper and shallower than his. Bede reached forward, grabbing one of the mugs of hot chocolate from the table, and handed it to her.

"Drink it. It'll help warm you up. You were freezing earlier."

Gloria took the mug, cupping it in two hands, and shifted so she sat up straighter and curled her legs beneath her. Her head still rested against his chest, only higher now so that the back of her head was at his shoulder. She took small sips from the mug and Bede hoped the hot drink would help bring the colour back to her face. She was so pale. Cheeks white like a sheet, making the darkness of her eyes even deeper and colder.

Gloria held the mug to her lips, leaving it there and letting the hot air brush her cold features. She made no attempt to breathe in the rich, chocolatey scent like she usually would. She held it there until it went cold. Until she stared down at the mug blankly and lowered it into her lap.

Bede took the mug from her, placing it back on the table. She'd hardly drunk from it at all. Gloria - who had an immense sweet tooth and loved all things chocolate - had let it go cold.

An unknown length of time passed before the door clicked open and Nurse Joy entered, an egg incubator in her arms. Gloria shot to her feet, blanket tumbling to a heap on the floor. She rushed over before Bede could even stand.

"Is that…? Is it okay?" She fumbled over her words, shifting this way and that to look at the egg, to study every angle.

"The egg is fine," Nurse Joy said. "The incubator took the brunt of the impact. Not only did the glass casing break, but there were a few internal parts that had broken as well. It was easier to replace it with a new one rather than fix it."

"So it's…? It's going to be okay?" Gloria gasped. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"Yes." Nurse Joy handed the incubator to Gloria who hugged it tightly. "The egg is going to be okay. We checked the Ponyta inside and everything is fine. You don't have to worry. It might hatch a little earlier than usual but that's all."

Gloria sniffled. She sobbed in relief, pressing her cheek to the top of the incubator and crying.

Nurse Joy smiled softly at Bede. "I'll give you two a few moments. You're alright to leave whenever you're ready."

Bede nodded his thanks as she left and walked over to Gloria. She raised her head, bottom lip trembling as she smiled through her tears.

"It's going to be okay…!" she said. A soft light of relief, of joy, gleamed in her eyes. Her relief, her smile, washed over Bede like a gentle caress.

He smiled warmly in return. "See? I told you it was in the best hands here."

Gloria flicked her eyes between the incubator and Bede. Never looking at him for long. Colour had returned to her cheeks, her face reddening slightly as she blinked away her tears.

"Thanks, Bede. I… I'm glad you were there. I was so panicked I couldn't think. I didn't know what to do." She held the incubator close, sighing softly. "How did you know I was in trouble? I thought you were still inside."

"I was. Hatterene was the one who alerted me. She burst out of her Pokeball and I knew something had happened."

"Guess I owe both of you, then."

"No, you don't."

Gloria looked at him now, confusion worrying her brow. "What do you mean?"

Bede looked away. Cast his eyes across the room sheepishly, dug his hands into his pockets. "You don't owe me. Not for helping you just now, not with what happened in the Glimwood Tangle. You don't owe me for any of it."

"But-"

"The only thing you owe me for is lending you my Rapidash. That's it. The rest… that's just… being a friend."

He heard her gasp. That sharp intake of breath deafening in the quiet room, louder than the roaring of blood in his ears. He didn't look at her. Couldn't.

She ducked her head, smiling at the incubator. "Thank you…" she whispered quietly.

"W-We should go," Bede said curtly. It was hard to find words, to speak, with his mind swirling.

Gloria nodded. She followed him out without a word, glancing occasionally at him over the top of the incubator. They exited the Pokemon Centre and made a left, walking past the entrance to the Gym.

"We're not…?" Gloria paused for a moment before trotting after Bede and falling into step beside him.

"You've had enough excitement for one day and it's getting late. Won't be much time for another challenge to run through."

Gloria quietened and followed Bede to Ms Opal's house. She hadn't realised how much time had passed. Between being a Gym Trainer, having morning tea and shopping with Ms Opal, as well as helping out around the Gym afterwards, Gloria hadn't checked the time. She didn't know what time it had been when she'd left the Gym and had no idea how long they'd been in the Pokemon Centre afterwards.

The hunger gnawing at her stomach meant that it had been longer than she'd thought.

Gloria settled on the couch once inside, toeing her shoes off and curling her legs beneath her. She placed the incubator next to her, propping it up against the armrest.

"Would you like some tea?" Bede asked. "You didn't drink much of the hot chocolate earlier."

Gloria perked up. "Yes, please! Can I try the Roselia tea? It looked really nice!"

"Sure."

Bede smiled to himself, turning away from her in the kitchen so she wouldn't see the effect her switch in mood had on him. Her easy excitement was a dramatic change from earlier and it sent a warm rush of relief through him. He could breathe easier. Things were returning to normal.

He set the kettle on to boil as his stomach grumbled silently. He hadn't eaten all afternoon. He'd planned on grabbing something to eat after he'd sent Gloria away but that had never happened. He glanced at her, seeing her whimsically studying the egg. The soft smile on her face, the loving twinkle in her eyes, sparked something deep inside him. A deep yearning, an ache in his gut, a pull on his heart. For a moment, she wasn't staring down at a Pokemon egg but a newborn baby. A tiny, delicate child with deep brown hair like hers and warm violet eyes like-

A teacup shattered at Bede's feet.

"Bede! Are you okay?" Gloria was in the kitchen before he could register what had happened. Before he could wipe the image he'd seen from his mind. A torrent of heat flooded him.

"D-Don't come in here!" Bede squawked, cursing the crack of his voice. "You're not wearing shoes."

And he couldn't deal with having her close to him right now.

"Oh!" she gasped, jumping back and away from the scattered ceramic shards spread across the floor. "What happened?"

Bese huffed, stalking quickly over to the pantry and retrieving a broom. He dragged a frustrated hand down his face when his back was to her and took a deep breath.

"I dropped a teacup and it broke. I thought that would be fairly obvious."

He stiffened at the cutting edge to his voice. An irritable heat spread through his veins and he felt violently on edge. His heart thrumming a terrified beat in his chest. He was so close to being found out. To have his feelings for her spill forth.

"Really?" She sounded surprised. Confused. "I guess even you can have a klutzy moment sometimes."

Bede frowned and began to sweep up the shards. The tortuous heat slowly began to recede as he focused on sweeping, searching for the miniscule fragments under the table.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Gloria leaned on the counter and watched him. "Well, you're such a perfectionist and always seem so level-headed; it's nice to see you make a simple mistake like dropping a cup for once."

Bede clicked his tongue. Was that meant to be a compliment or not? He gave her an unamused stare but couldn't hold it as she smiled at him.

Damn that dazzling smile of hers. There had to be some magic to it, some trick that caused his heart to flutter whenever he saw it. He pushed that out of his mind and bit back his reply. He wasn't about to give her a reason to ask what had made him drop the teacup in the first place.

He didn't see the thoughtful look in her eyes. "Hey, Bede?"

"What?" Bede ducked further under the table, sliding the last fragments he could see towards him with the broom. It was amazing how far they'd flown.

"How do you feel about me?"

Bede cracked his head on the underside of the table.

"Oh, Arceus! Bede, are you okay?" Gloria knelt beneath the table, finding him on his knees, cradling the back of his head in his hands.

"I-I'm fine…!" Bede winced. His head spun, throbbing painfully. He blinked through painful tears and slid out from under the table.

"Are you sure? Let me have a look at it-"

"D-Don't come over here!" Bede snapped, jumping as she stepped closer, a spear of heat shooting down his spine.

She flinched and blinked at him in confusion.

"The… the glass," he mumbled. He stole his gaze away, still holding his head with one hand. "I haven't finished sweeping it."

"Oh, right!" She stepped back. "I'll get my shoes on."

That wasn't the issue! Bede's throbbing head screamed at him. Arceus, what kind of question had she just asked? How could she ask that with a straight face? How was he supposed to answer that?

He stiffened as Gloria approached, her shoes now firmly on her feet. "Sit down. Let me have a look at it." She pulled out one of the chairs, motioning for him to sit.

Bede scowled but complied, sitting in the chair and facing away from her. He twitched when her fingers wove through his hair. Her thumb brushed over his scalp. Her touch was so soft, so gentle and foreign, his heart ricocheting in his chest in shock. He couldn't breathe. Her fingers brushing through his hair paralysed him, freezing him in place from his head to his toes. And yet, he felt far from cold. He was burning up inside.

A rush of emotions Bede had never felt before swamped him with wave after wave, a torrent of lightning and heat and buzzing filling his chest.

"Hmm… doesn't look like you split your head," Gloria said. She sounded close, too close to his ears, the tips of which were burning bright pink.

"Good." Bede stood up curtly, shoving the chair into place and grabbing the broom again. "Now, let me finish sweeping before you track the shards all over the house."

"Alright, sheesh!" Gloria huffed lightly, stepping over the pile. "Sorry for being concerned about you!"

Bede grumbled to himself and focused on sweeping. Heat still burned on his cheeks.

"What kind of question was that anyway…?" Bede muttered before he could stop himself.

Gloria looked down at her hands. "Well… Ms Opal said that you knew what your feelings towards me are, but she didn't elaborate and told me to ask you instead."

Bede screamed internally. That…! That old woman was messing with him on purpose!

"I thought I made it clear earlier." He turned away from her, face aflame, his body burning like a furnace. "You're a friend to me. So, I suppose that I… have come to care about you," he said that last part quietly, a struggle to get the words past his lips. That confession stole the air from his lungs. Silence hung in the air. Stiff and deafening. Bede burned inside, waiting for her to answer, to say something, anything, to put him out of his tortuous misery.

Finally, Bede glanced at her, and saw her grinning widely at him.

"D-Don't look at me like that!" Bede barked.

Her smile brightened. "I can't help it! Aw, Bede…!"

"Don't-! Just… just don't!" Bede stammered and stole his gaze away.

"I haven't done anything!"

"Stop grinning at me like that, you madwoman!"

Gloria laughed. "I'm just smiling!"

"Well, stop it!"

"Fine, fine." Gloria tracked back to the couch and flopped into it. Mirth rumbled in her voice as she stifled her laughter.

Bede huffed, muttering unintelligible phrases under his breath. He finished sweeping, collected the shards in a dustpan and tossed them into the bin. The task gave him enough time to clear his head. To settle his nerves enough to pour the tea and bring it over to Gloria.

Where she sat on the couch, fast asleep.

Bede blinked at her, stunned. Her head was dropped towards her shoulder, mouth hanging slightly open.

Bede smiled down at her. She managed to have her nap after all.

Gloria awoke to a sickly gnawing in her stomach, a strangle sizzling sound in the air. She groaned, rubbing her eyes and sat up, inhaling the smell of something cooking. A blanket lay across her. Across her lap on the couch. On the couch in Ms Opal's house.

Gloria was wide awake in an instant. She shot her eyes to the incubator nestled safely beside her, to the kitchen where Bede stood, cooking something on the stove. Whatever it was, the smell was mouthwatering. Gloria swallowed hungrily.

"Did I fall asleep?" Gloria asked sheepishly. She already knew the answer but didn't know how else to break the silence, to talk to Bede as she realised he must've draped the blanket over her when she'd fallen asleep.

"Oh, you're awake." Bede smiled coyly at her, turning enough that she could see the pink apron he wore. There was writing on the front she couldn't make out from the angle. He'd changed out of his Gym uniform and into some grey pants and long sleeved t-shirt. "You were sleeping like a Snorlax."

Gloria flushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep like that. I guess I was more tired than I thought." She gave a bashful laugh and stood, leaving the soft blanket on the couch and walked to the kitchen. "What're you making?"

"Savoury mince." Bede swirled a drizzling of soy sauce into the wok. A colourful mix of different vegetables, finely chopped into cubes, swished in the wok among the mince as he stirred the sauce in.

"It smells amazing! I didn't know you could cook!"

Bede shrugged. "It's something I picked up over the years."

Gloria eased closer, spying the array of different sauces and jams spread out on the counter. Her stomach growled eagerly.

Bede snorted a laugh.

Gloria balked, embarrassed. "I-I haven't eaten since lunch, that's why…! Wait, I didn't even have lunch."

"That's what I thought. Don't worry, I'll be done soon. If you can wait, that is."

"I can have some?" Her face lit up.

"What, did you think I was cooking all of this just to deny you any?"

"No, of course not!" She shook her head quickly. "I just never thought I'd ever see you cook let alone be able to eat it. All I can make is curry - though, I'm pretty decent at it if I do say so myself!"

"Well, if you've got nothing better to do than gawk at me, you can set the table. Ms Opal's not going to be back until late so don't worry about a place for her."

Gloria rolled her eyes. "I wasn't gawking." She followed Bede's directions and pulled out a pair of plates and set them on the table.

"You were staring at me with your mouth hanging open. Gawking."

"I was not!" She tried to sound offended but failed at the smirk she caught sight of on Bede's face. She turned away from him and quickly grabbed the knives and forks, feeling a burst of heat climbing up her face.

Who knew he could smile like that?

She'd finished setting the table as Bede turned, bringing the wok over and placing it on a heat mat, sliding a serving spoon into it. Gloria looked at the writing on the apron.

"What's it say? Kiss the… cook…" She regretted reading it aloud instantly. Bede stood right beside her, suddenly feeling so close, the air suddenly too warm. She laughed awkwardly. Ducked her head away from him and hurried to her spot on the other side of the table where she could actually breathe.

Bede looked away from her, his own cheeks warming as he removed the apron and sat down. "It's Ms Opal's," Bede said quickly.

"Right."

Bede served himself before tilting the spoon towards her. "Help yourself," he said.

"Thanks." She didn't look at him, serving herself quietly, before she drew a deep breath and hummed.

Bede's lips twitched into a smile. "Are you smelling it?"

"I… maybe." She pouted, curling her lips at him. "So what?"

Bede raised his eyebrows coyly. "You're the first person I've ever seen who smells their food before they try it."

"There's nothing wrong with that," she protested with a huff and scooped a forkful of the mince into her mouth. Her eyes widened in delightful surprise. "Mm…! It's good!"

Bede almost laughed at the look on her face, opting to eat and satisfy the grizzling hunger in his stomach rather than replying.

"Gosh, I wish I could eat food this good every day!" Gloria sighed happily, practically inhaling her next forkful.

Bede lurched before he could choke on his mouthful. He stared at her, realising she didn't catch - or mean - the insinuation in that sentence of hers, as she continued eating in delight.

At least she was oblivious to the searing heat she's sent cascading across his face.

It was strange to remember there was a time when Bede loathed to spend any time with her, when he sat across from her comfortably now, sharing a meal he'd cooked himself. Making light conversation, making jokes and discussing the past week as if it was something they did everyday.

He wouldn't mind if they did this every day.

Bede collected their dishes when they'd finished, placing them in the sink and filling it with hot water. He drizzled detergent over it as Gloria came up beside him.

"Can I help? I don't mind washing dishes and I'll feel bad if I did nothing after eating your food."

Bede glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "Sure, if you don't mind." He looked to the mess of sauces and ingredients he'd yet to deal with. "I'll start cleaning up, then."

"No problem!" Gloria chimed and got to work on the plates. She didn't even flinch or complain when Bede added more stuff to the sink as he cleaned, handing over the utensils he'd used when cooking. He set the wok beside her on the counter, having divided the leftovers into neat containers to go in the fridge. She'd already finished washing everything up and had begun to dry them when Bede was done wiping down the counter.

They worked quickly and soon everything was clean and put away. Gloria brushed her hands together, satisfied.

"There! All done!" She grinned at the clean countertop.

"You still want to try the Roselia tea? You fell asleep before I could make you any."

"Ooh, yes please!" She beamed. "I'm always in the mood for tea!"

"And what about cake?" Bede asked as he filled up the kettle at the sink.

"Cake?" she gasped. "There's cake?!"

Bede smiled to himself. "Chocolate cheesecake, to be precise. I made it yesterday and haven't tried it yet. You can be my guinea pig."

"You make desserts too?!" She sighed dramatically. "Bede, you're better wife-material than I am!"

Bede frowned. His stomach swirled strangely. Was that a compliment or not?

"What kind of statement is that?" he scoffed. "Surely it would be husband-material instead."

She rolled her eyes. "You'd be such a catch if you weren't so snarky all the time."

"That's rich, coming from you."

She poked her tongue out at him. "Yeah, but I'm the Champion so that automatically makes me a catch anyway."

"Surely that would apply to me, as a Gym Leader, as well?"

Gloria huffed. "I'm pretty sure your bad attitude cancels that out."

Bede rolled his eyes. "Do you want the cheesecake or not? Because insulting me is a sure way to make sure you don't get any."

"Wait, no, I was joking! Bede please, give me some cake! I'll love you forever!"

Silence fell.

Bede gaped at her. Heat flooded to his face and then hers when she realised what she'd said.

"Wait, no! I didn't mean it like that! I-I meant as a friend! I didn't mean- I… um… just forget that, okay?!" Gloria buried her face in her hands and muffled a scream. "Arceus, Bede…! I'm sorry! Please, forget I said that…!"

The kettle whistled and cut Gloria off before she could ramble any further.

"Okay, okay!" Bede huffed, using the kettle as an excuse to busy himself and not look at her. "Just stop, alright? You're making it worse!"

Gloria nodded, her face still firmly in her hands.

"The… the cheesecake is in the fridge." Bede motioned towards it as he gathered the teacups and let the Roselia tea steep.

Gloria wordlessly headed over to the fridge and found the chocolate cheesecake on a decorated glass plate. She pulled it out and brought it over to Bede. He deftly sectioned out two identical slices and placed them on the table as Gloria took the teacups over. Gloria bounced eagerly as she sat down, grinning at the cheesecake. It was a rich, chocolate colour, the base the colour of caramel. She stabbed her fork into it and took a bite, savouring the creamy taste with a sigh.

When she drew the fork from her mouth, she saw Bede watching her.

"So?" he asked. "I gather that your response means it's edible?"

Gloria faintly remembered something about her being a guinea pig and stared at Bede. "You didn't poison it with something, did you?"

Bede levelled a flat stare at her. "Of course not. I changed up the recipe slightly since last time and I wasn't entirely sure if I put in too much chocolate."

Gloria scoffed. "There's no such thing as too much chocolate!" she declared, pointing her fork at him. "Anyone who says there is is a coward and a liar."

"I assume that means it's edible."

"More than that! It's so good!" Gloria scooped up another bite, smiling as she ate.

Bede's heart fluttered at her compliments. He tucked into his own slice, trying not to notice how much Gloria was enjoying it. She finished her slice in record time, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.

"I think you missed your calling as a chef, Bede," Gloria said. She sipped at her tea happily, after pausing to smell it first, of course.

"Too bad."

His dry comment made Gloria laugh. The relaxing way they spent the evening was far removed from the hectic morning and afternoon they'd shared. After finishing their dessert and cleaning up, Gloria finally checked the time and found it was after seven pm.

"I should get going," Gloria said. "Thanks for dinner - and that amazing dessert! I'll have to treat you to my curry sometime so we're even."

Bede shrugged as if he didn't care either way, pushing down the eager bubble in his chest. "Sure, if you want."

She smiled at him. "And remember - I still owe you one for borrowing your Rapidash. Let me know how you want me to pay you back."

"About that…"

Gloria looked up from her phone, about to call for a sky taxi, and paused. Bede had turned his face away but glanced back at her for a moment.

"You've thought of something?"

He looked away. "You… are a very huggy person."

"Yes…? I am…?"

"You hug all your friends."

Gloria looked confused. "Yes, I do…?"

Bede's lips twisted in frustration. "Well, you've… never tried to hug me."

Gloria's eyes widened. "Oh, well… I… didn't think you would like that. You didn't seem to even like handshakes at the start, so I… didn't think you'd be comfortable if I hugged you."

"That was… a while ago."

Gloria nodded slowly.

"We're friends now."

She stopped nodding. "Are you… saying that you want me to hug you?"

"I… suppose that is what I am saying." He looked away. His cheeks were scorching. Heart lodged high in his throat. Gloria stepped closer and he stiffened reflexively. He snapped his eyes to her, saw her searching his face.

"Can I hug you?"

His heart leapt into his mouth. "I believe I already made that clear-"

She wrapped her arms around his back and silenced him with a hug. He froze in her embrace and his brain stopped working. No thoughts formed. No words. He stood still and stiff as she leant into him, her head slotting against his chest. She was so warm. A familiar scent surrounded him and he realised it was her scent. Her silky hair tickled his neck.

He felt her rumble of laughter against his chest. "You know, hugs are usually reciprocated," she giggled.

Something snapped inside Bede, something that had been strung so tight for so long finally gave way and Bede wrapped his arms around her. He heard her surprised gasp but couldn't find himself to care as it felt so right to be in her embrace like this. To hug her like he'd always wanted. To hold her tight and breathe her in. It was like having a final piece of a puzzle slot into place. He felt complete. Felt warm and safe and calm. Like nothing else mattered in that moment.

He didn't want it to end.

"Bede?"

Her cautious voice, the sound of his name right into his ear, snapped him back to reality. He jolted away from her like he'd been struck by lightning and thrown away. Repelled like opposite magnets, he stepped back from her, holding his arms up in a flash of panic.

Gloria blinked at him, stunned. "Are you okay?"

Yes!" Bede cursed the squeak that leapt from his throat. He tried again. "Yes. I'm fine."

"Okay…?" She didn't look convinced. "Was that alright?"

"Wh-What?"

"The hug. You look uncomfortable. Are you sure that it was okay?"

Bede stole his eyes away. "Yes. It was… fine."

Better than fine. Better than he'd expected, better than he could have anticipated. He could still feel a ghost of her arms around him, a lingering memory of their embrace.

"Well, if you say so…"

"I do."

She finally nodded. "Okay. I'll see you soon, then. I'll definitely come by when the egg hatches!"

"Yeah. See you."

It was only after Gloria had left when Bede let the realisation of what had just happened crash down on him. He sank into the couch and held the back of his hand to his burning cheeks and flushed darkly.

He had held her far too long. He'd been so absorbed in their hug, in the feeling of her warmth and how soft she felt. In how sweetly she smelled. He'd forgotten all his inhibitions, forgotten to hold back and bury his feelings, his desires towards her.

It was only by the miracle of her obliviousness that she hadn't realised what his actions had meant. His control was slipping dangerously as he fell deeper and deeper in love with her.

He didn't know how long he could maintain this facade, acting like she was only a friend and that his heart didn't yearn for her.

Arceus.

He wanted her so badly.

The next few weeks that passed were akin to torture. Bede kept thinking that he saw Gloria. A flash of pink and his heart would race, the longing to be in her arms again would surge through him until he realised it was something or someone else. Her texts continuously sent his heart skittering, and he made sure not to check his phone when there were other people around lest someone see a smile pull on his face or a blush form on his cheeks.

He was succumbing.

Bede had finished with his Gym Leader duties for another evening and changed into regular clothes before preparing to leave. He'd gathered his bag and moved to leave after giving the stadium a quick once-over, when his phone buzzed to life.

His pulse spiked when he saw Gloria's name on the screen. He answered it quickly before he'd realised it was a video call and almost dropped his phone when her face appeared.

"Bede!" Gloria called excitedly. "Look! Look!" She turned the phone away from her gleeful face and a Galarian Ponyta came into view. He recognised the room from the background of pictures she had sent him before. Her bedroom. Ponyta slept peacefully on her bed, front hooves tucked beneath it's chin.

"Isn't she adorable?" Gloria cooed, her hand reaching into the shot as she stroked Ponyta's fluffy mane. "I named her Pearl!"

A smile tugged on Bede's lips. His heart softened.

"That sounds like something you would name a Ponyta."

Gloria's face appeared again, pouting. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying, you have a track record of nicknaming your Pokemon…. interesting things." Bede smirked.

"Interesting is good! Better than boring or strange!"

"If you say so."

Gloria rolled her eyes. "Are you still at the Gym? I wasn't sure if you were busy. She hatched about… maybe half an hour ago? I didn't want to bother you but I knew I had to tell you first!"

His heart skipped. "You did?"

"Yes! Without you, little Pearl wouldn't be here!" Gloria ran her hands through Ponyta's mane. "Bede, I've only had her for half an hour and I'm already in love!"

Bede bit back a laugh. That was so like Gloria. "Why am I not surprised?"

"We'll have to come visit you sometime!"

He let himself smile. "That wouldn't be so bad. I'll have to make sure that you're treating my Grandchild well."

"Hey, you gave up your custody!"

"I don't recall doing that."

Gloria huffed. "Does that mean you're going to give me childcare payments?"

"Oh, so now you're trying to extort me? Who knew the Champion would stoop so low."

Gloria laughed. The sound was music to Bede's ears, and sent a tingle of warmth through his chest. "Fine, fine. We'll come by when I'm free next." She glanced offscreen for a moment. "I've got to go. See you later, Bede!"

"Bye, Gloria."

She smiled at him a second longer before the image vanished when the call ended. Bede released a tight breath as a sigh. He felt lighter. The weight in his chest was gone.

It was strange.

He didn't realise just how much he'd missed her until she'd appeared before him in that moment.

For once, he didn't mind the heat on his cheeks.

He didn't mind being in love with her.

She'd changed his life for the better.

#bede #bederia #dressedinpinkshipping #gloria #pokemon swsh #pokemon #ITS DONE #IM SCREAMING

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Not Alone

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: John, Scott, EOS

John makes a miscalculation with unexpected consequences.

Another @badthingshappenbingo this time with the square “Home Invasion” - with John (as requested by @such-a-random-rambler). A surprisingly light-hearted number this time, considering the challenge name...

I’m still taking prompts for non-Scott TAG characters for the other squares! If you’d like to see what I’ve received already, head over to the Challenges>Bad Things Happen Bingo page on my blog but duplicate requests are fine, too!

John didn’t remember who decided this was a good idea, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had been past-him, approximately twenty-four hours previously. That was unlike him – bad decisions got people killed so he’d learnt early on not to make them. Always work with all available data to reach the optimum plan of action and proceed accordingly. Maybe not simple, but certainly efficient.

He must have been more tired than he’d realised to make such a large error in calculation. It was a flaw of supernova proportions that at least one of his siblings must have also noticed, but in true annoying little brother fashion, none of them had said anything, leaving him to dig his own grave.

“John! What’s the kill switch for this virus!”

He put his head in his hands and pretended he didn’t hear Scott roaring in the kitchen section of the gravity ring.

Get Scott off the planet a while. Give him a break from the stress of life and International Rescue by relocating him to Thunderbird Five where he could spend extended time away from younger brothers he refused to break down in front of – John was a long-standing confidante, the advantage of being second eldest. Keep him out from under everyone’s feet while he was grounded, because a grounded Scott was a nightmare.

That was probably why none of the others had pointed out the flaw in John’s plan. An escape from Scott at his most frustrated wasn’t something they’d willingly give up.

“John, your brother is attempting to destroy the bagel toaster.”

A week, they’d agreed. A week of Scott on Thunderbird Five, some nice brotherly time without little brothers interrupting every two seconds.

A week of Scott and EOS trying to kill each other.

How John had forgotten that Scott and EOS were both terrified of each other – and both manifested their fear as aggression – he had no idea.

“EOS, did you throw bagels at him?” he asked, quietly despairing. It was one of her favourite pranks – harmless if annoying – but while John was now used to it, Scott…

Well, Scott was still stuck back when EOS was trying to kill them. Launching projectiles at him was a bad idea.

“Analysis suggested that humour is often used in bonding,” she not-answered, telling John everything he needed to know. He groaned, head still in hands.

“Don’t throw bagels at Scott,” he told her, wincing as the sound of his brother’s frustration made its way to his bunk. “We want him to like you, remember?” And trust, more importantly, but trust was going to be hard to cultivate if they kept winding each other up.

Why had he thought this was a good idea?

With another groan, he stood up and made his way through the gravity ring before Scott broke something. To think he’d been looking forwards to this.

“Scott, please don’t wreck my kitchen,” he sighed as he entered the compartment to see Scott banging on the top of the bagel maker with his good arm.

“I’m not!” Scott protested with all the righteousness of an eldest sibling before landing another hit. John winced and hurried over to his side, catching his hand firmly.

“Scott,” he insisted. “If that breaks there’s no breakfast until it’s fixed and I, for one, don’t plan on spending the day fixing a perfectly functioning toaster.”

Scott scowled and pulled his hand back. “Your pet virus corrupted it,” he grumbled, and John rolled his eyes.

“EOS isn’t a virus, Scott, and nor is she my ‘pet’.” He cast a quick eye over the machine, but it didn’t seem like Scott had managed to damage it.

“I suppose it isn’t,” Scott grumbled darkly. “If it was, you’d be able to control it.”

John knew better than to get into a debate with Scott about EOS when he was in a black mood. There was a conversation there that needed to be had, but not now. “Her.” Well, most of it wasn’t to be had now. “EOS is female.”

“How is a virus a female?” Scott snapped. “It’s just a jumble of numbers.” Behind him, one of Thunderbird Five’s internal cameras ringed itself with red dots but EOS, thankfully, remained silent. Hopefully she realised interrupting would do more harm than good.

“You don’t have any problems calling MAX ‘he’,” John observed, and watched Scott’s jaw stiffen as his teeth ground together, braced for the next comeback. When Scott was wound up, logic wasn’t always an effective weapon against him. Sometimes he just had to rant it out before he was open to listening to reason.

When the expected retort didn’t come, Scott stood stiffly in what was effectively space-rated civvies (because even though he was on Thunderbird Five he was firmly off duty) in the middle of the kitchen, John mentally ran through their exchange, trying to pinpoint the reason for the uncharacteristic- ah.

MAX. The Aurora Generator. Virgil.

The real reason Scott was off duty and effectively kicked off the planet by their younger siblings.

Colonel Casey – and therefore the GDF – had been told that Scott had been injured trying to secure the conductor in order to prevent the explosion. While it wasn’t quite a bare-faced lie, it was hardly the whole truth.

He’d first wrenched his shoulder when he’d lost control of the pod and flipped it on the ice. Virgil had patched that up during their brief camp, only for him to jar the same arm again being flung from the top of the spire by the charge that had shot through him – John was grateful for their suits being able to redirect enough that only the inner electronics had fried, and not Scott himself. Physically, Scott just had to take it easy for a few days. The sling was for the Colonel’s benefit whenever she made contact, and Scott wore it with minimal complaint.

To anyone who knew Scott, that was a massive red flag. Scott was incapable of ‘taking it easy’, and definitely refused to show weakness if it could at all be avoided. It helped sell him being off duty to the GDF, but to his family – all well aware that it wasn’t as bad as it looked – it betrayed the deeper problem.

The only time Scott willingly showed one weakness was to hide another.

John wasn’t known for physical contact compared to his more tactile siblings, but he put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. His brother stiffened, but didn’t shrug him off.

“Come on,” he coaxed, drawing his brother away from the kitchen, the topic of EOS dropped for the moment. Scott followed, head down and reluctant. He’d never give in so easily at home, but that was why he was up on Five, away from the brothers that looked up to him for strength. John did, too, but John was older, saw more, and had never let Scott hide from him. Up on Five, it was just Scott and John, alone together in a way that almost never happened ever since Virgil had been born.

There was only one bed on Thunderbird Five. It was all she needed, most of the time; John generally didn’t have guests ‘overnight’. John sat down on it, and after a moment Scott joined him. Neither of them spoke; John looked down past their feet to the view of Earth passing by before they slowly turned away to face the depths of space. It was a calming view for him.

Scott, shoulder pressed lightly against his own, was never quite as comfortable in space. Still, he too was looking out through the clear floor of the gravity ring.

They had a week before Scott went back home. A week of Scott being technically off duty in the communications centre of International Rescue. John had no illusions about Scott actually sitting back and doing nothing. It wasn’t in his brother’s nature. No matter that he was supposed to be unwinding and trying to relieve some of the piles of stress on his shoulders.

“What am I doing, John?”

He hadn’t expected Scott to address the issue so quickly, but that just proved how shaken up he was. Not pulling his eyes away from the starry view below his feet, he leaned into his brother’s shoulder just a little more, a subtle acknowledgement of his words.

That was all Scott needed.

“I don’t know how Dad did it,” he continued. The arm closest to John shifted; if he looked, he knew he’d see Scott had his head in his hands – both of them, sling be damned. John would have to check his shoulder later. “He never gave up, always gave everything he had…” he trailed off for a moment, but John still didn’t interject. He knew where this was going, knew what the difference between Dad and Scott was, but that wasn’t what Scott needed to hear. Not yet.

This was why Scott was grounded, why he was up away from the world in Thunderbird Five. As far as physical injuries went, Scott’s was minor, but the rescue had brought to light all the cracks behind the façade Scott tried to put up. He pushed too hard, too fast, and there was only one person still alive that he’d ever properly open up to.

John wasn’t naïve enough to think that Scott would spill everything going on in his head; long-term confidante he might be, but he was still Scott’s little brother. It didn’t matter that John saw everything on Tracy Island – more than he ever let his brothers know, and he’d had to disconnect some of his usually-open links before Scott arrived to hide the fact that he constantly kept an eye on them even when they thought they were alone – Scott wouldn’t tell him everything. But it would be more than he’d tell anyone else.

Sure enough, when Scott started again, it was painfully obvious that he was choosing his words. John listened, anyway, hearing the words he said and the insecurities he didn’t. Not being good enough, never being good enough, failure. Scott never said as such, but he didn’t need to; John knew his brother well enough.

“You need a break,” he said finally, once Scott had said all he was going to. Scott sighed, deep enough that John could feel his shoulder shift.

“I know,” he admitted, words that would never have passed his lips before the Aurora Generator and the groundwork Virgil laid, not even to John. “But I can’t.”

“That’s why you’re here,” John reminded him, pressing against him for just a moment before letting the pressure fade away to nothing as he stood up. It was late, Tracy Island time. Thunderbird Five only had one bed. “Get some sleep.” He didn’t need it, not yet, and while the bed could take the two of them if they curled up together tight enough, it made more sense for them to sleep in shifts.

John sincerely hoped Scott and EOS wouldn’t tear each other – or Thunderbird Five – to pieces while he took his naps later.

Scott didn’t protest, aware of both the bed situation and John’s different sleep schedule. “Wake me if you need me,” was all that he said, and John made a noise of agreement before leaving the segment.

The first thing he did was disable the emergency alarms to the sleeping quarters. Off duty or not, Scott would come running the moment he heard that there was a call. John dealt with them solo all the time – it was his job, after all – and now he had EOS to streamline things further. He wouldn’t need Scott.

“I do not understand why your brother insists on referring to me incorrectly despite repeated reminders,” EOS said suddenly, the moment he finished. Glancing up at the camera she was currently inhabiting, because dealing with EOS required visual cues rather than audial, he grimaced. Her lights were yellow, not outright hostile, but not pleased, either. “I understand that I am not liked, but he does not respect me, either. Why did you invite him up here?”

There was nothing he could say that would appease her. Explaining Scott’s situation, exposing the weaknesses and fears he had shared knowing John would never tell, would damage his relationship with his brother irreparably, and he couldn’t do that, not even to teach EOS.

“Scott doesn’t like change,” he said instead. Not a lie, but a broad enough truth. “It takes him time to accept.” Scott was good at adapting, had learnt the skill far too young when he’d ended up for all intents and purposes parentless with four younger brothers to raise, but adapting on demand was not the same as accepting the reason for the adaptation.

“None of your other brothers continue to refer to me as a virus,” she pointed out. Yellow lights flickered. “Why is he different?”

Because he’s scared of you. Because if you wanted to kill me he knows he couldn’t stop you. Because he couldn’t even tell I was in danger when you impersonated me. You almost made some of his worst nightmares come true.

“Humans are all unique,” he said out loud. “Every one of us learns and applies our knowledge at different paces; there’s no set formula for it.”

“That sounds very inefficient,” EOS commented. Her lights flickered again. “And very inconvenient.”

“It is,” he agreed whole-heartedly. “But it’s a quirk of humanity we have to accept and work around.”

“When will your brother stop insulting me?” she asked. “You are his brother; you must know his unique formula.”

John sighed, glancing back at the closed doors separating him from his hopefully-but-probably-not-sleeping brother. “It isn’t that simple,” he tried to explain, walking further away from Scott. Overhead the camera whirred and followed him. “There isn’t a formula for a person’s actions. It changes every time; there’s no quantitative time frame.”

“That means there is a possibility that Scott Tracy will never accept me?” Lights flashed red, unhappy and threatened. Hunted. John felt a flash of fear; he trusted EOS, but if she and Scott never reached an understanding, what would she do?

“He will do.” John would make sure of it, because he had to protect EOS but he had to protect Scott, too. Besides, Scott trusted him.

“How can you be certain when there is no reliable data?”

“Because he’s my brother,” he said. “I know him. If there was no chance, he would never have let you stay.”

“It was not his decision to make.”

John remembered the veiled order, the you know what has to be done. Scott could have overridden him, ordered the destruction of Thunderbird Five, and Alan would have obeyed. He hadn’t, but he could have done. Scott had made his decision then about EOS’s fate, even if he didn’t yet know it himself.

Now they just had to at least manage to be cordial to each other – a task they were both making out to be far harder than need be.

A distress call chose that moment to come in, and John let the matter drop. It was something the two of them would have to handle between themselves. He just hoped he’d have a Thunderbird left by the time they were done.

Three days into Scott’s week off-planet, multiple rescues and occasional interference from a brother who refused to sit back and do nothing, even if all he could do was instruct over comms while John scavenged up data, Virgil called to check in on their older brother’s progress. Dishevelled and about ready to tear his hair out, John dived into a section away from both Scott and EOS.

“It’s awful,” he told his younger brother, whose face immediately took on a look of panicked concern. “Get me out of here. Please.”

“Get you out of there?” Virgil asked, confusion edging in over the other emotions as he registered John’s desperate plea. “What do you mean? If Scott’s not okay-”

“Scott’s fine,” John interrupted. He was. More than fine, in fact. A chaotic headache on a brother who hadn’t lived in such close proximity with his big brother for years and had forgotten how terrible it could be.

And now there were two of them.

“Then… what’s awful?” The concern had all but faded away, Virgil’s brow furrowed in confusion. “If Scott’s okay, then that’s good, right?”

“No. Well, yes, of course it’s good. More than good.” He was babbling. That was bad. He was the Voice Who Answers, the one on the end of every call. He shouldn’t babble. “But they’re tag-teaming me!”

“They? Who- oh. EOS?” Virgil’s frown got deeper. “I thought Scott and EOS didn’t get on?”

“They didn’t,” John agreed. “Then they realised they had something in common.” Waking up sometime around the forty-eight hour mark into Scott’s visit to find the pair of them talking politely to each other – EOS’s lights green and Scott with a small grin on his face – had been fantastic. No more feuding, no more ‘virus’ accusations and red lights turning his Thunderbird – his home – into a warzone. John had been delighted.

John had been a fool.

“Something in common?” Virgil asked. “John, what happened?”

“EOS’s first priority is self-preservation,” he explained. “I promised to protect her when I invited her to stay, so apparently, her idea of self-preservation is now protecting me.”

“And that’s a problem?” Virgil stared at him. “John, you know we’re always worried about you being alone up there. That’s why you’re always on the wire with us. If EOS is looking out for you, then that’s a good thing.”

John buried his face in his hands. Virgil was missing the point entirely.

“Scott agrees with you,” he said into his fingers, voice muffled but still clear enough to be picked up by the comm. “Scott also thinks this is a good thing.”

“Of course he does,” Virgil shrugged. “That shouldn’t be a surprise.”

Still missing the point.

“He’s teaching her to be a smother hen,” John hissed.

Virgil laughed like the annoying little brother he occasionally could be. John had been hoping for a slightly more sympathetic reaction.

“You’re a big boy, Johnny,” he grinned, ignoring John’s eyeroll at the despised nickname. Virgil was spending too much time around Gordon. “You’ll survive.”

“John!” Scott’s voice reverberated through the gravity ring. Thunderbird Five had never felt quite so small before. “Where are you?” John looked up at Virgil, still openly amused, and then towards the door Scott would no doubt be walking through within the next few seconds. Time to employ a time-honoured tactic: playing his brothers off against each other.

“Virgil called,” he commented waving a hand towards the hologram as Scott inevitably walked in. “Why don’t you two catch up while I go get dinner ready?” Scott had yet to get the hang of cooking in space, and he didn’t give either brother a chance to protest before he ducked out of the segment. Hopefully Virgil would snap back into medic mode and grill Scott about his physical state – and probe his mental one – before they started discussing Scott’s new protégé.

In the meantime, now that the opportunity had finally presented itself, John had damage control to do.

“EOS.”

Instantly, the nearest camera whirred into life and followed him to the kitchen – he did need to get dinner, after all. “Is everything alright, John? Your blood pressure and heart rate are both slightly elevated and your voice is modulating outside of recorded average range. Do you need assistance with anything?”

John was going to murder Scott.

“No, EOS, I’m fine. But we need to talk about what Scott’s telling you.”

“Scott is assisting me with identifying signs of stress, illness and other afflictions that cause sub-optimal performance,” EOS informed him, her lights flashing green.

John sighed. “I do not need my vital signs analysed constantly,” he protested. “I’m glad you and Scott are getting on now, but you don’t need to follow everything he says.”

“I understand,” EOS told him. It was probably supposed to be a reassurance, but she ruined it by continuing with “Scott told me you’d say that.”

“Of course he did.” Scott had raised four younger brothers, including him. He was, therefore, unfortunately wise to the majority of their tricks and could predict their reactions with a reasonable accuracy. John cast his mind to find something, anything, he could use to get EOS to back off. “Did he also tell you to report every deviation to him?”

“Scott requested that I keep him informed whenever your vitals leave normal parameters,” EOS replied, and John groaned.

“Okay, no, that’s not happening,” he said firmly. “EOS, you are not reporting every fluctuation to Scott.”

“Scott said that you would not like it.” No, Scott was not defeating him on this.

“EOS, most fluctuations are normal and no reason for concern,” he ploughed on. “Informing Scott of false positives won’t help. Look up the parable ‘the boy who cried wolf’.”

“There is no wolf in this situation, and both you and Scott are considered to be legally adults in all cultures who define adulthood as reaching a certain age,” EOS observed, and John rubbed at his face.

“It’s a parable, EOS. Look it up.”

“Very well.” Her lights shifted to white and he was left in silence for a minute or so, which he used to tackle dinner. Reheating pre-packaged food wasn’t exactly difficult, but retaining as much taste as possible was a skill John had down to a fine art at this point.

“John, I do not understand.” He glanced up at the camera, still with white lights surrounding the lens. “Why do humans stop responding to repeated calls for assistance?”

“Because they get tired of reacting only to find they didn’t need to,” John explained. “So, for example, if you were to keep telling Scott every time my vitals moved a little outside your expected parameters, if it’s always natural and of no concern he’ll eventually think that will always be the case and stop reacting.”

Her lights flashed yellow for a moment.

“So how do I maintain urgency?” she inquired. “I understand that Scott would be distressed if he overlooked a concern.”

Distressed was putting it lightly. Scott would be devastated.

“Only report if it’s serious,” he answered. “Loss of coherency, loss of consciousness, that sort of thing.”

“I do not think Scott will agree with that,” EOS pointed out, and John rolled his eyes, because no, his smother hen of an older brother would not.

“Talk to him about it,” he suggested, hoping Scott would see some sense. Otherwise, he’d have to give him a not-so-subtle shove. “And tell me what you two decide.” If he was going to be constantly monitored like he monitored his brothers (the irony was not lost on him), he was going to be aware of it.

“I will.” The topic was dropped and John retrieved their now-edible food from the kitchen.

Surprisingly, it was Scott that next brought up the subject, several hours, one meal and two rescues later.

“You compared surveillance on your welfare to cry wolf?” he asked, throwing himself onto the bed, where John had been attempting to read a book to destress. Not much reading had happened since Scott arrived. “Really, John?”

“She was under the impression you wanted her to report every little fluctuation,” John retorted, not looking away from the pages. “None of us have time for that. I’d rather you didn’t have her reporting on me at all.”

“No chance,” Scott told him firmly. “Living in space is dangerous, John. If something happens… We need as much warning as we can get to reach you in time.” John’s mind flashed to a blurred red and white shape before darkness, and waking up a moment later to Alan’s worried face in Thunderbird Three’s cockpit. From the look on Scott’s face, he wasn’t the only one remembering that close call.

“It’s never been a problem before,” he pointed out, but Scott shook his head.

“We didn’t have the capacity before. EOS gives us that capacity, and it would make me feel a hell of a lot better about you being up here if we used it,” his older brother admitted. “You’re not alone up here now, but EOS still listens to you more than me.”

“It wasn’t long ago that you wouldn’t talk to her,” John reminded him, selfishly glad that despite their sudden and intense camaraderie, EOS still prioritised him.

“She nearly killed you,” Scott retorted.

“A misunderstanding,” John corrected.

“Doesn’t matter.” Scott shook his head again. “If you’d died, you’d still have been gone, misunderstanding or not.” There was pain in his voice, and John abandoned his book to look at his brother. “You trust her, and I agree she means it when she says keeping you safe is a priority, but I can’t forget what nearly happened, John. What if your line had snapped? The airlock blew? Different cause, same result. If EOS can help me get here faster, alert me sooner, if something happens, then dammit I’m going to take every extra second she can give.”

Scott looked tired, worn, and John abruptly remembered the whole reason he was grounded and on Thunderbird Five in the first place – the stress of command, of responsibility. He’d mistaken that for just being all the back to back missions, three younger brothers in the thick of it and more and more people calling for their help as their reputation continued to grow. The idea that John himself, up in Thunderbird Five and only Brains’ genius between him and certain death, had also been one of those weights had slipped his mind at some point. Thunderbird Five was his home now, and while he knew the dangers of living in space, he’d become desensitised to the risks.

Apparently, Scott hadn’t.

“Okay,” he agreed, leaning so that they were shoulder to shoulder again. “I won’t stop EOS from reporting to you.” The smile that spread across Scott’s face was one of relief. “But it won’t be every tiny, insignificant fluctuation. Leave it to when there’s actually a danger, not when I’m panicking because you stopped answering your comms. Again.”

Scott at least had the grace to look slightly sheepish at that.

“We’ll come up with the parameters together,” he agreed, though. “You, me and EOS. You can’t say I’m overreacting then.”

John grinned. “You can’t help being such a smother hen,” he teased. Scott swatted at him, but there was a grin on his face, too, and they fell into a companionable silence.

He’d just returned to his book when Scott broke it.

“John… I’m glad you’re not alone up here anymore.” The grin was gone, replaced with heartfelt sincerity.

John glanced over at the door separating the sleeping segment from the next one, where EOS no doubt lurked. He was used to being alone. Thunderbird Five wasn’t designed for cohabitation, Scott’s constant presence making her seem so much smaller. Even EOS, despite not having a physical presence to crowd him, changed something about his ‘bird, and that was before Scott started training her up to be her own smother hen. Life in space was never going to be the same again. But… “So am I.” John was fine with that.

#badthingshappenbingo #bad things happen bingo #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #eos #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #thunderangst

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