#and i saw the substance there too

[pickapea]

be the change you want to see in the world! i went to the cinema 20 times between september and december in 2024 💪💪 and it will keep happening

i want to go to the movies

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

forever thinking about johanna shooting fogg and what it says for both her and anthony as characters

because the whole show, from the very first scene, we've been set up to see anthony and sweeney as parallels of one another; anthony is sweeney back when he was benjamin, he's full of hope, he's in love (with a woman who looks almost identical to lucy), and then he gets that love brutally ripped away by judge turpin

in 'no place like london' sweeney says: "you are young, life has been kind to you-- you will learn" and by the point in the show where anthony is going to rescue johanna we're almost inclined to agree with him

except anthony cannot shoot the gun, he's not like sweeney in that he cannot kill another person even if it was to save someone he loved. anthony is never going to become sweeney todd.

and then we realize that we've been looking at the wrong person the whole show, and it's so obvious it's laughable: johanna shoots the gun.

johanna who has been raised to be silent and obedient and perfect, johanna who, without knowing the half of it, has had everything taken away from her by judge turpin, her mother, her father, and her freedom. johanna who we've been led to believe is the lucy to anthony's sweeney.

she is fully justified in shooting fogg, no one could fault her for it, but she doesn't even hesitate.

in that moment she is her father's daughter.

that isn't to say that I think johanna is going to go on a killing spree after the musical, obviously, but it's such a fascinating scene in terms of their development: because despite it all anthony is still the same, and because of it all johanna is not

anthony is the last bit of hope left in the story, and johanna is the last bit of sweeney

[wuntrum]

at the point in transitioning where i'm getting a 50/50 pronoun split (got he'd to my left and she'd to my right at the concert i was at) :) BUT i cannot woo or sing along the way i used to because sound either does not come out, or i sound like a squeaky toy :(

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[moregraceful]

it was once observed by a dear friend that the hours in which i am most alert are like 7pm to 2am which probably explains a lot about how my posts get worse throughout the evening. but also sometimes i look at today where i was just sort of gnawing the couch all day until about 5pm when i wrote an entire fic in two hours and then another entire post about kaapo which to be clear took another two hours bc i had to chase links and explain my passions in a kind way and this was in addition to a church meeting. i would excel as the person who lights and then extinguishes lamps in the night

[mokeonn]

I think the most upsetting thing about being a recovering addict is seeing how other people talk about addicts. A vast majority of Americans fucking DESPISE addicts and they are constantly demonized at every turn, God forbid that addict is homeless. It's honestly shocking to see how fast addicts are brought up as a "gotcha" to shoot down arguments for social or housing programs.

Like damn, I'm already dealing with trying not to abuse this substance and getting my life together, which is hard enough on its own, I don't need the knowledge that the average person thinks I am the scum of the Earth. I don't like knowing that if I am ever homeless or in a tough living situation, I will be one of the first people thrown under the bus. I'm already going through enough, I'm already the victim of a very upsetting illness, I don't need to deal with the vile hatred of the average person in my country, too.

[daisyachain]

Restorative or Transformative?: Homoerotic Subtext, The Closet, and Ciphers in Pop Culture. The nature of commercial art is that it’s sometimes bad and inconsistent. Notably it’s also misogynistic. One way in which audiences try to reconcile massive plot holes or gaps in character motivation is by reading secrets or hidden information into a plot.

Commonly, male characters are interpreted as closeted gay or bisexual to reconcile the absence of women from commercial narratives with the generally stunted and poorly-written male characters that form the focus on said texts. This reading has become especially common among a non-heterosexual milieu. Rather than transforming the original text into some radically different new form, this closeted interpretation seeks to make the original text stand on its own as a story rather than a Swiss cheese of dumb writing decisions.

This interpretation only works for a specific type of pop, usually genre fiction. Any story in which tortured male leads eschew women in favour of male-male bonds (because female characters are constantly killed off, written sparsely, or written out, because the production team keeps casting their male buddies, because actors demand to keep having scenes with their bros, whatever) can become a sounder structure if you put one of them in a closet.

The gay interpretation is the natural consequence of shoddy misogynistic writing from ventures like Supernatural, Naruto, all the biggest hits. It’s also the natural consequence of more benignly misogynistic writing like The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes or The Lord of the Rings, where women aren’t necessarily rejected but are simply absent from the worlds of the protagonists. When the emotional crux of the story falls on male-male interactions, this reads as romantic because society at large priorities (definitively heterosexual) romance as the pinnacle of human connection. Two forces are in conflict, the primacy of heterosexuality (read as: romance) and the primacy of men.

Anyway. All that is to say that the typical gay or bisexual reading of male characters in pop fiction comes from a very real place. But, in some places, that’s the default interpretation. Angst, insecurity, secrets, double lives, fatigue, disappointment, restrained passion, stunted personal growth, anyone living in the closet can tell you that it impacts and defines your whole life to know that you live in a way fundamentally incompatible with The Proper Way that life is structured around down to tax law and superstore prices (which assume a heterosexual nuclear family unit). Characters in fiction also tend to have personal problems because that makes them interesting and tasty.

If you’ve grown up on stories with the specific type of misogyny that can be papered over with a closeted interpretation of the male leads, carrying this interpretation over to any male character will make sense more often than not. Even a bit of angst or insecurity? Well of course that makes sense if a character is closeted.

Except that’s hurt a normal part of fiction, and sometimes the closeted interpretation takes away from the point of a character. If a male character is on another axis of marginalization, the closeted interpretation imposed by the slash reading community downplays or trivializes the effects of that marginalization in the plot by overwriting it with another type of marginalization. Alternately, sometimes a character’s heterosexuality is a part of the story. There are some sorts of critiques or investigations of misogyny or masculinity that don’t work if the character has an ‘opt out’ of the cisheteropatriarchal perspective. Not that gay/bisexual men aren’t except from misogyny, but misogyny masculinity and heterosexuality are so tightly linked that it sort of defeats the point if you interpret that character outside of heterosexuality.

All that is to say—the closet interpretation is a quick and easy spice to apply to the weaker parts of action-adventure genre fiction to make it taste better. It draws from a large enough sample of art that it’s pretty widely applicable. Because of that, it’s part of some people’s [my] default interpretation package just because the semi-dull macho show at least gets less dull if you imagine there’s a reason for there to be no girls besides simple hatred. That then forms its own problem where the interpretation that works with your average genre work gets then blanket-applied to all genre works and obscures the places where the closet interpretation doesn’t fix the work, and actually makes it less interesting.

[sputnikodin]

it's really funny how when it comes to the drug polls on this website the people judging people who don't do drugs are mostly calling them lame uncool virgins while the people judging THOSE people are mostly vocalizing their hatred of addicts

[lacystar]

genuinely fucking asking . do they sell inhalers for like panic attacks. because every time ive had a panic attack around my asthmatic friend and she gives me her inhaler it deadass helps so fucking much

[mirchloe]

i never post scrapped parts separately, but this 17 page dion pov segment was the bane of my existence for the entire month, and i don't want to let it go to waste, so here it is, entirely unedited. i think as you'll read, compared to what happens in the last chapter, it brings everything to a grinding halt, like a game of catch up to bring the other characters up to speed for the readers. it's very "here they are! here's what they were doing right up to that specific moment where raz is just about ready to take on the big bad! here are their very specific mentalities! they sure just keep TALKING! and LOOKING!" it felt so repetitive and dialogue-heavy that when i kept re-reading the past chapters, this scrapped chapter felt like walking into a wall and having to climb it to get back to the actual plot relevant stuff.

there are definitely things i would liked to save, but scaling down these conversations, making them more concise, it would really fit the story better.

When Dion learned what happened to Raz, if he wasn’t so shocked, then he could have collapsed on the spot.

As soon as his mother cried out over the phone, jolting Dion out of his daily stretches, he rushed to her side. His younger siblings followed, each in different stages of concern, only for their mutual distress to heighten when Donatella sank to her knees. The phone had slipped out of her hands, the springy cord causing it to dangle and swing. Their father grasped it, quickly raising it to his ear and addressing the other side with the proper poise of a hardened ringmaster. While Frazie tended to Donatella, who whispered in a hushed, yet shrill voice, Dion observed his father with wide eyes and clenched fists.

Augustus’ panicked voice killed any semblance of calm. “What? What do you m-? How could this have happened? Yes, yes, I - did you say imprisoned? Why would anyone-?”

But when Augustus floundered, cupping his mouth with tense fingers, it was like when his memories flooded in from the locked parts of his mind. All of a sudden, Augustus lost strength in his legs. He collapsed to the ground, struggling to hold onto the phone. He struggled to speak, frantically demanding answers that the other person could not provide. There was nothing Dion could do as a bystander to his father’s suffering, just as he had felt throughout his life. He was only able to offer comfort when the Aquatos linked their arms around him and each other before braving the storm as a family.

This was different, and yet, all the same. Augustus had been lost for words before, but now, as he failed to string together a sentence, he was like a weathered, battered mirror on the verge of cracking. He was deathly pale, as if multiple needles had punctured his veins and drained him of blood. Hobbling to his feet, he held the wall, his hand placed between strung-up, framed photographs of their family. His thumb caressed Raz’s face, his cherub cheeks, and Dion had almost forgotten he was so small as a toddler.

“Dad, what’s going on?��� he remembered asking over the sound of Donatella’s cries..

Augustus shook his head. His face was wrinkled. He seemed to have aged in minutes.

“It’s your brother. It’s Razputin. He’s hurt.”

Dion may as well have taken a punch to the gut. He whipped his head to Donatella, finding her balling her hands into tense fists. She rose from her knees, Frazie and MIrtala holding her for support. Lost for words, he looked among his family, searching for answers only two of them could give.

“‘Hurt?’ How?” Queepie wondered, fidgeting with his collar. “I thought Raz was one of their top agents. How’d he get hurt?

“Pootie was tricked,” Donatella snapped, full of venom. “He’s trapped in another boy’s mind. His-his coworker or whatever! She said they can’t find a way to free him!”

Dion had no fathomable idea what that implied. Frazie, however, stiffened. She was the one demanding to know who had done it.

“Frazie, what does that mean? Trapped in someone’s mind?” Dion tried to breach through the chaos, but Frazie was unwavering, reiterating her question. He once again looked to their father, who brought the phone to his ear, and shouted, “Dad, hey, tell me! What does Mom mean that they can’t free him? Who did this to Raz? What the hell is going on?”

“It’s because of a contraption that I hardly understand myself, but it’s an intern behind Razputin’s entrapment. He’s someone your brother has had many problems with over the years.” 

Augustus’ grave voice lowered. Donatella snatched the phone from him, barking over the gentle, hardly soothing voice of Agent Vodello struggling to get a single word out. He briefly looked at Mirtala, before uttering a heavy-hearted sigh. 

“You know him. It’s a boy named Bobby Zilch.”

Mirtala’s irises dilated. Twin, dark circles enveloped their cerulean shade. She clasped her hands, shaking her head, her jaw twitching. Dion shrank to her side and rubbed her back before her tears could fall. He held her close and listened to her emit a whine like a monotonous siren, her pitch warbling, and he gnawed on the insides of his cheeks.

Again, there was nothing he could do. Providing meager comfort was drudgery when he was utterly helpless. Throughout the ride to the Motherlobe, he stewed and broiled with contempt, holding the shivering, weeping Mirtala to his chest.

For anyone to single out his little brother, they must have wracked with jealousy. Dion knew Raz was talented, progressing with his powers at lightning speed. He was more of a Psychonaut than an acrobat in recent days, but as Dion recalled, he had tried teaching Raz to hide his psychic abilities, repeating verbatim their father’s instructions. When he thought they were cursed to drown, as Dion stared out the window, Queepie resting in Frazie’s lap, he bit his nails into his palms for every sorrowful look Raz gave him after a harsh admonishment.

And then, witnessing Raz in such disarray, slumped against an overgrown apparatus, his malice dissipated. Raz was entirely expressionless, blankly gazing at nothing through half-lidded eyes. How their mother threw herself at his knees, screaming for him to wake up, Dion only heard static.

It was brief, however, as Dion caught sight of the real monster. The one who forced Raz into such a servile position was seated on the opposite side of the Brain Tumbler. His world was slathered in hues of blood red, and Dion’s one regret, in that moment, was letting Frazie get a charging head start.

It took the combined efforts of Oleander and Helmut to maintain the physical distance between the Aquatos and Bobby. Hollis had, somehow, managed to persuade them to remain calm. Then, he watched his mother sink once again to Raz’s knees, bawling against his shins while the Second Head tried consoling her. As explained, there was nothing they could do yet. They couldn’t discern why Raz was trapped when they already removed those peculiar locks. Otto theorized why, but Dion hadn’t heard a word over his mother’s sobering howling.

Hours passed. The tenuous peace eventually shattered. He couldn’t remember what he had snapped at the other agents scattered across the lab. All he remembered was Gisu on the floor, her cheek bruised from Frazie’s elbow swatting her when she teleported in with more devices. Somewhere in the chaos, Helmut was tossed by Queepie, and they, too, were tossed out of Sasha’s lab, letting more and more time pass. It was true chaos, now blanketed in a dense silence.

Someone’s stomach growled and shattered the stillness. It might have been his own. Dion thought his last meal was yesterday’s breakfast. Lili, with dark rings under her eyes, had been nice enough to bring them sandwiches covered in shrinkwrap, but he couldn’t stomach a crumb.

Now that he had returned to reality, acknowledging where he stood, he also couldn’t stomach the intern currently yapping his ear off.

She was about Raz’s height, give or take an inch. Dressed in jeans and a graphic T-shirt, her hair pulled back in tight buns, she somehow looked professional for a teenage intern. When she waltzed over, Mirtala said her name was Phoebe. He didn’t know when she weaseled her way over to them in a wing that was supposedly blocked off with clearance allowed for only particular agents.

Then, much to Dion’s mutual bewilderment shared with his family, Phoebe supplied them with a chance at therapy.

“...and so, that’s what I’m offering because I know how long you guys have been here, and I, well, I heard you weren’t treated the best. Word gets out fast in the Motherlobe,” she explained, folding her hands in front of her waist. She smiled, teeth pearly white and braced. “Any takers? I really do want to help as best as I can, so while they help Raz, I can help you.”

Dion thought Raz was long-winded, but she took the cake. Sweeping his fingers through his greasy hair, grimacing at the faint film on his palm, he said, “Listen, I don’t want to chew you out, but we’re not in the mood. It’s a nice gesture, I guess. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Phoebe frowned, the answer clearly going against her expectations. She surveyed the Aquatos, and Dion had enough of being watched. Pushing off the wall, spotting that Oleander and Milla had absconded from their duties of observing the Aquatos, he raised his hands. He took a stand in front of his family, Augustus and Nona still with Raz. While Donatella remained on her bottom by a window, Queepie and Mirtala murmuring to her, he was glad Frazie joined him shoulder-to-shoulder in protecting their withdrawn, haggard mother. Phoebe stepped back. She seemed to register her advances were unwanted. “Sorry. Maybe that was impetuous of me. Bad timing, too. I know this is a dire situation, and Bobby totally deserves your anger, so if you want to discuss anything with me, or just want to vent, I’m here for you guys. Raz is my friend, too, and I also-” She peeked around Frazie. “-wanted to make sure you’re doing okay, Tala. How are you? We haven’t had a chance to talk since I graduated from Whispering Rock.”

Dion looked at Mirtala, but she wasn’t returning Phoebe’s smile. She stood with Donatella, her flushed face pinching. As Donatella wiped her eyes for what must have been the thousandth, her deep violet mascara staining her cheeks, Mirtala stated, “We aren’t as close as you think, Phoebe.”

She balked. Behind her, Dion saw her two friends waiting in the wing appearing equally mystified. There was an assortment of other interns, too, but they were merely faces in the crowd. Phoebe struggled to respond, but Donatella thrust out her hand. Queepie quickly grabbed it, helping her stand while Mirtala steadied Donatella’s waist.

“Please, just go,” she ordered, and she pointed, though there was no strength in her posture. “This is a family matter. It doesn’t involve you. I won’t give you brownie points for coming over and lecturing us. Take your gaggle of onlookers, and leave us alone.”

“Oh! Um, that’s not at all what I wanted to do. ‘Lecturing?’ Wait, really, I’m not trying to talk down to you guys.” Phoebe folded her arms, a myriad of reactions flooding through her as Donatella leered. “I, uh, look, I’m sorry, Mrs. Aquato, but I’m not trying to get your bad side. Bobby’s the one-”

“Whoa, whoa, Phoebe, area’s off limits. I’m gonna need you to skedaddle.”

Lizzie’s voice echoed as she sauntered from the lab, followed by her assortment of fellow agents. She patted Phoebe’s back, coaxing her to leave. Phoebe rubbed her arm, clearly dissatisfied with the responses she received.

“You guys know the drill. Up and out.” Morris clapped his hands sharply. “Come on. Let’s go. Quentin, Elka, the rest of you, I don’t need to tell you twice.”

Norma set her index finger on the bridge of her glasses, peering at Phoebe. “I understand what you’re doing, but this isn’t the time. You think you’re helping by offering to hear them out, and that’s not what they need. What they require is a definite solution to end this problem.”

Dion’s knuckles ached. He hadn’t realized how intensely he had been clenching his fists. He shifted his gaze toward the lab, knowing nothing of substance was occurring. Until the obvious happened, then the Aquatos would never feel secure, and for Dion, he sensed he wouldn’t be well until he heard that annoying, endearing, high-pitched chuckle.

Phoebe tried again. “But Agent Natividad-”

She lifted her head, pointing with her chin. “They’re clearly not in the mood. Leave it to us, Phoebe, and go with the interns. There should be some scavenger hunt items for you to locate somewhere around the Motherlobe, so I suggest you hop to it.”

Phoebe bit her lip. She sagged under her mentor’s firm derailment. She tried to meet Mirtala’s eyes, but Mirtala ducked her chin to her chest. Frazie reached back and gripped her shoulder, scowling at Phoebe, who had taken on a true visage of dejection. The brunt of their anger was given to her full force, and briefly, just briefly, Dion pitied her.

Relenting, Phoebe nodded. She opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it. Instead of an excuse, she mustered an apology. She retreated to the other interns, giving a parting glare toward Sasha’s lab. They walked off, escorted by older agents, who finally realized the commotion and ordered them to stay away.

Donatella accepted the box of tissues offered by Sam. She thanked her in a thick, tight voice before blowing her nose. She rasped for breath, taking another tissue for good measure. As she cleaned herself for what might have been the tenth time, she said she needed a minute and dragged herself to the window. It overlooked parts of the Quarry, but Dion couldn’t find any beauty in the glistening, clear waters. They may as well have been bubbling and polluted.

No one spoke. Glances were given, not words. Dion locked eyes with Gisu, and still, he couldn’t grasp what needed to be said. Gisu, along with the rest of the agents, were just as withdrawn. Nobody had slept, evidenced by the shared dark circles under their eyes. If they had eaten, the amount of food was in small, unfulfilling quantities, such as Lili’s unwrapped, untouched sandwiches.Lili 

Frazie drew in a sharp, sudden breath and flatly remarked, “Sorry I walloped you, Gisu.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, no problem. You didn’t know I’d teleport to that spot. I’m lucky your elbow didn’t materialize through my skull.”

Dion pulled a face, but stopped himself from replying when he noticed Queepie fidgeting with his sleeve. He asked him what was wrong.

Queepie turned his attention to Morris. “Is, uh, Mr. Fullbear still mad I threw him?” He chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. He reached over and ruffled Queepie’s hair, parted on the side. “The big guy’s tougher than you give him credit for, man. He was frozen for twenty years, so you’d think his muscles would’ve atrophied, but nope. He’s built like a brick shithouse.”

Donatella immediately glowered at him for the language in front of her ten-year-old. Morris pretended not to notice, eyes flitting across each sibling before sharing a quick grin with Queepie.

“Physical therapy has kept him strong,” Adam piped up, fingers typically steepled. “Not to mention the ice kept him perfectly preserved. His husband once told me he’s jealous that his bones aren’t clicking as much as his.”

“He even has better posture than Norma,” Sam added, earning a scoff of surprise from her intended, or unintended, target.

“Hey, my back is - oh, I’m not getting into a tit for tat with you. It’s already too tiring.”

“Even if she’s right?” Lizzle drawled, elbowing her sister, and earning a quiet titter of giggles from Mirtala. She grinned a lopsided smile. “Hey, finally, I got a laugh out of you. Being morose doesn’t suit you.”

Dion couldn’t bring the corners of his lips to rise. As sweet as it was to hear her soft laughter, it was not enough to bandage their wounds. He looked at Donatella, finding she was already departing from the group. She swayed toward the nearest window, and although his back was turned, he sensed she was not observing the surrounding foliage or crystal clear water.

Frazie huffed out a breath like a frustrated horse. She cupped her knitted brows, her expression twisting. She opened her mouth, and said nothing. Then, she rolled her head back and slackened her arms, asking the obvious.

“I think enough time has passed, so does…does anyone know why this happened? Any fathomable reason?”

As she tossed out her hands, the agents weren’t responding. Sam looked at the others, and Morris crossed his arms. Gisu fidgeted with the strap of her new, leather bag. She sent a glance toward Norma, who maintained eye contact with Frazie.

At Lizzie’s nod, Adam sighed. He lowered his shoulders. Dion heard his joints grind.

“When we saw Raz last, Bobby lashed out at him. Sure, Raz goaded him, but that’s not enough. There’s been a history of provocation, more so on Bobby’s side, and this was a meticulously planned attack on Raz. The PSI locks jamming the Brain Tumbler, for example, were ones Bobby had been seemingly working on for some time.”

Gisu added, “With how many Bobby wedged in the Brain Tumbler, it would take at least a few weeks for someone without technical knowledge to create. Otto said they were cheap or something, but that just goes to show how far Bobby was willing to go. He must’ve been feeling-”

“That asshole has been planning this for a while, right? I don’t need to hear anything else.” Dion scoffed, gripping his elbows, and Gisu frowned, as if she was biting her tongue. “He’s always had it out for Raz. Day one in that camp? Raz told me that guy fired at him from a tank. A tank! Ever since then, he’s been jealous and spiteful, all because Raz was better than him. A bastard with a violent streak like that never should’ve been allowed in the Psychonauts.”

He punctuated his frustration by slamming his fist into his open palm. He didn’t want to hear any further reasoning. It didn’t matter. Raz was still a prisoner in Bobby’s mind, facing unknown tribulations while his family stood on the outskirts.

This time, they weren’t permitted to help. They couldn’t rush into action. Like bit players, they were watching the show with the curtain veiled over the stage. As he was sure his brother’s body was becoming colder and paler, Dion didn’t want to consider anything beneficial for Bobby. Whatever he felt, whatever he endured, it was secondary to the suffering he must have been enforcing upon Raz.

Frazie glanced at Dion, sucking in a breath, then huffing it out, deciding it was worth saying. “I don’t know about that last part, Dion.” “What do you mean? What’s wrong with what I said?” Dion felt their mother’s eyes boring through him, as if compelling him to question them in her stead. “This guy attacked Raz! Trapped him in his mind! He’s definitely brutalized him! How else am I supposed to interpret it, huh?”

Adam’s voice was clipped. “The Psychonauts don’t abandon their own. This obviously wasn’t a standalone act of violence.”

“I don’t want to hear anything excusing that asshole! He hurt Raz! End of story!”

“Earlier, when you said-” Lizzie peered at Mirtala, who waited with wide, dull eyes, and Dion snorted as he was ignored. “-Bobby looked like he was crying, it had us all wondering. Things that were missed that led up to him, well, cracking.”

Sam stroked her arm, unblinking as she spoke in an uncharacteristically somber tone. “Kind of like how a dam breaks.”

As Queepie gasped, and Mirtala covered her mouth, Donatella whipped her head over her shoulder. Dion didn’t need to stare at her. He knew shock was scorching her face a brilliant scarlet. Every bit of reddened rage colored his cheeks, as well. Dion’s insides twisted, his own emotions in turmoil. He raised a slow, accusatory finger at Sam’s face, hunching forward as he snarled through gritted teeth.

“You better not mean what I think you’re implying. Nona’s circumstances were different and way more excruciating. You keep her name out of your mouth.” 

Sam didn’t flinch. None of them did.

Dion felt like a cauldron boiling over with toxic carbonation. If what she implied was true, then they had the nerve to compare Nona, who had been a corrupt gzar’s political pawn, to a manipulative fraud like Bobby Zilch. She had been berated and barraged with tragedy. What could have even been comparable? Failing an obstacle course in summer camp while Raz strived? Being unable to learn a psychic skill with the same aptitude as Raz? Hiding behind a tree and glaring at their family when they visited the Motherlobe? It was ridiculous, a cruel joke to believe their weight was equal. Dion shook with such palpable rage that he had half a mind to storm into the lab and smash his tired fist through that contraption, if it meant rescuing his brother from a devil in disguise.

“Dion,” Frazie snapped, gripping her head once more, “drop it. Just drop it.”

He pivoted to Frazie, incredulous. “Nona is nothing like the guy who singled out Raz. Are you defending him now?”

“Ugh! I’m not. I wouldn’t. The Psychonauts-” Frazie filled her chest with air and exhaled with pained exertion. “The Psychonauts helped Nona when our world turned upside down, all right? When that happened, they protected her.” She held up her hands. “Adam’s right. It’s not like them to abandon anyone in need. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re leaving a lot out and-”

“Look, just let us finish. We’ve been going over this diligently with the senior agents, and we want you to hear us out,” Norma insisted, and she lightly patted Gisu’s shoulder, prompting her to continue before Dion could shout.

“Trapping Raz, Bobby definitely intended to hurt him. No other facts point otherwise, but when Lizzie told us Tala’s observation, we started wondering if this really was a cry for help. Heck, Oleander even phoned home and learned Bobby was-”

“You’re joking! None of this was a cry for help! Raz was deceived! So were the rest of you!” Dion barked. He couldn’t believe they had spent a few summers of youthful bliss together. For her to so much as consider a plight of decency for the unforgivable whelp who had harmed Raz, he wanted to scrub his mouth out with soap.

“Or whatever Bobby originally wanted was turned into something else between them,” Sam stressed. “Y’know, becoming a cry for help. They haven’t made any messed up noises in a few hours, right?”

“No! Not right! What the hell is wrong you guys? You’re making up excuses.”

“Not like we’ll know what’s actually happening until they emerge,” Morris retorted, drumming his fingers on the fortified armrests of his new chair. “So, at this point, with how long this has gone on, the Psychonauts are willing to give Bobby the benefit of the doubt. We want to hear what Raz says before any hasty decisions are made, too. That’s coming from the Grand Head himself.”

Dion shook his head. They may as well have promoted Bobby as a Psychonaut for his daring little scheme. It was like they were looking the other way, pretending not to see Raz. They could say how much they cared for Raz, how much they wanted to see him back on his feet, all while espousing platitudes for his kidnapper. It was a low bar for the Psychonauts, declaring Bobby would face consequences, and they couldn’t cross that nanoscopic threshold.

“We won’t know the whole truth until they’re freed, and we’ll go from there. That’s what Hollis and Truman have decided with the other agents,” Norma concluded, and she clutched her wrist, meeting Frazie’s narrowed gaze. “With how quiet things have been, and no visible, physical reactions have been happening for the past few hours, it’s a possibility things are calmer between them in Bobby’s mind.”

Dion chewed on the inside of his cheek. His family was stuck outside, left to take their statements at face value. The lab was right there, but it was like they had to traverse across a moat to reach the castle. They had some nerve deciding on what to do without consulting his family.

Regardless, he watched Mirtala approach. She wrung her hands, rolling her wrists. His stomach flipped at her agonizingly hopeful voice, like tittering birdsong from a weary, groggy sparrow.

“You mean, they could be working it out? And maybe-maybe things will be okay?” 

Norma managed a smile that twitched a little more than probably intended. “That’s my, well, our hopeful conjecture. Trust me when I say we’ve been debating this for some time amongst ourselves and our superiors.”

Queepie itched through his scalp, his hair just as flat and matted as Dion’s. The embodiment of discomfort, he mumbled, “I mean, I won’t believe anything until I hear it from Raz. He better wake up soon.”

“I’m-I’m sure he will,” Mirtala said, spinning to his side. “I bet Boo, uh, Bobby will, too, and they can tell us what happened.”

Yeah, if I don’t get to that guy’s scrawny neck first.

Dion let those words fester in his mind. No matter the carefully curated statements, he wasn’t interested in comprehending their rationale. If he was in a better mood, then he might have admitted they made observations with merit. He hadn’t heard a single, dismal groan echoing from Raz in some time. For that, he guessed he was grateful the situation had seemingly calmed.

In the end, the one who mattered was Raz. He was still suffering in an unknowable mind with a person who loathed him beyond petty, childish rivalry. Whatever Bobby had endured, or supposedly endured, was nothing compared to the horrors he must have been enacting upon Raz.

One glance at his sister affirmed his trepidation. Frazie’s gaze teetered toward the lab. Norma uttered her name, and she stiffened. The attention was clearly unwanted, a burden on her tense back. She looked down, spotting Queepie, Mirtala, but Raz was not with them. There should have been five high-flying, death-defying Aquato siblings, not four.

She withered. A tree without roots was destined to falter.

“I get it. That guy hates Raz. Whenever Raz visited, sometimes, he mentioned a problem he had with that asshole. I swear, I’d see him lurking in the Questionable Area when me and Raz were catching up on our acrobatics.” Dion heard her jaw click. “But even if you guys say all that, say there’s a method to his madness, to trick Raz while he’s vulnerable, and trap him in his mind? I still can’t figure it out. What did Raz do that was so bad? No, actually, why Raz? Why hurt Raz at all?”

Her voice cracked. She tossed out her hands. But no one could provide proof. Explanations were paltry, a means to delineate the facts when the obvious inference rang loud and true. Dion gripped his elbows, squeezed his eyes shut, and saw Raz’s limp, bloodless body slumped against the Brain Tumbler.

Raz was imprisoned in Bobby’s mind. Nothing else mattered. No matter what was happening or had occurred, it didn’t smooth over the real truth like an eroded stone at the bottom of the sea. Until Raz was safe and free from Bobby’s clutches, Dion couldn’t rest, even as his head throbbed and heart rattled between his ribs.

He heard Donatella sniff. Her footsteps dwindled. She must have returned to the window.

Norma peered at her fellow agents. They wore their sympathetic masks, lips turned downward, slight mist glazing a few eyes. She seemed to speak for all of them. “There’s no justification. There’s only what we can do to understand when they’re out.”

“You should have just said the first part.”

When his mother interrupted, it hit Dion very, very suddenly that she had been far too quiet. Even her footsteps were pittering.

Everyone faced her. Mirtala’s silver bells chiming out of tune when she jerked her head. Donatella hunkered forward with her clenched fist on the rounded window. She slowly shook her head, leering at the dull carpet and potted ferns. If she had psychic powers, then Dion believed she would have set the entire Motherlobe ablaze in a swarm of uncontrollable flames.

Lizzie tempted her fury. “Uh, what do you mean? We-”

“You heard me!” she spat, flinging out her fist, each finger extending like whips. “Pootie is innocent. Pootie has done nothing wrong, and-and as soon as he emerges, I’m taking him out of the Psychonauts! He is coming home!” “Mom!” Frazie blurted, eyes shooting wide open. “You can’t just-”

“Don’t Mom me, Frazie. After today, after all this, you’re just as shocked as I am. You asked why someone would do this to Raz? Wel, such a situation never should have happened. If he stayed with us-”

“I understand you’re upset,” Norma hastily interjected, “but that’s not your decision. Raz is-”

Donatella huffed, breathing so hard that Dion thought her lungs would give out., Her mascara stains worsened as a glossy sheen of sweat dampened her face. It seemed she no longer cared about her once graceful appearance, nothing more than a caricature of maternal sorrow.

“I’ve had enough listening to the six of you. You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you say you’re Raz’s friends?” She snapped her attention to Mirtala, who squeaked, and Dion winced. “And you say that monster was crying, Tala? So what? He attacked your brother! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten those nights when you’d come to me telling a story about how he insulted or berated you, too.”

Mirtala shifted. She couldn’t meet Donatella in the middle. Dion kept his hands to himself.

“It’s a possible sign of guilt,” Norma snapped, swiftly regaining her composure. “Since this has gone for so long, it’s more likely than not Bobby’s dealing with some heavy regrets about the entire situation. ”

“And don’t forget Raz is a Psychonaut. There’s a chance he’s handling this,” Lizzie added, standing shoulder to shoulder with her sister. “Yeah, this sucks. Totally, completely blows. No one is saying this isn’t hell on Earth for everyone, but even so, you can’t make the choice to take Raz away from something he loves doing.”

“‘Loves doing?’ Oh, you’re telling me he loves being sequestered in that monster’s mind?” “Not at all what I said, and you know it, lady.”

Adam shot Lizzie a look, their mutual frustration palpable. “What Lizzie means to say is-”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what any of you say. I don’t give a rat’s ass for what that monster could say.” Donatella flung her finger toward the lab, her tone strident, so potent that every window in the Motherlobe could have shattered from her sonic decibels. “What could he possibly say other than a cheap sorry? He still made the decision to hurt my son! I want my son home! None of you could protect him! None of you! I couldn’t! I-!”

She choked. As if something was lodged in throat, she hacked and hobbled. Fresh sobs wracked her entire body. She was far frailer than Dion had ever seen, a porcelain doll with gilded, widening cracks. She may as well have shattered. No gold would cement her together again as Donatella cried. Through the black tears dripping between her fingers, staining the carpet in inky droplets, she raked her fingers through her unkempt hair splayed in lank strands over her shoulders.

Queepie rushed to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Mirtala was quick to join, a stumble in her step. Donatella scooped them up like she would lose them, too, as if an invisible force would rip them from her iron grip.

Frazie dragged a finger along her damp eyelids. She looked at the agents, commiserating. Norma reached her first, one hand to her bicep, saying nothing. Dion wasn’t sure what could have been sound as the anguished howls of a broken mother rolled throughout the dismal, quiet Motherlobe.

Dion tipped his chin to his chest. He could barely suck in air through his gritted teeth. He grinded on them so hard that they may as well have turned to chalk.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve decided. He’s coming home. My baby is coming home with us. He’s going to stay with his family. He’s been away long enough. I can’t trust you people to keep him safe.”

Donatella wheezed her desires through chattering teeth. She glared over her youngest children toward the lab, and Dion heard the soft clicking of approaching heels, tempered by quickening footsteps of rainboots. 

“And I know I certainly can’t trust him with the likes of you.”

The visage of the Lesser Head of the Psychonauts did not change. She stood with her arms behind her back, looking down on Donatella with an unreadable expression. Lili bristled, glancing between them, before settling on crossing her arms when Hollis stepped toward Donatella. “Mrs. Aquato,” she said with undeserved evenness, “can we speak privately?” “This is private enough,” Donatella hissed, relinquishing her grip on Queepie and Mirtala to gesture. “Now that those weaselly interns are gone, no one else is in this corridor. If you want to preach to me, too, do it in front of everyone.”

She did not waver. She simply extended her arm. “Just down the hall. Please. I want to talk to you alone.”

Donatella shook. She glared out the window, only to scoff when she seemed to have spotted Hollis’ reflection. When Hollis reached into her pocket and retrieved a small packet of tissues, Donatella scrubbed her eyes with her dried, blackened knuckles.

As Donatella continued refusing her, Dion was surprised when Hollis turned to him. He wasn’t psychic. He thought she would have deferred to Frazie, who had undergone her tutelage. Frazie might not have been a Psychonaut, and yet, she still had an in that Dion lacked. She did not reach physically, as Dion took a solitary step away, and as if sensing his apprehension, Hollis addressed him from where she stood.

“I’m sorry. I failed,” she murmured, and Dion saw the rings under her eyes, somehow even darker than the ones under his. Her exhaustion bled into her slow words. “Plain and simple, I failed both Raz and Bobby. If you want to discuss missed signs, I should’ve realized everything much sooner. I shouldn’t have berated Raz for his obvious distrust. I shouldn’t have been quick to believe Bobby’s tears. Whatever is happening in Bobby’s mind, whatever Raz is going through, it’s on me. The Psychonauts take full responsibility.”

“Agent Forsythe-” Norma began, but Hollis raised his hand.

“An apology means nothing without action,” she said, and she looked to Donatella, who continued leering out the window, “which is why I’ll hope you’ll grant me the courtesy-” “Courtesy,” Donatella snarled.

“-to talk in private. Away from this very upsetting place. Even if it’s just right over there.”

“You must have lost your brain somewhere. Is it rolling around in one of those little capsules? If you think I’ll spend a second with you, you’re madder than a hatter.”

Dion dug his fingernails into his hips. Tension eased in his shoulders, so much so that they cracked as they lowered. With the discussion coming to a dead halt, he heard the blood pulsing between his ears. A rhythmic, monotonous flow almost dizzied him, and his damp eyes fluttered to stay afloat. He searched among the group, his austere mother leering down at the Second Head, who no longer wore her pride on her expansive shoulder pads.

Lili bared her teeth, ready to speak, but Hollis cupped her shoulder. She shook her head, dispelling the foaming fury that must have been rising in her throat. Donatella peered at her, one eyebrow neatly arched, and Dion assumed she was surprised Lili would seemingly muster an attempt to defend Hollis.

Left with his thoughts, Dion clutched his dry, cracked elbows. Without a word bouncing among them, he directed his gaze toward the lab, as he had done countless times. He knew what was happening, and no progress was being made in any meaningful manner. Patience was never his virtue. He had been still and stiff and silent long enough.

But he kept looking at Hollis. He presumed her to be a powerful leader. She was responsible for the Psychonauts under her care. Interns, agents, retirees, it didn’t matter. With how long she had known and trained Raz, the Motherlobe like a second home whenever Raz wasn’t traveling with his family, Hollis had garnered a tight-knit relationship with his little brother. Dion remembered how proud Raz was whenever he could state Hollis had trusted him with a mission, or took the time to further his training in private. Around the campfire, Raz rarely had a negative word about Hollis, even if their mother grumbled.

He glanced at the other agents. They were Raz’s friends, partners who had helped him face down his familial foe. Without them, the circumstances might have been different. In the years Raz spent with them, he, too, had dozens of tales to tell about them. Missions, pranks, movie nights, it was as if they had scooped Raz into their arms, carting him off like their own little brother. In the time he was apart from Raz, and Raz came home revealing something new he had learned from one of them, the joy on his face was undeniable. Stars practically twinkled in  his eyes, and Dion had to admit the plethora of twisting emotions, seeing Raz grow and learn sometimes without him, jabbed at his sides.

But they cared about Raz. Despite Dion’s own uncertainties, it was more than obvious they treasured him. He was the world’s youngest Psychonaut, along with being their trusted colleague and friend.

They wouldn’t have worked so tirelessly to free Raz if they were dismissive. And as Dion watched Hollis swipe a tissue to quickly brush at her eyes, he thought his legs would give out.

If she was experiencing identical anguish as the Aquatos, acknowledging the deep-seated grief stewing within Dion, then he blurted a command that the Dion of yesterday never would have considered.

“Mom, I think you should take her up on this.”

Donatella stared at him like he had split his head open, and blood gushed down his face. Even his siblings gawked. It didn’t take a psychic to perceive the look of complete incredulity crossing Queepie’s countenance to realize he was thinking, Who replaced Dion with a look-a-like?

“It-it might be better if you do,” he hastily added, “because, uh, because it’ll clear the air.”

She swallowed hard. She regarded Dion like a stranger. “I thought you would’ve been on my side.”

His blood froze over. Ice in his veins, Dion couldn’t break from her softened, surprised stare. He may as well have told his mother she was wrong.

But Frazie took to his side. She didn’t gaze at Dion. Rather, her tone took on their shared strength. 

“Mom, it’d be better if you talked to Hollis one-on-one.”

Donatella hesitated. She held her breath. Although Hollis offered her another tissue, she remained as stationary as a rusted, marble statue on a paltry foundation. She kept her hands to her chest, and clear tears slithered down her marred cheeks.

Dion’s heart hammered. It ricocheted between his ribs, threatening to break every single one. Tensing his knees, he ordered himself to remain upright. He couldn’t turn to Frazie, but no psychic connection was needed to affirm where they stood.

Their mother huffed. She cradled her head. And a semblance of peace returned.

“Oh, fine, fine. I know when you two are united, there’s no point in arguing.” 

She stomped down the hall, her brisk pace prompting Hollis to follow. Without a parting word or a promise of when she would return, Donatella vanished around the rounded corner, Hollis in tow.

Dion dropped his head. His entire body slumped forward. Frazie’s hold on his collar prevented him from falling over outright. Hearing her snicker, he snorted at whatever amusement she derived from his exhaustion.

Before he could remark on anything, Lili snatched the shrinkwrapped sandwiches left in a heap on the floor. “You guys seriously didn’t eat the food I brought? They definitely aren’t as fresh now,” she grumbled, telekinetically shoving them in each Aquato’s hand. “Come on, eat them. I know you guys haven’t had anything.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Queepie muttered, tearing his open with Mirtala. “Ew. There’s some weird sauce in here.”

“It’s called aioli.”

“That does not look like aioli. It’s too green.”

“Then, some relish got in it! Sheesh, Queepie, it’s a club sandwich.”

Sticking his tongue out at Lili, Queepie gasped when Mirtala lightly kicked his shin. He looked ready to kick her back when Dion eyed him. He scoffed and shoved the sandwich into his mouth, ignoring Mirtala’s perfectly innocent air.

“Think those two are gonna be okay?’ Gisu wondered as Dion fiddled with his shrinkwrap.

“Well, they haven’t shouted in thirty seconds. I’d say things are going better than we hoped,” Lizzie sneered.

Norma checked her watch. “Almost a minute, now. Still no screaming.”

Dion scoffed through his first bite, only for his eyes to widen. The taste of dry turkey, watery tomatoes, and excessive mayonnaise was like fine dining from a master chef. Foregoing any food made an average sandwich a meal fit for a king. But while Frazie grinned, Dion simply turned his head, trying to eat as casually as possible.

Lili cracked her jaw, reminiscent of Lizzie. She peered at the agents, saying nothing verbally, but he could tell telepathy was in play. He had seen Raz concentrating when they were in their beds, gazing at nothing in particular, while being immersed in a conversation with someone far away. She wore the same look, along with the other agents, but what she suggested had him struggling to swallow the next bite.

“Maybe…we should get out of here, too.” “Wh-? Just leave?” He swatted at his chest and gulped hard. “What if something happens?”

“My dad will tell me, and I’ll tell you. He promised if there were any updates, I’d be the first to know.”

“Yeah? Can we tru-?” He stopped himself, dismissing the budding accusation. If the Grand Head was anything like his subordinate, then Dion supposed he deserved the same respect. “Uh, forget it  Forget I said anything.”

Lili stretched, lacing her fingers above her head and standing on her tiptoes. Dion had seen Raz elongate his spine in the same way. Although a common gesture, he couldn’t help but wonder if Lili had picked up that trait from Raz.

When her back popped, she sighed and crossed her arms. “I get it. Sitting and waiting, it’s really hard, especially when there’s nothing you can do-” Her gaze swept across the munching Aquatos. “-except take care of ourselves.”

Adam ruffled her hair, and she quickly brushed aside his hand. “You phrased it perfectly, Lili. Better than I could.”

“Can we go?” Mirtala asked abruptly to her older siblings. It was unlike her to ask for permission, in most cases. She was the kind of girl who tended to move to her own rhythm.

Queepie didn’t need permission to do anything. It was a trait Dion found more than irritable when he ran off from chores. He was already with the agents, as if expecting Dion and Frazie would comply.

Frazie stared at Lili, their thoughts uniquely private. Then, an almost resigned air, she said, “Some fresh air might be good. It’ll be better to leave Mom alone while she’s with Hollis, too.”

Dion said nothing. He showed his palms and walked in the rear. Frazie joined him, shoulder to shoulder. Watching Queepie speak with Morris, and Mirtala clinging to Lili while Sam tried prying her off, Dion supposed they were the outliers. They hadn’t technically agreed; they were following the group. If Dion was a gambling man, then he would have put all of his chips in by insisting Frazie, like himself, would have rather stayed with Raz.

But she grinned at him, flanked by Norma. “Holding up?” “Hardly,” he said, taking comfort in how Gisu slipped into his shadow. “I bet if we leave, something’s gonna happen.” “Come on, Dion. We’ve waited for over a day. What could possibly happen when we’re gone?”

And although Frazie flashed him a lopsided smile, Dion smothered his trepidation, clinging to the hopeful strand that a peaceful resolution would ensue, even if he still wanted nothing more than to punch Bobby Zilch’s lights out.

[angelstrawbabie420]

crazy how i have no one

[thefabelmans2022]

as someone who unironically adores the great gatsby everything i've heard about ART gatsby makes me want to fly to new york immediately while everything i've heard about the current broadway production makes me want to light a theatre on fire.

[cherrymoonvol6]

.

[majflodder]

Teacher mentioned Dr. House today in class and I had to pretend to be unaffected by that

[fiendishartist2]

having a very specific webseries you absolutely hate is so funny bc theres like 15 fans collectively and if i talked about how much i hated it, i dont think anyone would have any idea what im talking about

[mrfoox]

No offense but like... What the fuck is wrong with me? 🥰