#i get they have to bunch the injection close to the infusion and the real problem was squeezing the biopsy in

[pochapal]

i keep trying and nobody is there lol

(time sensitive) on a scale from 1 to 10 how yelled at will you get if you were apparently meant to call the hospital to confirm an appointment that's due to take place tomorrow and also you were given the letter telling you to do this two weeks ago and you failed to realize this was allegedly what you had to do

[setaripendragon]

So, I accidentally found my way into the Narnia fandom, and, as I have a tendancy to do, immediately started thinking about making a next gen. Of course, I had to make up love interests for them, and I wound up stealing people/families/my own next gen OCs from my other favourite fandoms of the time; Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and Pride and Prejudice.

So have a bunch of silly little meetcutes I came up with in the middle of the night for the Pevensies and their love interests. (There’s also non-specific references to Lucy/Tumnus in this, just in case that’s a NoTP for anyone)

(Aaand credit to The Stone Gryphon and One Promise Kept for some of my ideas regarding Susan and Edmund’s love interests)

A lot of the boys at Peter’s school had taken badly to the fact that there would be girls at their school this year. Peter had gotten into more than a few fist fights over it, but he wasn’t a King here, he wasn’t even a soldier here, he was just that uppity Pevensie boy, and no one much cared that he thought they were all being petty arseholes.

So he wasn’t surprised to go back for the new term and find the place a seething mass of confusion and tension. The girls who’d transferred in were all variations of stiff or shy or stubborn, and the boys were generally being arrogant, territorial little bastards. Peter took a deep breath, and resigned himself to wading through bullshit for the foreseeable future. He did his best to be courteous to the girls, putting more effort in than he normally might, considering they were likely to see so very little kindness here.

“Well if it isn’t Little Miss Know-It-All!” He heard a voice jeering in a lull in the noise of the hallway, and stopped, turning to try and pinpoint the altercation. “You might be the teacher’s new pet, but do you really think you can keep up in a boys school?”

There. Peter spotted two boys from his own year – Johnson and Oldershaw – boxing in one of the girls. Peter recognised her from one of his classes, but he didn’t know her name. He’d thought she was kind of shy before, but now he could see that there was fire in her eyes as she glared up at the two boys.

“Why not?” She demanded, chin lifted proudly, and Peter grinned, steps slowing. Maybe she didn’t need rescuing after all. Still, he wasn’t going to leave until he was certain, so he slid out of the way of the traffic, and propped his shoulder against the wall to observe.

Oldershaw laughed mockingly, and the girl bristled. Johnson sneered. “Because reading a few books might’ve been enough for a girl school, but this isn’t some prissy little finishing school, girlie.” Johnson laughed now, too. “There’s no way a pretty little mouse like you will be able to keep up on the pitch. Can you imagine her trying to box?” He sneered, and reached out to give the girl’s shoulder a shove.

Indignation drove Peter upright again, because it was one thing to sling words about, but if Johnson was going to start beating up on a girl just to soothe his own ego, Peter was going to pummel him.

The girl got there first.

It was so fast Peter would have missed it if he didn’t have over a decade of experience with the lightning-quick chaos of a battlefield. The girl’s fist snapped out and met Johnson’s jaw, sending him reeling with a yelp. Then she stomped on Oldershaw’s foot when he yelped an indignant insult, elbowed him in the solar plexus, and then headbutted Johnson in the face before he could do more than snarl about the bruise on his jaw.

“I might not have been taught how to box, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dump you on your arse when you’re asking for it!” The girl snapped, and in that moment she reminded Peter painfully of some of the falcons in Narnia’s aerial corps. “I’ve spent a long time around boys a lot tougher than you. You’re not that scary.”

“Why you little-!” Johnson barked, face red with mortification and fury. Several people had stopped to gawk when the violence erupted, and he had to be feeling the eyes on him, the audience to his humiliation. Peter had seen it before, proud lords and generals refusing to back down when they were beaten, refusing to show valour in the face of defeat, wasting the lives of good soldiers for their pride in a vain attempt to prove something that wasn’t even real.

Peter grabbed him by the shoulder before he could lunge. “That’s enough, Johnson. Are you really going to sink so low as to hit a lady?” He demanded, using his High King voice, and infusing it with as much disappointment as he could.

“No lady hits like that.” Johnson protested, but it was bitter and sullen, rather than enraged. There was blood dripping out of his nose, and it only accentuated the pouty expression on his face.

Peter grinned cheerfully, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Then she’ll fit right in here, won’t she?” He asked pointedly and Johnson scowled at being caught out like that. “Best go see the nurse about your nose. Why don’t you see him there, Oldershaw?” Peter commanded.

With a bit more grumbling, they went. The girl eyed them warily until they were out of sight, and then turned her suspicious scowl on Peter. “Thanks.” She said, not gracefully, but sincerely.

Peter’s grin became a genuine smile. “You had them handled perfectly well.” He assured her. “I just don’t think you’d like to get in trouble for brawling on your first day.”

The girl snorted and shrugged, then stuck out her hand with almost aggressive assertiveness. “Jane Goodall-Darling.” She introduced.

Peter shook her hand. “Peter Pevensie. Nice to meet you.”

Jane’s eyebrows flew up, and she tipped her head to eye him with suspicion again. “Peter, huh?” She asked, with a level of meaning layered underneath that caught Peter by surprise, and grabbed his attention in a vice. It was exactly the same sort of tone that he or any of his siblings might use when asking ‘a lion, huh?’ or some variation thereof. So he just nodded slowly, and waited to see what she’d make of it. “What’s your opinion on growing up?” Jane eventually asked.

Peter had been expecting something a little weird, but that was such an odd question, it took him a moment to process, and another moment to decide how on earth to answer. In the end, on nothing more than the strange certainty that there was something a bit Narnian about the question, he answered with the truth. “Looking forward to it.” He admitted wryly. And when Jane’s eyebrows popped up again, he shrugged. “I can’t wait to catch up with myself.” He explained, without really explaining.

But Jane obviously caught the same sense of more that he had, because after a single beat of surprise, she grinned. “You’ll do.” She decided, and linked her arm through Peter’s. “Escort a lady to class?” She asked him with an air of playful superiority.

Peter inclined his head with all the gravity of a king. “It would be my honour, Lady Jane.”

Jane gave a very inelegant snort, but played along, and let him guide her down the hall towards their next class. “Yes, it would.”

Susan shouldn’t be here, she knew she shouldn’t, but she didn’t care. A little make-up, and she could look almost twenty with ease, and no one questioned whether she was old enough to be in the pubs and dance halls. It was as close as she could get to feeling like an adult again, so she would take it. It was nothing like the parties and balls and festivals she’d attended and hosted in Narnia, but the energy was the same, joy and romance and community, all touched with a hint of wildness. In Narnia, it had been a gleeful sort of wildness, but here it was touched with desperation.

The bar she’d chosen tonight was, as always, full of soldiers on leave or injured or about to be shipped out. All of the women who ventured in were showered in attention and offers to buy drinks, and Susan was no exception. She politely declined the offers, and bought her own drink. It wasn’t because she didn’t appreciate the offers, or because she wasn’t interested in flirting with some of the soldiers. It was just that she missed her independence so much, and this was her attempt to reclaim a shadow of it.

She sipped her drink and chatted idly with one of the other women – who had accepted the offer of a drink, and probably more, going by the arm her soldier had around her waist – enjoying being treated like a sensible adult for once. She debated buying a second drink as she finished the first, but before she could make up her mind, a new drink identical to her first was placed in front of her. She gave the woman behind the bar a wary look. “I didn’t order another one.” She pointed out.

“It’s from the gentleman over there.” The woman said with a nod towards a man in civilian clothes, but with the bearing of a soldier, sitting at a table not too far from Susan’s place at the bar. He was dark-haired and handsome, and flashed her a roguish grin when he caught her stare. Susan injected a touch of Queenly Disdain into her look, and twitched one eyebrow up in scathing question.

The grin became more sheepish than debonair, and he slipped out of his chair to wander over and lean on the bar beside her. “Saw you turning down all those offers of drinks and figured I’d be smart about it and ask forgiveness instead of permission.” He pointed out, and Susan was intrigued to note the muted American accent colouring his words.

There was a long pause as they each waited for the other to speak. “Well?” Susan prompted, when it became clear that the man wasn’t going to continue.

He looked confused for a beat, and then laughed as understanding dawned clasping his hands together before his chin as if in prayer. “Please forgive me for tricking you into getting a free drink?” He pleaded.

“Hmm…” Susan mused thoughtfully, eyeing him. “No.” She decided, and he gasped and clapped a hand to his chest like she’d shot him. “If you want my forgiveness you’re going to have to earn it.”

“And just what might the forgiveness of such a proud lady cost a poor lowly soldier like me?” He teased, pulling an exaggerated expression of woe. It didn’t suit his face at all.

“An evening of decent company and at least one more drink.” Susan declared, and felt a surprising little burst of pride when what appeared to be genuine delight lit up his face. He straightened up and offered her his arm, nodding towards the table he’d claimed, since there wasn’t room for him to join her at the bar. Susan snagged her drink and took a sip, letting him wait there with his arm out for a long moment before she accepted it.

He pulled out her chair for her like a proper gentleman, and sat opposite her in a casual sprawl that was significantly less gentlemanly. “Oh, where are my manners?” He asked suddenly, sitting a little straighter. “Sergeant Jack Manchester, at your service, my lady.”

Susan extended her hand to him, daring him to do anything other than shake it properly with her gaze alone. “Susan.” She replied as he obliged, grip firm but eyes bright with humour. No last name, because if anyone – like an overly charming American soldier – asked after a Susan Pevensie, they would find a fifteen year old girl, not the woman she was pretending to be. Not the woman she actually was.

“Just Susan?” Sergeant Manchester asked, not quite whining, not quite pouting, but with too-soulful eyes and a plaintive, teasing lilt to his voice.

Susan couldn’t help it. “Gentle Susan.” She corrected, even though it was stupid, he wouldn’t get the humour of it, it would only confuse him and make her seem odd. She could have cursed herself the moment it left her lips, because she’d been having so much fun not-quite-flirting with this man, and now he was going to think her strange.

Only, instead of judgement, a look of thoughtful curiosity flashed across the Sergeant’s face. “Gentle as in kind? Gentle as in light of touch? Or Gentle as in noble?" He questioned, playing along despite the apparently ridiculous turn to the conversation.

“Yes.” Susan replied, feeling her heart stutter once in disbelieving hope.

Sergeant Manchester – Jack – gave her a slow, easy, approving smile, eyebrows raised in delighted incredulity. “Gentle Susan.” He repeated, like he was trying out the taste of it. “Queen Susan.”

Susan’s breath caught. “Queen?” She echoed, barely hearing herself. He couldn’t possibly know, could he? It wasn’t possible, except, of course, that she and her siblings had stumbled their way into Narnia through some old wardrobe. Whose to say there weren’t other doors to Narnia out there, for other people to trip through?

“My very own White Queen.” Jack confirmed, which was like a bucket of ice-water down Susan’s spine. No. He didn’t know, or he would not compare her to that awful creature. He caught her grimace before she could tuck it away and be tactful, and his eyebrows knotted together in apologetic concern. “No?” He questioned.

Jack looked like a puppy when he did that, Susan couldn’t help but think. “White isn’t exactly my colour.” She replied, managing a touch of teasing to match his from before.

It seemed to work, because he brightened immediately. “No, I can see that.” He agreed. “Not red, either, though.” He pointed out, and Susan tipped her head in agreement, although she wondered at the way he phrased it. Most people wouldn’t set white and red as opposites that way, but then, she mused, most people wouldn’t hear ‘gentle’ and jump straight to ‘queen’ either. “Green?” He wondered, but Susan shook her head. She had worn green, sometimes, while she was in Narnia, but it certainly hadn’t been her favourite.

“I’ve always been partial to purple.” She informed him.

“The royal colour, of course.” Jack agreed, shaking his head at himself like he thought it was silly he hadn’t guessed. “You would look absolutely stunning in purple, my queen.” He teased.

Susan had kind of missed being called that. It was silly, but so many people she’d cared about – people long dead, now – had called her that day in and day out that it was both a comforting familiar and a bittersweet reminder. And it was equally silly to think that such a small, simple thing could make her want to keep Jack forever, but she couldn’t help it.

She probably wouldn’t see him again after tonight, and he might be dead within the year, but she could let herself pretend just for the evening. “I do.” She agreed lightly, making him laugh, and then drained the last of her drink. “And now, I believe you still owe me a drink, Sergeant.”

“As my queen commands.” Jack announced dramatically, and this time, Susan let herself laugh at the small joy of being seen, in some small way, for who she truly was.

Edmund honestly had no idea how they’d ended up getting dragged to someone else’s Sunday roast, but he figured any bloke who was so besotted with Susan that he genuinely couldn’t wait to introduce her to his family, even after the nasty shock of finding out just how old she actually was, physically, was probably a decent prospect for his sister. Peter clearly didn’t agree, and kept giving Jack wary, judgemental stares. To his credit, Jack wasn’t letting them touch him. He continued to tease and joke with Susan, coaxing out the brighter, gentler side of her that Edmund had worried she’d lost on their return to this world.

The house was a large one, just as impressive as Professor Kirke’s old manor, and it was a good thing, too, because there were so many people there that anything smaller would have burst at the seams. Edmund had to flex diplomatic skills he’d almost forgotten in order to remember everyone’s names, and there was so much colour and chaos and strangeness that it felt like a little piece of home. The only thing missing was a few talking animals.

It was too easy, and yet strangely jarring, to slip into the role of King Edmund the Just, to move about the simple family gathering like it was a diplomatic function with the rulers and sovereigns of neighbouring lands, and he found himself pulling together a map in his mind. Jack’s father was Lord Manchester, originally of England but now living with his wife in America. Jack’s father’s half-bother was Victor Ascot, Esquire, who only had one daughter and was planning to pass his estate to his sister’s eldest son, Odhran Kavanaugh.

The Kavanaugh clan were easy to spot, because they were, to a one, violently ginger and freckled. Then there was Mrs Kingsley, their heavily pregnant hostess and her widowed mother who lapsed into Mandarin whenever she was annoyed. Edmund was intrigued – and delighted – to learn that Mrs Kingsley – Lynn, as she insisted he call her – was, in fact, the master of the Kingsley estate, not her husband.

It was around that point in the conversation that Edmund spotted Lucy slipping away upstairs, and followed her. He found her hiding in a spare room, cluttered with old junk. An age-spotted mirror, an old but still serviceable loom, a large chest of drawers, a very fancy old divan, and several scattered collections of oddities like kaleidoscopes, cards – some of which appeared to have been nibbled – chess sets, and tea cups. A bowl of pot-pourri on top of the chest of drawers made the whole room smell like an orchard, although not one Edmund could pinpoint. Maybe cherries?

His sister was sitting on the divan, clutching her stomach like she was about to throw up and gasping like she was trying very hard not to cry. Edmund’s heart went out to her, but he hesitated to intrude. Instead, he called her name from the doorway. She startled, sniffled, and turned to him with a painful attempt at a smile. “I’m okay, Ed, I just- just need a minute.”

“It’s eerie, isn’t it?” Edmund asked instead of leaving.

Lucy stared at him for a long, long moment, and then crumpled. “I want to go home so bad, Ed.” She sobbed, hands coming up to hide her face.

Edmund finally went to sit beside her and put an arm around her. “I know.” He sighed. “This place- Jack’s family, they’re… they seem almost too good to be true. I keep catching myself talking like- like myself, and realising no one even batted a lash.”

“I can see why Susan loves him.” Lucy agreed softly, and then in a whisper. “That’s the problem. I wish I could enjoy it, finding so many amazing open-minded people here, but… it only reminds me of everything- everyone I’ve lost.”

“Maybe it’s not them that’s lost. Maybe it’s you what got lost, and they still know exactly where they are. Ever thought of that, huh?” Edmund and Lucy both startled at the new voice and looked down to see a custard-and-cream coloured dormouse wearing a little indigo blue tunic standing on Lucy’s knee. Lucy chuckled softly, even as Edmund stared.

“Maybe you’re right.” Lucy agreed. “I do feel rather lost right now.”

Edmund cleared his throat, and both Lucy and the mouse looked up at him. “Excuse me, my good mouse, but… what are you doing here?” He asked, and saw from the corner of his eye Lucy’s eyes widen and then snap back down to the mouse as if she’d only just realised that there really, really shouldn’t be talking animals on this side of the wardrobe. Even in the house of a family that joyously accepted interracial and same-sex partnerships, made no fuss about women in power, and didn’t treat children like they were stupid.

“It’s Sunday, innit?” The mouse demanded. “Everyone-”

“Sal!” This new voice echoed from the mirror of all places, and Edmund watched in awe as a person stepped out of it, the silvery glass rippling like water in their wake. “Sal, I told you, you cannae come this time, Jack said he was bringing gue-” The man was handsome, with curly hair a rich shade of red and long enough to pull back into a tail at the nape his neck, underneath a somewhat lopsided tartan fishing hat. There was golden stubble dusting his jaw, and he was wearing the sort of loose white shirt that Edmund knew from experience would be terribly transparent when wet. “Guests.” The man finished with a grimace. “Ach, hello there. I see you’ve, ah, already met Sallevlan.” He greeted, shooting a glare at the little mouse, whose ears twitched back in contrition even as they lifted their little head in defiance.

“Yes, they’ve been very nice.” Lucy assured the man.

He blinked, but then smiled in clear relief. “You’re nae… scared?” He checked.

“Oh, no, not at all!” Lucy insisted. “Not to say that Sallevlan couldn’t be fearsome if they wanted to, but they were really very kind and helpful.” Sallevlan puffed up with pride. “I’m Lucy Pevensie, and it’s very nice to meet you both.”

“Tavan Hightopp.” The man replied, holding out a hand for Lucy to shake, and then to Edmund.

Edmund refused to let himself let the touch linger, but he couldn’t help noting the multi-coloured ink stains on the long fingers with a touch of entirely inappropriate desire. “Edmund.” He said, keeping his voice level and polite, even though he was so tired of holding himself back like this. Tavan, though, seemed to pick up on something regardless, and his gaze lingered.

Odd, Edmund could have sworn his eyes were grass-green, but now they looked lilac. “Well, if you don’t mind Sal, mayhap I could let the others know they can come if they want? They were a wee bit disappointed when they heard Jack wanted tae introduce someone new but they couldnae come meet them yet.” Tavan explained, words coming fast and eager. Even though Lucy was the one who’d carried the conversation so far, his eyes stayed on Edmund’s.

“We’d love to meet everyone.” Edmund said, smiling faintly.

“Great! I’ll-” Tavan turned towards the mirror mid-sentence, and stammered to a stop when another person stuck just their head and shoulders through it. Edmund thought he could see a hazy image of the rest of their body through the glass, but it was distorted by the reflection of the room. Their features were similar enough to Tavan’s that Edmund didn’t doubt they were related, even though the woman had much shorter hair, a narrower, smoother jaw, and cat-yellow eyes.

“Tavan!” She snapped. “Did ye find Sal y- Oh.”

“I found him.” Tavan replied, laughing. “Although some of Jack’s guests found him first. This is Edmund and Lucy Pevensie.” He introduced. Lucy waved, and Edmund nodded. “And this is my twin sister, Tallis.” Tavan added to them, before returning his attention to his sister. “I think it’ll be safe tae let everyone come, Lissy.”

“Yeah.” Tallis agreed, eyeing the way Lucy wasn’t batting a lash when Sal demanded to know if this ‘Susan’ Jack had gushed about was really as Gentle as a Queen. “I’ll just… let Pa know.” Tallis promptly vanished into the mirror and Edmund, assured for the moment that Lucy was too distracted to be properly upset, rose to join Tavan in standing in front of it.

“Where does it go?” Edmund asked conversationally. There was a second reflection in the mirror, and if he focused, he could see an old-fashioned living room, caught somewhere between rustic, golden age, and fantastical. It wasn’t anything like Cair Paravel, but there was still something distinctly Narnian about it that took his breath away. And the people he could catch glimpses of like ghosts were equally Narnian, perhaps more-so. He saw a passel of pale, white-haired kids like river nymphs or winter sprites, a bunch of puppies gambolling with them and very clearly conversing with them, too, a grey-blue cat hovering in mid-air above the head of an older woman in trousers who looked enough like Tallis and Tavan to be related, although she was blonde rather than red-headed.

Tavan glanced from him to the mirror and back again. “My home in Iplam. It’s a region in Underland that my pa is the Laird of, although it’s also part of the Outlands.”

“Do you have a map?” Edmund asked hopefully.

Tavan laughed. “Well, we do, but it might take you a while tae learn how tae read it.” He explained sheepishly. “Underland can be a wee bit confusing for people who are used tae thinking in a linear sort of way.” Edmund blinked, and stared. He had no idea how a map could possibly be non-linear, but he suddenly, desperately wanted to find out. Tavan must have read some of that hunger on his face, because his grin turned delighted. “Mayhaps… mayhaps after dinner, ye’d like tae come visit?”

“I’d love to.”

Lucy had never waged war like this before. This was far more Edmund and Susan’s court, this wheeling and dealing, the way money and power spoke louder than truth. She refused to curb herself, refused to play the games of little lies and small concessions, but she did learn how to insert herself into places where her words, her truths, would be heard.

She became a well-known name in the world of human rights, civil rights, people rights. She aligned herself with groups and charities and people who were willing to fight for those things, even if it wasn’t all of them. She learned how dropping the right name could get her into the same areas as influential people, and she learned that just looking like you have money made people listen to you.

There were precious few people who agreed with her on most things, and none yet that agreed with her on everything, but she refused to give up. She travelled the world, saw amazing places, met amazing people, and came back to England with their stories on her tongue and a fierce longing for her true home in her heart.

When the invitation to a fundraiser at Pemberley came, Lucy went, because she never missed a chance to pour her words into the ears of the affluent and influential. The Darcys were old money, and even higher up on the social ladder than Susan’s new family-in-law, but Lucy had been a Queen once, and she forced them to make space for her; a middle-class woman from Finchley with delusions of influence.

It was a surprisingly productive evening, even if Lucy did have to threaten one politician with a knife to get him to back off and stop patronising her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in romance, it was just that most of the men who were interested in her wanted things she couldn’t give them. Things like marriage and children.

Peter and Susan didn’t understand. They’d lost a lot when they left Narnia, but they hadn’t lost what Lucy had. They understood her grief, of course, but they still expected her to get over it, eventually, to move on and build a new life here. Well, she was doing, she just couldn’t bring herself to walk the same paths she had in Narnia. She thought Edmund understood, even if he had adopted Underland as his new Narnia and managed to build so much of what he’d had before with new people in that new place.

Lucy couldn’t.

When the ache got too much, she slipped out of the house, away from the party, and into the woods. They were beautiful, more wild than she often saw in England, and Lucy wanted to cry. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was back in Narnia, a warm midsummer night with the dryads and the fauns revelling in the dark.

She kicked off her shoes without hesitation, not caring where they fell, and let her toes wiggle into the dew-damp grass. The grass was cold, but the soil beneath was warm under her feet, and she let go of the weight of her worries for a moment, and just danced. Broken twigs and chipped pebbles bit at her feet, but she didn’t care. Once upon a time her feet had been toughened by how often she ran barefoot through the woods, and even though she couldn’t manage it here, she wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that all that time, those thousand years that had spirited her family away from her were gone.

“Oh!”

Lucy spun to a stop, staring at the young man standing between the trees, staring at her in shock. She recognised him from the party, but couldn’t place him right away. One of the Darcy children, she thought. He did have the look of his father, all olive skin and dark curly hair. “Hello.” She greeted, because even if she’d wanted to be alone, she wasn’t going to be rude.

The man blinked at her, and then let out a breath that was caught somewhere between a sigh of relief and an incredulous laugh. “Hello. Sorry. For a moment there, I thought I’d stumbled across a fairy ring and that you were some sort of spirit of the woods or something.” He admitted with another little self-deprecating laugh.

Lucy beamed, more flattered than he’d expected her to be. More flattered than she’d expected to be. “Who says I’m not?” She challenged.

The man tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I suppose you could be. I just wouldn’t have expected a nymph to just say hello to an intruder like that.” He pointed out. “…Although I can’t imagine what they would do…”

“Well, it depends what they want, doesn’t it?” Lucy countered, stepping closer to see him better in the gloom of the forest at dusk. His eyes went a little wide at her approach, but he didn’t retreat, so Lucy dared to step close enough for a polite conversation. “If I just wanted to dance alone in the moonlight, I might have run, or told you to leave. But if I want company, the polite thing to do is to say hello.”

He nodded, opened his mouth, and closed it again. “That does make sense. Although it’s hard to imagine some fey creature wanting the company of humans, except for nefarious purposes.” He mused, shifting from foot to foot like he was uncomfortable, but there was also a crooked little smile tugging hopefully at the corner of his mouth, like he wanted to invite Lucy to share the joke.

And Lucy did, maybe more than he meant her to, because, well, she knew nymphs, and she knew just how ‘nefarious’ most people here would consider their purpose on a midsummer night. She laughed, giggled into her hand. “Maybe my purposes are nefarious.” She teased. “Maybe I’m dancing out here to lure some pretty young thing into the woods for a different kind of dance.”

His eyes went huge. “…Okay.”

The word came out breathless and awed and nervous, and Lucy took the invitation without a second thought, stepping into his space and leaning up to kiss him, just as he started to say something else. “I m-” Lucy drew back and raised her eyebrows at him. He just stared for a long moment. “I- I mean- Really?” He checked.

“Of course, really.” Lucy assured him. “Unless you don’t want to. I don’t mind.” She added, gently, because there were all those silly expectations and unspoken rules here, and she had no idea if he even knew whether he wanted to or not.

“I- I do, I just… don’t-” He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I never- Everyone always expected-”

“Expected more from you than you wanted to give?” Lucy supplied, in a moment of clarity and painful empathy with him. “They expect it to mean something so much more than just people being together and touching each other because it feels good?”

He was looking at her with wonder again. “Yes. Yes, that’s it exactly.” Lucy smiled, and kissed him again. This time, he kissed back, and Lucy tugged and twisted at his shirt until she had him backed up against one of the trees. She could imagine how the dryad would giggle, would wrap her arms around the pair of them, would lower her lips to his neck or whisper wicked things in his ear. They parted for breath, and Lucy diverted her attention to freeing his neck from the confines of his collar.

His hands slid up her sides, his touch cautious and uncertain. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admitted on an exhilarated breath.

“That’s okay.” Lucy murmured, even as his words pulled on the memory of her own mouth forming words so much alike, and the reassurance her dear, dear friend had murmured to her. The words she’d needed, the words that had started them down a path they’d planned to walk side-by-side forever. But instead of hurting, like reminders of him so often did, it felt strangely right, as though he was right behind her, too, his arms around the both of them, a smile on his lips and a light in his eyes as he said, in tandem with her; “We can figure it out together.”

[stephicness]

What are your thoughts on a fan theory that all the events of episode prompto only happened in Prompto's head and weren't real? (Is it safe to discuss the episode now?)

Well, on my blog it is, at least, but I’ll tag for spoilers just in case. c: Because I REALLY want to talk about this theory because, to be honest, I’m really close to agreeing with it. To an extent, I mean, since Episode Prompto was an odd one in my eyes.

So spoilers ahead, because we’re talking EPISODE PROMPTO! Read below for my rambling!

So to me, this idea that Prompto had this all running through his head can be really plausible, I think. Of course, Square can pretty much tell us that they changed up Prompto’s story a bit to fit with his own episode, but honestly? I don’t buy it that much. Episode Prompto is a DLC that Tabata and the others KNEW they wanted to happen, just as they knew they wanted Episode Gladiolus to talk about him running off in Chapter 7, and Episode Ignis to discuss just how in the world Ignis was blinded. I like to give Square credit, and perhaps it might be too much credit, but I will when I say that Episode Prompto should be more well-thought out than we all assume.

Like, for me, and I’ll level with you here, I didn’t like Episode Prompto as much as I could have because it was so odd to me. Literally. Wandering through the snow after mysteriously finding a new outfit, stumbling upon an MT base where Verstael is trying to conduct an immortal experiment that turns him into a sentient version of the Very Hungry Caterpillar, and Aranea miraculously finding Prompto in a period of about two days/less after meeting Noctis and the others in Tenebrae and sending them on their way to Gralea? Perhaps it’s me being overly analytical, but Aranea isn’t THAT good at tracking someone. In a snowstorm. In, again, less than two days or so. Because by train, you can probably make a trip across a country (which I personally assume is about the size of Europe, more or less) in about a day if you really didn’t have any complications. Sans, of course, Ardyn appearing and Gentiana blessing Noctis with her icy presence.

Needless to say, ALOT of things didn’t add up in Episode Prompto, more than they actually did. They of course try to give us the bonus Episode Prompto stuff nevertheless though, like the outfit and the Lionheart gun too (which is super cute by the way…!).

But that’s where this whole fan theory comes into play: There’s so many weird things in the Episode that we can only assume that there’s something FAR more intriguing about just a Metal Gear wannabe DLC. One of the only real ways that can explain EVERYTHING in this DLC is by the fact that it is, in fact, a dream. An illusion that Ardyn conjured up to make Prompto relive the guilt about being an MT, to unravel himself and become the monster he was truly destined to become.

AND HERE’S A BUNCH OF REASONS WHY. SO KICK UP A SEAT BECAUSE THIS POST IS GONNA GET LENGTHY.

1) How the hell did he end up in the middle of the snow? Without any help? In a few days?

So the time frame of FFXV is super weird because we’ve got moments where they’re riding on a train, they’re suddenly stopping in Tenebrae, and those sorts of fun and merry things. So we never really get a rough timeframe of how long it took the boys to travel from Altissia to Gralea where the keep was. But we know for a fact that a good majority of the boys’ traveling is done by train. If you want to go in the comparison of the empire being about the same size as maybe Russia just for relativity sake, it takes you about seven days of train traveling to get across the continent to Gralea, give or take. (Again, this is all just speculations and guessing). Either way, they’re VIA train, at one point by car too with only one major stop to restock in Tenebrae. Beyond that, we pretty much see them make an almost continue train ride to Gralea.

Prompto, however, was thrown off the train just outside of Tenebrae, probably meaning he was traveling with the boys for about 2-3 days already before he had an early departure. He’d have to catch up with Noctis and the others in about 2 days or three after spending about two to three days dealing with the Verstael situation in Episode Prompto. BRINGING IN MATH HERE, but that means Prompto would have to make up that distance at approximately 150 MPH on a snowmobile to catch up to a train going about 80 MPH. Again, in about 2-3 days to catch up on a snowmobile while also taking in account breaks, nights to rest, and getting around obstacles that a snowmobile might not be able to traverse through. Mountains for example? It’d be hard for him to do, no matter how cool he was in Episode Prompto running down a mountain on a snowmobile as it was. Possible, but highly unlikely too.

2) How did Aranea find Prompto so quickly after dropping everything in Tenebrae?

It strikes me odd that we find Aranea suddenly in Episode Prompto because wasn’t she helping in Tenebrae to get people out of the burning manor and escape from the daemon outbreak from the city of Gralea? Why would she immediately drop whatever she was doing to go help out a blond-haired kid that conveniently was there to help her stop a mad scientist from making himself into a human centipede with robo-lasers? To me, I find it hard to believe, considering that she, for one, only met Prompto once direction for about two days to help Noctis go through a dungeon, and maybe a few times within Chapter 8 when she appeared before them all in a mask. (or when she again dropped in and beat up Noctis, again in a mask). She didn’t even acknowledge Prompto throughout most of the Myrtlewood dungeon, I think, so why give a damn about Prompto being lost?

It’s good that we saw Aranea there, but if you think about it, Prompto would probably imagine her the most out of anyone else to save him. He can’t imagine Noctis, Ignis, or Gladio saving him because they’re gone by then, and he already felt like he wasn’t good enough for them. Cor as well wouldn’t be someone Prompto would imagine helping him because Cor’s a Lucian. He doesn’t know anything about the MTs. Aranea, however, does, since she’s a commodore in the Niflheim Navy and someone strong enough to kick Prompto’s ass into shape and help him. He respects her enough to want her aid, but also knows that she wouldn’t push an MT away after working with them for so long.

3) Why did Verstael turn into a goo boy?

From what I remember about Episode Prompto, Verstael was making a machine infused with daemons and humans that would act as his vessel to basically become something more powerful than the Astrals themselves. He was obsessed with this god-like complex of his, which we all can understand seeing how he behaved in his conversation about Lunafreya in Chapter 3 of the base game. He wanted her alive because she could communicate with the Astrals, basically acting as a conduit for him to discover what makes the Astrals so strong. So he made the machine to become some god-like beast.

But why was he turning all gooey anyways? Why did he have to die in order for him to trigger the machine? When he approached Prompto, he radiated dark energy that he was becoming a daemon, turning into a monster. Half of his face was messed-up, after all. But these kinds of traits of daemofication while still alive never happens unless they DIED at some point. If he wanted immortality, he could have just gotten Ardyn to turn him into a daemon like he did with Iedolas and Ravus. Unless Verstael was the first, I mean. This only adds onto the fact that perhaps Verstael was dead and immortal as it was? It’s odd to me that if he wanted to become immortal, he could have easily just struck a deal with Ardyn to become a daemon pet. Instead, he was infused to a giant worm? Why? Why go through all that trouble when daemification and infusing a daemon into something is possible? Verstael is a smart man and knows how to get stuff done, so the trouble he went through to turn into a goo boy, die, get infused with a worm, and get blown up is pretty cray to me.

4) What’s with the flashbacks and paradoxes? 

This, I feel, is one of the bigger pieces of evidence to why Episode Prompto can be a dream theory. Things get really strange with Noctis trying to kill MT-clad Prompto, with Prompto reconciling with his younger self, with Pyrna appearing, etc. ESPECIALLY PYRNA. Because it was said that she had died when Lunafreya died, of grief at that. How is it that the dog managed to wander around when they were supposedly dead? They may be an Astral dog, but they still had an actual minimalistic form. We see that they too can die in the Omen trailer, despite that being a dream too. But still, even the Astrals can be killed somehow – just like how Eos was killed during the whole Lucian royalty are half-astrals theory. Why did these memories and illusions come trick him? Stress-induced hallucinations? A drug injected into him without us knowing? How? It’s odd to me, but most people assume it was an Ardyn mind-trick. He was there, as we see at the very end of the DLC, but why nearly freeze your immortal dick off just to mess with the broken child?

And most importantly – and my favorite detail about this in why Episode Prompto might be a dream theory – 5) How come Prompto wasn’t burned in Chapter 13?

We see at the very end of Episode Prompto that he’s strapped to the torture device and is just hanging there, not doing much and out of his change of clothes by now. Odd that he’d be redressed, but we see Noctis and the others come up and run to him to help Prompto. But later on in that chapter and during some of the Episode Prompto cutscenes, Prompto has that barcode on him. I believe there was a picture (Photoshopped or nah?) that showed that he had done something to his code. But still, those are not burn marks nevertheless, if that picture is real or altered. If they were burned, they be almost like something Ignis has on his face, not red and swollen looking like that, I don’t think. Yes, we get the option to say no to burning Prompto, but still. That barcode would have seen some pretty bad damage on it if Prompto clawed it off, burned it off, anything.

Instead, we see only the mark from when he was the restraint mark on his wrist from perhaps struggling to break free, or from hanging there limply. Fishy that there isn’t any other injuries on him, even after Episode Prompto. That mark over his nose isn’t there during the DLC, the injuries on his wrist aren’t during the base game. For the most part, the injuries that we know of besides you burning off his barcode are all injuries from the base game.

And most importantly, I bring this up too: During Episode Gladiolus, his ending was him walking with Cor to get back to Lestallum to meet the others, right? We see his resolution and ending, his reward and success for completing his task. How come at the very end, we only see Prompto hanging there in that prison? He’s not riding to Gralea to return to Noctis. We don’t see him get kidnapped by any of the Imperial Officers or Ardyn either. We only see Prompto. Trapped. Imprisoned. Why? After all we saw in Episode Prompto, how come they left out the major plot hole that we wanted to know: HOW DID PROMPTO GET TO GRALEA?

Well, with all of those details, wouldn’t it be logical that Prompto never left Gralea to begin with…? That Ardyn had him relive the psychological torture of Verstael and his insanity in hopes of Prompto turning against Noctis? We even know from the Versus XIII plotline that Prompto was initially supposed to betray Noctis during the point where he reveals he’s Verstael’s son. That was Prompto’s crisis point in the initial game, and he was going to turn on Noctis during Versus XIII. Perhaps Ardyn used these mind-tricks to try swaying Prompto to do so during XV. Perhaps he wanted to see their friendship break apart.

That, and Ardyn humming that Chocobo theme at the very end of Episode Prompto. Prompto only ever hummed that with Noctis and the others. How would Ardyn know that Prompto sings that too unless A) he’s a super mega-stalker (which I wouldn’t put it past him to be) or B) he knows Prompto’s mind and secrets and saw the memory of Prompto having sung/hummed that before. Ardyn knew Prompto’s mind more than we really thought, I feel.

So yes, I actually really do agree with the dream theory idea for Episode Prompto because alot of it is strange to me. But even if it all actually did happen, this theory is a fun one to ponder on. c;

[buytabletsonline]

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Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: a quirky, pixellated video game breathes new life into the Mario-like side-scroller genre. Or, well, those games used to breathe life, before they became commonplace. Super Meat Boy set this kind of resurgence into motion nearly a decade ago. That’s a long time in side-scrolling years.

A peek at this week’s Celeste—which favors pixellated designs and squishy, bouncy characters—could make any skeptical passerby sigh in that “Gosh, another one of these?” way. I get that.

But I insist there’s something here. In the past few years, we’ve seen a few super-beautiful, far-from-pixellated platformers emerge with serious fans. Cuphead made a huge splash in 2017 by emphasizing brutal difficulty and hand-drawn beauty. Fans of 2014’s Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze swear by its breadth and production values. And 2015’s Ori and the Blind Forest injected gorgeous designs and wild platforming maneuvers into a “Metroidvania” adventure.

Celeste doesn’t look much like those three games, but its brilliance comes from borrowing their best ideas—and boost-leaping past their pitfalls—to deliver the most intense, memorable, and satisfying platformer yet released in the 2010s. Put Celeste at the top of your side-scrolling shelf, right next to Super Meat Boy and Yoshi’s Island.

Tower… climb?

How the heck are we going to get that key?

A great example of a tricky Celeste room, which forces players to figure out, and then execute, a perfect series of jumps and air-dashes. This green gem will refresh any expired air dashes, so you’ll probably want to go through it to finish this room.

Red spheres launch your character in a chosen cardinal direction. But you can air-dash out of it, in any direction, whenever you want.

One challenging portion of the game sees a ghost copy your moves, always a few paces behind. In some cases, you’ll have to run a certain path just to give yourself an escape option when you backtrack.

Don’t walk on, or wall-jump off of, any of that red-and-black stuff. You’ll instantly die.

You’ll need those yellow feathers to fly through this room.

If Celeste looks familiar, that’s because its creators have cut their teeth on some serious pixel-art games before, particularly Towerfall. (We love Towerfall.) On its face, Celeste looks and feels similar to Towerfall, as if retooled as a solo game. Your character design almost looks lifted from Towerfall, as is her default move suite: running, jumping, wall-jumping, wall-climbing, and a cardinal-direction “air-dash.”

In the bow-and-arrow combat of Towerfall, this air-dash is used primarily to dodge attacks. Celeste doesn’t have any combat, however. As a result, the air-dash becomes something else entirely.

You control an unnamed young woman (if left unnamed, she’s called Madeline) on her unexplained quest to scale a massive Canadian mountain. A story eventually plays out as Madeline encounters a friendly fellow climber, a strange old lady, and a few mysterious locals. Before the conversations pick up in length and depth, there’s the matter of climbing. Just climb.

The game’s opening challenges are simple enough. Enter a room, use the air-dash to effectively “double jump” to higher platforms, and go through an opening at the top-right of the screen to enter the next room. Almost immediately, Celeste teases you with its common “strawberry” collectibles, which are always placed in tricky spots to jump, wall-hop, and air-dash toward. (What’s more, you don’t get to “claim” the fruit until you finish a series of jumps and climbs and land safely on your feet.) They gently goad you into flexing your air-dash muscles, though the game makes abundantly clear that these collectibles don’t affect your progress or unlock anything.

But nobody who plays these types of games ignores collectible shinies, a fact that Celeste is very appreciative of. Forget the collect-a-thon bloat of series like Donkey Kong Country and Banjo-Kazooie. There are truly only two types of collectibles in this game: strawberries, which each world hides roughly 20-25 of, and a very small number of super-secret “hearts,” which requires clever methods, movement, and sleuthing to uncover. Celeste keeps it simple.

More importantly, the game places these collectibles around its world to tease out something I’ve encountered in my own real-world hiking and climbing experiences—that the most satisfying traversal comes from a nicely paced mix of tricky-but-doable grabs and “gosh, I am so close” challenges. The satisfaction of picking up another strawberry in Celeste doesn’t come from ratcheting your count one higher; it’s in stopping once you’ve landed safely and pocketed the fruit, then looking at the screen to examine the jumps and maneuvers needed to snag it. Like, look at that. Look at what I just accomplished right there.

But simply air-dashing around a bunch of clever corridors wouldn’t cut it, which brings us to Celeste‘s other genius: putting Madeline’s increased powers and maneuvers in the game world, not in her required button layout. Each world introduces at least one new thing that Madeline can touch or manipulate whilst climbing, jumping, and air-dashing. The first is a green, mid-air gem that refreshes her air-dash ability; normally you only get to air-dash once per jump, with the ability resetting whenever you land. But if you can jump-and-dash all the way across the screen to a green gem, you can keep that single jump going longer.

Scaling past its platforming peers

Occasional story and dialogue moments strike the right balance between setting the tone and not getting in the game’s way.

You won’t like this creature when it wakes up.

One of the game’s best parts is when this old lady laughs at you; her cackle emanates in a chip-tune “heh heh heh” manner.

Madeline faces off against “Badeline.”

The game eventually digs into some heavy subjects—yet its writing and tone make these parts quite memorable.

As Madeline advances, these new elements increase in drastic fashion. A series of otherworldly blocks soon appear, which you can’t walk through—but if you air-dash into them, you zip through them in a straight line, which can either quickly propel you where you’re supposed to go or send you directly to your death. (Either way, your air-dash power resets when you burst out from the other side.)

Meanwhile, floating red spheres will fling Madeline in a rapid, one-way line if she touches them. She can air-dash out of the line at any time (and will need to escape from it at precise moments for harder challenges), while yellow feathers let her float in whatever direction she wants for a limited time.

Those are but a few of the in-the-world objects that do something really neat: they take the very cool, high-speed superpowers of a game like Ori and the Blind Forest and distill them in a way that removes the backtracking, item collection, level-up system, and controller complication of that game. Players walk into challenge rooms using only one joystick and two buttons, and the room itself feeds all of the exotic complication—and exhilarating “I can’t believe I pulled that off” moments.

Throughout my gameplay, I couldn’t help but think back to Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze, a platformer that fans argue wasn’t received as warmly as it deserved when it landed on the Wii U in 2014. I like DKC:TF as a beautiful fulfillment of that series’ momentum-heavy exploration, but I am far more smitten by how Celeste lets players walk into a challenging room, size up its insanity, and then manage a series of fast jumps, dashes, warps, and more. I’d start exploring (and dying many times) in a Celeste room, come to grips with how the game wanted me to beat it, then find the right pattern of timing and movement to pull it off—which is a very different kind of “momentum” than the almost automatic roll-and-react movement of DKC.

Somewhat related is my appreciation of Celeste‘s pixel art style, which players will surely differ on. For my money, the frame- and pixel-perfect movement tech of Celeste lives and dies by reading its large, bold pixels, typically offset in clear, colorful fashion by a variety of game worlds. A tough-as-nails boss-rush platformer like last year’s Cuphead can work with expressive, musical art and design, but I only needed about 10 minutes with Celeste to appreciate—and express gratitude for—how the latter uses meaty, chunky pixels for equal parts utility and expression.

You need this kind of art style to believe in its movement tech, and yet the design team at MattMakesGames still infuses so much personality into these blocky forms—whether by animation, by wild screen-filling effects, or by incredibly touching storytelling—that it begins to creep up through your travels in appreciably organic ways.

Nice view up here

Celeste release trailer

Each world in Celeste is made up of roughly 100 rooms, and its seven primary worlds will take a relatively skilled player no less than 30 minutes each to understand and master, should you opt to collect some, but not all, of the worlds’ toughest strawberries. (Related: the gorgeous soundtrack, which combines the classical beauty of Final Fantasy VI with the big-beat oomph of Mo’Wax Records, is particularly good at keeping players engaged as they die upwards of 250 times per half-hour world.) Unlockable “B-side” variations of each world add another slate of challenges, and these crank the difficulty and insanity up, should you be that guy at the virtual climbing gym who craves nothing less than a “level 9” Celeste wall. (I’m nowhere near beating all of the B-sides. They’re insane.)

Super-hard platformers have exploded in recent years, particularly ones made by enthusiasts using simple toolsets (or Super Mario Maker) for the sake of torturous Twitch and GamesDoneQuick runs. I would argue that sheer brutality is not a suitable measure of quality—and that Celeste understands this in much the same way that Super Meat Boy did when it first blew us all away in 2010.

Celeste does so many amazing things. It organically teaches players while cleverly inserting new game-changing powers into its worlds. It gives players breathing room so that they can play however they want, all while choreographing some of the most memorable platforming sequences I’ve ever played. It pays homage to classic, tough-as-nails platformers while climbing its own unique path.

Celeste left me breathless at the top of its incredible mountain. I love the view from up here. C’mon and join me.

The good

Side-scrolling, Mario-style gaming hasn’t felt so simultaneously familiar and refreshing in years.

A simple control suite is bolstered by wild twists built into the game’s surreal worlds.

Pixel art makes frame-perfect jumps possible, yet looks gorgeous and has great design variety.

Take the tricky-yet-breezy route if you want. The game is fun no matter how hard a path you opt for.

The bad

Normally, I’d say “it’s not long enough” here, but the “B-sides” mode adds a ton of brutally hard levels, should you feel like the five-hour campaign is lacking.

The ugly

The screams you may utter after failing many of the game’s “gosh I was so close” challenges.

Verdict: Buy. Celeste is the first must-own single-player game of 2018.

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[simplecake-blog]

The difficulty of indicating the vision

In this field, especially Japan, it is so hard to get the vision and thought abstractly, I think. This is because to do so has almost nothing to do with the content of each job. For instance, in emergency department, all we have to do is learning how to inject or connect the infusion etc... We don’t have to think about the essence of the medical care or, what is worse, the management of this hospital.

Actually this reflects that doctors are all specialities and don’t need to consider the management level. However doctors currently have some authorities in the medical fields and indirectly get away another players from here. Therefore I think this field still stays closed, conservative and boring. Everything is connecting. There is no diversity because they don’t need it. There is no innovation cuz they don’t want it. This is very sad and I want to emphasize the real humanity more.

So, what am I going to do from now?

My one plan is studying abroad in MBA. To change something, we need to change the environment first. When it comes to open mind and diversity, U.S. is still strong. And west coast has a bunch of crazy people. There still hard competitions exist but I desire I can transcend them.