#in fact.. heh.. i invented it no one else has even done it here before

[fear-no-mort]

evil rick is so good because hes the first and best example of how just cringe and melodramatic evil morty is in the way he acts while being controlled by him. the slow clap, the like fake orchestra director thing he does when hes talking about the symphony of morties, the ‘we’re not so different you and i’ lines, the cut-throat hand gesture he does when saying hes gonna kill rick. u get what i mean all of that is evil morty doing that except it’s him replicating the behaviour of a rick except all of that stuff is kinda just how he is anyway. i personally think he enjoyed it a lot he had fun with it

[anenbylittlepotato]

mc asking the demon bros to do the pocky challenge with them? :o

Ooh, I really like this idea!

The Bros Reacting to MC Asking to Do the Pocky Challenge with Them

The Dateables Here

You go up to this brother and hold up a box of Pocky, asking them to do the Pocky challenge with you. Though you might have to explain what it is, depending on the brother, as not all of them are caught up on human culture.

Lucifer

You'll definitely have to explain it to him because he has no idea what you're talking about-

When you do explain it, he'll blink, taken aback which is pretty rare for him.

There's also a hint of a blush on his cheeks. Quick take a pic before it goes away!

But once he composes himself, he gets that iconic and infuriating smirk across his face.

He'll gladly accept. Any chance to be close to you like that is good for him.

He waits patiently for to put the stick in your mouth before placing his hand on the wall behind you and gently taking up his end. Then you begin.

He's... Surprisingly good at this??? He's obviously never done it before, but he's really good at not letting the pocky fall. And he's super steady too, so it's not hard to keep up. Honestly, he's doing most of the work.

And at the end when your lips meet, he holds the kiss, his hands moving to your waist.

Then he pulls away and smirks at you.

"Well, that's quite an intimate little game of yours. But don't you think that's quite a roundabout way of getting a kiss? You could have just asked, you know."

Mammon

You'll probably have to explain it to him too. He may enjoy going down to the human world a lot, but that's mostly to make money. He doesn't pay much attention to their trends.

When you do explain, his entire face turns red and he becomes a flustered mess. Just what are you trying to DO to him, human???

At first, he'll refuse, too embarrassed to even try.

But as he watches you start to walk away, he immediately changes his mind. Wait come back- he'll do it! He doesn't want you doing it with anyone else!

He fidgets nervously as he waits for you to put the stick in your mouth. Once it's there, he puts his hands on your shoulders and takes up his end.

The opposite of Lucifer, he's really bad at it. Like, really, really bad. He's trembling and shaking too much to do it properly and he keeps going too fast. Safe to say you two drop it several times and have to restart.

But when you finally get it and your lips meet, he'll definitely hold it. Actually, he might not wanna let you go at that point.

You have to pull away eventually to breathe.

"Heh. Well... I guess that wasn't so bad. We should do that again some time. But ya kept messin' us up! Ya didn't move fast enough. Good thing it was the GREAT Mammon you were doin' it with, or else you never woulda gotten it right!"

Leviathan

He needs no explanation, he is fluent in human trends.

When you ask, though, his face is immediately bright red and he becomes a spluttering, flustered mess. Are you TRYING to give him a heart attack, MC? Seriously, his little otaku heart can't handle you just blatantly asking things like that...! And why would you wanna do such an intimate game with a gross, yucky otaku like him anyway?

He'll have to take a minute to calm his breathing, but he'll eventually accept. This trend is used far too much in anime and anime fandoms for it to be considered normie. Actually, he's always wanted to try this trend with someone! But Henry can't exactly play the Pocky game with him...

He waits nervously as you put the stick in your mouth, his face still glowing bright red. When you're done, he gently grabs your hands, mostly for comfort, and takes up his end.

He's also pretty bad at it, but not nearly as bad as Mammon. At least he learns from his mistakes. In the first attempt, he goes much too fast and you end up dropping it. So next time he forces himself to go slower. But he's still trembling far too much and you still end up dropping it a few more times before he finally manages to quell his trembling enough for it to work.

When your lips finally meet at the end, he'll hold it for just a few moments. It'll be a sweet and tender kiss.

And when you pull away, you'll find his face is still flushed, but less, and now there's a small smile on his face.

"W-wow! I've always wanted to try that game...! It's just like that one episode of The Magical Ruri Hanai: Demon Girl!"

Satan

With how much he reads about the human world he's bound to have come across something about it. So honestly? He probably won't need much of an explanation.

When you ask him about it, his eyes will widen slightly, his cheek flushing. He'll close his eyes and shake his head, muttering something about how you somehow know exactly how to get him flustered.

But it's not like he'll refuse! No, no, quite the contrary, he accepts, rather eagerly, in fact.

He watches as you carefully place the stick into your mouth. When you're done, he gently places his hands on your waist and takes his end.

He's also surprisingly good at this. Not quite as good as Lucifer, but he's still good enough to keep it from falling. And good enough that he's doing most of the work.

When your lips meet at the end, his arms slide around the small of your back and he holds you in a brief, but passionate kiss.

When he pulls away, he smiles at you softly, his cheeks still just slightly flushed.

"Well, that was certainly an interesting game. Maybe just ask next time you want a kiss though."

Asmodeus

This man knows all forms of intimacy, you think he wouldn't know the pocky game? Honestly, he's probably had some people ask to play it with him before you.

As soon as you ask, he's smirking, now being all flirty. Ooh, you want to be all intimate with him, do you~? Of course, you do! Everyone wants a taste of his gorgeous face and body~!

He accepts without hesitation. He's more than eager to share an intimate moment with his favorite person in all three worlds! Other than himself, of course ;)

He's practically trembling with excitement as he waits for you to put the stick in your mouth. Once you do, he puts his hands on your waist as he takes up his end, his hands trying to wander a bit too far below... Keep it family-friendly, mister!

When you start, he isn't the greatest because he keeps trying to go too fast, a little too eager for the part at the end. So you drop it a few times, but he gets it eventually.

Once your lips meet, he pulls you as close to him as possible, running a hand through your hair as he holds the kiss.

When you pull away, he gives you a suggestive smirk.

"We should do more intimate little games like that together. I'd just love to get even closer to you~"

Beelzebub

He definitely needs an explanation, he doesn't keep up with human world trends, only their food.

When you do, he blinks, his cheeks flushing slightly. Though, honestly, you had him at food. He's never had Pocky before. But are you sure asking him, of all people, was a good idea...? He's already tried to eat the whole box of Pocky, box included, twice now.

You have to hold him back from immediately helping himself to the Pocky stick as soon as you take it out of the box and it takes you a lot longer than it should just to get it in your mouth. When you finally do, he eagerly takes up his end, his hands clamping on your arms.

He doesn't even give you a chance to prepare before he starts munching. He definitely sucks at this game, mainly because he's trying harder to eat the Pocky than actually play the game, so you end up dropping it several times, and every time he just picks up the dropped bits and chows down.

When you finally manage to get it somehow, he nearly bites your lips off at first, but he quickly calms down, and it quickly turns into a sweet and tender kiss.

When he pulls away and smiles that smile that makes it hard for you to be mad at him because he looks like a happy puppy.

"That Pocky sure was tasty. And your lips are so soft..."

Belphegor

He needs an explanation too because he stopped keeping up with human world trends after the Fall.... Which was thousands of years before Pocky was even invented.

Once you explain, his cheeks flush a little bit, but he smirks anyway and teases you about it. Cheeky bastard-

He agrees and waits, still smirking, as you put the stick in your mouth. His hands gently meet the sides of your neck as he takes up his end of the stick.

He's actually okay at it, given he's too lazy to go too quickly, and he's relatively steady. Though you do still drop it once or twice because he goes... A little too slow.

When your lips finally meet, his hands slide up from your neck to cup your cheeks as he kisses you rather passionately.

Soon he pulls away and gives you a lazy grin.

"That was pretty fun, MC, but it was a pretty dumb way to get a kiss. You should have just done it."

==

I really loved that idea and that was really fun to write. I definitely wanna do more with the side dateables, but for now, I'm gonna go eat, take a shower, then try to find the case to my earbuds that I lost last night.

[doctor-gyro-gearloose]

Understanding Gyro Gearloose

A fair day in Duckburg, the sun was shining and the air was warm on the face a perfect day for a perfect date, thought the ever so brilliant Fenton Crackshell Cabrera who was meeting up with Huey outside of a small coffee shop.

“Fenton!” Huey says, “You asked me to be here, why?”

“Huey! You and Dr. Gearloose know eachother..” Fenton murmurs not making eye contact with Huey when his face begins to warm.

“I’d say so, is there something wrong?” Huey asked.

“No! Gosh there isnt, I was just...wondering if you’d help me...Please dont tell anyone else, but..I want to surprise Dr. Gearloose with a date.” Fenton explains, stammering as he started to sweat.

“Well, then you have come to the right place, oh boy this is exciting! Where do we get to start?” Huey asked.

“Well, if there’s one thing I have to remember about Dr. Gearloose is that I can’t do anything too dramatic, he stresses out easily.” Fenton explains. “Do...you have any advice?”

“You’ve come to the right place Fenton, I know exactly what you need. Sit down my friend!” Huey says.

Fenton smiles, “Oh thank you Huey, youre the best!”

“Of course Fenton, now the most important thing is it to set the mood, you said that Gyro gets stressed easily, so plan for something small.” Huey explains.

“That’s easy! We can watch a movie in the lab, thats his comfort place.” Fenton says.

“Perfect. No big surprises, just a good movie, and some snacks, you guys could get hungry, every good date has snacks.” Huey said.

“Hm, light snacks, Dr. Gearloose doesn’t eat snacks very often, but i know what he likes so I will provide that.” Fenton says.

“Mood lighting. That’ll be everything for your date, warm colors, make it comfortable. Blankets are a must.” Huey says, getting excited for Fenton.

“Yes! I have plenty of those! I’ll use as many as I can to create the most comfort for Dr. Gearloose..” Fenton says.

“What movie do you think will set the tone?” Huey asks.

“Darkwing Duck! I just know Dr. Gearloose will like it.” Fenton says,

“Great. Now we have all the elements for your perfect date.” Huey says.

Fenton smiles. “This is perfect. All I would have to do is get Dr. Gearloose out of the lab so i can decorate it, Boyd can help! He can fly, oh, it’ll be perfect!” He starts to get excited about his little date.

“I know exactly how to get Dr. Gearloose out of his lab, I’ll act like I’m interested in one of his new inventions, and then Ill suggest we show it to Scrooge, he will leave the lab with me and then you can swoop in, decorate it with Boyd, text me when your done and Ill take Gearloose back, and it’ll be perfect!” Huey says, he smiles happy for Fenton.

“I knew I could trust you Huey, thank you.” Fenton says. “You go get Dr. Gearloose now, Ill need as much time as I can get, I have something I want to show him as well.” Fenton says/

“Huey is on it. I wont let you down Fenton!” Huey says.

“This means so much to me, I hope it works.” Fenton says, only a little nervous now.

“Don’t worry Fenton, Ill make sure it works.” Huey says while the two make their way to Gyros lab, Fenton hangs back so that Gyro doesn’t see him sneak in, there would be no way for him to lie about what he was up to, not to Gyro.

Huey walks up to the lab door, knocking on it awaiting Gyro.

Gyro hears the knock, walking over to the door, he opens it. “Red Nephew?”

“Yes its Huey here! I was interested in knowing more about your inventions!”

A rare smile forms on Gyros face. “I never figured any of you would be so interested in my work!”

“You’re the coolest scientist we know! Of course I am.” Huey says while Gyro lets him in his lab.

Gyro adjusts his glasses while he walks to his workspace ready to start information dumping on Huey.

“Can you tell me more about your cool shrink ray?!” Huey asked looking in awe at Gyro.

“Of course!”Gyro picks up the Gearloose Microphone, “The Gearloose Microphone! The microphone that can make tiny voices loud, and of course shrink you to a microscopic size.” He starts to go on in even more depth, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “You see my work is very well crafted Red Nephew, you are smart for taking such an opportunity to understand my inventions. All of the accusations you’ve heard are wrong, my inventions are never evil just wildly misunderstood.” Gyro speaks while lil bulb peaks from his hat as he says ‘evil’.

Huey didn’t quite expect Gyro to talk so long. They were there for a long time before Gyro finally stopped talking to take a breather, Huey took the opportunity to ask Gyro to take his presentation to the manor.

“Can we go up to the manor? I bet Uncle Scrooge would love to hear about the Gearloose Microphone.” Huey gasp, “everyone would love to see it!”

Gyro looks at Huey; “You really think that?!” He sounded hopeful.

“Of course.” Huey says, he smiles “Lets go!” He takes Gyro by the arm running him out of the lab.

Gyro screams, breaking free as soon as the two left the lab. “Never touch me again.”

“Finally.” Fenton says sneaking into the lab, he was starting to worry that Huey was going to be unable to get him out of the lab.

“Hey! Psst Boyd I need your help.” Fenton calls to him.

“Fenton! What do you need?” Boyd asks.

“I’m planing a date with Dr. Gearloose, i need you to help decorate the lab a little bit.” Fenton explains.

Really?! Ill help decorate!” Boyd happily said.

Fenton and Boyd begin to look for some decorations. He took Hueys advice and decorated with warm colors, making the lab a comfortable place to watch a movie in.

“This is going to be a perfect date.” Fenton says while he strings up some lights over the large window in the lab. He continues to tidy the lap, ensuring it will be looking its best when Gyro comes thru the door. Boyd flies putting up little paper lanterns.

“Wow. The lab looks fantastic!” Fenton smiles, the lab nicely decorated, comfortable for Gyro. “Now to just set out some snacks.” Fenton looks all over the lab for food, Gyro didn’t keep to much at the lab, but Fenton was able to make due with what was there. “Perfect!”

He takes out his phone and Texts Huey that has done all that he had needed to do.

Huey gets the message all the way back at the manor, to his luck Gyro stopped talking as he got it.

“And thats the Gearloose Microphone!” He says with pride, while Huey and Scrooge clap for him.

Gyro looks over to the time, “I should really go back to the lab now.”

“I will take you down!” Huey says, walking to lead the way.

Gyro found it odd Huey suddenly liked him so much, but he was enjoying him, not that he would ever admit that.

The two walked to the lab, Gyro opens the door to Fenton standing by it with a rose.

“Dr. Gearloose.” He smiles, handing to him.

“What is the meaning of all this…” Gyro asked, as Huey just winked, leaving while wishing Fenton good luck.

“Well, Dr. Gearloose, you are always so busy working and all...I planned this, very not date to watch a movie!” Fenton explains.

Gyro looked puzzled for a moment, looking at Fenton and all the lights around the lab, sure looked like a date to him.

“Come on! I set up the movie over here in my laboratory!” Fenton takes Gryos hand walking him over to his tiny bathroom lab. “Here we are.” He opens the door, the two enter the small space. “Sit down! I set us up some blankets.”

Gyro didn’t say anything, he sat down while Fenton started up the movie for them, once he was set up he joined Gyro on the floor.

The lights dim and the movie starts, Gyro was still quite confused about what was going on, and why Fenton would put so much effort into something for him, it wasn’t like he deserved it, least he didn’t think so. He sighs, when Fenton looks over at him, smiling.

Gyro suddenly felt warm inside, in the moment he was glad it was dark, because he was in fact blushing, something that he would not have wanted Fenton to see.

The movie goes on, Gyro found himself getting closer and closer to Fenton the longer that they sat and watched Darkwing Duck, before he knew it, he was wrapping himself around Fenton, resting his head on Fentons shoulder; he hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages, it was a weird feeling for him, but he liked it. Fenton was warm, he was cold, the heat felt nice to him on his body, he almost didn’t want whatever it was he had to end. He in fact, had feelings for Fenton whether he wanted to admit it or not, he sure couldn’t deny it now, he smiles admiring Fenton and the movie.

It ends, the two were still quite quiet, not speaking a word, that was until Fenton spoke.

“Doctor Gearloose I would like to show you something...I have been working on.” Fenton says.

“Are you s—I mean of course, what do you want to show me?” Gyro spoke, he didn’t want to admit that he wanted to just stay on the floor snuggling to Fentons warmth.

Fenton smiles. “Behold! This is Gizmocloud.” He says while turning on his computer. “Here, put this on.” He hands Gyro a VR helmet.

Gyro puts it on his head; as Fenton joins him.

“It’s a virtual reality system I have been working on, heh, It’s still in beta. There’s glitches I dont know how to get rid of.”

Gyro was looking in awe, barely listening to Fenton, “This is...impressive F-er—intern.” He nearly slipped out Fentons name, but he couldn’t let Fenton know he liked him that much.

“You really think so?” Fenton says, while slyly turning on the sunset; setting the mood he thought.

“I do! This is incredible….oh forget it, Fenton.” Gyro smiles at him.

“I-I have a name.” Fenton smiles, he looks into Gyros eyes, taking his hand.

“Ah, well..” Gyro blushes, his feelings for Fenton growing stronger the longer they stood looking at each other.

“I think we have really good chemistry, Doctor Gearloose.” Fenton carefully kisses Gyro on the cheek, Gyro, now possibly overwhelmed by all these soft feelings he’s never felt for Fenton before, starts to tear up.

“You...mean all that..you did this all...for me?” Gyro asked.

“Of course, who else would I be doing anything for Dr. Gearloose, nobody is worth any amount of time or effect, just you are.” Fenton says, while Gyro unexpectedly hugs him tightly, his now very warm face touching Fentons.

“Fenton...thank you..” Gyro says, keeping his tight hold on Fenton.

Fenton smiles, overjoyed he couldn’t have asked this date to go any better than it did, quietly thanking Huey as well for all the help that he had provided making it possible.

Gyro then returns a small sweet to Fentons cheek, “Consider us even now.” He says, while he in reality also wraps around Fenton, kissing him softly.

While soft music begins to play, thanks to Boyd, the two return to reality.

Gyro is quiet again, looking at Fenton fiddling with his own thumbs.

“You ...don’t want this to end do you?” Fenton asked, he was starting to understand Gyros body language a lot more, understanding what he wanted without actually outright saying it.

Gyro shook his head, making Fentons statement true, he didn’t want it to end, not ever, he wraps himself around Fenton, causing the two of them to fall to the floor.

Fenton smiles, his date a larger success than he could have ever asked for.

The two of them laid snuggling for a long while until Fenton had fallen asleep, Gyro still wrapped around him admiring him, he couldn’t believe Fenton went thru all of that, just to have a simple little date with him. He didn’t realize how often he was pushing Fenton away until this point. Part of him felt guilty, but also lucky that Fenton had never once given up on him. He was greatful for him, truly he loved Fenton, he just never knew how to say it, until Fenton showed him how, just now. Gyro smiles, for once as he falls asleep wrapped around Fenton, where he could stay, forever.

[mystyrust]

Fracture - Ectober 2020

Day 2 Prompt: Bones / Pulse  

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203635

Word Count:  2387

Tags: Past torture, identity reveal

There were many ways Maddie liked to spend her weekend. When her kids were younger, she and Jack would take them out to museums or parks – a family outing. Now that her kids are in high school and have a lot of homework, they don’t go out every weekend anymore. In fact, it feels like they haven’t had time to bond as a family in months. Jazz is always in the library and Danny is always with his friends – sometimes even sleeping over – or catching up on missed homework. Maddie could never figure out why Danny had a backlog of homework to catch up on, yet always had time to hang out with Sam and Tucker.

Now, with her kids spending all their free time by themselves, Maddie liked to spend her free time in her lab, creating and improving her inventions to catch the elusive ghost Phantom. It had been around the time that Phantom appeared that Danny and Jazz became more distant – while both her children were in support of the ghost vigilante, Maddie and Jack were against it, devoting their free time into solving the mystery of what made Phantom different from every other ghost that haunted Amity Park. They wanted to catch it, run experiments with it, and dissect it.

So this weekend was like any other – Maddie was huddled in her lab with Jack, working out the schematics of a new invention – when their Fenton Ghost Detector beeped; a strong ecto-signature was detected inside the Fenton household. This was normal if the ghost came out of the Fenton portal – this signature came from… the living room. Maddie and Jack ran up to find Phantom having stumbled through the front door, leaking ectoplasm behind it.

“What do you think you’re doing here, spook?!” Jack raised his ecto gun at the intruder, his large frame standing in between Maddie and the ghost. But Phantom was in no shape to fight.

“I… I need help,” The ghost managed to gasp out. Maddie paused in confusion. The ghost had tears streaming down its face, heavy breathing, and ectoplasm leaking down one limp arm. It’s mimicking of human physiology was fascinating. And to come to ghost hunters for help? Either this was a trap, or it wasn’t thinking straight.

“The..guys in…white… barely got away from them,” Phantom continued to explain. Maddie noticed him sway where he stood. And that was the weird part – he stood. Not floated. And he had legs, instead of a spectral tail.

“Please, before they… finish me… like they did…”

Jack lowered his ecto gun ever so slightly – not lowering his guard, but still confused about what to do. It was odd, seeing the always confident Phantom reduced to pleading and begging its former enemies. Something in his psyche was so shattered from his experience with the GIW…

Maddie didn’t know what to make of that, but she couldn’t waste a perfectly good opportunity when it knocked phased right through her front door.

“Let’s… let’s stabilize him for now,” Maddie said, lowering Jack’s aim. “Then we can ask him what happened. And decide what to do after that,”

Jack nodded in agreement. He gingerly placed his ectogun down, approaching Phantom with both is hands up and in front.

“We’ll help you, spook,” Jack spoke loud and purposefully. “But we’ll need to take you down to the lab to do that,” Phantom nodded slightly, and Jack took that as permission to walk up to the ghost. Phantom was… he wasn’t heavy but Jack wasn’t expecting the ghost to be as solid and corporeal as he was. He lifted the ghost in his arms, and followed Maddie down to the basement.

The ghost offered little resistance, but he was breathing heavily, and leaking a concerning amount of ectoplasm from his limp arm and one of his legs. It must be difficult to keep up the charade of struggling to breathe, when he’s lost as much ectoplasm as he has, Maddie thinks.

They place him on an examination table, with Maddie grabbing a scanner and running it over his damaged arm.

“Jack…” Her voice shuddered, “His arm is… it’s fractured.”

“What? That makes no sense, he doesn’t even have…bones…” but the scanner showed Jack exactly that.

There were a million and one questions that ghosted Maddie’s lips: How did you get bones? Do other ghosts also have bones? Where do the bones in your body go when you form a spectral tail? Are your bones made of calcium, just like human bodies? But the words that left her mouth were:

“You have bones?”

All her years of academic study, her dual MD/PhD, wasted on a Captain Obvious™ moment.

“Yeah, no duh,” Phantom cracked an eye open, while the rest of his face continued to grimace. “And it hurts…like hell…” There was that snarky teenaged attitude the Fentons were so familiar with.

“How do we even treat this?” Jack asked. One of Phantom’s legs was badly muddled – peeling the suit back revealed deep and numerous gashes. He was losing ounces of ectoplasm a second, and if these injuries were on a human, he’d need blood transfusion and stitches.

“Well, we can supplement ectoplasm to help his healing factor. And then…” Maddie gulped. “Stitch the leg. And set the arm.”

Maddie went to the back of the lab, returning with a set of tools. Scalpels, needles, and bandages. The glint of the metal must have caught Phantom’s eyes – how was he still conscious? A human with this much blood loss would not be awake right now – and the ghost started hyperventilating.

“What are you –? No, please! Please don’t! I wasn’t – !”

“Phantom! We’re helping you!” Jack yelled back. Phantom stared at Jack, eyes fogging over and breathing uneven.

“I’m sorry I never…I should have told you sooner,” Phantom cried. It was an ugly cry, from a body and heart in pain. Maddie didn’t know what else to call it. What kind of guilt could be eating Phantom alive, from the inside?

“I can’t –” Phantom grunted. “I can’t change back! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I should have –”

“How about we help you first, then you tell us what you should have told us when your arm and leg are better?”

Phantom, still sniffling, nodded silently.

Maddie set to work with putting stitches on his leg, while Jack hooked an IV of purified ectoplasm. She looped phase proof thread – from Jack’s Fenton Fishing Pole – onto a surgical needle, and set to work, closing one of the many wounds. Since the wound was deep, Maddie needed to stitch the inner layers first, before sewing the outer layers shut. She was marveled at the level of detail in this ghosts’ body – maybe she could ask him about that when he was healed up.

It was strange that only one leg was injured, while the other leg looked fine. It was stranger how Phantom’s breathing and crying hitched every time her needle pierced his flesh.

“Phantom, can you –? Can you feel the needle as I –?”

“Mhmm,” Phantom managed to grunt, tears freely flowing from his eyes. “Please hurry, Mom.”

Maddie froze in her tracks. Why did he even –? Okay calm down.

He can feel pain. He can display emotion. He can appear delusional with loss of bodily fluids. And in that delusion, he seeks a parental figure.

He has the psyche of a child, her rational mind concludes. So she’ll play that part.

“Almost,…Almost done, sweetie.” Maddie responds hesitantly. “You’re doing great.”

As for the feeling pain part, she isn’t how drugs can affect a ghost – and she can’t take a chance that Phantom will react badly to some experimental medication they use on him. She can only hope that he passes out at some point, and doesn’t feel any pain for the remainder of the procedure. From watching previous footage of his battles in chronological order, Maddie had concluded that Phantom has a fast healing factor. She can only hope that healing factor is still fast. He’ll be fine.

Funny how in the course of an hour, she stopped thinking of Phantom from an “it” and started to think of Phantom as a “he”

It took thirty more minutes of verbal coaxing and soothing for Maddie to finish stitching Phantom’s leg. He promptly passed out when that was done. While Phantom was asleep, Jack finished bandaging the arm, adding a splint to keep it straight.

Finally, with ghostly patient asleep and treated, Maddie and Jack sat down, exhausted.

“Well, I never thought – ” Jack paused, unsure how to word it. They learned more about Phantom’s physiology today than ever before, and he broke every known convention about ghosts that they’d researched thus far. Not to mention a ghost turning to a ghost hunter for help.

“I want to take a sample of his ectoplasm while we can,” Maddie said. “But he might not have enough to spare. And I have a feeling that we’ll get more questions than answers under the microscope, too.”

“You’re right,” Jack agreed. “I wonder what he went through, for him to be as injured as he was and decide to come to us, of all people. Heh, Danny and Jazz would freak.”

“Well, Danny’s sleeping over at Sam’s again, and Jazz was tutoring someone else this weekend.” Maddie mused. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Phantom stayed here for a few days without them even knowing.” It hurt her to know how detached her children had become from her, and it hurt her to know that her assessment of the situation was objectively correct – Jazz and Danny were rarely home.

“Well, he mentioned the guys in white,” Jack said. “If they are the ones who did this to him, and we protect him from those guys, we can earn his trust. And then maybe he’ll let his guard down enough for us to …at least solve the mystery of what he is.”

The two scientists stare at the sleeping form of Phantom, noticing how even in a seemingly unconscious state, his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“With his consent, I suppose,” Jack added.

_

A few hours later, in the middle of dinner, Maddie and Jack are interrupted to rude knocking from their front door.

“Ugh, not another door to door salesman,” Jack grunted. Answering the door revealed that their rude guests were none other than

“GIW,” an agent dressed in white answered, holding up an identification badge. There were two agents, both equipped with ecto guns and headphones, Maddie noted.

“Yes, we can see that,” Jack responded, keeping the shock out of his face. “If you wanted to come over for dinner, you should have called earlier. We don’t have leftovers.”

“We came to inform you that Phantom has escaped our captivity,”

“We didn’t even know you had Phantom in captivity,” Jack raised his brows in surprise.

“Just a few hours of questioning. We underestimated his abilities, and his allies.” The agent continued. “We’ll need extra weapons, the latest of whatever you’ve developed.”

“Well, we don’t have anything, since we gave you everything we made last time,” Maddie interjected. “So we don’t have anything complete yet. And besides, wouldn’t it have been faster for you to send an email or announcement that Phantom escaped? You must have lost a lot of time driving around to come tell us in person.”

“You never know who could be listening.”

“And besides,” the agent in the back added, “There was a chase. We don’t know where he disappeared to, but we suspect he stopped by here.”

“And why do you think he stopped by here?” Jack was very good at keeping the caution out of his voice, Maddie noted. If it were her, their cover would have probably been blown by now.

“Isn’t it weird for a ghost to hide out at a ghost hunter’s house?”

“True, but the same ghost uses technology he stole from a ghost hunter, and he can go into the ghost zone from the portal in your basement,” This was nothing new to Maddie. In fact, it annoyed her that Phantom used Fenton tech, because it meant he somehow evaded ghost detectors in their home to acquire it, or it was handed to him directly by Danny or Jazz. That last one hurt the most; she couldn’t bear the thought of her children going behind her back to support someone who was the very antithesis of everything they stood for.

Or, someone who used to be that. Maddie isn’t sure how she feels about Phantom now, but at the very least, she doesn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“Well, we’ve been home all day, and our equipment didn’t detect anything. But if we find anything new, we’ll call.” Jack told the two agents.

“Alright, stay on alert!” The first agent said, before leaving. Jack closed the front door, and the two waited until they saw the agents sit in their vehicle and drive off, before moving from their spot. Thank goodness they didn’t come inside or into the lab; the lab’s high ectoplasmic content could somewhat mask Phantom’s signature, and could be explained as a false positive on ghost detecting radars, but they wouldn’t be able to hide an unconscious ghost – an unconscious ghost! How wild is that?! – if the agents wound up downstairs.

Maddie breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s been a few hours, let’s check on him”

Maddie and Jack headed downstairs to their lab. Just as they had left him, Phantom was sleeping on the examination table, hooked to an IV of ectoplasm. The fracture on his arm looked like it would heal completely – the naturally cool body temperature of the ghost helped, along with his quick healing factor. His leg looked significantly better, though Maddie wasn’t sure if the stitches would leave behind scars.

Maddie pulled a notebook from the work table, adding and updating her notes with everything they’d learned about Phantom today.

“Can ghosts get scars?” Maddie mused out loud. “Or is it unique to him?”

“I dunno, I guess we’ll have to ask –”

Their conversation is interrupted by a groan – Phantom was waking up – followed by a flash of bright white light. The Fentons covered their eyes, and when the light died down, they’re met with even more questions than answers.

“Danny?!”

[moviesrotbrains]

FREAKY slashes up a piece of that horror-comedy pie

Hey, let’s remake FREAKY FRIDAY, but this time it’s about a middle-aged serial killer who swaps places with a 17-year-old girl. That simple yet ridiculous premise is the main plot behind a surprisingly perfect, and fantastically gory, horror-comedy.

FREAKY is one of those movies that could have failed hard. It’s a brilliant idea that could have fallen apart in the wrong hands. Many films have tried to balance genres and get lost along the way. FREAKY is NOT one of those fails. It’s one of those films that had me rooting for it from the first 5 minutes and still had me pleasantly surprised throughout. In addition to being a great body-swap flick, it’s also an engaging horror flick. It’s like someone shoved your favourite FRIDAY THE 13TH scenes in a blender with MEAN GIRLS. It shouldn’t work… but it does. It’s an ode to 80s slashers, but it’s also an ode to high school-centred comedies? And it does all this while keeping hardcore horror fans pleased by giving it a hard R rating?!? And it’s actually really funny?!?

When they first announced this film, I was expecting a fun PG-13 flick in the vein of HAPPY DEATH DAY, and I was okay with that. I really liked HAPPY DEATH DAY (as with FREAKY, also directed by Christopher Landon). HAPPY DEATH DAY, was a smart spin on GROUNDHOG’S DAY that it did a lot of cool things while also being able to do so with a PG-13. It wasn’t trying to be MANIAC, nor did I ever expect it to. I’m an annoying purist, but I’m ok with light pop-corn horror if done right, and that film did it right. 

So with that in mind, I was utterly blown away by the very, very R-RATED kills in the opening 10 minutes. It was a brutal onslaught of gore. It was Landon’s way of saying, “Relax, horror bros, I got you.” It was like a Greatest Hits from decades ago but with a fresh spin on it. Slashers got a little lazy in the last few years, and this film just let it all hang out in that opening scene. It was ballsy as all hell, and I was totally on board. And luckily it didn’t just stop there.

This one has all the tropes of classic stabby fright flicks. Huge emotionless killer? Check. Ominous mask? Check. St upid teenagers getting in trouble? Check. Inventive kills that make you cackle “Holy Shit”? Check. Twists and turns? Check. A growing body count? Check. Final girl? Check. And let’s throw in an occult artifact in the mix that swaps that final girl with that emotionless killer and that’s where you get something new and different!

And if you’re coming into this one from a comedy perspective, this one has all the tropes of classic high school movie. Insecure lead going through an awkward time? Check. Supportive comic relief friends? Check. Parents that just don’t understand? Check. Villainous teachers? Check. Mean girls? Check. Huge awkward misunderstandings? Check. And let’s throw in an occult artifact in the mix that causes said misunderstandings and that’s where you get something new and different!  

That new and different wouldn’t be what it is without the standout performance from the two leads, Vince Vaughn & Kaythryn Newton. Vaughn is the aforementioned creepy masked killer. He’s wonderfully cast here as a towering, silent brute. Vaughn of course might be known for his comedic work, but he’s actually got an impressive range that’s very rarely utilized (see BRAWL AT CELLBLOCK 99 for more details). Here he excels as the Butcher. Effective, brutal, and cold. He’s been on a killing spree lately, which we see a bit of at the beginning, and he’s definitely looking to kill some more. And it looks like he found a spooky looking occult dagger

Newton, known to genre fans from her recurring role in SUPERNATURAL, is very likeable as the main lead, Millie. Having recently suffered from the loss of her father, Millie is currently dealing with the ongoing depression that the loss put on her mother, as well as her own struggles to return to normality. Can she survive a day at school from the usual trials, tribulations, bullies, and high school crushes, let alone a serial killer lurking nearby?

And thus their two paths meet in the most unexpected (or very expected) of ways. We soon witness a thrilling chase, very reminiscent of the best Michael Myers and Jason hunts-- in fact this whole chase actually takes place on the eve before Friday the 13th, a very knowing wink to the genre that birthed this film. And soon the Butcher, with Millie in his grips, claims his latest victim… only he doesn’t… darn those occult daggers!

And that’s when the two leads really showcase their acting chops. Vaughn is now a frazzled high school student, and Newton is the silent and sinister stalker. Both take on their new roles excellently and they both embody (heh) them flawlessly. Vaughn is awkward and fragile and Newton is menacingly fierce as fuck. Newton utterly transforms into someone else and her performance is a total triumph. Vaughn is adorable. 

Seeing them both re-interact/meet with their friends (and foes) in their new forms is endless fun. You see Vaughn run like a girl and Newton go on a homicidal spree. You see Vaughn give off his best flirty eye and Newton’s best glare of doom. They both seamlessly fill their new roles.

But it’s not quite the seamless exchange for Millie and the Butcher. Millie clumsily gets used to their bigger and stronger frame… and the Butcher realizes they are not as strong as they once were. A lot of what works about this ride is seeing how they both adapt to their new struggles and use it to their advantage. The Butcher has a new mask, and Millie soon finds confidence in herself in her new self. 

The supporting cast is used with great effect, too. They all get us to where we need to be. Everyone serves a purpose. From the mom, to older sister/cop, to the comic relief, to the love interest, and classmates of varying degrees of douchebagginess. Everyone is either likeable or unlikeable as they should be. There’s even a nice nod to previous academic farces with a cameo from FERRIS BUELLER’S Alan Ruck as an asshole shop teacher. 

Director Christopher Landon is really slicing out a nice niche of off-kilter spins in the horror genre, and it’s reassuring that he knows what he’s doing. It truly is a well-crafted film. Not just as a horror film, but also from a technical standpoint. The pacing is dead perfect, every joke hits, the story beats and setups are well orchestrated, and not a moment is wasted. It’s tense when it needs to be tense, gory when it needs to be gory, and legit laugh out loud moments when it needs to have those LOL moments.

It’s such a great spin to the body-swap comedy genre, a genre that feels like there’s an endless amount where they all sort of felt very “samey”; especially in the 80s, where at one point three different body-swaps came out within 2 years of each other! This one takes the better elements of those, relishes in them, carves new ground, and adds a bit of Tom Hanks’ BIG in for good measure.

 But homage to a decade old cinematic fad aside, at no point does it ever stop delivering on the humour and slasher content. It’s tight, daring, and keeps you enthralled throughout. Whether you’re a horror junkie, or into well-written oddball comedies, or even into clever thrillers, the end result has you covered.

There’s a great message in there too, as the film tackles school killings, social media, pc culture, and the general malaise many of us experience after the loss of a loved one. It’s about grief and acceptance and moving on… yet it’s very light-hearted. And you still get ample buckets of blood and splatter.

Yes, fans, there’s so many gruesome and cool looking on screen deaths your morbid heart’s desire. Amazing uses of wine bottles, tennis rackets, chainsaws, and industrial equipment. A creepy serial killer flophouse complete with creepy mannequins and various implements of torture. Possibly a severed head in a bloody toilet? Yeah, this film has that too.

You can currently rent this one on various VOD services. Hopefully this one hits the majority of streaming services soon, since it had the misfortune of opening late last year during the pandemic. It definitely needs a wider audience because it’s another one of those instant classics. It’s easily my favourite current horror-comedy, and I’m looking forward to more from Christopher Landon. A film that’s both goofy and gory with just enough twists to keep your attention and please jaded genre fans? That’s freaky.

[blueweirdness]

Another piece of evidence toward the Evil Morty = Rick’s Original Morty theory is the dome of tortured Morties in Close Rickcounters of the Rick Kind. Rick mentions that he actually came up with the same idea, “On paper.” Meaning that he actually wrote up some blueprints for it. To me, this implies that either Rick wrote it down and just left it lying around for any villain to find, or Evil Morty was with him when he made it.

Also, I’ve been wondering for a while, how do you guys think that mind control on Evil Rick worked? I mean, do you think it was more of a vague, subconscious control, or do you think he was just an unconscious puppet? I only ask because I wonder how much he said was purely Evil Morty’s words. ‘Cause I found their interactions interesting, and not just the whole, “I think we both know that if there’s any truth in the universe, it’s that Rick’s don’t care about Morties,” thing.

I’m talking about:

“Wow, look at you C-137! Aren’t you a tough customer?” “The slow clap? Really? Kind of played-out, dude.” “Not on this planet, it isn’t. In fact, heh, I just invented it! Nobody else here has done it before” “Well, la-dee-da.” “Hey, that’s mine!”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” “Yeah, it’s like payday at Neverland Ranch in here. That guy got it.” “Ah-ah-ah, Rick. Quiet. You’re missing out on my symphony.”

“You’re not as clever as you think, I wanted you to find me.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

Sounds like he’s trying to... impress Rick? Like, he’s very, “Please come to my dance recital, Mom and Dad. I worked really hard on it.” Or,  “See, Mom and Dad? I don’t need you. I won the science fair with my paper volcano all by myself.”

But also:

“He’s not laughing at your dumb jokes, Rick. That’s just a random noise it makes every ten seconds.” “Aw.”

Sounds personal to me. Sure, he talks like a regular, sulking Rick, but with the knowledge that it’s Evil Morty talking, it sounds like an agitated, insecure teenager arguing with somebody close to them. More specifically, somebody with whom they have a complicated relationship. Especially in the first examples. I mean, why even care what he thinks if he’s about to kill Rick anyways? Even the last example sounds like a teen trying to get a family member to stop making dad jokes. Less insecure, sure, but no less personal.

It’s an interesting thought, since Evil Morty is famous for his confidence in spite of being a Morty. It’s funny to think that maybe our Rick could be the one thing to get him to break composure.

Makes me think that when our Rick and Morty finally see him again, he might try to go over the top in his big reveal or something.

[mittensmorgul]

Did Chuck only recently make it so that a soul that's been to hell can't go to heaven, or is that how it's always been and he made an exception for John and Bobby?

We just don’t know. Isn’t that incredible?

The show has been doing this repeatedly since 14.20, pushing us to question what’s real and what’s Chuck’s whim now.

Just like we saw Jack’s ��STOP LYING!” and then everyone stopped lying, I think we’re supposed to recognize this as the sort of thing Chuck has done on a lot of levels of the story, for years. And oftentimes, his explanations for things sound really contrived, you know? They literally lampshaded that fact in 15.02:

Dean: Kevin's not even supposed to be in Hell, okay, so when this is all over, we're gonna send him up in Heaven where he belongs.Belphegor: Yeah, yeah, not gonna happen. Souls cast down to Hell? That's the end of it. Heaven can't take 'em.Sam: That's not true. Our dad made it to Heaven after he was in Hell.Dean: And Bobby Singer.Belphegor: So God made an exception. Didn't He used to like you two? Just saying. Without the big guy... them's the rules.

DIDN’T HE USED TO LIKE YOU TWO?

He did this back at the end of s11, a lot... changed the rules to suit his narrative. Basically everything having to do with him and Amara-- “she’s blocking me,” when we actively saw her searching for him and being unable to find him; telling Dean he should’ve killed her when he had the chance, and then admitting she can’t be killed; telling them he’s been “hands off” forever and then proving everything was his doing... I mean... he’s not a reliable narrator. :’D

Creating the Equalizer gun was pretty much the ultimate example of this-- a weapon that shoots plot devices.

So... I think the real question isn’t whether or not he made up that rule on the spot and it became reality, but what these bits of information tell us about Chuck and his motives and his story overall, you know? 

All of this, I believe, is designed to put us into Dean’s headspace here regarding Chuck, and Dean’s own feelings about the entire world basically being a game rigged against him. We-the-audience are supposed to share Dean’s uncertainty, his total emotional unbalancing at the revelation that Chuck has been so specifically meddling in their lives from the very start. And all these little reminders of how... plastic Chuck’s reality is.

heh, this reminds me of long meta I wrote earlier in the season, right after 15.04: https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/188943278490/plastic-fantastic

The very next episode gave us a plastic, and yet entirely self-aware of the fact, plot device in Lilith, as Sam and Dean began to realize just how much Chuck might still be meddling in their lives. And then we saw a series of what appear to be “wins” with Eileen’s return, but the episode is bookended by questioning whether or not any of it is actually part of Chuck’s story.

Dean’s expressing his doubts out loud, pretty consistently, but Sam... he keeps stating his feelings on the matter while Jared’s acting is showing us that Sam is gradually growing more uncertain. Since 15.08 left us with Sam having been directly lured into Chuck’s presence (a blatant manipulation by Chuck! Was Sue ever real at all in this episode, or was it always Chuck pretending to be her?). On the other side of things, we have Dean and Cas being told they need to return to Purgatory for a “Leviathan Blossom,” which is something we’ve never heard of before, after *we* have seen Chuck repeatedly reference Purgatory over the season so far. Benny was in one of Sam’s visions sent by Chuck, he specifically referenced the Leviathans when trying to get Becky to agree with him that people like the monsters in his stories, and in 14.20, the Leviathans were the FIRST thing he referenced when telling TFW just how “hands off” he’s been by basically saying it was THEIR idea to create all these terrible scenarios, and not HIS idea and actions entirely. 

Chuck: Listen, you guys know me. I'm hands-off. I built the sandbox -- you play in it. You want to fight Leviathans? Cool. You got that. You want to go up against -- what was it? -- the "British Men of Letters"? Okay. Little weak, but okay. But when things get really bad, like the Apocalypse or the Other Apocalypse, that's when I have to step in.

Chuck may have built the sandbox, but he keeps throwing garbage into it while everyone else is just trying to have a bit of a toes in the sand time, you know? And he consistently invents stuff to both throw into the box AND explain it away and deflect culpability from himself.

And the entire point of the season is sifting through the sand to find the truth.

[deltastorm101]

G-Force: A review of one of my childhood games

Wow. To be honest, I wouldn’t have thought this review would ever see the light of day - I always said that I couldn’t write it, not for this game, because I know it way too well, am too biased and too emotionally attached to it. It was hard but here we are!

Time for game 👏 review 👏!

Warning: Spoilers. You know the tea, I won’t straight-up tell you everything from start to finish but it’s nice to have played it yourself (it’s on Steam!). Or go watch a let’s play or two. Or look at screenshots.

There is a major spoiler at the end but there will be an extra warning beforehand.

How do I even start this? I love this game to death and beyond. I basically grew up with it, it was one of the two games my childhood gaming life consisted of (the other one being Bolt - you know, the superpower dog), so there is no way this will be objectively or neutrally written. (As if anything else I wrote is xD)

And: it still runs, surprisingly! Admittedly, I did have some problems with the CD version when I updated to Windows 10 some years ago but the Steam version runs like a freshly refuelled Ferrari.

So, some context, in case you have not played it or watched any gameplay clips: In this game, which came out 2009 based on the movie with the same name, you play as Darwin, who’s an armed guinea pig, and you fight against household appliances, who have come to life and sure know how to defend themselves. The special force you fight amongst is approved and commissioned by the government, yet you cannot be seen by the humans/security personnel patrolling the place(s). It’s your goal to stop the appliances from forming a gigantic entity threatening to destroy mankind and the world it populates, together with four other rodents you’ll mostly hear over radio and only occasionally see and/or interact with. You with me? Good. Then let’s start.

The attention to detail is one of the most important things why I think this game has such a distinct and unique style, which becomes clear in, for example, the amount of hidden off-track routes. It’s not open world or anything, but you’re pretty often offered an alternative way to finish a task, and not just for something like a collectible. I called this “diversity in linearity”. One way in, one way out, but a whole lot to explore in between – more than in other games which are similar in style. I also love how the game makes the player trace back to something familiar, for example having the entry area as the finishing area, and making it interesting by hiding a mechanic there you can only uncover and use as soon as you’ve acquired it between areas and then return.

The level design in general is a big plus - the levels are inventive and colourful and just so nicely made. You can see and feel the love and heart that was poured into the futuristic and cool looking environments, floors, rooms and grounds, and the enormous variety of the different appliances’ attacks you have to fight against and adjust to is amazing.

The amount of hidden collectibles you can get is refreshing. There are SaberSense chips (the currency), there are silver data discs (the weapon upgrades). And that’s it.

There are also golden discs to get new weapons but you kind of get them automatically as the story progresses, so I excluded them here.

Regarding the fact that such an awful lot of games these days seem to need SO many unrewarding and useless collectible items, it feels so good to have an upgrade system actually worth and worthwhile to use and take advantage of. You find upgrades which are hidden in the world. You buy them with currency at vending kiosks. Period. We need to let older games teach us how to do it, apparently.

Very clear audio- and visual clues and cues always help you find your way through puzzles, which does make it less challenging as soon as you figured out what to look out for, but it also makes it more fun in a way. Not everything has to be a challenge, and if you’re playing this game while being older than 13 you are most likely just in it for exactly this - the fun. Of course, this game is intended for younger players like I was when I first played it, which might be one of the reasons it’s so colourful and always wants to really make sure you get the controls and master them well before it throws some more difficult stuff at you. There’s a ‘weapon’ solely for the purpose of scanning enemies and the environment to find out weak points and gather information, so even if you were to leave and then come back to the game, there’s a high chance of immediately finding your way back into it, even if you forgot some stuff.

On the subject of weapons, simple remark: I like the equipment and its system. There are eight weapons in total, five of them for pure shooting combat, which you acquire as the game progresses. You can choose from them in three slots and change them at any time. Melee attacks are done via some kind of electro-shocking whip, which can also be used to open boxes. Agility is achieved by a backpack-sized jetpack, allowing you to reach high ledges, bridge over pits and traps or run faster right from the beginning of the game.

Cool system, easy to understand and explainable in four sentences. And my god, are the guns nicely designed.

The game reusing audio clips (music, not dialogue) makes a nice touch too - one could argue “why didn’t the devs compose enough for every level yaddayadda” but I feel like recognizing certain songs makes you feel like... returning home or seeing an old friend or something. (Oh wow, why so poetic today? This is a review, get it together.)

So, about combat and enemy difficulty: these days, being older and really knowing this game’s ins and outs pretty well by now, none of the enemies is a real challenge anymore. Though when I first played it, I remember being SO UNRATIONALLY AFRAID of that CD player when I first battled it and discovered that it was... a real pain in the ass. xD Whenever I encountered it later in the game I rAN AWAY like mad and placed myself somewhere high where I was safe and could observe everything, to finish it off safely and without suffering heart attacks. (Yes, I might have been a little too young for it, but what can I say... if I liked something, I got into it. Really into it. Heh.)

Same goes for soda coolers, by the way. And paper shredders, if I can’t destroy them. And water coolers. And torches. They can all go f-

Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’ll become a major soon. Uh. Moving on...

Okaaay, let’s list some “negative” points too, I guess, to not have it be a completely unobjective essay of praise...

Of course, the game being from 2009, the graphics and audio quality can’t be the best anymore, but that’s just called progress. You get used to it after some time – however, the audio frequency of the characters speaking over radio always has and always will grate on my ears... which might be because I’m used to clear and crisp sounding audio in newer games nowadays, which, again, can’t be compared to this game anymore and should be treated as technological progress, just like the graphics.

(Major spoiler warning here. Read on at your own risk.)

The very last level/chapter falls kind of flat. Mooch (the fly that’s able to get Darwin through locked doors and stuff) is a nice mechanic, and sometimes crucial to important story elements, but he’s a side character, and finishing the game with him leading an entire level has felt weird then and still feels weird today.

I need to mention the differences to the movie. Which isn’t a positive aspect nor a negative one - the game is an action game, while the movie combines action with comedy. The movie wouldn’t work as the game and the game wouldn’t work as the movie, simple as that. The fact that Ben takes up such a different role plays into that as well. In the game he just acted as the (human) background big boss who told everyone what to do, while he was a much more developed character in the movie. Which is fine now that I think about it - he wouldn’t have fitted as well into the game’s plot and storyline anyway. Same with the role of a different character I won’t name here because I consider it too big of a spoiler :P

The story in general could be described as... nice. But as I said, narrative or character development isn’t the focus of the game and therefore not its strongest suit.

So. G-Force.

I loved it then and I still love it to this day. This “review” is my homage to a game that is very near and dear to my heart... I hope I could do it justice.

[specialmindz]

CICK, CICK!

Papyrus’s tiny hand tapped against the sides of his brother’s eye socket as he struggled to grab the small glowing light within. He had been at it since the beginning of their walk towards the multiple power restoration stations, seemingly unaware or unable to comprehend how futile his goal was.

CICK CICK CICK!

“lemme know when you’re done, bro,” sighed Sans, slightly annoyed. He wasn’t at all happy about their little trip, and the tapping was starting to get to him. It was bad enough that he had to replace the drained magic crystals, but the fact that Gaster had ordered him to bring Papyrus along made it worse.

The scientist had noticed that the baby bones crib was still covered in ectoplasm, but unfortunately it was too late to do anything about it. The orange slime had long since hardened and was now impossible to remove, meaning he would have to get a new crib altogether. After lecturing Sans about his “excessive laziness” Gaster decided to punish him by giving the comedian his least favorite job. Apparently he was under the impression that it was SANS’ job to clean up after Papyrus, and not his.  

It’s not fair. It’s not MY job to get ectoplasm off of PAPYRUS’S crib! He’s not MY son!  

“Nyeh heh heh! You gots some big ol’ glow eyes, Snas! Where’d you get those glow eyes? Baby would like some glow eyes...”

Sans ignored his brother and continued onward through the annoyingly long hallways. It would have been nice if the power stations were closer together, but the volcanic activity in Hotland made underground construction dangerous.  

CICK CICK CICK!

“please stop.”  

WHY would they dig into a volcano to begin with? I mean, who had that FUCKING idea?

“we’ve a second story with ZERO rooms...”

“Nyeh?” Papyrus looked down at him in confusion. “You got some glow eyes in a book?” 

“wh-no. i was thinking about something else,” sighed Sans wearily.

The baby bones scratched his tiny skull as he tried to figure out his older brother’s riddle. What book could Sans have been murmuring about? 

The only book Papyrus knew of that could hide things was Peek-a-Boo With Fluffy Bunny, but Sans had always stayed clear of THAT particular piece of literature...

“A book with no rooms...”   

“hey pap, didja’ hear what i said? i said there IS no book. second story means second floor. i’m talking about the lab.”

“The glowies on the second floor?”

“no-”

“They on the second floor in a book?”

“NO.”

CICK CICK!

*sigh*

“I can’t reach da’ glowies, Snas. Help da’ baby.”

“no.”

“Why not?! You gots two and I don’t gots any! You greedy as hell, big Buther!”

Sans took one of the colored orbs filled with magic crystals and replaced the drained one, starting the second generator in the process.

Two down, two more to go...  

“You’s SUPPOSED to teach about sharing, Snas. I’s impesshinable, ya’ know? I gots to learn to share or I’s gonna be a Scroog duck. Ya’ know dat duck wit the gold swim pool? 

“i know who you’re talking about.” 

“He gots a cane and a big ol’ hat, but no pants.”

“okay?”

“You know why he don’t have pants, Snas?”

“...”

“You know why?”

“...”

“You know why?”

“...”

“You know why, big Buther?”

Oh my god.

“WHY bro,” asked Sans, struggling to keep his temper. “WHY doesn’t he have pants?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“hello-”

“I don’t know why, big Buther.”

Are you freaking kidding me with this?

“you’re driving me nuts, pap.”

“Well I’s sorry bout’ your nuts, but I thinks mah footure be more important.”

“keep bothering me and you’re not gonna HAVE a future,” warned Sans, putting in another orb.

Three down...

“You bedder be nice to me, stink buther! I’s the one watching over you down here...also dis where I’s gonna put some of the sparklies when I gets em’. Is dark as hell!”

“’sparklies?’ oh right, the stars.”

“Yep! Some gonna go in yo’ room and some gonna be down here. Imma make dis room as bright as your smile! Nyeh heh heh!”

“uh...”

“Dis the part where you say, ‘Awww! Such a nice widdle baby...”

“sorry bro, the only word flashing through my mind right now is gay-”  

“YOU GAY!”

Sans chuckled as the baby bones frowned down at him from his shoulders. To anyone else, he would have looked like a jerk teasing an infant, but he was more than used to Papyrus’s manipulation tactics.

It kinda scares me actually...makes me wonder what he’ll be like when he grows up. He’s obviously going to get smarter...

Maybe this is just a baby bones thing...? 

I think the FontSearch said something about them using manipulation as a means of self-defense...about them purposely trying to be as cute as possible so people will protect rather than attack them.   

CICK CICK CICK! 

The kid comedian looked around in confusion for a few seconds before letting out another annoyed sigh, his brother having pulled him from his thoughts. 

Wrong turn...

CICK, CICK! 

“why don’t you go watch a movie Papyrus? we found lots of barney videos at the dump yesterday-”

“Because the power’s out stink head. Also they thow those away for a reason, Snas. They suck.”

“you suck.”

“YOU SUCK!”

“You both suck.” The boys both jumped in surprise at the sound of Gaster’s voice behind them. “I asked you to restore the power fifteen minutes ago, Sans. WHY is the lab still dim?”

“because you’re still standing in it, genius.”

“NYEH HEH HA HA HA!”

“Excuse me?!” 

“i said i’m working on it-”

“I’m fairly sure that isn’t what you said and I’m getting more than a little tired of your sass, Sans.”

“Go way, douche da-”

“And YOU shut your thumb-sucking mouth!” snapped the scientist. “It’s YOUR fault the power ran out so quickly! Have you the slightest inkling how few crystals we have left?”

“We gots...dis many,” replied the baby, smiling straight ahead. 

“...You didn’t raise any fingers.”

“Dat’s how many we got.”

“*Sigh*”

I can’t deal with this...

“How come you don’t buy more rock stuff, Daddy? How’s da’ baby supposed to get an ed-jew-ma-cation if the tv don’t work?” 

I can’t DEAL with this right now!! 

“You’s awful irra-sponsible-”

“SHUT UP.”

Gaster put his hands over his head as if he were trying to block out Papyrus’s voice. He hoped it would signal his oblivious children that he wasn’t in the best mood, but instead it only made his eldest concerned.

“dad...?” Sans took a step back, wondering if he should put the crystals on the floor and teleport out of the room. His father looked crazy and he was ninety-percent sure that wasn’t too far off from the truth.

To be honest, the royal scientist WAS at his wits end. With the mines closing, it was HIS job to find an alternate source of power for the entire Underground, but how was he to do that when he had a vengeful baby bones destroying his progress and/or making it impossible to progress..?

The more things he had to do over again, the more work piled up for the next day. It had gotten to the point where he had more mail from demanding citizens than actual paperwork!

WHY?

WHY would he have the microwave, washing machine, AND stasis chamber on ALL AT THE SAME TIME?! 

Multitasking was Gaster’s thing, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He enjoyed science; he enjoyed learning, inventing new things, achieving what others had already deemed impossible.

Not this.

Not having problems thrown at him like knives toward a dartboard.

Not having a kingdom of ungrateful parasites sucking the knowledge out of him without a second thought.

“GRAH!”

“hey, dad chill...”

I hate them. I hate them all. They expect me to find a way to destroy the barrier THEY put up, they expect me to fix the gas leak that THEY created, they expect me to find an alternate power source that THEY should have already found as a backup! 

“THEY EXPECT ME TO DO EVERYTHING!” yelled the scientist, startling his sons once more. 

It’s not worth it. THEY’RE not worth it...   

“i’m sorry, dad,” said Sans, looking down at the floor. “i was thinking about something and took a wrong turn...”

“THEY DESTROY MY PEOPLE AND EXPECT ME TO GIVE ONE HUNDRED AND SIX PERCENT EVERY. SINGLE. DAY!”

“huh?”

Is he not talking about us?

“BACKSTABBING COWARDS!!”

Does he even know we’re still here...?

“THEY DESERVE IMPRISONMENT!!”

“Nyeh..nyehhh...”                                   

“hey dad? you’re scaring pap.”

Sans reached out to pull his father’s sleeve, but Papyrus quickly leaned over and grabbed his own. “Don’t tug Daddy Snas, I sense the danger...”

“nahh, it’s okay baby bro. i’m pretty sure he’s just in his own little world right now. i do this too sometimes.”

“Daz not good, Snas.”

“I’LL BURN THEIR HOUSES DOWN WITH LEMONS!!”

“...”

“mayyybe we should just keep going.”

“Kay’.”

Before the two continued on, Papyrus leaned over once more and dropped a Snickers into the front pocket of Gaster’s lab coat. 

“...Di-Did you just put a candy bar soaked in garbage juice into my pocket?”

“You’s not you when you’s hungry.”

[kuriquinn]

Once and Future [6/7]

Title: Second Chances

Disclaimer & Masterpost

AN: I finished all of my grading a day early! Enjoy an update to celebrate with me! It’s another belated update for the NarutoWeek2017 event, but I’m almost done so I don’t even mind ^_^

Gaara sighs and leans back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes.

These days the dark circles aren’t because of any demon haunting his dreams, but the never-ending stream of paperwork that comes with being the Kazekage.

Despite being an organized individual with a fairly developed work-ethic, Gaara has learned within the past few years that being a Kage is a difficult job. Running a village, even as simple a one as Suna, is a lot like being a juggler – only one can’t help dropping a ball every now and then.

The measure of a decent leader is knowing which one I can afford to drop.

Matsuri tells him he’s doing a good job – that the people of the village are happy – but sometimes Gaara thinks she tells him what he wants to hear. He’s mentioned this to his brother and sister once or twice, but their responses aren’t helpful. Kankuro brushes it off with jokes – most of which go over his head – while Temari will glower and grumble.

I suppose there’s always the option of asking Matsuri about it myself, but…

The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stands on end. Sand begins to gather around him, his sand shield at the ready.

“It’s rude to lurk in the shadows,” he says flatly, his weary and relaxed demeanour evaporating into the dry air. “Especially when you haven’t been invited here.”

“Heh…how the times have changed,” a sly, breathy voice chuckle from the shadows. “Now you have an actual awareness of etiquette. So much has change since our first meeting, I think.”

The man that appears out of the shadows is familiar enough to Gaara’s eyes, and hated at that.

“You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Orochimaru,” he says quietly. “I should kill you.”

“Oh, little Kazekage, let us pretend that you could,” the Sannin says in a patronizing tone, sauntering forward and taking the empty seat on the other side of Gaara’s desk. He crosses one leg over the other, yellow eyes gleaming as if to say what exactly do you plan on doing?

Gaara clenches his fists, studying the older man with utter dislike. His first instinct is to suffocate him with a cloud of sand, but he retrains himself.

Orochimaru was integral to winning the war, after all. If it weren’t for his scheming and meddling and utter inability to die, Sasuke Uchiha might not have returned when he was needed – might not have lived. He and Naruto would not have saved the world.

But it doesn’t change certain facts, including that this creature killed Gaara’s father.

Or that he once wore the cloak of the Akatsuki, an organization that would have succeeded in killing Gaara if not for the noble actions of Grandmother Chiyo and Sakura Haruno.

It would still be perfectly understandable to kill him, though…

But on the heels of that thought, Gaara considers Naruto and his way of compassion. His friend has always forgiven others, even those who have taken everything from him – even this snake of a man. He has always seen the good in people, and has now become a symbol of that faith to his people.

Naruto would be disappointed to hear that Gaara was unable to embrace it, and so the young Kazekage reigns in his more vengeful impulses.

“What is it you want?” he asks finally.

“Ah, straight to the point. Very like your father.”

Gaara growls, “You don’t get to mention him. Say what you want and then leave before I think better of it.”

Orochimaru’s wide lips curve upward.

“Very well…” He tosses his hair imperiously. “You are aware I was once an associate of one of your people. Sasori.”

“He was not one of our people for many years.”

“Semantics, my boy. I happen to know of a cache he maintained here in Suna. A workshop of sorts, which you and your subordinates haven’t found yet.”

Gaara is careful to keep his face neutral. Although it doesn’t surprise him, given the legendary puppet-master’s secrecy, the news is troubling. “And your reason for sharing this information with me?”

“To gain access, of course,” Orochimaru purrs.

“You expect me to believe someone of your talents couldn’t enter this so-called cache on your own, without my knowledge?”

“Well, I admit it’s entirely possible, but as it is deep beneath the Kazekage residence –” This time Gaara’s eyes widen, “– I thought it might be politer to speak to you first. Given the current peaceful state of the world, and how close Konoha is to Suna these days, I wouldn’t want to accidentally start an international incident, yes?”

“You aren’t affiliated with Konoha,” Gaara bites out. “And no one in the Hidden Leaf would weep if we executed you.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Orochimaru waves a chiding finger. “Were that truly the case, would they have their little dog following me around?”

He inclines his head to the large windows of the office. Gaara barely allows himself a quick glance, not wanting to take his eye off the man before him, but he catches the flicker of movement in the distance. Someone watching from a nearby building.

Naruto mentioned that his former interim captain had been tasked with watching Orochimaru’s movements and reporting them – it looks as if that job involves traversing borders as well.

“That still doesn’t mean he would intervene if I decided your survival wasn’t worth the risk,” Gaara informs him calmly. “As I hear it, he suffered worse than I did from your ways.”

“If you’re so eager to test the theory, by all means,” Orochimaru suggests, and from his tone Gaara suspects he would actually enjoy such an exercise.

That more than anything else stays his hand – he won’t give the snake the satisfaction.

“What exactly is in this workshop that you want?” he asks instead, knowing that it won’t be something as innocent as curiosity or sentimental as nostalgia.

“My former partner studied the human condition and observed their behaviour obsessively,” the Sannin replies. “He considered it integral to his creation process. After all, he did want them to last…” He smiles grotesquely here. “Sasori kept meticulous notes, when I knew him. And he had a particularly detached manner to transcribing his discoveries that I admire. Such a thing is rare and valuable in a scientist.”

Gaara folds his arms, unimpressed and still awaiting an answer.

“I want access to those notes,” Orochimaru says, now sounding businesslike and without the coy lilt in his voice. “You can have whatever else belongs to him – no doubt your puppet masters would be interested in some of his remaining inventions, especially if it could be used to modernize the village. But I want his notes.”

“So you can continue your experiments?” Gaara challenges, disgusted.

“Knowledge is knowledge,” Orochimaru replies airily. “I make no excuses or apologies for my work. In fact, I see no point in apologising for anything, although a case might be made for your father. His death was a means to an end, but I liked him. He was ambitious –”

A projectile of sand blasts across the desk, aimed for Orochimaru’s head, but he dodges it with insulting ease. There’s some movement in the shadows of his office which Gaara notices, but doesn’t address just let.

“I said,” Gaara tells him coldly, “you don’t get to mention him.”

Orochimaru mimes zipping his lips, but his expression remains unrepentant. Outside the window, the figure of Captain Yamato has inched forward, and Gaara suspects if there are any more disturbances, secrecy be damned, the man will intervene with his Mokuton.

“There’s some other purpose to your visit,” Gaara tells Orochimaru. “Some reason you came directly to me instead of slipping in undetected. You want something else and that’s what you came here for. Not some arbitrary permission.”

“I have questions,” Orochimaru hedges, “questions that need answers.”

“Questions about what?”

They stare each other down for a moment, and Gaara expects him to turn and leave. To reconsider the direct approach for something more underhanded and in his style.

He is surprised when the Sannin replies.

“Bonds.”

“…Bonds?”

“I wish to understand,” Orochimaru confirms. “They are factors I did not previously consider in my work.”

“You mean your inhuman experiments –”

“Parent and child,” the man interrupts. “Siblings. Friends, student and teacher…” Orochimaru stands now, pacing back and forth. “When young Sasuke returned to help his former comrades in the war, I felt…pride. There is no explanation for that. I was not invested, I was above it, and yet…” He trails off and once more fixes Gaara in his sight. “How does an orphan, loathed by his entire world, grow to become the sun? How does a boy cut off from his blood, as separated from others as the moon from the earth, maintain connections? Why does a child whose father tried to have him destroyed…come to forgive him?”

Gaara’s jaw clenches.

“Is an external catalyst required? A teacher, a friend – does it alter the course chosen or reinforce it? Can that quality be found within? Does a parent or a teacher determine the path, or does a child? And at what point must the mentor step away and learn from their student? In all my years, and all my studies, I can’t explain that. I never focussed on the internal quality of humans, but rather on the physical. That is a mistake on my part, one I intend to rectify. One cannot arrive at a conclusion without all of the variables, even ones which at first seem negligible.”

Orochimaru is wild-eyed now, as if something within him has abruptly untethered, and Gaara realises that it is the unknown which drives him. The man is so used to understanding everything, by taking it apart and studying it, that he has no understanding of the things which can’t be explained.

It’s something Gaara can understand, even if he left that part of himself behind a long time ago.

The brief shared sentiment with Orochimaru disturbs him, and he finds himself needing to refocus.

“Tell your subordinates to come out of the shadows,” he says. “If you are truly here in good faith, they should be visible.”

There’s a surprised intake of breath from somewhere, but Orochimaru simply smirks in acknowledgement.

As they coalesce from the shadows, Gaara sizes them up. He knows them by sight only – from the attack in the Land of Iron, as well as during the war and its aftermath. Those times were a confusing parade of faces and names, and if he did interact with them beyond that, he can’t recall.

There’s the white-haired nin from Kiri, and the giant with the haunted eyes and a woman with scarlet hair. His eyes linger on her, senses taking in the particular flare of her chakra.

“You’re Uzumaki,” he realises, and she startles at the address. “Like Naruto.”

“Uh…yeah. I mean, distantly. It’s not like I’m best friends with the guy,” she mutters, pushing her glasses up on her nose and adopting an haughty expression.

“That doesn’t matter. By a simple twist of fate, his destiny could have been yours,” Gaara dismisses. “Beyond that, you travelled with Sasuke Uchiha when he was shrouded in darkness. That makes you strong.” This makes her blink in surprise. “And so, I will ask you – do you think it possible for a man such as that to find redemption?”

“Buddy, you chose the wrong person to ask that question,” the Kiri nin snorts.

“Suigetsu,” the giant admonishes.

“No, ass-for-brains is right,” the woman says, scowling as she rests her hands on her hips. The posture is entirely defensive. “He tried to kill me. Just because I forgave him doesn’t mean anything about him, it means I’m awesome.”

“Aw, Karin, don’t try to deny that you’re still in love with him.”

“Eat shit and die!” she snarls, shaking a fist at Suigetsu.

“Children,” Orochimaru says, a smile on his face but a warning in his tone.

“Regardless of what he did, you obviously still care for him,” Gaara points out. Karin crosses her arms, but doesn’t deny it. “That suggests he can change.”

“Golden-boy Naruto obviously thinks so, or he’d be dead already,” Suigetsu points out.

“Naruto would never kill Sasuke,” Gaara says with a shake of his head. “Even if it meant spending the rest of their lives trying to redeem him, he would do it. He has that faith.” He narrows his eyes at Karin. “Do you?”

“Do I…?”

“Have faith that Sasuke Uchiha will be redeemed.”

Karin opens her mouth and closes it a few times, like she wants to reply with some witty retort or brush the question off. But Gaara holds her gaze with his own, until she swallows and looks away.

“…Yes,” she murmurs.

Gaara nods; he expected as much.

“And what of his teacher?” he continues, indicating Orochimaru.

Karin’s eyes widen and her posture immediately becomes defensive again. “I – I think it’s a completely different situation!”

“Yeah, this guy was always a freak, at least Sasuke was sort of cool –”

“Mind your tongue, Suigetsu,” Orochimaru remarks mildly.

“We all have different situations. The past does not confine us, it’s what we’re capable of doing in the future that might,” Gaara says, remembering a battle long ago and the words of his first friend ringing in his ears.

‘It’s almost unbearable, isn’t it? The feeling of being all alone. I know that feeling, I’ve been there, in that dark and lonely place.’

“And those who would help us along the way.”

‘But now there are others. Other people who mean a lot to me. I care more about them than I do myself, and I won’t let anyone hurt them! That’s why I won’t ever give up!’

“And so, I ask again – do you think Orochimaru can be redeemed? Would you trust him in the future, to avoid the mistakes and deeds he has committed in the past? Knowing and unknowing.”

Orochimaru doesn’t appear to care what his subordinates have to say – instead he stares long and hard at Gaara, as if he is witnessing exactly the sort of phenomenon he has been struggling to understand.

Karin looks away from the snake-faced man. “I think it’ll take him a hell of a lot longer than it would take Sasuke. But…maybe one day.”

“He keeps me from harming others,” Jūgo adds. “Whatever his motives, I trust him to do that.”

“And you?” Gaara addresses Suigetsu.

“Well, I trust him to never fucking die, so at least he’ll have the time to get it right,” the white-haired man mutters, but the way he avoids the others’ gazes speaks volumes.

“Your faith in me is heart-warming,” Orochimaru deadpans.

“Very well,” Gaara decides. “I will grant you what you seek.”

Everyone, including the Sannin, appears surprised by this.

“All it takes is one person to honestly believe in you – however small that belief,” he says. “Naruto showed me this. He showed us all this.” He crosses his arms. “It would, of course, be foolish to expect you to change over night, but let us consider this a first step. Perhaps on your journey, you’ll find something of more value.”

Orochimaru’s mouth twitches in amusement. “I dare say you’re right.”

“They say that Akatsuki was first founded to bring peace and to find an end to war,” Gaara continues. “I suppose it is fitting that you, the last individuals to have worn their mantle, should be granted the chance to see that peace and seek redemption.”

“But don’t screw it up, right?” Suigetsu snorts.

つづく

Phew! That was a long one! I hope I got all the characterizations right, I so rarely write about any of these guys! And hopefully foreshadows the transition from questionably-redeemable-Orochimaru from the end of the series to Papa-Orochimaru in the Boruto series!

Thank you for reading! Reviews and concrit are much appreciated - and if you’re feeling generous, I also accept tips through ko-fi (just scroll to the top and click the button!)

クリ

Next Chapter

[as-breakable-as-glass]

A few days after Gaster’s return came and went in an odd combination of peace and uncertainty. Everything about them was calm, but at the same time no one knew what the next step to take was. Gen had called off training to spend time with him, and Glass didn’t have anywhere to call in so of course he was there as well. Gaster himself was quiet, a near shadow that wandered between rooms. It was the first time they had everyone under the same roof together in ages, yet conversation was lacking. It was their father, as quiet as he usually was, who finally broke the fine layer of tension that had begun to settle by inquiring how they should go about explaining his disappearance. It wasn’t like Dings could stay in the house forever. They decided to leave any mention of the void out of their explanation about Gaster’s disappearance. Gen would go out spreading the news of Dings’s return and would say that after the accident Gaster suffered amnesia- which wasn’t really a lie- and in his altered state, had wandered to Waterfall where he stayed hidden for years- that was a lie. He didn’t seemed too bothered by having to twist the tale a bit. He seemed more excited than anything else in fact, saying it would be the beginning of Gaster’s “return to his social life!”

From the initial telling of their story, word would get around and people would fill in any gaps with their own fables. That was one of the wonders of living in a gossip starved community; monsters loved to invent their own news. Now that they had started, Gen insisted there were other things that needed addressing. Such as their living space. Their house had never been big, but it had been enough for Glass and Gen. With an additional family member however, their two bedroom cabin had never felt smaller. For now, Gaster was staying in the couch, but that couldn't be a permanent solution. Gen was adamant about that. It was decided that it was best they moved. Hotland was the area Gaster had lived in the longest after monsters had spread out from Old Home. Gen hoped the familiar area would jog some of their father’s memories, and Dings was optimistic. Glass liked to think it would help too, but he couldn’t shake the feeling going back would change things in ways none of them expected. That was the future, go figure right? Any apprehension he had put aside, Glass was near set. He’d say one or two goodbyes, definitely have a chat with the lady in the Ruins before going, but that was all he had on his to-do list. He had nothing else holding him. Most of the tying up of loose ends was going to be Gen’s job. Maybe that's where his reservations stemmed from in the first place.

And since today was full of addressing issues… “What are you going to do about the guard?” “Hmm?” Gen looked up. Glass made a useless gesture in the air. “You can't keep training in Hotland can you? All the available guard positions are out here in the boonies.” “You’re right, I’ll have to tell Undyne that I’m resigning at our next training session.” “What, just like that?” Glass asked. “Come on bro, joining the royal guard has been your goal since coming here. Even as a kid you looked up to them.” “My dream was bing capable of protecting everyone yes, but I can do that anywhere in more than one way. I will adjust! “I’m sorry…” For a moment the brothers had forgotten their father was still in the room. He hadn’t uttered a word in a while and they jumped at the sound. Gen gave a confused smile. “I don’t understand why you are apologizing?” Gaster was looking down at his lap. “I didn’t want to make you upset.” “Why does everyone think I am upset? Do I look upset? I’m fine! This move will be good for us all! If you blame yourself for something that we should be celebrating, then I will be upset!” “But this was important to you?” “Yes,” he admitted, “but there are plenty more things that are important to me.” Gen smiled “Like family!” And with that the subject was dropped. Gen wouldn’t hear another word against it, genuinely insisting that the three of them should do something to celebrate.

Well, whatever they did, Glass couldn't say he was that sorry to go. He was sorry this was uprooting his brother again, but Gen didn’t seem sad, and Gaster was eager to find something familiar he could latch onto. If his bro was happy, and Dings was happy, then he would be too, regardless of their residence. He wouldn’t miss this place. Sure it had it’s moments and acquired pleasures. There was the lady behind the door, the woods, the lack of people. All were good things he’d regret leaving once he was actually gone, but as for the general nothing that was this town, Glass had never found himself deeply attached. The next day Glass found Gaster curled up on the couch, a bunch of half packed boxes and piles of things around him. Gen must have assigned him a job to keep his hands busy, but Gaster wasn’t packing anything at the moment. He had his full attention on a framed photo in his hands Glass pushed a box out of the way and sat down next to him. “Hey Dings, what’d you find?” He started a bit and looked up smiling. Instead of answering, he turned it around and presented the picture to Glass. It was an old one, so old Glass had forgotten they still had it. It was him as a kid, couldn’t have been older than five. He was in Gaster’s lap, reaching up towards his face and not even trying to pose for the camera.

Ding’s face was how he remembered it, marginally less cracked and broken and his eye lights a steady glow. The arm that Gaster wasn’t holding Glass with was wrapped around the shoulders of another skeleton. She was a bit shorter than Dings, but stood in a way that made up for every inch. In a way, she almost appeared to be standing taller.

A look of mirth on her face softened any firmness it may have held as she tried to encourage kid Glass to look at the camera. Ironically, not even she was looking at the lense. It had been an accidental shot, the angle was crooked, and the taker’s thumb could be seen at the edge, but Glass remembered Dings had gotten a frame for it anyway. To Glass it felt like he was looking at a relic. “Wow you found that. Heh, it’s been awhile since I saw that one.” “That is me and you, but where is Papyrus?” “He wasn’t born yet.” Glass’s eyelights jumped between Gaster and the photo. “How much do you remember about mom?” “Ah, not much…” “You don’t remember her name do you?” Gaster’s following silence said enough. “It was Alegreya. Heh. I can’t believe you can remember bits about your coworkers, but you completely forgot the love of your life’s name.” “Glass.” He snapped. He raised his hands. “Hey, what happened in the void wasn’t exactly in your control.” Glass looked away. “Besides, sometimes I thought you wanted to forget her anyway.” The way Gaster stared at him made it impossible for him not to elaborate. “Sheesh, don’t give me that look… it’s just that you never talked about her after she passed. You left most of the describing to me when Gen started asking about her, and all I had to remember her by were the first six years of my life.”

He looked down at the picture again. “Heh, she would have been pissed at us for forgetting about her.” “You didn’t forget.” Gaster replied. “And I don’t think I would have wanted to either. Not her. If I did, then I was a fool.” “Well, you were, but you were also a genius. Kind of balanced itself out in its own way.” “That… is not very comforting in this context.” He ran a finger along the frame. “Skies... I want to be able to look at my life and have it make sense. Glass, I didn’t even recognize your mother.” His shoulders hunched inwards more as he stared at the photo. “I must have known her for years... decades, but I didn’t remember. “I want to remember… More than just her. I-I have gone so long without my memories and now I don’t even know who I am anymore… Do I even act like the man who raised you?” “Hey.” This was the most Gaster had said about his memory, let alone in one sitting. He’d known it had been bad, but he didn’t know the extent of his memory wipe. He still didn’t. It was a lot for a guy to go through, it was a lot for him to just listen to. Glass put a hand on his shoulder, it was soft and almost malleable. “You’re different Dings, but you’re still you. Uh, you know, you still do that thing with your hands when you're nervous, you’re still a night owl, and you still drink your coffee with two creams and no sugar. Things are different, but you’re still you.” Gaster looked like he was trying to be reassured, but wasn’t quite managing it. Still, he nodded.

“Will you help me remember her?” His voice sounded even more like a croak than usual. “That's why we’re moving across the Underground Dings. Me and Gen’ll always be there to help you.” That seemed to make him too choked up for words. ‘Thank you.’ He signed. A moment of silence passed. Glass almost thought Dings was going to cry, wouldn’t be the weirdest or least expected thing Gaster has done since coming back, and honestly, he looked like he needed it. Well, while that was fine, sometimes there were better ways to get your emotion out besides crying about them. “Hey.” Glass took the photo from Gaster’s limp hand. He slid the picture out of the frame and went into the kitchen, getting a pen. He return immediately so Gaster could see what he was doing with it. Plopping back down on the couch next to him, Glass used his knee and wrought ‘don’t forget’ across the bottom in careful letters before handing it back to him. “Here. It’ll be a reminder for the both of us.” They’ll never forget mom again, neither of them. Gaster took it with gentle fingers as if the paper would crumble to ash if he weren’t careful. “Thank you.” He murmured. “I would like a picture of Gen too.” Well, this was something he could do. “We got a lot to pick from.” He said standing. Gaster followed suit only after Glass said. “Come on they’re all upstairs.” There were a lot of boxes up in Glass’s room, more than needed to hold his own possesions. That was because a good portion of them weren’t even his. The ones stacked behind the door weren’t at least. Well, soon enough they’d have a new home, and Gaster would choose it. He patted one of the boxes on top. “These are yours.”

‘Mine?’ He signed, too startled to speak. “You kept my things in your room?” “Uh, yeah. Gen would go through your stuff sometimes, but neither of us knew where else to put them so they just ended up staying in here. Not a lot of room in the house you know.” Glass picked a box off the pile and set it aside with a huff. “All the family pictures, some of your cloths and lab coats, your ID, old notes, and some of the things you were tinkering with are in these.” Gaster watched, a hand materializing to trace the curling tape on one of the boxes. “You kept all of it?” “Most of it.” Glass amended as he moved aside another box. “Gen didn’t want to leave your stuff behind, but we couldn’t pack everything with us when we moved. We settled on taking the things we thought were most important to you.” Gen had done most of the decision making. He’d been too busy lying in a corner of self pity and guilt to be much help for anything. Glass finally found the box he was looking for and picked it up. Set it on his bed, not minding if some of the dust got on the sheets. After tearing the tape off he dug in its contents and handed a thick book to Gaster. “That one’s mostly filled with baby pictures of Gen… and this one’s mine. You sure liked taking a lot of pictures Dings.” “And I have never been more grateful I did before in my entire life.” He said as he took a seat on the bed and began thumbing through the book. Glass smiled. “Yeah I bet.”

[scifrey]

On February 10th, 2017 I had the fantastic opportunity to speak to a group of students and faculty from Grant MacEwan University in Edmonton, Alberta, about Fan Fiction, Mary Sues, and #DiversityMatters.

Above is the audio (slightly cleaned up - please forgive my inability to clean it up further) and below transcript of that talk.

Transcript:

Mike Perschon:

So, our keynote speaker is J.M. Frey. And she is from the Toronto area. I can say the “Toronto-area,” that’s a quick way of saying–

J.M. Frey

It’s a good way of saying it.

Mike Perschon:

–it and everything.

Uh, she is a science fiction and fantasy author. She’s a pop culture scholar.  She’s going to be talking to us about some of that stuff tonight. She often appears as a guest on podcasts, television, and radio programs. Okay, she’s got a book coming out later this year, the third in the series – the fantasy series – she’s has been writing for the past few years and, uh, she’s got a whole bunch of other creative projects on the go.

Tonight she’s going to be talking to us about how “Your Voice is Valid” and the idea of the “Mary Sue”.

So if you’ve seen that term in pop culture, and was confused what it was or, perhaps, gotten misinformation, you’ll find out exactly what that is.

[Applause truncated]

J.M. Frey:

Thank you very much for inviting me, everybody.

Thank you to the student organizers. Thank you to the faculty organizers. I really appreciate it.

I—ah-ah! First off, I’m gonna say: I’m going to have my notes with me, and I apologize, ‘cause talking for forty-five minutes is—a half hour! I promise, it’s a half hour!—without notes is a little much.

Um, so I just wanted to say thank you to Grant MacEwan for inviting me. Um, this is the first time in Edmonton, and I’m looking forward to exploring it. I think I was maybe promised roller coasters? I don’t know…

I do want to, in particular, thank you Mike for inviting me and for being my designated buddy while I’m here in Edmonton.  It is an honor to sleep in the same guest bed that Gail Carriger once slept in.

And secondly, I do want to say thank you to everyone else for being here. I do in my brain still think of myself in my brain think of myself as your age, even though I have been out of academia for… oh… a little bit over a decade. But I loved being you guys, I loved this moment of my life. Ah, this weekend is going to be so awesome, you have no idea.

But of course before the awesome happens, you’ve have to listen to a keynote and you’re probably wondering who this hobbit in the front of the room is, getting between you and these amazing burgers that I’ve heard about?

We don’t have “Red Robin”s in Ontario? So apparently I’m in for a treat. I’m very excited about it.

So, my name is J.M. Frey. I’m a science-fiction and fantasy author, a screenwriter, and a fanthropologist. And I have a declaration to make. A promise. A vow, if you will.

And it is this:

If I hear one more basement-dwelling troll call the lead female protagonist of a genre film a “Mary Sue” one more time, I’m going to scream.

I’m sure you’ve all seen this all before. A major science fiction, fantasy, video game, novel, or comic franchise or publisher announces a new title. Said new title features a lead protagonist who is female, or a person of color, or is not able-bodied, or is non-neurotypical, or is LGBTQA+.

It might be the new Iron Man or Spider-man, who are both young black teenagers now. The new Ms. Marvel, a Muslim girl. It could be Jyn Erso, the female lead of the latest Star Wars film, the deaf Daphne Vasquez from Switched at Birth, or Alex in Supergirl, who was just recently revealed to be a lesbian still coming to terms with her sexuality in her mid-thirties, or Dorian in Dragon Age, who is both a person of color and flamboyantly queer.

And generally, the audience cheers. Yay for diversity! Yay for representation! Yay for working to make the worlds we consume look more like the world we live in! Yaaaaay!

But there’s a certain segment of the fan population that does not celebrate.

I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.

This certain brand of fan-person gets all up in arms on social media. They whine. They complain. They say that it’s not appropriate to change the gender, race, orientation, or physical abilities of a fictional creation, or just protest their inclusion to begin with. They decry the erosion of creativity in service of neo-liberalism, overreaching political-correctness, and femi-nazis. (Sorry, sorry – the femi-“alt-right”).

It’s not realistic – women can’t survive in space, they say, it’s just a fact. That is a direct quote, by the way. Superheroes can’t be black, they say. Video game characters shouldn’t have a sexual orientation, (unless that sexual orientation is straight and the game serves to support a male gaze ogling at half-dressed pixilated prostitutes).

And strong female characters have to wear boob armor. It’s just natural, they say.

They predict the end of civilization because things are no longer being done the way they’ve always been done. There’s nothing wrong with the system, they say. So don’t you dare change it.

And to enforce this opinion, to ensure that it’s really, really clear just how much contempt this certain segment of the fan population holds for any lead protagonist that isn’t a white, heterosexual, able-bodied, neurotypical, cismale, they do everything they can to tear down them down.

They do this by calling that a “Mary Sue.”

When fan fiction author Paula Smith first used the term “Mary Sue” in her 1973 story A Trekkie’s Tale, she was making a commentary on the frequent appearance of original characters in Star Trek fan fiction. Now, most of these characters existed as a masturbatory avatar – wanna bone Spock? (And, um, you know, let’s face it who didn’t?) They you write a story where a character representing you gets to bone Spock.

And if they weren’t a sexual fantasy, then they were an adventure fantasy – wanna be an officer on the Enterprise? Well, it’s the flagship of the Starfleet, so you better be good enough to get there. Chekov was the youngest navigator in Starfleet history, Uhura is the most tonally sensitive officer in linguistics, and Jim Kirk’s genius burned like a magnesium flare – you would have to keep up to earn your place on that bridge.

So this led to a slew of hyper sexualized, physically idealized, and unrealistically competent author-based characters populating the fan fiction of the time.

But inserting a trumped-up version of yourself into a narrative wasn’t invented in the 1970s. I mean, Aeneas was totally Virgil’s Mary Sue in his Iliad knock off, Dante was such a fanboy of the The Bible that he wrote himself into an adventure exploring it. Uh, Robin Hood’s merry men and King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table kept growing in number, and characteristics with each retelling; and even painters have inserted themselves into commissioned pictures for centuries.

This isn’t new. This is not a recent human impulse.

But what Paula Smith and the Mary Sue-writing fan ficcers didn’t know at the time, was that they were crystallizing what it means to be an engaged consumer of media texts, instead of just a passive one. What it means to be so affected by a story, to love it so much that this same love bubbles up out of you and you have to do something about it.

Either in play, or in art. So for example, in pretending to be a ninja turtle on the play ground, or in trying to recreate the perfect version of a star fleet uniform to wear, or in creating art and making comics depicting your favorite moments or further adventures of the characters you love, or writing stories that encompass missing moments from the narratives.

“Mary Sues” are, at their center, a celebration of putting oneself and one’s own heart, and one’s own enjoyment of a media text, first.

So, heh, before I talk about why this certain segment of the population deploys the term “Mary Sue” the way it does, let’s take a closer look at this impulse for participatory play.

Here’s the sixty four thousand dollar question: where do “Mary Sues” come from?

I’d like you all to close your eyes, please.

Think back. Picture yourself outside, playing with your siblings, or the neighbour’s kids or you cousins…. and You’re probably around seven, or eight, or nine years old… and…

Think about the kind of games you’re playing. Ball games, chase games, and probably something with a narrative? Are you Power Rangers? Are you flying to Neverland with Peter Pan? Are you fighting Dementors and Death Eaters at Hogwarts? Are you the newest members of One Direction, are you Jem and the Holograms or the Misfits? Are you running around collecting Pokémon back before running around and collecting Pokémon was a thing?

Open your eyes.

That, guys, gals and non-binary pals, is where Mary Sues come from. That’s it. It’s as easy as that.

As a child you didn’t know that modern literary tradition pooh-poohs self-analogous characters, or that realism was required for depth of character. All you knew was that you wanted to be a part of that story, right.  If you wanted to be a train with Thomas and Friends, then you were a train. If you wanted to be a  magic pony from Equestria, you were a pony.  Or, you know, if you had brothers like me, then you were a pony-train.

Self-insert in childhood games teach kids the concept of elastic play, and this essential ability to imagine oneself in skins that are not one’s own, and to stretch and reshape narratives, is what breeds creativity and storytelling.

Now, think of your early stories.

You can keep your eyes open for this one.

As a child we all told and wrote stories about doing what, to us, were mundane everyday things like getting ice cream with the fictional characters we know and love.

So for example, my friend’s three year old tells his father bed time stories about going on walks through Home Hardware with his friends, the anthropomorphized versions of the local taco food truck and the commuter train his dad takes to work every morning. He doesn’t recognize the difference between real and fictional people (or for him, in this case, the stand ins that are the figures that loom large in his life right now as a three year old obsessed with massive machines). When you ask him to tell you a story, he talks about these fictions as if they’re real.

As we grow up, we do learn to differentiate between fantasy and reality. But, I posit that we never truly loose that “me too!” mentality. We see something amazing happening on the screen, or on the page, or on a playing field, and we want to be there, a part of it.

We sort ourselves into Hogwarts Houses. We choose hockey teams to love, and we wear their jerseys.    We buy ball caps from our favorite breweries, line up for hours to be the first to watch a new release or to buy a certain smartphone. We collect stamps and baseball cards and first editions of Jane Austen and Dan Brown. We want to be a part of it. And our capitalist, consumer society tells us to prove our love with our dollars, and do it.

And for fan creators, we want to be a part of it so badly that we’re willing to make it. Not for profit, but for sheer love.

And for the early writers, the newbies, the blossoming beginners, Mary Sues are where they generally start. Because those are the sorts of stories they’ve been telling yourselves for years already, right?

Yet as we get older, we begin to notice a dearth of representation – you’re not pony trains in our minds any more, and we have a better idea of what we look like. And we don’t see it. The glorious fantasy diversity of our childhoods is stripped away, narratives are codified by the mainstream media texts we consume, and people stop looking like us.

I’m reminded of a story I read on Tumblr, of a young black author living in Africa – who, I’m going to admit, whose name, I’m afraid, I wasn’t able to find when I went back to look for it, so my apologies to her –  and the story is about the first time she tried to write a fairytale in elementary school. She made her protagonist a little white girl, and when she was asked why she hadn’t chosen to make the protagonist back, this author realized that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she was allowed make her lead black. Even though she was surrounded by black faces, the adventures, and romance, and magic in everything she consumed only happened to the white.

This is not natural. This is nurture, not nature. This is learned behavior. And this is hegemony.

No child grows up believing they don’t have place in the story. This is something were are taught. And this is something that we are taught by the media texts weconsume.

Now, okay. I do want to pause and make a point here.

There isn’t anything fundamentally wrong with writing a narrative from the heterosexual, able bodied, neurotypical, white cismale POV in and of itself. I think we all have stories that we know and love and like to tell that are like that.

And people from community deserve to tell their stories as much as folks from other communities.

The problem comes when it’s the only narrative. The default narrative. The factory setting. When people who don’t see themselves reflected in the narrative nonetheless feel obligated to write such stories, instead of their own. When they are told and taught that it is the only story worth telling. ‎

There’s this really great essay by Ika Willis, and it’s called “Keeping Promises to Queer Children: Making Room for Mary Sue At Hogwarts“. And I think it’s the one – one of the most important pieces of writing not only on Mary Sues, but on the dire need for representation in general.

In the essay, Willis talks about Mary Sues – beyond being masturbatory adventure avatars for young people just coming into their own sexuality, or, um, avatars to go on adventures with – but as voice avatars. Mary Sues, when wielded with self-awareness, deliberateness, and precision, can force a wedge into the narrative, crack it open, and provide a space for marginalized identities and voices in a narrative that otherwise silences and ignores them.

This is done one of two ways. First: by jamming in a diverse Mary Sue. And making the characters and the world acknowledge and work with that diversity.

Or, second: by co-opting a pre-existing character and overlaying a new identity on them while retaining their essential characterization. Like making Bilbo Baggins non-binary, but still thinking that adventures are messy, dirty things. Or making Sherlock Holmes deaf, but still perfectly capable of solving all the crimes. Um… making James Potter Indian, so that the Dursleys prejudiced against Harry not only for his magic, but also for his skin color. Making Ariel the mermaid deal with severe body dysphoria, or giving Jane Foster PTSD after the events of Thor.

I like to call this voice avatar Mary Sue a Meta-Sue, because when authors have evolved enough in their storytelling abilities to consciously deploy Mary Sues as a deliberate trope, they’re doing so on a self-aware, meta-textual level.

So that is where Mary Sues comes from. But what is a Mary Sue? How can you point at a character and say, “Yes, that is – definitively – a Mary Sue”.

Well, Mary Sues can generally be characterized as:

-Too perfect, or unrealistically skilled. They shouldn’t be able to do all the things they do, or know all the things they know, as easily as they do or know them. For reasons of the plot expedience, they learn too fast, and are able to perform feats that other characters in their world who have studied or trained longer and harder find difficult. So like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

-They are the black hole of every plot – every major quest or goal of the pre-existing characters warps to include or be about them; every character wants to befriend them, or romance them, or sleep with them, and every villain wants to possess them, or kill them, or sleep with them. Makes sense, as why write a character into the world if you’re not going to have something very important happen to them. So like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

-A Mary Sue, because it’s usually written by a neophyte author who’s been taught that characters need flaws, has some sort of melodramatic, angsty tragic back-story that, while on the surface seems to motivate them into action, because of lack of experience in creating a follow-through of emotional motivation, doesn’t actually affect their mental health or ability to trust or be happy or in love. So, Like the emotional arc of, I dunno… Neo in The Matrix.

– A Mary Sue saves the day. This goes back to that impulse to be the center of the story. Like, Neo in The Matrix.

-And lastly, Mary Sues come from outside the group. They’re from the ‘real world’, like you and I, or have somehow discovered the hero’s secret identity and must be folded into the team, or are a new recruit, or are a sort of previously undiscovered stand-alone Chosen One. Like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

Now, as I’ve said, there’s actually nothing inherently wrong with writing a Mary Sue. Neo is a Mary Sue, but The Matrix is still really good. So there’s nothing really wrong with it.

The first impulse of storytelling is to talk about oneself. All authors do it. Ww write about ourselves, only the more we write, the more skilled we become at disguising the sliver of us-ness in a character, folding it into something different and unique.

We, as storytellers, as humans, empathize with protagonists and fictional characters constantly – we love putting our feet into other people’s shoes. It’s how we understand and engage with the world.

And we as writers tap into our own emotions in order to describe them on the page. We take slices of our lives – our experiences, our memories, our friend’s verbal tics or hand gestures, aunt Brenda’s way of making tea, Uncle Rudy’s way having a pipe after dinner, that time Grannie got lost at the zoo (mouths: wasn’t my fault!) – and we weave them together into a golem that we call a character, which comes to life with a bit of literary magic.

I mean, allow me to be sparklingly reductionist for a second, but in the most basic sense, every character is a Mary Sue.

It’s just a matter of whether the writer has evolved to the point  in their craft that they’ve learned to animate that golem with the sliver of self-ness hidden deep enough that it is unrecognizable as self-ness, but still recognizable as human-ness.

That certain segment of the fan population has been telling us for years that if we don’t like what we see on TV or in video games, or in books, or comics, or on the stage, that we should just go make our own stuff. And now we are. And they are losing their goddamn minds! “Make your own stuff,” they say, and then follow it up with “What’s with all this political correctness gone wild? Uhg. This stuff is all just Mary Sue garbage.”

Well, yes. Of course it is. That’s the point. But why are they saying it like that?

Because they mean it in a derogatory sense.

They don’t mean it in the way that Paula Smith meant it – a little bit belittling but mostly fun; a bemused celebration of why we love putting ourselves into the stories and worlds we enjoy. They don’t mean it the way that Willis means it – a deliberate and knowing way to shove the previously marginalized into the center. They don’t even mean it the way that I mean it. And for those of you unfortunate enough to be in Dr. Perschon’s class, and have read The Untold Tale you’ll know: as a tool for carefully deconstructing and discussing character and narrative with a character and from within a narrative.

When a certain segment of the fan population talks about “Mary Sue”, they mean to weaponize it. To make it a stand-in for the worse thing that a character can be: bland, predictable, and too-perfect. Which, granted, many Mary Sues are. But not all of them. And a character doesn’t have to be a Mary Sue to be done badly, either.

When this certain segment of the fan population says “Mary Sue”, they’re trying to shame the creators for deviating from the norm - the white, the heterosexual, the able bodied, the neurotypical, the straight cismale.

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “I don’t believe people like this are interesting enough to be the lead character in a story.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “I don’t think there’s any need to listen to that voice. They’re not interesting enough.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “This character is not what I am used to a.k.a. not like me, and I’m gonna whine about it.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “Even though kids from all over the world, from many different cultural, religious and ethnic backgrounds have had to grow up learning to identify with characters who don’t look or think like them, identifying with characters who don’t look or think like me is hard and I don’t wanna.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: ”Even though I’ve grown up in a position of privilege and power, and even though publishing and producing diverse stories with diverse casts doesn’t actually cut into the��proportionate representation that I receive, and never will, I am nonetheless scared that I’ll never see people like me in media texts ever again.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “Considering my fellow human beings as fellow human beings worthy of having stories about them and their own experiences, in their own voices, is hard and I don’t wanna do it.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “I only want stories about me.”

They call leads “Mary Sues” so people will stop writing them and instead write… well, their version of a “Mary Sue.” The character that is representative of their lived experiences, their power and masturbatory fantasies, their physical appearance, their sexual awakenings, their cultural identity, their voice, their kind of narratives.

Missing, of course, that the point of revisionist and inclusive narratives aren’t to shove out previous incarnations, but to coexist alongside them. It’s not taking away one entrée and offering only another – it’s building a buffet.

Okay, so who actually cares if these trolls call these diverse characters Mary Sues?

Well, unfortunately, because this certain segment of the population have traditionally been the group most listened-to by the mainstream media creators and the big money, their opinions have power. (Never mind that they’re not actually the biggest group of consumers anymore, nor no longer the most vocal.)

So, this is where you come in.

You have the power to take the Mary Sue from the edge of the narrative and into the centre. And you do can do this by normalizing it. Think back to that author who didn’t think little black girls were allowed to be the heroes of fairy tales. Now imagine how much different her inner world, her imagination might have been at the stage when she was first learning to understand her own self-worth, if she had seen faces like hers on the television, in comics, in games, and on the written page every day of her life.

And not just one or two heroes, but a broad spectrum of characters that run the gamut from hero to villain, from fragile to powerful, from straight to gay, and every other kind of intersectional identity.

You have the power to give children the ability to see themselves.

Multi-faceted representation normalizes the marginalized.

And if you have the privilege to be part of the passing member of the mainstream, then weaponize your privilege. Refuse to work with publishers, or websites, or conventions that don’t also support diverse creators. Put diverse characters in your work, and do so thoughtfully and with the input of the people from the community you are portraying. And if you’re given the opportunity to submit or speak at an event, offer to share the microphone.

–Sorry, I always get emotional at this part. Ah-heh!

The first thing I did when actor Burn Gorman got a Twitter account was to Tweet him  my thanks for saving the world in Pacific Rim while on a cane. As someone who isn’t as mobile as the heroes I see in action films - who knows for a fact that when the zombie apocalypse comes I will not be a-able to outrun the monsters – it meant so much to me that his character was not only an integral and vital member of the team who cancelled the apocalypse, but also that not once did someone call him a cripple, or tell him he couldn’t participate because of his disability, or leave him behind.

Diversity matters.

Not because it’s a trendy hashtag, or a way to sell media texts to a locked-down niche market, but because every single human being deserves to be told that they have a voice worth listening to; a life worth celebrating and showcasing in a narrative; a reality worth acknowledging and accepting and protecting; emotions that are worth exploring and validating; intelligence that is worth investing in and listening to; and a capacity to love that is worth adoring.

White, heterosexual, neurotypical, able-bodied cismales are not the only people on the planet who are human.

And you have a right to tell your story your way.

Okay, so I’ve basically spent thirty minutes basically cribbing my own MA thesis, and for what? Why? Well, you’re here for a conference focused on Narrative and Identity, right?

Calling something a “Mary Sue” in order to dismiss it out of hand, as an excuse to hate something before even seeing it, is how the trolls bury your Narrative and your Identity.  We are storytellers, all of us. Every person in this room.

Whether your wheel house is in fiction, or academia, or narrative non-fiction, we impart knowledge and offer experience through the written word, through the telling of tales, through leading a reader from one thought to another.

The root of the word “Essay” is the French “Essayer”. A verb meaning, “to try”. To try to convince the reader of a truth in an academic paper is no different than trying to convince a reader of an emotional truth in a fictional piece. Tout le monde doit essayer.

And we none of deserve to be shouted down, talked over, or dismissed. No one can tell you that your story isn’t worth telling. Of course it is. It’s yours.

And don’t let anyone call your characters, or your work, or you a ”Mary Sue” in the derogatory sense. Ever again.  Ever.

Or I am going to scream.

Thank you.

[impudentmiscengenation]

Broadcast

Danny fiddled with the microphone pinned to his shirt, biting his lips nervously. He should never have agreed to go on ‘Paranormal Press’ to talk about his ghost half. Never. This was dumb, so dumb. Why was he so dumb? He glanced off to the side to see his parents giving him a thumbs-up from where they were, talking to some big-shot GIW scientist that the ‘news’ had also been interviewing. Of course they’d be grinning and excited; why not? They aren’t the ones that have to go on live television and talk about what were the most intimate parts of themselves.

Danny scowled to himself and tried to get comfortable in the black leather seat that he’d been given. Seated across from him was the reporter who would be asking the questions. The reporter, a gentleman in his early forties named Rich, gave the boy a small, crinkly-eyed smile. The brown-eyed man gently moved the teen’s hand from the microphone. Danny went stiff and dropped his twitching hand onto his knee.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s like camera’s not even there, if you don’t think too much about it. I was nervous my first time on live T.V., too, so I know how it feels.” Rich gave the boy a reassuring nod. Danny tilted his head to acknowledge that he’d been spoken to but remained rigid. Rich stroked his freshly-shaven chin before grinning.

“Y’know, the first time I did a live show, I was so nervous I got really bad gas.” Rich found his cheeks tinting at the not-so-fond memory of his late teens. Danny looked at the man and allowed himself a small, amused smile.

“Really?” He asked, intrigued and a bit more relieved. Rich grinned, glad to see that his confession had produced the desired effect on the teen. There it is. The reporter nodded.

“Mmhmm. Totally. It was foul, too. My co-workers wouldn’t stop calling me ‘Rich the Ripper’ for months.” Danny chuckled quietly, behind his hand out of respect, and looked at the plush violet carpet, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

“That sounds… awful.” Rich laughed quietly as well.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad. This stays between us, okay? I really don’t want that nickname coming back.” Danny laughed and the two shook hands.

“Deal.” Suddenly a voice offstage called their attention.

“We’re live in thirty!”

Danny gulped. She didn’t mean thirty minutes. Rich cleared his throat and Danny glanced over, relaxing slightly at the older man’s calming gaze.

“Just breathe, you’ll do great. You saved the world from a glowing green asteroid; how hard could a little interview be?” Danny grinned and looked down a bit, pink staining his cheeks. Rich chuckled and straightened his notes, crossing one leg over another. “Just focus on me,” the seasoned reporter advised coolly, “I promise you that this’ll be over before you know it.” “Fifteen seconds!”

Danny took a deep, steadying breath and made himself comfortable in the seat that he’d been provided with. Focus on the questions, Fenton. Just relax. You’ve stuffed countless ghosts back into the ghost zone, faced your evil future self, and generally gone through Hell and came back unscathed! This is just a dumb interview! You can do this! “Five! Four! Three!...”

Danny snapped up to a decent posture and forced himself into a collected countenance. Even Rich found himself impressed at the boy’s sudden shift before he gave a dazzling smile to the camera. “Good evening, everyone. Today is a special day; I’m Richard Rossum of Paranormal Press here with Daniel Fenton who, up until just a few months ago, was avowed as a normal high school student in the not-so-normal town of Amity Park in Michigan; however, the Disasteroid debacle of several months prior is what forced a change, so to speak. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that I am not only speaking to Amity Park resident Daniel Fenton, but will also have the pleasure of addressing proclaimed hero, Danny Phantom.” Rich adjusted his focus and beamed at the halfa, who, in turn, responded with a slight quirk of the lips. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, just a bit unnatural. He was still fraught with nerves.

“So, Danny, what part of all this has been the most difficult to get used to?” Danny swallowed and looked at the space between Rich’s eyebrows. “Well, I guess not having to dodge into a porta-potty to switch forms is pretty neat.” Rich chuckled and Danny grinned, gaining a bit of confidence from his jest. “Out of everything? … I have to say that it’s a bit odd to, well, not be ignored. I mean, before all of this, I could just kinda do my own thing and nobody would really pick up on it but now it’s like I can’t do anything without at least someone noticing.” Rich nodded.

“I suppose that would be taxing after a while. Now, from the Disasteroid incident we were informed that not only do ghosts exist but half-ghosts as well; can you elaborate on this?” Danny blinked and tilted his head to the side a bit. “Well, I’m not really a scientist like my parents but I have picked up some things from wandering the ‘Zone.” Before Rich could think to ask about the Ghost World, Danny continued. “So, ghosts are… formed when a human dies and their emotions leave a strong enough imprint behind into ectoplasm-which is the stuff that ghosts are made out of. Usually, the stronger the emotions a person leaves behind when they die, the stronger their ghost is when it materializes in the Ghost Zone.” Jack wiped a tear from his eye backstage; he knew his son would follow in his footsteps! And the way he went about it, he sounded just as smart as his mother, who was also beaming. The boy had a far-off look in his eyes and Rich could tell not to interrupt him, the boy was deep in thought.

“A halfa… Well, we’re… I’m different,” Danny adjusted his statement, looking towards the floor. “Obviously there’s not a lot of, y’know, science behind this but… I guess I’m the product of a half-death. Like, I started to die but because there was a lot of ectoplasm, my ghost formed immediately and, as a defense mechanism, I switched forms before it was over which preserved my human half.” Rich heard murmurs and other forms of quiet exclamation from the studio; Danny either didn’t notice or didn’t care. The boy looked back up from the floor and nodded to Rich, who took the hint and looked at his notepad before frowning and looking back at the boy. He cleared his throat.

“You say that you, in a sense, died. How did you die, then?” A chill swept through the room. Those watching on the television could feel it and saw the shiver that ascended Rich’s spine. Danny’s black hair covered his face and he had a hard frown set on his lips. Rich was about to open his mouth to take back the question, obviously he’d set his interviewee off somehow, when Danny let out a small noise, a laugh almost.

“Yeah, I sometimes forget that the human world isn’t really… acquainted with weird ghost formalities.” Danny looked up and brushed the hair from his face, calming his expression and taking back the chill from the room. Rich frowned.

“What do you mean?” Danny shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest, if you asked anyone in the ‘Zone that question, you’d probably get your lights punched out. It’s… really rude to ask a ghost how they died. It’s the sort of thing that you’d have to gain a certain level of trust before even really broaching the subject…”

Silence as Rich kicked himself mentally. The murmuring hadn’t stopped and Danny let his smile drop, facing toward the back of the room. As Rich was about to ask another, more safe, question, Danny interrupted his thoughts with an answer. “I was electrocuted.” The boy’s eyes closed. “I… Wandered into my parent’s lab one afternoon with my friends. I kinda told them about this invention that my parents made but that it fell just short of working so we were gonna check it out… I went inside and… Turned it on while I was still in it… And the rest is history.” The teenager now looked slightly sick and completely miserable, the hands in his lap were trembling. Rich felt a stab of guilt that was nothing compared to what the boy’s parents were feeling just offstage. The reporter cleared his throat with a small smile. “Alright then, next question! So, having parents with lots of paranormal knowledge; how do you think you were able to keep your secret under wraps for so long?” Danny’s attitude changed and he rubbed the back of his neck with a crooked grin.

“Heh, luck? … To be honest, I’m surprised myself. I guess those of us who knew were just real careful; I don’t really think that there’s much else to it. Luck and caution.” Danny shrugged his shoulders and Rich nodded.

“Fair answer. So, being half-ghost yourself, what is your opinion overall of ghosts?” The boy frowned in thought.

“Well, that’s kinda like asking what I think of humans as a whole. I mean, it’s a pretty broad spectrum that you’re referring to. Some ghosts want nothing but power and will do anything to get it, some humans are the same way. Some ghosts want to help others any way they can, some humans feel the same… Most ghosts kinda just want to be let alone, which I can respect as long as their ‘being alone’ doesn’t, y’know, cause issues. I think what I’m trying to say is that you can’t base your perspective of ghosts because of one nasty encounter; it’s bound to happen, just like going about your life and meeting terrible humans. In fact, I know a whole lot of ghosts who are absolutely terrified at the idea of humans.” Danny paused to grin, as if thinking of a fond memory. “So… Yeah.” He looked at Rich with his boyish smile. The reporter nodded and adjusted his leg.

“Alright, then. What is the most powerful enemy you have faced thus far?” The boy pursed his lips and went quiet. “Hmm, that’s tough, actually. I guess… hm. I guess I should say Pariah Dark was the hardest ghost I’ve ever had to fight. Especially considering I couldn’t have done it on my own.” He mused aloud and Rich tilted his head to the side.

“Could you give us a bit… More on this ghost?” Danny made a noncommittal sound before nodding his head and continuing.

“Well, Pariah Dark was a really ancient ruler of the Ghost Zone. The proclaimed ‘King of All Ghosts’. As you can imagine, he was pretty… difficult to deal with.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck nervously and Rich got the hint to begin to stray away from the topic. A woman cleared her throat and pointedly looked at the clock to remind him that he was on a bit of a time-crunch here. He needed to be quick with the five minutes he had left. “Alright, how about we start to wrap this up, then. What do you think is the most powerful ability that you have currently?” “My Ghostly Wail, for sure.” He said without hesitation, nodding to affirm himself. Rich grinned and continued along with this train of thought.

“Can you tell me about it? What does it do? How do you do it?” Danny looked even more uncomfortable and Rich started doubting himself. Was he asking all the wrong questions? The boy cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his seat.

“Well, it’s… It’s a bit tough to understand, really…” He mumbled before biting his lip. Maddie and Jack Fenton were just as confused from where they sat on the sidelines. Usually Danny was pretty ecstatic when demonstrating what he could do. Not once had he tried to perform a ‘Ghostly Wail’ for them, let alone have such a strong adverse reaction to it. Rich told himself not to interrupt the boy. He was obviously going to answer the question; the teen was looking for a way to articulate himself. Seemingly having found an answer to an internal question, Danny swallowed hard and continued to face the carpet. The teen’s face was more hardened than it had been (and much more distant than it usually looked, Maddie noticed).

“You remember when I told you that ghosts form out of strong human emotions bound to ectoplasm, right?” Rich nodded and Danny continued, speaking softly. The producers turned up his microphone to catch his words, which they hung onto like a lifeline. “Well, sometimes it’s not just emotions that get left behind. Sometimes there are… traces of certain memories or experiences that also go into forming a ghost. Sometimes these traces turn into abilities unique to the ghost that possesses them. Most of the time, these traces are what fuels ‘obsession’ in ghosts. Like, hunting, for example.” Danny grinned for a moment before regaining his somber expression. He sighed quietly and plucked at his shirt. “... When I went through the portal it… It really hurt. It was… awful. The worst thing I can think of, really. And… As I was, well, practically dying, I screamed.” He paused and the boy almost looked ready to vomit. Maddie was horrified into silence, covering her face with gloved hands while her husband was uncharacteristically stoic, frowning with his brows drawn together in concern. Rich leaned forward whilst Danny continued.

“A while after I became a halfa, I fought a really bad ghost. He was winning and I panicked. I yelled at him, screamed at him, and found out that I could project that sound so that it’s unbearable to those who hear it. It, very literally, blows them away.” Danny picked at the hem of his shirt again before finishing up with his answer. “I found out myself that my Ghostly Wail is unique to me in that… Well. When I tap into that power, I’m releasing… My dying screams.” His voice faltered for a moment and he heard his mother let out a choked sob at the mention of her child, her baby boy, going through that amount of pain. Danny steeled himself and forced a grin at the reporter. “But it’s pretty powerful. It’s really only a last resort attack because it just drains me, but it gets the job done, in most cases.” He shrugged to play off the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Next question?” Rich smiled.

“Actually, we’re just about out of time. Thank you so much for your time, Danny. Just the few answers you’ve given us today will undoubtedly shake things up in the paranormal scientific community!” Rich chuckled before facing camera #1 again to give his conclusion speech.

Danny waited in his chair until a woman’s voice echoed “We’re clear!”; the boy stood and-before he could be enveloped in his parents’ hugs-flew through the studio’s ceiling and into the crisp evening air.

I would rather take a beating from Skulker in my human form than do that again. Danny mused to himself as he twirled in the breeze, allowing the air currents to drift him further into the stratosphere and away from the studio, where plenty of baffled people were chattering away below him.

[faces-in-unexpected-places]

Do You Have the Time? Episode 020: Experiment One, Trial Two

Synopsis: Leslie and Leopold shoot the shit together, then they really break some new glass ground in their next phase of experimentation.

[April 24th, 2018, 15:22]

           Leopold sat at the lab bench with their half-finished time machine concoction sitting at it. He was currently working on a method of attaching the pipe to a small, DC motor they had purchased. Leslie pulled up a chair behind him as he worked and alternated between taking bites from two separate cups of ice cream. She was holding both of theirs. They wound up with extra time before Jeremy was done teaching, so they decided to take themselves out to a little treat.

           “I’m not sure what we’d do without you, Leo,” Leslie said, “You’re always making all of these contraptions out of bits and pieces of things you find. I’m not sure Jeremy and I would be able to get by without all your little gadgets… Maybe Jeremy could make some. But he has really only made IO who is a much more traditional kind of robot,” she chuckled.

           “Well, you’ve got Marie to thank for that too, actually,” he mumbled in his concentration.

           “Oh really? Was she a scientist too? Or an engineer?”

           “Goodness, no,” he laughed, “Quite the opposite. She was an artist! She did all kinds of pieces. Music, paintings, sculptures, sewing, you name it. She always told me ‘you could make anything, if you really wanted to!’” he chuckled, “I put that thought to good use ever since then,” he sighed yearningly.

           “She inspired you to make these kinds of things?” Leslie asked.

           “You could say that.”

            “She told me that I didn’t remind her of ‘normal scientists’, whatever that meant,” he chuckled, “Said I had something special that they didn’t, but I think she was just in love with me,” he brushed off.

           Leslie snorted.

           “Oh, just that?”

           “She told me I should try inventing things. I made a couple of fun little contraptions for her. I’m pretty sure she just wanted me to make one of those Dr. Seuss machines where something goes in and something comes out, but what happens inside is a total mystery.” he laughed, “It is fun though, I’ll admit. If anyone supported me working on the floor, writing with colored pencils, and making silly machines to make my research easier, it was Marie.”

           “Huh. So that’s why you’re so eccentric,” Leslie said with a mouth full of ice cream.

           Leopold spun around in high alert.

           “Are you eating my ice cream, too?” he accused.

           “No,” Leslie said defensively, holding the ice cream in her mouth.

           “Yes, you are, I can see it on your mouth!” he pointed to her face, “Stop that, you little weasel!”

           Leslie stood up, holding both cups of ice cream, and scurried away.

           “They were melting, I had to do something!” she spoke through a mouth full of his ice cream.

           “Yeah, you’re supposed to tell me, so I can eat it!” he laughed and chased after her.

           “Wait, wait, wait,” she put her hands out cautiously, “Wait… wait…” she swallowed another gulp, “There was a reason, I can explain…”

           He stopped.

           “Okay then, please do Ms. Goodchild.”

           “…It was just so good!” she pleaded.

           Leopold playfully swatted at his ice cream and Leslie squealed. She gave up the cup away from her and devoured what was left of his ice cream, which wasn’t much. They laughed and he took a break from building the machine. Leslie offered her own cup to him when he finished his.

           “You want mine too? I ate a lot of yours; I don’t need to be eating this much ice cream.”

           “Oh, nonsense, live a little! Eat it while you’re still young,” he encouraged, “Your body can still afford it,” he joked.

           “What do you mean, you look great for your age!” Leslie exclaimed.

           “Heh, see, Leslie, it’s already a red flag if you have to say ‘for your age’.”

           “Old or not, you could definitely be worse off. Compared to the other old guys here? You’re doing fine,” she judged.

           “Though, you still just implied that I am in fact, ‘an old guy’,” he chuckled.

“Older, maybe, sure, but you look great, you’re smart, and tall, and you still have some hair!”

           Leopold scoffed.

           “Still have some hair?” he repeated.

           “Yeah, that sounded better in my head,” she uttered to herself, “I didn’t really mean it that way, sorry!”

           Leopold shrugged and waved her apology away.

           “But everything else I did mean! I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed that you’re turning Martha’s head.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Oh goodness, you’re such a man,” she joked, “She always asks about you when I talk to her. I bet if you asked her on a date, she’d say yes,” Leslie lovingly nudged.

           Leopold nervously laughed.

           “Even if I was ‘turning heads’ – which I don’t believe I am – I’m sure they’re just passing thoughts, Leslie. She probably has a husband of her own–”

           “Nope. Divorced ten years ago,” she quickly rebutted.

           “Okay, maybe so… but I’m still ten years her senior! Something like us would look out of place, I’m sure.”

           “She’s 55 Leo, not a teenager,” she brushed off and giggled, “Technically the youngest age you can date is 39 because 64 divided by 2, plus 7 is 39.”

           Leopold narrowed his eyes at Leslie who was all too invested. She had an answer for everything. Almost like her answers were pre-thought out. She realized that he was catching on and reeled herself back into her chair. Apparently, she’d leaned more and more forward the longer they talked.

           “How much have you thought about this?” he asked, suspiciously.

           “What life plan?!” she blurted out.

           “You’re putting together a life plan for me?” he cracked up.

           “Uh, I didn’t say ‘life plan’, I said… ‘wife plan’,” she blurted out, “Oh, god, it’s the same thing,” she murmured to herself.

           Leopold laughed, rolled his eyes, and slapped his knee in amusement.

           “Well, that’s very sweet of you, Leslie. But you know, since Marie… I haven’t really been interested in… ‘getting back out there’, or anything. She was the love of my life… I think she was the only one,” he softly resolved.

           “Mmm, I guess, but… if she’s looking down on you right now… I bet she wouldn’t mind if you…”

           “If… what?”

           “You know…” she winked with a wide-open smile.

           “Oh my god! Leslie!”

            “What!?” she laughed.

            “You were so innocent when I took you in! Where did it all go? I surely know that I didn’t do anything with it!” he joked.

           “Oh, I was like this long before I met you,” she dismissed, “I was just thinking it, instead of saying it, so I didn’t want to drive you away.”

           “You mean a strange old man walks up to you wearing a bow-tie and suspenders, says ‘hey I know we’ve just met, but I’m building a time machine, and have no employees, but you look the part, so I’ll pay for your classes if you work for me’ and you thought ‘what a conventional fellow who has not said anything out of the ordinary, I better not be too weird around him in case it drives him away’?”

           “Yup!” Leslie happily answered, without a second thought.

           “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything about it, but since you’re the one who started it…” he grinned and changed the subject.

           “Oh no.”

           “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how the boy looks at you.” he used her own words against her with a proud smirk.

           Leslie glued her eyes to the ceiling and shrugged.

           “I know not of who you speak,” she shook her head, her skin turning red.

           “Oh, you know well and good that the only one I call ‘boy’ is Jeremy.”

           “Jeremy Brilliant?” she continued playing dumb, “Oh, yeah, he’s a good guy,” she said, attempting to sound nonchalant.

           “Based on my calculations the youngest age you can date is 21. If I recall correctly, I believe Jeremy is–”

           “–24, yes, I am aware,” Leslie cut him off, bashfully.

           “Oh. So, seems you are.”

           “Eh, oooh, shouldn’t have said that,” Leslie mumbled to herself.

           “I bet if you asked him on a date, he’d say yes,” Leopold smirked.

           “Oh, is this funny to you? This is fun?” Leslie sassed with rosy cheeks.

           “A little bit, yeah,” he snickered.

           She rolled her eyes and laughed wryly. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Her voice was low as a precaution if he suddenly came through the door.

           “While I don’t exactly doubt that… something could happen…”

           “Mhmm.”

           “Emphasis on could…”

           “Of course.”

           “We’re friends…” she said softly yet decisively, “And I like what we have, so I don’t plan on changing it.”

           “Oh, no?”

           “Nope! I’m doubling down with that.”

           “Okay,” he accepted.

           “And besides, he’s doing his research here, dating someone you’re working with can be risky, and we’ve got bigger ideas, anyway! We’re all working really hard for this time project. It would be a distraction.”

           “Fair points, no judgement,” Leo threw his hands in the air, “Sometimes things just happen, though…” he shrugged and trailed off.

           “Maybe so, but it’s a moot point because any feelings that may or may not be there are pushed way deep, deep down and aren’t relevant to our research! Sooo, let’s get to work on it! We have to work fast, anyway, right?”

           Leopold chuckled and pulled his seat back up to the machine on the lab table and motioned for Leslie to follow. And she did.

           “You are right. Let’s get to work, poppet.”

           The industrial DC motor was about the size of Leslie’s torso. She held it still while he fit the pipe around the protruding rotor. It was structurally the same as their cranking method, but instead, the battery-powered rotor would spin the pipe, rather than the crank. Leopold dug around under the lab bench to find the box that the motor came in. He found the product specifications on the box. The DC motor had a resistance of 2.5 Ohms and could be powered with up to 220 volts.

           But no batteries were included.

           Leopold threw his head back with wry chuckle. Leslie asked what the matter was, and he pointed to the print on the box. She frowned.

           “Oh.”

           “We should have read more carefully,” Leopold sighed.

           “Maybe we can find some batteries in the stock room?” she suggested.

           “Hmm…”

            Suddenly Leopold thrusted himself out of the chair and headed to the stockroom, motioning once again for Leslie to follow. They dug through as many cabinets as they could count until they came across a bag of nine-volt batteries and copper wires. The wires were insulated with rubber of various bright colors, but the conductive tips of the wires were exposed. Leopold laughed triumphantly and began scavenging the materials. He brought them back to the lab bench with Leslie’s help.

           “Alright Leslie, it’s time to think all the way back to your first physics class,” he began, “What do you remember about electric circuits?”

           “Oh, mmm, uhh, hold on!” she hummed and hawed and ripped a piece of paper out of her nearby notebook. She wrote ferociously.

           “Okay, so… We use Ohm’s law!”

“That’s right! And what is Ohm’s law?” Leopold quizzed.

“Mmm…” Leslie tapped her pen against the table, “Voltage is equal to current multiplied by resistance!” she called out as soon as she wrote it out.

           “Exactly! Do you remember what each factor is?” he pressed as he began lining up the batteries.

           Leslie spoke almost as if she was regurgitating information that was instilled in her mind long ago.

           “Voltage is the amount of potential a battery has to generate electricity… the current is how much electrical charge passes through something for a defined amount of time; it’s sort of like how quickly or strongly the electricity is flowing. And resistance… is, well, how much the object being powered resists the flow of the electrical current. The more it resists, the hotter it gets… right?” she asked.

           “You hit the nail right on the head,” he gleamed proudly, “Good for you for never forgetting your roots!”

           “So… are we really going to power this giant motor with nine-volt batteries, though? It seems… impractical,” she chuckled.

           “Eh, well, it’s all we’ve got, currently. But if we have enough of them, it should make no difference, right? Because if we just wire all these nine-volts together, their voltages are additive. It starts out as nine, then to eighteen, then twenty-seven, and so forth.”

           “…All the way up to 220?” Leslie asked apprehensively.

           “Yeah,” Leo sighed tiresomely, “…We’re going to need a lot of batteries.”

           “Oh, I remember, because the more volts there are, the stronger the electrical current—”

           “And the faster the pipe will spin to make the cosmic strings, you got it!”

           Leslie joined Leopold in his venture to connect all the batteries together with the wires. One end of a copper wire touched the positive terminal of a battery, then the other end of the wire bridged its way to the negative terminal of the next battery. They continued this pattern, linking about 20 nine-volt batteries total. They had essentially made a 180-volt battery from many smaller batteries. Leopold grinned and subtly bounced up and down in excitement at the circuit. Just as they were about to complete the circuit by connecting the opposite ends to the motor, Jeremy walked in.

           Leopold twirled around, beamed, and waved him over.

           “Oh, you have got the most perfect timing, boy! Come, come, look at this!” Leo gestured widely with his arms at the array of batteries. Jeremy vacantly dropped his backpack on the ground and floated over to their lab bench. Leslie frowned at him, sensing something was wrong.

           “What is it?” he asked with a hollow tone.

           “We’re about to start trial two. Automating the spinning of the cosmic string!”

           “Cool,” Jeremy stated and donned his lab coat. Leslie gathered the aluminum and iron oxide powders and together, they filled up the next ceramic pot in the metal bucket complete with the magnesium ribbon fuse. Jeremy lit the fuse and carelessly drifted away, from the reaction. Leslie grabbed him by the wrist and ushered him to the other side of the room, behind Leopold who was about to complete the circuit. The brilliant red, orange, and yellow sparks of the reaction filled the bucket and illuminated the surrounding area like all the other times before.

           Leopold feverishly connected the last wires to the motor. It emitted a deep humming sound as it powered up, and the rotor began whirling faster and faster. The pipe they had fixed to the rotor shook about in its place. Leopold gave the fiery bucket an elbow in the direction of the whizzing pipe. Just as the pipe began glowing red hot at the tip closest to the reaction bucket, the powerful vibrations caused the pipe to tremble to the very edge of the rotor. The intense rotation flung the pipe off the motor and towards Leopold. Leslie tried to yell “watch out!”, but the anxiety and surprise translated her words into “Waaaahh!”. She hustled herself and Jeremy to the other side of the lab bench, away from the chaos.

           Leopold quickly ducked for cover. The pipe closely grazed the top of his head and crashed through the large window behind him that peered into his office. Shards of glass pattered over his desk like rain drops. The ceramic pot combusted in the metal bucket once again, spitting chunks of ceramic out the top. Shortly after, the motor died out and the swirling rotor slowed to a stop. The remainder of the thermite reaction snapped and crackled in the metal bucket like a dying campfire.

           The room was inert with the wreckage of trial two.

           Leopold’s old body staggered to its feet. He glanced over his shoulder to his office, then to the motionless motor. He sighed. Leslie and Jeremy popped up on the other side of the lab bench. Leopold tightly rubbed his face with an agitated expression.

           “I thought we were breaking ground for a second, but then every single part of that experiment just failed,” he muttered to himself, “Damn it,” he enunciated aloud.

           “Are you okay?” Leslie redirected his attention.

           “Yeah, I’m fine,” he exhaled and felt the top of his head, “I think that pipe may have… skinned the top of my head. A bit of a blessing, considering. What I want to know is why the motor stopped. Did the circuit break?”

           Jeremy and Leslie investigated the circuit. Leslie frowned and shook her head.

           “It looks fine to me.”

           “The batteries are all dead,” Jeremy declared with a flat tone.

           “Alright, how do you figure?” Leo cross-examined and approached the motor, still burning off his frustration.

           Jeremy scoffed.

           “Because you used twenty nine-volts. Look at the capacity on them. Half an amp hour. How many amps are you running through this circuit?” he disputed.

           Leopold glanced up to the ceiling while he did the math in his head. They could hear him mumbling the numbers to himself.

           “A hundred eighty volts over two and a half Ohms is… Eighty? Eighty-eight? I think it’s eighty-eight amps.”

           “So, half an amp hour over eighty-eight amps is how much?” Jeremy asked.

           Leslie started calculating on her phone. The current circuit could only sustain itself on their array of nine-volt batteries for 0.005 hours, which was approximately 20 seconds.

           “Oh…” Leslie muttered and glanced up at them both, “He has a point, Leo. The capacity on these nine-volts is so low that because they’re putting out so much electricity at once, they can’t sustain it for longer than a few seconds. We used up all the juice in these batteries in an instant because spinning the pipe that fast pretty much sucks all the energy out of them right away.”

           “Awww… he is right,” Leopold groaned, “I forgot about the capacity. How did you figure it out so quickly, boy?”

           “IO went through a lot of batteries before I found a decent rechargeable one for him to use,” he explained, “And I also just taught a lab on electric circuits an hour and a half ago.”

           The lab was motionless while they all processed the results of trial two. Leopold exhaled in mild frustration and glimpsed at his disheartened team. He shook the failure off the best he could. He put on a brave face and shrugged.

           “It’s nothing we’re not already used to, right Leslie?” he broke the silence.

           Her concerned expression broke, too. She anxiously chuckled once she felt that Leopold’s frustration wasn’t going to escalate any further.

           “It wouldn’t be us if we didn’t fail at least once in every phase, first,” she added.

           “We’re going to get there,” he responded, calmer and more certain of himself, “We’ve seen the strings. At least part of one. We know we can produce them, somewhat. They’re just not stable enough to last beyond the pipe for more than a few seconds. But we can do better with this,” he gestured to the motor, “We just have to keep at it. We can’t give up that easily. If time travel were easy, everyone would be doing it. Right?”

           He and Leslie chuckled together. Jeremy held a barely noticeable smile.

           “Good work, you two. As always,” Leo perked up, “So what do we know…?” he murmured to himself.

           “We need better batteries,” Jeremy claimed, “Ideally with higher voltage and amp hours so we need less to produce the electric current and so that the motor lasts longer,” he summarized.

           “And we also need to keep that pipe on the rotor,” Leslie mentioned, “We can’t have anyone’s head come that close to being taken off, again!”

           “Yeah…” Leopold muttered and glimpsed back at the pipe covered in broken glass in his office, “So how do we get it to stay on?”

           “…Super glue?” Leslie humorously suggested.

           “Huh. Yeah, maybe,” Leo thought out loud.

           “Oh, pfft, I was mostly joking!”

           “It’s worth a try,” Jeremy supported, seeming slightly more optimistic.

           “One of you Google what the strongest super glue is, and I’ll add it to the shopping list,” Leo said.

           He scribbled away on their chalkboard, jotting down the need for batteries and super glue. He wrote down twelve- or twenty-four-volt batteries with five-hundred amp hours. Leslie announced that Google said the best glue was Loctite Super Glue. Leo marked it down.

           “We should make sure to have acetone on hand, too. Just in case we need to remove the glue from anywhere,” she added.

           Leo nodded and wagged his finger at her quick thinking.

           “Looks like we’ve got another trip to make,” Leo observed, “Why don’t you two head out for a while and find those things; I’ll stay behind and clean up this mess.”

           Leslie stalled to triple-check that Leo was truly okay with staying behind to clean, but he insisted that they move on without him. She and Jeremy took their essentials and Leopold ushered them out the door.

[theseaofrainbowclouds]

Shagaru Magala Weapon Translations + Pronunciations

Because literally no one asked for it...

... like seriously, no one. This is purely a labour of love of language...

I bring you the continuation of my Gore Magala German pronunciation guide. A handy in-depth guide to understanding and pronouncing the French names of the Shagaru Magala weapon lines. So if you can only look on in fear when trying to say a word in French without incurring the immediate judgement of your peers (who am I kidding? It’s French. That’s everybody), you have come to the right place.

Unlike the German Gore Magala names, all of these weapons are one-word translations, rather than compound terms, so we’ll be done in half the time~!

If only I believed that...

*Quick translation note, French and Spanish have this thing where they use the word ‘the’ in places that we don’t see them in English, especially around nouns that stand for abstract concepts. This is why all the weapons in this list begin with a Le, La, or L’, where English would normally usually use just the one word.

Furthermore, it has been said elsewhere on this site that French spelling and pronunciation rules are less about logic and more about aesthetic. As far as I can tell, this is true, so I won’t waste as time trying to explain pronunciation guidelines as I did in the Gore Magala section. To put it short, stress always falls on the last pronounced syllable, and if the word ends in an ‘e’ or most consonants, it is usually not pronounced, even if plural.

Great Sword

From the fell pride of the previous, we move into glory and... creation?

L'Apothéose - Easily recognisable if you’re familiar with the English word ‘apotheosis’, which comes from Greek more or less entirely intact. Functionally the act of becoming a god, or else glorifying and exalting something.      Say: ‘la-potay-ohz’      Means: ‘Deification’ or ‘Exaltation’

L'Éclat - There appear to be a couple meanings for this word, but the ones that seem to have the most relevance to us are ‘brilliance’ and ‘splendour’      Say: ‘lay-clat’      Means: ‘Brilliance’ or ‘Splendour’ 

L'Origine - Obviously resembling the word ‘origin’, the French meaning of this word encompasses both the source of something, and the metaphysical beginnings, especially of the world. Note that French ‘r’ is pronounced in the back of your throat, sort of like an English ‘h’ with more growl.       Say: ‘lo-rhi-zheen’      Means: ‘The Beginning’ or ‘The Source’

As before, the Japanese names of these weapons are directly transliterated English words, but follow the pattern “The ___” instead of ‘___ of ___’. Two are localized into French almost directly, while L’Apothéose stands in for a very different ‘a’-word. The Apocalypse, The Shining, The Origin.

Long Sword

The theme of judgement and authority carry over and hold strong through this line.

La Justicière - Related to a more obscure English word that doesn’t see much use outside of roleplaying games, ‘justiciar’. Of course, a simpler translation is ‘judge’, or general upholder of the law. Worth noting that because of gendered nouns in French, this is unambiguously a female lawbringer.      Say: ‘la-zhoos-tice-iyehr’      Means: ‘Justiciar’ or ‘Lawbringer’

La Loi - Easy, directly translates into ‘law’, including as far as I can tell all the associated connotations. Pronounced not ‘oy’ but ‘oa’, or ‘wa’.      Say: ‘la-lwa’      Means: ‘Law’

Le Décalogue - I said no more compound words, and while technically that holds true here, not many people are going to be familiar with the direct translation here; ‘Decalogue’. That’s it. It is an alternative name for the Ten Commandments, which you can see in the components ‘deca’ (ten) and ‘logos’ (word/statement/etc.).      Say: ‘leh-day-ca-loeg’      Means: ‘The Decalogue’ or ‘Ten Commandments’

This localization is accurate almost word-for-word, including the spontaneous religious twist at the end. We’ll be seeing a lot more of that coming up. The Justice, The Law, The Decalogue

Sword and Shield

We drop the inexplicable hyphen-ankh, but maintain a fixation with searching.

Le Détecteur - Detector, or sensor, usually implying a device. That’s about all there is to say about that. Except that French ‘eu’ seems to be a lot like German ‘ö’.      Say: ‘leh-detek-teur’      Means: ‘The Detector’

La Vérité - I can pretty much verify that this one means ‘truth’. Heh. Multilingual puns. Okay, I’m done. Accent on that last ‘e’ means it’s an exception to the ‘don’t pronounce the last e’ rule.      Say: ‘la-verhi-tey’      Means: ‘Truth’

Le Limier - Related to an obsolete English word with the same meaning; a bloodhound. In both languages ‘bloodhound’ also takes on the figurative meaning of ‘sleuth’ or ‘detective’. The hunting metaphors are strong with SnS.      Say: ‘leh-lim-yay’      Means: ‘Bloodhound’ or ‘Sleuth’

I thought these were going to continue the trend of more or less direct localizations until I got to the last one. Suffice to say, it becomes very clear which meaning of ‘limier’ is intended. The Detector. The True/Truth. The Sherlock. SHERLOCK. Fuck yeah.

Dual Blades

Literal claws take an abrupt shift into religion.

Les Apôtres - Okay, this one kind of makes up for the completely linear SnS. What kind of lingual gymnastics do I have to go through to pronounce the funny looking hat on that ‘o’, I hear you asking. The truth is... well, none. The hat has nothing to do with pronunciation. It exists purely because this word, meaning ‘apostle’, used to have an ‘s’ after the ‘o’. An apostle, btw, is a religious messenger or emissary, usually related to the founder of a religion; especially the twelve apostles of Jesus.      Say: ‘leh-za-poht’      Means: ‘The Apostles’

Le Paradis - We are going full-tilt into the religious imagery here. Award yourself all the points if you guessed this one translates into Paradise, particularly either the Garden of Eden, or Heaven itself. Fun fact, the word paradise is descended from words meaning variously ‘walled garden’ or ‘park’.      Say: ‘leh-para-dee’      Means: ‘Paradise’

Le Shangri-La - Wait. What. Okay, so there’s no translation to be done here. It turns out Shangri-La was actually invented by a British author in 1933, possibly related to the concept of Shambhala. It is supposed to be a hidden paradise valley somewhere in Tibet, often standing again for the Garden of Eden. Hooray for Western exoticism of Asia... being used in a Japanese video game to make something sound more foreign and exotic. Okay, that’s fair.      Say: ‘leh-shangri-la’      Means: ‘Shangri-La’

Since French ‘Paradis’’ is the word for Heaven, not restricted to metaphorical paradise, I’d say the localization team was spot-on with these. The Apostle, The Heaven, The Shangri-La.

Part 2 (H, HH, L, GL) Part 3 (SA, CB, IG) Part 4 (LBG, HBG, Bow)