#looking forward to the day I eventually play a character that will be uplifted in this moment rather than terrified lskfjsdlkfj

[spiritsong]

day fourteen: campfire

#Veilguard30 by @pavus · writing prompt

wordcount: 1.5k sylathe lavellan fights off the panic that nips at her when the survivors of haven raise their voices in song. continue below or read on ao3.

“Shadows fall, and hope has fled.” 

Sylathe startled at Mother Giselle’s voice echoing out from behind her. Her gaze had been fixed on her advisors — each wore an expression of weariness and frustration. It had not become defeat or hopelessness yet, but in the shadows where the campfire could not reach, she felt those forces lingering, waiting for the first who would falter. 

“Steel your heart; the dawn will come.” 

And beyond the advisors, there were the faces of those who had survived the attack on Haven. Despite beating such odds, many would be unlikely to survive the night. There were mouths set in hardened lines, just as there were eyes that wept openly, everyone free or forced to witness the despondency on display. 

How many heard those muffled cries and felt the ache in their own chests bloom, eager to join in kind? How many were allowed to do so, and how many buried such aches, buried like the snow that smothered the mountains, denied it air so that they might find the fortitude to make it to a day where they could afford such vulnerability?

“The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.”

It was a song, Sylathe realized. The survivors’ heads lifted, first those closest to her, and then beyond as the revered mother’s voice rippled out across the camp. Some moved slowly, as though pushing through a fog, while others were startled out of the heaviness that plagued their thoughts. 

None wore the look of confusion that Sylathe felt on her own face. In fact, there seemed to be a connection there; they recognized the words that passed through Mother Giselle’s lips. 

A hymn, then. It had a similar cadence to the songs that Sylathe had heard the Chantry priests at Haven sing. 

“The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far.”

Again, Sylathe jumped when another voice rang out. It belonged to Leliana; the sound was clear and much sweeter than she would have expected from the ruthless spymaster. 

Still, there was a shrill quality to the pitch that was hard to ignore. Sylathe felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. 

“Keep to the stars; the dawn will come.” 

Unease settled on her like a pall as other voices joined in the chorus. One by one, people began to rise to their feet, drawing closer to Mother Giselle — and to her. She saw the dejection shed from their faces, replaced with something like…

Something like rapture.

She tried to swallow and found herself having trouble doing so. The muscles of her throat were locked into place. All the same, her feet refused to move, as though winter itself had taken hold of her and rooted her to the snow. The nonsensical part of her mind hoped that if she could mimic winter’s stillness, she would fade into the background, or somewhere else entirely. Anywhere else.

Her fingers flew to her chest by habit, and she felt the way her heart fluttered underneath, like a desperate animal trying to break out of a cage or trap. The blood pounding in her ears was so resounding she could no longer make out the words that filled the air.

A man broke through the crowd and approached her. Fear roiled inside her body; she could not predict what he might do. Just when she thought he would reach out and touch her, the man fell to his knees. 

Sylathe watched in horror as he looked at her with a reverence that no mortal should receive.  It had not been the first time people had kneeled to her in supplication. The cult at the Winterwatch Tower had done so after she had closed the rift that endangered their sanctuary. 

She had made an attempt to comfort herself by writing it off as the actions of a few fanatics, but now, Sylathe saw how that veneration spread from the man to the other survivors like an infection. It was as though some spell pulled their bodies to the ground; drew their faces from the revered mother to her.

“Stop,” Sylathe pleaded, though it came out only as a whisper, so soft that even she could not hear it. She tried again, louder this time, but the howling wind of the valley cared little for her words; it preferred instead to carry the hymn to every ear, to fill the spaces in-between until she could feel it press up against her.

She tried to stave off the fear, looking for a familiar face in the crowd, someone, anyone who wasn’t just a face or a name or a stranger entirely. Her eyes fell to her advisors, but Leliana appeared utterly lost in the song, and Josephine and Cullen had joined their voices to the masses. 

Their eyes met hers, and even they looked at her as though she was something more. Could they not see the terror she knew wrought her features? These were the people she was meant to trust, the ones who were meant to guide her— 

There is but one person who is your guide, Sylathe, and that is your Keeper. When did you start letting the shems mark out your path? 

Her own voice leveled admonishments to her in her head, and along with the frightful keening of the song, her senses became overwhelmed. The sea of faces that looked to her blurred and swirled until it was muddied and featureless.

And for a moment, she saw the elves who had come before; all others who had stood in this very spot, the Shartans of history, used by humanity and discarded once they had been wrung out of all their purpose.

No, it was worse than that; a death exacted twice — one of the body and another of the memory. 

And another vision came to her, this time of her future: she will be propped up as a figurehead for the shemlen institution that had been the cause of so much of her people’s suffering. She would dole out their decrees and enforce their laws and fight in their wars, and at the end of it all, they will have used her past her limit, and there will be nothing recognizable of her left. 

She didn’t want this.

Sylathe felt the cold panic just beneath her skin, more biting than even the blizzard that she had trudged through to get here. She wondered if she would have been better off lost in the snow. Why had she come this way? 

Even as she told herself that she could have left them to deal with Corypheus on their own, that she had done her due in halting the Breach, she knew that it could not be. But perhaps, if she had been slower, the storm could have claimed her and she would be free of her guilt. 

She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want this.

She took a faltering step backwards and bumped into someone who had shuffled close to her. They were crowding behind her now, too. There was no escape. 

Sylathe felt her consciousness threaten to lift out of her body, and despite everything, she fought against it. She did not want to watch her body from above. The people hungered for a hope that she could not feed them, and she feared to see what would happen to her once the realization hit them, how they might scratch and claw and take pieces of her for themselves.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to give herself some other stimulus to focus on. When they opened again, the details surrounding her were once again distinguishable. In the distance, across the fire and beyond the zealous faces, she saw movement. It was different from the bodies that shambled forward inch by inch.

This was someone moving with purpose through the crowd, not captured by the song like the others.

Solas.

He had survived the attack.

He came to a stop once there was a clear line of sight between them. He had been looking for her. 

Solas stood tall, staff in one hand, the end of it staked into the ground, a kind of pronouncement: this was his spot and he would not be moved from it.

She worried that the others might shift and she would lose sight of him, but they seemed to keep their distance, even without having awareness of doing so. 

The color of his eyes were indiscernible beneath the blanket of night, but still they shone with such clarity. 

She wondered what Solas saw as he stared at her; a misguided Dalish elf, gone pallid and wide-eyed, shaking with fear?

But she didn’t sense judgment or cruelty or even pity in the look he gave her. His eyes bore into her own, and even across the space, she felt as though she could almost hear his soothing voice in her head. 

Look at me, it said. Anchor yourself in my gaze.

Hold steady.

[citylighten]

With the recent negativity in the community, I figured we could use some uplifting. So I’m asking simblr to pick a blog or two, (or more if you want) and say why they inspire you, or what you admire about them. Or simply.. Why you think they’re cool. Whatever your heart desires. Let’s just spread some good. :)

With the recent negativity in the community, I figured we could use some uplifting. So I’m asking simblr to pick a blog or two, (or more if you want) and say why they inspire you, or what you admire about them. Or simply.. Why you think they’re cool. Whatever your heart desires. Let’s just spread some good. :) 

So, while I find it sweet that a few simblrs I follow have made overall compiled lists, I do want to highlight 2 blogs and get into the nitty-gritty of why they inspire me. Plus, this is basically an essay so, sit tight everybody!!

@beansbuilds is a big reason why I’m a builder, as well as a storyteller. I was still new to simblr and I was looking for lots for gameplay purposes, and when I stumbled across theirs I went on a downloading spree. I felt inspired, specifically by a 64x64 town they made for a commission. When I installed that build I thought two things - 1. The shops would be an amazing set for slice-of-life storytelling. 2. There was so much detail Bean placed inside the homes and I realized that when you create a build, you have to give homes a personality. Clutter and decoration tell a story about the sort of individual who lives there whether it be by the sort of fridge they use or welcome mats they have at their door. It’s something I’ve tried to apply to my own builds ever since moving forward.

I also admire how @beansbuilds has always tried to create lots that are functional. Throughout simblr there are so many lots that are gorgeous and stylish, but they aren’t meant for playing and moreso for editing purposes. Builds such as this have always kind of given me whiplash. Like, do I want to play this game or do I want this game to exclusively be a ‘digital comic creator’? Again, Bean has even inspired my builds in that way in the sense I want to always create something that’s real, that’s good looking AND has a degree of functionality if I just want to casually play the game. 

All and all, I just adore them and it’s hard to say what my content would even be looking like if I never downloaded their lots.

@cinamun is a simblr I’m capable of saying so much about. Over the course of…I want to say maybe two months, I read Indya/Things Fall Apart from the very beginning and there are two things I have to give her major props for; her characterization of the principal characters in her story and her progress in making edits. Indya, Darren, Juan, Elise and Jerri are not characters who are one note. Over many…many…many posts she allowed these characters to do good things, bad things - incredibly problematic things, and better yet she allows them to grow from it! Granted, no one's growth was instant. It was gradual and things were not instantly resolved once they made certain decisions. Heck, things still AREN’T resolved, but that just makes her characters feel more real.

In regards to cinnamon’s overall posted content, it is inspiring to see how she has progressed. Like, this woman has been a part of simblr since 2015. She does not hide her old content which, frankly, looks absolutely nothing like her present content. This shows that in order to make good, high-quality content you start from the very bottom. And if I’m going to be honest, I feel like a lot of people on social media hide that in the sense that they provide the illusion they were always on top, that they gained traction from the moment they started off. But this isn’t true. You ‘find’ your style after so many weeks, months, and years. and through reading Indya’s Beginnings, I literally watched how Cin’s style made all these gradual changes. It’s really inspiring to know that one day, eventually, if I keep moving forward I can be on her level of quality. Not to say I don’t think my stuff isn’t quality already, I just want to keep moving forward!

[theindiegamereview]

Meet the creative team: “Spellstone”

Are you a collectible card game (CCG) fan? If so, read on, because this week we spoke to the makers of Spellstone, a free-to-play (F2P) casual story-based fantasy card game that features vibrant, colourful, hand-drawn art on hundreds of beautiful cards that you can acquire and use in battle, both against the computer and other players!

TIGR: PABLO and DUSTIN are artists who have worked on Spellstone's art, helping create some of the iconic characters Spellstone fans know and love. We asked them how they came to work on the game, as well as what intrigued them about this project.

DUSTIN: I was working as a contract artist when I was asked to create some sample cards for a potential CCG, which is something I'd always wanted to do. The samples I submitted eventually led to me getting a contract to create the initial art for Spellstone. After about four months, I was offered a full-time position. I had such a great experience working with the team that I jumped at the opportunity!

PABLO: Prior to starting work on Spellstone, I remember doing an art piece to test my skills. I greatly enjoyed that because I particularly liked this game's art style - which is actually similar to my own! There were still slight differences though, so I've had to adapt a little. Blending my own personal style into an existing one was challenging. But something that intrigued me about Spellstone was the variety of factions in the game. Each and every one opens up a big array of possibilities when it comes to creating a character. I felt my options were unlimited and I loved it!

TIGR: Spellstone features many different cards and characters. We wanted to know who conceptualises all this, and how much creative licence artists get when crafting a character. FERNANDO, currently the main artist for the game, gave us more insight.

FERNANDO:  That Spellstone has such an immense variety of characters means it's a complete and delightful dish for artists. It's hugely gratifying to find such visual diversity with which to play with. You're completely free to create, as long as you respect the game's universe and visual language.

As for the process, the concept of what a card must look like and how it must be functional in terms of gameplay comes from the guys in the game design department. Very creative people... sorcerers maybe? I don't know. Haha!

From a brief but concise description they give me, I can get a sense of what kind of character and action they want to see in a card. Once I have all the information I need to start sketching, my favourite hour finally begins: creative hour!

If the card description involves an existing type of character, like a goblin, part of the fun has to do with the way you depict that character, situation, action and specific emotion. There's also some freedom to create from scratch if needed - that's exciting and challenging! Sometimes the ideas come from a mix of characters, and that's when the laboratory inside my mind starts working: I press a button and something cool, spooky or funny comes out - whatever the game requires. Other times, new concepts require that I look for approximate references of what's needed, so that serves as the starting point. No matter what, it's always a very enjoyable process. Sometimes we have to make corrections, that's true. But as with everything in life, this is necessary for things to work properly. You may have to redraw stuff, but finally the card is done - it works, it delivers and it entertains!

  TIGR: In Spellstone, cards can be upgraded from a single to a dual to a quad, and we really like that this sometimes tells a "mini story" of of sorts through the artwork. Some are funny (we just love Honeycomb Lobber!), some cute (Bomb Spirit is soooo adorable when he’s angry!), some uplifting (Aurora Shaver ranks among our favourites), and some, um, a bit disturbing, to be honest (Cleaverstorm Hunter, anyone?!)! And some are just sad - we can't help but feel sorry for the poor li'l forest furries that presumably got devoured by Alphamech Stalker! We asked the team how they came up with ideas for all these tiny narratives, and MELINDA, one of the game designers, told us more.

MELINDA: When I was younger, there were a few creatures in video games that terrified me. One of those I remembered most was Medusa, an air jellyfish from Ecco: The Tides of Time. While traversing through a water pathway in the sky, Medusa would try to pick up Ecco the dolphin and fling him off the path. Tetraspout's concept came from that, and you can even see poor little dolphins getting swept up in its attack!

  TIGR: We asked the team if there were any cards they particularly liked creating, or found challenging to conceptualise. IVÁN, a colorist who worked briefly on the game, chipped in, as did TONY and RHADA, two of Spellstone's game designers.

DUSTIN: I loved working on the goblin cards! You could get silly with them. Frogs were a lot of fun too - the variety of colours made them interesting. For me, the water cards were challenging but I grew to love working on them.

PABLO: My favourite characters are Goblins! You can play around with them, making them look funny even when the card is telling a dark story, like a massacre. All of the cards were challenging to create!

IVÁN: I enjoyed working on Hedron The Critical Threat, Zyd The Unhinged, and some awesome Insect cards that have yet to be released (as of the time of this interview). I mostly liked them because of their cool concepts and Fernando's awesome sketches. Hedron in particular was a technical painting challenge, as it has textures, transparencies and glow!

TONY: As something of an artist myself (/sarcasm), the card I am most proud of has to be Dinged Waptor. Or really any of the cards I did for the April Fool's event, which is about the only time the art team lets me anywhere near card art. :) For April Fool's, I decided it would be funny to try my hand at drawing some cards I felt players would enjoy. So the first year I drew some original characters that consisted of a few stick figures, a chicken, and a bomb. The response was good, so the following year I continued the tradition, eventually going through and tracing some famous cards like Winged Raptor. My one rule while making these cards was that I could not erase what I did!

RHADA: We used to sell boxes that contained two new premium cards instead of one. We thought of making both cards in the box thematically linked. At the same time, while brainstorming concepts for dragons, I thought we could try to make cards that formed a bigger picture on the battlefield when placed consecutively, side by side. The initial idea was a serpent whose artwork overflowed into a second card, and after some iteration, we stumbled upon the idea of a dragon dance. The result was very cool!

TIGR: With the Spellstone story campaign recently concluded, we asked what was next in store for Spellstone fans. Would there be anymore new characters and amazing art to look forward to?

TONY: Absolutely! While the main story has come to a close, we still look forward to adding new characters, cards, and art to the game that lets our artists have fun and shows off the world of Spellstone.

TIGR: And finally, the most important question of all: would real-life Spellstone merchandise ever be made available for fans of the game? We really want a plushie of the adorable Bomb Spirit (complete with detachable bombs, perhaps?), as well as his angry counterpart, Firebomb Spirit! Also for Quetee Que and Adorabilis, please! And would there ever be any actual physical Spellstone cards produced for collectors?

TONY: I would personally love to see real-life merchandise, but we currently do not have the means to take on such an endeavour. Maybe one day we can strike a partnership with a team that can make this happen!

We thank the Spellstone team for their time and all the wonderful art assets that accompany this interview! Check out the game here on Kongregate, on Steam, or on mobile - three different ways you can enjoy this fun, cheeky and adorable CCG!

P.S. We just had to include our favourite card: Darkwater Adonis - don’t be fooled by his charms!

[toloveawarlord]

Ch. 2

Characters: Elaine, Arthur x Theo, Vincent

Pairing: Elaine x Isaac (eventually)

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​ @lady-moonbroch​

A/N: This chapter turned out nothing like the first draft XD Enjoy some Elaine spending time with her Uncle and she meets a boy!

Four days into her new job as Theo’s assistant, the mood in their home had drastically lifted. Elaine never complained and paid close attention to every task given to her, exceeding all expectations. She quoted things he’d said to her years ago and questioned smartly, craving the knowledge he had. Having her along had proved quite useful with prickly clients, smoothing over situations with a charming smile and sweet words, likely emulating Arthur. 

Theo enjoyed having time with her. In recent years, they’d grown strained. The teenager wanted more freedom and broke rules in place to protect her because she believed them unnecessary. Now, at nearly eighteen in only two days, she’d fought harder. Being able to keep an eye on her put the art dealer at little more at ease.

His daughter sat across from him, glancing at him out of the corner of her vision. Elaine hadn’t taken the news that she couldn’t accompany him today well. Instead of anger, she’d pouted silently all morning.

“I take it that you aren’t happy with today’s agenda,” Arthur piped up with an amused grin not quite hidden by his cup of steaming coffee. The previous night Theo had informed him of the impending unhappy teenager.

Elaine stuffed the fork full of pancakes into her mouth, enough to make her cheeks puff out to match her frown. She’d gotten up extra early and made pancakes and extra sweet coffee, but the answer remained unchanged. Now, she wanted to drown her sorrows in syrup and butter until she got sick.

“Vincent has asked for you to help him today while I’m gone.” Theo could easily see the motive behind his brother’s sudden request. He’d promised to make her do some work instead of spoiling her the entire day.

The teenager flinched at those words. She couldn’t very well turn down her uncle, as she adored him so much. Help isn’t the word she’d choose to describe what the day would entail. He’d likely ask her to do a small task or two, nothing that required much effort. “Fine. I guess I can do that.”

Working didn’t bother her. She assisted around the house with the chores without complaint. If Comte asked, she would readily agree. It irritated her that this client wouldn’t allow her entrance to his home, prompting this sour mood. No promises of being quiet or staying outside had swayed Theo. He couldn’t risk spooking the man.

“If you find yourself in need of something to do, I can have you proofread for me.” Her grimace only made the mystery writer chuckle again. Her disdain for that job well-known. Though she enjoyed his stories, playing editor didn’t appeal to her. A tedious thing.

Theo cracked a grin, rising from the table. “You better thank Vincent for saving you from that.” One check of his watch ended the conversation. He bid his family farewell before heading into town alone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to help your Papa with his work?” Arthur teased further. He had been a tad jealous that she eagerly wanted to assist Theo over the course of the week. Ah, but he was also grateful that the two were more understanding of each other.

Elaine stacked all the empty plates to carry them to the kitchen. “I love you but no.” Her curt reply still amusing. Setting the dishes in the sink, she licked the sticky syrup off her fingers.

“Off you go then. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

The young vampire didn’t need to be told twice. Housework didn’t appeal to her either. She did her part, pitching in when needed, but if told she didn’t have to do it... the teenager bailed as quickly as she could.

Inside the mansion, the hallways were quiet and empty.  At this hour, everyone should be awake, except for Leonardo perhaps. Rapping her fist against Vincent’s door, she cast confused glances down the hallway.

“Goede morgen, Elaine,” Vincent greeted with a bright smile. He laughed softly at her confusion. Since Arthur and Theo had moved out of the mansion with her when she was only 4 years old, daily happenings didn’t reach their house as quickly as it spread through the mansion. “We’re the only ones here today.”

“I’m okay with that.” She flashed a disheartened smile, unable to shake the dark cloud hanging over her. Her normally mischievous and lively attitude disappeared. The others might have tried to make her understand. She understood perfectly fine.

That didn’t make it less saddening.

“Come here.” He’d barely open his arms and invited his niece to find comfort with him when the teenager stepped forward and accepted the warm hug. Vincent stroked his fingers through her copper hair. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but she reminded him so much of Theo when he was a child. “You know, he couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you were on the job.”

“Really?”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t said so to her. Theo would give praise often, especially when she came up with new ideas. Telling the others about it, that was rarer.

Vincent hummed in response, a gentle smile on his lips as she peeked up at him. “I’d say he was outright bragging. I’m not surprised. You’re his daughter after all.” Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he laughed softly at her uplifted mood.

Elaine lingered a little longer before releasing him, soaking up his sunshine-like warmth. “I guess I could stop pouting about it.” Relenting her sad feelings, she sighed softly before questioning. “So, what was it you wanted my help with?”

“I finished the final painting and I thought I’d ask for your expert advice on where to put it in the gallery space. That is, if you want to.” His request was well-received with a glowing smile from his niece. Theo had mentioned that he’d given her the sole responsibility of choosing how to use the space to best showcase the art. The uncle looked forward to seeing what she’d done.

***********

The paintings on the wall were shrouded in black cloth, to hide the precious items from view until the day of the showing. Only a select few knew what was beneath, ones trusted by Theo to make this a success. Elaine had been gifted one of the only keys to venue, a testament to her importance.

“I believe I’m looking forward to this event more than any other,” Vincent commented, allowing the staff to hang the framed piece in its designated spot.

The heat in her cheeks caused the teenager to turn her gaze anywhere else. “It’s not much different from how Vader does it. I’ve been to more of these than any other event in the city.” The location changed but ever since she learned to walk, she’d been toddling around, observing, and learning how it works. Before she’d even realized, she’d begun understanding color theory and composition.

“It wasn’t too long ago that you were only a few years old and correcting patrons on the medium or style of the art. You always had this incredibly serious expression, much like Theo.”

“That was so long ago! I’m almost eighteen!”

Vincent chuckled with a loving smile. “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

The chime of the door timed perfectly with one of the staff calling to speak with Vincent. Elaine stepped away to investigate the newcomer. Violet eyes narrowed at the sight of a boy, likely no older than herself, attempting to take a peek at the portrait veiled by the black cloth. “Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.” Her tone less than polite, Elaine thrust her palms against his chest to push him away from the art piece.

“Oh, my apologies. I’ve been most curious about why there are staff entering but it’s never been open for business.” His emerald eyes filled with hidden intent that didn’t quite match the half smirk on his lips. The boy never resisted her pushing him back to the door and onto the street. “A secretive operation, I presume, miss?”

“Elaine and we don’t open for another two days.”

Her biggest fear was that he was a spy for le academia and all of her father’s hard work would go to waste if they were discovered. He didn’t fit the typical appearance of a high bred family, usually scrawny and uptight, and he wasn’t either of those things.

“I’ll have to pop in when you are open. My name is Leon Autry.” He flashed another brilliantly smug smile and winked. “Might I inquire your surname, should I have any future questions?” The reason lost on the recipient. He’d yet to ask anything relevant to the gallery.

Elaine turned on her heel to return inside. “It’s Doyle.” Even though she didn’t quite like the boy, she couldn’t risk turning away a potential buyer. Her cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t clear if it was from embarrassment or anger. The young pureblood didn’t have many friends her age, and that led to a bit of awkwardness when around humans her age.

“Ah, like the writer.”

The girl stilled, hand hovering above the door handle. Perhaps she’d heard him incorrectly.

“You might not know of him. He’s a British writer, mystery, I think.”

Or perhaps not.

“I believe it’s Arthur Conan Doyle. Any relation?” Leon asked as if he already knew the answer, like playing a game of truth or dare in order reveal a secret for confirmation.

Elaine relaxed her shoulders. Although she could hardly admit that she was indeed was the daughter of that very Arthur, albeit the vampire one, she wouldn’t allow him to glean that precious information from her. “No, but you aren’t the first to ask. But wouldn’t that be grand? Imagine being related to someone as talented as that.” Her dreamy smile fowled his for a moment.

“Imagine.” The façade of his grin had ghosted away for a split second, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Elaine, are you ready to head back?” A third party interrupted, much welcomed by the girl. Vincent approached the two, protectively a half step in front of his niece. The tension between the two children enough to worry him.

Her head bobbed once in response. “Yes, let’s go home.” The way Leon’s eyes followed her unsettled the girl. Elaine settled back on the seat in the carriage, mulling over the strange interaction. Was it so unusual for someone to draw a connection between her name and the human Arthur from this era?

Whatever the case, she now had a proper mystery on her hands.

[pokecommunitycenter]

Hi Dash !! It’s Time to Meet a Member of the RPC !!

Ditto would like to introduce... Dun Duuuuuun !! 

It’s Jason ♡ !! Though some of you may know them as @haematophiliac​ !!

Established in Spooky October of 2018, they’ve been around the RPC for a good long while as a Team Rocket Scientist OC, but here’s a looksee at some things you may have not known !! Ditto hopes you enjoy getting to know the writer just as much as Ditto did !!

♡ Interview... START !!

Ditto would like you to introduce yourself a little bit. The url you go by, maybe how you picked it. Was it a joke at first that you just stuck with, does it have significant meaning?

The username is what people would call a lover of blood. I started Jax in … 2018? Octoberish and he had the common username including Rocket in it and I decided to pick a theme more fitting to him. Eventually I settled with the current one as it fits him as a blood obsessor to put it bluntly. I mean he likes blood, works around a lot of it and all that so it just… Well, stuck!

Was there something about Team Rocket in general that drew you in? Over other ‘evil’ organizations, Rocket is considered the OG & probably largest. But, over Plasma/Galactic, what made you choose Rocket?

I’ve always been a Rocket fan. I started in the Pokemon fandom (can you call it a fandom back then) in 1998 when I was only eight by watching the anime. You could say that Rocket started my love for bad guys actually! I used to adore Jessie and James so much. They were just so fun, funny and adorable. Maybe I had a crush on one… Ahem! But yes, as a kid I fell for the trio (I didn’t forget loveable Meowth there!) and ever since then I’ve been a fan. I love all the bad guys mind you but Rocket holds a special place in my heart. Just always been like that.

A bonus question !! Did any characters from the original Anime / Franchise…  help you develop Jax at all?

A good question but Jax actually was inspired by a character I role played in a completely different fandom. I mean you cannot compare them - Jax is a human with so many faults and the other character is… Well, a plain old monster. But when I first made Jax I put little bits of the old character into him, such as formal speaking and love for blood. He started pretty much as a clean slate. I evolved him over the first few weeks.

Do you think that, because you play a character that is not a ‘good guy’ or as you put it, a monster, that people that may not know you well find you hard to approach?

Indeed so. Though I only speak of experience in the past here! When I played my full out monster in another fandom, people would tell others they were actually scared of me on an OOC level. Needless to say I’ve spoken to many people who were scared and helped them realise that it is just a muse I play. When it comes to Tumblr I find the fandom much more open and less afraid? Though I don’t know for certain because people could be afraid for all I know and I just don’t know. I hope I’m approachable enough anyway!

So then !! To help the part community that may not know you well, or might be a little hesitant because you play a blood loving bad guy, what are some things that you may have in common with everyone? Do you have a favorite pokemon? Or a region that just was WACK & you loved it so much? What’s on that most repeated playlist you got? Or maybe a few movies that you really love?

I read every blog’s rules and I’ve noticed that a lot of people are socially anxious. Which to be fair… I am too! I get nervous around people I don’t know and aahhhh, well, I’m in the exact same boat. We all start as strangers and all it takes is one foot forward to break that ice but, like others, I do find that first step very intimidating. I’m just your average nerd to be fair haha. As for my favourite Pokemon? Sneasel! I fell in love with that little critter after watching the Celebi movie when it came out. Favourite region would be Hoenn. I just have fond memories of it I guess as a Ruby fan. It was the first game my battery ran out of energy on. My music is too horrific for anybody’s ears if that’s what you mean hah. And movies? … … Digimon the movie (1+2+3 in Japan and just the first (all three combined) in UK and presumably other places too).

As someone who feels that weird wiggle when trying to step out of your comfort zone to make friends. Do you have any advice for people that want to get to know you better? Or, reaching out to people in general?

When reaching out to me - or anybody else - I find the best approach can be a simple hello. It instantly shatters that ice between two people. Like… Many of us are afraid to simply say hello. But if you manage to break that first bit it’s amazing! If you don’t there is always another day. Conversation can escalate from a mere hello. Or even reply to an open post if serious or funny! That first step is the hardest indeed but things get easier after that first hurdle. The worst someone can do is walk away and then perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be. Everybody has friends in the end and making more is great.

That said. We all know how the Poke RPC has its ups, & its downs. Sometimes both happen in one day. LOL. There is always room for growth though, & Ditto believes that everyone can work together to make that happen. Is there anything you would like to see change in the community?

Everything in life will come with ups and downs, it’s just how things go. We can all work through things however. If something bad happens there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. As a community it is great we can all work on whatever needs addressing. I understand some people rather turn a blind eye depending upon the situation. We all should work on what makes us comfortable. Nonetheless, if I could change one thing I’d change anon hate. Argh. That’s one thing that gets under my skin. We, as a community, should be open to criticism and praise alike and nobody should need to harass another person anonymously. If someone has a disagreement then they should tell the person. Only that way can they work on the issue. But then again there is needless anon hate without true purpose behind it and that makes me sad. But nobody is perfect and sometimes people will rear their ugly side. Yet when anon hate has popped up it has been utterly overwhelming to see everybody support each other with kindness!

Ditto wonders, do you think anon hate may… slow down, or go away, if it was ignored instead of responded to when received? Most times, the people that feel the need to do hurtful things to others is for response. The attention received whether it is good or bad.

I think it’s highly dependent upon the situation. As someone who has received hate in the past (not on Tumblr mind you) I found that even ignoring people doesn’t work. Yet every case is different. Some do it for response, some do it to just get under someone’s skin. We can’t tell which however. If, say, it is needless hate then to ignore it would be the best option, even reporting it to Tumblr’s staff. But if in the situation something needs defending like a misconception then it could be a good idea to clear the air. Keyword could though. I’ve learned that people will get ideas into their mind and battle for it rather than accepting what is truth. In those cases a good air clearing is good and then to ignore any further.... Jabbing could be best. But if people feel the need to respond they should have the freedom to, as well as the freedom to ignore it.

Is there anything you’d like to pass on to those in the RPC that receive anon hate? Maybe a word of advice, or just something supportive to remember if it ever happens?

Well, as long as someone isn’t breaking any rules, doing something bad OOC or whatever- Actually I was going to say they should keep going and doing their thing. And yet I feel the need to mention that all people make mistakes in their lives. Anon hate is a bad way to go. The person on the receiving end of a message is a person too. They have feelings and thoughts and a life also. If you ever receive anon hate then just remember that there’s someone sending it and perhaps they don’t realize their mistake. That isn’t to say it’s justified. Just that people do indeed forget there are real people involved. … I think I word things bad! I mean… Anon hate is wrong, end of. But it is so easy to forget that real people are sat to read it. If you ever get anon hate then it is best to ignore it. That spark could evolve into a full blown fire and make you worse off. Hm, I forgot my train of thought but in the end we all need less hate and to just enjoy ourselves. People tend to send hate from bad experiences with the person or disagreements if right or wrong on either side but words are just words on a screen. They can say all they want to you but you are you. You are a person who deserves a life and love and no mere text on a monitor - Or phone screen! - can ever truly harm you.

Ditto thinks you did a fine job. We all take time to find words in our own ways, & no one has the perfect ones all the time. So please do not worry about wording things. It takes some practice sometimes, when you’re put on the spot !! 

Ditto would like to wrap up with something uplifting & super positive. After your time here in the Poke RPC, what are some of your favorite memories? Things that make you stick around, or just enjoy seeing go on? Give Ditto a little insight ( & the RPC too ) on what makes you happy to be here.

I have a vast array of good memories. Mainly ones of that first move of saying hello to someone or just that first interaction. Then again you’re asking someone with a bad memory! I truly just enjoy seeing people having a good time, enjoying their time here. When people are comfortable enough to do crack threads, that’s something that makes me smile. For instance the RPC could have been super strict and look down upon anything not considered serious and yet there everybody is just having fun! I enjoy watching people get along all in all. When new relations are formed, plots explored, the crack-like threads that ensue. Dash commentary is always a favourite. It shows someone isn’t afraid to get involved. I like it when people aren’t afraid. As I said, we’re all humans with lives and just watching people have fun makes me smile, even if I’m not involved. And of course, being involved in things makes me happy too, to just be included :D

A big Thank You !! to Jason for allowing Ditto to take some of their time for this interview. 

Ditto hopes everyone has a good Monday !! 

See you next week for the next Community Interview. ♡

[astrolocherry]

Transiting Venus in Pisces 2019 - March 26, 2019 - April 20, 2019

Aphrodite’s Love Potion is mixed with a cosmic hallucinogen when Venus enters Pisces. Jupiter and Neptune co-rule Pisces, and this pair seduce us to taste the sweet honey of the Priestesses and get high on the Gods, to eat, drink, create, dance, and love like it is the last day on earth, and wake again in the Aries spring with hangover we couldn’t sleep away

The holy trinity comes together with Venus in Pisces. We all become the personal lover of God, as if no-one exists but us alone to receive all the love in the universe. It is made of the Venus in Pisces unity that brings us all together and makes us feel at one.

The Venus in Pisces transit increases our sensitivity toward other people’s inner state and emotions. We may feel hypersensitive, or feel that others are being overly sensitive. It can also be very difficult to control emotions. The buckets of residual tears that have built over the past year have nowhere else to go. You need to cry it out, and your emotions will find any stimulus to  make it happen - an uplifting story, a bad news day, a warm cuddle, an old memory that we cherish, or an act of good will. Time moves slow when Venus is in Pisces, so we benefit well by resting, sleeping, daydreaming, and relishing in your creature comfort as a source of self-love and nourishment. Venus rules finances, so be cautious during this period. Pisces is vague on consequences and make money slip right through our hands

Venus in Pisces plays the symphony that calls us together, and asks that we support and cherish one another. We tend to take universal issues personally, and we may also feel despondent because it seems there is little we can do to soothe so much suffering. Sometimes it’s easier to turn a ‘blind eye’ because it hurts to see people suffer, but Pisces vision can see this in direct sight, and we can’t turn away. But we can do so much more than we realise. We can practice the lessons that Pisces teaches us. To reach out to people with open arms - especially those who are suffering, unwell, silenced, or forgotten. We can pay it forward and offer our help and resources to a single person, for this single person will eventually do the same for another, who will do the same again, and continue this legacy. To uplift one raises many, and Pisces knows this better than anybody. We can also accept the Venus in Pisces invitation to appreciate the artist’s gifts to the world and their service to the soul of the world honouring the gifts that the Pisces alumni have given to humanity the mind of Albert Einstein, the astrologic wisdom of Copernicus the vision of Michelangelo, the chemistry of Steve Jobs the riddles of Dr Seuss

and Steve Irwin, no explanation needed along with so many others whom have healed the world with the tonic of art and creativity

💕Aries or Aries Rising 12: Dream a Little Dream Love Potion

Aphrodite’s clam shell is closed and floating through an unknown location, she is feeling very tired and yet spiritually inspired. She only summons energy for being alone, she may withdraw and worry where her light is gone - but it has not vanished, it’s just illuminating over the characters in her dreams. She may over indulge in her secret comfort measures and pleasures in the privacy of her own company

Enchanted Items: Seashells, Lanterns, Spiritual and astrology books

💕Taurus or Taurus Rising ~ High Voltage Love Potion Aphrodite is home in the clouds, and she is playing with lightning, using her enhanced intuition to catch grand ideas and visions, her friends are celebrating her existence in their lives. She has a vibrant energy for bringing people together and charging her political activism, it’s possible that during this period she will be shown all of the dreams that have already come true for her  

Enchanted Items: Wind chimes, White Roses, Technological and Social Media Platforms

💕Gemini or Gemini Rising 10: Be Loved Love Potion Aphrodite is dressed in the black of the night sky and she is writing the story of her life across the stars from the top of the mountain. She is invested in blooming her professional influence and materialising her ideas into reality. She is holding the apple of the public’s eye, soaking in popularity, and a sea of collective ideals can bring her closer to success, she can certainly make great leaps toward her dreams during this time

Enchanted Items: Hourglass, Lotus Flower, Unicorn Figures

💕Cancer or Cancer rising: Wanderlust Love Potion Aphrodite is adorned in her aquamarine robe and she is on vacation. But she isn’t interested in a relaxing holiday - she wants to sight see, lose herself in conversation, and commit to the subject she will learn for the next year. She is feeling overindulgent and especially restless as the stars call her away. She is also feeling very lucky and her inflated idealism may be a recipe for disaster if one is not disciplined with finances

Enchanted Items: Compass, Occult, biblical, and astrology books, Lanterns

💕Leo or Leo rising: Poisoned Sugar Love Potion Aphrodite’s grotto is capsized and sunk to the underground, she is not herself here, her roses are wilted. She is hooked on the toxic pomegranate of self-destruction and self-punishment, she is facing the demons that old lovers have left inside of her, she is making the transformations necessary for burning away the poison of heartbreak, mistreatment, and betrayal

Enchanted Items: Heirlooms, Amber, Butterflies

💕Virgo or Virgo rising: Empty Love Potion Aphrodite is adorned in her sea green robe on the mirror of the sunset, this is a trialling time, and she is forced to confront the shadows inside her that she never wanted to meet. Her heart can feel very empty because she has to integrate and find herself to fill it in - and not rely on relationships to do it for her. It’s also a positive experience, she can strengthen her sense of identity and see the results in her relationships

Enchanted Items: Mirrors, Beaded Necklaces, Green Apples

💕Libra or Libra rising: “Your Own Medicine” Love Potion Aphrodite is adorned in the emerald robe and committed to making a difference in the lives of other people, she has tremendous energy to expend in her workplace, she may develop closer bonds with her colleagues or charm her way into a promotion. During this time she is also more focused on taking care of her body, but she may also be plagued by an increased view of her own flaws and shame and deplete herself with self-restriction and denial

Enchanted Items:  Books on Spiritual Healing, Harmony Balls, Wind Chimes

💕Scorpio or Scorpio rising ~ Seductive Spice Love Potion Aphrodite is adorned in her golden robe as she performs on the cosmic stage, she is energised and inspired from the centre of the heart outward. She is competitive, the star of fortune is shining over her competitive ventures. She follows her feeling of bliss into creative expeditions, feverish romantic ventures, and she does not resist impulse, so she could spend a year’s worth of work and money in a single hand of cards

Enchanted Items: Golden Rings, Artistic Resources, A Sexual Magic, possibly fertility

💕Sagittarius or Sagittarius rising ~ Aphrodite’s “Old Recipe” Love Potion Aphrodite is dressed in silver and rocking on the edge of the moon, she is longing to retreat in the comfort of her home grotto. She is desiring privacy because her inner world has come vividly into life and she forgets the other one is still there. She prefers the close company of loved ones, sheltered together, cooking and eating together, safe together, and may redecorate or design her house. She may also find that lost items are returned

Enchanted Items: Heirlooms, Honey, a Sexual Magic

💕Capricorn or Capricorn rising ~ Abracadabra Love Potion Aphrodite is dressed in daisy yellow and her grotto is a great and exquisite library. She gives a piece of her heart with a piece of her mind, the world opens up for her, she finds more questions to ask each day, and spends a lot of time thinking and playing with the immediate environment. She is feeling very talkative, re-connects with friends and neighbours, and she inspired to write her thoughts down into poetry

Enchanted Items: Books and Book marks, the pen in the hand, Wind Chimes

💕Aquarius or Aquarius rising~ Luxury Love Potion Aphrodite is at home in her clam shell palace, dressed in royal blue and her grotto has scented in spring roses, she is adorned with bracelets and necklaces of gold. She is feeling inspired to bring her artistic visions into life, she has a seductive sexual appetite, everything tastes sweeter and everything she touches becomes more luscious, and she is feeling financially lucky, so she may be easily deceived. She may also find that lost items are returned

Enchanted Items: Long necklaces, Mirrors, Musical Instruments

💕Pisces or Pisces rising ~  “I put a Spell on You” Love Potion Aphrodite is striking in her ruby rose robe, demurely intriguing and sexually hypnotic, she is feeling beautiful and the whole world responds to it, she has a new ‘taste’ in style and a different mixture to contour her identity through her image, she wants to be adorned in something incredible, and have the person she loves the most telling proclaiming how ravishing and beautiful she not only looks, but is on the inside too

Enchanted Items: Ambrosia, Candles, Ruby Roses

Cherry 💕

[zuzsenpai]

One by one, I've been playing/re-playing all the Ace Attorney games, starting with DGS1 and eventually finishing with SoJ (which, other than the DGS games was the only game I had never played). With the exception of the DGS games, I've been playing everything in order of release date, which means I just finished my replay of AAI2, and I'm now moving on to DD.

The ending of AAI2 is so powerful and emotional and uplifting and meaningful. And it made me cry throughout the entire last chapter of the final case. I know it's the final curtain call for a TON of characters, which is really the most bittersweet thing about that ending. But the one that hits me HARD is Detective Gumshoe, my absolute fave AA character of all time. The man who I think still holds the second place record for appearing in more cases than any other AA character (Bagel Cop The Judge is obviously first place). I'm tearing up right now thinking about how those last scenes are the final moments we ever see Gumshoe before he's lost to the AA void (I think his name is mentioned in passing by Maya once in SoJ). I'm not saying that's a bad thing-- every character in every series in history has a final moment, for better or for worse. And his ending is pretty uplifting actually-- Edgeworth tells him to look forward to a pay increase in his next salary assessment, which floors Gumshoe. It's unbelievable that a running joke about a 30-something homicide detective who can only afford to eat instant noodles, becomes a meaningful way for Edgeworth to tell Gumshoe he is indispensable. It's a meaningful moment, but I selfishly wish there was more to his story, even if it's relegated to a DLC case. I just want to know if he marries Maggey, or gets promoted, or does K-9 unit full time, or calls Edgeworth on Christmas, or is just having a good day somewhere in the future. I love Gumshoe so much.

[inkjackets]

But Promises Are Made To Be Broken

Here is the fic I wrote based on @skesgo​’s reset au!!!

Summary: Sans and Papyrus were used to resets, but then monsters started to vanish. The world reset again and again, the underground’s numbers grew fewer and fewer… until finally there were only two monsters left.

And then only one.

Disclaimer: Reset AU and Reset!Blue belong to @skesgo​. The events in this fic are NOT canon to their au, just merely inspired by it. (Go check out their amazing au and art HERE if you haven’t already!!)

The excerpt that Sans reads is from The Universe in Your Hand by Christophe Galfard.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Angst (like, a lot of it. like oh my god i am so so sorry why would you read this why would i write this), Graphic Grieving i guess? and just one f-word.

Word Count: 6234

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214481

uhhhh enjoy?

——————

The innkeeper’s daughter had been the first to vanish. Sans would never forget that terrible morning.

The bone-chilling screams that shattered the morning air.

The raw desperation in the mother’s eyes.

Her pleading, her begging, her clawing at Papyrus’ hoodie to please do something. Find her! Bring her back! PLEASE!

They had spent hours searching in the forest. Sans had done his best to keep up moral and positivity and hope, but he hadn’t been able to dislodge the despair in everyone’s eyes. They all knew the search was futile.

For the child was gone.

Despite the strange circumstances, despite the distinct lack of dust, they knew that the child wasn’t coming back. The empty pyjamas laid out under the duvet covers, sleeves wrapped around the little toy bunny, was proof of that.

But Sans had soldiered on. He had kept searching until he had been the only one left. And would have kept going if Papyrus hadn’t forced him back to town.

Sans had cried out in protest. They couldn’t just do nothing!

Papyrus had silenced him with a single look. Tears had risen in Sans’ eyes but he’d understood. The child was gone, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t do something. Even if that something was incredibly painful. Even if that something was acceptance.

Sans had followed a pace behind Papyrus’ solemn figure back towards the inn. Papyrus paused outside the entrance. He laid a bony hand on the smooth wooden door before closing his eyes and taking a long drag from his cigarette. Sans took a moment to breathe as well. He inhaled deeply and let the icy air course through him, rinsing himself of unwanted emotion, before opening his eyes and bracing himself for what was to come.

Papyrus pushed the door open.

They found the mother crumpled next to the child’s bed. Hands clutching the duvet, damp from her tears. Sans’ heart fell as the flash of hope in her eyes faded when she saw their expressions. Papyrus knelt down next to her.

‘No, no, no.’ The mother shook her head. ‘She can’t be gone.’ Her voice grew hysterical. ‘There’s not even any dust! She can’t be gone! No, no…’ She collapsed onto Papyrus and burst into tears. Papyrus held her as she wailed into his shoulder. Sans tried his best to shove his emotions down but the mother’s grief was infectious. Within no time his cheeks were wet and shining with silent tears.

Eventually the mother’s sobs slowed. Papyrus helped her stand up.

‘Sans,’ Papyrus said without looking at him. Sans hastily wiped his eyes and gazed up at his brother. ‘Bring the child’s pyjamas and soft toy.’

Sans did as asked, gingerly gathering up the clothes and nestling the little bunny safely among them. Papyrus led them outside. There was a small crowd of concerned townsfolk standing in the snow. Papyrus spoke to them, but Sans didn’t hear what was said. He was too busy concentrating on holding the child’s belongings like they were the most delicate treasure in the world.

Because at that moment, they were.

The weeping mother clutched onto Papyrus as he traipsed into the forest. Sans followed. The villagers of Snowdin trailed behind. They walked and walked and walked. Sans lost track of time, focused on his task of holding the delicate treasure. He looked up only when Papyrus stopped. They had reached one of the most beautiful trees in the forest. It was more isolated than the others and stood in the middle of a small clearing. It was a magnificent thing. Its branches reached high and wide and glittered with ice and reflections from the cavern’s gemstones as its leaves hung gracefully down and fanned out over them, like it was protecting them from some hidden danger.

The crowd silently filtered out and around. It felt as if the whole underground were holding its breath. Sans felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. His brother nodded and gave him a meaningful gaze. Sans knew what he had to do.

Sans walked forward, his lonely footsteps crunching in the snow, echoing. He knelt down and gently lay the child’s belongings at the foot of the tree. He stroked the bunny once before falling back to Papyrus’ side.

‘Now her essence will live on in the tree,’ Papyrus said softly.

The mother burst into tears.

Sans couldn’t remember how long they had all stood out in the silent snow, listening to the mother cry, praying that the bunny held enough of the child’s essence to allow her to live on.

~*~*~

The mother had vanished the following reset. Sans fell to his knees when he went to check on her. Papyrus closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Sans, apathy taking over his body, had gathered up the clothes and made his way out into the forest. Papyrus didn’t follow. Sans had lain the clothes next to the daughter’s and knelt in silence as the snow steadily soaked his trousers, numbing both his bones and his mind.

Three more piles of belongings had appeared that day.

*

Napstaton had started playing hopeful and uplifting speeches after the third reset. Sans had them all memorised by the ninth. Through his motivational music and inspiring sermons, Napstaton was successful at keeping up moral in the underground, however his demeanour suddenly changed after the eleventh reset. Sans couldn’t figure out why. Only two relatively unknown monsters had vanished that day: a monster known as Onion-san, and one called Mettablook.

*

The world reset again. And again. And again.

The little memorial site Papyrus had started grew. And grew. And grew.  

Waterfall, Hotland, and New Home all started their own as numbers in the underground decreased.

*

Undyne had vanished on the twenty-third reset.

Papyrus had walked out the door under the pretence of buying cigarettes, but didn’t return. Sans spent hours searching for him all over the underground but hadn’t been able to find him. He eventually went home and sat on the couch, frozen stiff and wide-awake, until his brother came back. Papyrus finally returned a full twenty-four hours later, not smelling of cigarette smoke like usual, but of dog food. His eyes had been redder than usual, and the shadows under them deep.

*

On the twenty-fourth reset Alphys had vanished. Sans hadn’t believed it. Not Alphys. Not the strong fearless leader of the Royal Guard. No. She couldn’t… she can’t vanish.

‘Tell me it’s not true, Papyrus!’ He cried as both numbness and hysteria crawled through his bones. ‘PAPYRUS! PLEASE! Not Alphys!’ Tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘Not her! She can’t.’ He hadn’t been able to speak after that. The words got stuck in his throat as sobs wracked his body, wrought with pain. Papyrus held his brother tight. Neither of them had noticed the faint yellow glow in Sans’ eyes.

*

Three weeks into the thirty-ninth reset, Papyrus went missing. Sans knew he hadn’t vanished, but he still panicked as he ran all over the underground in search for him, terrible ‘what-if’ scenarios running riot in his head. Eventually Sans found him outside the entrance to the ruins, slumped against the wall and covered in dirt and brick-dust. The magnificent door had been reduced to rubble. There were damaged bones, both white and orange, half buried in the debris.

Sans ran up to his brother but halted when he saw the purple robe he held in his hands. Papyrus looked up at him, despair clouded his eyes and dirty tears streaked down his face. Sans sat next to his brother and embraced him. Papyrus had curled up and cried on his brother’s shoulder for what felt like an eternity.

*

The underground had fallen silent when Napstaton vanished. It was the fifty-first reset.

Sans had sat in front of the radio, just listening to the static on full blast.

‘You can’t sit there forever,’ Papyrus said.

Sans shook his head fervently. ‘He’ll be back. And I’ll be waiting for him.’

Silence. The sound of grief-stricken exhaustion. Then the slow thud of footsteps as Papyrus headed towards the door. A gust of cold wind washed over Sans as the door opened, momentarily filling the void within him, before gently clicking shut. Sans sat immobile and staring at the wall. His vision went blurry. His body grew numb. His head rang with the static’s anaesthetising buzz as he disassociated from reality. The blue in his eyes had faded as they gave way to yellow.

*

With every reset it was harder and harder to act like normal. But Sans tried, oh how he tried. He’d make breakfast every morning, chat happily with Papyrus, then go out and check his traps. But it was difficult when getting groceries meant raiding the ownerless store (though he always left gold on the counter, just in case). It was a struggle when Papyrus refused to get out of bed, and if he did he’d just sit on the front step and smoke the day away. It was impossible when checking the traps brought back memories of playing with Chara oh so many resets ago. Dreams of what could have been, what should have been, plaguing his mind as he sat huddled in the snow, gazing up at the caverns and imagining the stars.

*

The queen had vanished on the sixty-seventh reset.

‘Papyrus.’ Sans turned to face his brother, tears brimming in his eyes. ‘There must be a way to go back. To bring them all back.’

Papyrus held his brother’s gaze, unable to tell him the truth but not able to lie either. He said nothing.

‘I’ll bring them back! I’ll find a way!’ Sans cried in response to Papyrus’ silence, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria. ‘Even if I have to do it alone!’ Papyrus had pulled his distraught brother close and held him tight until both their shoulders were damp with each other’s tears.

*

The world reset relentlessly.

The underground’s numbers dwindled drastically.

Hope faded to a tenacious glimmer that existed solely in Sans’ yellow-blue eyes.

~*~*~

Sans slowly woke from his fitful sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, the world hadn’t reset. Today was safe. He rolled out of bed and rearranged the sheets before throwing on some clothes and making his way downstairs to cook breakfast, just like normal.

It had been two months since the last reset, the ninety-second reset, and Sans still made every effort to act like he always had.

He hummed as he cooked. He ignored the lack of people outside and the silent radio, choosing instead to focus on enjoying the act of cooking: the whisking of fresh ingredients, the sizzle of oil in the pan, the buttery smell of pancakes.

Once he was done, Sans piled the pancakes high onto a plate and called Papyrus down, just like normal. For once, his brother actually responded. Sans smiled as Papyrus took a seat at the table.

‘So I’m thinking of going to check on the traps today!’ Sans said enthusiastically, just like normal. He placed two pancakes on Papyrus’ plate and three on his. ‘Would you like to join me?’ Papyrus said nothing as Sans piled cream and fruit onto his own plate, just like normal. Sans handed Papyrus the honey but frowned when his brother poured barely a drizzle over his pancakes. Sans reached over and turned the bottle back upside down so that the pancakes were drowning in the golden syrup. Just like normal.

‘I’m thinking about modifying the third one. You know the one with the switches? It could be better designed, what do you think?’ When Papyrus failed to reply he continued. ‘Also the fifth one gets covered in snow way too easily-‘

‘-Sans,’ Papyrus cut over him, but Sans ignored him and continued his normal conversation.

‘Maybe I should build a small snow wall to stop the snow drift? Or I could get some sort of cover I guess-

-Sans,’ Papyrus repeated, an edge of desperation in his voice.

Sans swallowed. ‘I think I’ll decide when I get there,’ his voice took on a forced tone, ‘after all I don’t want to waste time building a wall for noth-

‘-Sans, Sans stop.’ Papyrus pleaded, ‘We have to talk about this.’

Sans chewed slowly. His grip tightened on his knife and fork. ‘Talking doesn’t work, remember?’ he said, dropping all pretence of normalcy. ‘Or have you forgotten the last time we tried?’

Papyrus averted his gaze. He clenched his jaw. ‘I’m not talking about Chara,’ he said as he looked back at Sans, ‘I’m talking about you. I’m worried about you.’

‘Worried about me?’ Sans spluttered with disbelief, ‘At least I’m able to get up in the mornings!’

‘At least I’m not acting like everything’s normal when it so blatantly isn’t!’ Papyrus’ sharp voice cut into Sans.

Sans didn’t say anything as he stared down at his half-eaten breakfast, appetite gone. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. Why couldn’t everything just go back to normal?

Papyrus groaned and ran his hands over his skull. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to yell like that.’

‘Can we just enjoy the pancakes?’ Sans said quietly, ‘Please?’

Papyrus looked at his brother in dismay but then forced himself to smile. ‘Yeah, okay.’

The metallic clinks of cutlery were the only sounds that broke the solemn silence between the two brothers as they ate their breakfast.

It was anything but normal.

~*~*~

Sans trudged out into the forest by himself, making his way to the traps. Though he soon realised his feet were leading him somewhere else, leading him to the memorial tree. He didn’t object and eventually came upon the little clearing. At least a hundred piles of belongings were strung up on the lower branches of the tree and carefully placed about in the snow around the trunk. It was supposed to look beautiful and moving, but the only image it brought to Sans’ mind was of a dismal looking Christmas tree.

Sans let the cold air wash over him as he gazed out at the bundles of belongings, all of them frozen stiff. Snow drifts piled up against them while ice drew its patterns in the cloth. Two little bunny ears fluttering by the tree caught his eye. He wondered over and crouched in front of the very first bundle that had been placed here. He gently brushed away the snow that covered the little toy and gave it a little hug to warm away the ice particles. He gently placed it back down so it was resting comfortably against the tree. Sans closed his eyes. The trees whispered and the wind swirled and the gems in the caverns shone coldly down on him as he inhaled and clenched the fabric of his shorts. He was going to bring them all back. He was going to stop Chara. He didn’t know how, but he was going to do it. He had to. The alternative was too horrific to even contemplate.

Sans opened his eyes when he heard whimpering behind him. He turned to see a lonely whimsun hovering inches above the snow, clearly distressed.

Sans jumped up and ran over to it. ‘Are you okay? What are you doing out here?’ Concern laced his voice. ‘Are your family gone too?’ The whimsun nodded and started to cry. Sans wrapped his arms around it. ‘Don’t you worry, they’ll all come back, just you wait and see.’ He pulled back and wiped the whimsun’s tears away. ‘But in the meantime, would you like to stay with me and my brother?’ The whimsun nodded.  ‘Come on then.’ Sans took its trembling hand, frozen with cold, and gently lead it back to Snowdin Town.

Papyrus was sitting on the front step of their house when Sans and the whimsun returned. Cigarette butts littered the snow around him and a freshly lit one was softly smoking in between his fingers. Papyrus’ questioning eyes flicked to the whimsun and then back at Sans.

‘It’s staying with us until everyone comes back,’ Sans said.

Papyrus gave his brother a measured look. ‘You still believe that, huh?’

Sans shot him a glare as tears rose in the whimsun’s eyes. He tightened his grip on the whimsun’s hand. ‘Of course I do.’

Papyrus flinched as regret sank into his features. 'Sans, I-'

Sans pushed past his brother and led the whimsun into the house.

By the time Papyrus came back inside, Sans had wrapped the whimsun in blankets, made it tea and food, and was now huddled up next to it on the couch, reading it his favourite book. Papyrus sat down at the table and listened in.

‘…you now gaze at the stars with the eyes of a child.

‘What is the universe made of? What lies in the vicinity of the Earth? And beyond? How far can one look? Is anything known about the universe’s history? Does it even have one?

‘As the waves gently wash over the shore, as you wonder if one will ever be able to probe these cosmic mysteries, the twinkling of the stars seems to lull your body into a half-conscious state. You can hear your approaching friends’ conversations, but, strangely, you already feel the world differently than you did a few minutes ago. Everything seems somehow richer, more profound, as if your mind and body were both part of something much, much, bigger than anything you had ever thought of before. Your hands, your legs, your skin…Matter…Time…Space…Intertwined fields of forces all around you…

‘A veil you didn’t even know was there has been lifted from the world to reveal a mysterious and unexpected reality. Your mind yearns to be back among the stars, and you have the feeling that some extraordinary journey is about to take you very far away from your home world.’

Sans’s words faded into silence. The whimsun had fallen asleep. Sans closed the book and sat up, however as soon as he moved the whimsun started to whimper and tremble as nightmares plagued its mind. Sans placed a hand on the monster’s head and gently stroked it while murmuring words of comfort. It immediately relaxed. It nestled into Sans side and breathed easier. Sans continued to stroke it. Papyrus simply watched from his seat at the table, slouched on his side with his head in his hand.

For a moment the only sounds where the gentle snores of the whimsun and Sans’ soft strokes on its head. The two brothers couldn’t help but feel at peace.

‘Do you know how many times Chara has reset the world?’ Sans asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Papyrus gave a tired shrug, ‘At least fifty since that kid vanished so… a couple hundred since the beginning? Why?’

Sans’ hand stilled on the whimsun. ‘Four hundred and eighty-three,’ he said softly.

Papyrus lifted his head. ‘…What?’ Disbelief clear in his voice.

Sans raised his listless eyes, they bored into Papyrus’ unusually wide ones. ‘Ninety-two since the inn-keeper’s daughter vanished, but four-hundred and eighty-three times since Chara fell. I’ve been keeping count.

‘What? Why? How?’ Papyrus shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t have kept count, it’s not good for your sanity!’ The air grew cold as Papyrus’ words gave way to silence. Sans resumed his stroking of the whimsun.

‘It’s four hundred and eighty-three times I’ve not given in,’ he said, a sliver of optimism ringing through his words. His eyes grew piercing as he held his brother’s gaze. ‘You want to know why I’m trying to act like normal? It’s because if I don’t, it means the others aren’t coming back. It means we’ll never get to the surface and it means Chara’s won. But worst of all, it means I’ve given up.’ His blue eyes shone yellow with grim determination. ‘And I won’t let that happen.’ His blazing words hung there, glistening, in front of Papyrus’ solemn face.

A peal of laughter rang out.

Sans’ eyes widened as Papyrus leant back in his chair and laughed; the soft sound shattered the tense air.

Sans was nonplussed. ‘I’m being serious!’ he exclaimed.

‘Oh I don’t doubt it,’ Papyrus said, grinning. In an uncharacteristic display of energy, he ran over to his brother and leapt on him, giving him a bone crushing hug.

‘Papyrus!’ Sans squealed as he was squashed beneath his giant brother. ‘You’ll wake the whimsun!’

‘Oops, sorry.’ But Papyrus sounded anything but apologetic as he lazily rolled over and sat up next to Sans, a glimmer of laughter still in his eye.

‘What was that all about?’ Sans asked, but he was smiling. He felt warmth growing within him as he looked at his happy brother.

‘I’m sorry for doubting you,’ Papyrus said. ‘You are the magnificent Sans after all.’ He wrapped his arms around Sans and pulled him close. ‘I love you so so much,’ he said quietly. ‘Please don’t ever change.’

Sans returned the hug. ‘I’ll do my best. I love you too.’

They stayed like that all evening, entwined together on the couch. They were happy, actually happy, something they hadn’t felt in a very long time and they held onto it dearly. Sans wished he could have frozen the moment and just stayed there forever. He didn’t want this happiness to disappear. But time is cruel.

Especially when controlled by a malevolent demon.

~*~*~

Sans rolled over in his bed. He froze. No. He clenched his eyes shut. No, no, no. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on the couch next to his brother, the little whimsun huddled between them. So the fact that he was back in bed…

He burst out his room and slammed his hands to his mouth when he laid eyes on the sofa, empty apart from a little whimsun robe bundled in the middle. ‘No, no, no,’ he mumbled through his hands as he shook his head in denial.

Papyrus came out of his own room. He paled when he saw the empty whimsun robe. His body swayed. He muttered something about being right back before running down the stairs and flying out the door.

‘Papyrus, wait!’ Sans cried, confused, and ran out after him, but he had already gone. Sans stood still in the silent snow. His body slowly turned numb with cold. Only when he started shivering did he go back inside and face the vanished whimsun. He sat on the couch and laid the robe in his lap. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He sat there for hours, staring down at the robe, unmoving, as his glowing blue eyes flickered yellow.

Eventually Papyrus returned. Sans’ head shot up as the door slammed shut. He looked into Papyrus’ dark eyes. His brother didn’t even need to speak, his expression said it all.

They were the only ones left.

Papyrus staggered and collapsed onto the dining chair as anxiety and dread took over him. Tears shone in his terrified eyes. Sans jumped off the couch when he realised his brother wasn’t coping. He gently took Papyrus’ hand.

‘Come on Papy, let’s go put the whimsun with the others.’

Papyrus stared at him in disbelief, but he let Sans lead him out the house and into the forest.

Sans tried not to think about the empty houses they passed, lights still on and clocks still ticking, as if everyone had just popped out for a minute, all at the same time.

He tried not to think about how painfully loud their footsteps were as they trudged through the silent underground. Each crunch a reminder that they were the only living beings left.

He forced himself not to think about what would happen if the world reset again.

They eventually made it to the memorial tree. Sans knelt down in the snow pulled his brother down next to him. Together they laid the little robe in the snow.

Neither of them moved as the trees sighed around them, as if they too mourned. The caverns glittered down upon them, bathing the world in a soft silver and a gentle breeze wrapped itself around them, comforting them in their sorrow.

‘Don’t worry, Papyrus,’ Sans eventually broke the silence. His voice was soft but gritty with determination. ‘I’ll find a way to bring them all back.’

‘I know you will.’ Papyrus’ voice was a mere whisper on the wind.

Sans clenched his fists as the weight of the mountain suddenly pressed in around him. ‘And then we’ll get to the surface and we’ll have our happy ending, just you wait and see!’

There was silence. Papyrus sniffed and wiped his eyes. ‘I wish I could have your hope,’ his voice cracked. Sans turned and hugged his brother. Tears started flowing down Papyrus’ cheeks and soaked into Sans’ shoulder.  

‘How can you still believe that?’ Papyrus sobbed, ‘After everything that’s happened?’

Sans tightened his grip on his brother. He clenched his teeth and buried his head into Papyrus’ shoulder. ‘I have to,’ he said as he forced his tears down. ‘If I don’t have hope, then I have nothing.’

Papyrus sucked in his breath. Sans gasped as his brother squeeze him tight. ‘Don’t say that,’ pain was clear in Papyrus’ voice. ‘You have me. We have each other.’

Sans hugged his brother so hard it hurt. Heat rose behind his eyes as tears spilt. Sans bit down hard on his tongue to stop the unspoken question from slipping through his teeth…

But for how long?

~*~*~

Sans woke suddenly from his sleep. He kept his eyes shut. He didn’t move a muscle. He barely even breathed.

He knew it. He didn’t need to hear, he didn’t need to move, he didn’t even need to see, and he knew it.

He curled over and dug his fingers into his skull as he gritted his teeth and forced himself not to cry. He slammed his hands over his mouth as a wail escaped.

He forced himself to breathe. In and out. In. And out.

He tried to reason with himself. Just because the world has reset, doesn’t mean everyone is gone. There have been resets before where no monster vanished. This is probably just one of them. He felt sick.

Still, with that thought at the front of his mind, he managed to get out of bed. Getting out his room was another matter though. Ever since the whimsun vanished, he and Papyrus had slept together on the couch. So this door was the only thing between him and the possibility of his worst nightmare. He forced his dark thoughts down. He placed his hand on the handle and took a deep, shuddering breath before pushing the door wide.

His mind went numb. His vision swam. His breath stuck in his throat.

No.

He shortcut down the stairs and appeared in front of the couch.

No.

He raised a trembling hand and reached towards Papyrus’ empty jeans and hoodie lying haphazardly on the couch. One arm was flung over the back of the sofa and the other tucked in the pockets. The exact same position he’d been in last night.

Sans tried to cry. He tried to scream. He tried to raise his emotions and destroy the world with its sadistic ways.

But all he could do was stand there in horror.

He couldn’t feel anything. Not the worn softness of Papyrus’ hoodie as he gently picked it up. Not the bite of icy air as he stepped outside. Not the snow flattening beneath his feet as he made his way out into the forest.

Was it hours or seconds that passed? All Sans knew was that he was at the memorial tree. He gazed out unseeing at the hundreds of piles of belongings.

He fell to his knees.

He stared at the blinding white snow. It contrasted sickeningly with the orange of Papyrus’ hoodie in his hands.

Numbness mercilessly pricked his body. All he could feel was a mounting pressure behind his eyes and a ringing in his ears and a wetness on his cheeks.

The memory of the last time he and Papyrus had come here rose foggily to mind, when they had said farewell to the last whimsun - to the last monster.

A bubble of hysterical laughter welled within him. Turns out the answer was twenty-six days. Twenty-six fucking days. Not even a month.

A small breeze weaved around him, making the sleeves of Papyrus’ hoodie flutter. He tried to lower it onto the snow but his hands started violently trembling. They wouldn’t let him put it down. They wouldn’t let him accept that Papyrus was gone. They shook and shook as tears flowed down his cheeks and pressure pounded in his head and they shook.

His breathing quickened.

Papyrus was gone.

Sans choked.

Papyrus was gone.

Sans doubled over. His breathing grew shallower and shallower until it stuck in his throat. His eyes grew hot. Sickness churned inside him. Tightness spread across his chest and his throat closed up as his vision swam in front of him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his throat but his bony phalanges slid uselessly over his vertebrae as panic and horror flared in his gut. He fell onto all fours and retched into the snow, his body spasming as it denied reality and its horrible truth. Unwanted magic surged within him. It was angry and burnt his insides. Gaster Blasters appeared in the air above him. He groaned as the pressure grated on his soul. His skull throbbed, it pounded, as blaster after blaster filled the space above him. Sans clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth and gave a wordless cry of pain as reality’s horrors started to sink in. He gasped. He retched. He sobbed.

Papyrus was gone.

Sans screamed as raw emotion slammed back into his being. Blasters roared; bones crashed; trees uprooted as misery and magic poured out of him, all added to the terrible noise ripping itself from Sans. It was a cacophony of agony, despair and grief. It was the sound of a world being torn to shreds. It was the sound of sanity shattering.  

It filled the entire underground.

~*~*~

Sans trembled alone in the snow. He was knelt curled in a ball, head in the snow by his knees, hugging Papyrus’ hoodie. He shivered and shook as tears poured silently down his cheeks, steaming slightly as they hit the snow. Ash and leaves and dirty flecks of snow fluttered and settled around him. The forest around him had been decimated. Every tree was either burnt or damaged or entirely non-existent. All except for the memorial tree. Somehow, it had managed to survive completely unscathed. It stood still and silent as it watched over the lonely figure huddled at its feet.

Sans’ mind was empty as he lay there. The darkness was warm and his breathing comforting. He would have lain like that forever, unmoving in the snow, if it hadn’t been for the laughter.

Sans froze when he heard it ring out, terrified for a moment that the maniacal sound came from himself. But no, he knew that laugh. He sat up. His eyes were orange and flickered like flames in the night.

It was the laugh of a demon.

Sans looked out across the memorial site. Chara stepped out from behind the tree, their blood red eyes glittered dangerously. Sans, shoving his grief aside, jumped to his feet and summoned a bone. He gritted his teeth. He stood his ground. Chara leant against the tree and lazily toyed with a knife. They tossed it into the air. Sans’ eyes followed it as it slowly spun, the metal glinting threateningly, before falling back down and landing in Chara’s outstretched hand.

Sans turned cold as those demonic eyes turned onto him. Chara grinned.

Ẁ͈̆̾͒ẹ̲̺̈́̆l̜̻̳̬̉l̪̙̺̩̟̦̳̅͌̒ ̦̯̦͢ì̼̝̺͒̐̉ŝ̢̘͉n̑'̹̻͉͔̼͇̆̽͗̏̑͠t͔̩̹̆ͩ͆ ̢͖͖͇̼̠ͫͣ̎͆ͦ́t̛̿̊͆͊ͪͧh̻̹̪͙̥̺ͮ͂̓͆i̊̆ͯ͊̏̃͑š̆̅ͬ̚ ͈͍̥͉͎̓͋̇̍̃͘ȉ̺̬̮̅̆̊ͣͬn͖͖͎̯̮̓ͮt̰̘̮̙̤͇̑́ͨͥͅe̹̦͎ṙ͍̟̦̪̭̜͎̆́̄ë̞͚̭͖̻͉̺́͌͂͒ŝ̳̩͙̥̭̗̔͝t̙͓ͩ̈́̅i̒͆̍ͤ̾͋͏͖̮̥̲͈̝̣n̗ͭ͗ͥ͑̚͘g̴͉̥̜̩.͎̟̱ͮ͐̒̽͞ ̨̤̯̰̺̼̲̻͋̅ͥ̽̄

Sans snapped.

His eyes blazed as rage exploded within him and waves of bones poured from his outstretched arms. First white. Then blue. And then orange.  

He cried with fury as blasters fired a thousand beams of light towards the demon and blinded the world.

Tears poured down his cheeks and blurred his vision as he focused on destroying those laughing red eyes belonging to the being who had taken everything from him.

He didn’t see the memorial tree get torn up.

He didn’t see the piles of belongings go up in smoke.

He didn’t see Papyrus’ hoodie flutter dangerously close to his wrath.

All he saw was those mocking red eyes as laughter danced around him

Sans’ chest heaved as his attack faded and the fire in his eyes dulled. Flakes of fabric and snow drifted around him. The world slowly came back into focus.

Sans’ eyes widened as he took in the carnage around him.

No, no, no.

He took a step back. Horrified. He shook his head. What had he done.

He raised his hands to his mouth, but that was when he saw the ruined piece of cloth tangling from his fingers.

He choked.

The hoodie was singed and torn beyond repair. Sans swayed as dizziness clouded his vision.

Laughter rang out around him once more.

Sans wailed. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t cope.

Sans ran. He ran and ran and tried to outrun the grief clipping his heels; the pain squeezing his soul; the demonic laughter burning his mind. The torn orange hoodie streamed from his hands and flared out behind him.

He ran through the forest, branches scraping and scratching his bones as he barely bothered to dodge them.

He ran through the empty town and tried not to scream.

The snow turned to slush as he ran into Waterfall, mud splattering his trousers and rain soaking him to the core.

He ran through the glittering caverns, the gemstones shining down on him with indifferent brilliance.

He ran into a field of echo flowers. His foot snagged on a hidden root. He cried out as he tripped and landed face first in the dirt.

The grief caught up with him.

Sans cried out in pain as sobs wracked his body and anguish filled his mind. His tears sank into the earth as he weeped into the cold soil. He cried his heart out as he mourned the lost souls of the underground, mourned his lost brother, mourned his lost hope.

Sans didn’t know how long he lay there for on the cold wet ground. Eventually his sobs lessoned as he started to shiver, but he was beyond getting up. As the silence grew around him he started to become aware of whispering around him. He froze with horror, but relaxed when he realised the whisperings were of a peaceful nature.

It was the echo flowers.

He closed his eyes and let the murmurings wash over him.

         *I want Dad to come back. That’s my wish.

         *Despite everything that’s happened, I’d still like to climb this mountain we're all buried under.

         *Please, I just want my sister back. Is that too much to ask?

         *Let’s not think about the future. Right now, we still have each other.

His breathing deepened and his tears slowed as the echo flowers calmed and comforted him. With a groan he managed to roll himself onto his back. He opened his eyes. He gazed up at the icy blue flowers leaning over him.

         *Do you really think they are all gone? Truly?

         *No, I believe that they’ll come back one day.

         *But so many people have vanished. How can you believe that?

         *If something can vanish, why can’t it reappear?

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sans started to sit up. The effort was almost beyond him and he started crying again as he forced himself upright. His bones screamed at him in protest. His vision doubled. His chest tightened.

          *Someday we’ll look at the stars for real. You, me, and everyone that vanished.

Sans took a shuddering breath. As the echo flowers whispered their words, he felt something alight inside of him.

          *Someone will save us. I know it.

Hope.

Sans lifted his head. The people of the underground hadn’t been erased, not completely. Even if they didn’t physically exist, their hopes and dreams still did. Sans gave the barest of smiles. He wasn’t alone.

Orange caught the corner of his eye. His smile dropped. He picked up the ruined cloth and hugged it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I lost my hope for a second there.’ He laid the torn hoodie out in front of him and ripped off a bit of fabric. He tied it around his leg. ‘But I won’t ever let that happen again,’ he said with a quiet intensity. He then started to dig a small hole in front of one of the echo flowers. He inhaled. The smell of fresh flowers and soil cleansed him from the inside. He laid the hoodie in the hole and covered it with earth. He summoned a small blue-orange bone and stuck it half in the dirt, marking the little grave. The echo flower leant over protectively. Its petals were wide and expectant, waiting for Sans’ words.

Sans spoke. His words were soft yet determined to the core. The echo flower soaked them up and sung them back at him, adding his voice to the chorus of hopes and dreams in the underground.

‘I’ll bring you back, Papyrus. I’ll bring you all back.’

‘I promise.’

[malfoyfamilycrest]

fanfiction: m. potier’s duels and errands

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Drarry (Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter), Ronmione (Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom Rating: T

Summary: France, 1631: Henri de Potier is a Musketeer of the Guard; his former school rival Drago Malcredi is a musketeer of Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard. During a fencing bout between the King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guard, Henri and Drago face each other for their first formal duel. It turns out not to be their only meeting that day.

“Scared?” muttered Malcredi so that Bérard couldn’t hear him. “You wish,” said Henri out of the corner of his mouth.

Thank you so much to Ineharnia for betaing! ❤︎

Also available on my AO3 (see the link in my profile).

About the setting of my Londubat and the Three Musketeers AU:

Henri de Potier and his friends Reynault de Beletton and Armand-Jean de Grangier (actually Armandine Jeanne, a woman disguised as a man) are Musketeers of the Guard. They have recently taken Neville Londubat under their wing who came to Paris from the countryside in order to become one of them.

Henri has a long-standing rivalry with Drago Malcredi, a musketeer of Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard who went to the same prestigious secondary school as him, the Lycée Poudlard. Drago is the son of Italian spies who were involved in a conspiracy against the cardinal and who switched loyalties at the last possible moment before it was uncovered. After that, Drago became a member of Richelieu’s Guard in order to make up for the shady actions of his parents. Richelieu trusts him, but Drago is aware everyone else will always eye him with suspicion – especially Henri who played a key role in uncovering the conspiracy.

Note: The Musketeers of the Guard of King Louis XIII of France commonly called themselves “Musketeers” whereas the musketeers of Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard referred to themselves as the “Guard”.

Hercule-Louis de Bérard de Montalet Vestric was pacing up and down in front of the best of his musketeers, scanning their uniforms for specks and rumpled parts. Satisfied with the results of his inspection, he stopped in front of them for an encouraging speech.

“Musketeers of the Guard!” he addressed them. “You have been selected for today’s duelling competition against Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard.”

“You don’t say,” mumbled Reynault so quietly only Henri and Armandine could hear him.

“I must admit that at times he has quite the habit of repeating bits of information everyone knows anyway,” Armandine whispered back. Her voice sounded higher when she spoke quietly, more like that of a woman.

“I trust you not to put the Musketeers to shame today,” Bérard continued his speech. “You are all apt warriors, perhaps the best of this whole country. But please also keep in mind that today’s fencing bout is drill and competition to equal parts. Our aim is not to decimate the Guard right after the King has granted the Cardinal commission to raise its numbers.”

Some sneers could be heard. Armandine frowned.

“You are going to keep your calm, right, Henri?” She gave him an appraising look. “Even if you happen to fight against...”

“Of course I will, Armand!” he said out loud, cutting her off. Henri wasn’t sure if he really could, but he hoped so.

“That came too fast!” Armandine glowered at him. “Please Henri, you really need to. I know he’s insufferable, but...”

“Shhh,” made Reynault. “Bérard’s going to hear you.”

Armandine instantly fell silent and assumed her most flawless military posture. She didn’t want to get negative attention if her commander caught her chatting when she should be listening to him. Reynault knew that only too well. He wasn’t only her and Henri’s best friend; Armandine and him had also moved in with each other after graduating from Lycée Poudlard, the prestigious secondary school they had attended. Now they were secretly living as a couple. Finding a landlord willing to accommodate them both had been remarkably effortless in Armandine’s male disguise.

Henri was a little jealous of his best friends. Sometimes he missed the dorm he had shared with them back at school. Living in his own quarters was lonely at times and his elderly, perpetually ill-humoured servant Ramper wasn’t exactly the uplifting kind of company he would have wished for.

Twenty minutes later, Musketeers and Guard had assembled on the Guard’s parade ground and duel partners were assigned. Neville Londubat, a young man who had come to Paris in order to become a Musketeer, was standing nearby, in charge of bandages and surrogate weapons. He glanced at them with admiration and a tiny bit of envy. Henri walked over to him.

“Neville!” He smiled.

“Henri.” Neville sounded a little strained. “I should probably be grateful that I’m even allowed to be here, but...” His voice sank to a whisper. “I’d love to be one of you. I’d love to prove myself in a duel with a member of the Guard.”

“I understand you so well!” It was a heartfelt confession. “You know, I envied every Musketeer that walked past me ever since the King’s musketeer guard was founded. All I wanted throughout my years at the lycée was to become one of them.” Henri gave Neville a reassuring smile. “Now I am. And you’ll soon be one of us as well. Just wait and see.”

“Thank you!” Neville smiled at him. “Watching you fence is certainly inspiring.”

“Oh, watching you fence is a delight as well.” Henri’s face split into a grin. “I’ll admit anytime that we underestimated you when we first met, but you’ve proven yourself when we got into that fight against the Guard. We certainly won’t make the same mistake again, and the promise to take you along on our next longer mission still stands!”

“Wonderful!” Neville’s smile turned into a grin as well, disappointment at his inability to participate in the fencing bout all but forgotten.

“Potier!” Bérard bellowed across the parade ground. “Get your butt over here for your first duel!”

Henri gave Neville an apologetic shrug and did as he was ordered. His eyes fell on Malcredi as he was walking to Bérard. The Italian was standing in the front row of the Cardinal’s musketeers, one hand draped lazily on the hilt of his sword and an assertive grin on his face.

I’m going to wipe that grin off your face, Henri thought grimly even though he didn’t know yet if he would face Malcredi during the fencing bout. When he had resumed his place, Bérard explained the proceedings of the duels.

“Alright, musketeers! You will face each other one on one for three minutes as measured by this hourglass.” Bérard gestured to a large hourglass an aide was holding. “The three minutes will start as soon as you hear the trumpet sound”—he gestured to a liveried musician next to the aide—“and they will end with the sound of another trumpet. Failure to stop your duel at the second bugle call will result in your disqualification and your opponent will win, so please save us all the trouble.” He gave Henri as stern look. Out of the corner of his eye, Henri saw Malcredi sneer. He scowled.

“The judges will be Monsieur de Bar, commander of the Guard, and me,” Bérard declared. “We will award points for hits and eventually declare a winner. This needs to be done unanimously; otherwise the duel will end in a tie.” Armandine nodded appreciatively as she heard Bérard’s plan.

“That is a very good concept to avoid one-sided bias on part of the judges,” she whispered, nudging Henri with her elbow. “Don’t you think so?” Henri nodded.

“Who wants to be the first to show their skill?” Bar droned. “Malcredi?”

“Yes, Sir. Always.” Malcredi stepped forward with a lazy stroll, annoyingly full of himself.

“And who—”

“Me, Sir!” Henri didn’t even wait for Bérard to finish his question.

“Well then, Potier,” Bérard said, frowning at the interruption. “Step forward and present arms.”

Henri walked over to Malcredi, raising his sword to a vertical position. His opponent mirrored his salute.

“Scared?” muttered Malcredi so that Bérard couldn’t hear him.

“You wish,” said Henri out of the corner of his mouth.

Then they saluted their two referees, taking three steps in opposing directions before they turned and resumed their positions.

“En garde!” Bérard called. They raised their swords.

“Ready?” he added. The trumpet sounded.

Go!” Bar yelled.

Malcredi advanced in a heartbeat, lighter and swifter than Henri. His movements were elegant and precise, like those of a dancer, only much faster. Henri couldn’t help but admire Malcredi’s grace as he aimed straight for his chest. Diving out of the way of his attack, Henri thrust his sword towards Malcredi’s armpit. Malcredi’s torso dipped back, just barely out of the way, before he advanced once more.

Their swords crossed, scraping against each other as Henri tried to push Malcredi’s weapon to the side. Malcredi stepped back, gathering enough space to lunge against Henri who had the presence of mind to raise his sword just in time to parry. Their weapons clashed, making the steel vibrate until Henri’s hand felt half numb.

This time it was Henri who stepped back, only to feign another attack just like the one Malcredi had aimed at his chest. As Malcredi raised his sword to parry, Henri twisted his hand, bringing his own weapon up so he could shove Malcredi’s out of the way in a circle parry, instantly flicking his sword towards Malcredi’s chest. It scraped Malcredi’s red cassock; an obvious hit.

“Halt!” Bérard shouted. The aide tilted the hourglass to the side, stopping the time.

“Point for Potier!” Bar announced.

Henri and Malcredi went to their original positions. This time it was Bérard who shouted the “Go” command, and the sand began to run again.

Emboldened by his hit, Henri lunged forward. But Malcredi was far from discouraged; if anything, he seemed even more determined to win. He stepped towards Henri, parrying the lunge dangerously close to his chest. For a moment, their eyes met. Malcredi’s were grey like troubled storm clouds.

Eyes furrowed in determination, Malcredi danced out of the way of Henri’s blade. Turning on Henri in a counter attack, Malcredi thrust his sword towards Henri’s arm. His sleeve ripped.

“Halt!” It was Bar’s voice. The aide stopped the time again.

“Point for Malcredi!” called Bérard.

The next round started with the familiar commands. Henri tried to attack first but Malcredi was faster, forcing him to parry so close to his body Henri almost scraped his clothing with his own sword. Malcredi’s pale lips were pressed to a tight line, all focused elegance. Henri briefly wondered what he looked like himself, ripped sleeve and unruly hair under his plumed hat.

The musing cost him the opportunity for a riposte, an attack of his own. Instead, Malcredi renewed his attack, lunging at Henri’s thigh. Henri needed to make an awkward side dance to step out of the way of his sword.

“You are inattentive,” Malcredi hissed. “That will be your undoing.” He twisted the angle of his sword, beating it hard against Henri’s, and pushed his own weapon towards Henri’s chest.

Henri bent his body back, just barely out of Malcredi’s reach, and thrust his own sword towards Malcredi in an inelegant movement. It struck a little above his hip, harder than Henri had intended. Malcredi made a pained groan, pressing his free hand over his side.

“Halt!” droned Bar, and their time was halted as well. “Point for Potier!”

“Londubat!” Bérard yelled. “To me with the bandages!” He helped Malcredi expose his wounded side, the blood that tickled from a gash in his side a stark contrast against his almost translucent skin. Henri had no idea how any Italian could be this pale.

Bérard cleaned Malcredi’s wound with alcohol from the flask at his belt before Neville even reached them. When he had arrived, Malcredi snatched the bandage from his hands, applying it without the help of others. Then he tucked his now stained white shirt back in his culottes.

“On we go!” he snarled before anyone could so much as suggest abandoning the duel. His scowl deepened.

Henri had no opportunity to tell him he hadn’t meant to draw blood before Bar had reached the “Go!” command. Malcredi lunged at him instantly. Henri parried this thrust, wasting no time on thinking before he started his counter attack. Malcredi danced out of the way, holding Henri at bay with his extended sword.

They exchanged a series of elaborate attacks, parries and counter attacks before the trumpet sounded one last time for them. They stopped immediately, neither wanting to risk disqualification. Bérard raised Henri’s arm, announcing him the winner. Malcredi shook Henri’s hand, but when he retreated, he was glaring daggers towards his opponent.

“Let’s go out for a drink with Londubat!” Henri suggested, draping his arms across Armandine and Reynault’s shoulders.

“Not really in the mood for it,” Reynault grumbled. He was the only one of them who hadn’t won his duel against a member of the Guard.

“All the more reason to take your mind off things!” Armandine chimed in with Henri. “Don’t you think so, Neville?”

“Oh, I think a glass of wine would be lovely now!” Neville smiled.

“Then it’s all settled!” Henri decided. “Let’s go to—” But before he could make a suggestion, Olivier du Bois appeared, a senior Musketeer who had been a few years above Henri at Poudlard.

“Sorry to interrupt,” du Bois said. “I know you all deserve your evening off, but Bérard needs you for a secret mission, Henri.”

“Sacre Dieu!” Henri cussed. “Can’t he send someone else?”

“I’m afraid it’s not in my power to alter my orders.” Du Bois pulled a face. “I’m just the messenger. You need to come with me now.”

“Alright, guys, have a nice evening!” Henri sighed. “Seems like mine will be a little longer.”

Bérard’s secret order turned out to be an errand: Henri needed to transport a letter from the King to the Cardinal’s palace where he was to wait for the Cardinal’s reply. The mission was simple enough, but the King seemed to have requested specifically the Musketeer who had uncovered the Italian conspiracy as a trusted envoy.

Henri sighed as he saddled his grey horse. The conspiracy had assured that his name was known to the King, but to what avail? Promotion still seemed out of reach, and riding straight to the Cardinal’s palace where he might meet Malcredi again wasn’t exactly his idea of a nice evening.

The guard at the palace gates let him in when they saw the King’s seal on the envelope Henri was carrying. They held his horse for him, and he reached the entrance to the Cardinal’s palace unhindered. That was when a familiar pale figure walked out of the portal, saw him and stopped in his tracks.

“Potier.” It sounded surprised rather than annoyed.

“Malcredi.” Henri’s voice was guarded.

“What are you doing here?” It was a professional inquiry, not an accusation.

“My King sent me here to deliver His letter to His Eminence and wait for His reply,” Henri said dutifully. He held the letter towards Malcredi who stared at it, blinked and turned towards the portal.

“Gouille!” Malcredi bellowed. Mere seconds later, a gorilla-like man with dull eyes appeared, unmistakably Malcredi’s lackey from their school days, Grégoire Gouille.

“Letter from His Majesty,” Malcredi ordered, snatching it out of Henri’s hands and thrusting it into Gouille’s paws. “To the Cardinal. Now.” Gouille nodded. As he was about to trod off, Malcredi added swiftly: “Find us at the stairs to the garden. That’s where you need to bring His Eminence’s reply.” Gouille nodded once again and disappeared inside the palace.

“At the stairs to the garden?” Henri raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to challenge me to a return duel, are you?”

“I just have a few things that need to be said,” Malcredi said in a clipped tone. “Preferably without other people listening in on us.” He wasted no time and stalked off. Henri shrugged and followed him.

Malcredi leaned against the stone banister of the stares he had indicated to Gouille, covertly pressing his left hand against his side where Henri had hurt him. Henri noticed it at once.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flopping down on the stairs. “I didn’t mean to...”

“No,” Malcredi cut him off. “This is not what I want to talk about.”

“So what do you want to talk about?” Henri looked up to him.

“Sacre Dieu, this isn’t going to work with you crouched down on the stairs!” Malcredi swore. He sat next to Henri, lowering his body carefully. The pressure the process of sitting down applied to his side made him hiss in spite of all his caution.

“You sure you’re alright?” Henri cast him a worried glance, reaching out to touch Malcredi’s side.

“Don’t you dare.” Malcredi swatted his hand away.

“Yeah,” muttered Henri. “Sorry.”

“Sacre Dieu, Henri, can you please stop saying sorry?” Malcredi groaned in annoyance. “If anything, I should apologise to you.”

“What?” Henri stared at him, dumbfounded.

“For ... you know. Being mean to country noblemen. Not being decisive enough when my father dragged me into the conspiracy. Almost getting you killed. You rescuing my life twice on one day.” Malcredi’s voice was quiet. “Whatever. You choose.”

Henri stared at him. He hadn’t expected this, and now he didn’t know what to say. Malcredi used Henri’s silence to continue.

“I also wanted to say...” His throat worked until he was able to get it out. “Thank you,” he managed at last. “For testifying in favour of my family.”

“I only said the truth,” Henri replied. “You still switched sides at the right moment. If it wasn’t for your mother, the whole thing could have ended badly. So of course I testified for you.”

“You’re a honourable man,” Malcredi said. “I don’t know if I would have had the magnanimity...”

“Oh, shut it!” Henri grumbled. “Magnanimity. I just did what was right.”

“Yes.” Malcredi gave him a crooked smile. “Yes, I know. You’re stubborn and righteous and you do things because you believe they need to be done rather than for any personal gain. It’s dumb, really.” He took a deep breath. “But I think highly of you because of that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Henri felt dumbfounded; stunned Malcredi had gone out of his way just to apologise and to thank him.

“It was a debt I needed to settle.” Malcredi rose from the stairs, pulling himself up at the banister. “Sacre Dieu,” he cussed once again. “That shallow cut hurts worse than many a severe wound.”

“A debt?” Henri echoed. He didn’t want to let him go just like that.

“Something I needed to tell you so I can move on from here,” Malcredi explained. “I want to leave my past behind and make a name for myself with the Guard. I’m sure you aim for the same thing with the Musketeers. That makes us rivals, albeit indirect ones.” His grey eyes pierced into Henri’s green ones. “I want to be competitive. What I don’t want is feel as if I wasn’t worthy of promotion.”

“Oh, I think you are worthy.” Henri stood, much more effortlessly than Malcredi. He extended his hand. “May we be rivals. And may we give our missions our all.”

“Yes.” Malcredi clasped his hand in both of his own. “May we give this life our all.”

Notes:

Gifted to sorb_aucup on AO3 because she told me to write this when I just meant to joke around about a misspelling of Draco’s name. xD (My thought process was something like “‘Drago’ is the Italian word for ‘dragon’. Italians were always mistrusted and suspected to be spies in early modern France.” And then I drifted off to The Three Musketeers.)

The title of this fic is a pun on the title of the Blackmore’s Night instrumental “Mr Peagram’s Morris and Sword”.

“Poudlard” is the name of Hogwarts in the French translations of the Harry Potter books. I also took “Londubat” as Neville’s surname from the official French translations but I came up with the rest of the translated names by myself. Ramper is Kreacher; Olivier du Bois is Oliver Wood; Grégoire Gouille is Gregory Goyle. “Malfoy” would be translated more literally to “Malafede” in Italian but there’s a character called Belcredi in Uniform Justice (2003), one of the novels of Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti book series, and … I just swapped “bel” = “good” for “male” = “bad/pain” and cut off the “e”. xD)

The two lines “Scared”—“You wish” are, of course, quotations from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I just changed the names for the purpose of this story.

[multimetaverse]

Andi Mack 2x22 Review

Buffy in a Bottle was a pretty good episode, definitely the best written of 2b so far and it was nice to see the show have momentum once more. There’s a lot of good stuff to talk about, especially in regards to Tyrus so let’s get started.

Positives:

I think this episode did a great deal to answer the looming question of whether Cyrus’ arc was being censored mainly because he was gay or mainly because his crush is on other main character Jonah. I think it’s more the latter which means that when Tyrus becomes canon in S3 we’ll actually get to see them experience a full relationship. Now they certainly won’t get the screen time that Jandi did or Wandi will but I think we’re looking at something like Muffy, which did a lot in relatively little screen time.

As I’ve previously mentioned, this episode served as a trial run in many ways for an eventual Tyrus relationship and I think the casual audience will be receptive to it. I think we’ll look back on Buffy in a Bottle as the episode that really shifted the audience’s perceptions of Tyrus and TJ as a character for the better.

As as happened before, we got a nice little reminder that Cyrus is gay, when he brought up kissing Iris, before he had scenes with TJ. 

The most important parallel this episode was between Tyrus and Jandi. Cyrus and TJ are comfortable with each other and know how to open up to and support each other in ways that Andi and Jonah just can’t. And of course we see Andi and Jonah having their het drama while in the background Cyrus and TJ have a good conversation in the background, a little visual division between the straights and the gays. 

I think this episode should put to rest the idea that Tyrus can’t happen because TJ will never want to be ‘out’ or will never accept his sexuality. He was the one to first approach Cyrus and Andi at the spoon. He invited Cyrus to come to the gym with him and pulled him into a sweet but completely unnecessary side hug. He called Cyrus underdog in front of Andi with no hesitation! These are not the actions of a guy who’s being wracked by internal strife over his feelings for Cyrus.

And we got to see some great reactions from Cyrus when TJ was talking to time capsule Buffy and Andi. He laughed at TJ’s Buffy impression, was eager to have Andi say yes to TJ sitting with them, and was upset when she didn’t want him to, and was happy when she relented.

We’ve seen a lot of Cyrus helping TJ but tonight we got to see TJ help Cyrus. He immediately knew that Cyrus was lying to him and made it known which led Cyrus to once more open up about something embarrassing and TJ offered to help. TJ was also the only one noticed how uncomfortable Cyrus was with the het drama and offered him an out which Cyrus gladly took. 

Cyrus referred to himself as a Kugel of a man. Kugel comes from the Yiddish word for ball and refers to a soft pudding made out of noodles or potato. A doughboy if you will. This really shows how little Cyrus thinks of his abilities and how low his self-esteem is.

This is why TJ’s ‘’boundless confidence’’ was just what Cyrus needed. TJ took Cyrus to a supportive non-judgmental environment and boosted Cyrus’ confidence until Cyrus was able to do a somersault all on his own. 

Once again with TJ’s help, Cyrus was able to achieve a personal victory as has been the case with all the Tyrus scenes we’ve had so far. And the song that was playing was a very positive uplifting one, the show wants us to view TJ and Cyrus’ relationship the same way.

We also got a parallel with the J*rus skateboard scene back in 2x04. Of course that ended with Cyrus breaking his thumb and not actually learning how to skateboard whereas Cyrus actually does succeed in doing a somersault in this ep. It’s part of the writers slowly replacing Jonah with TJ for that part of Cyrus’ life.

It was also interesting to see Cyrus’ reactions to Jonah at the spoon. He noticed Jonah entering and let Andi know and then switched his attention back to TJ as they had a nice chat while Jonah and Andi were having their het drama. And as Andi was leaving and he had the chance to stay with Jonah (and Natalie) he instead jumped at TJ’s offer and spent the rest of the day with him. He didn’t even say goodbye to Jonah when he left. S1 Cyrus would have never passed up an opportunity to spend time with Jonah. 

Both TJ and Walker have jobs which is an interesting parallel. Both come off as more mature this episode as well. I laughed very hard at Andi basically telling Walker they could never talk but could still be friends but Walker took it like a champ. TJ apologized to a trash can in order to placate Andi so he could sit with Cyrus and he offered to help Cyrus and he was the only one to notice Cyrus looking so uncomfortable and took him with him. 

In contrast Jonah was jealous and petty and unlikable. A large part of this stems from the effects of Amber’s cheating and manipulation which will have to be addressed before Jonah can be a good romantic partner for any one. 

Having TJ be sweet to Cyrus while working with little kids was a very cynical ploy by the writers to speed up TJ’s redemption arc. They might as well have had him spent the episode playing with puppies. Still at least TJ took big strides in his redemption tonight. He apologized to trash can Buffy, made nice with Andi, and was sweet and supportive to Cyrus. And we got to see the supportive confident leader side of him both with the kids and with Cyrus.

And it was a big night for TJ as a character. His first scene at the spoon and his first scene with Andi. The audience will realize that he is here to stay and play an important role going forward.

I’ve seen complaints that he should have apologized to the real Buffy, which he will, but he can’t do that when she’s not there!

This was also the first time ever that Andi acted like she knew that Cyrus has a crush on Jonah hence her trying to get advice from Bex or Buffy rather than turning to Cyrus. We’ll see how long this lasts.

The boner joke was hilarious. Good on Terri for somehow getting that through. I also liked Walker’s Father of Dragons line after Bex gave him a bunch of titles.

Negatives:

I found it very weird that a 13/14 year old TJ has a job? And Walker has one too? It makes sense for Amber because she’s 15 and her family is in a bad spot but what kind of gym hires a middle school student to look after a bunch of little kids? 

I feel like Terri sometimes writes the kids as high schoolers because it opens up more story possibilities and can lead to more drama but I think it would have made more sense if TJ just volunteered at the gym. 

The Bex and Cece plot was just a set up to We’re on Cloud 10 and Andi’s sleeping montage was a complete waste of time. 

What a surprise Buffy is back! I don’t want to beat a dead horse, but man was that moving plot ever stupid.

Looking Ahead:

Very interesting that they’re bringing back both the bracelet and the vest. It’s no surprise that they’re reaching back to S1 for important Jandi and J*rus moments. I think the next few eps will serve as a last hurrah for both ships before Terri sinks them.

I wonder if Jonah lets slip that it was TJ who found him first at the bar-mitzvah

Buffy’s crush finally gets a mention. I never understood why so many people thought that her crush wasn’t real or that Cyrus was somehow mistaken. I still think it’s Jonah but whoever it is I’m sure it will be a disaster. 

And not a word in either promo about Ham’s surprising news. With the way the writers have been lately it could be as big as a divorce or as small as Ham getting his ear pierced as part of his mid life crisis. 

[hannahindie]

Breathe - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping. Word Count: 2,083 Square Filled: Fatal Illness Summary: A year earlier, the reader finds out exactly what’s going on and has to make a difficult decision. That decision affects her present day life with Sam and Dean, and she has to decide what to do; keep herself at arm’s length, or let Dean in. A/N: This is the second part of my SPN Angst Bingo Card, hosted by @spnangstbingo. It will be seven parts, and the schedule has already been posted. It will post twice a week (Monday and Friday) until it wraps up. **Disclaimer for this particular chapter: I don’t know much about cancer. My life has been affected by it way too often, but the information I wrote here I got from the Mayo clinic website. I may be taking some liberty with it, simply because I don’t have super in depth experience. I apologize ahead of time if it isn’t 100% accurate.

It was beta’d by the ever fantastic and my writing soulmate @trexrambling: “This ending was damn straight perfection, Han.”

My beautiful twinny, @pinknerdpanda: “I need MORE!”

And my dear, sweet angel baby @masksandtruths: “ Damn it, you are breaking my heart....again.”

Thanks to all three for helping a girl out so that her words make sense. I owe a lot to all of you.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know.

One Year Earlier…

Growing up, I watched my parents hunt. Their parents were hunters, and their parents’ parents were hunters...it is just what my family does. Well, what it did. I don’t have a large family, and hunting doesn’t really promote a flourishing family tree.

I saw my parents die. I watched the larger than life werewolf tear them apart, I heard my father scream for me and watched as he threw his gun as close to me as he could get it before its yellowed teeth clamped down on his throat. I stared at my hands as they grabbed the gun, as if they belonged to another person while they wrapped around the cool metal and pearl handle and squeezed the trigger. I remember being carried from the woods and placed in the backseat of a stranger’s car, the fear that had wrapped around my heart turning into a numbness that lingered for years after the fact.

So the feeling that is coursing through me now in this too sterile room, the rubbing alcohol burning my nostrils, is familiar. It’s familiar and terrifying and I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of; the fear itself, or the numbness that I know is coming.

“You have what is called small cell lung cancer, or SCLC.” She pulls an x-ray from a manila envelope and places it on the display. I don’t know much about human anatomy, but I’m pretty sure my chest shouldn’t look like it does. “As you can see, you have a pretty significant tumor in your right lung, and it has grown into the space between your lungs and your heart. If you look here-” she points to two darker areas- “there are separate parts to the tumor, in two different lobes.”

I know she’s speaking English, and that so far she’s keeping it pretty simple, but I can’t help but look at her like she just babbled at me in Ancient Greek. “So...what...what does that mean?”

She turns off the light to the display and pulls a stool over next to me, “It means that, out of the four stages that you can possibly have, yours is a IIIB. Each stage has different features that qualify it...right now, yours meets all three features. It has also spread to the lymph nodes near the carina, which is where your windpipe splits into the left and right bronchi and in the space between your lungs.”

This sounds bad, and of course it’s bad, it’s lung cancer, but I’m only thirty. How does this happen? I take a shaky breath in an attempt to steady my voice, “Is there any good news at all? Because right now it feels like you basically just handed me my death certificate.”

“Honestly, I don’t have much, and I’m sorry. The good part of all of this is that it’s in the limited stage, which means it’s only in the one lung and the lymph nodes affected are on the same side. It also hasn’t spread to any other organs. That is incredibly lucky, because only about one out of three people catch it this early.” Her small smile falters, and I brace myself for the other side of this shit sandwich. “However, the five year survival rate of small cell lung cancer compared to non-small cell...it’s drastically lower.”

“How much lower?”

“Ms. Y/LN, I need you to keep in mind that these survival rates are only an estimate, they can’t predict what will happen to any individual person-”

“How much lower?”

“The five year relative survival rate for stage III SCLC is about eight percent. But we can treat it, we have options. They are limited, but they are options, and there has been some success.”

The rest of the conversation is a blur. She hands me pamphlets and offers me a glass of water, displaying a kindness I'm sure she's gotten down to a science in this line of work. I know what she’s saying is important, she’s listing medicines and writing scripts and explaining that we can get chemotherapy started right away, but I don’t hear it. There is talk of procedures that will make it easier to breathe, but right now it’s taking everything I have to force myself to keep going, to focus on the air coming in and going out. Her words are fading into the background as the same thought keeps screaming, drowning out everything else.

I am dying.

Now…

Every so often, Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. They don’t linger; it’s almost as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still in the back of the car. He hasn’t mentioned what happened back at the hotel, and I’m hoping he forgets about it. However, as I watch his eyes flick up to the mirror again, I know he won’t.

I scoot up and lean on the back of the seat, “So, uh, Sam, what’s up with this ghost, anyway?”

I see Sam’s massive shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, “It’s pretty straight forward. The hotel actually used to be a mansion owned by a doctor, who was married with eight children. The doctor was well known and seemed to be liked by everyone in town, and honestly his life was pretty normal until his children started dying suddenly. Like clockwork, the children became horribly sick, in order from youngest to oldest, and within three weeks all eight of them had died. Rumor was that the wife had something to do with it, but at the time there was no way to prove it. Shortly after the last funeral, the doctor didn’t show up to open his practice, which was very unusual. His nurse called the police, and when they arrived, the front door was open. The doctor had been killed, and his wife was nowhere to be found. To this day, no one knows what prompted the deaths of the children, or why the doctor was killed. No one ever found her.”

I settle back into the seat and look out the window at the scenery passing in a blur, “That’s uplifting.”

“Well, you asked.”

I don't answer, and the car falls silent aside from the rock music playing softly in the background. I quietly flip my bag open and shuffle through the books and papers, searching for the little box that so far has given me life. My fingertips rest on the Altoid can and I flip it open, grabbing a pill and a mint at the same time. Can't be too careful when it comes to covering up my lies.

“Hey, can I get one of those mints?” Dean's hand pops over the back of the seat and I lock eyes with him in the mirror. He's testing me; like Sam, he's catching on.

“Sure.” I drop one in his hand, popping the actual pill into my mouth as I smile and snap the tin closed. His eyes narrow for just a second, then his gaze drops back to the road.

I'm tired. My head drops back onto the cool leather seat and I let my eyes slip shut. My chest hurts, and it feels like someone is sitting on my sternum. I concentrate on breathing, careful to make it sound normal, like I'm not struggling to get enough air. I wonder how long this is going to drag on, how much more time I have.

The car begins to slow and I open my eyes as we pull into a gas station. Dean immediately goes for the gas pump so, before he has a chance to settle his sights back on me, I walk quickly into the convenience store.

“What's going on?” I jump and nearly drop the bag of Combos I am contemplating, then glare at the guilty party.

“Jesus, Sam! Can you not? And what do you mean, ‘What’s going on’?”

He crosses his arms and tilts his head, “You and Dean have been weird. What happened before we left the motel?”

I roll my eyes as I make my way towards the drinks, “Nothing happened. And could you define weird? Because the only interaction we've had since we left the hotel was him asking me for a mint.”

“Exactly!” Sam gestures wildly, his voice still loud even though I can tell he's trying to whisper. “You guys talk all the time. Music, movies, food. You're like the female version of Dean. You guys haven't spoken the entire time. It's weird.”

I grab a Coke, then turn to face Sam. He's looking at me expectantly, and I sigh, “Nothing happened. I'm just tired, and I'm sure he's tired, and that's it. We left the room like ten seconds after you, there wasn't time for anything to happen. Cool your jets, would you? It's fine.” I walk towards the counter, “They've got some organic snacks over by the chips, make sure you get some so you aren't cranky later.”

I grab a couple other snacks as I make my way to the counter, pay, then walk outside and toss Dean one of my last-second purchases.

“Oooo, teriyaki lime jerky. Someone knows the way to my heart.” He pulls the nozzle from the tank and it clunks into place on the pump. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I shrug and lean against the car, “I am truly a gift. You should probably appreciate me more.”

Suddenly, he's directly in front of me, his moss green eyes burning into mine, and then his hand is on my waist. He's close, so close I can smell the shampoo he used this morning and the faint mix of toothpaste and the motel coffee he called breakfast. “I would like very much to show that appreciation.” He smiles, and for a second I am tempted. Oh, am I tempted.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this-”

He tilts his head, and his eyes do that squinty thing he does when he’s thinking about what to say. What I want to do is reach up and smooth the worry wrinkle between his brows, trace the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but instead I hold my ground. Barely, but it’s held.

“No, you talked about this...and I let it go, because I mean...you’re right. Our lives,” he scoffs, “our lives are fucked up. People like us die young and we die bloody. And if we are lucky enough to live to the ripe old age of sixty, we also live long enough to see everyone we love killed. And it sucks, God, it sucks, but it is what it is. But I’m tired of that, alright? This-” he gestures between us- “this is worth it. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt it since Omaha.”

Omaha. Low blow, Winchester.

“Is this really the time to discuss this? As lovely as this gas pump is, this isn’t exactly a romantic way to bring it up.” He is still staring at me, his mouth set in a determined line, and for a moment I want to tell him to quit making that face, that his lips look better when he smiles because they’re full and pink and beautiful, but that would not help this situation. Instead, I sigh, “Omaha was a mistake, Dean. It was fun, but...it was a mistake.” His hand drops from my waist and I would take all the cancer in the world if it meant I never had to see that look on his face again. If I thought my chest hurt before, it is nothing compared to what it feels like now.

His tongue darts out and wets his lips, the bottom one catching between his teeth as he stares at me. It looks like he’s going to argue with me, and there’s a little part of me that is begging him to fight for it, for us, to convince me that my plan is garbage, but instead he walks away. He’s opening the driver’s side door by the time Sam gets to the car and looks at me quizzically.

“You okay?”

I clear my throat, “Oh, yea, I’m fine.” I climb into the backseat and settle in against the door. The car starts with an echoing roar, and he accelerates out of the lot faster than is necessary.

For the rest of the drive, his eyes never look up into the rearview mirror.

Read part 3 HERE.

Like what you see? Would you like to see more? My Masterlist is here!

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda  @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes  @deanssweetheart23  @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-babydoll @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion @myloveforyouxx @atc74 @mrsbatesmotel53 @there-must-be-a-lock @masksandtruths @thelittleredwhocould @jotink78 @amanda-teaches @ilsawasanacrobat @squirrel-moose-winchester @mjdoc90 @anticipate1003 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mindsunleashed @mogaruke @speakinvain @linki-locks11 @wildlandfox @rhochradel

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SPN Angst Bingo: @thekarliwinchester @emptywithout @winchesterxtwo @aubreystilinksi @castianityislife02

[bluezey]

A piece by piece study of the Macy’s Parade SpongeBob performance

I can’t help it, but I’ve watched the SpongeBob SquarePants Macy’s Parade performance at least once a day.  Mostly because the song is so uplifting and energetic it’s like musical caffeine.  If you’re out of coffee or energy drinks (like I was this morning) just plug Bikini Bottom Day into whatever device plays your music.  But another reason is the idea of a SpongeBob Broadway production is so bizarre, yet they appear to pull it off so surprisingly well, that the performance to me is so fascinating it’s almost hypnotic.  So much that I can do a piece by piece study of what I’ve noticed so far in the performance.  And here they are now.

- the pre-taped narrator voice is the original voice of the narrator in the show, aka Tom Kenny, nice touch

- I may be wrong, but according to what little footage I could find of the actual Broadway production, the prop of SpongeBob’s neighborhood/house may have been made specifically for the Macy’s parade number

- it was a nice effect to pull off live that it appeared SpongeBob was sleeping underneath that flat piece of cardboard that was the neighborhood/house prop, but, after many reviewings, and sorry to ruin the magic for some of you, I caught SpongeBob’s foot during the transition

- they push Gary in on a skateboard

- I do believe that it was the actor playing SpongeBob who does Gary’s meow, but, due to either the meow or the entire vocal number being prerecorded, SpongeBob doesn’t move his mouth to make the meow

- and no, I cannot confirm or deny if the singing was prerecorded, as they are usually prerecorded for Macy parade performances, but watching the mouths as they’re singing, I’m not seeing any sign of lip syncing, but this could also be due to, after so many rehearsals, they can lip sync to the track like it’s second nature to them by now, so unless someone has a keener eye than I do, whether the singing was live or prerecorded is still up in the air

- a keen Macy’s parade watcher noticed it, and I rewatched it to confirm it, and it’s true, instead of giving the spatula back to the hand behind the background prop, SpongeBob literally throws his spatula offscreen, he had to have thrown it hard to give it enough distance for someone off the street “stage” to catch it, so a mean part of me is wondering if he accidentally whipped the spatula into the audience (if I caught it, I’d probably try to keep it until they asked for it back)

- it took me more time than needed to realize why SpongeBob paused to talk about his dental hygiene, but eventually I noticed this attempt to pull off cartoon effect with live action stage magic, cute (if you don’t see it, look to the left in this screenshot)

- I also think to pull this off, they needed two toothbrushes back there, one for SpongeBob to grab, and a second one for someone on the other side to hold out during the offstage “stretch” and that thought is kinda funny to me

- though SpongeBob sings about being extra careful with his dental hygiene, he brushes Gary’s eyes with the toothbrush

- SpongeBob is so nice he waves to someone who kidnaps his pet snail

 - what’s also funnier is that, immediately after this, SpongeBob walks through a prop door, signifying him leaving his house, so this took place in his house, someone broke into his house and took his snail, and he’s just fine with it XD

- someone who’s seen the Broadway show, are the houses actually this small?  I mean, I saw a small video of the stage production where SpongeBob, Patrick and Squidward were standing in front of their prop houses, and the houses were that small, but they didn’t show how they walked out of them, is it just like this in the show, or did they just walk out from behind the houses?  I know some Broadway performances need a little bit of stretching the imagination, but I’m just curious how they did it in the stage show

- wow, look how in character they all are!  and those tiny touches to stretch the imagination so you can tell who each human is playing!  even Squidward is placing his hands on his hips like Squdward in the show would!  yeah, now that I noticed it, Squidward doesn’t place his fists on his hips when he stands around grumpy, he just stands with his hands unfolded like that

 - while some choices are great, some choices are still kinda odd to me.  like, Squidward is human now, and has hair, so why give him four legs??  don’t get me wrong, it’s one of my favorite costume choices in the show now, but still, he’s human now!  why four legs??

- I don’t want to bog down this thing with screencaps, so I’ll list all the characters I could make out in the cast, not coutning SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward and Sandy:  Mr. Krabs, Pearl, Plankton, Karen, Mrs. Puff, Larry the Lobster, Old Man Jenkins

- SpongeBob at one point walks under a character wearing pogo stilts, I won’t question why she’s wearing shorts, but I will question why SpongeBob walked between her legs

- SpongeBob has sunglasses for one moment, but I’m trying to figure out where he got them, I think Mrs. Puff handed them when they met

- oh yeah, during the number SpongeBob interacts with almost everyone in the cast when he’s not singing the lead, my favorite part is when he waves to Plankton and Plankton waves back, SpongeBob is such a happy dude

- SpongeBob isn’t the only character I can’t help but watch, Squidward is fun to watch too, he kinda toddles/marches along on his four legs, the actor has so much experience on those prop legs and he walks around like they’re still cumbersome, it’s kinda funny in a sad way

- Plankton wears a snappy green suit, an evil eyepatch and a cool ponytail, but wears sneakers, kinda cute and funny (maybe it’s a subtle nod to die hard fans that despite Plankton’s intelligence and sophistication, his family are bumpkins?)

- it makes me smile how everyone stops to pledge allegiance to the town, even evil Plankton and grumpy Squidward, everyone loves this town and it makes me smile

- apparently the salute to Bikini Bottom is the same hand gesture for “hang ten” how adorable

 - what the f**k is that??

- is that Old Man Jenkins dancing??

- no matter how many times I watch this, I’m still finding new things, for example, while screen grabbing, I found this guy

- this is the band geek in me for noticing this, and it’s hard to notice in screen grabs, but when they pause when the song ends, it looks like Squidward nudges his feet forward, either he missed his spot or he was about to fall over and he was regaining balance, without us noticing of course, but sorry dude, I noticed, it’s okay, it amused me, you can try and catch it yourself by rewatching the performance, and see Squidward when the camera angle switches to overhead

- one final note, look at that overhead shot! they are trying like hell to sell this bizarre show, and I think they succeeded like hell! I especially love Plankton in this, it’s like he’s trying to steal the show in just that one pose

[richincolor]

Everyone, please welcome Elsie Chapman to Rich in Color! Elsie’s new book, ALONG THE INDIGO, is out today, and we’re thrilled to have her here to talk about it:

The town of Glory is famous for two things: businesses that front for seedy, if not illegal, enterprises and the suicides that happen along the Indigo River. Marsden is desperate to escape the “bed-and-breakfast” where her mother works as a prostitute—and where her own fate has been decided—and she wants to give her little sister a better life. But escape means money, which leads Mars to skimming the bodies that show up along the Indigo River. It’s there that she runs into Jude, who has secrets of his own and whose brother’s suicide may be linked to Mars’s own sordid family history. As they grow closer, the two unearth secrets that could allow them to move forward . . . or chain them to the Indigo forever.

You can pick up a copy of ALONG THE INDIGO at Barnes & Noble and IndieBound. Now on to the interview!

I read an excerpt for ALONG THE INDIGO and was immediately captivated by Marsden. Tell us more about her, her family, and the skimming she does by the river.

I’m so happy to hear that! With Marsden, I wanted to portray her as this very normal teenager who happens to be surrounded by very strange circumstances. So like a lot of teens, she’s starting to think about what she wants for the future even as she’s also still figuring out who she is right now. But there’s a lot of baggage in her life that’s complicating things, with the mystery of her dad’s death still lingering, her mom being a prostitute, and how her family actually owns this tragic part of town known for being a place where people go to commit suicide.

Marsden’s also mixed—half Chinese, half white—and having to grow up in this very small, very white town where her family already has a bit of a tarnished reputation, she feels like an outcast. But of course it’s not as simple as just leaving, because she has a little sister, Wynn, and more than anything Marsden wants to keep her sheltered her from all the ugliness around them. A lot of the book is really about Marsden wanting to escape so many parts of her life—her family, her past, the town.

I’m intrigued—and a little spooked—by the Covert and its bloody history. What inspired you to create the Covert and the nearby town of Glory?

For Glory, it’s interesting to me that what some people find inviting in small towns others find inherently creepy. There are elements there can go either way and I love playing with that fine line. What if you actually don’t want every single person to know your family’s history? What if you want to go out for coffee without everyone else knowing you’re going for coffee? How hive mind thinking works is really interesting to me, too.

As for the covert, the idea for that started with this image that popped into my mind one day. It was of this teenage girl in this tree, standing there and looking down at this guy. I just knew she was protecting it from him. That image came before I had any idea for a theme or overall plot. I know it sounds super cheesy for an author to say that’s how they got an idea—“it all started with a dream”—but in this case, it’s more true than not!

Jude meets Marsden when he goes to the Covert to search for more information about his brother’s suicide. What are their first impressions of each other?

Jude and Marsden are each outcasts in their own way, but it’s also how they eventually connect with one another, and I wanted that mix of shared discomfort and recognition to come across in their first meeting. It’s almost a confrontation of sorts, the way they become friends, because they battle all the way. They hadn’t been looking to meet, but then they have to work together; they end up needing each other, when they’d meant to stay closed off.

What did you enjoy most about writing Marsden and Jude’s relationship?

I liked making them soften toward one another even as things get tougher around them and they have more and more things to fight off. Because like a lot of writers, I like putting characters through turmoil and having them change, and I like making them even hate and struggle against some of that change. There’s a satisfaction in and necessity to writing characters that go from A to B.

Did you have a central theme in mind when you were writing ALONG THE INDIGO? What do you hope readers will take away from the book?

I knew I wanted to write about a girl who felt simultaneously trapped and lost, but in the beginning, it really did feel more like a spark of an idea than the central theme that it eventually became. Ultimately I’d love for teen readers to read ALONG THE INDIGO and take away whatever they can relate to, whatever they might find a connection to and find enjoyment in. The ideas I write about might not be the same ones they gravitate to—I might be writing about Marsden trying to work out a sense of belonging and identity, but they might be drawn to Jude growing up with an abusive father.

You are an editor with Ellen Oh for the anthology A THOUSAND BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS, which is out later this year. Can you tell us more about the anthology and your story in it?

I’m so happy about this anthology! It’s a collection of retellings of East and South Asian folktales and mythology retold by diasporic Asian authors. Coming up with this idea, Ellen and I knew right away we wanted something different, something that wasn’t in the marketplace yet in terms of YA anthologies, and also that we wanted to feature Asian authors. My retelling is “Bullet, Butterfly” which a futuristic take of the famous Chinese folktale “The Butterfly Lovers.” I wanted to explore its classic themes of fated love and family obligation in a war-torn setting, with gender-swapped characters.

What 2018 books by or about people of color or people from First/Native Nations are you looking forward to reading?

I’m going to be looking out for Sangu Mandanna’s A SPARK OF WHITE FIRE, which is described as a “multicultural YA space opera inspired by the Mahabharata.” It’s out in September and I’m excited! There’s TRAIL OF LIGHTNING by Rebecca Roanhorse which was pitched as an “indigenous Mad Max: Fury Road” and I absolutely cannot wait to pick it up in June! And I’m looking forward to EVERYDAY PEOPLE: THE COLOR OF LIFE, which is an all PoC anthology of contemporary short fiction edited by Jennifer Baker. The author list is amazing, and it’s out in August!

Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about ALONG THE INDIGO?

Just that I hope it finds its readers, and that there will be a lot of them! And that if even one teen can take something from it, or is uplifted or feels seen by it in some way, then I’ve done my job as an author.

Thank you so much for having me on Rich in Color!

Born and raised in western Canada and a graduate of UBC with a degree in English Literature, Elsie Chapman currently lives in Tokyo with her family. She writes books for kids and teens. Upcoming: ALONG THE INDIGO (March 20th, 2018), A THOUSAND BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS (June 26TH, 2018), ALL THE WAYS HOME (Spring 2019), HUNGRY HEARTS (Summer 2019), and more TBA!

You can reach Elsie on her website, Instagram, or Twitter.

[aion-rsa]

Aldis Hodge Says Playing Hawkman in Black Adam is Still a Responsibility for Representation

https://ift.tt/3ppG8Ha

Warner’s DC Extended Universe films continues navigating an unconventional era, having premiered Wonder Woman 1984 as a day-and-date HBO Max streaming exclusive (until Jan. 24) in lieu of a prospectively profitable wide theatrical release. However, a grandiose return to theaters is eyed to start in 2022 with a barrage of DCEU movies, which will eventually yield the Dwayne Johnson-starring Black Adam. Auspiciously, that film will also debut the DCEU’s version of winged hero Hawkman, as played by Aldis Hodge, who comes into the role with extensive comic book research and the weight of being a black superhero on the big screen.

For the acclaimed actor, Hodge, whose casting as Hawkman was reported this past September, the role will finally yield a long-sought chance to play a major superhero, and he’s clearly excited to rock the signature wings. Yet, while Hodge has been showing visceral joy over this appearance for director Jaume Collet-Serra’s cold-intro Shazam spinoff, Black Adam, his awareness of the ongoing responsibility that a black actor must bear when fielding such a culturally influential role is made quite clear in an interview with Geeks of Color.

“I think about the representation aspect of that, because I didn’t grow up watching superheroes that look like me.” He explains, “I remember in my early-teens maybe we came into [African-American heroes] Spawn and Blade, and that was awesome. So, to know that young kids are going to be able to see that and see opportunity, and have an awareness that I didn’t have at a young age about what they can accomplish, that really is fantastic.”

The topic of representation has obviously been prevalent in the widespread comic book movie conversation for some time now, and Hodge is certainly not saying anything out of left field regarding the responsibilities attached to his Hawkman role. Yet, it comes in the aftermath of what was arguably the most poignant representation character, Marvel’s Black Panther, as played by the late, great Chadwick Boseman. After a debut in 2016’s Captain America: Civil War, the character’s solo debut in director Ryan Coogler’s 2018 Black Panther movie became a global cultural milestone. Besides being a $1.347 billion worldwide smash, the film redefined the uplifting representation of black actors; an accomplishment attributed not only to Boseman’s performance, but supporting players like Letitia Wright’s Shuri, Danai Gurira’s Okoye, Lupita Nyong’o’s Nakia and, of course, Michael B. Jordan’s portrayal of tragic villain Killmonger.

Read more

Movies

Black Adam Powers and Abilities Explained

By Mike Cecchini

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Wonder Woman 3 Joins DC’s Reworked Post-2022 Movie Schedule

By Joseph Baxter

Ironically enough, the financial success and zeitgeist-dominating nature of Black Panther might mitigate the immediacy of the aforementioned representation conversation, leading to a belief that the proverbial pump for the “grand responsibility” to which Hodge refers has already been properly primed. However, Hodge clearly does not want to fall into a state of complacency, stating of the positive influence he intends to bring to children, “That’s the greater goal of this, so it’s a grand responsibility—still a responsibility—and I’m gonna take care of it. But, I’m very grateful, very excited. “

Indeed, Hodge’s landing of the Hawkman role is the fulfillment of a superhero wish that he’s publicly voiced going back to at least 2012, the era of Marvel’s first megamovie, The Avengers, during which Hodge embraced widespread dream-casting by the fandom calling for him to play Black Panther. Interestingly, said fandom started to toss his name back into the mix for said role upon Boseman’s passing last year—a notion that seemed especially feasible even after he landed Hawkman, since the pandemic derailed Black Adam’s production plans, which resulted in Warner pulling the film from its previously slated December 2021 premiere. That development left the film without a release date, even as Marvel’s untitled Black Panther 2 still holds firm for Jul. 8, 2022, despite a recent announcement indicating that Boseman’s vacant starring role as T’Challa will not be recast. Consequently, make no mistake about it, Hodge is firmly in Hawkman mode.

In describing the call he received upon landing the Hawkman role, Hodge—a self-confessed “geek” who grew up on graphic novels—enthusiastically recalls, “That call was just insane.” Further explaining of his current progress, he exclaims, “Research is done! Research been done! At this point, research is now just eating as much as I can to put on the weight.” While public details on the long-gestating Black Adam remain scant, leaving very little wiggle room to go into the film’s plot or setting, Hodge did provide what could prove to be a crucial tease about his performance, describing of the character, “He’s not just the average regular superhero. This is Hawkman, he’s a savage.” It’s certainly an intriguing prospect, especially considering the fantastical, metaphysical and overwhelmingly circuitous backstory iterations attached to the aerial hero throughout the history of DC Comics, going back to his debut in Flash Comics #1, dated Jan. 1940.

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As mentioned, Black Adam remains without a release date, which has been the case ever since one of Warner’s major reshuffles this past October. However, the film is clearly moving forward, and we’ll get to see Dwayne Johnson’s role as the titular antihero Shazam nemesis joined by Hodge’s Hawkman and Noah Centineo’s villain role as Atom Smasher, along with Sarah Shahi, who has been cast for a crucial mystery role as a university professor and freedom fighter leading a resistance in the Egypt-esque fictional DC nation of Kahndaq. In the meantime, you can catch Hodge’s latest role, as football legend Jim Brown, in director Regina King’s quasi-historical ensemble piece, One Night in Miami, on Amazon Prime Video.

The post Aldis Hodge Says Playing Hawkman in Black Adam is Still a Responsibility for Representation appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[ewh111]

Annual List of Favorite Film Experiences: The 2020 Pandemic Version

Happy new year! So happy to finally arrive at 2021! All the best for a much better new year!!

What a year it was. Since March 12, I've spent 98% of my time within the confines of my condo. The good thing is that as a natural introvert, I have not yet gone stir crazy. I get plenty of social interaction via Zoom. And as a type-2 diabetic, I have been especially careful, staying at home, going out only for essential work or errands, like groceries. I'm grateful that my extended family connected more through the pandemic via weekly 90 minute Zoom family check-ins.

After just two months of work from home, I surpassed the longest time I hadn't been on a plane in over 15 years. (In 2019, I took 42 flights--15 of them international; in 2020, just eight, all prior to the first week of Feb.) As someone who typically travels a lot for work, it's strange to be so stationary. But I'm not complaining. Without the daily commute, travel, and regular schedule of evening and weekend events, I've quietly appreciated the ability to get more sleep, find time to exercise, and even lose some weight. As I reflect upon the past year, I choose to look at the silver-lining and see this period as a positive, massive macro re-balancing of my life.

When things do get back to some semblance of normalcy, the ones who will have the most difficulty adjusting will be these two girls, Freddy and Maxie, who have been so spoiled with attention over the past 10 months.

Now onto this year's favorite film experiences.

What a strange year for film. The last time I experienced a communal movie-going experience was at the Sundance Film Festival back in January. Since 2020 will be remembered as the year of an uber-significant election and home confinement, it seems appropriate to begin this year's conversation with these two themes: democracy and geography, aka places we couldn't travel to.

LESSONS IN DEMOCRACY

Boys State

One of most riveting experiences is my favorite film from the 2020 Sundance Film Festival. This documentary follows four participants in the Texas edition of the week-long Boys State program. The filmmakers lucked out by selecting four boys whose journeys turned out to have fascinating dramatic arcs during the week. What unfolds is a totally engaging microcosm of the political dynamics in the rising generation of voters in America. Trailer: https://youtu.be/E1Kh_T5ZBIM

Hamilton

What a delightful escape from confinement and inability to see live theater by revisiting the stage musical phenomenon via the viewpoints of multi-cameras. It was a new way to appreciate the words, the music, the choreography, and staging of this remarkable work about Alexander Hamilton and his fellow founding fathers. Trailer: https://youtu.be/6s9sNvkjpI0

What the Constitution Means to Me

Missing live theater? Here's another gem to take in. Fast-paced, funny, deeply personal, and defiant, playwright Heidi Schreck plays herself in a mostly one-person show, revisiting her days as a teenager debating the meaning of the Constitution in dingy American Legion halls, linking her personal family history to our country's founding document. Trailer: https://youtu.be/P2zSRdVanDY

Crip Camp

Incredibly inspiring and engaging documentary about Camp Jened, a Catskills summer camp for teens with disabilities in the 1960s and 70s, which prepared many members to become leaders in the movement that eventually led to the passage of the ADA. An important piece of lesser known history and fight for social change and equity. Trailer: https://youtu.be/XRrIs22plz0

TRAVELING WITHOUT LEAVING THE COUCH

My Octopus Teacher (South Africa)

A truly meditative and surprisingly moving documentary. In a kelp forest off the coast of South Africa, a noted underwater photographer documents his, dare I say "friendship," with an octopus whom he visits every day over the course of a year. Trailer: https://youtu.be/b-lbIJHlmbE

76 Days (China)

New York-based filmmaker Hao Wu worked with two journalists in China who recorded harrowing, fly-on-the-wall footage inside four Wuhan hospitals at the epicenter of the COVID-19 outbreak, a clearly risky endeavor unsanctioned by the Chinese government. While this may seem unappealing to watch as we still struggle with the crisis, this apolitical, humanizing, compassionate, and ultimately uplifting film documents and honors the courageous doctors and nurses and their relationships with patients and family members grappling with the unfolding crisis over the course of the full 76 day lock-down in Wuhan. Trailer: https://youtu.be/x_f6-jhbsR4

Your Name Engraved Herein (Taiwan)

The highest ever grossing LGBTQ film in Taiwan, as well as its most popular domestic film in 2020, this is a sensitive, poignant, slow-burn story of coming out and first love in an all-boys Catholic school in a still socially-repressive Taiwan immediately after the lifting of martial law in 1987. Trailer: https://youtu.be/mzfVBg54BGw

A Sun (Taiwan, again)

Driven driving instructor father + marginalized night-club hairstylist mother + high achieving, golden child # 1 son + disowned black sheep younger son serving time in juvenile prison = unhappy family. This multiple winner of Taiwan's version of the Oscar, A Sun is an intricate, engaging, character-driven family drama full of disappointment, redemption-seeking, and tragic setbacks, but uplifting in the end. Trailer: https://youtu.be/LBogLcE2wNQ

Gunda (Norway)

An unusual viewing experience, I did not expect to be so drawn in and highly moved by this intimate, up-close and personal barnyard portrait. A totally mesmerizing and beautifully filmed, black and white, wordless and scoreless documentary (only ambient farm sounds with no humans in sight)--just a sow named Gunda and her piglets with interludes by a one-legged rooster and herd of cows. And yes, there's a subtle message. Trailer: https://youtu.be/05Gc2lANyTQ

The Painter and the Thief (Norway, again)

An intriguing and fascinating documentary about the strange and complicated story of a female Czech artist, whose two most important paintings are stolen from an Oslo art gallery in broad daylight, and the thief who turns out to be an addiction-addled male nurse who she unexpectedly befriends during the trial. Trailer: https://youtu.be/LKBiKDZSf_c

Mucho Mucho Amor (Puerto Rico)

The story of the iconic fortune-teller with millions of followers in the Spanish-speaking world: the bedazzled and caped, effervescently flamboyant, gender non-confirming, Puerto Rican television astrologer Walter Mercado. Disappearing from the airwaves without a trace in 2007 after decades of daily uplifting telecasts, no one knew what happened or where he had gone. Until these filmmakers tracked him down. Here, they tell his story in this loving portrait of the legend, in time to participate in an exhibition dedicated to his 50 year career at a Miami museum before his death last year. Trailer: https://youtu.be/XEJqiucxyrs

Welcome to Chechnya (Russia)

A gut-wrenching and chilling documentary about courageous activists who help LGBTQ individuals flee the repressive regime of Chechnya where violent, homophobic beatings and executions play out regularly and whose leader denies the existence of gay people in his republic. The doc plays like a menacing thriller with the filmmaker going to great lengths to protect the identities using elaborate digital facial disguises. Trailer: https://youtu.be/GlKkj_aHMXk

Tenet (Russia, the Amalfi Coast, Oslo, the future, and the past, among other places)

This is not an easy film to like. One of the most anticipated on my list of "must sees," but the pandemic delayed my viewing till its recent VOD release. Was it worth the wait? Well, it was almost incomprehensible for the first third. But it is here because I'm still thinking about it long after watching and is high on my list to rewatch. To enjoy on first viewing, you should stop trying to figure it out and just let it wash over you and enjoy the ride--it will eventually make (some) sense. Despite all its complexities, Christopher Nolan's ambitious concept boils down to a simple plot: rich Russian bad guy (Kenneth Branagh) wants to end the world and an unnamed secret agent-type guy known only as the Protagonist (John David Washington) tries to stop him. Oh, and there's reverse entropy. And inverted time. And yeah, there are spectacular scenes with time moving forward and backwards at the same time. Like its title, the film is one giant palindrome. Trailer: https://youtu.be/AZGcmvrTX9M

Apollo 11 (Space)

Watching this documentary is like witnessing Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Buzz Aldrin's mission unfold before your eyes live, in real time. Put together from previously unreleased, stunningly crisp, and beautiful archival footage and communications audio from NASA, this is a breathtaking experience that captures the awe of the achievement without talking heads or commentary. Trailer: https://youtu.be/tpLrp0SW8yg

HOW TO DEAL WITH DEATH

Soul

This time out, Pixar tackles existential questions, like what it means to be alive and what is the "before life" in this metaphysically jazzy and terrifically "soulful" film featuring a predominantly Black cast. Trailer: https://youtu.be/xOsLIiBStEs

Dick Johnson is Dead

One would not expect a filmmaker's decision to document her father's descent into old age and dementia to be such an enjoyable and amusing ride. The result is a uniquely comic and bittersweet approach on how to handle his mortality, including envisioning and staging various ways he might accidentally hasten death. Her inspired choice to embrace the time left with her father in this way is endearing and touching without being sentimental. (And the director happens to be a college classmate: Kirsten Johnson, Brown '87.) Trailer: https://youtu.be/wfTmT6C5DnM

AND THREE MORE

Mank

David Fincher masterfully tells the tale of Herman Mankiewicz, the writer of Citizen Kane. Part social history, part examination of the underbelly of Hollywood's Golden Age, part homage to Orson Welles and Citizen Kane, the film is beautifully and evocatively shot in lush black and white with standout performances by Gary Oldman as Mank, Amanda Seyfried as Marion Davies, and a screenplay by Fincher's late father, Jack. Trailer: https://youtu.be/aSfX-nrg-lI

David Byrne's American Utopia

An exhilarating and spirited concert film by Spike Lee who beautifully captures the exuberant grey-suited, bare-footed David Byrne and his similarly wardrobed bandmates on a minimalist stage--a perfect remedy for home-confined and connection-starved human beings during these unusual times. The Byrne-Lee pairing perfectly "makes sense" as you take in the penultimate number, a cover of Janelle Monáe’s "Hell You Talmbout." Trailer: https://youtu.be/lg4hcgtjDPc

Sound of Metal

A character study of self-discovery and emotional truths, Riz Ahmed gives a riveting performance as a heavy metal rock drummer who suddenly loses his hearing. The immersive experience is enhanced with the film's amazing sound design. Trailer: https://youtu.be/VFOrGkAvjAE

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (perhaps the film most representative of the craziness of 2020), Ma Rainey's Black Bottom (great performances by Viola Davis and Chadwick Boseman), The Personal History of David Copperfield, Da 5 Bloods, The Way I See It, The Invisible Man, Trial of the Chicago 7, I Lost My Body, The Life Ahead, Wolfwalkers, The Bee Gees: How Do You Mend A Broken Heart. 

In the Queue

Minari, Nomadland, Bacurau, Small Axe, Beanpole, The Forty Year Old Version. 

2020: THE YEAR OF NON-STOP STREAMING

Honestly, given the lack of traditional theatrical releases, I did spend an inordinate amount of time streaming shows than I normally would. It has made me wonder about the challenges of narrative storytelling in the 90-120 minute format vs. the longer episodic format which is so much more conducive to storytelling and character development.

MY TOP 30-SOME FAVORITE PANDEMIC STREAMING EXPERIENCES 

In descending order of bingey-ness--is that a word?--i.e., inability to stop watching episode after episode. (And occasional commentary...)

Dark (Netflix)--I gave this German series a special shout-out last year (Twin Peaks + Stranger Things + The Wire + time travel), and season 3 finally arrived this summer. So good, I devoured it twice in one week. Complex, mind-bending, and addictively dense storytelling with time travel that makes sense (Tenet, take note) and super satisfying series finish. Ultimately unraveling the intertwined family tree of all the time-traveling characters will make your head spin for days. 

Money Heist (Netflix)--I needed something to replace my addictive need after Dark, and four seasons of this Spanish heist/thriller fit the bill perfectly. Plus, I think the series is rich in lessons on organizational behavior and leadership development/dynamics. Dissertation, anyone?

The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)--Not a genre I typically find appealing (superheroes), but I loved the combination of family dysfunction, sibling rivalry, humor, and more time travel. After finishing the two seasons, I really missed the characters and can't wait for next season. And as a JFK assassination buff, I loved that season 2 took place in Dallas,1963.

The Queen's Gambit (Netflix)--Girl survives car crash in which mom dies, grows up to be charming woman who is addicted to alcohol and does chess.

The Flight Attendant (HBO Max)--Girl survives car crash in which dad dies, grows up to be charming woman who is addicted to alcohol and serves first class. But not anything like The Queen's Gambit.

The Great* (Hulu)--Wickedly dark comedic period piece (Catherine the Great's 18th century Russia) with colorblind casting where scheming powerful people plot to get out of loveless marriage.

Bridgerton (Netflix)--A light romantic period piece (Regent era England) with colorblind casting where scheming powerful people and debutantes try to get into marriage and maybe find love.

Tiger King (Netflix)

The Crown (Netflix)

Sex Education (Netflix)

The Last Dance (Netflix)

Better Call Saul (Netflix)

Never Have I Ever (Netflix)--Best narrator ever!

Ozark (Netflix)

Watchmen (HBO Max)

Ugly Delicious 2 (Netflix)--David Chang is back with interesting take on food and culture. The classism of steak-eating?

Flavorful Origins (Netflix)

The Great British Baking Show Season 11 (Netflix)

Pen15 (Hulu)

Mrs. America (Hulu)

The Good Place (Netflix)

Ted Lasso (Apple TV)

Alex Rider (Prime)

Love, Victor (Hulu)

Giri/Haji (Netflix)

Ratched (Netflix)

The Undoing (HBO Max)

Lovecraft Country (HBO Max)

Zerozerozero (Prime)

Industry (HBO Max)

The Boys (Prime)

What We Do In the Shadows (Hulu)

We Are Who We Are (HBO Max)

Pose (Netflix)

Normal People (Hulu)

Indian Matchmaking (Netflix)

Middleditch & Schwartz (Netflix)

Schitts Creek (Netflix)--Don't be put off by this comic treasure being so low on the binge scale. The series gets better with each season, and I'm slowly watching it because I know the end is coming, and I don't want it to end.

[ruminativerabbi]

Elul Conventions

Like most of you, I suspect, I’ve spent last week and this week floating in and out of the nightly Democratic and Republican convention coverage on television. I suppose political conventions are always three- or four-day-long infomercials pitched primarily at undecided voters, but somehow seeing it all (or mostly all) unfold on Zoom has made that feel even more acutely to be the case. Still, what was I expecting? Conventions are hardly the context in which politicians candidly and openly discuss their shortcomings, weaknesses, failures, or moral flaws. (That never actually happens, of course, at least not in public, let alone on television—only it somehow doesn’t happen even more acutely in the context of these massive quadrennial conventions.)

Just as I suppose also does every other American, I really do understand that it’s all about selling the product. It’s just hard for me to watch night after night without feeling just a bit like Diogenes the Cynic. One of the greatest Greek philosophers, he was as peculiar a man as they come. He declined a salary for his teaching and preferred instead to beg for coins in the marketplace. He chose not to live in a normal home, but preferred to sleep at night in a broken human-sized ceramic jug owned by the local Temple of the goddess Cybele and provided to him as the most basic lodging imaginable. He owned one single item, a clay bowl…until he realized he could scoop his food up with his hand and eat it that way, whereupon he smashed his bowl as a way of divesting himself of what he now saw as a superfluous possession. His most famous stunt—one among many—was wandering around Athens in full daylight with a lit torch in his hands. People would see him behaving so oddly and ask what he was doing, which was the whole point: he would then look at them and explain that he was out searching for an honest man. After two weeks of watching convention television, I know exactly how he felt!

Maybe it’s Elul. Of all the months of the Jewish year, none is as special—to me personally, at least—as Elul. Admittedly, it’s not an obvious choice. Elul has no holidays, no special days at all. For rabbis of all stripes, myself absolutely included, it is a time of frenzied writing and rewriting as the horrible prospect of having to stand up on Rosh Hashanah and not have the most compelling, interesting, and uplifting sermon possible ready to go looms large on the terror-horizon. On top of all that, I’ve almost always lived in places where it is beastly hot and humid towards the end of August, thereby making even something as normally refreshing as going for a walk to clear your mind and re-organize your thoughts a minor misery. And yet, despite it all, Elul is still my absolute favorite month, the month I look forward to all year. And that is for one reason only, really: because Elul is our national month of introspection, of self-scrutiny, of the kind of soul-searching that comes naturally to almost none and yet which is at the heart of the way in which traditional Jews prepare for the holiday season.

It is not a particularly pleasant undertaking, this effort to look deep within. And yet it can also be satisfying and inspiring, even encouraging. Indeed, the very thought that we are not prisoners held in place by the various negative character traits we’ve developed over the decades is the single most invigorating idea I grapple with each year.

Like most people, I claim to hate that feeling of being mired in a slough of my own making. But that’s only what I say to the world—that I hate feeling trapped in my own life—but the truth is that, like most people, I actually revel in that sense of being trapped, of living in a maze I’m not quite bright enough to exit, of having no real choice left in life but to accept who I am and to be the man I’ve become. After all, if I have no choice but to play with the cards that I’ve somehow dealt myself over the years, then why not just accept myself as I am and be done with it? Nothing is more satisfying, after all, than feeling optionless, therefore noble and rational in accepting how things are without whining or wasting endless amounts of time trying to alter immutable reality.

And then Elul comes along and says—wordlessly, in that weird out-of-language way that time speaks to its prisoners, which is everybody—Elul comes and informs us without saying a word that that isn’t really how things are, that we actually aren’t slaves at all. And that Elul-based realization is the lens through which I’ve been watching these last weeks’ political conventions.

The point of the conventions is to make you want to vote for a specific party’s candidate this November. That’s why they promote their nominees so aggressively: to inspire the undecided to decide for their ticket by depicting its occupants as all the things they party-czars have concluded undecided voters want the most to see in their leaders. Interestingly for parties so completely different in terms of their approaches to most things, these qualities are not all that different. And so are both candidates for president depicted by their promoters as having basically the same set of virtues: courage, compassion, insight, unbounded patriotism, and integrity. But, for all I also esteem all those things, what Elul makes me want to see in a candidate more than any of the above is a deep, abiding sense of humility.

I want a candidate to speak about the COVID-pandemic and say, look, I’m not a physician, let alone a trained epidemiologist. I’m not a scientist or a researcher. I’m a politician. And therefore I admit openly that I don’t really have any idea how to deal with this nightmare that has come upon us. But I will find people who actually are experts, who actually are trained professionals, who actually do have some ideas about how best to tackle the challenges that the pandemic has thrust upon us…and I will follow their advice. I will listen carefully. I’ll ask all the questions I can think of, but when a consensus emerges among our nation’s brightest and most qualified scientists about how to deal with this national catastrophe that has already taken so many from us, that consensus will be the basis for national policy.

My mother used to tell me that the sign of being a truly smart person is knowing what you don’t know. I doubt the teenaged-me knew what she was talking about. Or maybe I did on some level, but I doubt I understood just how profound a point my Mom was actually making. In the fifth act of As You Like It, when Duke Frederick’s court jester, a man named Touchstone, recalls the old saying according to which “the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,” he is saying more or less the same truth that my mother wanted me to embrace: that the key to wisdom is understanding how little, not how much, you know of the world and then acting accordingly.

Politicians are neither economists nor historians, neither scientists nor anthropologists. And that is precisely why the key quality necessary to negotiate the various straits in which the nation finds itself is humility. To understand the racial politics of our day requires a profound understanding of nineteenth- and twentieth-century American history…with a good background in the culture of race as it evolved even earlier on as the nation’s founders were creating the Constitution.  To understand the Middle East in all of its complexity requires not merely understanding the byzantine process that eventually led to the imperialist nations of Europe—and foremost among them France and the U.K.—carving up the Levant and creating make-believe nations that suited no one’s interest but their own, but a serious grounding in ancient history as well and, at that, in the various events of late antiquity of which the ethnic reality of today’s Middle East is reflection and development. To understand the potentially catastrophic effects of global warming—on the weather, on the sea level, on the quality of air and water, and on the potential for world-wide cataclysm within the lifetimes of our children and grandchildren—to understand anything at all about the environment requires not only a background in geology, climatology, and physics, but—even more importantly—an overall understanding of how the various branches of scientific inquiry come together to create a cogent picture of what the next century might bring to our beleaguered planet.

No one—with no exceptions at all—is a master of all those domains, let alone of all those I’ve just mentioned and all the others I haven’t. Politicians, as noted, are neither scientists nor scholars. Perhaps that’s how things have to be. (That the German chancellor actually does have a doctorate in chemistry merely makes her the exception that proves the rule. But even Mrs. Merkel doesn’t have training in any of the other disciplines mentioned above.) Nothing feels easier than “just” saying that and moving on to moan about something else. But Elul teaches us differently. Knowing what you don’t know is real knowledge. Wisdom always rests on a foundation of profound humility. Promoting yourself as possessed of a meaningful plan for the future at the same time you seem unable honestly to evaluate your own lack of training in more or less every single one of the disciplines necessary to develop a game plan rooted in reason—that is just bluster and self-promotion. Elul doesn’t teach us to evaluate people who function without any awareness of their own limitations unkindly. But to lead the nation, the would-be leader needs to face the future with self-effacing humility and with a commitment to seek counsel from people who actually are entitled to their opinions. Nothing more! But, if a candidate wants my personal vote in November, also nothing less!