#my little ESCAPE from this godawful planet

[whumpsmith]

Due to a recent influx of spam I've temporarily disabled anon in my ask box in an attempt to discourage it.

If this continues I might just close it entirely again. My ask box doesn't really see a lot of action anyway lately.

[caffiend-queen]

I’m sending this to you for REASONS

I need someone to kiss me like that. Sweet fluffy llamas.

Mainly I just came to ruin your day. Because I love you.

Well, you DID ruin my day because you are the Demoness of Bad Decisions and I love that about you.

This actually turned out more fluffy than I expected. hope it's okay...

For @imanuglywombat

Oh, please.

It’s not like Bucky had even put you in the Friend Zone. You were pretty sure he put you in the “Wait, MC is a female?” zone. No, worse, “MC is an actual human being with feelings and not an AI?” zone. You’d been his virtual backup on the Avenger’s missions for over a year now. Everyone else on the tech squad who stayed behind in the Tower to track movements, disarm weapons, send down electronic pulses that crashed systems, and followed the blinking icon that was their designated Avenger, had developed a closeness with them. They were a team. They had their Avenger’s back in stressful situations.

But not Bucky. When he was cleared to run missions with Steve and the others, they’d paired the two of you right away.

“You’re in luck, Buckster,” Tony was sitting on your desk, fiddling with an extremely, extremely delicate inner-ear device you’d been working on. The man in question was standing stiffly, back to the wall in your crowded office. “MC’s one of the best, and since Thor’s off-planet playing AllDaddy, you get her! Congratulations.” Tony tossed the tiny device from one hand to another and you sighed when you heard the tragic little crunch when it dropped to the floor. “Oh. Sorry, kid.”

“Hi,” you offered, holding out a hand, “it’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

He put his metal one in his pocket. “It’s just Barnes, now.” He looked at you briefly and then out the door of your office as if longing to escape.

“Oh, sure,” you said awkwardly, “of course, I apol-”

“First mission tomorrow!” Tony interrupted. “Bring Sergeant Scrumptious up to speed, okay?”

After that, Bucky was always polite to you. He thanked you for your help regularly and when he was on missions and his tone turned terse and cold, you knew he was sliding a bit back into his Winter persona. You never took it personally.

But… when the team would come back and hug their backups, buy them a beer, joke about a close call, you’d stand in the corner, shifting from foot to foot as Bucky headed for the showers.

Until that godawful, terrifying as hell week. Where the intel was bad and the team overpowered, split apart and on their own, except for the voice in their ear.

“Bucky!” your fingers were a blur, tearing through the building’s schematics and trying to find a way out for him. There was a pained grunt in return. “How bad are you hurt?” You pressed your lips together.

“M’okay,” he grunted. “Tell me where to go, MC.”

You flinched at the round of machine-gun fire, praying it was his, “Okay, listen. You can’t go back, there’s another squad on the way, and those Hydra dickheads have the door and the elevator covered. You’re going up. See that ventilation grid? It should be like two feet in front of you.”

“It’s fifteen feet up,” Bucky managed, “I’ve got two bullets in my left leg.”

“Then use your right,” you said sharply, “you’re going into that shaft, you hear me? Then you’re only three left turns to getting the hell out of there.”

More gunfire, and you thought you might throw up on your instrumentation. “Bucky? C’mon, stop freaking me out!”

There was a breathless little chuckle and you could hear the metallic clang of the ventilation shaft. “I’m here.”

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out, you were calm, you were focused. You were going to get him the hell out of there. “Three left turns. The sheet metal’s going to be pretty cut up from all the bullets, watch your hands.”

He was on the third turn when things went straight to hell. There was some kind of explosion that made all of you shriek and rip out your earpieces from the brutal feedback.

There was waiting. Days of pacing back and forth and trying to triangulate possible positions and attempting some low-key “pinging” to see if anyone’s equipment could answer back. Finally, finally, you heard his voice. Bucky’s voice. The currently alive Bucky’s voice. “MC?”

“Hey, Bucky,” you wiped your wet face with the back of your hand. “So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, and stuff.”

“Sorry,” he sounded okay, maybe a little shaky and really tired. “We’re all here, my com is the only one that’s working.”

Everyone was clapping and being idiots and you resisted the urge to scream at them to shut the hell up. “Great, I’ve got your location and there’s a Quinjet within two hours of you. Can you hold position?”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

You were in your usual position in the corner as the team staggered out of the Quinjet. Natasha had a nasty cut on her forehead that was still bleeding, poor Sam was being carried by Steve, despite his whining to, “Put me down, man! I’m fine, you idiot!” And then Bucky was out the door, helping Clint who was hopping on one foot. The minute Bucky put him on a stretcher, his eyes were searching the crowd of techs and medical people until he found you.

Pushing through the others, not hearing their congratulations or the attempts to pat him on the back, James Buchanan Barnes plowed his way to you. “Hey,” you offered feebly, “nice wor-”

His big hands, one cold and one warm were cradling your face and Bucky just… gazed down at you. “My voice in the darkness,” he said hoarsely and then his mouth was on yours and holy god you had no idea any human being could kiss like this, much less the reserved man who was currently sliding his tongue between your lips, gently nudging them open and it was perfection, he was perfection. His hard body was pressing you into the wall and his tongue was exploring your mouth like Lewis and Clark charging through middle America and you had no idea that anything could feel this good. His lips were just lush- full and red and kissing and sucking yours with these endlessly deep, urgent moves and his thumbs caressed your cheekbones with such tenderness.

Pulling back, his ocean blue eyes sought yours. “Are you okay?” he blurted.

Giving a wet little chuckle, you stood up on tiptoe, one arm around his broad back, feeling his torn, bloody tachsuit. “Are you okay?”

His eyes were at half-mast, focused completely on your face and those perfect lips parted. “I am now,” he whispered, leaning down again to devour you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth and toying with yours and it felt so intimate, so deeply personal and something you never thought Bucky could share with you. With anyone. The bristle of his unshaven jaw rubbed against your skin and you gave a girlish little noise that you prayed no one else could hear.

And then you were in the elevator, the two of you, Bucky’s hands back on your cheeks and those pouting lips devouring yours like your breath and skin and touch were the only things that existed.

[gumnut-logic]

The world was blurry as he let his head slide on one hand and stared out through the kitchen window. Gordon was in the pool, swimming his morning laps. The sun had yet to rise and Virgil had broken several laws of physics rising himself. This time of day should not exist. But then it didn’t, because it wasn’t day yet because there was no sun!

But no, supersonic big brother wanted to do some special training today. Training that for some reason had been scheduled at sunrise.

It was possibly important, likely scheduled just to get his ass out of bed at this godawful hour. Occasionally there were some issues with having your brother in command. Brotherly love only went so far, brotherly snark had more mileage, and Scott did have that twist of his lips when he announced the schedule.

Four pairs of eyes had immediately turned to him and his return glare had been insufficient to deflect the amusement that followed.

But it was okay. It was fine. He had his own skill drills up his sleeve. Two am would be convenient for him next time, definitely. After all, they all had to keep their skill sets up, didn’t they?

In the meantime, it was black coffee and repeated attempts to focus on Mateo. Mateo was distinctly blurry, and dark and...

“Hey, Virg!” Alan whacked him on the back.

His face nearly ended up in his coffee. “Alan? What the hell?”

“And good morning to you, too, big bro. Ready for this morning’s run?”

He stared at his bright and peppy, yes, peppy, youngest brother. Augh. “Go away.”

“Aww, did the big bear have to get out of bed a little early?”

“Alan...”

“C’mon, Virg, it’s gonna be fun. A race around the island, wind in your hair, blood pumping...it’s gonna be awesome.”

Virgil stared at him, his brain slowly picking up that something wasn’t quite right. “Alan, why aren’t you comatose?”

“What do you mean, big bro?”

A slow blink. “You hate mornings almost as much as I do. Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?” His eyelids drooped all of their own volition.

“It’s called prepared, bro. I’m in it to win it.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you on something? Because if you are, Scott’s going to kill you, and once I’m awake, I’ll resuscitate you so I can kill you again.”

“That’s violence, bro. It’s cool, I promise.”

An arched eyebrow that almost hurt. “What did you do, Alan?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing you aren’t already doing.”

“You drank coffee.”

“Noooooooo.”

“What did you do?”

“A little caffeine is all.”

The arched eyebrow flipped into a frown. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Virgil’s back straightened. “Alan.”

“I’m fine, bro, I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stupid.” A blond frown. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same with your coffee after coffee after coffee technique.”

Virgil’s lips thinned, but to be honest, the kid was right, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But... “You’re not yet an adult, Alan.”

“Yet, I take the responsibilities of an adult, Virgil.”

“Your body isn’t fully mature!”

“Well, thanks for that, Doctor Virgil!”

“You have to look after yourself!”

“Hard to do anything else when I have four brothers mother-henning me all the time!”

“We worry about you!”

“Well, don’t! I can look after myself.”

“Alan!”

“Virgil!”

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?!”

Virgil found himself looming over his little brother, one brain cell after another slowly catching up with what the hell was going on. Bright blue eyes were staring up at him defiantly, his little brother’s shoulders tight and fists clenched at his sides.

Virgil forced his own fists to uncurl. There was a reason why he preferred not to see this time of day. Disturbed sleep disturbed his calm, his control, and things like this happened.

Scott loomed over the both of them and Virgil took a step back, slumping back onto his seat and hulking over his coffee almost in a pout. “Better ask Alan, he’s the one being stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Virgil.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Scott could glare with the best of them, but Virgil had exhausted what little energy he had and ignored him. “Alan, dosed himself with caffeine.”

“Virgil!”

He could feel the laserbeams shooting out of Scott’s eyes switching targets and landing on Alan. There was no satisfaction, just blergh. Here we go.

And sure enough, Scott started in on his little brother. There was, of course, shouting. Virgil idly wondered how come Scott got to yell and he didn’t. But then Virgil didn’t really like yelling anyway.

Coffee. Its warmth drifted down his throat and spread into his bones. Oh god, he needed it. Maybe a second one after this? But then the word ‘caffeine’ came up amongst the explosions beside him and he reconsidered. No need to become a target himself.

He let his foggy mind drift a little. It was all his fault really. He could have gone to bed early, but he had made the mistake of getting into a discussion online with an engineering idiot. The topic had become heated, chemical formulas launched like bombs and laced with reactive equations enough to take out half the engineering community. In the end, he’d thrown a hissy fit and sat up to three am writing up his argument. He’d chucked it onto his blog with a great deal of satisfaction and was looking forward to rubbing it in the man’s face.

Just as soon as he could boot his brain.

Coffee, give me strength.

Gordon wandered in at some point, a damp towel around his neck. Being Gordon, he prodded the conflagration in progress and got burnt. The argument became three sided.

Virgil considered snoozing on the counter.

Then he hit on the idea that he could possibly sneak back to bed. He stood up slowly.

Brains bounded into the room, tablet in hand. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Brilliant, so b-brilliant!”

The argument came to a sudden halt, four pairs of eyes turning towards the engineer.

The engineer didn’t notice, eyes glued to his tablet. Max bounded in behind him, whirring excitedly. It was the robot who prevented the distracted Brains from walking into the kitchen counter.

“Oh, thank you, M-Max.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “Did you see the p-polymer ratio? Amazing! Such elegance. You know, I am quite d-disap-pointed that I didn’t think of this myself. The applications are going to b-be in-numerable.”

The distraction was enough to break the fuel lines of the argument and Scott settled for a final threat, Alan a final glare and Gordon, a snort of derision. The moment to escape was lost and Virgil slumped where he sat.

Damn.

“Virgil, you going to eat before we run?”

Alan was right, Scott mother-henned.

“Maybe.” Ugh, c’mon coffee kick in. He needed operational braincells.

Scott was peering closely at him. “Earth to Virgil.”

“Shut up, Scott. You got me up at the ass end of the day, I’m here. Don’t expect much more.”

His brother grinned, and Virgil had the odd urge to thump him. Just because this was his element, didn’t mean he had to be a smart ass about it. “Your next physical is going to be hell.”

The grin faltered. Aah, that’s better. Hmm, perhaps his brain was slowly booting. Go, coffee.

“Virgil! You h-have to see these equations. They are brilliant!”

What? Brains’ tablet shifted the remains of his coffee to one side and Virgil found himself staring at a series of numbers that made little sense at this time of the morning. “Brains, looks great. Can I review them later? I’m not all here yet.”

The engineer didn’t appear to hear him. “Look at the polymer decay to reaction ratio! This is a self-healing polymer!”

Huh? He frowned and forced himself to focus. The appropriate neurons clicked into place in his brain and suddenly what he was seeing made sense.

Shit.

He grabbed the tablet, eyeing the equations and spinning calculations in his head. Brains was right. This was perfect. The polymer would be able to self-heal with the application of a mild electrical current. Give it a pattern to follow and it would populate and keep it populated, even after disturbance.

“Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.” There was that word again. Brilliant.

But it still took a second for it all to click into place.

V. T. Green was his blog. V. T. Green was his pseudonym online, used for obvious reasons to keep his identity hidden. The blog had been for amusement originally. A place to stash his favourite music and art, but at some point, he had found himself venturing into engineering circles and getting into discussion with the online community. It made for interesting discourse and he was able to keep up to date with some of the latest innovations. Not that he could share his own much and IR was well ahead of the majority of the world thanks to one Hiram Hackenbacker, but on occasion he would fiddle with ideas and make suggestions. It was also a great place to postulate out-there concepts.

The equations on Brains’ tablet were Virgil’s.

“Where did you get these?”

Brains was full of far too much energy for this time of the morning. “Green p-posted them during the night and they have h-hit the world by s-storm.”

“What?”

Brains frowned at him. “Haven’t you heard of V. T. Green, Virgil? He is o-one of the leading engineers on this p-planet. I have been f-following his b-blog for over a year n-now. You r-really m-must check it out.”

“Um, must have missed that one.”

“H-how could you m-miss such an important s-site? I know you k-keep up to date. The man is at the centre of a massive discussion about polymer cohesion and decay. Last night, Coloncous in Spain had the nerve to challenge him in the most ridiculous manner. I was so close to cutting him off myself, he was embarrassing us all, but Green replied with this. As expected, it is a brilliant explanation and Coloncous had no choice but to concede and crawl back into the hole he should never have come out of in the first place. He was a fool to think he could go up against Green. But this solution has so many possibilities. Do you realise this could be integrated into Two’s cahelium hull and she would be able to heal damage midflight? Four would be able seal herself in an underwater emergency. So brilliant.”

Virgil stared at the engineer. He didn’t think he had ever heard Brains say so many words in a row. And his stutter had disappeared two sentences in.

“What did you say about sealing Four, Brains?” Gordon’s ears had obviously pricked up at the mention of his ‘bird.

Brains’ attention was immediately drawn to the aquanaut, his verbal diarrhoea spilling all over Gordon and freeing Virgil.

Taking the opportunity, he pulled out his phone and brought up the website.

Shit!

He had notifications enough to clog his inbox. Due to the early hour, his phone was still on silent and he hadn’t heard any of them. A quick glance identified several prominent names and universities.

Shit. His eyes widened.

He glanced up at his family who were now eagerly discussing safety seals for Thunderbird Four. Even Scott’s eyes were wide and enthusiastic.

Shit.

Um.

Yeah.

He needed more coffee.

-o-o-o-

V.T. Green (one of my absolute favourites :D)

[marybeatriceofmodena]

Ben Solo’s Story Arc - An Autopsy

This will be the second post before I publish the full TROS review, mainly because it’s yet another thing I want to get out of the way first. After which, I’ll be posting an announcement about the future of this blog, but no worries – I’ll be sticking around.

After Rey and her parentage, I’ll be talking about Ben here specifically – mainly because I have a pretty big inkling that his plotline for TROS was mutilated, and that he initially actually had an arc.

Except, somewhere in the executive meddling, for reasons I myself am not sure of (okay, I got some theories but it’s pointless to share them here), it got cut.

The Rise of Kylo Ren might be an inkling that there was something more in the works, also that when it comes to its take on Snoke, it directly contradicts things TROS sets up. The simplest explanation is that the Lucasfilm Story Group had a hand in TRoKR, and not for TROS. But even then… the comic reveals things that make me BAFFLED they didn’t put that in the films. I don’t want to be that person who thinks 30 minutes of TLJ should have been dedicated to Snoke’s origins, but stuff like how Ben didn’t even destroy Luke’s Jedi Camp? THAT’S the kind of thing you need to include in your film.

Also, I 110% believe the rumors that JJ Abrams just ignored the Story Group’s existence entirely. Wanna know why? Just the fact that Exogol is established as the Sith world… when we know thanks to The Clone Wars that it’s Moraband – which would have been super easy to use. But fuck continuity I guess.

I will say though, I am NOT surprised it’s leaking out that the movie was severely tempered with and was constantly changing during production, simply because from my first (and only) viewing… I could tell something was wrong. Namely, I could tell that Ben’s arc had been mutilated – and the more I think about it, the more glaring it gets. It’s not even that I’m mad that Adam Driver (aka Golden Globe/Academy Award nominee Adam Driver) gets relegated to playing Darth Exposition for 75% of the film (and godawful exposition at that), it’s literally that so much of what remains of his arc makes no sense, and it affects Palpatine and Rey by extension.

I explained why Rey’s character arc was butchered here, and I’ve also talked about how Palpatine’s implication in her arc didn’t work either, so I won’t talk about it too much here, nor do you need to have read it prior in order to understand this post. I will also point out that a lot of what will be my speculation – so for all I know, I could be wrong, but I’m trying to fill in the holes here.

So, for starters… somehow, Ben knows that Palpatine is still alive. Somehow, he knows how to get to him. AND SOMEHOW, THE WRITERS DECIDED NOT EXPLAINING SHIT WAS THE WAY TO GO. This is not even on the level of not explaining who the fuck Snoke is in the two previous films – while I do think there could have been a throwaway line in TLJ, it didn’t “hinder” the story.

HOWEVER, not explaining how Palpatine is still around and kicking (well, he’s on life support so kicking might be a little too flattering), why he decided to reveal himself right there, right then, and how the hell Ben knows he’s around, how he figured out how to get to Exogol using the holocrons… THAT IS A BIG PROBLEM. This is the triggering element of the rising action in your story. But before you do that, YOU. NEED. EXPOSITION. TO. SET. UP. THE. CONTEXT. OF. YOUR. STORY.

What TROS did would be like skipping Finn’s intro when he’s with his Stormtrooper squad on Jakku, removing the interrogation with Poe and Kylo entirely, and just start TFA with him escaping with Poe without any explanation given. Oh, and also cut out Rey’s introduction as well, and we first meet her when she kicks Finn’s ass in Niima Outpost. You’d just have a bunch of characters coming out of nowhere, and you’d have no frigging clue what they’re doing, and what they want. And that’s what TROS does with Ben and Palpatine.

Take the handling of Snoke, for instance. I’d be a lot more mad about the Snoke retconning if it wasn’t for… what I’m going to call the “Snoke Stew” (and I’d crack a joke about how it was probably made with the DNA of a guy called Stu, which is not funny but still funnier than most of the jokes in TROS). That’s pretty much the one thing that stops me from being mad, because of how STUPID it is.

But the explanation for Snoke’s origins just… retcons so much that has been established before, INCLUDING INFO FROM A COMIC THAT CAME OUT AFTER TROS. We knew Snoke had a past, even if we weren’t privy to it yet. We did kind of know that he was a rich guy, like all the shitty rich people we saw in Canto Bight, who happened to be a Dark Sider and was seemingly smart enough to kill his way to the top. Considering how exploitative the First Order is when it comes to resources and that a rich patron would be welcomed with open arms, it makes sense.

With the explanation given by TROS, it just provides a fuck ton of plotholes to the fact he took over the First Order while killing off old Imperial higher-ups to establish himself as Supreme Leader. Do you really think a guy in a golden bathrobe would just be able to take over out of fucking nowhere because he killed all the higher-ups? No. And even if some of the higher-ups knew that Snoke was a Palps plant (like Pryde seems to), I doubt Ben would have stayed Supreme Leader for as long as a year.

But that’s not even the biggest problem! Seriously, I don’t know if Palps is senile in this film, because we got an ENTIRE trilogy explaining how the guy is one of the worst evil masterminds to have ever lived, in the Galaxy Far Far Away and even in today’s culture. Here, you don’t even understand what the fuck he even wants! I’m “guessing” he fucked with Ben to get his revenge on Anakin, because he uses Ben as his lackey while being seemingly totally oblivious that Ben is working against him (what happened to “every voice in your head”???). He wants Ben to kill Rey… while knowing Rey is his granddaughter, and while telling her when she shows up that he wants to use her as a new host or some shit. Seriously, MAKE UP YOUR MIND ALREADY.

This said… I honestly wonder if Ben was initially meant to be the new host, and not Rey. Because not only that was an actual theory I had pre-TROS, but it would make a shit ton more sense than having Rey be the host – not to mention it’d be the ultimate revenge against Anakin (and if you want to get REAL yucky, he may have planned to have Rey be his new consort, but I’ll spare you more speculation about that aspect). But nah, I guess.

The most damning thing in all this is that there’s no difference in Ben’s overall behavior and actions AFTER Snoke has been killed, when it’s clear Snoke was the biggest influence on him. Saying that Palpatine just kept messing with him makes no sense because with Snoke dead, any voice Ben would still hear would make him go “NOPE” and do exactly the opposite of what said voice tells him to do.

Like, for real, with Snoke dead, unless he’s REALLY stupid (I mean… Ben is reckless, but not stupid), why would Ben do anything a now Random Voice would tell him to do?

The thing is, there have been hints in previous material that Ben isn’t exactly 110% on board with what the First Order does. He’s clearly against blowing up planets, he snarks about how Stormtroopers should be clones instead – which could just be a throwaway snarky line, but considering Ben’s past… I can see him not being too fuzzy about the Stormtrooper program. Like, I’m not saying he’d start a Galactic Free Donut Day, but there would be a change. It wouldn’t be Business as Usual – especially that Ben wasn’t that young (23) when he joined Snoke, and it’s a little hard to go from “My uncle tried to kill me in my sleep and I’m going towards the one figure I think can protect me” to “Blowing up planets and enslaving people is the way to go”. It would have worked if Ben had been brainwashed from his teens, but not so much as an adult – hence you need a little more nuance with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

Oh yeah, and the Knights of Ren? They’re just there to look cool. “But they kidnapped Chewie!” Yeah, what was the fucking point of them kidnapping Chewie apart from giving a reason for the Beautiful Friendship Gang to get on the Star Destroyer and give us fake suspense because we all know how it’s gonna end, just end my suffering already. Also, NO INTERRACTION WITH BEN? DID YA FORGET CHEWIE IS LIKE, HIS UNCLE? DID YALL FORGET BEN WAS PART OF YOUR FAMILY OR…

Seriously, that sequence on Pasaana where they’re just standing there on top of a fucking mountain? I called that part the Backdesert Boys. That tells ya how much I hated it.

Oh yeah, and they’re fighting fodder for Benny Boy in the end, because of course they were Palps’ lackeys all along, can’t think of anything else that’s more imaginative.

So what could they possibly add to Ben’s arc, that would explain so much, like how Ben finds Palpatine, or how he’s always one step ahead from the Beautiful Friendship Gang in their Wild Goose Chase no one fucking cares about?

This is where I got into speculation/conspiracy theory territory. Brace yourselves. 

*

So, the film has Lando reveal that he and Luke “knew” about Palps being around thanks to snooping around… except that makes no bloody sense. Lando was never involved in a Force plot of any kind, and he was never that close to Luke anyway. I mean, Lando’s a nice guy and all, but he’s not really besties with Luke – he’s Han’s friend.

So that research should have taken place either before Ben joined Luke at Jedi Camp, either after. Then again, before would make no sense, because why would Luke leave that critical of a search on the ice for 10 to 15 years? The only place where I can place it in time, where it would make logical sense… would be when Ben was around, and it’d make WAY more sense to have him be Luke’s sidekick in that search.

It would have totally explained why Luke freaked the fuck out reading Ben’s mind, because only Palpatine can give her that severe of a PTSD-like reaction. It would have totally explained why Ben would run to Snoke, grooming and desperation set aside, under the promise that they’d associate to defeat Palps, because if you ignore the plot hole extravaganza of TROS, you’d bet Snoke wouldn’t want Palps anywhere near his throne – mainly because Snoke is a wannabe Palpatine who targeted Ben to get his own Vader. It would have totally explained why Ben thought becoming Supreme Leader is a good idea – even if it’s morally wrong, it makes logical sense. It would have totally explained why Kylo was collecting Sith artefacts in the year gap while keeping in mind he made his distaste for the Sith clear in TLJ. It would have totally provided the audience (and Rey) a good reason to forgive Ben, because even if he had godawful methods, he wanted to do the right thing and save the galaxy from the person who came this close to destroying them, as well as his family. That would have provided for him the means to realize that he cannot defeat Palpatine using Palpatine’s means – as Rose said, he’ll win by saving what he loves, and not destroying what he hates. That would have made Rey the glitch in the matrix, who must join forces with Ben because without her, he would have been doomed despite his best efforts.

And before you tell me that would have been unnecessary… let me put it to you this way. Ben keeps saying it's too late, and if it was just that, it could be interpreted as him thinking he went too far to come back. But he also adds that he has "something to do", and I'm here waving my arms like "WHAT? WHY? FUCK, YOU DIDN'T EVEN KILL YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS!!! THEY'RE NOT EVEN BOTHERED TO SAY THAT IN THE ACTUAL FILM!!!"

Hence why my theory is the simplest way to just tie it all neatly together, without retconning anything. There.

IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SUPER SIMPLE TO DO. Except that, as I mentioned earlier, they mutilated Ben’s arc, and left him to play the part of Darth Exposition, until the very end, when they have Ben save what he loves… but even then, I can’t even appreciate that either, because it happens in a way that makes EVERYONE look horrible, while Ben is, from a storytelling perspective, a saint… a saint everyone ultimately forgot about.

[greyias]

86. “I got you a present.”

Part four of the Adorkable “Date Night”. Part 1 can be found here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here. Yes, this story is still going. One day, it will be finished, I swear.

The Promenade was the glittering, bustling tourist center of Nar Shaddaa. Bright lights, neon holoboards every few feet, and chock-full of the usual amenities of any urban center, including public storage lockers. Hell, compared to the rest of the planet, the streets here on the Promenade were practically sterile.

But Theron still wouldn’t recommend walking around them barefoot. Not that his companion was paying that particular bit of advice much mind.

“I am not wearing those heels again,” she said primly.

“What if you step on a hypospray needle?” Theron asked earnestly. “Who knows what sort of disease you could pick up.”

“I do not see any used hyposprays scattered about, do you?”

“Well I’m looking for them now.”

“You are worrying too much. I am used to walking around rough ground in my bare feet.”

“I really doubt there’s broken beer bottles in your secret meditation spot on Odessen,” he pointed out.

Grey shot him a look. “You are being melodramatic.”

“I am not,” he sputtered helplessly. “I just don’t want you to pick up Bothan Nether Rot from stepping on some piece of trash!”

“I’m fairly certain that is not contracted via laceration.”

“Could you just—” he waved an arm in frustration, “—here. I’ll carry you.”

“You’ll what?”

“It’s not that far to the lockers,” he insisted. “You can hang on my back, and as a bonus, I won’t have to hear Lana lecture me for letting ‘the galaxy’s best hope’ pick up Smashbone fever from some wino’s trash pile.”

“That’s not how you get—wait… are you offering me a piggyback ride?”

He glared at her. “Are you refusing one?”

“I am just a little confused by your insistence I’ll step on my death on a short walk down the street.”

“Just humor me, okay?”

She let out a long suffering sigh that he thought bordered a little on the dramatic side but gave in. After a bit of awkward shuffling that included him getting cuffed on the ear, a lot of tugging and rearranging of the skirt on her dress (because they didn’t really need a repeat of the restaurant incident), and a little swaying before he found his balance, they were making their way back down the boardwalk.

“I feel ridiculous,” she muttered. “Everyone’s staring.”

“No one’s staring,” Theron insisted as they walked by a Rodian couple who were clearly gawking at the pair of humans. “We’re just two normal people, doing normal people things.”

“Speaking words aloud does not automatically make them true,” she muttered, giving the startled Rodians a severe look.

“We’re almost there,” he tried to assure her.

“Define ‘almost’.”

“A few more blocks.”

She groaned, trying to bury her face into his neck and hide from the curious onlookers. “Is it too late to risk stepping on all of your fictitious medical detritus lining the streets?”

From the gradual appearance of the big dictionary words and overtly proper grammar, it was clear that she was reaching the end of her patience. Theron let out a sigh, stopping in front of one of the kitschy souvenir shops that ringed the Promenade. As he caught sight of a cheesy and borderline offensive shirt the display mannequin was sporting, an idea came to him.

“What about option three?”

She pulled her face out hiding, forehead scrunching up in confusion. “There was a third option?”

He flashed her a smirk as best he could over his shoulder, and tilted his head towards the entrance. “Let’s make a quick detour.”

With a wobbling lurch, they made it to the entryway of the shop, and his reluctant passenger gratefully clambered down back to her feet. The floor of the store probably wouldn’t pass any military spot checks (or a general health inspector on a Republic world for that matter), but it was worlds away cleaner than the streets.

Just as Theron suspected, the shop was packed to the brim with a large variety of kitschy knick-knacks, souvenir tunics, cheap gaudy shot glasses, and everything in between. It was near the back of the shop that he’d found what he was looking for, a gaudy pair of bright purple sandals that was sure to clash with her ensemble, but at least would keep her feet marginally protected from the hypospray needles and shards of glass that most certainly were lining the streets.

Grabbing his prize, he began to wind through the overpacked shelves to try and find where the stubborn blonde Jedi had wandered off to. It wasn’t like the shop was that big, but almost every usable centimeter had been crammed in with merchandise. He gave the Tickle-Me Wampas lining the shelves a long, suspicious look, fairly certain that they were not officially licensed products. Typical Nar Shaddaa. Even the places with a veneer of legitimacy still had at least their finger in some sort of seedy pot.

Dodging around some Chatty Kath Hound dolls and a display of mildly offensive Huttball caps, he finally managed to break free from his retail prison and caught sight of his barefoot girlfriend in front of the floor-to-ceiling hat display. At his approach, she turned to face him, arms behind her back. She was unsuccessfully fighting down a smile, trying to bite her lip to keep it at bay. It was a look that was, quite frankly, more adorable than it had any right to be.

“Guess what I found!”

“I’m a little afraid to.”

“Oh, come on.”

“A backdoor frequency to hijack the Eternal Fleet?”

“Like that exists,” she snorted derisively. “Besides, this is a gift shop. I doubt they’re selling Zakuul’s state secrets.”

“Well, they seem to have everything else here,” he pointed out.

“Including this,” she announced proudly, pulling the object out from behind her back.

Theron tilted his head, trying to parse out why she was so happily and proudly holding what appeared to be a large, purple bell, neatly decorated with golden scrollwork and a rather sharp spike jutting out of the top. Was that supposed to be its handle? Or was the bell meant to be wielded like a weapon? He had so many questions.

“That’s certainly a… thing,” he finally said.

Her bright smile faded a fraction. “You don’t recognize it?”

“No?”

She narrowed a brow at him, and then plopped the bell on top of her head. It was way too big for her, and immediately the large golden brim flopped in front of her eyes. Undeterred, she tipped it back, a wide grin across her freckled face. “It’s the hat!”

“The hat?” he echoed.

“The hat,” she said again, and then seeing his confusion, let out a long sigh. “You know, the best hat. From the statue of Karagga!”

“Oh stars, no!” Recognition suddenly dawned on him that he was staring at a genuine replica knockoff of the most godawful ugly piece of headwear he’d ever seen. “Why would someone make more of that thing?”

“Look at the scrollwork,” she insisted, “it’s so delicate and beautiful.”

“I’m sorry, did you go blind in the five minutes it took me to find you a pair of sandals?”

She gave a quiet harrumph as she tried to balance the world’s ugliest bell on her head. “I like it.”

He managed to contain the exasperated sigh that threatened to escape, and instead held out the footwear he’d managed to find buried in the back of the shop. “Well, good. I got you a present — a matching pair of sandals.”

A blonde brow narrowed at him, clearly not receptive to the flat, sarcastic tone. “I’m not sure I trust your choice in footwear.”

“And I don’t trust your choice in millinery,” he said, “so I guess we’re even.”

That earned him a dark look and he sighed, shaking the pair of sandals as if they were a peace offering. The severity of the look only eased slightly as she took them and tried them on, the wide brim of the hat flopping back down into her face the moment her head tipped downward. It was funny, but the sandals did almost match the eyesore on top of her head. Even if both colors of purple clashed with the aqua shade of her dress.

“These are much more comfortable than the heels,” she allowed after a moment.

“Probably less deadly too,” he said with only a hint of regret. He probably wouldn’t be able to turn the sandals into a projectile weapon nearly as efficiently.

“I guess we should pay for these,” she said. “I feel like we have probably broken enough rules for the evening.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“I am not adding ‘shoplifting’ to this evening’s list of activities.” Her tone was both prim and firm.

“Spoilsport.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she carefully took the giant hat from her head and placed it back on the shelf. Her fingers lingered on the intricate scrollwork for a second more, an almost wistful smile playing at her lips. Then she turned and made her way towards the checkout register.

Theron began to follow her, but the bright garish colors of the hat caught his eye, and his steps slowed to a stop.

He stared at the ugly thing. It stared back. The hideous clashing colors assaulting his vision, making him question his hesitation. All he had to do was walk away, and he’d never have to see it again. It would just be so easy. Theron shot a glance to the retreating form of his girlfriend, the image of that sad smile almost as seared into his brain as the colors of the hideous hat. With the heaviest of sighs, he snatched the cursed object from its resting place and marched up to the checkout counter.

The look he got when he plopped it unceremoniously on her head was almost worth the price of the stupid thing. Theron tried to pretend that he didn’t see it, instead making a show of pulling out several credit chips to pay for the purchase of both the hat and sandals. Although the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth may have given him away.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly when they finally exited the store.

Theron shrugged. “We’re on a date, right?”

“I do not see how that equals a purchase of an unnecessary hat.”

“Do you want me to go return it?”

“No! I love it!” Her protest was accentuated by her grabbing the brim of the item in question, effectively pulling it back down in her eyes again. The damn thing was way too big for her.

He flicked the brim back up out of her eyes, watching as the freckles on her nose crinkled with her smile. Okay, maybe it was worth the eye strain caused by the ugliest thing to man. And maybe the stupid thing was made just the slightest bit less atrocious when she tipped it back so it sat on her head at a jaunty angle, brim laying on her bangs so they flattened to her forehead.

“What do you say we go get your armor then?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction they’d been heading before their little detour. “The date’s not over yet.”

His answer was a smile as bright as the sun and her fingers lacing through his. “Lead the way.”

Part Five: A “Normal” Date

[strigital]

so

guess it's time to do a little explaining.

basically, 2020 decided that it should also take some time to personally ruin my life and... surprisingly i'm doing ok.

long story short: we spent months planning for my hubbies return from the other side of the planet and he barely made it two weeks before the lockdown and borders getting shut down. then we barely managed to get all the necessary papers for that stupid card that'd let him stay here, found out some of em aren't the ones we need, had to redo them, all the while my 'dearest' employer didn't give a rat's ass about protecting us from the virus and then when we finally got the damn card... my grandma, the person who raised me since the age of six months old and was like my whole family just died one evening when literally nothing was foreshadowing such a tragic event. fuck's sake i'm still hearing that godawful CPR machine repeat robotically "ventilate ventilate ventilate" and the sound of air escaping lungs... jesus i was hoping to not get traumatized like that not at least so soon... oh and we adopted a cat from the shelter. she still kinda hates us even one month later.

anyways

i'm bleedin' but still alive, folks. these were absolutely the hardest months in my life so far (please for fuck's sake no more) and i wanna return to my blog and distract myself with things i love - Miraak memes and other shenanigans.

so yeah... that's all for today, folks

[professorpalmarosa]

Weird Nutmeg Dream: The Chris Chan Escape Room

This is not the first time I have chronicled a weird dream brought on by diffusing Nutmeg Essential Oil. If you diffuse the correct amount, you increase your chances of having a lucid dream...or at least something fun and interesting.

Too much, and you’ll end up with dreams about bees building hives on the other side of your window or psychic hipsters with man-buns stealing your identity so you’ll kill everyone he hates with your brainwaves.

Wednesday night, I had a real doozy...

In this dream, one of my old high school friends had just turned 30. To celebrate, they wanted to get a big group together to play a brand new room at an escape room company close to my city’s amusement park. I was eager to play for a number of reasons:

I love escape rooms. I played my first one in 2016 and have been hooked ever since.

I have played two escape rooms at this facility already. Their rooms don’t have the ambient lighting, expensive sets, and mood music like my favorite place does; but their puzzles tend to be trickier (and honestly, sometimes pretty funny).

The engineer who owns the company and designs the rooms is a very nice guy. Once you finish a room, he loves to nerd out and explain how he constructed the room, how the puzzles work, etc. He also has a cool “replay room” where you can watch your gameplay. Sometimes, he’ll slow it down. Other times, he’ll speed it up and play Yakety Sax from the Benny Hill Show.

This was a brand new room. Only two groups had beaten the room so far, but no one had successfully unlocked the “special bonus ending” yet. That probably thrilled me more than anything else.

My group arrives on time and we’re all eager to find out what the theme of the room is. I try to weasel some information out of the owner, but he’s being uncharacteristically mum about all of this. That’s when our “guide” steps out to greet us.

He’s a chubby fellow dressed in a blue and red striped rugby shirt, a pair of blue jeans with a stain near his fly, a pair of thick glasses, an amethyst high school ring…and something around his neck that gives away what the theme of the room will be. My friends are confused and more than a little grossed out by the stain, but it’s all I can do to hold in my nervous giggling.

‘Oh my god,’ I realize. ‘It’s a Chris Chan escape room.’

For those unfamiliar with who Chris Chan is, Christine Weston Chandler (formerly Christopher/Christian Weston Chandler) is a high-functioning autistic internet personality famous for creating Sonichu: a hybrid between Sonic the Hedgehog and Pikachu. She occasionally releases comics; but nowhere near as frequently as she once did. This is due to stress, repeated harassment from online trolls, financial problems, and a deteriorating mental state due to all of the aforementioned.

Her life is pretty much what would happen if the Truman Show were real…if Truman was autistic and the show was 100% guest-written by internet trolls. Everything she does is chronicled by “Christorians” and broken up into sagas. Sagas are typically categorized by personal life events, failed romantic relationships with (sometimes real, sometimes fake) women, and whatever troll/trolling group is harassing her at present.

As a side note, I know that Christine’s preferred pronouns are now she/her. When speaking about her in the present tense, I will use those. However, since (1) this room dealt with Chris almost a decade before the transition was announced and (2) even Christine herself tends to treat the past Chris as a separate entity (she even kicks him in the nuts in the Sonichu comics, if I remember correctly); I’ll be using he/him for the purposes of the dream. This room was designed around Chris, not Christine.

I don’t have an account on the Kiwi Farms, nor have I ever contributed any articles or attempted to contact Chris. However, I’ve been following Chris’s antics for nearly ten years and fancy myself to be a bit of a closeted amateur Christorian.

No one in my group knew this and it was about to become relevant.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, and dudes of all teen ages!” Fake-Chris greeted us. I’m trying my best not to crack up because I recognize that quote. I know where this is going. The actor does not disappoint. “My name is Christian Weston Chandler. I’m here, and y’all are there!”

My poor friends look like they’ve just crash landed onto an alien (Little Big) planet. They have no clue what hell they’ve just unleashed, but it only get crazier from there. I won’t go into the full specifics of what the actor said—again, this was a dream and not reality. Some of the details are hazy now that I’m awake—but I’ll go ahead and tell you what the general premise for the Chris Chan escape room was:

The Sonichu medallion around Chris’s neck was a copy. He wanted to give the original to a “sweetheart” he was courting online, but he lost it somewhere in his room. Just to humor the actor, I asked who the sweetheart was.

Fake-Chris’s face lit up with glee, probably because a real girl was talking to him. “Blanca Weiss,” he tells me giddily. “Blanca’s real. Yeah. I talked to her!”

By now, most of my friends are having second thoughts about entering that room. The actor has creeped out most of the ladies in my party, as well as my gender nonconforming friend who is really uncomfortable when people make comments about their chest. They haven’t had top surgery yet and it’s a very sensitive subject.

There was one more twist for the plot of the room: Chris believed one of us wasn’t being “true and honest” and was, in fact, a troll from the internet. This brings me back to the “special bonus ending” I mentioned earlier. Each group of players would have one troll among them. This person would have a slightly different objective from the other players.

All of us were tasked with finding the Sonichu medallion, but the “troll” player would need to:

Go undetected by Chris and the other players for the entirety of the game.

Find the Sonichu medallion.

Steal the Sonichu medallion from the rest of the party.

Leave the room before the hour was up.

If the troll could successfully do this, they would be rewarded with a free full booking of another room. Escape rooms tend to run anywhere from $15 to $25 per person in my city, so that’s about a $250 value! I don’t care who the hell the troll is in my group is. I’m not going to dox them because I want the free game.

In an attempt to convince my wary friends to move forward with the game, I reassured them that I’d probably be able to catch most of the inside jokes in the room. “I know my Christory, guys.” They looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “I know this stuff! We can do this!”

Unfortunately, my enthusiasm and can-do attitude bit me in the ass. Not only had I outed myself as some kind of online weirdo to my friends, but Fake-Chris proceeded to hit on me for most of the game. Initially, he tried his best to give every player an equal amount of interaction. I guess he noticed the other people in the room were uncomfortable and I seemed “nice.” I was asked multiple times if I was “boyfriend-free.” (Spoiler alert: I am, but that’s because I’m a super choosy and super, super gay.)

I was right. My Christory knowledge came into play multiple times during the game play. There were puzzles based on:

The “Gitars of Fail” (Guitar Hero guitars Chris customized after Sonichu and Meatwad from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, just to name a couple)

The Sailor Moon poster Chris used to look at every day to reaffirm his “straightness”

Rearranging the members of the Chaotic Combo in chronological order of their first appearance in the Sonichu comics. Their Amibos were spread around the room and needed to be placed in that order, otherwise a box with a magnetic lock wouldn’t open.

The Orange Fanta cans. If you don’t already know what those are for, you DON’T want to know.

The Sonic Totem

The Pixelblock Heart Torch

The “Yep! I’m on TV!” DVD.

The “Wall of Originals” custom Pokémon cards.

Chris & the Hedgehog Boys. My guy pal Patrick had to sing a rendition of “So Need a Cute Girl” and it was godawful.

Finding the one game in Chris’s massive collection where one of the characters was incorrectly colored (Sonic Boom, which Chris doesn’t own. Chris boycotted that game and even pepper sprayed a Gamestop employee).

A scavenger hunt inside the Manchester High School Year 2000 Yearbook. We had to look at every gal pal.

Having to pull half a key out of Officer Nasty and another half out of Kimmi: Chris’s inflatable sex dolls.

A DDR Mat that (once the four combination locks were unlocked) opened a portal to CWCVille. The four codes were SONICHU, ROSECHU, NAITSIRHC, and CLYDECASH.

One of my friends found the Sonichu medallion inside the CWCville portal. It was hidden inside an empty jug of OxyClean. I heard several cases of “oh thank Christ” muttered among my friends. I could tell they were having fun in here, but were ready to leave.There was just one problem:

Someone had to give the medallion back to Fake-Chris and none of my friends wanted to talk to him.

The clock was running out and Fake-Chris had become increasingly paranoid. “Aw, come on!” he kept whining, sweating and panting as he made grabby hands for the medallion.

“Okay,” I told my friends as I held out my hand. “I know none of you want to do it. Give me the medallion. I’ll take care of this.” My friend handed over the medallion without a second thought, but I didn’t head toward the actor.

I headed toward the door. I was the troll all along.

[thelastspeecher]

In Another World - Chapter Twelve: Yield to It

Prologue   Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four Chapter Five   Chapter Six   Chapter Seven   Chapter Eight   Chapter Nine Chapter Ten   Chapter Eleven   Chapter Twelve   Epilogue   AO3

Holy cow, it has been over a month since I’ve updated, and I bring with me an oldie but goodie: One of Us AU!  And there’s only one more chapter until I’ve finally finished the fic, which I’m hoping to post sometime during spring break this week.  I don’t know about any of you guys, but I’ll be so relieved to finally be done.

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Date: August 25, 2012

Dimension: AH-7*T

Location: Gravity Falls, OR

Weather: Sunny and warm; the perfect summer day

 Observations:

Upon my arrival, I initially mistook this reality as being one of the few where Bill’s presence is not felt. After years allowing him to peruse my mind and body, I have formed a sort of “link” with him.  It is not one I enjoy (rather, I despise it), but it allows me to know when Bill is a current force wherever I am.  I did not feel that in this reality.  Due to that factor alone, I was tempted to cease my interdimensional travels here.  But I quickly learned that it would not be possible.  This reality has an active version of myself.  It’s for the best, really.  I must continue my search for my own home, as imperfect as it may be.

 Although this reality may not currently be struggling with Bill, they have had some recent troubles.

Much of the town was destroyed shortly before my arrival.  Buildings are being slowly returned to normal, including my own home.

I saw some graffiti that suggests Bill was the source of the recent troubles.  It is impossible to mistake that eye.

The townsfolk of this reality are even more tightlipped than in other realities. Whenever I attempt to ask them questions, they shout “Never mind all that!” and run off.

My own twin brother is regarded as a town hero.  Clearly, something is desperately wrong with this reality.

Another hint that this reality is “messed up” (as I have overheard some teens say): I don’t appear to be human!

The times I have caught glimpses of this reality’s version of myself, I have seen a person I can identify, but do not recognize.  

This reality’s version of myself is constantly glowing, and I have yet to see him eat.

This reality’s version of myself randomly appears and disappears, and I have heard his voice in my mind twice.  Though those may have been my own thoughts.  

 Conclusions:

In this reality, I am a demon!  And not from birth.  Those are easily recognizable.  No, in this reality, Bill recruited me to join his gang of miscreants.  It is obvious from the aura this version of myself possesses, and his being tied to a token.  Truly despicable.  

 Notes:

What could possibly possess me to join Bill and his ilk?  Well, what could possess me, other than Bill, to do such a thing?

The people of the town clearly know of Bill.  It saddens my heart.  No one should know of him, let alone these townsfolk, who were an audience and unwilling participants to the apocalypse.  At least, from what little information I have gathered, this seems to be the case.

 ----- 

               “I’ll join you.”  He had no plan, but no options.  He was winging it.  Ford tried to ignore the voice at the back of his mind.  

               Improvisation is not one of your strengths.  What are you doing?  Bill blinked (or winked; it was hard to tell).  

               “What?”  He seemed taken aback.  Ford relished the feeling.  Very few people could surprise Bill Cipher.  

               “You heard me.  I’ll join you.  You’re right. With you, that’s the only place I’ll ever belong.”  Bill began to laugh.  Cold sweat broke out on Ford’s skin.  

               “Well, well, well, Fordsy, never thought you’d do it.  All right, you think you’ve got what it takes to roll with my crew?  Be my guest.” A beam of blue energy shot from Bill’s eye and struck Ford squarely in the chest.  Electricity rippled across Ford’s body, tickling his skin before digging in deeper, past his epidermis, immersing itself in every cell.  He gasped at the sensation of sheer power flowing through his veins.  Bill’s cronies laughed.  Or cheered. Or some combination of the two. Ford wasn’t quite sure.  Merely keeping his head was taking all of his willpower.

               “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”  And even though Bill wouldn’t dare give me absolute power, he would give me just enough to be corrupted.  Ford grit his teeth and formed fists, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands.  Think of Mabel and Dipper.  Think of your family.  Stay grounded.  For them.

               “It’s one heck of a rush, isn’t it?” Bill asked gleefully.  “Goes straight to your head.”  Ford continued to stay on the ground, prone.  “All right, that’s enough.  Stand up. You’re one of us now, you gotta act like it.”  Ford stood up slowly.  Bill rubbed the area where his chin would be if he had one.  “Not too shabby, Sixer.  You make a decent Henchmaniac.”

               “Bill!”  Ford’s blood ran cold at the sound of his nephew’s voice.  

               Is it blood? I’ve effectively sold my soul to Bill. Who’s to say he hasn’t replaced my blood with some other fluid?  He’s not even restricted to fluids, actually.  Maybe my heart is pumping plasma now.  Do I have a heart?

               “Now, isn’t this interesting,” Bill said, his voice turning ominous mid-sentence. Ford watched Bill close in on Dipper, dread mounting.  “My old puppet is back for an encore.  Or maybe he’s back to follow in his idol’s footsteps.”

               “I’d never join you!” Dipper shouted.  His voice cracked, but for once, he didn’t seem concerned about it.  He looked at Ford.  “Great Uncle Ford, what are you doing?”  

               “Joining my crew, isn’t it obvious?” Bill said.  One of Bill’s cronies put an arm around Ford’s shoulders.  Ford fought back a shudder of disgust.  “I hate to break it to you, kid, but the offer’s a one-time thing.  You’re not invited to this party.”  Dipper glowered.  “Heh. You’re cute when you’re angry. Hey, Sixer, how’s about you take care of the kid?”

               “W-what?” Ford stammered.  He was roughly shoved forward by the Henchmaniacs.  

               “Think of it like hazing, only better!  To sign up for this frat, you’ve gotta punish the kid.”  Bill picked Dipper up by his shirt and set him down in front of Ford.  Dipper looked at Ford desperately.  Ford could see conflicting emotions warring in his nephew’s eyes.  

               He wants to believe that this is all an act, but he’s not sure if he does.

               “Go on, Sixer,” Bill said.  His voice dropped multiple octaves.  “Or do you wanna watch me handle it, and then handle you?”  Ford swallowed.

               I have to play the game.  I have to play the game.  He raised a six-fingered hand.  Dipper backed away nervously.

               “G-great Uncle Ford…”

               “I’d apologize, my boy,” Ford began, as his hand began to glow red with energy.  “But I’m not sorry.”  A blast emanated from his palm and stuck Dipper in the chest, throwing him into a tree. Dipper wheezed, the wind having been knocked out of him.  

               “A bit sloppy on the technique, but you’ve got potential,” Bill said, putting an arm around Ford’s shoulders.  “Some practice and you’ll be good enough for the big time.  But before that…”  Bill snapped his fingers.  The three journals, which had fallen out of Dipper’s bag, rose into the air and caught on fire.  Ford bit back a shout.

               My life’s work!  

               “The journals!” Dipper shouted.

               “Not much of a threat now, are you?” Bill taunted.  He turned back to his Henchmaniacs.  “Now, can anybody remind me why we came here?”

               “To get weird!” one of the monsters (8-Ball?) shouted excitedly.

               “That’s right!  VIP party at the Fearamid.  Oh, and 8-Ball, Teeth, you’ve earned a treat.  Have the kid for a snack.  Henchmaniacs, roll out!”  Pyronica (the only one that Ford could recognize easily) picked Ford up and threw him into the car that Bill had just conjured.  As they flew away, Ford watched Dipper run into the forest, chased by two demons.

               Good luck, Dipper.  

----- 

               Ford was leaning against one of the walls in the ghastly Fearamid when Keyhole ran up to Bill’s throne.  

               “Boss, we’ve got a problem!” Keyhole said desperately.  Ford continued to tap his toes to the beat of the godawful music, pretending to enjoy the party.  He focused on the muted conversation between Keyhole and Bill.

               Maybe it’s just muted because I’m getting hearing damage from these demons screeching. After all this is over, I might have to borrow Stanley’s hearing aid.  Ford choked back a groan.  Stanley…

               “What is it this time?” Bill asked, annoyed.  “I’ve already taken care of Mabel, and my new watchdog took care of Old Fezzy.”  Ford could feel Bill’s gaze on him.  He took a sip of the “time punch”, hoping his hands weren’t shaking.  

               “We can’t escape,” Keyhole said.  “We’ve tried everything!  There’s some sort of force field around the town!”  Ford’s cup slipped from his hands.  

               Gravity Falls’ Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism!  This chaos hasn’t spread across the globe.  Not yet, at least.  He knelt down to pick up his dropped cup, continuing to listen.

               “I get the feeling that a certain six-fingered freak might be able to help out with that,” Bill said ominously.  “Ford!” he shouted over the music.  Ford swallowed and walked over to Bill.

               “Y-yes, Boss?” he asked, barely choking out the second word.  

               “We’ve got a problem, and you’re just the person to fix it.” Bill steepled his fingers.  “There’s some sort of force field surrounding the town, and my weirdness can’t escape to spread across this miserable little planet.”

               “That’s a shame.”  Bill’s eye narrowed.

               “Yes.  It is.” Bill crossed his legs.  “You’re the one who did all the research, Sixer. What’s going on?”

               Think fast, think fast!  Ford opened his mouth, but no words came out.  Damn!  Of course you couldn’t think of anything.  The last time you tried to improvise a plan, you ended up becoming a demon, and have had zero opportunities to try to take down this operation from the inside.

               “C’mon, genius, I may control time itself, but I don’t have all day,” Bill said impatiently.  

               “W-well, it could be-” Ford began to stammer out.  He was cut off by a loud crash and roar.  

               “Hey, I just fixed that door!” Bill shouted.  Ford spun around.  There was a gaping hole in the side of the Fearamid, through which a giant robot could be seen.  Ford fought back a grin.

               It must be Fiddleford’s work!  

               “So the mortals are trying to fight back, huh?  Adorable!” Bill said, leaning back in his throne.  “Henchmaniacs, you know what to do!  Take ‘em out!”  Ford began to move toward the door.  “Uh-uh. Not so fast, Fordsy.”  A glowing blue chain manifested out of thin air and latched around Ford’s neck.  He looked back.  The chain was hooked to Bill’s throne.  “I know you’ve been trying to play me, Sixer,” Bill said ominously, over the sounds of battle. “You’re a scientist, not an actor. You’re staying here until I get the secret to world weirdness out of you.  And I don’t care about damaging you in the process.”  Ford swallowed nervously.  

----- 

               Shortly after Bill had joined the fight, Ford heard the sound of screaming.  But it didn’t seem to be coming from the battle between the robot and Bill.  It was much too close, and getting louder by the second.  He looked up. People were descending from the sky into the Fearmid.

               Mabel is truly something else, if she can turn her sweaters into parachutes.  He watched Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, Soos, Stan, and people he didn’t recognize hit the ground.  They stood up slowly, looking around the room.  

               “Great Uncle Ford!” Mable shouted.  She began to rush towards him, but was held back by Dipper.

               “No, Mabel.  He betrayed us.  Don’t you remember?”

               “Yeah, he stuck me in that bubble,” Stan said grumpily.  “Last time I go outside during the apocalypse to get the newspaper.”  

               “But he’s- he’s chained!” Mabel said.  “If he was really working for Bill, he wouldn’t be tied up like that!”

               “It could just all be a trick,” Dipper said.  Ford’s heart sunk.

               “Dipper, please, believe me, I’m on your side.”

               “I’m having trouble believing that,” Dipper said.  “Maybe it’s the glowing demon eyes!”

               “Please, Dipper!  I know how to take down Bill!”

               “Well, duh, you’re a demon, too,” Wendy said.  Ford looked at Stan.  

               “Stanley, do you trust me?” he asked quietly.  A million emotions crossed Stan’s face.  

               “That’s a heck of a question, after everything you’ve done,” he said gruffly.  “Causing the apocalypse, turning my own family against me, not even thanking me for bringing you back.”

               “Stan…”

               “But you’re not lying,” Stan finished.  Ford blinked in surprise.  Stan glowered.  “Don’t think I’m going soft on you.  You’re just not a lying demon like that dang nacho chip.”  He walked over to Ford and dug a bobby pin out of his pocket.  Stan began to pick the lock on Ford’s collar. “You’re a normal demon, and the only sentient thing here that knows how to stop the world from ending.”  The collar fell away from Ford’s neck.  “And you’re my brother and junk, too, I guess.”

               “Thank you, Stanley.”  Stan’s facial expression softened.

               “Yeah, whatever,” he said.  “Now, how do we save the world?”

 -----

               Stan tossed the journal back and forth between his hands.

               “Let me get this straight,” he began, “your ‘essence’ is linked to this now?”

               “Yes,” Ford said.  “It’s one of the side effects of being a demon.  To remain on this plane of existence, I need a token.”

               “So then I probably shouldn’t burn it,” Stan said.  He sighed.  “Soos, put the gasoline back in the closet.”

               “You got it, Mr. Pines!”

               “Isn’t that the same closet the fireworks are kept in?” Dipper asked.  

               “Your point being?” Stan said frostily.

               “…Never mind.”  Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford, and Soos were back at the Shack, making plans.  For Dipper and Mabel, the plans were for their joint 13th birthday party.  For Stan and Ford, the plans were for their seafaring trip.  Soos didn’t need any plans.  He just liked being there when plans were made.

               “Yes, Stan, I would greatly appreciate it if you could avoid burning my only tether to this particular reality,” Ford said snippily.

               “Why didn’t Bill have one of these?” Dipper asked.  Ford adjusted his glasses.

               “Well, there are different classes of demons.  There are dream demons, which Bill was, there are possession demons, which Bill was, there are-”

               “Yeah, yeah, we get it, there’s lots of demons,” Stan said.

               “What kind are you?” Mabel asked.

               “…I have yet to figure that out, my dear.”  

               “Ooh, so it’s a challenge!”

               “Yes,” Ford said with a smile.  Dipper frowned.

               “Wait, Great Uncle Ford, you said that the journal was the only thing keeping you on this reality.  Does that mean you can visit other realities, then?” Dipper asked.  

               “Theoretically, yes.”

               “Whoa,” Mabel said.  Her eyes shone.  “You could visit a reality where everyone’s a dog!”  Ford chuckled at his niece’s optimism.

               “I think I’ll stay in this reality for some time, however. I’ve done the dimension-hopping thing before, and I desperately need a break from it.”

[gumnut-logic]

V. T. Green

Title: V. T. Green

Part One

Author: Gumnut

24 - 25 Aug 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently. 

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.”

Word count: 1946

Spoilers & warnings: None.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: This is one that I have been meaning to write for some time. I hope you enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

The world was blurry as he let his head slide on one hand and stared out through the kitchen window. Gordon was in the pool, swimming his morning laps. The sun had yet to rise and Virgil had broken several laws of physics rising himself. This time of day should not exist. But then it didn’t, because it wasn’t day yet because there was no sun!

But no, supersonic big brother wanted to do some special training today. Training that for some reason had been scheduled at sunrise.

It was possibly important, likely scheduled just to get his ass out of bed at this godawful hour. Occasionally there were some issues with having your brother in command. Brotherly love only went so far, brotherly snark had more mileage, and Scott did have that twist of his lips when he announced the schedule.

Four pairs of eyes had immediately turned to him and his return glare had been insufficient to deflect the amusement that followed.

But it was okay. It was fine. He had his own skill drills up his sleeve. Two am would be convenient for him next time, definitely. After all, they all had to keep their skill sets up, didn’t they?

In the meantime, it was black coffee and repeated attempts to focus on Mateo. Mateo was distinctly blurry, and dark and,,,,

“Hey, Virg!” Alan whacked him on the back.

His face nearly ended up in his coffee. “Alan? What the hell?”

“And good morning to you, too, big bro. Ready for this morning’s run?”

He stared at his bright and peppy, yes, peppy, youngest brother. Augh. “Go away.”

“Aww, did the big bear have to get out of bed a little early?”

“Alan...”

“C’mon, Virg, it’s gonna be fun. A race around the island, wind in your hair, blood pumping...it’s gonna be awesome.”

Virgil stared at him, his brain slowly picking up that something wasn’t quite right. “Alan, why aren’t you comatose?”

“What do you mean, big bro?”

A slow blink. “You hate mornings almost as much as I do. Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?” His eyelids drooped all of their own volition.

“It’s called prepared, bro. I’m in it to win it.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you on something? Because if you are, Scott’s going to kill you, and once I’m awake, I’ll resuscitate you so I can kill you again.”

“That’s violence, bro. It’s cool, I promise.”

An arched eyebrow that almost hurt. “What did you do, Alan?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing you aren’t already doing.”

“You drank coffee.”

“Noooooooo.”

“What did you do?”

“A little caffeine is all.”

The arched eyebrow flipped into a frown. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Virgil’s back straightened. “Alan.”

“I’m fine, bro, I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stupid.” A blond frown. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same with your coffee after coffee after coffee technique.”

Virgil’s lips thinned, but to be honest, the kid was right, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But... “You’re not yet an adult, Alan.”

“Yet, I take the responsibilities of an adult, Virgil.”

“Your body isn’t fully mature!”

“Well, thanks for that, Doctor Virgil!”

“You have to look after yourself!”

“Hard to do anything else when I have four brothers mother-henning me all the time!”

“We worry about you!”

“Well, don’t! I can look after myself.”

“Alan!”

“Virgil!”

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?!”

Virgil found himself looming over his little brother, one brain cell after another slowly catching up with what the hell was going on. Bright blue eyes were staring up at him defiantly, his little brother’s shoulders tight and fists clenched at his sides.

Virgil forced his own fists to uncurl. There was a reason why he preferred not to see this time of day. Disturbed sleep disturbed his calm, his control, and things like this happened.

Scott loomed over the both of them and Virgil took a step back, slumping back onto his seat and hulking over his coffee almost in a pout. “Better ask Alan, he’s the one being stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Virgil.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Scott could glare with the best of them, but Virgil had exhausted what little energy he had and ignored him. “Alan, dosed himself with caffeine.”

“Virgil!”

He could feel the laserbeams shooting out of Scott’s eyes switching targets and landing on Alan. There was no satisfaction, just blergh. Here we go.

And sure enough, Scott started in on his little brother. There was, of course, shouting. Virgil idly wondered how come Scott got to yell and he didn’t. But then Virgil didn’t really like yelling anyway.

Coffee. Its warmth drifted down his throat and spread into his bones. Oh god, he needed it. Maybe a second one after this? But then the word ‘caffeine’ came up amongst the explosions beside him and he reconsidered. No need to become a target himself.

He let his foggy mind drift a little. It was all his fault really. He could have gone to bed early, but he had made the mistake of getting into a discussion online with an engineering idiot. The topic had become heated, chemical formulas launched like bombs and laced with reactive equations enough to take out half the engineering community. In the end, he’d thrown a hissy fit and sat up to three am writing up his argument. He’d chucked it onto his blog with a great deal of satisfaction and was looking forward to rubbing it in the man’s face.

Just as soon as he could boot his brain.

Coffee, give me strength.

Gordon wandered in at some point, a damp towel around his neck. Being Gordon, he prodded the      conflagration in progress and got burnt. The argument became three sided.

Virgil considered snoozing on the counter.

Then he hit on the idea that he could possibly sneak back to bed. He stood up slowly.

Brains bounded into the room, tablet in hand. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Brilliant, so b-brilliant!”

The argument came to a sudden halt, four pairs of eyes turning towards the engineer.

The engineer didn’t notice, eyes glued to his tablet. Max bounded in behind him, whirring excitedly. It was the robot who prevented the distracted Brains from walking into the kitchen counter.

“Oh, thank you, M-Max.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “Did you see the p-polymer ratio? Amazing! Such elegance. You know, I am quite d-disap-pointed that I didn’t think of this myself. The applications are going to b-be in-numerable.”

The distraction was enough to break the fuel lines of the argument and Scott settled for a final threat, Alan a final glare and Gordon, a snort of derision. The moment to escape was lost and Virgil slumped where he sat.

Damn.

“Virgil, you going to eat before we run?”

Alan was right, Scott mother-henned.

“Maybe.” Ugh, c’mon coffee kick in. He needed operational braincells.

Scott was peering closely at him. “Earth to Virgil.”

“Shut up, Scott. You got me up at the ass end of the day, I’m here. Don’t expect much more.”

His brother grinned, and Virgil had the odd urge to thump him. Just because this was his element, didn’t mean he had to be a smart ass about it. “Your next physical is going to be hell.”

The grin faltered. Aah, that’s better. Hmm, perhaps his brain was slowly booting. Go, coffee.

“Virgil! You h-have to see these equations. They are brilliant!”

What? Brains’ tablet shifted the remains of his coffee to one side and Virgil found himself staring at a series of numbers that made little sense at this time of the morning. “Brains, looks great. Can I review them later? I’m not all here yet.”

The engineer didn’t appear to hear him. “Look at the polymer decay to reaction ratio! This is a self-healing polymer!”

Huh? He frowned and forced himself to focus. The appropriate neurons clicked into place in his brain and suddenly what he was seeing made sense.

Shit.

He grabbed the tablet, eyeing the equations and spinning calculations in his head. Brains was right. This was perfect. The polymer would be able to self-heal with the application of a mild electrical current. Give it a pattern to follow and it would populate and keep it populated, even after disturbance.

“Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.” There was that word again. Brilliant.

But it still took a second for it all to click into place.

V. T. Green was his blog. V. T. Green was his pseudonym online, used for obvious reasons to keep his identity hidden. The blog had been for amusement originally. A place to stash his favourite music and art, but at some point, he had found himself venturing into engineering circles and getting into discussion with the online community. It made for interesting discourse and he was able to keep up to date with some of the latest innovations. Not that he could share his own much and IR was well ahead of the majority of the world thanks to one Hiram Hackenbacker, but on occasion he would fiddle with ideas and make suggestions. It was also a great place to postulate out-there concepts.

The equations on Brains’ tablet were Virgil’s.

“Where did you get these?”

Brains was full of far too much energy for this time of the morning. “Green p-posted them during the night and they have h-hit the world by s-storm.”

“What?”

Brains frowned at him. “Haven’t you heard of V. T. Green, Virgil? He is o-one of the leading engineers on this p-planet. I have been f-following his b-blog for over a year n-now. You r-really m-must check it out.”

“Um, must have missed that one.”

“H-how could you m-miss such an important s-site? I know you k-keep up to date. The man is at the centre of a massive discussion about polymer cohesion and decay. Last night, Coloncous in Spain had the nerve to challenge him in the most ridiculous manner. I was so close to cutting him off myself, he was embarrassing us all, but Green replied with this. As expected, it is a brilliant explanation and Coloncous had no choice but to concede and crawl back into the hole he should never have come out of in the first place. He was a fool to think he could go up against Green. But this solution has so many possibilities. Do you realise this could be integrated into Two’s cahelium hull and she would be able to heal damage midflight? Four would be able seal herself in an underwater emergency. So brilliant.”

Virgil stared at the engineer. He didn’t think he had ever heard Brains say so many words in a row. And his stutter had disappeared two sentences in.

“What did you say about sealing Four, Brains?” Gordon’s ears had obviously pricked up at the mention of his ‘bird.

Brains’ attention was immediately drawn to the aquanaut, his verbal diarrhoea spilling all over Gordon and freeing Virgil.

Taking the opportunity, he pulled out his phone and brought up the website.

Shit!

He had notifications enough to clog his inbox. Due to the early hour, his phone was still on silent and he hadn’t heard any of them. A quick glance identified several prominent names and universities.

Shit. His eyes widened.

He glanced up at his family who were now eagerly discussing safety seals for Thunderbird Four. Even Scott’s eyes were wide and enthusiastic.

Shit.

Um.

Yeah.

He needed more coffee.

-o-o-o-

End Part One

Part Two