#or a soap opera about robots that turn into cars

[storm-and-starlight]

this is mostly just an idle thought but like. I told someone today that most of the stuff I enjoy is "cringe" but I don't think that's it? I think that when you pare it down, what I enjoy is the sincerity that comes through when someone writes something that they just think is really fuckin cool. And that gets called "cringe" like... a lot of the time.

[sailor-strawberry-moon]

Futurama - Vyko's Backstory

(lil warning for an infodump under cut)

===========================

Vyko was created as a portable electric keyboard sometime before or during 2010 by a company from Poland that was known for making sheet music. She was originally owned by Caleb Flores, a young man who became a musical celebrity in the 21st century. One day when Flores was out on tour, he stopped at a peculiar Chrysler building to have his car repaired. This particular building was home to a robotic arm - a robotic arm that would repair cars that were at that building. Flores also happened to have brought his keyboard, which was Vyko, with him. He laid the keyboard out as he talked with one of the mechanics about the repairs. It was then that the robotic arm noticed the keyboard laying before it, and stopped what it was doing so it could get closer to the keyboard. The arm then began playing a peculiar melody on the keyboard, and it caught the attention of the workers at the Chrysler and Flores himself. Flores chuckled. "Your robotic arm really likes my keyboard, huh?" he asked one of the mechanics, pointing his thumb at the robotic arm playing his keyboard. Now, that moment would become one of Vyko's most prominent memories, as when she was turned into a more humanoid robot almost a few centuries later, she would remember that moment, although she doesn't quite remember who played that melody on her. In this new form, she became a prominent musical unit, performing and composing music for all of 31st century Earth to hear. One day, she was hired by a big TV studio to compose music for the hit soap opera of that era, "All My Circuits". She agreed, and that was where she met Calculon, the most famous acting unit of the 31st century (who was also the robotic arm that played that peculiar melody on Vyko back when she was still an electric keyboard). Through her rehearsals before episode production, she and Calculon got to know each other better, and at one point Calculon revealed that when he was still a robotic arm, he played a melody on someone's keyboard, though he didn't realize that Vyko, his new coworker, was that keyboard. Vyko felt very close to Calculon, and for a time there was a rumor that she might've had a crush on him, to which she denied several times (she was totally lying lol). However… Vyko isn't all "music and happiness". You see… she had a retractable exacto knife built into her left arm that would pop up whenever she or someone she felt close to felt threatened, and she wouldn't hesitate to use it to threaten. She's killed a few coworkers who were mean to those she was close to (especially Calculon) and she would do it again, and she'd make sure the higher-ups would never find their bodies. Aside from Vyko's more psychotic, aggressive side, she's mostly calm and cheerful, and sometimes a bit bubbly. She was never the kind to hate anyone… …That was, until Coilette came into the picture. Coilette was actually Bender but genderswapped, but neither Calculon nor Vyko knew that, and Calculon fell head-over-heels for Coilette. Vyko on the other hand was jealous. Whenever Coilette would visit Vyko at the studio, Vyko would be composing for All My Circuits, and often whenever they'd be talking, Coilette would try to get along with Vyko, but Vyko would deeply despise her. It was when Coilette "died" (faked her death so she would genderswap back to being plain-old Bender) that Vyko no longer felt she was jealous, although now she learned to not trust certain people. Whenever Vyko meets her fans after leaving from her concerts, she's either really happy to see them or incredibly creeped out depending on how said fan(s) is/are. She sings and plays instrumental music, and at one point she featured the melody that was played on her back when she was just a keyboard in one of her songs. She mostly bases her albums and songs off of her emotions, and her style could be described as a contemporary mix of classical and futuristic. In general, Vyko herself is a peculiar musical unit that has more depth to her than most other robots of her kind.

==========================

If you liked Vyko's backstory, let me know in the comments or in reblogs!

[megaerakles]

[I was inspired and wrote a little ficlet for this, hope you don’t mind!]

“How are you this bad at shopping?” Jason asked, rolling his eyes back as far as they would go to communicate to Bruce just how deeply unimpressed he was. “Milk was the literal first thing on our list!”

Bruce grimaced, but Jason didn’t feel any sympathy for the big boob’s obvious embarrassment. Served him right for being unable to pull off something as simple and straightforward as a milk run without getting distracted. Perhaps Jason was being a bit unfair, seeing as how Bruce had been surreptitiously coordinating the Justice League’s response to a giant robot attack that had sprung up three states over via text message nearly the whole time they’d been shopping, but still. A shopping list was easy. Alfred said get corn, they got corn. Alfred said to get milk so he could teach Jason how to make the best cornbread ever invented before their Fourth of July picnic tomorrow? They got milk.

The grocery store was packed with frantic last minute shoppers rushing to empty the shelves, as was typical for a July 3rd, and they’d been standing in the checkout line for a good fifteen minutes before Bruce had thought to double check the contents of their cart against their list. Currently they were next up to the conveyor belt, and a glance behind them informed Jason that if they left the ever-growing line now, they’d be here for another full half hour, at least. He knew that Bruce was itching to get somewhere private so he could more thoroughly check in on the ongoing battle, and that much longer stuck in the packed grocery store might mean the fight was decided one way or the other by the time they could get to the relative privacy of their car. But if they left without getting groceries, at the current rate of shopping there might not be anything left when they came back later.

That was why Bruce made just about the biggest mistake he could have made, in Jason’s humble opinion: “wait here,” he said, glancing at the person in front of them who was nearly halfway through getting their items scanned. “Start loading things up when there’s room on the belt. I will be right back.” And then he was off, leaving Jason entirely unsupervised at a grocery store checkout counter.

You know, where they kept all the candy.

With a devious grin, Jason emptied the contents of their cart on the conveyor belt as quickly as humanly possible before turning around to assess his options. Baby Bottle pops or ring pops? Both, probably, and extras for Dick who would be showing up later. Also MnMs and Reese's Pieces, because how could one ever choose? Definitely a full array of the king sized candy bars—he even grabbed one of the plain dark chocolate ones for Bruce. Oh, Goldfish crackers was currently running a promotion with little Batman and Robin themed goldfish? Better just empty the entire carton onto the conveyor belt.

Then he turned his attention to the magazines. They definitely needed the trashy tabloid claiming that they’d uncovered Superman’s identity as a famous movie star, that was sure to get a laugh. Half of them seemed to be focused on Taylor Swift’s love life, and while Jason didn’t care, he was sure Dickie would appreciate the update so he grabbed one of each of those too. Did he need a copy of Soap Opera Digest? Why not? Oh, and a book of crosswords, Alfred would probably do those with him—

“Jason.”

Jason cringed and turned around, expecting a disapproving frown at being discovered running up their bill with useless impulse purchases, but he was instead met with Bruce looking several degrees more constipated than usual. Bruce’s arm was out at a weird angle, and Jason’s gaze followed it down until he found where his adoptive father’s arm was resting on the shoulder of some shrimpy, dark-haired kid holding a shopping basket.

“The fuck is this?”

“Language,” Bruce said. “And this is Tim. I saw him trying to get a bag of charcoal into his basket, and offered to help him. When I asked why he needed it he said he was going to try to learn to grill for himself tomorrow. Since it also turns out that he’s our neighbor, I thought it would be awfully silly not to invite him over to our place to join our picnic instead so he didn’t have to spend the holiday all alone. And I can also teach him how a grill works.”

Jason’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch before he schooled his expression and forced out a casual, friendly smile. “Really? Our neighbor? What a coincidence. It’s nice to meet you, Tim.”

The kid smiled shyly and peeked up at Jason from underneath his long, dark eyelashes. “Nice to meet you too, Jason.”

Jason couldn’t help but notice that the kid’s eyes were a predictable baby blue, and he wanted to scoff at Bruce again. Because really. Man goes to the circus, comes back with a kid. Man goes to brood in an alleyway, comes back with a kid. Man goes on a milk run—

—and wait a second. A quick glance into Timmy’s basket revealed nothing but a lack of dairy products (just a concerning abundance of grilling tools), and Bruce had nothing else in his hands besides the kid.

“Bruce. B. Father of mine. Where is the milk?”

Bruce’s eyes widened comically and he spun around again. “I’ll be right back—”

He dashed off just as the girl behind the counter started scanning their pile of items, and Jason looked back over at Tiim consideringly. He was a scrawny thing, but when he met Jason’s eyes there was a hint of spine in them that made Jason think he was probably tougher than he looked. Well he’d have to be, if he was really as alone as Bruce had implied…

They’d get to that later, though. For now, there was another very pressing matter to attend to. Jason turned back to the candy shelf behind him. Bruce hadn’t said anything about the massive pile of candy, so he’d practically endorsed the purchase, and now Jason had another person he’d have to share his haul with! Best load up some more.

“Say, Timbo, do you like gummy worms?”

Instead of: Batman leaves Jason alone with Sheila in Bosnia

I give you: Batman leaves Jason alone at the checkout line to go grab the milk he forgot

[legionofpotatoes]

we decided to watch all story cutscenes from the new resident evil village videogame on a whim, since it’s not really our cup of tea gameplay-wise but seems to be this massive zeitgeist moment that made us morbidly curious. And I know how much everyone cares about my thoughts on things I know very little about, so. let’s get into it huh gamers. and yeah spoilers?

for context, I’ve only played resident evil 4 and a small portion of 5. I also read the wikipedia entry for 7’s plot recently. all this to say I was only vaguely aware of how tonally wacky the series was going in

I also completely gave up following the plot of the mutagens’ soap opera, so that paid off in spades here as you might imagine

anyway so that baby in the intro. that baby’s head is just massive. humongous toddlerdome. when ethan finds the baby’s head in a jar later on. there is no way that head would fit into that jar. bad game design. no not even game design. basic stuff. one hundred years in prison for jar modeler

if I see a single functional hetero marriage in video games I will cry tears of joy. I understand their misery is kind of The Point irt them badly working through the hillbilly romp trauma but like. sheesh. at least set that up as an emotional story goal the plot will help resolve. but nope they start off miserable and it goes nowhere

I know I know the mia thing has a huge wrinkle in it but like. not really in terms of dramatic function?? set up a happy end to the re7 nightmare (miranda can keep up appearances for all she cares) and then take that all away from angry griffin mcelroy for manpain. it will still absolutely work to set up the dramatic forward momentum. why throw in this cliche Hollywood Tension in their marriage if you’re not going to address it oh maybe because it’s normalized as automatically interesting because nuclear families are a self-propagating pit of a very narrow chance at emotional happiness relying on social stigma to preserve their empty function oops my baggage slipped in yikes abort mission

I called him griffin mcelroy because I saw his face on twitter and. yeah. I will continue to do this occasionally. my house my rules

... fuck the reason I’m hung up on this is specifically because the rest of the game is so tonally dexterous (which is a shining point to me! more on that later!), and yet they felt weirdly compelled to create the aesthetic trapping of a family-at-odds trope without following it through too well. a sign of both the good and the bad stuff to come

but listen the real reason why I wanted to talk about any of this is to nitpick the fascinating backwards-engineered nucleus of the entire thing; in that this game essentially creates a melting pot of just SO many disparate horror tropes and then makes a no-holds-barred unhinged effort at weaving thick lore to piece them all together. it is truly a sight to behold. like straight up you got your backwoods fright night situation, your gothic castle vampires, your rural-industrial werewolves, and don’t forget your bloated swamp monsters over there, with then a hard left turn into robotic body horror, and the entire ass subgenre of Creepy Doll writ large, and the bloodborne tentacle monsters, and a hellboy angel bossfight, which rides on the coattails of a mech-on-mech pacific rim bonanza, and just jesus henry christ slow down

almost all of these are textural hijack jobs that don’t really get into the metaphor plain of any of those settings but the game sort-of makes an argument that the texture IS the point and revels in it. It is kind of admirable almost. The same reason why the intro felt boxed in and unmotivated is also why the rest of the game just blasts off of its hinges to the point of complete and self-indulgent tonal abandon. I kinda loved that about it. lady dimitrescu made sure to hold her hat down as she bent forward in mahogany doorways and then suddenly she’s a giant gore dragon and you settle in your temp role as dark souls man with Gun to take her ass down. Excellent??

this rhino rampage impulse to gobble up every horror aesthetic known to man comes to head when the game wrestles with its FPS trappings in what is the most hilarious solution in creating visceral player damage moments. Since most cinematics and the entire game is in first person, that leaves precious little real estate for the devs to work with if they really want to sell griffin’s physical crucible. To wit. This dude’s forearms. Specifically just the forearms. They are MASSACRED throughout the story. The poor man lives out the silent hill dimension of a hand model. by the end cutscene he looks like a neatly dressed desk clerk who had decided to stick both his grabbers into garbage disposal grinders just a few hours prior. like in addition to everything else it manages to rope in that tinge of slapstick violence into its general grievous genre collection except this time it IS for a lack of trying! truly incredible

but wait his miracle clawbacks from everything his poor paws go through are retroactively explained away, yes, but far too vaguely and far too late to console me as I sat and watched everyone’s favorite baby brother reattach an entirely severed hand to his wrist stump by just. placing it on there. and giving it a lil twist ‘n pop terminator-style. and then willing his fingers back into motion right in front of my bulging eyes. this game just does not care. it does not give a shit. and boy howdy will it work to make that into one of its strongest suits

cause generally speaking resident evil was THE premiere vanilla zombie content destinaysh for like a decade, right? and as the rest of the world and mainstream media started encroaching and bloodying its blue ocean it went and just exploded in every single conceivable horror trope direction like a smilodon on catnip. truly, genuinely fascinating franchise moves

yeah the big vampire milf is hot. other news; grass... green. although I do love the implication that her closet is just identical white dresses on a rack. cartoon network-level queen shit

apropos of nothing I’ve said there’s also this hobo dante-devimaycry-magneto man, and I can’t believe this sentence makes sense. anyway he made that “boulder-punching asshole” joke referring to chris redfield and it was probably the only easter egg that really landed for me and boy did it land hard. I have not seen him punch the boulder in re5, mind. I had only heard about how funny it is from friends. and here this dude was, probably in the same exact mindset as me, trying to grapple with that insane mental image. with you on that ian mckellen, loud and clear

I advocate vehemently against the shallow pursuit of hyper photorealism in art direction but I gotta admit it works really in favor of immersive horror like this. the european village shacks especially gave me super unchill flashbacks to my rural countryside retreat in western georgia. I could smell the linoleum dude. not cool

faces are weird in this game. can’t place it. nice textures, good animation, but the modeling template is... uuh strange? and the hair. it has that clustered-flat-clumpy look that harkens to something very specific and unpleasant but I just don’t know what. sue me

griffin’s mental aptitude to take all this shit in stride and end every seemingly traumatizing bossfight involving some fucking eldritch being yet unseen through mortal eyes by essentially throwing out an MCU quip is just. What the fuck dude? I mean that was funny how you casually yelled the f-word at a god damn werewolf that you considered a fairy tale an hour ago but are you like, all right?? it was swinging a sledgehammer the size of a bus at you, ethan

oh oh the vampires are afraid of cold and your last name is winters. I get it haha

Pro Gamer Nitpick: boss fights seemed a bit unnecessarily long?? idk why the youtuber we picked decided the ENTIRE propeller man fight counted towards the vital story scenes he was stitching together, but man mr big daddy lite there really had some get up and go huh??

why are they saying dimitrescu.. like that. is it really how you say that word or is the english language relapsing into its fetish for ending every single word with a consonant at all costs

I’m not saying it’s a dramatic miss of a twist in context of all that’s going on, but the “you died in the last game actually and have been DC’s clayface ever since” revelation is low-key. it’s. it’s just funny to me, I dont know what to say. century-old god-witch fails her evil plan after she mistakenly removes heart from what was definitely NOT just some white guy with eight fingers after all

chris realizing he’s about to become the player character and immediately swapping out his tsundere trenchcoat for the muscletight sex haver sweater

the little bluetooth speaker-sized pipe bomb he taped to his knife was nuclear?? really??? I must have missed something because that is just too good. I buy it though I totally buy it. chris just got them fun-sized nukes in his car trunk for, you guessed it, Situations

anyway this is all for now just wanted to briefly touch on how unexpectedly funny and tonally irreverent this seemingly serious game turned out to be. did not articulate any cathartic story beats whatsoever but my god it had fun connecting those plot points. he just fucking put his severed hand back on his stump and it Just Worked todd howard get in here

[fereldenturnip]

But Don’t You Ever Let Me Go (2)

Primo Nizzuto/Majid Zamari Sugar Daddy Fic

Part 2/ ?

(Part 1)

[nsfw towards the end]

Majid spends most of his days trying his hand at an honorable job. 'Try' being the operative word. He's never had the head for dull drudge work, giving up his warehouse position in Utrecht before he ever got started. It's boring. Routine is shit-boring. He’s already burnt out on three separate jobs so far. 

Currently, he’s an auto-repair mechanic trawling through motor oil and brake fluid. It’s exhausting and frustrating, sweating through his overalls and busting his fingers. He absolutely hates it when some rich-prick comes swaggering in, throwing the keys of some hot rod in his face like he’s a robot and not a person. Swallowing the all-consuming rage gets harder with each asshole. 

These trust-fund babies always want the same thing, “Fix it by noon!” with not even thirty minutes to spare assessing what component they broke to make it sound like shit. Majid always manages to get the cars purring again, and he’s half-tempted to just steal one and ride off into the sunset like he used to. The dumb-struck look on Pastel Polo Shirt Paolo’s face when he returns to an empty shop is one of Majid’s fondest daydreams. 

No. Instead he fixes the damn car, hands over the keys, and lets jock twits rev dust in his face. 

To make matters worse, he goes home to a dank and miserable, overpriced flat above a busy deli. Unwinding is next to impossible when your floors reek of salami. At night, Majid listens to his neighbors pound away at each other. The luck of others only underscores his own nonexistent sex life. It’s been almost a year and he hasn’t gotten laid since his trysts with Tessa. Lying on his bed that doubles as a couch, Majid glares at the ceiling when the telltale thumping begins. There isn’t even a television to block out the noise or silence his depressing memories. Majid suffers the entire night, sometimes with half a stiffy that no amount of palming will relieve. 

Just when Majid’s day (his week, his month, his life) spirals out of control and he wants nothing more than to throw himself into the Tiber, Primo returns to whisk him away. Cheerful and unrepentantly persistent as expected. 

It's as if the older man is psychic--either that or he actually does have informants all over the city. He rolls up in a sleek Mercedes, his driver popping out to open the door obediently. From the dark interior Primo’s elegant hand uncurls, beckoning him forth. Into the lion’s den.

And every time, Majid lets himself be coddled into the back seat. If this is a dance then he’s clearly not the lead. Does he mind? Glancing back at the auto shop, he’s hard-pressed finding a reason to say no. 

Majid sinks into the warm leather seats and only mildly feels self-conscious as he clashes with his luxurious surroundings. Primo never disparages his workman’s clothes or the grease in his cuticles. He passes Majid an ice-cold water from the built-in fridge, unperturbed by the possibility of soiling his fine outfit. It’s just the opposite--Primo is ecstatic to be in Majid’s company again and again. 

They’re chauffeured around, chatting and laughing amiably (and wow, Majid never believed he’d laugh again, not after what he’s been through), searching for a meal befitting the hour. Fancy, decadent, expensive. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, and dinner. Sometimes a combination of several depending on Primo’s schedule. And that’s a loose term. 

Of course, there are events and fundraisers, meetings and phone calls Primo must attend to. Primo also owns half of Italy. The rules he operates by are malleable to suit his whimsy and if he wants to play hookie with Majid, there’s no one around to tell him no. 

No one can stop Primo, not even the devil himself. It’s unwise, every time Majid hops in Primo’s car and feels his stomach automatically growl rather than churn. Who is Majid, a deadbeat thief with anger issues, to the Don of Calabria? One wrong move, one dumb mistake, and Primo can have him sleeping in the Tiber with whomever else is lying there too. 

++++

“Ach,” Primo grimaces, “The Netherlands? I could never go there. It’s too cold!” He laughs though, warm and toothy, pouring more sparkling water into their glasses. The Mercedes makes another loop around the Colosseum, the tinted windows colouring the ancient stone in shades of blue and grey. The driver is a consummate professional, the ride is smooth and untroubled. Nevertheless, Primo curls in towards Majid to keep the drinks from spilling.  

“Ain’t that the truth,” Majid smiles and clinks the crystal together. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t born there.” 

Primo makes a noise of interest and gestures for him to continue. It would be so easy to forget who this man really is. Primo slouches comfortably in Majid’s presence, his blazer and tie removed, collar unbuttoned to reveal skin. He’s human underneath. It relaxes Majid enough to spill details of his childhood spent in the Moroccan sun. To his credit, Primo listens attentively, chin in hand as he rests on the centre console.  

Unsurprisingly, Majid’s nostalgic and full of homesickness by the time he finishes detailing his family’s migration. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Primo nods his head seriously, as if Majid’s words are an important gift worth all the gravitas in the world. Stunned, Majid actually believes he’ll cherish them. 

“What about you?” Quid pro quo, right? Intimacy for intimacy. 

Primo tilts his head and peers coyly at him through his eyelashes, “What about me?”

Majid is curious. Living in Rome is like living in a soap opera; Majid has heard a wide gamut of rumors, from the comedic to the tragic. 

Some say Primo assassinated his uncle to do it, hid in the trunk of a car under the cloak of darkness and blew the old man’s brains out. Others scoff, they’re quick to point out how his uncle was nothing more than a destitute goat farmer and what could killing him possibly achieve? No, clearly Primo kidnapped some millionaire’s kid, burnt him alive on the beach and ran away with the ransom money.

When Majid asks, which is it? Primo smiles and weaves a story about a young man whose ideas were just too big for his small town to contain. How he longed for more until finally the Italian government benevolently loaned the young entrepreneur enough money to build his empire from the ground up. It sounds realistic. It’s also just another story and Majid is no where closer to the truth than he was before.

He huffs, unsatisfied. 

Sitting on Primo’s left, Majid is close enough to feel the heat rolling off him and smell his musky cologne. Primo turns suddenly and that’s when Majid realises he’s drifted too close into the other man’s orbit. He can spot gold flecks in Primo’s irises, faint laugh lines on his cheeks, and sun-induced freckles over his nose. 

Majid freezes like a deer caught in a rifle’s scope. A finger grazes his knuckles and he shivers from the soft touch. Primo’s desire is spelled out loud and clear, yet he makes no move to act on his impulses. 

The car rolls up to the curb outside his flat. The parking brake shifts and whatever’s going on in this moment between them dissipates. Majid darts away, totally missing the narrowed eyes and minute smirk. 

Primo, courteous as usual, professes, “I enjoyed spending my afternoon with you, Majid.”

Majid’s hand clasps the door handle--passerbys must think it strange seeing such an elegant car in this seedy neighborhood. Already halfway outside, Majid isn’t thinking clearly when he replies, “Me too.” Immediately, Primo preens. He could shudder from the liquid warmth swimming in Primo’s alluring gaze.

“Just tell me one thing,” Majid says, plucking the courage to stay a minute longer. “What’s the truth?” For a moment he thinks he’s confused the older man, either that or inserted his foot into his mouth. 

But Primo’s mind is sharp, always several moves ahead. He knows exactly what Majid means.

“It was all that and more.”

That’s…not an answer. It’s grandiose and enigmatic (vague and frustrating) and perfectly sums Primo up. The bastard knows this and has the audacity to grin while he shooing Majid out.  

“Until next time,” Primo asserts, stroking his greying goatee. He finishes with a soft declaration, “my boy.”

++++

The long-anticipated ‘other shoe’ drops while Majid is standing alone in his barren kitchenette and wistfully wishing he’d accepted Primo’s invitation to dinner. It’s a devastating epiphany, a slip-up he catches way too late. He finally sees the intricate spider’s web the Don has woven, and Majid went and entangled himself in lines, enticed with food and stories. Primo has done a good job sinking his claws into Majid without him even questioning it.

Midnight arrives. Rest doesn’t. 

Majid rolls around in his bedsheets, unable to catch a break from the set of green eyes plaguing his erratic thoughts. Sleep is just right around the corner waving at him, Majid can almost taste it. His eyelids droop and that’s exactly when the horny couple’s headboard begins it’s nightly clacking ritual. Majid screams his anguish into his pillow. Of course! He’s fate’s favourite punching bag! 

As usual, his cock weakly hardens--Pavlov to the rutting behind thin walls. Pathetically, he rubs his face and sniffs. Then sniffs again, deeper this time.

Somehow, spending hours with the Don has Primo’s aromatic cologne--notes of amber, tobacco, and rum--clinging to his skin and clothes. Majid considers showering himself clean. It would be the responsible thing to do, right? His cock twitches.

Wrong. 

Majid wants to be irresponsible, rash, foolhardy. Recklessness conjures up a low-lit room filled with cigar smoke. Impulsiveness takes shape in the form of Primo Nizzuto stalking him from across the room, eyes steel-grey as he looms and strokes up Majid’s arm.

“My boy,” Primo growls in a low octave that sparks a flame in Majid’s guts. Heat pools in his hips and straight away he’s tugging his aching erection out of his briefs. His white cotton t-shirt gets rucked up and over his nose so Majid can inhale lungfuls of that intoxicating scent. The neighbors’ mediocre fucking gives way to Primo rasping in his ear--my boy, my boy--sultry as smoke curling around his head. Majid moans, touching himself with both hands, one twisting his throbbing wet head and the other cupping his balls. He frantically strips his length, feet planted wide and flat so he can hump into his fists. My boy...

When he comes, Majid nearly chokes on the shirt wadded in his mouth. His orgasm rips through him like a runaway train flying off the tracks. Globs of sticky come coat his hands, his abs, his shaking thighs. Everything’s a soaking mess. Shirt digging into his armpits and underwear around his ankles, Majid really ought to clean up. Unfortunately, his exhausted, empty body is too busy floating high from the rush of endorphins.  

It’s so damn easy to slip into sleep after that.

[slenderversemyway]

All They Have Chapter 1

Marble Hornets, Brim, TW: Violence, TW: Injury, TW: Language, TW: Mention of murder, TW: Mental illness

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204173/chapters/63772075

Summary: It was all over. Alex was dead and Tim could finally move on. All he wanted was a normal life. If only he could have one...

Chapter under the cut for those who don’t use Ao3

Confrontation

The car pulled up to a fork in the road, To the right Rosswood Park where this whole mess started; To the left out of that god forsaken town. Tim reached forward turning the camera. His movements were robotic and face blank, likely with shock at having killed one of his best friends. Sirens wailed lightly in the background as he reached forward and pressed the little black button on the side of the camera. Once it was off, he pulled it to rest on the passenger seat. Staring at the choice in front of him he took a shaky breath and slid the steering wheel left.

He remembered that part so clearly, the decision despite every subconscious urge pulling him the opposite direction he went left. That was his choice, no Alex, no Operator, just him. He tried to be proud of the accomplishment as small as it was. At least he got something right.

He had spent the last couple days traveling. He wanted to get as far away as possible from that thing. Most of his memory from that day was fuzzy. All he knew was that he had to get as far away as possible and lay low.

He also needed a plan. He knew Alex was dead, but that Thing wasn’t! It was difficult to know how to plan against it. Could he prepare anything against it?

He yawned again and resigned to sleep at the next rest stop. Then he’d keep going. He’d been driving nonstop for days. If he didn’t rest soon, he’d fall asleep at the wheel.

Before leaving Benedict Hall, he grabbed Alex's gun. There weren't many bullets left in it, but it was better than nothing. He also got his pills from the hooded man before the fight. So, he’d been taking them regularly again. So, he was at least prepared but would it be enough?

He knew it had to be. There wasn’t anything else he could do. He knew though that thing wasn’t normal. It did things that shouldn’t even be possible. The only assurance he could muster was that last time it had to rely on corrupting others, and they were all… his train of thought halted entirely shifting as fast as it could. His therapist called it thought direction. He missed seeing his therapist, but he knew there was a chance he’d have to be on the run for murder. Unless that thing took Alex’s body. Still he’d rather play it safe. No need to attract unwanted attention. So, he cancelled his appointments explaining he had a vacation planned.

He pulled up the hotel and booked a room for the night with the little cash he had. The place seemed shady and a bit under the table. However, he preferred that on some level. It made things like paying in cash and laying low easier. They didn’t even ask for ID, which was good because he checked in under a fake name. He couldn’t be too careful. After everything that just happened, he wasn’t taking any more chances.

He double and triple checked everything in the room. Memorizing all possible exits and entrances. Making sure the window was locked. He even triple checked every painting and cabinet for cameras or hidden masked men. He cleaned the gun off in the sink trying to convince himself the red running off and down the drain was just paint. Then making sure it was loaded he flipped the safety on and clipped it onto his belt. Then sat down and turned the tv on keeping it quiet so he could hear if any unexpected visitors were to drop in.

Later that night the tv hummed with soap operas and reruns of the news. All that was on at 8pm on a Sunday. The microwave beeped indicating he could finally eat something. He got up and trailed into the very makeshift kitchen. His food was ready, and he was about to pull it out when something just felt off. Placing down the tv dinner he placed his hand on his gun and walked back into the living area. Surveying he noticed immediately a back spec move away from his window and behind the couch. Immediately he pulled his gun and flicked the safety off. He pointed it at the couch. What he saw was barely there for a second and he may have been imagining it.  However, he wasn’t risking a thing.

“I know you’re there so get up!” He shouted. Nothing happened for a moment and he wondered if he really had imagined it. He cocked the gun getting ready to shoot. “I said get up! Show me your hands!”

His command, after a moment and to his surprise, was met by a figure rising from behind his couch. The man was tall with broad shoulders, a golden hoodie, and a familiar sad black mask. Tim’s brows furrowed.

“You!” His shout was furious, and he was about to pull the trigger then and there. Then he felt a tug. “Ok Asshole give me one good reason not to finish the job!” It was then the man put a gloved hand up to his face pulling off the mask to reveal an even more familiar face.

“You wouldn’t want to kill both your best friends would ya?” The man chimed hands in the air. His expression was confusingly calm for a man at gunpoint. The shock caused Tim to falter lowering the gun.

“Brian?” His confusion was plain on his face as Brian approached him.

“Nice to see ya pal! I’ve been waiting a while to give you this” Tim hit the floor fast holding his bleeding nose. He didn’t even see the punch or Brian ripping the gun away. What he did see however was the anger in his eyes now staring down at the bleeding man. It took a minute for Tim to be able to breathe. His eyes watered as he attempted to get up. He hacked and wheezed finally making it to his knees only to see Brian’s foot connect to his ribcage.

Tim collapsed again into a coughing fit as his ribs screamed in pain. His head was dizzy swimming in pain and he still couldn’t breathe. But managed to choke out “What,” He coughed “was that for?!”  Tim wheezed as Brian glared down at him.

“Oh, for being such a good friend!” He yelled. “Always lying and keeping secrets, real selfless Tim!” Brian paced in anger as Tim moved carefully onto his uninjured side still coughing. “You had years, fucking years to tell me that shit! We lived together! But no, you keep it a secret. Just lying and lying as if it couldn’t affect anyone else!” Tim wheezed breaths. Catching his breath as Brian ranted. “And now look what happened?” His mocking tone made Tim want to vomit or maybe that was the likely broken ribs. “It not only affected everyone! It fucking killed ‘em’!”

Tim involuntarily flinched at the word. There was a long silence as Tim glared at him from the floor. He got up shakily leaning against the wall. He was worried Brian was going to come at him again, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“So, you’re the psycho who gets off on stealing pills?” The tension was palpable as Brian retorted.

“And you get off on chasing Jay through the woods, what's your point?” again with that.

“My point is that all this moral advice. Is coming from a violent narcissistic college drop out with a pill fetish!” He knew he was pushing Brian’s limits and thoroughly enjoyed it. “I'm just saying you don’t have a ton of room to talk.” With that Tim walked slowly to the couch and sat down, bumping Brian on the way. It hurt like hell, but the spite was worth it.  Brian turns in a rage and Tim spoke without thinking.

“What gonna hit me again?” Tim shouted and Brian stopped, glaring. Tim sighed grabbing the tv remote and turned it off. “since I’m not getting to watch my show.” His deadpan tone was surprisingly calm considering the pain he was in. “Now,” he turned to Brian. “What the hell do you want? Or did you just come here to kick the shit out of me?”

“I’m here with a message. Kicking the shit out of you was just a bonus.”

“What couldn’t put it through a few dozen ciphers and hide it in another spooky video.” Brian rolled his eyes.

“Believe whatever the hell you want Tim, but I wasn’t in charge of that.”

“You sure seemed to have a lot to do with it.”

“What cus I was in a few videos?” He leaned forward into Tim’s face, placing a finger on his chest. “Got news for ya Timmy boy, I wasn’t the only one.” Tim smacked his finger away in annoyance.

“Then who was?”

“Seth.”

“Seth?”

“Going deaf or somethin’?”

“Why-?” Brian held up his hand.

“Frankly Tim I never asked, and I don’t care. I don’t even want to be here right now.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you, I’m here to deliver a message.” Brian sighed

“From?” Brian started seriously at Tim.

“The thing .” Tim cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.

“How-?”

“It wants you back Tim.” His glazed eyes frightened Tim to the core.

“No.”

“It's not a request. It's an order. That thing wants you wants,” Brain reached into his pocket and pulled out that damn mask! “this!” Tim stood up off the couch backing away. He tried to appear calm, but panic swam in his eyes.

“Get out.” Brian got up coming closer to Tim.

“Tim come on just take the damn mask it's going to get you. Just come peacefully.” Tim opened the front door.

“I said, get out! And take that cursed thing with you!”

“Tim-”

“Get the fuck out of my room! I'm not hearing any of this cultist bullshit! I'm done!”

“Tim just listen-!”

“No, you listen!” Tim walked up to Brian getting in his face. “You’re going to go out this door, get into your car, and drive back to whenever shack you’re calling home! Meanwhile, I’m going to get my bearings, leave, and live a normal fucking life!” He stuck a finger out. “I’m not letting you ruin this for me! This is my life and for once, I’m going to live it on my terms!” Brian's expression was hard to read. Where Tim expected to see anger or annoyance, he saw a stone-cold expression of pure exhaustion… maybe even sadness? It took a long moment before Brian sighed.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Brian made his way to the doorway.

“What's that supposed to mean?” With a look that was hard to place, Brian tossed the mask inside and was swallowed into the darkness of night.

[blueikeproductions]

@vihattu-thethoroughbredofsin I will say in IDW’s defense, they didn’t come up with the caste society angle, they only attempted to flesh it out. It originated in Prime, and has since been used in Cyberverse, I believe Netflix War For Cybertron eluded to it, and I might be misremembering but I believe EarthSpark also uses the caste system as the source of the war.

The problem remains is Hasbro and assorted writers had no idea how to write the caste system other than it was bad, and it was enough to rework Megatron into being the one wanting abolish it.

Functionalism I can sort of understand. For the lack of a better comparison, Antz explored a similar shake up of the system where Z temporarily became a soldier ant while his soldier friend became a worker and the soldier found he LOVED being a worker over a soldier. They otherwise can’t change jobs or go outside the system until Z, in his own neurotic way, but the idea forward they could change.

A Transformer who changes into a tank who wants to be a doctor is frowned upon, because tanks are supposed to blow stuff up, not administer system updates. It’s an interesting train of thought, especially with the imagery of Megatron’s fusion cannon now being a medical kit in late stage Lost Light…. But it all falls apart when you think about it for two seconds. What does Functionalism mean for ordinary cars, for planes, for beasts, or something as mundane as RiD15 style Mini-Con Torpedos and Pucks? All it really says about Beasts is that they’re animals pure and simple and the lowest rung for what feels like an awkward joke referencing older fans grousing about Beast Wars.

It also doesn’t help that it’s never been fully understood what constitutes a Transformer on Cybertron. Roberts made a lot of jokes about generics turning into mundane things like laser pointers and Energon Dispensers, but then you had a joke about a Functionary cop yelling at a piece of junk to Transform, only for Ratchet to clarify the junk wasn’t alive. Like huh? Shouldn’t the Functionary have been able to tell?

IDW2 made the right move to return the cause of the Great War to be more about energy and the Ascenicons/Decepticons wanting power & conquest. Unfortunately the writer chose to do it in the most drawn out, dull, dare I say lifeless way possible.

I think the fact of the matter is as much as some fans detest Transformers being on Earth and befriending humans, that’s the only time they shine because functionally Transformers have NO culture. Armada makes a point to show life on Cybertron is purely militaristic, that Transformers are a warrior race at this stage, with Cybertron largely a junk yard with small hints at great cities that once existed. By Energon, Cybertron is restored to what it used to be, but we still don’t have a clear idea on their culture, as the Autobots largely work with humanity now as scientists and technicians and peace keepers. What little we see in most canons isn’t dissimilar from us, and the Autobots seem to graft pretty easily to our culture and entertainment, G1 famously having some of the Autobots addicted to a soap opera, and Optimus becoming a big fan of basketball. Attempts to fill in the gaps outside of Earth in stuff like Cyberverse and IDW is just flat out Earth and Earth culture but as silly robots. How Beast Machines and Galaxy Force went about it aside, how does Cybertron have plant life and jungles in Cyberverse? I don’t know and I guarantee the Cyberverse writers don’t either. But Cybertron just being a robot Earth isn’t clever or interesting, it’s boring, and it just reinforces why most stories get the Transformers off Cybertron where the real fun can begin.

Hello! I'm sorry if you're tired of this topic, but I can't help but be glad that I'm seeing more and more people criticizing IDW comics!

Once I also wrote a post about criticism of these comics, and my main problem was that there is absolutely no lore in these comics, and if there is anything, it is very little.

I just can't believe that for so long the authors haven't brought anything to the transformers lore. During this really huge amount of time and an impressive list of issues, I expected just a ton of worked-out world and everything else. And as a result, the depth of the lore was approximately equal to the depth of the drying puddle.

I don't understand why many fans praise these comics for the politics and the worked-out world, when this is absolutely not the case. Politics is mainly based on some personal conflicts and intrigues, we practically do not immerse ourselves in the structure and work of the political apparatus, ideas, influence on social structures and lifestyle, the response of different segments of the population to this. No, I understand it's difficult and the age audience is not suitable, but maybe you can't make the central theme of comics something that you can't describe and don't understand how it works?

The authors do not know how to describe a truly alien race and, despite their hatred of human characters, have made Cybertronians so similar to humans that it is absurd.

For example, why is functionalism bad? I understand why this would be bad for humans, but why for another species whose lifestyle should be completely different? In fact, this is the most logical way of life for an alien race, because what is the alternative? Is there an alternative? Can Cybertron switch to equipping itself with conventional technology? What will the Cybertronians who are released from work do, what other jobs and activities are there? The authors do not go into this much and we do not see clear ideas of what a Cybertron society should be without functionalism. Well, or I didn't have enough of what the authors gave me.

But well, we have functionalism. Why is it that the elite of society under this regime are mostly the owners of "useless" altmods? Why not those who transform into scientific or very powerful military equipment? In general, under such conditions, the power on the planet would have been seized by the military part of society long ago.

It's not worth talking about the fact that the usual daily life of Cybertronians is described in almost no way. Along with the culture, we have received very little information about it.

Oh, maybe we know something about the transformers themselves then, right? Not really. Basically you can only find headcanon materials. And what about IDW? Maybe they offered us their glossary, terms, schemes? No, there's nothing. Moreover, already at that time, fans on the forums came up with everything and drew the structure of transformers, and the IDW authors were too lazy to even steal any ideas, except for a few.

But if the authors can't work with these topics, do they describe relationships and love well? Again, no, literally all relationships are either built from scratch, or do not develop, or are full of manipulation, deception and emotional swings (yes, everyone's favorite "the only good" pair of Chromedome X Rewind), or end in nothing, as if nothing ever happened. And it doesn't depend on whether it was a gay relationship or a completely straight one, all the relationships there are very poorly written. If this, like Arcee, is a representation, then it looks more like a direct insult.

And, by the way, if love is for everyone, then where is the love between a transformer and a human? Oh yes, authors hate humans. Love is not for everyone!

And in general, it's good, the authors want to add love and romance, but it needs to be justified! Love relationships are not a necessary phenomenon for species, a lot of stars have to come together for this kind of social interaction to be like that. How did the Cybertronians come to this when they don't have any prerequisites for it? How did they get the Conjux Endura ritual (or did you want to say "bonding"? ;) ).Why does such a strict government, as we were told, disapprove, but not prohibit such types of relations, if in all other respects it is totalitarian and cruel?

How do Cybertronian diseases work? Why did Ratchet die of this disease, but not the characters older than him? This point is generally very similar to a cheap way to soften the reader.

I can go on like this endlessly, but I'll stop here. Roberts is not just a fanfiction writer, he is a very mediocre  fanfiction writer who may have a couple of interesting ideas, but lacks the talent to show them. And then, ordinary average writers understand what they are doing and why, and do not get paid for it. It's even more insulting for the authors of fanfiction, who, even for the sake of their strange plots and ideas, try and spin like they're on a frying pan, go out of their skin, coming up with a justification for everything inside the fanfiction. Roberts can't do that.

In the end, I respect the Kiss Players more because the author knew perfectly well what he was doing and wanted to anger the audience, and the audience reacted appropriately. The authors of the IDW comics thought they were doing something smart and great, but they weren't. But the audience presents it as something great.

P.S. I apologize for the mistakes, I use a translator.

There is no need to apologize, you managed to point out the issues with IDW Transformers and why no one really bothered to read them outside of that specific hardcore audience, and not even a general hardcore audience, but an audience that agreed with one specific interpretation of the material, and everyone who had other interpretations could go suck a lemon.

I’ve said it before, this is a prime example of “Writing a comic about a comic” where the use of lore and specific characterizations is so specific to the franchise that any story that is told is Greek to anyone outside of the bubble, which accounts for IDW’s horrible sales. Skybound’s story so far has been criticized by some hardcore fans as a G1 redux, but even if it is, it’s still a well told story with universal themes, consistent, easy to understand characterizations, and characters that are likable for the heroes and hatable for the villains. It has a clear tone, something both IDW and IDW2 failed at utterly. Roberts, meanwhile was a terrible writer, but he was good at engaging the audience the same way fanfic writers do, focusing on the relationships that get the most dialogue, and leaving openings for others to fill in, via discussion or their own fic. But that’s useless when it comes to engaging a general audience. Most of the audience didn’t want to do the work of filling in the holes themselves, they wanted to have the story do that, or at least provide enough context to paint a picture.

As for Kiss Players, while I don’t know if he wanted to purposefully offend the audience or just create shock value, it was a side story comic. It didn’t shape shows afterwards causing them to tank, and doesn’t have people looking at the last show aired and yawning out of sheer boredom.

[in-tua-deep]

Consider: they go back to rescue Grace and bring her to Ellie like she’s a robot but Diego insists she has feelings so can she stay? And Ellie the lumberjack lesbian just sorta stammers ‘uh yeah sure ok whatever’ because wow for a robot nanny she’s really cute?? And they fall in love

y’all are very insistent on this lmao for anyone new this is regarding the broken five au where Reginald tries to control Five by threatening Vanya’s life so the kids run away! for all of it check out the ellie fortuin tag ;3c

I should make a master list of my aus at some point smh

ANYWAY so after Reggie arrives and Ellie kicks him the entire fuck out the kids reveal that they wish they could also rescue their mother, which is the first Ellie is hearing about this (she assumed the reason they looked sad when she accidentally brought up mothers is because theirs gave the up and sold them to Reginald Fucking Hargreeves - she did her research when she figured out who they were okay)

but in all she looked up she didn’t find anything about Reginald Hargreeves being married or anything so ???

and there’s another thing she’s been meaning to do for a while which she kind of needs to go to the house/Reginald to do and whatever so, you know. She tells the kids she’s going out, puts on her nicest plaid shirt (because actually fuck getting dressed up to see this dude she’s going to wear her muddiest boots) and gives them all kisses and reminders to be good and then sets out

(she puts Marmalade in charge because as much as she complains about the cat she doesn’t trust Clyde not to be a pushover and at least Marm is street smart)

so there she is hammering on the door to the Umbrella Academy with a backpack pull of papers on her back, a lengthy consultation with a lawyer to remember, and a mission in her mind and the door opens and there is a chimpanzee in a suit looking at her and Ellie is honestly just kind of like “Ah you know now it makes some sense why the kids are weird about bringing up monkeys” and just embraces that her life is weird as she follows the chimp (who talks and has introduced himself as Pogo what the fuck) into the house and is told to wait while he informs Master Reginald of her arrival

and while she’s waiting impatiently and kicking off bit of dried mud on her boots to kick under the fancy furniture to be spiteful, she hears humming and who comes into view but an absolute angel?? Ellie would genuinely swear her heart skipped a beat

“Oh!” The Angel says, spotting her, looking mildly surprised, “A guest! Has Pogo already seen to you, dear?”

“Uh.” Ellie says, very intelligently as her brain short-circuits

“I’m Grace.” The Angel smiles warmly and Ellie genuinely wants the floor to open up and swallow her because she cannot form a single coherent sentence and also didn’t the kids say Grace was their mothers name this is not the random old lady she was expecting, “Are you here to see Mr. Hargreeves?”

Thankfully Ellie doesn’t have to embarrass herself any further by attempting to produce something approaching speech because Pogo is back and gesturing for Ellie to follow him.

“It was lovely meeting you.” Grace tells her, before turning back to cleaning or whatever she was doing and Ellie is helpless except to follow after Pogo to do what she actually came here to do.

So that’s what has Ellie standing in front of Reginald Hargreeves and slamming a whole bunch of papers on his desk and saying “Independent adoption” to him as though he, who literally bought seven children, did not know what adoption was.

And then there is a long an complicated argument that busts out a lot of legal terms and more than a few vague threats on both sides. Because Ellie does not want this man to have any legal power over her kids and apparently he is still under the delusion that the kids will ever go back to live and train under him or whatever which HA is not happening

“They need to stop the apocalypse.” Reginald Hargreeves insists to her face.

“Those kids,” Ellie says, voice low and dangerous, “Are powerful beyond measure, and before I got them they didn’t care about the world one lick. Because they’d never seen it. Because what had the world ever done for them? The only thing they knew about humanity was you, Reginald Hargreeves. And you taught them that people were cruel and ruthless and only wanted to use them. You taught them that people without powers were useless and worthless and ordinary.”

She opens her arms wide, “And you think that those kids would save the world? You think they would lift a finger to help humanity when all they knew was that it was evil? The way you were raising them, I’d be more shocked if it wasn’t them who caused the apocalypse for goodness sake.”

Reginald sits before her, pale in his fury, but she doesn’t drop it there.

“Luther likes building with his hands, and he’s really good at it. His favorite food is baby carrots because he likes the crunch and also likes sneaking them to Clyde. He likes helping people carry things to their cars and any praise makes him light up like a Christmas tree, bless him. And when I got him? He didn’t know how to help people, he only knew how to stop ‘bad guys’ and had no idea how to even talk to people.”

Reginald doesn’t say anything. Ellie presses on.

“Diego is an angry kid, yeah, but he had a heart of fucking gold. He’s the first one to volunteer to help with chores or dinner or anything. He’s protective as anything when it comes to his siblings. He was the one who brought home the cranky old tomcat that no one could get near just because he thought that he was lonely and needed a home. And when I got him? He would barely even talk to me because he thought he’d get in trouble for struggling with his words. Thought that his ideas were worth less somehow just because he took longer to get them out. And that’s what you taught him.”

Ellie is really still furious about that. Diego’s stuttering usually only surfaced when he was nervous or stressed now, which wasn’t as often as it used to be, but the fact that he told her once with anger and heartbreak on her face that he was just dumb broke her heart.

“Allison made friends quicker than anyone. She loves to talk to people. She was so excited to go to her friend’s birthday party and when I asked her why she said she’d never been allowed to have friends, before. Never allowed to have friends. Her and Klaus pick out some of the wildest clothes because they’d never been allowed to express themselves before. She’s so bright, and wonderful, and she loves going to the movies more than anything.”

“You can stop, now.” Reginald tells her.

“No I can’t.” Ellie surges up with a roar, clearly taking Reginald aback. “No, I can’t, because those kids are just that - kids. They didn’t know how to save the world because they didn’t even know what the world was! They weren’t allowed friends, they weren’t allowed outside, they weren’t allowed to be kids - do you know anything about them? Do you know that Klaus is brilliant at knitting, and that Vanya can be bribed into just about anything with butterscotch cookies? Do you know that Ben can’t get enough of soap operas, and that Luther would rather go a science museum over a gym any day of the week?”

Ellie shakes her head slowly. “Do you know that they’re all afraid of you? Does it make you feel big to have a bunch of children absolutely convinced that you would kill one of them to keep them in line?”

Reginald looks very tired. Ellie doesn’t feel very sorry for him though because she kind of wishes he was dead, so. “What do you want, Miss Fortuin?”

“Custody of the kids.” Ellie shoots back without hesitation. “I have the forms with me. I have arrangements made for a home inspection by the relevant people to make it official. I have the numbers of people to call to go through with it. They’re already living with me anyway, this would just make it official.”

“Why?” Reginald asks her, which is a fair question she supposes. She already has the kids and threatened Reginald into staying away from them, after all.

“It’s their birthday soon.” She tells him, after a long pause. “We finished the extension so they have their own rooms, even if they all end up camped in one. But I want to give them certainty. I want them to be absolutely sure that you can’t waltz right in and destroy everything that they’ve worked for. I want them to be less afraid.”

Reginald pulls the papers to him and starts scanning them, making Pogo (who had been standing silently by the door the entire time) start in alarm. “Sir? What about the apocalypse?”

And that just makes Ellie angry. She whirls around, jabbing a finger at the alarmed looking butler. “Why don’t you do something about the apocalypse, huh? Why don’t you fix the world? Those kids might have powers, but they are children. Fuck you for putting the weight of the world on their shoulders. Luther can pick up something really heavy? There’s an entire fucking sport that revolves around that, find one of those guys. Diego can curve knives? You built them a fucking robot mother I’m pretty sure it’s within your capabilities to makes some kind of targeting weapon. Heat seeking missiles exist, it’s not that much a stretch. Stop pinning all your hopes on them and start getting off your ass and do something yourselves you sanctimonious pricks.”

Pogo looks shocked. Reginald looks taken aback.

“They’re just little kids.” Ellie tells them, suddenly tired herself. “They’re just little kids. They aren’t soldiers in whatever war you’ve cooked up in your head. They deserve a chance to be happy.”

Reginald looks down at the papers, not managing to look her in the eye. “And if there is someone bringing about the end of the world? Will the children fight, then?”

“Maybe.” Ellie shoots back, no hesitation. “But before I let them have at it’s going to be me going in with my fucking wood axe first. Or at the very least I’ll be there right alongside them helping out. My axe will kill ‘em dead just as much as Diego’s knives or Vanya’s sound waves or Ben’s tentacles.”

Reginald sighs and signs the papers with a flourish. “Will there be anything else, Miss Fortuin?” He says it almost sarcastically, as thought he can’t imagine her needing anything else.

Ellie’s honestly surprised that it actually happened. She thought she’d leave her empty handed and furious but at least knowing she tried. She swipes the papers up into her hands, unwilling to give Reginald to chance to back out.

And then she decides to press her luck. “Actually, yeah. The kids want their mother back. I understand she’s a robot, so we’ll need the appropriate charging materials.”

Reginald raises an eyebrow at her.

“I’ll be back in a week to pick everything up. At the very least I’ll install charging stuff at my house so she can come and visit.” She feels a little bad for just demanding custody of the kids mother as if she’s just an object. Diego insists she’s a whole person who is just under the control of their dad, and unfortunate and hopefully fixable issue.

“It’s a robot.” Reginald says, almost dumbly. 

“She’s their mother.” Ellie corrects Reginald viciously, “And she did a damn sight better at parenting than you ever did, even though it must have been an uphill battle the entire time. I’ll be back in a week. Good day to you, sir.”

And with that she turns on her heel and strides out of the room, wondering when the fuck she turned into an angry character in some regency show. Good day to you, sir? Maybe it was the house. Or that ridiculous fucking monocle, god.

She almost runs right into Grace, who blinks at her and smiles beautifully.

“I’ll show you out.” Grace tells her, and Ellie doesn’t have anything to say to that. They get to the door, and Grace opens it, and - 

“Do you uh, do you want to come with us? In a week?” Ellie asks, before she gets all the way through, turning to Grace. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask I just - ”

“Thank you,” Grace cuts her off, eyes sparkling and Ellie knows she’s more than just a robot. “Thank you for taking care of my children. For doing what I could not. I will see you in a week.”

The door closes and Ellie is left on the other side with a whole bunch of papers in her arms and hope in her chest and the need to get in contact with more than one person to verify all of this and make this adoption go through.

There was still more to do - like changing the kids legal names (which were still numbers) and figuring out where the charging port and stuff would go in the house (would Grace want her own house?? Ellie was 100% sure they absolutely could not finish an entire small cabin in a week even between the eight of them but Ellie’s cabin wasn’t exactly as spacious as the mansion Grace would surely be used to - Ellie liked to refer to it as cosy)

(a week later, Ellie borrows a friend’s pickup and grabs all the stuff from the Hargreeves mansion she needs. Grace rides shotgun smiling the whole way there.)

(Ellie doesn’t mention that the ‘luggage’ Grace brought with her looks suspiciously like a wrapped up painting that may or may not have been stolen straight off of Reginald Hargreeves’ walls)

(Ellie might just be a little bit in love)

[pretty-rad-arson-dad]

Controlling Shock

Okay, so a few warnings for this one: It’s kinda fucked up, so if your sensitive to the topic of torture, even if it’s not intense torture, I recommend you not read this, or take caution while reading this. If you are also disgusted by yanderes or obsessive behavior, I also suggest caution.

Another thing, this was written some time before the release of The Fourth Closet, so this is not only old (Hence the somewhat cringy writing) but also some things won’t exactly add up. (Wording it like this as to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read it and desires to do so, cause it’s a pretty big fucking spoiler). This was also my first time writing something like... This, so it might not be the best.

---------------

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"William? Are you home?"

Henry stood outside his business partner's two-story house, sighing impatiently. William had told Henry to meet him here at 10:50 AM and he had been waiting out here for thirty minutes now.

Perhaps I could open the door?

Henry shrugged and figured he'd give it a try. The brunette placed his hand on the knob and turned it. Much to his surprise, the door actually opened.

Well, surely William wouldn't mind?

Taking a deep breath, Henry stepped inside the house and gently shut the door behind him.

"William? Are you home?"

Still no response.

Henry sighed and walked down the hall and peaked his head into the living room. Surprisingly empty. Usually Michael would be sitting there watching his weird vampire soap operas but now there was no sign of him.

Henry made his way into the kitchen, thinking that perhaps William had gotten so caught up in today's newspaper that he had completely drowned out the rest of the world.

But he wasn't in there either.

Henry checked everywhere. Everywhere except one room that he hadn't ever gone in.

William's study.

Henry opened the door to the study, only to be greeted with a large room that lacked of people. He nearly turned around and left, but there was an itching curiosity that took hold of him and it was telling him to look around. Henry tried reasoning with himself that it was just a study and that there wouldn't be anything interesting in there, but that small and curious part of him urged him to go on in.

So he did.

Henry entered the study and cautiously walked around. It was pretty decently sized and loaded with books of all kinds. Henry looked curiously at these. There were some on anatomy, robotics and others on history, even recognized some Shakespeare. Henry couldn't help but chuckle as he recognized some of the books he himself had gifted William back when they were younger. Amongst these was One Thousand and One Nights and The Phantom of the Opera.

Henry chuckled some more as he thought back to their high school years. While Henry had been more of the bookish and creative type, William had a thing for dramatics and entertaining people, hence why he was part of the theater group. William had played the role of the Phantom for his first school performance. He played the role quite well and later admitted to Henry that he had never read the book. So, as a graduation gift, Henry had bought it for him.

Henry smiled and shook his head at the thought. He remembered how ecstatic William had been about the gift.

Henry removed his hand from the book's spine and turned towards a desk that was located in the back center of room. He walked towards it and looked down at the contents that lay out upon it. Sketches and designs for possible animatronics. Henry picked them up to examine them a little closer.

They were oddly designed in both appearance and in features. Voice replication? Storage compartment? Scent lure?

Henry thought about it for a few moments, confused as to why William would find these to be useful features for robots, but ultimately decided that they actually were practical. They could use the scent and audio to help sooth an upset child who was feeling scared or had been separated from their parents. And the storage compartment could be useful for storing the spare parts for that particular animatronic.

What a brilliant mind Afton has, Henry thought to himself. He set down the sketches and looked at a few of the other things on William's desk. He also had a few pieces of merchandise from their first location, a bobble head of Albert Einstein and a journal.

Henry's eyes settled on the journal.

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at it. There was an lock on it, suggesting that this was a private journal at that it was for William's eyes only, but the lock was undone and hanging openly off its clasp. Henry thought for a moment about perhaps looking at the journal, but part of him was saying that this was a bad idea and could ruin the friendship that he and his business partner had. The other part of him was giddy with excitement at finding something in this seemingly boring room that was perhaps interesting after all. As the man thought, he didn't realize that he had already picked up the journal and opened it. Or maybe he did and his itching of curiosity had increased enough that he no longer cared.  

Henry started to read the pages.

At first, they were actually rather boring and slightly silly, full of mundane things and dumb discussions the two of them have had. Henry wasn't sure why but it surprised him to see his own name in there. They were best friends, after all. But there was also something else in there that shocked him and made him smile a little. The amount of innocent admiration for him that William had poured into those pages. William would go on for pages about how great he believed Henry was and how happy he was that the two of them were friends.

'For the first time I believe I've finally found someone who I can be myself around. Someone who understands me and someone I can look up to!'

Henry continued reading, realizing some things he had never known about them or their lives. He couldn't help but smile.

Until he reached a certain date. The date of the car crash that had nearly taken his best friend's life.

August 1, 1982.

It was from this point on in the journal that Henry noticed a change in William's entries. They seemed less cheerful and seemed to focus more on his failed marriage, Michael's rebellious behavior and just bad things in general. Up until January 1st of 1983.

The entries shifted from William's own family to Henry's. This would've been fine if it was expressing concern or showing innocent adorance. But this was different.

William was speaking about his family in disturbing detail. Cursing the name of Henry's now ex-wife, a strange envy of his late daughter Charlotte and a weirdly loving admiration towards his also dead son, Sammy. There was some stuff about Henry himself as well. But, just when Henry didn't think he could be more confused, he found Afton's disgusting confession.

He had been the one who had abducted Sammy.

Henry nearly gagged as he read about how he had tortured his poor son to death. It was in great detail.

Now any normal person would've thrown the book down and got the hell out of there, but Henry wanted answers.

So he kept reading, completely unaware that it would get horrifyingly worse.

Henry felt himself get more and more nauseated as he read on about how he murdered Charlotte in the alleyway and left her there. And then eventually... The five children that had gone missing in 1985. But what terrified Henry the most was the things that would come after these morbid and in-depth accounts of murder.

Obsessive writings about Henry.

The man would ramble on about how much he cared about Henry and talk about how he had followed him and stolen a few personal things from him so he could keep them as reminders of "all their time spent together." There was also talk of the dead children being "their family."

But what finally made Henry decide he needed to leave was his own name scribbled all over a lot good portion of the sheets along with a few other unsettling things .

But most importantly, how William loved him.

Henry slammed the book closed and made a wreching sound. His heart was racing and his head was spinning. He felt like he was gonna puke.

I need to get the fuck out of here and call the fucking cops!

But one thing Henry wasn't expecting was someone showing up. And he certainly wasn't expecting the heavy object hitting him in the head.

The next thing Henry remembered was waking up. His head was pulsing with a dull ache and he couldn't move. With some coaxing, he managed to open his eyes and look around. He was in a dark room and his arms and legs were bound to a chair.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Henry shouted. His voice came out horse and raspy.

"Shhhhhhhh. You'll hurt your throat." a familiar voice said. Henry looked around in a panic and the person chuckled. "Oh Henry~. You seem scared~."  

"W-William, let me go!"

Chuckling, the English man came forward from the shadows. "You know, part of me prefers you unconscious." he said. "You look so peaceful like that. Not trying to fight or scream." William gripped Henry's chin harshly and leaned down to his eye level. "However, if you were unconscious, I wouldn't be able to look into those beautiful eyes of yours." he mumbled. His face was uncomfortably close. Henry could feel William's breath against his face.

William cracked a toothy smile and moved his lips up to Henry's ear.

"I can hear your heart beat, darling~" he breathed in the man's ear. Henry squirmed and tried to lean away, but William's firm and almost painful grip on his chin held him in place. "It's a shame that you decided to snoop about." William sighed. "But I'm not mad, Hen—"

"JUST LET ME GO!"

William pulled away, chuckling as he let go of Henry's chin. "Oh Henry~. You know I can't do that~." he purred. "You know too much~."

"William please! I promise I won't tell anyone!"

William shook his head as he walked away from Henry. "I know you're lying, darling. I know you better than anyone."

William grabbed some clamps off a nearby table.

"W-William, what are you—"

William grinned and sparked the clamps. Henry's eyes widened in terror.

"I'm going to have fun~."William slowly sauntered towards Henry, savoring the horrified expression in the brunette's eyes. He could feel his heart racing with excitement. A sadistic smile spread across William's face as he spoke in a low and playful tone.

"It's time for your controlled shock~."

Before Henry could let out a protest, William had attached the clamps to him. Henry threw back his head and screamed in agony as the electricity pulsed throughout his entire body. William pulled them away and looked at Henry, still smiling.

"Are those tears I see~?" William asked in a low purr. "Let me just—"

The scrawny man began to lick Henry's face. "Mmm so salty~." Henry let out a sob as William pulled away.

"W-WILLIAM PLEASE! YOU NEED HELP YOU NEED—" William cut him off.

"NO!" he shouted, clutching the clamps tightly in his hands. "I'm sick of having to hide these feelings, Henry! I love you! I love you more than anything and anyone!"

"THIS ISN'T LOVE!" Henry screamed. "THIS IS JUST SICK! YOU'RE SI—"

William gritted his teeth and shocked Henry again, causing him to let out another pained scream. This surge was even worse than the last.

"No... You're the one who's sick, Henry. But don't worry. I'm going to cure you~!" William said, tears running down his face, his twisted smile returning. "And once you're cured, we can be happy together~!"

The clamps were withdrawn a second time, allowing Henry some time to gasp and sob. He looked up at William, his expression pleading for mercy despite it being hopeless.

"You're eyes truly speak of life~." William purred. "They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen~."

Henry squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, causing William to let out a low growl. "Look at me, Henry." When Henry didn't comply, William shocked him again, causing Henry's eyes to fly open and roll back. He began to convulse and drool.  

This pain... This pain was the worst.

William removed the clamps and set them down before grabbing a fist full of Henry's hair and pulling his head up.

"Look at you... Even more defenseless and weak than usual~." he purred, licking the drool off of Henry's face. "I've been wanting to get you like this for quite some time now~."

William's licks quickly became soft kisses. Henry's head hung limply and his eyes were glazed and empty. He could barely process any of William's words. His body felt weak and he could hear his heart pulsing in his head.  

But he was wide awake.

"Hmm... It seems I may have turned the voltage up too high..." William hummed, studying Henry's expression. "However, that means I get to spend some more quality time with you without the struggling and screaming~."

William gently ran his hands across Henry's chest, feeling him. "Your so well defined~." he purred, worshipfully caressing the man's belly. He looked down at Henry's crotch before looking back up at his drained face. "But I wonder what it must be like down there~."

Henry let out a groan of disapproval at the idea William was possibly presenting. He'd be screaming if he could.

"No. I must restrain myself." William mumbled to himself, casting down his eyes. "Now isn't the time. That will be later." He looked back up at Henry before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Michael should be home any minute, love. I'll prepare something and bring it down for you." he whispered, pecking Henry's cheek before getting up and leaving.

William quickly made his way up the stairs and locked the basement door behind him.

"Dad, I'm home!" Michael called, walking up to him. William said a quick hello before making his way to the kitchen.

"How was the trip?" William asked, turning on the stove.

"It was okay." Michael replied.

William made a noise of acknowledge as he grabbed a pot and filled it with water before putting it on the stove.

"Don't you think it's a little too early for eating dinner?" Michael asked.

"I'm hungry and didn't eat lunch." William said, grabbing a box of spaghetti and opening it.

"You really need to eat." Michael mumbled.

William hummed as he watched the pot

"Seriously, dad, what will you do when I move out?" Michael asked.

"You make it sound as if I don't eat unless you remind me to." William said, pouring in the noodles once the water began to boil.

"Well sometimes that really is the case." Michael replied. "Anyways, I'm gonna go catch up on The Immortal and the Restless, so I'll be in the living room if you need me."

William smiled and nodded as Michael walked out. But he wasn't smiling for his son. He could care less about him.

All that mattered was the roboticist in his basement.

[eldritchsurveys]

706.

Would you date someone who still lived with their parents? >> I don’t date, but if I did, that wouldn’t be a dealbreaker in itself. I think it would depend on how the situation was -- sometimes it’s just easier financially, or sometimes they’re taking care of a parent who is ill. All that is fine. But if it’s an obvious codependency situation or something like that, I’d regard that as a red flag. Are you a generous person? >> I can be generous. I can also be not generous. Do you have a close relationship with your family? >> I have no relationship with my family. Would you have to sleep with someone before marrying them? >> I did not sleep with the person I’m married to. But I do think that sleeping with one’s partner before tying the knot is a very logical thing for people in sexual relationships to do. Do you think there is life on other planets? >> I think it’s highly likely.

Do you own a car? >> No. Would it bother you if your bf/gf flirted with someone else? >> Not at all. Would you enjoy a night of playing video games? >> Sure, if I was in a gaming mood. Are you sexually attracted to any inanimate objects? >> I’m attracted to some buildings and I’ve always had a thing for robots and various related forms of machinery. Do you dream of traveling the world or are you happy where you are? >> I always dream of travelling. Have you traveled internationally? >> Not yet. Would you watch a porno with your partner? >> If I was in that kind of relationship, sure, absolutely. Have you ever stolen from your work? >> --- How much does intelligence turn you on? >> Intelligence isn’t a thing I consider sexy. Passion and curiosity can be attractive, yes, but just being able to rattle off math figures or various history facts or whatever isn’t going to turn me on. Seems kind of boring to me, without the aforementioned passion and curiosity anyway. Do you ask someone out or wait for them to ask you? >> --- Do you watch soap operas? >> Well, I watch Grey’s Anatomy. Do you own any sex toys? >> Nope. Do you talk about your sex life with either of your parents? >> --- Do you search someone on the Internet before a first date? >> --- Are you married,engaged, or in a relationship with someone u want to marry? >> Married. How often do you use facebook at work? >> --- Do you enjoy television or movies better? >> I mean, it’s not a comparison. I enjoy watching both. Do you have a friendship that has lasted for 10 years or longer? >> Surprisingly. Elle and I are still friends and we met in 2009. Would you date someone half your age? >> Again, I don’t date, but I definitely wouldn’t date a 16yo if I did. Would you consider donating your body to science after you die? >> I’ve considered it. I prefer decaying. Are you a romantic person? >> No. Would you be okay with your partner hanging with their ex as friends? >> Absolutely. Are you careful with your money? >> I mean, as careful as I can be, I guess, considering I don’t have much of it in the first place. Do you have a current passport? >> No. Do you like to be friends with someone before dating them? >> If I was ever going to date, it’d be this way. Do you like soccer? >> No. Is it more fun to go out just with your date or on a group date? >> --- How often do you go dancing/clubbing? >> I don’t. Have you had a relationship with someone of the same sex? >> Yes. Is marriage a necessity for two people who love each other? >> No. Do you meditate? >> I have tried to establish a meditation routine at least 5 different times, and it never sticks. Sometimes I just do little spontaneous contemplative moments instead, since that seems to suit me better. Have you ever been fired from a job? >> No. Is there anything you think science will never be able to explain? >> Sure, maybe. I wouldn’t argue with anyone about it, but I don’t think science is the be-all and end-all when it comes to interpreting the universe. Do you cook fancy meals for dates? >> --- Is intoxication ever an acceptable excuse for acting stupid? >> It’s a reason. Whether it’s a reason I’m willing to accept and forgive or not varies with the situation (and the intoxicated person in question). Do you believe in an afterlife? >> No. Well, I mean. We interpret Inworld as an afterlife, so I guess I technically believe in one life-after-life kind of situation, but... that’s different. I don’t necessarily believe that that’s what’s going to happen to me, for instance. Do you litter? >> Nah. Would you have sex with someone hot who you hated? >> No, dude. Do you have a career plan? >> No. Do you mostly cook your own meals? >> No, Sparrow cooks most of the meals. Have you ever been arrested? >> Kind of. I say “kind of” because I’m not sure if “taken into night court because of an open-container fine I didn’t pay” counts as an arrest. I wasn’t booked or anything. Could you live with someone who was really messy? >> Noooo. That’s part of what got Sigma kicked out. Are sex and love the same thing? >> Obviously not. Do you go to church? >> No. Do you have pets? >> I live with a cat. How many concerts do you attend a year? >> Zero or one, nowadays (depends on whether we can afford Trans-Siberian Orchestra when ticket sale time comes around). I’d like to go to more but I have. specific requirements. Do you enjoy getting drunk? >> No. I enjoy being buzzed, but beyond that I just get fucking tired. Do you believe in fate or destiny? >> “Destiny” (or ka as they like to call it over there in All-World) is 100% some Roland Deschain bullshit and I’m not about that life. Have you ever called your friend a slut? >> Not maliciously. Are you attracted to someone with Power? >> I mean, what kind of power are we talking about? Self-actualisation and emotional stability, confident resilience, is a kind of power. That’s attractive. Charisma is a kind of power. That can be attractive, depending on how it’s applied. Social capital and career success is a kind of power, but that doesn’t attract me. Doing nothing all day makes you feel…? >> Worthless, but what the fuck do you want from me. Have you ever had sex with someone you worked with? >> --- Do you have any children? >> No. Would you date someone just for the sex? >> --- Do you give money to charities? >> No. Have you ever shot a gun? >> No. Have you ever gone on a blind date? >> Yeah, long time ago. Have you ever had a one night stand? >> I’ve had way too many, because I really didn’t fucking know any better. Are you a passionate person? >> I don’t feel like I am. I guess that’s why I find passion attractive, because it’s a thing I’m missing. Do you consider yourself a positive person? >> Ehh. Have you ever lied about the number of sexual partners you’ve had? >> No. Are Sex and Intimacy the same thing? >> Sex is a kind of intimacy. Have you ever played strip poker? >> No. How often do you get angry? >> Not very. I tend to get irritable and impatient and stuff like that, but not full-on angry. Do you consider yourself an emotional person? >> Well, yeah. Just not the same way as other people. Is work important to you? >> --- Have you had cosmetic surgery? >> No. On a first date do you pay or do they? >> --- Do you only date people who have jobs or are full-time students? >> --- Could you date someone who does drugs? >> --- Are you a jealous person? >> No. Do you enjoy watching sports? >> No. Except for figure skating, that’s the tits. Are you a cat or a dog person? >> --- Is a girl who’s slept with 100 guys a bad person? >> Why the fuck would that make them a bad person? Answer me that. Do you offend people? >> I mean, I’m sure I do on occasion. You can’t really avoid it. Do you prefer people in your life be simple or complex? >> What even is a simple person? I assume everyone has a rich internal life just like I do. Seems better than assuming the opposite... Have you ever been to a sex shop? >> I’ve been to a lot of sex shops. Have you ever had a threesome? >> Yes. I vastly prefer Inworld ones to outworld ones, just saying. Do you enjoy discussing politics? >> No. I refuse to discuss politics, in fact. I will listen to a discussion if it remains civil, and see if I can learn anything from it, but I won’t participate. Would you do a striptease for your partner? >> No. Would you date someone who doesn’t have a car? >> --- Do you enjoy dancing? >> Yes, very much. You have a week off, travel or stay home? >> --- Does spending the weekend at home annoy you? >> No, but I do like to get out if possible, even if just to the store. Right now, it’s not possible (unless it’s to the store, and even then only for essential items), and it’s killing me. Is it wrong to watch porn if you’re in a relationship? >> Not for me, it isn’t. Obviously other people have varied opinions. Do you think men should pay for everything on dates? >> I legitimately do not give a single fuck about this or any of these dating questions, sigh. Would you tie up a partner if they asked you to do so? >> No, because I have no expertise in knot-tying and that’s not safe. But I’d probably be okay with simple restraints. Do you consider yourself open minded? >> Yes. Are you a virgin? >> No. Have you ever had sex in a public place? >> Yes. Do others find you sexy? >> I don’t particularly care if they do. It wouldn’t do me any favours. Have you ever met someone in person you met online? >> Quite a few times. Would you date someone twice your age? >> --- Should a child caught masturbating be punished? >> Absolutely fucking not??? Why is this even a question. (Don’t answer that. I know why. It’s just that the “why” is so disappointing.) How often do you drink? >> Eh. Depends. Coffee or tea? >> Tea. Do you tell your friends you love them? >> I don’t tell anyone I love them. Inworlders notwithstanding, but it’s different there.

[stevemossington]

seasons pass and we’re not the same

(reposting because the first chapter of the sequel drops soon!!)

Summary: Holidays can be tough. But neither Wheelers nor the Byers were prepared for this Thanksgiving, when a long-hidden secret finally came to light. Nothing would ever be the same. (also on AO3)

November 1998

“The blue striped polo? No, no, the grey button-down.” Mike muttered to himself under his breath as he threw clothes into his duffel bag. He’d left packing until the last minute, which was not a surprise. But he would be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t because he was feeling unsettled about the trip. He hadn’t been to Hawkins since Holly’s high school graduation the past June. And that was nothing new: he only returned for major holidays now.

He heard the front door open and a voice called out. “Hey hon, you almost ready to go?”

“Yep, just finishing packing. I’ll be out in a sec.”

He tossed in some extra socks and zipped up the weathered blue bag before heading out to the living room, doubling back to grab his toothbrush. His girlfriend stood by the entry, arms crossed and head cocked in mock exasperation. But she quickly broke into a smile and he leaned down to peck her cheek.

“Okay, okay, now I’m ready.”

“Perfect, I’ve got the car out front.”

Mike stood up straight and saluted her. “Lead the way, Sophie.”

Sophie smirked and reached out to tickle under his arm. “You’re such a dork.”

They headed down to the car.

Mike was looking forward to his mom’s delicious home cooking, but he knew there would be the usual jabs about how he never visited. Even Nancy, who lived in New York, came home more often than he did. Luckily, now that she and Jonathan were married, Thanksgiving included the Byers so he’d have Will there with him. However, this was the first time Mike was bringing his girlfriend home. The first girl he’d ever introduced to his family. Yeah, there was definitely going to be some teasing.

Sophie was sweet and smart. Wispy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes which were slightly magnified under her large wire-frame glasses. She had a wry humor and they got along well.  And, most importantly, she was completely separate from his childhood. They’d met in the same graduate program at Northwestern and quickly became friends, each being a little awkward and nerdy. They both ended up in Chicago after finishing their degrees, and after a few years their friendship turned into a relationship. Mike was happy.

Sophie fiddled with the radio as he drove them out of the city, finally setting on a classic rock station.

“I can’t believe I’m finally meeting your family. It’s been what, like a year and a half?”

“That’s not that long.”

“Yeah but we’ve known each other for years and you’ve met my family like ten times so…”

“Well that’s not fair, they live right outside the city. Hawkins isn’t exactly next door.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that hard to get to.” She softly added, “We could go more often, you know.”

“I know. I just… I like my life here. Our life here.” He reached for her hand over the center console and interlaced their fingers. He was happy she was coming with him, he really was.

Going back to Hawkins was never easy, but it didn’t help that this year was the 15th anniversary of Will’s disappearance. Of her.

He shook his head, as if that would clear away his unwanted thoughts. It would be fine.

November 1984

It had been five days. Five days since the gate had been closed, five days since Will had been saved. Five days since El had walked back into Mike’s life.

It was Friday afternoon and Mike had been given special permission to keep El company while Hopper was at work. The chief was in the process of planning the next steps for her, and in the meantime she was still on house arrest. But, as a special compromise, he’d given Mike the directions to the cabin, along with a stern lecture about the importance of being stealthy.

For El, it was far beyond halfway-happy.

They were splayed across the couch, some soap opera softly playing in the background, Mike’s fingers working their way through El’s curls. This was their first time truly alone, with no impending doom or pesky, well-meaning friends.

For Mike, it was the turning point, the beginning of the rest of their lives. He told her about all the things they would do once she could leave: the games at the arcade and the movies at the local theater and the lake in the summer. But there was something in the near future that he was especially interested in.

“So...I dunno if Hopper will let you, but I was thinking maybe…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we could go to the Snow Ball this year.” He blushed as she stared at him, her wide doe eyes shining.

“Promise?” She asked in a soft voice, and Mike felt bright inside, so much lighter than the last time they’d discussed the stupid school dance. Everything was going to be okay.

“Promise.”

He sat up and was tempted to kiss her, but was interrupted by sudden, heavy footsteps on the porch. The door burst open, one of the hinges breaking off, and armored men holding machine guns stormed in. El was up in a flash, hand held in front of her chest and her chin pulled down, but nothing seemed to be happening. Her eyes grew large as she panicked. Time slowed for Mike, like he was stuck in a dream. He could tell that her powers weren’t working. What was happening?

The men parted and a small boy stepped forward. He didn’t look much younger than them, wearing a navy sweatsuit and a fresh buzz cut. A droplet of blood was just beginning to form under his nose. A tall man stood beside him in a crisp suit, his hand gently, but territorially, on the boy’s shoulder. His smile reminded her of Papa.

“Eleven, it’s good to finally meet you. I’m Dr. Randolph. And this is Twelve.”

Mike was struck by the cold and hard look in the boy’s eyes. He was almost like a robot. El kept trying to overcome the block and began to shake, blood leaking from both nostrils.

“Don’t exhaust yourself. This is Twelve’s special ability.”

“What do you want?” Mike asked, attempting to sound braver than he felt. Randolph didn’t even spare a glance his way.

“We’ve come to take you to your new home, my dear. We have work to do, Eleven. We aren’t even close to being finished.”

“No.” She was trying to keep her voice level, but a tremor broke through.

“No?” Randolph flicked his eyes over to one of the soldiers and briskly nodded. The man grabbed Mike, holding him close and pressing an arm against his throat. Mike struggled to breathe.

“Mike!” El gasped, taking a step forward before she felt a barrier in the air, pushing her back. Another drop of blood leaked from Twelve’s nose.

“What is your plan here, Eleven? To go to school? To play with your friends? To be a normal child? Oh, you have never been anything but extraordinary. You are meant for so much more.”

“I don’t want it.” El whispered. “This is my home.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You are property of the United States government. You have no birth certificate, no legal identity. You don’t exist. The chief? He has nowhere to go to make you official. You aren’t a real person. But you are so much more than that.”

She said nothing, but a few tears escaped down her cheeks and Mike’s heart ached. He struggled against the soldier’s arms but the hold on his throat tightened.

“Of course, if you refuse to cooperate, we’ll be forced to come after your friends. After all, they would be stealing, stealing from the US government. Let’s see…” He pulled out a paper from his inner pocket and studied it. “Nancy Wheeler. Lucas Sinclair. Dustin Henderson. Joyce Byers. James Hopper. And, of course, Michael here.”

Randolph looked over at Mike and gave another nod. It happened so quick, an instant blinding pain in his hand. Mike couldn’t contain his scream; the man had broken his finger.

“Stop!” El cried, choking on her tears. She turned to Randolph and tried not to look at Twelve’s dead eyes. “Okay...okay. I’ll go.”

“El, no-” Mike shouted, but his mouth was quickly covered. He shouted against the glove and struggled to remove it with his good hand.

Randolph smiled. “Good, then that’s taken care of. Let’s go.”

He swept out of the cabin, Twelve at his heels and the soldiers following. The guard dropped Mike and nudged El forward. She paused at the door, turning back to see him crumpled on the kitchen floor. She tried to convey everything through her eyes, every thought and feeling, most of which she couldn’t have named if she wanted to. She was about to give herself over to the water and he was her last gasp of air. She could only whisper, “Goodbye, Mike.”

And then she was gone. He was left crying on the floor, the cabin full of an oppressive silence, the overturned chairs the only sign of a disruption. She was gone. She was gone.

Mike would remember everything that happened in the cabin with painful clarity; the aftermath would become fuzzy memories. A hysterical phone call to the police station, frantically biking out of the woods while trying to ignore his throbbing finger. Tearful words over the supercom, Lucas finding him in the ditch by Mirkwood. He must have fallen off his bike, crying too hard to properly see. Ending up at the Byers’ house, still only halfway repaired from the past weekend.

That was the moment Mike would always recall, wedged between Will and Nancy on the couch, Dustin sitting at their feet with his hand on Mike’s knee. Lucas and Max looked on from the other couch, with matching trails of tear stains on their cheeks. Jonathan busied himself in the kitchen, frying up eggs that no one was hungry for. There was still no sign of Hopper, and Joyce had gone to look for him.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” Mike cried over and over, sobbing into his sister’s shirt. “They must have followed me. It’s my fault.”

They never saw her again.

November 1998

“Okay, you can’t make fun of my Star Trek posters anymore,” Sophie laughed as she stood in the middle of Mike’s childhood bedroom.

“Uh, please, it’s called taste,” Mike retorted. She scoffed sarcastically and continued to look around the room.

Things were going well so far. His dad had been polite and even seemed interested in what Sophie was saying. His mom was in her element, a glass of wine in one hand, flitting around the kitchen. Holly, home from her first semester at nearby IU, was totally enamored of Sophie and stayed close to her side.

Sophie gasped. “Oh my god, is this…?” She twirled around, holding up a framed photo. “Little Mike? Oh my goodness, and little Will and Lucas. And this must be...Dustin, right?”

She cooed as she gazed down at the photo from the science fair, all those years ago. He took it from her and squinted down at it.

“Yeah, I think we’re like twelve here.”

They heard a snicker from the doorway and turned to see Holly leaning into the room with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Sophie, you wanna see some embarrassing Mike photos, then you better come with me.”

Sophie squeezed Mike’s arm before trotting after his sister, their giggles echoing in the hallway. He looked back down at the frame in his hand, using his sleeve to wipe a smudge from the glass. Then he carefully undid the backing, pulling out the second photo that had been hidden inside. An old black-and-white that Jonathan had snuck of Mike and Eleven on the couch the morning after she had closed the gate. A plate of Eggos was balanced on Mike’s lap and El was curled into his side, smiling as she looked down at the waffles. He was looking at her. Dustin, Lucas and Max were piled on the floor below them, still dead asleep. Jonathan had given Mike the photo a few weeks after she’d left.

The only photo he had of her. The only photo of El, their El, that existed. The only proof he had that she had been real.

You don’t exist. You’re not a real person. Those words especially had haunted him since that day, digging into his psyche until he sometimes wondered if he had dreamed her up. He’d never repeated them to anyone. They’d felt too foreign on his tongue, too utterly wrong.

“Mike! Nancy and the Byers are here!” His mom yelled from downstairs. Mike quickly put the photo back into place and closed up the frame before jogging out of the room. He only got halfway down the stairwell before he saw Will standing at the bottom with his arms open.

“Wheeler!”

“Byers!”

“You guys know that doesn’t really work when we’re all Byers and Wheelers here, right?” Nancy said with a wry smile while she watched her brother and brother-in-law embrace.

“Sophie’s not...yet,” Holly chimed in slyly.

“That’s right! Dear brother, please introduce me to the guest of honor.”

Mike rolled his eyes but laughed. After introductions were made, they set the table and feasted, trading old stories and laughter over the plethora of dishes.

Afterwards everyone scattered to digest before dessert. Ted promptly fell asleep in his recliner, while Joyce helped Karen clean up in the kitchen. Holly had the idea to run to the video store to rent something for the family to watch after pie and she recruited Sophie to help.

“Holly really loves Sophie, huh?” Will said teasingly as he and Nancy watched the girls head to the car.

Nancy shrugged. “She never knew El so...I suppose this is all new to her.”

He was surprised - he’d never thought about it. But of course… He, Nancy, Jonathan - they’d all been subconsciously comparing Sophie to El. That’s what seemed so weird about the whole thing. He felt bad - it wasn’t fair to Sophie. Or Mike, either.

The girl he hadn’t seen or heard of since middle school. No, not fair at all.

When Mike walked back into the kitchen, Will grabbed him a beer and suggested going downstairs to look at the old hangout space. They weren’t down there long before Jonathan joined them and they reminisced about their old D&D campaigns.

“Remember the campaign with the Thessalhydra? And those weird flowers in the cave that you didn’t ever explain?”

“Hey, I was twelve, not some professional novelist.”

“I guess we never really did play much after middle school, huh?”

Mike shrugged, eyes on the carpet. “Just wasn’t fun anymore.”

There was a silence here that would have normally gone unacknowledged, but Will found himself speaking anyway. Maybe it was the wine loosening his tongue or maybe it was that Nancy’s words were still fresh in his mind. Either way, he put a hand on Mike’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s okay. I just can’t believe it’s been so long.”

Jonathan fiddled with his bottle on the couch tearing at the label. Will looked at Mike with concern.

“Mike, you gotta stop blaming yourself for that.”

“I can’t.”

“You were just a kid, you were both kids.”

“It was bound to happen anyway,” Jonathan added.

“What?” Will asked.

“I mean, they were never gonna stop looking for her, y’know? They thought of her as their property. She wasn’t a real person to them. She didn’t exist in the real world.”

Mike whipped his head to look at him. “What did you say?”

“She was considered government property. She didn’t officially exist as a real person. She didn’t have paperwork or anything.”

“How…” He paused, swallowing hard. “How did you know that?”

Something in Mike’s eyes changed and Jonathan knew he had made a mistake.

November 1984

It had been four days. Four days since his house was torn apart again, four days since he watched his brother writhe in pain while strapped to a bed. Four days since he’d been allowed to find comfort in Nancy’s arms.

It was Thursday night and Jonathan was finally leaving after his late shift at the diner. He was tired - he’d been taking extra shifts to help pay for fixing up the house and since his mom had been staying home with Will the last few days. He groaned internally as he thought of the history reading he still had to do.

He wasn’t pleased when he saw two figures loitering by his car on the far side of the parking lot. His coworker, Eric, noticed too.

“You need any help?” He asked as they both paused outside the restaurant. One of the men looked up and Jonathan realized he recognized him - Murray Bauman. His heart dropped and he waved off Eric.

“Nah, I know him. Go on home.”

“Night, man.”

Jonathan tried to ignore the pit in his stomach as he walked toward his car. He’d only seen the disgraced journalist four days ago - when he had told them to not contact him again. This couldn’t be good.

“Ah, Jonathan Byers. Long time, no see.”

Again, it had been four days.

“Murray.” Jonathan nodded before hesitantly asking, “What’s going on?”

Murray smiled wide, showing his teeth and Jonathan was reminded of the wolves from those old fairy tales. This man was going to devour him if he wasn’t careful.

“I’d like to introduce you to a…” He turned to the dark-haired man beside him and cocked his head. “Well, would you say we’re friends, Larry?”

“I think that will depend, Mr. Bauman.” The man turned back to Jonathan and extended his hand. “Dr. Randolph. A pleasure to meet you, Jonathan.”

Jonathan kept his hands firmly in the pockets of his jeans. “Can I help you?”

“Right to business. I knew I would like you.”

“Yeah, so uh, Larry here works for another branch of the illustrious Department of Energy.”

Jonathan could tell that Murray was driving Randolph crazy but that the man was trying to keep it together.

“Apparently they intercepted the tapes we sent. All of them. And…”

Randolph cut in. “Look, we’re not stupid. We know you still have the original tape. So I’d like to make a deal. We’ll let you send out the altered tapes, with the information about ‘leaked toxins’ and the government covering up Barbara Holland’s death. And if a publication chooses to expose it - and I’m sure one of them will - we’ll go ahead and close Hawkins Lab. Place is too much of a liability now anyway.”

Jonathan could tell that there was more. “But?”

“Smart boy!” Murray barked and smacked his hand against the hood of the car.

Jonathan kept his eyes on Randolph. “What do you want?”

The doctor had an unsettling smile, too. “I need to know where Eleven is.”

He wasn’t expecting this. Why didn’t he expect this? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Murray gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, cut the shit kid, he knows that you know about her.”

“And we know she’s been back,” Randolph added.

“You want me to turn her in?”

“I do. She belongs to us.”

“She’s a little girl.”

“And a very dangerous one. Look, here’s the deal. She will never have a normal life. Ever. She has no birth certificate; she is in no way a legal citizen. She has no legal identity. She won’t be able to go to school. She won’t be able to get a driver’s license, a job, married. In the eyes of the government, she does not exist. Except as its property.”

“You really think I give a shit what the government thinks?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just telling you what the reality is. She will have to live off the grid, for the rest of her life. And so will anyone that associates with her.” He pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and peered at it. “Nancy and Mike Wheeler? Your brother? Your mother?” He clucked in disapproval. “Harboring a fugitive is a federal crime.”

“How can she be a fugitive if she doesn’t exist?”

“Son, this is the U.S. government. We can make her exist when we need to.”

Murray spoke up. “Look, Jonathan, we still have a chance to do what we wanted. To finish what we started, what Nancy started. Your friends, your family? They have a real shot at a happy life here. A life where your brother is healthy and left alone. Where your mom doesn’t have to worry about him. Where Nancy is happy, where she’s avenged her friend.”

Murray and Randolph stared down at him and he realized how trapped he was. How utterly fucked he was.

“Okay, okay. All right.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed. “The chief is hiding her.”

“Chief Hopper?”

“Yeah. I can give you directions to the place.”

He described it as best he could, remembering the directions that Hopper had given him only days ago. When Randolph finished taking notes, he nodded at Jonathan.

“Pleasure doing business. Keep an eye on the papers. Have a good night.”

Murray clapped him on the shoulder, a sick smile on his face. “I knew you’d be the one to help. Nancy’s too…” He waved his hand from side to side. “Ehhh, idealistic. Noble. You and I know how things really go, don’t we?”

Jonathan just stared back at him, not trusting himself to reply. He watched as the men walked back to their car and tried not to throw up. What had he done? What had he done?

Eleven was powerful. She would be able to fight them off, right?

Twenty-four hours later, as he listened to Mike sob in his living room, Jonathan realized just how wrong he was. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

November 1998

The story unraveled from Jonathan, as if it had been trying to escape all along. A deadly silence hung in the air.

“What?” Mike asked in a low voice. Will was stock still, arms wrapped around himself. There was a noise on the stairs and the boys turned to see Nancy standing on the bottom step.

“Did you hear all that?” Mike asked his sister.

She bit her lip and nodded; she didn’t look shocked. Why didn’t she look shocked? Mike’s eyes widened and he backed away a few steps.

“You knew. You knew about this.”

“Not at first. Not for the first few months or so.”

“But you knew. So much for we tell each other everything, right?” His raised his voice, pain edging it. “You knew!”

“Jonathan?” Will asked, shaking his head in astonishment. Everything had changed.

“I had to make a decision. Okay? I’m not happy about it. I’m not proud of it.”

Mike started to pace. “I thought it was all my fault. I always blamed myself. You knew that, Nancy. You let me think that!”

“Mike…” She whispered and Jonathan held up a hand.

“Hey, don’t blame her.”

Mike spun around to face him, his finger shaking as he pointed it at him. “You don’t tell me what to do. You don’t fucking tell me what to do!”

Nancy took two steps forward to stand between them, arms outspread.

“Calm down, Mike.”

“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” He threw his beer bottle against the far wall, the bottleneck breaking off.

Jonathan frowned, his patience for Mike wearing thin. “What, were we all just gonna become fugitives? I wanted Will to be okay, I wanted Nancy to be okay. My mom, everyone.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Will said from the corner he had backed up into, but no one seemed to hear.

“Yeah, Hopper seems to be doing real well,” Mike snapped.

“We don’t know that,” Nancy said. “No one’s heard from him in years.”

Mike’s eyes grew wild and he let out a short hollow laugh. “Yeah, because your husband fucked him over. Practically pushed him down the bottle.”

“Mike, that’s not fair.”

“I wanted everyone to be able to have their lives back.”

“Not everyone,” Mike growled.

“What?”

“NOT EVERYONE!” He roared, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Will thought he saw the lamp flicker beside him. He wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed.

“She was my future. You took that from me. No, you know what? You took that from her!” Mike slammed his palm against the wall and everyone jumped. “She was a person; she was a human! You took her life away. You basically killed her.” He choked on a sob and whispered, “How could you?”

He sank onto the couch and continued to cry. No one dared to move.

“Mike?”

Sophie stood on the basement stairs, looking confused and concerned, Holly just one step above her. Karen hovered in the doorway. Joyce was beside her, hand covering her mouth.

“I think we need to talk.”

Mike rubbed a hand over his puffy, tearstained face and nodded. Jonathan forced himself to meet his mother’s eyes. Nancy finally let herself cry. Will clasped his hands together in a futile attempt to stop them from trembling.

Nothing was the same.

November 1998

Eleven stood in the void, watching the scene unfold in the basement before her. She’d managed to keep her cool for the most part, only breaking once. It seemed like no one noticed though. Maybe Will. He always was more attuned to those things than the others.

She felt tangled inside, her heart within a vice that was slowly tightening. But even though it had been months since she’d last looked in on Mike, on any of them, her eyes remained dry. She didn’t cry much anymore.

There was a soft splashing in the background and Fifteen came to stand beside her. “Who are they?”

“No one. Just people I used to know.”

Fifteen sighed and ran a hand through her silky black hair. “We should get going. This assignment won’t be easy.”

Eleven gave a short nod and a tight smile. “Let’s go.”

The Wheelers and the Byers faded away into the darkness as the girls moved on to their next mark.

Goodbye Mike.  

[miileskine]

I'm gonna keep writing beginnings to things I like whoop ;;

((also does anyone even know about Giant Robo anymore? I friggin love it and highly recommend it if you like anime soap operas with robots and super powered characters that are never explained. It’s like only 7 episodes long, too! ;w; ;; ))

Silver never quite enjoyed the long drives it took to get to M2’s mansion base, having to traverse winding mountainside roads and usually in the rain, the only light coming from the passing streetlamps, but he’d admit that having Yellow there made it a bit more bearable.

“What do you suppose Red’s going to have us do?” Yellow asked quietly.

He could sense her apprehension easily, despite her sitting in the passenger seat beside him as he focused on the road. He raised a hand to rub at the side of his left eye, which was empty and a constant reminder of his inevitable, impending rematch with Kotone that was ahead of them. He flicked one of the buttons on the eyepatch screen covering the empty socket and smirked. “What else? Probably go after the final ball ourselves.”

Yellow sighed softly. “You’re probably right.” She glanced out the car’s window briefly as they continued passing by streetlamp after streetlamp. He hadn’t the faintest idea what she was hoping to see, as the dark night and rain was all that could be visible even in the flashes of light. “Just can’t trust grunts to do these important jobs nowadays.”

“I wouldn’t put too much blame on the poor, dead bastards.” Silver shook his head, his smirk turning bitter. “They ran into an unexpected complication.”

Yellow gasped softly. “You don’t mean. Has the IPO finally deployed Treecko?”

Silver remained silent and Yellow had to sit back in her seat, reeling. They finally arrived at the mansion and were ushered inside by a cloaked, masked warrior. No doubt the personal bodyguard M2’s magnificent 10 had issued to Red for this plot. It directed them to a large dining hall where a fireplace was burning brightly, thrumming and the only source of light to the room. Red sat at the head of the table, idly swishing around the wine in his glass.

“We need that attaché case.” Red spoke directly, eyeing Silver and Yellow coldly. “Without the final Premier Ball inside it, the full extent of Elm’s Eye cannot be realised.”

Silver nodded shortly. Yellow, on the other hand, stepped forward and pressed a hand to her chest, gesturing outward with the other. “If I may inquire, what is M2’s plan here once the Eye has been fully activated?”

“What else?” Red smiled, a very chilling air to it as even his red eyes seemed to gleam with sinister delight. “M2 wants control of the world. Are you perhaps doubting the effectiveness of the plan?”

There was something else to this. Silver just wished he could figure it out before it all unfolded in front of them. The Tragedy of New Bark was a far-reaching and well-known event, after all. Still, unable to do much else, Silver stepped forward to place a hand on Yellow’s shoulder, to stop her from protesting unnecessarily. “Not at all. We’ll get the attaché for you.”

“For all of M2.” Red clarified as he stood and turned his back to them. “Wally will be going with you, since the IPO’s own Experts of Justice have gathered as well and insurance is always a nice, safe bet. Now, a toast.”

The masked warrior stood from where it had been resting in the corner and flew over to Silver and Yellow, handing them each a glass of wine. This part, Silver was very familiar with. They accepted the drinks and the three of them raised their glasses in unison, repeating their organisation’s motto.

“Together, allegiance or death, Mewtwo.”

//

Professor Oak ran along the top of the train as it passed through dark tunnels and emerged again and again, panting and holding an attaché case close to his chest. He couldn’t let them have it. It couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. But he had been running for too long now and his chest and throat were burning, his legs growing heavy in exhaustion.

“End of the line, Professor.” His pursuer, a masked individual who was clearly an executive of that M2 organisation, laughed haughtily as his shoes clicked against the metal tops of the train. Professor Oak stumbled and fell to his knees, nearly dropping the case but holding onto it for dear life. His pursuer, who was accompanied by another man in a mask and trench coat, continued advancing, far more relaxed than he had any right to be. “If you’d kindly hand over that case, we may even find it in our good hearts to spare your life.”

“Everyone will die if I hand this over to you.” Professor Oak spat the words out. “I’m no fool.”

“Trust me, I was counting on that.” The man pulled out a gun and aimed it down at the Professor, grinning cruelly. “Now, are you willing to sacrifice your own life for what you believe? Or will you play nicely and give us that case?”

Oak turned his back on them and held the case tightly, shutting his eyes and praying to dear Arceus, please let them not get this case.

A single gunshot fired and Oak waited. But nothing came.

He opened his eyes and glanced back to see that the other person had pulled out a gun and it was smoking. The executive whirled on them, holding his hand as it bled and gritting his teeth together. “What are you trying to pull here?”

“Obviously, we’re pulling a robbery on this robbery!”

A different voice shouted out and caught the attention of both Oak and the executive. Another train was passing by on a track just below theirs and, standing on top of that one, was a guy easily recognisable as Gold, the Gambling Whirlwind, one of the IPO’s own Experts of Justice.

Gold held out his arms and grinned. “C'mon, jump for it all ready!”

The person in the trench coat shoved past the executive as they threw their disguise off, revealing themself to be Crystal, another member of the Experts of Justice. She grabbed Oak’s hand and hauled him into her arms before leaping off the side of the train to land on the other one. Stubbornly, she hadn’t landed in Gold’s arms and instead shoved the Professor off onto Gold as she snarled, “Get a move on, we’re not out of danger until we’re back at base!”

Gold rolled his eyes, but then more gunshots rang out as the executive attempted to fire at them. They quickly took cover and Crys had fought too long undercover to let Professor Oak die here. She had no other choice. She grabbed both Gold and the Professor’s arms in hers and closed her eyes, concentrating on the IPO’s base.

“Hey, cut that out.” Gold snapped, yanking out of her grip and putting the Professor down in order to draw his own weapon of choice, a telescoping pool cue. “We’re not that hard-up yet that you have to resort to using that power.”

Crys ground her teeth in aggravation. “Well, what do you suggest we do, then?”

“Agent Crystal, Agent Gold, can you hear me?”

A boy’s voice she didn’t recognise came from the star ring communicator on her finger. She looked down at it in surprise, holding it up to her ear to hear it better. Gold, on the other hand, frowned down at it. “What d'you want?”

“If you can, run to the end of the train.” The boy directed. “Backup has arrived!”

Gold scoffed and mumbled something, but that was all Crys had needed to hear. She hefted Professor Oak back up into her arms and, in the brief pause of the executive needing to reload his gun, stood. “Sorry, Professor. Gold, let’s go!”

“We’re not really about to let a kid bail us out, are we?”

Despite his protests, Gold took off running right beside Crys on this one. The M2 operative shouted after them and attempted to give chase atop his own train, but the tracks were diverging now and the two trains were heading their separate ways. Crys and Gold ran to the end of the train and, at the boy’s urgings, jumped off and into the city’s dark ocean.

Surprising all of them, a robotic claw shot out of the roof of the boat passing beneath them and caught the three of them. It held them carefully it its huge metal palm as the rest of its body slowly emerged, as if rising from the depths of the ocean itself.

“It can’t be!” They could hear the M2 operative shouting incredulously. “Treecko?!”

Sure enough, once the giant, towering robot had fully emerged, it was revealed to be the IPO’s secret weapon itself – Treecko. And there, riding on its shoulder, was the robot’s master, Ruby.

The boy, smirking so confidently, pulled up his wrist, where a PokeGear was strapped, and shouted into it. “Treecko, let’s go!”

Treecko let out an intimidating metallic trill, then began stomping forward and towards the train. Every step it took shook the city around it and Crys was sure she could hear the windows cracking and the signs rattling in collateral damage. The M2 operative jumped inside the train and Crys cursed under her breath, recognising its design to be that of a Caterpie fighter. They should’ve noticed that earlier. It transformed and turned to face them, its antennae becoming fearsome-looking horns and its treadmill legs extending out spikes for better traction and maximum damage.

Ruby, not intimidated in the slightest, swung out his arm towards the Caterpie fighter. “This shouldn’t even be a challenge, Treecko. Leaf Blade!”

Treecko responded again and swung its free arm out, the blade attached to it blocking the Caterpie from connecting. It shoved the Caterpie back, then grabbed its horns with its free claw and crushed them in its grip. Ruby pumped his fist out in a punching motion.

“Now! Finish it!”

Treecko pulled back, then launched its claw forward and sliced through the Caterpie’s body as if it had been butter, not metal. They could hear the M2 operative screaming as the Caterpie exploded in a fiery spectacle. Ruby, satisfied, looked down at Crys, Gold, and Professor Oak, safely in Treecko’s other claw.

“How are you doing down there? Are any of you hurt?”

“We’re fine, just fine!” Gold yelled up at Ruby.

Crys was too in awe to speak, a sentiment which Professor Oak seemed to share. She’d heard about Treecko, the IPO’s greatest weapon it had managed to reclaim from M2, but this was the first time she’d ever seen it in action. And to think it was being controlled by such a young child!

Their mission had been a success. With a quick command, Ruby had Treecko extend the wings on its back and rocket out of their and then they were flying through the sky, on their way safely back to the IPO headquarters.

[moodyandmoonyeyed]

Goodnight

[A/N]: I’m not sure if this is good or if I even like it but it was the only way I could find to deal with yesterday and I thought why the hell not post it. Let me know what you think.

———

It started out like any other day really. Classes till 1, then lunch, and one more class at 1:30. Then the whole day was left for her. El was almost giddy with the anticipation of the weekend coming up and as she walked back to her room, backpack trying to weigh her down with the homework she knew she should get done, but would most definitely be putting off until later on Sunday, she thought that there was absolutely nothing that could ruin her day. Tonight she had a date with Mike who was coming to visit till Tuesday since his one Monday class - the lucky asshole - got canceled and then they would spend the rest of the weekend cuddling in her tiny twin bed and watching soap operas that she really needed to catch up on.

Even when it started raining at 5 she wasn’t bothered. Nothing could put a damper on her mood, she thought.

The storm came at 6:27 on the dot, as she was just pulling on her jacket and grabbing her umbrella before heading to the movie theatre, Mike’s hand in hers.

“Hello?” She answered the ringing telephone. Normally she would have just let the answering machine pick it up, but they were a little ahead of schedule and she was expecting a call from her dad tonight anyway.

“El, sweetie, it’s Joyce,” her step-mom’s voice came through the line clearly enough, but there was an odd quality to it. Almost as if she were doing something only out of necessity, not knowing what was happening but getting it out of the way.

“Oh hi!” The call was unexpected and not entirely unpleasant. She mouthed to Mike who it was and he gave a small wave and smile to have her let Joyce know he said hello. “Mike says hi,” she laughed at her boyfriend.

“Hi to him too,” she said in that same robotic voice. “Honey I have to tell you something and I’m really sorry about it.” This came with a sniffle, finally some sign of emotion.

Dread shot through El’s stomach and she immediately took a seat at her desk chair. All the terrible possibilities that she had always thought of in her darkest moments the few years after Hop officially adopted her ran through her head again. They had found her. Hop couldn’t make an actual claim to her and they were going to take her away. Will had been taken again. Their dog had gotten hit by a car. “Joyce? What’s going on?” El asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

Mike must have sensed the shift in energy from the phone call and knelt down in front of her, hand on her knee and eyes looking up at her with concerned curiosity.

She shook her head at him and shrugged her shoulders to let him know she didn’t know anything yet.

It took Joyce a while to answer and another pang of fear ran through El, her stomach twisting into knots.

Finally a sigh and the worst words she’d ever hear in her life. Absolutely nothing could have prepared her for this moment and it was so much worse than anything she could have thought up on her own.

“Sweetie, I’m so so sorry. Dad’s dead.”

The room started spinning and vomit came before the tears did. Thankfully she was able to push both back for a few more minutes from years of practice, but she couldn't stop how shaky she suddenly felt or the way everything was starting to go hazy.

“What?” She asked breathlessly.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Joyce cried on the other end.

“What happened?” She choked out.

Mike was still looking at her with wide eyes but she didn’t know what to say and she didn’t want to have to do any more talking than was necessary. When she got her answer she’d hand the phone over to him and then find the nearest receptacle to throw up in.

“He-” Joyce hiccuped with held back tears of her own. “He had a heart attack. I went in to wake him up for work because he had taken a nap after lunch and he just…I’m so sorry.” She finished, finally breaking down into her own sobs.

El’s heart sank even further than she thought was possible and she handed the phone to Mike. Or maybe she dropped it and he picked it up, she didn’t really know. She could just barely hear him murmuring on the phone, talking to Joyce behind her. Everything else was a blur and the world was no longer making any sense. She fell to her knees and pulled her trash can towards her, finally spilling the contents of her stomach.

As she tried to wipe the back of her hand over her mouth, she realized just how shaky she was. She couldn’t get her hand to do what she needed it to do and it just kept uselessly tapping at her face making her realize that she hadn’t held the tears back as well as she thought she had. Her face was wet with fresh tracks and it made the floodgates open up. Why bother anymore right?

Suddenly she felt warm arms around her and she sank back into Mike’s chest, heaving with sob after sob. She was sure that he was probably whispering gently to her like he always did while comforting her, and she knew with certainty that he would be crying too; Hop had really taken him under his wing and been almost like a father to him as well. But Mike would never intrude on her grief and while she knew all this in the back of her mind and later would be incredibly grateful for it, right now all she could think about were the little things. The big things. All the things.

He was supposed to call her later tonight, to see how the date went. Which was weird because he never wanted her to discuss her outings with Mike but maybe it was just because it was the first one away from home.

They had just talked yesterday. About trivial things. They had literally commented on the weather and told each other what they had to eat that day. He had recalled some cute story about their dog that she couldn't for the life of her remember any more, and she had promised to visit next weekend. They had said I love you.

Who was supposed to walk her down the aisle now?

Who was she supposed to call when she passed a test she was really scared of failing or when she got the job that she had been really hoping to get this semester?

Who and where and when and all these questions that meant nothing usually and now meant everything kept running through her mind and she wasn't sure they would ever stop. She wasn’t sure she’d ever stop crying. It wasn’t like she was even aware of it; it was just happening and this was her life now. Just all these tears and all these thoughts and all of this broken feeling.

She was physically nauseous from it all.

After what felt like hours but Mike told her later that it had only been ten minutes, she tried taking some deep breaths, just like he had taught her the first time she had a panic attack around him. The thought of his passed on wisdom hurt and comforted her at the same time. She almost laughed and thought about calling him to tell him, before she realized with what felt like a punch to the gut, that she couldn’t.

The tears finally slowed and she released the grip she didn’t realize she had on Mike, letting him pull away a little to lay a kiss on the top of her head. She sniffled and buried her head in his chest, feeling the dampness from her tears. His tears? Who cared, it was there and it was just another reminder of what exactly had happened.

Thankfully she was able to stave off another round of hysterics by taking those deep breaths again and pulled away from Mike, looking him in his puffy red eyes and knowing that she looked the same if not worse. And while his gaze held grief and remorse and concern, they still shone with absolute love for her and she had never been more thankful for that.

“Can we go home?” She asked, voice cracking and her throat in desperate need of some water.

Mike nodded and gave her one last hug before helping her to her feet. Slowly they packed, neither talking, too lost in thought, and if you asked her five minutes later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you what all she had put in her suitcase.

At home she would find three shirts, one pair of jeans, exactly seven socks, none of which matched, and five pairs of pajama bottoms.

The trip to the car and to the gas station to fill up before the hour drive back to Hawkins was silent and she honestly wasn't sure she’d ever be able to speak again. She hadn’t been this quiet since she first left the lab and barely knew how to appropriately converse with people. She even talked in her sleep, a quirk that made Mike smile every time he caught her doing it when she would doze off during a movie.

As soon as they hit the highway however, the silence was too much. She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to talk and laugh and do anything other than think about how much everything around her had suddenly turned dark.

She had passed that diner with Hop the first time they came to visit the campus and they had both laughed at how their ‘greatest burgers’ sign couldn't be accurate when Benny’s had existed.

That was the coffee shop that he pointed out to her so she would know a close place to get her caffeine fix each morning. “Specifically built for contemplating,” he had said. He would know. When she spent her second visit in seminars and meetings with advisors he had gone to every coffee shop in a five mile radius just to find the right one for her.

Even the traffic lights were tainted. This was the one where he had grumbled about city traffic, and there was the one where he told her he loved her and tried not to cry right before he dropped her off that first week. The fire hydrant around the corner had made him laugh because he had seen a dog pee on it.

Had all of that really only been a few months ago? Everything held a memory of him and it was weighing down on her, crushing her more and more until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

“Can we please talk about something?” She finally gasped into the silent car.

Mike jumped a little, startled by her loud voice after so much quiet. “Sure, sure. What do you want to talk about?” He asked, trying to be comforting but also knowing she would hate it if he started coddling her.

“Anything. Everything. I don’t know. I just...I need to not think about it for a minute,” she sighed, relaxing into her seat.

With a quick smile in her direction at a stop sign, he grabbed her hand and started telling her about school. About all of the classes he was taking and the mouth breathers that were in those classes. He told her how his science teacher was incredibly brilliant although he would always miss Mr. Clarke. And he told her about the food, the smell of the library, the cold chill that never seemed to leave his dorm room. Anything he could think of and it kept her smiling and laughing all the way home.

As the car finally came to a stop outside of the house that Joyce and Hop had bought right after they got married, the gravel dust settling all around them, the quiet came again. Neither knew what to do next, what was waiting for them outside of the warmth of the still running car. But they couldn't put it off for much longer so with a deep and heavy sigh, Mike turned the car off and killed the lights before grabbing El’s hand and giving it one last reassuring squeeze.

She looked at him with eyes that were gleaming with new tears and gave him a tight lipped smile. How was she supposed to do this?

The lights in the house were off but the porch light was on and she was suddenly worried that no one was expecting her to come home. But why wouldn't she? The door however was unlocked and as she stepped foot into the house, a house which suddenly smelled overwhelmingly of cigarettes and coffee, a smell Hop had perfected he had told her once, she almost broke down all over again.

But there was Joyce running in for a hug by the light of the tv where some talk show was playing. Joyce would never watch a talk show. Clearly she had turned on something to drown out the numbness, much as El did with Mike’s talking.

And then there was Will and Jonathan, and the three siblings stood in a hug for five minutes straight. The whole time, El wondered what they looked like from the outside; three young adults huddled in a dark living room, each shaking with fresh cries of pain. Did they look tragic like she pictured them? Or would anyone that didn’t know them, didn’t know what they had gone through in the short time they had known each other, just see three siblings that really loved each other? Neither was wrong, but one felt that way right now.

After a few hours of sitting around the kitchen table and alternately reminiscing about their favorite Hopper moments, crying about things they wished he would get to be there for - Jonathan and Nancy had just gotten engaged, Will was in talks with a publishing company about a comic book he had written, El had just moved out on her own for the first time ever - and sitting in stoic silence, terrified of breaking it and making everything seem real all over again, they one by one disappeared to bed, too spent from the trauma of the night to keep their eyes open anymore.

Tomorrow they’d talk to a doctor and find out more. Tomorrow they would officially make plans for a funeral. Tomorrow would be the last time they ever saw him.

All El wondered was how weird it would be to see a man who had always looked at her with pure love and who never greeted her without a hug and a ‘hey, kid,’ lying down, cold and broken looking, not opening his arms one last time for her to jump in to.

No one argued when Mike mentioned staying the night and as El made her way to her room to go through the mess of a bag she had packed, he excused himself to make a quick phone call.

El supposed he was probably calling his parents, letting them know he was home and why and that yes he would stop by tomorrow to see them and yes he’d give the family their condolences. And while she naturally assumed that she would be jealous that he still got to do that, she was just happy that he had people who loved him like that around still.

What she didn’t know was that the call also included a lot of no he hadn’t asked her, no he didn’t know when he would he wasn't really thinking about that right now, yes he still had the ring and yeah...he was really glad he had asked Hop too. He told them he loved them and they all cried together for a few minutes before he finally said goodnight and hung up.

When he came back, his eyes were freshly red and she opened her arms, wanting to feel his heartbeat next to hers. He rushed forward and scooped her up, running his hand up and down her back as she started to cry once more.

She fell asleep like that too. Wrapped in Mike’s arms with him whispering goodnight and other soft things over and over again, while she cried for surely not the last time that weekend or that week or that month or really ever.

People always said that time would heal these wounds and that it got easier, but how could that be true? How could you ever come back from feeling so torn apart and like the pieces of you were floating around, never to return to the ground? She didn’t feel like she had a home anymore, which of course was ridiculous, but Hopper was her dad. He was the one she came home to. The one who made a home for her. Who made her French toast in the morning and the one who would sneak eggo extravaganzas with her at midnight after Joyce finally told him he needed to watch his diet. And now all of that was gone and she didn’t quite know anything about herself anymore.

It was a restless sleep full of unintelligible dreams and all she knew anymore was that tomorrow, everything changed.

[kprciffdw]

Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles: The Solanian Revolution-Part 14

They arrived back at Annihilation Nation. As soon as they landed inside, they got out of the ship. Kim and Ratchet proceeded to enter the course and got to running the deadly obstacle course.

It was even more treacherous and challenging than before, but Kim and Ratchet were able to handle the course. Their advanced skills were indeed no match for any obstacle course regardless of the danger factor.

After they made it through the course, they were thrown back into the arena. There, they did battle with a fierce mechanical beast. He seemed tough, but Kim and Ratchet's fighting skills made it seem like a big joke. It did not take very long to bring it down.

After they were able to defeat it, Ron came rushing in. Ron: "KP! Ratchet! You did it!" Kim: "But of course. Did you expect any different?"

Soon enough, they saw Courtney herself walk up to them with another vid-comic. Ron: "Hey! There she is!" Ratchet: "OK, guys, if we play this right, she'll lead us right to Dr. Nefarious." Kim: "So, what's the plan?" Ratchet: "Better let me do the talking. I know how to get what we need from her." Kim: "This is going to end badly; I just know it."

Courtney approached the group, she had a very displeased look on her face. Ratchet: "Oh, my gosh! It's so great to meet you! I'm such a huge fan!" Ron: "Ha! Knew it!" Ratchet: "I can't believe I'm standing here in front of you, Miss Gears! This is so amazing!"

Courtney looked even more displeased. She shoved the vid-comic at Ratchet so hard, she knocked him down. Kim: "Ratchet!"

Kim and Ron rushed over to Ratchet and tended to him. Courtney went over to Clank. Courtney: "My, my, you're even more gorgeous in person than you are on the holo, Agent Clank."

Kim glared over towards Courtney, Clank did the same as he continued looking at her. Courtney: "I've got a few secrets of my own that, ah, might need your special investigation." Clank: "Uh, yes, um, ahem…I will report your concerns to the proper authorities." Courtney: "Oh, Agent Clank, you always know exactly what to say to a woman. You know, I'd do anything to play a part in one of your holo-films." Clank: "That could be arranged, Miss Gears…if you are willing to provide information regarding Dr. Nefarious." Courtney: "Dr. Nefarious? Hm…you have been busy, haven't you? You just get me that part and I'll tell you anything you want to know." Clank: "Excellent! Meet me at Holostar Studios." Courtney: "See you later, Agent Clank."

She turned around and walked away. Ratchet, Kim and Ron regrouped with Clank. Kim: "I really do not like her."

Ron glanced over towards Kim in a conspicuously concerned manner.

After they left Annihilation Nation, they made one quick stop back to the Phoenix where they switched on and played the next vid-comic. The comic involved Qwark's next encounter with Nefarious. If also consisted of a few hilarious parts, one of them revealed that they have met before in…an unexpected manner. It also revealed how Nefarious became a robot. Kim: "Pfft! Figures; Qwark seems to be an expert in creating his own problems." Ron: "Did he really hold his breath for 6 days?" Kim: "I'm not sure; most likely not, but did you guys notice that last scene?" Clank: "Yes I have. It was…most astonishing." Ratchet: "Yes it was. Hm…I think we just witnessed how Dr. Nefarious became a robot." Kim: "I think so, too." Clank: "We should get going. We will need to meet with Miss Gears at Holostar Studios." Ratchet: "(sigh) Fine…let's get this over with."

They got themselves back on their ship and left for Holostar Studios.

As soon as they arrived, Ratchet and Clank got themselves ready for their parts and another filming of Secret Agent Clank. The two of them were in a car and attempted to shoot a film. However, Ratchet accidentally activated the car's ejector's seat and ejected Clank out of the car. The director was so infuriated that he terminated Ratchet from the film. Kim: "Hey! Don't be so hard on him! It was just an accident!" Director: "Well, he has caused too many of these accidents since the very beginning." Kim: "Yeah? Well, maybe if you didn't cast him in such a miserable role, you wouldn't have so many of this happen in the first place. I don't know why you gave him that role, but I have a feeling that it's because you don't like him for whatever reason. He's risked life and limb for this galaxy and this is how you thank him? You've pretty much asked for this mess ups!" Director: "That's it! I've had it with you defending this worthless screw up! Get off of my set and don't ever show your face here again!" Kim: "Gladly. Let's go, Ron."

Kim walked off, Ron was snacking on the food on a nearby table. Ron: "But, KP, free hors d'oeuvres." Kim: "I said let's go, Ron."

He pouted as he put down the food that he was snacking on and walked off with Kim. Ratchet: "We'll meet you back at your trailer, Clank."

Ratchet flew off in the car he was driving. The director paired Clank up with Qwark's monkey as his new sidekick. They continued on with the scene.

Clank continued on with filming the scene without Ratchet. He worked alongside the monkey in the process to get from one side of the set to the other. From that, they were able to finish the first part of the filming.

Moving on to the second part, Clank reverted to his giant form to take on a massive fight scene. He fought against a massive robotic monster as part of the film. After the fight was over, Clank shrank back down to his normal size. The Director wrapped up the production and left. Courtney walked up to Clank and picked him up. Courtney: "Oh, you have no idea what a thrill it was to be rescued by a big hunk of titanium alloy like yourself." Clank: "(giggle) Perhaps now you will tell me what Dr. Nefarious is planning, like you promised." Courtney: "Actually, I have a better idea. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Electricity shot out of her face which shocked Clank, knocking him unconscious.

Moments later, he awoke in an office, directly in front of Courtney and Dr. Nefarious. Clank: "Where am I? Wha-? What in the…?" Dr. Nefarious: "Agent Clank, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance. I have been following your exploits ever since your first mission, when you defeated the mind-stealing snotbeasts from Dimension X." Clank: "Oh! Uh, Dr. Nefarious. Well, uh, I believe there has been a misunderstanding. Secret Agent Clank is merely a fictional character I play on the HoloVid-!" Dr. Nefarious: "Lies! Squishy LIEE…"

Just then, he had a breakdown. From that, he was receiving a radio broadcasting of a soap opera episode. Courtney smacked him on the back of the head, snapping him back to normal. Dr. Nefarious: "EEES! You are a hero to robots across the galaxy! And yet you deny your own destiny!" Clank: "Destiny?" Dr. Nefarious: "You choose to bow and scrape to the squishies! Where is your pride in who you are, Agent Clank?" Clank: "Now listen here. Organic life forms have just as much right to inhabit this galaxy as we do. I see no reason to exclude…" Dr. Nefarious: "If that's the case, then I will give you a reason! Join me! And together we will rule an entire galaxy of robots! Or refuse! Remain a traitor to your own kind and follow your beloved squishies into the black hole of OBLIVION!"

Clank glared at Nefarious.

Meanwhile, Ratchet, Kim and Ron were at Clank's trailer, waiting for him to return. Ratchet seemed bummed about something. Ratchet: "Man, I can't believe this. Never in my life have I ever been treated so badly." Ron: "I know, right? That director jerk was…well…a jerk! He was mean and very unforgiving towards you. What's his problem, anyway?" Ratchet: "He's always been like that towards me. Clank, on the other hand, gets nothing but praises." Kim: "Well, you weren't kidding when you said that he wasn't worth putting up with." Ron: "Yeah, big time!" Kim: "He was just terrible. I've only defended you that one time to him and he threw a fit right there on the spot all too easily. It's bad enough you were treated so badly throughout this entire mission." Ratchet: "Kim, no, it hasn't been that bad. Really." Ron: "Are you kidding? Of course it's that bad, Ratchet! KP knows exactly what's she's talking about, right, KP?" Kim: "Of course I do. You've returned to this galaxy to save your home planet but ever since you arrived here, you've been receiving one raw deal after another. Hardly anyone respects you or even praised you for that matter, Qwark takes credit for all of your hard work and Ron and I are the only ones who have your back and so does Clank. If I were you, I would leave this galaxy and never return here again." Ratchet: "Whoa…! You guys really feel strongly about this, don't you?" Kim: "Of course, Ratchet. We're your friends. We believe that you deserve better than this." Ron: "For sure!" Kim: "These raw deals for you end here. The next time someone treats you like dirt, I'll beat 'em down so hard that they'll be eating dirt." Ron: "And I'll back her up on that 100%!" Ratchet: "Guys…you don't need to do that…" Kim: "Maybe not, but we will, anyway! We always will." Ron: "Oh, absolutely! Booyah!" Rufus: "Booyah!"

Ratchet smiled at them as they did with him. Just then, Ron spotted something that made him scream. Kim and Ratchet also looked over to what Ron saw. Ratchet became startled while Kim had a serious look on her face. They noticed a whole horde of Tyhrranoids show up everywhere, attacking the studio. They rushed at them to fight them all off.

As they fought against the Tyhrranoids, they rushed through one set after another. The hordes seemed to be tougher than before but the group was still able to fight against them. At one point, they were caught in a jam and had to send out Rufus to help them out at least once or twice.

They kept on going through fighting through more of the hordes until they returned to the ship and ran into Clank. Ron: "Hey, Clank!" Ratchet: "Clank? Where have you been? We were worried that something happened to you!" Clank: "Oh! Uh, I was having my sprockets lubed." Ratchet: "Well, you sure picked a fine time for a tune-up." Kim: "Say, where is Courtney Gears?" Clank: "She has left the planet." Ratchet: "What? But what about Nefarious?" Ron: "Yeah, did she give you any important information about him?" Clank: "Dr. Nefarious is aboard a star cruiser called the Leviathan. She seemed very eager to tell me this." Ratchet: "Oh! Um…OK…good job, Clank. You really helped us out. Now then, let's hurry out of here. I'll give Sasha the intel so she can track that star cruiser."

Ratchet turned around and walked off. Clank's eyes glowed red, an indication that something wasn't right with him. Kim and Ron stood by as they glanced at Clank as he walked off after Ratchet. They both seemed very concerned. Kim: "Hm…do you notice anything odd about Clank?" Ron: "Yeah. I don't know why but I get the feeling that there's…just something not right about him." Kim: "So do I. He just…doesn't seem…much like himself. Hm…one of us should keep a close eye on him." Ron: "Good idea. How about you switch seats with him?" Kim: "What? Are you sure about that?" Ron: "Absolutely! That way, he'll sit in the back with me and I can keep a real close eye on him." Kim: "Hm…that does sound like a good idea, but…"

She hesitated for a bit. Ron: "But what? What is it?" Kim: "No, nevermind, it…it's not important. Let's do it."

They walked back towards Ratchet and Clank. Kim: "Hey, Ratchet. Can we ask you something?" Ratchet: "Sure, you can ask me anything?" Kim: "Um…would it be OK if I…switch seats with Clank?" Ratchet: "What? Why would you want to do that?" Kim: "Well, Ron is very worried about Clank and he wants to look after him to make sure he's OK." Ratchet: "Huh, really? Ron is this true?" Ron: "Absolutely! It'll save you some time of dividing your attention between Clank and flying. Also, he's just as much my pal as he is yours. I really would like to look after him, for you." Ratchet: "Uh…I appreciate your sentiment, Ron, but I don't really think it's necessary…" Clank: "I shall allow this." Ratchet: "What? Clank? Are you sure?" Clank: "Certainly, I will oblige to sit in the back with Ron." Ratchet: "Uh…OK…I guess, let's go then."

Ron and Clank sat in the back seat, much to Ratchet's confusion. He then got in, Kim got into the seat next to him. He seemed to have been taken aback by this as he looked at her. Kim looked at him, also concerned. Ratchet brushed off his concerns and was about to take off. Just then, they received a transmission from Skidd. He said that he just saw Courtney Gears arrive near where he was, which greatly concerned the group. Kim: "Ratchet! We have to head back to the Obani Moon System! Skidd could get himself into some serious trouble!" Ratchet: "Somehow this did not surprise me." Ron: "Ratchet! Hurry! We've got to get to Skidd before something terrible happens to him!" Ratchet: "Alright, Ron! I'll get right on that!"

They took off and left for the moon system.

[movienotesbyzawmer]

Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith

December 11: Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith

(previous notes: Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones)

Source: Blu-ray release, the box set with all six Lucas-era movies (2D)

The last of the trilogy. When it came out in 2005, hopes were high that it would redeem the trilogy from the mediocrity of the first two. The most impressive thing about those was the elaborateness and ingenuity of the CGI effects. They were so advanced at the time, but by 2005 we'd already had the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which combined breathtaking visuals with actually likable characters in a story that had stood the test of time. So this movie needed to make a mark somehow. My recollection is that it did, but I haven't seen it in a while. And…. Go.

The crawl starts: "War!" Which seems like a cheerleader is trying to amp us up. Then it talks about a droid army we've never heard of, and maybe that will be cool. It's odd how the whole anti-Republic gang consists of groups like "The Trade Federation" and "The Droid Army". Not traditional, like, "countries".

Opening shot is a doozy! A long shot tracking two fighter ships around a super busy, colorful battlefield in space.

"This is where the fun begins". Yeah, George Lucas is having his fan service fun at least.

It's weird how the clones are the good guys here, even though the OG clone was unambiguously bad in the last movie. But it only takes a second to remember why it makes sense.

"Buzz droids" crawl all over the fighter ships and do annoying things, that's the kind of fun idea that has always been a reliable hallmark of all these movies.

Super fun to watch Anakin and Obi-Wan hop out of their ships and immediately start fighting.

General Grievous! An evil droid with a physical deformity and a bad cough! I find this wholly acceptable.

This movie is just getting the whole overall tone right very quickly.

Ha, R2 used his jet flame things to cook the dumb bad droids!

Only 12 minutes in and we've got a fun light saber fight. Count Dooku is kind of irresponsible keeping that cape on with all these flailing laser swords.

Only 14 minutes in and Palpatine is all growling "do it!" and Anakin beheads an unarmed dude. Yup, dark!

The whole "Palpatine is seducing Anakin to the dark side" is really overt here. And really, why wouldn't it be?

The battle rages on, though, and there are neat cannon things, and don't forget that General Grievous is still around!

0:28:45 - Darth Sidious and General Grievous are colluding, but the movies have not yet acknowledged what seems obvious, which is that Sidious is Palpatine. Which makes us wonder why he's pals with the droid boss that was recently his kidnapper.

Dumb romance exchange, then a bad Anakin dream like the one he had in the last movie. Striking contrast, the look of the dream. Then more soap opera romance scenes. I miss the exciting parts. Hurry back to those, Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith!

0:35:50 - More real purty establishing shots of Coruscant!

A couple of the people on the Jedi Council are holograms. It's nice that they offer the option of working remotely.

0:42:50 - I fuckin' LOVE this. A shot of lively Coruscant at night, and people are attending a swanky performance in a finely appointed auditorium. Anakin and Palpatine chat during it, but it's some kind of surreal anti-gravity acrobatic show, where the audience offers polite applause at calculated times. You never get a good look at the show. So odd!

But even more impressive, this is when Ian McDiarmid as Palpatine starts to do the most interesting, subtle, effective acting in maybe the entire line of Star Wars features. He's being so seductive. He's saying things that connect to Anakin. It's working, but I bet on paper you couldn't tell it would be THIS effective. This is comparable to how you would stage a story of a real-life cult leader convincing a follower to do crazy shit. "Not from a Jedi."

And then, yay, we're suddenly in a new battle on the Wookiee planet! It's cool! Oh, but it ended quickly and went back to Jedi/Senate politics drama.

I haven't noted this before, but I love the ship design where you dock your little one-seater onto a ring of engines to go to another planet. Please make the car equivalent of that, modern-Earth. And don't just point me to a ferryboat.

Obi-Wan is back to getting his spy game on! He's on a new planet, which is always fun, and he made a clear decision to pretend to leave, but secretly stay on the planet and ride around on a giant pretty-feathered reptile. Fun.

Then he just goes for it and jumps right into the middle of an army all by himself! That's some James Bond cockiness right there. General Grievous even turns himself into a four-sword beast and Obi-Wan is like "cool".

I guess he knew all these stormtroopers were about to show up.

1:03:27 - Here we go, ID is starting to chew scenery. That voice. He affects this deep, expressive growly whisper. "It gives you FOCUS. Makes you STRONGER." Why didn't George Lucas let any of his other actors go to town like this? Suddenly some good acting and it's very refreshing.

But hey, we're back to the battle on whatever this planet is, and Obi-Wan and Grievous are fighting. I love Grievous's wheel-ride! Obi-Wan noticed that Grievous has a heart-y organ in the middle and realized that if he shoots him RIGHT THERE, he'll just die. Video game logic.

Scene where A&A silently think about each other at each other across the city from each other, it works, and it has some unusually atmospheric music.

"I AM THE SENATE!" More sweet vocal production from ID, and he gets his sith light saber dueling on! "NO! NO! YOU WILL DIE!!!" Super awesome. And then just when you thought it was all in his voice, he does a kickass facial expression when he kills Mace Windu. I am delighted by Ian McDiarmid.

"Henceforth you shall be known as… Darth… Vader." I think I hurt my eyes from rolling them too hard.

1:19:30 - Cool shot of a battalion of sith assholes marching toward probably a bunch of good guys they're going to kill, against the backdrop of the city at night.

Now lots of bummer stuff is going on, and they're making sure it's all done in pretty places. The places are pretty and varied. And it's just the clone army dudes who had an order issued to kill good guys so they just do it. Except that Yoda is onto them. It is pretty intense though.

But the most intense part is where newly christened Lord Vader goes to kill the kids. And they're cute kids but he is definitely about to slice up every single child.

This is where, if this movie were a standalone story, we'd be approaching the part where there's a glimmer of hope that will lead to the course of events that resolves the conflict and happy-ends the movie. But this is where this trilogy's unique ambition has to work without doing that.

So here's where Anakin goes and talks to Amidala after committing atrocities. He doesn't mention his atrocities. Just lots of stuff about "loyalty to the Chancellor". We getcha GL. Message received. I honestly have to wonder if our 21st century workaday fascists see this as a happy ending.

1:35:45 - Lord Vader has evil red eyes now. Just because it looks cool I guess.

Anakin is killing Droid Army and Trade Federation people now. Total racist.

Badass climactic duel starts up with Anakin and Obi-Wan! Should be fun…

…but it cuts to Yoda barging into Palpatine's office kind of funny-rudely. And now they're dueling. Cool! Also worth observing that the CGI Yoda is super well integrated in the scene with Palpatine. You don't think about that at all.

And I'm glad those two are now fighting in the senate chamber because that's one of my all time favorite Star Wars chambers.

Anakin and Obi-Wan's fight takes place on, well, they're on a lava planet with lava rivers and spires and it's like part of the fight is they get points for picking the most dramatic place to fight.

Anakin burning in agony on a lava river embankment is pretty horrific. And yet he's going to make it out of there? Ouch. I guess if he weren't Sith Jesus, when they found him like that they'd probably just be like "oh he dead, k bai". But his elite status means they have to try weird things to make him still be alive.

Robot doctor delivers the news that pregnant Amidala is dying for no reason other than "she's lost the will to live". Sounds like a romantic tragic plot from the fantasies of a jilted fifth grader.

2:08:55 - Vader goes "Nooooooo!" when he hears that Amidala is dead. We're supposed to hipster-hate that, right?

Mostly it kind of seems like we're just tidying everything up so that it connects to "Episode IV". This isn't that terrible a thing. It lets this trilogy end with a rehash of the "Binary Sunset" music and imagery. But this time with Owen Lars. And his GIRLFRIEND, Beru.

That's it. I think Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith is a lot harder to pick on than the other two movies in the trilogy. It ends up quickly getting to a point where we know the rest and have to sit there while the movie spells it out for us, but that's a lot better than the biggest sins of this trilogy.

(next: Solo: A Star Wars Story)

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Greener On The Other Side

Vincent Heliotrope and Digital Lucian fight over anything under the sun.

Today’s fight is over eyes.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to notice, and he'd always prided himself in being observant of people. He had to be; the signs of child abuse and neglect were so small and easy to miss unless you knew what to look for and stayed alert. But this wasn't those things and Vincent had to admit after a while that he hadn't really been looking for anything.

The person in question he was trying not to notice while noticing was the digitized ghost of his and his daughter's murderer. Looking at him without wanting to wring his neck was still hard to do, so he supposed missing a lot of cues was not abnormal.

Lucian stayed with the young woman that had stolen him from Afton Robotics, bound to her in some way that Vincent couldn't figure out. He checked in often, almost obsessively so -Jonathan had pointed it out during one of the shared dreams Damien and Steven had that allowed the two spirits to mingle-. But as often as Vincent checked in, he still ended up oblivious to a lot of things about the other man. He wasn't proud of that fact, but he blamed Lucian for it all the same.

Their encounters had a routine to it that, while initially violent and hate-filled, had eventually settled into a kind of silent mutual agreement that there was no kindness to be found in each other but no blades would be drawn as long as their living hosts were not threatened.

Lucian was especially vicious in that regard. What exactly had Miss Corbett done to gain such absolute protection from a former serial killer?

With that semi-truce in place, Vincent's visits became less about trying to find reasons to banish the other ghost into nonexistence and more about trying to figure out what had changed in him. Those 'conversations' ended up arguments and lashing words far too quickly still. Vincent hated it even as he let himself get swept up in the heated emotions. Too emotional, that was always his problem, wasn't it? Broadcast his heart on his face for all the world to see.

Lucian was his polar opposite, walls and shields slammed into place so all Vincent could ever see was cold and emptiness and just a flicker of pain that vanished too, too fast to prove was there. There were days he wanted to just grab the other man by the shoulders and shake him until the walls came down.

And then, so slowly that it took him this long to notice, Lucian had shifted in that subtle way that was characteristically manipulative but not quite the same as what Vincent knew.

If it wasn't for him musing silently on how strange and inhumanely bright -but very nice still- green Lucian's right eye looked, Vincent might have gone months more without even realizing it.

Green right eye.

Lucian had silver-grey eyes, from what Vincent remembered. (And how could he forget? He could never forget. Those eyes were burned into his memory, seared in with that maliciously bright glee as they watched him bleed out in a dark alley in 1983.)

But now... Vincent couldn't remember the last time he saw Lucian's left eye. Just the green one that matched the brightly glowing green of Circus Baby's eyes when the animatronic was active, the only physical mark left on him that linked him to her.

He started thinking back over his past visits, what he'd been doing, where he'd been sitting, looking, and where Lucian was facing him or how he'd been positioned in relation to him. And the more Vincent thought on it, the more curious he became.

Was that on purpose?

He dropped in suddenly again, hands up to show he was unarmed when Miss Corbett leveled a steely glare at him that told Vincent he was still on her shit-list for causing so much fighting in her apartment.

"Just visiting! Not doing anything!" he chirped brightly and one of her eyebrows lifted high enough he thought it would launch through her hair into space.

"Uh huh," she replied in that tone that he knew meant she'd probably be willing to figure out if she could kill a ghost if another fight broke out. "I need to go drop off another résumé and pick up some groceries." Her tone was brisk, smile wide and sharp (too sharp, like a shark ready to tear into him if he bled one drop), and she snatched up her car keys and phone. "So you two pal around, watch some TV, do NOT let him mess with my TiVO, and if I come back to a mess, I'm drop kicking you back to the Sexy Twins from here, me entiendes?"

Vincent nods because his Spanish is starting to improve from all the times he's heard Lucian scream at him in the language and he doesn't find it nearly so surprising that Meera speaks it as well, and he's seen her kicks affect animatronics so much larger than herself so that's a very real threat. He looks past her as she digs around in her purse for other essentials, looks toward the small kitchen where Lucian stood at a stove, watching a pot of something.

He's glad for looking when he did, catching sight of the man shifting on his legs to swivel in place and reorient himself to meet his gaze with a side-eyed look.

Bright green. Again, only his right eye faced him. Surely that made it harder to watch the cooking?

Then Meera was gone and Lucian turned down the heat on the pot with a huff, expression on his face that was equal parts wary and irritated.

"So many better places to go, but always here. Que te gusta pelear con mi por nada." Vincent swallowed hard, fighting down the urge to be immediately angry with the almost condescending tone. But he wore his heart on his face, cheeks heating up, and Lucian huffed again, walking out of the kitchen in that slow graceful manner that wasted no movement.

He kept his face tilted, enough that he could see where Vincent was and keep distance between them but it couldn't be comfortable. After all, he was only using one eye to gauge that distance.

"I just want to spend time with you," Vincent managed to get out through his teeth. He could feel his hair rising just a little at the mocking laugh from the other man.

"Right. Because we're such good friends." Lucian sneered out the word like the concept of it was as pathetic as Vincent's efforts to stay civil. (He was trying, he was trying so hard, but he could hear that mocking laugh over his dying self and it was so hard to not want to strangle the sound into silence.)

By the time he's squashed down the urge to deck the other man, Lucian's already made himself comfortable on the couch in front of the television, watching the show left on for him with an expression that Vincent had learned to recognize as his 'I don't want to be here but you're not going to leave me alone so let me numb myself first' face.

Walls building up to keep him out. In a way, Vincent hated those more because he'd never experienced being the reason someone would close up and mentally withdraw. People and children always opened up to him, trusted him, smiled around him.

Lucian turtled behind fake smiles, flat expressions, and sullen silence before exploding violently into screams of frustration and anger.

Vincent sat by him on the couch after a minute. Not close, more like the other end of the three seat sofa, so there was distance but not much. Enough for him to watch the other man without getting into his personal space. (Lucian was aggressive about keeping a certain amount of space around himself at all times, hyper aware of where Vincent's hands were at any moment. Vincent respected that even as he wished he could understand why.)

The show was some soap opera, not the one that Vincent had come to learn was Meera's favorite and Lucian was learning about via marathons and reruns, but another whose plot escaped Vincent's knowledge. Whether Lucian was actually watching it or just allowing his mind to grow numb and distant was another question. Vincent leaned forward, just a little, to check if the other man was paying attention.

Lucian tilted his head, just enough of a turn so his left eye remained largely out of sight.

"You're avoiding me," Vincent breathed in dawning realization. It was on purpose; angling himself so that only his green eye would be visible, making it nearly impossible for Vincent to see the silvery one. "Why? What do you gain from it?"

"You shutting up would be a nice start." Lucian grumbled, fidgeting in place under the guise of making himself more comfortable. His neck was craned in an awkward position, Vincent couldn't see any way of that being made comfortable without risking showing the other eye. "As soon as Meera comes home, you leave."

The urge to shake the other man rose again and this time Vincent didn't stop it completely, sitting up and reaching out to grab Lucian's shoulder and forcefully ignoring the baring of teeth in his direction. It was a violation of Lucian's space, and he'd apologize for it but first he had to know.

"Why are you hiding your eye from me?!"

"Que estas platicando? No me tocas, te dije que nunca me tocas-!" The steady stream of Spanish started as a growl, working its way up to full on yelling before Vincent cut it off by reaching around to grab Lucian's head and force it to face him head on.

He had squeezed his eye shut, leaving only the green one to glare at him.

Vincent hadn't expected such a childish reaction, and so didn't have the thought to stop Lucian from shoving him off and back towards his end of the sofa. But he recovered quickly, scrambling up and grabbing the man by the wrist before he could run off, yanking him back down.

"Why?!" he demanded louder. His face scrunched up as Lucian reached up blindly, shoving the heel of his palm against Vincent's cheek to try and push him off again. The blonde squirmed against him, muttering furious Spanish under his breath. "Shtup it!" Vincent's words slurred between his teeth, difficult to speak with a hand in his face. His own free hand grabbed at Lucian's shirt and pulled. His plan was to get the man up and off his lap so he'd be less uncomfortable. His reality was he ended up pulling Lucian's shirt out from where it was usually tucked into his slacks, fingertips and knuckles brushing over bare skin as he tried to get a better grip.

Lucian froze still on the spot, inhaling sharply through his teeth as if Vincent had touched a still stinging wound.

Both of them held still on the sofa, a tangle of arms awkwardly positioned and Vincent's clenched fist resting lightly over Lucian's waist, not close enough to be able to rest it, but close enough that he could sense the man's muscles hold taut to avoid contact. But at least the ruckus had forced Lucian to open both eyes, one green, one silver-grey, both wide, panicked, and trying desperately to hide it.

"Muvv hend frm fesh," Vincent slurred out slowly after another minute of getting his bearings. He wondered if he would even be understood. But no, Lucian got the gist of it, hand slowly moving from being shoved against his cheek to... curling back and lightly gripping at the collar of his shirt.

He tried hard not to think about how the movement shifted Lucian in place just enough to brush against his own hand again.

"Wrist." Lucian muttered after a bit, voice strained, and Vincent relaxed his grip. Not enough to let him go, but enough that he wasn't squeezing the feeling out of his hand.

They sat in awkward silence for a bit, listening to the protagonist on the tv burst into tears over some sappy romantic dialogue.

"So," Vincent started, and his voice sounded too thick to his own ears, as if the air was heavy and he was pushing his words through it, "why are you hiding your eye from me?"

Lucian huffed again. Stalling tactic, why did it take so long for him to recognize it as that? (Because he didn't listen before; Vincent barely listened to him. There was no reason to, when there was just anger and hatred and frustration that he just kept coming back again and again....) He opened his fist, fingers brushing over bare skin and feeling muscle twitch under his touch. Lucian made several small noises of discomfort, squirming just a bit as his grip on Vincent's shirt collar tightened.

"Why?" he repeated, looking down sternly. Lucian had turned his head, pressing the left side of his face into Vincent's shirt to continue hiding it, faintly defiant in the set of his jaw. The expression clashed with the flushed color in his cheeks.

"You think I didn't notice?" he finally grumbled, "You don't like this eye. But you like the green one."

So his suspicion was right. He'd been purposely hiding the silver eye.

"So why hide it? Thought you didn't care what I thought, Lucian." Vincent remarked dryly, eyebrows drawing together in confusion as the man tensed further in his grip.

"Don't. That's not... I lost that name. It's not mine anymore." Lucian growled. He shifted again, finally looking up at him with both eyes and the two of them resolutely ignored the continued contact elsewhere. "Penses que no requerdo? I still have that memory, watching you die at my feet. I had both my eyes and you hated me then same as you hate me now." Vincent opened his mouth and Lucian's glare sharped. "Don't insult me by saying you don't. You can't forgive me for murdering you, same as I won't forgive him for destroying my name and ending my family line."

"Don't tell me what I can't do," Vincent growled back. "Nothin' pisses me off more than someone saying 'You can't'. That's bullshit." Lucian barked out a short laugh, harsh and bitter. "I forgi-."

"No. Shut up. You finish that and I will never trust another word you say," Lucian snapped up at him. "You don't actually mean it and you're only saying it to spite me. No me digas mentiras." He struggled now, genuinely pushing against Vincent's grip. "Let me up." Vincent let him sit up before moving closer and hugging him from behind, holding him back from bolting. "What are you doing?"

"Don't hide your eye from me, okay?" Vincent muttered, fingers brushing over Lucian's stomach and feeling him twitch under his touch. "I'm used to seeing both the green and the grey."

"You hate it."

"I'm learning not to," and that didn't feel like a fight in his own head. Thinking back on all the times he spent around Lucian, seeing the combination of bright green and silver-grey had been kind of... nice. He didn't like the grey, but the dislike was waning the more he learned about this version of Lucian. And Vincent had always been attracted to green eyes so....

His face burned as he firmly backed away from where that train of thought was going.

"Um... might be a bit late but... do you want me out of your personal space?" he asked. His thumb rubbed small, soothing circles and the muscles had calmed to some degree under his attention. Lucian held still against him, silent for long enough that he wondered if it would be his answer to get away.

"I'm already comfortable. You should have asked sooner," Lucian finally replied, and Vincent felt still more muscles under his touch relax further now that the danger had passed and there didn't seem to be screaming and fighting in the immediate future.

It felt like something had changed between them but Vincent wasn't entirely sure what and by how much. Closeness like this was something he had with Jonathan, physical touch and affection and reassurance. This moment with Lucian, on a sofa in front of a soap opera with a sappy plot... he didn't know how to describe it. He didn't try. It was just one of those things he'd be grateful for, a step forward in whatever this thing was that he had with the digital ghost of his murderer.

He half-wondered if he could one day look at the man and genuinely forgive him. Lucian had been right when he said that Vincent saying the words now would be a lie. But that didn't mean he couldn't hope to say them in the future and mean it. Maybe then -he stroked his thumb lightly over the curve of Lucian's hip bone and listened to the whisper soft shuddering breath as the digital ghost refused to take his eyes from the television- Vincent could start figuring out what the two of them could be instead.

End