#or that other moment with menderash

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Will you do your fave book? Or if you already did it, the next fave? And so on...

Short opinion: I am constantly torn between wishing that The Beginning was twice its actual length and being in awe that Applegate manages to cram so much into a sparse 156 pages.

Long opinion: 

As I mentioned here, #54 is actually my favorite book in the series.  I’m probably the only fandalite on the planet for whom that is true, but I am a complete and utter sucker for tragedy. And this is tragedy in its purest form.  Tragedy is frustratingly hard to find in contemporary American stories, because it offers no happiness or culmination at the end.  Bad guys don’t always get punished; good guys don’t ever get medals from princesses or happy retirements into the sunset or reunions with lost loved ones; the very notions of “bad” and “good” get irreversibly complicated.  A tragedy is the story of well-intentioned and deeply sympathetic protagonist(s) coming to a bad end that is at least partially one’s own fault, at least partially the fault of random Shit Happens, and entirely coherent and fitting with the tiny cascade of random events that led to the fall of a lightning-struck tower.  

The purpose of comedy (i.e. stories with happy endings) is easy entertainment.  The purpose of tragedy is to inspire fear and horror through making the audience wonder whether it is possible for each of them to meet a similar end.  With the arguable exception of Cassie, every one of the Animorphs gets his or her own tragedy in the end.  This series is a war epic about the costs of violence.  It was never going to have a happy ending.

Rachel’s loss, in the opening moments, is the most obvious character culmination of the series.  She has been struggling for months if not years to define herself outside of the war, attacked on all sides (her best friend, her boyfriend, her cousin and field commander, her own mother) for the very role that they all nonetheless demand that she perform in order to keep them all safe, not only from the yeerks but from themselves.  Rachel has been the team’s first and last line of defense since the EGS tower battle (#7), and has all-but taken on the title of trash collector since becoming the one to handle David (#22).  Killing Tom is her final act of protecting her found family; completing the suicide run is her final ability to use her comfort with violence to do something good.  She might have done and even become terrible things, but she ultimately succeeds in turning that terror against an even greater evil in her last moments of life.

Arguably the next domino to fall is Tobias.  I’m with Cates: his is the ending I find the least satisfying, because it devalues his friendship-cum-familyhood with Ax.  However, I also can’t say that Applegate didn’t set that ending up.  As early as #13 Tobias shows worrying signs of codependency with Rachel; as early as #3 he proves willing to retreat into his hawk side when the going gets tough.  The scene where “Ken and Barbie” disturb his self-imposed exile through their simple reminder of humanity suggests that Tobias’s retreat isn’t nearly as complete as he’d like it to be, but then he’s never been able to escape being human no matter how hard he tries (see: #3, #33, #43, #49).

Part of what I find so fascinating about Jake’s character arc (fascinating enough that I wrote a goddamn novel or two on the subject) is how much his family story starts complicating this hyper-normative idea of married-parents-two-kids-fenced-backyard-golden-retriever-nice-neighborhood-white-upper-middle-class familyhood starting right in the first book, and how it only makes things worse once the war is over. Jake’s family continues to look “perfect” (i.e. normative) from the moment he first gets home and joins his brother and parents (and resident yeerk) for a home-cooked dinner in #1 all the way up until the alien inside his mom is firing a dracon beam at him from the front seat of her minivan, putting the first scar on the otherwise flawless siding on the facade of their two-story McMansion in #49.  So it’s only natural that Jake’s first thought on committing fratricide in the immediate aftermath of mass murder is to wonder “how would [he] explain this to [his] parents,” and it makes a fair amount of sense that he basically tries to retreat back to that safe haven he (unlike all of his friends) has before the war begins (#54).  But Jake can’t go home; home isn’t there for him to retreat to anymore.  His desire to retreat back to his childhood home borders on pathological, since in many ways he’s older than his parents have ever been, and he’s gone beyond the point where he could ever hope to give his burdens back to them.  

And then there are three.  And then two.

There are two details about Ax’s role in the final book that I find really fascinating.  The first is that line (which I quote all the time, because I find it so revelatory) where Cassie describes herself and Marco as “the only two real survivors” of the war (#54).  Why isn’t Ax included in the list of “survivors” along with Cassie and Marco, even though he’s alive and (physically) well at the time?  My guess would be the hints that he is, in his own way, just as addicted to risk and violence as Rachel ever was.  He doesn’t know how to survive without the war, which leaves him “looking for trouble” in his “boredom”—right up until he recklessly stumbles upon enough “trouble” to get his entire crew killed (#54).  That chapter also contains the other fascinating detail: it’s labeled “Aximili,” not “Ax” the way his chapters are in all the Megamorphs books.  Ax has at least partially given up on the identity he fought so hard to forge throughout the entire book series.  He has retreated back into being what his society expects him to be: a leader, a warrior, and an andalite who does not concern himself much with alien cultures.  He continues playing that role, apparently indifferent to what is happening with Tobias and the others on Earth, right up to his death.

Quick side note: I find it so cool (by which I mean excruciatingly painful) that each of the Animorphs gets what they wanted in the first books in the series—and that those dreams prove to be so hollow once achieved.  Rachel gets eternal glory, and the ultimate thrill ride along the way (#2).  Ax surpasses Elfangor in reputation and respect (#8).  Jake fulfills his daydreams of being treated as a superhero (#2), and of going home to his family (#1).  Marco gets to be not only “an entire episode of Stupid Pet Tricks” but quite possibly the most famous person alive (#2).  Tobias escapes his life and manages once and for all to “fly free” (#3).  Cassie finds a non-violent way to change the world (#4); she even gets to be a horse for a while along the way (#29).  And it’s nothing like any of them thought it would be.  None of their childhood dreams have much feasibility or even appeal by the time they are some of the weariest, most mature and worn-out adults of their generation.  Only Cassie manages to find satisfaction in getting everything she ever wanted.

Only Cassie… because Marco’s not quite a “survivor” either.  He brags about his fame and materialism, sure—but then we’ve never been able to trust Marco’s narration.  (See: the amount of time he spends obfuscating and/or lying to the reader in #30, #25, #15, and #35.)  If you ask Marco outright, everything’s fine and it always has been.  But then Marco describes Jake and Tobias showing up with an offer of a suicide mission as “everything around me turned translucent, like it was all fake… an old reality emerged from beneath the illusion” (#54).  Even before that scene, it’s striking just how much time Marco spends obsessing over Jake.  Marco freely admits to Cassie that he acquired an eagle morph for the specific purpose of following Jake around to spy on him, spends almost half the alleged description of his own life talking about how poorly Jake is functioning, and actually talks Jake into leading his crazy suicide mission for Jake’s own sake.  What Marco doesn’t mention—and what we can assume from Jake’s own narration doesn’t happen—is him actually picking up the phone to call Jake and ask him if he wants to talk.  The flash and glam and seven cars and heated pool and personal butler are yet more misdirection; Marco’s not okay.  He’s just telling us about all the ways Jake’s not okay because that’s safer than admitting his own vulnerability.  Jake says “Marco, you were bored out of your mind” and Marco unhesitatingly agrees (#54).  Marco spends so much time trying to convince everyone of how very happy he is with materialism and Hollywood glam that he fools Cassie, he fools Tobias, he all but fools himself… but he never fools Jake.  Which is why he has to keep Jake at arm’s length, no matter how much his guilt at doing so might eat him up as he’s sitting around watching Jake watching Rachel’s grave in the middle of the night.

And then there’s Cassie.  Cassie who I’ve compared to an anti-Susan Pevensie, Cassie who finds a man who treats her right and uses power for good without resorting to violence.  Marco, who was the last to join the war effort, might have eventually been able to find equilibrium if he’d been willing to get a haircut and get a real job (X). Cassie, who is unafraid to work on her own and leave her team when something needs doing and they can’t help her (#19, #29, #43, #44), is already living a new normal.  Jake is right when he says that Cassie’s “a one-woman army,” and he’s right that she’s “the soldier who has fought her war and moved on.”  The two Animorphs with the least “addiction” to the war emerge from the other side the most intact (#22). Cassie’s never going to be the same person she was, but she understands that.  She doesn’t try to hide from the past, she doesn’t try to retreat into it; she picks herself up and figures out a way to live on her own.  She shows that there’s hope for life after war, but also that there’s no returning to childhood.  She lives, and keeps on living, even after two (maybe three, maybe five) of her fellow Animorphs have been eaten alive by the war.  Because right from the start, Cassie has been comfortable with leaving her team behind—and in the end, she leaves her team behind, and she can’t save a single goddamn one of them.

It’s not a happy ending.  It’s not a comforting ending.  It’s not the kind of ending that suggests people get what they deserve and deserve what they get.  It doesn’t offer the comfortable reassurance that the right ends will justify any means.  It’s the kind of ending that gets in your head, burrows down deep, reads through your memories, and won’t leave you alone.

Don’t get me wrong: I love these characters.  They were my heroes and my idols and my ink-and-paper friends throughout my childhood.  They’ve taught me as much as a lot of real people I’ve known in my life, and there’s a part of me that does want them to live happily ever after.  But if they did, they would lose a lot of the realness that makes them so precious and so painful to love in the first place.

[acavatica]

love your marco/ax fics! any other marco/ax fics u recommend?

Sure! For a popular ship, there aren't so many that aren't written by me... I'm probably going to forget some faves, and I've also not caught up with the AO3 tag in about a year, so there are a couple I think I should add to this list soon, but here are some recs:

with the sun burning on the dashboard by theappleppielifestyle Everyone lives AU where they all go on the emotionally traumatized postwar road trip they deserve.

i'll leave you to it by @fairkid-forever The first in a very sweet series. This one is about Tobias and Cassie working together to try to get Ax and Marco to admit their feelings.

is my stereo on by idolaters Marco tries to deal with his PTSD and fears of the future by hanging out with Ax.

Not Best Friends by Felinephoenix 50 one-sentence moments in Ax and Marco's relationship during and after the war.

On Labels and Kissing (and walking home in the dark) by Psilent (HereThereBeFic) After Estrid leaves, Marco confronts Ax about how he felt about her.

Xenophile's Dinner Club by silverapples Ax and Marco go on a double date with Cassie and Aftran. (ft my characterization of Ax/Marco from B&E and @c-rowlesdraws's Human Aftran AU)

Like I said, I might add a couple later! But if that's not enough, I also co-mod @axmarco and we have a Comprehensive Fanfic List (as of 2019, sorry) where @menderash and I tried to compile all the fics we knew of at the time. Looking through the AO3 tag now, though... I need to update it. Sorry, other Ax/Marco authors! DM me or send an ask if you want to be added to that list. But hey, if you're desperate enough to think about going to fanfiction.net... they're on the list. For better or worse.

[lilacsolanum]

4. What’s your favorite line of dialog?

YOU KNOW it was really fun to skim through The Rachel and pick up things I thought I’d forgotten about? These are a small collection of things that made me laugh (listen if you can’t laugh at your own jokes, how the hell is someone else gonna laugh at your jokes) or I could tell I was trying to put on my big girl pants and might have been successful! No big spoilers unless you count Menderash having been super fucked up in the Rachel crash and needing an arm amputation. 

---

<Two of our minutes are four of your minutes,> I said. <It is very important to distinguish the two.>

I pointed a swollen stalk eye at Marco. In spite of the circumstances, he mouthed the English words ‘fuck you.’ Do not worry, he was not actually angry. It is our “inside” joke.

---

Jake was wearing his token uniform of a flannel shirt over a t-shirt, and he peeled off the flannel and tossed it at Marco. Marco let it fall on his body without reacting.

“I don’t want your clothes,” he said. “They smell like Lucille Ball’s bedsheets.”

“Please, *please* put it on,” said Jake. “I swear to god, you are *actively* pointing your nipples at me.”

“It’s cold down here and I like you,” said Marco.

---

Menderash laughed in a wild way. He continued to pace, grinding glass further and further into the floor. “This body, my body, this body— it is so primitive, so idiotic, so imperfect and underdeveloped that it still thinks that there is a limb when there is no limb! ” he said. The glass was cutting little stars into our floor, permanent scratches that would never wash away. “So it imagines— it imagines— that it is there! And it imagines it so very poorly that I only get imperfect and mutated flashes, like my body feels the limb betrayed us by leaving and we must never honor it properly. And so we remember it filled with too-sharp needles, we remember it as empty static that brings me to madness, we remember it as aching and awful and swollen, like meat rotting in the sun.”

---

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “They expect morphing. What don’t they expect?”

“The Spanish In—”

“Don’t,” said Jake, holding a hand up to Marco.

---

“Which you did, gently, with affable coercion and amiable menace,” said Marco.

<We did not harm any of you,> said a warrior.

“Sweet intimidation,” continued Marco. “Like if Mr. Rogers took you to the other side of the neighborhood tracks and showed you what happened to those who disrespect King Friday.”

---

<It is,> I said. <The humans are joking, as Tylenol is far too weak a drug to treat a newly amputated limb.>

The Prince raised his tail in offense. He looked at Marco and Vincent Santorelli with his main eyes. <Please do not mock me for not having every aspect of humanity memorized. Most Andalites do not prefer humans to their own species,> he said, an eye stalk landing on me.

<Of course, any human is preferable to an Andalite that fell upwards in rank simply because a certain War-Prince has a fondness for delicate blades,> I said demurely.

---

“We should have just gone to the damn embassy,” I said. “You’re going to say ‘I told you so’ every day in heaven, aren’t you.”

“Jews don’t believe in heaven,” said Jake dismissively, his eyes tracking Estrid.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “And I have way too much gay sex to qualify. Do you think they have ghosts on Andalite?”

---

“That’s not what I’m saying,” said Cassie firmly. “I’m not strong enough for *you.* Two broken people don’t really make one whole. It just makes an ugly jagged shape that hurts when you hold it.”

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

The Rachel is just PURE hopepunk. I have a meta that talks about why I interpret the ending with everyone alive, and it’s not JUST because Michael Grant has, you know, confirmed that. I regret calling it canon, the author is dead and everything, but some people in this fandom act like interpreting the kids as alive is an AU, when it’s not at all, it’s another way to read it. 

The Rachel starts out pretty damn heavy. And it IS still pretty heavy. While Tobias, Ax, and somewhat Jake are open to healing, but Marco is the sort of guy that has to hit rock bottom, chisel through it, burn in lava, and then have his bones come through on the opposite side of the Earth before he even considers being honest with himself. If you’ve read The Rachel: Andalite all the way to end, you know that he’s VERY much on his way. But I have a lot of plans for these boys, and how to arm them with the tools to face their trauma head on. I have very clear plans for installments that begin each character’s uphill climb toward peace. War is hell, and not everyone makes it through, but some people can figure out how to heal. That’s where we’re going with this, and I hope the readers get that.

I also hope the readers are having a Big Fun Sci Fi Adventure. I want to pick at this while I write more structured things, and The Rachel will be my delightful space romp where I don’t give a shit. Tropes, tropes, all the tropes. No promises, everything is still in the planning stages, but the Leera installment may or may not be inspired by the Buffy episode Tabula Rasa. I also can throw format out the window. Like, Mirrors is basically a fanfic of my own fanfic. I hope people are into The One’s backstory, I hope people are getting that Firefly-y feel of “nine people looking into space and seeing totally different things,” I hope people like the action-y chapters. Like, let’s address trauma, but also let’s have Jake repel off a building with Menderash on his back and just LIVE in that big cheesy ridiculous cinematic nonsense moment.

[airshipcity]

menderash replied to your photoset “menderash: there’s thematically appropriate puns on the insides of...”

*stares at your tags* *grabs you by the lapels* IF YOU DO IT I'D LOVE YOU FIVE EVER

@menderash oh no! oops!! (40 isasay doodles and thoughts spill out of my pockets) 

It’s not the first time Patrick finds himself with his face buried in a pillow because of Leander. In fact, it’s not even the first time today. 

The music festival is tomorrow, and Ro and Syd aren’t coming until then, and since it was easier on his wallet to come the day before, Patrick’s staying at Leander’s place for the night. Tomorrow they’re all staying in tents. Together. 

Frankly, just staying on a mattress in the same room as Leander is doing enough of a number on him as is. Sharing a tent? That’s going to be the end of him. His heart is going to physically abandon his chest, he’s pretty sure. Patrick lets out another groan into the pillow, hoping the softness will absorb his blush as well as it absorbs the noise. 

The door creaks behind him, and Patrick has a full-body twitch as he flops over to see who it is. Unsurprisingly, it’s Leander, who looks somewhat worried (which in itself is a testament to how long they’ve known each other, because it’s pretty close to his usual, neutral expression), hovering in the doorway and staring down at Patrick. 

“Everything alright?” Leander asks, and Patrick mumbles briefly in affirmation. It doesn’t look like Leander’s completely buying it, but he doesn’t press the issue. 

“Okay.” 

“I was just, um, testing the mattress and the pillow,“ Patrick says quickly, and he can already feel himself about to ramble. “You know how sometimes you sleep somewhere you’re not used to, and you get a super hard mattress or a pillow that’s way softer than you like?”

Leander looks like he’s not quite as familiar with that experience, but he nods anyway. “Was it good?” 

“It’s perfect,” Patrick blurts out, despite not having been at all thinking about that during the solid ten minutes he’s been laying face-down. “Just how I like it.” 

Leander’s lips quirk a little in a slight smile, tugging at one of his locks, and Patrick’s heart flutters again. “Still feeling jetlagged?” 

“A little,” Patrick admits, shrugging. “But I’ll adjust. I’m more worried about you, honestly.” He puffs his cheeks. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been in the chat late at night the whole past week. Are you still nervous about the concert?” 

“We had another practice session this morning,” Leander replies, which is kind of a non-answer. Patrick gives him a Look. Leander looks down for a second before walking in and shutting the door behind him, sitting down on the mattress next to him. 

Leander is really warm, Patrick thinks briefly. He can feel the body heat next to him, and even just turning his head to look at Leander makes him certain his face is reddening again. Fortunately, Leander breaks the silence after just a moment. 

“I guess I’m a little nervous,” he admits, still fidgeting with his hair. “I know that I know my parts and that the others do too, and it’s not like it’s our first ever performance in front of an audience. But... I don’t know. It’s big.” 

“But that’s a good thing, right?” Patrick says, shifting on the mattress. “You’re finally getting the audience you deserve. I know you’re an amazing musician, so if you manage to just not think about there being a lot of people, I think you’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” He closes his eyes, and before Patrick can stop the ridiculous impulse shooting through him, he’s taken Leander’s hand in his own, staring intently at him. Leander’s eyes fly open, too, blinking owlishly at him. 

“I’ve already heard a lot of your music and you know that I really love it, okay? That’s how I know they’re going to love it too. It’s okay to be nervous. It just shows how much you care about this.” He swallows. “So-- so if you get nervous about the crowd, just don’t focus on them, okay? Pretend you’re just playing for me.”  

Leander’s gaze seems to be burning a hole into his head, lips slightly parted, and Patrick’s face flushes quickly as he drops Leander’s (incredibly warm) hand in order to scratch at his neck. “And the others,” he adds, glancing to the side. “We’ll all be here to support you. That’s part of why we’re coming here in the first place, after all.” 

Leander is silent for what feels like an eternity, and when Patrick finally dares glance back, Leander is actually smiling a little, which is going to physically end Patrick the moment he lets it. 

“Thanks.” Leander closes his eyes briefly again, still smiling. “I’m glad you could come.” 

“Me too,” Patrick murmurs, heart still pounding so loudly he could swear Leander has to hear it, too. 

God, it’s going to be a long night. 

[dungeonmasterpoisonbite]

Wednesday Friendsday: Character and Player bios

Cast of Wednesday Friendsday -

Josh (he/him/his) is the Dungeon Master of Wednesday Friendsday Modern Fantasy Campaign. He plays the NPCs, organizes the adventures, and adjudicates the rules. He also does the audio editing to get the episodes edited down. You can find him at taekwondorkjosh at tumblr, or his tabletop blog dungeonmasterpoison.

James (He/him/his) plays Nelherin (she/her/hers), or Henri for short. Henri is a tall Fire Genasi Sorcerer with the Dragon sorcerous origin. Henri comes from a family of fire genasi that have been on the run for generations, and was roped into working with the Keepers to guarantee her family's safety. Henri has no idea what's been after her and her family all this time.

Jay (they/them) plays Dee (she/her/hers), our Tiefling Pugilist. She is short, loves roughhousing and works as a physical trainer. She is the twin sister of El (detailed later). They were separated at birth. Dee was raised by two loving fathers, and loves her sibling dearly. You can find them at their tumblr account: @jaybyrds

Cavatica (no pref) plays El (she/her or they/them), our tiefling Cleric. They are also very short, and work as a professor at the local university. They successfully summoned a demon named Valac as part of their thesis research, triggering their latent tiefling heritage. Valac also turned out to be El and Dee's grandfather, and offered to help El learn all they can about amgic. Valac is El's deity for gaining magical power. You can find Cav and some amazing art at her tumblr account: @acavatica

Danny (he/him or she/her) plays Avery (she/her/hers). Avery is a 16 year old girl who, on a goof, managed to pull off actual magic and triggered her manifestation. Turns out Avery's estranged father is a vampire, and now Avery can turn into a bat or wolf and doesn't like sunlight even more than the goth teen she had been before her vamp blood activated. She is a Wizard specializing in illusion magic. you can find Danny at his tumblr account: @ghostzvne

Moe (she/her/hers) plays Sweet Ghoulamn (he/him/his), an undead rogue. Originally a wannabe necromancer bent on ending the world, an accident with an actual magic item murdered Sweets and reanimated him at the same time. This actual-death experience resutled in sweets trying to turn over a new leaf, and now he wishes to bring down the world in a less... kill everyone in it kind of way. You can find moe and some wonderful art at her tumblr account: @menderash

Below are the official bios that the characters posted in the “Employee Bios” channel in our Discord server. 

Keeper Representative #298: Below is a sample entry for you to fill out. Please copy (select the prompt with your mouse or other interactive appliance, then press and hold the control button or command button on your keyboard, then press the "c" key, then release both buttons) and then paste it into the response box below (select the box by clicking on it with your mouse or other interactive appliance, then press and hold the control button or command button on your keyboard, then press the "v" key, then release both buttons). You may then use your keyboard to fill in the information as you see fit. Feel free to add in additional lines of information if you feel it necessary to do so.

Names:

Nicknames:

Pronouns:

Age:

Height:

Weight or Build:

Profession and/or Background:

Species/Race:

Class:

Alignment:

Misc. info:

🚐Jevans🎷:

Names: Jackson Evans

Nicknames: Jeeves, Jev, Jevans (preference for the last)

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 32

Height: 5'1"

Weight or Build: very narrow frame

Profession and/or Background: Driver

Species/Race: half-elf

Class: Rogue (Rake Archetype)

Alignment: CG

Misc. inf: Hey guys! I'll be your driver!!!

El 🐍 :

Name: Eleanor Shriver

Nicknames: El

Pronouns: they/them, she/her

Age: 26

Height: 5'2" Weight or Build: 190 lbs, pear-shaped

Profession and/or Background: Theological researcher and adjunct professor specializing in demonology; studied to be a nun from 16 to 22

Species/Race: Tiefling; 1/16th demon

Class: Cleric (knowledge domain)

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Misc. info: Has a tattoo on the inside of their left wrist of the sigil of Valac, Lord of Snakes. Is super socially awkward but high charisma makes it come off as charmingly quirky. Easily distracted by the prospect of acquiring new information. Draws demon sigils when bored, resulting in occasional accidental summoning/mystical phone calls to the underworld.

Additional backstory: https://tinyurl.com/yc383v33

👊Dee Foster :

Name: Elodie Foster

Nicknames: Dee

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 26

Height: 5'2"

Weight or Build: Very muscley and buff. Broad shoulders.

Profession and/or Background: Personal trainer in a super fancy gym. Lots of athletics and rock climbing.

Species/Race: Tiefling; 1/16th demon

Class: Pugilist

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Misc. info: Has very little foresight in the heat of the moment. Very physical person, loves to work with her hands. Can be very spur of the moment a lot of the time.

Sweet Ghouman 💀:

Name: Sweet Ghoulman

Nicknames: Sweets, Sweetie

Pronouns: he/him

Age: 23 for the foreseeable future

Height: 5'10''

Weight or Build: ~90lb, deathly skinny

Profession and/or Background: grocery clerk at the safeway on 27th street

Species/Race: zombie, formerly human

Class: rogue (thief archetype)

Alignment: chaotic good

Misc. info: formerly a chaotic evil wannabe-necromancer who wanted to raise an undead army to destroy the world he hated so much. attempting to use a necromantic artifact, he accidentally killed and resurrected himself instead. dying and given another chance at living has given him time to reconsider his outlook on the world. sweet has since become much nicer and more optimistic, despite being dead.

avery:

Name: Avery Emerson

Nicknames: nothing unless you guys give her one

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 16

Height: 5'6"

Weight or Build: 150-ish, some tummy and big thighs

Profession and/or Background: works at Mcdonald's and is also a high school student. hates both of these jobs

Species/Race: dhampir

Class: wizard (illusion)

Alignment: chaotic good

Misc. info: she has a keytaur and doesn't care about gender. she is also constantly angry at the world

🔥 Nelherin ⚡ :

Name: Nelherin Marel

Nicknames: Henri

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 25

Height: 6'

Weight or Build: Slender, slightly athletic

Profession and/or Background: Photographer

Species/Race: Fire Genasi with a little bit of blue dragon

Class: Sorceror of the dragon variety

[m-to-the-6th-power]

The more things change

Okay so I’ve had this idea for years but I’ve never been able to do it 

“Ram the Blade Ship,” Were the last words Jake Berenson ever expected to say, at least after the war had ended. It had always been an option there, in the part of him that he couldn’t ever admit was there until that day all those years ago, the part that would win by any means necessary. He swallowed thickly as he felt the acceleration under his feet and he saw the Blade Ship jump closer in less than a second. He slammed his hands forward onto the console as his heart leapt into his throat, preparing his tiger morph in the back of his mind on the off chance this didn’t kill all of them.

As the ships began their collision he heard it, that voice that wasn’t Ax’s but still felt like hearing his voice but with all of Visser 3 and Crayaks malice, “Time is cyclical Yeerk-Slayer, everything repeats!”

As the Drode watched the Rachel begin collision, he looked over at his newest recruit, pausing time before moving his head to indicate the ship . “They’re really commited to this, I do wonder what dear Jake is planning, I can’t imagine what would make him this reckless.”

The being next to him snarled, shaggy brown fur bunching tighter around her shoulders as her hands came up to plunge into the threads that only her and the Drode could interact with, letting time resume. “Fuck you Barney,” She snarled, tossing her molten gold hair over her shoulder as she pulled to the side with her entire weight, just barely able to move the necessary threads even with all her strength. “Not today cousin, I'm the only one allowed to be that recklessly stupid.”

OoOoOoO

Jake felt the impact, he saw rather than felt the first bloom of fire as something between the two ships ignited from the sparks. He began his tiger morph without really thinking about it, as he saw everything working in slow motion until he heard a voice in the back of his head. He couldn’t place it before the world seemed to lurch suddenly to the right. The explosion still rocking the ship as it flew past the Blade Ship and then, darkness. Darkness and the faintest sound 'Not today cousin.’

When Jake awoke, he saw the rest of his rag-tag crew laying on the deck, bruised and bleeding but, hopefully, stable. When he sat up he saw the outside wasn’t the empty void of space but a sparsely populated forest. He started making the rounds, feeling every day of his only 21 years as he started moving around, rousing his team and trying to make sure everyone was okay. Still trying to shake the feeling of that sound, his gut churning.

He went to Tobias first, heart in his throat as he saw the human form laying on the bridge, chest rising and falling easily even with the nasty gash on his forehead. As he glanced down at his watch he sobered immediately. The time had clearly clicked over the two hour limit from just the time since they’d approached the One. Jake knew that Tobias was trapped now, trapped again.

“Hey Tobias,” Jake started, pushing down his guilt and the rage at himself, putting his best In-Control face on, shaking Tobias. “Come on Tobias, wake up,” Jake said as he saw the young mans eyes begin to flutter open. “We lived, but we gotta get up and rolling soon.”

Tobias groaned as he sat up, staring at Jake through slitted eyes, “This reminds me of that time we all decided to get that giant bottle of Jack Daniels,” Tobias says as his body changes, his hawk form becoming apparent even as Jake gaped, the transformation finishing quickly. {I was still hungover as a hawk the next day somehow, I didn’t know that was even possible.}

Jake squashed his surprise at seeing Tobias still able to morph and, after checking that the morph had healed any residual damage, went to wake the rest of the crew. Everyone else was able to heal any issues with a quick morph, except Menderash who had luckily escaped unharmed.

Menderash moved to the controls as soon as he was up and moving, and opened the door to the outside, nodding towards the door as the scent of rich jungle life hits everyone. “Think we should go exploring?”

Jake nodded, mutely headed to the door before time seemed to freeze as Rachel stood in front of them, blonde hair and splendor still as integral to her as she stood in the door way casually grinning at him. He stopped as his heart seemed to freeze inside his chest, finally understanding the meaning of what he heard before everything changed. “R-Rachel?” He asked breathlessly, feeling every eye on him, knowing without looking that Tobias is expecting an imposter just as much as Jake himself is.

{No,} The person in the door says, the voice seeming to make everyone in the ship jump in surprise. {I am not your kin Yeerk-Slayer. I hoped that this form would be the most comfortable to all of you, everyone on our planet knows of Rachel Berenson, the Elegant Berserker. She was something of a legend here during your fight against the Yeerks.}

Jake snarled, rage overflowing, beginning to lunge forward before Marco wraps both his arms around Jakes middle, pulling him back. “How dare you?” Jake snarls, reaching forward to the visage of his dead cousin, his mouth formed into a rictus of hate, “How dare you defile the dead by stealing her image? Let her stay dead damn you.”

{Peace Jacob,} The imposter says as she changes in the blink of an eye from the form of Rachel to a teenage girl with dirty blonde hair and swarthy skin. {I only came to warn you that we found your prodigal team member in the middle of the city, Aximili, and to lead you to him. He landed at around the same time you did, with a nasty gash and more than a few wounds that we don’t want to try to treat until we had others who knew the technology. My name is Lauren.}

Jake nodded dumbly, the adrenaline still pumping in his veins making him nearly mute as relief washed over him as the realization that Ax must have been freed somehow finally clicks. “Do… do you know what happened? With Ax I mean, he was possessed, do you know what happened to get him out of it?”

Lauren shook her head, {We have no real solid evidences to what happened. He shows many signs of having been possessed by the One, but those possessions have yet to end with anything short of death.} Lauren jumped out of the ship, starting to lead the way as she kept ‘calling’ behind her, {He also shows signs of tampering by both Crayak and Toomin, the one I believe you know as Ellimist. It would truly take both of them exerting pressure to save even a single being from the One.}

Jake nods, jumping out of the ship and starting to jog after her. As soon as everyone was out of the ship, time seemed to ripple like a heatwave around the humans present. Jake felt his back stiffen, knowing that morphing was pointless against any creature coming to speak to them. “Speak of the devil,” Jake says, sneering as he turns to face the new enemy standing in front of all of them. Standing tall and regal, hair like molten gold falling to her shoulders covered in a shaggy pelt of fur that covered her like a cloak, Jake absorbed all this in a moment before the face registered. “Damn all of you, won’t any of you just let her stay dead?” Jake asks, anguish clear in his tone.

“Nice to see you too cousin,” The figure drawls slowly, a grin forming that Jake recognized as completely unique to his cousin. “Although you keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

The gang on their wedding days

[Been meaning to post this one for a while — since I’m applying to get married today, now seems like the time.]

Jake steps into the room like a child wandering into his parents’ dinner party.  His bow tie is askew, seams of his jacket misaligned for all that it’s a custom-tailored tuxedo.  If the buttons of his shirt aren’t one hole off from their intended placement, they still manage to convey that impression from across the room.

Rachel feels a rush of affection for him, her first best friend.  The boy who’d run and fought and splashed through mud with her, back before adults started telling her to be careful of her dress and him to be careful of her.  Only he could show up to his own wedding looking like he’s ready to be expelled at any moment.  Only Jake.

And yes, she gets mushy at weddings.  Sue her.

Tom steps up next to Jake, far more elegant in an off-the-rack suit.  Some people actually got the fashionable genes in this family.

Rachel surges across the room.  Tom gets a quick hug, and then she turns all her attention on Jake.

“You only have to look nice for the next three hours,” she tells him briskly.

“Three.  Hours,” Jake repeats.

With expert motions she realigns his… everything, until at the very least the clothes are sitting the way the tailor intended.  She tries to finger-comb his hair, thankful for the heels that put her at an inch above his height, but it’s obvious that he has also been running his hands through it and the style is hopelessly deformed.

“You can survive anything for three hours,” Rachel says as she does all this.  “I’ve seen you do it.”

“But if I mess it up—”

“Then stop, go back, and do whatever it is over.  We’re not exactly on a time pressure, here.  Nobody’s gonna die if you trip at the altar or forget your lines.”

“Okay.”  He stuffs his hands in his pockets, deforming his jacket again.  “Okay.”

She can see him starting to relax as he glances around, shoulders coming down.  Cassie’s place isn’t quite like they remember — it’s been repaired since the war, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic expanded to nearly five times its original size — but it still feels as close to home as any place does.

“Have a glass of water,” Rachel says.

“But what if I have to pee during the ceremony?”

She rolls her eyes.  “Babysit him,” she mouths at Tom.

Tom gives her a gesture in response that approximates What do you think I’ve BEEN doing?  Whether he means the last four hours or the last twenty-six years is, really, a moot point.

Rachel leaves him to it, and charges off to go check on the others.

************

Marco leans against a tent pole, trying to roll one of the rings across his fingers the way Vegas poker players do with chips.  So far it’s not going well.

“Canapé,” Ax is saying carefully.  He attempts to lean next to Marco, nearly going all the way over.  “Can-nap-peee?”

“Uh, no.”  Marco catches the ring as it makes its third or fourth bid for freedom, stuffing it back into his pocket.  “That…”  He tilts his champagne flute to point.  “…is a canopy.  Or a chuppah, I guess.  Canopee.  Canapay is the little pastry thing you’ve already filched in bulk, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Ah,” Ax says.  And then, “This temperature and rate of precipitation is within optimal survival parameters for humans, is it not?”

“Nuh-uh, Ax-Man, I will not be pulled in by your smooth small-talk skills.”

“Did you not wish to make conversation?”  Ax frowns.  And then he stuffs another canapé in his mouth.  “This is making conversation,” he adds through the mouthful.

Marco squints.  “Is it, though?”

“It is indeed.  Did you know that the rotating-wheel can opener was patented in 1870?”

Marco’s response to that one gets cut off when Rachel comes charging across the open tent space like a small freight train.  Tobias is balanced on her shoulder, flaring slightly as she runs.  She yanks the champagne flute out of his hand.  Marco makes a squeak of protest, but Rachel just sets it firmly on a bussing tray and turns back to glare at him.

“What did we agree?” she asks sternly.

Marco rolls his eyes.  “That I’d stay sober-ish for the toast, and not do anything too embarrassing.”

“You’re the best man.  You have one job, Marco.”

“Excuse you, the best man’s one job was that banger of a bachelor-slash-ette party we did Wednesday night.  Did you like the part where we all dived out of a helicopter and flew clear through the lower atmosphere to that rooftop bar?  Because—”

“So you got the drinking out of your system.  You promised.”

“Sober-ish, come on, it’s just one wine-spritzer-thing!”

Rachel turns away from him, looking Ax over.  “You realize you’re going to have to demorph and remorph at some point before the ceremony, right?” she asks.  “And that when you do, someone’s going to have to go through the whole kit and caboodle of getting you into that tux all over again?”

“Yes,” Ax says.  “Yes, I do.”

She stares at him.  He stares back, looking as innocent as it is possible to look while also chewing three jalapeño pastries at the same time.

«You should probably just listen to her,» Tobias suggests.  «By the way, where’s your date?  Not that I quake in fear for the wedding cake or anything, but, uh…»

“Menderash has been instructed not to eat anything on a human plate without seeking my opinion first,” Ax says, somewhat stiffly.

“Yeah,” Marco says.  “So far he’s only eaten two earthworms, a candle, some decorative sand, and part of Collette’s bouquet.  You two have nothing to worry about.”

“Part of Collette’s bouquet?” Rachel demands.  “We can’t send a bridesmaid up the aisle without—”

“Already replaced it, I am on top of this.”  Marco flips his hair back from his face.  “I am a flower master.”

«So where is Menderash now?» Tobias asks.

“Helping Cassie’s mom,” Marco explains.

«And Cassie’s mom is…?»

“Delivering a baby cow.”

Rachel makes a noise like she’s choking on air.  “Doesn’t Michelle have vet techs for that kind of thing?  She’s supposed to be getting ready, not, not…”

“It’s cool,” Marco says.  “She’s got her makeup on, her hair is done perfectly, she’s got an apron-thing to keep her dress nice and gloves over her nails, it was a breech birth so they needed a real doctor and Walter was busy supervising the caterers, she’s got Menderash and Steve helping her out—”

“She kidnapped Jake’s dad?” Rachel demands overtop the continuing babble.

“He said he had never delivered an offspring outside of his own species before, and expressed deep curiosity on the subject,” Ax offers.  “Menderash is a certified medic with andalite training, so they should be well-equipped to assist.”

Marco makes jazz hands in the air.  “It’s a free pre-dinner show!  Cow birth.  Better than icebreakers.”

There’s a very long pause.  Rather than dignify that with a response, Rachel turns and stalks away.

Marco watches her go, halfway awed at her ability to navigate an open yard so well while not only wearing six-inch heels and a multi-layer floor-length dress, but also balancing an enormous updo on top of her head and a red-tailed hawk on her left shoulder.

“Is it just me, or did Jake and Cassie make a monster when they asked her to be maid of honor?” Marco says.

«You wanna take over her responsibilities, then?»

Of course Tobias heard that.  Stupid hawk hearing.

“No thank you!” Marco yells after them.

Cassie, meanwhile, is currently picking her way across the open space under the tent, bunches of dress hiked up to above her knees.  This last is, of course, the source of Rachel’s consternation.

“Here.”  Rachel attempts to pull the wads of skirt out of Cassie’s hands and drop them back to the ground.  “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

Cassie stubbornly refuses to let go.  “You told me not to let it drag on the ground.  If I let it down, it’ll drag.”

“Cassie, Cassie.  That is a hand-tailored Christian Dior gown that I commissioned to be custom-fitted to your measurements.  There is no way that it is too long if you let it…”

Cassie drops the bunches of tulle.  The end of the skirt falls all the way down, where the bottom two inches rest, unmistakably, on the muddy ground.

Rachel somehow manages to wince with her entire body while also not moving at all.

«It’s a look,» Tobias suggests, by way of consolation.  «Kind of.»

“How…?”  Rachel peers closer at Cassie.  “Wait, where are your shoes?”

Cassie shrugs, embarrassed.  “Uh, inside somewhere.  I was having trouble balancing in them.”

“Well that’s why!”  Rachel’s emphatic gesture almost dislodges Tobias.  With years’ experience, he dodges her waving arm and retains his perch.  “The dress was tailored to fit you with shoes on.”

“They were getting stuck in the grass—”

“They’re kitten heels!”

“Yeah, and they’re still heels.”  Cassie looks stuck somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.  “I don’t really do heels.  Sorry.”

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says, as if to thin air.

«Nuh-uh, leave me out, I want no part in—»

“Remember me telling Cassie that we should really try the whole outfit on before the wedding?”

«Uh.  Yes?»

“Do you also remember Cassie agreeing to it, and then the day of, haring off to go try and save a bunch of vultures instead?  Remember how we tried to reschedule, and there was that ALF mission on the same day so she never showed?  Remember that?”

Cassie clears her throat loudly.  “I think it’s a very nice dress.  It’s fluffy and also comfortable, and look!”  She tucks her hands away.  “It has pockets.”

«Vultures are actually fundamental for waste disposal in ecosystems all over the world, and the poisons used on livestock—»

“Do you think you could at least wear the shoes long enough to go up the aisle?” Rachel asks.  “And maybe even for a few photos as well?”

 “Uh.  I’ll try.”  Cassie hikes her skirt back up (Rachel full-body winces again) and starts picking her way across the lawn back toward the house.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to un-wrinkle it in time,” Rachel mutters.

«Yep.  So you’re just going to have to live with it.»

“I hate living with it.”

«Wanna go check on whatever monstrosity of a replacement bouquet Marco probably inflicted on Collette?»

“Fine, fine.”

**************

Cassie walks up the aisle in a custom-tailored gown, an edelweiss and valerian flower crown, and slightly muddy Timberland work boots.  The sole on the boots is apparently tall enough that the skirt does, not, in fact, drag on the ground or get tangled in her feet.

«Somewhere out there,» Tobias comments, «Christian Dior is crying into an overpriced silk handkerchief and doesn’t even know why.»

Marco has never more deeply felt the utter unfairness of Tobias being able to use thought-speak while human, because they’re currently standing at the front of the aisle and he can’t even respond.

But Rachel should still count this one as a win.  The gown looks stunning on Cassie, lacy and princess-ruffled while also having the kind of practical cut that allows her freedom of movement.  And, Marco notes with a smirk, freedom to wear her morphing leotard underneath; the purple spandex is just visible peeking out from underneath the white silk neckline.  He’s got morphing clothes under his own tux — never leaves home without ‘em — so really, he can’t judge.

Plus, Michelle’s got her dress and just her dress on by now, and her locs are still tucked into their silver-beaded updo.  Really, the cow birth was just a momentary inconvenience.

“Hi,” Jake whispers, when Cassie reaches him.

She grabs his hand.  Then she stuffs her bouquet into one of his jacket pockets, and grabs his other hand.  “Hi,” she whispers back.

“This is pretty exciting, huh?”

“Yep.”

Ax clears his throat delicately, and they stop talking.

“There is an Earth tradition,” Ax says to the entire assembly, “that the captain of any ship may perform a wedding ceremony at will.”

In the front row of seats, Michelle laces her fingers through Walter’s.

“Although there is no legal precedent for this custom,” Ax continues, “it is nevertheless possible to become ordained as a wedding officiant if one just completes the proper applications.”

One of Jake’s great-aunts mutters something loudly about the lack of rabbi.  Sarah leans over and kicks her in the ankle.  Rachel beams her approval.

“Therefore, I am here to make official through human custom that which has already been forged through affection and respect.”  Ax looks from Jake to Cassie and back.  “The bond between warriors who have fought and faced death together can be neither lessened nor improved upon by mere ceremony.  The honor shared between two such beings who have chosen to risk loving each other in spite of knowing the reality of loss is one that we recognize today.  We can recognize it, but not sanctify it beyond the sanctity of what these two humans have already shared.”

Rachel lets out an audible sniffle.  Marco does his best not to smirk at her.  It’s not that sappy a speech.

“I have been assured that the bond between two humans who like each other far exceeds the bond between those who merely enjoy each other’s company,” Ax says.

And now Marco has to fight the urge to bang his head against the nearest support pole.

“I have witnessed this myself.”  Ax stares around the room.  “I have witnessed compromise and forgiveness, compassion and challenge between these two.  I therefore believe it is correct and proper that this bond be formally recognized by the State of California.  Is there anything you would wish to add?” he says to Jake and Cassie.

Cassie leans up on tip-toe.  Jake bends to meet her.

She whispers her vows into his ear, not bothering to share with the rest of the gathering.  After a moment, tears on his face, he leans in and whispers back.

Recognizing his cue, Marco grabs the rings and passes them over.  They’re boring-looking, in his opinion, plain silicon bands without anything shiny.  But they’re also easy to morph, easy to shovel manure while wearing, easy to wear without catching on anything.  Very Cassie.  Very Jake.

Speaking of which, the Timberlands prove to be a good call.  When the time comes, Cassie stomps the shit out of that ceremonial glass.

**********

In a slight break with tradition, Rachel and Tobias are actually the first ones to go back down the aisle.  Then Marco wheels Collette out, followed by Tom and Melissa, then Jake and Cassie go.  That way, Rachel’s got time to sprint back over to the main tent and check on the banquet.

Most of the tables are arranged correctly, the centerpieces in place and the cards arrayed.  Rachel does a mad sprint of the room, straightening decorations and confirming with the caterers that they got all the instructions about who needs what in their diet.  Between the number of kosher eaters on Jake’s side and the number of vegetarians on Cassie’s, Rachel made the call to go all the way to a fully vegan buffet.  That’s probably going to get some of the relatives complaining about kids these days and rabbit food, but there’s no pleasing everyone.

Rachel deftly switches a few of the placecards, thereby putting Jordan on point to deal with their great-aunt and grandmother who have both already overindulged at the open bar, muttering an apology as she does.  She puts Tobias to work making sure the bows on the backs of chairs are straight, and rushes up to the long table at the front to confirm that the armless chair meant to accommodate Cassie’s bulky skirt is in the correct place.

D.J. is here, playlist at the ready.  Dance floor is clear of grass.  Weather’s holding, but tent covers are on standby.

Slightly sweaty, she rushes back out with a chair under each arm just in time to catch the guests coming across the lawn.

“Everyone except the parents, head off to the cocktail hour!” she calls.  “Jake, Cassie, moms and dads, with me.”

While Marco’s date (a photographer named Dakota) sets up the camera, Rachel goes into a flurry of motion straightening bowties, adjusting hairdos, and touching up makeup.  Steve’s got a spot of cow blood on his forehead, she discovers to her horror, and by the time she’s done scrubbing that off Jake’s managed to get his tuxedo jacket misaligned again.  Finally she steps back, breathing hard, and nods to Dakota.

Everyone smiles.  The camera goes off.

“Okay.”  Rachel claps her hands loudly, because Jake and Cassie are looking ready to stand up and go join the reception.  “That’s one down, just twenty-three to go.”

********

Rather than tossing her whole bouquet all at once, Cassie picks it apart and gives a single flower to every single guest she can find.  When the bouquet itself runs out, she disassembles her flower crown and hands that out piece by piece until everyone’s got at least one blossom.  It just seems fairer that way, she says when Rachel asks.

Several of the traditions, Rachel reflects, seem to be lost on Jake and Cassie.  They cut the first piece of cake… and immediately hand it to Ax.  And then they cut the second piece, and the third piece, and keep right on cutting slices of cake and handing them out to people until Rachel has to step in and wrest the knife away.  She’s grateful that they refrain from any of the food-fighting nonsense, since both their wedding outfits are headed to a charity auction first thing tomorrow morning, but honestly.  They’re supposed to eat the first two slices, not drop half a tier of cake into the black hole of hungry andalite.

Cake served, Marco clinks a fork against a glass.  “Ladies, gentlemen, and proletariats!”

There’s a general murmur as people look around, trying to spot who’s speaking.

With a hand from Jake, Marco climbs bodily onto the banquet table.  “Everyone!” he shouts, and now they’re all looking at him.  At him, and at the champagne flute in his hand.  “Jake and Cassie!”

It gets a polite round of applause.

“Gotta start at the beginning, right?”  Marco looks around the room, grinning.  “So there I am, some snot-nosed three-year-old, minding my own business.  And this chubby, dorky-looking little white kid comes running up to me and is like…”  He leans in.  “‘You wanna be my best friend?’”

He grins at Jake, who is flushing bright red.

“I shit you not, that was his opening line.  ‘You wanna be my best friend?’  So I’m like…”  Marco pantomimes reeling back in shock.  “I dunno man, seems like a lot of commitment to make to a total stranger.  You want explore our options first, maybe get a prenup, see if we’re compatible?  I mean, for all I know five years from now you’re gonna find some younger, hotter best friend and then there I’ll be out on my ear with nothing to show for it.”

There’s a smattering of laughter throughout the room.  Marco visibly draws strength from it.

“But you know what?”  Marco leans down to look around, smiling like he’s got a secret.  “Little dork kept right on showing up to my house and letting me use his television and getting his mom to give me fluffer nutters, and next thing I know it turns out he really is my best friend.  I think he was onto something.

“Anyway, you think that one was bad…”  He raises his eyebrows.  “Couple years later, there we are in first grade, and this girl in teeny-tiny first-grader overalls comes into the room like…”  

Marco claps one hand over the top of his champagne flute and clamps the other under the base, and actually walks a few steps down the table with the determined air of a very small and klutzy version of Cassie.

“And her opening line is…”  Marco raises the flute to his mouth like it’s a microphone, dropping his voice.  “‘You wanna see my moth?’”

Again, there’s a smattering of laughter.  Cassie has a hand over her mouth, halfway doubled over in giggles at the memory.

“Now, us being minuscule and all, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure that there was no double entendre going on here,” Marco says.  “And I have to admit, no one has used that line on me since.  So I say ‘sure,’ because I’m like six years old and this seems like a reasonable question.  She lifts her hand up…”

Marco accompanies this with a pantomime of peering through his own fingers into his champagne.

He looks up.  “And it’s not even a freaking moth!” he cries out.  “Turns out, it’s just some little worm thing.  So I tell her.”  He puts on a snotty voice, mocking his younger self.  “‘That’s not a moth, that’s just some little worm thing.’”

There’s a pause.  Marco glances around the room.  “See if you can tell where this story’s going.”

Marco and Cassie glance at each other.  Cassie’s grinning smugly.

“She puts it in the classroom’s terrarium,” Marco drawls.  “It turns into a rock.  Two weeks later, rock cracks open and out pops a moth.”

The room cracks up again.

“So fast forward another few years, and she’s standing there holding this eight-eyed, venom-fanged thing.  And she’s all like ‘just touch the spider, Marco.  Don’t you want to be a spider, Marco?  Isn’t it cute and fuzzy?’  As if she is completely unaware that she’s holding a giant-ass eight-legged freak.”  Marco takes a sip for strength.  “And right then, I look at Jake.  And I’m thinking Jake, don’t ever let this girl go.  Because if she doesn’t even think wolf spiders are ugly, then she’s got no idea about you.  So here’s to Jake and Cassie.  Made for each other, because no one else will have ‘em.”

Jake pokes Marco in the ankle, but he’s laughing as he does it.

“All right,” Marco says, “brace yourselves, and someone get some more tissues for my second mama, because I’m about to get sappy.  I love you, Jean!” he calls.  “I know we all gotta cry it out sometimes.”

She laughs and flaps a dismissive hand at him, but she’s also misty-eyed already.

“Dudes, I gotta be honest.”  Marco is looking at Jake and Cassie.  “I didn’t think we’d get here.  I honestly did not believe, for a good long while there, that there were gonna be any weddings or graduations or driver’s licenses in any of our futures.  Just seemed like a good idea not to bet on any of us having any futures, you know?  Seemed like it might be the surest option.”

Cassie laces her fingers through Jake’s.  Silently, her mouth pressed into a line, she nods.

“So, uh.”  Marco sniffs, spinning back around and thrusting his champagne flute into the air.  “Here’s to me being wrong, yeah?”

“To Marco being wrong!” Jake echoes, and tosses back his glass.

“To Marco being wrong!” the entire room calls back.

Marco jumps back down, Cassie and Jake catching him as he lands.

**********

After everyone but Menderash and Ax has finished eating, it’s Tom who becomes the next one to tink a fork against a glass for attention.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” he tells the room, strolling slowly toward the head table.  “I promised my brother there wouldn’t be a horah.”  Tom stops, directly next to Cassie.  “But what he didn’t know is that I’d already made a promise to my new sister-in-law that there would be.  So what’s a guy to do?”

He snaps his fingers.

At this cue, several things happen at once.  The DJ switches to “Hava Nagila.”  Several people mob Jake at once.  Tom grabs Cassie and lifts her bodily over his head, carrying her chair and all to the middle of the dance floor.

With a squeak of laughter, Cassie grabs the top of Tom’s head for balance.  Jake is being hauled out next to her on a chair of his own, supported by Tobias and Menderash and Rachel and James.  Marco and Ax are herding the rest of the gathering, shoving people into a circle and linking arms together as they go.

“I hate you!” Jake calls over the sound of the music and his own fit of giggles.

“Gotta keep the in-laws happy!” Tom yells back, unrepentant.

*********

“You sure you’ve got everything you need?” Rachel asks.

Cheyenne, the head caterer, gives her a double thumbs-up.  The staff are tipped and most are ready to go, having divvied up the several extra schaeffers’ worth of falafel and butternut squash puree and other entrees that Rachel’d set aside for them.  Melissa is set to take over tending bar from here, as planned, and she’s going to keep the groomsmen after for a few minutes for cleanup duty.

“Okay.”  Rachel glances around at where the last of the countertops are getting a quick once-over with disinfectant.  “Okay.  If anything comes up…”

“I have your number.”  Cheyenne smiles and nods.

Pushing back out of the room, Rachel heads for the gift table.  Everything looks like it’s in good order, but she wants to make sure it all gets packed up properly and that none of the cards get lost in the kerfuffle.  It’s mostly donation receipts, at Jake and Cassie’s request, but some of the traditionalists on both sides came with soup tureens or the like —

“Hey.”  Jake catches her by the arm.

Rachel turns to look at him.  “What’s wrong?  Is it the great-aunts?”

“Nothing’s wrong.  It’s all perfect.”  He’s smiling shyly.  “Thanks.”

“I need to check on the gifts,” Rachel says, because she’s a coward who doesn’t know how to do mushy conversations, especially not with Jake.

“The gifts are fine,” he says.  “It’s all fine.  Because you made it that way.  So… thanks.”

When he pulls her into a hug, Rachel can’t resist straightening his hair one last time even as she returns the embrace.  “You realize I do this for fun, right?” she asks, holding him at arm’s length and looking him in the eye.  “Like, I could’ve hired a wedding planner, but honestly why bother?”

He shrugs.  “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything.  All of it.  Without you, Cassie and I wouldn’t even…”

Then, because this is all getting too honest, Rachel links her arm through his and drags him onto the dance floor for, he’s about to realize, their middle school gym class’s favorite godawful square dance.

*********

When she has do-si-doed Jake within an inch of his life, Rachel tosses him at Cassie.  She pivots around and gives Tobias a flourishing courtesy; he returns it with an equally ridiculous bow.

“It is marvelous, how well they have adapted their balance to compensate for their lack of legs,” Menderash comments to Ax.

“Very true.”  Ax leans next to him against the bar.  They are currently sharing a delicious beverage Melissa has made for them, simply by unscrewing the lid from a nearly-empty jar of olives and handing over the remaining liquid.

It is true, some of the dancers are more talented than others.  Michelle and Walter are synchronized with each other and the beat of the music, even if their choice of moves is not nearly as audacious as the spinning thing Marco and Dakota are doing.  The bride and groom, meanwhile, are looking at their own feet and keep bumping into each other as they move.  Between their relative unconcern with anyone but each other and the broad hem of Cassie’s dress, the other couples are giving them a wide berth.

“Do you wish to attempt such feats?” Ax asks, glancing at Menderash.

Menderash gives a full-body shudder.  He flaps one hand in an andalite gesture that, if translated to English, would approximate fuck that.

Ax grins, drinking more olive juice.

“Have you done such a thing?” Menderash asks.

“Never for very long,” Ax says.

Jake and Cassie have given up on dancing entirely, descending into a giggle fit in the middle of the dance floor as they both attempt to disentangle Jake’s cuff link from the lace of Cassie’s hem.  Rachel swirls by, briefly blocking their view.  She’s switched partners.  Dakota is doing their best to teach Tobias how to waltz while Marco and Rachel are now swing-dancing their way across the dance floor.

As both andalites watch in awe, Rachel spins Marco in a circle, swinging him out and then drawing him back close to her body.  Marco pirouettes, throwing his head back so that his hair flares around his face, and then throws himself backwards.  Rachel catches him neatly around the waist, dipping him nearly to the floor.  Marco braces on her shoulders and she flings him upward with her whole body so that she actually lifts him off the floor for a second before gracefully sweeping him back down.  They separate until just the tips of their fingers are touching, and then spin back together until Marco suddenly swoops under Rachel’s arm, coming up on the far side as she pivots around in time fro him to fall back against her.

Ax is reminded of the way they fight.  There’s something almost joyful in their ferocity on the battlefield.  There’s something almost frightening in their enthusiasm on the dancefloor.  Neither of them seems to know how to do anything by half measure.

One by one the other clusters of dancers have stopped to watch as well.  Jake and Cassie, now sitting hopelessly tangled up in each other, seem quite happy to have the spotlight stolen.

Rachel swoops an arm around Marco’s waist and slides into a back-and-forth tango step.  Within two beats he’s caught on, falling into the same rhythm as her.  When the tempo of the song changes he grabs her shoulder and nudges her into a circular waltz.  They’re unrehearsed, and inexpert, but moving with such force and communicating so rapidly that it doesn’t really matter.

“Yes,” Menderash says softly, “I very much do not wish to attempt to dance.”

Ax smiles at him over the rim of the olive jar.  It’s empty, and in the time it takes him to set it back on the bar and catch her eye, Melissa has replaced it with maraschino cherry liquid.

The song crescendos; Marco leans his full weight back as Rachel flings him into a long spiraling turn that ends with him sliding on his knees clear between her legs, popping up behind her just in time to brace as she tips backward into him.  She spins once, twice, four times, then swings him into a dip so low that his hair brushes the floor.

As the song ends they freeze like that, chests heaving, hair damp with sweat.

They both seem to become aware at once that the whole room’s watching them.  Marco opens his mouth to say something, when Rachel’s smile turns wicked.  That’s the only warning he gets before she opens her arms and lets him drop.  Marco squawks indignantly, throwing out both elbows to catch himself.  He gets ahold of Rachel’s arm and tries to yank her down as well, but ends up pulling himself to his feet as well.

The whole room breaks out into clapping.  Marco sweeps into a low bow.  Rachel visibly considers pushing him over again before deciding against it.  Instead she runs to try and rescue Cassie’s hand-sewn lace hem and Jake’s antique silver cufflinks from their respective owners’ incompetence.

*********

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says around a yawn.

«Uh-huh?»

Idly they watch as Tom waltzes Cassie’s grandmother around the dance floor.  She’s 4’11” to his 6’4”, so it’s pretty hilarious to witness.  But at least they’re not totally mismatched: each has a single sprig of valerian from Cassie’s bouquet tucked behind one ear.

She and Tobias are sitting on the ground at one corner of the dance floor.  Rachel’s got her shoes off to massage her aching ankles, and Tobias is perched back on her shoulder.  With clever motions of his beak he’s fishing the pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into her hand as he slowly disassembles her updo.

“How do you feel about never, ever getting married?” Rachel asks.

Tobias drops another bobby pin into her hand.  «Best idea you’ve had all year.»

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

An Animorphs AU, just because.  The idea hit me and I rolled with it.

The black hole looms on every side, swallowing the horizon.  Elfangor presses cold-numb fingertips against the Time Matrix.  Loren’s floating beside him, the thing inside Alloran watching them both with terrible intent.  He thinks get me out of here.  Thinks I want to go home.  His last thought, before consciousness closes away from him in a black void, is of his family.  His scoop.  A wish flower.  A hologram.  Hope.

A being like nothing Elfangor has ever imagined sees the andalite aristh.  It sees inside his mind.

And it laughs.

Elfangor comes awake on the med table of an andalite fighter.  Not what he had expected, or intended.  There’s no sign of the humans, or of Alloran.  Instead, three andalite warriors stand over him.

«Vitals are normal.  Heartbeats are synchronized, but elevated,» the female warrior says.  She has a kit of medical supplies slung over her shoulder, and she’s watching Elfangor with the kind of naked curiosity that directs all four of her eyes his way.

«Thank you,» the captain says.  «That’ll be all for now.  I’ll let you know if anything changes.»

There’s no doubt that he’s the captain.  Nor that the other male warrior is the Tactical Officer.  It’s clear from the way that the medic salutes with her tail blade as she walks out the door, and from the slight tilt that the T.O. gives in return.

That’s all Elfangor knows.  How he got here... Where here is...

«Please identify yourself,» the T.O. says.  The use of please doesn’t disguise the sharpness of his tone.

«Aristh Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul,» Elfangor says.  «Formerly of the StarSword, although my most recent posting was aboard the Jahar.  Sir, where are the aliens who were with me?»

The captain and the T.O. exchange a glance, just a single stalk eye each.  «What was the nature of this mission, P— Aristh Elfangor?» the T.O. asks.

There’s something they’re not telling him.  It’s obvious there’s an entire conversation happening in thought-speak right now, one to which he is not privy.

«We found two aliens that had been kidnapped by skrit na,» Elfangor says, because he can’t exactly refuse an officer’s direct request.  «Arbron — my fellow aristh — and I were supposed to help Prince Alloran return the aliens to their home planet.»

«Then the Time Matrix was on Earth when you found it?» the captain asks.

Elfangor freezes.  He didn’t mention the name of the planet the aliens had come from, and he definitely didn’t mention the Time Matrix.

Several other details hit all at once.  The captain — if he even is a captain — looks barely older than Elfangor himself.  The T.O.’s posture is too close, too casual, and the captain is allowing it.  Neither one of them has introduced himself yet.

Elfangor has been trusting the captain automatically so far because — he loathes admitting it — because the captain has the same accent as Elfangor’s hometown and the same cowlick in his fur as Elfangor’s own mother, and Elfangor is so desperately homesick that he seized upon these hints of familiarity without ever thinking about why.

«Just answer the question,» the T.O. says.  The captain places a gentle hand on the T.O.’s arm.

«Sir. I...»  Elfangor rolls to stand, taking several steps away.  He salutes with his tail blade by way of apology, and then quickly drops it in submission.  His hearts are pounding.  He could be anywhere.  Anywhere.  «The humans who were with me...»

«They’re both safe on Earth,» the captain says.  «As is Alloran.»

Elfangor’s main eyes shut in shame.  «Sir.  There’s something you should know about Prince Alloran.»

Again, the captain and the T.O. exchange a glance, definitely whispering to each other in thought-speak.  «Yes?» the captain says at last.

«I failed my prince,» Elfangor says, opening his eyes, «and I failed my entire people.  Alloran has been infested by a yeerk called Esplin nine-four-six-six.»

«Oh, good,» the captain says.  «We were hoping you’d say that.»

Elfangor has jumped back, clear across the room and crouched with his tail blade snapping at the ready, faster than conscious thought.  He’d thought that Alloran’s paranoid mutterings about traitor andalites were just that, but now—

«Hey, hey, sorry, there’s no need for that.»  The captain holds up both hands in placation, a strangely humanlike gesture.  «It’s cool, Elfangor, it’s all cool.»  Now he even sounds like a human.  «I only meant that we’re glad you told us.  It means we can trust you.»

The captain takes a step forward.  Elfangor tenses to strike, and he stops moving.

«When I said Alloran’s safe, I meant that he’s no longer a controller,» the captain says.  «The yeerk inside him has been neutralized.»

«Who are you?» Elfangor demands, not lowering his tail.  «How do you know all this?»

Again, the captain and T.O. look at each other.

«Stop doing that!» Elfangor snaps, too overwhelmed to care about etiquette anymore.

«We were just deciding whether it would distress you less, or more, if we were to answer your question,» the T.O. says.  «And also debating the merits of calling Prince Estrid back in here so that she can sedate you for your own well-being.»

«Menderash is telling the truth,» the captain says.  «You taught me everything I know about tail-fighting, and half the Academy besides.  So if you chose to fight your way out of here, I doubt either one of us would be able to stop you.»

«What...»  Elfangor feels his tail lower slightly from sheer confusion.  «What...»

«You’re on board the Dome ship Intrepid,» the captain says.  «Twenty-three standard years have passed since the mission you just described.  Our Tactical Officer is Prince Menderash-Postill-Fastill.  My name is Prince Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.»

Menderash leaves them alone.  Before he does, he presses the palm of his hand very briefly against Aximili’s cheek, an andalite kiss between lovers.  Elfangor gets his third or fourth shock of the past five minutes.  Normally a warrior, even the significant other of a captain, wouldn’t dare to show affection so openly.

Aximili registers him staring, of course, and tenses.

«You’re... not like other captains,» Elfangor comments awkwardly.

That gets Aximili to smile, eyes crinkling in a way that strengthens the resemblance to their mother.  «I served under two war-princes, both of whom taught me well.  One was considered wildly unconventional by andalite standards.»  He tilts a stalk at Elfangor.  «The other one wasn’t an andalite at all.»

Elfangor blinks.  «Things really have changed while I was gone.»

«Not that much, it would seem.  Prince Jake is...»  Ax makes a see-saw gesture with one hand, still strangely human in his mannerisms.  «The War Council does not officially recognize his position.  Any warrior who has ever seen him lead tends to hold a different opinion.  Alloran himself risked a challenge against a superior officer on Prince Jake’s behalf.»

«Alloran.»  Elfangor’s head is going to fall clean off if things get any more confusing.  «Challenged an officer.  For an alien.»

«In a way, it’s all your fault.»  Aximili’s smile turns fond.  «You’re the one who gave Prince Jake — and four other humans — the ability to morph.»

«I... why?»

«The yeerks were on Earth,» Aximili says simply.

And yes, that really does explain it all.

«The Electorate officials were angry at first,» he continues.  «But you did so much good for the war effort, it wasn’t long before they were putting up statues and naming Dome ships in your honor.»

Elfangor laughs, but stops abruptly.  «I’m dead, then.»  They don’t name Dome ships after living warriors.

Aximili goes still, realizing his error too late.  «Not before ensuring victory over the yeerks,» he says at last.  «You died honorably, doing battle to your last—»

A shudder wracks Elfangor’s body.  Of course there’s no escaping the war.  Of course not.  Of course they’ll make him fight and keep fighting, down to the very last heartbeat.  No end point.  No reprieve.  No other way.  Just a killer.  Just a tail blade and a trigger finger, and nothing in between.

Even after death, they wouldn’t let him be.  Named their war machines after him.  Taught their children to kill and die in his name.

«Elfangor...?»

«I’d like to be alone, if that’s all right,» he says.

Aximili nods.  He salutes briefly — one war-prince to another, this time — and leaves.

The next time they talk, there are a million questions.  Elfangor doesn’t know how he got here, or why he showed up without the Time Matrix.  Aximili can’t explain anything Elfangor saw before losing consciousness, but he does have more firsthand experience with time travel than Elfangor himself.  Haltingly, in fits and tangents, Aximili does his best to catch Elfangor up on everything that has happened in the years he missed.  Some of it makes no sense — Elfangor was a nothlit, and then he wasn’t — and some of it, like Arbron’s rebellion against the Yeerk Empire, fits perfectly.

Aximili gives Elfangor the free run of the Intrepid, and finds him a spare room to get him out of the med bay.  Warriors salute as they pass and call him “Prince Elfangor,” or “sir.”  The official story as recorded in the ship’s log is that he’s a castaway aristh rescued from a damaged fighter.  But the other warriors figured out Elfangor’s identity the moment he appeared unconscious in the middle of their dome, and now gossip follows him everywhere: he’s a war-prince.  A relic.  Most importantly: he’s Aximili’s little brother.  Yeah, the Aximili.

«Am I a prince?» he asks Menderash once, in a moment of weakness.

Menderash has been teaching Elfangor how to pilot.  Ten years ago, Menderash learned how to pilot by watching Elfangor.  They both try not to think about this too hard.

«Why would you ever think that you are not?» Menderash says, and then, «Eyes, Prince Elfangor.»

Elfangor sighs.  He has once again allowed his eyes to drift away from their proper position — one on the altitude, one on the engine lights, two on the viewscreen — to look down at his hands on the controls.  «I barely have any flight experience, for one,» he says.  «And the person who killed all those yeerks, won all those battles... He’s not me.  Not yet, and now not ever.  I think not, anyway.»

Menderash considers.  «You’re asking if our experiences make us who we are, or if we are born the way we will always be.»

«Um, yes.»

«I have no idea,» he says immediately, «but if you don’t stop accelerating into every takeoff like you’re being chased, then I will throw you out of the airlock.»

Elfangor flushes.  «Are you this mean to Aximili?»

«You mean when we’re alone together?»

And now Elfangor is flushing even more, half-hoping the floor will open and swallow him.

Menderash laughs.  «If I am, then I suppose you’ll have to throw me out of the airlock.»

«I’m a powerful war-prince, I guess.»  Elfangor dares to glance over at him.  «So you had better treat him right.»

«Eyes, Prince Elfangor.»  Menderash is still smiling, though.  «I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.»

There are a lot of long conversations with various authorities.  The Andalite War Council’s official opinion is that Elfangor might be the real deal but that they still refuse to acknowledge his existence, and will consider anyone attempting to use Elfangor’s identity an act of treason.  The Electorate defers to the War Council’s insistence on Elfangor’s death, but the representative they get on the phone asks for Elfangor’s autograph anyway.  The Galactic Union of Sentient Species has entirely too much interest in time travel, and also in pretending that time travel doesn’t exist and therefore Elfangor doesn’t exist.

«What are they so afraid of?» Elfangor asks Aximili, after their seventh or eighth attempt at contacting a real authority meets a dead end.  «I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone about the Time Matrix, and I mean it.  If I just said it was a sario rip from the Jahar’s engine exploding, no one would ever have to know.»

Aximili looks Elfangor over, clearly deciding how to explain something he worries Elfangor is too young to understand.  «I believe they’re most afraid of you being yourself,» he says at last.

«What?»

«You are a person,» Aximili says.  «You love human rock music.  You have more tells than a ten-day aristh when you tail-fight, and nevertheless manage to win every fight in spite of, or perhaps because of, your unconventional technique.  You almost whacked your own stalks on a low branch yesterday while feeding in the dome.  You fell in love with a human.  You snore.»  He looks out the viewscreen, sighing.  «Elfangor... War-Prince Elfangor... is a legend.  A Dome ship.  An inspiration.  A statue in our shipyard.  Prince Elfangor isn’t clumsy, or nerdy, or anything.  Because he’s not really a person at all.»

Elfangor digests that for several minutes, staring out at the stars.  He thinks he’s a little afraid of this legend.  That he’s afraid of the implications, if the legend really was just a guy like him.

Elfangor doesn’t ask what are you going to do with me.  Doesn’t tell Aximili I want to go home.  Aximili knows, and he can’t do anything about it.  He has an entire ship to run, and almost a hundred warriors to look out for.  Babysitting an aristh is no job for a captain, especially not one on perhaps the most dangerous mission left to the entire Andalite Navy.  They’re hunting an entire ship’s worth of morph-capable controllers, dodging norshk pirates, skirting the hairy edge of kelbrid space.  The other warriors on the ship, even Aximili, seem to consider the whole thing a grand adventure, and everyone seems to expect that Elfangor will want a piece of the action.  Elfangor wants to be done with the war.  It already killed him once, destroyed his life a dozen times; he wants nothing to do with chasing the last of its ragged edges.

Almost a week later, Aximili drops a call invite to Elfangor’s quarters.  It’s a z-space comm link between the Intrepid and a distant planet.

Elfangor feels a chill of unease when the link lights up.  One holo shows Aximili, but the other shows a male human with dirty-blond hair and soft grey eyes.

He doesn’t need the identifier at the bottom of the screen.  He knows who Tobias is, and Tobias knows him.  They stare at each other, at a loss.

«Why don’t you explain what you were telling me,» Ax says at last, breaking the moment.

“Oh yeah, funny story.”  Tobias shifts, shoulders hunching.  Birdlike.  “Prince Elfangor’s still legally dead.  But Alan Fangor, Yale graduate, former Microsoft programmer, resident of the state of California?  We looked into it, and that guy’s still got a Social Security number, a bank account, and a slightly-expired driver’s license.  He owes some back taxes, but we could handle that.”

Elfangor looks at him and Aximili both.  «You’re suggesting...?»

“Only if you want to,” Tobias says quickly.  “And only for as long as you want.  And obviously there’s no reason you would want to.  It was just a suggestion.”

I want, Elfangor thinks, to be anywhere — anywhere at all — that isn’t a sunsforsaken battleship.

He looks at Aximili.  «How far are we from Earth?»

In the shuttle on the way down to the planet, Elfangor thinks he can see some of his own bad influence.  Aximili’s piloting technique is atrocious — he looks at the controls, ignores warning parameters, uses incorrect commands — and yet the inter-atmosphere transition and eventual landing are some of the smoothest Elfangor has ever experienced.  Aximili is talented, even more so for being halfway self-taught.

There are over a dozen humans standing on the landing pad when the ship sets down in the courtyard of the military base, but two step forward from the crowd.  Up close, Tobias looks to be about Elfangor’s own age in human years.  The woman beside him is familiar and yet not, wearing the middle-aged version of Loren’s features.  Elfangor feels his knees lock, and almost stumbles in the doorway.  He’s not sure he can do this.

“Ax-Man!” Tobias says.  “Only gonna be gone for six of our months, huh?”  He spreads strong human arms.  “You haven’t forgotten what an Earth month is, have you?”

Aximili steps past Elfangor, rushing to perform a human embrace with Tobias that involves briefly squeezing their arms around each other.  «You are at greater risk of such an error than I am, my friend.  You know perfectly well that the delay was unavoidable.»

“We’ll overlook it this time.”  Tobias smiles.  “Anyway, welcome to Zone 91, a place that you have definitely never been before under any circumstances.”

«Of course not.»  Aximili is smiling as well.  «Entering Zone 91 without the proper human authorization would have been illegal, and also ill-advised.»

Shorms, Elfangor thinks, watching them.  He’s surprised by a pang of envy.  They’re so clearly family to each other, his son and his brother, and he’s only just met them both.

Loren’s watching them both from across the way.  The longing on her face, he realizes, is just the same.

There’s paperwork.  A surprising amount.  The human authorities are apparently willing to tolerate his existence on Earth, but only after a frustrating amount of documentation. Tobias opts out of all of it, simply disappearing into the sky above during a moment of distraction.

It’s strange, doubly so, when Elfangor remembers that Tobias is demorphing rather than simply morphing to become a bird.  He’s heard what everyone says about nothlits on the homeworld — and he’d believed it, too.  Believed that Arbron was better off dead than taxxon.  And yet Arbron had outlived him by over five years.  Had done more to end the war than Elfangor himself had ever accomplished.

And Tobias is... Not what he’d expected, once he’d gotten over the triple surprise of you have a son — he’s an alien — he’s a nothlit.  Tobias acts as ambassador between the hork-bajir and human authorities.  Tobias has lives in two worlds — three?  Four?  He has a house in a human city, and a meadow out in the wilds.  He becomes an identical copy of Aximili and they race each other across the desert outside, arriving wild and breathless as children while Elfangor and Loren take the far more sedate ride back to civilization in the Army transport Jeep.

For the first time — or maybe the second — Elfangor thinks he can see the appeal in giving up andalite shape forever.

Tobias becomes human again once they’re dropped off, morphing with the same breathtaking speed that Aximili demonstrates.  He leads them through the downtown of a city that has skrit na hawking exotic wares on street corners, gedds shouldering through its crowds, hork-bajir hopping between the roofs of skyscrapers, andalite tourists clustered outside an establishment called Krispy Kreme.  Elfangor looks in all directions at once like a tourist himself, startled that such a place could exist.

“Alientown, California,” Loren comments, when she sees him looking.  “Not its real name, but that’s what everyone calls it.”

«We don’t have anything like this.  Anywhere in the galaxy,» Elfangor says.  «Not where — when — I come from.»

“Blame the Animorphs,” she says, raising her eyebrows at where Tobias and Ax push ahead.  “Although I guess Alloran was pretty instrumental in negotiating the treaties as well.”

Elfangor shakes his head.  He’s never going to stop being surprised, he’s concluded.  He’ll just have to get used to a state of perpetual shock, because this is his life now.  Or he’d like it to be.

When they reach the house, Tobias barely have time to pull the front door open before two different quadrupedal aliens rush outside.  Loren laughs as the larger one rears back and starts licking her face.  Tobias dives to catch the smaller one, scooping it into his arms.  “Dude, Dude, we’ve talked about this,” Tobias croons, cradling the creature.  “You eat birds, birds eat you, it’s a bad deal all around if you don’t stay inside.  You’re an invasive species, bud.  And also really easy to spot from overhead.”

“Down, Champ.”  Loren gently shoves the other animal back onto all four paws.  “You know, I had to have an entire mostly-civil conversation with my skeevy sister’s even skeevier ex to get you that cat,” she tells Tobias.  “And this is how you repay me, by teaching my dog bad manners.”

“He’s retired.”  Tobias buries his chin in the cat’s fur.  “Bad manners and lapsed training are his prerogative.”

“Sorry,” Loren tells Elfangor, shooing both him and the dog inside.  “It’s not normally this...”  She shrugs.  “Chaotic?”

“Since when?” a different human asks, as they step inside.  She’s female, if Elfangor reads her hair and clothing correctly, and moves around using a wheeled apparatus with a small motor.

“This is Kelly,” Loren says.  “And Erica —”  A different human waves from the next room over — “And Elena’s visiting her boyfriend last I heard, but she’ll be back soon, and she also has a dog.”

“I’m with Kelly on this one,” Tobias says.  “Never not chaotic.”  He smiles at Elfangor, still holding the furry cat-thing.  “We didn’t mean to start a collection of stray Animorphs and veteran pets, honestly.”

Loren brings Elfangor through to a room that has screened windows on three sides opening onto their backyard, most of the human furniture pushed to one side.  “The room’s yours for as long as you want,” she tells him.  “We put Ax out here, but he’s away a lot, so it’s yours.  Everyone else tends to go in and out, so I’m afraid there’s not much quiet, but...”  She shrugs.  “Welcome.”

He’s a long way away from the scoop where he grew up.  He’s half-forgotten already what he’d wished for, shaking palms pressed against the most powerful machine in the known galaxy.  He’s in a strange house, a strange city, surrounded by aliens.

«Thank you,» he says, and, «If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay.»

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I don't know if you've read/watched IT, but if you have, how might you think a crossover between IT and Animorphs would go? (Either IT characters in Animorphs or Animorphs characters in IT--I'd be equally interested in either)

Cassie’s hand has gone cold around the phone.  Distantly, she realizes that it’s still held to her ear.  That she has yet to move, even though the line is dead.

“Cass?” Ronnie says from the bedroom doorway.  “Honey, what’s wrong?”  He sounds scared.  More than just on her behalf.

Cassie gets calls when the truly bad things happen, before almost anyone else.  She was the first to hear about the Missouri tornado that left 143 dead.  About the domestic terrorist who blew up the Dominican-Catholic church in Arkansas.

In its own way, this is worse.  Or it has the potential to be.

“I have to get to Los Angeles,” she says, dropping the phone.  Her hands shake as she wrenches open the closet.  Drops a duffle on the bed.  Grabs clothes at random to stuff them inside.  “The town itself is an hour north, but if I fly into LAX then…”  She loses track of the sentence.  Gives up on it.

There aren’t words, she knows, to explain to Ronnie what’s happening right now.  Not her gentle Ronnie.  Ronnie has reported on active war zones.  But still he can’t know.  Not really.

“Cass, you’re meeting the president tomorrow,” he says.  “You can’t just go to California—”

“She’ll have to wait.”  Jerking the zipper shut, Cassie swings the bag onto her shoulder.  “I’ll explain when I get back,” she says.  “I love you.  More than you know.”

They send Menderash in, after an hour.  Technically it’s been an hour and a half since they patched in the civilian call to their commanding officer, but Captain Aximili was only audible on the phone for about twenty minutes.  Normally they wouldn’t intervene at all, but they’ve got a bomber exercise in less than an hour and the admiral’s on board right now.  In a way, Menderash is honored to be sent.  It’s the closest anyone has ever come — can ever come — to acknowledging him and Ax for what they are.  Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is gone, but that doesn’t mean that U.S. Navy commanders can date their captains.  Regardless of gender.

“Sir?”  Menderash sounds tentative even to himself.

Ax is staring at the far wall, back turned to the door.  He stiffens, but still doesn’t turn.  “Did I ever tell you I had a brother?” Ax asks.

“No,” Menderash says, “I don’t think you ever mentioned that.”  Which is strange, and verges on hurtful — they’ve been together for over five years.

“It ate him.”

“What?” Menderash steps forward.

“The thing that killed him.”  Ax’s voice is robotic.  Out of place with the tears on his cheeks.  “It ate his body.  No.”  He swallows, throat working.  “Not his body.  He was still alive, when it started eating.  He fought it, my friends said.  To the last.  Did so to try and save them.  He was still fighting.  Still struggling.  When it.”  A wet breath.  “It.”

“Was this… recently?”

“What?”  Ax turns, seeming to see him for the first time.  “No, of course not.  It all happened twenty-seven years ago.”

“Is that why you’ve never mentioned him before?” Menedrash ventures.

“No.”  Ax swallows again.  “It’s just that I’ve been away from that place for too long.  I began to adjust to this version of reality.  I began to forget just how bad it became, that place where we came from.”

Menderash dares to put a hand on his arm now.  To pull him close enough to get him into the light, at the very least.  “Where is that?”

“I can’t tell you,” Ax says.  “It’s too dangerous.”

“Ax…”

“I’m scared,” Ax whispers.  The admission is almost as foreign as the tears.  “I must go back there, Menderash.  I must, if I want justice for my brother, and I…”  He closes his eyes, jaw clenched.  “I’m not sure that I’ve ever been more scared in my life.”

Marco is… Honestly, Collette’s not sure what Marco is right now, just that something is definitely happening to him.  He’s ping-ponging through his office with frantic aimlessness, muttering to himself, hair flying in all directions.

“Your plane’s all prepped and ready to go,” she says.

“Collette!”  He whirls around.  “As I live and breathe.  You ever have one of those moments, when, like, reality just—”  He snaps.  “Fuckin falls away.  No, not reality.  This is not reality.  Reality is the thing that comes out of nowhere and—”  He makes a motion like an airplane zooming through the air.  “Bam!  Takes you off your feet.  Everything you thought you knew, all gone in an instant.  Because it’s all illusion.  Reality is reasserting itself, that’s what it is.  Twenty-seven years, just gone!  Like it’s all been a daydream all along.  And guess what?  Big Jake’s calling to wake you up!”  He grins maniacally.  “Have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

Collette doesn’t say but you don’t wear glasses.  She’s been in Hollywood long enough to know that there are plenty of celebrities who never wear their glasses, or retainers, or leg braces anywhere they might be seen.  She’s a talent agent who uses a wheelchair.  She’s seen it all.  “Bend down,” she says instead.

Marco whips his head forward so that she can see the top of it.  In the process, his glasses go flying out of his hair and clatter on the floor.  She hadn’t meant for him to bend over quite that hard, but at least now he knows where they are.

“Ah yes, a million thank yous!”  Marco goes scrambling across the carpet after them.

“What did you take?” Collette asks him.  She didn’t think Marco was a cokehead, but then she didn’t think he needed glasses until ten seconds ago.

“Three Xanax, half a handle of vodka, and my entire stash of pot cookies,” he declares.  “And look at me.”  He spreads his arms.

She takes his point.  He’s speaking clearly, forming full sentences.  He looks… well, not sober, but also not as though he’s had anything relaxing in the last few hours.  “Fine,” she says.  “But I’m still driving you to the airfield.”

“Don’t go,” Melissa says.  Tobias stiffens where he stands, but he doesn’t put his suitcase down.

“I don’t have a choice,” he whispers, shame and smallness.

“Don’t be ridiculous—”  She blows out a breath.  “Be safe,” she says instead.  “Be here.  Forget the past.  Let somebody else…”

“Die in my place?” Tobias asks.  This is so unlike him, to be even this angry.

“If this Jake person thinks it’s so dangerous there, why doesn’t he just leave?” she asks quickly.

Now Tobias does look over his shoulder.  “The fact that you’re asking at all…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.  He just pulls the door closed behind him, and clicks the latch into place with infinite care.

“Are you sure?” Rachel demands into the phone.

Jake doesn’t answer.  He wouldn’t be calling if he wasn’t sure.

“Fuck.”  She slams a hand against the drywall.  “Fuck.”

“You don’t have to come,” he says.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  She hangs up.

“Rachel?” Jordan says, watching wide-eyed from across the room.

“It’s nothing.”  Rachel pulls her lips back into a not-smile.  “It’s fine.”

“The thing that took Saddler… that took Tom…  It’s back, isn’t it?” Jordan asks.

Rachel hadn’t thought she knew.  Had thought her sisters believed the story about Saddler’s car accident, about Tom’s running away.

“No,” Rachel says.  “Of course not.  That’d be impossible.”

Jake doesn’t know who told David, or how.  All he does know is that he couldn’t have timed the phone call worse if he’d tried.

David’s widow’s cell phone goes off smack in the middle of his eulogy.  Her ringtone, as it so happens, is the Bee Gees’ hit single “Stayin’ Alive.”

“So.”  Marco rubs his hands together, looking around the table.  “Let the thirty-somethingth non-annual meeting of the Losers’ Club… commence!”

“Are we?” Rachel asks.  She looks around at them as well.  “Losers, that is.”

“She’s right,” Tobias says.  “Marco’s on the Hollywood A-list.  Ax-Man has, like, a dozen military awards.  I’ve got three different pieces in MOMA, Rachel’s book about… what was it, Being a Badass Bitch Boss?  That was number-one in the country for over a month.  Cassie’s freakin’ Secretary of State.  And…”  He comes to Jake, and trails off.  There’s an awkward pause.

“The county library’s still open,” Jake offers.  “In spite of the mayor’s best efforts to the contrary.”

“No kids, though,” Cassie points out.  “For any of us.  Not even David.”

“Why would we ever bring children into this world, knowing what we do?” Ax says softly.  “Oooh.  D.  Do.”

There’s another silence.  No one disagrees.

“Anyway.”  Rachel pulls them back in.  “I’m just saying, we’ve come a long way from being the kids that only hung together because no one else would hang out with us.”

Cassie was the only black kid in town.  Rachel and Jake came from the only Jewish family.  Tobias had been the odd dreamy kid with his head in the clouds, Ax the one with a tendency to repeat sounds.  Marco had just never known when to keep his mouth shut, not even when doing so would have been a survival tactic.  Small towns could be brutal, even the ones that didn’t have sadistic gods at their hearts.

But they’d found each other, entirely by accident.  And together, they’d taken on that god.  Because back then, they were too young and stupid to know just how screwed they were.

Jake outlines the grim facts.  Fourteen disappearances, two known deaths in this last year.  No adults in town paying any attention.  The local youth organization might be actively recruiting sacrifices for this thing, or at the very least looking the other way.

“So what’s the plan?” Marco asks.  “Same as last time, we all cower behind Rachel as she takes this thing on with a slingshot and half a dozen ball bearings?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”  Rachel smirks.  “Kind of.”  The smile fades.  “For a while, anyway.”

“It takes power from fear.”  Cassie cups both hands around her mug, hunching close to the fading warmth of the coffee.  “We can’t let it force us to run or hide.  We have to face it.  We have to be brave.”

“Yep.”  Marco pushes away from the table.  “Tell that to David.  Or to any of the kids who got torn to shreds.  That’s fuckin peachy, ‘don’t be afraid.’”

“We have to do something,” Jake says.  “It killed Ax’s brother.”

Funny, Cassie thinks, how they always bring up Ax’s brother, but never Jake’s.  Maybe because Alan’s death was simple, in its own way, a clear self-sacrifice.  Tom didn’t get anything as glorious as death in battle.  It ate Tom from the inside.  Sucked at and corrupted his soul until he was unrecognizable.  Not even himself anymore.  Until Rachel’d had no choice but to put him out of all their misery.  Not a clean death.  Not the kind of thing you could sum up in a single sentence.

There are other slow deaths like Tom’s, even more than the fast ones like what Al got.  David was starting to go, Tobias thinks, even before he got out of town.  One too many times he turned and ran from the thing instead of facing it with the rest of them.  Once or twice he even tried to bargain with it.  Tobias didn’t blame him, not once it’d taken David’s parents and started parading them in front of his eyes.

In parallel with those thoughts, Tobias finds himself rubbing fingertips along the right side of his stomach.  The scars faded, and yet now they’re livid again.  One shaped like an A.  One like an N.  Andy Mitchell only got through carving the D in his name before Jake got there in time to save Tobias.

Not in time to save Andy, though.  He was gone by the end of the day.  Missing, with no one left to look.  No one even to comment on his being gone.

A-N-D, carved into Tobias’s skin.  A transition.  The middle of a thought.  The only sign he’d needed, if he’d ever thought to look for one, that this thing isn’t over.  That maybe it’ll never be.

“It’s a thought-form,” Jake says.  He sounds confident.  He almost feels it, too.  Looking around at these successful adults who grew from the hopelessly awkward kids he knew, he starts to think that maybe, just maybe, they can find a way to live through this.  “So we fight it like Cassie said, just by fighting back at all.”

“Thanks for the motivational speech.”  Marco is clutching the plastic gun in both hands.  It’s a toy — and yet, twenty-seven years ago, it fired real bullets at that freak clown.  “What a day, what a lovely day to die.”

They’re walking toward the sewer entrance, heads held high.  Palms damp with sweat.  Because they have no choice.  Because it’s what must be done.

“What are you even doing here?” Tobias asks.  He’s got a baseball bat dragging at his side.  It was his mother’s.  No one knows for sure what happened to her, but then that’s true of a lot of people in this town.  No one knows, and yet some of them can guess.

“He is here because he must be,” Ax says.  “And so must we all.  Aaah-wwlll.”  That’s new, the playing with sounds.  In the sense that it’s old.  Like so much of them, it faded and then returned.

Rachel is walking close, too close, to Tobias’s side.  They keep exchanging charged glances.  All of them are regressing to childhood all over.  Or maybe it’s just that they had to become their own adults, back when they first faced this monster, and it never really wore off.

“I’m here,” Marco says tightly, “because all my life, I’ve never had friends like I did when I was thirteen.”  He laughs.  “Jesus, does anyone?”

Rachel slips her hand into Tobias’s.  On her other side, she’s holding Cassie, who’s holding Ax.  That’s the weapon, Jake thinks.  The one they’ll swing and shoot and bash at this Joker-knockoff fucker until they put it into the ground.  For good this time.  Stomp it to so many pieces that it can never put itself back together.

Jake puts the flashlight back on his belt.  Takes Marco’s sweaty hand in his, waits for the inevitable bad one-liner about buying him dinner first.

It’s enough.  Enough to hold back the darkness.  Enough to keep them alive.  It’ll just have to be, because it’s all they have.

Together, a daisy chain of madness, they plunge into the tunnel ahead.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

what are your feelings on the buffahuman book?

Short opinion: I can admit that there are some cool concepts in this book if I’m willing to overlook its three or four glaring plot holes.

Long opinion:

It seems like Cassie’s books tend to be either earth-shattering adventurefests that sweep the plot of the series forward in leaps and bounds (#4 and Ax, #19 and Aftran, #29 and the YPM, #34 and Aldrea, #50 and the Auximorphs) or they are extremely random asides that have no connection to the main plot and never come up again after they’re over (#14 and the andalite PortaPotty, #24’s Helmacron battle, #44 and the Random Australian Field Trip, #39′s buffahuman) and there’s pretty much no in-between.  And yeah, this book is both totally random and objectively bad.

However, criticizing this book also kind of feels like swatting a fly: the poor fly already has enough problems what with being small and ugly and disease-ridden and only having 28 days to live, so smearing it on the ceiling is just mean.  I’m happy to lovingly poo-poo on the Animorphs books that have a fair number of admirers among the fandalites but don’t personally appeal to me (#41, #30) and the ones whose issues have Deeply Unfortunate real-world implications (#40, #46) but kicking this one while it’s already down is like… like shooting a buffalo that never asked to get accidentally turned into a freak of nature and is just trying to go about its buffalo life without bothering anyone.  Bearing that in mind, I’d like to start by mentioning a few things this book does right.

The Good

Once again, this book shows off Cassie’s strengths.  She can run and keep running for a long time while also refusing to compromise her morals (no matter how idiotic the resultant decisions might be under pressure), she can work well alone, she can do nearly-impossible things with morphing, and when necessary she can fall from the sky in order to squash her problems flat on the ground.  Cassie is awesome in this book, mostly by being Cassie.

This plot also starts with an emergency right in the first couple pages, and the tension does not let up until the very end.  The plot-driving problem is a pretty simple one, but it does excuse the Animorphs’ needing to run and keep running for several hours.  The entire story takes place in just a few hours, which gives this one a very tight feel with no room for unnecessary frills.

There are a couple of mind-blowingly simple tactics—throwing the morphing cube across the roadblock, shoving several controllers off a cliff, dropping an “anvil” on the helicopter—that the kids use to get around the yeerks, which I always have a soft spot for because it makes it feel realistic that six children could figure out how to defeat an empire.  They might not be the Justice League (and portraying them as chessmasters of strategy would be silly and unrealistic), but they get by anyway through coming up with creative solutions to complex problems.

I love that their plan to drop whale-Cassie on the helicopter fails.  I have a huge soft spot for plots in which the heroes’ grand master idea simply does not work (something that happens a lot in this series) just because, once again, it feels realistic.  There are a ton of risks inherent in their plan: Cassie could miss the helicopter, Cassie could end up unable to catch the helicopter at all, Cassie could hit the helicopter but be wood-chipperified by its rotors, Cassie could hit the helicopter and survive but squash her friends on the landing… The fact that it doesn’t go according to plan just makes more sense under those circumstances.

Speaking of the ending, I freaking love this dialogue:

«You missed all the fireworks, Cassie,» Marco said, swimming circles around us. «One minute we’re watching this whale the size of a FedEx truck dropping out of the sky and we’re thinking, Uh-oh, she’s not big,enough to take down that helicopter and live through it—»

«You weren’t thinking it, you were screaming it,» Rachel said sweetly.

«Screeching like a bad set of brakes,» Jake teased. 

«Emitting a loud and continual series of high- pitched shrieks similar to an unauthorized entry into a Dome ship air lock,» Ax added.

Silence.

«Well, it was an accurate comparison,» Ax said defensively.

It’s just so them.  We need a moment of lightness after the tension of the rest of the book, and the characterization is spot-on, especially because we can feel the giddiness of their relief that the helicopter is destroyed and they’re not all gonna die.  

If this book had found a different way to get there, the idea of having a nonhuman morpher explore the experience of humanity might actually be pretty interesting.  Science fiction has been all about exploring the boundary conditions of what it means to be human pretty much since Day One, and this series embraces that concept in spades with characters like Elfangor, Tobias, Aftran, Menderash, Toby, and Ax.  However, the buffahuman never does anything interesting or useful while it’s there on screen, and its very existence is rendered idiotic by the nature of its creation, so this book doesn’t exactly capture the same degree of uncomfortable meditation on human nature vs. human culture that, say, The Experiment does.

The Bad

The Andalite’s Gift called, and it wants its plot back.

Seriously, though, this exact same premise—the yeerks can detect morphing energy, and the only way the kids can keep from getting caught is through an elaborate game of keep-away—has already been explored, and better, in an earlier book.  

It would also make a fair amount of sense for the yeerks to make a second attempt at using a veleek, or a second pass at destroying the local forest, or to reuse any of their plans from earlier books.  Instead we get them arriving at a similar place through using Helmacron tech, which would fit better if there were any hints at all in #24 or #42 that the yeerks had access to Helmacron tech.  Which there aren’t.

Not only does this book present approximately the same conflict as MM1, but it also offers the exact same resolution: drop whale-Cassie on one’s problems.  Couldn’t the ghost come up with anything better than that?

«You had an aunt who tried to kill you with her pincers?» Rachel said, giving me a playful nudge. «Boy, and I thought Tobias’s family was bad.»

IS IT PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE TO CRINGE SO HARD THAT YOU COLLAPSE INTO A BLACK HOLE OF SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT FOR THE WRITER?  Seriously, what even is this line?  Why would Rachel even think that Cassie’s aunt would be hiding out in the woods in the first place?  Would she SERIOUSLY make a comment like that about Tobias’s abusive relatives?  Doesn’t Rachel already know Cassie’s family well enough to make the question “which aunt” (assuming charitably that Rachel actually wants to know) the more logical one?  For that matter, wouldn’t “are you okay” be a better fricking question to ask your best friend who just survived a near-death experience?  

Why does Cassie consider the buffalo “human” if it has morphed one?  

Rachel makes a really straightforward argument—that the buffalo is no more a human than she is a grizzly bear—and that should basically be the end of the discussion.  Jake makes the really straightforward argument on top of that that the buffalo could get them all killed/captured if the yeerks decide to infest it, and again that should be the end of the discussion.  Cassie doesn’t balk at predators killing seals to stay alive (#25), and she understands that sometimes you have to let a deer die to save a human (#9), so it makes no sense whatsoever that she is that obsessed with saving a creature which has the means to kill them all.

Also, Cassie doesn’t consider her ant-copy “human” like 15 pages later when she stomps it to death, and she doesn’t consider herself a wolf-human hybrid, so WHY does she keep insisting that the buffalo is a person?  It’s just idiotically unCassieish.

Also also: no offense Cassie, but this book ends with you killing at least two or three humans who are inside that helicopter.  When you factor in the yeerks, that is four to six murders at minimum and possibly as many as fifteen to twenty depending on the size of the chopper.  What makes buffaChapman more worthy of life than those people are?

Three words: deus ex seagull.

Tobias’s brief explanation about the sheer gross horror of birds sucked into jet engines is not sufficient setup to justify a seagull happening to meet an untimely end AT THE EXACT MILLISECOND it needed to do so in order to stop Cassie from getting food-processed, Marco and Tobias from getting eaten by sharks, and the others from getting squashed or shot to death.  

I’m actually a fan of the Animorphs getting accidentally assisted by real animals, since it fits well with the theme of the books, but the animals’ existence has got to be justified somehow by the plot.  In #27 the presence of the random-ass whale whose DNA lets them morph squids is justified by Crayak’s meddling, in #4 the random-ass whale who saves their butts from Visser Three is explained by their own desire to save it from sharks, in #36 the random-ass whales who try to help them out only to get shot by the Sea Blade are attracted by the calls of other pod members, my god I am only just realizing how many random-ass whales there are in this series… Anywhoo, the presence of the plot-saving seagull is not remotely explained by anything that happens at any point earlier in the book.  Couldn’t the author(s) have left out one of the 70-odd scenes with the buffalo sadly wandering around and thrown in some kind of setup for this ending instead?

The Ugly

That’s not how the morphing cube works.

In #1, Jake picks up the morphing cube inside Elfangor’s ship and only mentions that it feels “heavy;” he doesn’t mention the “tingle” that other people also describe when acquiring the ability to morph until he’s touching it at the same time as Elfangor.

The rule about needing to have one morpher touch the cube in order to “pass on” the morphing appears to hold true throughout the rest of the series.  David carries the cube around for a while but again doesn’t get the zap of morphing energy until he touches it at the same time as Ax (#20).  Tom doesn’t appear to be able to morph until after the battle in the hospital garage, given that the yeerk makes no attempt to acquire or use any of the oodles of hork-bajir or taxxon DNA lying around even when injured; presumably the yeerks later passed the ability from Alloran to him (#50).  The narration’s a little ambiguous as to whether Tobias is touching the cube at the same time as Loren when she gains the ability (#49), but Cassie or Rachel definitely has to be holding the cube for any of the Auximorphs to get it (#50).  

Point being, Cassie is definitely not touching the cube at the time when the buffalo brushes against it, and probably not when the ant crawls on top of it.

That’s not how acquiring DNA works.

If all it took was brushing against someone to pick up their DNA, then all the Animorphs would be able to morph their parents, their friends, various taxxons and hork-bajir, family pets, stray cats, head lice, baby goats from the petting zoo, skin mites, the school nurse… etcetera.  For that matter, Ax and Tobias would also be able to morph Alloran by now, which is the kind of incredibly useful morph that I’m pretty sure the series would have mentioned if one of them had.

The series mentions 700-odd times that acquiring DNA requires deliberate concentration on the part of the morpher.  Why would any self-respecting buffalo in a dominance-fueled rage be thinking “man, I should really try and shapeshift into that human over there”?

That’s not how morphing works.

Morphing requires concentration.  Jake first describes the process as “So I have to, like, meditate on becoming a dog” (#1), and any time the kids’ focus is interrupted, they’re unable to continue morphing.  The most interesting example of that is when Marco can’t morph normally at all because he’s so freaked out over his dad remarrying (#35) but the series mentions time and again that anything from pain to sudden noises can interrupt the process enough to sabotage it.  We’re supposed to believe that a buffalo was capable of directing sustained attention to an abstract task in order to morph, when no mammals other than humans have shown signs of this ability?

More importantly, morphing requires focusing on a mental image of oneself as the desired animal.  When first explaining it to Jake, Tobias says the key is “forming this mental picture of [the animal], right? I thought about becoming it" (#1).  When talking Marco down from nearly being stuck in morph, Cassie says “Focus on the picture of yourself. Form the picture in your mind. Let go of the fear and focus on the picture of your own body” (#21).  WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT AN ANT CONSCIOUSLY CHOSE TO PICTURE ITSELF AS A CASSIE?  

Morphing also doesn’t happen accidentally.  The only times we ever see involuntary morphing are when Rachel has allergies (#12) and when Ax has brain-appendicitis (#29).  So unless that one buffalo and that one ant both happened to be suffering from illnesses that led to hallucinations, this plot makes no sense.

That’s not how ants work.

The narration of the very scene in which the ant morphs Cassie describes all the ways that it would be pretty much impossible for an ant to imagine itself—and only one self—as a human being.  If an ant cannot wrap its little hive-insect mind around the idea of an independent consciousness, then it also should not be able to wrap that mind around the idea of only changing the one body it happens to possess into something different like a human.

Luckily for that one ant, it’s apparently an estreen, since it chooses to demorph just its pincers while keeping an otherwise human body.  Yes, ladies and gentlebeasts: THE ANT IS AN ESTREEN.  Why.  Just… why.  

Don’t get me wrong; I think that there are justifiable reasons to stretch or even break the rules of one’s own applied phlebotinum, provided that the resultant plot is cool enough or character-advancing enough or mind-blowing enough to be worth it.  This mess?  Is not worth all the rule-breaking that goes on.  It’s not the most Deeply Unfortunate Animorphs book, nor is it my personal least favorite, but it’s also not good enough to justify its existence built on a tower of plot holes and logic failures.  

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Coffin Nail (Animorphs ficlet)

Jake lasts all of ten minutes before he cannot take it anymore, ducking the gazes of a dozen or more B-list celebrities and gratefully plunging into the cold open air of Marco’s back porch.  He’s only at this stupid party in the first place because Marco hinted that Cassie might be here and Jake is pathetic like that.  He’s not sure he can even last long enough to see if she’ll arrive.

He leans against the railing, squinting out at the city, breathing polluted air.  Maybe he’ll make it.  He’s survived worse.

Marco’s back door swings open again, and a familiar voice says, “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was out—”

Jake turns around, and Jordan stops talking.

She’s got an open pack of Marlboros in her left hand, a lit cigarette clenched between the first two fingers of her right, and a half-startled look on her face.

There’s something dully shocking about the sight of the cigarettes, mostly because in Jake’s mind Jordan is still that round-eyed thirteen-year-old he hasn’t spoken to in years.

“Anyone ever tell you those things’ll kill you?” Jake asks.  It’s a terrible conversation starter: awkward, cliche.  He uses it anyway for lack of anything better to say.  Because the fact is that they haven’t seen each other since the funeral.

Jordan exhales her mouthful of smoke in a Cheshire grin.  “You say that like I want to live forever.”

Just for a second she looks so much like Rachel that Jake feels a shiver go up his spine.  He doesn’t say that, of course, because he of all people definitely knows better.  Even the echo of the reminder of his great-aunt’s casual “Oh, but you look just like—!” last April is enough to twist his gut with nausea all over again.

He knows what he looks like—knows who he looks like—thank you very much, he owns a fucking mirror.  He knows.  It’s only gotten worse, given how much he sprouted up in the past few years.  (No one calls him “midget” anymore.)  He doesn’t know for sure if he’s taller now than Tom ever was, since he didn’t measure, but it’s probably a near thing.

Three months from now he’ll have lived longer than his brother ever did.  That much he does know for sure.

“So.”  Jake clears his throat.  “Nice party, huh?”

Jordan looks at him over her cigarette, expression pitying.  “You know,” she says around it, “at least I brought an excuse to come lurk out here like a weird, sad loner.  You don’t even have that much.”

Jake blinks.  “I, uh... ‘Excuse’?”

She takes the cigarette out of her mouth long enough to wave it around, trailing a thin stream of smoke into the air.

“Does smoking make you not a sad loner?” Jake asks.

“Nah, it just makes you a cool sad loner with too much mystique to have any friends,” Jordan explains patiently.  “You want one?”

“A friend?” Jake says.  He realizes a few seconds too late how pathetic that sounded.

“An excuse.”  Jordan holds the pack out to him.

“Uh, okay.”  She’s got a point, after all: it’s not like Jake wants to live forever.

She digs into three or four pockets of her leather coat before she finally comes out with a lighter, cupping her free hand around the flame to shelter it as Jake leans forward to suck life from its tip.  He inhales too deeply, coughing and choking on what feels like an entire ember lodged in his throat.

Watching him, Jordan laughs.  “You know, for a guy that FOX News likes to call a terrorist, you’re awfully square.”

Jake ignores the “terrorist” part—it’s an old wound, just another knife bouncing off existing scar tissue, so numb not even the pain makes it through.  Instead he wheezes out, “I never did much experimenting in high school.”

Jordan’s face shutters, and Jake wonders if she’s thinking the same thing that just crossed his mind: it’s supposed to be your older sibling who gives you your first cigarette, your first beer, your first porn mag.

“It’s not like I care what FOX News says about me,” Jake says to cover for the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘famously reclusive’ and all that, right?”

Jake shrugs.  “Isn’t ‘famously reclusive’ an oxymoron?”

“Well, you don’t whore yourself out like Marco does, that’s for sure.”  The ugly language seems just as out-of-place in her mouth as the cigarette first did.  She’s sixteen, Jake reminds himself, not twelve.  “You know...”  Jordan laughs, looking down.  “I used to have the biggest crush on him.  Marco, that is.  Anyway...”

Jake doesn’t need her to finish that sentence.  Anyway, I was a different person then.  One I wouldn’t recognize if we bumped into each other on the street.  It was nice knowing her.  Nice being her.

They smoke in silence for several more minutes, making their own tiny contribution to the Los Angeles smog.  Jake stubs out his cigarette first chance he gets.

“Thanks,” he says.  “For the—”  He holds up the crumpled stump of filter.  “For the excuse.”

“Yeah, sure.”  And seeing he’s turning to go back inside, Jordan blurts.  “You’re taking care of your parents, right?”  She takes a breath.  “And—and yourself.”

“‘Course.”  Jake wonders if one cigarette is enough to decrease his lung capacity by fifty percent, or if it just feels that way.  “You are too?”

She nods.

There’s time for one more look, one more complex flash of understanding, between them.   Then Jake turns away.

He’ll head home early that night, and the following afternoon an andalite named Menderash will show up with news of Aximili.  He’ll never see anyone from his family again.