#tried to do my best to stay in theme t/ accurate with the orange and basketballs and energy but also

[pigswithwings]

Kel. (Omori)

🏀 | 🏀 | 🏀

🥤 | 🥤 | 🥤

🏁 | 🏁 | 🏁

Made for @birdwithabat :]

[honeyandhondewberries]

Hi! :) Could a please request a cutesy/fluffy LeonxRaihan story where Leon gets to witness Raihan interacting with baby dragon Pokémon? Maybe something like Leon having a crisis because he only ever viewed Raihan as his tough rival and has never seen this side of him?

yaaass cutsey leonxraihan story yaasss gay panic yaasss. made this one Long so it’s also a oneshot on Ao3

~~

Leon, You’re Staring (LeonxRaihan)

“Stop!”

“Don’t tell me to stop, you stop!”

Laughter rang through the swaying grass of Route 6, easily surrounding the two trainers that trekked down the path. It was nearing sunset, and although that normally meant cooler temperatures, the intense heat was still blustering over the orange rock and over the Champion and Dragon Gym Leader. Flushed faces, sweaty bodies, shiny smiles – normally Leon loved training in the heat and found it exhilarating, but not when Raihan was desperate to strip out in the open.

“There’s no one out here, it doesn’t even matter,” Raihan retorted as he tried to pull his shirt off again, though Leon tugged it back down in defiance. “Leon it’s a billion degrees out!”

“We are too close to Hammerlocke,” Leon growled in return. “What if someone sees you, half naked and sweating?”

“Then they’d say, ‘thanks for such a treat,’” Raihan said as he swatted Leon’s hand away again. “The one time I’ve ever remotely hot and you don’t even let me cool down.”

“Don’t blame this on me,” Leon scoffed. “Blame this on you needing to keep your image family-friendly.”

“Rubbish,” Raihan said, and he quickened his pace so he was out of reach from Leon’s frustrated tugging. “You just want this half naked and sweaty body all to yourself.”

“Yeah okay,” Leon laughed. He shot a glance to Hammerlocke, and once he deemed it far enough away, let out a frustrated, “Whatever, do what you want.”

At that, Raihan made quick work of peeling off his shirt and tying it around his forehead, along with letting out an over-dramatic sigh. His skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and he rolled his shoulders as if his light t-shirt had been terribly constricting his range of motion.

“So much better,” he hummed. “Okay, your turn.”

“What?”

“C’mon champ, take it off,” Raihan teased as he gave Leon a once over. “Let’s see those famous pecs.”

“Maybe later,” Leon chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, how ‘bout a battle then?” Raihan grinned. “If I win, you take off your shirt. If you win, I’ll take off my pants.”

Leon barked out another laugh and added a playful shove as he and Raihan continued down the path. It wasn’t often he got to spend time with Raihan like this, but every minute seemed to refuel his energy stores. His best mate had a good habit of doing that, either with jokes or an intense, blazing battle. Lately, Leon had only been able to see Raihan on the Champion pitch, where they would ferociously throw everything they had at one another. So, being with Raihan like this almost made Leon giddy. He motioned to let out another quip, only to pause when Raihan held his arm out.

His smile was gone, and the electric blue of his eyes were no longer childishly glinting but were focused on something on the path ahead. Leon paused, waiting and listening for whatever it was that had taken Raihan’s attention. All that surrounded them was the swaying of the grass, then suddenly, a weak cry.

“Did you hear that?” Raihan asked, and Leon nodded.

There it was again. A faint mewling came from a tuft of green grass a few feet ahead, and Raihan delicately covered the space between him and the sound. Soft rustling filled the air as he knelt, then a quiet ‘oh, no.’

“What?” Leon asked as he stepped behind Raihan.

“Poor thing,” Raihan whispered, completely ignoring the champion behind him. “You okay, buddy?”

Leon peered over Raihan’s shoulder to see him cupping the bruised jaw of a tiny Trapinch. The Pokémon had fat tears rolling down its cheeks, each of them glinting as they plopped to the dirt below. Its shaking only made the tears fall faster.

“I won’t hurt you,” Raihan whispered as he gently stroked the Trapinch’s head. “What happened?”

The Trapinch let out another soft cry, its entire body quaking.

“It’s so small,” Leon said as he watched Raihan inspect the Pokémon. It had a bruise on the top of its head, and what looked like a broken back leg. Bruises littered its body, and faint scratches throbbed red against the dirty orange of its skin.

“I think it’s just a baby,” Raihan said softly as he unraveled his shirt from his head. He lifted the Trapinch to gently swaddle it, who let out another soft cry. “You’re safe now, I won’t hurt you. Let’s take you to the Pokémon Center, okay?”

The two immediately turned back to Hammerlocke. Raihan’s strides were long, as they usually were, but he never once took his eyes off the Trapinch. He muttered soothing words to it as they traveled the short distance back to the city, and Leon’s brow furrowed at this sudden sweetness coming from his rival. What happened to that biting wit from barely two minutes ago, that blazing competition?

Hm…

Well, it was only natural that a Gym Leader be caring towards Pokémon.

Those thoughts faded as they reached the Pokémon Center in Hammerlocke. The nurse was quick and succinct, and informed them that the Trapinch was probably only a few months old, and would be fine despite whatever scuffle it was in. She healed up most of the bruises and scratches, but the broken back leg would take a while to heal. Raihan immediately decided he’d take care of the Pokémon for as long as it took for its leg to heal, the nurse nodded and said that was sweet, then again told him to please put on a shirt.

After finally obeying the nurse’s request and swaddling the Trapinch in a Pokémon Center–themed blanket instead, Leon and Raihan walked out the sliding glass doors and into the main streets of Hammerlocke.

“You’re going to be safe and sound with me, okay?” Raihan cooed as he held the Trapinch close to his chest. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The Trapinch let out another faint squeak, then nuzzled its face into Raihan’s chest. It was a cute motion, but what grabbed Leon’s attention was how Raihan smiled. It wasn’t something smug, there was no evidence of that cocky shark-toothed grin, but rather it was… gentle. Might’ve been the gentlest thing Leon had ever seen, coming from Raihan. The soft curve of his lips, the delicate squint of his eyes from that smile – it was something so strange, so foreign, and so confusing, it made Leon stop in his tracks.

He hadn’t done any strenuous exercise, so why was Leon’s heart suddenly thumping harder in his chest?

“What’s up?” Raihan asked, turning to face the suddenly still champion. “You good?”

Leon blinked a few times as he processed Raihan’s question. The setting sun was reflecting off the windows of the café beside them, softly dappling on the ground, on the Trapinch snuggled in his arms, and on Raihan himself.

Did… Did Raihan always look like this?

Long legs, trim waist, defined arms, soft smile, striking eyes… did Raihan’s eyes always look like that? Were they always that color? Shining electric blue in the light of the setting sun, as if he should be part of the sky as well?

…odd.

When he cocked an eyebrow, Leon jolted into focus again.

“Yes!” Leon blurted. “But where are we going!”

Raihan furrowed his brow at Leon’s volume, and shielded the Trapinch as if the noise would damage it further.

“My apartment,” Raihan said, and Leon fell into step with him as they started again. “I already said that, were you not listening?”

“No, I was, I was,” Leon said, trying to better maintain the strange squeak in his voice. “Yeah I heard you I just forgot.”

“Too busy staring at me?” Raihan asked. “Too distracted?”

“Wh-,” Leon started, his cheeks tingeing pink (though he was sure it was just because of the heat). “Th-that’s… No! That’s not true, that’s rubbish!”

Raihan’s brow furrowed, though his teasing smile was still easy on his face.

Why was Leon stuttering? Why didn’t he just laugh it off like earlier? Why didn’t Raihan’s joking accusation roll off his back, why was it jumbling the words in his mouth?

These questions didn’t seem to plague Raihan, as he only shrugged and led the way back to his apartment. Leon was unsuccessful in averting his gaze, because now he couldn’t quite understand why Raihan seemed different. He could accurately predict how much Hop had grown down to the quarter of an inch, so why couldn’t he pick out what was different about Raihan?

The same tall frame, strong shoulders, sharp jawline… and yet, there was something else, too. Something else that made Leon’s throat a little tight.

“Leon.”

“Huh?” Leon grunted with a start. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to stay for dinner,” he asked, and Leon’s heart thumped yet again when Raihan squinted at him.

He nodded quickly, almost too quickly, though again he wasn’t sure why.

Before long they were in Raihan’s apartment, sitting on Raihan’s couch, both tucked in soft blankets as the cool twilight breeze blew in from the open window. The lights were dimmed, as to help Trapinch fall asleep faster, but Leon could only focus on how the soft glow of the lamps around them made Raihan seem almost ethereal.

“Come pet Trapinch, Leon,” Raihan hummed, and Leon immediately obeyed.

He scooched down the couch until he was an inch away from Raihan’s thigh, though he for some reason couldn’t cover the rest of the distance to press against him. When Raihan’s fingers brushed his, immediately goosebumps raised on Leon’s arms and he shot his hand back.

“Chill out, what’s wrong with you,” Raihan asked as he grabbed Leon’s hand again. “Are you that scared of a baby Pokémon?”

Raihan tugged him forward, and Leon’s unstable posture led him to tumble into Raihan’s side. Raihan must have bene anticipating that, because he easily lifted his arm and wrapped it around Leon’s shoulders, his other arm still holding Trapinch against his chest.

Leon certainly wasn’t anticipating that, however, and he also wasn’t anticipating how his brain seemed to be short-circuiting. He swallowed, blinked a few times, and acted as normal as possible by giving Trapinch a few pats. Trapinch immediately let out another affectionate cry and nuzzled into Leon’s touch.

“You’re a natural,” Raihan sighed, his voice rumbling through Leon’s body.

Natural.

The word resonated within Leon, settled into his bones, as he again took in their placement.

Is that what this was?

“You’re so sweet,” Raihan whispered, wrinkling his nose again when Trapinch bumped it.

Leon’s brow furrowed.

This… was this even Raihan?

“You hungry?” Raihan asked Trapinch, his voice barely a hum as Trapinch bumped his nose again. “No? What do you want?”

Raihan pressed a gentle kiss onto the Pokémon, who let out a garbled cry of delight. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to Trapinch’s paw as Leon stared with a confused countenance. Who was this man, so gentle and calm, pressing gentle kisses to a baby Pokémon?

Leon’s eyes flit to Raihan’s mouth when he kissed Trapinch again.

This man sounded like Raihan, looked like Raihan, and yet something seemed… different. Leon squinted his eyes.

Hm.

What was it?

His eyes? His smile? His lips?

Leon’s eyelids lowered an inch.

Maybe…

Were Raihan’s lips always so plush…?

So… soft and perfect?

What would it feel like if…

What if that were him?

Soft lips pressing against his… sweet whispers just for him… that smile so close…

Leon’s eyes widened at that thought and he immediately bolted off the couch. Both Raihan and Trapinch jumped, and Raihan offered a frustrated scowl at the haphazard movement. He curled his arms around Trapinch into a secure hug, protecting it from the fumbling champion.

“Sorry,” Leon spluttered out. “I-I, uh, I thought I felt something.”

Raihan raised an eyebrow, then glanced to where Leon was sitting.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Leon coughed. “Um. Be right back.”

“…Alright,” he said as Leon scrambled to the kitchen. That suspicious gaze was boring into the back of his head, and Leon again wondered what the hell was going on with him.

As Leon filled a cup for himself and promptly chugged it down, those images kept flashing into his mind.

Raihan, holding Leon in his lap.

Raihan, smiling against his lips.

Raihan, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

Raihan, whispering soothing words to him.

“Leon?”

With a start, the glass tumbled from Leon’s hands and shattered on the floor, spurring a yelped expletive from the champion.

“You alright?” came Raihan’s voice from the other room.

“Yeah!” Leon called back, though he was definitely not alright. “Just, uh, the glass slipped!”

“Okay, well the broom’s in the closet. Get me a cup too when you’re done.”

“Yeah,” Leon called again, then he let out a sigh. “Yeah, I will…”

What was going on with him? Raihan was his rival and best mate, and that was the limit. He couldn’t think about him like that, like he was something… more than that.

Leon had swept up the shattered glass and was going to grab another from the cabinet, only to freeze when Raihan stepped into the kitchen too, stopped only a foot away, hands on his hips and scowl on his face.

“Leon, you’re acting weird,” Raihan said as he squinted his eyes and leaned closer. “What’s going on with you?”

Raihan had leaned closer only a few inches, but the less space between them was dizzying. Those eyes, those lips, that body pressing into his space – it was all suddenly squeezing Leon’s chest, beading the sweat on his brow, and making his heart pound in his ears. Had Raihan always been this tall? Had he always looked like this? Had his eyes always been that color? Had his lips always seemed so, so, so soft?

“Where’s Trapinch?” Leon deflected as he backed against the counter.

“Sleeping on the couch, don’t change the topic,” Raihan said as he stepped closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Leon blurted. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar,” Raihan said. “Your face is flushed.”

“No it isn’t,” Leon quickly retorted, yet he could feel his cheeks burning the closer Raihan leaned.

Kiss me

The thought was gone as quickly as it came, yet it seared into Leon’s brain like it was burned there.

Was… was that him?

Did he just think that?

Did Raihan hear that?

No, why would he think that?

Why would.

Why would…

“Yes it is, you're blushing,” Raihan said as his brow furrowed. He lifted his hand, and Leon’s breath caught when he gently cupped his jaw, then ran his thumb over Leon’s cheek.

Kiss me

“I-I,” Leon stuttered. “I-I, um…”

His eyelids were fluttering despite himself, and something pulled much too strong in his stomach when Raihan set his hand beside Leon’s waist, effectively pinning him against the counter.

What was going on with him?

Kiss me

He didn’t really want Raihan to kiss him, right?

Kiss me

He was his best mate, his rival, not someone Leon was… was…

Raihan’s eyes flicked to his lips.

Kiss me kiss me kiss me

…was suddenly and insanely attracted to.

“You sure?” Raihan whispered. “This is the fourth time I’ve caught you staring at me.”

“W-was I?” Leon coughed out. Raihan nodded. “I, uh, hadn’t noticed.”

“I have,” Raihan said as he pressed closer. “Staring at my lips, actually. You doing that on purpose, or do I have something on my face?”

Kiss me

“Nothing’s on your face,” Leon replied dumbly. “I-I mean there is, that’s why I was… um… staring.”

“Why don’t you get it for me,” Raihan breathed as he leaned closer.

“I… I…” Leon mumbled. His words were failing him, as was his will to stop whatever this was, as Raihan tilted his chin up.

“I’ve been flirting with you for years and all it took was snuggling a Trapinch?”

Kiss me

“Well, I-I,”

Kiss me

“I meant that… um…”

Kiss me kiss me kiss me

“What do you want, Leon?” Raihan whispered. The nerves on his lips were tingling as if lightning were about to strike.

Kiss me kiss me kiss me

“I want… I want you to… um…”

Raihan’s breath whispered over Leon’s lips, only a few inches away. Everything in Leon was burning – his cheeks, his throat, his chest, his mind as that thought repeated again and again.

Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me

“I… I want…” Leon whispered again.

Kissmekissmkissmekissmekissmekissmekissmekissmekissmekissme

“Say it, Leon,” Raihan breathed.

“Kiss me.”

Raihan covered the space between them, hovered an inch away, and gently pressed his lips against Leon’s.

Softly.

So, so softly. It was such a soft kiss, just as soft as Leon imagined. Perfect, plush lips, pressing against his, between his, just a glint of electric blue whenever his eyes would flutter open – it all made him a little dizzy.

“Kiss me,” Leon mumbled against Raihan’s mouth, who in turn let out a laugh.

“I literally am,” Raihan said, and offered Leon another peck, then another when Leon gripped the front of his shirt.

“Kiss me,” Leon mumbled again, as if those were the only words he knew.

Raihan opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by a cry from the living room. Immediately Raihan bolted away to tend to Trapinch, and Leon was left cold from the lack of Raihan’s heat against him, and yet everything within him was burning.

Did that…

Did they…

Did that just happen?

Suddenly Raihan’s head popped out from around the corner.

“The second I get Trapinch to sleep, you will meet me on the couch, and we will continue that.”

Leon breathed out a laugh when Raihan smiled, and he nodded at the idea of fulfilling those wonderings he had only earlier that night.

Luckily it didn’t take long for Trapinch to fall asleep.

[nicoolios]

The Power of the Dystopia

What do nanotechnology, young adult dystopias, and zombies learning to love again have in common? As the old meme says, the answer may surprise you. By nanotechnology I mean Michael Grant’s BZRK trilogy, by young adult dystopias I will focus mostly on The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and by zombies learning to love again I am referencing Isaac Marion’s Warm Bodies. Each of these books will be discussed in great depth in how they relate to the common theme of power in the following collection of literary criticisms. Power surfaces in BZRK through the obsessive lengths the characters go to to maintain it with superior technology and firepower. The Hunger Games refrains from the subject of actively maintaining power, but its story accurately depicts a society where power is exploited to keep its poorer citizens in line. The zombies in Warm Bodies regain power in a world that exists to destroy them by relearning language. Again, each of those topics will be explained at the introduction’s conclusion in their individual essays, but I will add a bit more clarity later on in these opening remarks.

This issue, which puts power front and center in the spotlight, tackles problems pertinent to the world we live in today by using a wide variety of popular books to reach the widest reader base possible. All of them can be considered young adult fiction, but each series pushes the boundaries of the genre. The Hunger Games specifically doubles as political commentary, BZRK is hardcore science fiction written for the eyes of teenagers, and Warm Bodies is technically a zombie romance.

As previously stated, The Hunger Games is political commentary, which only gets all the sweeter the more the political scene in the United States and around the world goes south. The main character Katniss lives in District 12, the poorest of the twelve districts, and is forced to hunt illegally to keep her mother and sister fed. District 1, the wealthiest district home to people so rich they take medicine to force themselves to throw up at parties so they can continue eating the fanciest, most expensive food, holds the Hunger Games every year to keep all the other districts in line. All three books in the series have the same background: the rich exist to stay rich, and the rich have all the power, so when District 13 starts the rebellion it sends them into a panic. The entirety of Mockingjay, the third book of the trilogy, is about that very topic. Money plus power equals bad guy, especially in this series. In regards to the essay on The Hunger Games, not only is there a common theme of power in all three books and all four movies, there are also real-life connotations for both the people spending money on the series and the young adult genre in general. While the essay specifically talks about the genre and what political books do for readers of young adult fiction, The Hunger Games just so happens to be the most popular representation.  

BZRK also deals with money and power and rich people trying to control the universe, but this time it is set in contemporary New York, rather than the fictional Panem. In this universe nanotechnology, which was originally developed to cure cancer, is instead weaponized and is used by both the good and the bad guys. The bad guys, the Armstrong twins and their lackeys Nexus Humanus, want to use nanotech to brainwash the planet into their cult through “sustainable happiness.” The good guys, BZRK, want to protect free will by using their own nanotechnology, biots individually linked to one user, to manipulate others. The whole concept is built on shady deals and backwards justification on both ends of the stick. Both sides think they are in the right, think they are the ones with access to the most power, both already have access to the money and resources that will get them that power. The Armstrong twins spend the series doing everything they possibly can to become rulers of the world, while their second in command Bernofsky goes mad with power and wants to destroy the world with nanobots that feed on carbon. Most of BZRK New York’s plotlines are about playing catch up to Nexus Humanus and holding on to what little power they have. By the trilogy’s conclusion the proper balance that everyone was fighting over has been restored, eliminating the need for technology-based power.

A book about zombies learning to love again seems like a stretch. How could power possibly be involved? Half the main characters are dead. And judging by the movie, there is no possible way for the former dead to regain the power they lost upon getting into their current predicament by reteaching themselves how to speak and act human again. But there it is. The movie is a better illustration of it, but the novel still details R, an incredibly articulate zombie, struggling through a language barrier to communicate with his human captive turned friend turned girlfriend Julie. At the beginning the most R can get out are a few grunts to the zombie he deems his best friend, M. When Julie finds herself the survivor of a zombie attack but the only member of her group still alive and unable to make it back home, she ends up at the airport R lives in. The two of them form a relationship different from the usual zombie eats human, even though R ate Julie’s boyfriend during the attack where they met. Julie teaches R English, pop culture, and how to be human again. The zombies must fight to prove they can become what they once were again, first and foremost by Julie demonstrating R is physically able to love her. As they become living again they go through their own revolution.

These essay’s order in this collection is due to their subject matter and relativity to the real world. The Hunger Games takes place in a fictional country similar enough to our own to make accurate political commentary. BZRK takes place in real life New York, and its plot is one that might happen with how quickly nanotechnology is developing. Warm Bodies’ setting is never specified, but the aftermath of the apocalypse is clear, and for all we know it could be right next door to where we grew up. They move from the clearly fake to the it might just be real, from this could never happen to me to holy crap, this might be happening right now. Please see the meanings these novels preach, what lurks between the lines. Right now this kind of commentary is more important than ever. With people being censored and completely silenced right and left, these books are clearly about power and its consequences, both by exploiting it and by regaining it.

"If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were....My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. ‘No, I won't let you.’ ‘Trust me,’ I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. ‘On the count of three?’ Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. ‘The count of three,’ he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. ‘Hold them out. I want everyone to see,’ he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. ‘One.’ Maybe I'm wrong. ‘Two.’ Maybe they don't care if we both die. ‘Three!’ It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. ‘Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District 12!’” (The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins).

Young Adult dystopias have been an important part of American culture for so long it feels like they have always been there. As children we had The Hunger Games, which later spawned Divergent, The Maze Runner, Uglies, and countless others. In school we read 1984, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, A Clockwork Orange, and the list goes on and on. Their movie and television show adaptations are everywhere. Everyone has a favorite example. So when Moretti's data suggests the genre bubble will burst in the coming years, it is kind of hard to believe. The genre is still going strong, and for good reason. Young Adult dystopias have something the classics neglect: diversity. Katniss Everdeen is a physically and mentally disabled woman of color surrounded by other females, people of color, people with disabilities, people from every walk of life. When The Hunger Games shot up the best sellers list Katniss inspired Tris Pryor in Divergent, Teresa in The Maze Runner, and Tally Youngblood in Uglies. The sheer volume of books and characters guarantees there is something for everyone. Everyone turned out to be mostly adult women and teenage girls. It is the reading power of the latter that presents my point: so long as we live in the world we do, with the current political climate active, and with a steady stream of strong female characters willing to stand up to oppressors, there will be a need for the genre. Multiple people see that need and write books based upon what they think needs to be said. This bubble, much like the superhero movie one, will stay untouched until the world proves it has no need for that kind of fiction anymore. Therefore, I think the genre is here to stay for years to come.

Seeing yourself in a character on the big screen or on the page is so incredibly important. Some little girl with hearing issues read about Katniss' ear trauma and saw herself; if for whatever reason she was unable to get it fixed, related to Katniss refusing surgery to restore her hearing. Or someone living under an oppressive government learning first that they should fight back and then it is okay to do so. Or that people bullying you for something outside your control deserve to be called out on their behavior. Or any number of things prevalent in what makes it big in the genre these days. The books that make it big pave the way for even greater diversity to truly reach the entire reader base. Those might carry on as something no one has ever heard of, but reach the right audience and lives can be changed. I feel like the genre will be around for quite a while. Not just because it is one of my favorites to both read and write for, but also because it is important. We are faced with the possibility of the complete destruction of life as we know it. Someone must recognize what is going on and do something about it. At this point they might as well be fictional, but that is the only way to get the ball rolling.  

“Tell me something, Noah. Which is more important: freedom or happiness?' What was this, a game? But Nijinsky wasn't smiling. 'You can't be happy unless you’re free,' Noah said" (BZRK, Michael Grant).  

Michael Grant's BZRK trilogy depends upon nanotechnology to further its plot, give motivation for characters and their development, provide multiple bad guys, and generally make BZRK what they are. One of the main character's father invented biots, part human machines smaller than the head of a needle, capable of acting on the controller's behalf within a body. The good guys, BZRK, use biots reluctantly to fight the bad guys, Armstrong Fancy Gifts Corporation. AFGC is a cover for the cult Nexus Humanus which wants to take away free will to guarantee eternal happiness. This war is mostly fought at the nano level. Even during "macro" fights, with guns and fists, the focus is always on protecting the nano. Emphases placed on the nano and neglecting the macro, which is only protected by BZRK's enforcer Caligula, exists because of only looking at the available technology and how to improve it. When the original tech, designed to cure cancer, fails and is proven archaic, BZRK only wants to move forward with more advanced biots. Benjamin argues for only looking to the future, for using tech to get and maintain power. The Armstrong twins (founders of AFGC) only maintain their power through superior firepower and lots of unethical manipulation. Under the guise of innocent gift shops across the globe they plot to control world leaders and, therefore, everyone on the planet. That is an extension of Benjamin's philosophy. AFGC has money and manpower, giving them the ability to accomplish their goals. BZRK only has the money, but its members are determined to prevent doomsday. Their conflict over who's in control spans three novels.

There is a connection here with how the world is going today. We even touched upon it in class. For the longest time everyone was obsessed with the technology of tomorrow made today. Classic standbys like books or physical music or playing outside fell by the wayside as electronics fell in the hands of the youth. Why use what cavemen did when you can use what Marty McFly did? For the longest time my younger sister and I were the only kids on our street playing outside. We made fun of our neighbors three doors down for having a pool and never going in it. My parents still can't drag me out of ours. At restaurants we read books, my sister drew and I wrote or, heaven forbid, actually talked to each other. Then, out of nowhere, that changed. The many, many little kids living in the cul-de-sac behind us were outside screaming at all hours of the day. One time we saw our neighbors in their pool. Tables around us when we went out to eat started implementing a no phones rule. The shift was real and, according to the Internet, commonplace. Retro was becoming hip again. We aren't the only people who feel that way, but we're the ones making it happen.  

"In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses” (Warm Bodies, Isaac Marion).  

Whoever controls language controls culture. Whoever controls the culture has all the power. Whoever has all the power writes all the rules, determines humanity's fate, and generally determines the ongoing nature of life. While a lot of stories tackle that concept, Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion handles it without beating around the bush. It's about the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, sure, but it is told through the point of view of a very articulate zombie. The narrative hints rather heavily at the main character, R, being the only zombie outside of the Boneys capable of higher thought. It is only with the help of a human that he learns basic speech. The surviving humans are the only ones capable of speech, of making sure human culture does not die out. Them being able to talk makes them superior to zombies, even after zombies become human again at the novel's conclusion. The settlement the novel focuses on is run based on that fact. It is only poetic that the leader, Colonel Grigio, is the father of the woman R is in love with and the one who sparks the change from zombie to human. Colonel Grigio controls the whole narrative, both the book's and the city he runs. Zombies are to be shot on sight, anything dead must stay out of the walled city, and the language he uses to spread that information reflects how deeply rooted his control extends. On the other hand, R is the first zombie capable of replicating full human speech. By the end the other zombies learn speech as well. Them relearning speech perfectly coincides with them wrenching power from the Boneys in their twisted society and, a bit later, wrenching power from the humans when they rejoin the society they used to know. Language lets them write their own culture again, this time as rediscovered human beings.

I feel like not a lot of zombie books take advantage of exploring the concept of retaking a culture through language. It is a topic that is easily applicable to the genre. World War Z comes close, but that is the best example I can think of. What is happening right now with millennials and gen z is the closest real-life example. I tried tackling the concept in my own zombie novel Flowers Die specifically because I am unable to find anything quite like Warm Bodies or even World War Z on bookshelves. The main character comes back from the dead, but because she reanimated through the original radiation and not a classic bite, she is still fully mentally articulate and, later, verbally as well. As the apocalypse spreads zombies like her become increasingly rarer. She joins the military and fights to take back the culture she once knew by force. Her and her friends are superior by nature. Her husband, who eventually dies to prove the point, used to be a lawyer, defending traditional culture with evolving language. Later on, she meets a young woman trapped by isolation in the woods bound by her lack of language and loss of the culture that raised her. Reintroduction to what she used to know helps bring her back. This is all a work in progress, but as the old saying goes, if you want something specific you have to write it yourself.

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 18

----- “Welcome home!” chirped Kevin as Abby and Holtz entered the fire house. 

They both greeted the secretary, setting down their bags from the trip. Abby was rubbing her side and wincing a little. The doctor had told her that in her second trimester that she would start to have round ligament pain from where the ligaments that helped support the uterus would stretch and tighten. He described it like a rubber band snapping in her pelvic area and Abby thought it was pretty accurate. She hadn’t believed it would be that bad till she had gotten up out of a chair quickly to go relieve her stomach of her lunch the week before. Between it and the lightheaded feeling that had happened when she stood up way too fast, Abby had been glad that Austin had been walking by and steadied her. “Go sit down,” said Holtzmann in a chiding tone. “I’m fine,” said Abby, pushing on Holtz’s shoulder. “I just got out of the cab weird.” She looked around at the space on the first floor. There were boxes. Lots and lots of boxes. She groaned when she saw the mess. Holtzmann realized what she was looking at and took off Abby’s glasses and put her hand over her eyes. Now that everything was there in the building, it looked even worse than her old bedroom had. It had been practically full and spilling out into the hallway. “Don’t look. Don’t even think about looking. I will take care of them,” said Holtz quickly. “How are you going to get them all upstairs?” said Abby, exasperated. She had almost forgotten about them after their trip to Baltimore. “You’re back!” said Erin as she came downstairs from Patty’s library. She came up and hugged them both. Abby took that time to grab her glasses back from Holtz and put them back on. “What is all of this stuff?” asked Erin. “They’re all from Austin and Ariel.” “My family,” said Abby, going over to one of the boxes and picking it up. “Going overboard as usual.” Erin laughed at Abby’s unintentional reference to her father’s careers. She grinned at Holtzmann, who had caught it too. Abby hadn’t noticed, as she was too busy looking over the sea of beige cardboard. “So this is all baby stuff?” said Kevin. Holtz nodded. “Should be light to lift then.” “Whichever one has the car seat, it won’t be,” said Abby. “That thing is heavy.” “Do you think I could build an elevator in here?” asked Holtzmann, looking at the ceiling. “As long as it’s baby proof and isn’t glass,” Erin said. She turned and took Abby’s arm. “Come on, you’ve got to tell me everything about your trip.”

----- Holtz woke up to the sound of giggling. It wasn’t a sound she heard often first thing in the morning. These days it was usually the noise of Abby going swiftly to the bathroom. Nausea still followed her through the day and night, though it was not as bad as it had been during her first trimester. She shook herself awake and unburied herself from the blankets. She then remembered today was the day of Abby’s 20th week prenatal visit. That didn’t explain the giggling, however. She got up, blinking wearily, and shuffled her feet to walk into the living room area. She then turned and found the source of the noise. She smiled at the scene as she stood in the doorway of the nursery. Abby and Erin were standing in the room, seemingly talking about something that very much amused them. She had sent Erin and Abby to dinner to catch up after their trip and had moved everything upstairs and to the makeshift nursery with Kevin’s help. Most of it was still all piled up in the middle. The room was very much a work in progress. The whole 3rd floor had a beautiful hardwood floor that the renovators had cleaned up and ran with so they didn't have to worry about that. The walls, however, did need a coat of paint and Holtz & Abby needed to decide on a theme for decoration. She suspected Abby was waiting to see the gender. Holtzmann was sort of wishing their kid would not quite bare all today and leave them guessing for a little while longer. She thought it’d be more fun that way. She watched as Erin sneakily wrapped her arms around Abby’s baby bump and stuck her head on her shoulder as her best friend held up some paint color samples on the wall. There were times Holtzmann wished she could break the laws of time and go into the past and give them their friendship back during all those missing years. That instead of running scared, Erin had developed the fierceness that they all knew she had and she and Abby had become the Lewis and Clark of the paranormal world, discovering the proof that ghosts truly did exist. But if they had done that, would she had ever met Abby? She didn’t want to think about that as she watched her wife reach back and poked Erin in her ribs, making their friend squirm and giggle as she tried to get away from Abby’s hands. Holtz laughed softly at that before speaking. “Hey ladies, as much as I am enjoying watching this girl on girl action; Abs, your appointment is soon.” “Uh-oh, Mom’s awake,” said Erin in a whisper, looking back at the doorway. Abby laughed. “Maybe if we stay quiet and don’t say anything, she’ll go away.” Abby squealed as Erin spun her around. “Since when am I the adult in this family?” huffed Holtzmann, crossing her arms. “I’m going back to bed and start over. Maybe I’ll wake up in the right dimension.” “Holtz!” laughed Erin, disentangling herself from Abby. “You’ve got to go to this appointment too you know.” “She’s just grumpy,” said Abby. “Feed her a Poptart and some juice and she’ll be right as rain.” “Orange Tangerine please,” muttered Holtz. “But yeah, I’m going to shower.” Abby nodded and Holtz headed off. “Something the matter?” asked Erin. “No, she’s just had a lot of nervous energy over the past few weeks and sometimes it backfires,” shrugged Abby. “It happens. And I think after telling her dad he was going to be a grandpa helped make things all the more real in her head. Not that this,” she said as she gestured down to her bump. “Hasn’t been much of an indicator that in about five more months, she really has to be a responsible adult instead of pretending.”

“She’s going to be a good parent,” said Erin. “You’ll see.” “Our kid is going to be so spoiled,” Abby said. “They’ll have everything Holtzmann can dream up.” “But first, we need to get paint on the walls,” said Erin. “You two need to decide, Abby.” “I’m not one for neutral colors,” said the paranormal investigator with a sigh. “I’d paint this room midnight blue and use white on the trim and furniture and be done with it.” “Why not?” said Erin. “That sounds nice. It’d work well for an astronomy theme with stars.” Abby stopped for a moment, scratching the back of her neck near her hair. “You really think so?” “Abby, you love space and everything that goes with it,” said Erin. “I mean, you got your second degree in astronomy at Michigan and Yale. I know you still have a thing for it.” “I like the idea,” said Abby. “Do you think Holtz will--?” “I think she’ll be happy you picked something,” said Erin, looking at her best friend. She started pointing around the room. “We could do the constellations on this wall... there could be stars hanging down and star accent pillows. Oh! Maybe a constellation light fixture. You know they sell those large moons now that you can hang in the corner and it glows...” “We--?” “Well, you, Holtz, me, Patty. And Kevin. We can all pitch in. But you can’t paint. Or put together furniture. Holtzmann has already said she’s doing that part.” “I just don’t know about doing blue,” said Abby. “It sort of feels like I’m being biased towards gender.” “Girls can do blue too.” Abby rolled her eyes. “I know that.” “Then don’t worry about it,” said Erin. “You have a possible theme.” Erin squealed. “I have ideas! I’m going to go talk to Patty!” Abby just shook her head and headed back into her and Holtz’s bedroom. She stood in front of the closet for a moment. She eyed a t-shirt hanging in Holtzmann’s clothes. She headed towards the bathroom, opening the door. “Hey, Holtz?” “Yeah?” she yelled back from the shower. “What do you think of a space theme?” “Are we talking about for a party? Because I could get behind that.” “For the nursery.” Abby heard the shower turn off and the door open. “You’re serious?” Holtzmann said, coming into the living room in only in a towel half wrapped around her body. Holtz's normally piled up hair wet around her shoulders. “It’d be something different. We could do blue and stars and--” “It’s perfect,” said Holtzmann. “No, seriously. Abby, don’t give me that look. We both love space. You know I wanted to build rocket ships when I was younger.” “Well, maybe our kid can someday.” “Probably when they’re like three,” said Holtzmann, heading towards the bedroom. She took off the towel and started to throw it in the hamper after Abby closed the door behind them. She noticed her wife looking away, biting her lip. Holtz cocked an eyebrow. She was enjoying Abby’s increased libido. It had a lot of perks. “I have a cure for that, you know.” Abby's eyes lit up at the suggestion. “That sounds so much better than this appointment.” Holtzmann inclined her head towards the bathroom and Abby sighed, shoulders dropping. The mock pout on her lips was cute to her wife as she passed by Holtz to get to the dresser. The blonde couldn’t resist a tease. “Just don’t pee. You need a full bladder.” The mock pout turned into a real one. ----- “You know, I could build us an ultrasound machine,” said Holtz thoughtfully as they waited in one of the patient rooms. She had been eyeing the machine, which was sitting blank at the moment. “We could see the baby every day if we wished.”

“That might be a bit of overkill,” said Abby. “Next thing I know you’d be making wireless adapters so it could be observed all the time on your phone.”

“24/7 coverage of the Yates-Holtzmann gestation,” said Holtzmann like a sports announcer into an air microphone. “Coming to you live from the newly renovated old New York fire station house #8 in Tribeca neighborhood of Manhattan, New York, New York.”

“You will not be broadcasting our child’s... anything over the Internet,” huffed Abby. She sat back against the exam table padded seat, which had been raised up to provide comfort. She grimaced, feeling awkward in the moment. She really needed to go to the bathroom, but she also had to wait till the ultrasound was over. Not to mention, there was probably a urine sample cup waiting for her.

“You mean we can’t do any live broadcasts of labor?”

“Do you want to live to see your child’s 1st birthday?” said Abby, exasperated.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Holtzman, grinning widely. She hummed to herself, checking her phone and ignoring Abby’s irksome sigh.

“I really need to pee, Jills.”

“They’ll be here soon.”

Abby readjusted the sheet and tried to get comfortable. She pulled out her own phone from her shirt pocket to text Erin. She took a picture of her socked feet in amusement and expressed her discomfort. Erin sent back a face with the tongue sticking out and a heart emoji along with the little ghost one. It had become their thing, ending their texts with it just to watch it dance. The door finally opened and the ultrasound technician came in and greeted her. She started to explain that it’d take about thirty minutes to get a full set of ultrasound scans for the doctor to see.

“Just as long as you don’t press too hard,” said Abby. She chuckled at that.

“I’ll try to keep the deep probing to a minimum,” said the woman. She indicated for Abby to scoot a little closer towards the edge of the exam table, which she did with a deep breath. Abby had to admit, she was a little nervous that something might be the matter with their child. There had already been a little bit of testing and it had been negative so far, but with her age and weight, she worried a bit. She felt a hand slip into hers and Holtzmann squeezed her fingers.

“This your wife Abby?” asked the technician. Holtzmann scoffed.

“I’m her barkeep. She’s one of my regular clients. She woke up this morning on the table where she had passed out and offered me 150 bucks for a ride.”

“Ignore her,” said Abby, shaking her head. “And yes.”

The technician grinned and asked Abby to move just a little bit more as she applied the gel. It was very cold.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing. “I know that smarts.” She picked up the transducer from off the side of the machine and made a couple of general sweeps. Their baby’s heartbeat soon played over the speakers of the machine.

“I’d say that is very strong,” said the technician. She turned one of the screens on the machine to where they could see and pulled up a stool.

“It’s going to be a few minutes while I get these scans. Everybody get comfortable.”

“So says the woman not covered in gel,” said Abby sarcastically. The tech laughed.

“I’m not the one who’s pregnant either.”

“Pretend it’s ectoplasm,” said Holtzmann with a smirk at her wife.

“I’d rather not, thanks,” said Abby with a shudder.

“Ecto-plasm?” said the ultrasound technician with a frown.

“It’s a substance we deal with with a lot,” said Holtzmann. “We work together.”

“Wow, that must be... you spend a lot of time together, huh?”

“More than enough, especially when she gets overprotective,” said Abby, rolling her eyes.

“Partners tend to do that,” said the technician with a nod. “You should see some of our male transgender patients and their spouses. Their partners turn into growly bears when their husbands are pregnant.”

“She’s getting close,” said Abby. Holtz turned and gave her wife an appraising look. Abby squirmed a little bit. The transducer tickled as it rubbed across her bare skin. They could now see her uterus onscreen. Their little hurricane has grown, and they could see the form of a little baby on the screen. There was a well formed little head and face, and a perfect little spine. Its limbs were all stretched out as if it were moving around. Holtz felt her heart speed up just staring at the images. This was their kid. She knew Abby was feeling the same by how her grip on her hand had gotten stronger. Holtz smiled at her lover, who gestured towards the computer screen.

“Sort of looks like you when you first wake up in the morning,” said Abby to Holtzmann.

“I do tend to flail,” agreed Holtz. She leaned against the table and crossed her legs, trying to look casual. She brought Abby’s hand up to her lips and kissed it.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They’re moving quite a bit,” said the technician. “You feeling that?”

Abby shook her head. “I haven’t felt them move yet.”

“You’ve got time,” said the technician. “And I’d imagine by how active they are now, there’s going to be a lot of movement to feel the next few months.”

The minutes seemed to tick by too fast for Holtzmann as the technician finished up. She wanted to keep looking at their child, but it wasn’t long till the tech was printing off copies of the ultrasound and handing them to her to keep. She helped Abby clean up, and Holtzmann was chuckling as her wife went straight to the bathroom after getting up off the exam table.

“The doctor will be in just as soon as he looks over the scans,” said the technician. Holtz nodded and the tech left the room. She turned her phone sideways and took a picture of one of the ultrasound. She sent it to Erin and Patty, along with the accompanying text.

Baby Yates-Holtzmann. No longer the eye of a hurricane.

She put her phone away after emailing the pic to her dad so Abby wouldn’t have to remember later. Her wife came back out, looking relieved. Holtz held out a hand for Abby to hold onto as she got back up on the exam table.

“Better?”

“Much,” said Abby. "I'm glad to be dressed and empty."

“I sent the picture to my dad, Erin, and Patty,” said Holtzmann. “I’ll let you send it to your Mom and Dad and Ariel and Austin.”

“I’m sure Mom’s going to be excited,” said Abby, grimacing. She held the back of her hand over her mouth, a general indication that she was going to be sick to her stomach.

“Oh Abby,” said Holtzmann. “Come back down, just in case.”

“I’m going to try to be fine,” she said, taking deep breaths. “The eating of several small meals is not helping.”

“We can talk to the doctor about it,” said Holtz. “I think I stuck a bottle of water in your messenger bag if you want it.”

Abby shook her head.

“Let’s just hope they hurry up so we get out of here before I lose my non-existent lunch.”

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