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kaiowut99 · 3 years

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Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters GX Episodes 65 and 66 Subbed (Finalized)

(Check out my Subbed!GX Stream Masterpost!)

Hell Kaiser Ryou! Chimeratech Overdragon

Since his defeat to Ed in the Pro Leagues, the life in Kaiser Ryou has faded. But at the invitation of a suspicious promoter, he participates in an underground duel--duels in which, crucially, one risks their life to treat their savage audience to a show. As Acidic Last Machine Virus causes his Machine-Types like Cyber Dragon to rust, the Kaiser is not only cut off from summoning any Monsters, but it causes him to take damage. With each drop in his LP, an electric current flows through his body, exciting the spectators...

Judai’s First Dream Duel!

Lost in the forest, Judai’s consciousness starts to fade from hunger, causing him to reminisce about his duels thus far--taking down Instructor Chronos’s Ancient Gear Golem with Flame Wingman during his Entrance Exam, battling the then-Blue elite Manjoume and his V-to-Z Dragon Catapult Cannon shortly after his enrollment, battling Misawa’s seventh deck with the right to represent the Academia on the line, and his first loss in the face of Kaiser Ryou’s Cyber End Dragon...

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*crashes onto your TL months late with non-corporate coffee*

And these two are finally up and finalized! Sorry for the wait, if you were looking forward to ‘em--as I mentioned in my post on Sunday, they were pushed back a bit while I did one final lookover on 1-64′s scripts and hardsubs so I could actually call them “finalized.” I’d started to get them out of the way while waiting for some potential editing help, then just decided to finish it after scrapping the last little thing I hoped to work on (I planned to break briefly after 66 to do these re-finalizations anyway, but the timing happened to work out). More details there.

But leaving that aside, here we have a pretty popular episode in Hell Kaiser Ryou’s debut, as he’s pushed to the brink by Mad Dog Inukai after Monkey Monkey Mountain Saruyama invites him to his first underground duel. They do a really good job of portraying Ryou as having lost his mojo post-Ed, showing a realistic view of what the big leagues in sports are like when that happens to you and you lose out on sponsorships/etc, and so when he gets cornered and Saruyama drills into him how he never once thought of winning since that duel, wanting to just stick with his respectful dueling, a spark lights up in him and... well, RIP Mad Dog. (Also, s/o to Takeshi Maeda for really selling Ryou’s shift in mindset by the end, and to his dub VA for sounding similarly good, imo.)

66 is probably less popular in comparison, treating us to our first clipshow of the series, though 66 episodes in isn’t a bad time (could be worse, VRAINS jk). It’s endearing enough, though--kinda nice seeing SAL again; Judai’s hunger-induced visions give us Chronos, Misawa, and Manjoume making monkey noises; and the duels featured were important for Judai early on. I also like the bit of new animation as vision!Ryou follows up with Judai about respecting his opponents; goes with what I’d noticed before about Judai adding his Fusion Undone/De-Fusion strategy to his own dueling after losing to him. (also Judai making a signpost sweatdrop from his aloofness pls)

Part of the initial delay with these were the footage fixes I wanted to work on, as well as a couple visual translations here/there which were fun to work on. Really want to thank @paradoxi-kay for their great work as always in helping to translate the cover of the copy of Duel Magazine that Judai comes across early in 65, and starting the one on Shou’s copy that I finished up. List of everything worked on below the cut, as usual, if you’re curious.

Enjoy, folks! I’ve gotten some work started on 67 already, and my plan is to try and work on some double releases to make up a bit of time, lol. I’ll be posting these two on NAC in the next couple of days along with the re-finalized hardsubs and scripts/DVDRips; while I work on getting 67 and 68 done, I’ll also start some work on prepping softsub MKVs (also to go up on NAC) for everything I’ve fully finalized, since it’s been a while on that front.

Fixes/Edits! (65)

As Judai wanders in the forest early in the episode, he comes across a stack of old Duel Magazines; the front cover shows Ryou and is an issue from his winning streak days before his more recent loss to Ed. Thanks to @paradoxi-kay‘s great work in typesetting my translation onto the cover I blanked (which I detailed here), you’ll see it in English in the hardsub above. The translation was first applied to the close-up of the cover that comes after #2 below, and then I took the translated cover and made it its own image that I put into the earlier shot as Judai approaches it while they’re all still tied up (detailed here). The text reads, “Exclusive!! Kaiser Ryou Marufuji / Breaking down his Cyber Dragon deck!!! / In this issue: / -Duelists Du Jour / -Pro League Battle Data! / -Reader-Submitted Best Duels! / -Strategic Attack Decks by Type!” (Really appreciated Kay’s input on “Du Jour” because my original translation for that, “Duelists Who Are All the Rage,” wasn’t as catchy, lol.)

As Judai picks up one of the older Duel Magazines and flips it open, we see on the back cover an ad featuring the three Phantasms--it’s actually an in-show ad for Shadows of Infinity (since the episode aired around the time the pack came out in Japan); I detailed the process in blanking and translating it here (shared above). The ad reads, "The Three Phantasms Descend!" featuring Uria and Raviel’s names on their images.

As we go to the Red dorm as Shou narrates about the Kaiser’s slump, we see a magazine page describing what happened to him since his loss to Ed; I covered my blanking/translating this in the link shared in #2.

We then see that it’s Shou reading the page from his own copy of Duel Magazine, this one more recent than Judai’s featuring Ed on the cover, though it features the same SOI/Phantasms ad on its back cover (now showing Hamon and its name as well). Like with Judai’s issue, I used the Japanese cover and the dub’s edit as reference to just redraw Ed and Diamondguy enough to remove Ed’s name; Kay had started the translation placement and I finished it up. For the SOI ad, like with #2, I added in the dub’s edit in pieces, tweaking it to match the original image more (since they again oddly edited the text out or redrew Uria/et al weirdly to do so). We do now see more of the ad which shows that the trio’s names are on each of them, the English of which I added.

As Asuka snatches the magazine from Shou to work on cheering him up, to be consistent, I also worked in these cover translations to the magazine as she lifts then curls it up, using the dub’s blanked Phantasms edit as a base that I touched up a bit while adding back the Japanese cards. Detailed more in #2′s link. (We now also see that the ad reads on, “New! Shadow of Infinity - On Sale November 11th [2005]!”; the IRL booster pack came out in Japan on Nov. 17th, 2005, a few weeks before 65 aired.)

Asuka then lifts the curled-up magazine into view in a close-up, with the SOI/Phantasms ad visible which I also applied my translations above to as needed, using the dub’s blank edit as a base that I redrew parts of to touch up and match the Japanese image more. Detailed more in #2′s link.

As Ryou meets Monkey Saruyama, he introduces himself by handing out his business card reading, "Saruyama Promotion - Representative Monkey Saruyama;" as detailed in #2′s link, I cleaned it up using Photoshop’s Clone Tool, then slapped the translation on using Calibri as the font.

As Ryou contemplates attacking Acid Slime with his Cyber Dragon and Mad Dog Inukai taunts him, as Mad Dog then slides in on a split-screen to “clear his doubts,” there’s a quick frame as Inukai takes over the screen where there’s a gap between his pecs and the split-screen edge. I fixed it by just drawing in the rest of his chest in Photoshop to fill his side of the split-screen.

As Inukai starts his turn and activates his Contingency Fee Magic Card, there’s a frame where, as he’s sliding his hand with the card into the shot, the card itself slides ahead in his hand before his hand does; as a result, you can see a bit of the background just under the card before his hand catches up to the card in the next frame. I fixed this by just duplicating the first frame here over it in Vegas.

Two here--first, after Ryou has his Proto Cyber Dragon attack Clone Slime, as Inukai begins to explain its effect, there’s a quick frame before the shot goes from a close-up to a slow zoom as he moves where his neck vanishes (new meme format go); I fixed this by just duplicating the previous frame in Vegas, while also correcting one of his looping lip-flap frames so that the scar on his chin is above the shading under his lip. Then, as Inukai goes into Clone Slime’s effect and the shot slowly zooms out, we see Clone Slime on his Disk in Attack Mode when it’s in Defense Mode right now; fixed it by placing a proxy in Defense in AfterEffects for a frame, then re-keyframing that frame to the zoom-out in Vegas to put it in place.

After Acid Slime slips out of Inukai’s Cemetery as Clone Slime’s effect activates, Inukai moves to grab it before the two Slimes switch out, but Clone Slime’s still in Attack Mode on his Disk; fixed by placing the Defense-Mode proxy over it in AE, then moving it as he moves his Disk and applying a brief brightness increase as the light from Clone Slime being replaced with Acid Slime grazes it.

As Proto Cyber Dragon’s attack approaches Acid Slime in a quick shot, the card under it in Defense Mode is reversed (the name box should face to the left to match how it’s placed on his Disk); fixed by first applying the correctly-facing proxy in AfterEffects and moving it as the shot moves, then masking Acid Slime back in over it, along with the light coming from the attack as it starts to shine over its card.

As Ryou explains Overload Fusion’s effect, just before it starts to zoom out as he then chooses the six Monsters he’ll fuse, there are a few frames I noticed where Ryou’s whooshing hair throughout this shot suddenly stops whooshing; I fixed it by just masking in his whooshing hair from the previous frames for a few.

As Ryou taunts Inukai about how his Acidic Last Machine Virus will bother him no more, Inukai starts to slide in on a split-screen, but until his split-screen has fully slid in, there’s no border on its edge; I fixed it in Vegas by first masking out the border once it’s fully slid in, then moving it in another video layer with his split-screen for those nine frames.

As Ryou explains Chimeratech Overdragon’s multiple attacks, we see it reversed on his Disk; fixed by slapping on the correctly-facing proxy in AfterEffects, then re-keyframing it to the slow zoom in Vegas for the 94 frames it zooms out in (phew).

One error that I hoped to fix but scrapped happens as Chimeratech Overdragon’s first attack closes in on Inukai’s Multiple Slime, where we see a Defense-Mode card under it despite it being in Attack Mode the way Inukai summoned it (and since he then takes damage from the attack); couldn’t quite figure out how to light up the floor I’d redrawn under it with the ensuing explosion, and had sought a bit of help to get it right but ultimately that fell through. (Incidentally, not only did the dub not catch this as they dubified its card, but they reversed the card, at that, lol.)

Fixes/Edits! (66)

(Note: These are all flashback-related, and I detailed most of them [including a few new ones] in my post from Sunday that I linked just under the summaries; I went on to apply the fixes I’d applied in 66 to the respective episodes, so I’ll be brief here. Reinserted fixes from a while back are in italics.)

(Episode 1 Flashback) I reinserted the fix I did to replace the blank Normal Monster on Judai’s Disk in Flame Wingman’s spot with its card as Antique Gear Golem crashes onto Chronos. [Ep. 1 Flashback End]

(Episode 22 Flashback) As Misawa attacks with Litmus Death Swordsman to start his flashback, I reinserted the fix I did to detail the blank cards on his Disk with Diamond Dragon and Litmus Death.

As Misawa finishes explaining Wingbeat of Giant Dragon’s effect and it zooms out to Litmus Death, I reinserted my fix to his reversed card on Misawa’s Disk to flip it right-side-up.

Reinserted my fix to the repeat of #3 as Skyscraper fades.

Reinserted my fix to another repeat as Misawa explains Spirit Barrier’s effect.

R-R-Reinserted my fix to the r-r-repeat again as we see Misawa’s Disk while Judai explains Cyclone Boomerang’s effect (gotta love reused animation!) [Ep. 22 Flashback End]

(Episode 4 Flashback) As Judai prods Manjoume into choosing a card from his hand for A Hero Appears’s effect, I fixed Manjoume’s blazer looking semi-faded for a frame on his split-screen.

As Judai’s LP take a hit from V-to-Z destroying Burstlady, I fixed the four frames where the upper part of his Disk is missing the little bottom part that extends out a bit and Judai’s vanishing Disk wrist grip.

A bit complex, but I fixed Judai’s briefly-still-missing-then-vanishing-again wrist grip, the shading near his Cemetery slot, Judai’s arm becoming part of his Disk, and his wrist grip suddenly consuming his whole wrist. (Detailed in that Sunday post)

Reinserted my fix to the Attack-Mode Winged Kuriboh on Judai’s Disk to put it in Defense Mode as he discards two to activate Evolutionary/Transcendent Wings.

As Judai swings his arm around telling Winged Kuriboh LV10 to “send [V-to-Z’s] energy right back” at Manjoume, I reinserted my fix to put its Defense-Mode card in the spot on his Disk colored like the Monster Zone it’s on for a few frames.

A bit complex again recycling the Judai shot in #9, but I fixed his again-vanishing Disk wrist grip and half-Disk arm, his wrist grip suddenly consuming his whole wrist again, and his yet-again-vanished wrist grip, miscolored undershirt, and his half-Disk elbow while restoring some previous detail to his Disk. (Detailed in that Sunday post)

As Judai summons Featherman–to Shou and Chronos’s surprise–and has him lunge at Manjoume for the finisher, I reinserted my fix to keep the black faraway box that is Featherman on his Disk both as those two slide in on split-screens and as they slide back out. [Ep. 4 Flashback End]

(Episode 8 Flashback) I reinserted my fix to remove Featherman from Judai’s Disk as his LP drop from Cyber Dragon destroying it.

Reinserted my fix to a repeat of #14 as Judai’s excited about Ryou’s Time Capsule.

As Judai draws for his turn, I added a Fusion card over the dark-orange rectangle briefly in his hand as he draws it.

After Judai’s first hit on him, I fixed the error as Ryou Special-Summons another Cyber Dragon as a Monster in face-down Defense Mode on his second Monster Zone (detailed in that Sunday post).

Reinserted my fix adding Cyber Twin Dragon to Ryou’s Disk over a yellow rectangle.

As the screen zooms in on Judai after Ryou declares Cyber Twin’s attack, I added Thunder Giant to Judai’s third Monster Zone, then reinserted my previous fix adding it as it zooms back out while Judai uses A Hero Appears.

Reinserted my fix adding a few quick lip flaps to Judai as he says, “Partner,” out loud.

As Judai thinks about how Evolutionary Wings would evolve his Winged Kuriboh and we then see Bubbleman on his field, I added a missing Bubbleman card to his Disk.

Right after #21, I revised my previous fix to replace the Defense-Mode Mudballman on his Disk with an Attack-Mode Bubbleman, after I accidentally put it in Defense Mode before.

As Ryou grabs Power Bond from his hand before activating it, I reinserted my fix adding Ryou’s two missing Cyber Dragons to his Disk and then one over the blank Normal Monster card in his left hand.

As Ryou slips Power Bond into his Disk, I reinserted my fix adding those two missing Cyber Dragons onto his Disk. [Ep. 8 Flashback End]

For the Ep. 67 preview, I added my translation of the notice left on the Red dorm by Napoleon which I’ll be using in the episode proper.

#GX #yugioh #yugioh gx #ygo #ygo gx #Judai Yuki #Ryou Marufuji #Chronos de Medici #Jun Manjoume #Daichi Misawa #my subs #i do have to wonder if the staff had a dartboard of ideas of who would spur the flashbacks in 66 #and they somehow landed on bringing back SAL for a bit lol #he's nice enough to snap Judai out of his hunger visions #also s/o to that one dub voice for... somehow surviving that dartboard decision

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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Late July Part Two

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit kinda' tame.

AN: Guess who was a fool and thought that they could leave Late July the way it was?! Me. Spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle abound in this chapter, so proceed only if you don't care about the movie being spoiled for you! I'll see you guys on Wednesday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst @mostly-megan @pancakepike @88dragon06 @chibi-liz05 @iellaren-uodo-rian @heatherbel @ripleyafterdark @oloreaa @thesoftdumbass @okilover02 @renegademustelid

Alright, I think I got everyone! There will be one more part on Wednesday, so if you would like to be tagged please let me know!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This chapter contains attempted purposeful triggering, frank discussion of character death, memory loss, regression and vivid flashbacks/allusions to post-trauma. Stay safe!]

He came back around slowly, still tasting the stale beer of last night's party like an unwanted echo in his mouth. But instead of waking up on the kitchen floor of his shared apartment, he was in a blindingly white room that looked suspiciously like an alien spacecraft. Jack's mind raced. Shit, maybe my roommate wasn't being a total spaz when he talked about getting probed, the young man realized with an undercurrent of fear.

Incomprehensible beakers of things lined the walls of the room. Alright, maybe he should have paid more attention in his chemistry classes, but he could hardly be blamed for assuming that none of it would have practical uses!

Jack rattled his hands in the cuffs that secured him to the table, clearing his throat. Man, his head ached. This was why he needed to remember to drink a glass of water before passing out!

"S'cuse me? Uh, hello?" He called hesitantly. "Look, if the guys from Theta Alpha Phi put you up to this-"

A beautiful older woman rounded the corner into the room, observing him over her glasses. "Welcome back." Her voice was steel, and Jack worried his lower lip nervously. "Wasn't sure if you were going to make it for a little while."

The restraints around his wrists and ankles abruptly retracted into the table, leaving Jack to awkwardly stumble forward onto the floor. He quickly regained his footing, reaching up to seize the lapels on his usually-open shirt and finding instead that he was wearing some sort of...ski suit? Jumpsuit? Top Gun, I can dig it.

God, she really was a good-looking woman. Ah, what the hell. Nothing ventured...

"Hello gorgeous. I'm Jack, what's your name?" He didn't give her any time to answer before he carried on with a disarming grin, "How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?" Jack ran a hand through his usually-unruly hair and found it...weirdly tame. "I've got a six pack on ice and my roomie is out for the night so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar!" He continued, ambling forward. The cheesy, blatant approach usually worked well for him. Sixty/forty split, or thereabouts.

She kept retreating as he advanced, and then she reached into her pocket. Jack braced himself for the rebuff, confused when she pulled out a Polaroid instead. "I hate to do this to you, Jack." She sounded like she meant it. There was Blue-Tack on the back of the Polaroid and handwriting that some portion of his brain vaguely recognized as his own, but he didn't get the chance to read it before she was showing him the faded image.

It took him a moment to realize that it was a picture of one of the girls he had dated in high school, but it looked like she had grown into a legitimately stunning woman. She was smiling fondly at whoever was taking the picture, and the entire image radiated playful energy. Jack cocked his head, a buzz of foreign sadness churning briefly in his chest before he raised his eyes to meet the...scientist's? Teacher's? "Where'd you get this picture? I ain't seen her in years! Shee-it, she got beautiful." The young man drawled. "I have been thinkin' about visitin' my folks again. Maybe I'll go 'round to her place too for some catchin' up."

The woman seemed startled, her sculpted brows raising and then dropping as she studied him intently. "You...don't remember...?"

"I remember her, yeah, we dated for a while in high school." Jack insisted. "Broke up senior year because I was leavin' for college, y'know how it is."

"This is your wife, Jack. Or she was, rather."

His head throbbed, left temple lighting up with sudden agony. "Oh, shit." Jack grunted, holding the side of his head and grazing a bandage that he hadn't realized was there. "Damn, I must have hit my head real good when those pricks from Theta Alpha shoved me down the stairs. Hangover probably ain't helpin'." He grinned ruefully at her. "Guess you must be the one who patched me up. I ain't never asked out a doctor before, but there's a first time for everythin'. Can I pay you back with dinner?"

The woman appeared perturbed. "Jack. This is your wife." She repeated, waving the picture in his face.

"I'm real sorry ma'am, but I ain't the marryin' sort." Jack replied bluntly, "I would definitely remember if someone like her was still my girlfriend. Or uh, had become my wife."

"What do you remember happening, Jack? Before…" she gestured vaguely. "This?"

Jack chewed on his lower lip in thought, tilting his head back to stare up at the featureless ceiling. "Uh, I remember…well, before they pushed me down the stairs, them TAP boys crashed my roommate's party…"

…

"'Pressions, I need you down here in the reconstruction laboratory." Ginger Ale's voice issued abruptly through your earpiece and you sat up a little straighter at your desk.

"What's happened?" You asked softly, rising from your seat and making your way to the door. What with a majority of the population currently locked up in stacks of cages, enough to fill football arenas to their brim, you weren't doing much in the 'managing first impressions' area. Since you had fewer and fewer responsibilities, Ginger Ale had begun to lean upon you a bit more, especially as all able-bodied agents were deployed into the field to search for an antidote. With Tequila being incapacitated, it had made the assignment personal to many agents.

It had been fascinating to find out that Statesman was technically an offshoot from the now utterly-decimated Kingsman agency. When the two surviving members of their group had shown up to the Statesman headquarters, it had caused quite the stir.

"I need a favor." Ginger said, sounding tired.

"Anything." You agreed before she could elaborate further, picking your way through the gravel in the courtyard as you headed to the warehouse where the massive casks of Statesman Reserve were stored to age. Once inside, your heels clicked loudly in the stillness of the temperature-controlled storehouse and you were certain that Ginger Ale could tell your location just from the noise alone. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Don't promise me that until you know what I need."

Your brow furrowed. "Uh...okay."

Once you had made your way through the somewhat labyrinthine halls of the Statesman underground facility, you found Ginger Ale waiting for you directly outside the sick bay. She was rubbing her temples.

"Oh no, that's not a good sign." You quipped as you approached.

She looked up and her face bore an expression of long suffering. "You don't have to say yes to this, okay?"

"Ginger, talk to me. What's up?" You asked worriedly, taking her arm and leading her off to the side of the doorway.

"'Pressions, Whiskey may not be...one hundred percent." She said carefully. "He didn't snap back into 'Whiskey mode' even though the nanites-"

"Wait, what happened to Whiskey?" You interrupted in concern, your heart hammering a foreign, panicky tattoo on your ribcage. "He was with the Galahads, I thought?"

"He got caught by a sniper." Ginger Ale grimaced. "Clean shot to the head."

"Jesus, no." You gasped. "I'm assuming one of the Galahads used his alpha gel?"

"Yes, and the nanites did their job perfectly. So he's stable, and conscious. Better than that, I would hazard, considering that he took a bullet to the head and he's walking and talking. The issue is that he's not really...Whiskey. At the point he's regressed to, he thinks he's still a dropout living with his college roommate." Ginger Ale pulled a picture out of an inner pocket. "It used to be that we could just trigger him to resume where he left off using the memory of his wife and unborn son, but it doesn't appear to be working this time."

You stared at her, mainly because of how casually she stated the fact that they triggered their agents back to 'normal' with traumatic memories, but also because you had a sneaking suspicion that you might be the reason why the aforementioned trigger no longer held the same weight for the field agent.

You told yourself you would refuse to feel guilty about it. Whiskey had asked for your help and you had obliged. It was as simple as that.

"Now, I know your family has that rental cabin, and I also know that it's fairly secluded. If the Statesman organization could possibly, uh...commission the cabin and persuade you to take some paid leave until Jack is...himself again, or at least until the drug issue is sorted and we can devote more time and research to this situation, I…" Ginger Ale trailed off as Jack's head popped out around the doorway.

You were treated to a blatant once-over stare that seemed to last for a lifetime, his dark eyes studying you intently. "Have I...met you before?" Jack asked you, the hesitance in his tone making you briefly hopeful before he continued, "yeah, last night, in my dreams I think?"

You couldn't help your groan and eye-roll, laughing in spite of yourself. "Ugh, and how often does that line work for you?" You teased.

"So far, never." Jack admitted. "But I've always held true to the belief that the sexiest thing a fella' can wear is confidence." He continued with a grin, "That and a high-quality hat." He glanced down the hallway. "So, is it just you two lovely ladies on this alien spacecraft, or what?"

"Alien…?" You raised an eyebrow. "Okay Ginger, I'm convinced. I'll get the paperwork ready. But if you need anything-"

"I know. I'm glad that I can rely on you." She interrupted you gratefully, looking relieved.

"You gals got any Midrin on you? My head is killin' me." Jack grimaced, palming over the gauze square attached to his temple even as he shamelessly watched you walk past him to the lab's computer.

"Midrin was discontinued almost ten years ago." You replied absently while you punched in your login and searched for the proper documents to send to the nearby printer. Commission for resources...ah! There you are.

"What, really?" Jack gawked at you. "Hell, I should probably tell my roommate to chuck his then, it must be way outta' date."

"Somehow, I doubt that will be a problem."

…

Jack balked a little when you stated that you would be driving, but he quieted down once you implied that the world may look a bit different than he recalled and that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

"He's not the first one to get put back a little wrong. The process isn't perfect," Ginger had told you. Of course you knew about Galahad senior, the Kingsman agent who had been shot in the head and returned merely wishing to study butterflies. "But I'll send you informational packets that he can sift through. Hopefully something will jog his memory."

Just riding up in the cask elevator had Jack worryingly pale, though getting him outside into the fresh air and sunshine appeared to perk him right back up. He was obviously doing his best to roll with the punches. You thanked whatever gods were listening that Champ had given you permission to take Whiskey's Bronco. Despite the technological advancements of your own personal vehicle that made it miles more convenient to use (you kissed your Bluetooth phone sync goodbye with a woeful sigh), the last thing you wanted was to cause Jack even more distress. Whiskey was mercifully a classic, no frills, no fuss man when it came to his preferred vehicle, even for being a secret agent.

You grabbed your go-bag out of the trunk of your car and walked over to the Bronco in the lot, barely holding back a laugh at Jack's obvious approval of the vehicle. He was running his fingers reverently along the tiny red pinstripe on the exterior, back and forth.

"If I get enough money for one of these beauts someday, God, it will be a sight." He mused, sounding wistful. "Have to get a better job first, though." He continued, as if reciting an oft-repeated mantra.

"Ginger said you dropped out. What courses were you taking?" You asked curiously. Jack had never been very forthcoming with information about his past, so you seized the opportunity to glean a little insight into the normally tight-lipped agent.

"My parents want me to be a doctor." Jack answered you with a shrug. "I dropped out last semester. Still ain't sure how I'm gonna' break it to 'em." He bounded up into the passenger seat, drumming his fingers nervously on the edge of the door. "Can I ask for somethin' to eat? I'm fuckin' famished." He admitted, changing the subject.

"Yeah, what do you feel like?" You paused, wondering if visiting the establishment near your cabin would assist his memory. "Sandwiches? Pizza?"

"She drives a manual and she eats real food? Be still my goddamn heart!" Jack proclaimed dramatically.

"Easy now cowboy, flattery will get you everywhere!" You laughed.

He grinned back at you, but the smile soon faded. You noticed him studying himself in the side mirror, running a finger down his jaw and grimacing. "God, there's a lot more mileage on this face than I remember." He muttered, prodding the skin of his right temple to smooth out the pronounced crow's feet around his eye. As if working on muscle memory, he reached down without looking and popped open the glovebox to grab his sunglasses. He paused, like he noticed what he had done, then shrugged and slipped the glasses on. "How do I look, ma'am?"

"Perfect."

What with the drug situation ravaging the world right now, the normally-bustling joint you favored was downright sleepy. Aside from the muted television over the counter, the only sign of life was the lone waitress who ushered the two of you in to sit at the counter.

"I can turn that up if you'd like." She offered, nodding at the TV. "I just leave it silent when I'm alone because all the reports...well, they can grate on your nerves, y'know?"

"Nah, leave it off." You shook your head. "I'm full up on hearing about the topic at hand."

"'Topic at hand'?" Jack repeated, looking confused. He had taken his hat off and placed it on the countertop, his fingers back to worrying the bandage on his head.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Hey, cool it. You'll undo all of Ginger's hard work." You chided, and he jerked his hand away with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Whups, sorry." He looked up at the menu, and then asked the waitress, "Ma'am can I get a cup of coffee and a hot brown with chicken? I'm downright famished." His smile seemed more genuine, somehow. You realized after a moment that it actually reached his eyes, warming them even further. You weren't sure if you had ever seen him smile like that. Maybe he had forgotten how.

You began to explain in an undertone after the waitress had bustled off to the kitchen, "so there's this...problem going on in the world right now. Big drug problem."

"Yeah, no shit." Jack scoffed, taking a sip of the black coffee she had poured him. "Nixon started that shit, and Reagan's been on that shit for years. You ain't tellin' me nothin' I don't know."

"N...No, no no, this is different." You grimaced, leaning in a little closer. "I'm talking like, there was one person behind the whole thing and now a large chunk of the population is infected with a virus that will kill them because they used illegal drugs."

Jack stared at you, his coffee cup forgotten in midair between the counter and his mouth. "You...what, hell, all drugs?" He asked incredulously. "Weed? Coke? LSD? 'Shrooms? Everythin'?"

"Everything unregulated, yes."

"I...God." The mug met the counter with a thump and Jack put his head in his hands. "Fuck, you're serious about this, ain't you?"

This was a far cry from the boardroom Whiskey who had insisted that Champ "couldn't make this personal" after it had been revealed that Tequila was infected. But then, people changed over time. Things happened. You imagined a secret agent would grow into a fair amount of detachment through their career, if only for the sake of their sanity.

"So what's gonna' happen to them? Is anyone doin' anythin' to help? Or is everyone just sittin' on their damn hands again, watchin' shit happen?" Jack growled.

"Well, our friends are doing their best. I'm confident that they'll be able to pull off their mission." Even without the senior Statesman agent at their side, you added mentally. Jack stayed in his hunched-over position for several minutes after his food arrived and you finally nudged his elbow. "Hey, sour puss. C'mon, we only made this pit stop because you were hungry."

"I'm sorry, my head is...I'm havin' some trouble." He mumbled faintly, and you noticed that he had gone pale again. "Headache."

You felt a touch of remorse. Maybe it had been overly optimistic of you to assume that he might recall more clearly in this location that he had only visited once. "To go it is." You decided for him, tugging out your wallet. "Once we get up to the cabin, we'll settle in for however long. It'll be fine."

…

There was no power.

You cycled back through the last month's bills in your head. You had definitely paid the electricity. You huffed out an annoyed breath. "There must be a tree down somewhere." You said aloud.

Jack was already making a beeline for the table in the kitchen, the takeaway container quickly splayed open so he could dig into his food with newfound zeal. "So, what do we need to do?" He asked around his first mouthful. He hadn't even bothered to sit down.

"Well first, I'll call Ginger." You sighed, already dialing the reconnaissance specialist. "After that, I'll check the stove, the fridge--"

"What happened?" Ginger answered before it even had the chance to ring, her voice sharp.

"No no, nothing's wrong. Just the power is out. With everything being the way it is, it'll probably be down for a few days." You heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard. "Whoa hey, don't move stuff around, Ginger. We can survive just fine without power for a day or two." You assured her. It always made you feel guilty whenever Statesman resources were used on someone as inconsequential as yourself.

"Are...are you sure? I really should be working on getting more information from the drones in Cambodia-"

"Absolutely, you have way bigger fish to fry. We can wait our turn on the outage route." You interjected firmly. "I'll use the car charger for my phone, so if you need anything you can still get in touch."

…

Jack did his best to tune out your conversation with the woman from the lab, the young man scanning the inside of the cabin as he ate.

It was small, though not cramped. Behind him was the common room, separated from the deck by sliding glass doors. The ceiling overhead was simple untreated beams, interspersed with skylights that left sunny squares on the warm wood floors.

There was a hallway to his left that he assumed must lead to at least one bedroom and the bathroom, but he wasn't particularly interested in snooping down that direction.

His gaze landed on the wood stove that was tucked into the lone river-rock corner upon a sturdy pedestal of bricks, eyes tracing the stovepipe up to where it pierced the wall to the outdoors. Jack left the table and meandered to the stove, turning the handle and popping the door open after a brief struggle. It was still full of old ash from the last use and he grumbled under his breath, grabbing the shovel and bucket from their cobwebbed resting place against the wall so he could give the stove a proper seeing-to.

You would think people had never heard of a damn chimney fire, the young man griped to himself, eventually standing with the half-full bucket and making his way outside. "Hey!" He called to get your attention, "where's your trash?"

You waved a hand off in the direction of a waist-high wooden crate that no doubt housed the waste receptacles, out at the end of the rutted drive. On his way by, Jack slowed briefly to a halt to watch you talk into your...God, is that really what cellular phones looked like?

You shot him an absent smile when you seemed to notice that he had paused and the young man felt his stomach lurch, what the hell? This all seemed so familiar, like he had done it before.

His head hurt.

Waking up in a body that was damn near twenty years older, retrograde amnesia was what the...what Ginger Ale had called it. Jack scoffed to himself. The hell kind of name is Ginger Ale? Then, he winced. Jack Daniels, meet kettle.

So what had happened in between? Something must have happened to him. Ginger had implied that he and that girl he had dated in high school got married, which was...not something he had ever thought about having on his radar, if he was honest.

Unless…

A weird, uneasy suspicion began to take root in his chest. There was one scenario where he believed he would ask a woman to marry him, if only because it was the goddamn proper thing to do.

Oh God, he felt sick to his stomach again. Something, a memory, was lurking just out of the light and he couldn't shake the burgeoning sensation of dread. It was as if his brain was playing tug-of-war, both pushing him towards the realization and dragging him away from it in equal measure.

Jack shook his head and dug his fingers in beneath the heavy wooden lid that shielded the waste containers from the elements (and snooping animals), shoving it up so he could empty the bucket into the ash can. Later, he promised himself, we'll tackle that shit later.

...

Jack appeared to be deep in thought as he carried on the task of emptying out the wood stove, so you simply left him to it as you did a quick check of everything else in the cabin. It looked like the power hadn't been out for too long, as the small fridge hadn't defrosted just yet, so you made a note to head down the road and pick up some ice at the amenities store. You kept an 'emergency' cooler under the counter for such an occasion as this.

This cabin and the surrounding ones didn't lose power very often, but what with all the old trees around it tended to be inevitable once the winds got strong. Your parents had instilled the knowledge in you of how to properly maintain the property, and you were immensely grateful that no problem had cropped up yet that you hadn't been able to straighten out by yourself.

Most of the vacation cabins that littered the nearby woodlands had been booked up for the summer, due to the prolific population of affluent wealthy who enjoyed them as an 'isolated retreat from civilization'. You were hard-pressed to think of an 'isolated retreat' that included a convenience store within literal walking distance of one's residence, but any port in a storm.

Jack was oddly silent for nearly the entire walk down the road to the tiny store, his thumbs hooked through his belt loops as his fingers idly patted out an off-tempo rhythm on his thighs. "Penny for your thoughts?" You broke the quiet with your question, trying for a genial tone.

"I dunno', really. I've got a lot of 'em. How many pennies we talkin'?" He replied, his smile strained. "I just feel like I'm missin' somethin'...big. Obvious. And I...dunno' if I'll be happy about figurin' out what it is, y'know? Like there's somethin' in the back of my head, hollerin' at me, but I can't make out the damn words and I don't--I ain't sure if I really want to." Jack stared off ahead, his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. "I've already been a fuck-up for most of my life, y'know. I can't imagine what bullshit I pulled later."

This uncertain man was a far cry from the usual cocksure attitude you had come to expect from Whiskey. In a way, you weren't exactly surprised that his attitude may have been mainly bravado. Or it might just be that he had played the part for so long he started to believe it. You reached out carefully and he met you halfway, almost absentminded, instinct kicking in before his brain as he wrapped his hand around your wrist.

It took a moment before Jack's fingers twitched, and then his shoulders went stiff. Just like Whiskey, you found yourself thinking. "Uh, sorry, I-" he began to awkwardly apologize.

"It's okay." You murmured, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. "If you're okay, this is okay."

"...okay." Jack's voice was barely a whisper, the man smiling gratefully and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

...

It was a beautiful night.

Due to the lack of power in your cabin and the ones around it, the stars were clearly visible. You had brought the battery-powered radio out with you onto the deck, soft crackling static and faint music the backdrop to your after-dinner conversation.

Jack was more at peace than he could recall feeling recently, the man content to watch your expressions in the light of the lone citronella candle that you had lit on the table.

At ease, well-fed and comfortable, it was almost malicious how fast his mind began to twist everything for him. Jack Daniels, college dropout. Nothing to show for it at all. He'd crashed and burned so damn fast, there hadn't been time. And now, all of this, finding out that the world had gone to shit--

In the middle of his ruminations, something dragged him back to the present. A familiar song, jarring him out of his self-deprecating reverie. "You fill up my senses…"

His head aching again, Jack got a fleeting recollection of a kitchen in a tiny apartment. Faded, dingy gray subway tiles on the backsplash, yellow curtains framing the window over the sink, her yelling at him, "I hate it when we fight, Jack," eyes snapping with fury but resigned and no, no, something is wrong-

"What's wrong?"

It took him a minute to realize that it was you asking him aloud, not his brain screaming at him. Jack grimaced, pressing his fingers to the bandage. "This song, I...I know it."

"I mean, it's John Denver." You said in a deadpan tone. "The guy oozes questionable sweater choices, denim and radio-friendly vibes. I'd be more surprised if you didn't know it."

"When she and I...we had moved in together. And this…it was playin' while we were arguin'." Jack's head was pounding. The kitchen had always felt too small, though it was the perfect size for her. They fought. About little things, and then bigger things. His gambling, her drinking. What a couple. Jack shoved his chair back from the table on an impulse, getting to his feet. "C'mere." He ordered, extending a hand to you

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Dammit woman, just-" Jack tangled his fingers with yours, giving your arm a light tug. "C'mere." He pleaded.

You obliged begrudgingly, obviously comfortable in your current position and unwilling to move. But once you were upright you didn't seem to have any reservations about him swaying you back and forth in time to the music, your head on his chest like it belonged there and your hands tucked into the sleeves of your large sweatshirt.

"...like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean…" the song carried on, sweet and calm. Jack rested his chin on the top of your head, closing his eyes and just letting the faded memories wash over him.

"...I can't do this shit anymore." He had whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. "All we goddamn do is fight and neither of us change and I'm fuckin' sick of this shit." He had continued to rock the both of them to and fro in that tiny kitchen, as if to soothe her.

"Oh, you think I'm not sick? I've been sick!" She threw it right back at him hotly, her fists clenched on his chest like she wanted to beat the piss out of him. He probably deserved it. "Jack, you're the one who needs to change! You're the one who's the father of my fucking baby, why don't you start goddamn acting like it!"

Jack's eyes flew open. Baby? He scoured his mind frantically, every memory he turned up so frustratingly piecemeal!

Baby, a baby, son? Blue crib, blue walls, my son? Married, needed to get married, can't have a baby without getting married, her parents hate me, my parents are already disappointed, have to elope--

And then everything ground to a halt. It was like his memory hit a wall, leaving him confused and almost raw with uncertainty. He needed more, damn it! He exhaled raggedly, making you look up at him in concern.

"Jack? Are you okay?" Your query was so quiet, like you didn't want to disturb him..

"I just...my uh, my joints are complainin'. Guess I let myself sit for too long." He fibbed, smiling down at you in an attempt to distract you from his obvious turmoil. "Thanks for the dance," Jack hesitated, an unfamiliar pet name lingering on the tip of his tongue, "cherry pie."

...

Jack meandered to lean with his arms crossed on the porch railing, his head tipped back to look up at the sky for a time. "Have I...been here before?" He asked out of the blue. "I feel like...it's weird to ask, but I feel like you and I have...I feel like I've been here before. With you." He finally managed to get the words out.

"Well, yes." You admitted. "You came to me because you needed help."

"And did you?" Jack cocked his head to the side.

"Did I what?"

"Help."

You hesitated to answer him, mulling it over. Because in the moment, it seemed like you had. Whiskey had left your care an obviously happier man, but…

If the memory of his pregnant wife, the memory of losing her had been established as his failsafe, it was downright irresponsible of him to have removed that trigger without instating a new one first. Ginger Ale hadn't known, and now Statesman was down their senior field agent in the middle of an incredibly dangerous and tenuous maneuver. The health and safety of countless people hung in the balance and technically, technically (by your reasoning, anyway), it was your fault that Statesman was unable to put their best foot forward in this endeavor.

But…

"I think so." You said softly. "You hung onto something from your past that hurt you, Jack. Something that weighed your body down. I guess you finally got tired of carrying it with you."

Jack's smile was slow, but it lit up his face yet again in the way that Whiskey's never had. "Well good, then! I'm glad you helped me out." He shook his head ruefully. "I just feel like I've been here before. This point in time. It's like...like I'm gettin' the chance to do somethin' over, but I don't know what the hell it is. I'm scared, feel like I'm gonna' fuck somethin' up on accident." He admitted quietly. "It was here, wasn't it? Where you helped me?"

"Yes. This cabin is a safe environment for anyone that needs it."

"I can tell. It's...peaceful." He drawled, one boot hooked over the other as he shifted his weight against the railing. A hand wandered to your arm, his warm palm rubbing your shoulder absently. "I just hope that I can...do whatever it is folks need me to do." Jack murmured.

His hand stayed on your arm for a good long while, the two of you silently looking at the stars.

"Hey, uh," Jack spoke up suddenly, "your...helpin', I…"

You glanced over at him, the stark white bandage on his temple serving as a stern reminder that this was not Whiskey, but simply Jack Daniels. The man, not the senior agent. A college dropout in a dead-end situation.

"Do you help even if a person don't need helpin'?" He asked pointedly, an eyebrow hitched upwards as he observed you.

You opened your mouth, uncertain of what you would even say, but you were suddenly blinded by the motion sensor light blazing to life overhead. Jack pulled you into his body defensively, once again seeming to act on muscle memory. You watched through squinted eyes as he reached down for weapons that he didn't have, his hand flying to his hip. "Hey, don't worry." You mumbled against his chest. "The power just came back on, that's all."

"Jesus fuck that shit is bright!" Jack squawked, his voice pitched high. "Thought I was gettin' abducted by aliens again!"

"Again?" You couldn't help your laughter at how ridiculous he sounded. The man began to laugh along with you after a moment, his expression sheepish in the brilliant Illumination.

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks." He growled good-naturedly, rumpling your hair. "You're lucky you're cute."

You grabbed hold of his hand, tugging him to follow you back inside. "C'mon, let's make sure nothing got overloaded." You urged.

Even when he could have let go of your hand, you noticed he continued to hang on.

Part Three

#agent whiskey/reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels/reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels #jack daniels imagine #kingsman: the golden circle #the golden circle #pedro pascal character #i just can't leave things alone #i know after the first chapter this may come off as dry or boring #please forgive me #i am but a man rendered base by my need to make characters safe and whole again

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petersthree · 4 years

Text

Hey guys! I have another fic out for Luther & Allison’s dynamic - I’ve tagged folks who liked my excerpt post, please message me if you want to be untagged! :)

Thank you to @ginnxtonic & @superhero-bastards for beta-reading!

Crossposted to AO3 (properly formatted here!)

Summary: Luther and Allison have been doing things in reverse their whole lives, so it’s no wonder that it applies to their relationship as well. A character study on Luther and Allison’s journey to being romantic, to friends, to siblings again.

Note: I wasn’t entirely sure how to tag this fic so I thought I’d describe it here for people to determine for themselves if they want to/can read it. For shippers - this fic does not support or promote their relationship; I believe that Luther & Allison’s dynamic formed as a trauma bond and I really wanted to explore that concept, so this might not be the fic for you though if it is, great! For non-shippers - I wanted to explore their relationship and see how they could become genuine friends/platonic in canon. As I’m going through their dynamic there’s going to be incestuous undertones for the first part in particular.

Whichever way you fall on that please just be warned on that before you read, as your own comfort when reading comes first. Thank you!

Fic: The Days that Were (And Are to Come) under the cut!

Number One found out that Number Three was his soulmate on September 26, 1996.

The six-year-old had been sitting with Mom, watching Cinderella again - their favorite movie. Well, Mom’s favorite, he reminded himself. He liked Superman and King Kong, but Mom really liked Cinderella and none of the other siblings really liked watching it so One would sit with her, his eyes tracing between the sparkling spirals as Cinderella got her magical dress and his mother sighing contentedly when she did so.

“Sublime,” his mother would say, every time without fail. One didn’t understand why she would choose this routine, of sitting on the couch and watching the same movie, having the same reactions night after night after night after night, but the content smile on his mother’s face told One that there was something there for Mom.

The rest of the movie went on as planned. Mom would clap in delight at the pumpkin getting changed into a carriage, sing along to all the songs, and sigh and say, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her Prince,” when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes.

Except for September 26, 1996, when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes, Grace sighed, and said, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her soulmate.”

One looked away from the screen, a brush of panic hitting him. He didn’t know that word. He racked his head for every word his father had taught him, every language he could think of, but his mind was blank. Mom looked over and frowned (a frown that looked more like a smile, it seemed like Mom’s default mode).

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, and One looked up. The smile was back on her face when he looked at her. The light of the television reflected back onto one of her eyes like a monocle of light. It seemed wrong, threatening somehow, and something about the image was screaming to One that he couldn’t tell her that he didn’t know what the word meant.

Besides, he was Number One, he was supposed to know what every word was. He took pride in it every time he got to show up Number Two in their lessons and Dad told him, “Good job, Number One,” when he explained the difference between arthropods and molluscs, while Two had sulked in the corner with his head down. He couldn’t just not know something now.

“Nothing,” he said in response, and ran upstairs, ignoring Mom’s call asking him if he was okay. He was running down the hallway when he bumped into Three, and the two of them went sprawling onto the floor.

“Sorry,” One said, getting up and holding out his hand to Three.

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing his hand and using her free one to rub the back of her head with a wince. “Where are you going?”

“I…” One paused, debating if he should tell her, but then Three smiled encouragingly. It was a true smile that reached her eyes, and there was no...wrongness to it, like there was for Mom.

“I need to look up a word,” he admitted. “Mom said soulmate. I don’t know what it is.”

Three tilted her head to the side, her nose scrunching up in thought. “Me neither,” she said, and she turned, walking towards the library. “Let’s find out, then.” One looked at her, walking confidently towards the library room. She didn’t even seem to really care that she hadn’t known, just seemed set on finding out, and One marveled at that confidence as he followed behind her.

It was at the library that they pulled out the large dictionary and searched painstakingly until they got to “soulmate”, and One read:

A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament

A person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs

“Well that doesn’t make sense,” One sighed. “Mom was talking about Cinderella and the Prince. I don’t think they fit this.”

“Why don’t you just ask Mom?” Three asked, and One shook his head, the same flash of panic he had felt earlier rising up in his chest again.

Three must have sensed his panic because she reached over, taking One’s hand. “You can trust Mom,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Mom is here for us. She’s not going to be mad.”

One looked down at their hands, thinking of Mom’s plastic smile, illuminated by the pale glow of the television screen, her posture upright and her limbs looking not-quite right. He wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but he did trust Three.

“Okay,” he said, and squeezed back.

Three didn’t join him, saying she needed to help Four - or Mallory, the name he was trying out for the week - pick out another name, so One slowly walked back downstairs alone. Mom was still there, hands clasped in her lap and the movie still playing, the smile still on her face. If One looked closely he thought he could see something glistening in her eyes, but it was probably the reflection from the screen.

“Mom?” he asked, and she turned from the screen, her smile widening when she saw One.

“Sweetheart, where did you go?” she asked, reaching out to cup his face, and One moved back instinctually. Her hand paused and dropped to her side, but the smile never left.

“I needed to look up a word,” he said slowly and stilted. “Soulmate. You said it earlier, but I still don’t know what it means.”

His mother laughed, the noise somehow blending in perfectly with the music still blaring from the television. “Oh, silly, you can always ask me!” she said.

“A soulmate is…” she paused, and her eyes looked far off and her smile dropped ever so slightly - probably, One assumed, to download information on everything there was to know about soulmates for him, and just as expected, her eyes cleared and she looked back at him, looking sure of herself.

“A soulmate is someone who loves you entirely, and you love them the same. You both support each other, trust each other; that bond cannot be broken, no matter what or no matter how much time passes. That person is your person for life. Does that make sense, sweetheart?”

One nodded, and she smiled brightly again. “There. It’s like I said, you can always ask me, sweetie,” she said, and she moved, slightly slowly, to envelop One in her arms. He let her this time and he heard her sigh happily, but One was barely paying attention to her, his own smile wide on his face.

He had heard the definition and knew without a doubt that he already had a soulmate. He always knew their bond was important, but after Mom told him what soulmate meant he knew that it was more than he ever thought about.

A soulmate, he thought to himself as he walked up to his room. I have a soulmate.

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Bad love, bad love and misery….

The song droned on through the radio as Three and One looked through the baby naming books.

“Hm...Kurt?” One asked, and he and Three looked at each other, imagining it, before shaking their heads in unison. One sighed, placing the book on an ever-growing pile next to him.

“I’m never going to find a name, Audrey,” he groaned, and Three tried not to flinch at the name.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Three said. “Klaus changed his name tons of times before he picked one, Five and Seven still don’t have one.” One didn’t seem convinced, so she went on. “And hey, I don’t even know if I like mine,” she confessed.

One sat up, his face rapt with attention. “You don’t? But you were so excited,” he said sadly. “You were saying how much you love Audrey Hepburn and this would be a great name for yourself.”

Three sighed. “I thought it’d be nice, but it just doesn’t feel like….me,” she said. She hadn’t even realized what the issue was until she had said it - it felt like she was just wearing the name, not that it was hers. She wanted something that was hers, completely and wholly. Aubrey wasn’t her, it was a costume, a mask that she could put on as easily as if it was the mask on her uniform.

“Do you want to change it?” he asked, and Three thought to herself. She had been feeling it for a while, but she had told herself that when she announced her name, that was it, it would be the only one and that was it. She had gotten excited, told One all about it, then told the rest of the family and they all said how wonderfully it fit her and by the time Three realized that it wasn’t working for her anymore it had been so long that it felt dumb to change it now.

But One was looking at her, his eyes wide and non-judgemental, just filled with concern and understanding, and Three couldn’t think of what she was worried about.

“I actually have one in mind,” she admitted, and One’s eyes perked up, encouraging her to go on. “I think one of my favorite things about the whole name thing is trying to find one with you. Listening to Luther Allison’s songs on the radio, going through all these books over and over and over again, it’s all really...they’re my favorite moments,” she said, feeling shy all of a sudden - no clue why, One wasn’t going to be mean about it anyway. “And I think I like Allison, for my name,” she admitted.

“I think it’s great,” One said, smiling at her, and Allison smiled back.

“Then I’m Allison,” she said brightly, and she looked back at One. “I think there’s even a name there for you, if you ever want it.” One locked eyes with her, and she knew, she knew that he got what name she thought would work for him. It was how soulmates worked, as One had described to her only a few years ago. She knew he understood her as much as she knew that he would choose that name eventually, just as she knew that he wasn’t ready to use it right now and not be Number One all the time, but that he’d get there anyway.

“Maybe,” One said softly. “Maybe...you can just call me it when we’re alone? For now?”

The thought of Allison being the only one to call him by his name made her heart beat a little faster. No one else would know - it’d be their own special soulmate secret, something so special and unique that even Dad wouldn’t know about it.

“For now, Luther,” she said, and Luther smiled. The two leaned back on their spots on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the only sound being their namesake’s music and the sound of each other breathing. Allison couldn’t see him, but she knew Luther was smiling just as she was smiling.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head towards Luther, glad to have her safe strong beacon here with her in this moment. She reached out until she felt his hand, interlocking it with her own, and they stayed there, quiet, away from the rest of the world.

We have it, she thought to herself, giddy with joy, knowing, knowing Luther was thinking the same.

A name.

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Allison had known a surprise was coming, but she hadn’t thought it was this. A part of her wanted to tease Luther and say that he just had to show her up, after she had decorated their little hideout into a beautiful tent scene, but looking at the necklace in her hands she couldn’t find the words.

No one had ever gotten her a present before, ever. She remembered this necklace, they had killed some robbers at a jewelry store weeks ago and Allison had peered over while Luther threw a robber through the window, had gasped at how pretty the necklace was, and squealed when the terrified clerk said, “I c-can engrave it for you, on the house.”

They had contained the scene and Dad had swooped in, so Allison had gone off to talk to the reporters and rumor one into taking some headshots of her, but she had noticed Luther hanging back, and now, looking at the necklace that just said A+L she knew why.

“Do you like it?” Luther asked. He seemed nervous, though Allison couldn’t figure out why when she was so happy it had to have shown on her face.

“I’ll never take it off,” she said, and she meant it. She smiled down at her necklace and then back at her brother. “Oh!” she said, getting up for the rest of her surprise. “I almost forgot. I brought one more thing.”

She put on the record and outstretched her hand towards Luther. She had seen him on their designated fun and games nights, whenever Mom would put on her Disney or romance movies. Luther always watched with rapt attention, even when he was pretending not to, and he’d sigh wistfully whenever there was a ball, looking longingly at the screen as the prince and princess glided across the ballroom floor.

Allison didn’t have a fancy ball gown or a prince’s outfit, but Luther didn’t need a costume to feel that way anyway, and she thought she could give him this.

He was about to grab her hand when Dad burst in, telling them what a disappointment they were, that he never wanted them in here ever again, and Allison flinched, moving ever-so-slightly behind Luther. Dad left and Allison slowly packed up her things, turning off the lights that she had so carefully strung up earlier that day and getting ready to take them off when Luther stopped her.

“Don’t,” he said. “Dad...didn’t say the lights and tent couldn’t be up.” It was a rare bit of not-quite disobedience from Luther, and Allison looked back at him and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “We can keep them up. We can come back on Saturday.”

Luther gave her a weak smile back. The two walked back silently to their rooms, and Allison stopped Luther, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She felt him still briefly before he relaxed and grinned, bringing his hand up to his cheek.

“Good night,” Allison said, and Luther stammered out a good night back.

Allison curled into her bed, clutching her necklace and smiling as she dozed off to sleep.

In her dreams, she saw herself in a long red dress, dancing with Luther clad in a suit, and the twinkling lights shining bright in the background. They twirled in the moonlight, her A+L necklace spinning with the two of them, and when he dipped her, Allison would hold his cheek and lean in, and he would as well. They’d kiss, just like in the movies they watched, and Allison would lean against him and just take in the moment as they swayed together, only enjoying each other’s company.

In her dreams, they danced all night.

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Diego leaves a few weeks after Ben’s funeral, yelling at their father in a way that reminded Luther all too well of a small cocky thirteen-year-old who had slammed a knife into the table four years ago.

“We’re kids,” Diego had said, pointing his finger at their father. “Kids. You’re supposed to protect us, we’re not supposed to do anything else but live our lives. You’re the one who failed us and Five and Ben, you piece of shit. We deserve better, we can go,” he had said, looking around at his siblings. Vanya was huddled in the corner, staring straight down at the floor, and Klaus seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on, his eyes an all-too familiar glassy shade that indicated that he was really only there physically. Allison locked eyes with Diego, and Luther puffed out his chest, standing next to Dad.

“If you want to leave, Number Two, you can,” Luther had responded, and Allison and Diego stopped their staredown.

Diego had looked at them all and sighed. “Whatever,” he said, grabbing his duffel bag. “You can all go to Hell. You especially,” he said to Dad. “They don’t know any better but you do.” With that he went off to the hallway, lingering a bit to say something to Mom, and then the door slammed and Diego was gone.

His father was silent and turned, walking back to his office.

“Wait, don’t you have anything to say?” Allison asked, anger overwhelming her voice.

“Training will be at 7:00 AM sharp tomorrow,” came the response, and the door was shut. Klaus laughed, muttering out a figures, and sprawled onto the staircase, staring at an unseen ghost and mumbling something about Ben. Vanya had disappeared from her corner on the stairs; Luther hadn’t even noticed when she had left.

Allison clenched her fists, strolling over to the office, and Luther grabbed her arm right before she could turn the knob.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, and Allison narrowed her eyes at him.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Either Diego’s coming back home or we’re not having training tomorrow, it depends on my mood when I walk through the door, okay?”

“You can’t,” Luther whispered.

“I can if you let go of my arm,” Allison said. The two stared down at each other, and Allison narrowed her eyes. “I-”

Luther dropped her arm. “Allison,” he said, looking at her. “Please.”

Something flashed in Allison’s eyes, too quick for Luther to properly figure out, and she dropped her hand from the doorknob. “Fine,” she said, turning around and stepping easily over Klaus as she left, not turning back once.

He found her later in their usual spot, crying and picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Luther said, sitting next to her. Allison’s fingers stilled.

“For what?” she asked.

“For making you mad,” he said, and Allison sighed.

“It wasn’t you, Luther,” she said. “It was Dad. We’ve had nonstop training since Ben died, and I just want - we can’t go on like this, Luther. Diego got that.”

Luther pushed down the reflexive annoyance at the comment. “Diego doesn’t know anything,” he said breezily. “He thinks that just because he has a few friends outside the academy that he’s better than us. He’ll be back groveling for Dad and the rest of us in no time.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Allison said, resuming picking at the thread on her shirt.

“Then we don’t need him,” Luther said. “Allison, we don’t need anyone except each other, okay? It’s just like when we were kids, I always had you, and you always had me, right?”

“Right,” Allison said. “Yeah, you’re right. I always feel safe with you,” she said, looking up at Luther, her brown eyes wide and earnest. “Like nothing in the world could ever get to me as long as you were there.”

“I don’t want to lose that,” Luther said, and Allison nodded.

“Me neither,” she agreed, and there was a content silence, until Luther broke it with a question he had been wondering for the entire day.

“Allison, were you going to...rumor me this morning? With Dad?” he asked. Allison had used her power on their other siblings before, he’d see her trying to use it on Klaus to fix his addiction (something that would last about a week before it wore off), or to tease Diego; back when they were young she’d use it on Five so he couldn’t leave arguments when they were going back and forth. He hadn’t thought she’d ever use it on him, and the thought had made him feel special.

“I…” Allison sighed, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry Luther, I was. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Not try to rumor me?” Luther tried to joke, but it came out flat, and he cursed himself for the insecurity leaking through his voice. There was an awkward silence, and he reached over, gently clasping both of Allison’s hands in his own. They hadn’t done that before but he had seen it in movies and thought it’d feel awkward. It did, kind of, but it felt nice too, and Allison smiled at the motion, which gave Luther the courage to say what he needed to next.

“Allison, I will always have your back,” he said. “You can always count on me, okay? But I need to count on you too, and I need to know that you won’t rumor me.”

“I won’t,” Allison said, the answer coming so quickly and easily that it made Luther’s heart swell.

“I...also need you to not rumor Dad,” he said, and Allison wrinkled her eyes in confusion, and he felt her hands twitch ever-so-slightly under his own.

“But I thought you just said that we’d always have each other’s backs,” she said slowly.

“We do,” Luther said, trying to figure out where the confusion was. There shouldn’t be an issue after all, if they were together, they were in the house, and Dad knew what was best for both of them. There wouldn’t be any problems, he and Allison and whoever else wanted to stick around and listen would be heroes. They’d live a good life.

“It’s either I don’t rumor you, or I don’t rumor Dad,” Allison said, moving her hands away from Luther. Her eyes steeled over, and Luther found himself reeling back a bit from her. She couldn’t do both?

“I can’t do both,” Allison continued, as if she had heard his unspoken question. “I’m sorry, I can’t, Luther. Not even for you. I just need to know which one you’d rather I do, okay?” Her tone was softening, and she looked at him, but it didn’t comfort him. For the first time Luther felt like he couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on in Allison’s mind. There was something in her face, a desperation, her eyes searching for an answer that Luther didn’t think he had. It was as if he was getting one of Dad’s pop quizzes, and he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of one.

Which one would he rather have?

He thought about telling Ben that his powers were good enough for him to fight, and Ben’s casket getting lowered into the ground. Of Klaus, talking to friends no one else could see at the dinner table and the glint in his father’s eye, and the next week when Klaus came back quieter, and the months after when he started rolling joints under the table. Of Five, who had told their father how much better he had gotten at using his powers, and his portrait, hanging over the mantle to showcase his mistake for four years and counting.

“Don’t rumor Dad,” Luther said, and Allison nodded.

“I won’t,” she said, though it seemed less sure than the first time she had promised, and then she sighed, bringing her hand up to massage her temple. “I have a headache, I’m sorry, so I’ll be - I’ll be off,” she said. She smiled at him, but it seemed weak, not reaching her eyes, and Luther couldn’t help but feel like he had just failed whatever test he’d been given.

She brushed past him and stopped at the door, her hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to ever rumor you either,” she said, and then she turned the knob and was gone.

Luther sighed, and turned to leave. It was fine, he thought. This was the better decision. It was. It was a good decision. He gripped the doorknob and turned it, telling himself that he didn’t mess up, that there wasn’t anything wrong, that there was nothing he was missing, and by the time he exited he stood a little taller and his chin was up. The moment was difficult and hard but it had to be done, and he knew he and Allison would come through it stronger than ever. He knew, he knew, he knew.

It was a good decision. It was.

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“You’re leaving?” Luther asked, staring at the bags Allison had packed.

“Luther,” Allison said, her eyes filled with pity and sadness. “We knew this was coming.”

“No, we did not,” Luther said, even though he knew, deep down, that there wasn’t much shock there. Allison’s smile had seemed more strained lately, and she had locked herself in her room when Klaus had gotten kicked out a year prior, even longer when Vanya had unceremoniously left a few months later. The comments that she and Luther should run away together had increased, now no longer something she’d say in the safety of their hideout but something she’d say freely and carelessly: after missions, disposing of bodies, after Dad would turn a corner.

Luther would remind her that they had each other, hoping it’d be enough, but he guessed he wasn’t.

“I need to go out and live my life,” Allison said. “I’m just…” she sighed, searching for the words. “I’m just Number Three here, or the Rumor outside. I just want to be Allison.”

“You’re Allison to me,” Luther said, and in his mind he saw Allison’s eyes light up with the realization, that he saw her just like she saw him, that it didn’t matter what name anyone else thought of for them because they had each other, and she’d run into his arms and he’d hold her and they’d keep each other safe. She’d promise that they’d never leave each other like the rest of their siblings that had abandoned them, that she couldn’t even imagine that she had been about to do it.

Yeah, he could see it now, them dancing in their attic with the twinkling lights, playing some Luther Allison on tape. He hadn’t danced with Allison since Dad had interrupted them all those years ago. He’d do it for real this time and not let anyone interrupt, even Dad, because Allison was important. Allison was his soulmate and soulmates never left each other, ever, they protected each other and stuck through all the hard times and never wanted more because their soulmate was that more.

Allison shook her head no, shattering the plans already forming in Luther’s head. “I’m glad I’m Allison to you,” she said, walking over to him, suitcase in hand, using her other hand to gently cup his cheek. “But I need to be more than that.”

Luther shook his head. “No,” he said. “If you leave then, I’ll be-” he stopped, wanting to say he’d be alone but not feeling like it was right, somehow. He’d have Mom, he’d have Pogo - Pogo was his best friend, he wouldn’t be alone but there was something about Allison leaving that left him with a vast emptiness inside anyway.

“Come with me,” Allison insisted. “We can go somewhere, together. We know where the others are, we can see them from time to time but it’ll be the two of us, just Luther and Allison. Not Space Boy and Rumor, not One and Three, just Luther and just Allison.”

Luther tried thinking about it, a life outside the house. He didn’t even know what he would do, and the thought of it scared him. Allison didn’t know either, she was just stepping out into a world that would gleefully rip her apart if it could, just as it did with Ben, and Five, and Klaus, and what he was sure it was doing to Diego and Vanya right now.

“We’re better off here,” he said. “Allison, you have to stay here.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a command but it did, and Allison sighed. “Luther, you have to let me leave,” she said, and Luther hated the resignation in her voice, and for a moment he hated her for having it. It wasn’t him wrecking their life, it was her, she just couldn’t see it clearly.

“No,” he said. “Allison, I - I won’t let you leave,” he said desperately, trying to think of how to get her to stay when it hit him. Of course, of course - he’d take her dancing and do whatever else she wanted for the day, just a few more moments and she’d get it, she’d understand, they could fix this, they could fix this.

“Luther,” Allison said, and Luther was pulled back to the Allison in front of him, tears pricking at her eyes as she touched her forehead to his, and Luther sighed in relief at the motion, and smiled when she said, “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do,” Luther mumbled. He loved her, and she loved him, and their love was stronger and more important than anything else that was thrown at them. It was going to be alright. They were going to fix this.

“I heard-” Allison started, and Luther backed away, his eyes wide. He shook his head, shooting a rare look of anger at her.

“Allison,” he said, the pleading in his voice evident, and Allison gripped her suitcase, seemingly steeling herself. As if she was the one who was hurting here. As if she wasn’t intentionally throwing their world upside down because she couldn’t handle a few more years of Dad.

“I need to leave. I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard-” she started again.

“No,” Luther said, but Allison went on, the tears already clouding her image of Luther and the betrayal clear on his face.

“- a rumor.”

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A baby.

Allison had a baby. A baby girl. Claire. Claire Green, Allison had said after a beat. Luther tried not to wince at the full name but he was sure Allison felt it all the way over the phone and there was a five-second-pause that felt like the five years Allison had been gone. Allison was as flawless as ever, however, picking right back up to describing her daughter and steamrolling the pause to the ground.

“It’s amazing, Luther, she’s amazing,” Allison said. “Her hands are so tiny, but she’ll grasp onto my finger and won’t let go, and then it feels like she’s the strongest thing in the whole world.”

Luther stored that in the back of his head, knowing it was metaphorical but wondering all the same if Claire shared a power with him, and the thought made his chest ache.

“I’ve heard kids can do that,” he said, chuckling a bit, and he could hear the smile widening on Allison’s face.

“You know, I always kind of shook my head at people talking about how having their kids is life-changing, but they’re right,” Allison said. “I was scared, I was so scared Luther, this entire time about being pregnant.”

Luther hadn’t known that, but he nodded along as if he did and as if she could see him.

“When I went into labor, God, it’s stupid but I kept getting so worried Luther. I even thought that maybe I could just rumor her to stay in a little longer because I wasn’t ready, but then she was out and they put her in my arms and…” she sighed, and he could imagine the same faraway smile she had when she had announced to their siblings that her name was Allison now, soft and sweet and eyes sparkling with opportunity. “They put her into my arms and I realized something. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love that little girl.”

Luther’s mouth was thick, the aching in his chest getting tighter and tighter until he choked out a strangled, “I’m so happy for you, Allison” and a more sincere, “You deserve this.”

“You should come visit,” Allison said. “Diego and Vanya said they’d come, and Klaus…well, he’s Klaus,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice before it softened again. “I would love for you to meet her.”

Luther imagined visiting, seeing Allison and Claire and...him, even. He and Diego could be civil for a day or two, he could make small talk with Vanya, and most important of all, see Allison. Allison and his newfound niece. He hoped she’d like him. He had seen videos of babies being placed in strangers’ arms and immediately sobbing and he had the sudden image of Claire being placed into his arms, locking eyes with his form, and bursting out into tears. His eyes shifted from the phone to his arms, the skin black and wrinkled and bushy.

“Luther?” Allison asked.

“I ah….” Luther drifted off, but on the other end he heard a man’s voice. “Babe?” the voice said.

“Sorry Luther, I have to go,” Allison said quickly. “It was...good talking to you. I missed you,” she said.

“I missed yo-” Luther started, but he heard the line click and the dial tone of the phone. He hung it up as gently as possible, and shuffled back to his father’s office, knocking quickly at the door before entering.

“Allison had her baby,” Luther said. “A little girl named Claire.”

Mom gave a gasp of joy and clapped her hands, and Pogo smiled, his face softening with the news.

“Isn’t that wonderful, sweetie?” Mom asked Reginald, and she looked back at Luther, her eyes twinkling. “I’m a grandmother, we have a beautiful little girl named Claire!”

His father didn’t look up from his desk. Save for his pen stopping midway through whatever notes he was taking, Reginald didn’t seem to give any indication that he had even heard Luther. “Does the child have abilities?”

“No,” Luther responded.

The pen started up again. Mom’s smile stayed plastered on and Pogo’s face wrinkled back into his neutral sad state, and Luther waited, allowing the silence to overtake them all.

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“Moon sure is beautiful tonight, huh baby?” Ray asked, and Allison ripped her eyes away from the window.

“Hm?” she asked.

“The moon?” Ray repeated. “You’ve been staring at it for the past few minutes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Allison said, smiling at her husband. “It’s beautiful.”

Ray looked at her for a bit, knowing something was up, but he didn’t press on, and Allison loved him for it. He had been so understanding and patient with her, accepting her, “My life is...complicated,” as an answer to who she was. He had told her that it was all right, that he was planning on sticking with her for as long as God gave him on this Earth and that when she was ready, she could tell him.

She had kissed him then, smiling through her tears because here she was, offering nothing to this wonderful, kind man and being given the world in response.

It made her feel wrong, somehow, not telling him about her family. They’d find her, one day, and she didn’t know how Ray would react to meeting them with no warning, or when Five would inevitably fix the problem so they could go back to 2019. He’d probably come with her - she hoped - but then he’d have to adjust to 2019, and meet Claire and… Allison clutched the dishrag in her hands, forcing herself to think about anything else but her baby girl. She’d think about her every day, missing her daughter’s warmth, her smile, even her tantrums that Allison had so foolishly gotten irritated at so long ago. She would give everything up, her abilities, her life, her marriage if it meant she could hold her daughter for just one more day.

It hurt too much to tell Ray, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin. With the powers she had, the other siblings who were probably somewhere else right now causing havoc? She could hear him now, asking about all of them. How could she explain Ben without breaking down? How could she explain Luther?

It was easier to just keep quiet, even though every lie by omission felt like another bandage was placed across her throat, building and building until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

So she looked at the moon, and imagined her siblings were out there staring up at it as well. Sometimes she’d look up and imagine it breaking apart, the pieces hurtling towards her, and she wondered if Vanya ever looked up at the moon and felt a sense of dread. She’d look up and remember cursing at it when she had gotten Luther’s message that he was going on a special mission to the moon, looking up at it and hating that he was there, alone, hating Dad for sending him there and hating Luther for going and always wondering if it was so he could avoid attending her wedding and meeting Claire.

Her thoughts were filled with all her siblings, but Luther took up the most space, almost as much as they did of Claire and thinking about him filled her with both longing and guilt. She told herself it was fine, just her thinking of her favorite sibling, but in her most desperate of moments she knew that thinking about a favorite sibling shouldn’t make her feel like she was cheating on her husband.

She had been asked once, from one of her colleagues, if she had ever had a significant other and Allison had hesitated before saying no. It had felt like a lie and her friend had raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, but had let it drop. When Allison mentioned her siblings and brought up Luther the same look had crossed her friend’s face, and after an awkward silence, her friend mumbled out, “Well hey, no worries, at least you guys aren’t really siblings.”

That hadn’t sounded right either, but Allison couldn’t pinpoint why and trying to think about it more made her feel like she was standing back at the Academy right before Dad was ready to scold them, so she just nodded and said, “Yeah, technically we’re not siblings anyway.”

She could imagine the hurt on her other siblings’ faces, but saying she and Luther were only siblings felt wrong too, as if she was betraying someone no matter what she said.

How could she explain any of that to Ray? He may be the world’s most understanding man, but there was only so much that any person could accept. How could she explain that she loved him, really truly loved him, but that she had this bond that she couldn’t shake and didn’t think she wanted to shake anyway? How could she explain that Luther existed in this odd in-between of relationships in her life, a not-quite something but a not-quite nothing, that saying that he was her brother felt like a glorious truth and a stab in her heart at the same time? She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less Ray.

Ray walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m going to go to bed, all right?” he said, and Allison nodded, the thoughts of Claire and Luther and the rest of her family taking up too much occupancy in her mind for her to properly speak without breaking down. He kissed her cheek and untangled himself from her, and Allison heard him walk up the stairs to go to bed.

One day she would tell him. She would sit him down and explain everything, start to finish, and hear what he’d have to say and accept it, no matter what it was. She would.

For now, though, Allison stared at the moon.

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A file.

Luther’s life had been reduced to a short, one-page file. Or well, his new life. His new timeline life? He wasn’t too sure.

Either way, his name was Tom now, and he was a mechanic living in town. He had a twin brother living in Europe, he was British now, apparently, and he was dating a woman named Amy.

It was short, but apparently all that Dad could find on their new selves. He’d clearly invested as much time finding their alternate-selves as he had in ever raising them with any care in their lives. Not that it was any big difference from their own timeline’s father, Luther thought, remembering the reports he had found under the floorboard, with only a hint of bitterness. He had given up a life, love, his body for his father’s mission, and Dad had just tossed him aside like garbage and found a new group of children to raise.

He choked down his bitterness - it wasn’t going to help his siblings, and there was no use trying to hash out his issues with a father who didn’t care, anyway.

“Find out anything about yourselves?” he asked. Five looked down before tossing his file on the table.

“I’m galavanting around Europe, apparently,” he said dryly. “This me is a…. hippy who wants to backpack across the world,” he said, the words dripping with venom.

“Philosophy professor in Florida, which is horrifying,” Klaus groaned. “Philosophy professor is bad enough, but Florida?”

“I’m in Mexico,” Diego said, and when the siblings looked at him to expand he looked down and shrugged. “I do interior design, and if anyone makes fun of me -”

“-I’m dead,” Vanya interjected, trying to be casual, though the wobbling of her voice betrayed her. “Just died as a baby, according to my file.” Klaus started to move towards Vanya, but she shrugged him off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to be a thing, it just came out. We can move on from it.” The now was unspoken but clear.

There was an awkward silence, and Allison spoke up. “I’m in town,” she said, trying her best to sound cheery, even as she shot her sister a concerned look. “My name is Amy Jackson, and it doesn’t say much else about me.”

Luther looked at her, then back to his file. “Well that’s funny,” he said. “My girlfriend’s name is Amy.”

The silence got even louder and awkward, and Allison stared at the floor. Five sighed, and Vanya broke the silence.

“Okay, I think I’m fine with being dead now,” she said, and Klaus laughed.

“Hey, at least you two can do your whole, ‘technically we’re not related’ thing in this timeline!” Klaus added, and Luther opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped. Did he want to argue?

Allison grabbed his file from him and was reading it over. “It doesn’t say a last name,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it’s me. There’s a lot of Amys in the world.”

Diego opened his mouth, ready to tease, but Five interjected, saying that love lives didn’t matter but that they should at least check out the leads, and that they had the most information on Luther so they’d go and find him and go from there.

Luther was glad to have Five there, and even more glad when Allison said that she wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the Sparrows and the rest of their siblings agreed, leaving just Five and Luther to stalk his other self from afar.

The ride to the not-him’s house was short and quiet. Luther sprawled himself in the back seat, looking out the window as Five drove, not even caring enough when he saw people staring in shock as they drove by. When they pulled up to the house, Five turned to Luther.

“You know, when you see him, he won’t look like you, not exactly,” he said, and Luther shrugged.

“I know, I’ve thought about it,” Luther said, though he hadn’t, really. His thoughts had been wrapped up in Allison-slash-Amy and he hadn’t remembered that, save for being slightly stronger than other people, he would be normal in this life, in more ways than one.

Five looked at him, and turned back without a word.

They waited for a while, until Luther was sure that maybe his other self wasn’t going to ever leave his house, and then the door opened and he stepped out. He was whistling a tune, not a care in the world, absentmindedly checking his pockets and then turning at a woman’s voice yelling, “Wait, babe!” and the door opened yet again.

A young Asian woman ran out, holding out car keys, and his other self laughed and thanked her, and she kissed him quickly on the lips before going back inside.

The relief that Luther felt was immeasurable. It’s not Allison, he thought, giddy with the knowledge, and then the guilt and shame washed over him immediately. It wasn’t a bad thing if it were her anyway, because it was okay here. Allison was his rock, if she was his rock here it’d be even better. Right? He loved her, she had taken up every thought in his head every day that he had been without her, so why did he feel so much relief knowing that his other self wasn’t with her? Was he only in love with her in their own fucked up world? Was that why he was happy that he wasn’t with her here?

The revulsion grew in Luther’s throat as he remembered his father’s voice in his head, telling fifteen-year-old him that he was unnatural. Maybe Dad hadn’t turned him into a monster. Maybe he had just exposed what was already there, an abnormality that was already festering the shape of a human, and just made it obvious to the outside world.

Five didn’t say anything on the ride back home, instead just shooting him glances when he thought Luther wasn’t looking. Maybe he thought Luther was disappointed, or he could tell that Luther was conflicted - or rather, conflicted about not feeling conflicted. Luther wasn’t sure - he never knew what was going on in that little guy’s mind, but he was thankful all the same for him. Five wasn’t going to push for Luther to talk about his feelings, and Luther wasn’t exactly even sure about what those feelings were.

All he knew was that he needed this timeline fixed soon.

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When the timeline is fixed and they get their own Ben back, it’s the miracle of miracles, and Luther allowed himself to swoop up his siblings, lifting them up off the ground as he enveloped them all in a bear hug.

Allison went back home, briefly, promising to come back with Claire, and the thought filled Luther with anxiety but he nodded and smiled and told her to come back soon.

She did, and it all came crashing down again for Luther.

There was a little girl, about five years old now, holding onto Allison’s hand. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at them all with nervousness and excitement. Ben had approached her first, cautiously saying that she didn’t know this, but that he’d seen her as a baby with their Uncle Klaus. It was as if a dam had broken, and the other siblings gathered around their niece, some for the first time and others for a second.

Luther backed out of the room as quietly as possible and went back upstairs, to his hideout.

Allison found him there, half an hour later, and Luther sighed when he saw the sadness on her face.

“I’m sorry, Allison,” he said. “I want to meet Claire. I do. It’s just…” he trailed off.

“Just what?” Allison asked, sitting down across from him. There wasn’t any judgement or resentment in her voice, just sadness, and it occurred to Luther that no matter what he said, Allison was probably feeling it just as much as he was.

“What are we?” he asked Allison, and she looked down at her hands. “I feel like - I know that we’re siblings, but there’s….” he trailed off again, trying to think about it. His mind went back to Jack Ruby, sliding over Allison’s information with the comment, “You really know how to pick ‘em,” which had rubbed Luther the wrong way but he knew he’d be a fool to snap against.

Everything about that had felt a little wrong, from Jack knowing where she lived to him asking in the first place. When he had asked Jack to find her, Jack had asked if she was an ex, and it didn’t feel particularly right to Luther (she was his sister after all, and besides that she couldn’t be an ex if nothing ever happened between them, technically), but it had been simpler to just go, “Yeah, something like that,” in response. When he had heard Raymond Chestnut say Allison Chestnut, the words had been a punch in the face, but surprises of surprises, Raymond was kind to him and when Allison didn’t want to leave, Luther had felt another punch, but this time for Raymond and the overall unfairness of the world that Allison couldn’t be with the man she loved. When he had given Allison CPR, he’d felt the relief of her living, the thrill of almost-kissing someone, and then the immediate shame and awkwardness as he desperately tried to apologize.

He hadn’t known when that conflict happened. Maybe with the wrongness of asking Jack’s help or meeting Raymond, or maybe before that when he had bulldozed Vanya in his quest to avenge Allison in a revenge plot that she hadn’t asked for, or maybe long before that, in the back of his head even when he’d gravitate towards Allison with their soft touches and lingering looks. He’d always known she was his sister and he always knew that he loved her, but both had existed in two separate spaces in his head until somewhere along the way the cognitive dissonance had disappeared and something that had seemed so simple and easy to Luther suddenly felt complicated and uncomfortable.

They weren’t a relationship, but they weren’t a normal pair of siblings either.

“You feel like we’re in an in-between type of space?” Allison asked. “Like - we know our other siblings are our siblings, but that with us, it’s just a little different?”

Luther nodded, the relief hitting him as Allison spoke. “Yes, that exactly. And it makes me feel weird, Allison, because I’m thirty-two now, technically, and I’m only just now realizing that it’s not a normal thing. And I just-” he sighed, and the rest of his words came out in a panicked rush. “I want to meet Claire. I really do, Allison, I swear. I want to be the best uncle that I can be, but I think about her calling me Uncle Luther and I just can’t handle it.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry,” Allison said, reaching out to grab his shoulder, and Luther stopped rambling. “I know,” she said, and he saw the tears in her eyes but they refused to fall. Instead, her grip only tightened on his shoulder. “You don’t need to see her now, and we can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?” Luther asked, staring at the floor, and Allison sighed, though her hand never left his shoulder.

“Then that’s fine too,” she said, and Luther knew she meant it, that if need be she’d always tell Claire that Uncle Luther had something to do and wouldn’t hold it against him, because she was far more adjusted than he was even if she felt the same bond, and far kinder and forgiving than Luther ever was.

It wasn’t fair to her, though. It wasn’t fair to Claire. It probably wasn’t even fair to him, though he couldn’t think of why it wasn’t.

“Allison?” he asked, ripping his gaze from the floor. “Can you rumor me?”

Allison blinked, and her hand finally dropped from his. “I - rumor you?”

“Rumor me,” Luther said. “It’s okay, I want it. Just rumor me, and I can be around you and Claire without a problem.”

“It’s not how that works, Luther,” Allison said. “You know it’s not. My rumoring only lasts a week, tops-”

“Bullshit,” Luther said, and he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but it did. “Vanya’s block lasted until 2019.”

“She was five, Luther, and Dad kept her drugged up and kept gaslighting her to think that she was normal, this is different, you’re an adult. I’d have to rumor you every single week to not have feelings.”

“Then dammit, Allison, do it!” Luther cried, hitting the floor with his fist. The motion made Allison flinch slightly and the tent to finally collapse around him, and Luther put his head in his hands, trying and failing to stop the tears.

“Luther,” she said, leaning back towards him. “I did this to Vanya. I did this to Klaus. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to control another sibling, okay? I won’t do that.”

“Please, Allison,” he said, trying to wipe at the tears that just kept on coming. “I just want to be normal.”

“Stop saying that,” Allison said, and he looked when he heard the anger and the break in her voice. “You keep saying you’re not normal, you are. Maybe we’re a bit unconventional, sure, but you’re not some monster.”

“But-” Luther started, and Allison shook her head, wiping furiously at tears starting to form.

“And if you are then I am too, so stop saying that, okay?”

Luther didn’t think he was all that normal if he was a half-gorilla man who was in love with his sister, but he never wanted Allison to feel that way either, so he nodded, and Allison softened. She started moving the collapsed tent away from Luther, letting it fall on the ground in a heap.

“Look... I used to get therapy, sometimes,” she said, untangling the string lights from the tent’s cloth. “I probably should have gone more often than I did, and I rumored half of them, but for the times I didn’t it was... good.”

“You think I need therapy?” Luther asked. That didn’t feel like something a normal person got to him.

“I think we all need therapy,” Allison said, wrapping the lights around her hand. “And it’s great, Luther, it is. You pay someone to just sit there and listen to you talk, and they’re not there to judge. Their entire job is to just help you.”

Luther was quiet, and Allison moved on to the crumpled cloth on the floor, folding it neatly and putting it next to the string lights.

“Rumoring you isn’t going to work long-term,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be your own thoughts anyway. Claire deserves better than that. We deserve better than that.”

Luther wrapped his hands around his knees, thinking. “You’re getting therapy too?” he asked.

“I’m getting therapy too,” she affirmed. “Think about it.”

With that, she reached out her arm towards his face but then seemed to think better of it, opting instead to pat his knee before going back downstairs, where their siblings were still talking and Claire was yelling with laughter.

Luther listened to the sounds, wishing he could go downstairs, and he wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. He wanted to be able to talk to Allison the way he did Klaus, or Diego, or Five. He wanted to see his niece, and give her a piggy-back ride and be an uncle. He wanted to have a family.

Maybe therapy wasn’t a bad idea after all.

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Therapy was weird.

It was good too, Luther thought, but mostly weird. He liked Dr. Martin, so that was good. In their first session she had asked him about why he had come to therapy and he had talked to her about Allison, and the moon, and his body. He had expected a “and how does that make you feel” and had been ready to bolt right then and there, but she had just said, “The moon? Interesting, tell me more about how you lived there,” and he had perked up and talked. They had spent the rest of his first session talking about goals for Luther - a “be able to feel like I can meet Claire” goal at first.

She hadn’t even broached the body stuff until a few sessions later, and then slowly as they went on she asked more about his siblings, slowly getting to Allison along the way.

Luther was learning a lot about himself. Mostly that he carried a lot of guilt, like Dr. Martin suggested. He should have been the protector of the group as Number One. He hadn’t protected any of them, not even Allison, she had told him what she wanted loud and clear with Vanya and he had bulldozed over the both of them, so wrapped up in thinking that he was protecting them, all of them, that he had hurt his siblings all the more. Alongside the “be able to meet Claire” goal he added another one: Apologize to your siblings.

He wrote all this down and more in the journal that Dr. Martin had given him (he needed to ask her for another one, the book was down to its last few pages and Luther had so much more to say). He had written about his childhood, and growing up in his house, and he had been upset, at first, when he read it all out. There was so much that he had thought was beautiful and special about growing up in the Academy, but reading it out on paper just felt so…sad. He wondered if this was how Vanya had felt when she had written her book, and the story that felt like a traitorous ramble started feeling more like an insight into her mind, and he wrote another goal in his journal: Re-read Vanya’s book.

He was also starting to get his relationship with Allison. “Have you ever heard of trauma bonding?” Dr. Martin asked.

Luther had blinked, taken aback by the word. “Trauma bonding?” he repeated, trying to bite back the initial thought he had. I don’t have trauma. The thought still reverbated in his mind from time to time, but he’d only have to take one look at his journal to remind himself that he felt sad for the child in the journal, and that if he felt sad it probably wasn’t a happy childhood.

“Trauma bonding,” Dr. Martin said, nodding. “When two people grow up in a toxic environment, they may develop bonds with one another. This may be between an abuser and their victim, or individuals suffering the abuse together. I think it sounds like what happened with you and Allison. You were both a safe space for each other that you couldn’t find anywhere else in your home, and these strong emotions were interpreted as attraction.”

It sounded beautiful, in a way, even though Luther didn’t think it was meant to be taken that way. It also made sense, if Luther were to think about it. They had always been pillars of support to each other, had been one another’s confidants and shared their hopes and dreams with one another, always circling back to each other when they were upset and hurt, which in their home was almost all the time. Their entire relationship fit so perfectly and neatly into two words.

It was on Luther’s mind when he and Allison met up later that month, as they did nowadays. It felt off, planning their meetups, and Luther constantly had to remind himself that it wasn’t a date, but it was also something to look forward to rather than how they used to meet. He had gone from seeing Allison every day to not seeing her for years, to the random pop-ins with the apocalypse and all and it was nice, knowing there’d be a day designated to talking to Allison, hearing updates about Claire, and them both talking about therapy if they wanted, and how they were doing.

The lunches were hard, at first, there was so much that was still so difficult to say between the two of them, but then one day Allison had started showing him new photos of Claire and telling him stories about how she had Five wrapped around her finger, which Luther found hilarious, and they were slowly getting back to themselves. They talked, slowly, about therapy and how it was going, and each lunch got a little bit easier and a little less sad each time, and Luther was excited, for once, to share something from therapy with Allison.

“Trauma bonding, have you heard of it?” he asked after a quick hello and hug, and Allison nodded. Luther grinned. “It’s what we have!” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a whole name for it, something that other people have and share, and we have it.”

“I’ve heard it,” Allison said. “I don’t love it, though,” she admitted. She saw Luther’s face fall and added, quickly, “I’m not saying that you can’t, Luther. You can. Maybe one day I’ll like it more, maybe I just don’t like the phrase, I don’t know. It’s okay if it works for one of us.”

“Oh,” Luther said. It felt a little confusing, for him to cling so happily to the phrase while she did not, but he thought he understood. “What do you think of us?” he asked.

Allison picked apart the cookie on her plate, until it was crushed into small crumbs. “Do you remember when you told me we were soulmates?” she asked.

“Yes,” Luther said, feeling a bit apprehensive. He remembered being a six-year-old hearing what a soulmate was and all he could hear was trauma bond trauma bond trauma bond, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell Allison that it was so clear to him now what it was.

“I think...we’re still soulmates. Not - not in that way, I’m not saying I think we should get married or that I even want to - no offense -” she added, as Luther’s face betrayed a bit of offense at the comment. “I just think, well - dammit why is this so hard?” she asked, crushing the last bit of her cookie.

“I know,” Luther said softly. “I don’t think it’s ever going to stop being hard.” That was something else he had to come to terms with in therapy. He had thought that having a name to his issues would make them all go away - body dysphoria, child abuse survivor, trauma bond - but while they helped him figure out what was wrong they didn’t make any of those feelings actually go away. “Maybe a bit easier, but always just a little bit hard. We have each other, Allison, and we always will. It’s okay if it’s hard to say.”

Allison looked at him and smiled. “That’s why I think you’re my soulmate, you know that, right?” she said. “I don’t think they have to be romantic, they’re just people who are always going to be with you and support you. I feel safe with you, Luther, like I can be myself completely, like if I fell off a cliff you’d be there to catch me and help me and that I could do that same for you. You’re my soulmate, Claire is my soulmate, the rest of our siblings are my soulmates. That’s what I mean.”

“I think that sounds beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he was starting to get what Allison meant about them having different definitions and that being okay. He had a trauma bond, she had a platonic soulmate. There was something there that intersected and he tried to figure it out. A trauma soulmate, he thought briefly, but he didn’t say it because it felt a bit stupid to say out loud and he didn’t want to minimize the moment. Instead, he took a breath and said the other thing he had wanted to tell Allison.

“I think I’m ready to meet Claire.”

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Claire looked up at him with wide eyes, her neck craning up as she tried to meet Luther’s face, and Luther laughed despite himself.

“Hey Claire,” he said, crouching down and smiling at his niece. “I’m your Uncle Luther.”

The words still felt like a punch in the gut, but nowhere near devastating as he thought they’d still be, and when Claire smiled and said, “I knew that!” he felt a warmth that made the punch worth it.

They spent the day at the house, Claire asking every single story about their old missions and space and Luther happily obliging. She grabbed onto his hand at one point as she looked around his room, pointing at the replicas of rockets he had hanging around and pulling him forward as she looked at all of them. Luther let her drag him around in a daze, as Claire kept on talking and asking questions. There were no questions on why she hadn’t met him before, no shrieks of fear at his size, no expectations besides fun stories about the Academy that she had already heard a million times before from their other siblings.

When Allison said they needed to get Claire back to her father’s house, Luther felt a pang of disappointment, but it went away as quickly as it appeared when Claire said, “This was fun! See you later Uncle Luther!”

And he did, over and over and over again. Sometimes he’d be with her and one of their other siblings, sometimes it’d just be Allison and Claire only, sometimes Allison would let him babysit and it’d just be Claire hanging out with her Uncle Luther, which was the nicest of all.

One day they were out at the aquarium, Claire pointing at different fish and oohing and aahing at how pretty they were (Luther agreed), saying she thought she’d love to be a shark (Luther would rather be a dolphin), scrunching up her nose as she tried to read the descriptions and asked him what on Earth a mollusc was (Luther didn’t know). It went on and on for every exhibit, and Luther loved every moment of it. It was when Allison was letting Claire pick out something from the gift shop that a woman walked up to him, beaming and saying that she thought they had the cutest family. Luther blinked once in confusion and looked back at Claire and Allison before saying to her, “Oh, no, that’s my sister and my niece.”

It was later, when Allison was putting down a tired Claire to bed that he thought about what he said, and he paused before admitting to Allison that he hadn’t ever said she was his sister to someone else that easily and quickly before. It had always come with a bit of hesitation in his mind, a weird little pause before he’d mutter “yeah, kinda” to whatever the person’s assumptions were. He told Allison about it and she smiled.

“I’m proud of you,” she said, smiling, and she bumped his shoulder with her own when he didn’t reciprocate the smile. “What’s wrong?

“It feels good to hang out with Claire. It makes me feel...happy,” he said. “She doesn’t have any bad memories of me, and she just thinks of me as fun Uncle Luther. That’s it. I like being that person.” He frowned then, and went on. “But I also feel like I lost something, you know? Like I’m mourning the fact that I didn’t hesitate. And I’m getting there with you, it’s like every day it’s a little bit easier and I start thinking of you like I do my other siblings, but it feels like a...loss, somehow?” he finished lamely. “Sorry, it’s dumb, I know it’s what we want.”

“It’s not dumb,” Allison said, a twinge of annoyance clear in her voice, as it always was whenever Luther said something self-depracating. “I get it. I’ve been going through the same thing,” she said, and Luther looked over in surprise. Allison had been honest about therapy and her feelings, but she had seemed so put-together since she had started. She’d speak about everything in her sessions with such a certainty. Besides, out of the two of them she was the only one with previous husbands, and she had gone on dates here and there with other people with such ease that Luther had assumed that she had managed to quickly work through whatever feelings she had for him.

Allison got up, grabbing a bottle of wine from her fridge and pouring it into two glasses before setting one in front of Luther. “I’m glad,” Allison continued. “I’m glad we’re friends now, and I still feel like I can tell you everything, but you’re right. Things are different now.”

Luther nodded, and a silence fell between them, though he couldn’t determine if it was an awkward one or not.

“I think,” Allison said, looking past Luther and at Claire’s closed door. “That it’s okay though.” Her eyes moved from the door to Luther and she smiled. “It’s like our relationship with Five, or Ben, or Vanya now. They’re never going to be the same as they were before Five disappeared, or Ben died, or Vanya didn’t know about her powers, and maybe that’s okay. It’s not a relationship dying, it’s just...taking on a different form.”

“Huh,” Luther said, mulling it over. “I think I like that.” Maybe he wouldn’t have that hesitation before saying Allison was his sister anymore, and maybe a part of him would always feel a little bit guilty about that. Maybe one day he’d find someone who he could actually be with, genuinely and completely, and he could talk freely and openly about it as much as Allison did to him, and maybe it’d be a little bit awkward, but they’d get through it all the same.

And maybe that awkwardness wasn’t bad either. Clinging onto the past had proven unhealthy for them, but trying to brush it under the rug and ignore any lingering jealousy or awkward moments wasn’t the way to go either. He liked the thought of building this new bridge with Allison, an awkwardly built one that probably looked a little lopsided, but a strong foundation all the same, and mentally, he added a new goal to his journal: Appreciate this new relationship with Allison, always.

Allison raised her glass, smiling at Luther. “To moving forward,” she said.

“To moving forward,” Luther repeated, and the two clinked glasses.

Tagging: @let-the-whump-commence @pennsylvanya @uaklauslovesdave @hamdehlesmis @odrantheseeker @angel-starbeam @dykerory @rulerofturtles @milkylai @of-sunshine-and-sea @superbandnerd99 @tuafives @kalinara @challengerblue @trulyalpha @ostentatiousalibis @thingsanthoughts-on-lifeanfandom @imarealdad @sparrowchristopher @the-maidofmischief @daisyrose1966 @soaring-falcon @adelheid32 @69-octane-69

#tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #tua fic #janie writes stuff

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gleekto · 4 years

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Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA, and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Even Better Than the Real Thing (5/15)

Kurt is sitting at his desk, completing his essay on queer subtext in ‘Cats’ when Rachel rushes in the front door like a hurricane. “Please help me clean, Kurt. They’ll be here soon.”

“Who will be here when?” Kurt is immediately irritated.

“You know, the cast, hair and make up, whomever can make it. I really felt that as the star of the show that I should be hosting a get together evening. I’ve got the wine, we can warm up some easy appetizers, cut some veggies. Oh and can you make your guacamole?-”

‘Wait what? Did you even think to ask me if tonight worked for me? My essay is due tomorrow.”

“I did-” Kurt stares at her. “I didn’t ask? I mean I thought I mentioned it last weekend.”

Kurt sighs deeply. “You didn’t.”

“Okay I’m sorry. But come on, Kurt. I know your essay must be almost done. You never leave anything to the last minute-”

“Unlike some other people, apparently.” Kurt groans and shakes his head but begrudgingly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. “You clean. I’ll do the guac and veggies.” Rachel thanks him profusely and he shoos her away so he can get the food done. He will need to shower and change before anyone arrives. And clean his room. Because though he won’t ask Rachel who’s coming, he’s not going to risk Blaine Anderson thinking his home is a mess.

...

By the time Kurt feels ready enough to enter the gathering from the safety of his bedroom, having carefully chosen a definitely flattering but not trying too hard outfit for the occasion - a skintight white long sleeved shirt under a dark grey vest with tight dark blue jeans - there are already a good ten guests in his living room, milling and drinking wine and laughing too loudly. But so far, no Blaine Anderson. He chats for a bit with Sarah and Joan, two of the hair and make up folks, and tries very hard to be interested in whose hair is the hardest to get consistently correct, and not to be distracted by who is not there.

“Rachel!” The door swings open about half an hour later and there he is, giving Rachel a big hug, handing her a bottle of red wine, and apologizing for being late. Kurt’s heart beat quickens slightly but he notices that he is not going into full on panic mode. They’re friends, buddies, and of course they’ll talk tonight. Yes, it’s Blaine Anderson and yes, he’s really very gorgeous, but it’s a bit more like hot gay friend has entered the premises and less like he’s holding his breath to catch a brief glimpse of Sing!’s most eligible bachelor. He can do this.

“You almost missed your chance,” Kurt wanders over and hands Blaine a Corona with lime. “It’s the last one but lucky for you, I set it aside.”

Blaine smiles widely, looking genuinely thankful - Kurt thinks more appreciative than a saved beer would warrant. “You know my drink of choice?”

“Given that it’s all you’ve been drinking each time I’ve seen you - I guess I know your “drink of choice.” Kurt makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Blaine raises the bottle in a cheers-like gesture. “So this is your home,” Blaine takes in the apartment, looking at both Kurt and Rachel.

“Two bedrooms, two bathrooms-”

“That was a requirement,” Kurt adds. “I have a very particular nighttime skin routine and there was no way I was competing with Rachel Berry for the mirror.” Blaine laughs and keeps smiling at him with those sparkly eyes. It’s unnerving.

“Kurt, why don’t you give him a mini-tour? I need to refill the Sangria bowl,” Rachel says, flitting off to the next thing.

“Why don’t you, then?” Blaine says. Kurt surveys the room. The apartment is not that big.

“Well, this is the living room slash kitchen slash main room.” I mean, Blaine can’t really think there is that much of a tour to take, but he’ll humour him. Kurt leads Blaine to Rachel’s unfortunately overly pink room and bathroom. “I couldn’t convince her that it was not a bold choice, but a bad choice.” Blaine’s eyebrows rise as he takes in light pink walls with splashes of bubble gum pink accents, and he laughs genuinely at Kurt’s commentary. Neither this tour, nor Kurt, are really that amusing but okay. Blaine Anderson is having fun.

“I guess she really is a girly girl at heart,” Blaine says as he follows Kurt into his own room. Much more soothing, and more adult, shades of blues and greys, with some bold orange accent pillows on his bed for flare.

“A girly girl can still have taste - and that room, Blaine, is too much pink.”

“I dated a guy last year who had a pink room,” Blaine rolls his eyes at the memory as he sits down on Kurt’s bed. Okay. Guess they’re staying here for a bit.

“Just really proud?” Kurt pulls out his desk chair and faces Blaine.

“A proud gay guy can still have taste,” Blaine mimics, looking approvingly around Kurt’s room.

“Indeed.” There’s a brief pause and Kurt’s heart starts to race again, worried it might get awkward. “Wait - didn’t you say you couldn’t meet anyone while working on Sing!?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t stop me from trying. Or sort of trying while enjoying,” Blaine pauses. “The LA scenery.”

Now Kurt laughs, shaking his head to himself. “Honestly, I can’t imagine having a life where there are so many options that they are all just part of the pretty scenery. Although I suppose Mr. Pink’s room didn’t qualify.”

“Mr. Pink,” Blaine pauses, looking like he is assessing whether he should say whatever is on the tip of his tongue. “Had a body to make up for the room,” Kurt’s eyes widen but he wills himself to play it cool. No big deal. Friends chatting about past relationships. “So we had a week of torrid sex and the rest is history.”

Kurt bites his lip. This image is too much. Blaine Anderson having torrid sex is too much. He knows he’s red. He just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Honestly, Blaine, I’m from Lima, Ohio and your life right now, it’s outside my mid-western frame of reference.”

Blaine chuckles again but he nods. Does he think Kurt is just hilariously innocent? “I know. You know, I don’t completely forget what it’s like to arrive in LA from small town Ohio. I’m only 24. Did you ever get out to Columbus for any of the LBGT youth dances or game nights? I used to do that. Even got my first kiss from a drunken college freshman behind the community centre. Very romantic.”

“Nope.” Kurt answers quickly. “Never went to Columbus. No dances or games. No kisses.” He’s embarrassed but what else was he going to say? Blaine’s suspicion of his innocence confirmed.

“No first kisses?” Blaine repeats and Kurt shakes his head quickly.

“Why is that so hard to believe? I thought we already discussed that Lima is not exactly a gay mecca.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. Lima would not exactly be the best place to meet someone.” Blaine agrees, shaking his head and looking down slightly before looking right back into Kurt’s eyes. “It’s just that,” Blaine breathes in, “You’re hot.”

What. The fuck.

Great. Now the silence is going to be super painful because Kurt is certain no coherent words will come out of his mouth ever again.

“Anyways,” Blaine bites his lower lip, shaking off his momentary slip of the tongue. “Thank you for the tour.” Kurt gets up to lead them back out to the others. “You’re one up on Mr. Pink.”

“For my decor? I hope so.” Kurt manages to speak words.

“In all areas,” Blaine says quietly from behind him and before Kurt can register the second less than subtle compliment in five minutes, and turn around, Blaine is back in the crowd, chatting with Joan and Sarah as if nothing could be more interesting than the perfect hair gel. As if he did not just say what he said.

Kurt is done. For the night. Maybe forever. He’s sure he’s not capable of any more small talk with echoes of “You’re hot” and “In all areas” singing through his head. He quietly sneaks into his bedroom and closes the door. He may be innocent and even naive. But Blaine Anderson was most definitely flirting with him. He was honest, at least about his relationship past (or lack thereof), but Blaine didn’t run away. He stayed. And stared. And flirted.

This situation is real. And very complicated.

He needs to stop blogging.

Out of respect for my source, who is a good friend, I need to stop posting on this blog. I will leave the blog up for all the fun gifs, and I may even be back to peruse on occasion. You know I will miss you all. Keep sing!ing, my friends -LimaBlaineFan

#gleekto writes #even better than the real thing #I will be putting up the first 5 parts as chapter one on AO3 today #I will reblog with that link once done

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mittensmorgul · 4 years

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The Tumblr Beta Version: an objective analysis

I was tempted to just type “it sucks.” And while that is an objective analysis, it’s not exactly helpful. I’ve sent several requests to @staff and @support to restore my account to the old tumblr dashboard format, and received the same automated reply twice now. I’ll copy/paste it here so everyone is on the same page:

(lol, I had to go back and edit this, because apparently the beta version doesn’t display block quotes on the dash. So I’ve also put the block quotes in italics... hopefully it’ll display properly... note after editing: nope, it doesn’t display italics either... how the heck am I supposed to differentiate quoted text? I’ll start each quoted bit with an asterisk, I guess...)

*Thanks for reaching out about the beta dashboard.

*We're currently testing it out, and your account seems to have been selected to take part in the test. Thanks for your patience while we work on it! At this time there is not a way to opt out of testing. You may see your Tumblr experience return to normal as we continue testing.

WE CAN ONLY HOPE.

*In the meantime, check out some of the new features available only in the beta dashboard:

OKAY TUMBLR, IF YOU INSIST, though I would MUCH rather have back all the functionality I personally invested into this website through xkit... you know... making the site ACTUALLY FUNCTIONAL. Let’s see what this beta version has given me instead of functionality:

*Change Palettes: Go to the person icon, then click "Change Palette." You'll find the classic Tumblr blue, dark mode, and a few other color palettes for your dash.

So I tried out all the color palettes. In addition to the ones mentioned here, there’s one that’s trying to look like a green screen terminal that gives me flashbacks to the early 80′s. There’s a reason we stopped using green screen terminals... Another one is “canary yellow.” It’s very yellow. The “classic tumblr” isn’t actually classic tumblr... all the post boxes are dark blue with grey type, not white with black type. And all the other colors are the insanely bright fluorescent of the new Dark Blue standard tumblr scheme. Which means links are practically invisible unless I highlight them. It’s migraine inducing. The one theme with a light colored background is called “Concrete” or “Cement” or something like that and even that only works for about half an hour before the migraine aura really kicks in. I just want my Old Blue via xkit back. You know, what tumblr actually used to look like. I don’t want any of these horrible color palettes. None of them work for me.

*The new "meatballs" menu: This is where you can copy the post link, unfollow the Tumblr who made or reblogged the post, or report a violation to our Community Guidelines.

I could do all of this from the user menus with xkit, too. I don’t regularly report violations or have the urge to block people I have chosen to follow. Why on earth would I want to do any of this? And why would I want these features located directly beside the post link copy feature?

You know what I do miss? I miss the xkit timestamps feature. I didn’t have to hover dangerously close to the KILL IT WITH FIRE meatballs menu in order to see when a post was made, and in this era of disinformation and misinformation spreading around this site faster than Covid-19, being able to see when a post was ORIGINALLY created is a far more useful feature than an easier way to block people. For reference: I currently have three blogs blocked. Two of them are pornbots. One is a nazi. If I don’t want someone’s content on my dash, I don’t follow them. This “feature” is entirely useless to me.

*A quick note: Pagination is not supported in this beta test, but we're collecting feedback to send to our engineers.

THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST. This beta test might actually be tolerable if I wasn’t trapped into endless scrolling. If I could page through my dash, refreshing it every ten posts or so. You know why? Because once I scroll about 30 posts down my dash, tumblr starts overheating my laptop under the load of ALL THOSE POSTS. Things start malfunctioning-- it takes longer and longer to load new posts the farther I scroll. And the keyboard navigation (both page down and hitting J to advance to the next post, and even just using the down arrow to scroll as I read a long post) freeze and stop functioning. One of my laptop fans has actually begun to malfunction.

You know why this wasn’t a problem on the old version? If the data load got to heavy, I could open a post in a new tab, click view on dash with xkit, and voila! Brand new tab! I could close the malfunctioning tab and everything would be refreshed to normal! But without pagination, THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE.

Also, after reblogging a few posts, the beta version of this site breaks, and doesn’t open a post tab to add commentary or even tags. It just... reblogs the untagged post with no warning whatsoever. You know... that’s really really not cool. I tag EVERYTHING. Well, almost everything. The tags are the only way to keep track of the 40k+ posts on my blog. And warn people that I am posting potential spoilers, or other specific content. It’s REALLY inconvenient to have to either immediately go to my blog to edit the post and add tags, or even comments. The alternative is to scroll up to open individual posts I want to reblog in a new tab, and then reblog directly there. Ironically enough, THOSE pages actually open with xkit installed, and everything (surprise!) functions perfectly there.

It’s perfectly reasonable to understand why this specific issue has limited the number of posts I reblog. Reblogging content should not be this much of a hassle. Creators have been complaining for a while that reblogs have drastically slowed down, and I think making it even more annoying and difficult to reblog posts will not help this problem.

Also, with xkit enabled, there’s a function that auto-loads images as you scroll, so the images are always visible BEFORE they appear on screen. I don’t have to look at the colored boxes and wonder if this is a post I’ve already seen or something I should sit and wait for. Don’t even think about watching tumblr videos. Loading priority is given to the ads that you cannot pause or dismiss, so that video loads and plays in choppy two second bursts instead of being given priority. Since that’s the content I am actually here to consume, it kinda makes me want to do the opposite of patronizing anyone who advertises here with graphically intense ads. And then when you scroll away, with xkit, gifs and videos you’ve scrolled past STOP loading and playing, which I think might be contributing to the intensity of the resource hogging that’s literally melting down my laptop.

And for reference, I have a pretty decent little gaming laptop. A blogging platform shouldn’t be driving it to the brink of frying itself. I didn’t realize just how much xkit worked to streamline this and provide basic functionality to this site.

*And lastly, if you're an XKit user, know that the XKit team is working hard to update things on their end to make it compatible with the beta dashboard.

And this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I’ve lost without xkit. And this is a really REALLY garbage response to user complaints. “Oh, yeah, sorry we made our site suck even worse, but those nice people who do our jobs for free will surely fix our garbage soon!”

Dear wonderful people at @new-xkit-extension, I love you, and I miss you, and while I wish xkit worked with this beta version I’ve been forced into living with, I truly feel for y’all who are trying to deal with this nonsense on behalf of all of us.

And to the folks at Tumblr... maybe try to just... make your site actually more like xkit. You know, actually functional. None of these special new features are useful or functional to me. I respectfully request for a fourth time to be removed from this inane beta test.

Give us OPTIONS. Let us display ALL THE TAGS without having to click a button. Let me have back my Activity+ that actually allowed me to interact with people from my dash! That showed me real-time inline notifications in a way that I could reply to with a single click! Bring me back to my column of open messaging conversation icons so I have easy access to the people I talk with throughout the day instead of closing them all every time I refresh the page. I already feel socially isolated in freaking quarantine, please stop shutting off all my avenues of communication!

Let us have pagination! I mean, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to force heavy users of this site into a beta version that doesn’t allow us to opt out until your engineers had actually figured out how to make it work in a very basic way.

*Let me know if there's anything else I can help you with!

YES. PLEASE REMOVE ME FROM THIS BETA TEST NOW. I have let you know exactly what I want from this site. I just want it to ACTUALLY WORK. For someone who spends 12+ hours a day on this site, this beta test version is NONFUNCTIONAL. PLEASE ALLOW ME TO OPT OUT. I AM LITERALLY BEGGING YOU. I WILL ACTUALLY PAY YOU CASH MONEY TO ALLOW ME TO OPT OUT OF THIS AND GO BACK TO HAVING A FUNCTIONAL BLOG AGAIN. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!

PLEASE!

I AM OFFICIALLY AT THE END OF MY PATIENCE FOR ENDURING THIS NIGHTMARE.

(one final quick note... I’ve only been back on my dash long enough to make the parenthetical edits-- i.e. adding italics that don’t display and then adding the asterisks at the beginning of each section of quoted text, and already my laptop is overheating again. For reference, I originally typed this entire post from within my tumblr inbox page-- which still functions normally with xkit-- and spent over an hour on it. My laptop was fine the entire time. Clearly the issue is this beta version of the website. I will never forgive tumblr if y’all fry my literal only portal to the outside world at this time. PUT ME BACK TO NORMAL NOW. THIS IS ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING AND ENTIRELY UNACCEPTABLE. Thanks)

(oops apparently i lied... when the asterisks and the previous final note failed to display, I thought that seemed suspicious, and realized that I literally needed to refresh my entire dash in order to see edited changes. Funny how xkit enabled me to do that in real time, which is just another bit of functionality I’ve lost with this beta program. Please guys, this is really, really not working for me at all, just put it back.)

#tumblr problems #staff #support #xkit #was this good enough for you? because I am totally done with this if that wasn't completely obvious #please end my suffering

129 notes · View notes

kaile-hultner · 5 years

Text

Dialogues With A Dreg, Part Four

Spoilers for Destiny and Destiny 2 ahead.

Hello, Guardian.

Let’s drop the allegory for a while. I don’t think it was working to begin with, and I prefer to speak plainly instead of in prose.

I love the game you serve as the protagonist in, at least mechanically. Part of the reason I’ve put nearly a thousand hours in piloting you around and clicking on enemy heads is because I’m chasing that satisfying “pop” when something’s brain explodes after I get them with a linear fusion rifle. I guess it’s better than being addicted to drugs or alcohol or video games with gambling mechan- oh shit god dammit wait, fuck, there’s Eververse here, I forgot.

Anyway, Destiny 2 has my full buy-in when it comes to gameplay, as I think it’s grabbed many folks in its three-year lifespan. I’m not as big a fan of the many modes to choose from in the game, and I think the story – when looked at holistically – is more-or-less a wash. But one aspect I can’t ignore is one I’ve tried to reason out in these Dialogues: Bungie, the game’s developer, wants me to live at least part-time in this world, and there are certain ramifications that come with that.

I first noticed these ramifications during the Faction Rallies in D2Y1, when it asked me to pick a faction and fuck shit up across the solar system. I picked what I thought was the coolest-looking faction, a group of (it turned out) thanatonautic, neoliberal warmongers calling themselves Future War Cult. They basically killed themselves over and over to see the future, and as a result they want Guardians everywhere to become absolute war machines. But as far as I could see, they were a “better” option than the other two factions: Dead Orbit, who just wanted to get the fuck out of the solar system and away from the Traveler, our slumbering charge, and New Monarchy.

New Monarchy is the MAGA hat gang of Destiny 2. They want to keep humanity safe by locking them inside the Last City, forming an eternal Guardian-led kingdom, and ruling with an iron fist. Yeesh.

In my first Faction Rally, I fought hard for FWC. I liked the gear they were giving me, not to mention the guns I could earn from them. They had an aesthetic I liked, and the story of thanatonautics is interesting enough for me to want to know more about how all that worked. But I didn’t like the insistence that we “reclaim” the far-flung reaches of the solar system, as if they belonged to us inherently. I didn’t like the ramping-up, constant drumbeat for war they were throwing out. Even if Lakshmi-2, FWC’s leader, seemed like the eye of a hurricane – calm, yet clearly still dangerous – the hurricane she was the center of was starting to irk me.

I’m sorry to say I didn’t drop FWC in subsequent Rallies, even if I wasn’t as enthusiastic about them as I was initially. If I could pick again, though, I know now I’d pick Dead Orbit. They had it the most right, plus Peter Stormare plays Arach Jalaal, the faction’s leader, which is just cool.

But the winner of pretty much every rally was New Monarchy. I couldn’t see the appeal, even if you stripped the clear trump-ass bullshit away. But a LOT of other Destiny 2 players fought for them, and they were the victors constantly. Bungie took the Faction Rally away in D2Y2, but it basically put me on an inexorable thought track to where we are today.

Simply put, I think the world that Destiny 2 is advocating for is at best a fascist one. At worst, we’re talking about reinstating the divine right of kings. Not only does mortal humanity lose in this bargain, but every other living creature inhabiting our solar system suffers for it as well.

Now, Guardian, I can see that this is an unwelcome statement to hear. I get it. After spending the entire five years of your existence thanklessly putting around the solar system and killing gargantuan, god-level threats to humanity and life itself, watching some nerdy, doughy writer cast aspersions on everything you do probably extends past irritation and into wishing you could shoulder-charge me into Glimmer particles. But I want to be clear: yours isn’t the only video game world – or even the only sci-fi world in general – that does this. As Nic Reuben (the original Destiny 2 fascism warner) put it in his 2017 post on the subject, Bungie writers are “blindly following a set of culturally encoded science-fantasy tropes”:

“‘True leaders are born. It’s genetic. The right to rule is inherited.’ Any time you play as a really, really ridiculously good looking person killing mobs of ugly things for a vaguely defined reason, you’re witnessing this kind of ideology first hand.”

One thing I would like to point out, though, before we continue: Guardian, I know you personally. I’ve fought as you across the stars. I know you don’t inherently want to rule over anything. You are intentionally a blank slate, you never voice your own desires except for that one time when a possessed Awoken prince killed your best ramen bud, and I want to believe that the only thing you want — which is the only thing I want — is to race Sparrows on Mars. But the version of you I play as is not the only version of you that exists. There are over a million of you. And aside from that million iterations of you that exist in this game world, there are others who absolutely want to rule. It’s high time to interrogate this world.

Fantasy Space Fascism: The Game

In his book Against the Fascist Creep, freelance journalist and Portland State Ph.D candidate Alexander Reid Ross defines fascism as “an ideology that draws on old, ancient, and even arcane myths of racial, cultural, ethnic, and national origins to develop a plan for the ‘new man.'” He continues:

“Fascism is also mythopoetic insofar as its ideological system does not only seek to create new myths but also to create a kind of mythical reality (ed. emphasis mine), or an everyday life that stems from myth rather than fact. Fascists hope to produce a new kind of rationale envisioning a common destiny that can replace modern civilization. The person with authority is the one who can interpret these myths into real-world strategy through a sacralized process that defines and delimits the seen and the unseen, the thinkable and the unthinkable.

“That which is most commonly encouraged through fascism is producerism, which augments working-class militancy against the ‘owner class’ by focusing instead on the difference between ‘parasites’ (typically Jews, speculators, technocrats, and immigrants) and the productive workers and elites of the nation. In this way, fascism can be both functionally cross class and ideologically anticlass, desiring a classless society based on a ‘natural hierarchy’ of deserving elites and disciplined workers. By destroying parasites and deploying some variant of racial, national, or ethnocentric socialism, fascists promise to create an ideal state or suprastate – a spiritual entity more than a modern nation-state, closer to the unitary sovereignty of the empire than political systems of messy compromises and divisions of power.”

Ross, A. R. (2017). Against the Fascist Creep. AK Press.

The Destiny franchise begins with you, a freshly-reborn Guardian, shooting and punching your way through a hive of vaguely-arachnid aliens your Ghost companion calls “Fallen.” You find a decrepit jumpship deep in the heart of the Old Russia Cosmodrome, which your Ghost fires up and uses to take you to the “last safe city on Earth,” a walled metropolis underneath the Traveler. You first meet with the Vanguard triumvirate, Titan Commander Zavala, Warlock Ikora, and Hunter Cayde-6, and then, after completing some tasks for them, you are granted an audience with the Speaker (voiced by Bill Nighy):

“THE SPEAKER: There was a time when we were much more powerful. But that was long ago. Until it wakes and finds its voice, I am the one who speaks for The Traveler.

“You must have no end of questions, Guardian. In its dying breath, The Traveler created the Ghosts to seek out those who can wield its Light as a weapon—Guardians—to protect us and do what the Traveler itself no longer can.

“GUARDIAN: What happened to it?

“THE SPEAKER: I could tell you of the great battle centuries ago, how the Traveler was crippled. I could tell you of the power of The Darkness, its ancient enemy. There are many tales told throughout the City to frighten children. Lately, those tales have stopped. Now… the children are frightened anyway. The Darkness is coming back. We will not survive it this time.

“GHOST: Its armies surround us. The Fallen are just the beginning.

“GUARDIAN: What can I do?

“THE SPEAKER: You must push back the Darkness. Guardians are fighting on Earth and beyond. Join them. Your Ghost will guide you. I only hope he chose wisely.”

Bungie. Destiny. Activision Entertainment, 2015.

This introduction to the world of Destiny is… shockingly reductive. Even playing the campaign when this happens, my first thoughts were, “wait so we’re not even smart or good enough to hear the children’s scary stories about the history of this world? what the fuck?” But over the course of years, we find out more and more about the so-called Golden Age of Humanity, the tools humans built with implied assistance from the Traveler, the various rich families and corporate megaliths that consolidated power over people across the solar system in the years and decades leading to the arrival of the Darkness and the ensuing Collapse.

Not only that, we start to get a pretty clear image of what life was like immediately following the Collapse. Humanity was almost driven to extinction, and the people left alive after this apocalypse soon wished they were dead. The Traveler “defeated” the Darkness but in the process put itself into something similar to an emergency reboot mode. It deployed the Ghosts, who resurrected people who could, as the Speaker put it, “wield its Light as a weapon,” but the first of these “Risen” were nothing short of horrific. They used their Ghosts’ regeneration and resurrection powers to become regional warlords, subjugating what few mortal people remained, draining the desolate wastes of what few resources they had, and basically sealing the deal on the “Dark Age” brought on by the Collapse. It wasn’t until the advent of the Iron Lords that these warlords were defeated and the “age of Guardians” could begin, but even the Iron Lords did some pretty heinous shit – like use a whole town of mortals as bait to lure in a band of warlords on the run.

But when it comes to creating a mythical reality, the Speaker has his formula down pat. Don’t get too bogged down with details, paint the conflict in stark good vs. evil, literal “Light vs. Darkness” broad strokes, and mythologize the actions of Guardians (but most importantly, our Guardian). And oh, what fodder for mythology we are.

By the end of the first campaign, we’re the hero who severed the connection between the Hive, the Vex and the Traveler and tore out the heart of the Black Garden. By the end of The Taken King, we’ve slain a god-king. In the Rise of Iron expansion, we stop the spread of a virulent nanoparticle with murderous intent called SIVA in its tracks, using nothing but our fists. In Destiny 2, we become the Hero of the Red War, the one who put an end to a Vex plot to sterilize all worlds, and who killed a Hive Worm God. We avenge our fallen Hunter Vanguard, we kill a Taken Ahamkara. We are the hub on which the spokes of history are turning.

In terms of video game power fantasies, I really truly can’t imagine a better-feeling one. It’s basically pure uncut dopamine being transmitted directly to the pleasure centers of the brain, one Herculean feat at a time. And if we were the only Guardian, if we were not part of a larger world, if everything around us was in a vacuum, I don’t know if I would be writing this article. But Bungie has been very clear about wanting to make a world where our actions do materially affect our surroundings. As such, we are essentially a walking propaganda tool for the Consensus, a pseudo-democratic government over the Last City, consisting of faction leaders, the Vanguard and the (now-presumed-dead, hasn’t been replaced) Speaker.

The Consensus wants badly to declare the advent of the New Golden Age, a time in which Humanity can finally emerge from under the shadow of the Traveler to pick up where it left off prior to the Collapse. The problem we supposedly face is the never-ending onslaught of Enemies. Four alien species showed up on our doorstep after the Collapse, all seeking to finish us off (according to the Speaker): the Fallen, the Cabal, the Hive/Taken, and the Vex.

Of the four-ish races of enemy, only one can said to be truly, deeply “evil” in the sense the Speaker intends: the Hive and Taken, led by Taken King Oryx and his sisters Sivu Arath and Savathun, the only force in the galaxy more fascist than the Guardians. The Vex are a race of machines whose only focus is on making more of themselves, a threat similar to SIVA. The other two alien forces, the Fallen and the Cabal, are certainly antagonistic toward Guardians but our initial reasons for fighting them are, frankly, butt-ass stupid. Basically, we fight them because they’re there. They have the audacity to land on planets that “belong to us” and scavenge resources from them. Until the Red Legion showed up on Earth, we basically only ever fought Cabal on Mars, and there’s really no reason as to why.

The Fallen, or Eliksni, on the other hand, end up coming off more as the tragic victims of our flippantly rampant genocidaire practices than actual “enemies.” They’re probably the weakest alien species we come up against. Their backstory involves them living in peace under the Traveler before their entire society was caught up in a Collapse-like “Whirlwind” and destroyed. Rather than give them Guardians, like it did with us, the Traveler instead just up and peaced out, leaving the Eliksni for dead against the maelstrom of the Darkness. The surviving “Fallen” got in their skiffs and desperately chased the Traveler across the heavens, stratifying the remnants of their society into “houses” and developing religious devotion to machines like Servitors in the process.

They tried to take the Traveler back at the Battle of the Five Fronts and Twilight Gap, and lost. Their armies were shattered, and we’ve been nonchalantly killing them en masse ever since. They are the “parasites” our Guardian must exterminate, along with the Hive, Cabal, and Vex. When we make friends with, or even simply allies with, a Fallen (like Variks the Loyal, Mithrax the Forsaken, or the Spider), it is made clear almost immediately that this 100 percent doesn’t change the relationship we have with the Fallen as a group. Variks is absolutely subservient to Mara Sov and the Awoken. Mithrax wants to create an Eliksni House that bows down to Guardians and Humanity for being “better stewards” of the Traveler than the Eliksni was. The Spider makes it clear that he only wants to grow his crime syndicate, but that we can help him out if we want. Never once does the Vanguard or the Consensus reach out to these allies and try to broker peace. And in-game, we simply don’t have an option but to fire on and kill Eliksni in droves. Kill or be “killed,” right?

When it comes to Humanity itself, while we never get a chance to actually leave the Tower and walk through the streets of the Last City, there are at least hints as to the deep class stratification at work here. You can’t get much more on-the-nose than an ivory tower of immortal beings overlooking an enclosed human race. Guardians atop humanity, the Speaker above the Vanguard over the Consensus over the people, and you, the very fulcrum on which history pivots, functionally over everything else. But in the mythical reality of this game, it’s really the Traveler über Alles, and humanity underneath the Traveler has become a wonderful, diverse melting pot without class, without fear. An ideal state where the walls keep Darkness at bay and humanity can discover the joys of tonkotsu ramen yet again.

A Light Story Vs. Lore Steeped in Darkness

Destiny has a reputation, unfairly earned, for being an okay game with a bad story, or at best a nonexistent one. The story isn’t really all that bad, it’s just poorly implemented up front, and I think my willingness to engage with the game’s world to the extent that I have is a testament to how powerful and evocative some of the beats in Destiny’s writing truly are. If we dissect the game we can separate the writing of the “story” from the writing of the “lore,” and in watching the plot develop over the past few years, we can see a gradual unification of these two areas start to occur.

This is helped greatly by third-party resources like Ishtar Collective, and by mechanical decisions Bungie made in D2Y2. Adding the lore back into the game with Forsaken was a good idea; choosing to fully integrate the lore into the world starting with Season of the Forge was a great one.

A side-effect of this lore-plot unification is a dismantling-in-real-time of some of the game’s most beloved and widely-spread legends, like the legend of Shin Malphur and Dredgen Yor. Even our personal legend is challenged in this way, and it’s a really neat way that Bungie writers new and old are critically engaging with their work. But it also really throws into stark relief some of the issues I’ve laid out in this article so far.

Take, for example, the lore book “Stolen Intelligence.”

Presented to us as intercepted secret Vanguard transmissions, “Stolen Intelligence” shows us exactly what the Vanguard really thinks of our actions, and what their goals really are. It was part of Season of the Drifter, which overall had a “trust no one” vibe to it, but some of the entries here are BLEAK, y’all.

Here’s an excerpt from the first entry, titled “Outliers.”

“Fallen armed forces continue to fall back from active fronts across Terra. Factions of House Dusk remain active in the European Dead Zone. Throughout the rest of the globe, refugee attack incidents have dropped by more than 70 percent since the conclusion of the Red War – largely attributable to depressed Fallen and human populations rather than any significant change in interspecies relations.

[…]

“The recent trending emergence of so-called “crime syndicates” (cf. report #004-FALLEN-SIV) is emblematic of the continuing destructuralization of Fallen society. Likely an artifact of multi-generational colonization of human strongholds, this agent believes that because these syndicates have no relation to indigenous Fallen culture, young Fallen are appropriating and imitating human mythology in absence of a strong cultural heritage of their own.

[…]

“VIP #3987, another former confederate of the Awoken, is a lesser-known personality known as Mithrax. Scattered field reports suggest that like #1121, #3987 styles himself a Kell of the so-called “House Light,” an otherwise unknown House apparently founded by #3987 himself. We have secondhand accounts that Mithrax has engaged in allied operations with Guardians in the field, though we have not as yet been able to corroborate these accounts with any degree of veracity. This agent is inclined to treat these reports with a healthy degree of skepticism until otherwise confirmed, as they may be propaganda from Fallen sympathizers in the Old Russian and Red War Guardian cohorts. We have requested intelligence records from the Awoken which may further clarify the matter.

“In addition, whatever the findings of said intelligence records may be, it should be stressed that one or two sympathetic outliers cannot be relied upon to erase the wrongs of past centuries, nor should their good-faith efforts to correct the sins of their forbears be taken as sufficient symbolic reparation.

[…]

“We have come too far to pull our punches now.”

Bungie. Destiny 2: Forsaken – Season of the Drifter. Lore Book: Stolen Intelligence. Outliers. Activision Entertainment, 2019.

Here’s another piece of “Stolen Intelligence,” about our relationship with Cabal Emperor Calus:

“Related to the above, #3801’s aggressive propaganda campaign appears to have been successful. Despite #3801’s recent inactivity, sentiment polls captured in the Tower at regular intervals over the last several months indicate that he has successfully swayed a significant percentage of the Red War cohort to believe that he may be a potential ally. Given our history with the Cabal as well as the events of the Red War itself, this is shocking and perhaps attributable to a case of mass traumatic bonding.

“It is my strong recommendation that the Vanguard pursue a reeducation curriculum before #3801 invites any Guardians of the City to defect to his service, a possibility which we have documented in multiple previous reports.”

Bungie. Destiny 2: Forsaken – Season of the Drifter. Lore Book: Stolen Intelligence. Passivity. Activision Entertainment, 2019.

Other entries detail the efforts of the Vanguard from keeping ostensible “conspiracy theories” from being published in the Cryptarchy’s journals; show the apparent oddity of mortal-Guardian “integrated neighborhoods;” and discuss the ongoing surveillance of the Drifter, a rogue Lightbearer who has survived since the early Dark Ages and who uses Darkness-aligned technology to run a PVEVP game called “Gambit”.

There are many other stories like these, scattered throughout the lore. Stories of Cryptarchy students being banished for making fun of New Monarchy’s leaders, of Guardians messing with Hive technology being burned alive and killed fully by the Praxic Order for their crimes of experimentation. Stories like these wouldn’t happen – couldn’t happen! – to our Guardian, because they’re too important, but are seemingly everyday occurrences to less consequential members of this society. In the real world, we’d call that an increasingly oppressive police state. In Destiny 2, it’s just flavor text.

There was a degree of narrative complexity added to Season of the Drifter that hadn’t been in the game prior. The entire season was essentially boiled down to “which side are you on, the Drifter’s or the Vanguard’s,” and in our path to make a choice, we heard from various bit players in our world. The Drifter told us his story in greater detail than perhaps we needed (and how much of it is true is debatable), but his story is also the story of a less morally-pure Guardian class. Everyone from the warlords to the Iron Lords did heinous shit to humanity while the Drifter watched, and it hardened him. The Praxic Warlock Aunor goes all in on her adherence to the City’s propaganda and ideology, trying to show us how untrustworthy the Drifter is. She ends up revealing more of her order’s goals than perhaps was wise.

This narrative complexity is nice, but it still betrays the game in a fundamental way. We now have the documents. We know what Guardians are actually about, and how they’re not exactly shining beacons of unwavering good like the Speaker would have had us believe. Regardless of declining Fallen activity, of a shift in Fallen culture, of actual living Fallen who want to ally with Guardians, the Vanguard is still adamantly pursuing “extirpation,” which is a fancy way of saying genocide (I’m not kidding, it literally means “root out and destroy completely”). We know the Vanguard and the Praxic Order have a hard-on for exile, reeducation and information suppression.

On top of everything, the narrative complexity was not met with any kind of mechanical complexity. Even with proof that the Vanguard wants to kill every Eliksni in the system, conscientious objectors don’t get to opt out. The narrative path that forks between the Drifter and Aunor converges again by the end of the quest. The “conspiracy theorist” that has been trying to publish paper after paper detailing exactly how the Nine worked with Dominus Ghaul to sneak his fleet into City airspace undetected was proven right by lore WE FIND IN THE GAME, but that doesn’t change our combat relationship with the Cabal remnants anywhere in the system, and homeboy still gets his papers rejected.

Ikora and Zavala, our remaining Vanguard members, insist repeatedly that Guardians are not a warfighting force, that the Vanguard and the Consensus is not an authoritarian organization. But everything we do says otherwise.

“A peace born from violence is no peace at all.”

Guardians do not get to choose their paths in the world of Destiny 2. The paths laid out before them lead to a life of warfare, of pain, of endless murder. Ostensibly, they are agents of good, trying to beat back the forces of evil, but if you look too close you see that really they’re just a bunch of indiscriminate killers with a mandate from the Orb God. Desperate to get out from under the heels of warlords, the Guardians created a fascist society, and adding insult to injury they pretend it’s a democratic, free one. Killing the Fallen is genocide, but you can literally never stop killing them because the game won’t let you. The only right way to play at that point is to turn off your console and go outside.

Destiny 2 isn’t the only video game to fall into this trap. As Nic Reuben said in the follow-up piece to his first story on how Destiny 2 is fascist, “I’m not saying Destiny is propaganda, just reliant on some of the same narrative tricks that make propaganda so powerful. At the same time, I don’t think that it’s too much of a stretch to say that games like Call of Duty make certain assumptions about what is justifiable, righteous slaughter and what is terrorism. Replace modern military hardware with future tech, replace terrorists with alien races that have traits synonymous with cartoon portrayals of traditionally marginalized social groups, and you’re effectively playing through the worst aspects of Call of Duty with a new coat of a paint.”

There is one glimmer of hope in the game. One sliver of lore that gives us pause and helps make the game bearable in its current state. It comes in the form of Lady Efrideet, former Iron Banner handler, youngest member of the Iron Lords, and a Guardian in self-exile from the City, the Vanguard, and its fascist dogma.

Lady Efrideet is one of the most fearsome Hunters in the Destiny universe. She is known as one of the best marksmen, if not the best one. She is impossibly strong, having once thrown Lord Saladin bodily off a mountain into a Fallen Spider Walker, destroying it. And she is also one of the only named pacifist Guardians who isn’t a member of the Cryptarchy. Her story is the story of the fall of the Iron Lords, as well as the beginning of the SIVA crisis, many years before our Guardian’s rise is documented.

But it isn’t SIVA or the Iron Lords that we’re interested in. Instead, we know that after SIVA was sealed away, Efrideet snuck away from Earth. She saw the deaths of everyone she knew and her will to fight was shattered. If this was the result of fighting for the Traveler, she didn’t want any part in it. So she took to the stars. In doing so, she ended up in the far reaches of the solar system, beyond even where we currently roam. It turns out, a small enclave of other Lightbearers, hesitant or unwilling to use their powers to kill, had also fled to this part of the system and had established a colony. It’s there that Efrideet resides, and it’s there I’d like to go.

Unfortunately, our Guardian is too “important” to the vast tidal forces at work in the Destiny universe for us to be able to leave for the outer reaches whenever we want. Because we are the hub on which the wheel of history turns, and there is no escaping that now, if ever we could. We are death, the flattening of a complex and intricate universe into one of simple shapes, the sword logic in a human/Awoken/Exo body. We are needed for the plans of the Nine/Mara Sov/Hive Queen Savathun to come to fruition. When or if the Darkness ever does come back, we will be the force that faces it and, win or lose, shape our future afterward.

Sometimes it’s nice having a video game place your character on a linear track. Games like Half-Life or Titanfall present to us simple choices in otherwise-complex story environments: progress, or die. Our characters are not immortal, but they have help from the technologies around us, are tenacious, are resourceful, are quick to adapt to changing situations. In Destiny, we simply exist. We can’t truly die. Even when it comes to the rules of the game, our immense “paracausality” causes us to shrug Darkness Zones off as mere inconveniences where other Guardians have died their final deaths. Because we are necessary. The Vanguard and Consensus need us to justify their horrific fascist policies. The great forces at work in the background need us to work as a pawn. Even Bungie itself needs us, powerful, trapped beings with a sense of right and wrong but no agency to actually act on those ethics, to continue its game.

I haven’t preordered Shadowkeep yet. For once I’m glad we’re not focusing on the Fallen or the Cabal. Going to the Moon means we’ll pretty much just be dealing with Hive, to say nothing of the unreal Nightmares we’re supposed to face. But I’m still undecided as to whether I even want to order Shadowkeep in the first place. If Lady Efrideet can go to the edge of known space and live peacefully with other pacifist Guardians, maybe I can put my controller down and step away, once and for all. It would be nice to have the extra space on my Xbox One’s hard drive. Other games exist to be played, and having the time and energy to do so would help me here, with No Escape.

But even then. I’m not expressing agency as a Guardian, but rather as the person who controls you, Guardian. While I go off to play other games, you sit and wait in stasis. Even if I don’t play, there are a million iterations of you willing to commit genocide daily for cheap rewards (shoutouts to the sixtieth Edge Transit drop in my inventory this month alone). Sure, it’s just a game. But this is what having a dynamic world means in practice. There are consequences to your actions. There always have been.

There is no reason why Humanity couldn’t share the Traveler’s gifts with, at the very least, the Eliksni. There is no reason why we couldn’t just ignore the Cabal in a state of mutually assured destruction, given how small a faction the Red Legion was relative to the Cabal army’s full size. Of the two remaining enemies, the Vex are less evil than they are simply a thing that wants the universe to be like it, and that’s threatening to diverse life throughout the universe, not just Humanity. The Hive/Taken are the true enemies in the game, but even they are directed, pawn-like, by their Worm Gods.

There is, likewise, no reason why the Risen had to organize in the fascist context they did. They could have created a society in which everyone could come and go freely, where ideas and actions could be given and received absent interference, where a true “golden age” could have sprung up naturally simply by living together harmoniously and using the Light the Traveler gave them to create, rather than destroy.

But that’s not how this story shakes out.

#destiny #destiny 2 #video games #antifascism

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attract-mode-collective · 6 years

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Not An April Fools Gag; That’s A Game Boy Advance With A GameCube Stick Affixed For Reals

What you're seeing is a modded GBA that I spotted on eBay. It's a real thing! Though it doesn't magically grant analogue control to all the digital input only games on the system, which is all of them for the record (sorry). Then again, it could be argued that the controls in WarioWare Twisted is technically analogue...

That aside aside, welcome to yet another recap of stuff posted over at the Attract Mode Twitter! Though this time it's gonna be a bit on the short side, relatively speaking; even I know covering two entire whole weeks has led to hard to handle Tumblr posts, so I'm going to try concentrating on just one week at a time/attempt weekly updates.

Let's see how well that goes...

Hey, it's SF2 IRL thanks to ARKit (via prostheticknowledge)...

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At the time, when I first tweeted about it, there were only three left of Amanda Visell’s Player One Mario; no idea how many there are now...

When you can make a decision regarding lunch (via @Mechazawa)....

If you appreciate both the ease of slip-on sneakers and the taste of ghosts, then Games Glorious has something for you (via miki800.com)...

As a connoisseur of video games on the printed page, it is my goal to one day own a copy of Namco's newsletter that was distributed in game centers during the 80s & 90s, NG (via miki800)...

Remember that time Namco got someone from Yellow Magic Orchestra to hawk their wares (via namcomuseum)...

Both in print and on TV…

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The YMO member in question, Haruomi Hosono, also did a Xevious remix album, which longtime readers of the blog will hopefully recall.

Sticking with Namco CMs, there’s a pair of longtime faves that I could have sworn I’ve already posted as well, yet cannot find. Though as noted, many times already, the search functionality here is broken.

So here’s a boy playing with his Famicom in the middle of the woods...

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And here’s a girl playing with his Famicom in the middle of the woods...

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Back to the subject of print, can’t seem to find any info on the Futabasha Fantasy Novel Series, which (I think) was a line of video game novelizations; this one appears to be written by the creator of Xevious himself (via shmups)...

The focus here is supposed to be the Lawson’s reward card with Kirby on it, but I am all about that Space Invaders whatever the heck it is (via miki800)...

Spent MANY hours at Japanese bookstores during my college years, flipping through Sega Saturn Magazine; seeing these VF Kids ads again makes me feel all warm & fuzzy (via thesegasource)...

This (what I believe to be a) farewell image of the face of the Saturn from the very first issue of Dreamcast Magazine, also gives me the feels (via oldgamemags)...

BTW, everyone knows the identity of Saturn's pitchman (Segata Sanshiro), but what about the Mega Drive's? (via yokosuka87)...

Back to the Saturn; I love how Sega want from Segata Sanshiro to Hidekazu Yukawa for the Dreamcast. This launch edition of the console, btw, was spotted at VideoGamesNewYork...

It's also where they Kira Kira Star Night DX for twice the asking price, as @gamespite)...

Speaking of music, to fully enjoy this animated gif of Eggman running…

… you need to have this song playing (via lunaticobscurity).

And to fully enjoy this image of Eggman on the sax…

... you need to have this song playing (via very-territorial-oak).

@ondoruragitan sez: "whoever designed that clown lady in ace attorney is probably the most horny artist to ever exist" (it's funny cuz it's true)...

So the big news these past few weeks, especially among video game folk my age, has been the end of the Toys R Us. Many have been sharing artifacts from the glory days, with my fave example being these old flyers, with the obvious highlight seeing all the original MSRP prices (via retrogamerblog)...

Oh, and don’t forget the gifs (via nintendroid)...

The following are more appropriate for my way, way overdue batch of game culture snapshots, but since we're on the subject of retail anyway; I recently stumbled across Nintendo's collab with Bloomingdale's that I had no idea even existed...

Took a bunch of pics, but unfortunately, due to the harsh lighting at the SoHo store, it was impossible to capture the women’s section, hence the abundance of men’s wear...

These women's sweatshirts are the best example of the line's overall design sensibilities, or lack thereof; it’s just a bunch of random Nintendo sprites on attire that is available at Bloomingdale's, period. That's all it aspires to be, nothing more...

... And that's a real shame, cuz aside from the quality of the clothing itself being high, some of the ho-hum looking designs could be really engaging with a few minor tweaks, like this b&w women's jacket with a very random assortment of b&w Super Mario World sprites...

In addition to clothing, you had accessories, like iPhone cases...

Plus sunglasses, which revealed Super Mario World playing on what appears to the naked eye to be a blank, white screen....

Speaking of Super Mario World, here's a hamster enjoying the game (via @kousuke_teppei)...

The lil guy also owns an original Famicom, and here we is playing Solomon's Key (thanks to @Topherocious for helping me to identify the game)...

Being that friend who is REALLY into video games means I'm asked a wide variety of questions from folks who are not, like why @beesmygod is "freaking out" over a Sonic & Garfield two pack for the PC...

... I'll be honest, I don't really understand why either.

Here we have a mockup for an ad blocker that replaces banners with GBA screenshots, which I really want to see happen (via @tinycartridge)...

I also really want to see this happen too (via @truongasm)...

Back to Tiny Cart; that's where I found out that you no longer have to play emulated Tiger handheld games sans backgrounds...

Nothing beats a pic of a dimly lit arcade, especially when it's shot on ACTUAL film (via mendelpalace)...

As for this particular arcade show, @kappuru theorizes "it looks like cinestill film, or a filter designed to mimic it." (via parkerwoods)...

"WHO IS THIS NUN?! WHY DOES SHE LOOK SO SINISTER?" is a great KOF related question (via vice-s-assistant)...

And "BOWL BEFORE ME" is a great KOF related gag (via brondeef)...

"this is the best cosplay i’ve ever seen" is a a great costume play related observation made by lunaticobscurity...

"how to get away with playing super mario odyssey in class" is the caption given by retrogamerblog...

"Stardew Valley gave me 500 characters to use as my farm name, so I put down an entire 1-star amazon review for an Independence Day DVD" is the explanation given by @NoahHafford...

Hey, you never know, maybe one day a homebrew dev might make “Shinjuku-Nichome Gay District Serial Murders” a reality? (via mendelpalace)

When you’ve got one copy of Melee with two boxes, and one copy of Air Ride with zero boxes… just gotta improvise (via stellatuna)...

When you’ve got a killer Game Genie code but no paper to write it down on... and then you discover the code does something totally different (via theassortment)...

And when I asked what this 4koma featuring a Dreamcast VMU was all about, @JonahD was kind enough to explain: "VMUs are playing hide and seek, Black is seeking. One VMU thinks hiding in the controller would be good but it makes a bunch of noise and they’re found immediately" (via posthumanwanderings)...

Whereas I have yet to find out what all these Sonics are doing at a German airport (via sonicthehedgeblog)...

I normally don’t let the weather get to me, yet the constant cold weather in NYC over the past few weeks began taking its toll, to the point that I’m starting to resemble an upside down Super Famicom/European SNES (via sixteen-bit)...

I also really wish I could have checked out Sakura-Con, and not just cuz the weather is so much nicer in Seattle, but to pick up @alexisparade's Monster Factory zine...

I stared at gif illustrating the wacky perspective-related behavior of Super Mario 64’s trees for an entire day, no joke (via suppermariobroth)...

Here we have the rarely seen alternate angle of the internet famous "LAN party gamer duct-taped to the ceiling" photo (via reddit.com)...

Turning the clock back even further, here's yet another kind of party, one that doesn’t involve first person shooters but shoot ‘em ups; it’s the 1986 Hudson Caravan (via videogamesdensetsu)...

Recently, a modded NES Max controller showed up on Kotaku, in which the cycloid nub has been replaced with an analogue stick...

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... Which actually appeared the day after I spotted that modded GBA at the very top of this page. I am also willing to admit the disappointment over my tweet not catching on as expected/hoped it would, hence why I'm sharing another pic...

At any rate, I was also reminded of my buddy Nick Santaniello's modded Jaguar controller, which allows for arcade perfect Tempest 2000 controls...

... Which in turned led to me republishing the post from which it hails from originally, my recap of Nick's Shmup Appreciation Night, for Medium (and also sharing additional pics on Twitter)...

BTW, for those wondering, based upon the last round of tweets; the kitchen isn’t just for playing old Mega Drive & PC Engine shmups… you can also play old Naomi fighting games (via internetflexin)...

Guess that's it for now? Sorry, but it finally feels like spring in NYC, and I feel the need to step away from the computer & enjoy weather! Just like Mega Man (via arcadequartermaster)...

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fundeadasylum · 6 years

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Phanniemay 2018 Day 10: Crossover

The three teenagers watch with curious interest as a string of cars pulls into the parking garage across the street. A line of well-dressed looking figures are making their way from the garage to the convention hall nearby, gesturing and strutting like a pack of gossiping peacocks. Sam is giving them all decidedly sour looks.

Tucker lets out a low whistle, “Must be some big rich guys thing goin’ on. That was a luxury car worth more than even Vlad could afford.”

“There’s stuff Vlad can’t afford?” Danny looks genuinely startled by the idea.

“He’s a millionaire, sure, but these guys are probably like…like 50 billionaires or something. Waaayyyy out of Masters’ league.” Tucker smirks at the thought of something being even out of Vlad’s reach, “If anyone in this town would hope to clink glasses with those guys it would be Sam’s—“

“Don’t. Say it.” Sam growls through clenched teeth.

Danny chews on his lip for a moment and then stands from his chair around the outdoor table, “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Danny—“ Sam begins to protest.

“Relax guys, I’m just gonna pop my head in for a minute. I’ll be back before my ice cream melts.” Danny grins and ducks around the corner, out of sight of the rest of the ice cream shop’s patrons. One flash of light later and he’s in ghost mode and dropped into invisibility. He sours over the roof tops and follows the trail of rich folks to the convention center, dropping intangibly through the roof when he’s close enough. The air conditioning is cranked high and the place is chilly enough that Danny feels downright comfortable. He lingers in the air, invisible, watching the throng of people move about below him, before he swoops down for a closer look.

The people are dressed well but there’s something…off about them. Danny can’t quite put his finger on what it is but there’s a metallic taste in the air and the sense of things a lot bigger than he is crowding his senses. He flits away to search for a more open space where he can parse things better and rounds a corner into a mostly empty hall.

There is a scattering of people, clustered into groups of two or three, and far enough apart that they wouldn’t be able to pick up each other’s conversations. Danny hovers closer to the nearest group, still invisible, curiosity about that unsettling sensation growing.

There’s a man in a dark suit with a top hat and a polished black cane speaking in a low, growling voice to another man dressed in jeans and a lab coat who—Danny blinks and shakes his head. He can’t focus on the man’s face, can’t make out any defining features. His eyes refuse to stay and keep sliding away to something else. It had been hard to notice in the large crowd but now, with these individuals, he finds that he can’t really focus on any details about them. There are generic things like what clothes they’re wearing or how tall they are, but nothing defining like the structure of their face or the color of their eyes. Something is definitely not right here.

That’s when he feels eyes on him.

He jerks and looks down by the suit-wearing man’s feet. There is a young woman sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, legs criss-crossed and head titled ever so slightly to one side. Danny still can’t focus on her face but he knows, without a doubt, that she is looking at him. He checks and, no, he’s still invisible. But when he drifts to the left, she definitely turns her head to follow him. She’s watching him. He’s invisible and she’s watching him.

“Hay un espía invisible mirándonos.” She says and the other two instantly turn to face her. The man in the suit looks up, following his companion’s gaze, and Danny’s stomach drops because the man is looking right at him.

“¡Demencia! ¡Cosiguele!” The man in the suit snarls. Before Danny can blink the girl has launched herself off the floor in a whirl of bright colors and tackled him out of the air.

Danny struggles as he’s hauled backwards, trying to get a bead on his attacker. But she’s fast and lithe and moves like an eel through water, twisting out of his reach and slithering around him even as she drags him across the floor on his back. He doesn’t dare try and fire blasts off willy-nilly for fear of hitting an innocent or accidentally bringing the roof down on their heads.

He’s jostled over a threshold, a door slams, and the room is dark. His arms are yanked over his head, wrists pinched together. He prepares to fire an ecto-blast but yells in pain as someone—probably the girl—sits down hard on his arms, grinding his elbows into the floor. Florescent lights flare to life, momentarily blinding him as he bucks and kicks and struggles. There’s a sound like a nerf gun being fired and his ankles are bound with something so heavy it feels like a planet is strapped to his feet. He can’t phase through whatever it is and it makes his panic spike. He yells and struggles harder. Until something small and hard presses into his chest and, for whatever reason, makes him freeze.

Danny’s gaze travels up the silver end of the cane poking right into the middle of his DP symbol, up the polished black beam, up until he sees the black, gloved hand holding the cane in place.

The man is no longer keeping up his façade of pretending to be human.

His skin is dark grey and there’s and unnatural look to it, like something that doesn’t fit quite right in the dimensions of this universe. Only one of his eyes is visible, the other hidden behind a polished monocle, and it burns red with curious sort of anger. And his teeth…his teeth are dagger sharp and a pale, acidic green. Everything about him screams evil.

And for the first time in a very long time, Danny is afraid.

“Now, what have do we have here, hm?” It’s perfect English coming out of the creature’s mouth, not a hint of an accent. And he’s grinning, showing all of those horrible teeth, smug, confident, and utterly in control.

“An ectoplasmic entity of some kind, jefecito.” Danny’s head snaps away from the man in black to the man standing at his weighed down ankles. There’s…a paper bag over his head? Maybe it’s not paper because the goggles he’s wearing over them aren’t bending or tearing the material like it’s normal paper, “Though it doesn’t look like it’s the same as other ghostly creatures we’ve come across.” He peers closer at a device in his hands, the glint of his eyes through his goggles narrowed, “Hm, it appears to also be exhibiting mortal traits…odd…”

There’s a gun-like device dangling at the man’s (scientist’s?) side and from this angle, Danny can barely make out the thick, viscous substance clinging stubbornly to his feet. It shimmers like oil in the florescent lights.

“Señor Black Hat, puedo comerlo?” Says the girl presumably sitting on his arms. Danny doesn’t know exactly what she says but he recognizes the word “eat” and wonders just what the hell he’s stumbled in on.

“No, Demencia, I don’t think so.” The creature—Black Hat?—leans over Danny, his shadow blocking out the lights, his eye bright and glaring, “You’re a sneaky little brat, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. But you’re strong. Stupid, but strong.”

“Who are you!? What are you doing here!?” Danny’s glad there’s bravado in his voice because there’s none in his hearts. Something about this terrifying being is filling him with an intensely cold and almost irrational fear that he wants nothing more than to run home and hide under his bed. This is a thing of nightmares and Danny knows, deep in his core, that this thing could erase him from existence before he could blink.

Black Hat cackles, a deep, throaty laugh that makes Danny’s head swim with images of snapping bones and slowly churning meat grinders.

“Ah, sir—“

“What, Flug?” Apparently Black Hat doesn’t like being interrupted while he’s gloating.

Flug shrinks back into his lab coat, “Ah, sir, sorry to interrupt, but I think that’s the local town hero. Danny Phantom.”

Black Hat grins and this time it’s predatory. He looks back down at Danny who has never felt more like a prized turkey ready for the oven, “A hero, eh? A child who thinks he has the power to save everyone? How cute.” He grinds the end of his cane into Danny’s chest, making the boy squirm, “If this were any other day, I might have let Dr. Flug here have some fun with you. But we’re here on business and at the graces of a potential client. Wouldn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side now, would we~” Black Hat removes his cane and steps back. At the same time, Demencia leaps off Danny’s arms and Flug dissolves the restraints with a shot from his gun. Danny is instantly in the air, fists clenched and teeth gritted. Ectoplasm swirls around his hands, blobs of energy gathering and dispersing as he struggles with himself.

On the floor, looking up at him without a trace of worry or fear, Black Hat says, “Run along home, little ghost boy, I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you.”

His grin and the tone of his voice make Danny feel sick. He rockets up through ceiling, zig-zagging through the sky and dropping back into the alley beside the ice cream shop. When he’s human and gravity is holding him down again, he almost collapses onto shaking legs. Taking several deep gulps of air and struggling to compose himself, Danny carefully makes his way back to where his friends are sitting. They notice him immediately and Sam half rises from her seat but Danny waves a hand at her as he flops into his. The ice cream in the bowl in front of him is mostly sugary blue soup by now.

“Dude, you okay?” Tucker asks, “You look like you’ve seen a—I mean, uh, you look…not good.”

“Um.” Danny says. The gears of his mind groan with ice from the cold fear still nestled in his chest, refusing to turn. He can’t tell them about those three in the convention center, they can’t know. Because Danny knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that it would get them killed.

“Danny?” Sam says softly.

“Oh, uh, it was…really freaky old rich people stuff.” Danny manages to push the words out, squashing the tremor that wants to sneak into his voice, “Like, really freaky. Gross freaky. Zero out of ten, would not recommend finding out what is happening in there.”

“Whoa, musta been bad if it left you lookin’ like that!” Tucker laughs. Sam looks doubtful but when Danny laments his melted ice cream, she scolds him for taking too long. And then gets him another one.

That night, when he can’t sleep, Danny uses his phone under the bedcovers to search the internet for any mention of Black Hat or this Dr. Flug. A page only half loads before his phone screen cracks on its own, starts leaking something sticky and dark, and dies.

He chucks it in the bin and tells his parents he lost another phone to a ghost attack.

He never tells anyone about that day and he never goes looking for Black Hat ever again.

-------

I admit, this one got away from me a bit and it ended up going in a direction that I really did not expect it to. Dang thing wrote itself. Ah well.

Not my best Villainous work but I’m not used to writing the Black Hat crew from an outside perspective. Anyway, this was fun to write even though it’s not what I initially wanted to do with it.

Also, sincerest apologies if my Spanish isn’t correct. I’m not the best Spanish speaker and I hardly ever deal with it in written form.

#pbbbttttt #phanniemay #phanniemay18 #danny phantom

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travelcenter-uk · 3 years

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Cheap Flights to Los Angeles? We’ve got you!

Listen, I love New York, but if Los Angeles was on Tinder, I’d swipe right like my life depended on it. And let’s not act like you wouldn’t – we all would (sorry, New York). That’s why I’ve taken it upon myself to let you know about our flights to Los Angeles.

Everyone has a weakness – ours happen to be Los Angeles; there’s no shame in admitting it. But sometimes, the city of angels carries a hefty price tag, and the flights to Los Angeles from London don’t seem to help you minimise your expenses.

Not to brag, but we give all our passengers the chance to choose from over eighty international airlines. So, let’s do a quick check of all the things we have in store for you.

A variety of international airlines – (✓)

Flights to Los Angeles – (✓)

Cheap flights to Los Angeles – (✓)

So, what more could you want to book your flights to Los Angeles from London with us?

Random citizen shouts from the other side of the screen* ‘HOW ABOUT A REASON?!’

Reality smacks me across the face*

Why, of course! How could I glaze over the fact that you could be here because you have nothing better to do; and the harsh reality that you might not be in love with Los Angeles.

Well, if I’m trying to convince you to book your flights to Los Angeles from London with us, then I might as well give you a few reasons to fall in love with La La Land.

Why You Should Swipe Right on Los Angeles!

Sunny days, sandy beaches, and endless entertainment— it’s hard to deny the allure of Los Angeles. This diverse city with 75 miles of coastline is known for its intrinsic beauty and creativity— here, you can find sophisticated art and dining on par with New York, plus outdoor pursuits NYC could never offer. Travellers flock here for award-winning fine dining, high-end shopping, sightseeing, and the incredible chance of spotting a celebrity among the everyday crowds. This is the self-proclaimed entertainment capital of the world, and it’s no wonder that anything feels possible in this city of bright lights. It’s all happening here. Ugh, New York could never! Never, I tell you!

Also, let’s not forget that the streets of LA are full of eye candy. If you’re from LA, you’re attractive. You can’t change my mind.

Los Angeles – Bio

What? You need to know the kind of place you’re swiping right on!

Suggested Airport – Los Angeles International Airport (LAX)

Average Temperature – 81°F in summer; 68°F in winter

Recommended Mode of Travel – Car

Average Water Temperature – 62°F

So, what more would you need to book your flights to Los Angeles from London with us…?

How about a quick laydown of the best places in LA?

Universal Studios Hollywood

I’d give anything to revisit my childhood, but until they figure out how to build a time machine, this theme park will have to do.

Universal Studios Theme Park is known for its nostalgia-inducing rides based on blockbuster movies, but it is also a working movie studio and a holiday highlight everyone can enjoy (even the annoying teenagers).

The highlight for most people is the ever-changing selection of rides, which range from simulators to roller-coasters. Favourite movie and TV-themed rides and sets include The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, The Simpsons, The Walking Dead, Transformers, Jurassic World – The Ride, and Despicable Me Minion Mayhem.

Venice Boardwalk

Strap on those rollerblades or slip into your trunks or bikini and get ready to show the world what yo’ mama gave you. Hey, you’ve got it, so why not flaunt it?

Captured in an array of movies and music videos, the Venice Ocean front walk is where the crazier side of LA hangs out. It’s eccentric, flagged by soaring palm trees, dotted with tattoo parlours and packed with everything that will help you one of the most memorable days of your life.

Getty Center

Boo! Boring. Hah! You really thought I would diss the Getty Center? Well, think again!

The Getty Center delivers soul-lifting panorama, hillside mansions and showcases centuries of uproarious creativity. From show-stopping scenes to world-famous sculptures, this free (except for parking – let’s not get too greedy!) highlight is definitely worth visiting.

Griffith Observatory & Hollywood Sign

I can already feel the judgement. I can feel your noses crinkling in disgust, thinking, “bleh, how basic!” well, let me tell you something, your Los Angeles experience wouldn’t feel complete without a trip to the mediator between LA and the heavens above.

Trust me; Griffith Observatory delivers star gazing in a whole different light, and the Hollywood sign is way too legendary to skip.

La Brea Tar Pits

Every time I hear about this attraction, I’m transported to a scene where 10 years old me watched Sid from Ice Age hanging out with two female sloths in the tar pits. Good god, that film made a mark on me.

Anyways, La Brea Tar Pits is your stop to being hurled back in time to prehistoric LA. It was here that thousands of creatures perished between 40,000 and 10,000 years ago. It’s a sad story, but this place also happens to be the only active, urban ice-age excavation site in the world, meaning it’s worth visiting.

Well, that’s all for now! If you’re still not interested in booking your flights to Los Angeles with us…well, I don’t really know what to tell you. However, you might be interested in some of our other offers. Just call us, send a message or if you hate human interaction – sign up for our newsletter, where we keep you updated about all the hot flight/holiday sales in existence. Stay safe, folks!

Read More:- Cheap Flights to Los Angeles? We’ve got you!

This Article, Information & Images Source (copyright):- Travel Center UK Blog

#Travel #Travel Blogger #Travel Blog #Travel Vibes #Holiday Makers #Traveller #Travelling #Los Angeles #Travel Center UK #Cheap Flights

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swapauanon · 3 years

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Melody of Memory Theory: World Tour

So... Here’s my theory about what the World Tour mode will bring to the table.

Please note that I noticed some details which contradicted my “Rhythmia” theory in the REVEAL TRAILER, but I’ll explain my reasoning under the cut.

Basically, while I still think the “film strips” are actually corresponding to the recaps rather than story progress, I still think that progressing through the story will be connected to a collectible, namely, the stars.

Why? Two reasons:

We actually saw a snippet of a cutscene where Riku and Kairi talk to a bunch of stars in the trailers.

The trailers showed that the stars have a “target amount” in the tally whereas what I thought was Rhythmia does not. So you will actually have to get good at Rhythm games to progress, sorry to say.

Anyway, I still think the game will open when Kairi is first put into a coma, but after a quick tutorial, she’ll happen upon the Nameless Star, the two will chat for a bit, and then the Nameless Star will say something that’ll cause Kairi to wake up, just in time for Riku to arrive from the Limit Cut episode to explain the Fairy Godmother’s idea, at which point they’ll put Kairi back into a coma, and Riku will use the Power of Waking to dive into her dreams to join her down a road of melodies and memories.

At this point, the player will be taken to the Main Menu, but only “World Tour” and “Config” will be unlocked. Going to World Tour will trigger the next cutscene.

The cutscene will depict Riku and Kairi arriving in the Final World via a portal. Kairi will explain that she spoke with a star in her dream, just in time for Chirithy to pop in. Chirithy will explain that they had dropped by the Mysterious Tower to give everyone a status update, only to be told that Riku was at Radiant Garden, only to then be told that Riku was inside Kairi’s dream. They’ll catch each other up, comparing notes, and then Chirithy will warn Riku and Kairi that remaining in the Final World for too long is dangerous, before suggesting the memory and melody plan, stating that they’ll get in touch with Naminé to get her help in providing them a road of memories to follow to the stars, suggesting that they use the melodies contained within to bring them together. Chirithy leaves to get Naminé‘s help, and Riku and Kairi depart.

Melody of Memory will then follow the path of the Kingdom Hearts series, going through the songs of each game in the order they were featured.

Most of the songs will be bunched together by game, but the songs of X, UX, 0.2, KH1FM, KH2FM, BBSFM, and Back Cover will be locked behind doors that branch off at points relevant to the world those songs are attached to (i.e. World of Darkness I being right next to Destiny Islands). However, these “Bonus Tracks” require stars of a specific color to open the doors blocking them from the rest of the game. Meanwhile, the game will follow the plot of the Xehanort Saga by release order, going as follows:

KH1->COM->KH2->Days->BBS->coded->DDD->KH3->re:Mind

However, crossing over from one game to the next will require collecting enough TOTAL stars in order to open the doors separating them. Opening these doors will trigger cutscenes that forward the game’s story and flesh out Kairi’s backstory.

However, there will be only ONE re:Mind Track: Nachtflügel (aka, Yozora’s boss theme), and it will serve as the final boss. The cutscene that plays after opening its door will have Kairi and Riku separated as Kairi once again comes face to face with the Nameless Star. This time the conversation isn’t quite as friendly, as the Nameless Star reveals that she was watching Kairi’s entire journey, and found herself disgusted with how she associated herself with so many creatures of the dark (Sora, Riku, Chirithy, Roxas, Naminé, etc) without destroying them. Kairi takes offense to that and asks the Nameless Star who she really is. The Nameless Star then states the following:

“My name was stolen from me, but I used to go by ‘Sora’.”

Before Kairi can question what that means, the Final World will shift into Shibuya the same way it did in re:Mind’s Secret Episode, and the Nameless Star will take on the form of the woman from the “Verum Rex” trailer, and summon a weapon similar to the one Yozora used, before stating that she needs to claim Kairi’s light in order to escape from this prison and save the world from that “fake Sora”. When Kairi tries to attack her, the Nameless Star/”Sora” will steal Destiny’s Embrace with her weapon (the same way Yozora steals the Keyblade in his boss fight), and then use it to Crystalize Kairi. Except when she tries to use her stolen Keyblade to take the light from Kairi’s heart, Kairi shatters, splitting into three lights. The lights will switch between the images of each of the playable trios, before the Nameless Star declares that it doesn’t matter what form the light takes, she will claim it.

Nachtflügel will serve as a Boss Music Stage, with "Princess Sora” as the boss. The world will be Shibuya. Once the player has cleared the stage, the game’s ending will play.

The three lights will merge back into Kairi, who’ll reclaim her Keyblade as Princess Sora crystallizes, wondering out loud how her plan could’ve failed so spectacularly, before Kairi points out that she had used the power of the bonds she had forged with her friends to safeguard her light, a force her Sora would’ve realized was unbreakable. Princess Sora will simply laugh cynically before the crystals completely overtake her, claiming that suspicion and doubt will easily sever those bonds, just as it had done time and again in the past. Shortly thereafter, she’ll crystallize in the same pose Sora did in the Secret Episode’s bad ending, and Shibuya will turn into the Dive to the Heart, with a door appearing behind Kairi.

As soon as Kairi passes through the door, she’s back in the Final World, with the hooded figure from the trailer waiting for her. The two of them have some pre-battle banter, he lowers his hood, Kairi attacks him, and then the credits role. As soon as the credits are over, we’ll get Sora’s one and only scene in the entire game, before we see the familiar words.

An Oath to Return Kingdom Hearts

Then we’ll get the results screen for Nachtflügel, except “Dearly Beloved” will play instead of “Crossing the Finish Line“, to emulate the “Battle Report” from a traditional game.

...

Also, what I thought was Rhythmia is probably just the currency. And each world will probably have at least two tracks, one corresponding to its overworld theme, the other to its battle theme, with “Dark Holes” like “Wave of Darkness I” and “Night of Fate” filling in for everything else. Worlds that feature in multiple games may have future iterations with different tracks (i.e., Destiny Islands in COM having the COM version of “Destiny Islands” play). Boss battles will probably, usually, fall under “Dark Holes” like we saw in the trailers.

That’s... About it for this theory. From this point on I’ll be covering the other game modes we saw on the Main Menu (I’ll be discussing tutorial theories when we get to config) and we’ll see how off-base I was when the game comes out in the near future.

...

We’re in the endgame now folks.

#kh mom #kh theory

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ingloriousblasters · 7 years

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Second Chances

Okay, so here it is, the beginning of the story I mentioned last week. A Merle x OC story set in an AU so no zombies. This is Chapter One and I really like backstories, so that is what this is. No Merle yet....Im sorry! But there is a shoutout further in the read!

(I also made an image to go with the story when I couldn't concentrate, as you can see above lol!)

Alright, so here we go. Hope you like :)

*slowly backs away from computer*

Chapter One

The light blue Plymouth sat idling on the side of the little two lane road on an unusually cool, summer morning.

“We there yet Mama?” Anna asked.

Nora Buckley glanced at her daughter through the rearview mirror and took a deep breath. Memories of years gone by rushed through her body as she shifted her gaze back to the view in front of her. In a way, it felt like she had never left. Of course, that wasn’t true. The little bundle of blonde curls in the back of the car reminded her of that. Nora’s eyes roamed over the same faded wooden bridge that gave access down to the minuscule town of Redwater, Georgia. In the distance she could see the pristine, white chapel of Redwater’s only church against the pink and yellow tinted sky. This view, the one Nora had inked into her memory for nineteen years, the one she thought she had finally forgotten, was staring right back at her.

A light gust of wind moved through the half rolled down windows of the car. It was then that Nora realized she had been gripping the black leather steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were as white as paper. If someone had told her 5 years ago she would be back in Redwater, she would have dumped a whole pitcher of sweet tea over them. She had vowed to herself to never come back after word got round of her “mistake.”

5 years earlier

Everything’s going to be fine, Nora thought to herself as she stared at the chocolate shake sitting in front of her at DeDe’s Diner. She was meeting Rodger there after he was done with his last exam at the University of Georgia. Nora adjusted her position as the red plastic booth cushion started sticking to the bottom of her legs. Her body had started to become clammy, even while drinking the cold beverage. Everything’s going to be fine, Rodger loves you, you love him. You’ll work it out somehow. It had been a couple weeks since mother nature had rung her doorbell. At first, Nora thought it was just nerves. She and Rodger had been fooling around since they graduated high school, but she had never missed her period before. It wasn’t until the unmistakable nausea, fatigue and bloating started showing up that she knew. She was pregnant. Pregnant, nineteen, not married, and living in the 2,000 population town of Redwater, where word spread like wildfire.

Nora heard the familiar chirping of the singing bird clock above the diner counter, letting her know it was now 9pm. Rodger was late. It was a good 2 hour drive from Redwater to Athens, but Nora knew if he wasn’t going to make it he would have phoned someone to let her know. The ice cream from the milkshake was starting to separate from the chocolate as she stirred the remaining portion of it in haste. The metal of the spoon clinking to the glass in a fast paced rhythm. The later it got, the more it occurred to Nora that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, go home until he showed up. Past the point of no return. If she didn’t tell Rodger tonight, she didn’t think she could do it again until a baby appeared nine months later. Surprise!

As time ticked on, Nora’s thoughts wandered to the future she hoped would come true. That she and Rodger would get married. They had always talked about it every now and then while out in the fields looking at the stars. Get married and start a family. Well, now it would be start a family and get married. Same future, but just different means of getting there. They could all move to the new city while Rodger did his studies to be a doctor. She would take care of the baby, maybe do some more painting on the side. She could try to sell them to the students on campus and help with the income. Nora focused her energy on this future, a decent future. She couldn’t bare to think about the imminent future of having to tell not only Rodger’s parents, but her own mother. At least she knew she could count on Rodger.

The crowd in the diner started to dwindle as the clock was nearing 9:30pm. Every now and then, Nora would glance up at those passing her booth. DeDe’s attracted all types from town. There were the older folks, eating their customary dessert after choir practice, a few teenagers Nora recognized from when she was in school, and a couple families of moms, dads and tired children, trying to stay awake as long as they could. Nora was smiling to herself as she watched the little boy across from her booth slowly nodding his head every now and then, while his father went to the counter to pay the bill.

Just then, the chime of the front door rang and Nora’s head snapped quickly to the door. A tall, slender guy with dark brown hair, parted to the left side and combed back in neat streaks entered. Nora felt her heart rate pick up again, it was Rodger. Rodger glanced over the diner through his thick, black rimmed glasses until he spotted her. Smirking, he walked over to the booth Nora was at and slid in the opposite side.

“Hey doll!” He quipped, while sliding the chocolate shake over to him. “Ya gonna finish this?”

“Uh..nn…No” Nora scratched out, she hadn’t realized how dry her throat had become since waiting in the diner all this time. Rodger eagerly dug into the rest of melted shake while Nora tried to think of something to talk about. Slowly ease the conversation towards what she knew she needed to bring up. She asked him about his exams, about the drive home, and what plans he had for the summer. Rodger’s replies were the typical ones she had come to expect. The drive home was alright, he hated once he left the city and had to maneuver the winding country roads to get back. His exams were decent, he prepared well for them, but thought he could have done better. And as for his summer plans, well, he planned on working all summer at the local doctor’s office just outside Redwater. The more experience he gained, the better he would be prepared for when the time came to do his residency. Rodger wanted to be a doctor more than anything, Nora always knew that. But sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder if it was truly Rodger’s dream, or one his parents subtly thrust upon him his whole life.

After a few minutes of silence, Rodger noticed Nora sitting and staring at her lap. “What’s wrong doll?”

Oh god. This is it. Do it Nora, just move your mouth and spit it out. Nora slowly lifted her eyes from her hands and looked Rodger square in the eye. She inhaled a deep breathe before she spoke. “I’ve….I’ve got some news.”

“Good news or bad news?” Rodger asked, arching his brow.

“Uh, well, I don’t know.” Nora could feel her entire body tensing as the moment drew closer. She had no idea how Rodger was going to react and the more she realized that, the faster the future she dreamed about was slipping away.

“How can you not know? Come on, just tell me.” Rodger reached out his hand for Nora to take. She looked down at his open palm. Hesitantly, she moved hers from her lap and laid it down in his. “Rodger, I…..Rodger, I’m ppregnant.” Instantly, Nora felt all the tension she had built up within her body release. It finally felt good to let it out, it was not longer a secret she was keeping from him. Nora felt Rodger squeeze her hand, but it didn’t feel like a reassuring one. It was hard, tight and starting to become uncomfortable.

“What?” Was all he said. Nora repeated the statement. “Are you sure? Have you gone to the doctor, done tests?” His voice was starting to elevate the more he started speaking. Nora tried to get him to lower his voice, but nothing she did would work. She glanced around and noticed those left in the diner starting to eavesdrop on their conversation. Assholes. If she had known the diner would be as quiet as it was tonight, she would have asked Rodger to meet her somewhere else.

“I mean are you really sure? The doctor can do better tests. Test your urine and stuff.”

“I don’t need a freaking rabbit test, Rodger. I’m pretty sure it’s a done deal.” Nora could feel herself getting frustrated with Rodger. Of course he wouldn’t show any sign of emotion, he jumped right into doctor mode. They sat in silence for what felt like hours, not looking at each other. Their hands still together, but barely touching now.

“Say something.” Nora said.

Rodger leaned in closer to the table, lowered his head and softly asked, “Have you thought about getting rid of it?” Nora could feel the stinging of tears coming to her eyes. What? What was going on? Why would he suggest such a terrible thing. This was their child.

“NO!” Nora shouted, causing the other patrons of the diner to come out of their dazed state of watching the two and going back to their own business. She got up out of the booth, and started putting on her light pink sweater to head out the door. Nora was pushing through the front door when Rodger finally called after her. She turned around to face him, trying to force the tears in her eyes to go away. Rodger stood in front of her, but didn’t reach out to her, he just looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. Nora felt a little glimmer of hope, before he had finished his statement. “But, I just can’t do this.”

****

Nora didn’t return to her house till almost midnight. After Rodger had tried to reason with her, she walked out of DeDe’s and straight on down the road. She walked all around the perimeter of Redwater, trying to clear her head over what just happened. At one point, she found herself over the railroad tracks and down near the overgrown fields. The sky was clear and she could see thousands of stars in the night sky. Far in the distance she noticed smoke rising in the air from the old farm house. Some family owned it, what was their names? The Dixons, she thought it was. Nora remembered all the stories she heard about them growing up, especially when the first farm house had burned down with Mrs. Dixon inside. She felt a pang of guilt for judging them as she now realized she was soon to become the town’s new favorite topic of gossip.

When she finally reached her home, Nora’s heart dropped as she saw the light in the living room. Oh crap. Her mother was up. See, wildfire. Just like wildfire. Slowly she made her way up the concrete walkway, opened the screen door, and turned the knob on the wooden one. The aroma of alcohol and smoke hit her nose immediately. As she walked through the door she saw the silhouette of her small framed mother sitting in the rocking chair next to the green shaded lamp. The end table on the side holding a small glass of whiskey. Making eye contact with her, Nora forced a weak smile onto her face.

“Mama.” Her mother didn’t respond. Just took another slow, long drag of her cigarette. After a few more minutes of silence, her mother finally spoke.

“There somethin’ ya wanna tell me?” Nora stood there watching her mother. She knew. She just wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Nora and her mother didn’t always have the best relationship and it only seemed to get worse when her father died. They could barely make ends meet with just the two of them. Her mother cleaned the houses of the rich folks in the next town over, while Nora had taken the year between high school and college off working odd jobs in town to save money of her own. She knew her mother wouldn’t want a baby in the house.

“I said, there somethin’ ya wanna tell me?” Her mother asked again. Nora realized there was no point in trying to work around the question. Her heart was already broken, so she had nothing else to lose.

“Mama I…Mama, I’m pppregnant.” She finally mustered out.

“Mmhmm.” Mother responded, as she tapped the ashes of her cigarette into the tray. “And what? Ya thought you could just hide that little tidbit of information for nine months round here?” Nora tried to explain that she went to Rodger, thought that they would work it out, but that he wanted nothing to with it.

“Boys gotta point though.” Her mother mumbled through her sip of whiskey. “I mean, he’s going to school. Thinkin bout his future. Don’t think his parents would be too pleased to find out he knocked ya up.” Once again, Nora felt the threat of tears trying to escape from her eyes. Frustrated, tired, and heartbroken, Nora didn’t feel like working up the fight in her to argue back with her mother. Instead, she chocked down a sob, and turned around to head towards the hallway stairs and up to her room.

“And don’t think I’m gonna be willin to help ya when you need it. Lord knows how many shifts I’d have to work for that.” Her mother called out.

“Don’t worry Mama. I won’t.” Nora whispered as she started walking up the stairs to her room.

****

With the dreams of her future dashed, Nora finally took a hold of her emotions and planned out a new future for herself. She spent the next couple of months working and saving as much money as she could, but with the small bump that appeared overnight, the tasks she used to be able to do with no thought were now starting to take a toll on her body. Though she was able to find work in the shops around town, she was not immune to the whispered conversations customers had when they thought she was out of earshot.

“I heard she cozied up to one of the carnies from that Fall Festival last year.” Said a brown haired teenager sitting next to her friend at the local bookstore. Nora, in the next row over stacking a shelf, paused. “Oh no, you nimwit!” Her friend responded. “Didnt ya hear? She was going steady with that Pearson guy. He dropped her like a hot skillet when he found out. His family wont even acknowledge it.”

“Wow, poor thing.” The brown haired one uttered. Nora felt the heat radiating off her skin. Poor thing! Poor thing? If there was one phrase that seemed to be repeated whenever she found herself in one of these situations it was “poor thing.” Nora had had enough of the town’s gossip. Everywhere she turned she felt eyes on her, the low murmurs of whispers as she passed by, but most of all, she hated the pity. The pity of these so called self-righteous people. Who really only pitied her, not because they honestly felt sorry for her, but because it made them feel better about themselves. That day was the final straw, Nora knew it was time to move on from Redwater. Her mother all but basically said that once the baby arrived they would no longer be welcomed at the house, and Nora figured she had saved enough money by now to get her out of town and to some new city far away. She thought the best thing would be to leave while her mother was in the town over cleaning that way she could go in peace. She didn’t pack much, just enough to get her by, and by the same time the following week she was on the bus out of Redwater.

__________________________

“Mamaaaaa, we there yet?” Anna repeated, after Nora didn’t respond. She took a deep breath as her daughter’s questioning knocked her out the trance she was in.

“Yeah baby,” Nora paused. Trying to get the next words out as cheerfully and she could. “We’re home.”

#ahh i did it #michael rooker #merle dixon #merle dixon fanfiction #merle x oc #walking dead au #second chances #au #first time fic writer #rooker #dixons #i love how i usually watch and read weird shit yet here i am writing basically a romance novel #rooker what have you done to me?

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whyareyoulikethis1d · 4 years

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6/10

Harry Styles hides himself inside of a mystic pop-rock record that keeps us away from who he is as a songwriter and fledgling rock star.

In a Rolling Stone profile earlier this year, Harry Styles recalled how he kept watching this interview with David Bowie on his phone for inspiration. In the clip, Bowie offers this chestnut about creativity: “Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. When you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

Styles was invoking his own artistic process, illuminating the lengths to which he hoped to travel on his second solo album, Fine Line. He was also demonstrating the invincible oblivion of even our most charming pop stars. For Styles, Fine Line is the sound of an artist plumbing the abyss. For us, it’s the sound of a celebrity sticking his toes in the sand. It’s ostensibly his freedom record, one that indulges his every musical and psychedelic whim. It is also removed enough from One Direction to finally not be judged in relationship to them (unlike his spare and often lovely self-titled debut from 2017). By corralling a new flock of influences—from ’70s power pop and Laurel Canyon folk-rock to the sort-of soul of Coldplay—Styles showcases his gift for making music that sounds like good music.

Which is to say the actual sound of Fine Line is incredible, and most songs have at least one great moment to grab hold of: the clusters of background harmonies on “Golden,” the synth sweeps throughout “Sunflower, Vol. 6,” the strange and alluring pre-chorus on “Lights Up,” a song that embodies Styles’ fluorescent charm, his swagger, his desire to be both weird and adored. He has talked recently about his fear of making music after he left One Direction, the pressure of finding a radio single. But to hear him sing sun-warmed, folk-tinged acoustic rock backed by only a handful of musicians is refreshing. There were easier, more callow roads for him to take.

While the music wades into the mystic, his songwriting, pointedly, does not. Fine Line, in part, deals with Styles’ breakup with the French model Camille Rowe, but he renders their romance in the primary colors of needing you, missing you, and remembering you. Emotional beats rise and fall with all the stakes of a refill on a glass of water. Styles doesn’t have the imagination of Bowie or another pop-rock touchpoint here, Fleetwood Mac, who took their lives and transfigured them through cosmic fantasia or Victorian grandeur. Styles’ attempts at this mode worked slightly better on his more austere debut, but in this rainbow-parade of psychedelic pop, the dullness is cast into sharp relief.

The same Styles who sang the unforgettable line, “Even my phone misses your call, by the way” just one album ago, can’t muster a memorable flourish, a vivid image, or the same diaristic self-dramatizing wink as Taylor Swift. Instead, feet firmly planted on the shore, Styles simply summarizes and apologizes and reflects as if he were just telling this story to his mates. During the stretch of ballads that comprise the middle third of the album, he sings, “I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry,” and, “What if I’m someone I don’t want around?” What these earnest text messages reveal about Styles is that he has a desire to do right, to be a good person, or at least to be seen as one. And that’s it—we remain no closer to understanding him as a songwriter or solo artist.

The musicians here—including songwriters Kid Harpoon and Jeff Bhasker, producer and multi-instrumentalist Tyler Johnson, guitarist Mitch Rowland, among others—summon a retro live-band sound, no producer tags, no chart-storming aesthetics. But Styles treats them more like a collection of instruments than an actual band, which makes the anonymous two-minute guitar solo at the end of “She” seem pretty meaningless on a Harry Styles solo record. Even more infuriating is “Treat People With Kindness,” an awful chimera of Jesus Christ Superstar and Edgar Winter Group’s “Free Ride” that confuses hand-claps with happiness. Each song is a new outfit for Styles, hoping one will carry his reality-competition voice and illuminate his reality-competition lyrics.

There are glimpses, like in “Canyon Moon,” of the sort of intimate connection Styles hopes to forge. It’s one of those running-with-a-kite-down-a-grassy-hill songs, covered in ringing acoustic guitars that evoke his bright smile. “Cherry” rises out of the cliche and into something darker and lasting and Swiftian: “I noticed that there’s a piece of you in how I dress/Take it as a compliment.” Styles is here, buried underneath the fame and the fear. I hear his sweetness, his charm, his elegance. But mostly I hear a guy who’s still afraid he’ll never make a David Bowie record.

#harry styles #fine line #fine line reviews #after hearing the album boy do I agree with this #Harry's saving grace is pretty much the production and his talented collaborators #on that i can't fault him. The production is superb but to me that is expected out of Jeff B. That was also the case for HS1 #In term of lyrics....not so much....For real though who the hell told him that TPWK was a good idea?????

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thisisheavynews · 5 years

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25 worst Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductees ever

Simone Joyner

CLEVELAND, Ohio — It’s that time of year again for people to get enraged. That’s because the nominations for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s Class of 2020 are due any day now.

But before we get to whether newly eligible acts like Oasis, The Notorious B.I.G. and Weezer will make the cut, or if longtime snubs like Depeche Mode, Doobie Brothers or Kraftwerk will finally get in, let’s take a look back.

Like most Halls of Fame, the Rock Hall can be polarizing. While, you can make an argument for just about any artist that has been inducted, there are a few dozen fans will swear have no business in music’s hallowed ground.

In an effort to upset as many people as possible (Not really, but it’s inevitable), we ranked the 25 worst Rock and Roll Hall of Fame selections of all time. You know, the ones that had you scratching your head wondering why them and not [insert snub here].

This is just one man’s opinion, of course. Just remember: They’re all good, if not great artists. But were they Rock Hall worthy?

25. Ritchie Valens

Inducted: 2001

Better option: Link Wray

Associated with “American Pie” (“The Day the Music Died”) after passing away tragically in a plane crash alongside Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper, Valens is a legend. But digging deeper, his Rock Hall resume is pretty light. Yes, he was the pioneer of Chicano rock. And yes, “La Bamba” was a huge hit. But that alone should not have earned him induction when you consider other genre pioneers/one-hit wonders such as Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and Big Mama Thornton have never even been nominated. There were several better options for the Class of 2001 when it comes to 1950s rock and roll pioneers, top among them being Link Wray.

Victoria Will

24. Darlene Love

Inducted: 2011

Better option: Mary Wells

You’d be hard pressed to find a Rock Hall Inductee more lovable than Darlene Love. An essential figure in Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound, Love was (and still is) a great singer. That, along with “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” are her two main arguments for Rock Hall Induction. But you can’t help but wonder why her and not The Marvelettes or Mary Wells, two essential acts for early Motown with bigger hits to their names.

Chris Ware

23. The Dave Clark Five

Inducted: 2008

Better option: Lonnie Donegan

Well, this is sure to upset a lot of baby boomers who still geek out to “Glad All Over.” The Dave Clark Five was a very popular British Invasion act of the 1960s, and the second British act after The Beatles to appear on the “The Ed Sullivan Show.” But The Dave Clark Five’s resume, even compared to just other acts of the 1960s, makes them a borderline Rock Hall candidate. Are they that different from The Crystals, Tommy James & The Shondells, The Shangri-Las or Paul Revere & the Raiders: All acts you could argue for or against? A better choice would have been Lonnie Donegan, the most influential recording artist in British history before The Beatles came around.

Getty Images

22. Cat Stevens

Inducted: 2014

Better option: Nick Drake

Cat Stevens had a great run during the first half of the 1970s, with two very essential albums and a string of hits. But you have to wonder how the Rock Hall landed on his name instead of a wide variety of 1970s acts that have never even been nominated, from Doobie Brothers to Emerson, Lake & Palmer to Jim Croce. Even in his own genre, you could make a better case for Nick Drake who, as time goes on, feels like a better choice than Stevens, given how the former’s influence continues to be felt in the artists of today.

Keystone Features

21. Small Faces/Faces

Inducted: 2012

Better option: New York Dolls

It’s easy to see why fans of bands like Mott the Hoople, J. Geils Band or Little Feat might cry foul that their favorite act isn’t in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Small Faces/Faces are. We’re dealing with a combination of two acts here, a la Parliament-Funkadelic (Though, far less significant). The talent and, to a lesser extent, influence are there. Both the Small Faces and, more so, Faces’ back-to-back to basics style and care-free attitude would influence several acts of the 1970s. But in that regard, the impact of, say, the New York Dolls was much greater. After all, Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood were going to get in anyway.

Getty Images

20. Donovan

Inducted: 2012

Better option: Phil Ochs

A lesser Bob Dylan? Sure. But you could say that about any folk artist really. Donovan’s impact runs deeper, primarily in his merger of folk music with psychedelic pop. But where Donovan falls short is in having just a handful of hits that resonated in the States. That’s not enough to justify his induction over artists who came before such as Phil Ochs or Judy Collins. And how the Nominating Committee saw fit to nominate Donovan years before Joan Baez is beyond me.

19. The Paul Butterfield Blues Band

Inducted: 2015

Better option: John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers

Let’s face it. Before being nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame multiple times, most mainstream music fans had never heard of The Paul Butterfield Blues Band. That doesn’t mean the band wasn’t impactful. The Paul Butterfield Blues Band was integral in bringing Chicago blues to white, suburban audiences in the 1960s. But the band’s lack of “Fame” and the fact that an landmark blues artist like Son House shockingly can’t get a nomination makes you question how The Paul Butterfield Blues Band got on the ballot, let alone chosen over Kraftwerk, Nine Inch Nails, Chic and others nominated for the Class of 2015.

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18. Electric Light Orchestra

Inducted: 2017

Better option: Jethro Tull

When you take into account Jeff Lynne’s production legacy, then you can make a solid case for Electric Light Orchestra’s Rock Hall worthiness. But the band on its own — I’m just not seeing it. ELO got in as part of the Nominating Committee’s surge in recent years to include B (or maybe even C) level classic-rock acts. But nothing really puts Electric Light Orchestra ahead of other 1970s acts s like The Guess Who, Bad Company or Bachman-Turner Overdrive. Then again, I wouldn’t induct those bands either.

AP/Los Angeles Times

17. Laura Nyro

Inducted: 2012

Better option: Judy Collins

Laura Nyro is one of the first names that comes up when people list the least deserving members of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And it’s easy to see why. It feels like her nomination was plucked out of thin air. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t a great artist. Nyro most certainly was. But she feels somewhat fringe compared to almost any other inductee. She’s sort of like a lesser Randy Newman, where as the Rock Hall could have opted for someone with more influence like the aforementioned Judy Collins.

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16. Frankie Lymon & the Teenagers

Inducted: 1993

Better option: Billy Ward and His Dominoes

Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers were nominated for the Rock Hall every year since the beginning until they were inducted in 1993. Why did the Nominating Committee have the group on par with the greatest rock and roll acts of all time. Sure, Lymon has a compelling story as a child star who died young. But while the lack of noteworthy catalog has kept other influential 1950s acts out of the Rock Hall, namely Johnny Ace and Jesse Belvin, it didn’t affect Lymon. Maybe in the “Early Influences” category this makes sense. Otherwise, can most people name anything besides “Why Do Fools Fall In Love?”

Stephen Lovekin

15. Little Anthony and the Imperials

Inducted: 2009

Better option: Ben E. King (solo)

Little Anthony and the Imperials’ longevity is impressive. Of all the acts come out of doo-wop and move into R&B, few, if any, had a longer run. But the significance of that run is debatable, especially when you start rifling off the list of influential R&B artists that aren’t in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Joe Tex, Mary Wells, Junior Walker & the All Stars, Ben E. King (solo), The Crystals, etc.

George Konig

14. Del Shannon

Inducted: 1999

Better option: Chubby Checker

It must have been easy to get behind the idea of Del Shannon being in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame when artists like Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne practically worshiped the ground he walked on. But Shannon is one of those artists whose legacy is really built around just one song in “Runaway.” Yes, it was a No. 1 hit and Shannon had a distinct style. But why him and not someone like Chubby Checker or Tommy James & The Shondells.

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13. Bobby Darin

Inducted: 1990

Better option: Screamin’ Jay Hawkins

Looking at the list of successful artists of the 1950s, Bobby Darin certainly has some of the deccade’s biggest hits, including “Splish, Splash” and “Mack the Knife.” But how much those songs resonated in the decades that followed? Darin was a famous star who became an actor. But musically, it would have benefitted the Rock Hall to have pushed for an artist with a more unique style and sound.

Ian Showell

12. Chicago

Inducted: 2016

Better option: Procol Harum

Saying Chicago was a successful band during the 1970s would be an understatement. But even after selling all those records, they never really felt like a larger than life act. And when they came close, they morphed into a lame soft rock act with songs like “You’re the Inspiration” and “Hard to Say I’m Sorry.” Yes, Chicago brought horns into rock in the 1970s. But they weren’t the first or, arguably, the best at it, considering the Mothers of Invention and Electric Flag haven’t been nominated.

Plain Dealer Historical Archive

11. The Lovin’ Spoonful

Inducted: 2000

Better option: The Shangri-Las

I’m okay with kicking The Lovin’ Spoonful out of the Rock Hall based on the band’s Induction Ceremony performance alone. Yes, the band had some hits during the 1960s. But they weren’t a game-changer the level of peers like Grateful Dead or The Mamas and the Papas. And in terms of the 1960s as a whole, you have to imagine the impact of act like Joe Tex or The Shangri-Las stretches much further. Heck, I’d take The Monkees over these guys all day, everyday.

Robert Cianflone

10. Bon Jovi

Inducted: 2018

Better option: Iron Maiden

If we’re talking just commercial appeal, record sales and longevity, by all means Bon Jovi belongs in the Rock Hall. Influence and authenticity? Not so much. I could get behind the band’s induction more had Desmond Child been included, since there’s something to be said for the songwriting on choruses to songs like “Livin’ on a Prayer.” As it stands, however, I don’t see any significant changes to the history of rock music if Bon Jovi never existed, other than the Goo Goo Dolls never becoming a band or there being fewer songs to sing along to at weddings. Why Bon Jovi and not Boston, Thin Lizzy or Bad Company?

9. Journey

Inducted: 2017

Better option: Duran Duran

The arguments for and against Journey and Bon Jovi are the same. Only, Journey fans are even more passionate, and, thus, more likely to slash the tires on my car. Yes, “Don’t Stop Believin'” is an indelible pop song. But you know who else made at least one indelible pop song? Duran Duran, Whitney Houston, the Go-Go’s and INXS, each not in the Rock Hall despite having more influence on today’s music landscape than Journey. Whose getting in next: Nickelback?

M. McKeown

8. Gene Pitney

Inducted: 2002

Better option: Harry Nilsson

There’s a case to be made for Pitney in a specialty category, considering his work as a sound engineer and songwriter on hits like “He’s a Rebel” and “Hello, Mary Lou.” But as a “Performer” it doesn’t make much sense. His impact during the 1960s doesn’t measure up to other acts that aren’t in the Rock Hall like Love, Dick Dale or Jan and Dean.

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7. The Moody Blues

Inducted: 2018

Better option: King Crimson

The Moody Blues made good (if not boring) music, some of it great. But this an example of the Nominating Committee and its Boomer voters preferring a second- or third-tier classic rock act rather than a top-tier band from a later decade. The Moody Blues certainly weren’t the kind of groundbreaking act snubs like T. Rex, The Jam or Kraftwerk were.

Plain Dealer Historical Archives

6. Bill Withers

Inducted: 2015

Better option: Lionel Richie and the Commodores

Bill Withers is a fine R&B act with a handful of great soul songs. But even within his own genre, maybe (MAYBE) he rates as one of the 100 most important R&B acts of all time and certainly isn’t in the top 50. The Nominating Committee seemingly pulled Withers’ name out of thin air and voters went for it, despite there being several better options in the forms of Chic, Luther Vandross, Kool & the Gang, Barry White, Rick James, The Commodores and The Ohio Players. I could go on.

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5. Jeff Beck

Inducted: 2009

Better option: Dick Dale

If prior to 2009, Jeff Beck felt like a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer, it’s because he was as a member of the Yardbirds, and rightfully so. But there was no reason for him to become a two-time inductee, other than the Rock Hall wanting to put together a guitar showcase at its annual ceremony. Beck is undoubtedly one of the greatest guitarists of all time. But his solo career leaves something to be desired in terms of significance.

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4. The Dells

Inducted: 2004

Better option: Teddy Pendergrass

If you find something significant that separates The Dells from a large group of other like-minded R&B/doo-wop acts from the same period, please let me know what it is. The Dells have one (“Oh What a Nite”), maybe two (“Stay In My Corner”) essential hits, which somehow got them into the Rock Hall ahead of The Dramatics, The Stylistics, Harold Melvin, Teddy Pendergrass, The Dramatics, The Spinners, The Del Vikings and The Chi-Lites, among others.

Ethan Miller

3. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Inducted: 2015

Better option: The Runaways

This concept of Joan Jett as the archetype of the female rock star is a bit weird. Yes, when you think of a woman with a guitar, she comes to mind. But she did not invent that or do anything with it that hadn’t been done before. In fact, her two biggest hits are cover songs. The fact that Joan Jett & the Blackhearts are in the Rock Hall and The Shangri-Las aren’t is a bit absurd. That’s not to say Jett doesn’t belong in the hall. She’s just in there with the wrong group. The Runaways were far more essential.

Timothy A. Clark

2. Percy Sledge

Inducted: 2005

Better option: Joe Tex

There’s a thought among some people that a push for Percy Sledge to get into the Rock Hall was made after he performed at Steve Van Zandt’s wedding. I’m going to ignore that, only because, if true (which it may very well be), it’s INSANE! Sledge has one hit. That’s not discredit his other work. That’s just a fact. “When a Man Loves a Woman” is all anyone knows. Does that make him influential? Sledge was an important artist in terms of southern soul in the 1960s or, better yet, “When a Man Loves a Woman” was an important song, one of the essential hits of the decade. But, in terms of body of work, there just isn’t much else there.

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1. Stevie Nicks

Inducted: 2019

Better option: Tina Turner

If the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were to admit Stevie Nicks was nominated because she finished first in the “Voice Your Choice” in-museum fan vote, I’d let this go. However, the Rock Hall Foundation has said the vote had no influence on the committee. So we’re left to wonder why Nicks was worthy of becoming the first two-time female inductee. To say Nicks has more than one essential album or song would be a reach. And while she’s an influential figure, most of that (if not all of it) can be chalked up to her time with Fleetwood Mac. The list of women who have had better solo careers than Nicks is too long to list here. So, I’ll just list the women who would have made better two-time inductees, which includes Tina Turner, Diana Ross and Grace Slick.

from Heavy News https://thisisheavynews.com/25-worst-rock-and-roll-hall-of-fame-inductees-ever/

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