As much as I love women led action movies the lead being basically groomed and then betrayed by their mentor who's effectively a father figure is not a trope I appreciate at all.
My worlds on fire, how 'bout yours?
FB: Plastic Spark Photography
still absolutely distressed and proud of myself at the same time for going “kris is going to do X outside” while I was watching my boyfriend play and then they. just did it.
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i love that this blog gets followers fairly regularly even though i dont get to draw behemoth everyday heheh
"If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.
...whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty.
Joy is not made to be a crumb."
--Poet Mary Oliver
Choujin X - Chapter 8
Marked for Death Egyptian poster (Dwight H. Little, 1990)
This is another one of those “where were we in this AU” intros... so let’s see... even as Myka solved the puzzle of how to keep Deceits out of competition, she didn’t address the far more complicated issue of what to do about Helena—and in fact she seems inclined to (try to) put that Rubik’s cube in a drawer and pretend it never existed in the first place. She’s failing to understand that she’s surrounded by people who won’t let her do that. Helena, for her part, thinks she’s solving a different puzzle, one that involves paying for her past misdeeds (however inadvertent) while at the same time repeatedly talking herself out of the continuing impulse to commit further, somewhat related, misdeeds. She’s surrounded by the same people Myka is, though. What are the odds they’ll let her maintain that very delicate balance? Previously, everybody teetered their way through part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7a, and part 7b.
“Am I not crucial?” Helena wanted to snap, for Dan Badger’s assistant had just informed her that he was in a crucial meeting and was not to be disturbed. She additionally wanted to demand, “Then why was my meeting with him not rescheduled?”
She was here in the assistant’s antechamber only because the CFO, in clear despair over their lack of progress, had insisted she engage directly with Badger. Despite what she had told her father about seeing him, she had tried to demur. She was nursing a sense, perhaps incorrect, that she and Badger were themselves both waiting, resisting such engagement: she had not asked for a place on his schedule; he had not requested her presence.
It would be strange to be someone other than “Wells’s daughter” in relation to him, strange to engage as a professional, supposedly equal—but of course not equal at all.
He’d always been something of a godfather-ideal, an outsize influence on her family yet obviously in no way of it. Her father still displayed a photograph of Badger holding infant Helena, raising her up as he would a trophy, bestowing that champion’s-joy kiss; her father was beside them, grinning hugely, first Olympics not yet failed, everything possible, the infant in particular blissfully unaware of the exile to which that failure would consign her.
Her problem, other than establishing her place, was that she had no real purpose for meeting with him. “I don’t want to make progress,” she couldn’t have told the CFO.
When Myka was the one to emerge from the “crucial meeting” that had stranded and frustrated Helena, she was initially surprised—in a happy, bodily sense, having her now-usual Myka! response—but then: crucial meeting. Had it to do with Ingenumedix? Helena was tempted, so tempted, to ask some leading question, but Myka was at her most moral-superiority-vaunting haughty, offering only a dismissive “Helena.”
Helena took that as permission, however grudging, to speak, even to let Myka’s name inhabit her mouth again... “Myka,” she did say, and it was indeed a pleasure, if a fleeting one. She tried to betray no enjoyment at all. She also attempted to hide her realization that Myka had provided her with a clear goal for the meeting: finding out what she had brought to Badger. Had Myka come up with a way to put Ingenumedix out of Zelus’s reach? And would it be as definitive as the way she had moved herself beyond Helena’s grasp? If so, all to the good, on both counts.
She focused on the truth of that good as she watched Myka walk proud away.
Her own entry into the sanctum sanctorum was indeed strange: at her first glimpse of Badger, she felt herself soften, as if reverting to a floppy-limbed child—or worse, an awkward adolescent—unsure of where her hands and feet were or should be. Could she be someone other than Wells’s daughter? “Saint Dan,” she greeted him, trying for wry.
He lifted an eyebrow. Shook his head. “Could you not.”
“I was a child in England at a particular time in history. I believe it’s my patriotic duty.”
Now he smiled and said, “Sit down, darling.” She’d thought to put ironic distance between her child-in-history self and her now-self, but that “darling” pulled the child-string. His instincts... why had he not gone into politics? But perhaps AAI was his test run.
She did sit. The chair toward which he had waved her was oriented such that his carelessly careful medal display was directly in her line of sight. Politics.
His first question was, “How’s your father?”
This, she could report all right. “And I quote: ‘Dan Badger, self-righteous bastard. Could fucking ring an old man, couldn’t he.’” She would in turn make sure to report back to her father that that had come first—he would, she knew, thrill to it, yet pretend apathy. Apples truly do fall just beneath trees.
“Sounds like Wells.”
“Followed by ‘Too busy sainting.’”
Badger chuckled. “Ideally. But ideals are funny things. Given your choice of career, I’m curious: do you have any?” Helena, despite herself, thought immediately of Myka. Canny Badger said, “I see that you do.”
Helena crossed her legs and sat back, gaining a moment. “Even if I had, I can’t afford them now.”
“You mean Zelus can’t.” He shook his head again, a picture of resigned regret. “Of course they’d send you, now they’ve got you. Get at a man’s heart.”
“No one gets at Saint Dan,” said Helena, with a chuckle of her own.
“Not this Wells. Zelus doesn’t understand.”
“I expect not. You’d think they’d rather you try to influence Giselle.” This he said with a cast less lascivious than it might have been, given that he too had been a guest at that fateful invitational. “Did they fail to do their research?”
Thankful for his restraint, she scoffed, “Oh, you know no one influences Giselle. Even less than anyone influences you.” A bit of a dare, but justified, she hoped.
“Yes,” he said. He squinted, a narrow that sharpened into glistening ice the blue of his eyes. Then his lips curved a small smile. He said, softly, “I wonder, however, why you would attempt to influence Myka.”
That “Myka” walloped her into a cascading what does he know what does he know what does he know buy time buy time buy time—“Why I would... what?”
The ice remained: “Did someone tip you as to what she was ferreting out? Were you trying to prevent her from making use of that information?”
Now Helena’s mind began running a track parallel to her instant alarm: “ferreting out” had to be about Ingenumedix. Myka must have found something useful, must have brought it to Badger. Must have.
Her purpose was achieved. The success made her feel, incongruously, safe. She began, “I never attempted to—”
Badger cut her off, placidly, with “You were seen, darling. With her.”
Her sense of safety had lasted three seconds, more or less. “I was—seen? With her?”
He nodded, slow and stately, a king in possession of the book of all secrets, paging idly through, deciding which to mete out to this his poor subject. Politics. “Seen, yes. With her. By me, in fact; I might not have credited reports. Night elevators... the two of you, so deep in conversation.”
“Those elevators,” Helena said, thinking of Giselle’s complaint about them. About what followed. What could she do, now, other than let Badger believe what he would? Thank god she could at least conclude he knew nothing of what had happened in the past, yet she couldn’t help but wonder: how did she and Myka look together to an such an outsider? Absurdly, she wanted to ask him...
...but then, equally absurdly, he provided her with an answer: “You seemed to be entreating her. With a touch of, dare I say, desperation.”
Entreating? With desperation? Well, she was, if not in word, then certainly in want. “Desperation? Really,” she said, trying to imply how absurdly misguided any such impression must be. “Are there any words I could say that would alter your interpretation?”
He offered her the sort of smile with which he would have indulged any child. “You might tell me that you simply found her attractive.”
Found her attractive? Of course. Simply? No. And Helena would not in any case make use of the immanence of her response to Myka. That precious truth would not be her cover. “I don’t believe I’ll do that,” she said, empty and mild as she could.
Not quite mild enough, however. Badger pursed his lips and said, “You were a fussy infant, you know.”
“My father tells the same story,” Helena allowed.
“I’m curious: what story does he tell about these troublesome trainers? I presume he’s tried them.”
But Helena found herself unwilling to share what had passed between her and her father: how she’d caught youth sparking in his eyes as she handed over the box. The new, the possible, his face shining as in that old photo. In that moment, what the shoes did made no difference; their value lay entirely in what they promised.
“Have you?” she challenged instead.
“I’m not disputing their power.”
“So you have.”
“They are... persuasive,” he conceded.
“Exactly,” Helena said. “Zelus believes they’ll be quite broadly so.” Pushing now, attempting to suggest again what she had tried to convey to Myka: that use in competition was nearly inconsequential in Zelus’s larger scheme for Deceits. She hoped Myka had made that very point, and that her own words would now be taken as independent confirmation. “Do you doubt it?”
“Not at all,” he said. “And yet. Whatever you were trying with Myka, I can assure you it didn’t work.”
“Whatever I was trying,” Helena said, trying to convey skepticism, trusting she understood what “didn’t work” meant.
“It’s been lovely to see you. And, may I add, you’ve been quite helpful.”
“Again I note my patriotic duty,” Helena said, with what she intended as an appropriately deferent head-bow. She nevertheless thought at him, You have no idea how helpful I’ve been. If it worked. If.
“All will be resolved,” he said, as if granting yet another boon from that book of secrets.
She coveted his certainty; it pushed her to beg him for confirmation, a true entreating: “Will it?”
“I suspect. Situations are difficult until they become less so.” He bestowed on her a godfatherly smile. “And as mentioned, you’ve been quite helpful.”
That was clearly a concluding remark. She stood and turned to leave.
“I’ll ring Wells,” he called after her.
She turned back. That was another purpose accomplished. “He’ll feign to have been interrupted at some crucial task.” A little jab.
“I’ll feign to entreat him.” Well. A little jab back.
Helena bowed her head again. “Saint Dan,” she said, to remind them both.
“We all saint, in our ways... or not, as we choose. Don’t you agree?”
“I suppose,” Helena allowed.
What did he know? Had Myka told him something after all? “Helena Wells is deceitful, and here is how I know it”? Or had Giselle revealed the concatenation of influence? Helena could imagine that scenario even more easily, down to Giselle’s voice and inflections, something on the order of “Helena told me a word, I told it to Myka, and my money says we won that game of telephone.” Or was Badger simply being his canny self, suggesting without specifying, allowing his interlocutor to draw potentially self-incriminating conclusions?
She left the meeting warmed by the familiarity of their exchange—she couldn’t help that—yet unsettled about what had and had not been said.
In fact she was right to have been unsettled. She received a call from Zelus’s CEO the following morning, just as she was about to enter the CFO’s office for their next enervating tail-chasing session: “You’re fired,” he said without preamble.
She wanted to respond with a dismissive “fine.” Instead she said, “I beg your pardon?”
“I slept on this to make sure it made sense, and it’s the only thing that does. You gave Ingenumedix up to Badge.” Calling him “Badge,” pretending to be an athlete—the CEO was a mediocre distance runner who fantasized that money and power elevated him to Badger’s, or to any elite athlete’s, level. Laughable. Those single-minded champions and hopefuls with whom he surrounded himself surely found it so as well, even if they could not reveal it... Helena hadn’t previously let herself think all the way to contempt, but she loosed an inner sneer now. He added, “Nostalgia working the wrong way,” and that made it worse. Her father, Badger, herself. As if nostalgia could be channeled correctly. As if one’s relationship to the past could be managed.
Helena asked, “Why are you assuming I did that? I’m sincerely curious. Did he tell you so?”
“He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Of course he wouldn’t,” she said. “And isn’t it true that he, or any of his employees, could have could have found their way to Ingenumedix, and thence to what you wanted? You may not have trumpeted your interest, but it isn’t a state secret.”
“Badge”—again that unearned, grating familiarity—“would never have come to me with something he or anyone else ‘found their way to.’ Led there by somebody he knew, though? Somebody he trusted? Easy.”
“Trusted?” Helena let herself laugh at that. “Why wouldn’t he have thought I was leading him astray?” Clearly, Badger had trusted Myka not to lead him astray; clearly, he was right to have done so. He would never have trusted Helena—certainly not Helena alone.
“Who cares what he thought? All I know is he knew exactly what we wanted. Where we’d give. Surgical precision. Cut, cut, cut. If we didn’t need those wearables, swear to god I’d’ve told that prissy purist what he could do with this deal.” Now Helena heard contempt from him—contempt for Dan Badger! Worse, for Dan Badger doing his rightful work, as abetted by Myka. If Helena hadn’t already been fired, she would have chosen that moment to quit.
“And you don’t care for purists, do you,” she said, surprising herself by finding it a sad thing to say. A sad thing to have to say, as the truth.
“Always fucking up my revolution,” he retorted. “Never thought you’d be one of them.” So his contempt for her now mirrored hers for him. Very well.
She hoped her disdain was audible as she said, “Believe what you prefer as to my actions, but I’m no purist.” She wasn’t worthy of the word; she couldn’t measure up to Badger or Myka. As recently as a few moments ago, she wouldn’t have cared, but it seemed she had become radicalized to embrace some version of their straitlaced traditionalism in the space of this short conversation. “Yet in the end you’ve got the wearables,” she said, regretting that it was true, but obviously he had; otherwise, there would have been no deal.
“He got the win.” That was jealousy, and Helena found it beyond satisfying, for Badger’s sake, for her father’s, her own, her very nation’s. Patriotism! She had thought it ironic, but she was now fully content, even pleased, to have done what she did. Done for Myka at first—righting a wrong—but in the end she felt she had simply done right, never mind the motivating wrong.
She took her new satisfaction as fuel. “Why don’t you lace up a pair of your precious Deceits and go for a run?” she prodded. “You’ll soon feel invincible again.”
“That’s not a bad ad line. Thanks for the parting gift.” That was a sneer not at all contained. “Got anything else I can use against those prissy purists you sold me out to?”
Deliberately, Helena disconnected the call. He could ruin her if he wished to, but even so: good riddance to him and his graceless behemoth of a company, overmatched by—indefensible against—prissy, yet surefooted, purists.
She looked, then, into the particulars of the deal, such as she could discern them, and she was impressed... no, that was too mild a word. Myka had come up with an elegant, even brilliant solution to a seemingly intractable problem. Or Myka and Badger had come up with it together, but in any event Helena now wanted them both to be politicians, and for herself to be allowed to live in—or, ideally, to serve as some minor minister to—the country they ran.
An impossible want: elegance in the service of right. It seemed something to which only the purest of purists could aspire.
On her way away from AAI and every difficult want it had come to signify, Helena stopped by Giselle’s office. Giselle’s head was down, her hands cradling her forehead as if she could not muster the energy to raise it. Helena felt a twitch of a wish that she could be the one to bring vengeance down upon whomever, or whatever, had caused the mighty Giselle’s strength to flag.
“A difficult day already?” Helena asked as she slipped into the space.
Giselle brought her head up, keeping her fingers pressed against her temples. “They’re all difficult. Don’t go into regulating international athletics if you want to keep ahold of your sanity. You?”
“I’m here to say goodbye. Rather, I wanted to say goodbye. No, sorry: I didn’t in fact want to say goodbye. But I’m leaving, and I didn’t want to do so without saying goodbye.”
That garnered a sit-back with crossed arms. Taking offense? “Deal done, you’re out?”
Giselle would have been right to be offended, if that were the entire story. “Deal done,” Helena agreed, “and I am indeed out. Of a job.”
“Ouch. They guessed what you did?”
“Guessed... halfway. They thought I told it all to Saint Dan.” Helena shook her head. “I stand accused of succumbing to the lure of nostalgia.”
“Halfway? Right. Succumbing to something.”
Helena sighed, for that was clearly a reference to Myka. “Yes. And thus the wages of sin.”
“You knew this could happen,” Giselle observed. “But you did it anyway.”
“I did it anyway,” Helena echoed. She expected Giselle to follow with another shrewd Myka-related comment.
“Bet your dad’ll be upset no more Zelus,” Giselle said instead. “Window back onto his world.”
“That’s why you work here, isn’t it. Really. That window. With a large view.”
“Maybe. You should give him some Deceits though.”
“I did,” Helena said, and she was moved, in that moment, to tell Giselle what she hadn’t told Badger: “He was delighted at first. Looking at them. But later, once he tried them, he complained they made him feel young.” She hadn’t thought that through, before, but she tried to now, given what was top of mind. “I think he thinks only the elderly are allowed to indulge in nostalgia. And I think he doesn’t want to be deprived of that indulgence.”
Now Giselle performed a different sit-back, this one thoughtful. “Nostalgia. Maybe he’s right. Good for him, anyway, knowing what he wants; most don’t, not until it smacks them upside the head. I didn’t know how much I wanted to see you again, you pretty thing.” She smiled like years ago.
“Nor I you,” Helena said, returning the smile.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be. What’s happened doesn’t matter, not in the overall scheme.”
“Maybe it does though. Amends look like they got made.”
“I’m not sure that matters either.” The amends were, she was now trying to tell herself, the lesser part of the play. If she had secretly hoped for a reveal of those amends, followed by Myka swooning with gratitude into her arms, never mind any current romantic entanglements? That had been foolish from the start, and it was even more so now.
“When’s your flight?” Giselle asked.
“Not until later today. Evening, in fact. Would that it were sooner.”
“Want to wait it out in my apartment? Or a hotel room?”
Helena said, with a rueful twist of lip she knew Giselle would understand, “That resembles a proposition.”
“Just checking. I know who you’re thinking about.”
“I’d like to be able to say ‘of course not,’” Helena said, truthfully. “But I’m foolishly still marinating in the past—her part of it. I’m so sorry.” That, too, was truthful.
“Do you want her to know what you did for her?”
“Now I can say ‘of course not.’” To have Myka know, and for Helena to then be actively denied the grateful swoon? Intolerable.
“You can say it.”
“In the end, if she’s better off, that’s...”
“A win?” Giselle offered.
“Perhaps. Or, no: yes.”
“No, yes. You don’t know what you want.”
“Or I do,” Helena admitted, because of course she did. Still. Perhaps even more so now, given this newfound purist affinity. “But I maintain that it doesn’t matter.”
“You could make it matter.”
“What good would that do?”
Giselle sat still for a crowning moment, then leaned forward with, “‘Good.’ What’s your definition there?”
“Stop being clever.”
“Oh, baby, how?”
Helena smiled at that. “We need to stay in closer touch, you and I. Talk more.”
“Sure you want to hear about who I take to Monaco? You know I like to do that, and if you didn’t happen to be an anomaly...”
“I need to reconcile myself to all eventualities. I’m trying.”
Helena did not know how to read that; not at all. But she held out her arms, and Giselle rose from her desk and stepped around it, into them. The embrace could indeed have changed character from friendly to something else; with time, perhaps Helena would want it to. “Stay in touch,” she said after they broke apart, after it did not change but could have.
“I will. For all the reasons. You too.”
They exchanged contact information then, which they had never done before.
Soon this will be over, Helena told herself as she trudged toward the elevators. I am forty floors away from being able to move on. To forget. Or if not to do either of those things in their entirety, then at least to paste a label reading “past” onto this episode. Just as I did—all right, tried to do—with that first... Myka experience.
Surely lightning would not, could not, strike three times.
In the elevator lobby, she noticed Pete Lattimer’s presence. She then also noticed that he was speaking with a very attractive woman. That woman was, to Helena’s relief and disappointment, not Myka. Helena then eavesdropped—to her shame—but regardless of the word or two she was able to catch, Pete’s body language was clear enough. He was interacting with that very attractive woman in a way that could be described only as “flirtatious”: leaning toward her, then back; touching her shoulder briefly, gently; letting a smile break over his face, but only after she offered a smile first.
When that woman stepped onto an “up” elevator, leaving Helena and Pete both presumably waiting for “down,” Helena began to burn. Burn and burn, wanting to shout in condemnation of his betrayal of Myka. That was impossible, but she pushed forward with an aggressive hope that she could motivate him to acknowledge how grievously he’d wronged his putative girlfriend. She asked, severely, “Do you love her?”
“Love her?” Pete yelped, and Helena found his apparent dismay gratifying. “Oh my god you heard me—these stupid elevators. Anyway, wow, I don’t know. I’m super into her though.”
“Then why would you do this?”
“Why would I try to be cool but really tank? Honestly, when I’m in the middle of the trying, I think I’m doing great, but then I replay it in my head and I’m like ‘you idiot, why’d you say you have so many comic books you had to rent a storage facility?’ I don’t know why I do stuff like that.”
“To Myka,” Helena gritted out.
“I don’t do stuff like that to Myka. She already knows about the storage facility.”
“I know it isn’t my affair,” Helena said, trying to make herself believe it.
“The storage facility?” Pete scratched his head. “I dunno. How do you feel about comic books?”
“I mean you and Myka. Your relationship.”
“Our... relationship?” he said, as if it were something strange. Something new to him.
How could he? “If you want to display interest in another woman, that is not my affair either. But I don’t see how you could live with doing that to Myka, even if you don’t know whether you love her.”
“Wait a sec. You—”
“No, I’m sorry. As I said, I know it isn’t my affair.” And in fact Helena didn’t believe the words she was saying—It is my affair, she wanted to proclaim—but what else could she do?
“I think maybe you—”
“Should stop trying to interfere? You’re right.” Believe this, she admonished herself.
“No, I mean you—”
“Should remember I’m leaving this evening? You’re right about that as well.”
“You’re leaving tonight?” That was another yelp, now layering bewilderment onto dismay.
How could such news have been surprising? If Giselle knew about the deal, then surely everyone did. “What else is there to negotiate? In addition, I no longer have a job with Zelus. Why would I stay?”
“Wait, they let you go? How come?”
A regrettable slip. “Corporate negotiations are a volatile business,” Helena said, praying he wouldn’t pursue it.
Pete screwed his face up tight. “You know what though? I bet Badge could use you here, if you really wanted—”
Of course he would pursue it. “Now why would I want that?” Helena asked, emptying her voice of affect, hoping he didn’t know the answer. “You’ve been... honestly, quite pleasant, as a presence with whom to interact. But I do feel that Myka deserves to be treated well.”
“Well yeah she does. If you’d—”
“Thank you for saying that,” Helena said, and in response to a providential chime, she inserted herself into an already overcrowded down elevator speedily, indeed gratefully.
She hoped Pete would see the error of his ways. If she hoped also that he wouldn’t... well, that was wrong of her. Perhaps Giselle would be the one to reap the benefits.
In the end it would not matter, for forty floors from now, Helena would reach the end of all of this. The label reading “past” would be applied. It would be definitive.
Thirty-nine floors. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven.
The following scene has no place in the actual narrative, because neither Helena nor Myka witnesses it, plus Giselle’s going to convey its essence to Myka in the next part. I sketched it out just to see how it would go, and I kind of want to preserve it, if only because I like this Pete and this Giselle and how they might get along. I’ve put the intro in present tense and left most of it as a bare dialogue exchange to make extra clear it isn’t part of the real narrative...
Giselle arrives in the lobby in time to watch Helena watch Pete and Kelly interact, to see Helena enter the elevator, then to hear Pete say to the closing doors, “Well yeah she does. If you’d let me finish a sentence, I’d also say she deserves to be treated well by somebody she’s in a relationship with. A real relationship. With someone who maybe could’ve been you. But I guess hot British ladies don’t have time for that whole sentence-finishing thing.”
Pete turns and sees Giselle, realizes she’s heard him, says, “Whoops. Cat’s out of the bag. Don’t be mad at Myka, okay?”
G: Who gets mad at Myka?
P: You’re a pretty good guy.
G: Not good enough for Kelly, sadly.
P: Seriously, are you running through the org chart? Alphabetically or what?
G: Just the women.
P: Oh. I was hoping maybe you hadn’t made it to the L’s yet.
G: I’ll buy you a beer to make up for not being straight. Oh, wait, sorry. Ice cream sundae. You buy me the beer. Better yet, a scotch or several.
P: I’ll take it. Why wouldn’t Kelly go out with you?
G: Has her eye on somebody else. Story of my life lately.
P: You gonna help get Myka back with her ex?
G: Burns me both ways.
P: Right. But are you gonna help? Also by the way there’s a really hot new lady in HR.
G: You think I’m that easy.
P: She’s really hot. Take you a while to get there alphabetically, though; last name starts with Y.
G: You are a fully impossible man.
P: Help with Myka and her ex and I’ll talk you up.
G: I help with Myka and Helena, my prize is you do not talk me up.
G: Why do people think you’re not as smart as you are?
P: Ssshhh. Low expectations. It’s how I got to be an alternate.
G: Could we be honest, here it’s just us? Times and distances, that’s how.
P: Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Even beats out ‘has her eye on somebody else.’
G: I didn’t say it’s you.
P: Just glad it isn’t you. I can’t compete there.
G: Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.
P: C’mon. You’re amazing.
G: You trying for a new personal best?
G: Fully impossible.
G: I’m pretty sure you’re not.
P: I thought I was supposed to name fully impossible things.
G: That’s the game, then okay: getting Myka and Helena to get it together.
P: This is why you have to help.
RAIDERS 26 - 17 STEELERS #7 Ben Roethlisberger sacked by #92 Solomon Thomas
Boss Battle by Aaron Florento
ahem *taps mic* sapnap should play until dawn
cc dream crit below ig??
okay but thinking abt it like… a good 70% of my issues w dream would be handled if he wasn’t complete dogshit at handling his audience lmaooo