Geekerella

Look to the stars. Aim. Ignite.

Never give up on your dreams, and never let anyone tell you that what you love is inconsequential or useless or a waste of time. Because if you love it? If that OTP or children's card game or abridged series or YA book or animated series makes you happy? That is never a waste of time. Because in the end we're all just a bunch of weirdos standing in front of other weirdos, asking for their username.

I'm half of my father. Half of my hero. And I am half of my mother. Half soft sighs and half sharp edges. And if they can be Carmindor and Amara--then somewhere in my blood and bones I can be too. I'm the lost princess. I'm the villain of my story, and the hero. Part of my mom and part of my dad. I am a fact of the universe. The Possible and the Impossible. I am not no one. I am my parents' daughter, and then I realize--I realize that in this universe they're alive too. They're alive through me. Fashioning my hands into a pistol, I point it at the ceiling, lifting my chin, raising my eyes against the blinding stage lights, and I ignite the stars.

When you can't win the fight, you get bigger guns." - Episode 14, "Better Space Than Never

My dad said that the impossible is only impossible if you don’t even try. So I want to try.

I miss parts of it. I don't miss the actual place. That's never as good as you remember it.

Do I not meet your fangirl expectation?

-Elle, we might not know much about each other, and I might not be there, and you might not be here, but I'm glad I share this sky with you. -Maybe we should start looking up together, ah'blena

She's like a Dalek with a blacklist. Absolutely relentless.

I suck at being social. I think one thing and my mouth says something completely different, like I'm possessed. By a whole lot of stupid.

She wears life like Elvis wore sequins, with no apology laced into the seams.

She reaches out to take the jacket. I hesitate for a moment, like Frodo with his Ring, but then I remember ow much crap Frodo walked into and I'd rather not end up like Frodo. So I give it to Sage.

It isn’t the kind of kiss to end a universe of possibilities. It’s the exact opposite. It’s the kind of kiss that creates them.

And if we're both looking up at the same sky, how far apart can we REALLY be? What were the odds of us being put on the same slab of rock in this huge universe?

I've met my doom, and it isn't even breakfast yet.

It's also awkward to be so short you can see all the way up into someone's cerebral cortex, but welcome to my life.

Electrolyte water tastes as bland as my soul feels.

Jess paints a pretty picture of an orchestra, but if we are one, then I'm the first chair violinist... who's been doused in gasoline and handed a match by the fans to watch me play while going up in flames.

Look, look!” Sage crows. I jerk my head up from my phone. Out in front of us, James rounds out of one of the beachwear shops, pushes a hairy guy in trunks out of the way, and sprints toward the public bathrooms. Wide-eyed, I stare at Sage. “Did you…” Sage smiles her demon grin. “Were those the new batch of chimichangas? Or were they chimichangas from last week?” She heaves a big shrug. “Who’s to say? Wibbly wobbly timey space stuff.” She wiggles her fingers, making her many bracelets jangle. Did my coworker just exact vegan food-poisoning revenge on my behalf? I don’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.

Hey, you’re the chick in my homeroom, yeah?” “And you are holding up the line,” she replies. He looks behind him. “There’s no one here.” She smiles a tight-lipped smile. “Which means you’re scaring the customers away. Now run along. Go chase tail somewhere else.” Chloe squints at her. “Excuse you, who do you think you are?” My coworker feigns shock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, did I?” Then she pauses for a long, long moment as they wait for her to introduce herself. Finally, Sage goes, “Oh, I’m not going to.

Lonny finishes his drink and stands. “So what’s our plan?” “You don’t have to go,” I tell him, shrugging out of Carmindor’s jacket. “I’m sort of going AWOL, so it’s not in your contract.” “Then as far as I’m concerned, I’m off the clock,” he says, straightening his suit. “I can do whatever I want with my time, and I want to help you out. So what’s the plan?” “First,” I say, “to the vending machines. With all this good luck, they gotta have an Orange Crush.” And holy gods of soda, Batman, by the glowing light of the great vending machines on the third floor, I spot a beautiful Orange Crush button, and when I push it an orange bottle rolls out. I crack the seal and drink to the sweet, sweet taste of victory. “That’s your plan?” Lonny says. “To drink a soda?

Gail and Lonny find me as I’m tugging on my shirt. I can’t wait until my clothes start fitting normal again and aren’t uncomfortably tight around the chest. I can’t wait to go back to all the familiar comics T-shirts that don’t fit me at this bulked-out size. “Well?” Gail says. “How is it? How do you feel?” “I can eat bacon again!” I yell, throwing up a fist. “All the bacon! Bacon or bust!” “Yes!” Gail cheers. “After your promo shoots, you absolutely can!” My cries of glee turn into an actual sob. I quickly shove my face into my arm. Thank god it’s just Gail. She pats me on the shoulder. “I know,” she says. “But you’ll get to have it soon, and then—” “No.” I swallow and shake my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “It’s not the bacon.” I mean, it is but it’s also not. I’m overcome right now with everything. These last few months leading up to the shoot, the mounting pressure, the twenty-three days of high stress and rabbit food and Elle. All of it. “Why does it have to be so hard?” “Getting a six pack?” I give her a feeble smile. “I am more than my body, thank you.

You’re probably good at taking lip, aren’t you?” I mutter more to myself than to my bodyguard, clawing through the suitcase for a T-shirt that isn’t tight on me. “Like a CIA operative, right? Do bodyguards go to bodyguard school? Are you like the hitman in Hitman?” He adjusts his cuffs. “You know the rule about fight club?” I give him a surprised look. “So you can talk!” He raises a single eyebrow. “I will be right outside your door if you need me. You have to be down at the lot in twenty minutes. I suggest you hurry.” Then he takes his burly frame and saunters out of the room. I shove my head into a clean shirt and pull my arms through just as my phone blips. There’s a message. Well, two messages. Gail 8:36 AM —HIS NAME IS LONNY. BE NICE. “Lonny?” That name definitely is not fit for a three-hundred-pound machine of total annihilation, but okay

Starlight, star bright, you can be anyone you want to be tonight.

At this point I'm sure he's more plastic than person, but most people who hate wrinkles become Daleks over time, anyway.

And may the force be with those chimichangas.

Her phone beeps and she pulls it out again. She frowns. I give her a side-eye. “Everything all right?” She scrolls through her email. “Earth to Gail?” Nothing. “Gail Morgan O’Sullivan.” “What? Oh!” She shoves her phone into her back pocket. “Sorry, sorry. Do you ever feel like you’re forgetting something?” “My underwear. All the time,” I say with dead seriousness. “Sometimes I give myself a wedgie just to make sure I have them on.

You don’t put a soap opera star in charge of an entire galaxy.

That guy seemed like a douche-bro.” It’s one of the longest sentences she’s ever said to me. I don’t even know how to answer.

If you believe in yourself and have a few good friends, then you can do anything. You can be anything.