#ad irony can only carry you so far i hate that i love this little fucker so much now

[blu-joons]

First Christmas ~ Bang Chan

Your first Christmas with Chan was something you’d looked forward to all year round, you were desperate for it to go perfectly so the two of you could enjoy each other’s company, as well as your families and make the most of moving in together.

Whilst you were excited about your first Christmas with Chan, he was a little more reluctant. Christmas had never meant too much to him growing up, most of his recent years had been spent at the dorms, some years all by himself, without anyone to celebrate with.

So, whilst you were busy around your flat getting things sorted, Chan’s figure relaxed on the sofa, happy to let you carry the bulk of the weight. All you wanted at times was a bit of a helping hand, but whenever you tried, Chan couldn’t have been less engaged in what you were telling him.

You picked up the box from your bedroom floor to carry down to wrap, an electric mixer seemed like the perfect present for Felix, until you felt the weight of it. The walk through to the living room was already a struggle but dropping the box onto your feet as you put it down made matters ten times worse.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Beside you, Chan remained unphased, flicking through the television channels whilst you started wrapping in front of him. Whilst you knew your toe would bruise, you were more concerned with the lack of compassion coming from your boyfriend.

Your eyes rolled as you glanced down at him, sitting down, and taking a look at your toe.

His eyes looked at you for a few moments before turning back to the screen, if he was honest, if you wanted to buy all these presents it was on you to wrap them. He never received presents anymore since he moved from home, which meant gift giving didn’t quite have the same magic for him.

You pushed the box aside, giving yourself room to turn and look back at him. “Are you deaf or do you really not care that I just hurt myself carrying that box?”

Chan paused his programme to look at you, then to the heavy box you’d bought down with Felix’s present. “I did tell you the blender would be too much, you should’ve listened.”

You scoffed at his response, turning back away from him again, angrily scrolling the wrapping paper out, shifting the box across so it sat in the middle of the paper. Chan watched as you struggled, hearing your groans in frustration.

“He’ll probably break his back picking that up,” he continued to remark, only adding to your own annoyance at his unhelpfulness. “But at least we’ll get some good brownies from it.”

“Aren’t you lucky,” you muttered under your breath.

Your own irony took him by surprise, it was unlike you to be passive in your responses. The way in which you tore away at the wrapping paper only confirmed to him that something was on your mind.

“You always say how much you love wrapping gifts, stop being so miserable,” he commented, tapping his hand against the back of your shoulders. You brushed him off, dodging his hand with your shoulder, looking back at his wide eyes.

Every single thing for your perfect Christmas had been done by you, Chan’s lack of effort had left you on the verge of scrapping Christmas altogether.

“It’s like you’re not human at Christmas, I’m struggling, I hurt myself, and yet you sit there like nothing has happened,” you frowned, looking away from him again.

“But if I help you, you’ll only moan that I’m doing it wrong.”

Your head shook, dropping the roll of tape you held. “No, Chan, I’d be thankful that you were showing an interest in our first Christmas together. Because right now I’d probably be better off just spending Christmas by myself.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“Of course, I don’t!”

You stood up from the floor, walking through into the kitchen to grab a bag of ice from your freezer, hearing Chan follow behind you and sit down with you as you tried to keep the swelling down from dropping the box.

“This Christmas really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” He questioned, but even he already knew the answer. Since the end of last Christmas when you decided you’d be together you had been counting the days until the next one came around.

You weren’t expecting a miracle from Chan by any stretch of the imagination, but you hoped that celebrating with someone and having family around him would bring out a bit of the Christmas cheer in him that had been missing.

“I came here to spend Christmas with you, and the boys. You should be the one wrapping the boys’ presents, but instead it’s me doing it, and look what happens when I do it.”

“I’m sorry about your toe,” he mused, “if you were struggling you should have said, you know that I’m always around to help you with these things.”

“Did the loud bang of the box not give you a big enough sign that something had happened? Because it was pretty loud to me.”

He reached across and placed his hand into your own, squeezing it gently. His other hand took the bag of ice to look at your toe, thankfully not too much damage had appeared to be done, otherwise he wouldn’t have known what to do.

Without saying a word his arms wrapped around you, carrying you gently back into the living room, sitting on the floor beside you. Straight away he lifted up Felix’s present, kicking the wrapping paper underneath of it so that you could cover the rest of the box easily, taping it tightly together making sure the whole box was covered.

“I’ve been a bit of a scrooge, haven’t I?” He asked, placing the present to the side of the room.

“You’ve been more than a scrooge Chan.”

“I just feel like over the years I’ve become a bit numb to Christmas, it was never something for me to really look forward to anymore,” he confessed, “and now I have someone to enjoy it with again, I feel wrong because I’m still away from my family, and now because of me, you’re away from yours.”

“I’m away from my family because I want to be here, with you, I don’t want you to be alone at Christmas.”

He tapped the space between his legs, encouraging you to move closer to him, feeling his arms snake around your waist and his head rest on the tip of your shoulder, pressing several light kisses into the nape of your neck.

“From now on I promise I’ll be more of a help, we can’t have you injuring yourself anymore otherwise we’ll end up spending Christmas in accident and emergency and that will be no fun for any of us.”

“I wouldn’t have injured myself if you had bothered to come and help me,” you teased.

His smile grew with a shake of his head, “we’re going to have the best Christmas, because its our first together. I know you’re stressed and worried about lots of things, but there is no need for you to panic. Because we’re together this year, so as far as I’m concerned, that already makes this the most perfect Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You leant back against him, maybe he was right, you had been putting a lot of pressure into making sure this Christmas was perfect, perhaps too much that made Chan not want to get involved and struggle with all your worries.

“We’ve still got another week to get all the presents done, and you’ve already decorated the house so nicely, there’s nothing that can go wrong,” he assured you.

“I just want it to be perfect, we only get one first Christmas together, and I’d hate for anything to go wrong for either of us.”

He was thankful that you were with him, thankful that you had put in so much effort into reigniting the Christmas spark in him. At times he had a funny way of showing it, but he was appreciative more than you’d ever know that you were there with him.

“I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong, don’t worry,” he whispered, running his hand through your hair.

You smiled at his touch, staring up at the television. “Maybe we could watch a Christmas film tonight, try and get you in the spirit a bit more?”

“I refuse to watch any other Christmas film than Elf, as long as you promise we can watch Elf, I’ll happily watch something with you.”

“Elf it is in that case then.”

---

Masterlist

[pastelsandpining]

Bittersweet

Previous | Next

Summary: Link stays a moment with a friend to think about the princess and her valiant, endless fight against evil incarnate--and what she might mean to him.

Words: 2112

Warnings: questioning of faith, survivor’s guilt if you squint, let me know if there’s anything I missed, it’s kind of just super bittersweet haha

Masterlist

Please do not comment anything HWAOC related as I do not want to be spoiled! :)

______

“Master Link, are you alright?”

The Rito bard meant well. He was one of the many who’d been nothing but kind and helpful towards him since the very beginning. Yet his question made Link pause the drumming of his fingers against the wooden platform and frown.

“I’m just thinking,” he decided to say as he looked up.

“Ah,” sighed the bard, who turned his gaze towards the vast expanse of Hyrule. “Yes, happens to the best of us. Would you perhaps like some company?”

Link shrugged with a gesture to the open area besides him. 

“I apologize if I overwhelmed you with my song,” spoke Kass again as he took a seat. “But I suppose everything is a little overwhelming.”

“That’s generous,” Link replied simply and busied his fingers with the Sheikah Slate. He tapped through the compendium, through the photo album, through the map, just to have something to look at other than his friend. And after a moment of thought, he shuffled back from the edge of the platform. “She’d kill me herself if I dropped this.”

“Do you remember much about her?” Kass asked, ending another stretch of silence. 

Link frowned again, tracing the swirling patterns with his fingers. What could he say, really?

Everything from the mossy trees to the breath that sustained life carried the Princess of Hyrule with it. There were bits of her everywhere. 

She was nothing more than another ghost in the beginning—a face he couldn’t make out, a voice that called from nothing, a girl he should know but could not recall. But when he stood under the arching gate of Lanayru Promenade, with the overgrown grass scratching his boots and chilled wind from the mountain biting his nose, her face became as clear as crystal.

And suddenly, every petal of a Silent Princess carried her name, and every gust of wind echoed her voice, and every touch of the sun’s light mimicked her smile, and every Hot Footed Frog was a hypothesis, and every piece of Sheikah technology he uncovered was her passion, and every drop of rain was her grief, and every deactivated guardian was a totem of her power, and every glance towards the castle was a token of her love.

There were glimpses of her hiding a smile behind her hand. There were glimpses of her fingers brushing so softly against his that he wasn’t sure any of it was real. There were glimpses of his fingers tracing gentle lines over the shapes of her face while she slept. A kiss, light as a feather, to the inside of her wrist. A grab of her hand as they ran for safety. She was the heartbeat that kept Hyrule alive, and there were so few who knew that—but he did.

“She’s everywhere,” Link answered softly, wondering vaguely if she could see him or hear him from the confines of her prison. If she could, the wind was quiet.

Kass gave no response, but his gaze was something understanding, and he was compelled to continue speaking.

“I don’t remember everything,” he said and fiddled with the Slate again. “I don’t think I ever will. I didn’t know where to start at first. But she left me pictures and now everything reminds me of her. Sometimes she’s the only thing I know, and I don’t even know her.”

“Would you like to?” Kass asked, as if he really had a choice in the matter.

“I don’t even know if she’s alive,” Link spoke, but it wasn’t quite true. He couldn’t be certain, but a part of him simply felt that Zelda was, somehow, very much alive. It came with every warning she whispered out when the blood red moon was high in the sky. It came with every tap to the Sheikah Slate, which she once held and studied so dearly. It came with every glance towards Hyrule Castle, and each feeling of dread, of guilt that it caused. It came with every memory of her, whether she be submerged in a spring or invested in her studies. It came with the very life that filled the kingdom—the life that she’d been draining herself of for the past century.

“She is stronger than anyone gave her credit for. I would love to meet her.”

“She’s smart,” Link added, turning his gaze back to the ancient piece of technology in his hands. “Too smart. Research was her passion, and all that remains of it is with me. I hate to keep her waiting.”

“For you, Master Link, I believe she would wait however long it takes.”

If it were possible, she would. But fighting took so much that she didn’t have a forever to give. She’d served enough time.

“You said she loved me,” Link spoke at last. The words made his heart twist violently, like it wanted to wring out all of the pain. 

“Loves, yes,” Kass said softly, setting a feathered wing on his shoulder. “She loves many things and many people, and she loves very deeply. I believe it was my teacher’s one mistake—her sacrifice was not solely for you. Yet one does not throw themselves into the aim of a kill without harboring a deep connection.”

Link turned his gaze towards the castle again, wondering not for the first time if perhaps he’d loved her too. He woke with nothing, with hardly a name to himself, and still he followed her. She was but an echo in a vast and darkened tomb, and still he was compelled to listen to her, to obey her, to call out to this being that filled him with such a foreign familiarity. He’d never met her—not in this Hyrule, but he craved getting her back from the thing that had separated them a century ago. And he knew that simply being a knight devoted to his kingdom didn’t sink this far. Her voice was a comfort, her face in his memories was a safety he didn’t know he’d lost, and a simple knight attendant wouldn’t dream to see her smile, rumored as warm as the sun, with his own eyes.

And faintly, he could remember the feeling of her lips on his—a moment of clarity in what must’ve been the worst birthday on record. Goddesses, what he wouldn’t do to have her back.

“Can you love someone you don’t know?” Link wondered aloud, watching the clouds move slowly over the darkening backdrop of the sky. 

“There are little rules that love follows. Once you accept that, I think, then answers come easy.”

A soft sigh slipped past his lips. Kass was right of course, just as he always was, even if he didn’t know what to say to someone with a situation as twisted as his.

He knew Zelda before, had loved her before—and if the demon of destruction Calamity Ganon had become could surpass lifetimes on hatred alone, then why couldn’t love last past a century? It made him all the more anxious to end this, because only then would he know for sure. Only seeing her before him, feeling if she was truly solid, would answer his questions. And she was the only tie he had to his life over one hundred years ago.

“And if I fail? Again?” Link asked, and the weight of the Master Sword doubled, like the burden had never left his shoulders after all—because it hadn’t.

Everyone he’d met, they were all depending on him. And if he failed, then the events of a century ago would repeat. There would be no resurrection shrine this time, no sacred princess to hold the Calamity back as they waited for their hero. 

“I believe our fates have been set out long before us. There’s no changing what the goddesses have in store. Whatever happens was always meant to happen, and no fault for that lies on your shoulders, Master Link.”

“Would they let their kingdom burn?” Link said, gripping the Slate so tightly that his knuckles whitened. “Would they turn their backs on us again, on Zelda, after we’ve done nothing but show them loyalty?”

“Do you believe they would?”

He turned his gaze away, because he did. They’d already done so in the years they ignored Zelda’s pleadings. They’d already done so by allowing the slaughtering of Hyrule as their princess begged and cried for those same people to be saved. They’d done so by making their goddess incarnate wonder whether or not she was meant to be who she was. And they’d done so by ripping him from her grasp, then dropping him back into existence with nothing but a body and a deep, foreign sense of grief. And maybe this anger, this blame he felt towards the goddesses was not helping them to grant him the kindness he knew he needed for this journey. They’d taken everything from him, and now they expected him to turn to them for help and grovel at their feet and beg them to save their own kingdom.

How cruel the deities could be.

“It’s alright,” Kass continued, as if he simply knew. “I think everyone doubts their faith at times. With the suffering you’ve endured, how could you not?”

“What do you think?” Link asked. “About the gods.”

For once, the bard did not have an immediate reply. He hummed as he thought, and Link took to watching the first few stars peek through the dusk. A light twinkling at the end of the darkness. The irony was not lost on him.

“I think the more time that passes, the more clouded it becomes,” the Rito said at last. “The details of the goddesses become fuzzy, and we take to retelling victories alone. I think the gods of our world are very old, and communications have dwindled even in hours like these because they, too, are tired. But I know that we will never truly understand the gods. Oh, we may have our theories, but they have existed far longer than us.”

Link wondered partially if that was true. The sword told the tale of a thousand lifetimes, with a hero’s spirit tied to each one. And with every hero, there was a daughter of Hylia to go with them.

At this point, living a century after the time he once belonged in, he absolutely felt like a god that had lived forever. 

“I’m angry,” Link admitted, though he was sure he didn’t have to. “I’m angry they turned their back on us, and I’m angry for Zelda—that she’s had to fight alone for the past century after everything else she’d been through.”

“Are you also not fighting alone?” Kass asked. 

“No.” His reply was immediate, coming without a second thought, because he’d never truly been alone for any of this. Even before he met his newfound friends, Zelda guided him. And he could do no more than whisper into the air and hope that it carried on the winds to her, and that she was listening. “I’m not alone.”

“Neither is she,” the bard assured. “As long as there are people who remember her, and as long as you stand with intentions to help her, she will never be alone.”

The words made his voice catch and his lip tremble, so Link ducked his head and fiddled with the gloves over his hands. 

Zelda deserved the world as soon as she got out of her prison. It was time he stopped with his fears, because she was counting on him. All of Hyrule was counting on him—again. And he needed her like he’d known her his whole life.

“You'll be the first to meet her,” Link promised as he glanced to his friend. “She’ll love you.”

“It would be my honor, truly. And perhaps then I will write my own song about a boy who traversed mountains and deserts for the girl he held dear, and a girl who brought destruction to its knees for the people she loved.”

Link cracked a smile and said, “As long as I’m the first to hear it.”

“Oh, of course.”

He turned his gaze back towards the sky. The moon was just beginning to peak over the horizon, as big and white and calming as it belonged. He wondered vaguely if, wherever she was within that castle, she could see it too.

“I think I do love her,” he said softly.

“And there is no shame in that,” Kass replied. Another feathered wing was set upon his shoulder. He was grateful for the comfort. “I have faith that you will get her back for us. For you.”

“I’ll do anything.”

And he meant it.

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

[clintbartonswife]

i’d trade my life for yours

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier Summary: Jaskier will be loyal to Geralt until his last breath, this he swears. Notes: im sorry. descriptions of torture. mentions rape (not graphic in the slightest, more like an allusion, but tagged it just to be safe), major character death. This is the bad ending, for a nicer ending read the series below :) masterlist  || nicer ending (p2)

Jaskier had always felt too much, falling a little bit in love with almost everyone he meets. The seamstress from Beauclair with the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, the knight from Kerack who had muscles the size of Jaskier’s head, the innkeeper and his wife from Rinde who had the warmest smiles he had ever seen.

All loves that he treasured, yet let go after a night or two, the heartache keeping him company until he found another gorgeous person to fall for.

When he finds Geralt at the ripe age of 18 it’s different, for once the bard doesn’t want to leave, a nagging feeling pulling him along the path by the Witcher’s side.

His love grows easily, from that of shallow appreciation of his honey golden eyes to a fierce want to protect his love from those that scorn him in every village they visit, a need to nurture the fragile relationship they were building.

It’s only Jaskier’s luck that the only person to ever intrigue him enough to stay seems to want him to leave, impenetrable walls built around his heart.

So, Jaskier writes songs of their travels, being respectful of Geralt’s boundaries whilst still trying to provide as much tender love and care as he could without scaring the Witcher, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love.

Everything starts to go wrong after the djiin.

He watches through the window as his heart breaks with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, the Witchers disinterest (which he had assumed was general Witchery distance) suddenly making more sense - he just didn’t like Jaskier.

Still the bard stayed, sewing his heart back together with every step he took beside the Witcher. His affectionate touches didn’t falter, not allowing his own personal hurt to affect his Geralt negatively. He still deserved as much softness as he could bring himself to provide - Melitele knows Yennefer wasn’t providing that.

Jaskier funnelled all of his creative energy in to his songs, more and more of them staying in his private notebook, too personal to be sung in front of Geralt, let alone the general public.

After each time they met with Yennefer, Jaskier was there to pick up the broken pieces the Witch left behind, baring the brunt of Geralt’s bad mood for a week after she had gone, heart chipping a little more each time as his hatred for the woman grows.

The last straw was the dragon hunt. The whistling winds whipping Jaskier’s hair in his eyes as Geralt’s words lashed out at him, vicious and hateful.

In the following two weeks, Jaskier drank to forget, falling back into old habits and into strangers beds with a new desperation.

The young farmer with hazel eyes - not as beautiful as Geralt’s. The miller’s daughter with blonde hair - not light enough.

The people begin to blend together, yet it doesn’t work. The heartbreak still radiates through his body, numbing him from any other emotion.

He’s too drunk to register that Cintra has fallen.

Too drunk to hear the rumours of the bounty on his head.

Too drunk to notice the Nilfgaardian soldiers entering the tavern.

Too drunk to defend himself against their arms that steal him away that night.

When he awakens the next morning, head throbbing with the familiar pain of a hangover, Jaskier is hit with a wave of nausea.

Turning his head to the side, he reaches for the bed-side table, blanching when he finds his arms restrained. It takes a few seconds to register that he’s in unfamiliar surroundings: the distinctly tavern smell (of weak ale and piss) gone, the slightly scratchy linens of the bed replaced with a hard wood surface.

Unrestrained panic swelled up in the bard’s chest, his instincts kicking in as he tried to mimic sleep.

‘Just breathe slowly, keep your eyes closed and stay calm’ repeated through his brain, sounding suspiciously like Geralt’s voice.

“-the bastard up yet?”

“He wasn’t the last time I checked, no sir”

“And no sign from the Witcher?”

“None sir”

Jaskier heard a scoff as the door opened, two sets of feet stopping at the side of the chair. Unnerving silence fell for a few seconds, before a heavy kick was given to his ribs, punching the air from his lungs in a loud exhale.

“Now listen here, bard” the bigger of the two men all-but-growled, looming over Jaskier as the singer blinked heavily to clear the daze that had settled over him, “We’re going to make this real simple. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we wont kill you”

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Jaskier considered his options, “What is it that you want to know?”

Another scoff.

“Maybe he’s not so useless after all” the tall man sneered, exchanging an amused glance with the man stood in the corner, “Tell us where the Butcher of Blaviken is”

Self preservation was forgotten as the nickname stirred up anger deep inside Jaskier, the unfairness choking him, “I’m afraid I don’t know any butchers, not the biggest fan of hanging around long enough in towns long enough to befriend anyone in that profession I’m afraid”

That earnt him a sharp slap, the sting helping to ground him.

“Don’t try to be smart. Where is the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia?”

“Oh, I do know him” Jaskier answered, tone kept light and conversational, “Of course I haven’t seen him in months so I’m afraid I’m really of no use to you gentlemen”

Another slap.

“Now that must be a lie. Why would the Witcher leave his little whore behind?”

Now that one stung, the frown forming on Jaskier’s face before he could stop it.

“Aw, struck a chord with that, did I? He found someone else I assume - though Melitele knows how anyone can lay with a monster like -”

Rage finally overflowing, Jaskier spat in the man’s face, “How dare you call him a monster. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be”

A bitter chuckle, followed by a punch that left the bard tasting copper.

“I think you might actually be in love with that thing” he said, amused, “That just makes this all the more fun”

Jaskier held eye contact with the man, glowering as he slowly spat out the pooled blood onto the floor.

“Tell me where he is”

“No”

Two punches to his stomach, and a hard kick to his shin.

“My sister hurt me worse than that for stealing her brush when we were seven” Jaskier sneered.

“Where is he”

A backhand across the face, followed by three hard kicks to his ribs.

“Toss a coin to your-”

Another heavy kick to his stomach, winding him slightly as he keeled forward, a burning pain spreading over his chest.

“Oh valley of plenty” he wheezed, forcing his head back up to stare at his captor’s face.

The day carried on very much the same, Jaskier working through his repertoire of songs as he was beaten black and blue, the lyrics keeping him focused and alert.

The man in the corner just stood and watched, his silent presence looming over the beating.

“I must say” Jaskier eventually huffed, directing his words at the man in the corner, “Your indifference to this situation is highly annoying. Are you not enjoying the performance?”

His question was met with another heavy hit to his stomach, the skin there surely covered in a patchwork quilt of forming bruises.

“You bore me”

The voice was cold, cutting through the pain like a knife and replacing all feeling in his body with the need to flee, an innate wrongness surrounding the man.

He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”

The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.

They’re going to slit my throat, Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain, this is it.

The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.

No. No this was so much worse.

He could handle pain. He could handle taunting words and harsh treatment. The one thing Jaskier couldn’t handle was fucking mages.

“No - “ he gasped, voice distorted by the angle of his head, “please-”

Yellow eyes. Lips curled in to a snarl.

The mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

No. No no no no no no no. Not this. Anything but this.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, its you, shoveling it?”

White hair. Curled fists.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”

Wet eyes. Shattered heart. A wasted life.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

And it looped. Again, and again, and again,

“Ready to talk, bard?”

His eyes fluttered open, eyelids heavy, fighting to remain closed.

“Fuck. You” he hissed, words mangled through gritted teeth.

The mage smirked, fingers reaching for his temple again, “Very well. It seems like one hour wasn’t enough”

The last thought Jaskier had before being pulled back to the mountain was one of horror, that one hour had felt like an entire day.

When he came to once more, Geralt’s voice still ringing in his ears, Jaskier realised there was a new man in the otherwise empty room.

“Going to talk yet little birdy?” the man asked, voice far too light for the circumstances, his posture reminiscent of those that approached him in taverns with hopes of charming him into bed that night.

The realisation occurred to him as he noticed his hands were free, a rusty cot added to the corner of the room.

“No” he whispered, the horror palpable in his tone.

“Well that’s too bad” the man sneered, his too-rough hands dragging him out of the chair and towards the cot.

The irony was that in that moment Jaskier would’ve given anything to have been back on that mountain, Geralt blaming him for everything, rather than be faced with his current reality.

Of course, the mage wasn’t kind enough for that.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how many days had passed since his capture.

What he did know was this: his throat was too sore to speak, ruined from both abuse and lack of water; his body was so mottled that it looked like he had begun rotting, greenish-yellow marks covering almost every inch of his skin; his back shredded by the impromptu whipping session earlier that morning; and he wasn’t sure he could muster a smile, even if informed of the untimely and gruesome death of Valdo Marx.

But, no matter what they threw at him, he would not betray Geralt.

He had made this vow to himself during a quiet moment on (what he guessed was) the second day, that no matter what faced him - be it further torture, mutilation and eventually death - he would not speak a word of the little information he knew.

He may have ruined Geralt’s life, may have annoyed him with his incessant and unwelcome company, but one thing Jaskier could give him now was his undying loyalty, the one thing that no one could take away from him.

They wouldn’t take away his love.

So he breathed steadily as he looked as his hands, tied down firmly to the arms of the chair, taking in every detail of the calloused fingers that made him the famous bard that he was today.

“Last chance. Where is the Witcher”

Jaskier just grinned, the smile bloody and insincere.

“Fucking your mother I would imagine” he croaked, withholding the wince of pain from the strain on his throat, instead widening his grin at the look of anger on the man’s face.

With a growl, the man brought the hammer down heavily on Jaskier’s left ring finger, smiling sickeningly at the bard’s agonised scream.

“Where is he?”

Head fuzzy with pain, Jaskier scowled and spat his blood in the man’s eyes.

The sickening crunch of bone echoed around the small room, Jaskier’s scream ringing out as another two fingers were smashed.

The line of questioning continued until all of his fingers were unrecognisable, the bard humming ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ through tears as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“What a shame” the captor said, fake sympathy swimming in his cold eyes, “Looks like you’re worth even less than you were when we found you. What worth is a bard if he cant play anymore?”

The man pretended to think, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Of course! A brothel worker!” He paused, tutting again and shaking his head, “No you cant even be that, we’ve made you far too ugly”

Jaskier tried to ignore his words, focusing on his rattling lungs instead, forcing them to inhale and exhale.

Unconsciousness crept forward, the pain finally overwhelming him, Jaskier falling into it’s open arms gladly.

“-cher isn’t coming for him. We’ve had the word out for two weeks and got nothing”

The words drifted in to Jaskier’s cell, the conversation prying him from sleep.

“So what do we do? The bard’s not talking”

“We were meant to give a destination by yesterday”

“So we make one up, blame the bard when it comes back empty”

“… That could work”

“Then I’m guessing we kill him afterwards?”

“Theres no reason to keep him”

“Well-”

“You’re not using army funds to feed just so he can be your personal whore, Cahir would skin you alive if he found out”

Jaskier huffed a laugh at that - the realisation that his worth had finally been reduced to what his father had called him all those decades ago, ‘a worthless whore’, ‘useless to polite society’.

The conversation carried on, though Jaskier’s mind drifted, thoughts racing yet head surprisingly clear. He shifted in his seat, only slightly to the left, wincing as the healing whip wounds on his back pulled open again, the stinging pain keeping him tethered to consciousness.

Not for the first time, he wondered where Geralt was. Safe, that he was sure of, hidden from the greedy eyes of the Nilfgaardian army if their unhappiness was anything to go off of.

Had he found Cirilla yet?

Was Roach okay?

Was he taking proper care of himself?

And - in even his lowest moments - he found himself wondering how Yennefer was.

If she was handling the break-up better than he did.

If she was safe, happy, looked after.

Or maybe, perhaps even back with Geralt. The three of them playing happy families while Jaskier rotted in a cell and waited for a hapless death.

Being on your deathbed gave you a lot of perspective, Jaskier had realised, and he found it hard to even hate Valdo on occasion (until he regained some energy from a piece of stale bread thrown at him and immediately felt disgusted that the thought had even crossed his mind).

As the fog in his brain seemed to seep into his dimming vision, his thoughts returned to Geralt’s eyes.

“Goodnight my love”

The news reached Geralt as they were passing a backwater town. 

“The bard Jaskier - I swear it was! They dragged him out t’wards the Nilfgaard base”

“Tom stop jabbering, they would’a been shouting that from the rooftops if they got ‘im”

Coldness seeped into the Witcher’s bones as the words registered in his brain, his eyes flying to Yennefer. The sorceress was looking at him with pity in her eyes.

“I can try scrying-”

“Please”

Ciri watched in awe as Yennefer set up her equipment that night in their camp, bouncing with barely restrained curiosity at all the new instruments that the mage seemed to summon from nowhere.

The young princess’ enthusiasm calmed Geralt slightly, focusing on her youthful movements instead of the dread that settled over him at the thought of Jaskier’s current situation, guilt hitting him every few minutes as he replayed their last conversation.

‘If life could give me one blessing-’

“He’s in Neunreuth” Yennefer said, looking up with a solemn expression, “in a Nilfgaardian fortress”

“They were right” the Witcher breathed, utterly defeated.

“So we’re going to get him right?” Ciri asked, enthusiasm now dampened by the morose mood emanating from the two adults.

“Of course” 

Yennefer quirked her eyebrow at his firm reply, before nodding in agreement, “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow”

Geralt knew the second he stepped out of the portal that something was wrong.

“He cant be here” he thought aloud, “It’s been abandoned”

Yennefer frowned, her expression telling him everything she refused to say out loud, “He’s here”

“No”

Striding forwards, the Witcher advanced on the old manor house, nose picking up on the scent of Jaskier’s blood the second he reached the front door.

“No!”

Strides turned in to a sprint as he chased the scent, denial still swirling through his brain as he got closer and closer to the muted wildflower scent. 

“Jaskier”

The name fell from his lips as his knees gave out from under him, the sight of his bard’s limp body hanging from the chair punching all the breath from him. The smell of rusted blood was overwhelming, a pool in the corner dating back months.

Geralt sat there, disgusted by himself as he imagined how long Jaskier had waited for him to come and rescue him, how long he had stayed faithful to a monster.

He wasn't worth Jaskier’s life.

He wasn't aware he was crying until Yennefer laid a hand on his shoulder, “Geralt-”

“No” he hissed, struggling to his feet and moving over to the bard, “he cant be dead - he -”

Eyes wild, he turned around to face the sorceress, rising to his full height, “Fix him. I know you can - you did it last time”

“Geralt-”

Anger overtaking him, he pulled Jaskier’s limp body into his arms, unaware of how much his own hands were shaking.

“FIX HIM. YOU NEED TO FIX HIM NOW”

“Geralt stop”

“YOU NEED TO FIX HIM” he shouted, falling to his knees again, cradling the cold body in his arms as he sobbed, “Please fix him, Yen I need - I need you to fix him please”

The woman sighed, brushing a hand over Jaskier’s temple, looking for any sign of life.

“He’s gone"

Geralt’s cries could be heard in the next village over, lasting well into the night.

Not long after, tales of the White Wolf, Princess of Cintra and the Raven Sorceress were spread far and wide, the image of Cahir’s head on a stick engraved in the public’s minds.

[casvist]

hello my lovely peaches , *puts my clown wig on bcs i’m shy* i’m back at it again, being a greedy bitch and bringing you my second  and super fake muse, yeva.  remember that part where the darkling’s fake ass pretended to be all nice and wholesome. well, yeva is faker than that. she probably has severe back pain from single handedly carrying all her lies on her back. anyway, i could slander her more but i will probably do that later. if you want to plot please LIKE this post or IM me/message me on discord and i’ll bring some clown shoes and ask for some plotting ( but in.... greedy )

PINTEREST  . PROFILE .    BIO (tba) .  VIKTORIYA.     discor*d     six of hoes🔪#7888

[ yeva zudina ], an [ twenty-eight ] year old grisha in the little palace. she is a [ tidemaker ] and are known in the little palace as the [ mountebank ]. they are known to be [ adaptable ] and [ devious ] and vaguely resemble [ davika hoorne ]. 

( okay my soc ass had to make her grow up in ketterdam i’m sorry )

- before yeva knew that she was a tidemaker, she was what one might call an “ordinary” girl in ketterdam. ( as far as anyone can be ordinary in ketterdam )

- as many people living there, she didn’t really have the best time of her life there. her father, well, he was just a name causing an uncomfortable silence whenever one would mutter it. her mother, she tried her best to survive in that hellhole. although, yeva knew how much her did for her, the only person she really could get close to was her step-sibling. ( a wc i’ll elaborate more on when i’m finally requesting that wc). though not bound by blood, they meant the world to yeva and little yeva felt as if she had to protect her from whatever was lurking in ketterdam’s (shady) alleyways.

- despite of her noble intentions, realistically she wasn’t strong. and how so? no one taught her how to protect herself and she was still a child. however, yeva didn’t want to wait around for nothing. instead, she decided to take matters into her own hands and looking back this idea was really stupid, but she wholeheartedly believed that messign with some other kids would be a brilliant way to improve her combat skills ( all my muses have to be stupid at some point i’m sorry, theyre all dumb)

- of course this plan failed terribly ( and instead she was the one getting her ass beaten  ).  luckily someone witnessed that (comedic) unfortunate scene and helped yeva out. and this somehow became the turning point of her life. yeva, completely awe-struck with the stranger, wanted to know more about him. truth to be told, he didn’t do much and his presence alone somehow scared the kids away ( poor kids almost got into a fight with a grown-ass man) but yeva didn’t really care. turned out he was a drüskelle (retired though (as much as one can), thus he didn’t really have to rely on any grisha “magic”, something yeva really admired.

- long story short, he not only became a mentor to yeva ( who successfully convinced him to show her some “cool” drüskelle tricks) but also a father-figure. yeva really trusted him and his beliefs also became hers. which we might say weren’t exactly grisha friendly. at first she didn’t get why he hated grisha so much, to her they didn’t seem too bad but as time passed his words left a mark.

- however, what actually made her end up despising grisha was a certain incident. as much as this day affected yeva, everything happened within a second. a short moment of exchanged laughter, cruelly disrupted by two grisha. tidemakers ( a cruel twist of irony ) . looking back at it now, yeva figured that these two grisha had a long and unresolved grudge against him ( which wasn’t too surprising with him being a drüskelle) and had their eye on him ever since. 

- to put it briefly, yeva was forced to witness the death of someone whom she considered a father to her. yet, fate couldn’t be more cruel on her and it was also the moment her abilities were triggered , and , of course, she turned out to be a grisha as well. make it worse. a tidemaker.

- skipping over all the formalities (bcs this is getting too long) and luck not really being on her side she was brought to the little palace. her mother wasn’t too surprised and knowing that yeva wouldn’t have a future here at ketterdam, she thought that ravka was far more appealing.

- yeva wasn’t happy of course. not only was she forced to be with the people who she despised she herself was one. at first, she refused to do anything at all, she didn’t mind if she were to be punished for her stuborness. no one knew why she was behaving this way, they just shrugged it off as her being a spoiled brat refusing to be useful. yeva, however, didn’t continue to be like this forever and what happened next surpirsed everyone. suddenly, she was eager to train and improved quickly. all they saw was a hardworking grisha but what they didn’t know was that yeva’s intentions weren’t noble. 

- instead of wasting her time at pitying and hating herself, she realized that she was at the perfect place to learn everything about her ‘enemies’. 

- basically, she has that grand plan of trying to destroy things from within, being the wolf in sheep’s clothing (cutting this short bcs this is getting long again). 

personality

- honestly, as i’ve mentioned before she’s fake. and not in that way where she’ll just pretend to smile and go on with her day, she really goes out her way in acting as if she was the sweetest and kindest girl out there. however, everthing she does serves some purpose. she helps you with some training ? she gives you some advice on a personal matter ? she compliments you on your smile ? lets say she doesn’t do it out of kindness. not when you’re a grisha. of course, she isn’t perfect at keeping this act up all the time.  and if one pays a little more attention to her actions, they can see her facade crumbling. still, where vika is all about being straight-forward and accidentally hurting one’s feeling without meaning it, yeva is all about sugar-coating when she needs to but also deliberately using one’s weakness against them.

traits ( adding some bcs i want to redeem her a little bit but i also don’t respect her so..) 

[+] adaptable, decisive, loyal , observant 

[-] ruthless, doesn’t think through consequences, blindly faithful, intrusive

headcanons

- tba ( but i just had to add that yeva prbly wouldn’t hesitate to push someone from the ship when they’d travel through the shadow fold.)

- every time she must do more than simply tolerating grisha, like saying that they’re great she probably loses one year of her life

- trying to keep her reputation yeva is known to give exceptionally good advice

- as much as she despises that “grisha magic” she believes in things like card reading, fortune telling and is quite faithful to the saints (regardless of being grisha or not)

connections

someone who sees through her (shit) facade and unlike everyone else who perceives yeva as that sweet angel, they find her suspicious and doesn’t trust her.

a grisha who is the complete opposite of what yeva think they are and might as well be someone yeva tolerates and might add that 0.1% of character development 

listen an unrequited love bcs i’m laughing at the idea that someone might fall for her super fake persona and the more time they spend with her they start to realize that it is just an act.

someone who turns for advice to yeva bcs of her reputation

*sneakily puts my step sibling connection here so if u r intreested hmu ;) but i’ll also request it later but rn i’m too lazy*

HONESTLY EVERYTHING i love angsty and dramatic shit, but i’m super open for other ideas bcs my two braincells need that wonderful input and inspo so gimme all the connections PLS !!! *types this in thirsty for all ur wonderful muses*

[sleep-i-ness]

Therapy (Bucky Barnes x reader)

For @just-trying-to-survive-marvel​‘s 500 writing challenge

Prompt: “I don’t need your help. You’ve already done enough”

A/N: Is it bad to say how much I hated writing the end of this? It’s not edited because I just finished it but I hope you enjoy (please leave feedback) <3

Bucky had adopted the habit of carrying around a small black moleskin notebook on his regular walks spent exploring the ins and outs of New York City. Having spent so much of his life in and out of the cryochambers, brainwashed and mindless, nothing made sense in this strange new world. Some days he forgot where he was, thinking he was back in the 1930s with small, fragile Steve, who he needed to look after. Others, nothing made sense anymore, fragments of half-coherent thoughts flitting through his mind as he stared blankly at the wall in his dimly lit room. Those days he didn’t get out of bed until Steve dragged him out, sighing as he saw the brooding confusion brewing in Bucky’s mind. The rest, which lay few and far in-between, yet had been more frequent of late, were the only days where the modern world made any sense and he grabbed those opportunities with both hands. This meant he often ended up returning to the Tower many hours into the early morning, eyes shining with the day’s results as he discovered New York and how it had changed.

Steve often worried about him; the horrors of the past still haunted Bucky, and he never lost the ghosts from the past that hid behind his eyes. On his good days, Steve felt the hope inside him rekindle. Maybe one day he could have his best friend back, not the soulless husk that wandered around aimlessly nor the one stuck firmly in the past. The way Bucky’s eyes sparkled as he recounted the tall tales of the crazy trouble he had got himself caught up in reminded Steve of Bucky’s boxing days back in the ‘30s, where he would be wrapped up in his stories of the ring, adding elaborations wherever he could to make his adventures seem more interesting. Nearly always, they ended up with him victoriously defeating his opponent after a long and arduous struggle. Bucky had enjoyed painting himself to be the hero in these situations. Steve couldn’t ignore the irony, considering the unspeakable horrors HYDRA had put him through and terrible crimes he had been forced to commit. On Bucky’s bad days, Steve felt despair curl into its familiar spot in his heart.

Some part of him couldn’t let go of the image he had in his mind of his best friend and this new version just didn’t live up to what he expected him to be. Steve knew that was messed up. Of course, Buck was different. Being a brainwashed assassin for 70 years would do that. But thanks to the help of their friends in Wakanda, he’d been assured that all the brainwashing had been removed. Therefore, he’d hoped that the Bucky he’d known would return. And that all would go back to how it had been; him and Buck together through everything.

When he hadn’t, Steve could barely bear to be around him. Bucky hated to admit it, but it hurt. Knowing that his best friend was constantly disappointed in who he was. Seeing the corny smile slip off his face and his brow furrow when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking. Hence, Bucky tried to stay out for as long as possible, roam as far away from the Tower before Steve’s helicopter parent instincts kicked in. It was almost ironic that little Steve, well, not so little anymore, was the one looking out for him.

It should have been the other way round.

Therapy had been a word that Steve had offered up one day, accompanied with a shy smile. The team had a great one and Steve had been sure that no one would mind if Bucky booked a slot with her, he’d assured firmly. And thus, Bucky had instantly agreed, if not only to keep that smile on Steve’s face for a bit longer. To offer him hope that maybe one day he’d become the man Steve so desperately wanted him to be. The beaming grin in response had made the decision worthwhile; he wasn’t sure if he’d seen Steve that happy since regaining some sort of control over his brain again. He just hoped that he’d achieve whatever high expectation Steve held for this session.

Which was why Bucky was here. Opposite you, wearing a thick sweater in the summer sun to cover up his arm and lessen any fears you may have in response to seeing him. He had to remind himself that although you were a therapist, you were still just a civilian. And the media had not been kind to him.

“So, Mr Barnes, would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?” Your question takes him by surprise, that much is obvious in the small movement of his eyebrows, although the rest of him stays perfectly composed. He didn’t know what to expect from therapy, maybe something a bit more Good Will Hunting-esque. Or simply some talking, a Eureka-like moment and all problems instantly solved.

“Um, coffee would be nice… thank you. Black, no sugar.” When you got up to make it, he was even more confused. Why wouldn’t you just have a pot ready? Surely it would detract from the time with the client to have to fiddle around with the pot and sorting out the coffee granules.

The silence as they both waited for the pot to boil was deafening and Bucky soon found himself looking around the tiny yellow room with its monochromatic knick-knacks. Everything in here was sleek, almost succinct in its manner of serving a purpose and nothing more. The plain blue and white clock on the wall was geometric and placed directly next to three perfectly straight wooden shelves, each one painted a cool white.

Once the pot had boiled, Bucky found himself holding a steaming mug with a soppy depiction of a cartoon duckling on it. I Love Ducks More Than Humans, it loudly proclaimed. It felt out of place in this impersonal room, filled with items of purpose not decoration.

“Mr Barnes-”

“Please, call me Bucky.” He interrupted instinctively, smiling to ease the rudeness of his outburst. “Mr Barnes was my father and Lord knows how long he’s been dead.”

“Bucky, would you mind telling me what brought you to therapy?” Your grin is easy and genuine, putting him at ease as he leans back into the couch.

What had brought him to therapy? Bucky wasn’t sure of the answer himself; he didn’t have much of a reason except trying to change himself for Steve. But that wasn’t the answer you would be looking for, and there was no need to add another potential problem to his already mile-long list, starting with daddy issues, skimming over the numerous previous job-related traumas and now ending at fear of not being enough for his best friend. “I suppose it was Steve. He was worried for me and suggested therapy, so I wanted to give it a try.”

“But what do you want to get out of therapy? Not what your friend wants, you personally.”

Bucky hesitated. He knew that opening up would be good, and something about the simplicity of the place made it feel a lot easier to tell the whole truth to someone. “I don’t feel like myself, or who I used to be anymore. I’ve changed but people don’t seem able to see that.”

“I understand. It must be really difficult to not feel understood, can you tell me more?” Your voice was sweet, coaxing him to say more. It made his skin crawl, he felt like he was back at HYDRA with one of their ‘therapists’ who would coerce him into revealing information he wasn’t supposed to know and then they would wipe him, the excruciating pain reminding him that he couldn’t trust a therapist.

But these sessions were meant to help him. And so, he went back the next week, nodding with a fixed smile when Steve asked him how they were going. ‘Great.’ And the grin that Stevie gave him made it all seem like a good idea. Even though he felt like a cornered animal in the sessions.

It wasn’t your fault. You were lovely as far as he was concerned, but the way you spoke to him to get him to open up made him want to dive out the nearest window just to escape. And all this simmering frustration came to a head when you asked him a pointedly blunt question, nothing like the previous ones that had all danced around the topic.

“Bucky, I can tell that you’d rather not be here and we’re not making any progress unless you talk to me. What did HYDRA do to make you so afraid of what I’m asking you?”

Bucky froze, resentment bubbling up as he tried to regulate the words that were threatening to spit themselves out of his mouth. To attack her for not knowing. How could you know? How could you not? It was all over his file, the torture he’d undergone, and you had the audacity to ask what made him ‘so afraid’.

“You know what,” Bucky grimaced, biting down hard on his tongue.

“Bucky, please. I’m here to help. Please don’t shut me out because I haven’t understood you yet.” Her eyes pleaded with him to just give it a shot and he shuddered. He’d seen that expression before. It had usually twisted into a smirk as he was dragged away for yet another excruciating memory wipe.

“Maybe I don’t want your help. Maybe I’ve just been forced to come here but it’s turning out to be useless.” He bit back, hand clenching around the porcelain mug.

Your mouth opened and closed without a sound, face pulling into an awkward smile as you tried to soothe his raised temper. The longer you kept eye contact, the further your face fell and you gulped, throat clenching harshly.

Crash. The mug was crushed between his fingers and the tension was broken. You exhaled shakily, brushing your clammy palms against your long skirt. Bucky could hear your pounding heartrate from where he sat, a good few yards away. It filled him with remorse, like a splash of water to the face. He refused to be that person anymore

“I’ll grab a dustpan.” You smiled weakly, quickly moving out of his line of vision. Bucky didn’t move an inch, eyes staring blankly at where you’d sat. A shuffling noise by his feet startled him as you crouched down, scooping the shards up. He should be the one doing that, he realised.

“I’m afraid that’s the end of our session. But I do hope that you’ll come back next week, even if it feels like we’re getting nowhere.”

Guilt gnawed at Bucky as he nodded stiffly, making his way out the door without a single word. He turned round to say something to you, but when confronted with your face, he found he was unable to.

And the next week he was back. He would compare it to a drug, his inability to quit it, but that would imply that he enjoyed or craved therapy. He liked the way Steve seemed hopeful, less cautious around him. He liked your company, in a way. But he couldn’t stand the endless questions.

He was early, sat on one of the short armchairs stationed around her office. The person before him was loud, talking angrily about not being able to deal with it anymore and how he just couldn’t look at somebody. Was therapy meant to be that aggressive sounding? Your mild-mannered voice was much fainter and Bucky physically had to stop himself from leaning in to eavesdrop.

The door slammed open only moments later, Steve storming out and you hurriedly following him. When his eyes fell upon Bucky, he deflated, feet stuttering to a halt.

“I can’t do this.” His voice cracked as he spun round to look at you, eyes wild and frantic. Bucky frowned. “Buck, I can barely look at you without feeling like a failure. I thought once you’d had the brainwashing removed, you’d be back to normal. But you’re still not and…”

Bucky’s heartbeat was deafening in his ears, blood roaring as he drowned out the rest of Steve’s excuses. His eyes focused in on your face, patronizingly, mockingly sympathetic and he clenched a fist subconsciously. Some sort of exclamation from Steve at the sight of it caused him to forcibly relax all muscles, relieving any underlying tension that might still be visible. It did nothing to quell the sickening sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, throat clenching as he tried to swallow an invisible block.

“I’m going to go.” Steve brushed past him, not even looking back once.

Did he feel any remorse? Bucky wondered, a bitter taste on his tongue. Any sadness? Guilt? Anything about telling Bucky that he couldn’t deal with this PTSD-riddled version? He never thought that Steve, who stood up to every bully and against anything and everything morally wrong, would turn his back on him just for not being the man he once was.

“Bucky?” Your tentative voice broke him out of his reverie, your vibrant yellow skirt cheerily mocking him.

“You did this.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. There was only one person who could have twisted Steve’s mind, who could have turned the one person that Bucky always thought would have his back against him.

“No.” You were defensive, suspiciously so, your posture stiff. You sighed, turning back to head into your office. “Will you come in?”

“I don’t need your help. You’ve already done enough. Aren’t you sick of destroying lives by twisting people’s emotions? Do you enjoy playing the saviour in order to create chaos?”

Your face fell at his words and Bucky felt a vindictive joy at the sight. He knew that it was unfair to enjoy seeing your cheery façade slipping, but he couldn’t help it. It was as if something deep inside him was egging on the cruel remarks on the tip of his tongue, begging him to cut deep with his words.

“Bucky, I won’t force you to come in, but my office is always a safe space for you to enter. Always.”

You turned with a forced smile, although it was more of a grimace, shoulders slumping as the door swung shut in Bucky’s face. He could hear a muffled sob through the door and a towering wave of icy guilt crashed down upon him, clearing the red haze.

He hadn’t meant to make you cry; it was just that… he wanted someone else to feel the same as he did.

He wanted someone else to get punished for Steve’s actions.

Bucky raised a metal fist, sleeve slipping down over his wrist as he hovered in front of the door. He wanted to offer some sort of apology, and comfort, because it clearly wasn’t your fault. Bucky had easily overlooked the months of awkward silences and faked smiles between him and Steve, but something had been wrong for a while.

It wasn’t your fault Steve was unable to let go of the past.

“Just give me a sec,” your voice quavered with a sniffle. A sharp burst of shame startled Bucky and he wheezed quietly, clutching at his left shoulder. The door tentatively swung open in front of him, your puffy face forcing a watery smile. “Oh. Bucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

His abrupt sentence startled you, a flicker of confusion flashing across your face. Bucky didn’t know whether he should feel worse about the fact that his apology was such a surprise to you, or just accept the fact that he’d been a complete and utter dick to you.

“It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have just blamed you because you were there. I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you and I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him owlishly.

What else did you want him to say? Bucky shifted onto his left foot, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Do you want-“ “I’m just-“

Bucky shared a hesitant chuckle with you as your sentences tripped over each other’s. He gestured for you to continue speaking, unable to help the small smile that crept onto his face.

“Do you want to come in?”

Now, sat on the little white couch, steaming mug of coffee in his hands, Bucky looked at your hopeful face. You had assured him that you hadn’t meant to push last week and that you would go at the pace he felt comfortable with. This session you were starting off with his childhood and then, slowly, over time, trying to work your way to the present. Together.

Maybe therapy wasn’t so bad.

[belphegor1982]

For the prompts challenge, Rick and Jonathan for #33 (Expectations) and/or #51 (Sport)

I almost went with the second one because I could picture them chatting during one of Alex’s cricket matches, but then I realised I’d have to actually understand cricket (and/or baseball) rules, so... There you go :D

Unexpected

(read on AO3 if you prefer!)

“‘Expect the unexpected’? What sort of a motto is that?”

“You gotta admit, it’s worked for me so far, right?”

“But you can’t expect the unexpected, that’s why it’s unexpected in the first place – oh for God’s sake, are they still shooting?”

There were worst places to be, Jonathan supposed, than hunkering down at the bottom of a narrow L-shaped passageway cut into a hillside while determined people were shooting at you. Right now, though, he couldn’t think of a single one. The only redeeming feature was the company.

“What else do you want them to do, a méchoui?”

Jonathan put aside the creeping panic for thirty seconds to prod his somewhat rusty Arabic back to life.

“A… roast?”

It was almost impossible to be sure in the darkness, but Jonathan thought Rick turned to him and grinned.

“You guys didn’t have that in Egypt? Must be Moroccan, then. I had one in Rabat once. It’s sheep cooked on a spit, with the whole family and neighbours invited. Kind of a big deal.”

“Sorry, old boy, doesn’t ring a bell. Sounds nice, though.”

Rick ducked out of their shelter for a second to shoot once, then twice into their assailants to make them keep their distance. Jonathan, whose only gun had run out of bullets about an hour ago, flattened himself against the wall to give him room. They’d been playing that little game for something like an hour now.

Why don’t you go with Rick, Evy had said, reconnoitre perhaps, and he knew his sister enough to translate it as “I really need to work on this for a while with no distractions.” Well, that was fine by him, really, as he was quite happy to let her be the Egyptologist while he got to play tourist. So he tagged along with his brother-in-law, chatting amiably, until Rick – who took his unofficial role as ‘head of security’ seriously – had decided to go investigate the next wadi and they had come face to face with a band of marauders. Since that very band had been known for picking off diggers when archaeological operations were conducted in places they didn’t like, nobody had been very civil, shots had been fired, and measures had had to be taken – viz, running like hell into the first hole in the ground Jonathan and Rick could find, hoping it led somewhere safe, or failing that, was a decent enough shelter. Too bad they couldn’t find a tunnel high enough to actually stand in.

Maybe there was something to be said for “being prepared”, as Rick had once put it. It certainly helped that the American had been carrying two pistols and quite a few clips. At least it made the raiders think twice before storming their passageway.

God, he needed a drink. Too bad his hip flask probably lay somewhere between there and Nefertari’s tomb…

“Maybe we could have something like that when the dig’s done,” said Rick as though he had not just dodged a storm of bullets so bad it had widened the bend in the passageway.

This was a really shoddy wall, Jonathan decided with the small part of himself that was not either terrified or making ironic comments from the back seat. Bullets were supposed to flatten themselves on earth and rocks, he’d seen it happen, but this wall just let itself be shredded without putting much of a fight. Frightfully bad form.

Jonathan forced himself to take a steady breath and asked, somewhat distractedly, “Something like what? I lost the thread, I’m afraid.”

“A méchoui. Something to celebrate the end of the dig and whatever discoveries Evy will have made. What do you think?”

A sarcastic retort rose in Jonathan’s mind, but he bit down on it. Behind the unnatural calm of the seasoned soldier he could hear Rick struggling to breathe evenly, just like he was.

Well. Much as he hated to admit it, Rick’s stubborn American optimism was a comfort, in its way. Maybe Jonathan could return the favour and offer a bit of English stiff upper-lip, even if he knew he was rubbish at it.

“I think it’s a jolly good idea,” he said, fighting to keep the irony to a minimum. “Give us all something to look forward to…”

His voice trailed off and he grabbed Rick’s arm in the dark.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?” came Rick’s sharp whisper.

“Shh – listen.”

What greeted their ears was silence – unexpected, complete silence.

Then it was pandemonium. Gunfire, shouts, screams, bullets ricocheting everywhere, a tumult that sent Jonathan and Rick huddling at the end of their tunnel, desperately trying to make the smallest targets possible.

It took them a while to realise silence had fallen again, until the last sound they could possibly expect finally reached them.

“Rick? Jonathan? Are you in there?”

Jonathan blinked earth from eyes he didn’t remember closing. The flickering light of a nearby torch was a stab in the brain after getting used to the darkness, but at least it allowed him to see Rick’s jaw dropping.

“Evy!?”

And then she was there, kneeling in front of them, one hand holding the torch and the other running over Rick’s face and Jonathan’s shoulders as if to make sure they really were there.

“Oh thank God,” she said fervently. “When Tariq said he’d heard shots I immediately thought of those raiders from the other day, so I rallied Saleh and Ibrahim and any of the diggers who had experience in handling guns, but I was so afraid we’d be too late…”

As usual, when she was rattled, she was unstoppable. Words tumbled out of her, pronunciation crisp and clipped but without much punctuation. It took Rick taking her hand and rubbing her forearm to get her to slow down and breathe.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart, we’re okay. You got there just in time.”

“With the cavalry in tow, no less,” added Jonathan with a somewhat shaky smile. “Since we’re all intact, against all odds, why don’t we continue this elsewhere? Preferably outside.”

He rose, miscalculated the height of the tunnel, and banged his head against a surprisingly hard and smooth surface.

“Ow! Of all the bloody—”

“Jonathan!” Evy exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Jonathan rubbed his scalp, wondering if the spots dancing in front of his eyes came from the torch or the impact.

“Yes, but as I was saying, since nobody’s shooting at us anymore I would really like to get the hell out of –”

“Wait a minute,” said Rick slowly. “Is that a wall?”

Jonathan blinked, confused.

“You mean the ceiling?”

“No,” breathed Evy, her eyes shining in the firelight. “This is stone – this was built. I think we might be standing under something, so to speak. Here, hold this.”

She handed her torch to Rick, took out a hard brush from one of her pockets, and began to clear away the dirt.

“It’s a staircase, leading into the hill! The tomb must be a much larger complex than I thought if… Oh, if I could just find an entrance –”

“Evy,” said Rick, “I’m gonna dispatch Mahmud to Luxor so the authorities can deal with the remaining raiders, and then I’m gonna send Tariq and his team to give you a hand here. Be careful in the meantime. Okay?”

“Mh-hm. I mean yes, you do that, thank you. They’ll need to prop up here and widen there –”

She was in full archaeologist mode, talking to herself as she worked, and Jonathan (who, knowing his sister like he did, was familiar with that mode and its derivatives, namely ‘scholar mode’, ‘librarian mode’, and ‘Egyptologist mode’) knew they had temporarily lost her to her passion.

“See what I meant about expectations?” asked Rick as they made their way towards the opening of the tunnel, following light that grew brighter and brighter. Jonathan gingerly shook dirt out of his hair, mindful of the lump on the top of his skull.

“No, not really. What about expectations?”

This time there was well enough light to see Rick’s four-hundred-teeth grin.

“Well,” he said, “that’s the thing about expecting the unexpected – you’re never disappointed.”

Jonathan shot him a deadpan look. Then he gave in to the smile he could feel pulling at his lips. Maybe there was something to that philosophy, after all.

“I’m going to hold you to that méchoui idea, you know,” he remarked once they finally stood in blessed, blinding sunshine, squinting like a couple of moles.

Rick laughed.

______________________

I love the brothers-in-law. Seriously. Wish there were more fics (and better written than mine) that feature the two of them bantering and being ridiculous and united in their love of Evy ♥

Incidentally, I’ve been to a méchoui or two when I was a kid – probably organised by a friend of my mum’s – and I have fond memories of it. To my young eyes it looked very impressive, that big fire against the night, people talking and laughing as we all ate.

[the-quiet-winds]

Ice in the Echo

[angst]

“Please?”

“No.”

“Come on, please?”

“No.”

Anne leans over to Katherine and whispers into the girl’s ear. Jane, from the passenger seat, is pleased that Anne has finally stopped begging.

Then, she hears a smaller, younger voice. “Please, mama?”

Jane’s head falls back against the headrest. How could she say no to her pleading daughter. She turns to look at Aragon, driving, and lifts her eyebrows.

Catherine, with a huffed sigh, pulls off the highway at the next exit and searches for the nearest convenience store. 

The road trip had started that morning, heading into the north country for a much needed holiday, as a family.

As usual, Aragon commandeered the wheel, and no one could talk her out of it, and Jane suspects it’s a little bit of fear of not having control, hence Aragon always driving the car, but she’s never truly questioned it.

It was past dinner time now, and Anne had been begging to stop somewhere to get chocolate and snacks for the hotel room they had rented for the night, and Jane had put her foot down.

But Anne knew how to bend Jane’s will, obviously, and put Kitty up to the task, and it was all over after that.

They pull into the lot of a small mart and exit under flickering streetlights. Cleves pulls her jacket tighter around her as she and Aragon huddle together for warmth, watching Anne and Katherine race towards the door.

Once inside, they disperse. Aragon and Jane stock up on basic medicine, Cleves and Parr tag-team the salty snack aisle, and Anne and Katherine head straight for the candy.

The six of them are content to snoop around for a few minutes, the only ones in the store save for the cashier, until the door opens.

That’s when everything goes horribly, horribly wrong.

There is a tiny bell over the door that chimes every time someone enters. The chime is deceivingly cheery.

So no one thinks anything of it.

Until they hear what the new customer says.

“Everythin’ in the register in the bag. Now.”

Jane’s blood runs cold. She and Aragon look to each other and slowly, very slowly, back into the next aisle to gather Cathy and Anna, then finally to the back corner with Anne and Kat.

“I’ll call the police!” The cashier yells.

There’s a terribly loud bang that shakes the ceiling. Whoever their mystery robber is, he’s shot off a warning shot, and the cashier suddenly has far less fight in him.

Aragon and Parr are clinging to each other, Anne is holding the trembling Kat, and Jane holds tight to Cleves’s hand as the six sinks to the floor and remains as silent and out of sight as possible.

“Money in the bag!” The robber repeats, a dangerous and cutting edge in his words.

They hear the register crash open, and they think they may just get out of this without him even knowing they’re there.

Well, that’s until Anne shifts ever so slightly how she was holding Katherine, causing her foot to just barely hit the bottom shelf of the unit.

She freezes, her eyes blown wide, and throws a hand over her mouth, as if that would do anything.

The world, as a whole, freezes for one, two, three heartbeats.

“Come on out,” he drawls. “It seems we have company.”

None of them move.

“Don’t be like that, unless you want to feel what this pistol can do.”

As much as they don’t want to, the six drag themselves to their feet and into the center aisle of the store. 

His smirk can be seen in his eyes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the queens,” he remarks, taking a mocking bow. “How honored I am to be in your company.”

Katherine is full on trembling at this point, barely able to even hold herself upright. Anne’s arm is tight around her waist, Jane on her other side. Parr is half-hiding behind Aragon as her godmother stands fearlessly alongside Anna. 

“Let us go.”

Surprisingly, it’s Jane that speaks.

“But you six are key pieces now, I can’t just let you go.”

He points the gun in their direction and everyone stiffens.

“Knees, now.”

They do as told as he approaches, keeping the gun aimed firmly at Jane, then Aragon, then Cleves, then back to Jane.

“I think six queens make for a wonderful little ransom, don’t you all think?”

“You know who we are,” Anne quips, “means that you have a soft spot for girl bands. Or musical theater.” She snickers. “Quite the intimidating robber.”

The next gunshot is barely six inches from her ear.

“Next one goes through your chest,” he growls.

Anne swallows, but otherwise stays stoic.

“You,” he commands, the gun pointed at Cleves, “phone out. Call the police.”

Anna, as much as she hates herself for it, does as told. If she was alone, her stubbornness would have won. But she wouldn’t let Kitty see her blood.

She dials for the police and is answered almost immediately.

“I am being held hostage with five others,” she says clearly. “Six,” she amends, adding the cashier, shaking behind the counter.

Barely five minutes later, red and blue lights flash outside.

He smirks again, visible only in his eyes. In a fluid motion, he yanks Parr to his feet. “You’re going to be my little spokeswoman, Miss Parr.”

The pistol stays held to her head as she is brought to the door and stood in the threshold. 

“I am being held at gunpoint,” she tells the officers, repeating exactly what he is saying to her. “For the safe release of the six women and cashier, the robber asks for fifty thousand pounds.”

“And if we don’t?” One officer yells back.

There’s a pause.

“He’ll kill us off one by one.”

The officers look to each other. “You have one hour.”

Catherine Parr disappears from the doorway. She’s wrangled back to the others and all but thrown on the floor in front of Aragon, who pulls her close.

“You had all better hope they cooperate,” he says, and there’s an odd sort of cheeriness in his words. 

He claps his gun against his hand, then points it directly at Katherine. “You.”

With a very noticeable shake in her knees, she rises to her feet. He beckons her closer. 

“You know,” he says, “I’ve fantasized about you.”

The tremor in her body changes, and Jane nearly cries out as she realizes the implications. He winds an arm around her waist, his fingertips digging into her jean-covered hips, then pulls her out of view, in front of the first row of shelves.

There’s a rustling of fabric, and Anne can’t take it anymore. Before anyone can stop her, she rushes to follow.

“Stay away from my baby cousin!” She screams.

Jane and Anna scramble to their feet and barely see the end of the event. Anne tackles the man, who had Katherine pinned to the ground beneath him. As he slams into the ground, his gun clatters to the ground and discharges. 

Jane grabs it while Anna helps Katherine sit up. 

Anne groans as she hits the floor, sprawled on her side, and Jane points the gun at the robber. “Funny to be in this position again,” she muses to herself.

Aragon doesn’t let go of Parr as she moves to the door to bring in the officers. They detain the robber and drag him out of the store and disarm Jane, which she is more than happy to oblige to.

She hurries over to help Anne up.

“You did quite the heroics-”

It’s when Jane freezes mid-sentence that everyone is suddenly paying attention to her.

“Jane?”

She’s hunched over Anne, shaking.

“Jane!”

Aragon, with the gentlest hands, pulls Jane away from Anne, and she herself goes still at the sight.

A neat little hole, right over Anne’s heart, is torn through her clothes and soaked with blood. Anne’s last defiant yell, the one meant to save Kitty, remains burned to her lips and her eyes stay open, wide, angry, but unseeing. Even in death, in the second death, there’s a quiet fire in how Anne stays, how she will stay, how she will carry herself into whatever waits for her.

Katherine and Anna are inconsolable, and Parr, Jane, and Aragon can only cling to each other as they are brought to the ambulance to be checked for injuries.

Once cleared and wrapped in shock blankets, Cathy, Aragon, and Jane are brought over to the sidewalk to explain, to the best of their ability, what had happened. Anna and Katherine stay by one of the police cars, huddled together on the ground.

Parr, still shaken from behind held at gunpoint, tucks her head on Aragon’s shoulder and stares listlessly at the concrete.

Aragon and Jane take up the story, quietly narrating as much as possible. When they get to the moment of Anne’s heroic attack, fate, in its cruelest form of irony, has two paramedics bringing out a white-sheet covered stretcher.

And that exact moment is when Jane Seymour and Catherine of Aragon curl into each other and begin to sob.

A police officer has to drive them to their hotel, only a few miles down the road, since none of them can feasibly imagine driving, even Aragon.

They settle into their rooms, and Cleves is hopelessly alone. She was supposed to be rooming with Anne. Kat is with Jane and Parr with Aragon, and Cleves is on her own.

She steps onto the tiny balcony of the room, a frigidly cold breeze pouring through her hair and across her face, and she swears, just for a moment, that she hears Anne’s voice telling her to close the door because it was, ‘bloody freezing.’

But there is no Anne.

And there won’t be again.

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[opinuun]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Spinster

(!!!TW!!! mention of rape/incest. reader discretion advised)

When I was twelve, Pa built a farmhouse.

It was large—three stories, several bedrooms, and an outhouse downhill from the house, rather than up—not because we were rich, but because the timber was close by and Pa had eleven sons to build it for him free of charge. Ma only saw it as something to gossip about with the other women in Merrill Creek, Georgia. She’d fan her face in mock weariness and sigh, “I told Henry it was too large, but he simply must have it. He can be so vain, bless his heart. I must say, though, it turned out beautifully. Don’t you think? My daughter an’ I can handle the chores just fine, thank the Lord in His kindness, if those cursed chickens would just stay in their coop for once…”

Mary, Heather, Chastity, and Promise would pat her on the shoulder and congratulate her on working so hard, smiling with the venom of a thousand flying serpents fixed to strike down the children of Israel.

Chastity patted me on the cheek once and said, “You’ve grown up prettier than a peach, ain’t you? I’m surprised you didn’t end up a brute with all them men in the house.”

“As my saint of a mother always says,” Ma would say, her grip on my shoulder becoming painful, “‘a house ain’t a home without an army of children tearin’ through it.”

The women all laughed, even Chastity, despite the fact that Ma had reminded the entire group that her husband was sterile. I never understood why my mother called those women her friends, or why she took offense to Charity calling me a brute, when she did it herself twice a day.

“A man’ll never marry a girl who romps around in the dirt like a wild animal!” she shrieked after catching me in the barn sporting my seventh brother’s coveralls, wrestling with him in the barn, six more brothers watching and cheering good naturedly.

“Ah, come on, Ma,” Harlan, the oldest, had whined with a grin, grabbing her and spinning her around like they were dancing. “It’s just a little fun.”

“This ain’t the time—Harlan, let me go this instant!” she fumed, cuffing him over the head even though he was nearly twenty-five. He released her, but his grin never dissipated. Ma latched onto my arm and dragged me inside, sure to chastise me the entire way.

That night, she struck my knuckles with a wooden spoon until they bled.

When I was fourteen, my brothers about had heart attacks when blood started trickling down my legs one day while we picked apples. I looked down and saw nearly all the layers of my skirt blooming red with tacky, irony blood. I was embarrassed, confused, and a little terrified at the sight, so I started to cry. Harlan figured I was about ready to keel over and die from some sort of “women’s infection.” He scooped me up right then and there, and sprinted me back to the farmhouse. Ma and Pa were gone to market, so Harlan raced up the stairs and plopped me in front of Mamaw, panting, “She ain’t gonna die, is she?”

Mamaw barely looked up at us from her knitting, her mouth quirking at the bloody sight. “Figured it was ‘bout time,” she muttered, then told Harlan to leave. “Go chew somthin ‘fore you have a stroke,” she called after him. Mamaw was a cranky old snot, and though we said we loved her, we all cast periodic glances across the alfalfa fields to the local graveyard—checking for any vacancies she could fill. She slept in the attic so she could be “outta reach o’ the Devil, curse his name,” even though it got hot as a sweatshop up there. I hoped one day she would die from it.

I sat on her floor, hiccupping at the sight of my clothes.

“Hush up, Eleanor. You’re fine.”

“I’m bleedin’!”

“That’s the girl leaking outta you, makin’ way for the wom’n,” she had said, and made me sit in my sticky clothes until my mother got home.

When I was seventeen, I sat with Pa on our back porch watching the sunset. Ma was inside trying and failing to keep eleven sons from eating before dinner was ready.

“Ma says I’m nearly of age to be married,” I said, pushing the stray dirt between the wooden slats at my feet absently.

Pa made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He rarely spoke, communicating in a language of stern looks, occasional grunts, and pats on the shoulder. When he did speak, it was with few words, but words I made sure I listened to. Pa was tall and broad shouldered from a life hauling timber and tilling the earth; he was still and imposing as a mountain range, and yet his calloused hands were gentle enough I imagine he could pick out a tune on a spiderweb without tearing it.

“What if—” I bit my lip, debating on whether to speak. “What if I don’t ever get married? None of the boys in town like me.”

“Your ma’ll live.”

I frowned. “I’m gonna be alone forever.”

“You ain’t.”

“But what about all the other girls at church? They think I’m scary just ‘cause I never grown up with a sister, and the boys won’t talk to me ‘cause I got a herd of brothers ‘hind me whenever we go out, and Mamaw says you’ll have me sold if I don’t—”

“Eleanor.”

I shut my mouth, chewing on my discontent. “Would you really sell me if I didn’t end up married?”

A ghost of an amused smile flitted across his features. “No.”

I hugged my knees against my chest. “Betcha Ma would sell me.”

Pa snorted.

“Dinner!” Ma called from inside. “Jeremy, you keep your hands outta those potatoes or I’ll whip you!”

“I don’t think I wanna get married,” I said by accident, far too afraid to say it on purpose.

Pa stood, adjusting his suspenders. “Then don’t.”

When I was nineteen, Mamaw labeled me a spinster. I would have retorted that Mamaw was quite literally a spinster, but Ma sat nearby and would have beat me for it.

“Your brother Charles is married, and he’s a year younger than you,” Ma said. “Bless his heart, he’s got a brain like a pail o’ rain water, but he found himself a wife, didn’t he? What’s keepin’ you?”

My lips pinched as I pricked myself with a needle. I hated embroidery.

“Men nowadays…” Mamaw shook her head. “If ya ain’t pretty, they ain’t gonna marry you unless you give ‘em a little somethin’ extra ‘forehand.”

I looked to Ma, worried she’d be furious at such a suggestion. She barely looked up from her needlework. “If no man’s courtin’ her by now, there ain’t much good whoring her off’ll do.” She grew stiff in her shoulders and added glumly, “Besides, we’d be the laughin’stock of the town.”

Mamaw shrugged. “Shotgun weddin’s are still weddin’s, ain’t they?”

When I was twenty, my third oldest brother Daniel cornered me in the barn one night and had his way with me. He hit his head a year ago hauling timber and been angry ever since. He was frustrated at being thirty and not having found a wife yet. At the time, I figured it was understandable. I didn’t scream, scared he’d hit me or clamp a hand over my mouth and nose ‘till I passed out.

He hit me anyway. He was frustrated.

Gone were the days when I wrestled with my brothers in thier baggy coveralls, and yet I still remained caked with dirt and sweat that wasn’t mine on the barn floor.

Harlan found me a few hours later in the early parts of the morning, returning the horse he’d borrowed from Pa to drag stumps from the land he was cultivating a few miles south for himself and his new wife. I was shivering and naked, the buttons on my blouse and skirt all but ripped to shreds. He didn’t gawk, or snicker, or run and tell Ma like I thought he would.

Harlan pulled a horse blanket from where it hung on a nail and draped it over me, slow and quiet as a funeral procession. I still remember how he looked standing over me: shoulders betraying an anger he wouldn’t let reach his eyes for my sake, knuckles white as his fingers dug crescent moons into his palms. He grabbed a square-head shovel and walked out of the barn.

I didn’t have to tell him who it was. Harlan knew his brothers. Each of them.

I heard the yelling from the trees behind the barn, but couldn’t make out the words. We were far enough from the farmhouse that I doubted anyone inside heard the dull metal clang of shovel-meets-bone and the soft thump of body-meets-ground. In hindsight, I should have been more concerned, but at that moment, all I could feel was Daniel squeezing that last bit of girl out of me over and over.

I was set to turn twenty-one next week. Happy birthday to me.

Harlan had practically carried me the entire way to his property the night it happened. Him, silent and strong; and me, swaddled like a baby in a rough horse's blanket crying into his shoulder. His home was small and barely two rooms, but the fire was warm and his wife, Elizabeth, was gentle with me. She had hair the color of a new penny and hands that never moved too fast or touched too suddenly. She wrapped me in a gorgeously warm quilt and even let me borrow her nightgown.

Elizabeth never left my side except to run to her and Harlan’s small room and come back holding a small wooden chest. It looked like something a woman would keep jewelry in, or letters from a husband or brother at war. She rummaged through it, producing a palm-sized burlap sack of seeds.

“What are these?” I mumbled as she handed them to me, still having trouble fitting inside my own body again. Everything felt fuzzy around the edges and I wasn’t sure if I would pass out or vomit. Maybe both.

“Queen Anne’s Lace—don’t worry, it’s just a wild carrot. You only need a teaspoon or so right now, but you’ll have to take some for the next couple of days just to be sure. Chew and swallow. Here.” She walked to the water barrel and filled a cup, handing it to me. “You can wash it down with this.” Elizabeth returned to the dusty table where she’d been preparing some bread dough.

I stared at the sack of seeds. They looked more like a handful of dead, dried bugs with their black centers and prickly legs sticking out at every angle.

“It’s a contraceptive,” she said when I asked, not looking up from her kneading. I had no idea what the word meant. She looked up after a moment of silence, noting my confusion. “For prevention of… you know.” She rubbed a hand in a circle on her stomach. My heart clawed its way into my throat and lodged there. With fingers still shaky and numb, I took out a pinch of seeds and sprinkled them into my mouth.

“Are you sure it works?” I said, grimacing through the bitterness. Ma’d never told me of any sort of plant that would keep a girl from having a baby.

Elizabeth paused in her kneading. “Yes.”

I looked up at her, then glanced warily out the dark window to where my brother was hammering his anger into the fence posts.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t Harlan,” Elizabeth assured me with a measured smile. “He’s too good to me. I’ll become spoiled.”

Ma and Pa showed up at Harlan’s doorstep the next day, announcing that they’d found Daniel behind the barn with “a gash the size o’ the Mississippi down his head,” and he still hadn’t regained consciousness. The town doctor wasn’t hopeful. Ma was distraught, figuring her son had been drunk and stumbling around in the dark when it happened. Pa, the silent man that was, said nothing. His eyes never left mine and radiated a mixture of emotion that took me a while to unpack. Relief at seeing me healthy, anger tantamount to Harlan’s, and the conflict that came with having to choose between two of his children. Once again, I didn’t have to explain what happened. Pa knew his boys. Each of them.

Harlan stared into the hearth fire, saying nothing. He worked a leftover nail from the fence through his fingers like a carnival magician with a coin. He always had something in his hands, and if his face didn’t show it, I could always count on his hands to tell me.

“Eleanor,” Ma said, holding out her hand. “Come.”

I grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, and Ma’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be a child, girl,” she snapped, shaking her hand a little. “We’re going home. You’ve had your fun, but there are chores to do.”

“I ain’t a child anymore, Ma,” I said, unsure if I was sad when I said it. Elizabeth squeezed my hand. I met Ma’s eye and lifted my chin despite the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. “I’ve decided to become a wholly disappointing spinster of a woman.”

Pa withheld a grin.

“Idiot girl! You will come home this instant!” Ma shrieked. She looked to her husband, enraged. He shrugged, and she looked about ready to murder everyone in the room, right then and there.

I stood. “I ain’t goin’ with you. I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to do the chores.” Try the barn, I thought to myself. I’m sure there’s one lying around in there.

Ma’s face went radish-red, and I subconsciously ran a thumb over the scars on my knuckles, my heart leaping. She sputtered for a few more seconds before Harlan swallowed and said, “I think she’s made herself quite clear, Ma. Door’s due south, if you’d like directions.”

Pa gave him a customary stern look, but the pride was plain behind his eyes. Ma stormed out of the house, muttering about insufferable girls and all the chores she’d have to do on her own now.

Pa put a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed. Harlan reached up and touched his hand, still staring into the fire.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Pa just wrapped me in his enormous arms and pressed his lips against the top of my head.

“Visit me,” he said softly.

I smiled against his shirt, my voice thick with emotion as I replied, “Of course.”

[quarterette]

Utawarerumono: The False Faces ep 13-25 Liveblog

Gonna just straight up do individual episode comments, since the second half is gonna be denser in content. As with the first half, this is a rewatch and will have spoilers for the games.

Opening Comments: Man there’s not much movement in the animation but its beautiful all the same.

Ep 13:

- *spit take* why are they sending Rulu? IDK if it was because the directors weren’t informed about the whole “baby of the family” detail because I can’t imagine Shis letting this happen

- Interesting how instead being of a secret force that Oshtoru sent, Haku and gang are now the accompanying force to Rulu and Atuy.

- I’ll be pleasantly surprised if Entua makes more sense in the anime than in the games

- oh wow Dekopompo is even worse in the anime, straight-up running off on his own.

Ep 14:

- I like how instead of Atuy catching the arrow the twins have a force field. Granted, it make Atuy even more of a non-entity

- the extreme long shots of the CGI soldiers are really nice. I don’t feel like we see the loss of formations as they come into contact with each other often in war anime

- why are the twins running like that - imo that way too much movement for dainty girls (maybe I’ve watched too much anime)

- wow they totally recontextualized retrieving Shinonon and cut down a lot of potential runtime.

- did they seriously remove Atuy’s bloodlust

- you know open-eyed Ougi is growing on me, him and Nosuri have such lovely eye color

- poor Maroro

Ep 15:

- I’m relieved that the adaptation art makes Raiko look less like Lelouch. Always seemed like lazy design to me, him and Mikazuchi look nothing alike.

- did they introduce the telepaths in MoD? I can’t remember.

- that triple-take of Zeguni dying was just silly. If it were one slice x3 it would have been fine but this... Oshtoru be flexing with that mountain.

- I never really felt calling Witsu an Eva was quite right but with the Akuruturuka.... yeah I see it.

- truly we are in the war arc proper now.

- Heh wouldn’t it have been interesting to have the proxies’ subservience kick in instead of having the twins shield Haku. Oh well missed opportunities. IMO it would have worked well with the accelerated timeline the anime needed to achieve.

- what is with the triple takes this episode

- ah haku wasn’t even able to save them gg

- post episode revisiting the VN comments:

they hint at the telepaths, and as I thought the Vurai razing the city wasn’t in the VN. It was a good showpiece and works with Vurai’s characterization, but messes with Haku’s as a cost - the VN suggests that Haku inherently can be ruthless (he suggests scapegoating Moznu for Anju’s kidnapping, which the anime totally skips over), while it looks like the anime is gonna use this mass destruction as the reason for steeling his heart. I can’t say I hate that the writers chose to have the main characters in the fray, but it definitely requires more suspension of disbelief that everyone got out okay compared to the VN.

- Interestingly we don’t see Oshtoru’s mech form at all. I do like the increased bro scenes between Mikazuchi and Oshtoru

Ep 16:

- Yeah we immediately feel the ripples of that last episode changing Haku’s trajectory... its a logical trajectory but... ugh. I’m not sure how I feel about such a contrary Haku. It wasn’t really a thing in the VN? So frustrating augh. Utawarerumono was never a story big on moralizing about war... and the anime writers aren’t doing a great job adding it in.

- I’m 99% sure they pulled some of Ukon’s lines for comforting Haku here from a conversation they had in the VN waaaayyy back around the gigiri fight, making the scene all the more frustrating. The concepts of powerlessness and loss of life is something that Haku had been introduced to the moment he woke up and had already been working on dealing with. I can’t say its an invalid take that he’d be shook over mass destruction (I mean, most people would) but it’s a sharp deviation from the VN.

- Oh wow they’re totally gonna retool the banquet to deal with haku’s trauma instead of him dealing with his memories of being the LAST OF HIS KIND aren’t they.

- yeah they did

- oh god don’t say the word seduce haku, rulu’s gonna die from blood loss

- lol i don’t remember the twins being tied up

- rulu is dead

- and now haku is dead too. I think only Ougi and Yakutowaruto escaped unscathed.

- this did give me the bro bonding that I had been missing in the show thus far. Not enough drinking scenes! like literally the VN is literally just baths and booze between the action lol

Ep 17:

- ah finally the flashback episode. lol all the crunchyroll comments are like “watch the first season”.

- haku calling his new buddies family... oof mito’s knowing gaze makes it all the much sadder

- Haku:”did you need to go that far” Mito: “lemme do it again with Tuskuru”

- hah “reposition your camera” nice, easy way to not show his face

- heh stares at your sister-in-law’s butt, that’s actually a pretty subtle hint without adapting any of the monologue from the VN that he kinda had feelings for her

- damn this is probably the most complete vision of the future we get in any medium

- hey to be fair the ameterasu blast was mutsumi and not exactly a product of mankind fighting each other - but it does go to show just how little Mito knew about what was actually going down

- to continue with my frustration, we see that haku is called out by his bro that he has a habit of “conceal don’t feel” so it makes his emo bit last episode even more jarring - though in hindsight I guess his depression comes less out of the blue for his friends now - its just that the reason is misattributed

- oof “make up for lost time”

- ooh I like the final scene with Woshis as the delegate to Tuskuru. The VN did fine without it but man what a cliffie for those watching the first time.

Ep 18:

- oof we’re not going to have any shinonon/kiwru antics are we

- man I can’t wait to see Benawi - he was my favorite chara in Uta1 after Touka

- wow they really did just ignore the fact that Kiwru is the prince of Ennakamuy and cut him out of the party

- dugh never mind I don’t like ougi’s open eyes here

- speaking of ougi they totally glossed over his role as reconnaissance

- and have they even mentioned that nosuri is trying to retake their clan’s name?

- cocopo still best bird

Ep 19:

- of course you’ll be sweaty haku, boro boro only wears that brown undershirt in tuskur smh

- i love how all of the dads we see dote on their daughters so much

- of course only now do they mention the fact that atuy and haku are drinking buddies and we just have to take it at face value

- actually seeing those sailor uniforms in action make atuy’s regret that much funnier, the stills don’t quite do it justice (though really, it’s the sound effects carrying the team)

- lol the background soyankekur antics are great

- cocopooooo noooo damn this romance with mukkur is great

Ep 20:

- huhu woshis was allowed down to the underground garden huh

- benawiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

- dang they didn’t use the hot air balloon ;-; so disappointing like if they do it this way they won’t even get to retake the supplies ;-;

- i guess its a good way to hint at kuon’s identity

- something is wrong with kurou’s face

- also where the fuck is nosuri - i know kiwru is a lost cause for this show but nosuri too? they really are trying to wipe out the tactics seen in the VN

- i do think the line about kurou’s line to kuon about “ripping the country in half” is nice - can’t remember if it was in the VN but at this point most of the good lines seem to be coming out of the VN

- ugh the twins are such a cop out, still think they should have went with the hot air balloon strategy

- we hardly knew ye mito

Ep 21:

- dang I’m pleasantly surprised by these CG soldiers

- bye bye munechika, still salty you can’t turn into a mech

- oof “I’m sure my mom was someone like you” this show lives and breathes on dramatic irony

- bye bye anju, what was the point of actually having oshtoru there when the tea was delivered? makes him seem more incompetent than he is, though entua was nowhere to be seen - imo for the best

- oshtoru, an honorable man through and through, giving up your mask, lowkey too honorable for your own good

- okay one of my favorite things is how regularly dekopompo is ignored during the generals’ council meetings; overlapping voices isn’t really a thing in the VNs due to its nature as a written medium first and foremost

- oh interesting Oshtoru’s men are coming to defend him that’s new

- oh no torture time ;-;

- post episode VN notes: ugh they also dropped the Woshis power grab of locking Dekopompo and Raiko outside of the gates

Ep 22:

- Yes go be a dad Yakuto and stop Nekone from doing stupid shit please oh please oh please

- Man they are seriously retooling oshtoru’s downfall aren’t they - wish it didn’t come off so crudely planned. Like, y’all know Oshtoru is loved by the people, did the generals not think some sort of rioting would happen if you let that info go public? Granted the original plot of having Entua sneak the info out is pretty contrived... but at least it better preserves the perceived competency of the generals by forcing a smaller timeframe in which everything goes down.

- man people watching this will be so confused next season when they realize Kiwru is a prince

- wut Kuon you should know you probably won’t be able to get info to the princesses once y’all leave. Good that Shinonon is going on ahead to Ennakamuy though.

- eh are they’re gonna try leaving by sea this time? even though Ennakamuy is in the mountains?

- secret tunnel ~ ♫

- aw no Evenkuruga reveal for Nosuri and Ougi. Though, I guess the anime never established that their base was in the Hakuorokaku basement...

- you know, since they just generalized the jamming barrier it’s kinda nice to see that the gang had to sneak in the hard way. IMO that’s one of the “game design justifies the plot” moments - the VN tries to keep everyone together so you can have all your unit options when fighting, but let’s be honest smaller strike teams work at times.

- oh hi Honoka, you’re not arrested here? guess not.

- oh god have they been translating Atuy’s “onii-san”s as “mister” this whole time? I can’t say that “love” was a better translation but that’s just tragic

- I wish we got more hints that haku actually has been doing some training (aka the SRPG parts of the game) rather than these random moments of competency and knocking out the guards.

- good god oshtoru your honorableness is gonna be the death of you. how can you trust Vurai. Seriously idk how it’s gonna turn out here, but Vurai literally wants to see Anju dead in the VN.

- ok i lie splitting the party was a terrible idea. they are taking way too long to convince oshtoru to take a stand. these men are way too stubborn. jk its fine

- whelp there goes the boat

- aw yeh Yakutowaruto lets go

Ep 23:

- Yakutowaruto continues to be a badass

- ugh and of course Oshtoru gets hurt, and he’s not gonna tell anyone

- ok I’m enjoying how acrobatic these twins are

- the plot change ripples continue to be seen; there’s no distractions at the gates since dekopompo is inside the gates. Raiko’s strategy stuff does make for good tension tho.

- ugh the fact that Soyankekuru is in the capital is gonna complicate things. The moment Atuy is seen to defect he’s screwed. That’s gonna change the timeframe of things second half.

- lol Kuon god powers time, hope there weren’t too many casualties. Poor Nosuri now has two sacks of people to deal with...

- ok I feel like I’m seeing more poor art quality this episode

- wow it seems that everyone’s on board for some arson today

- bruh don’t take him through the sewers Oshtoru’s wound’s gonna get infected

- oh god who thought it was a good idea to give Rulu a blade.

- Cocopo best bird. Period. MVP.

- Soyankekuru, what a guy.

Ep 24:

- ooh mech fight in the city? oh nvm its just a sword fight. a sword fight between two beasts. thank god vurai ain’t that dumb

- wait they said there was a barrier in the palace, but i don’t think there was a barrier for the outer walls? why the frick didn’t the twins just teleport out for the last bit? they were pretty close to the gates... unless they needed the gates open anyways?

- vurai? not dumb? scratch that, good god do y’all not care about the safety of the people? guess not cuz it’s MECH FIGHT TIME (ok, if we’re honest oshtoru’s the one who initiated so yes he’s equally dumb)

- water vs fire, groudon vs kyogre, this is what animation is all about YASSS

- the twins’ shield is too OP

- haku please stop indulging Nekone

- will the twins actually be able to seal Vurai? they were kind of trash at doing their job in the VN (though they did have the good excuse of being exhausted for this particular instance)

- ok that nekone running sequence is jank

- damn haku blocked that punch? oh no he’s on fire

- looking like nekone’s “it was my fault” is gonna be part of a cascade of setbacks rather than the final blow. I’m kinda glad - the VN’s take was probably the most exasperating part of the whole story - gutwrenching but also made me want to punch her. I’m up for arguing whether or not taking that away was a good thing

- oh no the salt. no. how could you put it at the post-credits scene.

- vurai’s confirmed dead? that could be a problem next season.

Ep 25:

- dang what an opener giving us no info just kuon looking sad. we had emo haku now get ready for emo kuon i guess

- nuedori is probably my favorite song after kimi ga tame, such a good song to overlay the time skip over

- man anime viewers must be so confused. like they saw Haku and Oshtoru get out of town but only Oshtoru show up. man this is so effed up.

- no not the fan noooo augh  brokoro in the kokoro

- sad nekone really sells it doesn’t it

- dang I knew Ennakamuy was surrounded by mountains but I guess the anime went and interpreted that as a CRATER

- at least kuon didn’t leave until later in the night?

-i know the twins did a spell in the VN as well but seeing the visual change between haku and oshtoru is a bit silly

- what’s with the flower field that’s so cheesy

- i can see why someone said laughed rather than cried during this particular use of kimi ga tame - the alternating shots to his saltification is just silly, there’s so many prettier shots for showing people dissolving - like the VN gave you a very serviceable “standing on a cliff as the sun rises and you fade into dust” why didn’t you take it

- side note in the VN i was imagining it something like this scene from CCS but different lighting (sorry I could only find the english dub on short notice, timestamp at 1:13:24):

- also how could you get everyone off model during such an important part

- you know what I’m just gonna pretend that there was some really bad production crunch so they had to do a rush job smh

- i do like this orchestration tho

- oh god the cheese never ends, now it’s raining

- that said it’s not terrible, but definitely missing something compared to the VN

- haha with some of your decisions next season you might just end up in Denebokshir Haku. jk we all know how it ends

- boro boro ;-; yes go hug your kid she needs all the comfort she can get

[nutellaninja0001]

Will Daenerys burn Varys in season 8?

With the new still of Varys in season 8 some fans are speculating that the spider will be shifting his loyalties from one Dragon Queen to another certain Queen in the North. It got me thinking so I sat down and wanted to rewatch Varys journey throughout the series. If there’s one running theme in his arc it’s his service to the realm. His intentions are painted much clearer and much more honorable than it is in the books. (At least for now) and over and over again we’ve been told one thing about his character.

(GIF not mine)

It’s why he fought so hard against Littlefinger every step of the way. They were painted as foils to each other as Littlefinger is a villainous schemer who’s willing to do anything for the Throne. He wanted chaos. Varys, peace. Even if he’s willing to get his hands dirty in order to maintain what peace he could. It’s why he pushed Tyrion to stay in the game as Tyrion isn’t particularly cruel or a fool like the last 4 kings Westeros has had. It’s also why he worked to get Tyrion by Daenerys side as her advisor.

(Screencap not mine)

And at this point (to us) Daenerys seems like the perfect candidate for Varys as a ruler. He serves the realm. Daenerys has gone on and on, time and time again she is a queen for the “people” she’s here to “break the wheel” and fight the “Cerseis of the world.” They seemingly want the same thing, right?

(GIF not mine)

No, they don’t. And this is some serious GoT style of irony that the thing he fought so hard to bring to the realm, is the very thing that will destroy it.

(GIF not mine)

Using the very thing he hates most in this world, magic. And Daenerys herself is a magical person. She’s dabbled in the dark arts and isn’t afraid to use magic at her disposal if it means getting what she wants. As shown when she uses her dragons for power. She’s also a prophesied figure in the cult of R’hllor to the Red Priestess. People who Varys despises and for good reason.

(GIF not mine)

“The dark arts have provided Lord Stannis with his army and paved a path to our door. For a man in service to such powers to sit on the Iron Throne, I can think of nothing worse.”

Varys-Season 2 episode 9

Daenerys isn’t Stannis and she doesn’t follow R’hllor but I do find it ironic is heavily associated with all the things Varys has been fighting against and she’s more than happy to take on the role as their Princess that was promised. *Gags* Can we really see Varys backing someone like that for very long? Daenerys sees herself as a “Savior” from her comments in season 7. “I’m not here to conquer the North. I’m here to save the North.” And we know Varys doesn’t believe in Saviors. He believes rulers who have the talent and that’s exactly where Daenerys lacks in her skills and she has no interest in learning to be better and instead lets her dragons speak for her if they don’t pan out how she’d hope.

The one thing Daenerys has going for her in Varys eyes as the potential queen is Tyrion who can lead her to be the right leader. But she’s no longer listening to him anymore save for Jon.

(GIF by @thelawyerthatwaspromised)

After the burning of the Taryls Varys reflects on his time advising King Aerys and what it was like every time Aerys burned someone alive. How he convinced himself it wasn’t on his hands. I don’t see Varys making that same mistake again but it shows he’s aware of what Daenerys can become and how dangerous that can be. He will no longer want to see her on the Throne if she’s willing to bring destruction to the realm at any cost. Kinda like Littlefinger who has been paralleled with Daenerys more than once.

(GIF not mine)

But what if a better option emerges? When Varys arrives at Winterfell he will have seen the drastic change in Sansa since the last time he saw in season 4. She’s no longer that girl who’s innocences he’s noted in the past. She’s a woman grown into a competent ruler with the right family name, love of the people, and she has a mind for politics but does not crave power. She also sentenced the man Varys considered the most dangerous in the world for his crimes and she came out alive. Sansa is no longer a babe in the woods but a queen in her own right and Varys will pick up on this very, very quickly.

(Screencaps not mine)

Varys won’t stay on Daenerys side if she keeps the path she is on now and she’s already promised him what will happen if he “Ever betrays her”

If he sees Sansa as a better option and schemes to make a marriage between her and Jon once Jon is revealed as a Targaryen, it would be a match made in political heaven for Varys with two rulers who have everything he’d hoped to find in Daenerys without the added complications like dragons and a tendency to burn lords and cities alive on impulse. And with this comes Daenerys suspicions of his betrayal and her paranoia in him and everyone around her will only grow much like it did with Aerys.

(GIFS not mine)

This is not a coincidence that Mel tells him he must die in Westeros same as hers the same season he is promised to be murdered by Daenerys when they arrive on Dragonstone. And a very eerie piece of death by dragon fire was already foreshadowed in season 2 when Varys brings Daenerys and her dragons up to Tyrion. The way the music plays has a sense of foreboding doom and the camera makes sure to keep flames within the frame of Varys and flickers towards them as he says this.

Varys always had the ability to maneuver his way into one powerful person’s ear to the next. But there will come a time where he’s faced in a situation and a storm he won’t be able to get out of of.

“But you carry on. Whispering in one king’s ear and then the next. I admire you.”

Littlefinger-Season 1 episode 10

“You might be disappointed in the results. Storms come and go, big fish eat the little fish and I keep on paddling.”

Varys- Season 2 episode 1

It would be one thing if Varys was a schemer like Littlefinger out for himself and solely power and we saw that Varys was a force that needed to be dealt with for the safety of the realm. He’s not. He’s been shown to have a genuine mission to protect the realm from falling apart and a rather unspoken champion of the people who has their best interest.

Daenerys has justified everything she has done so far for the people and the “greater good” ever since her quest began at the end of season 1 it was the one thing that set her apart from everyone else even though she was fighting for the same thing. She used it to justify starting a war all the way to the Field of Fire 2.0 where she burned thousands and destroyed the food supple. With the death of Varys I think it’s a real chance for the story to showcase Daenerys isn’t the queen looking to better the realm. She’s here to take back what is “hers” with Fire and Blood.

[clintbartonswife]

if you asked me i would lose it all

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier Summary: Jaskier will be loyal to Geralt until his last breath, this he swears.  Notes: im sorry. descriptions of torture. mentions rape (not graphic in the slightest, more like an allusion, but tagged it just to be safe) masterlist  || part two  

Jaskier had always felt too much, falling a little bit in love with almost everyone he meets. The seamstress from Beauclair with the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, the knight from Kerack who had muscles the size of Jaskier’s head, the innkeeper and his wife from Rinde who had the warmest smiles he had ever seen.

All loves that he treasured, yet let go after a night or two, the heartache keeping him company until he found another gorgeous person to fall for.

When he finds Geralt at the ripe age of 18 it’s different, for once the bard doesn't want to leave, a nagging feeling pulling him along the path by the Witcher’s side. 

His love grows easily, from that of shallow appreciation of his honey golden eyes to a fierce want to protect his love from those that scorn him in every village they visit, a need to nurture the fragile relationship they were building.

It’s only Jaskier’s luck that the only person to ever intrigue him enough to stay seems to want him to leave, impenetrable walls built around his heart.

So, Jaskier writes songs of their travels, being respectful of Geralt’s boundaries whilst still trying to provide as much tender love and care as he could without scaring the Witcher, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love.

Everything starts to go wrong after the djiin. 

He watches through the window as his heart breaks with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, the Witchers disinterest (which he had assumed was general Witchery distance) suddenly making more sense - he just didn't like Jaskier.

Still the bard stayed, sewing his heart back together with every step he took beside the Witcher. His affectionate touches didn't falter, not allowing his own personal hurt to affect his Geralt negatively. He still deserved as much softness as he could bring himself to provide - Melitele knows Yennefer wasn't providing that.

Jaskier funnelled all of his creative energy in to his songs, more and more of them staying in his private notebook, too personal to be sung in front of Geralt, let alone the general public. 

After each time they met with Yennefer, Jaskier was there to pick up the broken pieces the Witch left behind, baring the brunt of Geralt’s bad mood for a week after she had gone, heart chipping a little more each time as his hatred for the woman grows.

The last straw was the dragon hunt. The whistling winds whipping Jaskier’s hair in his eyes as Geralt’s words lashed out at him, vicious and hateful. 

In the following two weeks, Jaskier drank to forget, falling back into old habits and into strangers beds with a new desperation. 

The young farmer with hazel eyes - not as beautiful as Geralt’s. The miller’s daughter with blonde hair - not light enough.

The people begin to blend together, yet it doesn't work. The heartbreak still radiates through his body, numbing him from any other emotion.

He’s too drunk to register that Cintra has fallen.

Too drunk to hear the rumours of the bounty on his head.

Too drunk to notice the Nilfgaardian soldiers entering the tavern.

Too drunk to defend himself against their arms that steal him away that night.

When he awakens the next morning, head throbbing with the familiar pain of a hangover, Jaskier is hit with a wave of nausea.

Turning his head to the side, he reaches for the bed-side table, blanching when he finds his arms restrained. It takes a few seconds to register that he’s in unfamiliar surroundings: the distinctly tavern smell (of weak ale and piss) gone, the slightly scratchy linens of the bed replaced with a hard wood surface.

Unrestrained panic swelled up in the bard’s chest, his instincts kicking in as he tried to mimic sleep.

‘Just breathe slowly, keep your eyes closed and stay calm’ repeated through his brain, sounding suspiciously like Geralt’s voice. 

“-the bastard up yet?”

“He wasn't the last time I checked, no sir”

“And no sign from the Witcher?”

“None sir”

Jaskier heard a scoff as the door opened, two sets of feet stopping at the side of the chair. Unnerving silence fell for a few seconds, before a heavy kick was given to his ribs, punching the air from his lungs in a loud exhale.

“Now listen here, bard” the bigger of the two men all-but-growled, looming over Jaskier as the singer blinked heavily to clear the daze that had settled over him, “We’re going to make this real simple. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we wont kill you”

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Jaskier considered his options, “What is it that you want to know?”

Another scoff.

“Maybe he’s not so useless after all” the tall man sneered, exchanging an amused glance with the man stood in the corner, “Tell us where the Butcher of Blaviken is”

Self preservation was forgotten as the nickname stirred up anger deep inside Jaskier, the unfairness choking him, “I’m afraid I don't know any butchers, not the biggest fan of hanging around long enough in towns long enough to befriend anyone in that profession I’m afraid”

That earnt him a sharp slap, the sting helping to ground him.

“Don't try to be smart. Where is the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia?”

“Oh, I do know him” Jaskier answered, tone kept light and conversational, “Of course I haven't seen him in months so I’m afraid I’m really of no use to you gentlemen”

Another slap.

“Now that must be a lie. Why would the Witcher leave his little whore behind?”

Now that one stung, the frown forming on Jaskier’s face before he could stop it.

“Aw, struck a chord with that, did I? He found someone else I assume - though Melitele knows how anyone can lay with a monster like -”

Rage finally overflowing, Jaskier spat in the man’s face, “How dare you call him a monster. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be”

A bitter chuckle, followed by a punch that left the bard tasting copper.

“I think you might actually be in love with that thing” he said, amused, “That just makes this all the more fun”

Jaskier held eye contact with the man, glowering as he slowly spat out the pooled blood onto the floor.

“Tell me where he is”

“No”

Two punches to his stomach, and a hard kick to his shin.

“My sister hurt me worse than that for stealing her brush when we were seven” Jaskier sneered.

“Where is he”

A backhand across the face, followed by three hard kicks to his ribs.

“Toss a coin to your-”

Another heavy kick to his stomach, winding him slightly as he keeled forward, a burning pain spreading over his chest.

“Oh valley of plenty” he wheezed, forcing his head back up to stare at his captor’s face.

The day carried on very much the same, Jaskier working through his repertoire of songs as he was beaten black and blue, the lyrics keeping him focused and alert.

The man in the corner just stood and watched, his silent presence looming over the beating. 

“I must say” Jaskier eventually huffed, directing his words at the man in the corner, “Your indifference to this situation is highly annoying. Are you not enjoying the performance?”

His question was met with another heavy hit to his stomach, the skin there surely covered in a patchwork quilt of forming bruises.

“You bore me”

The voice was cold, cutting through the pain like a knife and replacing all feeling in his body with the need to flee, an innate wrongness surrounding the man.

He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”

The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.

They’re going to slit my throat, Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain, this is it.

The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.

No. No this was so much worse.

He could handle pain. He could handle taunting words and harsh treatment. The one thing Jaskier couldn't handle was fucking mages.

“No - “ he gasped, voice distorted by the angle of his head, “please-”

Yellow eyes. Lips curled in to a snarl.

The mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

No. No no no no no no no. Not this. Anything but this.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, its you, shoveling it?”

White hair. Curled fists.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”

Wet eyes. Shattered heart. A wasted life.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

And it looped. Again, and again, and again,

“Ready to talk, bard?”

His eyes fluttered open, eyelids heavy, fighting to remain closed.

“Fuck. You” he hissed, words mangled through gritted teeth.

The mage smirked, fingers reaching for his temple again, “Very well. It seems like one hour wasn't enough”

The last thought Jaskier had before being pulled back to the mountain was one of horror, that one hour had felt like an entire day.

When he came to once more, Geralt’s voice still ringing in his ears, Jaskier realised there was a new man in the otherwise empty room.

“Going to talk yet little birdy?” the man asked, voice far too light for the circumstances, his posture reminiscent of those that approached him in taverns with hopes of charming him into bed that night.

The realisation occurred to him as he noticed his hands were free, a rusty cot added to the corner of the room.

“No” he whispered, the horror palpable in his tone.

“Well that's too bad” the man sneered, his too-rough hands dragging him out of the chair and towards the cot.

The irony was that in that moment Jaskier would’ve given anything to have been back on that mountain, Geralt blaming him for everything, rather than be faced with his current reality.

Of course, the mage wasn't kind enough for that.

Jaskier wasn't sure how many days had passed since his capture. 

What he did know was this: his throat was too sore to speak, ruined from both abuse and lack of water; his body was so mottled that it looked like he had begun rotting, greenish-yellow marks covering almost every inch of his skin; his back shredded by the impromptu whipping session earlier that morning; and he wasn't sure he could muster a smile, even if informed of the untimely and gruesome death of Valdo Marx.

But, no matter what they threw at him, he would not betray Geralt.

He had made this vow to himself during a quiet moment on (what he guessed was) the second day, that no matter what faced him - be it further torture, mutilation and eventually death - he would not speak a word of the little information he knew.

He may have ruined Geralt’s life, may have annoyed him with his incessant and unwelcome company, but one thing Jaskier could give him now was his undying loyalty, the one thing that no one could take away from him.

They wouldn't take away his love.

So he breathed steadily as he looked as his hands, tied down firmly to the arms of the chair, taking in every detail of the calloused fingers that made him the famous bard that he was today.

“Last chance. Where is the Witcher”

Jaskier just grinned, the smile bloody and insincere.

“Fucking your mother I would imagine” he croaked, withholding the wince of pain from the strain on his throat, instead widening his grin at the look of anger on the man’s face.

With a growl, the man brought the hammer down heavily on Jaskier’s left ring finger, smiling sickeningly at the bard’s agonised scream.

“Where is he?”

Head fuzzy with pain, Jaskier scowled and spat his blood in the man’s eyes.

The sickening crunch of bone echoed around the small room, Jaskier’s scream ringing out as another two fingers were smashed.

The line of questioning continued until all of his fingers were unrecognisable, the bard humming ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ through tears as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“What a shame” the captor said, fake sympathy swimming in his cold eyes, “Looks like you’re worth even less than you were when we found you. What worth is a bard if he cant play anymore?”

The man pretended to think, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Of course! A brothel worker!” He paused, tutting again and shaking his head, “No you cant even be that, we’ve made you far too ugly”

Jaskier tried to ignore his words, focusing on his rattling lungs instead, forcing them to inhale and exhale.

Unconsciousness crept forward, the pain finally overwhelming him, Jaskier falling into it’s open arms gladly.

“-cher isn't coming for him. We’ve had the word out for two weeks and got nothing”

The words drifted in to Jaskier’s cell, the conversation prying him from sleep.

“So what do we do? The bard’s not talking”

“We were meant to give a destination by yesterday”

“So we make one up, blame the bard when it comes back empty”

“... That could work”

“Then I’m guessing we kill him afterwards?”

“Theres no reason to keep him”

“Well-”

“You’re not using army funds to feed just so he can be your personal whore, Cahir would skin you alive if he found out”

Jaskier huffed a laugh at that - the realisation that his worth had finally been reduced to what his father had called him all those decades ago, ‘a worthless whore’, ‘useless to polite society’.

The conversation carried on, though Jaskier’s mind drifted, thoughts racing yet head surprisingly clear. He shifted in his seat, only slightly to the left, wincing as the healing whip wounds on his back pulled open again, the stinging pain keeping him tethered to consciousness. 

Not for the first time, he wondered where Geralt was. Safe, that he was sure of, hidden from the greedy eyes of the Nilfgaardian army if their unhappiness was anything to go off of.

Had he found Cirilla yet?

Was Roach okay?

Was he taking proper care of himself?

And - in even his lowest moments - he found himself wondering how Yennefer was.

If she was handling the break-up better than he did.

If she was safe, happy, looked after.

Or maybe, perhaps even back with Geralt. The three of them playing happy families while Jaskier rotted in a cell and waited for a hapless death.

Being on your deathbed gave you a lot of perspective, Jaskier had realised, and he found it hard to even hate Valdo on occasion (until he regained some energy from a piece of stale bread thrown at him and immediately felt disgusted that the thought had even crossed his mind).

As the fog in his brain seemed to seep into his dimming vision, his thoughts returned to Geralt’s eyes.

“Goodnight my love”

[fanficsaremylifeline]

Bodyswap

On AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891229

*****

Something on this last mission went horribly wrong. Tony hadn't even opened his eyes yet, but he could feel it; something was not right. There was nothing too unusual, when he eventually glinted through his eyes and looked around the quinjet. The mission went by relatively quickly; SHIELD called them to the Andes, where some Alien was literally breaking mountains apart. Tony had thought it an exaggeration, until he and the Avengers stood in front of the giant creature next to which even Hulk looked small. As much as Tony hated it, but the most apt comparison was a kind of humanoid centipede. There were a lot of arms and legs, too many for Tony's liking. The creature did use it's limbs to beat the Avengers up; he did get quite a few ugly blows in, Tony had to hand it that. His preferred method of fighting was a sort of purple glittery gel that it spewed at the six heroes; by the end of the fight they were covered from head to toe in that disgusting goo. Thank the heavens, it didn't smell.

But by now they were on the helicarrier, more or less cleaned up; SHIELD had the thing under lock and key. How they got the thing on the ship, Tony didn't know. And if he weren't that exhausted after the fight, he'd really would have liked to find out. All of them were unusually exhausted and they all had dozed off within minutes of taking flight. But, except for the last bit of goo dripping off them, everything seemed to be as it always was. Nat and Clint were lying half on top of each other as usual; Thor was sprawled out on a chair; Tony snored softly with his feet on Bruce's armrest.

Wait.

WHAT?

Tony still had to be dreaming, that was the only explanation for him to see himself on the other side of the room, while Tony looked like... Oh, they had to be fucking kidding him! As he looked down himself, he saw the red, white and blue suit of Captain America. And sure enough, there was the shield, propped up against his chair, covered in gel.

Tony repeatedly pinched himself, but sure enough, he was still stuck in this weird bizarro world.

“Jarvis?”

“How can I help you?”

Well, here goes nothing. “Who am I?”

“You are Steven Grant Rogers, better known as Captain America, born on the fourth of July 1918 in...”

Tony waved him off. Not even his own AI could recognize him... Whatever this was, it had to stop right fucking now.

“Up and at 'em”, he yelled, “CODE RED!”

Everybody stirred; Nat and Thor jumped up at Tony's  call looking ready and wide awake. Clint and that Tony-clone stirred a little slower, but they were also almost immediately alert clearly awaiting a mission report and orders. Steve was the captain after all, and with Tony apparently wearing his face... Bruce was the only one not waking up; but after hulking out that wasn't anything too unusual.

“WHAT? Who are you and why do you look like me?”, Nat cried out and took two steps towards Tony; well, tried to. Her staggering was about as graceful as a newborn deer on ice and after she had found her balance again she looked down herself and turned beet-red immediately. “Oh my god”, prompting a round of curses as everyone found themselves no longer inhabiting their own bodies.

“Guys. GUYS!”, Tony cried to get everybody's attention. “Guess I'm not the only one in the wrong skin. Let's do inventory. Tony here.”

“Clint.” The other Tony raised his hand and Tony could only groan that Katniss was in charge of his body.

“Nat”, came Thor's booming voice.

“And I'm Bruce”, Clint waved.

“Which'd make you Cap or Thor.” Tony turned to the still beet-red Natasha; from the level of apparent embarrassment, it was probably Rogers.

“Steve.” It was absolutely hilarious that Steve never-been-with-a-girl Rogers was now sporting Nat's body; thank the god of irony!

“That'd make me, well him, Thor”, Clint!Bruce pointed at his body.

“What the absolute fuck happened?”, Thor!Nat asked.

“No idea, but it's very weird to hear Thor swear”, Clint!Bruce observed.

“Weirder than Steve having boobs?”, Tony!Clint laughed and was promptly hit on the arm by Thor!Nat.

“HEY!”, Clint and Tony called out in unison. “Don't you dare bruise my body!”, the real Tony made clear, while the fake Tony rubbed his arm.

“I'm really sorry, Nat”, Nat!Steve apologized over and over again and crossed their arms tightly in front of their chest to cover as much as possible.

“Cap, we all know you've never been inside a woman before, but we have more urgent issues right now”, Tony shot over and turned to Clint. “You're Bruce, right?”

“Yes”, he nodded wide-eyed.

“Well, in your expert medical opinion, do you agree that this slime needs to be examined asap?”

“I do. My best guess would be maybe some psychic properties... Not quite sure. We need to talk to that... thing.”

“Yeah, I'll get right on that.”

“Why you?”, Nat!Steve asked.

“Because we all know that Fury trusts Cap more than anyone else”, Tony shot back with a shrug.

“Wait”, Tony!Clint interrupted. “You don't want to tell Fury what's going on here?”

“If we do that, we'll be SHIELD's guinea pigs”, Thor!Nat agreed with Tony. “Do you want to be locked in a lab, while they experiment on us?”

“Good point. So, I'll just be Tony then?”, he asked, and Tony didn't like that grin one bit.

“You couldn't be me in a million years”, he scoffed at his body.

“You wanna bet?”

“You're both pretty”, Thor!Nat interrupted the bickering, no time to soon, as the door opened and Fury walked in.

“Good you're up. You guys feeling alright?”

“Yeah”, Tony nodded, “just a bit banged up, but we're fine.”

“Good. So, slight change of plans”, he announced. “We'll drop you of in New York, before heading to SHIELD HQ with our special guest.”

“Do you mind if we tag along? I'd like to question that thing.”

“You've done your job, Cap, now SHIELD will do ours; we got it handled. Besides, you're under medical lockdown; Helen Cho is already informed that you guys came into contact with some unknown alien substance and that she needs to keep an eye on you. So far all our tests read it as not dangerous, but just to be sure.”

That would not do. “I'm fine”, Tony stated and promptly tripped over Roger's damn long legs. Fine, at first it might have felt not too bad in this body, with it being a super soldier one; or maybe because this body was 15 years younger than Tony's. But there was so much more body, especially height, to carry around...

“Yeah, I can see that”, Fury deadpanned. ”Still no. Until Cho clears any and all of you, you stay away from SHIELD or any other type of action. And that's an order.”

Damnit. Tony was dying to keep talking and bothering Fury until he got what he wanted. But he was Captain America right now and to not alert Fury, he should probably stand down. Fuck. “Yes, sir.” Ugh, Tony hated that. The other Avengers shot him wide looks, apparently just as surprised as Tony was about being able to take the command without bitching and arguing first. Tony still hated it.

“Good. We'll keep you in the loop”, Fury promised, as the carrier touched down at the Avenger's. “And don't forget Banner”, he added with a nod to Bruce!Thor, who was balled on the ground, fast asleep.

“Yeah, I'm... I mean he's just exhausted from hulking out”, Clint!Bruce explained.

“Right, Barton our resident Hulk expert”, Nick remarked drily. “Off you go and rest.”

Tony caught himself just in time before moaning something along the lines of “yes, mum”, but that would not be very Cap-like. But, in a rare moment of clarity, Barton rolled his eyes at Fury before groaning: “you're not my real Mum!” It was definitely something Tony would have said, but it was just so weird to see it himself talk, without being the one talking...

“Just get out, Stark.”

That he would. Tony!Clint strutted out, followed by Nat!Steve, Clint!Bruce, Thor!Nat carrying the unconscious Bruce!Thor and Tony, who was the last to step out, after nodding at Fury, before he followed the others into the common room. Nat put Thor down on the couch, gently putting a pillow under his head and a blanket over him.

“Should we leave him be?”, Steve whispered and Bruce just shook his head. “I... He is out like a light. Hulking out... Not even a bomb going off would wake me... I mean him.”

“Right.” Tony clapped his hands together. “First things first. I'm starving.”

“Yeah, that'd be the super metabolism”, Steve explained. No idea how to handle his female body, he changed the way he was sitting for the fifth time in the last thirty seconds.

“I swear to god, just sit alright?”, Nat growled at him. “You are driving me insane!”

“I'm sorry, I... I just don't want to be disrespectful.”

“So just sit your... my... ass down!”

As amusing as it was to watch, Tony had a very grumbly stomach to deal with. “JARVIS, order food please. I don't care what it is, as long as it's here quickly.”

“Of course Captain, your order has been placed.”

Ugh. It's been not even half an hour and Tony was already sick and tired of being called Cap.

But it was about to get so much worse.

The door opened and Pepper hurried inside. Tony already felt so much better as she smiled across the room and he was just about to walk up to her, when she took three big strides right into Barton's arms. “I'm so glad you're alright”, Pepper sighed, cupped his face and kissed him. Actually kissed him.

“What the FUCK?”, Tony yelled, staring at them with wide eyes.

“Hello Steve”, she greeted him, looking quite confused at his sudden outburst of emotion and swearing. “Since when do you mind a bit of PDA between a loving couple?”

“Oh god... That's not me, I am!”, he tried to explain the situation, but only helped to further the confusion. Pepper just looked at Clint who stared back with wide unblinking eyes, frozen to the spot and still in her embrace.

“Oh, for fucks sake!”, Tony groaned, “Barton. Let go of my girlfriend!”

Finally Clint moved, backed away from Pepper.

“What is going on?”, she demanded to know, looking from one Avenger to the next.

“No clue, hadn't have the chance o figure it out yet. We just woke up to some Freaky Friday type situation”, Tony explained.

“So... Who I just kissed was not...”

“That was Clint in my body, yeah.”

“So you're...” Pepper took a few careful steps towards Tony but stopped just before she could reach him.

“Yeah, it's me Pep.” Tony shot her a skew grin and would just die to take that last step towards her and give her a proper kiss. This whole situation probably gave enough cause for couples therapy without someone looking and sounding like Rogers kissing her though.

“Huh. Steve?”

“Here.” He raised his hand, waving shyly.

“Oh wow...”

“Tell me about it”, Thor's voice echoed through the room.

“Natasha?”

“Yeah... Thor's in Bruce and Bruce is in Clint.”

“Hi Pepper”, Bruce smiled over.

“I...” Seeing Pepper speechless was a unusually scary sight. Until she started laughing, loud and heartedly. As much as Tony loved that sound, right now he couldn't really enjoy it.

“I'm glad you're enjoying this”, Tony deadpanned.

“Sorry”, she chuckled. “I guess we can't celebrate the victory just yet?”

“I definitely don't want you to celebrate with this body.”

“And not with yours either, I suppose”, she smirked.

“Well”, Tony mused, “if you did, I believe I'd have earned the right to do Natasha-Steve over there...”

“Oh fuck no!”, Nat called out in Thor's booming voice. “Besides the obvious, Steve is already way to overwhelmed with my body.”

And cue Steve blushing so hard he matched his new hair colour.

“Right then. What did SHIELD say, do they have any idea how to reverse this?”

“We didn't tell them”, Tony admitted.

“What the hell, Tony. You kept all this”, Pepper gestures around the room, “from Fury?”

“If I told him, SHIELD would lock us up and... I don't know experiment on us and shit. We've got more than enough brainpower to figure something out.”

Pepper took a deep breath, before locking eyes with Tony again “Alright. If there's one thing I can trust it's your brain and that your batshit crazy ideas somehow seem to work out.”

“Yeah, I promise. We all want to get into our own bodies as quickly as we can.”

Jarvis interrupted them as he announced: “Food has arrived.”

“Oh thank god”, Tony sighed.

“Right. Dig in, make a plan and I'll be right here if you need me.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

Pepper just pulled her face into a grimace. “I know it's coming from you, but it's really weird hearing it from Steve.”

“I bet”, Tony chuckled. “Under these circumstances I'd be fine with you saying it back to Steve's face.”

“I love you too, Tony”, she smiled, stressing the Tony, and brushed his shoulder as she walked past him and out of the room. And Tony could only stare after her, quite aware of the dopey lovestruck grin on his face, but didn't care who saw it.

“Ehem.” A collective harrumph brought Tony back into a reality where he was still stuck inside Capsicle's body, while Clint inhabited his.

“Right then...” Tony cleared his throat and turned to himself. “Since you're me, you get to pay. Don't fight it”, he shot back as Clint motioned to argue. “I'm being merciful here after watching you kiss Pepper. So, get the food, pronto.”

“Yes, Captain”, Barton shot back and headed for the door.

“Right and we should figured out whether we'll be honest with Cho, because I imagine she'll drag our asses to the infirmary any moment now”, Nat threw in, before glaring menacingly at Steve, who once again shifted in his seat, but stilled as soon as he saw her stare.

“I vote yes”, Banner suggested. “We could use another doctor and I'm sure she would be confused as to why Clint and Steve worked in the lab with her.”

“Good point”, Steve nodded. “I still feel wrong lying to Fury...”

“Only until we've figured out what's wrong. We need to head to DC asap anyway to talk to that alien; by then we'll hopefully know what we're dealing with”, Tony shrugged and gratefully took a pizza box out of Clint's arm as he walked back in. “Agree?”, he asked, already half a slice of pepperoni pizza in his mouth.

“Agree”, Steve nodded. “I really don't mean any disrespect but I'm very much uncomfortable in this body...”

Before Tony or Clint could make some more comments, Helen walked into the room. “Hey, I thought Fury told you to come straight to the medbay!”

“Hello Helen”, Tony greeted her with his mouth full of pizza, “we were gonna come down right after dinner.”

“Tony, please don't talk with your mouth full, especially with a lady”, Steve reprimanded him, before turning to Cho. “I'm sorry, we're still practising manners.”

“Alright, but why call him Tony? And since when do you care about that?” Helen looked from Tony to Steve, the questionmark on her face growing.

“Because I'm Tony”, he answered.

“And I'm Steve. And they're all jumbled up as well.”

“You don't expect me to believe that, do you?” Cho looked like every teacher Tony ever had, who got to listen to his excuses. He used to be quite creative with that, but body swap never occurred to him...

“The first time we met, you stitched up a cut on my leg I got in a knife fight with a perv who thought he could have his way with me”, Nat recalled to prove her identity.

“Natasha?” Her jaw was on the ground as she looked at Thor!Nat with wide eyes.

“Hi Helen...”

“Why the fuck didn't Fury tell me about this?”

“Because we didn't tell him”, Bruce admittedly meekly as he took a few careful steps towards her. “I'm Bruce, by the way.”

“And why the fuck wouldn't you tell him?”

“Because we don't want to end up locked up in a SHIELD lab, where they treat us like guinea pigs. With Tony, me and you, we can run all the tests on us, this weird goo and figure out a way to reverse this.”

“So you want me to lie to Fury.”

“It's just... We're going through enough shit as it is”, Tony explained. “I just got to watch my girlfriend kiss Clint and we have the thundering, blundering Thor inside Bruce, which just screams constant hulk-outs. Locking us up at SHIELD won't help anybody, especially not us.”

Silence fell over the room as Helen looked from Avenger to Avenger. “Fine”, she sighed eventually and exasperated threw her hands up in the air. “Just don't get me fired.”

“Not gonna happen, I promise. Thank you, so, so much! It's all gonna be fine, promise.”

“I'll hold you to that”, Helen made clear and pointed at Tony, “and trust me, you don't want to piss me off.”

“Yeah”, Tony gulped, taking a timid step back, “I got it.”

“Good. To the lab then.”

“But... pizza!” Tony had basically inhaled half a pizza already, but he still felt like he was starving.

“Supermetabolism”, Steve explained.

“Ah”, she nodded. “Fine. Then everybody who's not starving with me.” And, with Steve, Bruce and Clint on her heel, Helen waltzed off, leaving Thor passed out on the couch and Tony and Nat gorging themselves on pizzas. At least Nat felt like he did, with a supermetabolized body.

.

“You guys can shower first”, Helen greeted them as they staggered in, carrying the unconscious Thor while trying not to trip over the annoyingly long legs of their new bodies. Tony had to admit, Natasha handled that giant mountain of muscles a lot more graceful that Tony did... “I got enough samples of the goo for plenty of testing.”

The others had already showered, sitting in jogging trousers and SI sweatshirts on the patient beds. Steve had wrapped himself up completely, hiding all of Nat's curves. Bruce was bent over a microscope, already having started the first tests and Clint had his feet propped up against the wall, reading a magazine.

“Right then”, Tony nodded and carefully, as to not trip too much, he made for the bathroom.

“DON'T LOOK!”, Steve yelled and Tony couldn't help his snorted laugh. “Trust me, I wasn't planning on it.” With that, he disappeared in a shower stall.

.-.-.-.-.

“So”, Helen stated, as she glanced over all the test results. “I can't tell you anything about the glibber yet, but all the tests I ran on you guys... Well, they're spectacularly unspectacular. Your results are in accordance with the body you're inhabiting.”

“Well, nice to know that my body is at least healthy, even though Legolas is running it.”

“You kidding me? I love being in a body that can hear!”, Clint grinned back. “No more hearing aids!”

To stop them from starting a fight, Nat just growled at them and they were quiet. Even though she would probably be respected a lot more in this body, it was nice to know that those two were afraid of Natasha, not Thor's body.

“Thanks for the hint”, Bruce smiled over, reached to his ear and shut off the aids.

And Nat just burst out laughing. She couldn't blame him; those guys were just so damn whiny; if she had the possibility to switch off any hearing, she'd do the same. Huh, she never asked, if Banner knew ASL... “You alright?”, she signed and he smiled back with a nod.

“Sick of the whining.”

“Tell me about it. Lucky you for Clint's body then!” She grinned and Bruce just started laughing.

“At least this one is only 7 years older than mine, not 1500.”

“I don't mind that so much, but it's so damn big and different. Not gonna lie, bathroom was a little tricky earlier.”

“Come on, you got it so much harder when you're not in the wrong skin.”

“Guys, don't discriminate us”, Tony moped, looking from Nat to Bruce.

Clint was still sprawled out on one bed, nose in a magazine. “They're just saying that my body is better than Thor's or Nat's”, he commented, barely looking up at them.

Steve looked over at Tony. “We should probably learn ASL...”

“What's going on?” Bruce locked eyes with Nat.

“More whining”, she grinned back and with a chuckle, Bruce went back to his microscope.

“So, physically everything is normal?”, Steve asked again as he turned to Cho.

“Yeah, why? Something wrong?”

He just shrugged. “I feel kinda weird.”

“The results are all perfectly normal for Natasha”, Helen explained, after double checking her notes. “You do have a bunch of new body parts, maybe you just need to get used to that. If you're still not well by tomorrow or it gets worse, I'll check you again, alright?”

“Sure thing”, he nodded and wrapped the blanket a little tighter around himself.

“Natasha, please tell Bruce to switch the aids on again, I'll need his help to hook you guys up to the computers, so I can run tests on your brainwaves.”

She signed at him and Bruce went back to hearing and to work and in no time, Nat and the guys had all sorts of cables stuck to their heads. And the biologists went nuts over their results, comparing data and throwing technical terms around. All that wouldn't be that unusual, if it weren't all coming from Clint's mouth.

“Dude, this is so bizarre”, Clint whispered over. “I mean, I know it's not me, but...”

“But it sounds and looks like you”, Nat finished his sentence.

“I know how you feel, Barton”, Steve threw over, nodding at his body, discussing something or other with Cho. “Bizarre doesn't even begin to cover all this.”

“How are you guys doing?” Nat didn't even hear the door opening, until Pepper walked up to them and sat herself on Nat's bed.

“The bodies are healthy”, she recapped, “the nerds are currently trying to decipher our brainwaves.”

“I might be slightly biased, but you are in quite capable hands with those three”, Pepper smiled.

“No bias, very true facts”, Steve agreed.

“Well, Clint.” She turned to him and Nat could see how much she was weirded out by her boyfriend's body keeping its distance. “I believe I owe you an apology for me throwing myself at you earlier.”

“There's no need to apologize, how were you supposed to know that it wasn't Tony... Still, in the fear of crossing a line here, Tony is a lucky guy”, he grinned, blushing just the slightest bit.

“I think I can appreciate that compliment.”

“Hi Pepper.” Tony turned around and smiled widely at her, all dopey and lovestruck, a look Nat did not remember ever seeing on Cap's face.

“Tony”, she smiled back, “you're making progress?”

“Not really”, he admitted. “this is gonna take a while...”

“Alright, that means that Clint and you are in a bit of a pickle.”

“Why?”

“Because you, dear, have a presentation.”

“Can't you reschedule?”

“I tried, all day but nope. You'll have to go through that...”

Bruce waved over. “I have a lecture in three days.”

“And I have an appointment at the Department of Education”, Steve finished summing up all the impeding appointments.

“So, me and Bruce are fucked”, Tony summarized.

“Hey, I can do a great you”, Clint shot back.

“And I don't know that you'd be that convincing a Cap”, Steve added.

“I already fooled Fury.”

Once again, Nat got them to shut up with a nice, thunder-godly growl, before smiling back at Pepper. “We're gonna get these guys into shape, don't worry about that.”

“If I didn't have you”, she beamed and put her hand over her heart.

“Us girls just got each other's back”, Nat chuckled, aware how weirdly bizarre that must sound in Thor's deep voice.

“Wait”, Tony interrupted the women. “Cap, your Department of Education appointment... It doesn't happen to be in DC, does it?”

“It is”, Steve nodded. “Day after tomorrow.”

“Perfect”, Nat grinned, “you can go to SHIELD!”

“I don't suppose Fury'll let you measure that thing's brainwaves...”

“He will most probably not”, Tony agreed with Bruce and went back into technical terms and Natasha didn't even bother trying to follow what they were coming up with. Instead she shot Pepper another smile and leaned back on her bed.

If everything went completely perfect, she'd be back in her own body in two days time, on Thursday. And no time to soon; Steve really didn't look all that hot... He hadn't said it, but Nat knew her body well enough to recognize all the little signs that he was not only uncomfortable in the female skin but in pain as well. And, doing the Math, it was that time a month...

“Helen?”, Nat called over, interrupting the scientists. “Got a hot water bottle and some painmeds?”

“Of course, what's wrong, Natasha?”

“It's not for me”, she assured Helen and nodded over at her body. “Cramps.”

“Yeah, of course.” Cho started rummaging through a drawer, as Steve looked over at Nat, moving to ask the obvious question.

“I know my body”, she answered pre-emptively.

“Right”, he nodded and stopped the fight against giving in to the pain. “But I thought nothing's wrong with this body?”

“You're not gonna like this”, Pepper shrugged, “but the body is working like it's supposed to.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Omigod.” Tony looked from Pepper to Nat, who both decided to ignore him in favour of the super soldier, who still hadn't gotten that he was on his period.

“It means that you picked a hell of a week for this body swap”, Helen chuckled.

“What do you... Oh.” The penny seemed to have dropped as his eyes went wide and he blushed even more than Nat knew her body could blush.

Steve ignored everybody staring at him and grabbed the hot bottle Helen held out to him. “Thanks.”

“Of course”, she smiled. “I also got some pads down here.”

“Those aren't the things that go inside...”

“No”, Nat interrupted him, “just the underwear. And you'll wear them, or you get to buy me a whole new wardrobe”, she added with the fake-sweetest grin.

“Cap. You don't have to answer if you don't want to”, Tony asked. “But... Did they teach sex-ed back in the day?”

“Tony, they didn't teach sex-ed when we were in school, hell, in many schools they don't even teach it today”, Bruce answered in Steve's place.

“Good point”, Tony nodded.

“You guys gonna teach Steve about what it's like to menstruate, right?”, Nat shot back and was happy to see Helen and Pepper with similarly pissed off expressions on their faces, at which the guys shied back. “Thought so”, she grumbled before turning to Steve. “Pain, moodiness and cravings, that's pretty much what you can expect. You're lucky, my cramps normally don't get that bad, so you'll be alright.”

“Not that bad?”, Steve cried out. “You mean this could get worse?”

“Oh, honey”, the three women answered in unison and just shook their heads.

“Would you like me to explain to you what is currently happening to your body?”, Helen asked with the fakest smile.

“It feels like my innards are liquidizing themselves.”

“That's pretty much what's happening”, Pepper nodded.

“How do you do this every month?”, he moaned and winced, clutching his stomach.

“You know it's just starting, right?”

“If I ever spoke bad about women, I take it all back and I am eternally sorry.”

“We are all so grateful”, Nat deadpanned and looked back at Cho. “Fun week ahead of us.”

“I'm a bit scared to interrupt”, Bruce threw in, “but it looks like my body is waking up...” He pointed over at the bed Thor occupied and man, was that necessary right now? Was one overemotional superhuman not enough?

“He's on you”, she made clear, “I already got my hands full with that”, she added with a nod to the curled up Steve.

“Fair enough”, he shrugged and walked up to Thor, who groggily opened his eyes.

“Clint, friend, what happened?”, he asked in his dazed confusion.

“Thor, I need you to just stay calm. Do you remember the fight?”

“I do.”

“Well, something happened to us, we don't know what yet, but we all woke up in the wrong body.”

“This is preposterous”, Thor answered. His authoritative and confident tone was definitely unusual look for Bruce's usually so restraint and quiet self.

“You are currently inhabiting the body of me, of Bruce Banner. Which is why I need you to stay calm as to not hulk out on us”, he explained and slowly it seemed to dawn on the god. He looked down himself, down the much smaller body and shit, as realization hit him, a slight green shimmer flickered on his face.

“Buddy, everything's alright”, Bruce kept on repeating and shooting Thor a warm and reassuring smile. “We're at the tower, Helen already made sure that we're not hurt and we have everything we need to find a cure. And that is a promise”, he added emphatically.

“I trust you, friend”, Thor eventually got out and his skin went back to its normal hue.

“Thanks”, Bruce smiled.

“Though I am starving”, he remarked.

“Yeah, that's from hulking out.”

“It is truly a weird sensation...”

“It is just as truly a weird sensation to hear Bruce talk like that”, Clint chuckled, prompting Thor to turn around to the Avengers.

“That's Clint”, Bruce explained, “Tony is in Steve, Steve in Nat and Natasha is currently inhabiting your body.”

“That is... confusing”, Thor goggled, eyeing his body curiously.

“I know”, Nat agreed.

Thor's face just broke into a wide smile. “I am glad then, that a warrior of fierceness, swiftness and strength such as you, Natasha, is taking care of my body. It is an honour”, he added and Nat couldn't help the proud smile spreading over her face.

“Thank you, Thor. I will do my best to honour your being.”

“I have not a single doubt. I propose further convening after dinner, though.”

“Sure. If the doc's ok with it, us non-sciency Avengers can scour the kitchen.”

“Yes”, Helen nodded, “get Thor something to eat and we'll do our job.”

“Thank you, doctor”, Thor smiled as he got off the bed. “This body is slightly smaller than what I am used to”, he remarked after catching his balance again.

“Don't worry”, Bruce laughed, “you'll get used to it.”

.

After dinner, Thor retired rather quickly to his room, being still exhausted from hulking out. Clint was busy texting with Laura, explaining why he wouldn't call or come home these next few days.

Sitting by herself wasn't something Nat was keen on right now, though. Yes, she was used to being isolated, being on her own but ever since she joined SHIELD and now the Avengers, she got used to enjoy having people by her side.

So she went down to the lab, where Bruce was typing around on a keyboard. Steve was still curled up on the bed; he had refused to move earlier and Nat had just managed to catch herself before calling him a wuss. By now he was fast asleep though and Bruce was working by himself. He seemed to have switch the aids off again, he didn't hear Nat walking in and jumped as she suddenly stood in front of him.

“Sorry, I didn't want to scare you.”, Nat apologized and sat down on a chair on the other side of the experimenting table.

“That's alright”, he smiled, “I just prefer to work in silence.”

“Can't blame you... Where are Tony and Helen?”

“Tony went to get some supplies from his labs for the brain wave scanner he's building and Cho has an appointment tonight.”

“And how are you?”

He smiled tiredly. “No idea. I'm comparing brain waves and feel like screaming in frustration, but I don't want to wake Steve. What about you?”

“Just wanted to check on you. You do look like you could do with a break.”

“Yeah, well I feel like I could do with my own body”, he retorted.

“Yeah... Watching Steve like this”, she halfheartedly nodded at him, “is really unnerving...”

“In a weird way I know how you feel... Watching Thor almost hulk out earlier was strange to say the least.”

Nat couldn't help but laugh at them bonding over their bodies being unpredictable wrecks and the guys going through all that, infecting Bruce.

“Listen”, he signed after a while, looking all sombre and earnest. “I still owe you an apology and somehow it feels easiest to do that without talking and while you don't look like yourself... Probably I'm just a coward.”

What was he talking about? “First of all I don't think you're a coward, and secondly I have no idea what you want to apologize for. But, if it'd make you feel better, you can apologize to me again when we're wearing our proper skins.”

“I might just do that”, Bruce smiled. “But still. I don't think I ever apologized for Hulk almost killing you, back when we had Loki on the ship.”

Bruce had not. And Natasha didn't want him to; she did her all to forget that day being dragged across the helicarrier to her certain death, if it hadn't been for Clint... As sure as Natasha was that she wanted to get back into her body, she knew that she wanted nothing less than talking about that.

“I'm so sorry, Natasha, I can't even...”

“Please don't”, she interrupted, “please just... don't.” Ugh, Natasha hated feeling and sounding weak, maybe even more now that she was in a skin embodying strength and power. But if they started talking about that, she'd probably just break down and that was something she needed even less than this blond mess on her head.

Bruce was silent, looking at her with wide eyes. With Clint's wide eyes; the face she couldn't lie to.

“Can we please not talk about that? I appreciate what you're trying to do, but please no.”

Bruce nodded, still looking like a kid that just witnessed their parents fight for the first time.

Just as he motioned to answer, Tony walked back in, his arm full of tools and wires and shit. “Romanoff, you wanna help out?”

“Sure thing”, she forced herself to grin at him, just catching Bruce's face falling before he, too, forced a smile. Tony didn't seem to notice anything; Nat ran into him in his mechanic-moods often enough to know that all Tony managed to focus on was the project on hand and his coffein intake.

“I'll leave you to your work”, she signed to Bruce, Tony probably already forgot she was there, buried between wrenches and screws and cables. She wouldn't even put it past him to have forgotten he was in the wrong body. There was no malice, his brain was just focused on his work right now.

“Sure thing”, Bruce answered, “talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah”, she nodded and the smile she shot him as she walked past wasn't even all that forced.

“Yo”, she patted her body on the shoulder. “Rogers, wake up.”

“What's happening?” He almost immediately sat up and cased his surroundings, only relaxing when he realized where exactly he was. “Hey. I assume I didn't dream all this confusion up and you're actually Natasha.”

“Yup”, she nodded and helped Steve on his feet. “Come on, let the nerds do their job and I'm sure you'll sleep better in your bed.”

“Sounds right”, he agreed as they walked back upstairs together, but he stopped awkwardly before heading to his room.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't want to sound like a stereotype but I really feel like chocolate or something...”, he admitted with a nervous blush.

“Right. Hunk-a-hulk-a-burning-fudge is my go-to craving-remedy.”

“Sounds good to me”, he agreed and a few moments later they sat criss cross on a couch, a container of ice cream between them, the only sound being the clinking of spoons for a while until Steve's snorted laughter broke the silence. “This is so fucked up.”

“Steve!” Nat could not remember ever hearing Steve swear, let alone use the F-word!

“I can't in good conscience let Natasha Romanoff go for that long without swearing”, he grinned back and gobbled up another spoon of ice cream.

“Aw, Steve”, she cooed, “ that is so sweet of you! Unfortunately, I believe your body has sworn more in the last six hours than it did in the last six months...”

“Probably”, he laughed, “but Stark deserves it. I mean he, Helen and Bruce are the ones to get us out of this mess, so if it helps his genius-process, let him swear away.”

Nat chuckled and enjoyed some more of the ice cream and took the chance to really take herself in. When would she ever get the chance to properly inspect her body like that?

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“You got my face there”, she shrugged. “And I don't know, it's interesting to see myself from the outside.”

“I get that appeal, though I assume for an outsider it looks like Thor's oggling Natasha”, Steve shot back with a skew grin.

“Can't blame him”, Nat snickered, “I look good.”

“I feel compelled to thank you for that compliment...”

“You really never looked better.”

.-.-.-.-.

“CODE GREEN!”

Alarms going off all around ripped Bruce out of uneasy dreams. He never heard that one before; and after having fallen asleep crouched over his desk, his brain took a moment longer than usual to start.

“SHIT!” Tony was quicker to react, from the looks of it he probably hadn't gotten even five minutes of sleep. “JARVIS, Hulkbuster!”

Oh. Well, made that made sense given that it was called 'Code Green' and that Bruce had never heard of it; with him usually being the one causing the alarm... He hurried after Tony, and not even Clint's much fitter body managed to keep up with Steve's long legs. They were barely up the stairs, when Bruce heard the growls and screams he only knew from recordings, videos and his nightmares.

To see Hulk – himself – like that was so much worse than he'd hoped it be. Pure rage and hatred emanated from Hulk as he smashed his way around the giant living room.

That was him; that was Bruce right there. He felt all the colour draining from his face and if he didn't have a wall right behind him to lean on, he'd probably have dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Bruce could only stare with wide eyes, as the Iron Legion cornered Hulk, making it all a million times worse.

It took a couch crashing against the wall just beside  him to get Bruce out of his trance. Right. Bruce had caused the Hulk, maybe he could just calm Thor.

“Hey buddy”, he tried to smile as he walked up to Hulk, doing all he could to ignore the jelly-like feel of his knees.

“Bruce”, Tony whispered, “do you really thing this is a good idea?”

“Yes, please don't get my body broken”, Clint hissed, but Bruce decided to ignore them both; except for motioning for Tony to get the Legion out the way.

“Thor, I know it's weird to be in this body. And I know it's terrifying.” He walked up to him with his palms out and locked eyes. “But that's alright. We're all terrified, but at least we are all in this together. So please, my friend. I'm asking you to trust me.” With that he held out his hand and either he'd be smashed or they'd get Thor back. If Bruce was being honest,  he wouldn't mind either option.

But doubt came over Hulk's face and Bruce could watch the rage slowly dropping as Hulk looked down on Bruce's (well, Clint's) hands. “It's alright, buddy”, he assured him again with a smile, that wasn't even forced.

And the giant green hand came down. Not in a fast punch, but gently, Hulk put his hands in Bruce's, and the green colour started to fade. “Listen, I know you're gonna feel bad now, but I'm here. I got you, I promise.” And the transformation started. This was gonna be a bad thing and definitely not pretty. Bruce barely remembered turning back; often he just came to again in ripped or – mostly – no clothes, in a usually smashed building and no recollection of the last how ever long it was that he had been terrorizing people around him.

Hulk – or was it Thor already? - began to scream and buck, as every muscle in his body spasmed. His skin flashed between deep green and Bruce's normal less than white skin colour, as he curled himself together and shrunk down. “I'm right here, you're gonna be alright”, Bruce kept on reassuring Thor, who was going through some pretty painful shit right now. He knelt by his side and kept his hand on Thor's shoulder who did look almost completely human by now. Looking over at Bruce with wide eyes, there was only a last glimmer of green flickering over his skin, which too, quickly faded away.

“Friend, what happened?” It was barely a hoarse whisper, but more than Bruce usually managed to get out after hulking out.

“You just hulked out on us”, he explained, “but everything is alright again.”

“I am so sorry!”, Thor apologized over and over again, “I truly am.”

“Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us”, Bruce added with a grin, before he turned to the Avengers. “Can someone get some clothes for the god of thunder?”

Only now Thor realized that Bruce's pyjamas he had borrowed did not survive the hulking activities and blushed immensely. “My apologies, dear friend, for bringing your body into such improper circumstances.”

“Please, nothing I haven't seen yet”, Bruce chuckled, before Clint threw bunch of clothes in their directions, which Thor gratefully took.

“Gotta say”, Tony nodded and patted Bruce's shoulder as Thor dressed himself, “could use you around for every unplanned hulk out.”

“Uh yeah...”

“Friend Stark is right”, Thor smiled, dressed again and most his wits collected. “Thank you, from the bottom of my... well, your heart”, he added with a chuckle.

“Of course”, Bruce smiled back, well, tried to smile back. All that just happened hit him like a wrecking ball and as grateful as he was about Thor being – more or less – himself again, a part of Bruce wished he'd never seen this. Yes, Hulk never had been some purely theoretical being that just took over every time Bruce blacked out, all the pain and destruction was very real, but being face to face with this rage, this monster; this monster that was him...

“Get him something to eat, as much calories and sugar as you can get; Thor's gonna need that”, Bruce instructed. “And you need to rest”, he added in Thor's direction. He could barely look at the tired and exhausted face smiling over at him; the face of the deadly killing machine that caused so much harm.

Bruce had to get out of there, needed a place where he could break down in private, and that as quickly as possible.

Fussing over Thor, nobody seemed to notice him slipping out. He made for upstairs, for the roof; fresh air was what he needed, and maybe no one would go looking for him there. Though it was more staggering than anything else, Bruce made it up, stumbling out the roof door and all but collapsed on the cement floor.

But not even out here, with all that fresh air, he could breathe. It felt like someone kept on tightening a vice around his chest, constricting, squashing his innards... Being out of breath was the only thing keeping him from screaming his lungs out, cry out all that anger, fear, the pain, especially that shame and self-loathing.

Slowly Bruce crawled forward; blinded by emotions he wasn't even sure where he went, but maybe, if he moved, his body would go back to listening to him... Who was he kidding, this wasn't even his body! It wasn't his body that scraped itself bloody on the rough concrete, it wasn't his body that felt sick with hatred and hurt; it wasn't his body that just wouldn't let him die...

Oh.

Bruce could die in this body; he could actually die... And there would be nothing; no pain, no Hulk, no hatred...

Somehow he got to a wall, leaned against it and just let all the thoughts and feelings flow; he had no strength in him to fight all that; what little strength he had left Bruce had to focus into not suffocating and not throwing up. He wouldn't fight the tears any more, that was a lost cause so he let the tears roll off his cheek and took a deep breath.

He could die. But he'd also kill Clint's ride in the process. Clint didn't seemed to be bothered by a different skin that much though... He just was that type of person that rolled with the punches and made the best out of a bad situation. And besides, he'd keep all his skills with bow and arrows, he could be the shooting Ironman or something...

Yes, Hulk would still be around, but it wouldn't be Bruce's problem. If his conscience would let him get through with that though... Who cared, Bruce'd be dead, he wouldn't have a conscience any more!

“Penny for your thoughts?” Blinded by his tears, Bruce didn't even bother to look up at who walked up to him. He didn't need to; Thor's booming voice was unmistakeable. Of course, Natasha had followed him up here. She knew Clint after all, better than anybody else did. All the little tells, they were as obvious to her as a neon sign.

“I'm not that cheap.”

“Good”, she chuckled, “don't sell yourself short.”

Bruce was not in the mood for small talk, he just wanted to be left alone. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the view”, she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “And you?”

“Take a wild guess.” Balled on the ground, with tears running down his cheeks and his knees and hands scratched and bloody, it really wasn't that hard a conclusion.

“You want to talk about it?”

Bruce just shook his head. He got it now; he got why Nat wouldn't accept his apologies, wouldn't want to talk about Hulk. That face... His face was just such a hate-filled grimace, no signs of humanity, not even the slightest bit. Bruce was pretty sure that the only reason he had managed to calm Hulk down earlier was because he had Thor inside. As quick as Thor was to anger, he was even faster to calm and trust those he held close. If Bruce had been in there... It would have been a very different story.

“Listen”, Nat continued, “I know I said I didn't want to talk about it. But I also know that you're hurting and... I don't know, man, I'm just worried about you.”

“Why? Cause I got to see what kind of killing machine I really am?”, he shot back and looked up at her. “Cause I had to once experience what you live through every time the big guy's around?”

“Is that what's going through your head right now?”

Screw this. “You were right, about not wanting to talk about it”, Bruce scoffed, letting all the bitterness sound through. He was still a little weary on his knees as he got up and walked past her to the door. Well, maybe she did deserve to know what he was thinking, if only for him to be affronting. So, before the door closed behind him, he turned around one more time and locked eyes with her. “What's actually going through my head, is that in Clint's body, I could actually die”, he stated honestly, turned around and behind him the heavy door closed with a loud echoing bang.

.-.-.-.-.

“Boss.” JARVIS' voice ripped Tony away from his work. And he hated nothing more than being interrupted whilst mid-project

“What?”, he grunted, barely looking up from the circuitry.

“Your phone has been ringing for the last ten minutes.”

“Huh?” Properly looking up and even putting his screwdriver down, he heard the repeated beeping of his phone.

“It is Colonel Rhodes”, J informed him.

Well, he wouldn't want to let his Platypus wait! “Put him through, then.”

“Finally”, Rhodey's voice echoed through the lab, “I know you love watching the line blink but I might just take this personally.”

“Darling, you know I love you more than any blinking line”, Tony grinned back, “I'm just busy in the lab, is all.”

“And why do you sound like Steve?”

“As if you don't know”, he scoffed back and was a little miffed that he couldn't shoot his friend the death glare through a voice call, especially when Rhodey started laughing only moments later. “Well, happy you're having fun with this bullshit.”

“Sorry”, he chuckled, “I really am. Yes, Pepper told me and maybe, just maybe, I am kicking myself for being on a business trip right now. I don't suppose you'll still be sporting the latest Super-Soldier-body next week?”

“Not if I've got anything to do with it”, Tony made clear. “I get to interview that thing Thursday, building a brainwave reader right now. And then we'll see.”

“Sounds like a plan. So, how are you doing?” And like that, Rhodey's voice went from totally amused and a little bit mocking to supportive and understanding.

“Well, I already got to watch as Pepper kissed my body, even though Barton was inside and I'm wearing the skin of the man that fucked up my childhood. How do you think I'm doing?”

Rhodey was besides Pepper the only person, Tony didn't even think before speaking; not telling the truth didn't even occur to him when talking to his honeybear.

“I get that... Maybe you should talk to Steve, let him know.”

“Well, he's definitely got bigger problems than my unresolved daddy issues, which aren't his fault. He was dead then, there's nothing he can do”, Tony sighed. It was a little unfair of him to hate Steve the way he did. Well, it probably wasn't hatred any more, but still.

“Do you want me to come home?”

What now? “Rhodey, I'm a grown man. I'm not some fifteen year old college student any more.”

“My duty of care did not end the day you turned 18, or 21. That duty will extend to the day either of us bow out. Well, until you do. Because rest assured if I die before you – and that's a big if – you can bet your pretty ass I'll haunt you if you don't look after yourself, so let me ask again: do you need me to come home?”

“Oh, honeybear!”, Tony cooed and he was admittedly a little lost for words and tearing up just a little bit, which he would vehemently deny if accused of that. “You don't. But I can't even tell you how much I love you for offering just that.”

“I love you, too. There's just one concern...”

“Yes?”

“Just because this body you're having now is young and enhanced, it doesn't mean you can work for 72 hours straight.”

Man, Rhodey just knew him too well, which was an amazing thing, of course. “Well, you'll be happy to know that I am only on hour... JARVIS, when did we get back from South America?”

“27 hours ago.”

“And two of those 27 hours I was being treated by Helen and shit, so I'm only on hour 25.”

“JARVIS”, Rhodey sighed, and Tony could see him shaking his head at that. “If he reaches 36 hours without sleep, you are hereby authorized to cut all the power to the lab.”

“Yes, I will”, JARVIS confirmed and Tony could only groan.

“J, you're my AI, not his.”

“As your AI, that is named and created after the person responsible to look after you, it is my foremost task to keep you as safe as I can”, he stated simply and Tony swore, he saw Jarvis, the human Jarvis, standing in the corner, his arms crossed and shaking his head at Tony.

“Fine”, he groaned. “Just remember: I built the first Ironmansuit in a cave in the desert in Afghanistan.”

“Tones, we're fucking worried about you”, Rhodey cried out. “You little shit are important to me, to Pepper, to JARVIS, so I don't give a fuck if you don't care about your life, because I do. How do you think I'll feel if you work yourself to death? So don't even think I'll apologize for having you locked out of the lab.”

Woah. That went a lot deeper than Tony had anticipated. Feeling a blush creeping up his face, he looked down, unsure of what he should say.

“I'm sorry”, he eventually mumbled, feeling like his 10 year old self being reprimanded by Aunt Peggy.

“I know you are. Just behave yourself and I don't have to feel like I'm mothering you.”

“Please, you love mothering me”, Tony shot back smirking.

“I shall neither confirm nor deny these accusations.” As stern as he tried to sound, Tony knew Rhodey was fighting hard to keep the grin down. “Listen, Ross is calling, I need to get back to work.”

“Do you need a rescue call in like half an hour?”, Tony laughed and delighted when Rhodey joined in.

“Ross already can't stand you, do you really want to push it?”

“Remember, I'm Steve right now. I can pull a lot of strings with the US army.”

“Tempting, very tempting”, Rhodey chuckled. “But as long as you are alright enough to do your job, I'll do mine. And talk to you soon, alright?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Tones.”

.-.-.-.-.

It was no surprise to Thor that he'd find Banner in the labs. He, Tony and Helen had barely left their microscopes, computers and machinery behind, working overtime to fix their unfortunate situation.

So focused on his work, Bruce didn't even seem to notice Thor calling out for him, not until he was right in front of the scientist.

“Thor, sorry, I didn't hear you”, he apologized and reached up to his ear. “Some of the machines are really loud and I prefer to work in quiet, so I switched the hearing aids off.”

“That I can understand”, Thor smiled and sat himself opposite Bruce.

“How can I help you then?”

“I have been informed that there is a presentation Bruce has to do, and I thought it prudent to ask you about the contents, so I might be a convincing Dr Banner.”

“Oh, that... You don't have to worry about that”, Bruce smiled, “I cancelled the lecture.”

“Oh.” Huh. Did he not think Thor capable enough? His hurt must have shown on his face, Bruce was quick to explain his reasoning. “This has nothing to do with you. But it's not just a presentation, it's a discussion panel and I can't teach you everything by tomorrow. Even if I could, I think it would help all of us so much more if I focused on reversing this.” He gestured between him and Thor.

“Right.” Thor still didn't fully buy what Bruce sold. Especially one little doubt was nagging in the back of his head. “Is it because of yesterday morning, when I hulked out on...”

“No, it's not”, Bruce interrupted. “You don't have to feel bad about that. Nobody is blaming you, least of all me”, he added with a smile. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I still feel guilty”, he admitted. He had destroyed so much property in only a few short minutes; if Bruce hadn't managed to calm him again... Thor truly did not want to know what would have happened, what he would have done to his friends. “If it weren't for my temper...”

“Buddy, I know exactly how you feel. And that's why you can believe when I say that it's alright.”

“Though I am aware that there is no reason to doubt your word, I still feel responsible and in all honesty, afraid.” It was true, Thor was scared to even raise his voice, out of fear he'd turn into that creature. Ever since yesterday's incident he had hidden himself away in his room, barely leaving it. He hated it with a passion, hated weakness and fear. He hated it almost as much as admitting to it. But if there was one person in this situation he could trust, it was Banner. “How are you not terrified?”

Bruce got off his chair and sat next to Thor on the bench. “I'm not scared of you. Why should I, as boisterous as you might be, you are even more loyal and trustworthy. Yesterday, when I talked Hulk down... I was only able to do that because you trusted me enough to let go of the fear. If it would have been anybody else, I don't know they would have been so quick to trust.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do”, Bruce nodded and locked eyes with Thor. “A good man might not be able to keep from hulking out, but he might be strong enough to trust to let go of Hulk.”

“Wow”, Thor smiled, “nicely said. And a very empowering philosophy.” If his friend understood it that way, then why shouldn't Thor? And if his friend truly believed him to be a good man, then there was no need for him to be afraid, was there? “It pains me to say this, but that would make you, my friend, the strongest Avenger...”

“Well”, Bruce laughed, “Hulk can't be killed, so this is sort of not that big an accomplishment...”

“I am not talking about Hulk”, Thor clarified. “I am talking about you, Bruce Banner and your strength. It is formidable, awe-inspiring to say the least.”

“Wait.” Bruce's expression changed into something somewhat annoyed, almost angry. “Did you talk with Natasha?”

“I have not”, he answered truthfully, confused as to what the doctor was insinuating. “Why?”

“Nothing”, Bruce quickly waved it off, but Thor could recognize the force behind his smile. “Thank you, for the compliment”, he got back on topic. “I'm not sure I believe it just yet, but thank you, nonetheless.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“I appreciate it.” The doctor flushed ever so slightly, and turned his face downwards, trying to hide his blush. It seemed, that Thor should not keep on praising the rather shy and restrained scientist; during his time on earth he has learned that, unlike Asgardians, many earthlings, like Banner, didn't like to boast with their accomplishments.

“So, it seems then that you shall not teach me about earthly physics”, Thor changed the topic and Bruce seemed to be grateful.

“You're welcome to stay, I could use another set of hands; Tony is so busy working on his scanner project, he's practically useless to me.”

“Huh?” Thor hadn't even realized that Stark, who now resurfaced between metal scraps and cables, was in the laboratory. “Heard my name. Oh, hi Thor. When did you get here?”

“Ignore him”, Bruce advised Thor, before waving Tony off. “Nevermind, get back to work.” With a grin and a shrug, Stark disappeared again.

“You don't have to stay, though”, Bruce turned back to Thor. “I'm sure there are more entertaining things to be done than comparing brainwave data.”

“Actually, I would like to see the work process”, Thor smiled enthusiastically. He truly was interested and had already been looking forward to learn from the doctor. And, even though it wasn't gamma radiation, brain activity was just as interesting a subject to study. “And if I can be of any help, I'll gladly support you.”

“Right then, let me show you what I'm doing.” Bruce motioned for Thor to join him in front of a big monitor, over which waves of different heights, widths and colours danced. “Those are our results, these here are yours.” He pointed at a yellow line. “Now I'm just trying to find where our waves overlap with the electrical current of the goo. That's the brown one.”

“What do you hope to achieve?”

“I hope to find the points of overlapping activity to see which points of our brains it's attacking.”

“Ah, I see”, Thor nodded, “if we know where our psyche is being attacked, we know where to inhibit it's influence on us.”

“Exactly”, Bruce smiled. “Well, let's get to it, then.”

.

“Hey, I've been missing you all afternoon”, Natasha smiled at Thor, as he made his way into the common room.

“I have been in the laboratories with Bruce, deciphering our brainwaves. And now I see colourful wavey lines dancing in front of my eyes”, he reported, before sitting down on the couch opposite her and Captain Rogers. As interesting as it had been to work with Banner, it was incredibly taxing on Thor's brain. He truly had no idea how the scientist Avengers worked on things like that for hours, no, for days on end.

“Impressive”, Nat praised him. “I've been looking after this one all day.” She nodded at Steve, who had a container of Hunk-a-hulk-a-burning-fudge in his hands.

“I'm a disaster”, he explained, sniffling ever so slightly.

“Captain, don't be saddened! We all have challenges in our new bodies, there is no need to be melancholic.”

“He's not”, Natasha explained, “he's hormonal and has no clue how to handle that.”

“Oh. I see”, he nodded. Natasha's body seemed to be even more of a challenge than Bruce's was for Thor... “I already praised Banner for being the strongest of us all, with him having to deal with the Hulk, but I assume that you, Natasha, and all the other women, are just as strong, if not more, having to deal daily with difficulties that have even the strongest warriors crying and in pain.”

“Thank you, Thor”, she smiled.

“I completely agree”, Steve nodded. “Women are fierce!”

.-.-.-.-.

“Hi Pepper!” Tony's voice ripped her away from her paperwork. Right, it wasn't Tony, it was Clint, who now sat down opposite her.

“Clint, great. I tried everything to cancel that presentation that Tony has tomorrow, but no chance. You'll have to get through that.”

“As long as you tell me what I need to say, I should do just fine.”

“It's not just that though.” The real Tony strutted into Pepper's office and smiled at her with wide beaming eyes, before turning Clint. “You gotta be me. Attitude and all.”

“Please”, Clint scoffed, “if you can be demure and shit like Rogers, I can be like you.”

“Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it”, Tony waved him off, but didn't grace him with too much of a side glance. Instead he didn't break eye contact with Pepper. And it was so weird.

Pepper had to repeatedly tell herself that it was not Steve that shot her these heart eyes and that it was not Tony that tried to avoid looking at her.

“Ok, we need to get you guys back into your skin”, she just shook her head after a while.

“No arguments from me”, Clint grinned. “Let's get through this one first, though.”

“Good idea”, Pepper nodded, broke away from Tony's look and turned to Clint. “It's not too difficult though, you got the entire talk on these index cards.” She put them down in front of Clint and he leafed through them, before looking back up at her.

“So, I need to be trained in 'How To Be Tony Stark?' I mean, I've seen how you act in front of a camera for years on end. Be dangerously self-confident, insolent and don't give two shits about authorities.”

“That sums it up nicely”, Pepper chuckled.

“Right”, Tony grumbled, “the magic is doing all that and still being a beloved public figure.”

“I thought all those investor-dudes can't stand the sight of you”, Clint shot back with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess they don't”, Tony shrugged.

“There will be press though”, Pepper threw in, before Tony could make some comment about Clint not needing to give a shit about the presentation. “And it's not investors; you don't want their money. You will present the newest arc-reactor upgrades to SI shareholders, a bunch of scientists and therefore you might not want to make them hate you, or well, Tony. At least not any more than they already do.”

“I think I can do that”, he nodded, adding with a grin: “I'm a charming person.”

“Tony tells me that every time I brief him on his presentations. And well, you know how that usually plays out.”

“Hey!”, Tony protested, “I'm a charming person to be around!”

“No, you're not”, Pepper and Clint agreed. “I still love you, though”, she added and Tony was once again all smiles.

“That's honestly all that matters”, he beamed.

“So”, Clint interrupted their romantic eye contact, “you regularly tell Tony what you're telling me today?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Pepper turned to Clint with a shrug. “Unless it's about his iron suits, Tony's got the attention span of a gold fish. And like you so nicely said, he can't be bothered to give two shits not only about authority, but also PR. Making my life so much harder”, she sighed.

“You still fell in love with me”, Tony grinned, leaning back in the chair.

“Alright.” Clint cleared his throat. “I'm gonna leave you two alone and read through this.” He waved with the index cards and awkwardly got up.

“Thank you, Barton.”

“Yeah, least I can do since you're working to get us out of this shit”, Clint grinned and, with a last wave, he left Pepper's office.

“Yeah”, Tony cleared his throat, “I'd better get back on that. Before this”, he gestured between them, “gets any worse. Who am I kidding”, he snorted a laugh, “we probably got enough cause for couple's therapy as it is, without Steve wanting to be with you...”

Tony definitely had a point. “Agreed”, she nodded. “Though I might just be 12% attracted to Steve...”

“Alright”, he laughed and got up. “Will that be all Ms Potts?”

“Yes”, she beamed up, “that'll be all.”

.-.-.-.-.

After going through the presentation index cards for the third time, Clint could have sworn his brain had turned to goo. He let the cards drop and sprawled himself out, resting his head in Nat's, well, Thor's lap.

“Sounds like the genius IQ was not transferred with Stark's body”, she remarked, not looking up from her book though.

“I mean, can you lift the hammer?”, he shot back.

Tasha stilled for a moment, but barely long enough to recognize it. At least if you didn't know her like Clint did. “We both know I'm not worthy”, she eventually shrugged.

“Maybe it's better that way”, he grinned up at her and finally she glanced down and locked eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That I would hate if you had to move to another planet to rule it. I mean, that'd be one sucky commute.”

“Yes, it would be”, she chuckled, before giving her attention back to the story she was reading.

Unsure what else to do, Clint grabbed his phone, intent on daddling around a bit. But his lockscreen picture had him stop: It was taken only a few weeks ago, by Nat actually. Cooper was climbing up Clint's back, grinning cheekily over his shoulder; Laura leaned against his chest, cradling Lila.

Clint just had to talk to his wife. They had only messaged so far, to keep the confusion as minimal as possible, but that just wouldn't do any more. So, consequences be damned, he pressed the call button and only three beeps later, Laura picked up.

“Clint? Is it you?”

“Hey honey”, he sighed, feeling so much better for hearing her voice. “yeah. I know I sound like Stark but it's me.”

“I think I might be able to get over that”, she chuckled. “How are you doing?”

“So good now that we're talking. How are you and the kids?”

“We're alright. You are dearly missed, though.”

“I miss you guys, too.” Clint could start crying any moment now, this sucked majorly. She didn't look down, but a hand came down, gently patting his head. Tasha just was the best friend anybody could ever ask for...

“Are things moving forward at least?”

“No idea, honestly... For now I need to officially be Tony Stark, got to do a presentation about the arc reactor...”

“Oh my”, Laura laughed, the most heavenly sound he had ever heard. “You're gonna do a scientific presentation?”

“Hey!”, he protested, “not fair! I'm smart...”

“Sorry, honey”, she chuckled, “I know you are. You're the smartest husband I've ever had.”

“Haha”, he deadpanned, before he couldn't keep the chuckles down any more.

“You're gonna do just well, I completely believe in you.”

“Thanks. Oh by the way, Nat says hi.”

“Who is she again? Will I have an eternal shock when I say hi to her?”

“Probably”, he chuckled and handed the phone over to Nat. “Laura wants to talk to you.”

“Alright. Hey, Laura. Yes, I am Thor. I'm glad you're enjoying this”, she deadpanned and switched on the speaker. Laura's laughter filled the room, and Clint couldn't help but chuckle along to this most heavenly sound.

“The only thing better than that is that Steve is in Tasha's body, menstruating at the moment”, he laughed.

“Oh, that poor guy. Clint, you don't get to make fun of somebody's period.”

“Thank you, Laura, I've been telling him that all week.”

“Good. It's not like you need my permission, but if you deem it necessary go all god of thunder on his ass.”

“Permission appreciated.”

“Uhm, no?”, Clint threw in, “definitely not appreciated!”

“You're right”, Laura nodded, “Nat doesn't need to be a Norse god to kick your behind from here to Budapest.”

“That's true”, he admitted, looking up at his friend. “I'm definitely more afraid of the ginger Russian than blondie from the Maybelline poster.”

“That's because you're smart”, Tasha grinned.

“And that is smart enough to absolutely rock that presentation tomorrow.”

“Thanks, honey”, Clint grinned.

“So, it sounds like Lila is up. I'll go check on her, you get enough rest and call me after the presentation to tell me how great you did, ok?”

“Promise. Tell Lila and Cooper that their dad loves them so much and will soon be home again.”

“Same goes for Auntie Nat.”

“I'll tell them. The three of us love you, too.”

“Him or me?”, Tasha grinned.

“Nat, you know you'll always be the love of my life”, Laura chuckled. “But Clint, I love you, too.”

“Wow”, he deadpanned and met Nat's smirk head on. “Well, I got to kiss Pepper.”

“Excuse me, you did what?”

“Isn't Lila calling?”, Clint shot back instead.

“Right then. I still love you.”

“I love you, too.”

.

“Alright, Clint.” Pepper patted his shoulder with a reassuring smile. “You're gonna do just fine. You got the notes, be a little overconfident and nothing can go wrong.”

Right. He could do this. He could be Tony Stark, no problems. He gave Pepper the thumbs up and she gently pushed him towards the stage entrance. Shoulders squared, he strutted out on the stage. Luckily there were so many lights on him that he couldn't see how full the audience was.

“Good evening and hello”, he greeted everybody. “I'm assuming you all know who I am, otherwise you wouldn't be here.” That got him a chuckle and it seemed like everything was off to a good start.

He leaned against the lectern and, in the most Tony Stark-like fashion he could, he glanced over his glasses into the room, before taking a first look at his index cards. “Since not everybody might be caught up on what keeps me alive, let me give you a crash course in my magnetically powered heart.”

All night long, Clint had studied what was on these cards, so he could speak as freely as possible about something that, according to everybody in this room, was the one thing he knew more about than anything else.

It wasn't like he understood what any of these cards said, Clint wasn't even sure all of it was English, but as long as he only had to read them out, he'd be alright.

It was admittedly a lot of fun. Clint wasn't exactly the most boisterous person on the planet, but somehow that just came with the body and soon enough, he could just pepper in a few jokes here and there.

“The following I will keep to myself, because, well, if you knew, you might be able to give me a heart attack and I just know that there are a handful of investors and members on my board that can't wait for that to happen to me. Yes, I see you, Justin Hammer”, he winked and a laugh went through the room. The more his jokes landed, the cockier he got, he had to admit that. But the time flew by, and Clint didn't realize how far through the presentation they were, until he got to the last index card.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you know that I am smarter than you. Thanks for listening and until next time!”

After a few exaggerated bows, Clint walked off stage, where Pepper was already waiting with a proud smile. “Fantastic job, Clint.”

“Really?”

“Yes”, she nodded. “You were almost as obnoxious as Tony, read through all the information perfectly and your stand-up isn't half bad.”

“Thanks”, he grinned back, feeling his cheeks blushing. “It was actually a lot of fun.”

“It did look like it was. You can be proud, you were fantastic up there.”

“Well, I assume it's safe to say that you're slightly biased there...”

“No, because Tony wasn't up on that stage there, that was a lot of work that you put into this presentation, more than Tony ever did. Maybe you should stick like that, it would make at least my job a lot easier.”

No, he needed to be Clint again, asap. He wanted to go home, wanted to kiss his wife, hug his children and never ever talk about arc-reactors and shit again. “I appreciate the compliment, but I think we're all better fitted where we belong.”

“Also true. Right then, I need to take care of everything here, you're free to get back to the tower and join Natasha in looking after Steve, stress on looking after, not teasing”, she added.

“Don't worry, I won't”, he nodded, “promise.”

“Off you go then. And thank you, so, so much! Saved us all a world of pain.”

Clint tipped his imaginary hat, turned around, where Nat was already standing. “What are you doing here?”

“I watched you presentation, you doofus.” She boxed his arm and motioned for them to walk back together. “You did good. Very Stark-like.”

“Thanks. All the cameras, lights and attention kinda goes straight to your head, it's incredible.”

“You gonna get a big head now?”

“Yes”, he deadpanned. “I'm gonna be the next genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

“Remember, I have your wife's approval to go all god of thunder on your ass”, Nat reminded him.

“I know you do. And I would like to leave you be right now and call that same wife and tell her how awesome and smart her husband is.” He shot Nat a grin and headed straight for the privacy of his room and the wonderfulness that was hearing Laura's voice.

.-.-.-.-.

This was ridiculous. Steve felt like a caricature come to life, as he gobbled up chocolate ice cream, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on the couch. He had actually bawled his eyes out, when they watched some cartoon movie about lions last night. Shit, he felt himself already tearing up again, when he thought about Simba, mourning his dad... Thankfully, Tony barged in, before Steve could lose himself some more in all these freaking hormones and emotions.

“Rogers, lets make this quick so I can get back into the lab and finish my work before heading to DC tomorrow.” He dropped opposite of Steve on the couch, and looked at him expectantly. “What's gonna happen to me there?”

“No idea, actually”, he shrugged and put the container down. “They never tell me what exactly they want to do. Sometimes it's just a photo-op, recording a PSA or something...”

“PSAs? Really?”

“Yeah”, Steve shrugged. “They're admittedly super cheesy.” Embarrassingly so, actually... Steve felt himself blushing.

“What kind of contract do you have there?”

“They approached me shortly after I thawed out and asked me if I was willing to use my celebrity status as an educational figure, PBS style. I'm basically their Elmo.”

“That is kinda depressing”, Tony stated after a moment. “They tell you jump and you ask how high?”

“I guess... But helping out teachers and students isn't a bad thing and that's why I accepted.”

“That's noble”, Tony nodded.

Steve didn't buy that. Tony was the exact opposite of what this campaign stood for! “You don't think it's noble, you think it's boring.”

“It can be both”, Tony grinned back.

“Oh really? How do you think you can properly sell this, while thinking you're above all that?” Steve felt his voice (well, Nat's voice) pitch higher, but he didn't care, he was angry at Tony. Why wouldn't he be, Steve was building up his life again in a world so foreign to him, and Tony ridiculed it all!

“Steve”, Tony held his hands out, “I seriously think it's great what you're doing for students all over the country.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course”, Tony nodded with a wide smile. “I do. And I'll do my best tomorrow, I promise.”

“Thank you”, Steve smiled and his chest felt all warm and fluffy. He was so touched that Tony would take this so seriously. “It means everything to me.”

“Yeah, alright”, Tony nodded and moved to leave for, probably the lab, again.

“Are you?”

“What?” He paused and turned back to Steve.

“Are you alright?”, he repeated his question. Something felt weirdly off, and he didn't mean his horrible mood swings.

“I'm just stressed, is all”, he shrugged it off, but Steve didn't buy it.

“You sure?”

“Rogers”, Tony groaned and crossed his arms. “Don't start something you don't want to.”

“I don't want to force you to talk”, Steve shrugged. “But if you have an issue with me or my body, I'd like to help out any way I can to make it better.”

“Nice offer, but I don't think you can. So, unless you have anything against that, I'd like to get back to my lab and into my body, before Pepper has to fall in love with you, too.”

“Too?”

“Fuck”, he sighed and stopped. Still had his back turned to Steve, but he didn't motion to storm off anymore. “My Dad.”

It was a quiet mumble, but Steve was sure he didn't mishear him. “Howard?”

Tony turned to Steve, his face as rigid as that of a statue and a hard expression. “My entire childhood I got to compete with you, a then still dead guy, for my Dad's attention. I lost. Whatever I did, it couldn't compare to the Amazing Captain America, Howard's greatest ever creation. But hey, all in the past”, he scoffed with a shrug.

“Oh, Tony... I'm so sorry!” Steve felt the tears rising in his eyes, but that didn't matter. How the hell could any father do that to their son?

“Yeah, whatever”, Tony waved it off.

“No, not whatever”, Steve made clear and walked up to him. “I am really sorry and I can't even imagine how much you must have hated me. And I can't even fault you, if you still do.”

“Well, it's not hatred anymore.” Tony offered Steve a half-hearted smile. “I did however spend the last few days cursing that fucking Alien. Even though your body is younger and enhanced”, he added with a scoff.

“If it makes you feel any better, the last few days I've been feeling similarly horrible as before the serum.”

“It does a bit”, Tony admitted with a grin.

“Good. I don't know if there's anything I can do to help you to feel better around me, and if it is to punch me in the face, I'll be happy to let you do that. But, knowing both you and Howard, I can definitely say that you're the way better man by far.”

“Thanks”, Tony smiled, and it looked like a real smile, “that means a lot.”

“Good. Now I have this urge to hug you, even if it might be weird to hug my own body”, he grinned.

“Yeah, no”, he shook his head. “Let's not push it.”

“Of course”, Steve nodded and sat himself back on the couch, where the hot water bottle and the ice cream already waited for him. “Thank you, though. For being honest with me. Means everything.”

“Right.” Tony clearly was not used to this sort of compliment and he looked a little awkwardly, before nodding at him again and walking out of the common room.

Huh. This whole body swap was really a lot more taxing on everybody's psyche, issues and their relationships than Steve would have ever imagined... Well, at least these things were out in the open now. And maybe, one day, they'd get this sorted out.

.-.-.-.-.

“Mr Rogers!” Tony was greeted by a young woman with a wide beaming smile. “I'm so sorry, I know you usually deal with Mrs Carrigan, but she has an urgent appointment out of town and can't be with us today. I am Cecily Myers and I hope you don't mind working with me for the day.”

“Of course not, it is wonderful to meet you. And of course I understand, Mrs Carrigan” - whoever that was - “is a busy woman.”

“Thank you, for your understanding. So, if you would follow me, Mr Rogers.”

“Please, call me Steve”, Tony 'corrected' her and shot her a warm smile.

“Right then Steve. Shall we?”

They went up an elevator and along a wide, light filled corridor, until they reached what looked like a makeshift movie set.

“Steve, you can change into your suit in the room over there”, Cecily explained. “In the meantime we'll set everything up. Oh, I'm so sorry for not asking before hand, but can I offer you something? A coffee, maybe?”

“That would be very kind, thank you.”

“I'll get right on that, then.” With a last smile, she hurried off, disappearing in the masses of people, who all turned around to Tony with varying degrees of starstruckness, greeting and waving excitedly.

That, Tony was used to and he waved back, all smiles with every shy greeting he got, as he made his way to the room, Cecily had pointed out to him. Tony had no idea what he was about to do here, it looked like they were going to shoot a video. But Tony was just gonna let all that come at him. He was already in the wrong fucking skin, what else could they throw at him?

“Mr Rog... Steve, everything alright?” Cecily knocked at the door.

Well, Cap's suit was definitely harder to put on than his Ironsuit, and he could definitely use a hand. But he shouldn't ask the girl out there, she already seemed to be in way over her head and a shirtless Captain America was not gonna help the situation. “I'll only be a moment”, he called back and squeezed into the tight leather.

When he finally managed to get out, she awaited him with a cup of steaming coffee and a wide smile.

“Thank you, Cecily”, he smiled and gratefully took the cup. “It's delicious”, Tony lied after taking two or three sips and forced the disgusted expression down.

“Then I'm glad.” She directed Tony towards two chairs and motioned for him to sit down. “While they finish setting everything up, I'm going to brief you on today's mission”, she grinned.

“Wow, you know the lingo”, Tony chuckled, and the girl blushed slightly.

It was almost adorable, well it would be, if she wasn't fangirling about Cap right now. He wasn't as bad as Tony had always thought he was, though he still forced himself to not like Howard's idol. Sure, he got the appeal, if only the idolization of Captain America, the US' most beloved and decorated war hero...

“Anyways”, she cleared her throat. “We want to shoot three more PSAs with you today. The ones we have recorded already played in schools all over the country and the reception was quite positive. So much so, that teachers have submitted topics they think important and necessary. Those are profanity, healthy sleeping patterns and substance abuse.”

Oh, they had to be fucking kidding him! Tony, recording PSAs about not swearing, not staying up for 36 hours at a time and fucking doing drugs? The god of irony really had it out for them these last few days...

“Sure”, he forced himself to stay calm and collected and not snort out at the idea of him telling kids not to say fuck. “Our teachers know best what their students' issues are and I can see those things negatively affecting children.” I also know from personal experience that all that makes for a mind-numbingly boring existence. Fine, Tony was aware that his lifestyle wasn't healthy, but there was a reason they asked Cap to do this, and not Ironman.

“Exactly. We really appreciate the schools' feedback and of course strife to make their jobs the easiest we can.”

Wow, that sounded like it was verbatim taken from the Department of Education's website. It probably was; that girl wasn't older than 25 and looked like she never had to do more than get somebody a coffee. And now, being in charge of a widely known and popular figure, she had to give it her all to sound convincing and as if she had done this all her life.

“Yeah... Listen.” He lowered his voice and leaned a bit closer in, trying to get her to open up to him, to loosen up. “I know I've done this a few times, but I think I might be a little nervous...”

“Really?”

No, not at all.

“I don't know, I just... I'm not used to all this”, he gestured vaguely around the room, at the cameras. “I'm a soldier”, he shrugged. “All the cameras and interviews and things... Besides all that modern technology I don't really understand... It feels like I'm a fish on dry land.”

“I didn't expect that at all, if I'm being honest.”

How much further should Tony go until he was laying it on too thick? “It's just... Mrs Carrigan can be quite scary”, he whispered, hoping to God that this woman he had never met and never even heard of was not a nice and gentle lady.

“Yeah, she can get intense”, Cecily chuckled and Tony was very glad that his bluff didn't just blow up. “As her PA I know that better than anybody...”

“Of course”, he smiled. “Well, I just get the feeling you and I will work wonderfully together, without her.”

“Yeah”, she agreed with a beaming smile. “I do, too.”

“We're ready!”, one of the camera guys called and Tony gulped down the last bit of this disgusting coffee and took his stance by the chair, they had propped up in the middle of the makeshift stage, in front of a green screen.

“For this one we'll digitally add a classroom into the background, so if you'd just sit on the chair, and read out the cards we have here, that'd be perfect”, some guy who hadn't introduced himself but Tony assumed to be the director, gestured wildly around. Tony wasn't exactly sure what that guy tried to communicate with his waving, but it'd be best to just smile and nod along. And the sooner he'd get through this, the sooner he could get to SHIELD and find out what he came to DC for.

Tony gave him the thumbs up and sat himself down, trying to look as authoritative and stern as he could.

“That's perfect. And please in three, two one...” With a wave, the director motioned for Tony that the recording started and Tony read out what was on the poster in front of him.

“Hi, I'm Captain America. And today I'd like to talk to you about an enemy that has forced it's way into our classrooms, our society, and is intent on breaking our proper American values. Yes, I'm talking about swearing.” Oh fuck, this was so cheesy! “You might think it's cool, but what you see as edgy, comes across as hurtful, disrespectful or offensive. So, take it from a soldier that even on the front lines, respect is the one thing that keeps us united.” And that straight up did not make any sense.

“And cut!”, the director yelled. “Good job, Cap”, he called out in Tony's direction, didn't take his eyes off the screen in front of him, though. “Give us a moment and we'll continue with the next one.”

Tony was ushered off the set and some furniture and some lamps were moved around.

“That was pretty good”, Cecily praised him, coming up to his side.

“Thank you. It's not as bad as I remembered it”, he smiled.

“And that's all I can hope for. Looks like they're ready for you again.” She nodded towards the set and gave him an encouraging nudge to the shoulder. Confiding in her had really helped her and she looked so much more confident than she had barely thirty minutes ago. That was something Tony was already more proud of than all the horrible videos they were shooting.

This time, he was directed to lean against a table, and once again look straight at the camera as he read out: “Hi, I'm Captain America. As someone who has been asleep for 65 years, I know how important a regular sleeping pattern is. Your brain and body need their time to rest and to recharge. Eight hours every night make for a fit, healthy and smart student. And a tired zombie won't do you any good on the battlefield or the classroom, trust me; I've had my fair share of those.”

“And cut!”

Tony couldn't even remember the last time he had slept eight hours consecutively... He probably didn't even get to eight if he added the last few days up... But there was no time for Tony to dwell on it, they almost immediately had him propping his foot up on a chair, holding the shield into the camera and reading out:

“Hi, I'm Captain America. And today, I would like to talk to you about drugs. You might have seen a lot about using on television, maybe even some of your friends tried to tell you how cool it is to smoke weed. But take it from someone who has been frozen for 65 years: drugs aren't cool. Drugs attack your neural system and can fundamentally change and screw up your body's chemistry. It is about as cool as flying an airplane into the Arctic Ocean. It's not. So, be cool about it and don't do drugs.”

“And cut! Thank you, that's a wrap on Captain America!”

Everybody in the room started clapping and for a short moment, Tony was tempted to bask in the praise, until he remembered that Steve wasn't that big on attention. Which was a contradiction in itself: why then would he run around in a bright red, white and blue leather suit?

“Thank you”, he smiled around the clapping people and made straight for Cecily who greeted him with a wide and warm smile.

“Great job, Steve.” She patted his shoulder and the praise made Tony flush a little bit.

“Thank you”, he smiled back, “couldn't have done it without you.”

“Of course you could have”, she shook her head and turned it ever so slightly, so Tony wouldn't catch her blushing. “Right, you can change back into your normal clothes if you'd like.”

Tony very much would like to do that; as good as the tight suit looked on him, he just had that thing about leather and was happy to get back into simple jeans and a shirt. Although... Properly inspecting himself in the mirror like that, maybe, just maybe, Tony would need to make a few tweaks on the suit, once Steve had his body back. Because that suit right here? Did nothing for his ass. Nothing at all. And hey, if you got it, flaunt it, right?

It wasn't too much later, when Cecily escorted Tony back to the parking lot, where he had parked Steve's motorbike.

“Thank you again for your time and for loaning us your face”, she chuckled.

“If it helps keeping America's kids on the right path, then that's all the thanks I need.” Wow, Stark, putting it on a bit thick here.

“That is all we can hope for.”

“Well, I for one believe that our children are in good hands.” With a wide smile, he held his hand out to her. “Thank you for your support. And next time you need my face...”

“We won't hesitate to call”, she grinned back and shook Tony's hand.

“That, and I also expect the title of PA only to be left on your resumée. You're too good for just making coffee”, he assured her as she motioned to argue. “Anyways, I'll hope to see you here next time.”

“Thank you, Steve”, she smiled and this time didn't even bother to hide her blushed face. “I'm already looking forward.”

.

“Cap, what the hell are you doing here?”, Fury demanded to know. “You're still under medical lockdown!”

Alright, time to be the most convincing Steve Tony could be. “Cho cleared me for my appointment at the department of education and to come here. But I'm sure you already knew that.”

“Come on, then.” Tony could have sworn he saw a hint of a grin on Fury's face, before he turned and led Tony through the corridors. “We've been trying for the last two days to crack this thing, get it to talk, but to no avail. Maybe you're luckier.”

“I don't believe it has anything to do with luck...” That was as snarky a retort as Tony dared to go without blowing his cover.

“Oh is that so?” Fury stopped and looked him dead in the eye. “Then pray tell, what does the amazing Captain America have that SHIELD doesn't?”

For starters a brainwave reader, able to compare the Avenger's data with whatever that thing might omit. Furthermore, Tony's brainpower. “Two days of rest”, he answered instead.

“Good point.” And silently they continued on their way.

Somehow this was weird. Even weirder than the last few days have been already. And it wasn't just that Tony, who had never really been at SHIELD's HQ, was now supposed to be a person regularly going in and out here; Tony had more than enough confidence to pull this off. But Fury... he seemed off. Maybe the Avengers weren't the only affected ones. Or somebody was playing some giant fucked-up trick on Tony. Well, there was an easy way to find out the truth...

“Listen Fury, I feel like I need to apologize for Stark's...”

“Insolence? Impossibility?”, Fury suggested and Tony did not appreciate that. Fine, he didn't really give two fucks about chains of command or authority, but still...

“I was gonna say antics. He told me about you, trying to get him to join the Avengers, but first had to bribe him to get down from that giant decorative hot dog.”

“Yeah, that was something...” Fury just rolled his eyes. Or whoever pretended to be Fury.

Right now it was perfect to be in a body was strong enough to pin Fury against a wall. Tony might have managed to do that in his own body, but Steve was strong enough to actually keep the man in place. “Who are you? And where's Fury?”, he hissed.

“Counterquestion: Who are you and where is Cap?”, he shot back, completely calm, not the slightest waver of confusion or annoyance in his voice.

“What?” Tony was just about to lose himself in the spiral of being caught and about to be locked up, when he realized something. Fury hadn't denied his accusation. “I asked first.”

“Rogers, let go.” Hill came up behind him, shaking her head.

“Not until I know who this is, because it for sure ain't Fury.” Wow, being Cap didn't necessarily come with respect for authority...

“It's not. It's Maria. I'm Fury”, she answered instead. “And she now owes me ten bucks.”

“You were switched, too.” Tony wasn't sure whether it was a question or a statement, but he let go of Maria and took two steps back.

“You guys weren't the only ones that got doused in that glibber”, Maria explained, got a bank note out of her pocket and handed it over to Fury with a groan and an eye roll. “We had a bet, whether you'll see through it or not. And you're Stark, aren't you?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. What gave me away?”

“The story about the hot dog. I assume it was a test, and I failed it.”

“Yeah”, Tony chuckled. “Had my suspicions, needed them confirmed.”

“Good for you”, Fury interrupted, before waving at them, “after me”, and disappeared into an office two doors over. “Here we can properly talk in private without anybody listening in”, he explained, once Maria had closed the door behind her. Even though he was in a much smaller body, Fury didn't exude any less confidence and he had that authoritative aura; even though Maria's body almost disappeared in the giant chair and desk, Nick still owned the room.

“So, first things first. Who is who?”, he asked.

“Well, I'm in Cap, Cap's in Natasha, Natasha is in Thor, Thor is in Bruce, Bruce is in Clint and Clint's in my body”, Tony summarized, before making himself comfortable on one of the chairs. “Next question: why didn't you say anything on the helicarrier?”

“I could ask you the same thing”, Maria answered, crossing her arms in front of her chest and Tony had to say in all honesty that, like with Nat in Thor's body, the new massive, muscular bulk of a man was not what intimidated Tony, it was very much the woman inside that was scary.

“I asked first”, he grinned back.

“Stark, please. You're in our house”, Fury made clear, not really leaving room for that much of an argument.

“Fine... We very simply didn't want to be SHIELD's lab rats, being probed and tested and shit and – no offence – me, Bruce and Helen are smarter than your guys.” Ok, maybe a little offence... “And you?”

“We didn't tell anybody here for the same reason”, Hill explained. “And we didn't tell you guys, because, well, you definitely do not work well under supervision.”

“What, so you just let us do all the hard work and piggyback off our results?” Tony was almost insulted; though they weren't wrong. But still. “Dance, monkey, dance, huh?”, he scoffed.

“No”, Maria made clear. “When I came over to you guys on the heli, I was intend on telling you, so we could work together and figure something out. And you were so clearly switched too; I mean, Matt Murdock could have seen that. But you didn't say anything, didn't trust me, well Fury. So I didn't say anything either”, she shrugged.

“Oh... Yeah, sorry about that then...”

“Let's leave the past in the past.” Fury leaned over on his desk. “I assume you got something, or you wouldn't have come.”

“Yeah, we think we might...” Tony put his bag on the table, and go out the device they had worked up. “We measured all our brainwaves and Cho and Banner, with Thor's help, found a few interesting things in there that didn't make a lot of sense to them. So, we built this little machine that would be able to, well not measure per se, but receive enough of that thing's brainwaves for us to do a comparison on. If we have that, we can put the goo in the mix and hopefully reverse engineer this psycho-switch.”

“Damn”, Fury nodded after a few moments of pensive silence. “That is impressive. Alright then, I can arrange you having some alone time with it. How long do you suppose you'll need?”

“I take as much as I can get. Ten minutes at least.”

Fury and Hill exchanged a few glances; Tony didn't know them well enough to encode their nonverbal communication. “Fifteen minutes should be doable”, Hill eventually nodded.

“Great! Let's get going, then!”

.

With a loud bang, the heavy door closed behind Tony and brought him face to face with the... thing. Well, almost. There was a glass wall separating them, which probably wasn't the worst idea; Tony really wasn't in the mood for being slimed again.

“I have been waiting for you.”

Uhm, what the fuck? Didn't Fury just say that thing didn't speak?

“And I don't speak, Fury didn't lie to you.”

Fuck, it was in Tony's head... Ugh.

“Don't be so disgusted, you're one of mine now.” Wow, it sounded almost hurt.

Well, if it read Tony's mind... “What's your name?”

“You can call me Tohu.”

“As in wabohu?”

“Exactly!”, it laughed. “Tohuwabohu, I bring confusion and chaos to all that dare to stand in my way.”

“I wouldn't say we stood in your way, you were destroying our planet”, Tony made clear and switched on his device.

“Same difference... Ah, you are trying to measure me, aren't you?”

It really sucked trying to be sneaky with a mind reader... Tony just went ahead about his business. “Where you from?”

“Fine, stick with the small talk, science boy... If you're hoping for me to name a planet, you're wishing in vain. I'm a nomad, travelling the universe, always on the lookout for shelter.”

“Well, there's no shelter for you on this planet.”

Damnit, the sensors didn't pick anything up. Where the fuck did they go wrong? They synced it perfectly with the goo's resonance!

“Your little machine isn't working I see... But don't hesitate to ask away and I will not lie to you.”

Yeah, it didn't expect Tony to buy that, did it?

“Of course you have doubts. But what do you have to lose?”

Damnit, it had a point. Well, here goes nothing... “Fine. What's the deal with the goo?”

“It contains my specific genetically coded psyche, allowing me access to anybody I choose to.”

That made sense and was pretty much what Tony had expected. “Why swap us all, put us in the wrong bodies? We still overpowered and locked you up, so what good did it do you?”

“Tony, Tony... there is such a big brain in that head of yours... I'm sure you can figure it out by yourself.”

Right then. Tony was nothing if not smart and he was definitely not one to back down from a challenge. So, the Avengers were linked genetically to that thing's psyche, with which it like to reek havoc and chaos. The closer Tony got to that thing, the more potent its control became; now that they were only a few metres apart from each other, they could actually communicate telepathically.

Oh shit.

“Ah, it seems you got it.”

“We're your leverage.”

“And the winner is Tony Stark! You do realize what that means, don't you?”

Tony did. In order to break free from its psychic field, they had to let it go.

“Exactly!”, it laughed. “Once I've left this realm, all psychic ties will be broken. And, before you get all sorts of funny ideas about inhibiting my connections or killing me, you wouldn't be the first that tried it. There were civilizations, far more advanced than your little dirty rock, that had to let me go.”

The so far unmoving creature turned and locked eyes with Tony. “Seems like you have a choice to make.”

Fuck. Tony turned to walk away. Just before the door closed, separating him from the creepy voice in his head, he heard it call out one more time: “I'll be waiting for you.”

.

“Why in the everloving fuck wouldn't you tell me that that thing is fucking psychic?”, Tony raged, as he stormed back into Fury's office.

“What do you mean?” Instead of an explanation, Tony was met with confusion.

“I mean fucking psychic!” He fell down on one of the chairs stared straight at Fury. “That thing could read my mind and I heard it. In here...” He gestured at his head. “Would have been really nice to know beforehand.”

“It would have been really nice to know, period!” Maria looked at him with big eyes (well, one big eye). “It never spoke to either of us.”

“Then why did it talk to me?”

“That's something we can figure out later. For now I'm more interested in what it did have to say.”

“Right.” Tony quickly recapped the short conversation he had with Tohu. “So, that's our choice”, he summarized. “Either we stay in this bizarro world until that thing undoubtedly outlives us all, or we let it go.”

“Fuck.”

“That's just as apt a comparison”, Tony scoffed. “So, I assume you two'll join me in my travel back to NY, where we can make a decision.”

“Stark, a teamplayer after all?”, Fury wondered with the hint of a grin.

Tony just decided to ignore the sassy undertone and got up instead. “I would love to just roll my eyes and strut out here, but I would probably get lost. I also assume you have a quinjet at your disposal, which would be so much more comfortable and quicker than Cap's motorbike.”

“That would be a correct assumption”, Hill nodded. “Follow me, and we'll be back in NYC in no time.”

.-.-.-.-.

It was a pitiful sight. Curled in himself with a hot bottle on his stomach, Steve was on the couch and watching some kitschy romcom.

“You really are a walking stereotype”, Nat scoffed and held a chocolate bar out to him.

“I'm so sorry”, he whimpered, “I really am.” He took the bar but put it down next to him on the table. “Thanks. I'll have it later when I don't feel so sick.”

“Sure thing.” She just caught herself before rolling her eyes and instead shot him a smile. “So, how're you doing?”

“How do you think I'm doing?”, he shot back.

“Wow, the hormones are working out for ya, huh?”

“And what would you know about how I'm feeling?”, he hissed and that was it for Nat.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rogers?” Fuck being nice and supportive. “You do realize this is my body, right? And you do also realize that I have been doing that every month since I was thirteen, including the last few months that we've been living under the same roof. But right, you wouldn't know that because I'm not a whiny crybaby, and neither are Helen, Pepper, Maria or any other woman on this fucking planet!”

Woah. That felt good. The message was clearly received, Steve looked up at her with wide eyes and turned beet red.

“Sorry Nat”, he mumbled and disappeared back under a blanket.

“I know you are. That being said, you're allowed to be in pain and moody and bitchy and shit. Just don't dare taking all that out on me, or I'll go all god of thunder on your ass.”

“I promise!”, he nodded eagerly and shot her a small smile.

“Avengers, assemble in the common room!” JARVIS announced.

“Sounds like Stark is back from DC”, Nat smiled back, “maybe you'll get out of this skin soon, then.” He pulled his feet up, allowing Nat to sit next to him on the couch.

“That would mean that you'd be back in pain and stuff...”

“Yeah, but I'm used to it.”

“Hey, you know what's going on?” Clint waltzed in, in all the Tony Stark fashion they were used to, and dropped down opposite them.

“Tony just got back from DC”, Helen explained, Bruce shuffling inside behind her.

He avoided all eye contact, especially with Nat and cowered in a chair. Fuck. What could she say or do to keep Bruce from doing something stupid? What else could she do? Nat was pretty sure he didn't know that she had tasked JARVIS to keep an extra close eye on the doctor, though he was smart enough to guess that she had done something like that.

“My friends, excuse my tardiness”, Thor apologized and it was so weird to see Bruce, the timid and introverted scientist that open and boisterous.

“You're just in time.” Tony walked in, with Fury and Maria on his heel. Well, this was not going to be what Nat had expected or hoped for.

“No need to talk around it”, Maria said, “we know you're in the wrong body. So are we.” She gestured between her and Fury, who waved at the assembled Avengers.

Nat had no more energy left to be surprised or anything like that and just smiled at them.

The others seemed to feel like she did. “Great, so we're all in the same boat. Did you find anything out?”, Clint asked Tony, not even bothering with giving Fury or Maria a second glance.

“Yeah... You're not gonna like it.”

“Tony, I don't like menstruating, just out with it”, Steve groaned.

“Long story short, we're its hostages. We need to let it go, to sever the psychic connection it has to us.”

“So? Let's do it”, Nat shrugged. “Let it roam the galaxy or whatever.”

“What? And let it terrorize other planets?”, Steve threw in. “We can't let it do that.”

“Yeah, but I assume we're not the first planet it has graced with its presence”, she shrugged.

“We haven't”, Tony agreed with her. “It calls itself Tohuwabohu, a nomad, causing chaos wherever he goes.”

“Wow, it's not conceited at all, is it”, Clint scoffed and begrudgingly made room for Maria on the couch he had been sprawled out on. “But it does sound like our conscience shouldn't have to get in the way and let it go.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce jump a little. Conscience was probably the only reason he hadn't jumped off the tower. It was the same situation, though: Should the Avengers make it easy for themselves and doom another culture to suffer like that or should they just stick it out, get used to the new skin and keep that thing from torturing others? If Bruce were less polite, he would have probably walked out already; it was clearly written all over his face, Clint's face. She couldn't read Bruce Banner all that well yet; he was closed off and they hadn't been living together long enough for Nat to be able to properly read him. Clint was a different story, though. She knew his tells better than Clint knew them himself.

“I do have some readings it's not a lot but we can put our minds together and see what we come up with”, Tony suggested, “and if we still come up empty, we can have this discussion.”

He didn't sound very hopeful; being the one who had actually spoken to Tohuwabohu, he had a better read on the situation than anyone else.

“Are we in agreement?”

Solemn nods went through the round, at which Tony clapped his hands together. “Alrighty then. Before we get to that, though, I need to make fun of Cap.”

“Don't you dare laugh about my period”, Nat made clear and Tony's hands went up defensively.

“I would never”, he asserted. “No, it's more the appointment I had today.”

Steve turned red and put his head in his hands. “So I guess it was...”

“Oh yes, it was”, Tony grinned. Before anybody could urge him to satisfy their curiosity, Tony continued: “Our Captain here has been doing PSAs for high schools, leading to me recording a PSA about profanity, healthy sleeping patterns and drug abuse. Find the irony”, he added deadpan.

“That is gold!”, Clint wheezed.

“Please tell me they are super cheesy”, Nat laughed along.

“Any lactose-intolerant's nightmare.” Tony walked over and patted Steve's shoulder. “Before you try and weasel out of that Sesame Street contract though, you gotta get some girl a promotion.”

“Aha?”

“Mrs Carrigan, whoever that is, was not in today and her PA, Cecily Myers, took care of me.”

“Oh, I know who you mean”, Steve recalled, “she seems very friendly.”

“That she is. And definitely to good to be a PA.”

“Alright, I'll pull some strings once I'm me again.”

“Why don't you just do that?”, Nat asked Tony. He was influential enough, more so than any other Avenger.

“Because I don't know shit about the Department of Education and the people working there”, Tony explained. “Right then, Bruce. Let's get back to it, then.” He gestured for Bruce who silently followed him and once again ignored everybody.

Fuck.

As one after the other filed out of the room, all it took was for her to shoot Clint a look for him to hang back. At least their non-verbal communication worked well enough for him to read Thor's expressions.

“What's up?”

“I think you might need to talk to Bruce”, she explained once they had enough privacy.

“Alright... Some issues with my body or what?”

“You could say that...” She took a deep breath and locked eyes with him. “He's suicidal, but up until a few days ago he was in an unkillable body. He no longer is...”

“What?” Clint's eyes went wide as his jaw dropped. “Why the hell would he want to kill himself? He's one of the most renowned scientists!”

“And also the Hulk”, Nat continued. “I've never seen your face so filled with self-hatred as I have the last few days. I already told JARVIS to keep an eye on him, but I don't think that's enough. I also don't think we should tell everybody, because then he'll jump off the tower for good.”

“Fuck.” Clint looked up at her, somewhere between worry and fear. “Yeah, I'll get right on that.”

“Just don't make it worse, alright?”

“Doesn't seem to be possible.”

.-.-.-.-.

“Hey buddy”, Clint called out and grinned widely at Bruce. “How you doing?”

Bruce didn't even bother looking up at him. “You talked to Nat, huh?”

“Just a bit”, he admitted.

“Right then.” Bruce was not in the mood for this. He reached up and switched off the hearing aids, before diving back into the accumulated brainwave data.

From the corner of his eye he saw Clint furiously signing at him, to get Bruce's attention Damnit. If there was one thing he had learned about Clint was that he was persistent. Maybe even more so, now that he was inside Tony, if that was even possible. Fine. The quicker Bruce would get through this, the sooner he could go back to his work and wallowing in his feelings.

“What?”, he signed back.

“Please don't kill my body.”

“Nice to know where your priorities are at.” Bruce just rolled his eyes and, as Clint motioned to sign his apologies, he just waved him off. “Why though? Tony's body is younger, can hear and is filthy rich.”

Pleadingly, Clint locked eyes with Bruce. “But Clint has a wife and kids.”

Oh. That was news to Bruce... He wasn't sure what to say, but didn't have to.

“I know I never told anybody. Only Nat and Fury know. Nick helped me get them off the grid, where I'd like them to stay. I... I couldn't even call my son, tell him the mission went well. Or my daughter and listen to her toddler-babble...”

Clint's eyes teared up and he turned his head, somehow not wanting Bruce to see that he was emotional about missing his family. Which he deserved to do, of course.

But that shit just wasn't fair.

“I'm happy for you, I really am. But this whole game is rigged, isn't it? Thor goes back, he's the prince of Asgard. Tony goes back, he's the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. What do I get? A life of hiding away, of fear with no sign of it all ending.”

He banged his hand on the table, apparently quite loud, judging from Clint jumping.

“Just leave me be”, he whispered and turned his back on his friend.

.-.-.-.-.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! They couldn't do anything. Nothing, absolutely nothing to stop Tohuwabohu from fucking up their life any more. To keep from letting his frustrations out from Bruce and Helen, Tony went up to the penthouse. There were less tools he could throw around, but he had almost finished this bottle of whiskey and that was good enough.

And one big swig later, Tony could properly chuck it across the room and contently watch as it shattered into hundreds of tiny shards in a wonderful loud bang.

“You feel better now?” Pepper stood in the door, shooting him a small smile.

“Hey Pep”, he smiled back and, for a short glorious moment, he forgot everything about his current situation.

“I take it, things don't look too rosy...”

“They do not. If we want to get back, we need to let the Alien go again.”

“Oh.” She sat down next to Tony and looked over. “What do you want to do?”

“Currently I want to either kiss you or at least lie in your arms”, he grinned.

“I'd like that, too”. Pepper smiled back and leaned over. “I'll just keep my eyes closed”, she giggled, before pressing her lips against Tony's, well, Steve's.

And Tony just exploded in joy and love and his face beamed probably brighter than his arc reactor heart. “Oh, that was... I really missed that.”

“Yeah...” She leaned back and grinned up at him. “I do prefer your own lips, though.”

“I should hope so... But...”

“But I might have to get used to this body”, she finished his train of thought.

“I... I just don't know what to do.”

“Come here.” Pepper pulled his head into her lap and started to stroke his hair; the most calming and reassuring touch Tony had ever felt. “I can't tell you what to do. And I don't want to either. Just remember, I fell in love with you, not with your body.”

“I do look so much better than Cap though... I mean, I can appreciate his body, and that is one nice ass...”

When the hand stopped moving, Tony glanced through one eye to find her having an eyebrow raised. “Not sure I got this right: do you want to keep this behind or, once you got your own back, want to be with this behind instead?”

“I mean, maybe as a rebound, if I ever fuck this up”, he shrugged with a grin. “I don't plan on doing that, though.”

“You just assume that you'd get Cap in case we break up?”, Pepper shot back. “Maybe I like this body, too?”

“If you want to give it a test ride...”, he smirked, but the laugh bubbled through. “Maybe not though, this is a young, enhanced body, don't know if my body – in case of getting back - can keep up with that... Although I'm sure the real Steve'd be really grateful and a giver...”

“Tony”, Pepper interrupted him.

Probably a good idea, otherwise he would have probably gone into some very uncomfortable areas of Steve's sex life (or lack thereof). “Sorry. Back on topic... I don't know what's gonna happen... We're pretty divided. Nat and Clint campaign for letting that thing go, Fury, Hill and Steve want to keep working on a different solution, which is pretty useless if you ask me, Thor is just happy to be here, Bruce has been scary quiet on the whole thing and I just don't know anymore what's wrong or right.”

“What does Helen say?”

“She agrees that there's nothing we can do. The alien told me that there was nothing we could do and that fucker was right. We can't kill it; it's skin is tougher than Cap's shield. We can't inhibit it's psychic connection; we can't even properly compute its brainwaves! That goo is about as useful in our research as that glibber from Nickelodeon... It'd be easier to physically explain Thor's power than to get an upper hand on that thing!”

“Then that's what you need to make Steve, Maria and Nick understand.”

“And then?” Tony had no idea how all this could end.

“One thing at a time.” She went back to tousling his hair and Tony just leaned into the touch that somehow made him feel like everything's gonna be alright.

“Ok”, he nodded.

“Just like that you agree?”, she chuckled.

“You're the smart one in this relationship”, he shrugged and grinned up at her.

“Yeah, that's true”, she agreed and leaned down one more time and put a soft kiss on his forehead.

.

“So, listen up”, Tony announced, after all the Avengers had assembled in the common room. “We can't beat this thing. There is no scientific way to circumvent Tohu's psychic influence on us. There is also no way to kill it. Yes, me, Helen and Bruce are sure about that. We tried everything and there is nothing to argue about, we can't. We have two options: either we let it go or we just stay where we are; in the wrong body.”

“Are you sure...”

“Yes, Steve”, Tony interrupted him and just managed to keep at least mostly calm. “I would bet Pepper's life on that. There's nothing, absolutely nothing. You got that now?”

Steve nodded and silently went back to hugging his hot water bottle.

“Right then”, Fury took over. “Tony, what's your take?”

“I'm ready to be convinced either way”, he answered honestly.

“Fine. Who's got a proper opinion?”

“I do”, Nat made clear. “We do it. We let it go. Evolution has its reasons that we might not understand, but it survives this way.”

“Besides”, Clint continued, “the longer we leave it locked up a SHIELD, the more chances are there for it to spread throughout the institution.”

“And, if we let it go, there is no harm done to our world”, Nat finished their statement.

“But to others”, Steve countered.

“There are plenty of uninhabited planets for Tohuwabohu to settle on”, Thor explained. “Chance that he might find one of those is greater than to find a peopled world.”

“Is this really a chance we can take?”

“Yes”, Nat made very clear, and Tony could have sworn he heard thunder going off in the distance as she all but banged her fist on the table and stared Steve down. “Let's just let go of this fucker before bad things happen we can never undo.”

“You know something we don't?” All eyes were on Natasha, who didn't seem to give two shits about the attention on her outburst.

“As a rule, yes I do”, she shot back.

“Anything we need to know?”, Tony tried again, but was met with silence. He didn't have the strength to try and – speaking from experience – fail at getting information out of her, so he just turned back to Fury. “Alright, I'm convinced, let it go.”

“I guess I could learn to live with it, too”, Steve mumbled, looking anything but happy about it, though.

“Bruce, what about you?”

Even more so than usually, Bruce was quiet and withdrawn. Something must have happened that Tony didn't know about, probably something to do with Natasha pushing to release Tohu to the wide unknown.

“I don't want to go back into my body”, he made clear and looking over at Clint, Tony saw his own face dropping. “But”, the doc continued, “I can't keep Clint away from his. So fine.”

“Fine? You're with us?”, Natasha inquired, looking almost afraid of his answer.

“What's going on?”, Tony demanded to know and looked from Bruce to Clint to Natasha.

“Nothing”, Bruce clearly lied, before looking back at Natasha. “Yes.”

“Good”, she smiled, looking more than relieved.

“So, we're in agreement. Right, then me and Hill need to get back to DC and figure out how to send that thing back into outer space.”

.-.-.-.-.

And there they came, crawling back to him, having failed in their mission, just as Tohu told them they would. And now Fury and Hill stood in his cage, begging to know how they had to let him go.

“I want everybody here”, he eventually communicated. By the way both of them jumped, it was clear to see that neither had expected him to talk to them. It was a little fair, he hadn't been keen on chatting with them so far; he never planned on attaching to them, it happened admittedly by accident. Besides, ever since he had connected to the Avengers, as they called themselves, he had recognized the intelligence of the ones called Stark and Banner plus the Asgardian prince and figured that they'd be the only ones worth talking to. But now that they were ready to let him go, he wanted them all here.

“Uhm, you mean everybody you switched?”

“Yes”, he nodded. “I want to see all of my children, before I leave them forever.”

“We're not your children”, Maria made clear.

“Is this this teenage rebellion I have heard of?”

Both just rolled their eyes and strutted out of the room, to call the rest of the group, undoubtedly.

There had been many that tried to stand in his way, to stop him. Many planets had their so-called heroes and self-proclaimed Defenders; none of which had ever managed to stand in his way.

It was almost adorable, the hubris in which they assumed themselves to be stronger or smarter than Tohuwabohu, as if he weren't older than most their civilizations. They still kept on trying, no matter what he told them, like little children that never listened and instead threw a temper tantrum, until they realized they couldn't do shit and came crawling back.

It didn't take too long, for his door to open again and all his children to strut into his cage.

“There you are”, he greeted them, “I have been looking forward to this moment all week.”

“Yeah, me too.” The woman in the Asgardian's body looked ready to strangle him on the spot, very unladylike. But, if her thoughts were anything to go by, ladylike wasn't an adjective to describe her. So many dark thoughts, memories and emotions. Especially about one of her teammates...

“Banner”, he called out, “your friend seems deeply worried about you. And it seems, for good reasons...” If Natasha had dark thoughts, then Bruce's were pitch black.

“Stay out of my head”, Banner answered but, unlike the rest of the group, he had shied back, keeping at the back and fidgeting nervously with his fingers.

And immediately all the thoughts turned to the doctor with the self-hatred. Somewhere between worry and confusion and maybe, just maybe, it would be best for them to have it all out in the open. And if it didn't help them, Tohu had more than enough drama and confusion to feast his eyes on.

“Bruce, your feelings are valid and understandable. I'm just glad I could offer you the possibility to confront them and maybe even a chance to get out.”

“Get out of what?”

The Avengers were no longer quiet and turned to their doctor.

“Don't listen to him”, Bruce shot back, “it's his shtick to create confusion.”

“Oh, you are a horrible liar”, Tohu chuckled. “But those weren't the only feelings to be searched, were they, Tony?”

Stark rolled his eyes and turned back to him. “What?”

“You had plenty of chances to do some soul-searching yourself, did you? Being the man your father idolized and ignored you in favour of...”

“That's enough”, Rogers called. “You are aware of our intentions so there is no need for further aggravation and instead tell us how you'll be able to leave the atmosphere.”

“My dear... There is no need to take your frustrations out on me. Just because you're still mourning the loss of the love of your life... At least Peggy is still alive...”

“Wait, Aunt Peggy isn't the love of your life?” Tony turned to Steve with wide eyes and the wonderfulness of the rising tension, plus the deep blush on Steve's face, send shivers all through Tohu's body. Now, who was next?

“Clint.” He turned to the archer next. “How was life in the limelights, after hiding everything and everyone away?”

“You fucker leave my wife and kids out of this”, Clint thought. At least he was smart enough not to voice it out loud, rather commendable, Tohu had to give him that.

“My apologies. At least one of you seems to have his anger under control, isn't that right, Thor, Son of Odin?”

“Do not speak of things you do not know about.”

“Oh, but I have been on Asgard once before. I believe it was many, many a century before you were born. It was not much to look at, but if the pictures in your mind are anything to go by, your planet and civilization has blossomed beautifully. Maybe I should visit it once more...”

“DON'T EVEN THINK TO GO NEAR MY PEOPLE!” As expected, the god of thunder lost it, and a beautifully green shine crossed his skin.

“Thor, buddy, trust me, please.” Bruce took his stance in front of Thor and put his hands on the god's shoulders. “You do trust me, don't you?”

“I shall not let this creature terrorize my kin”, he growled, a little calmer but still wonderfully close to hulking out.

“And he won't”, Bruce promised him. “But Hulk can't help right now, we need Thor and his knowledge of space to make sure that Asgard will be alright.”

“You're right.” With a sigh, Thor let his head drop. “I'm terribly sorry, my dear friends that my temper keeps on endangering us.”

“Like I said before”, Bruce smiled, “it's not your fault.”

“Aw, isn't this adorable! Can we expect a happy announcement soon? Oh please, invite me to your wedding!”

“Is this supposed to be insulting?” Thor and Bruce both turned to Tohu. “For Bruce is a formidable person, of incredible strength, knowledge and anybody should be lucky to have him by their side.”

“But Bruce doesn't believe that about himself, does he?”

“Alright, I've had it.”

The way the Avengers looked at Bruce with wide eyes, nobody seemed to expect the doctor's outburst. Banner didn't seem to care or notice their shock, as he walked all the way up to the glass separating them.

“So, you want to out all our secrets, hoping we'll jump at each other's throats? You didn't need to switch us for that, we've been pretty successful at that ourselves before you came and screwed everything up. I mean, look at us for heaven's sake. There's an obnoxious spoilt brat of a genius, a moralistic veteran from World War 2, the guy from Norse mythology, the scariest and toughest woman you'll ever meet, the world's best archer and I mean, I don't think I have to say anything about myself. And now you just want to out our secrets? I mean, come on”, he groaned with an exaggerated eyeroll. “They all know I'm suicidal, I've told them that before. We all know that Stark has daddy issues and that Clint, who makes his living as a spy, keeps secrets from us. And everybody who knows a bit about Captain America and has half a brain, realizes that the relationship he had with Sgt Barnes was straight-washed by historians. So, what the fuck do you think you could do to us that we don't already do to ourselves?”

Huh. Not the drama Tohu had expected to break out, apparently he had not estimated the Avengers relationships correctly. It was drama nonetheless, and enough for Tohu. “Well said, Banner”, he praised him. “I see that there is not much more dysfunctionality to be brought upon you.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo”, Bruce deadpanned. “So, how do we get rid of you?”

“Let me out of here and I'll fly off. You do realize that I have wings, right?”

Apparently they did not. But that was none of Tohu's problems, as soon as he will be under a clear sky he can go find another place to reek havoc.

“Go ahead, discuss how you'll smuggle me out of here without SHIELD noticing. I'm not going anywhere.”

As the Avengers filed out, there weren't too many exciting thoughts, mostly a bunch of very colourful and creative swearwords directed at Tohu. All he could hope was that they were just as creative when it came to escape plans and he would be out of this world in no time.

.-.-.-.-.

“Well, that went about as smooth as figure skating in the desert...”, Clint remarked as he made himself comfortable in Fury's office.

“What a wonderful picture”, Natasha deadpanned and leaned against the wall behind the archer. “But your lyrical abilities and some interpersonal shit aside, let's deal with that fucker over there for now. I don't assume that SHIELD would let it go if we told them to.”

“That is not going to happen”, Fury agreed, “which means we need to stage a break out.”

“Which isn't too hard”, Nat shrugged. “Stage a distraction, cap the security cams, open the doors and let the thing fly off.”

“Right, simple as that”, Fury scoffed. “May I remind you that your current body isn't all that equipped to sneaking around and being inconspicuous?”

“So? Steve has snuck into Hydra bases before, he can do that again.”

“You mean in a body that he can barely stand up straight in?”

“Then let Clint do it. He can sneak, can work Tony's body and cut the feed.”

“And what sort of distraction did you have in mind?” Ugh, Fury's pessimism was exhausting.

She just nodded at Thor

“Would you be alright with that?” Bruce turned to Thor, looking so much softer than only a few minutes ago while ranting at Tohuwabohu.

“I assume the plan is for me to hulk out, so the agents of SHIELD shall leave their posts.”

“That's the idea, yeah.”

“I am aware that it is our best shot, I am afraid of hurting you, though.”

“I trust you, remember?”, Bruce smiled.

“We all do”, Tony continued.

“Then I shall trust your trust.” Thor nodded and locked eyes with each of the assembled Avengers.

And that's what they did. Natasha and Bruce accompanied Thor to the far end of SHIELD HQ, while Maria took Clint to the security room and Tony, Steve and Fury headed to Tohu's cage to let him out.

“Well, Thor, now's your chance” Nat prompted him.

“I am not sure how to switch it on or off though.”

“Well you better”, Bruce shrugged, “otherwise Tohu might make his next stop on Asgard. Your parents might be safe, I'm not sure if they would be able to get to Loki in time, what with him being in the dungeons...”

“This creature shall not lay a hand on my brother!” Taking Bruce's bait, Thor started to turn green.

“What if he stayed on earth though and ran into Jane and Professor Selvig?”

Nat doubted it needed this last comment, but in any way it helped to push Thor over the edge and with a loud growl Bruce's clothes ripped and the damn rage monster was back.

Fuck.

“CODE GREEN!”, Bruce cried out and thankfully, some nearby soldiers pressed the panic button or something, Nat did not really pay it any attention, she had to focus on Hulk, on where he was and on how to best avoid being close to dying again...

In a matter of seconds, they were surrounded by agents, having their guns pointed at Thor, who growled loudly and punched at everything that came to him.

“DON'T CROWD HIM”, Nat called out.

“That only makes it worse”, Bruce continued.

Hopefully they were quick with letting that thing go, the longer Hulk raged around, the harder it'd be to turn him back.

It were two endlessly long seeming minutes, until a loud crashing sound even drowned out Hulk's growling. All eyes went over to where Tohu was once captive and before Nat knew what happened, everything went dark as the Alien took to the skies and blocked out the sun.

The tumult that broke out when Thor hulked out was nothing compared to what went  down now. All the agents seemed to have forgotten Hulk as they hurried around, trying to shoot the asshole down.

“Bruce, now”, she hissed over and the doc walked up to Hulk. Like the other day he had his hands held out as he carefully took step after step.

“Hey buddy”, he smiled, “you see, it's over.” He gestured towards Tohu, flying in circles above them, circling higher and higher. “Soon enough everything will be alright again, we'll get back to normal. Our plan worked.”

Thor just stared after the disappearing Alien, before looking down on Bruce.

“It's alright, buddy”, he assured him. “The sun's getting low.”

The big green hand slowly came down and Hulk put his hand in Bruce's. “Sun's getting real low, buddy.”

.

“Well, that was a success”, Fury commented, when about half an hour later everybody sat in his office again. Still in the wrong bodies, but Tohu probably wasn't far enough away yet. Or he tricked them all and they were doomed to remain in the wrong skin and had let their only chance for normalcy – at least their enhanced, super-human and alien normalcy – go. Nobody dared to voice this fear out loud, but Nat was sure they all thought it.

“Thor, you did perfectly”, Steve praised the god who was wrapped up in a blanket and more asleep than awake on one of the chairs.

“Thank you, dear friend”, he smiled back. “I hope it was not for nothing.”

“At least nobody will know it was us who let it go”, Clint shrugged, so apparently everything went well in the surveillance area.

“Well, me and Fury got a lot to deal with, so you six better head out before all hell breaks loose and all we can do is hope for the best.”

.-.-.-.-.

When Tony woke up it was still dark out. Groggily he glanced through an half-open eye to the moon shining in through the window. He had to fight to fully open his eyes and he sat up to look around the common room where he must have fallen asleep, as did the other Avengers.

Ugh, every of his joints creaked and cracked as he sat up. Wait, why would that be, if he was in Steve's 20-something year old enhanced body?

It could mean only one thing... He looked down and almost couldn't believe his eyes: blue light from the arc-reactor was lighting up his chest and yes, he was wearing an ACDC shirt, and no longer these horribly tight shirts Steve ran around in.

“JARVIS, who am I?” Last test.

“You are Anthony Edward Stark, born on...”

“Thanks J, that'll be all. YO, UP AND AT 'EM!”, he yelled at the Avengers around him.

“What is it now? Wait, my voice... OMIGOD, IT WORKED!”, Clint cried out and in joy jumped up on the couch, where Steve was patting his chest to make sure that he didn't have boobs anymore.

It was, weirdly enough, Thor, who motioned for them to quiet down. “Friends, do not disturb our doctor, he needs his rest.” He put the blanket, that had fallen off the couch, back over Bruce's torso.

“Right then.” Nat motioned for them to leave Bruce be and the Avengers assembled again in the kitchen. “Thor, don't take this personally, but fuck, I'm so glad to be myself again.”

“No offence taken”, Thor smiled back at her. “thank you for taking care of my body these last few days.”

“Yeah, Steve I'd like to say the same thing to you, but...”

Steve blushed and was about to apologize his ass off, before Nat continued. “I'm kidding. You did well, considering what you were up against.”

“Thanks... And Tony, I guess you made more than enough... Tony?” As they looked around, they realized them being one genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist short. “Where did he go?”

“Three guesses”, Nat shot back, pretty sure he had run off to Pepper, the second he saw he was himself again.

.

“PEPPER!” Only when Tony ran into the penthouse and was greeted by a very tired, still half-asleep looking Pepper, he bothered to check the time. 3.47am. Whoops. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, but...”

“Tony, is it you?”

“Yeah”, he beamed, “I'm me again!”

“Finally!”, she sighed and threw herself at him and pressed their lips together. If Tony didn't get to do anything else besides kissing Pepper for the rest of his life, he would be a-ok with that.

“I love you so, so, so much”, he sighed and melted into her touch.

“And I love you”, she smiled against his lips.

“So, I guess it wasn't really a perfect victory, but good enough to celebrate it, don't you think?”

“How subtle.” Pepper broke away from the kiss, giggling. “I'd love to celebrate with you”, she grinned and pulled him towards the bedroom. “The bed has been way to empty without you in it.”

.-.-.-.-.

“Hey Bruce, you busy?” Nat put her head through the lab door. Ever since they had woken up to their normal skins three days ago, she had kept her distance and Bruce had been waiting for her to show up.

“What's up?” He looked up from his microscope.

“I'm kidnapping you”, she smiled.

“Very funny.”

“But true. Come on.” She gestured for him to follow her.

“Fine...” Damnit. If Bruce didn't follow her right now, she would probably drag him to where ever by his ankles. “You gonna tell me where you're taking me?”, he asked as he hurried to catch up to her.

“We're gonna drive a bit”, was the only thing she told him direction wise and tossed a helmet at him. Great, per motorbike.

So, holding on to Nat's torso, they rode out of New York. Bruce wasn't gonna admit it, but it was actually really nice and a lot of fun. And Nat was a good driver. A little fast, but not dangerously so and Bruce just enjoyed the view as they drove past less and less houses and more and more greenery.

Until they reached a farmhouse, in front of which Nat stopped and motioned for Bruce to get off.

Before he could ask where they were and what they were doing here, the door opened and a small boy came running towards them. “AUNTIE NAT!”

“Cooper!”, she beamed and, once he jumped into her arms, whirled the boy through the air. “How're you doing?”

“So good! Daddy and I worked on the treehouse and Mummy just made dinner and you're just in time to eat.”

“Perfect, I'm starving”, Nat grinned, before she turned to Bruce, who so far had only stared at her with wide eyes. She was grinning, almost giggly. “That's Bruce. He's a friend of me and Daddy's.”

“Hi Bruce”, the kid smiled at him. “Are you also staying for dinner?”

“He is, yes”, Nat answered for Bruce, who was still a little overwhelmed at the sight of Natasha Romanoff of all people being cute and cuddly.

“Great.” The boy jumped out of Nat's arm and took each of the grown ups by their hands and pulled them after him towards the farmhouse, where they were greeted by a woman, around Natasha's age, with a little girl in her arm.

“NASHA!”, the girl giggled and stretched her little arms out towards her.

“Hey, Lila”, she cooed and took the girl in her arm. “Laura, it's so good to see you!”

“You too”, the woman smiled back and hugged Nat and the little girl. “And I assume you're Bruce”, she greeted him and held her hand out. “I'm Laura. That's Cooper and that's Lila.”

“It's so nice to meet you all”, he smiled, slightly overwhelmed at this little family and why exactly he was here.

“And to meet you, too. I guess you already know my husband”, she grinned and behind her, Clint appeared.

“Tasha, Bruce, good to see you.”

Of fucking course. This was Clint's family, the people Bruce was asked to keep Clint's body safe for.

“Auntie Nat said they stay for dinner.”

“Of course, we didn't drive all the way for nothing.”

.

“So, you looked after my Clint's body the last few days?”, Laura asked, as Clint and Nat put the kids to bed.

“You could say that”, he shrugged. “I feel like I should apologize, though, as I take it your existence is supposed to be a secret.”

“I believe a smart scientist like you can keep it”, she winked and handed him a cup of tea.

“Thanks.” Together they headed to the living room and made themselves comfortable. From a few rooms over, Bruce could hear giggling, as Nat and Clint told some dramatic bed time story. “I've never seen either of them like that”, he remarked.

“Yeah”, Laura nodded, and took a sip of tea. “Nat barely shows anybody a side that's not completely controlled and stoic. Same with Clint. I know he's not a serious guy, but Avenger's Clint is quite the burdened guy. Until he and Auntie Nat come home.”

“If I'm being honest, I never pictured him to be the family type”, Bruce admitted. “I mean, with his time at the circus, then SHIELD...”

“Yeah, he doesn't really fit the type... But he is an incredible dad and Nat is an amazing Auntie.”

“Well, this last week has certainly be informative”, Bruce eventually chuckled.

“That I believe... Listening to Thor and Tony Stark telling me they love me was a little weird to say the least.”

Bruce couldn't help but laugh. “That I believe. I think Tony and Pepper went through pretty much the same thing...”

“Yes, Clint mentioned something about kissing Pepper...”

“I think the word 'clusterfuck' perfectly summarized these last few days.”

“Well, if anybody gets through that, it's Earth Mightiest Heroes, isn't it?”, she grinned.

“We definitely create enough chaos being the six of us without needing some mind-reading Alien to do that for us.”

“But when you need each other you're there and get yourselves out of the messes, no matter whether created by an Alien or your own doing.”

“I guess...” From the kids' room, he heard Nat and Clint laughing and couldn't help the smile. “No idea, when or how it happened, but I guess we need each other...”

“Then I'm happy to lend you Clint every now and again”, she grinned and Bruce just smiled back.

“And I promise all of us will do everything in our power to always bring him back to you.”

Laura took Bruce's hands in hers and gently squeezed them. She didn't say anything, but didn't have to; Bruce clearly received all her gratefulness.

Sure, once the excitement of this body switch was over and Bruce was back in his lab, hiding behind science and his microscope, the fucked up feeling of his Hulk-sized depression would soon enough catch up with him again. But at least for right now he could appreciate being kept from doing something stupid and well, with Natasha, Clint, Thor, Tony and Steve caring about him like that, maybe the future wouldn't be too bad.

[reddeaddenial]

I love your writing, can you do one for Micah kinda like the other one you wrote on him? Except make him realize his mistake and have a happy ending? I just like to imagine deep down Micah would fall in love. 💗

Micah x Reader Part 2

[Part 1]Word Count: 2158WELP THIS WENT LONGER THAN I MEANT. lol Ok so I tried my best. It got very out of character so please forgive me. It was a bit hard giving this man a heart I hope you understand lmao And I also apologize for the weird ending. If I didn’t cut it off somewhere I would have kept going cuz I have no chill lol

Things were uncomfortably tense at the new camp in Beaver Hollow. Dutch was changing into someone you barely knew and camp was becoming divided, always at each others throats for one thing or another. You for the most part tried to quietly stick to your guard watches and your tent, not that anyone else cared much. They were all wrapped up in their own drama and didn’t have the time or energy to put up the pretenses of friendship and family. Well except for maybe Arthur. The poor man was clearly sick and fading quickly into a shadow of the gunslinger you knew mere months ago. Added with the stress of constantly being hunted and running off to do chores for Dutch, you rarely saw him now.

But you did see one face in camp nearly every day. Ohhh boy did you see Micah fuckin’ Bell, marching around, giving orders like he’s the shiny new second in command. At least that’s how he acted in front of others. He got whatever was needed doing in camp. But when he was alone or no one was looking at him, he would watch you across the way. This unreadable face, but his eyes… You knew his eyes. And they always looked like some scolded puppy looking for reassurance.

Like hell you would. You were done caring about Micah Bell. Or you at least tried to convince yourself you were. Saying one thing was fine, but emotions were choosy about how long they lingered in your poor troubled heart.

You missed him. His teasing smirk and his pretty eyes. You missed messing with that stupid hat of his, pressing it over his eyes and sneaking a kiss after he fixed it. You missed the crude and rough banter you tossed at each other.

You blamed him of course. You fell hard and those fond memories and soft feelings still had your heart in a vice, even after all that drama back in Lakay. You blamed yourself as well, for being so weak as to fall for such a man, a man who should be impossible to love. Yet here you were, back at square one…pining, just like he said. Ugh. What a mess this was.

Micah had… surprisingly followed your words. He didn’t talk to you, kept his distance, never put a hand on you… It was surprisingly respectful for someone like him. But of all times he now had to show respect… Dammit you hated this. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him after all the cruel things he said… But you were still mad as all hell. And if he regretted what he had done, even a little bit, you weren’t going to give in. He needed to come to you! You have long grown tired of crawling back to Micah Bell.

It was with great irony after all this self reflection, you had discovered a letter in your bedroll two nights later. Strange. It was addressed to you, but you never wrote to anyone outside of camp. You had no one out there, so why would you get a letter? Maybe it was a note from someone in the gang? You didn’t recognize the writing at all. Letters elongated, tightly snug together to a nearly illegible degree, words every other sentence scratched out in hurried frustration. But as you made it out, things began to fall into place…

Y/N,

You never said I couldn’t write you, so humor me for a moment. I’m so- I’ve done lots of thinking. That’s all I’ve been doing since Lakay. Thinking. Of- You always said I never did enough of it.  Maybe…You’re right. I reckon I can indeed make a fool of myself as you so kindly have reminded me during much of our time together. But I’ve been more than a fool this time. I’ve been blind. Blind and scar dealing with too many problems at once. I took it out on you. I didn’t know how much I was until I was looking down your gun. In that moment I realized something. I didn’t want t-  I’ve chan - I need to -There’s something I’ve been thinking about, that I think would be better fitted in person than a piece of paper. If you can- Tolerate me for a few moments of your time. I’ll be to the West of camp by the river till midnight. Please- Hope to see you there. 

-MB

….

God dammit this was stupid. YOU were stupid! But this was the exact type of sign you were quietly hoping for. Hmph, Hope.

That’s what got you into this mess to begin with. You’d think you would have learned your lesson by now but here you were, quietly making your way down the hill to the river bank. But what could you say? You were curious! Never in your time in the gang have seen Micah pick up a pencil and write, let alone a letter! He put enough effort to be somewhat of an apology and that had you wanting to hear him out, and wring a real apology out of his throat.

“Micah.” You say to the man as you approached the bank of the river in the evening twilight. His back was to you, watching the water, the occasional fish rippling the surface to catch a bug of some sort. Micah turned around the moment he heard your voice. “Y/n…”

You frowned getting a better look at him as you took a few steps forward. He looked exhausted. And serious. His face was strained, like the weight of everything was starting to sink in.“You look like shit Mister Bell.”

That broke the mask of stoicism, huffing a slight laugh and a half smile. Good. You could work with this. You hoped. There you were with the damned hope again.

“Yeah well, I feel like shit Y/n. Ever since Guarma really. And can you blame me? Everythin’s been going to hell.”

“No kiddin’. But I’m guessin’ you didn’t weasel out of my demands I laid down just to tell me about the obvious. Writin’ a letter Micah? Huh, Guess you can be smart when ya wanna be.” “Not where it counts ‘parently.” The blonde outlaw rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the grass by his boots. “You know me… Shit Y/n, you know me more than I know me sometimes. Talk is not somethin’ I’m known to be good at so just… listen ok?”

Well this was surreal. It was a side of Micah you sometimes caught glimpses of when the two of you talked alone. The side that wasn’t constantly antagonizing or plotting. This was… straight up honesty. A scary concept for the both of you. But you kept your mouth shut and nodded, wanting to hear him out. “I am not a good man. I never will be. I’ve done things. Killed things. People. Ruined lives. And I felt nothin’ for ‘em. I still do. And I don’t regret none of it. I’m not. A. Good. Person.” Micah sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “But you make me wanna be.”Your heart stopped at those words. Your breathe stopped. Time stopped. Who was this? Was this real? Was he drunk? Micah carried on, not taking notice of your inner struggle. “You try to see me under all the bad. Finding things about me I never knew was even there. This silver linin’ in everything. Reeling me in when I go too far. Callin’ me out when I get too wrapped up into myself. You’re changin’ me Y/n. Didn’t noticed till I was off on my own with the boys in Guarma. I was back to my old shit and I realized how much I changed before. You… I.. Well as you would say, like the fool I am, instead of trying to understand it, I wanted to run from it. So I.. I said things. So many nasty things to you Y/n. I regret every single one of them. I am, to the bottom of my heart and soul, if I still got any.” You listened intently, focused on every inflection of his tone. There was so much he was trying to say in so little words. Yet it was the most you’ve ever heard him say about what he was feeling and thinking. Typical Micah. You couldn’t help but be awed though. He was a very prideful man, such a massive change in character to his old ways. You knew he was serious about this. Very. But you still had to be sure. “So… You want me to forgive you Micah?”“No.”

Now that shocked you. “No?”

“No. I just wanted you to see in person how much I regretted my actions. But mostly because I need you to-.. I need you to cut loose from the gang and get out of here.”

“….What?!” “Look at me Y/n.” Micah stared right at you. Those pretty eyes you oh so adored that were normally so closed off and wary, were now so open and… vulnerable. “Things… are only gonna get worse with the gang. Bad things are gonna go down and I just don’t want you gettin’ mixed up and killed in all of it. I may have… done something bad before I got to Lakay. Real bad. Stupid. Looking out for myself as usual. I’ll deal with my mistakes as they come. But you don’t need to be punished for it too.” “Micah… What did you do?” “Too much. As usual. But enough of that. Here.” he fished the inside of his jacket and pulled out several hefty stacks of bills. “Not like anyone else is using this anymore. Take it and just leave tonight while everyone’s asleep.”

“Wait…You’re the one who smashed the tithing box.”

“Guilty.” “You stole all the money?!” “Like I said. No one was using it. Have you seen how people been actin’? Why are you acting so damn surprised, you know me.”

“I do…” You looked at the money in Micah’s outstretched hand and gingerly took it. “I… also know that I would never stop caring about you. Wanting you. Hell, I love you Micah bell. I never stopped, like the fool I am, despite everythin’, I damn well never stopped.”

Micah had that same look of shock on his face as he did when you pulled a gun on him during your spat in Lakay. Disbelieving. Denial. “You… You can’t mean that Y/n. I’m not.. Good for you.”“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t mean Mister Bell, I can feel what I damn well please! And I feel that I love you! Accept that as fact.” You had closed the distance between each other, bringing a hand to the side of his face. Micah near reflexively leaned into your touch.

“So I guess you wouldn’t be horribly offended if I reciprocate?” You couldn’t help smiling at that, leaning in to kiss Micah. Your Micah. This was probably the closest you’d ever get to the man saying ‘i love you’. But you enjoyed a challenge. You’d wrangle it out of him in time. Time. That was all they needed. And they wouldn’t get it staying here. You reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, stroking Micah’s cheek gently. He was so different when no one was around, looking at you so gently. “Micah.. Run with me. Let’s take this money and leave.” “Leave!? Y/n, I can’t…Dutch-”

“Yes. Yes you can. Since when has that ever stopped you from doin’ what you want? Forget Dutch. He’s gone crazy anyways. Leave with me. We have some money, and it’ll be easier to get out west if it’s just us. This gang has.. Has condemned itself ever since Blackwater. It’s dyin’ Micah. Let’s not die with it. Please, leave with me. We’re both survivors, we can easily live out there, together.” Together. 

It seemed those last words were all that it took for Micah to consider it seriously. Together. Yes, together you were a force to be reckoned with. Together, you both could survive. After a long pause, eyes distant in thought, Micah took your hand from his cheek and covered it with his own. A look, one you knew when he was up to no good. A smirk, that cocky attitude that made him think he could get away with anything.

“I’ll get the horses ready. You pack what we need.” His answer had you grinning from ear to ear. You gave him a quick kiss and made a dash up the hill back to camp, wanting to get the hell out of here while you could. Your heart was pounding with the thrill of leaving, leaving with Micah. Your Micah. Together you two could survive it all. And lord help anyone who ever got in either of your’s way.

[saintcanardmoved]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..