#so it was the four of us vs ONE FUCKING GOBLIN THAT NONE OF US COULD HIT

[revvethasmythh]

live footage of me doing combat on tactician difficulty

[mst3kproject]

The Equinox

'Aleczilla51297′ appears to have made a tumblr purely for the purpose of telling me I need to review Equinox and Godzilla vs Hedorah.  I decided to do Equinox first because I’ve already seen Godzilla vs Hedorah, which is one of the preachier Godzilla movies but does have that hilarious bit where the big guy flies by using his atomic breath as a rocket.  If Equinox turns out to be a #fuck this movie entry, then Godzilla can act as a sort of a palate-cleanser.  And so, without further ado:

Something blows up, a woman called Susan dies, and a dude gets run down by a driverless car.  My Dad would feel vindicated – he finds the whole idea of self-driving cars untrustworthy.  The victim, whose name is David Fielding, ends up in a mental hospital, where he tells his story to a psychiatrist.  Seems that Dave, his pal Jim, Jim’s girlfriend Vicky, and Vicky’s friend Susan, headed up into the mountains for a picnic with their old teacher Dr. Waterman. These people are all idiots.

The four young people arrive to find Waterman’s cabin destroyed and a creepy old man living in a cave nearby, who gives them a locked book. Because the characters don’t know they’re in a bad movie, they don’t realize that the book is clearly the fucking Necronomicon, and decide to crack it open and read it while they eat their KFC. To nobody’s surprise, they’re soon being chased around the countryside by dumb stop-motion monsters.  At the end everybody’s dead but Dave, who’s in the mental hospital waiting for the fulfillment of a prophecy that said he would die a year and a day after the original events, but that’s not a spoiler because it was the opening scene.

Let’s go over the shit that happens when these four clowns arrive at Dr. Waterman’s.  The cabin’s destroyed and the park ranger who discusses it with them says his name is Asmodeus.  Does that sound like a signal you should get the hell out of there?  No?  Okay, how about when they find a castle they can’t remember being there before?  Still no?  Well then, on their way to the castle (which later vanishes behind a wall of invisibility, probably because they couldn’t afford interior sets), they come across a cave with Green Goblin laughter echoing out of it, and weird velociraptor footprints all around.  Would you leave, or would you light up some torches and go check it out?  What about when you find a partially-mummified corpse in the cave?

The whole first ten minutes of the flashback that comprises most of the narrative is a litany of things I’m pretty sure anybody would flee from in real life.  I don’t believe much in the supernatural but if I saw all that I would be sure that multiple crimes had been committed and that I wanted no part of it.  The characters of Equinox, however, insist on investigating themselves, and continue to make stupid, stupid decisions for the entire run time.  Yes, let’s all go in a group to check and make sure the monster is dead.  Let’s hang around and bury the bodies ourselves instead of getting back to civilization for a police report and a good stiff drink.  Let’s collect the picnic stuff before we leave because that basket cost at least $15 at Wal-Mart.  It’s the kind of movie where you start to get annoyed that the characters aren’t dying fast enough.  When we finally get back to the opening shot I mainly felt relief that the movie was almost over.

The MST3K movie Equinox most reminds me of is The Day Time Ended: there are people in the middle of nowhere and, for some reason, a bunch of random stop-motiony things happen that never actually add up to a story.  Stuff comes and goes without serving any purpose other than to be creepy.  Who was Crazy Cave Guy?  I at first assumed he was the missing Dr. Waterman but Waterman turns up later and immediately dies, so what’s going on with this other guy?  What’s about the cave mummy… who was that?  Was the man who showed up to snatch the book actually Dr. Waterman or just a demon in his form?  Why is there a random graveyard in the middle of the woods?  Why does the psychiatrist have a creepy monster mask on his wall?  What’s up with Asmodeus apparently trying to rape Susan without even unbuttoning his pants, and later possessing her so that she does the same thing to Vicky?

Dialogue specifies that Dr. Waterman was a geologist, which seems an odd choice for somebody to be translating ancient documents.  I mean, there’s no reason why a geologist can’t have a side interest in ancient manuscripts, but when a movie takes the trouble to tell you something like that there’s usually a reason why.  Geology is never important to the plot, even tangentially.

It must be said that Equinox makes slightly more sense than The Day Time Ended, in that we’re actually given a reason why these events are happening.  Dr. Waterman had acquired and translated the Necronomicon and could not control the demons he summoned (I am convinced that Sam Raimi saw Equinox when he was around twelve and thought, shit, I could make a better movie than this!).  A huge tentacle creature destroyed his cabin, and then there’s the sabre-toothed ogre, the giant green caveman, and of course, the devil himself.  These creatures have a motivation: they are determined to get the book back, whether through force or persuasion.  The events could still happen in any order, but it all has a common core, rather than being just a collection of Concepts.

In capable hands this story could be made to work (see previous parentheses), but sadly none of the hands involved in making Equinox were remotely capable.  The acting is abysmal, mostly just people standing around awkwardly reciting their lines. All the dialogue was then dubbed over in post-production, which makes it even more stiff and awkward.  There’s a bit where a guy reads a letter as if he has to sound out each word.  The direction and music are bland.  Even the costumes are awful.  You’d think it would be hard to fuck up costumes in a movie set in the present, but it looks like everyone just turned up to set in their street clothes and they went with that.  Good costuming can tell us a lot about characters but the outfits here say nothing. Also, both Vicky and Susan are blondes in blue shirts, and once Susan’s hair falls out of its bun they’re basically indistinguishable.

The characters have no discernable personalities.  How they react to things changes from scene to scene, with nobody’s motives clear.  The only thing that remains constant is Jim wanting to leave while Dave always wants to stay and take care of something or other.  Stuff happens that could result in character development but none of it is ever followed up.  The most notable example is when Dave feels terrible guilt over having apparently killed Dr. Waterman, but this is forgotten a few minutes later and we never even find out if the dead man were really Dr. Waterman.

The effects are uniformly bad, but not usually enough so to be entertaining in themselves.  The castle is an obvious matte painting and the stuff on the other side of the portal, whether it’s Hell or the Dark Dimension or I don’t even know, is just the same spot in the woods with an orange filter over it.  There’s a stupid spinning thing used to represent Asmodeus exercising assorted dark powers.  The devil and the sabre-toothed ogre are both stiff and shitty stop-motion puppets.  The animation is surprisingly competent for a movie with the budget of Jr. High drama club, but they’re still not good.  The one exception is the giant green caveman, which looks dumb but is quite convincing as occupying space and interacting with the characters.

One might expect that this movie would be about the temptation of evil.  The monsters in it are summoned using a book of dark knowledge, and in trying to get the book back Asmodeus offers Jim anything he wants – money, prestige, women, you name it.  Problem is, there’s never any sign that the main characters are in fact tempted.  The crazy guy in the cave wants nothing from the book except to get rid of it.  He passes it on to Dave and Jim with evident glee.  Dr. Waterman’s interest in it, according to his notes, was purely scientific.  He summoned demons just to see if he could do it, but he doesn’t appear to have gained anything thereby except the knowledge that it works.  The main characters never even attempt to use the book, even to get themselves out of this mess, they just run around trying to keep it out of the hands of the monsters.  I’d say it’s like if every character in The Lord of the Rings was book-Faramir, but only a colossal nerd would use an example like that.

Honestly, I think this movie was about the wrong characters.  Dr. Waterman’s process of discovering the book and learning to use it, only to realize he’s unleashed things he cannot control, would probably have been a much more interesting story.  The characters from this film could have shown up at the end to fish the book out of the mess, with the implication that they will be its next victims.  This would have been a much better way to explore the ideas of temptation, making a Faust-like character out of Waterman as he is tempted not by riches or fame, but by knowledge and power.

Equinox is not quite #fuck this movie bad.  In order to earn that tag, a film has to be unwatchably dull and/or morally repugnant. I didn’t have any trouble sitting through Equinox but I also didn’t really enjoy the experience.  As movies about demonic forces go, it’s pretty bland and nothing much really seems to happen.  I guess that means I have to forgive Aleczilla51297 for sending it to me, but I’m still looking really forward to a Godzilla film or two.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars LXX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m currently back in school and I’m not happy– Also, I’ve been re-reading the whole story bc I need to see if I’m not fucking up my plot and shiiit the first books just plain suck with all those typos lmao I’m suffering -Danny

Words: 2,983

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Five: Bulgaria vs Ireland.

Once the night sky was setting, they strolled around the field to look at the souvenirs several wizards were selling.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain — ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

"No way you're buying me those," Mel frowned, pulling out her own money and buying her own pair, which technically left her without money to spare, but she wasn't going to admit it. "No, don't even try to insist. This year you won't outdo my Christmas present and that's final."

"Don't bother," Ron also tried to reject Harry's offer, but it was too late for him.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, giving Mel a pointed look. "For about ten years, mind. Hear that? If you had accepted my gift, Mellow, you would've had ten years to outdo me."

"Fair enough," said Ron, smiling down at the Omnioculars.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry! And I'll get us some programs, look —" Hermione walked over to the next stand.

"I know you're lying," Mel whispered once Ron and Hermione were far from earshot. "There's no way you'll stop giving them presents, you're too nice."

"And you're too stubborn," He replied with a smile. "But I'll find a way to outdo you, anyway."

When they went back to their tent, Mel threw two little green pins at Fred and George.

"I got you those, considering you wasted all your money on a stupid bet."

"It won't be so stupid once we win," George said, pinning the souvenir to his jersey. "Then you'll feel stupid."

"I'm looking forward to it," She grinned.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

They walked for about five minutes (Mel convinced Charlie to give her a piggy back ride) and talked animatedly about the game and their expectations. In front of them, there was the biggest stadium Mel had ever seen.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again... bless them!"

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

So they climbed all the way up, Mel caught a glimpse of some annoucements that were magically appearing across the field.

'The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer . . . Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! . . . Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade . . .'

"Look at that!" Mel said in amazement, taking a seat next to Harry.

But Harry was no longer looking at the field.

"Dobby?" Harry asked loudly.

Mel turned around, behind them there was a creature tha looked a lot like a mix between a very big doxie and a really ugly cat. It had huge brown eyes and a big round nose.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" The elf squeaked.

"Sorry," Harry replied, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir! My name is Winky, sir — and you, sir —" Its eyes fixed on Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," Harry smiled awkwardly.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!"

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky. "Ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir. Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?"

"He is wanting paying for his work, sir." Winky replied in a very low, very frightful whisper.

"Paying? Well — why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter," She gulped. "But my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry frowned.

"Master — master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He's very busy," said Winky. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron examined Winky carefully. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry.

"They have their own charm," Mel said absentmindedly.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and played around with them for a bit.

"Wild!" He said, turning the replay knob. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again... and again... and again..."

"Oh, stop it," Mel pushed down his Omnioculars, though she was grinning.

" 'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,' " Hermione read aloud her program.

"Oh that's always worth watching– National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show." Mr. Weasley added happily.

After a while of waiting and watching the stands get a little bit more crowded, the Minister arrived to their booth, he introduced a few people to Harry, holding a fatherly attitude towards the boy.

"Harry Potter, you know," He was talking to the Bulgarian Minister. "Harry Potter... oh come on now, you know who he is... the boy who survived You-Know-Who... you do know who he is —"

The wizard saw Harry's scar and pointing at it excitedly.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat... Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places... ah, and here's Lucius!"

The whole Malfoy family arrived at that moment. All wearing the same sneer.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do? And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk — Obalonsk — Mr. — well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

"Good lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said in what sounded like the most false kindness she'd ever heard. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

"Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest." The Minister said almost at the same time, not really listening to the man.

"How — how nice," said Mr. Weasley.

"Guilty, that's what he is," Mel leaned to whisper in Harry's ear. "That man thinks he can fix anything with money..."

Harry barely nodded, his eyes fixed on Mr. Malfoy.

After they moved along, it didn't take long for Ludo Bagman to appear, looking rather excited and jolly.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message

(Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans — A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"Excuse me?" Mel leaned closer to the edge, alarmed. "Those aren't mascots– those are women!"

But after looking at them for about five extra seconds, Mel understood that those couldn't possibly be just women. They were too similar, same skin color and hair– they moved as if time went by slower around them. They were, in the most fascinating way, extremely ethereal, like the fairy godmothers of her fairytales.

The veela started to dance around the field; something warm spread over her chest. She felt at ease. She felt too at ease, actually. Something was wrong.

She remembered what Dumbledore had told her on one of their many lessons, 'Beauty in magic almost never equals good or safe.' Things that shone too brightly were often that way so it would blind you from its actual intentions.

She shook her head, blinking rapidly and noticing the movement on her left. When she turned she saw Harry, trying to climb the wall that protected them.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked harshly.

Mel reached for the back of his shirt and forced him to sit down. Beside him, Ron was sitting stifly on his place, and he was destroying his Ireland hat.

'Sirens' was the first thing she thought. Even though she now knew that mermaids didn't look at all like a veela, she was pretty sure the effects were meant to be similar. Luring humans to their deaths... and Harry had fallen right into their trap.

"Honestly!" Hermione rolled her eyes, sinking further on her seat.

"Really?" Mel frowned. "Is that all it takes for you to lose your mind?"

"What?" Harry looked at her in a daze.

"Nevermind," She groaned, directing her gaze towards the field again to watch the veela stand aside.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light re- united and merged; they had formed a great shimmering sham- rock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it —

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley.

"There you go," Ron shouted, giving Harry a handful of gold coins, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you — Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars.

"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!"

"They all have Firebolts," Mel gasped. "There's no way Bulgaria can beat that!"

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

Her heart was leaping every so often she could hardly remain still. They game was thrilling, she even thought that a person like Erick, who didn't like Quidditch that much, would enjoy a game like this one. One could tell it was professional players out there, they moved around the field which such simplycity that even caused her to long for flying.

She thought about it for a second. Maybe, just maybe, she could try to join their school Quidditch's team this year. Harry said she was good enough, perhaps he wasn't lying.

The veela had lost control after watching their team losing by a great amount and transformed into some type of harpies, Mel thought Dumbledore would've been proud of her deduction skills, having figured out the veela on her own.

Krum, Bulgaria's seeker, had been severly injured, but that wasn't the only thing happening.

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled abruptly. "He's seen the Snitch! He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Both seekers were now heading towards it at great speed.

"They're going to crash!"

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

Right at that moment Lynch fell flat on the grass, Krum had suddenly flown up into the air.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie yelled

"He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" Harry yelled back.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had hap- pened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

Mel turned at the comment, locking eyes with George who sent a pleased grin her way. Those two, she couldn't believe they were so lucky.

"What did he catch the Snitch for? He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!" Ron said in disbelief.

"I thought he was a genius," Mel snorted.

"He knew they were never going to catch up! The Irish Chasers were too good... He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..." Harry explained.

"He was very brave, wasn't he? He looks a terrible mess..." Hermione said, peering to the field were the team was now standing.

"I love Quidditch!" Mel beamed. "Have you seen anything as impressive and breathtaking as that?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied, smiling.

He wasn't looking at the field, though.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," someone said behind them in a very thick accent.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, looking at the Bulgarian minister with wide eyes. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the minister.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman. "Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria!"

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectac- ularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being sup- ported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a be- mused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes. . . . yes, I owe you . . . how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018 @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @omiwashere @thesuitelifeofafangirl @kylosleftbuttcheek @vernon-dursley @tomshollandz @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight

[vagrantblvrd]

Bones (1/1)

Summary: There’s not a lot to do between missions. Hell, there’s not a lot to do on missions sometimes with the whole hurry up and wait bullshit that happens.

So you know, you find ways to entertain yourself. Pick a random topic and go off on it just to keep from being bored out of your mind while you wait for something to happen.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who asked for agency Jeremavinwood with Battle Buddies vs Play Pals???

(Read on AO3)

There’s not a lot to do between missions. Hell, there’s not a lot to do on missions sometimes with the whole hurry up and wait bullshit that happens.

So you know, you find ways to entertain yourself. Pick a random topic and go off on it just to keep from being bored out of your mind while you wait for something to happen.

“So wait,” Jeremy says, bundle of wires tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You’re telling me you two idiots decided to call yourselves the Play Pals because you couldn’t figure out what the designation Command gave you meant?”

Well when you put it like that, it does sound stupid. (Also, team designations are randomly generated by some fancy computer algorithm or something, Michael tuned out when Ryan tried to explain it to him once, because who the hell cares?)

To be fair to Gavin and Michael, however, most of the teams in the agency get two or three letter designations. They’re the only ones he’s heard of to get a four letter designation.

Jeremy must have finally realized that too because he just had to go and ask about it, didn’t he. Got Michael going on the subject while he tinkers and fiddles and swears under his breath as he works.

“Gavin’s idea,” Michael says, because the little idiot’s not there to refute the claim. “Who the hell else would come up with something so dumb?”

Not his fault he’s got Gavin as a partner and not some melodramatic idiot like Ryan with a penchant for the really destructive kind of chaos. The kind of team designation that lends itself to them being called Battle Buddies and having it stick until no one can remember a time when they weren’t called that. (Funny as all hell when Command slips up and puts it in the official reports that go to the bigwigs in DC, though.)

Jeremy laughs and almost inhales the wires he’s fucking around with. Gives Michael this look when Michael reaches over to hit him on the back to keep him from choking and all that.

“Thanks, pal,” he says, in that way he does sometimes.

Sarcastic as fuck and this touch of amusement to it and then the alarms go off, which means their dumbass partners have finally arrived to rescue them from their terrible fate as prisoners. (Shit happens.)

Michael glances around at the unconscious bodies of the guards who were meant to be watching them.

Some might lean a little more towards dead, but since they’re the ones who started it Michael doesn’t feel too bad about things.

There’s at least three levels of secret bad guy base above them, and Michael can still hear the explosions clear as day.

Michael and Gavin make a hell of a team, and so do Jeremy and Ryan. Do a little mix’n’match like this mission has forced them into and the results are maybe not the desired sort. (To hear Command talk anyway.)

“You got the door, or are we going to wait for those morons to save the day?”

Their escape may have met with a few complications, or maybe just another round of bad luck. They made it out of the zip ties and locked room these assholes had them hidden away in, sure, but then they had the fortune (misfortune?) of getting locked in this shitty little room. (Because fuck them, that’s why.)

Michael gets another look because Jeremy’s been trying to hot-wire the door’s locks or whatever the hell he’s been doing for the last half hour with no success. (Michael may or may not have been heckling/nitpicking him the whole time, but that ties in with the finding ways to entertain himself.)

Another explosion goes off above them, big enough Michael can feel it, and Jeremy looks down at the mechanism he’s been fiddling with. Takes the wires out of his mouth and gives Michael this wry little smile.

“Well,” he says, and dusts his hands off before reaching for the hand Michael's holding out to him to help him up. “Since they’re here anyway and all.”

Right, right.

Hate to pop their balloon or whatever bullshit excuse Jeremy has.

Another explosion rocks the compound and Michael

========

Michael loves to give Gavin shit for pretty much everything he does? But the truth is that Gavin is good at what he does. (And he does a lot.)

Still, there’s no denying he’s also a colossal moron.

“Gavin,” Michael says, because how the fuck, and also why the fuck. “What did you do?”

Ryan is running around HQ with a gooddamned crossbow and nowhere is safe.

Gavin is a goddamned horrible little goblin who loves enabling Ryan and his lunacy and Michael and Jeremy were gone for maybe – maybe – twenty minutes tops for a coffee run.

And now look at the place.

Crossbow bolts embedded in the walls and people hunkered down waiting for someone to either talk Ryan down from playing with his new toy or just tranq his ass. (Oh, Ryan’s too good to be careless with the damn crossbow, but that doesn’t make him any less of a menace with it.)

Gavin’s rolling around on the floor wheezing and squeaking and no damn help at all because he thinks it’s hilarious.

Meanwhile Jeremy’s tracking Ryan down and checking in every few minutes sounding like he’s trying not to choke on his own laughter. (With Geoff in DC for budget meetings Michael’s the only sane man left.)

“You’re explaining this to Geoff when he gets back,” Michael mutters, and heads out to grab a tranquilizer gun to put an end to Ryan’s little rampage before it really gets out of hand.

========

The kind of missions Michael and Gavin get sent on mostly deal with stealth. In and out before their target knows what’s happening because Gavin is fucking spectacular when it comes to stealth and Michael’s not too bad himself. (He’s always been a quick study, and keeping up with Gavin is not something just anyone can do.)

Jeremy and Ryan get the missions where subtlety isn’t a key factor. Get sent in with a case of explosives and other shinies and walk out when everything’s on fire. (That wasn’t always the case, but Geoff and Jack just kind of gave up after a while, and hey, it works.)

Every once in a while they get sent on missions together, and that's just -

“Oh, dear,” Gavin says, leaning back from his laptop. “That’s not ideal.”

Michael leans over his shoulder and tries to make sense of the million and one windows Gavin has open.

Security cam feeds he’s plugged into thanks to the Battle Buddies and satellite feeds. Other bullshit Michael recognizes but doesn’t give a damn about because things just went to shit.

Again.

“Christ,” he mutters, wondering if the agency throwing them together on missions is just an experiment to see how quickly things will turn to shit when combining their bad luck or if they’re just cursed like that. “They didn’t even make it inside this time.”

Gavin smothers a laugh, turns it into a cough as he toggles between camera feeds to keep track of Jeremy and Ryan being marched through the compound to wherever the guards are taking them.

“Should have taken Jack up on that wager of his, Michael,” he says, because he’s an asshole and Michael forgot, okay, he forgot.

Too busy checking over their gear to pop over to Jack’s office to join in on the betting pool and then Ryan threw a fit because he didn’t get the flamethrower he wanted. There was a lot going on, okay. Fucking sue him.

“Fuck off,” Michael says, and glances at the weapons crate stuffed full of the goodies the Battle Buddies love to lug around with them. “And dibs on Ryan’s mini-gun.”

========

So the thing is, the four of them get along a little too well for Command’s peace of mind.

Don’t give a shit about so-called friendly rivalries or trying to one-up each other in the hopes of currying favor with Geoff or Command.

No point to it when none of them give a shit about those things. (Geoff’s not the kind of guy who’d appreciate any of it no matter what he says, and Command’s long been wise to them.)

Gavin and Ryan are the worst because they’re stupid smart and have that little workshop down in one of storage subbasement no one’s supposed to know about. Make use out of the downtime they get between missions to “improve on” whatever gadgets tech comes up with for them and other fun experiments of theirs.

Jeremy joins in every so often when he gets a hankerin’, as Ryan likes to call it. Stars in his eyes and visions of explosions in his head or whatever the hell, and Michael?

“Jesus Christ,” he says, and plucks the grenade out of Gavin’s hand before the idiot blows them all sky high. “No.”

Gavin gives him a look, all sad-eyed puppy in the rain because Michael is a terrible bully. Behind him Ryan is just kind of pathetic, because somehow he set himself on fire – again – and thankfully Jeremy was there with a fire extinguisher, because what the hell.

“Michael,” Gavin starts, earnest as hell like the three of them aren’t the most ridiculous idiots Michael’s ever met. “You’ll love it, Michael. Ryan had the best idea!”

And, see.

Michael knows it’s going to be the worst damn idea in the world if Ryan came up with it. Dumbass always thinks he knows what’s what only to have things (sometimes literally) blow up in his face.

This time it’s something about putting the explosive power of a grenade in a pen – a pen - like something out of a dumb spy movie to use on missions.

“Just think of it, Michael!” Gavin says, clearly infected with Ryan’s dumb. “It would be amazing!”

It would be a disaster is what it would be, but then again that sounds prefect for them.

========

There are fraternization rules and regulations in the handbook they were given when they signed on. Outdated bullshit no one bothers to enforce because it would mean cracking down hard on half the agency at this point.

The only time anyone brings it up to Geoff is when it’s a suit down from DC to see how the funding they receive is being spent. Little meet and greets with the operatives and other assorted assholes working here and find them lacking in some way. (None of them are ever what people expect them to be. Too human to begin with, all these hopes and dreams and lives outside the agency. Emotions, feelings, all that shit.)

“Just don’t – don’t let it fuck things up,” Geoff told them when he found out. Tired and worn down and trying to act like he didn’t know because the suits wouldn’t get it, understand. “Be careful.”

It’s a lot to ask of assholes like them, but they do their best to make it work. Have their moments where things get real shitty real fast thanks to the stress of their jobs and the way life has of being a shitshow.

Rough patches and all that, but they’re all a little too invested in the life they’ve built for themselves to give up so easily and he knows it baffles the hell of the people who know. Look at them and try to figure out how the hell assholes like them make sense, when they don’t even know themselves.

(Only bit of good luck to stick for the four of them, and goddamn if they’re not going to hang on to it with everything they have.)

[my-contemplation]

Time for angst

I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m worried all the time about everything that I’m doing and I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. I don’t want to do that anymore. But if I don’t worry about what I do I might do the wrong thing. But what if I’m doing the wrong thing now?

I hate HOOLIGAN. I really hated being in Sister Act last quarter. It was horrible for my mental health. Most of what it caused was frustration. And some friendships I guess, but most of them feel fake. I don’t like going out to dinner with them because I have misophonia and I don’t like the alcohol either. Olivia likes it. Olivia is basically just a better me. She did like four different show things this quarter. I did none. I did that stupid Active Minds thing but that doesn’t count. I auditioned for Shakespeare company again but I got rejected. Again. I just keep getting rejected. I didn’t try to get into a writing seminar because I’m tired of getting rejected. What is it about hooligan (yes I’m writing it lowercase fuck them) that everyone likes so much? I can’t lie and say it ALL was awful, but I can super honestly say that I never felt welcome there. Never felt like I fit in, like I mattered. Not once. I like not having to eat dinner at odd times. I like not having to spend my nights in a parking lot. I like not being shamed when I don’t go drinking with them. I like not having to pay $350 for the privilege of all of that suffering. I like not having my misophonia disrespected. Did I like being on stage for sister act? I honestly can’t tell anymore. I have no idea. I had fun with Showcase i think, but it was also horrendous because my actors had no discipline. I made that work by the skin of my teeth. One acts was awful because my director was a hack, and a moron. I didn’t do winter rep because i didn’t like either of the shows.

But (always the but) is any of that fair? Maybe it’s wrong that I don’t like to party and I should just do it. Maybe it’s wrong that i’m obsessive about when I eat dinner (it is) and I should get over it (I should). But like, then people tell me to do what makes me happy. What makes me happy???? I don’t know if anything does! And if it does, it almost always feels wrong. Not like a “nothing makes me happy I’m depressed” but more of a “I’m not sure what is the difference between happy, guilty pleasure, and duty.” Watching Netflix makes me happy. That’s not valid, though, that’s not real. It used to be that doing shows and dance made me happy, but the idea of signing up for a dance class next quarter filled me with such dread that I couldn’t do it. When did that happen? What’s wrong with me? I don’t know what I like, or what others expect me to do, or whether I should do what they expect or not, or what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m not dancing and I’m not performing. What am I doing? Nothing, that’s what. And that’s what freaks me out.

I try and list the things I’m doing but they seem horribly flat. I started that club but no one comes so what’s the point, and I’m so terrified of trying to do more that I don’t know if I’m doing enough. I’m doing well in class but that’s not new or whatever, it’s what I’ve always done, it’s what’s expected. It’s not like I’m actually getting into the class I want, the goddamn seminar, but other people who write bad poetry (sorry, Jordan) did. What am I doing wrong? What am I not seeing? 

Is what I choose to do valid? I don’t know. I worry daily about not fulfilling whatever it is that I’m supposed to be doing. I should be out living my life, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t want to go to any concerts because there’s no one I want to see. I don’t want to party until sunrise because that would wreck my anxiety for the next two days and it’s not worth it, but am I supposed to be doing that??? It sure fucking feels like I should!!! But I don’t want to!! And I can just feel people like Julie sneering “you’re too afraid to leave your comfort zone” and is that it??? Am I just fucking weak??? The goblin in my head says so, but I don’t really want to believe that. When does “doing what I’m supposed to be doing” and “doing what I want to be doing” overlap? And no, I’m not talking about homework and jobs and stuff, I do all of that, I know that’s necessary, that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean what I do with my free time. I never do anything, really. An adventure for me is going on a hike in a place I’ve never been and getting lunch somewhere new. That’s nothing. I call that an adventure, though. Is there something wrong with that? And then of course I shame myself for spending money. That’s another thing. I’m cheap as fuck. Why am I like that? I wasn’t poor growing up. We aren’t rich, we’re solid middle class, and there was only one period of my life when money was truly tight. And yet I cringe at spending money on any kind of food, shame myself for it. I worry constantly about money, and I don’t even have to, not like many people unfortunately do. It’s stupid. And speaking of shaming myself, part of the problem is that whenever I go into a grocery store I have the desire to buy EVERYTHING I like. What is that???? That’s fucking childish!! But I didn’t even do that as a child!!!! Why do I do it now?? So I buckle down and barely buy anything because what if I buy it all? And like I’m fine, I’m not starving, but I hate this constant battle between “it’s okay to spend money” vs. “never spend money you fucking whore,” or “buy everything you want, you deserve it” and “you fatass better fucking not.” Every time I go to the grocery store. It’s exhausting. Why can I  never be confident in what I do? Have I ever been confident?

I want to cut my hair off. There, I said it. I want to cut it all off. I don’t think I realized how much I hated it until I told my mom. I hate it. It’s so long and annoying, it gets everywhere, it’s heavy. I want it gone. But then who am I without it? I’ve had this hair for years. I actually think that if I cut it off, I’ll lose all of my friends. How lame is that. Have I ever liked my hair??? I hope I did once. But now I don’t. But I don’t want to be ugly. Fuck.

If I’m not the long-haired girl who dances and does musical theater, who the fuck am I? The whiny nerd who never parties and writes sometimes? That’s nothing. That’s pathetic. Why don’t I want to dance anymore? Why don’t I want to do hooligan? What am I supposed to define myself with, my tv shows? That seems horribly shallow, if it is what I probably enjoy the most. I mean, yeah, I like writing, whatever, but I’m not confident in it anymore, if I ever fucking was.

I don’t read either. Everyone’s always fucking reading. I don’t. Cami reads. Cami reads all the time and I want to punch them in the face. I don’t read. I’m an English major and I don’t read. I read for class and then I’m tired. I don’t know if I can read for fun anymore. I did it last summer, I think, maybe, so maybe, but I don’t know. I want to watch my shows, and that makes me pathetic.

I want to know what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I want to, at least once, do something without second-guessing, without stradling some kind of fence between opposites. I want to be my own person, defined by my own needs and wants. But fuck me if I know who that person is. There’s something I’m not seeing. And for the love of God, I wish I could fucking see it.