#the bill: slash goggles

[augustusaugustus]

15.82 A Day to Remember (Part One)

CARVER: Cup of coffee? MONROE: *groan* Where am I? CARVER: You’re in my flat, sir. I brought you home last night. MONROE: My wife! CARVER: Don’t worry, I rang her. I told her that the curry disagreed with you. MONROE: *groan* CARVER: We’ve still got plenty of time to get you home and changed before the wedding. MONROE: What wedding?

HOLLIS: (voiceover) PC Smith is in a off-the-peg cheap suit from one of the high street retail outlets, whereas PC Klein has gone for a figure-hugging designer suit—

HOLLIS: (voiceover) Just filming the guests as they process inside the registry office. Or in Tony Stamp’s case, as they manhandle a male IC1 on the other side of the street.

LENNOX: I’ve got footage of the six most active suspects. I’ll play this during the briefing on Monday, before uniform go out to the Parkmead. *cut to shot of Smithy*

(To be continued…)

[fatehbaz]

The most iconic predators in the American West are under attack, and top government officials and agencies are failing to uphold the law to protect them. Those are the allegations in a pair of lawsuits filed in federal and state court recently. Though filed separately, the two claims share a common concern: that wolf and grizzly bear populations in the Northern Rocky Mountains will be decimated. In the past year, leading wildlife biologists have spoken out with rising alarm about the fate of the predators in Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana, where Republican lawmakers have advanced some of the most aggressive laws and proposals targeting the two species in recent history. [...]

In the past year, many top wildlife researchers in the Rocky Mountains have warned of a return to the bad old days of the 1880s following political changes in the region. [...] While politics have always shaped carnivore conservation, recent events have left many scientists horrified and outraged that decades of work could soon be lost. In January, 35 of the region’s most prominent wildlife biologists wrote an open letter objecting to petitions from Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho to delist grizzly bears. [...] If grizzlies were delisted, the biologists argued, they would likely face the same treatment that wolves across the Northern Rockies were already experiencing.

---

Outside the protected confines of Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming has long permitted a shoot-on-sight approach to wolves across much of the state. Last year, Republican lawmakers in Idaho and Montana took major steps in the same direction, passing laws to drastically slash wolf populations — in Idaho by as much as 90 percent — by granting individual hunters and trappers the authority to wipe out entire packs, and legalizing wolf bounty programs, aerial hunting, the use of snares, night hunting with night-vision goggles and other measures long seen as far outside the ethical bounds of “fair chase” hunting, which requires that hunters not take unfair advantage over the animals they seek.

---

In Montana specifically, the biologists wrote, science-based wildlife management “was replaced by anti-predator hysteria.”

“It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to realize that if grizzly bears were delisted and turned over to state management,” the letter said, “that the Montana legislature and governor would do the same thing to grizzlies that they are currently doing to wolves.” In addition to the states’ requests to delist the bears, Wyoming Republicans Rep. Liz Cheney and Sen. Cynthia Lummis have introduced bills to not only delist grizzlies, but also to bar public comment and prevent any judicial review of the decision. [...]

---

On October 27, the environmental groups WildEarth Guardians and Project Coyote, filed suit in a county court against the state of Montana; its Fish, Wildlife and Parks department; and the panel of citizen commissioners who make policy for FWP.

As The Intercept reported in an investigation in July, the 2020 election of Montana Gov. Greg Gianforte ushered in a radical reordering of the state’s wildlife governance, stacking the commission overseeing FWP with representatives from the trapping and trophy hunting industry, as well as campaign donors.

Among the core claims in the WildEarth Guardians-Project Coyote lawsuit is an argument is that the justification for Montana’s ultra-aggressive wolf hunt is based on unreliable data. [...]

During the 2021 session, Republican state legislators Bob Brown and Paul Fielder advanced a series of anti-wolf bills — all signed into law by Gianforte, endorsed by his handpicked FWP commissioners, and enforced by the department — based on the argument that Montana had too many wolves and at least 450 of the animals needed to be killed. “We’re not talking about necessarily ethical management of them,” Fielder said in the run-up to the 2021 hunt. “We want to reduce wolf numbers.” [...]

The Montana legislature reconvenes in January. In a public meeting in September, Fielder signaled that the state would ratchet up its war on wolves in 2023. “It was stated on the floor last session that this is not about ethical or fair chase, it was about reducing the number of wolves. Management starts with M-A-N, man. We’ve got to take control of things,” he said.

---

Image, caption, and all text by: Ryan Devereaux. “The fight to stop Republicans from killing wolves and grizzlies.” The Intercept. 5 November 2022.

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts # 73

1. Puppet! Cloud drops out from a random vortex after his master was defeated. Where did he land?

On Sephiroths office desk in Shinra tower of course. Sephiroth poked him with his pen a few times before Cloud woke up.

"Master!" The blond exclaimed as he wrapped the larger man in a hug. Of course. Of freaking course, thats when Genesis barged in with a stack of paperwork tucked under his arm, (not even bothering to knock mind you!) "Ugh, Seph, you are not going to believe-" the redclad figure stopped in his tracks.

"...this isn't what is looks like."

Genesis wiggled his eyebrows suggestivly, "Sure it isn't." And he was back out in the hall without another word. The soft click the door gave seemed much too loud in the silence and only seemed to add to Sephiroths humiliation.

Thus began Cloud following around his "Master" wherever he went while Sephiroth and the SOLDIERS/Turks did everything in their power to stop him, only to fail hilariously or get beaten up by the (comparatively) petite blond for thier efforts

2. The Holy Trinity encounter Winged! Cloud from the future or a parallel dimention or something and instead of viewing him as a monster they think he's an actual angel and treat him accordingly.

3. Cloud had just finished burying a dead chocobo (may she rest in peace) he had found when he heard a twig snap from behind him.

He reached for Tsurugis handle only to pause when he saw a bright yellow ball of plumage peek out from behind a tree. The blond let out a small laugh. That was by far the fluffiest chick he had ever seen, hells, it was a perfect circle/

Cloud reached down and picked up the baby, "Hello there, are you lost?"

"Kweh!" The little circle cried out and Cloud was quickly surrounded by three other chicks, all wild and overly fluffy. He absently wondered if this was a new breed while they preceeded to peck at him with little effect. He just scooped them up and drove them to Bills place after a ruddementry search of the nearby area.

That was the end of it.

Until he woke up the next morning with three of the chicks sleeping on top of him. The blond was baffled and got up to search for the fourth, only to find it perched on Denzels head, shifting its balance as to not fall whenever Denzel began nodding off, threatening to fall asleep and plant his face in his breakfast.

If Cloud took a picture-or a dozen-no one would have to know

4. A mysterious ailment has been effecting all the creatures Hojo created using Jenovas cells causing them to run amok. With Cloud missing and AVALANCHE busy dealing with rampaging monsters, Denzel and Marlene sneak off to search for the missing blond, but will they find him in time? Or will Cloud be in the same state as the others?

5. Reno found Cloud at a mall in some nowhere town dressed as a girl. He was originally planning to use this as blackmail material before Cloud came out to him as trans.

Now Reno goes out with him and helps him keep his cover...while disguised of course. Wouldn't want anyone to recognize him and- by extention- Cloud.

Besides, if anyone did recognize them, Cloud had full permission to blame Reno and let him take the fall for it.

6. The SOLDIERS apparently had a "Chocobo protection squad" when Cloud was a trooper. He had no idea why Reeve had insisted he read this annoyingly thick file on it until he realized half way through the first page that it was about him

He was the "precious cutie chocobo that must be protected from the evils of the world"

Cloud wanted to burn it on principle...but was too curious to stop reading. Apparently most of the members were still alive and it seems he owes them a great deal, so maybe he should take Teef and the kids to visit some of them. Maybe bring gift baskets...

7. Cloud cursed as he stepped on the edge of his cloak, sending him tumbling down from the path and deeper into the cavern.

Cloud picked himself up from the ground, grateful his goggles kept any of the dirt and debris from entering his eyes.

He heard something from behind him and whirled around to slash at them with his dagger...except there was no one there.

Poink

Oh no. He looked down at the little creatures, wearing cloaks much like his own, only brown instead of the worn black fabric the professor gave them. The blond looked down sadly at the number tattooed on the back of his hand.

Guess I won't be going to the Reunion after all. Shame. Mother had said Zack would be there as a guest and he really wanted to see him again.

Poink!

One of the little creatures- Tonberry- mother supplied - was clutching the edge of his cloak and attempting to lead him somewhere.

Did...did this creature think himself one of them?!

Aka Numbered! Cloud! gets adopted by Tonberrys

8. Hojo waking up strapped to one of his own tables with Cloud and Sephiroth standing over him, grinning like mad men.

9. Au where Sephiroth escaped as a child and fled into the wild and was eventually taken in by the "dead" professor Gast and his wife Iflana

He was "never found" by the Turks and eventually grew up to be a bad ass vigilante.

Cloud shared a similar fate but kept running instead of being taken in, eventually becoming a vagabond until the fateful day when their paths crossed and the pull of Reunion drew them together

10. Enraged blue eyes locked on to the blond. It may have been nearly a thousand years since Shinra fell, but he would know that man anywhere.

Not just anyone could have destroyed a corporate entity as powerful as Shinra and in the span of a single month no less! But he didn't care much about that, oh no.

He cared about the fact that this lovely creature killed him and his fellow firsts and then had the audacity to just disappear into the sands of time, stripping materia of its power and somehow causing Gaias mako to sink deep beneath the soil, never to be seen by mere mortals again. After it did, monsters began appearing less and less frequently, until they stopped appearing at all.

With Shinra so thoroughly destroyed and no other sustainable power available, information and records deteriorated, leaving Shinras history spotty at best and non existent at worse (probably didn'thelp that records seemed to conveniently disappear). Now Shinra, monsters and magic are all considered fairytales from a bygone era.

He and the others occasionally visit the lake that was once the city of Midgar to light candles in honor of all they had lost. Like hell he was going to let the blond escape again. Genesis opened his phone and made a call, "Seph, I found him."

11. Cloud meeting Female Sephiroth. Shes rather impressed that he's completely unaffected by the boob window. It had been the death of many men before him, that was for certain.

Too bad he wants to kill her, she has a feeling she would have liked having him around. Maybe she'd introduce him to Angel's puppy? She had the peculiar ability to befriend everyone she met

12. Time traveler Sephiroth saves time traveler Cloud from the labs with Genesis and Angeal.

Cloud is wondering why Sephiroth saved him and what he's planning.

Meanwhile, Gen and Geal are freaking out and asking annoyingly sane questions, like "Who is this guy?", "Why do you seem to know him so well?", and my personal favorite "Why is there a man being held captive in the labs?!"

13. Lab Experiment Cloud au where teenager Cloud barrels into Sephiroth in the middle of escaping the tower and asks if Sephiroth is his dad.

Sephiroth stops functioning and he just stands there frozen in a full battle stance while Genesis fights and subsequently captures the teenager, who he then promptly kidnaps.

*later*

Sephiroth bursts into the labs and confronts Hojo, asking if he was a father.

Hojo laughs and says "Of course you are! Do you have any idea how many creatures I've spawned with your DNA?"

Cue Sephs mental breakdown and Genesis's rampage on behalf of his friend.

Angeal does his part by babysitting with some office secretaries

Aka: the trinity raising a broody teen

14. Post OG Nebilheim is super duper haunted and Yuffie is NOT okay with that.

Cloud is even less okay and they talk about it while sitting on the roof of Clouds abandoned house...well, the fake one anyway

15. Everyone gets therapy but its from the perspective of a therapist who is %1000 done with Hojo

Bonus: This is actually questions posed by a friend and it helped spawn number 10.

What would Shinra do if Mako where to suddenly disappear? How would that even happen?

Bonus Bonus: What would be the quickest/ most brutal way to take down Shinra and/or SOLDIER? How would the Firsts feel about being completely owned by a stranger who appeared out of nowhere? (This was also my thinking about 10)

Announcement: Due to lack of interest, list #75 will be the final one. Thank you for reading my ideas. It made me super happy!

[swiftwind3]

Everything We Lost

ao3 link here

Ahem endgame who

So, Infinity War destroyed my crops, murdered my family and spat in my face. So, I tried relieving myself with this sadkdfkshs. I don’t read the comics so,,,beware you hardcore ultras.

Also disappointment about how no one's torn The Winter Soldier theme from CATWS apart FNAF style is ruining my life as well. Heavy dialogue (i think) and lots of hyphens lmaoo. Enjoy. and don’t plagiarize of course

Summary: Bucky wakes up in the Soul Stone.

Insp: Nothing Lasts by Taska Black ft. Pauline Herr

Back to the other end, when we fell down

We could not believe we would lose it all

Now the dreams are gone, and faith has drowned

Everything we lost and we never found

Everything we lost and we never found

Uh, Steve…?

Bucky had been expecting one of two things: either the scorching flames of punishment and retribution or the gentle white of warmth and peace, maybe even forgiveness. Definitely not orange. Definitely not a reflective, watery floor under a similarly hued sky that radiated a gnawing hunger and desolation. At least, that was the aura this realm gave off to him.

The sky was full of arriving ashes. They swirl and plummet, becoming people. So many people. So much noise.

The crowd swells around him, people flickering in and out of sight like glitching ghosts. Some cry while hugging themselves. Others stare at their limbs; Bucky having done the same once he stood up. Their cries and shouts drill into his head, and for a weird minute, he thought he was in Hell.

"Cassie, where—Cassie!"

"Darcy! Jane!"

"Bill? Bill, what's happened—where are you?"

"Harley?"

"Excuse me—"

Before he can start his own calls, he whirls to face an elderly woman.

Like him, she seems dazed, eyes wide and watery.

"I'm looking for my husband, I—"

He chokes on a scream. She dissolves into ash, his own being following suit.

There's no description for being pushed out of existence, but that's how he would word it.

Time freezes, and it was like he didn't have to breathe, he couldn't. He couldn't see, or hear, or feel and it felt bad. But how could he be sure of that if he couldn't feel at all? Yet, in a split second, it was seemingly…over. He stands, palpable as ever. He almost heaves over the poor woman, holding her slash leaning on her.

"My God," she wheezes. "What was that?"

"I'm…not sure. But, sorry about that," he shakes his head. "What, uh—does your husband look like?”

Stuttering, she catches her breath. Her eyes flick past him and widen. "Ava!"

A younger woman bursts through the crowd, spinning almost comically. "Yes? Bill?"

The elder woman raises her arm and the girl freezes, recognition steadying her face. "Van Dyne..."

The woman looks her over frantically. "Are you okay? Are you alright? Are you in any pain?"

"No, not exactly. What's happening?"

"I'm not...sure."

"Janet," an elderly man shoves through, held by a young woman. “Janet!”

"Mom?"

"Hank! Jellybean," she cries. Before bolting, she places a hand over Bucky's. "Found them. Thank you."

He tries his best to smile. "No problem."

Ducking his head, he tries to move away, eyeing the sky, the people.

Ashes clump and disassemble, and he remains silent, calling no one. He only stares as he pushes through the groups of people, tripping to a stop before he ran over a poor man as he plummeted just in front of him. Muttering a few 'excuse mes', the world seems to shift. Again, his being, along with everyone else, crumbles into ash. His lungs disappear, and he chokes in momentary oblivion.

Yelping makes him spin.

A girl falls to her knees next to him, her voice hoarse. “What—what—no—what’s—Brother?"

Bucky’s stomach vanishes. “Princess.”

Large, wet eyes snap up to him, revealing the stricken face of Shuri Udaku.

“Bucky?”

Her orange blouse almost camouflages with the light, torn in a few spots. Her trembling hand rises, and he meets it, helping her up.

They hold each other as they crumble into nothingness. When they reform, she sobs.

“What is happening? What is going on?”

“I don’t know,” he rubs her back gently. “Are you okay?”

“No, I—I’m sorry—this is all—insane,” she hiccups. “First, those things got in while I was working on Vision and I got hit, so I pretended to stay down—”

“Wait, they got to Vision?”

Her head shakes. “He—he escaped. I shut down the extraction. I couldn’t get it out in time. My guards couldn’t take the—the thing that got to us and I had to leave it in. I tried fighting back, but I got hit. I heard the window shatter—and then, when I tried hiding, everyone started turning into this and—”

She jumps at him again with a cry.

Silence rings in their minds, the whisper of air hissing in their ears as they resurface. Falling back down into actuality, they gasp for air.

“We really need to get out of here,” they chorus.

With a wet chuckle, she holds his left hand. “Are you okay? I’m sorry—there’s…a lot going on.”

“Yeah, I’m having trouble processing all this, too,” he glances around. “And I’m…okay. For the most part. Got blown back by Thanos, but I lived.”

She nods with a hum, turning his hand. “Working okay?”

He smiles, squeezing her hand lightly. “Perfect. Even…wherever the Hell this is.”

As the ashes rise around them, he tries to hold them both together, failing spectacularly. But as they came back together, he accidentally made them stumble back into someone.

"Man, watch where you're going..."

He wheezes, red goggles and a flight vest intruding his vision. "Wilson?"

“Falcon,” Shuri’s grip is tight.

Dark eyes brighten. "Princess. Barnes," Sam pants. "Just my luck. Guess this is Hell. Well, maybe not since she’s here, but."

Bucky smirks. "Too bad. Was really looking forward to take a dip in a lake of sulfur.”

"Hilarious—"

The air hisses into a deafening silence as they fell apart again. They tried latching to each other, ice overriding their senses as they dissipated in one another's grasp.

The cluster of people phases and glitches. With a crack, their forms break into ashes and reassemble hauntingly.

"Man, what the hell is going on?" Sam stumbles into him. Shuri helps steadying him as he hugs himself for a moment, rubbing his arms roughly. "What the hell is this place?"

"Beats me," he grits.

“It’s not Earth, I think.” Shuri trembles. “I don’t have any of my scanners on me—”

She gasps, whirling. They crane their necks just as the air hissed and hacked above again. Ashes rose, voices becoming distant. Snapping back into arrangement, two women in red appeared before them.

A Dora Milaje holds the hand of another collapsed, young woman, shouting into the air.

"Ayo," Bucky and Shuri chorus.

The warrior turns, startled.

"White Wolf, Falcon—Princess!"

The young woman on the ground peers dejectedly over her shoulder, conceding to Ayo's pulling.

They speed to each other, staring warily at the sky.

"Well, I'm not quite sure if it is safe to say that I'm glad to see you here," Ayo addresses, dried tear tracks on her face. She cups Shuri’s face, bringing her in for an embrace.

"Well," Sam glances around. "It's not exactly Hell, so I think we're safe. You haven’t found Banner or anybody else?"

“Yeah, maybe he could tell us where this is.” Bucky nods. “Or what is this.”

"We are far from that," the young woman's voice is thick. "Hell, that is. And Banner’s…not here."

"Maximoff," Sam says gently. "You know what it does?"

"I know some of what it can do. This is the Soul Stone. I'm closer to the Mind Stone, but I know that this," she lightly spins her hand, churning ashes. "Is just the start of its work."

"In any case, I don't want to be here when it finishes its warm-up, " Ayo snorts. She turns and lets out another call, listening, hoping.

"What else can it do?" Sam leans forward.

"Nothing,” she shrugs. “At least, I think that’s it. The Soul Stone grants its user control over all souls in the Universe. We’re inside the pocket dimension inside it. Like a storage facility.”

"Got it," he says. "Anything on Vision?"

She flinches. "He’s…his consciousness is in the Mind Stone. He won't be anywhere in here."

"So, this is the Soul Stone. It eats souls basically," Bucky provides. "And it’s not going to use us to amplify its power or anything, right?"

"That’s the Power Stone," she shrugs again, weakly. “And…it might. Using our souls to amplify the other Stones’ powers doesn’t sound too absurd.”

He sighs through his nose. She’s lost a lot. All of them have, and he lets his heart ache momentarily.

The tired, perplexed look on Steve face flashes across his mind and he blinks it away.

“Don’t give it any ideas, Barnes.” Sam mumbles.

Bucky hears it, along with the manic whispers of some guy walking behind him.

“It’s okay, Sebastian. You just got a little bit too drunk. God, I just hope I don’t get mugged…”

He wishes he could live with that level of ignorance, for a little while longer anyway. His desire got swept away as a blobby…elf…person landed tripped beside him and immediately stumbled to its feet, resuming its foreign yelling.

"Well, one thing's for sure. This ain't no afterlife." Sam stares after it. "Pretty sure all languages would be mutually intelligible under Father God's roof."

“So, we know what’s happening,” Shuri hugs herself. “But the only why I can think of is…the worst.”

Wanda rubs her eyes. “Yeah. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

All of them flinch when a wave of ash crashes above them, assembling into human shapes.

“O Great Bast,” Ayo almost doubles over. “We’ve lost.”

"Okay, okay, but let’s keep it together,” Sam goes to help her. “If Thanos did this with the gauntlet, then I’m assuming the only way to reverse it is doing the same thing. But…I don’t how he did this.”

“He snapped his fingers,” Wanda glared at her watery reflection. “I saw him do it. Thor landed his ax in his chest, but the bastard was still alive and—"

They freeze at the sound of roaring and trumpets filling the air and Bucky frowns at the massive cloud above.

"Wanda,” Bucky utters. “When you said all souls—”

Shuri follows his gaze. “Oh, Bast.”

“No,” Sam breathes. “Is that—are those—"

Bucky snatches Shuri, practically tearing Sam’s arm off. “Move, move, move!”

Animals fall from the ashes.

People scream and scatter.

With red light at her fingers, Wanda dissuades the lions, wolves, bears, hippos, and cassowaries that run too close. Elephants were the most obvious, and the roars from lions and tigers were loud enough to tell anyone where not to run.

She and Ayo run at a crowd, the water rippling from the stampede of horses and wildebeests people parted to let through.

“Make a force field,” Ayo yelled. “Sayefa! Sayefa!”

“I’m tired, you know,” a wall of red still rises, her face wincing. “I might hurt them…”

“They might hurt us,” Sam pants behind them, rolling his shoulder before clutching his knees. “Almost tore my arm off…”

“Sorry,” Bucky sets Shuri down.

"It's raining cats and dogs," his voice breaks with a bitter wheeze, gaping at the cascade of hooves around them. "Man, this place is something else."

As more people and animals appear, Bucky feels the air.

It’s not becoming...crowded. There definitely are a lot of people here, but there's also a lot of space. Too much.

A series of distant trills rise into the air, echoing.

"Sayefa! Ha hoo! Sayefa! Ha hoo!"

Shuri gasps, whirling as Ayo lets out a sharp sigh. "Oh, thank Bast.”

“Wakandaaa!"

"Sayefa! Ha hoo! Sayefa! Ha hoo!"

Bucky stumbles back as the atmosphere snaps again. His ashes fly in a brief, stormy sea.

The neighing and groaning of the animals was distant, as if he were underwater. And then, the roaring of humans was loud enough to startle him back into clarity.

Wanda and Sam flank him firmly. Wanda's hand grips his arm, face pale, perturbed.

Ayo wanders out of the shield as they see T'Challa emerging from a crowd, his warriors, along with some Jabari, following closely.

With a holler from T’Challa, a group of them charged, blanket shields flickering. Together, using nothing but their bodies and voices, they herd the poor beasts into small groups.

A few mares, foals, and stallions break away, only to be met with more men and Dora Milaje. Even the hollering of some civilians rises into the air as they seemed to join them. Expertly, they dodge both species’ bucking and rearing, their shouts scattering as they corralled them. 

Crowds of people cheer and clap from a distance, relief warming Bucky’s chest.

The King commands, “Yibambe!”

“Yibambe,” they all echo.

“Yibambe!”

“Yibambe!”

Shuri bolts in his direction and Bucky barely makes out the King’s soft, “Oh, no.”

"My King," Ayo calls, tailing the Princess.

T'Challa takes them for a brief embrace, and Bucky hears the clicks of isiXhosa.

"You fought well, Dora. You fought well for me and your country. We must now regroup. Find out what we can do. Be strong. Bast’s presence and power reside in me still. However, it feels...different. She is closer, but She is farther."

"Do not lose Her, Your Highness," Ayo pleads. Her arms cross over her chest, head bowed.

"Your Highness," Sam holds out his hand.

"I am not quite sure if I am glad to see some familiar faces in this place," T'Challa takes their hands in a strong shake. "But I suppose it tells us what we all feared," he looks around, face saddening at the sight of his warriors. "We have lost. And we are in a place beyond our current understanding."

"I am Groot," an odd, tree stump-like head appears behind him. It blinks at them with large, dark eyes.

Bucky was sure he'd seen it all after spinning a bipedal raccoon like Julie Andrews on the mountains to shoot a barrage of aliens. Said raccoon trying to buy his gun and his arm afterward. But now, he was completely sure he was done. Apparently, the talking tree from Pocahontas was real, too.

"And here is something else beyond my understanding," T'Challa sighs. "I don't know what it's saying."

"I am Groot," it seems to complain.

“Yep,” nods Sam. “Not an afterlife.”

“Wow, Brother,” Shuri smiles wetly. “You were meeting aliens without me? That’s unfair. Hello, Groot?”

"I am Groot," The tree nods at her and proceeds to poke T'Challa's suit. "I am Groot."

"Uh, it is vibranium,” the siblings chorus. “It is a very strong metal."

The tree points at Bucky. "I am Groot?"

"That is vibranium as well," the king's lip twitches.

"I am Groot," it taps his suit, gesturing and shrugging. "I am Groot. I am Groot." It looks at Bucky again, pointing at its own arm. "I am Groot?"

Bucky's head shakes. "I'm sorry?"

"I am Groot?"

"I'm sorry—your name is...Groot?"

The tree face deadpans at him. And he has to stomp on the embarrassment as everyone else also throws him blank looks.

The tree roars, "I am Groot!"

Sam pushes his shoulder. "Man, stop pissing off the tree alien!"

"Don't touch me—look, I don't know what it's saying, I just wanted to make sure—"

"I am Groot," Groot sighs exasperatedly. "I am Groot." It points at his arm and Sam's wings. "I am Groot. I am Groot."

"I'm—I'm Bucky." Confusion trickles through him.

The stump head shakes. "I am Groot. I am Groot. I—am—Groot."

"He's warning you about your arm and your wings," Wanda blinks with a small frown. She steps away, breathing shakily. "He says Rocket will try to buy and steal them."

"I am Groot,” it—he, apparently—gasps. “I am Groot—I am Groot!"

"I am, but this landscape is—it's amorphous. They could be at the very ends of it for all we know. I can't even sense how far it reaches."

The tree sags. "I am Groot..."

"Who the hell's Rocket?" asks Sam.

"The raccoon," it clicks in Bucky's head. "We helped each other out a while ago. And," he takes a breath. "He already tried."

Groot shakes his head again. He seemed to be smiling with what Bucky thinks is fondness. "I am Groot."

Sam gives him a glare he'd gotten used to. "Think I missed you fighting aliens with a rodent."

He shrugs. "Fine. Don't believe me."

"I am Groot," Groot chastises.

"Not a rodent, " Wanda's lips twitch. "Got it."

The air shakes violently and they cling to each other.

"I am Groot," he shrieks. "I am Groot!"

"I wouldn't want to die a second death either," she grits. "But—"

Around them, the shape of people flickers briefly, ash crashing in waves. They break and fall apart. And when they come back, on the watery surface, a small pagoda appears in the middle of them all, a rectangular, shimmering, translucent wall encasing it.

"What now?" Sam growls.

"There's…someone there," Bucky narrows his eyes.

Wanda leans forward. "A little—girl?"

"I am Groot? I am Groot! I am Groot!"

"’It’s Gamora’?" She stutters. "Who’s Gamora?"

Ash falls, and then, people were in front of the structure, yelling the name inside. A man's yell rises above the rest.

"Gamora—Gamora, it's me! It's Quill! Sweetheart, please..."

"Quill, you will not get to her," a woman with large eyes and antennae pulls on his arm. "There's too much pain—I can't do anything about it!"

"Mantis, come on, please—"

The little girl only stays with her back turned to them.

And then, Groot was yelling and running. "I am Groot! I am Groooot!"

"Groot," a larger man turns.

At least, Bucky thinks it’s a man.

Biped, broad, skin color wasn’t human though. Different culture, maybe?

Regardless, that man spins, looking in all directions. Red eyes land on the running flora-alien and his hand rises, pointing in their direction.

"Groooot!"

Wanda starts at a fast pace. T'Challa shouts an order to his soldiers and keeps pace with her as Shuri, Bucky and Sam follow.

"The large man," Wanda sniffs. "Is Drax. The woman is Mantis. And the man is Quill."

"And the other dude in red?" Sam cranes his neck.

"He didn't say."

"What dude?" Bucky frowns.

"He's," Sam stutters. "I just saw—man, this place is messing with my tech, too! There was another guy. Right there…Princess, do you think you check these out? I know you don’t have tools or whatever, but maybe you can figure out the wiring maybe?”

“Uh, sure,” Shuri squints as his goggles, pouting slightly. “How come you got to keep your tech…”

"Sorry,” his lip twitches. “I don’t know. But I guess we got more allies?"

Bucky shrugs again.

"Let us hope so," T'Challa says.

Groot sprints ahead of them. "I am Groot! I am Groot!"

Quill spins, sprinting with Drax and Mantis. "Groot? Oh, my God!"

"Groooot!"

Bucky relaxes his fist as Groot collides with them in a large embrace. Their questions drown each other's, and it occurs to him that this was a family.

"My God, what happened—"

"—I am Groot—"

"—Are you okay—"

"—Where is Thor—"

"—What about Rocket—"

"I am Groot! I am Groot!" Groot sobs, clinging to the man Wanda called Quill.

"Man," he breathes. "What the hell is happening?"

"That's the million-dollar question," Bucky says.

Quill looks up and narrows his eyes. He glances between him and the rest as they approach, a faint recognition lighting up his face.

"Quill, right?" Sam tries, sticking out his hand. The man eyes it for a moment before eyeing his goggles. "Name's Falcon. I also go by Sam."

The man in the red coat peers over his group and the woman Bucky noted was Mantis smiles, nodding.

With another quick once-over, he takes Sam's hand. “Yeah, I'm Quill. Let me guess. You guys are the Avengers, right?"

"Yeah, that's right." Sam pulls him up.

"Don't sell yourself short," Bucky shakes his hand next. "Everybody who fought today might as well be an Avenger, too. Name's Bucky."

Quill once again blinks rapidly, frowning at his prosthetic. "Thanks. And sorry about lookin' at you like that. That's—that's just gnarly to look at. Oh, wait is gnarly an insult now? I don’t know. I meant to say your arm's cool and stuff—God, sorry, Buck. But, nah. See, my group here, we got our own thing. That's Drax, and Mantis, and I guess you've already met Groot."

"We," Drax gestures. "Are the freaking Guardians of the Galaxy."

"We kick names and take ass," Mantis puts a proud arm around Groot.

Bucky elbows Sam when he snorts, stepping away with a blank face as the man's eyes narrow dangerously.

Quill winces as he finishes taking Wanda's hand and takes T'Challa's. "Jesus, she's working on that. But, quick question. Did Thor, Groot, and Rocket ever make it to you guys?"

"Yes, they did." T'Challa nods. "And they made quite the entrance, too. They all fought valiantly alongside us. I am T'Challa, King of Wakanda."

"Whoa—King?" He stiffens. "Do I—do we gotta bow or something?"

"I am Groot—"

"—We don't do that," they chorus.

"Of course Thor fought valiantly," Drax sighs, crossing his arms and looking forlornly to the sky. "To underestimate that sculpture of a man is an act of utmost sacrilege."

Bucky glances at Sam, the other man's brows knitting together and studying the air.

"Technically, he's a god but—you know what, okay. Aight. That's fine."

"Rocket tried to buy my arsenal," Bucky mutters, glancing down.

"Yeah," Quill's lips twitch again. "He does that—"

"I am Groot! I am Groot!"

"Yeah, but I don’t really know what that is. Say it again; vibra—what? Vibrium?”

"I am Groot," Groot shrugs. "I am Groot. I am Groot."

Quill stares at T'Challa. "Huh, that’s cool. He says your suits made out of it but—" He glances between Bucky's arm and T'Challa. "They look so different. Rocket’d kill to get his hands on this stuff. ‘course, he’d usually just steal them when you’re not looking—oh, wait. Avengers. Hey, Spider-Man! Spider-Man, come back! We found your Avenger buddies!"

"Spider..." Bucky stiffens.

"Wait, Avenger bud—he's not..." The words die in Sam's mouth as the lanky figure makes its way out of the crowd, the white patches widening.

"Hey, look who's here." Quill points. "You know these guys? And did you find him?"

"Uh, no, nah, I—I didn't see him anywhere," the voice broke, clearly shaken. "And Quill, I couldn't find a way in. I even tried digging—"

"'ey 'ey 'ey, relax. Calm down," Quill grabs his shoulder, glancing at the pagoda. "We'll get to her, too, eventually. We just gotta…we just gotta cool it. Steady, alright? We'll get her. But, uh, here. Here's Falcon—Sam, and Bucky and King T'Challa, his little sister Shuri and Wanda. Did I get that right?"

They all nod and he elbows Spider-Man. "Better at names than you are. By the way, don't you have a cool, superhero name, too, Wanda?"

"Scarlet Witch," she choruses with Spider-Man.

The Spider manages a weak chuckle. "Hey...Mr. Barnes. Mr. Wilson."

"Eh, just Sam's fine, man."

"Yeah, just Bucky's fine." Bucky holds out his hand.

The guy takes it, grip light.

It sort of freaks him out, and he didn't know why. Until his mask retreated downwards, and Bucky remembers.

The tear-stricken face of a young boy meets his eyes.

"Just Peter's fine for me, I guess."

With a shared glance, Bucky and Sam's gazes soften.

"Oh, so I share my name with the Footloose hater?" Quill shoulders him again gently.

Peter forces another smile, wiping away tears. "I thought your name was Star Lord? Or...Quill?"

"My real name, or earthen name, or whatever, is Peter. Peter Quill. You can just...you can just call me Quill. That way, no one gets confused."

"Yeah," Peter nods, sniffling. "Good idea."

"So, you got roped into this, too, huh?" Sam crosses his arms. "Was it Stark again?"

Peter's eyes water even more, and he shivers. "I—"

He falls into ashes and the rest follow suit.

"Damn it," Peter grits, clinging to Quill. "Damn it, I hate this place."

The girl under the pagoda answers him. "I hate it, too," her voice is small and sad. It cracks, but booms over the billions and billions of people they were trapped with. “But we can only leave if someone outside sets us free. Try as much as you want to use whatever magic you have, try to dig as much as you want, but you’re not getting anywhere. Thanos was granted control over our souls, and he trapped us here to fulfill his plans. Half of all life in this universe has been removed and placed where we are now. We’re trapped. And there is no escape. This Stone does not have cracks. And it will not release a single soul, no matter how far you wander, or whatever wall you try to reach. You're better off where you stand.”

"Oh, Gamora," Quill says forlornly. "What did he do to you..."

The little girl merely looks up at him, a darkness far too painful in her eyes.

"Don't worry, Quill. Nothing can really hurt you here."

Quill shakes his head. "I'm already hurting, sweetheart..."

The Guardians flank him, squeezing his hands, and his shoulders.

“What did she mean by this universe,” Bucky turns to Wanda.

“I’ve…never denied the possibility, but she might have been referring to the multiverse.” She pouts. “It’s more of a theory than anything concrete, I think.”

Shuri chimes in. “The multiverse? What does that have anything to do with here?”

“She just said this universe. I thought it was weird. Do you believe it?”

“I don’t exactly dispute it,” she gazes at the ground. “That’s not my area. But thinking that our universe is just one of an infinite number with infinite variations in between is sort of fun to think about every now and then. At least, to me. Maybe we can try asking her?”

“You can go,” Wanda shakes her head. “I’m still…I’m still trying to get my grip on things.”

Sam sighs again. "Spider—whoa. Peter. What can you tell us on Stark?"

Lead weighs in Bucky’s chest as the kid's eyes darken. It was a look no child should have on their face.

"Mr. Stark..." His head shakes. "I... We... I didn't mean to—"

"Peter," a female voice interjects. "I think Ned and MJ are here."

"Ned and...MJ? How—how do you know?"

"I picked up Ned's biometrics when he first found out you being a superhero. I picked up MJ's during the elevator incident."

"Oh. Where are they then?"

"South of here, behind Barnes."

They all turn.

"Ned?"

Ashes flying into the air before falling back down and another two teenagers stumbling past the crowd.

"Holy—MJ. MJ, look—there," a boy shakes the arm of the girl next to him. "I told you he'd be here—Pete!"

"Ned!" The boys crash into a hug, Peter wrapping his legs around the other boy.

"Hey, asshole, " the girl waves, sauntering. She starts conducting with her middle fingers and Sam snorts.

"Jesus," Wanda blinks. "So vulgar."

"What'd you do to her?" Bucky mutters.

"Nothing! She's—she's just like that—MJ!"

"She really is just like that, Mr. Winter Soldier, sir." The round-faced boy peers up at him, eyes wide, but not necessarily frightened. "You kinda get used to it."

"You really do," says MJ, coming up and clapping her hands slowly. "Way to go, champ. A for effort."

"For—what?" Peter tilts his head.

She nods her head. "You're Spider-Man, right?"

Ned freezes and Peter's eyes blow wide. "What—no—"

"—He's not—"

"—These aren't—these—"

"—That's not his—"

"—Yeah—no, these are—this is—these are just—"

"—his PJs!"

"My PJs."

MJ presses her lips together. "So…You brought your Spidey-PJs with you...for the trip?"

"Yep,” he hums.

"Come on, MJ. We're seniors."

"It's not weird. I—I'm allowed to have a thing for superheroes."

Sam coughs while Bucky bites his lip and MJ's eyebrows go up.

"Oh, okay."

"Nope," Peter shakes his head. "That’s not how it was supposed to come out..."

After a moment of odd glancing, she shrugs. "Alright then. Honestly, if anyone had half my mind, they'd just assume what you were up to by the third week of school."

"Nobody just assumes somebody's Spider-Man, MJ."

"You know what theorizing is, Ned, come on. It wasn't hard putting two and two together anyway."

"What do you mean?" says Peter.

"You weren't even trying to hide it, were you?"

"I was," he pouts. "Um...I think I was pretty subtle about it actually."

"Yeah, but you can't really call doing the most clichéd secret superhero shit in history subtle."

Peter splutters, blinking. "What—how was I being cliché?"

She counts her fingers. "Disappearing whenever there's aliens around, leaving your best friend at the party that's bound to boost your popularity, and blowing off your date, literally the prettiest girl in school, at homecoming prom because of something really important. Just those three pretty much fit the bill, but if you don't think so...go off, I guess."

Ned winces.

"Not to mention, you jumped out of the bus, probably thinking everybody was distracted and or apathetic enough to not notice you jumping out of a damn window," she shrugs. "It's pretty amateur stuff, Parker. I've seen better porn."

Peter sags as Ned coughs out a laugh.

"Damn, she has a point..."

"Also, you talked about stealing Captain America's shield during PE once. I was sitting," she pops her lips, rolling her eyes. "Right behind you."

“You were reading,” adds Ned.

“Said who,” she smirks.

Ned lets out a grunt while Peter winces.

"Now, that's just being reckless," Sam snorts quietly.

Bucky's mouth twists and Wanda twitches beside him, a weak smile on her face.

"What, you think you could do better or something?" Ned shakes his head, suddenly defensive.

"I could," she replies easily. "I can beat you at lying. That’s no contest."

Ned gives up. "That's fair."

“Well, sorry,” Peter rolled his eyes before flinching. "I—no. I really am sorry, you guys—I couldn't—we failed—"

"Whoa, hey, whoa whoa whoa. Relax. I'm chill." Ned shakes his head.

"Same,” she smiles. “And literally, we couldn't have done any better, Parker. If I'd put that thing on, I'd probably die instantly. That is, if Stark programmed it to your biometrics—ooh, hang on, can I try it?"

Peter steps back. "What—no."

"Buzzkill," she clicks, strolling up to Bucky.

"You're the Winter Soldier, right?" She holds out her hand. "Michelle Jones, or just MJ."

"Nice to meet you," he says automatically.

"You can still feel temperatures and fabrics with it, right?" She eyes his arm and Bucky smiles. He liked her forwardness.

"To a lesser extent than a regular arm, but yes. I can also still feel pain."

"Oof," she blinks. "That's still cool though. Does it bother you it can't produce body heat? Learned some stuff about trauma in my AP Psych class."

Holding it out, he shakes his head. "It used to? I didn't exactly have enough time to process the trauma. Nor did I let myself really. But she’s the one that can catch you up on the technological details," he nods at Shuri. “She knows better than me.”

“You made this,” MJ’s eyebrow quirks.

“Sure did,” Shuri smiles.

“Lit.”

She presses her fingertips against his and he smiles. He notes her eyes aren't exactly pitiful. They're more...annoyed.

"Nice. Oh, and thanks for your service, by the way. You, too, Falcon."

"You're welcome," they chorus.

“You’re quite relaxed for having technically died,” Sam smirks. “You done this before?”

“No,” she chuckles. “I think I’m just still in shock or something to be honest.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, join the club.”

Ned trembles, tugging on her. "MJ, quit distracting the Avengers—I'm so sorry, Mr. Winter Soldier, sir, she has no self-control—MJ, you're going to get us killed."

"She's fine, man," Sam shrugs. "Not like we got any leads on what the hell we should be doing."

"You guys got anything?" Bucky smirks.

Ned stutters and MJ shrugs.

"Not the slightest fucking clue. We're just plebs. It's a hard-knock life for us," she sings. "It's a hard-knock life for us—"

"—'Steada treated," Ned joins.

"We get tricked," Peter’s voice is thick, but he joins with a wet chuckle.

"'Steada kisses,” the taller teen beams.

"We get kicked, it's a hard-knock life," the three of them finish.

"How did we get kicked, by the way? What exactly happened?" MJ peers up at Bucky. "Or is that—you know, classified?"

"Uh," he glances with a sigh. "Would you believe me if I said some purple alien overlord wanted to erase half the universe by getting six magic stones and succeeded?"

Her eyes glance away with a tentative hum and her lips press together.

It was an amusing thought when said aloud, and Bucky was afraid she’d straight up shut him down, but after a moment, she shrugged.

"Probably," her eyes flick to Peter. "You're more trustworthy than some people.”

"Hey," he complains.

"Alright, kids," Sam claps his hands with a large grin. He steps besides MJ and chokes on his own amused chuckle. "Let's not try and start fights here. I don't think the school nurse is gon' like the idea that Falcon couldn't keep some rowdy kids under control."

"Oh, don't worry, Mr. Wilson. We can both take down Ned instantly," MJ provides. "Peter would probably just knock me out or something—"

"MJ, no."

"MJ, yeah, sure, why not? By the way, is your suit different or something? I've seen videos of you—yeah, it's definitely different."

"Yeah, it is," Bucky says. "The one you had in Leipzig was—I don't know, softer?"

Sam hums, nodding. "This one's shinier."

"Yeah, uh, Mr. Stark. He...he made it for me." His voice quiets. The white patches shrink and removes his mask again, revealing the tears falling down his face.

“Oops, hit a nerve.” MJ nods while Peter bows his head, Ned putting a hand on his shoulder.

"We, um...God. God, why...why didn't I listen to him?"

His shoulders shake and Bucky taps Sam's arm, averting his gaze.

He nods, giving yet another sigh. "Look, Peter—"

"Peter!" The horror-stricken shriek makes them whirl around. "Peter Parker!"

"Oh, shit," MJ bolts behind Bucky. “Ned,” she hisses. “Hide!”

“What, why—"

Bucky almost falls with the breath of the stone this time, feeling his being split apart and drift back together. He picks up MJ before she crumples to her knees, letting her lean on Shuri.

A woman in a cream apron bursts out of the crowd.

"May..." Peter's tears fall without restraint as he stumbles forward. "May!"

"Oh, my God! Pete!" May's arms wrap tightly around the boy. Peter could only let his sobs go as he shook and shook, sobbing and blubbering May's name.

"I was so scared, May...I was so scared."

May presses kisses to his head, muttering reassurances before hugging him to her chest.

"Ugh, I'm going to kill that Stark," she snarls, rubbing Peter's hair.

"No—no, May, please, it's okay..."

"I would strongly advise against that, Miss Parker."

Bucky tenses again as a man walked up behind them, the red cloak on his shoulders hovering behind him.

"I understand your concern, but our fates rest with that Stark now."

“What—who are you?” May glares.

"Dr. Strange..." Peter sniffles. "What—what was it that you saw?"

"I tried to see as many paths to victory as fast as I could," the sorcerer answers as he grabs a woman's hand behind him, pulling her gently to his side. "I saw one."

"Stephen, did we—did we just die?" The woman frowns up at him, a hand around his waist.

"Not yet really, Christine. Not quite that lucky either."

"What was the one?" Sam pipes up.

Stephen takes him in, tilting his head. "Oh, more Avengers made it in here. Oh, boy. You're Sam Wilson, correct?"

"Yeah."

"And you must be Bucky Barnes. You must desperately miss the forties, no doubt."

Bucky sighs. "You have no idea."

Stephen smiles. "Your Highness, King T'Challa Udaku."

"Doctor," T'Challa nods.

"Sorry opening the borders brought you into the heat of things. I suppose power attracts chaos."

"That is very true—"

"Straaange!" Drax roars as he speeds back to them. He descends on the man, swinging. "Why—did you—give Thanos—the Stooone?"

The cloak on Stephen's shoulders rises. It wraps around Drax's fist when he jumps, pulling him away.

"You again? The Blanket of Death! I'll tear you at the seams—"

"—Drax, no! We're not fighting anyone here—"

Quill slams into his front, having Mantis jump on him from behind.

"Sleep! Sleep!"

"I will not sleep here, Mantis," Drax spits. "Both the man and his blankie are in serious need of retribution!"

"First of all, why did your buddy Star-Lord start attacking Thanos right when we were almost had it? And second of all, what if I told you that the reason I gave Thanos the Stone was so that we could win? More specifically, so Stark could win? So he could get us out of here?"

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't shoot me with your magic," Quill holds his hands up, wincing. "But how the hell is that even going to work?" he pants, pushing Drax back as he attempted to stomp forward. "Stark's still on Titan. And he's with Nebula! Who knows what she'll do to him?"

"She'll probably kill him," Mantis cries as she swayed with Drax.

"I am Groot—I am—Groot!"

MJ moves a little way apart where May is prodding Peter. “You know all these people?”

“Sort of,” he croaks sheepishly. “I don’t know Quill or all the alien guys that well yet. I met them in one of Thanos’s ships while heading to Titan with Dr. Stranger and Mr. Stark and—"

“Wait wait wait. Stark took you to an alien planet?” May shrieks. “Without telling me—no, that’s crossing too many lines, Peter—”

“Aunt May—May, please—”

“—insane—Peter Parker, I’m supposed to be protecting you—”

“I know, but—”

“—looking out for you—under my watch—”

“I know and I’m sorry!”

His sudden volume increase calls even the attention of nearby crowding civilians.

He gasps and bows his head, voice cracking. "God, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. He told me to go home but I didn't listen—and then I blamed it on him and I tried to take it back and—and—he warned me, May,” his hands hold hers tightly. “And he said that he didn't want my death on his conscience and now it is and you can't be mad at him, you can’t,” his voice breaks, tears streaming down. “He was trying to protect me, too. All the way to the end!"

May holds him close again, glaring flatly. "Okay—okay…fine," she sighed. "I won't—I won’t sue him or anything, alright? But he’s still getting a piece of my mind.”

Peter lets out a wet chuckle, hugging her tightly. "That's...that's better, I guess. But wait—" he wipes his face. "Will Nebula really kill him?"

“No, she won’t,” Stephen looks at him and May gently. “What I saw was the best outcome: all of us back, with minimal sacrifice. And Nebula won’t kill him because number one: she has no reason to. They’re fighting on the same side. Against Thanos. Two: they’ve both lost to him and now that they’re stranded together, they’re going to use each other to find a way of Titan and back home. And three: Nebula has no reason to lay off a human and waste energy when she knows a human body will just off itself after food and water deprivation.”

"You better elaborate on that, sorcerer. Director Fury's going to want to hear all about that."

A woman in a dark uniform appears behind them, hair in a neat bun.

"Agent Hill," Sam greets, voice dry. "Not glad to see you here."

"Likewise, Falcon." She smirks bitterly. "You must be Bucky Barnes."

Bucky smiles, holding out his hand. "You're with SHIELD, right?"

"That's right," she grabs his hand. "I'm Agent Maria Hill, second-in-command to Director Nick Fury. More detailed introductions can wait until we're out of here. First and foremost, on my agenda right now's gathering intel."

"Well, we can give you all the intel we have," T'Challa bows his head.

"Your Highness," she nods.

"—fucker, son of a bitch, what the hell happened this fucking time—"

"Good Lord..." Maria jumps a foot in the air as she bumps into none other than SHIELD Director Nick Fury.

Snorts come from the kids, meanwhile Bucky dampens his own chuckle as Agent Hill helps him stand.

"Hill—you're here? What the hell's going on—"

Fury takes in the faces of the Avengers, the sorcerer, and the Guardians. Rubbing his face, he sighs, settling down on the rippling floor.

"What?" Maria's smirk widens. "Thought Hell'd be nicer?"

"No, Agent Hill," Fury huffs with no venom, resigned. "This is much worse."

Wherever the Hell Bucky was, something in him loosens, his shoulders relaxing.

The shock was fading, people were getting their grips on things.

While everyone wasn’t here, they were still in one piece. For the most part. As long as it stayed that way, he could let himself relax. Just a little bit.

[insomniac-arrest]

How to Kiss a Girl (and Prepare for the End of the World)

fandom/pairing: adventure time/bubbline

genre: soft apocalyptica

words: 3k

summary: reincarnation fic where iterations of Marceline and PB are alive pre-mushroom bomb and do what they can in the meantime

warning: death

Step 1: Home Intrusion

She snuck out the window that time, not because she had to, she just liked to imagine her dad’s face if he saw her scaling six floors worth of fire escape.

It wasn’t really that impressive, and she knew he never saw it anyway.

She scaled the six floors worth of fire escape and promised herself this is the time she was going back, The Final Countdown on running away.

She sits on the 59th underpass for a few hours, popping bubblegum and thinking about smoking again- it didn’t always agree with her but bubblegum only went so far.

She slung her guitar case higher on her shoulder and then headed down the main highway toward the suburbs. She might as well do something.

It was called Candy Street, which was just as ridiculous as it sounded, and she kicked a can to the 6th house- at the end of the cul de sac and gave it a hearty knock.

“Hey,” She called and gave the door another rap, “Bon-Bon.”

She stared up at the gray city sky and waited for the anticipated shuffling from inside.

“Bon!” She yells for a final effect.

The door finally creaked open and a weary looking girl in a disheveled white coat blinks at her, “What?” “Jesus, where’s Peppermint? You look like you haven’t showered in a week.” She blinks at her again, “I’m busy.” She opens her arms and grins, “You want to feed a runaway or what?” Bonnie groans and massages the bridge of her nose, she steps aside, “Again? Really?” Marceline shrugs and walks into the damp house, after all these years Marceline hadn’t figured out how Bonnie convinced her parents to let her live alone.

She whistles as she walks inside, “Seriously, where is Peppy? This place is a mess.” She puts her hands in her pockets and turns back to Bonnie who was closing the door.

She turns around with her hands on her hips, “I sent him away for the week so I wouldn’t have any distractions.” She seemed annoyed.

Marceline studied her face, “Is it science fair season again? What’s up?” Bonnie shook her head and took her by the elbow, “I do need a test subject though.” Marceline scowled, “Sandwich! Then you can prod and poke at all my bits.” Bonnie gave a half-smile, “Parabola. And a sandwich? You serious this time?” Marceline led herself into Bonnie’s kitchen, “As serious as the grave. I’m a drop-dead runaway this time.” She says as she puts her hand over her heart and tried not to smile.

“Pfft,” Bonnie opened her fridge with a disbelieving look, “Right, right, you live on the edge. Softie.”

“Why don’t you come over here and see how soft I am?” She flexed her (nonexistent) arm muscles and Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“We’ll see how long this lasts.” She mutters and takes out some expiration-dateless mayonnaise. She took out some questionable looking bologna and seemed able to make a sandwich as Marceline jumped onto a stool and swung her feet. Normally, she would offer to help, but Bonnie was very particular about all parts of this process.

Bonnie carefully stacked the ingredients and Marceline for once tried not to bother her as her little pink tongue stuck out in concentration. It was like a prima ballerina during her Big Moment. If the moment was a sandwich and she was a hyper-precise nerd.

“Mmmmm,” Bonnie hums and then exacts a piece of bread on the top, “There! Done. You’re welcome.” She stuck her chest and handed it to her, “Viola, runaway-abating nutrients.” Marceline snickered and held herself back from flicking her in the nose, “You are the bomb B.” She took the sandwich, “We should just get married and I’ll move into your crawlspace.” Bonnie’s face went a pink at that statement. They did have some things to talk about.

“Well, I need you well-fed for my tests,” She clapped her hands together, “And how do you feel about radiation poisoning?”

“Uhhh,” A piece of baloney hung out of her mouth after her first bite. “Bad? I think that’s a definitely bad.”

Bonnie tapped her chin and gestured for her to keep eating, “Alright. I’ll factor that in.” She took out a notepad from her waistband and jotted something down.

“A'ight.” Marceline eyes her slowly and then tries to savor the sandwich, despite some ambiguous freshness of some of the contents it was delicious. “But if you mess up my good jacket, I’m putting it on your bill.” She points to her red leather jacket- the good one.

Bonnie raises her eyebrows flatly, “Oh no no, your tab to me is much longer anyway.” “No!” She says with her mouthful, Bonnie laughs.

“My car.” She says with her hands on her hips.

Marceline lets a little laugh herself, “Okay. I see your point. But if I am about to ruin this jacket to radiation poison or somethun, give a girl something cool to be buried in.” “You should be fine...If all my calculations are correct.” She says slowly and itches her temple.

Marceline takes a last enormous bite of her sandwich and swallows it painfully, “Show me what’s up then Pink. What’s this years science fair?” Bonnie’s mouth became a hard-straight line, a little dent of worry formed on her brow. She gave low hum from her throat, it could almost be a growl.

“It’s, hmm,” Bonnie stroked her chin, “Come into the next room with me. I can explain it better.” Marceline eyebrows skyrocketed, “Whoa. The serious zone. The frown district. You never let me in your lab.” Marceline wobbled off the chair and watched Bonnie’s back.

“And yet you always go in there anyway.” She says with an unamused glance.

Marceline picked at her ear, “It’s the place to find you. Come on, I want to go into the doom dome.” Bonnie rolled her eyes and gestured at her, “Now. I don’t want you to say I’m overreacting, because, pfft, no, we all know it’s real.” Marceline blinked into the dim lights as they made into the huge side room, it was drafty and could almost feel her nose turn in on itself from the chemical smell. Bonnie turned on the fluorescents and Marceline rubbed at her sensitive eyes.

“Ugh,” She almost tripped on the first beacon on the floor before Bonnie catches her.

“These are just the calculations. The dome is in the next room.” Marceline rubbed at her eyes some more and then found herself staring at a wall’s worth of chicken-scratch calculations on a chalkboard. Her mouth falls open, “Bonnie,” She gulps, “What is this?” She watches her friend scratch her wrist, her brown eyes scanning the room. “It’s what it looks like Marcy.” She gestured to a metal hatch on the other side of the room, “Surviving the bomb.” Marceline’s eyes squinted at her, “Is this….about the apocalypse forum I made us join in 6th grade? Because that was only for a joke, Bonnie,” Her eyes softened, “What is this.” Bonnie sighed and her shoulders released, “They made it. The mushroom cloud bomb.” Marceline frowns, “We’ve had bombs before…” “You don’t understand.” Bonnie shook her head and a few bubblegum-pink hairs drifted in front of her face. “It’s real this time. I’ve seen the news, I,” She opened her mouth and closed, “It’s inevitable.”

Marceline's frown deepened and she got closer to her friend in order to hold her arm, “And here all I wanted to do was come over, eat your food and then maybe make out a little bit.” Her voice came out wooden, even to her. “And here you are trying to save the world.” Bonnie turned on her with a sad smile, “I’m not sure even I could do that.” She breathed in through her nose, “The mushroom bomb could blow off one fifth of our planet. It could ruin everything.” Marceline squeezed her arm, shifting uncomfortably in place. “Come on Bon,” She says weakly, “They say they have it under control.” Bonnie leaned back into her, “I hope so.” She says softly and closed her eyes, “I really hope so.” She didn’t believe her.

Marceline let Bonnie go, the other girl shaking her head as if to throw off the cobwebs and tying her hair back up more tightly, “Alright. I just need someone to sit in the capsule so I can measure human vitals within while I tinker with the amount of punishment this thing can take.” Bonnie says with That Look in her eye.

Marceline made a face, wrinkling her nose and exaggerating her features, “Before or after more food and makeouts?” “Remember my car?” She asks dully.

“Yeah?” “Then get in the capsule.” Marceline sighs and hangs her arms, she really had done a number on her car. She gets in the capsule.

They spend the rest of the day prodding Marceline and trying to put dents in the cast-iron dome of survival. Bonnie has a determined look in her pursed lips and Marceline doesn’t have the heart to ask too many questions.

Bonnie let’s her sleep on her couch, though the other girl doesn’t go to sleep herself and Marceline spends a restless night on the fine leather cushions. She slips away in the morning before sunrise, maybe she didn’t want to think about the end the world as much as she put on.

---------------

Step 2: Buy her Oranges

Marceline was taking a very long walk. A walk to be remembered if you will. For a moment, she considered just keep going and never turn back, like some traveling starving artist. She could do all three of those things.

But her feet turned back toward Candy Street dipped behind the miles of city suburbs, trailing back to the large white house with all the windows boarded up to keep the sun out.

The door was open this time when she walks in and she can hear someone murmuring to themselves in the kitchen, Marceline heaves a deep sigh.

Bonnie was in front of the sink, mixing vials as her hair looked like it was ready to fall out. Marceline watched the light slash a strip across her nose and her eyes flash behind thick goggles. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Problems?” She finally offers.

Bonnie shakes her head, “I’m going to the store in a moment.” She puts down her beakers, they seemed to be a dull grey in the light. “Come with?” Marceline raised her eyebrows, “You sure? We’ll be in public and everything.” Bonnie rolled her eyes, “Pep does all the shopping, so it’s been… awhile.” Marceline lets out a laugh and puts her guitar case down, “oh my God, you don’t know how to buy food.” She scowled at her, “I absolutely know how to buy food.” She crosses her arms across her chest, “You’re fired. Nevermind.”

“Fired?” She laughs again.

“Fired.”

Marceline put a hand around her shoulder, “You know how I got my last job back the first time?” “The one where you scarred all those kids with hand puppets? Sure.” Marceline winked, “I rehired myself the next day, let’s go.” She feels the prickle of Bonnie’s skin as they touch, it had been awhile. The other girl gathers her things and follows her dutifully out anyway.

“We only need a few things.” She was muttering again but Marceline was stretching in the clouded lowlights of the afternoon sun. “Milk, butter…”

“Jack and booze.” She glances over at her, “Those are the same thing.” “Jack and strippers.” She pushes on her shoulder, “Come on.” Bonnie was giggling, like she had never been 13 and found out the end of your elbow was called a ‘wenis’ and started cracking up. Like she had spent forever in that crowded empty house.

Marceline frowns up at the sky, “how’s the doom machine?” Bonnie shook her head, “As good as it gets.” She was squinting up, “I just need to make a protein drip so people can get nutrients in there.” “Gross.” Marceline says as she wrinkled her nose. “At least install netflix.” Bonnie hummed at that and wrote something down, Marceline just shook her head. They took Candy Street to Gingerbread Road and faced the nearest corner store with conviction. It had a sales sign in the corner window and no broken door hinges, so that was good.

They enter the cool insides and shiver a little bit, like entering a haunted walmart on its worst days. Marceline’s eyes drag over the quiet aisles, the water bottle section had already been ransacked and people were still buying as many canned goods as possible. They didn’t have any soup for miles.

Of course, there were the holdouts. The people running shops that still got shipments and old guys who said they had seen worse buying Times Magazine at the front. Life churned on like it still believed in itself.

They wander over to the produce section just as Bonnie glanced at her again.

“You should talk to your dad,” She picked up an egg carton and started inspecting them like they were on an oval-shaped diamond heist.

Marceline scoffs, “Yeah. Right.” “I’m serious,” she seems to find a satisfactory egg combination and put it in her cart. “You may regret it otherwise.”

Marceline blows air out of her nose, “he’s an ass. I’m not suddenly having some heartfelt father-daughter talk with him.” She kicks the closest fruit stand.

Bonnie start to pile her basket brimming with apples and oranges, “I’m just saying,” she clucks, “it might be good to air it all out.” “Yeah, sure, thanks for being a non-existent dead beat for seventeen years. I’ll write you in the afterlife.” She waved her hand in the air and turned to maybe stomp off somewhere.

Bonnie put a hand on her shoulder, “it’s alright.” She sounded like she was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I’m sure he knows.” Marceline hung her head for a second, she started to pick up some stray cucumbers and toss them in with the others moodily.

“You talk to your folks?” Her mouth was still a hard line. “Yeah.” Bonnie smoothed her hair down. “They’re in some bunker.”

The look on Bonnie’s face told Marceline that the other girl did not think that bunker would work. Marceline sighs, “you really think this going to go down?” She frowns, “that this it?” She looks around, it was still a shop and still a city and some teenage boy was still trying to hit on the cashier while shuffling his feet at the front.

Bonnie shrugs and turns away, “you know what I think.”

They meander through the store, picking up whatever was left and making their way to the registers.

Marceline takes her wallet from her as they go, “watch the master at work.” Marceline teases, flapping the wallet in the air, trying to buoy their mood again.

“Oh please.”

“A shiny plastic card,” she slips it into the slot, “right in there. Bullseye. It’s like I was born to buy you oranges.” Bonnie flicks her, “This is why you were fired.” “And rehired.” They gather up all their perishable foods that hadn’t been picked over and hold hands on the way home. Her hand was dry and chemical stained, but it felt tangible and real right then.

Bonnie said she was still too busy to meet her in the backroom, even after Marceline added a ‘if you know what I mean’ at the end. Marceline shrugs and takes the long way home. She leaves a note for her dad on the fridge: find somewhere safe.

Sometimes she wished she had torn it up instead.

-----------

Step Three: Night Cap

It happened in the middle of the night, the streets had been empty for hours and she hears the first wheeze of a voice on the other end.

She hadn’t been sleeping, but she hadn’t been not sleeping either. Her phone buzzes obnoxiously, like it wanted to shake itself off her bedside table to freedom. She hears a shaking breath on the other side, she swings her feet off the bed, “I’m coming.” She yanks on her 3-day old jeans and starts down the stairs like a normal person this time. Even if she doesn’t take the fire escape, she imagined it was still cool.

She found someone’s bike deserted on their lawn and pedals all the way across town and through the stream of traffic that honked and beeped at her as she went.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not even moving!” She gets a couple pointed words in her direction and ends up swerving through the moonlight traffic toward the cul de sac.

She doesn’t bother to knock as she enters the house again and takes the stairs two at a time. “Bonnie?” She listens carefully and treads her familiar path to her room, “Bonnibel.”

“Here,” she hears a faint voice and opens the door, the silver light fills the room as Bonnie had ripped those boards off the windows it seemed.

She was sitting on her bed with a black wrap around her arm and she held something up. Marceline quirked an eyebrow up, she was measuring her blood pressure.

She runs a hand through her hair and sits down on the bed across from her, “hey.”

“Hey.” She says softly back and goes back to check the numbers on the gauge.

Marceline tips her head to the side, “want a smoke?” She gives me a decided Look, “this is the impression you get from this?”

“You’re stressed,” she gives a half-smile, “anymore worked up and may start to form wrinkles.” They both chuckle to themselves at that, she looks back up, “it’ll ruin your teeth.” She almost goes to roll her eyes, “there goes my beauty pageant career.” She says flatly.

She snorts, “oh, fudge off.” I cackle softly, “fudge? Really?” Her cheeks heat up, visibly tinted in the light, “you know we had...rules in my house.”

Marceline sighs and reaches over to take her hand, “fine. You can have all the fudge you like.” Bonnie looked ready to bite her. “I don’t even think it would ruin you beauty pageant chances.”

“I’ll build a catheter on stage for the talent portion,” she says dryly and rubs at her nose. She takes off the armband.

Marceline leans over and their breaths mix, “I’d vote for you.” She shyly tries to take her hand, her heart now thumping loudly in her throat, “I think you’re the prettiest girl left.”

“Left?” They both wince at that.

“Left, or right, of the entire solar system,” Marceline tries to salvage it with a mischievous look.

“Don’t be cheesy,” she laughs and Marceline makes a kissy face at her.

“Come on,” she brushes her pink strands of hair back, “I won’t tell anyone.”

She reached over and held the back of her head, “like you didn’t brag about it on the school news bulletin board the first time.”

She puffs her cheeks out, “there was a lot to brag about.” “Shut up,” she leans over and the kiss is slow and damp, her cheeks were slightly wet and the moonlight hit the bed like an air raid spotlight.

Her mouth is honey sweet, she was very particular about dental hygiene and Marceline’s thoughts slowed and halted as she drew her closer.

She leans her back in the bed and they kiss for a long long moment before curling up around each other.

The wind whistles through the broken window boards and she closes her eyes. A machine beeps below, but so does the rest of the world.

------

Step 4: Try to be Okay

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she held her hand tightly, eyes watering. They said you’d be able to smell it before anything else, acidic with a cloying burn.

They were caught outside, she guessed that’s how it always is. Paces away from your own home after trying to get bandages, without warning or time to tie your shoelaces or make a funny face.

Bonnie squeezes her hand back, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” she says it gently, throatily, rolling over on the ground to face her. “It could never be.” “I didn’t-” “You did.” She kisses her cheek.

Bonnie kisses her back, “Meet me again.” She can only nod, “Whenever you want.”

“Meet me again.” They close their eyes and the slow-moving toxic fog envelops the world around them.

[theomnilegent]

Take Your Medicine by Hannah Carmack - PRIDE MONTH REVIEW 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

There is a problem with this novella.

It’s not a novel.

Something that has come to frustrate me in my reading is when I read a story that has so much beauty and potential – as a novel. And it’s come to me in the form of a short story, or a novella. Take Your Medicine is a novella. It would have strongly benefitted from the addition of another 25,000 words. The lack of description, the lack of characterisation, the haphazard plot – all of this could have been improved by, just, well, more. The extras on the author’s website gave me a better idea of who and what the characters were than any moments of description in the book.

That’s not to say I didn’t like it. I did, I thoroughly, truly did enjoy it. But! It needed more substance.

Take Your Medicine was billed as a ‘southern gothic romance retelling of Alice in Wonderland, featuring a queer chronically ill protagonist’. There’s a lot going on there. The problem with trying to include so many concepts into a novella is that the author ends up dropping the ball on something – and in this case, it was in a lot of things. Southern gothic is a genre I enjoy quite a bit, and have even written some things for the Australian equivalent, but in this story, the conventions of the genre just weren’t there. Yes, it was set in the American South. Yes, one of the characters was a ‘witch’. But there was nothing gothic about this tale, it was just, at its core, a very simply told love story about a young woman coming to terms with her chronic illness and how it has come to impact her life, and the young witch who thinks she can cure her.

The romance was rushed. That was disappointing to me. This book, with all its potential, rushed the thing that drew me to it most: a sweet, innocent love story. One second, Alice and Rabbit are just hanging out. Next, they’re making out. There’s no build, no tension. Perhaps the barest implication in the earlier chapters, but only if you’ve got your slash goggles on. This was one of the many things that the story could have benefitted from more. If the author had taken a bit of time – written in some feelings, maybe even a hint of angst where Alice bemoans falling in love because strong emotions make her sick – it would have been a much more believable story, and much more relatable.

Speaking of relatable – I picked up this book because the protagonist, Alice, has a disorder called vasovagal syncope. I myself have lived with vasovagal syncope since I was thirteen years old. I was excited to read something that had a character I could truly relate to! And, unfortunately, it became very obvious to me that while Hannah Carmack has done her research on vasovagal, she also took some liberties with it. Because it came across incredibly unrealistic. Alice faints at just about anything, and just about anything is a trigger for her. That bugged me. At some points, I wanted to reach into the pages, hand Alice a blue powerade, and tell her to suck it up, princess. Vasovagal is an annoyance to live with, but not impossible – and the author made it sound like it was an absolutely awful, life changing thing. She did enough of her research to know those of us with vasovagal can sense attacks coming on – yay! – but then she has Alice not, you know, take precautions when that happens. This frustrated me as a reader, because it made Alice seem weak and unintelligent, which is not the impression the rest of the book was trying to give us. When Alice has her episodes, also, she remains unconscious for hours at a time, sometimes waking up in bed or elsewhere – and, again, that’s not really how vasovagal works, at least in my experience. The whole disorder felt overexaggerated for dramatic effect, which just brought down my overall enjoyment of the story, but I’m sure for a reader who doesn’t feel so strongly as I do about the subject, it wouldn’t impact their enjoyment of the story.

Here is another reason this book needed more to it, more depth: the way Alice and her mother respond to her illness is…shocking. They act as though it is the end of her life as she knows it. That simply isn’t the case for most people – the great majority – who have diagnosed vasovagal syncope. It seems to be implied that there’s some kind of anxiety there, some kind of overprotective tendencies, but it all gets brushed over so quickly and easily, just leaving me, again, frustrated by the story. Alice’s mother is meant to be an amazing cardiac surgeon, someone who should understand how vasovagal syncope works, and yet her overreactions to Alice’s episodes are on a scale that seem unrealistic to me. I don’t know. My mother never ripped up her garden because something in it could spook me and lead me to faint. She mostly just handed me blue powerades and elevated my legs while reminding me that stressing myself out was what was making me pass out.

The last bone I have to pick is the changing perspectives. I love changing perspectives when they’re done well, but in a story this short, it comes off kind of awkwardly done. I would have much preferred to read the whole thing in third person, or to have had each chapter alternating in perspective – not random chapters interspersed here and there when Alice is down for the count.

If you’re looking for a short, easy read, I do recommend this book. It is a great little story. It does have a sugar-sweet happy ending, and it does have some genuine laugh-out-loud moments. Carmack does a wonderful job of writing Alice as a typical moody but bright teenager. Its strongest points are Alice’s internal dialogue, which offer a lot of insight on her as a character. The romance in it is sweet, even if it was a little rushed. And the star of this book is truly Alice’s relationship with her mother, Laura – that was really well done. In terms of Alice in Wonderland retellings, it’s weak. But in terms of just nice little summer reads? Very strong. I will be reading more of Hannah Carmack’s work, because I think her writing will become stronger with each piece.

Take Your Medicine can be found here for just $2.99 USD – a bargain price for a lovely little story.

[takaraphoenix]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Fuck. This is going to be really very long. And I am saying that knowing how long my previous rants were. Those were short compared to what’s about to come.

I absolutely, completely and unconditionally love Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It is the singular most perfect TV show in existence. Nothing I have ever seen has lived up to it and I doubt anything I will ever see will live up to this show in its whole. This is my second favorite show on my top five list and it’s held that spot for the past fifteen years (which mind sound strange that I put the “most perfect TV show in existence” on spot two, but… I’m fully aware of all the flaws in my most favorite show and that I love that one with my nostalgia goggles on, but it will still always be my number one and not even Buffy’s perfection can kick it off the throne).

Now, just because I love something doesn’t mean I perceive it as flawless. I am fully aware of its flaws. But nothing is a hundred percent perfect.

I don’t even know where to start, but I think the beginning is the best.

What I hate about most supernatural shows is how “They are now thrown into this strange, new world with monsters… and immediately forget all about their non-supernatural friends” that literally every other show with supernatural elements does.

Not Buffy. When she first meets Willow and Xander, the two kind of only had each other and their buffy who gets killed off right at the start. And even then, Willow and Xander were the non-supernatural normal friends. And they became so important.

The fact that Buffy has this group of ordinary people behind her and really just human characters and that they back her up, that alone is awesome.

The Scooby Gang in general is awesome.

That is my favorite thing about the show. The relationships between the characters and how important they are. That the friendship never takes second place to the romance, like how many other shows like to write it. Because regardless of who was added to the plot and who left again, in the very end, it always came down to Buffy, Willow, Xander and Giles and I will always cry at the show’s finale when it is just the four of them, parting ways to go into their very last battle, I mean fuck I’m crying right now just writing this because it was just so heavy with the emotions and the importance of their friendship.

They are the heart and backbone of this show and the show never forgot it.

Many shows forget themselves, they forget the values and beauty they once represented, the longer the show goes on. And Buffy never did. Sure, it lost itself in the middle - but we’ll get to that when we get to that - but it caught itself and never declined fully.

Buffy Summers is an amazing character. She’s a girly-girl who loves lollipops and talking about boys and whining. She’s the most badass female character ever written in TV who saves the world repeatedly and comes back from the dead just to do it again, who has been beaten down by life in the cruelest ways possible and still kept on surviving but never without the scars. Her struggles were never just shrugged off. They became themes that were being dealt with realistically. For fuck’s sake, we had a plotline about her working at a burger shop because yes, this is a show taking place in reality and bills are something that needs to be paid even if you save the world. She is not a perfect character, she made a lot of bad decisions along the way, but that is what makes her human. She is not some character created for an agenda to show that “girls can do anything boys can” and is thus forbidden from doing anything overly girls, as many writers mistakenly do when trying to write strong female characters, because a female is not powerful and strong just because she belittles women who like wearing pink and dressing prettily and who see “girl” as an insult. That is not how strong women work.

Women are complex characters, just like every character should be. They don’t have to solemnly be one way so they aren’t the other way. And Buffy is a beautiful example of the complexity of it all.

Willow Rosenberg is an amazing character. She’s one of the characters in TV that had the biggest character development. This shy, demure girl that became the most badass bitch around who could kick your ass into a parallel dimension with the blink of an eye. The fact that she was literally the first lesbian I ever saw only made her more amazing for me. You see, I started watching Buffy with season 4, which first premiered in Germany in 2001, because, well, I was 10 when I started watching that show since earlier was kind of a little too young in my mom’s eyes, but she’s been watching it for years at that point and I kept lingering in the doorway with pleading eyes because vampires and witches and werewolves, mom, please, until I got to watch it. Right in the season where Willow and Tara fell in love. And I was legitimately in awe, because the concept of two women falling in love was new to me. I never met a real life lesbian before and on TV, the highest of their feelings were Will & Grace with the gays, but lesbians? Never seen that before. It was amazing for me.

And I will forever be grateful that Willow and Tara were my first representation of lesbians that I met.

Xander Harris is an amazing characer. I mean, seriously, I could do this for nearly every character but I’ll only be doing it for the Big Three for the sake of time, okay? He was this fearful, dorky, kinda useless normal dude in the beginning, but he had such a strong backbone, he always knew he’d be there for his friends. And he always was. What made him so special was that he wasn’t special. He was just A Guy. Where Buffy was the Slayer and Willow became the most powerful witch in existence, he was just a normal guy. The original Matt Donovan and Stiles Stilinski and Simon Lewis (despite him turning into a vampire later on, I will still count him for this category). The quippy human best friend to the supernatural. But he adapted. He found his own place among the supernatural and his own way of prodicing for them, helping them.

It amuses me that actually, I kind of started watching this show with its weakest season. Season 4. But let’s start with the other seasons first (I mean, I warned you guys that this is gonna be long).

Buffy was my first high school TV show. All shows I had watched up to that point were family comedies like Married with Children and Full House. But this was the first real look into how American high schools work and I loved it. The first three seasons in itself are the best of Buffy. I’m not even able to pick one season as the best because I like the whole stretch of it.

The dynamics, the characters, the villains, the plots.

Cordelia Chase is - argh, I didn’t want to do this for every character, so I’ll keep it short - another amazing example at character development. From the shallow, air-headed Barbie to a strong ally and friend who fought with her head held high and I will never forget Angel for ruining her.

And okay, if I take a sentence for Cordelia, I can really, truly not skip Giles. Giles, who will forever be The Mentor. When I hear “mentor figure” or “father figure”, I will always first and foremost think of Giles. He was the father and guide to them all, but he was not the one strong pillar, he too had his struggles. It’s one of the things that made me love the second Percy Jackson movie because Anthony Stewart Head is who I pictured as Chiron when reading the books and it is the most perfect casting they could have made.

The first three seasons arched beautifully together, tying the struggles of the high school students turned demon hunters, the funny elements and self-awareness, the serious undertones.

The scene at graduation when the class gave Buffy an award for being Class Protector is one of my favorite TV moments, because this… this acknowledgment of “Yeah, we weren’t always there for you and we didn’t bother getting to know you, but we know you’re there and we know what you did for us” and honestly, I’m crying again, this is ridiculous.

They graduate from high school and then… life continues. Like. Life continues in a realistic way. They go to college, or not in Xander’s case. They struggle with what to do with their lives, they try to find their own paths in what I consider the most realistic portrait in TV. In others, it’s not just “Yup, they college. We’ll mention college every now and again, but it never interferes with the demon hunting” like with most others. Buffy struggles with college work and demon killing, Willow soaks it all up because it’s exactly her world, Xander doesn’t know what to do with it, Giles struggles with what to do with his life in general.

Still, I consider season 4 the weakest season because the Initiative was… It wasn’t used well enough. It appeared and then it kind of disappeared again and in this show where the lore and world-building are so rich and on-point, the Initiative was the one hit and miss they did. Not to mention, I don’t like zombies and Adam creeped me out and was the weirdest major Big Bad that they ever had in that show.

But it brought back Spike and made him a more complex character than just “Bad guy with bad attitude and insane girlfriend”.

Which is a good cue-in for the ships and love-stories, actually.

Buffy is and perhaps will always be the only franchise where the love-triangle clicks for me. Angel/Buffy? Yes. Oh god, what a beautiful, tragic love-story, please give me more of them, OTP all the way. Spike/Buffy? Oh, the pain but they are so good for them and when he’s good, he’s the best, please give me more of them, OTP all the way.

I literally can not decide on who to ship her with. With most love-triangles, I either do not care about both options, or I want to cross the badly written female out of the equation and want to dive right into the slash fiction, or there’s only one good pairing in the options anyway.

The tragicly ironic thing is that for Willow, I have and always will ship her most with Oz though. Willow and Oz were that perfect soft warm ship for me, when I got to finally watch the first three seasons as the reruns hit Germany.

Willow and Tara, while beautiful at times, were also very tragic. The way Willow lied to Tara and manipulated her was just so unhealthy. I do love them together, I just think that I love Oz and Willow a bit more.

Xander is a mess. Like. Seriously. Him and Cordelia. Him and Anya. I can not decide which one I like more in the end, but think that, at this point, it really does become clear that I can cut this show into two parts. The first three seasons of high school where Angel/Buffy, Xander/Cordelia and Oz/Willow are just all the yes, as well as the post graduation seasons where Spike/Buffy, Xander/Anya and Willow/Tara are just all the yes. Which really, truly fascinates me.

Because it’s really rare for a show to get me on board with its canon couples in general. This show does an amazing job on that too.

So, season 4 was kind of flawed in the way the Initiative wasn’t grounded enough in this world and how weak its endgame villain came off.

Season 5 brought the legit only thing about this show that I hate. Dawn Summers.

Urgh. It makes me shudder to just think about her. She’s such an awful and useless and stupid person. And yes, I’m saying person here, because “character” would blame it on the writing and make it sound like she’s a badly written character, which she is not. She was intended to be the annoying, dumb, useless little sister. Not every character can or has to be flawless or lovable. She’s just that… one that isn’t.

And she just becomes worse in season 6, honestly. She is such a self-centered brat that has no concept of the struggles of others. Like. Yes, I understand that she has problems and that she suffers too, but so does everyone and if someone doesn’t have time for her, she acts out. They just… They do have a lot on their plates, trying to save the world and keep you from being homeless, you know? Which, okay, was a solid portrayal of an angsty, bratty teen, I suppose, because teenagers, as I recall from my own time as one, are fascinatingly blind for the struggles of adults. Doesn’t make her less annoying though.

I take back what I said earlier, about not being able to pick a favorite season. Season 6 is my favorite season, which in itself is baffling. Normally, I pick one of the very early seasons of a show because they keep declining afterward until they crash and burn.

Season 6 did the exact opposite of what other shows do. Where other shows feel the need to top it all off, go wilder and broader and more brutal and bigger enemies until it becomes an unrealistic mess, this one just…

Three human boys.

That’s the enemy of the season. Just three stupid idiots who play pranks on the good guys, for the most part. And it was the perfect choice, because instead of having to deal with those major Big Bads, we get the chance to deal with the characters. The one thing I keep complaining about in other shows, how they’re too overcrowded with plot to even give the characters any time to deal with stuff or interact.

Buffy did it.

They stepped back from the Big Bad in favor of dealing with the bigger issues. Dawn being not a real human and not dealing well with that. Buffy having died and being brought back. Willow becoming addicted to magic. Xander… completely fucking up the best thing in his life.

We have character plots in this season.

Character plots that still end in a big battle of epic proportions when Willow literally becomes a Dark Witch powerful enough to destroy the world. But instead of it being some epic battle, it’s one of the… quietest fights ever and it’s brought home in such a beautiful way because it’s about grief and loss and pain and love.

And those. Those are the moments that make Buffy the most perfect TV show to me. It never loses its humanity. Maybe the most emotional scene in all of this show happened in season 5, when Joyce Summers died and Anya talked about her death, about the concept of death. That will never cease to make me cry.

And season 7 was the perfect ending. The way it rounded things up, it brought every single thing full circle, all the way to that above mentioned scene of Giles, Buffy, Willow and Xander parting ways before the very final battle, among all the loudness of everyone, it is brought to the forefront one last time that it is them.

The way they solved the whole Slayer thing, the Big Bad they chose for their final season, the development. Nathan Fillion as one of the creepiest bad guys ever. The fact that, even after all those seasons already, Buffy still had a struggle, had to prove herself.

I have one or two major bones to pick with it, because I hated when the group decided “Lol, nope, we don’t need you, Buffy”… that broke my heart. It breaks my heart every single time I watch it because even her friends tell her they need a break from her. I mean, I love how she found safety and support in Spike’s arms after that scene, but that it happened at all and that after things of course go wrong without Buffy, they all come crawling back… it makes me angry. It was important to bring them all as a team together, but to me it will always feel OoC coming from those she had fought alongside with for seven years, those who should always have her back who always did have her back.

And, when talking about bones to pick, aside from weak season 4 and Dawn Summers, there’s just one more major thing that I have a problem with.

Hank Summers. For those who forgot because he’s literally only been in two episodes, that’s Buffy’s dad. Because Buffy has a father. The “(half-)orphan”-trope is very overused, but I genuinely think this show would have benefitted from it.

Hank Summers does nothing. Not even when his ex-wife dies and his teenage daughter and barely-above-twenty daughter are left all on their own. He doesn’t pitch in with money, he doesn’t visit, he doesn’t even think about taking Dawn in and taking care of her himself.

I mean. Same as with Dawn, it can just be said that he is a Bad Person and a Seriously Bad Dad, but… Give me a break, Buffy deserved better than that. Having him be dead would really have been better, especially when Joyce dies and he just… “Nope, no interest in those kids”.

And on that note, let me add Faith (who I accidentally forgot about before). She’s... probably the most complex character, because it’s easy to hate her, but it’s also kind of easy to love her. She’s definitely the most flawed character and that’s what makes her good. Because she’s bad. She gets the same powers as Buffy, but unlike other Slayers, she gets morally corrupted. But she also finds her way again. She’s a badass bitch and she definitely brought something new to the table. I loved how flawed she was, because she was not a good person, but when needed, she was one of the good guys. They never pretended to turn her around into a good person though, she always stayed true to herself.

The reason I’m adding her here is because I feel like she messes up the mythology a little. Part of me really loved how they brought in Kendra after Buffy died, because “When the Slayer dies, another Slayer awakens” and that they remembered to keep with that when Kendra died. But after that, this kind of really fell apart and is one of the biggest plot-holes to the show, in my eyes.

Buffy died three times. But only her first death awakened a new Slayer. Now, you can argue that with that, the mantle was passed on, but... When Buffy came back from the dead, she still had her Slayer abilities. She was still the Slayer, she wasn’t suddenly back to being the normal girl she was before she turned sixteen and became the Slayer. So technically, considering she was still the Slayer, her other deaths should have also passed on the mantle and thus awoken two more Slayers.

Not to mention... in the history of Slayers, Buffy was the first one to be brought back to life? I always found that hard to believe. No one ever used CPR or magic on a Slayer before? I doubt it.

So in this very rich and grounded lore and mythology, I have a problem with “We got Kendra and then we got Faith and... we don’t bother explaining why we never got any additional Slayers”.

Now, as we conclude this, let me wrap up what exactly makes Buffy the Vampire Slayer the most perfect TV show to me.

1.) The superb writing.

Not just the plot as I laid it out above, the way they knew when to step back and when to give character plotlines instead of big and loud action plots. Simply the dialogues alone. This show holds up. It’s a time-capsule of the 90s, sure, but its writing and dialogues are still funny, emotional, heavy, with exactly the right words chosen. The writing on this show is in every aspect overwhelmingly brilliant.

2.) The characters.

They’re individual, they’re well-developed, they have their own plots and relationships and they are all important, not just the titular character. It inverted tropes with its characters, it managed to put strong female characters out there without having “being a strong female character” be their only and defining character trades.

3.) The story.

Okay, this is technically part of the writing too, but I think it deserves its special shout-out. Because this show has a consistent lore where not all of a sudden all the time something new is shoehorned in and retconned in and where it comes apart by the seams the more seasons it has because you notice the writers didn’t think ahead so far. No, this world is fleshed out, its lore is established and as it is. It’s consistent.

Yes, it’s not flawless, but damn it’s the closest to flawless that I’ve ever seen.

[cecilspeaks]

Episode 106 - Filings

Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near? Tell me more about your special bird powers. Welcome to Night Vale. 

It’s been a long couple of weeks, as the city-wide emergency sirens that signal illegal public acknowledgement of angels have been blaring almost nonstop. But in spite of these archaic laws, I’ve been shouting “You’re an angel!” at beings who look like angels and then making my most friendly finger-pointing gesture.

The beings who call themselves angels because… that’s what they are, have begun filing the paperwork for official existence. The angels are still at the Hall of Public Records downtown waiting in line. They have made it to the front of line three different times, but each time, they were told they were missing a key form of ID or pre-application paperwork, or that the cameras could not record their image. They weren’t told his using words, the Records Hall clerk just stabbed their paperwork repeatedly with scissors and then got a massive nosebleed, which is how they know their application was declined.

Other citizens waiting have grown restless. As they do not acknowledge the existence of angels, the next person in line keeps walking up to a seemingly empty window, only to be brushed away by a clerk, or an angel. These citizens have begun shouting and crumbling and curling into little balls and sobbing, as large glowing cracks appear in the ceiling.

It’s been several days of waiting in line for the angels. We’ll check back in on them soon.

Oh, I have a new intern, listeners. He’s a fine-looking young man with a beautiful voice, I think he’ll have a great future in radio. I’ve been trying to ask him his name or who hired him. I certainly don’t remember beginning the search for a new intern, he just appeared this morning and started working without a single word. Which is the most professional behavior for anyone beginning a new job. Well, he seems hard at work, even if every time I address him he doesn’t notice me. It’s great having a competent replacement for Kareem, even if I have no idea how this new intern got here and who he is. As long as the filing is getting done.

Alondra Ortiz, daughter of Josefina Ortiz who passed away last month, has carried on her fight against the angels. The angels are claiming ownership of Old Woman Josie’s estate, since they lives with her and helped her build the many artistic monuments and cultural foundations around town. Alondra said she doesn’t care if angels are acknowledged or not. If they want to be recognized, fine, but Alondra and her lawyer, Emilio Tavarez have filed motions to maintain ownership of Alondra’s mother’s home, belongings, money, and memories. Just because a bunch of imaginary tall people with wings helped Josie change the lightbulbs from time to time, Tavarez said, that’s no reason they are considered next of kin. Tavarez told judge Siobhan Azdaq: “If they don’t exist, we must get kissed.” Judge Azdaq replied: “Emilio, it’s been four years. I’m remarried. We’re done, OK?”

The angels have hired five-headed dragon Miriam Adelman as their counsel, who issued a literally scathing response. Alondra is now suing Adelman and her team for medical bills resulting from second degree burns. Alondra has already put Josie’s home up for sale. She is willing to offer rebates for pre-existing damage, such as a series of large glowing slits in the walls that lead to rooms that aren’t… possible, according to the official floor plan, nor the laws of physics. These rooms range from a 17th century ball room to a crow’s nest on a modern nazy destroyer to the space shuttle. Plus, anachronistic people keep wandering in and out of these portals. She added, “On second thought, since the house has more usable square footage than originally anticipated, and because there appear to be current renters”, she’s raising the sale price.

So I just sent my new intern to go pick up some lunch. Or at least I said, “Excuse me young man whose name I don’t know yet who I only think works here, can you go grab me a cobb salad with extra whipped cream and pencil shavings from the Missing Frog Salad Bar? He didn’t say yes, nor did he ever seem to see or hear me, but he did look really frightened and ran from the room crying, which was such a polite and respectful gesture to his superior. What a nice young man. Dresses kind of weird though, so early 80’s, with his double Windsor striped tie, polyester coat and aviator goggles, just like we all wore back in the day. I supposed most things eventually come back in fashion. Well, I can only assume he heard my lunch order. I’m starving.

Faceless Old Woman: You’re starving? Try not having a mouth.

Cecil: Oh my god, you scared me. [chuckles] Listeners, we have an unplanned visit from the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. Or I guess in this case, your radio studio while you’re still on the air.

FOW: Cecil, we need to talk about the Distant Prince.

Cecil: Few dare to speak at him, so as not to draw his attention. What do you know?

FOW: His harbingers are here. They are prepared to announce his arrival with their long, toothy beaks. They’re stomach-eyes see all. They’ve been rehearsing this announcement in their room at the Hampton Inn  on Route 800. They’ve been writing and rewriting their grand pronouncement and teaching it to the court shriekers to shriek out to all of Night Vale.

Cecil: What does that mean?

FOW: What, “shriek”? It’s like a painful yell. Like this: [disturbing scream] Meanwhile, the mangled servants are gathering the ears of important Night Vale politicians.

Cecil: Gross.

FOW: Right? And they will sew the ears onto the walls of the Hampton Inn continental breakfast bar and use them as portals into many dimensions at once. Their plan is to destroy time itself and collapse Night Vale into a dead singularity.

Cecil: Why do they want to do this?

FOW: It was suggested to him by a nice young woman from out of town.

Cecil: What young woman?

FOW: She.. she.. [music distorts, evil voice] The woman from Italy brings fun and jest, consuming all souls until none are left. Distant Prince and she plan the terrible plot: destroying all that is until all is not. I met her in dreams and found a dear friend, a woman a mortal mind can’t comprehend. No guard controls her, no physics can hold her, she’ll set the world on fire but leave you all colder. [music distorts back to normal] Yeah, she and I are best friends now. She’s a lot of fun, really good poet. I gotta go. Steve Carlsberg is back home, and I wanna stand behind him in the mirror when he bends down to wash his face. His shrieks are the funniest.

Cecil: Oh aha hahaha, dumb old Steve! Be nice, OK?

We are getting reports that a dense fog is now pouring from a giant glowing slash in the sky above the Rec Center. Some pteranodons have flown out of it, as well as a commercial airliner. And those who entered the fog reported hearing shouts, blood-curdling streams, and even the echo of drums. But there’s also the Battle of the Bands sound check happening right now at the Rec Center, so it’s probably just that. Either way, keep a close eye out for these apparent tears in the fabric of our reality. Also, go check out the Battle of the Bands. I think Diane Crayton’s son Josh and his boyfriend Grant are organizing that event.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s show is brought to by a grey pigeon, whispering to you from your neighbor’s backyard. The pigeon – his name is Alfonso – is telling you that you are the one true God. [serene voice] And that he wants you to bring it a body part. A human body part. Doesn’t matter which part. Just do it. [ominously] Soon. [serenely] “Time’s almost gone. The Bible was wrong,” the pigeon added, suddenly from your right shoulder. “There never was a beginning.” This has been a word from our sponsors.

Reports continue from the last few weeks of people all over Night Vale experiencing false realities. The most believable visions are those of tall winged beings roaming the streets and asking to borrow 10 bucks. City Council is issuing daily press releases, claiming the existence of angels is impossible and illegal. City Council is threatening to no longer speak to anyone who acknowledges the so-called angels. “You are uninvited to our birthday party,” today’s press release reads. “Too bad, there will be karaoke and minigolf. Your loss, angel acknowledger!”

A series of fissures in reality have begun to open up, revealing truths that should never have existed. Like the 12th century Scottish castle sitting atop the stables over on Galloway. Frances Donaldson at the Antiques Mall reports suddenly knowing how to play the piano, when before she only knew how to play keyboard. Larry Leroy out on the edge of town came home to find his wife, Chrysette, mowing the lawn. But he was never married. He last saw Chrysette in high school, when they were both in the lurching band together. And fired chief Ramona Encarnacion said she found a rock in the shape of Harry Styles’ liver. “I don’t know how Harry is getting by without his liver,” Incarnassian said. “Or given how much mud was on this thing, how he was ever getting by with it.”

Night Vale, beware the untruths which attempt to dismantle our town. Stay vigilent, read your journals, look at your photographs. Do your best to remember what is real.

Oh man, speaking of real, I’m real hungry. I wish my intern would get back soon with my salad. It’s been forever since he… Oh, wait. He left his wallet behind. Well, strike one, new intern. How are you supposed to buy lunch if you don’t take any money? Hope he has some cash in his pockets.

I’ll be so annoyed if lunch is late. Ah, this is a pretty nice wallet. Trifold, ooh photo pages, human leather, money clip. I used to have one just like this. maybe let’s find out more about you, kiddo. Let’s see. Bowling league card. Ooh, I love bowling. Young reporter’s league membership. Wow, it’s after my own heart. Photos of him with a young man he could probably be related to and, is that my… who are you? Where’s your driver’s license? Oh God. This can’t.. this can’t be. This here... just…

Uh, OK, here’s the weather while I sort this out.

[“All or Nothing” by the Dream Masons]

My new intern never made it back. He never left, or maybe, was never hear at all. Or maybe still is here after all these years.

After finding his… my… ID in his wallet, I ran out after him. But before I even got out of the building, I found him in the restroom. The door was slightly cracked and the light was on. I heard a voice, a familiar young voice. “Leonard said if I work hard, maybe I’ll be a radio presenter myself some day,” said the voice. I was so frightened but still I looked into the washroom, and he was standing in front of a mirror looking right at himself. I never look into those things, or at least I haven’t in a long time.

“I think the radio station is fun,” he said. “I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be,” he said. I wanted to cry out to warn him. My mother told me to stay away from mirrors, and I knew he was in danger. I opened my mouth and tried to step in the room, but I could not speak, could not move forward.

“I’m looking in the mirror,” he said. “The mirror is not covered,” he said. “Stop! Don’t look into the mirror!” I tried to say, but nothing came out of my mind, only spit and inaudible wheeze. Tears stung my eyes. I waved frantically, trying to catch his attention.

“The flickering movement is just behind me,” he said, and then he looked right at me in the mirror. His eyes grew wide and wet. He said, “I…” He said again, “I…” and then he choked. Then he screamed, then I screamed, only again no sound came out. He fell to the floor, and for a moment, I remembered. I remembered blue lights and blood in my throat, and the dark planet lit by no sun and then I forgot it. Or at least what it looked like or, only that it was, or never was or it still is.  

His wallet was no longer in my studio, his… my… driver’s license was no longer in my hand, my familiar teenage intern was no longer lying on the ground. The mirror he was looking into is now shattered into thousands of intersecting cracks like parched desert dirt.

I approached the mirror, hoping to see a face I knew: a young man’s face I just barely remember. But I only saw a multiplicity of me, a man divided, unrecognizably under razor-sharp grounds, and behind me a glowing slash in the bathroom wall. When I turned, the whole in reality was gone. Only plain gray subway tiles.

I don’t know what is real. Myself as a younger intern, the Woman from Italy, these holes in reality. Harry Stiles’ liver. Harry Stiles. Are any of these things real?

One thing I know is real were the angels. After hours of waiting in line, their paperwork has been officially filed, with the Hall of Public Records, and a hearing date scheduled sometime between the last Friday of this month, and the last Friday of 2023.

Night Vale. Reality is failing us. And strange forces are gathering. The Distant Prince, the Woman from Italy. The dragons. Huntokar.

I don’t know what we can do to save a failing reality, I only know, uh… We can make real that which we acknowledge and accept. Angels are real, Night Vale. The actuality of people we rarely see or interact with may seem unimportant as fissures in our world, threatening to collapse anything we know but – if you see an angel, tell them you see them. Tell them they are real. Point at them and shout: “You’re. An. Angel!” we can only make real what we accept as real,. Tell them, OK?

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Good things come to those who wait. Good things come slithering down the unctuous brown stone walls to those who wait alone in the dark pit.

[augustusaugustus]

Undercover

No time to write fanfic, but the big gay episode had to be commemorated in some way, so have a Kerry/Rita song.

[highnoonkhadajhin]

What’s Yours, Is Mine

@apollojayce​ sorry it took so long! Im going to blame finals when we all know it was just me procrastinating. Its very long

His name is Jayce Foley...

Jhin read the letter over and over, until he knew it by heart. Where he lived, where he went- everything he would need to know to track him down. And that he would, Jhin wasting no time as he set out for Piltover; the (arguable) center of Runeterra as it dominated over all in technology and trade. It was filled to the brim with machinery and intelligence, always having the latest inventions with a new genius’ to create them every day with nowhere else coming close to comparison. 

Jobs in Piltover- as rare as they come- were dangerous. But how could Jhin resist such an alluring offer for fortune and infamy- just for doing what he loved. He would be at odds with the police, a force to be reckoned with- not that they were ever a hindrance to him before. He had always relished in the danger of being caught, the thrill of the chase as he disappeared into the crowd at the last moment possible. But It was the passion for killing that always kept him going back to Piltover, tucking the letter which promised him such things back into his vest after reading it for the hundredth time. 

It was five days by sea to Piltover. Albeit tedious, it was necessary, his firearms easier to smuggle by merchant vessel than past security by land. With a handshake full of bills to the captain and guards, he was on the ports of Piltover in no time. Before straying any further from the docks- he changed his attire, slipping away from wandering eyes to dress in a simple outfit- not wanting to attract any unwanted attention just yet so he may better blend in with the crowd.

His only distinguishable feature now was his blind eye- scar tissue slashed across his right brow and cheek leaving a dark discoloration on his otherwise pale face. He was exposed- his true nemesis being the people and their judgement as he yearned for the next moment he may wear his mask again. But to conceal his face would only be more noticeable, settling to just scowl at the occasional curious look his way as he delved deeper into Piltover. 

The letter requested to bring back the blueprints to the Mercury Hammer, or the actual weapon itself along with any other important research Jayce Foley may be hiding- but to keep him alive. So be it, anything for his fans. Anything for the money, that had been partially given to him beforehand, with the rest coming soon after he was done here. He would wait until nightfall to begin this hunt- waiting for the perfect opportunity to catch his target in his sleep and be in and out before he could awaken.

It was just another day on the job, another week getting paid and another month living on the edge of the law.

He took a moment to be thankful to whomever had sent him this information. It was meticulous, borderline obsessive as it outlined everything this man would be doing throughout the day as if it were his schedule. He knew his apartment number, he knew his passwords, he knew what time he would be asleep. It was the perfect script to his perfect performance, one that he will act out duly and diligently to the end. 

And when the sun went down and the rush hour crowed thinned out into nothingness, Jhin began to travel more comfortably- for he was alone, only the rumbling ambiance of the city his company as night fell upon it’s streets. He could get used to this- wandering around out here at night, but although the workday may have ended for Piltover’s people- Jhin’s has just begun. 

The streets were almost empty, a few stragglers here and there as they rushed about, eager to not be caught outside in the dark for too long. Piltover became a dangerous place at night, but Jhin needn’t worry about such things, pistol hidden at his hip as he navigated by the light of streetlights and neon signs. He had never met a man who could draw their gun faster than him- such confidence giving him peace at mind as he followed the directions given to him within the letter. 

8th Street West, the second apartment complex on the right. Jhin found it with little trouble, punching in the access code for the main gate before walking right on in, heading straight to the elevators to go to the 9th floor. He checked the time, watch on his wrist ticking away synchronously to the ding of the elevator as he ascended. It was late enough that Jayce should be sleeping- as detailed to him in the letter that was written so obsessively. And as he reached the 9th floor, He took a moment to throw on his mask and goggles before punching the code into the door, just to be safe if anyone were to see him. The door clicked open and closed behind him as he stepped inside quietly, Jhin hesitating for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

The only light source in main room was ambient light out the window, the only sound being a radios dull droning as he stepped silently through the flat. He saw no sign of any other human- until he walked past the couch. There was his target- Jayce Foley- passed out on the sofa, one leg hanging off as he appeared to have just thrown himself there. Jhin’s fingers itched to draw his weapon, but he knew who this man was. An inventor- the creator of the Mercury Hammer and researcher of hex-tech and the likes. Leaving the man be for now, he went straight towards the workshop. 

Jhin knew about Jayce’s security system. And as he opened the door, he saw what was his commissioner was writing about; lasers scattered throughout the workshop, Jhin having a feeling he knew what would happen if he touched them. So he didn’t- lithe enough to finesse his way through them as he approached the cannon, swiping a sizable screwdriver off a nearby table as he passed it. It was far too big to take back through the lasers whole- eyeing joints and panels for a way to dismantle it discreetly. But it all seemed to be held together by things other than screws, using the screwdriver more as a lever to pry off the circular panel in the middle with a loud pop. 

Now that was a little too loud for his liking- Jhin keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder now as he placed the panel down gently, further prying pieces away to reveal the source of the hammer’s yellow glow- a crystal. It made a quiet humming noise, an alluring sound telling Jhin that this may be what the letter’s author had in mind, grabbing it from its spot locked into the hammer. It made a sputtering, fizzling noise, the weapon powering down as its energy source was now ripped from its core.  

If that hadn’t woken Jayce, Jhin was about to, holding the crystal in one hand as his other unholstered his gun. He weaved back through lasers towards the workshop’s main door, not surprised to come around the corner and see Jayce Foley- tired eyes now going wide as the noise he went to go inspect turned out to be an intruder in his home. They both hesitated, Jayce’s confused gaze on the crystal distracting him from the fact that Jhin was armed, Jhin pistol whipping him across the face before pushing him down and out of the way. 

That was easy, he supposed, gun raised and at the ready to shoot and kill. For Jayce to be so intelligent and involved in technology- it sure wasn’t difficult to steal what essentially was his hammer- though now that he thinks about it...

Jayce could be useful to him, Jhin twirling the gun around in his hand to grab it by the barrel. 

“You’ll be hearing from me soon, Jayce Foley.” 

 His hand was swift, clubbing Jayce over the head with the butt of his gun- rendering him unconscious. It was just to be sure that the other wouldn’t follow him, gun and mask holstered and hidden away once again after he slipped out of the apartment and back out into the streets of Piltover. 

Looks like he would be staying here longer than he originally thought, Jhin now setting off in search of a place to stay the night.

[matteorossini]

Scientists and their supporters march in favor of actual facts in D.C.

Just inside the entrance to the Washington Monument, a handful of people hold black and white signs bearing the words ADA assistance. As one one man walks by, he briefly pauses to consider their message. “Americans with Disabilities Act, or Ada Lovelace?” he says. “She was a great mathematician.”

It’s just shy of 9AM in Washington D.C., where thousands of scientists, researchers, academics, doctors, students, and concerned citizens are gathering on the damp grass surrounding the landmark. They’ve come from New York, Philadelphia, Maryland, New Mexico, and across the U.S. to show their support for science. Scientists have been planning a March on Washington since late January, shortly after Donald Trump took office.

Scientists and their supporters don’t usually march — but recent events have troubled them. Under Trump, scientists have been silenced; his attempted immigrantion ban directly threatened international scientific collaboration; he’s signed executive orders that will destroy efforts to fight climate change; his proposed budget cuts for 2018 slash funding for crucial scientific research. Though the March for Science has done its best to maintain its political neutrality (Per March for Science PR: “The goal of the March for Science is to highlight the valuable role science plays in society and policy, and to demonstrate deep public support for science”), it has been widely understood as a protest of these policies. D.C. is only one march — more than 600 “satellite” demonstrations took place worldwide.

Perhaps significantly, before the March took place, there was much rending of garments and gnashing of teeth about whether science was political (which: yes, always! But not necessarily partisan) from one camp. Another group of scientists felt the March wasn’t political enough. Last month, Stat reported infighting among organizers as disagreements broke out over how the movement should handle diversity — or in some cases, lack thereof. The split was so severe Memphis actually had two Marches for Science. In the run-up to the March, dueling op-eds made it increasingly unclear who the March is actually for, and who might actually come.

“Grab a book, not a pussy”

Earth Day dawns cold, gray, and very wet in D.C. As marchers filter into the Washington Monument grounds, they crowd around a small stage near the obelisk. Many people are sporting lab coats, goggles, and brain caps — the science answer to pink pussy hats — to go along with their protest signs. They parade by with phrases more clever — and dorky — than you average demonstration. “STEMinist,” read several, while a young man marches past with a sign that simply says “[citation needed].” Others are direct: “Climate change is real.” “Believe us.” “Grab a book, not a pussy.”

We begin with science lessons. Dozens of speakers, from young women in STEM programs to Bill Nye the science guy, give lightning-fast talks on science and its importance. Attendees gather on the massive lawn, signs in hand, as it starts to rain more heavily. It’s miserable to be out in the open, but people gamely shake their signs in the face of bad weather.

Lindsay and Michael Fitch — a pediatrician and a physicist, respectively — have come from Baltimore. Michael says that their trip was spurred on by the need for scientists to have room to come up with accurate data in order to help politicians make the best policy decisions. “I feel like there are people trying to do that in the reverse order,” he says. “The politicians are trying to decide what the answer is, and interfere with science. That's not the way to do the right thing for our country and the world.”

Lindsay says that it’s not a scientist’s job to hide information that doesn’t fit with someone’s ideology. She points to the EPA gag orders. “Wantonly disregarding science and defunding science is a disaster for our future,” she says. “And then there's global warming, and that's not gonna stop.” Disregarding basic facts, ignoring the scientific method, and attempting to make decisions without consulting that evidence is how “bad decisions get made.” It’s like saying 2+2=5 and ignoring everything else, she says.

Facts and truth seem to be on everyone’s mind at the march. Throughout the micro-talks, several speakers will openly deride Kellyanne Conway’s infamous comment about “alternative facts,” or policy makers that want to ignore the issue of climate change. It has highlighted the political quality of sifting out facts and observations to determine truth. Over and over, marchers told me they wanted evidence-based political policy, and independent science. Facts are often homely things, but the demonstrators treasure them all the same.

“if people go elsewhere, then American science loses out.”

Justus McMillan, a geology major from Maryland, says he’s come to D.C. to support “good science and facts.” He’s attending the march alone, but felt it was important to come. "There's a lot of misinformation about what science is and what good science is,” he says. Another attendee, Laura O’Brien, credits her “unapologetically nerdy” family as part of her reason for attending. “We love science,” says O’Brien. “We believe in science. We have family members who have been saved by science. It's important. Facts matter.”

Chris Round is an environmental scientist, specializing in climate change and climate policy, and he says he’s afraid the current administration will squander an opportunity to curtail climate change. But he’s also here for more personal reasons. Round does consulting work for the federal government — and Trump’s budget cuts will eliminate his job as well as his funding for his doctorate.

In fact, several of Trump’s policies hit close to home for Round. Lots of people who work in science and engineering are foreign-born, and come to the US to study. “I went to school with many people like that,” he says. “If we don't let these people come and learn science, we're gonna lose out on opportunities to have great minds potentially stay here and help the United States grow. If people go elsewhere — and Silicon Valley has seen this to an extent — if people go elsewhere, then American science loses out.”

“ditch the jargon. Make an effort”

On-stage, speakers dash in and dash out. Music breaks up the monotony, including on-the-nose performances from people like Thomas Dolby singing “She Blinded Me With Science.” By 2PM, when the march is ready to begin, these talks have begun to feel — for a moment, at least — redundant. Thousands of intelligent, science-concerned individuals have already gathered to demonstrate their belief in its importance. Hours of talks from like-minded thinkers, brilliant though they may be, feels like preaching to choir. But sometimes even the choir wants the reassurance of a sermon; people are here, at least in part, to be reminded that they are not alone. Facts do matter. Facts do matter to an awful lot of people, and some of them are here.

Scientists have often struggled to communicate with the public that frequently funds their work. While basic research has historically been a great investment, government funding for science has stagnated over the last decade. Some scientists feel that the way to bolster funding is to communicate better with their ultimate funders, the ordinary tax payer. But many scientists haven’t learned this skills. One speaker, Tyler DeWitt, a YouTube star who specializes in explaining chemistry, told a story about a young girl talking to a grad student. The girl’s enthusiastic question about science was met with an overly complicated, dull answer. “We can’t talk like that grad student,” DeWitt said. “If you care about science if you use science, I beg you, explain what you do and why it's important. But ditch the jargon. Make an effort ... We cannot complain about the slashed funding if we can't tell taxpayers why science matters.”

Explaining science to the public might seem trivial — but most scientists aren’t taught how to communicate effectively with an ordinary audience. As a result, many aren’t very good at it. And this kind of outreach work often isn’t paid, either — it’s a pro-bono effort, and a lot of scientists are busy doing their actual paid work. Those who do tend to do outreach work sometimes sacrifice their own scientific careers in the process. Bill Nye doesn’t do research, after all; outreach is his full-time job.

As the march finally gets underway, people seem eager to be moving. “Hey hey! Ho ho! Alternative facts have got to go!” becomes one of the many rallying cries of the day. Occasionally, a cascade cheers from the front of the march flows through the snaking line like sports fans doing the wave at a game.

As people parade down Constitution Avenue, protesters who have peeled off from the snaking line stand to the sides. They hold their signs and shout words of encouragement to those still walking. “Scientists, they can see you!” shouts a man near the street’s edge. “Now make them hear you!”

The crowd roars in response, chanting “Science! Not Silence!” as the rain finally starts to lighten. How scientists will communicate with the public, the government, and each other following the march remains to be seen. If the run-up to today is any indication, it will likely be messy — but then, so’s science itself.

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15.77 Knowing You (Part One)

Just my fave ship leaving together NBD. 

SKASE: Come on, what is it? What’re you thinking about? Is it that snout of Kerry’s? That ex con. Oh she’s lovely—tall, athletic— PROCTOR: Oh, leave it out, Rod. With five years inside, I reckon the lovely Rita swings the other way. SKASE: Really? What you mean she’s…? Well, seems like this Rita Davis might be interested in more than just helping Kerry with her enquiries.

(To be continued...)

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14.107 The Rate for the Job

If it wasn't already obvious how much I like this scene...

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15.57 Integrity: Part Two

KLEIN: We ain’t in the playground any more, Smithy. This isn’t my gang versus your gang. It’s the guv’nor’s op you’ve just blown. Vickers is breaking the law. Take some advice, yeah? Drop him now. Because he’s vicious, he’s bent, and he’s going down for it. Best not be hanging on his tail when that happens, mate.

SMITH: Vickers says you smoke cannabis. KLEIN: But we don’t believe a word he says any more. Or do you? Go bottle it.

Well. I can certainly see why I shipped these two back in the day. Although you could make a good case for Gary/Nick in this episode as well.

A solid double episode that does a great job of setting up Nick’s character and developing Smithy a lot as well.

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15.56 Integrity: Part One (Part One)

(To be continued…)

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15.53 Rock Bottom (Part Two)

It’s Sam The Bleeding Heart vs Geoff The Sociopath, and Sam comes out on top. Geoff’s a bit of a hypocrite going on about Don being dodgy when he was willing to ignore the fact that an innocent man was fitted up in this episode because he carries a grudge towards him. That said, I can’t help but wonder if this one was originally written for John—the rabid hatred of drugs and the willingness to bend the rules and turn a blind eye to iffy means to an end seems more his kind of thing than Geoff’s.

They’re doing a nice job of developing Sam’s character, and Smithy’s cynicism is a good contrast. And you can’t convince me that Sam didn’t have a big ol’ crush on Dexter.