#the fact we never got to see what lead non to be doing a robot dance 😔

[vani-ash]

just finished DFF

THATS THE ENDING???

I still have so many questions but also I kinda get why they did an ambiguous ending I feel it would probably piss off the least amount of people than if they did have certain favorites 100% die(I doubt that was the actual reason but its probably part of it)

-all of that theorizing and we still dont know if Non is actually dead (though if thats the ending im going with yeah that probably was meant to be his death) I am choosing to believe he is vibeing in the woods cheering his brother on in his murder plot secretly

-What was the killer sometimes having crutches?????? fjgjkdfhgdfjkshgkdfg what was the point of that detail did i miss something or did they just never elaborate on that

-highkey was pissed when i though they were really gonna make it Phee and Jin escaped but they killed WHITE???

-White really was just some random unfortunate guy who liked Tee

-I am choosing to believe White getting stabbed was a hallucination. Its all right guys he's fine New actually let him go cause he didn't deserve all that hes fine. I am not in denial

-so Jin was the one to post the video? Like i never thought it was anyone other than him but they still went about that weirdly

-Phee actually sided with the group who put Non through hell what the fuck

-Phee seemed to care more about Non 'cheating' on him than any of the shit the guys actually did to put Non in a situation to make him feel he had do that. 3/10 boyfriend (he gets points for getting non out of trouble with police but like thats it, couldn't even stick to a murder revenge plot to avenge your boyfriend 😔 romance is dead)

-Shout out to Por just chilling on the couch through out the episode I forgot he was there and laughed when I was like 'why is he just laying there- oh shit right' he really got the easiest death no psychological torture? man got off easy

-WHAT THE FUCK WAS WITH THAT HAND IN EP 1 GRABBING TEE??????????????????????????? if it was a hallucination why is Tee hallucinating another guy grabbing him while with White

-White having the like rash thing???? -did we get why non was covered in blood in the first few seconds of ep 1??? or did i forget that too i cant remember

I have so much more but heres the main points

overall i did really enjoy it I think it definitely should've leaned way more into the horror aspect of it, but it was still really fun :)

[oddvanilla]

Dhar Mann might've been secretly a "villain" the whole time....

Pt.1 (?)

No, you're not hallucinating. You saw that title correctly. Believe it or not, I have had ridiculous beef for years with the man who many love, and even adore, Dhar Mann. And therefore, I'll be elaborating today on why such a "good person" like him is considered one of my sworn enemies, and why I think you should consider him one too.

Many people, and especially parents, assume that Dhar Mann is a great influence on kids, and a friendly individual. And although for the most part; that can be true, but you need to look at the bigger picture.

"The Dhar Mann Effect" is what I like to call it. A serious, and contagious virus that even the most experienced and hard-working doctors can't find the cure to. "What does the Dhar Mann effect do?" ...You may be asking. Well, great question! The Dhar Mann effect is when you form an addiction and obsession to watching the supposedly "short films" made by no other than Dhar Mann himself. And I'm not talking about a little, silly obsession. I'm talking about serious addictions that can lead into binge watching video after video non-stop. Such things should be taken far way solemnly.

And the prime example is my younger sister. Among many of my Dhar Mann-obsessed friends, I'd say she's the worst case. It started out around 2 years ago, when their substitute teacher played a Dhar Mann video at class (since many students have requested it), and ever since, she got hooked. I knew then that there was no coming back, she reached the "no-return" point.

I'd go as far as saying that it's like drugs to her. She can't survive a day without watching at least 3 videos in one sitting. And yes, that includes re-watching or re-visiting older videos. Trust me, it's deeper than just a "So you see...". My sister can qualify as an iPad kid, now, if I had to say so. And even currently, as I'm writing this, I can hear Jay's voice, One of Dhar Mann's most popular actors— playing from her room. I feel like it's not the same, and those damages may be irreversible. My poor sister can't live her life to the fullest anymore. All she does is wait for the new Dhar Mann video. And while she waits for the next one, she just rewatches his old videos, making sure she knows all the lore.

This is not a "haha" joke, people. This is dead serious. No joke. I'm not crossing my fingers. I'm not what nowadays kids call "capping 🧢". I'm being genuine and I'm typing this with the straightest face ever.

Another issue I have with Dhar Mann is how threatening he appears to me. I can promise you that if you look long enough into his smile, you'll realise it's slightly unsettling. Did you notice his face almost always looks the same in every picture? Well, you're probably not trippin'. That's because he has that same smile in literally every picture I could find of him.

What are the chances he might be a robot? Ready for the day we all fall for his spell and none of us are safe anymore, so he can finally strike? There is something so terrifying about him. Every time I look at that smile, I can't help but shiver a bit of fear. But mostly, I'm quite intimidated by his disturbing behaviour. The way he never fails to stare dead into our souls. That's what I find strange.

But hold up, the theories don't stop... at least not yet! Did you notice the way Dhar Mann ends every single one of his videos with "Hey Dhar Mann fam!" ??? What are the chances that he refers to us as his fam (family) to hide the fact we're probably stuck in his basement? If we're talking lore-wise, I'd say the reason Dhar Mann calls us his fam is the following: We're all chilling at our homes, until one day... A Dhar Mann video comes to our recommendations. By watching the media, you're secretly agreeing to sign an invisible contract that gives ol' Dhar the ability to adopt you. Child or not. And just because you're now part of his fam, doesn't mean he can't trap you into the basement and lock you up with multiple of many victims. The only time he'll ever check on you is when he comes in the basement and greets you with "Hey Dhar Mann Fam!" While feeding you those meaningless videos.

I'll show you a couple of examples, and YOU tell me what these videos could possibly teach kids who barely know what photosynthesis is.

Now, be real, just for a moment, WHY IS THE SECOND VIDEO A GODDAMN SERIES????? ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT ITS A CASUAL THING THAT THE PROTAGONIST EXPERIENCES ON SIMPLE OCCASIONS TO GET JUMPED???

I think another weird part is that Dhar Mann featured another EXTREMELY popular YouTuber named "Mr. Beast" many, many times, but even then— he feels this need to pull out knock off Mr. Beast...ahem ahem....Mr. "feast"...??????

No joke. Just search up "Dhar Mann Mr. Feast" and count how many videos come up. But if you're so lazy to check, it's 4. yea. 4 DAMN VIDEOS ABOUT A MR BEAST RIP OFF. YOU GUYS NEED TO WAKE UP AND REALISE THIS IS A MAN WITH A WIFE AND 2 KIDS.

And back to square one, What's the moral meaning behind this media he displays for the youth?

Not Dhar Mann (a multi millionaire) copying the "NO CHICK-FIL-A SAUCE?" girl???? Smh...

So... Do you think Dhar Mann is really the innocent "moral philosopher" he claims himself as? Or is it deeper than a "Hey Dhar Mann Fam"?. But either way, that's it for today. Thank you all for listening to my Ted Talk.

SORRY GUYS IM HIGH ON VITAMIN GUMMIES (AGAIN) AND LIKE I DO THINK DHAR MANN IS MY SWORN ENEMY BUT LIKE YALL BETTER NOT TAKE THIS /SRS LMAOOOO🙏🙏🙏

[thearchercore]

After reading your essays about Charles and PR, I have a bit of a rant when it comes to Charles’ image rn, and how (I believe) him and RBR are working together. I mean, it could be very likely considering his and RBR’s posts.

Let’s have a bit of a look at the 3 accounts that are posting Charles almost all the time rn. Ferrari, Charles himself and Red Bull. Ferrari’s posts are 1. Not much, considering he is their driver, and 3. Are either way too polished or just a thirst trap. Considering that Ferrari is his team, they aren’t posting Charles much, since the beginning of the year. And they haven’t changed their tactics, their posts are too polished, too stuffy if you could say, with the inly non-stuffy one being a pic of Charles falling while playing Football and Skiing, and even that doesn’t look authentic or like they’re really pleased about it.

Now, let’s see Charles. Since the beginning of 2024, there has been a shift in Charles’ social media, it isn’t all theist traps, or any of that shit. I mean, yeah he had a few posts that showed his adventurous fun side of his personality, but they were very limited compared to his curated posts, the posts that are what we could consider “safe” and “according to Ferrari’s agenda” kind of. But since ten beginning of the year, there is only one post which falling in this category, which is a post made by his sponsor, APM Monaco, for a shoot. The rest are, charles is drunk, relatable in LA, being goofy while skiing. Almost as if Charles is trying to detach himself from the Ferrari image if that PR robot who only has looks.

Now onto the last side of this, Red Bull. RBR have always been known as fun, spontaneous, almost chaotic. I mean, their slogan is and always have been and always will be Red Bull Gives You Wings. They have been the ones who never restricted their drivers, Max, Checo and Daniel can post whatever they want. But lets be real, I don’t think Max and Checo use their Socials much (with the chance of Max having a private account which we all knew from his twitch saga 😂, but its mire because Max is a private person).

Back to Charles, Red Bull is posting Charles in a way that shows that he’s a beast on track, only him can battle Max, but also in a way that shows the fun aide, the sticker war?? And I believe RBR and Charles are working together in that sense, RBR showing the dynamic between both, as well as highlight the fact that the ones with the most battles with Max that are the most entertaining is Charles, while Charles is detaching himself from that stuffy Ferrari thirst trap-y agenda into the more fun loving, spontaneous person.

And I think they’re doing that in order to prepare for something. Like Charles to RBR announcement when bestie??

yeah, something may be going on behind the scenes! i mentioned charles' rebrand from ferrari-focused posts to more individual approach here and the recent change of posting patterns (ft. posting charles) on the RBR socials here

i got a bit caught by surprise on thursday -- a day where ferrari is known to post contract announcements -- in the morning f1 posted joint post with ferrari about charles' monza win, then posted a pic with charles' monza helmet quote "one team one dream" (which was rumoured to be his OG renewal helmet, renewal got obviously postponed). all posts lead me and my friends to believe that an announcement is imminent and i patiently waited for the charles renewal announcement to drop.

nothing happened.

the same day, however, we got a new article that updated that carlos' negotiations for a new contract aren't working out the way they wanted. apparently ferrari only wants to give carlos a one year long contract, carlos wants a multi-year contract. that once again delayed the contract renewal announcement.

remember that fred mentioned he wanted to have the contracts locked by christmas so they're ready by january.

also seems like carlos' deadline for contract is the testing in bahrain. they want to announce before the testing starts.

there were also rumours that because of that, ferrari is eyeing alex albon as a possible second driver.

again, it's all quite messy and not fully confirmed but just the delayed timeline shows how many complications ferrari may be facing right now.

is red bull part of the game? maybe, maybe not. we can't tell, we can only follow their social pattern and see how they move in the future.

[desultory-novice]

Do you think that Daroach has killed someone off-screen? He is referred as a ruthless thief in star allies even after his friendly meetings with Kirby and him stopping the villians has more so to do with pragmatism than him feeling actually helping.

...!! A Daroach ask! I'm so happy!

Anyway, warning for brief talk of killing, stealing, and other immoral + gray morality stuff! And remember that regardless of what your favorite video game characters would do, everyone has someone who cares about them the same way you care about your most important people! (If you don't think YOU have that person in YOUR life yet, you will, someday! I promise!) </Dess positivity>

Now, Daroach gives me strong "phantom thief" vibes (The hat, the cape. Red is not exactly a stealthy color. It's clear Daroach cares more about style than being undetected. Plus, his JP description constantly throws around the word “calling card” - another staple of the phantom thief) and phantom thieves traditionally outsmart those they encounter rather than kill them but...

...If we're talking about a Kirby universe where everyone comes back to life in a week or so, then perhaps...?!? That is to say, at least as many as Kirby has "killed." (Aka, has "killed" no one that's gone forever :cough: ignoring Sectonia :cough:) But being ruthless (I did a quick wiki browse and couldn’t find a direct quote, but I trust that it’s mentioned somewhere) I'm SURE he and the Squeaks have gotten into violent confrontations before.

The question here is, who would a thief "need" to kill? Even in real life, a thief's focus is on stealing. Anything that gets in the way of that/complicates that process is something they DON'T want. That includes violence/violent confrontations. Killing someone and THEN taking their stuff is more liable to be associated with feelings of power/domination/control. Stealing CAN be about those things, but is usually more concerned with profit or survival. Or rebellion, if you're stealing from an institution.

(Btw, as for writing all that, I actually have zero experience with thievery - and I've never taken a psychology class, so treat the stuff up above with a grain of salt - but when you have ambitions of being a writer, you look a LOT of stuff up/think a lot about motivations.)

There's the possibility of Daroach having harmed or killed someone in self-defense, such as some yet unseen law-person or bounty hunter, but unless his reciprocation was particularly cruel or brutal, it doesn't exactly follow that such an act would lead him to be described as ruthless. And that level of violence doesn't line up with anything we know about the Squeaks anyway. They made Kirby apology cake!!

"Ruthless" does mean having no compassion or pity, but I imagine that is more in reference to the degrees they will go to get their treasure. Recall that Doc built at least two giant killer robots to stop Kirby!

...Oh.... 

...I just said "killer" robots, didn't I?

O-Okay. Let's just make a division here between cartoon violence and real world violence. I don't think the Squeaks have committed anything that could be comparable to the horror of real world violence. I DO think they have gotten up to their non-existent elbows in cartoon violence though!

But as much as I could imagine a growly Daroach threatening someone "to the pain" style in a dimly lit room, the tip of his cane pressed right up against their throat, I don't see him going through with it. He's got so many better methods of getting what he wants than serious violence! Plus, his dialogue in Mass Attack is a perfect mix of “Robin Hood” and “Noblesse Oblige.”

In fact, I went and checked the Japanese Star Allies description and while he mentions “taking” those “Dark Heart Gems” there’s no indication he plans on using them to do anything bad. Daroach speaks as if the thrill of the (treasure) hunt is what he’s in for more than anything. (And being able to lay back on a pile of gold and jewels like some kind of tiny, furry dragon.)

...He'd definitely make someone who hurt his crew regret it though!

Slightly related, I happen to love any HC in which the Squeaks are treated like space pirates, considering they have an airship AND are capable of inter-planetary travel! I feel like someone once mentioned that since Samus is (sort of) canon to the Kirby universe, she's probably seen Daroach's bounty on her radar, at least.

...Though I cannot say for certain what a Metroid-canon Daroach may or may not have done to earn that bounty!

[allofthebees]

Fic Masterlist!

Here’s a list of all my projects. Completed? Upcoming? Vague ideas in my brain that I wanna delve into? All here!

Mutatis Mutandis AU

This is an AU about Pixal and Echo inheriting the elements of time. A rather big project that I’m working on completely out of order because I’m attractive like that. It all started out as a lil theory I had about Pixal’s ability to use the Forbidden Scroll and I decided to actually do something about it up until I got Ronin brainworms. Also, now that the vengestone buyer has been revealed, I gotta add that this AU has a completely different idea as to who it is because I think my idea is cool and sexy.

Cherries

Oneshot; Romance

Pixane; Pixal character study

Post Season 10/Pre-Season 11

Rated T bc these robots are gonna make out

Late at night in the hangar, Pixal and Zane discuss their humanity.

(I promise this is in fact important to the main story sajkdadkj)

STATUS: OUTLINED 1/1

-

Mutatis Mutandis

Multichapter; Adventure/Drama

Pixal Focus; Pixal&Echo friendship; Pixane conflict, minor background Jaya and Scruff. POSSIBLE background Lava? We’ll see…

Rated T for Violence

Post Season 13/Pre-Island

When the Bounty is ambushed by Captain Soto, Pixal suddenly and unexpectedly unlocks her True Potential, revealing that she is the new Master of Forward Time. This causes a series of events that lead to question Destiny itself, and whether or not the Masters of Time should be allowed to have so much control over it.

STATUS: OUTLINED 1/?

 -

Echo’s Collection of Dads: The Trilogy

A spinoff saga based off Mutatis Mutandis that started out as a dumb offhanded joke I made about Ronin being the one to find Echo to it now becoming my sole duty for it to be a running gag that Echo keeps acquiring dad after dad.

Guess I’m a Dad Now

Multichapter; Found Family/Comedy/Adventure/Angst(?)

Ronin&Echo friendship focus; Extremely minor pre-Scruffshipping

Rated T for Heavy Swearing and Violence

Post Season 12/Mid-Season 13

Caught in a storm, Ronin takes refuge in an abandoned lighthouse.

STATUS: COMPLETE 7/7 (ALTERNATE ENDING IN PROGRESS)

 -

Shuriken

Multichapter; Comedy/Romance

Mixed Focus; Ronin&Echo, Dareth&Echo, Ronin&Skylor, Echo&Skylor, Dareth&Skylor, Dareth&OC friendships; Eventual Scruffshipping

Rated T for Heavy Swearing, Violence, Alcohol Use, and possible light Sexual Themes

Post Season 13/Pre-Island

Sequel to Guess I’m a Dad Now. For Dareth, it started out just paying back what he owed, but the guy just kept coming back. Finding yet another reason for him to be in debt one way or another. He doesn’t know what he did, but he’s starting to suspect this guy doesn’t like him… He couldn’t be more wrong.

STATUS: OUTLINED 8/10

 -

Okino Has Joined the Party!

Multichapter; Comedy/Romance

Okino focus; Okino&Echo friendship; Established Scruffshipping, eventual Dareth/Ronin/Okino

Rated ???

Post Season 13/Island doesn’t FUCKING happen LOL

Sequel to Shuriken. It’s been a year since he entered the real world, but Okino is still struggling to adjust. Learning that your tragic backstory was merely “written in” to “make your character more sympathetic” can really mess with a guy. He takes to visiting a bar.

STATUS: SWIMMING IN MY HEAD

 ---

Non-AU Works

All my other stuff that doesn’t relate to Mutatis Mudantis

We Nearly Drowned

Multichapter; Drama/Angst/Romance

Ronin&Nya friendship focus; Established Jaya, Eventual Scruffshipping

Rated M for Heavy Swearing, Violence, Alcohol Usage, and?????

Post Island/Pre-Season 14

Ronin is in prison for his crimes against the Island Keepers. He gains a regular visitor, and occasional others, but they’re all never the one he truly wants to see.

(I was literally drunk when I wrote this and I wanna do something with it so it’s sticking around lol)

STATUS: ?????? 1/?

 -

BODY

Multichapter; Adventure/Comedy/Horror(?)

Rated T for Heavy Swearing, Violence and Death

Ronin Focus; No Ships

Shadow of Ronin Novelization

Just when it was finally his again, he loses a piece of it, and now owes the rest to some dead con artist. Things are looking up, though, he's found a way to pay what's owed and save his skin. All that stands in his way are a bunch of teenagers. This'll be easy.

STATUS: OUTLINED 1/?

-

The Caretaker

Multichapter; Angst

Dr. Julien Focus

Rated ?

A series of oneshots starting with Dr. Julien’s revival, showing his ever-spiraling health, until his death before season 3.

STATUS: RESEARCHING (I wanna handle this subject as sensitively as possible)

 -

Miss Me?

Multichapter; Fluff/Romance

Glaciershipping

Rated G; Some Violence

It was a completely innocuous quip, but the genuine response to it ended up hitting him harder than he could ever imagine.

STATUS: FULLY OUTLINED AND IN PROGRESS 5/10

 -

Some Kinda Bootleg Batman

Multichapter; Action/Crimefighting/Comedy/Romance

Dareth&Pixal friendship focus; Eventual Scruffshipping and Samuraishipping

Rated M for Heavy Swearing, Violence, Alcohol Usage, and possible Sexual Themes

Post Season 7/Pre-Season 8

With the Ninja all busy searching for their Sensei, Ninjago City is now vulnerable. It’s up to The Brown Ninja, and his trusty sidekick Samurai X to keep the people safe.

STATUS: OUTLINING

 -

Press B to Till the Soil

Oneshot; Fluff/Comedy

Wu&Jay friendship focus

Rated G

Post Season 10/Pre-Season 11

Wu finds Jay up at an ungodly hour playing video games. Wu doesn’t get why he can’t just do this stuff in real life.

STATUS: OUTLINED 1/1

 -

Untitled (For Now)

Oneshot; Romance

Nya/Pixal/Zane

Rated G

It scared her at first. Even now, she gets questions about her love life; recieves "fanmail" criticizing her on her refusal to choose between Jay and Cole. If word about this gets out, she'll become the ninja known to have dated almost everyone in the team, the backlash will be insane.

It's nobody's business, she decides.

STATUS: SWIMMING IN MY HEAD

-

Copper and Tellurium

Oneshot; Comedy/Romance

Samuraishipping, Past Jaya

Rated G

Mid-Season 3, then Post Season 10

Nya is bad at flirting. Like, really bad.

STATUS: COMPLETE 1/1

 -

Kiss of the Arachnid Kind

Oneshot; Romance/Fluff

Samuraishipping

Rated G

Post Season 12/Pre-Season 13

Pixal has a request that she’s a little embarrassed to ask for. Nya thinks her girlfriend is adorable. These girls are SMOOCHING!

STATUS: COMPLETE 1/1

 -

You Can Learn Just About Anything From wikiHow

Oneshot; Comedy

Pre-Scruffshipping

Rated T for Ronin’s potty mouth

Mid-Season 7, Specifically during the episode “Scavengers”

Dareth helps Ronin with his broken leg, and they talk about stuff

(This fic is basically canon to all of my Ronin and Dareth related works)

STATUS: COMPLETE 1/1

-

This Canonically Happened

Oneshot; Romance/Humor

Scruffshipping

Rated G

Ronin tries ye olde distraction maneuver to make Dareth forget he just spent a ridiculous amount of cash to bail him out. It only works a little this time.

STATUS: COMPLETE 1/1

-

"When did I get on top of Dareth?"

Oneshot; Humor

Scruffshipping

Rated T for Swearing, Alcohol and Sexual Innuendo

The ninja throw a party after defeating the Oni. Dareth is feeling a bit overstimulated, and decides to take a break somewhere quiet. Only to find Ronin up to his usual antics.

STATUS: COMPLETE 1/1

[forasecondtherewedwon]

If You’re a Robot and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

Fandom: Loki Characters: Sylvie, Ravonna, B-15, Mobius Rating: G Word Count: 1774

Summary: Sylvie faces off against Ravonna while Mobius hangs out in post-prune purgatory with... himself?

“You’re more stoic than he was,” Ravonna noted, nodding at the empty air between them where Loki had lately stood.

Why the taunting, Sylvie wondered. Who was there left for Ravonna to impress? Her subordinates were all dead or unconscious, Loki was gone, the animatronic lizards who were not in fact ruling rigidly over time sat slumped in their seats. There was only Sylvie. Even when she had been a child, thin arm in the grip of a stone-faced woman in black armour like the shell of a beetle, Sylvie had not felt so alone with Ravonna as she did in this moment. It made her very angry. She would much rather have been alone with herself.

“How do you know how stoic Loki looked?” Sylvie spat. “You pruned him in the back!”

Ravonna tilted her head, glowing baton still raised.

“I don’t mean in the face of his own erasure from existence, I mean watching someone he cared about disappear.”

Sylvie’s expression had been hard—more than once, to get by, she’d imagined herself protected by that beetle armour from her childhood, closing her vulnerable parts away behind a scowl—but it slackened slightly in confusion.

“Agent Mobius,” Ravonna explained impatiently. There was a twitch of her eyelid that Sylvie caught and homed in on.

“They were friends,” she said slowly. Then, she stared hard into the Judge’s eyes. “You were friends. You and Mobius. You killed him?”

“I didn’t! I—”

“You had someone else do it?” Sylvie narrowed her eyes scornfully.

With an irritated groan, Ravonna lunged for her, but Sylvie hopped backwards over the head of the fake Time Keeper. She looked down and Ravonna followed her gaze, distracted from her attack by the sight of rubbery faux-flesh and protruding, crackling wires.

“And this?” Sylvie asked quietly, trying not to spook the woman with the weapon. “Did you have a hand in this deception? I never sensed it in you.”

Ravonna scoffed and looked away from the head on the floor.

“You were a child.”

“I was a Loki,” Sylvie snapped back.

Saying that name—the name she’d rejected but never forgotten, the name that had also been his—jolted her into action once more. She wedged the toe of her boot beneath the Time Keeper’s decapitated head and flipped it up, striking Ravonna in the stomach. The Judge folded forward and defensively swept the baton in a wide arc. Sylvie stepped out of the weapon’s path, not anticipating the way Ravonna swung her arm quickly back to hit her with the non-pruning end of the rod; she hadn’t been a Hunter in who knew how long, but she clearly hadn’t lost her skill with the tools of the trade.

The blunt end thudded into Sylvie’s ribs.

She was knocked back, but when Ravonna advanced, Sylvie’s hand shot up to grab the baton, hauling the Judge forward. Unbalanced, Ravonna was no challenge to send sprawling at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Time Keepers’ dais. She landed awkwardly. Sylvie breathed hard as she wrenched the baton completely free of Ravonna’s hold and went to retrieve her sword as well.

As she then moved to assess B-15, who was rising shakily to her knees, Sylvie never put her back to Ravonna. Pruned in the back. What a Loki death.

“You alright?” she asked B-15 softly.

The Hunter grunted and allowed Sylvie to support her into standing.

“Better if I knew where to go from here.”

“Let me worry about that,” Sylvie said.

Ravonna struggled to her own feet and Sylvie held the baton at arm’s length between them, keeping the Judge at a distance while B-15 opened the door behind them.

“Ah ah ah,” Sylvie warned archly, chin and eyebrows raised in impish caution. “You stay here and play with your robots.”

“This is temporary,” Ravonna said as Sylvie edged back through the open door.

Sylvie performed her signature cocked head and smirk.

“Isn’t everything?”

The second they were out of the Time Keepers’ chamber, B-15 slammed the doors and leaned into them, as if Ravonna would imminently begin trying to break them down from the inside. Which Sylvie supposed she might. She really almost admired Ravonna—or would have if the Judge hadn’t ruined her entire life.

She stared at the door handles, then at each of the weapons she held in her hands. Sword or baton, sword or baton? With a deep breath, Sylvie jammed the blade of her sword through the handles to bar the door, electing to keep the baton close. Though it was a less familiar weapon, she was nothing if not highly adaptable. Besides, touching the glowing end of the rod to a person was certainly more efficient than dispatching them with a blade. She wasn’t sure how many TVA workers they would encounter before they were out of here. This place and this time. Keeping the baton was the right choice.

She stole a last glance at the sword. Another little piece of herself left behind.

At the sound of reinforcements headed towards them, she and B-15 hurried away from the chamber.

“She used to be a Hunter,” B-15 said, shaking her head as they strode down the corridor, “like me.”

“I suppose she might have been like you at some point,” Sylvie said. She was interpreting the words a little differently. “I wonder when she stopped.”

“Do you?”

“Not really. I can trust you but not her.” Sylvie shrugged as she walked. “That’s about all I need to know.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I have to.”

“Same for me. Though I can’t say my faith in allies hasn’t been shaken recently,” B-15 said sarcastically. “The Time Keepers aren’t real, Ravonna’s been helping to cover up the truth, and I wasn’t even created here! I probably had to go through that degrading process of having my clothes zapped off!”

“Probably. I didn’t think you’d want to see that as a prioritized memory,” Sylvie said, half-apologetic. While they’d stood in the torrential rain outside Roxxcart, she’d allowed a highlight reel of memories to flash through the Hunter’s mind.

“You know, I always found it kind of strange that one of the few tests we run in this department is to judge whether or not someone is secretly a robot. I guess whoever designed the Time Keepers got paranoid.”

“Whoever that person is, paranoia is the least of their worries.”

“True,” B-15 agreed as she produced a TemPad. “Now, they’re going to have to deal with us.”

“If they’re still out there somewhere and not dead like Loki and Mobius,” Sylvie said bitterly. She flipped the TemPad open and programmed their destination.

“Maybe they aren’t dead. We’ve been misled about everything else. Maybe everyone who’s ever been pruned just ends up someplace… else.”

“It’s no place I’ve ever been.”

“Yet,” B-15 said.

The Time Door appeared before them. Pounding footsteps raced against Sylvie’s accelerating heartbeat as she prepared to step through and leave this place behind. They had to go now, her and her one ally. She couldn’t get above one ally these days. It was better than none.

“Yet,” Sylvie agreed.

—

Meanwhile in Jet Ski Land…

“That’s why I always felt such an affinity for that Earth actor,” Mobius said. “I am Owen Wilson. Or was.”

He dug his bare toes deeper into the slightly rocky beach and watched the slow wash of trash along the shore. It was almost nice here, but not quite. Not a place to stay. Everything inside him had already been screaming that. A lifelong (in this life, anyway) bureaucrat, he’d never felt such restlessness.

“Am… was… what does it matter?” the man next to him asked rhetorically.

He was also Mobius. No, Mobius was him. No, that wasn’t right, they were both Owen Wilson. Variants of him. But this man had shaggy blond hair where Mobius had been grey for as long as he could remember. Also, he appeared to be the only Owen Wilson in sight who had a mustache and he was a little proud of that. Probably stupidly, but it was helping him hold on to his sense of identity in the presence of so many hims.

They were on the beach around him, sitting in the dunes behind him, swimming in the water in front of him. One of the Owens was freaking parasailing through the air up above while another Owen drove the boat that towed him.

“How long have you guys been here?” Mobius asked in awe.

“You know, it’s hard to say,” Owen said, folding his arms thoughtfully. “It’s tough to figure out exactly how time flows here. A little like what you were describing, with your experience at the TVA.”

“Have you gotten to know everybody?”

“Oh yeah, they’re good guys. And all of us Owens are naturally social.”

“What about that one?” Mobius asked, pointing. He could hear the raw admiration in his own voice as the geriatric Owen he’d indicated revved his jet ski, bouncing over the low swells of the turquoise water.

“One of our actors. He was in the middle of filming a movie in Indonesia before he ended up here. Played an international, jet ski-riding spy in sort of a buddy comedy. Eighty-three years old and still a star.”

“What? That sounds incredible! What the heck happened?”

“Well,” Owen told him with a grimace, “the tsunami of 2051.”

“Right,” Mobius said, recalling the list of 21st-century apocalyptic events he and Loki had so recently sifted through together.

“He wasn’t supposed to survive the wave. The film crew had tethered him to the jet ski for safety while they were shooting and, as far as Owen can guess, that should’ve been enough to kill him. That’s what the TVA was counting on. They had to bring him in when he didn’t drown.”

“What a story though! That old Owen is one tough nut!”

“I know!” Owen gushed proudly.

Mobius shook his head in amazement, scanning the water. His gaze landed on something he couldn’t immediately understand.

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“That’s jet-ski Owen.”

“I thought the old guy was jet-ski Owen.”

“Nah, that one’s Owen on a jet ski. This one’s Owen as a jet ski.”

The riderless craft surged across the water until the speed had its front end lifting high off the surface. With a glorious final burst, it escaped the water entirely, executing a barrel roll in midair before touching down once more.

Mobius felt the praise leave his own lips and heard it echoed up and down the beach by all other versions of Owen Wilson in attendance: “Wow.”

[nadezhda-wexler]

A Moment In Time, Again and Again

Hello @xoxobuckybarnes, It is I, your Summer Fic Exchange writer for @b99fandomevents.  Thank you for all your amazing prompts, but I ended up choosing “The Squad after ten years”. I really hope you enjoy it.

Also a few points:

 1) The whole story is non-linear. It’s like a series of snapshots. It’s related, but chronologically the don’t really make sense

2) It is smut adjacent? Implied smut? Idk, It’s just a few lines because honestly, it’s my first time writing anything like that

3) There might be some spelling errors and grammatical error, sorry if they put a damper on your experience

4) Thank you @b99fandomevents for giving this chance

5) MOST IMPORTANTLY: I hope you enjoy it.

There were many reasons Amy thought that might bring the squad together- well, mainly one- Scully dying (the man was already decaying when she was in the precinct), but this was not it. In fact, this was the opposite of it.

  She reads the sign again, still wondering if she dreamt it up. But nope. Norm Scully and Cindy Shatz were indeed getting married. 

  Amy walks into her old turf: Shaw’s Bar. She feels like she stepped into another universe, everything is different, but somehow, the same. It’s the place she came to right after her wedding. The stools are different and the bar more worn, but the place still feels warm like her wedding night. The back door leads right to the alley where she once tried to conceive (that was a low point) and judging by the fact the Hitchcock is standing right outside the bathroom with Scully nowhere in sight, she guesses even the bathroom smells (stinks) the same. 

  Her eyes sweep over the room, she can see Rosa and Gina huddles together and she already feels bad for their victim, Holt and Kevin are talking to Terry- it never stops amusing her seeing the very passionate Captain Jeffords squared against impassive Retd Captain Holt and Kevin. Charles is haranguing the caterers, when she hears a voice from behind: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

They had just gotten into the airport- Jake is bringing all their luggage while she is trying to get her children to calm down. While Maya knows everyone in the squad, Mac has lived with them more. So Mac has decided to fill in the blanks. His stories are wild and absolutely untrue and Maya is hanging onto each word. She was looking to see where her husband was when Maya suddenly tugged her hand and asked in wonder “Did Daddy really catch a thief by sending Mac in undercover?” “No. Your daddy never sent Mac undercover because he isn’t a cop and he is a baby”. “Well, I am not a baby and dad did do that, he just didn’t tell you”

 “What didn’t I tell your mom?”Jake joins them, luggage in tow. “That you sent me undercover to catch that thief” “Mac”, Jake says with fake indignation. “You weren’t supposed to tell that. It was our secret”  Mac’s eyes has that same mischievous glint she has seen a million times on her husband’s face as he says he told her to maya and launches into his story. They’re loading their luggage into the cart when Jake’s phone buzzes. “That’s Charles and he has already called me 5 times and messaged me a lot. I stopped counting after 10”, Jake says. “Kids, your Uncle Charles is waiting. You know how he gets when you are late!”, he adds.

  Mac, without any prompt, holds his sister's hands, so as to not lose her, still continuing with the  stories of his feats, she’s sure, without missing a beat. Her heart swells as she watches her kids, Mac being a protective older brother and Maya holding onto his hands and words. Her husband’s hand slips into hers as he asks “You ready to go?” She couldn’t be happier.

"Captain Santiago"

"Captain Holt! Hi!" Apparently even his retirement hasn't made Santiago less flustered. He won't deny there is a part of him that enjoys the reverence. "How was your first year running a precinct, Captain?" He enjoys calling her Captain almost as much as she enjoys hearing it. 

"Great! Super cool. Fantastic. Dope. No diggity no doubt" He briefly wonders if she had a stroke. 

"Okay, you saw right through me. It's not been easy. Manhattan is completely different from Brooklyn. The squad is also new, they all just transferred about a month or two before me. So they don't even know each other so everyone is walking on tiptoes. And they follow everything I say, but don't really see me as a leader."

"Well, the first precinct I ran, I had a detective who only cared about closing cases, everyone in the squad thought I was a robot, my two best detectives had a bet with each other, my Sargent was chained to the desk and the office administrator was Gina and I had Hitchcock and Scully"

"You are right. I shouldn't complain. I don't have a Hitchcock and Scully"

"No. But that was not what I was trying to say. Once I got closer to all of them, I realised that the detective who did not care, cares not just care about closing cases, the bet made both detectives better, my Sargent saved my life, Gina is still Gina and that being a robot doesn't make me a worse Captain. What you need to do Santiago, is trust your squad. You have a unique opportunity to build this team. But you cannot do that without unflinching trust. So trust them. Help them and let them help you. And if you ever feel the need, please do not hesitate to contact me. I might have retired from the force, but not from being your mentor"

"Wow! Thank you so much Captain. That means the world to me." Some people might call Amy Santiago a teacher's pet in an attempt to mock her, but the truth is she is a teacher's pet because she is a brilliant student. She revels in learning and enjoys implementing her knowledge even more. She is a teacher's pet not just because she is adept at brown nosing- which she admittedly does sometimes, but because she will be the student that teachers can one day be proud of. He might tell her this if it did not make her explode and also because Amy Santiago understands him, so he just smiles.

  They had barely reached the terminal before Charles pounced on Jake. Amy and the kids barely had the time to move away from being hit. Genevieve and Amy unload the luggage while the kids catch up. It takes the men one whole minute before they let go. 

  "Genevieve, thank you so much for taking the kids", Amy says.

  "Of course Nikolaj loves hanging out with Mac and Maya. It's my pleasure to watch them."

  "Still, thank you! And Jake-"

  "NO!", Charles almost pushes her down trying to get between Jake and her. "You get him every other day Amy, you cannot poach him away today."

  "Charles, I am not trying to poach him away. I just wanted to tell him to enjoy the night and have fun. Also you visited not three weeks ago and you guys FaceTime constantly."

  "FaceTiming is not the same Amy! It has been 28 days, 14 hours aaand three minutes since I have been covered in Jake's musk"

  “Ugh! Alright", Jake says. "Charles, why don't you take these two bags and load them into the cab while Amy and I bring the rest?"

  "Okay.", Charles says almost defeatedly. "Don't be late."

  Jake turns to her. "So what are your plans again?"

  "I will go to the hotel, have a long bath after which Rosa and Gina will come pick me up for the bachelorette party after which both will crash with me because according to Gina quote if I am going to stand next to you as a bridesmaid, you need to at least be six and you need help with that unquote"

  "I still can't believe Cindy asked you and Gina to be one of the bridesmaids"

  "Well, we did help them get together."

  "Yeah. And as this goes on, I will be with Charles hoping whatever he made is edible and missing you terribly"

  "Stop being a sap Peralta. And have fun tonight"

  "It’s Peralta- Santiago, FYI. And I will 100% have fun, but I'm still gonna miss you. I gotta go before Charles comes back. I love you"

  "I love you too."

   It was a tiring night and Amy just wants to take her makeup off and she really wants to be out of this dress for more than one reason. As much as she loves her kids- and that is a lot- she is glad that they wanted to stay at Holt's place. The kids love their Fauxpas (they are her kids, of course they know what faux pas means and more importantly, when Mac very proudly said it, both Kevin and Holt agreed that "it is a humorous wordplay"). Mac can never get enough of Holt's stories and Maya loves the Classics. She can recite Odyssey from memory. And both of them get away with things that only they (and maybe her husband) can- some stains of orange juice, mud in the house, a few broken glasses- all.of these are forgiven because it's their fauxchildren's doing (it doesn't work as well, but Holt was proud and Maya laughed and so it stuck). And after two days of wedding prep, she really needs a day without being worried about someone breaking something or constantly screaming. And even more than that with the way her husband has been looking at her all night, she really, really needs to be the one screaming. 

   She is halfway through taking off her makeup when Jake, sans jacket, (but with tie and damn, her husband looks fine) walks in. He puts his hand on her waist. "Babe, do you know how hot you look?"

  "Oh is it the running mascara that does it for you?"

  He pulls her in closer and from his look she knows that the screaming she was hoping is definitely happening. He says in a low voice  into her ear, "No. It's you." It's like each word he says vibrates inside her. "You having been driving me crazy all day. You in that blue dress. You knowing exactly how amazing your butt looks in that dress. You taking control when everything was falling apart. It's you Ames who does it for me."

  She turns around and pulls him by the tie and kisses him hard and he's lifting her up onto the counter, kissing every bit of her as he lowers his head between her legs. She thanks the stars that this is her life partner.

  (And later she'll counting the same as Jake twists his wrist in the way that he knows will bring over the edge.)

  Every time Jake sees his wife, he falls in love with her a little more. Which he wouldn't have believed possible sixteen years ago. She hasn't spotted him, so he takes her in for a minute. Every time he steps into Shaw's Bar, he remembers walking in as a newly wed couple. Sure afterwards the evening did take a turn, but until then it was perfect. Except before that when there was a bomb threat and an actual bomb and Teddy proposing like a thousand times. Wow, his wedding day was a mess. But still it was one of the happiest days of his life because even through all that, he was hitched to the most beautiful woman in the world. Who is now watching everyone waiting for him. 

  So he walks up to her, drinks in hand and says, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

  "Ooh , Casablanca", she takes a glass. "Yes. Charles and I watched it yesterday. We didn't even know what was going on half the time because Charles was crying and making noises half the time."

  "Oh, just Charles?" "Okay fine I was crying a little too. Okay a lot. Fine I was the one who was crying the most. Happy?"

  "Oh babe. It's cute that you think you should say that to me as if you didn't watch it for the first time with me"

 "Oh yeah. Well, I tried. Oh before you ask, the kids are all at the Jeffords' house and Cagney and Lacey are keeping an eye on them. And the best part: without a babysitter's fee."

  "Wow, I really missed friends' kids doing things for us for free. Remember when we babysat Cagney and Lacey for like three days straight, without even thinking of money?"

  "And if we were to go by the amount our babysitters charge, we'd have enough money to buy Orangina for a whole month." 

  They move to the counter, perched on the barstools. "You know Captain Holt just called me Captain"

  "He's been calling you a Captain for a year babe, you know, cause you've been a Captain for a year!" 

  "I know! Can you believe?!" 

  "Of course, because you are awesome and amazing"

  "Oh, and he also said that he's still my mentor and that I can call him for advice any time."

   "Wow, obviously today was a big day for you"  

  "I know" Her whole face is lit up. Her cheeks are flushed, from the drinks and the running around making things happen, from the many catching up and from the fact that her mentor called her Captain. Once again he's a little bit more in love. His eyes catch Cindy and Scully awkwardly shuffling around trying to dance. Hitchcock is trying to hide the fact that he's disappointed, but doing a pretty bad job of it. He sees Charles and Genevieve almost having sex which apparently is how they dance. The music changes to something familiar and his wife looks amazing and he wants to dance with her very much. "Amy Santiago- Peralta, may I have this dance? And don't worry, it's reinforced shoes so I won't even know if you step on me." "Ha ha Peralta- Santiago. You are my teacher, so if I'm stepping on your toes, it's your own fault"

  "Wow, blaming the victim." 

  They are on the dance floor, her hand in his, hand on his shoulder, his on her waist. He can see every little detail on her face, the mascara running a bit, lipstick that's smudged. Her perfectly set hair, falling around the edges. She's beautiful. 

    "I wonder why all the greatest love stories are so tragic"

  "Because that's what makes them great. The fact that their love is so powerful that it's unattainable."

  "Well I think that it's stupid."

  "What?"

  "That the greatest love of our life is the one we don't have. It's categorically untrue. My favourite love story has a happy ending anyway"

  "You mean Morticia and Gomez?"

  "That's my second favourite"

  "Well, what's your first?"

  "Ours, of course" She smiles and that's all he ever wants to see.

  Her hand is in his, the other moves to his chest. His are around her waist circling, as he pulls her closer and she rests her cheek on shoulder. He buries his nose in her hair and she nuzzles into his neck. If he'd imagined a perfect life sixteen years ago, not even in his wildest dreams he'd have thought he could feel like this. 

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

You know what I want?

Domestic Stucky. In Westview. Hear me out.

(First of all, Endg*me can go fuck itself. Steve’s whole thing? Never happened. Forget about it. Wipe if from your mind. We’re rewriting that shit.)

(Also, this isn’t a fic even though I know it starts out looking like one lol. This is just stream of consciousness thoughts. I would put way more effort into actual writing)

The weeks after the final snap were hard. 

Bucky was back, and it felt like every weight that had been dragging Steve down for the past 5 years was lifted. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but his soulmate, his best friend, was at his side again, pulling him into a warm hug, tight and breathtaking. 

It was still hard; Steve was a very different man than he had been 5 years ago, but Bucky was calm and understanding. There was still much to mourn for, too. Tony and Nat were gone. Any sense of stability that had been established during those 5 years was immediately destroyed, and Steve was sure it would take many more years to try to fix the damage.

And Wanda. When Wanda was snapped back into existence, her grief was palpable. What had been 5 terrible years for him had been 5 minutes of bliss for her, relief that she wouldn’t have to try to live in a world without Vision. Steve knew the feeling. Even though he didn’t quite understand Wanda and Vision’s relationship (he was a robot?), he can’t really judge because he’s been pining after his childhood best friend for the better part of a century and still hasn’t managed to do anything about it.

To be brought back to life was the worst trick you could play on Wanda. Her sense of peace was snatched away from her and she was throttled back into a world that had nothing in it for her. Everyone she loved was dead. Her powers still deemed her a threat, even if she had played a crucial role in the fight against Thanos.

Steve wanted to be selfish and just run away with Bucky, but he couldn’t leave Wanda, who had become the little sister he never had.

He worried about her. Even as those who had been snapped away started to come to terms with the fact that 5 years had passed, Wanda wandered around, just a shell of her former self. Sometimes she fell into fits of rage and despair, using her powers to smash everything in her room at the compound or snapping at anyone who tried to distract her. Most of the time she was just blank.

Just a month after the return from the blip, Wanda strolls into the kitchen and announces that she’s going to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. Steve’s head snaps up. Her eyes are hard and determined, and Steve belatedly realizes that every muscle in her body is tense as she readies herself to fight anyone who tries to stop her. Sam is the first to speak up.

“Okay, kid,” he breathes out nonchalantly, “you need anyone to go with you?” Sam is good like that. Always knowing what to say to make someone feel comfortable and cared about, but not coddled.

“No,” Wanda grits out. A breath, and then, softer, “thank you.”

Glancing around to see if anyone else had any objections, Wanda walks out of the compound.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding, but the room is still tense. He whips around to Bucky, eyes wide with concern.

Before he can even say anything, Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Come on, we’ll watch out for her.”

So, with a tight smile, Steve stands up and lets Bucky lead the two of them out.

It’s not until they are halfway down the street in an inconspicuous car, trailing a little ways behind Wanda’s red sedan that it occurs to Steve to ask what they’re doing.

“We’re just going to follow her to make sure she’s alright, pal. S.W.O.R.D. has Vision’s body, and it’s not a good idea for her to be alone, even if she thinks it’s best.”

“She’ll be mad if she realizes what we’re doing.”

“Good thing one of us is a reformed Russian spy,” he smirks.

Steve’s heart skips a beat at that familiar face, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again, and blushes, ducking his head. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say. They carry on in a comfortable silence.

As they pull into the S.W.O.R.D. parking lot, Steve watches Wanda march into the headquarters. He turns to Bucky, "Are we going to follow her in?"

"You can't, that's for sure." Steve scowls. "It's not entirely your fault, pal, but you're don't exactly blend in easily. But I'll go in to keep an eye on her if you want me to."

Steve considers the offer for the moment. As much as he wanted to watch out for Wanda, he knew that if she found out, it would hurt her more. She would think that he didn't trust her, and that he was following her to make sure that she didn't lose control of her powers and hurt people. He didn't want to make her feel more ostracized than she already was.

"No, we'll just wait," he says, shaking his head. His eyes never leave the entrance to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. 

The wait for Wanda feels excruciatingly long. Steve doesn't trust that S.W.O.R.D. is any better than S.H.I.E.L.D., and he honestly has no idea what they've been doing with Vision's body for the last 5 years. A renewed sense of guilt washes over him.  If he had tried to fight S.W.O.R.D. harder for Vision's body, Wanda wouldn't be here, fighting through her grief to see him one last time. After the snap, Steve didn't feel like he could waste his dwindling energy scrutinizing S.W.O.R.D's every move, but he now wishes he had. He could have spared her this pain. 

Sensing the anxiety bubbling up within him, Bucky reaches out, pulling Steve's hand into his own. "It's not your fault, Steve," he reminds him gently. Steve squeezes his hand in response.

Wanda walks out of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters 20 minutes later. She seems drained and tired, but her expression reveals nothing. They wait again before following her out of the lot.

When she turns right, away from the direction of the compound where he assumed she would return, Steve frowns. "Where is she going? The compound's the other way."

Bucky shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

Steve has no idea where they are until he sees a sign declaring "Welcome to New Jersey!" not far down the highway.

"What the hell is she going to Jersey for?" Bucky gasps, pulling a loud laugh from Steve's chest. It's absurd and ridiculous, but it reminds Steve of when they were kids in Brooklyn, shitting on the Yankees and the state's annoying accent, among the plethora of other abhorrent traits about New Jersey. Bucky starts laughing with him, shaking his head. 

They finally arrive in a small, run-down town called Westview. Steve can't imagine why Wanda would come here.

Her red sedan comes to a stop in front of an empty plot of land, and she steps out, clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest.

"Oh, Christ... Shit," Bucky mutters. Steve is about to ask what he's thinking when he finally sees Wanda's walls crumble. 

Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she falls to her knees with a cry of desperation. A red orb of her twists around her body and Steve shoves the door to the car open, desperate to get to Wanda. 

"Steve!" he hears Bucky cry out behind him, and it's the last thing he hears before Wanda's powers implode around her, and his vision is blotted with red.

Remember! Wanda made all of her characters in the hex as similar to their actual lives as possible to ease her control of them! SO, it's only natural that her powers would pick up on the fact that Steve and Bucky are very obviously pining for each other and put them in a loving relationship while they are in the hex. Since they are both under Wanda's control, their storyline would happen mostly independently from what we see in WandaVision. I wouldn't have there be any smut (since I'm not talented enough or comfortable writing it myself) so there wouldn't be any non-con or any serious dub-con while they are in the hex. The idea is that both of them want everything that they are made to do (be partners, hold hands, kiss, do other couple-y stuff), but they are concerned because they think the other would feel disgusted and not want it.

There unfortunately were not any gay characters on TV in the 50s and 60s, so I would write these two "episodes" with loose ties to other sitcoms from those decades and do some research into how gay couples lived during these time periods. Basically, reimagine my own 50s and 60s sitcoms with realistic portrayals of a gay couple.

For the other decades, I would then base their relationship off of those actually depicted in sitcoms from that time. 

It should be noted that, while I have actually watch a lot of old sitcoms, I haven't watched many of the ones I mention. If I every decide to write this, I would do a lot more research on these shows (and watch some episodes!)

70's - I would likely draw from Barney Miller, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, and Soap.

80's - Roseanne is pretty iconic, but I would be a little hesitant to write it after all of the controversy a couple years ago. Love, Sidney may also work, but I don't know enough about the show.

90's - Will & Grace, of course! I don't know anything about Northern Exposure, but the little bit of research I've done suggests that also may be a source of inspiration.

2000 through early 2010s - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Modern Family. (I loved The War At Home, but it doesn't really fit)

When Wanda releases everyone from the hex, Bucky and Steve had some serious miscommunication issues and angst. Both feeling exceedingly guilty about their actions, despite the fact that they had no control over them. They got a taste for what domestic life would be like together, and they are frustrated that they enjoyed it since they believe the other one did not. When Wanda explains that her powers gave everyone jobs, relationships and roles in society that were equally comparable to those they had in real life, Bucky and Steve both realize that the hex would not have put them in a relationship if it wasn't what the other also wanted. Yay! They make-up (and make-out, lol).

I seriously want to write this, but I really don't have the confidence that I will be able to execute it as I imagine it. If someone wants to work on it with me (be it we both write it or you just want to offer some brainstorming help/story guidance), I would be thrilled! Just so long as there isn't any pressure to get it done in a time crunch. I just want this writing experience to be fun! Also, if you are interested, I swear I’m a better writer than what was just exhibited, but I really only spent an hour or so on it, so it’s obviously not my best work.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, suggestions, advice etc or just want to scream about WandaVision and/or Stucky, please feel free to PM me or stop by my inbox. It would make my day :) 

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Parting Gift

Summary: Virgil navigates an empty world he didn't see before and he can't see now. Thankfully the modified roomba his parents left him helps in the absence of people.Just a silly little fic I thought of because we recently got a robot vacuum.

Warnings: apocalypse scenario, food mention, insinuated death (not described or shown), mild swearing. If there’s more please let me know!

Ships: background Lociet (background Logan x Janus)

WC: 2405

General Taglist (ask to be added or removed) @im-an-anxious-wreck @logans-library

The tap-tap-tapping of Virgil’s cane as he moved along the road matched perfectly with the beat playing out of the one working earbud in his ear. Whatever town or residential area he had stumbled into was quiet and barren though seemingly not nearly as destroyed as the last one he had been in. Changing direction slightly as he has started to stray into wet grass he continued along what he assumed was a sidewalk, carefully feeling for the edge to make sure he was centered before continuing to sweep the cane in front of him to avoid whatever rubble or trash or non working car might have ended up on the side of the cracked road. 

Virgil didn’t know what the world had looked like before and he could only imagine what it looked like now. Everything had happened so fast he doubted he’d be able to recognize it anyway. He had never been able to see and it had never bothered him as much as it did now; with no way to know if someone was on the road other than the sound of footsteps he hadn’t heard in months and nothing to keep him company except his music and- well he supposed he couldn’t complain. Tripping slightly over a stray rock he hadn’t felt brought him back from his thoughts and into the real world once again, shivering as he realized just how cold it was getting and how truly tired he was from walking all day.

Continuing on only a couple more feet revealed a pathway leading off to what he hoped was a house or a store. As bad as he sometimes felt about it, there was no one around anymore- at least as far as he had managed to travel thus far- no one would miss a couple cans of ravioli and a few bottles of water if he could manage to scrounge them up. The walkway seemed pretty thin leading away from the main road so he assumed he was in a residential area with houses rather than near anything like a general store or pharmacy; he really hoped he came across one soon he was running low on band-aids. He could only do  so much with a cane and though he wished his palms and knees were tougher by now that he wouldn’t have to bandage them every time he fell sadly his callus just wasn’t thick enough.

Long grass brushed his ankles under his too short jeans, wispy blades rustling quietly as he passed. He took his headphone out as he walked after turning on the beat up ipod and pressing where he knew the pause button was from years of the same motion. Crickets began their evening concert as the birds finished their own, the air growing cooler as Virgil imagined the sun finally dipping below the horizon. He shifted the weight of his book bag more to one shoulder as he slipped it off the other hoping to reach an entryway of some sort soon since his feet were protesting the day of doing nothing but picking a direction and walking. Hitting a step he nudged the cane up until he could judge how high it was- sometimes they were high enough to trip him and other times they were so low they were more of an annoyance than anything else- and carefully made his way up all three of them. There were plastic feeling columns on either side of the top step so he assumed he was on the front porch of a house, some careful prodding revealing one of those rubber welcome mats he was constantly getting the soles of his shoes stuck on since when he was tired he refused to pick his feet up properly. He faintly heard his dad telling him to straighten his back and walk like he was alive but he shook it off with an eye roll. Posture didn’t matter if there was no one around to see it.

Fumbling around a minute for the door handle he stopped as his cheeks reddened, reaching up to knock first. Just because he hadn’t run into anyone yet didn’t mean it couldn’t happen and he  really didn't want to break into someone’s home if they were still there and startle them. He didn’t fancy getting shot after so long of surviving o his own and to have that compromised because he was a heathen who didn’t knock anymore would be an idiotic way to go for sure. KNocking, however, proved fruitless. Nothing answered but the crickets though as he knuckle raps turned to rather loud pounds on the door they began to quiet. A part of him still wished sometimes that someone would answer, it had been so long since he’d heard another voice. He knew realistically that if he was still here there would have to be other survivors and that if he kept walking he was bound to run into them. 

After years of doing nothing but that had yet to turn anything up though, and it seemed that this time would be no different. His hand fell to the knob once again as he took a breath and held it before twisting and pushing open the door. Hesitantly sniffing the air revealed nothing but old, unaired house smell and dust that had been kicked up from the bottom of the door brushing the carpet in the entryway. He sneezed loudly, the sound echoing sadly as if the house had missed the concept of sound, and wiped his nose on his sleeve before sighing in relief. Sometimes he entered a house or store and there would be...different smells. Ones that would make him gag and bolt from the building so the hot, cloying scent wouldn’t stick to his cloths. Those days were declared laundry days anyway, sullenly dunking his clothes in the rivers he always stuck close to trying to rid himself of the memory with the fresh smell of laundry detergent and sunlight. The day after that was spent moving as far away as he could as quickly as he could to get away from the dark scent that hung on the streets. It was safer to scrounge out granola bars from the bottom of his bag on those days than to risk looking for anything more substantial in the buildings he might be able to get into.

As it was Virgil stepped in the house and carefully closed the door behind him, swinging his bookbag around and cringing at the sound of the zipper echoing faintly in the doorway. Grabbing a smaller, padded drawstring bag out he opened it and carefully set the Roomba down, giving it a little pet before turning it on. It beeped out a pleasant little tune before the whirring sound of it starting up and moving away filled the house and he smiled, leaving his bag by the door and getting up to explore the house with Stuart.

Stuart the vacuum, as dumb as it was, was Virgil’s only source of company and had been since he was about four. The world was already crumbling at that point and rather than risking going out and about to find Virgil a seeing eye pet that wouldn’t last his whole lifetime if he lived long, his dads had modified their small vacuum for him in the hopes that it would last. And it had. Rather than having to plug into a power source it was solar charged, which the front of the bag it was kept in and his backpack was clear plastic to allow it to charge during the day, storing hours of energy to be able to work when Virgil needed it. Instead of vacuuming it simply went about bumping into things and storing a digital map of any small area, letting Virgil then walk beside it and stop when it beeped, nudging him in a different direction so he didn't bump into or trip on anything. This of course was before he was proficient with feeling his whereabouts with his cane adn at this point it was like letting a trusted pet out for its nightly walk rather than out of any necessity but Virgil loved it as if it was a dog. His most loyal companion...who he kept in his bag all day. He snorted as he felt out what was feeling to be the kitchen; he’d take anything over the oppressive silence of an empty house.

His mouth tightened as he felt around in cabinets for cans- all smooth labels of course, nothing to differentiate the corn from the beets from the manwich spread. He hated the fact that dinners were so often a surprise just because no one had thought to universalize a system to put a bit of braille on cans. Even some raised lettering underneath the label spelling out one word descriptors would be fine, instead he could only go by smell and taste and hope to god nothing he put in his mouth had expired. He missed grilled cheese and fried chicken and french fries- all things he didn’t have the means or resources to make. He never learned to hunt or slaughter anything and he doubted he’d be able to learn when he didn’t even know how to tell what parts of an animal to eat, let alone see what he was doing to cut it out and cook it. He was lucky he taught himself how to start a fire some years ago- he couldn’t imagine actually catching a fish and knowing when it was cooked enough to eat without just burning it to a crisp. Sighing as he opened a can with his old can opened he tentatively sniffed at the contents. 

Baked beans were good. He’d rather have them hot but he had no motivation to go out and start a fire right now and there was no way in hell he was going to try inside- so cold bean jelly it was. He’d had worse. He grabbed his cane from where he had leaned it against the counter and began walking back into what he assumed would be the living room as Stuart beeped to notify him he was done. Smiling as he felt a small nudge he changed direction to navigate around what felt like a dusty leather couch and settled on the floor in front of it to eat his dinner. Stuart came to rest beside him while he dug a spoon out of the smaller bag he always carried and he smirked slightly, feeling around to place a single baked bean on top of the vacuum as a reward for a job well done. 

He tucked in as he thought of what his dads would say about him doing that; both of them would more than likely find it endearing but relentlessly tease him about it for the rest of his life. He imagined his father’s face wrinkling up in an amused smile, scars tugging around crows feet and wispy hair tickling his fingertips. Dad’s smile was a lot smaller but no less sincere, mostly held in his eyes that had his lower eyelid just barely lifting. He missed feeling their faces- they’d let him do it whenever he’d ask to make sure he knew what emotion they were displaying. Both of them were awkward when it came to voicing their feelings and Virgil was always terrible at picking up social cues from simply listening, so being able to read a face as easily as a book often helped put them all at ease.Idly he brushed the top of Stuart’s “head”, feeling nothing but cool, hard plastic beneath his fingers. 

He cleaned up as best as he could, throwing the top of the can away in a trash bin after wiping it off and setting the actual can on the back porch with another full one for whatever might come by. His cane was carefully tucked just underneath the couch as he unrolled his sleeping bag and small pillow to get comfy for the night, placing his little vacuum by his head before snuggling down into bed and sighing quietly. Reaching out he felt for the button on the side of the roomba, a little rough and worn from years of the same routine of day. Biting his lip he pressed it in before snatching his hand away and tucking himself in completely, squeezing his eyes shut like he’d been sleeping all along.

“Is he asleep?” His father’s silky voice cut through the silence.

“I should hope so, it’s dark out and he needs his rest.” Dad was always very matter of fact, Virgil could imagine his arms crossing as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“...Do you want to start or should I?”

Virgil’s dad sighed. “I hope that you got to sleep at a reasonable hour this time, and that you had a good dinner that was as balanced as you could make it. That- that you’re somewhere safe-”

HIs father stepped in smoothly. “We hope that you’re taking care of yourself as best as you can, and taking care of Stuart as well. Hopefully there are people around that can help you when you need it and you aren’t afraid to ask for it- but if there aren’t I know you’re capable enough on your own.”

“We wish you only happiness, no matter how bad things are or get, always remember that it has the capability to get better as long as you are willing to work for it. I know whatever you’re working on or towards you’re doing the absolute best you can do, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

“We love you, Virgil. So, so much and don’t you ever forget that. take care of yourself and please stay safe.”

“Goodnight, Virgil.” He could still remember Dad brushing his fingers through his hair before the weight had disappeared from the bed.

“Goodnight, Virgil. Sweet dreams.” He felt a phantom kiss on the cheek from memory long since passed, the blankets pulled up and tucked around him. The door creaked shut and the recording ended, Stuart beeping softly to indicate he was shutting down. Safely tucked into his sleeping bag with a full stomach in the silence, Virgil let his eyes drift shut, a smile still on his lips as he fell into a peaceful sleep.

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[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #239: Late Night of the Super-Stars!

January, 1984

1984! Can’t wait to make a bunch of Orwell jokes that are poorly thought out and land poorly!

But I guess it’ll have to wait since we’re on Late Night with David Letterman in this issue.

This sure is an interesting turn of events. Although the team we see on the cover doesn’t seem to be the actually active roster. They’re over in the corner box turned away - either from shame or because they’re off doing their own thing.

Because its Assistant Editors’ Month!

A fun-sounding non-event. Although, looking it up, very few books that were considered part of the event actually did anything with it beyond a slightly goofy issue box on the cover.

So we’re going to see some Avengers go on a talk show today.

Superheroes as celebrities! What a novel idea.

Anyway, I learned an interesting detail about the cover that would have totally missed me. The checkerboard strip at the top was a hallmark of DC comics around this time. And the round MC logo in the top right is an obvious spoof of the DC logo from this time.

It’s not much more than a goof for this book but the Captain America book released for Assistant Editors’ Month also had the checkerboard and logo and was a style parody of DC comics.

Last times: Vision went into a robo-coma from walking into an invisible dome created by Annihilus and only recently recovered the ability to talk. New Avenger Starfox hooked Vision up to ISAAC the Titan computer and overclocked Vision’s robot brain so now he can project himself as a hologram and has an even faster computer brain. At the end of Avengers #238, the Avengers got a call from Tigra about some nonsense going on in San Francisco involving Spider-Woman.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye got a whole miniseries all to himself where he met Mockingbird, lost his job at Cross Technological, his girlfriend revealed that she was paid to date him and also hated him, he teamed up with Mockingbird to uncover an evil scheme by Crossfire to kill all superheroes, Hawkeye lost his hearing by putting an ultrasonic arrowhead in his mouth but foiled the scheme plot, and married Mockingbird. He’s had a very busy week or so!

This time: Hawkeye comes back to the Avengers Mansion to show off his cool new wife.

Hawkeye: “Hey, everybody -- your wanderin’ boy Hawkeye has come home... And you’ll never guess what I’ve gone and done!”

I can just imagine Mockingbird replying “Me” with the biggest shit-eating grin. She feels the sort to do that.

When Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrive there’s no one to greet them except the floating disembodied hologram head of the Wizard of Vizh.

Hawkeye has also made the decision, for some reason, to not wear the hearing aid that Mockingbird got him so he can’t hear what Vision is saying when he compliments his new costume.

Mockingbird introduces herself for Hawkeye and Vision tells the two to join him in the medical labs so they can catch up.

When they arrive, Vision raises his volume so Hawkeye can hear and recaps everything that’s happened to lead up to him becoming a robot in a tube who can hologram around.

Vision: “[Starfox] set up a direct link between ISAAC, the world-computer of Titan, to better diagnose my condition. But, instead, my brain became overloaded with ISAAC’s energy-information matrix --!”

Hawkeye: “And you became several with the universe, right?”

Vision: “‘Several with the’ --? Oh -- hah-ha! Very witty!”

Overclocking his brain seems to have done wonders for Vision’s sense of humor.

He even finds Hawkeye funny now.

Vision also explains where the dickens everyone else is (because Hawkeye asks him where the dickens they are. Its so weird for Hawkeye to say dickens).

Jarvis was given the day off to visit his mother, Captain America and Thor are both busy with nonsense in their own books, and the rest of the Avengers are off to San Francisco because of that call from Tigra.

Hawkeye offers to fly out and give them a hand, which Vision declines since they’ll call if they need help.

Instead he asks Hawkeye how he met Mockingbird and Hawkeye recaps the miniseries in only five panels.

He’s better at this than I am...

Hawkeye: “Anyway, Mockingbird and I had made a pretty good team -- so when it was all over, we ran off and got married!”

Mockingbird: “What can I say? The big lug needed somebody to keep him out of trouble!”

That’s the task of a lifetime, Bobbi. But good for you two! Cute couple is what I say.

Vision: “Marvelous! I hope you two will be as happy together as Wanda and I have been!"

Vision and Scarlet Witch probably are the healthiest superhero marriage of this time.

Vision asks if Hawkeye and Mockingbird intend to stay in the mansion, which they do. But it’s cool because Mockingbird has security clearance from working with SHIELD so they won’t need to bother Mr. Sikorsky and agitate his hatred of living in the superhero genre.

After Hawkeye takes Mockingbird off on a tour of the mansion, Vision receives a call from his brain brother, Wonder Man.

Who, very reluctantly, is coming to the Avengers with hat in hand. So to speak.

Wonder Man: “Okay. Here’s the situation -- my acting career hasn’t been going anywhere lately! So my agent, without my approval -- used the fact that I’m a reserve Avenger to get me a booking on David Letterman’s show, and now, they want me to bring other Avengers along with me! My agent really put me in a tight spot on this one. I hate to impose, but -- !”

Vision: “It’s no imposition at all, Simon! I’ll personally call the network and confirm the Avengers’ appearance!”

Wonder Man: “You’re sure it’s no trouble?”

Vision: “None whatsoever! After all, we have many Avengers -- !”

You sure do! Not as many as you’ll have by the No Surrender days. But still.

Also, I love this can-do attitude from you, Vision!

This is a pretty low priority in terms of fighting crime and whatnot but Vision is like THIS IS EXTREMELY DOABLE, I AM THE INTERNET.

Although imagine how sad it is from Wonder Man’s perspective. His agent put him on the spot pulling sorta-rank to get Simon some media attention but the media is like ‘ok but do you have something better?’

This man is trying to improve his career and the David Letterman show looked at him and said ‘ok but what else have you got?’

Oof!

Anyway, Vision uses the superpower of being wired into the phone system to call up some extra Avengers who aren’t very busy right now.

He calls Black Panther, Beast, and Black Widow.

Their varied responses are pretty funny.

But Black Panther’s is probably the best. He interrupts a meeting with his advisers to take the call and then he’s like ‘yeah sure I can drop everything I’m doing to appear on David Letterman!’

T’Challa really would rather be doing anything but kinging.

Beast initially protests that he’s too busy with the Defenders to just jump on some Avengers business but...

Beast: “The Letterman show? Hey, why didn’t you say so?”

And Black Widow is unbusy sunbathing at the Waldorf Towers while between missions. She doesn’t really want to make a television appearance (it’s kinda counterproductive for a spy, I would guess) but Vision mentions something that has Natasha agree to be there.

Based on what happens later, I guess Vision mentions that Hawkeye will be there.

A couple hours later, ELSEWHERE, well if it isn’t our ol’ friend and punchline Fabian Stankowicz!

Remember this goofus? He attacked the Avengers right when everyone was feeling bad about Hank Pym? Iron Man easily beat him up while the rest of the Avengers breezed on by. Or when he attacked Wasp’s cool superheroine brunch? Which was a hilariously terrible idea because he got between She-Hulk and breakfast foods. Also, nobody took him very seriously there either.

I guess the Avengers didn’t bother to press charges either time because he’s not in jail. He’s at his home working on some machines while his dad criticizes how he spends his time.

Dads, amirite?

Granted, what he’s criticizing is Fabian’s tendency to pick fights with superheroes. And... granted. Not a great use of his time.

But apparently Fabian can afford all the robot suits he keeps attacking the Avengers with because he won the lottery.

So he has a pretty good position to shoot down his dad’s protests, really.

Dad Stankowicz: “Fabian, I’m glad your poor mother didn’t live to see what’s become of you... It would’ve broken her heart!”

Fabian Stankowicz: “Aw, gimme a break, old man!”

Dad Stankowicz: “‘Old man’? This is the way you talk to your father?”

Fabian Stankowicz: “What do you want, egg in your beer? Was it you who won the state lottery and got us out of the Bronx? No, it was me! I won the money, and I’ll say how it’s spent! And I’m gonna use it to make a name for myself! Me... Fabian Stankowicz!”

And when Fabian sees an ad saying that the Avengers will be on Late Night with David Letterman, he has an idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

Also, who the heck puts egg in beer?

I’ve looked it up and I get that it’s a saying but apparently the saying is based on people actually doing that! Why??

The next afternoon, at 30 Rockefeller Plaza, where the show 30 Rock and this issue of Avengers both happen, this issue of Avengers is happening.

A CBS page shows Black Widow to the green room where the other Avengers are already waiting.

Also: I know that it’s all the Avengers who weren’t busy (even though T’Challa really should have been?) but this is a fun roster.

Hawkeye, Wonder Man, Beast, Black Widow and Panther?

Heck, I could imagine this being the Marvel equivalent of the Justice League International team, one more geared for some light-hearted comedy?

Except we’re in 1984 so this predates that.

But you have Beast and Wonder Man, your comedy duo best buds. You have Black Panther and Widow being varying levels of straight man to the nonsense. And you have Hawkeye who can be very serious or very ridiculous depending on how hot-headed he’s being at the time.

This team could be hilarious!

(Avengers International. Think about it, Marvel.)

Outside the green room, our ol’ buddy ol’ punching bag, Fabian Stankowicz is in disguise as a repairman with a mustache as cover for installing some devices in the studio. Then he puts on a beard to disguise himself as Perfectly Normal Bearded Audience Member.

I appreciate his intiative although I doubt any of the present Avengers are gonna recognize this guy on sight even if he wore a t-shirt that said “I’m Fabian Stankowicz.”

Fabian Stankowicz: Boy, this is gonna be so sweet, especially after the way the Avengers made me look like a chump those last two times! This time, it’s gonna be different! This time, I’m going to have a ringside seat for the defeat of the Avengers!

Or at least the Avengers that were available to show up on the Tonight Show with David Letterman.

Y’know, I like Fabian Stankowicz. He’s just smart enough to be dangerous and dumb enough to be entertaining. I think there’s a place for an ineffectual doofus with delusions of grandeur in the foe Rolodex of any superhero team.

Meanwhile, back with said Whoever Was Availables, Black Widow and Mockingbird are meeting for the first time.

And luckily, they’re both mature adults who don’t act like you’d usually see in media when the missus meets the ex.

So with a fight to the death NOT happening in the green room, Hawkeye gets to asking Mockingbird about the errand he sent her on which was why she wasn’t in the room when Black Widow first showed up.

Presumably using every bit of skill in espionage at her disposal, Mockingbird got a copy of the questions Letterman will be asking during the show.

Because Hawkeye will be fielding the questions and he has made the decision not to wear his hearing aid. And has also made the follow-up decision that not only will he not be hearing anything tonight, he’s also definitely going to be fielding all the questions.

Mockingbird: “Why won’t you wear a hearing aid?”

Hawkeye: “No can do, sweetheart! The fewer people who know I’m half-deaf, the safer it’ll be for all of us!”

(I don’t really get this reasoning but okay, man)

Mockingbird: “Then why not let someone else be spokesman? This is supposed to be Wonder Man’s big night!”

Hawkeye: “Sure... but I’m the only active Avenger here! Give me a kiss for luck!”

Not for nothing does Mockingbird think that he can be impossible sometimes. And she’s only known him a couple weeks! She’s already come to the correct read on him in that short a time.

David Letterman starts the show with an opening monologue.

David Letterman: “Tonight... What can I say? Tonight is something really special! In fact, it’s probably the most special show we’ve had since our 'camping with Barry White’ program! Yes... hard to believe, isn’t it? But with all due respect to Mr. White -- I think that this show may be our greatest ever. But, as they say, ‘that’s for history to decide!’”

Imagine being a talk show host and getting to introduce the Avengers. Pretty neat.

I like that bandleader Paul Shaffer is wearing a Captain America jersey. Although that makes me wonder once again what merchandising is like for Marvel superheroes. 

Clearly it exists but did Cap sign off on a jersey mimicking his costume? Does he see any money from that? Or at least did he get to say that all profit goes to such and such charity?

Letterman introduces the Avengers for the audience.

(Fun how you can get a sense of their personality just by how they’re sitting. It’s the little touches that make a comic fun.)

Hm, I wonder how well the marvel public follows superhero roster changes.

I know that sometimes new Avengers rosters have gotten attention with press conferences and everything. And sometimes they just swap in and out members as personal business comes up.

Some of the people in the audience may not even recognize Black Widow as an Avenger. Becaaaaause, wait I don’t think she ever was one. She’s assisted on some missions and they were ready to vote her in when she vanished to go do a SHIELD mission.

Okay, better example, does anyone remember that Wonder Man- oh wait, he very publicly burst out of a crate in front of Avengers Mansion during press furor over a roster change. Also, he’s a pre-successful actor.

Black Pan- no, no. He was framed for killing the Avengers his very first day on the team. There was a manhunt.

And of course, everyone knows Beast was on the Avengers. He got around. Romantically.

David Letterman mentions that this group isn’t even all the Avengers because some couldn’t make it (read: were busy with more important things).

Which leads to a funny cut to audience where Beard Fabian is annoyed that this group is who got caught in his revenge scheme.

Fabian Stankowicz: Blast it, where’s Captain America? Where’s that &#%$ She-Hulk?

You better wash your brain out with soap before She-Hulk finds out you thought  that about her. She’s dunked people into the garbage for lesser offenses.

Beast decides that this Late Night interview is the best time to reveal that he’s quitting as a reservist Avenger to focus on his version of the Defenders.

Letterman: “Wow, that was some bombshell the Beast just dropped, Hawkeye! You’re group spokesman... What do you think of that?”

Hawkeye: First question -- ! “Well, David, the Avengers is a non-profit organization, fully sanctioned as a peace-keeping force by just about ever international organization you could think of!”

Letterman: “Eh-heh-heh! You don’t say!”

Oh god, Beast’s bombshell messed up the order of questions and Hawkeye is firmly sticking to script because he can’t hear.

My god, Hawkeye.

Letterman: “You know, I was just about to ask you something along those lines. You wouldn’t be psychic by any chance -- ?”

Hawkeye: “No, of the founding members, only the Wasp and Thor remain as active Avengers.”

Letterman: “You little dickens! You’ve been peeking at my question sheet, haven’t you? All right, I might as well as my next question which is... ‘I hear you were recently married! Is that true?’”

Hawkeye: “Yes, Dave... just a few weeks ago!”

Letterman: “How about that!”

Did Hawkeye just think they were going to blaze through the questions? Even if Beast hadn’t preempted the first question, did Hawkeye think that there would be no follow-up questions? No discussion?

I’ve been on the fence on whether the jokes about Hawkeye not hearing the questions are poking fun at deaf people or at Hawkeye and yeah, Hawkeye is definitely the butt of this joke.

Fabian Stankowicz loses patience for this very dry question and answer session and decides to start his attack nnnnow.

One of the studio cameras is secretly A GIANT LASER. Because. And it blasts the stage.

Mockingbird is watching this on a tiny screen in the Green Room and goes out to help only to run afoul of some kind of mechanized steamrolling dumpster.

Back in the studio, Wonder Man has found his new nemesis.

Move over, Grim Reaper. You’re one-dimensional and everyone especially me hates you. Hello, laser blasting camera.

Wonder Man: “Let me at that thing, Beast! It’s ruining my guest-shot!”

Beast: “You’ll have to wait your turn, Wondy! It just shredded my favorite shirt!”

Priorities!

You know, this was supposed to be about Wonder Man and he only got to say two words during the interview portion.

Dangit, Hawkeye.

Apppppparently, the audience is just assuming that this is all part of the show. A cliche, sure. But it makes sense.

Would you really have the Avengers on a talk show and just have them talk? That’s a waste of perfectly good superheroes.

Also.... apparently? David Letterman used to run things over with a steamroller a lot? So a steamroller looking contraption crashing through the wall to attack the Avengers does seem like something that might happen?

Also, Paul Shaffer decides to just roll with it so as not to panic the audience.

The show must go on, after all.

The steamroller also starts firing missiles at Beast, as ya do.

Beast: “Hunter missiles? I don’t believe this is happening on network tv!”

Wonder Man tries punching the steamroller to no avail but which does give Black Panther a chance to pull out the tried and true “Wonder Man’s fists carry as much bludgeoning power as Thor’s hammer!”

Y’know, originally, that was a flex that set Wonder Man as a threat to the team but after he joined, that never really seemed to actually be the case.

Imagine if Wonder Man always hit as hard as Thor’s hammer? Like, he’s minding his own business and then the Gorr the God Butcher arc happens and Wonder Man is like ‘huh, why do I suddenly feel like my punches could destroy planets light years away? That’s a very specific feeling!’

Fabian Stankowicz takes advantage of the spectacle chaos to walk out of the audience, plunk himself down into one of the interview chairs, remove his entirely convincing beard, and introduce himself to David Letterman as the guy who is definitely to blame for all the action setpieces going on.

Letterman, like Paul Shaffer, just decides to roll with it. Humor the guy. Ask him why he’s doing this.

Fabian Stankowicz: “Why? To prove it could be done! To show what one incredibly gifted individual can accomplish...”

Letterman: “... To get your name in the papers?”

Fabian Stankowicz: “That too! After all, the Avengers have battled Zodiac... the Masters of Evil... Doctor Doom! I want to make as big a name for myself as those guys!”

Letterman: “Seems to me that ‘Stankowicz’ is already a pretty big name!”

Badum pish?

He asks Fabian to explain all of his devices and Fabian is happy too.

I mean, he’s being a supervillain for the notoriety and supervillains already love to hear themselves talk so he’s double dipping into the ‘I will exposit everything at the drop of a hat’ well.

And imagine, Fabian built all this stuff in his garage with lottery winnings.

The steamroller thing isn’t just a steamroller, it’s also got a gravity generator. Which, I guess, makes sense if you’re expecting to go against a She-Hulk or a Thor. A regular steamroller isn’t going to do more than annoy.

Wonder Man fighting so hard against the roller makes it increase gravity so much that Simon and steamroller just fall through the floor.

Hm. I wonder what’s filmed in the studios the floor down. They’re about to have an exciting guest star in that steamroller.

Black Widow (still tangling with the laser camera) points Hawkeye towards Fabian. Although she has to shout and Hawkeye still doesn’t really get it but is happy to shoot an arrow at someone that Black Widow is vigorously gesturing at.

Alas, Fabian is one of those prepared villains we’ve been hearing so much about.

He built a force field too, and the arrow just bounces right off.

(Hey, uh, Hawkeye? What kind of arrow was that? Because it looks technological and you just shot it at this guy’s head)

Truly, can nothing stop this insidious yet not very menacing criminal genius?

Oh, I guess David Letterman can.

Knocks him out with a big knob.

It’s just plain big.

Prop comedy, amirite?

The audience seems to love it anyway. I looked up a clip of the big doorknob and it didn’t meet with this much applause. Maybe its because it was used to do violence this time?

Was the giant door knob a beloved part of Late Show lore?

David Letterman: “I guess that’ll teach you not to mess with David Letterman!”

That’s a line with weird energy to it.

Anyway, it would be a sad day for this random assemblage of backup Avengers if they were upstaged completely by David Letterman and his big knob.

Black Widow and Hawkeye finally manage to blow up the laser camera.

I’m not sure why it took them this long. Sure, the camera could apparently move, based on motion lines in previous panels. But the world’s best marksman couldn’t nail it sooner?

But the important thing is that eventually, they did do it.

The floor starts rumbling as well as Wonder Man flies back up with his belt-jets with the trashed roller and a shit-eating grin.

Wonder Man: “Sorry this took so long -- But I guess I’m a little rusty at tackling big hunks of tin like this!”

Fabian Stankowicz: Rusty? It took me a month to design that, and he totaled it in less than five minutes!

But since everyone’s focus is on Wonder Man (for once), Fabian tries to sneak away.

And runs smack dab into Mockingbird who has a lot of justified anger over almost getting run over by the roller earlier. But she just throws him over to some police that have finally shown up.

Letterman tells the audience not to try any of this at home, just in case any of them have gravity-generator osmium steel steamrollers lying around? And cuts to commercial, presumably so that some basic tidying can happen.

Hours after the filming of the show concludes, the Avengers TV Squad have returned to the mansion, with Vision wishing he could have taken part of this assistant editors month special issue.

Vision: “What became of Stankowicz?”

Black Panther: “Well, with all the charges NBC is leveling against him, the only machinery he’ll be dealing with for some time will be in the New York State Prison library!”

So, he attacked Avengers Mansion. He attacked Wasp’s superheroine brunch at the Van Dyne residence. That’s all well and good. He attacks the Avengers again in the NBC studio and the man is going to jail forever.

I guess the Avengers really haven’t been bothering to press charges on Fabian. But a massive media corporation isn’t so kind.

Since Hawkeye is technically the active Avenger (even though Vision’s hologram head is RIGHT there) he has to follow up on the thing Beast said about quitting the Avengers reservists.

Beast says its not right for him to be an Avengers reservist if he’s also trying to turn “the Defenders into a for-real group!”

Uh, Defenders fans? Wasn’t the appeal of the Defenders them being the not-team team? How did people feel about Beast going ‘ok but what if they were more like other teams instead?’

Meanwhile, Wonder Man is pacing, waiting for the Late Show to come on so he can see how he did when WOMP WOMP the show is interrupted by a special news bulletin.

Wonder Man is aghast that his big break isn’t even airing but when the special news bulletin is about a burning chemical barge, his hero instincts that he has suddenly swell up.

Wonder Man: “This... This is awful! What’re we standing around for? Let’s do something! We’re Avengers, aren’t we?”

Black Panther: “That we are, Simon! Let’s go!”

Beast also decides, hey, one more time won’t hurt and accepts his Avengers ID card back from Hawkeye.

And as they’re headed off to the Quinjet, Beast has a hopeful note for Wonder Man.

Beast: “Hey, Wondy -- remember, there’s a three-hour time difference between the coasts! If we can get this mess cleaned up in time, maybe some folks in California will still see you get your big break!”

Wonder Man: “And if we don’t -- ?”

Beast: “Well, that’s show biz!”

Pretty enjoyable issue! Like, sure, its a good for Assistant Editor’s Month. But if you’re going to do a goof, then you can do worse than bringing back Fabian Stankowicz for a third time’s not the charm.

Speaking of charm, having the Avengers appear on a talk show is a charming concept. Not a whole lot was done with it except the joke about Hawkeye answering the wrong questions but its still a fun idea.

And having the Avengers off busy lets us brush off some Also Avengers that haven’t been in play for a bit. That’s a fun idea that I wouldn’t mind seeing some more.

Have the reservists called in because of a situation happening when the Avengers are already busy.

Heck, I’d like to see a situation where the silliest and least regarded Avengers are the only ones available to respond to an emergency. Have them bounce off each other as a group. Maybe they’re mutually aware of their bad reputations.

Anyway, I expected this issue would be ridiculous but it was also enjoyable. Didn’t mind it at all. And (though by a different writer) the Hawkeye miniseries was very enjoyable too.

This is just feeling like a good era for the Avengers team.

Next time, apparently The Ghost of Jessica Drew. So she’s some kind of ghost spider? Nobody tell Carol Danvers.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because I typed this post partially while a cat was lying on my wrist. That’s dedication. Which you can’t spell without cat. Also, like and reblog if you think its likeable and rebloggable.

[thedramaclubs]

Zazz

Summery: shits going down after prom and if you’ve seen the musical/movie be prepared for a gay panic from Patton

Warning: does get a little heated with one of the ships, and of course homophobia in the beginning

Ships: Logicality, Prinxiety, demus/dukeceit

When singing

Janus-orange (tumblr doesn’t have yellow)

Patton-blue

Both- purple

A few days after prom and things are going crazy. On Monday after school the news went to James Madison high to interview the school and Mrs Greene about what happened. Mrs Greene was now being interviewed.

“I’ve been told to say something. The courts said that Patton would not be safe if we allows him to attend prom with the other students because the uncomfortable truth is there are some people in our community that are offended by his life choices. We thought this arrangement was the only course of action.”

Suddenly news reports ask so many questions

“Mrs Greene are you homophobic?” “Are you saying sexuality is a life choice?” Then she exclaimed “ This is uncomfortable for me! To be infront of a camera like this. To read horrible things about my town. And I am just a mother. I am not any kind of a spokes person and I love all the students at James Madison high as much as my own son.” She walks up to Logan who was watching his mom being interviewed. “We are in this situation because of a group of people, privilege people from New York!”

She sighed

“They are the villains. You should be writing about them not us.”

Back at Patton’s house he and Janus we’re watching the interview on his computer. Patton had been in his room for days hiding from it all. He wore his cat onesie that Logan got for him on their 1 year anniversary of being together. He wore it because he wanted to feel like Logan was giving him a hug and he wanted to feel like Logan was their with him.

“Ugh that women totally doesn’t make my skin crawl!”

“I can’t wrap my head around all this. This is a nightmare. I’ve never been so alone in my life.” Patton started to cry a little. Janus pulled him into a hug.

“Your not alone you have friends.”

“Yeah, well where are they?” At that moment, Remus, Thomas, Joan, and Roman came in.

“Hey, we brought Haagen dazs.”

“It’s fancy ice cream.” Thomas Said as he had the bag

“I know what Hagen dazs is hand it over.” Patton grabbed the bag out of Thomas’s hands and Remus sat on the bed next to Pat.

“Are you Okay?”

“I’m amazing, the whole world is talking, making it sound like I’m the one responsible for it but no one is talking the hate there’s just so much hate. There’s so much hate.........I’m gonna need more of this shit.” Patton got the ice cream open and started eating his cookies and cream. Remus then started talking.

“Listen I know you said you don’t want our help anymore but we can’t let them get away with this. That pta women who the hell does she think she is?! I want her to get run over by a bus!!!”

“She’s a monster that’s what!”

Remus inhaled to calm down “Joan what can we do?”

“I don’t know. She’s spun this whole thing herself to make her look like the victim she’s good if she didn’t shop at dress barn she could work in P.R.”

Roman was just standing in the corner but felt like he should say something and so he did.

“I know everybody’s angry but we have to face the facts. We made matters worse. So the best thing we can do is disinfect our things and go home.”

Everyone said at the same time “NO WE ARE NOT LEAVING!!”

“We are always not leaving!! Please I want to leave this horrible place”

“No we are staying here we gotta turn this thing around. We gotta take back the press!”

“But how darling?” Said Janus as he was still on the bed.

“Patton you gotta be the face of this story you gotta go on tv and show the real asshole is!”

“And that will give him a prom?”

“This isn’t about prom anymore. This is about right and wrong you know what you have to do this right.

“I don’t know what I know.” Patton continue eating the ice cream.

“We need a national audience....what about Jimmy Fallon?”

“I can’t just pop Jimmy Fallon out of my ass!!” Exclaimed Joan. “If we want an audience we gotta go big and to to go big we have to use that one call to Eddie Sharp!” Everyone was in agreement except for Roman “No I am not calling that basterd!!”

“Just ask for a favor!”

“If I ask him for something he will want something in return and what he will want is the hamptons house. He trying to get it for years. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DISNEY AND BROADWAY CRUISES I HAD TO PAY FOR THAT HOUSE!!!!! I would rather pluck my eyes out and put them in a vacuum and call that even!”

“If that will work just pluck your eyes out then!! *sigh* Joan just get the boy on tv. I don’t care if it’s a cut on family guy just do your magic.”

“Aye aye.” Joan left to try and get Patton on TV

“This is great.” Patton then decide to say something

“No not great. I’m sorry but their is no way I’m getting in front of a camera and telling my story. I cannot do that just no. Just accept it we lost deal with it.” Patton went to a corner and stood with his arms cross. Then Thomas came up with and idea.

“Ya know there might be a better way to rid of this community by extension of nation of this cancer of intolerance!” Everyone was dead silent

Eventually Remus asked “Why are you still here? I thought you had a tour?”

“Indianapolis was canceled and so was everywhere else. But I’m thinking feature forth and seek out the younger people and rap in a non musical sense. And soon understanding could lead to, dare I say it......love.” Thomas left and now there was Roman, Remus, Janus and Patton.

Patton turned around to see their faces and Remus broke the silence again “Listen kitty cat, I know this is hard but if you don’t do something, they will.”

At that moment Janus got an idea. “Don’t worry he’s got stage fright. I’ll talk to the kid.” Roman had already walked out leaving Remus and Janus outside the door.

“Are you sure about this Jannie?” Janus put his hand on Remus’s check and kissed him.

“Of course darling.” Said Janus very seductively. Remus couldn’t help himself he had been touch starved so and picked up Janus and pinned him against the wall.

“Damn why are you so hot?!” Remus passionately kiss the smaller man as Janus put his hands on Remus’s face pulling him in closer. Sadly, it came to an end because their was a another short man waiting for Remus.

“REMUS CMON!!” Remus put his husband down and gave him one last kiss “See you tonight Jan.” Remus left leaving him and Patton alone.

“You two really love each other huh?”

“Yeah I love him so much. He may be an idiot sometimes but, he’s my idiot.” Patton laughed a little then got back on track.

“Now before you lecture me or....kick me to death with those crazy Anatlope legs.....or whatever it is your gonna do, I know I should do something. I just can’t.” Janus walked back to the bed.

“Look kid, not everyone gets a chance to step out of the chorus. You gotta do this for all the those people who used to be gypsies.”

“I’m too scared.” He hid in the cat hoodie and Janus got an idea.

“Let me tell you a story. 1975 and the original company of “Chicago” was in previews. Suddenly the worst outbreak in history hit the cast and their down to the third cover for Roxie Heart and he’s scared just like you.” Patton took the hood off of his head to listen to the rest of the story.

“So, fosse was a real ball buster puttin him through a pain an he’s petrified. Even worse he’s performing the routine like a robot. So the boss pulls him aside and says “hey kid, snap out of it. You got the steps, you got the notes, but where’s the Zazz baby.”And although he had never heard that word before he knew exactly what it meant and he crushed that performance. The audience screaming bloody murdur.”

“And that boy was you?” Janus gave him a blank stare

“Yes it was me how fucking old fo you think I am!? It was 1975. But the point is every fosse boy knows that story. All about finding your inner strength.”

When a challenge lies ahead and you are filled with dread and worry

Give it some zazz

If your courage dissapers what’ll get you fears to scurry

Give it some zazz

Zazz is style plus confidence, it may seem corny or kitsch

But when scared or on the fence you’ll find that zazz will soon make fear become your bitch

And if folks say you can’t win what’ll will stop them in a hurry

Janus layed on the bed and kicked his leg up high that gave Patton a gay panic

Give it some zazz

There’s no contest for a boy who has some razzmatazz

So call their bluff

And strut your stuff

Like no chick in this hick town has

Instead of giving up

Give it some zazz

“I just don’t think I can do it. The thought of getting in front of all those people look at my hands their shaking”

“If your hands are shaking....”

Just turn’m into jazz hands

“Doesn’t that feel better?”

“No”

“Try this. Close your eyes.” Patton stood up and closed his eyes

“Zazz doesn’t just come out, it comes from within. Now think about Mrs Greene.” Patton put his hand across his face.

“Think about that fake prom!” He took his other hand and did jazz hands.

“Now think of finally doing something about it!” Patton started doing moves and it filled him and Janus with joy.

“Oh I’m seeing it! I’m seeing your Zazz! Now follow me!”

Do like the brave and bossy do

And if they tear you apart

Ask what would Bob Fosse do?

He’d make the people have a step ball change of heart

Ball change!!!

And if folks say you can’t win what’ll stop them in a hurry

Give it some zazz!!

There’s no contest for a boys who has some razzmatazz

So call their bluff BAM!

And strut my stuff BAM!

Like no chick in this hick town has

Instead of giving up

Give it some zazz

Now that you’ve found your zazz it’s time to show it to the world. You think you know how?

YEAH!!

People to tag @artissi-jam @patt-off @frogsandcookies @icantthinkofacreativeurl @actingonimpulse @purplestarrystars

I’m back!!!!

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 8

Title of Chapter: An Eye For An Eye

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings/Tags: Death, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Grief, Non-gratuitous descriptions of gore, references to kidnapping

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary:  A year has passed since Isabel was kidnapped and rescued by Javier. Despite establishing her new life thousands of miles away from Columbia, her past follows her.

Notes: This is a rough one, but I promise things will get warm, fuzzy, and sexy in the not too distant future. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read my story. Love you. x

Find this chapter on ao3

                               ONE YEAR LATER

The sand squishes between my toes as I take my daily run along Cannon Beach. It's cold today. I wonder what the weather is like in Columbia right now. Warm as always, I'm sure. I pass the huge coastal rock jutting out from the water, my signal that I'm nearly back to my condo.

I throw the door open once I get there. Despite the cold I'm drenched in sweat. I reach my desk and read Javier's letter for the millionth time. He asks me about my life here, and how it's treating me. He tells me Columbia misses me, and that he does too. My heart warms. Before I jump in the shower, I decide to quickly write him a response. At the bottom, I include an inside joke from a conversation that seems decades ago now.

'P.S. - Don't go punching any strangers while I'm gone. Love, Isabel.'

I miss Javier. Miss him so much it hurts. Our brief time together forged a bond between us I can't comprehend. I've spent many nights thinking of the kiss we shared. How his hands roamed over my body. It still gives me chills.

Even though he's not here, the memories continue to help me heal from the pain of my past.

It's been nearly a year since I boarded the plane from Columbia. Javier had been right. Moving back here was the best thing for me. I've felt more myself than I have in a long time.

My best friend, Melody, has been great. She's put her social life on hold to be there for me in any way she can. We've spent countless nights making hit or miss dinners and watching tooth rotting rom coms. She also referred me to a counselor the first week I got here, which has helped me in immeasurable ways. It's made me face my trauma, but also helped me cope with it.

Slowly, but surely, the empty piece of myself is filling back up. I still get nightmares, though, and I hate walking the streets by myself, especially at night. I'm wary of strange men, and I never go anywhere without pepper spray. I still miss my mother terribly. And my father. Remembering Columbia brings joy and pain.

There are good days and bad days, but I now have a hope for my future that wasn't there a year ago.

I wrap up a mug to send to Javier along with my letter. I've taken up pottery in the past months and it has been one of the many things to help me cope. I wonder what he'll think of the blue and gold painted creation.

The phone rings. It's Melody.

"Are you down for grabbing some Mexican tonight? There's a new place that just opened up downtown I've been wanting to try. Maybe we could catch a late movie afterwards?"

It was a Friday and I had no plans for the evening.

"Sounds fun, let's do it."

"Awesome! There is one thing though. I just put my car in the shop, is there anyway you could swing my place before?"

"Yeah, that should work. I'll pick you up around six."

"You're the best. See you then. Love ya."

"You too."

We say goodbye.

Later, I get ready for the night. Pulling a powder blue blouse over my head, I glance down at my bedside clock. I have a few minutes before I go to pick up Melody. I grab my keys, purse, and phone before heading out. I run back in, having forgotten Melody's gift. She went out of town for her birthday last week so I never had a chance to give her the gift I made. The intricate cake stand took hours, but I know she'll enjoy using it at her bakery. There's no bag, but it's too late to worry about now. I place it in the passenger seat and head out.

It's nearly dark when I get there. I hate driving to her place. It's cradled in between dense woods on either side and completely devoid of neighbors. I groan as my car reaches the dirt road leading up to her cabin. The looming trees extinguish most of the sun's fading light. As I reach the end of the drive way, I pull out my phone to tell her I'm here. I wait a few minutes but no answer. I'll just go up to the door.

I grab her present from the front seat and step out of my car. The damp earth cakes the bottom of my shoe as I tread up to the entrance of Melody's house. I knock, but she doesn't come. The lights are on, and I can hear music coming from inside. She must not hear me.

I twist the knob. It's unlocked. The minute I step inside I know something is off. Nothing seems to be out of place, but the atmosphere settles around me in a disquieting way.

"Melody, I'm here!" I yell towards the towards the top of the stairs.

Still nothing.

Something is wrong. I'm scared to go upstairs, but I do it anyway. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. The panicky feeling I haven't had in a while creeps back in.

I hear the cake stand fall from my arms and shatter to a million pieces when I reach the top.

The lower half of Melody's body lies in front of me. The rest is hidden by the half closed bedroom door. I rush towards her, praying she's alive.

She's bleeding. It's everywhere.

"Melody! Melody!" My heart threatens to burst out of my chest. "Can you hear me, Melody? Answer me!"

She lies still. Somewhere deep down I know my friend is gone. As soon as my gaze shifts to her face I involuntarily fling myself from her.

A shard of glass sticks out from one eye. Everything is such a mess I didn't notice it at first. I sob loudly, barely recognizing my own voice. Slowly, I shift onto my knees towards her. I reach out for her hand, noticing the scrap of paper clutched in its grasp. I unfold the scrap between sobs.

Ojo por ojo.

An eye for an eye. The phrase has been written in blood.

I run down the stairs and back to my car as fast as my body will allow me. I yank my phone from my purse and dial the police.

It doesn't all set in until after the police have rolled her body away, pronouncing her dead at the scene. They ask me all the normal questions and I robotically answer. I'm a million miles away. They ask me about the note then. I tell them I knew it's meaning the moment I read it. I explain to them everything that happened in Columbia. Their next step is to contact Officer Santiago to fill him in on the situation and decide on how to proceed.

I don't go home that night. They assign me to the Witness Protection Program and place me under guard in a remote location an hour away.

As I'm sitting at the tiny home's kitchen table, my phone buzzes. I recognize the number and pick up on the first ring.

"Javi," my voice is shaky and barely there.

"Isabel, I just heard what happened. Are you safe?"

"I'm f- fine. I'm in the middle of nowhere, but there's guards with me."

He pauses and I hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

"Fuck, Isabel. I'm- I'm sorry this is happening."

"It's not your fault."

"It is. We should've caught these guys by now. The fact that they left the country and weren't even on our radar- this is a fucking mess."

I try to hide my cries but he must sense it anyway. Something about hearing his voice after everything that's happened makes me finally let go.

"Shh. Don't cry. Listen, I'm gonna come up there. I can get on a plane within a couple days."

"No, Javier, you can't do that."

         "They traveled countries to get to you, Isabel. I have to-"

"No, you can't do anything from here. The police are taking care of me, Javi. I'll be okay. I can't keep you from doing what you can to catch them."

We go back and forth but he finally decides to stay in Columbia as long as I update him each day. We say our goodbyes, and I almost beg him to come to me. I crave his arms. But I can't bring myself to be that selfish.

Being cooped up in the hide out cabin reminds me of my boredom back at the hospital in Columbia. I'm not allowed to leave and there's little to do here. I have endless amounts of books though. I skip the murder mysteries, preferring to drown myself in the pile of vintage romance novels tucked away in a rusty cabinet. Melody would have loved these books. She was a sucker for this stuff.

I've had to stop myself from picking up the phone to call her more times than I can count. It may not be medically possible, but I swear my heart physically aches at the thought of my best friend. I'd known her my entire life. I couldn't imagine life without her. I couldn't have imagined life without my mother and father either, but here I am. Life was cruel thing, hungry for peace and stealing it when you least expect.

After several days spent in solitude at the hide out, one of my guards informs me we are taking a trip back to the station. I ask what for, but am given no answer.

Once there, I'm informed I am to go back to Columbia. Javier's task force has caught Matías. I am the only one that can positively identify him.

I grip the seat beneath me.

It seems Columbia is not done with me yet.

[cheezritsu]

Afterthought (Exit Stage Left) || Akaashi Keiji

Wc: 2.1k

Inspired by this quote that lives rent free in my mind, and by Afterthought by Joji

The scenery that stretches out the window of your train is a blur of orange tinged buildings, the glint of the setting sun catching every window on every skyscraper as you speed through the outer edges of the greater Tokyo Met area. You avert your squinting eyes, choosing to watch your quiet companions. The passengers on your train all sway in a similar manner, like a gif on a constant loop.

Despite this nearly cinematic tableau, there is something missing from this moment—perhaps it’s the fact that you’re on your way back to work after your lunch break and the sun is already setting, but there’s something more bittersweet than an early twilight. Your eyes sweep across the train car, searching the little cracks and crevices as if someone has left clues for this mystery.

But there is nothing out of the ordinary—the salarymen are as shiny-shoed and bored eyed as ever, the junior high girls are still huddled close together and giggling over a phone screen. One of the girls reaches down to pull up her leg warmers, and you think about how long it’s been since your friends wore those. The crest on their uniforms is unfamiliar, yet looking at them feels like a portal to the past.

The feeling in your chest grows exponentially as the train slows to a halt. The girls promptly get off, along with a host of other young, fresh looking passengers. One young man with a college ID on his lanyard walks past you, with something in his arm brushing against you. It makes a crackling sound that garners both of your attention.

“Oh!” He says, turning back to you quickly as the doors start closing. “I’m sorry!” He bows shallowly, and from the motion you catch the bouquet of purple tulips, abundant and bright, tied off with a white ribbon. He doesn’t stay in your sight much longer, running through the doors with the type of urgency only a young person could afford. You frown harder.

Now the train car is full of adults, and the alienation sits like lead in your stomach. You have nowhere else to be but work, yet you feel like you’re forgetting something—a prior engagement? A rendezvous with a friend? A missed call? You check your phone; nothing. A date—?

You remember it now. An entire train stop has come and gone. Your train stop. When you blink out of your stupor you realize you now have to walk blocks—blocks!—to his apartment, with the quickly setting sun making chills creep under a coat not meant for winter. Your fingers are popsicles where they curl around the stems of the bouquet tucked into your arm. Perhaps it’s getting a little too predictable; here you are on a Thursday, in an outfit that’s mostly black, in makeup he’s seen a thousand times. You’re a broken record for sure, but comfort and familiarity were things Akaashi savored more than onigiri.

(Right?)

You like the familiarity too. Walking into his apartment complex gives you a fuzzy warmth, and you barely pay attention as your fingers automatically press the button to his floor. Your reflection in the chrome doors is a haunting type of deja vu that leaves you with a sinking feeling you’re sure isn’t just his janky apartment elevator.

As one foot drags and the other heel clicks against the floor, it feels like you’re marching to a forlorn melody, something non-diegetic that would warn your imaginary audience that something terrible is about to happen, but leaves you clueless. There are layers upon layers of irony that surround the moment you turn the key into Akaashi’s apartment, only to find it dark and near barren.

Tokyo winters are notoriously cruel to apartment complexes. The grey sky matches the towering skyscrapers and colors the world in dismal shadows. Akaashi sits among them, a single desk lamp washing the pages of his newest project in harsh light.

He doesn’t look up when he hears your heels click against his kitchen floor. Silence drapes the room, punctuated only by the furling of pages. It sounds like a library or a study, not like a home with two lovers.

But you like watching him; the intense blue of his eyes as he scans the pages, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looks handsome and pristine, like a marble statue.

He still looks that way when he finally turns to you, not so much as a smile on his face. “Hey.” He says, like you’re an afterthought.

“Hey,” you say, still possessing the bashfulness of a schoolgirl. You wait patiently for Akaashi like a dutiful kouhai would their senpai. When he does a once over of the flowers in your hand, he sighs.

He closes the magazine then pushes himself up from the desk as if it’s the most difficult task in the world. Akaashi pads over to you, still in his work shoes, and turns your head to look in your eyes.

There is no longer any feverish excitement in his touches. That placid countenance you got a thrill out of breaking never cracked, and it left feeling cold and forgotten. His fingers placed themselves exactly where they were supposed to, robotically so, with little tease, or foreplay, or reverence.

“These are pretty,” he says, and all you do is nod.

You’d heard about loveless marriages before. About people who stay together despite there not being a spark. You didn’t think it’d ever happen to you, for you had enough love for Akaashi to last a lifetime and then some. But here, now, when his lips pressed to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones with precision and no passion, you felt your soul detach from your body and allowed him to continue kissing a corpse.

He never said a word.

And when he did, it’s just: “What are they for?”

And this is where you come out of your comfort zone with him. “They’re for you. It’s a goodbye present.”

‘So that’s what it takes,’ you think as Akaashi’s eyes widen impossibly large. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel so hollow.

“Wh-“ he flounders, pushing the bouquet of purple asters back into your arms. “What are you talking about.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Keiji.”

He spares you the theatrics. Keiji was a literature major; he excels at context clues.

Yet he looks between the flowers and you, like it’s an incomplete puzzle. “What exactly is it you can’t do?”

Akaashi watches as you shuffle back and forth on your heels. Sometimes he can see the person he fell in love with back in high school: your nervous habits have stayed the same. But still, you’ve undeniably grown since then. Aged, like wine; becoming bolder, harder to swallow.

He can’t really be impressed anymore when you look him in the eye and say, “I can’t keep putting you first when I’m second place for you. I can’t be your afterthought anymore.”

“You’re not an afterthought.” It’s the lame reply of someone who can’t think of what else to say. You know it too.

“Ji,” you apply his coveted nickname, and it makes it all the worse. “You’re just keeping me around because you’re used to me.”

Something blooms across his face. It prickles with heat as a protective bubble of anger bursts in his chest. “What’s wrong with me being comfortable with you?”

Your stare goes level, lids dropping so the light in your eyes vanishes. The wings of your eyeliner make you look dangerous, ethereal. He really has always liked the way you looked. Your beauty is no longer subjective to him, it doesn’t steal his breath. It’s just an emotionless fact.

“Being comfortable is something friends are. We can be friends if that’s what you want.”

His brow raises. “Is that what you want?”

You shrug. The nonchalance is what gets him—the action is unhurried, comical, almost, in how lackadaisical you’re making this moment. (Although, he admits to himself that his anger is redirected guilt for not feeling too torn up about this himself.)

“That’s up to you,” is your only reply.

He heel turns, groaning and rubbing his twitching hands down his face. “Y/n what does that mean?” He says, voice finally rising. There’s no longer the thrill of getting him riled up. Only a dull throb where adrenaline should be. “Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

“I-!” You laugh hollowly, and Akaashi stares at you with pinched brows. “Me? I said I can’t do this anymore. Clean and simple! You’re the one dragging this out when you don’t love me anymore!”

The anger ebbs like receding waves, and its wake is the wreckage he’s been waiting to appear. Akaashi is stunned by your violence, and nothing more.

And perhaps it’s his refusal to do anything about it that makes you turn your head as you swallow down the bitter acceptance he’s spoon fed you. “I mean,” you sniff, not even attempting to salvage anything. “I’ve always loved you more than you love me.”

The crooked smile you give pushes him over the edge.

“That’s not true,” he scolds quickly. “I just don’t show it the way you do.”

“Because you never wanted to.”

(Does it feel like he’s been shot in the chest because it’s true, or because he’s been caught?)

The flowers land on the table unceremoniously, punctuated by your heavy sigh. “So what,” Akaashi says, looking down at you. He never held his height over you condescendingly, but he’s scowling at you now. You give him a look that’s not quite defeated, but definitely not unbothered, waiting for him to finish.

“So you just knew I’d fallen out of love and you stayed with me the whole time? And now you walk in here, dressed up, with..with goodbye flowers? What kind of plan is that?”

“It wasn’t a plan, Ji.” You give a pitiful excuse for a laugh, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. ‘I just...I stayed because I still love you.”

Under his bewildered gaze you deteriorate faster than paper in water, crumbling into soggy remains as you give a wobbly smile. “But I suppose that’s not enough, is it?”

Your middle finger and thumb rub circles into your temple, like this conversation is giving you a headache. In the grey evening light of mid-winter, Akaashi can see a tear twinkle down the contour of your face like a Renaissance painting. And then it hits him all of a sudden that he’s the cause of all your wretched pain, and it winds him like a spin kick to the chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but never says what for. It can’t leave his lips (and why should it? You both know what for, why should he make it harder than it has to be?)

You don’t say you accept it. You don’t cry either. You simply scoot the chair back with a grating noise, and to this day, the sound still haunts Akaashi, teleporting him back to this moment, when you walked out the door and never came back.

Akaashi stares at the now unoccupied chair, his eyes lost and something pricking in the corner of his eyes.

“Akaashi.”

No, Akaashi scrunches his brow. Panic bubbles in his chest this isn’t right. You never called for him. Why didn’t you call for him?

“Akaashi,”

You leave his life as simply as stage directions—Y/n: exit stage left. The door stays open, because you’re not petty enough to slam it. Considerate, even when smashing your own heart to pieces.

“Akaaaashi.”

And his.

“Akaashi!”

He blinks once, twice. There are no more flowers, no open door, no dim grey lighting. Just the clean, white tile of Onigiri Miya, still empty during its dedicated lunch break. Orange light spills in and grants the store a golden look. From where he stood after scooting back his chair, Atsumu Miya raises a brow, his concern shadowed by the sun at his back.

“Are you okay?” He passed his hand in front of Akaashi’s face, somewhat teasingly. His handsome smile is small. “Lost ya for a sec.”

Atsumu’s left hand is still gripping the back of his seat. The other occupants of the table are seated, their curious eyes squinted at Akaashi as if they could possibly discern what was going on on the other side of his eyes.

“Sorry,” he finally says, fixing the blond with an apologetic smile. “It’s just,” he looks in the middle of the table, where sticking up from a small glass vase was a single purple kikyo flower, its head hung low and mournfully. He can’t keep his eyes off of it. For someone who’s supposed to be an afterthought, you’re always at the forefront of his mind; like the fraying anxiety of leaving the stove on, or the person one sees from their peripheral vision. If only he’d said all that when it mattered. Then maybe you wouldn’t be—

“It’s nothing. Just a memory.”

[raeynbowboi]

How to Play as Cyborg in DnD 5e

Next up in our Teen Titans marathon of builds, we’ll build Victor Stone, better known as Cyborg. I sure thought this was going to be a much simpler build, yet I’ve spent two days working and reworking it, and it ended up being nothing like I initially assumed. But in the end, I’m positive this was for the better, as it turned out much better than I expected.

Our first instinct is probably to make Cyborg a Warforged, but here’s the problem with that: Cyborg was born human. He needs to eat, sleep, breathe, these are all things Warforged don’t do. And Cyborg has multiple episodes fixated on maintaining his humanity. To not make him a human is to completely miss the point of his character. Obviously, he is no longer a Standard Human. He has changed. We’ll call him a Variant Human, and we’ll give him Heavy Armor Mastery to reduce non-magical melee damage by 3. We’ll give him +1 INT/+1 CON and he’ll get +1 STR from his free feat.

Mythic Odysseys of Theros gave us the Athlete background. You get proficiency with Athletics and Acrobatics. Next, we’ll pick two Fighter skills, we’ll go for Intimidation and Perception. You’re a big tough guy, and there’s probably a radar or GPS somewhere in all that machinery.

We’re largely a team player, but on more than one occasion we’ve left the team to try and become a solo hero or lead another team. I’d say we’re Chaotic Good.

FIGHTER Brute

We’ll kick off our Cyborg Build as a Fighter. Don’t worry, we’ll be multi-classing, but starting as a Fighter starts us off with Heavy Armor proficiency, which is nice. Plus, we were a human athlete long before we ever became part robot. The Brute Fighter adds 1d4 to every damage roll, meaning you really pack a whollap. It’s almost as if you’ve got brass knuckles or something. Speaking of knuckles, Cyborg likes to punch things, so we’ll pick Unarmed Combat from the Fighting Style options. We deal 1d8 + STR bludgeoning damage when punching with two hands, or 1d6 + STR when our other hand is busy holding something. At 7th level, we get to add 1d6 to saving throws, and if that puts the roll above 20, it’s treated as rolling a nat 20. At 10th level, the extra 1d4 damage increases to 1d6. At 15th level, when you land a crit, you add your Brute Fighter Level to the damage roll, meaning you’re putting out 2d8+5+1d6+15 (23-42) with two hands, or 3d6+20 (23-38) when you’re one-handed. That’s a whole lot of ouch. The next level up is even better, since at level 16, your extra 1d6 damage becomes 1d8. Meaning that by level 16, you’re dealing 3d8+21 (24-45) damage on a two-handed crit, or 2d6+1d8+21 (24-41) on a one-handed crit. And with three actions per turn, the odds of landing all that ouch are pretty high. If you’re allergic to UA subclasses, Champion also works, just not as well.

ARTIFICER Artillerist

Once you’ve started as a Fighter, we can hop on over to Artificer and choose the Artillerist. This gives us an Eldritch Cannon, which we’ll make Tiny so we can hold it in our right hand. We’ll be primarily using the Force Ballista, which has a range of 120 feet, deals 2d8 force damage, and pushes objects 5 feet away from the cannon. If you really want to focus on the cannon, it’ll increase to 3d8 at 9th level, but Cyborg is supposed to be the Tank/DPS of the party. Firing from long range is Starfire’s specialty. Instead, it’s better to have more levels of Fighter and hit more often, and just have the Artificer as much as necessary for ranged combat. But don’t fret, because that Cannon is going to get a lot of usage, because it can be fired on every bonus action, which as a Fighter means you’re going to be dishing out a ton of pain. You can be one-arm boxing an enemy within melee range, while sniping another enemy clear on the other side of the battlefield, and with 3 attacks per turn in the late game, Cyborg has the option to be dishing out 4 attacks total per turn. There’s a reason he’s the muscle of the team.

CYBORG’S SPELLS

Cantrips Mending Message (Titan Communicators)

1st Level Grease Longstrider Jump Shield Thunderwave

To be fair, if we’re going to use our spell slots for anything, its building another Eldritch Cannon if the first one is destroyed. Plus, everything Cyborg could do at first level, Raven can do better, and she has a lot more spell slots to put to it.

ARTIFICER INFUSIONS

Due to our low level, we only get 4 infusions. Now some specify having weapons, but we chose Unarmed Combat. Me personally, I take that as meaning our hands are our weapons, but check with your DM how they consider it, because there’s also a lot of fighter features that only trigger with a weapon attack, so don’t use this build if your DM is stingy about Unarmed Combat not counting as a Weapon attack, because otherwise a lot of your features aren’t going to trigger.

ARMOR OF TOOLS Integrate Tinkerer’s Tools into your armor, add your INT mod to tool checks made with those Tinkerer’s tools.

ENHANCED DEFENSE Increase your AC by +1.

MIND SHARPENER If you fail a spell concentration saving throw, use a reaction to pass instead.

REPLICATE MAGIC ITEM: GOGGLES OF NIGHT Cyborg can create Goggles of Night, letting him see in the dark.

If your DM lets you treat your Hands as weapons drop Mind Shapener and pick up Enhanced Weapon.

ENHANCED WEAPON Add +1 to weapon attack rolls and damage rolls.

ARMORY

Cyborg needs Heavy Armor to act as his robotic body. Molten Bronze Skin (Plate) from Mythic Odysseys of Theros is a new rare heavy armor that is skin-fitting and can be worn under clothes and doesn’t impose stealth disadvantage, which is important, because Cyborg has never made so much noise that he gave away his party. Because it’s molded to his body, it can’t be removed unless he chooses to doff it. Thus,  we have a human who is basically made of metal. How bout that?

As the Tank of the party, only three stats really matter to Cyborg’s Build: Strength will determine how much damage he deals with his punches, Constitution will ensure that he has a big pool of health so he doesn’t die all the time like a wimp, and Intelligence because his Eldritch Cannon’s accuracy is aimed like casting a spell. Because he’s heavily armored, his Dexterity won’t affect his AC, and to be fair, Cyborg isn’t very nimble. He seems quite bulky and heavy-footed. All those Fighter ASI give us the kind of stats I’d hoped to give Starfire.

STR 20 DEX 10 CON 20 INT 18 WIS 10 CHA 8

I spent one of his too many ASI to give him Tough to further maximize his HP. You could max out his INT, but as Raven is the party Intelligence caster, it’s valid to want her INT to be higher than Cyborg’s. With a final HP score of 260 and an AC of 19, Cyborg is starting to look a bit like a one-man army. Not only that, but he reduces non-magical melee damage by 3, and adds 1d6 to saving throws, meaning ranged spell attacks are the only great way to hurt him without him possibly reducing the damage.

HAVE A HEART, TIN-MAN Brute Fighter (16) Artillerist Artificer (4)

STR 20 DEX 10 CON 20 INT 18 WIS 10 CHA 8

ARTIFICER INFUSIONS Armor of Tools Enhanced Armor Enhanced Weapon/Mind Sharpener Replicate Magic Item: Goggles of Night

Between the super charged melee damage, and the fact that Cyborg can also fire his Eldritch Cannon as much as he wants makes this a great combination. He doesn’t need spell slots just to shoot it like some other casters, making it a truly great dual-wielding option. He’s got the HP to shrug off damage, and the power to decimate his opponents. He becomes weaker when he pulls out his cannon in terms of melee combat, but it’s twice as powerful as his two-handed boxing, so it’s a good trade-off.

Variant Rule: Mythic Odysseys of Theros

Unscarred. As a reaction, reduce damage taken by 1d12 + CON mod once per long rest.

Piety: Purphoros, God of the Forge

+3 Cast Shield of Faith equal to your INT mod per long rest. +10 Cast Heat Metal once per long rest. You have advantage against being knocked prone. +25 Use your reaction to avoid being pushed. +50 Increase your Strength or Intelligence by 2 to a maximum of 22.

We set out to make Cyborg a high damage DPS striker who could tank a hit like it was nothing, and I think we’ve accomplished that with this build. Some might argue for a 12/8 split, and it’s certainly passable, but Cyborg really doesn’t need it. He’s not a caster. Cyborg is the muscle, and that’s what he’s doing. He’s only an Artificer for the arm cannon, otherwise, he’s primarily a melee fighter, and I don’t want to waste his levels on something that’s not his primary focus.

[a-student-out-of-time]

Should we bring in Yoruko & Kokoro to help with all of this? Not only for Toko & Syo but also Monaca.

So, what do you think?

Well, Fukawa-san’s condition is a combination of numerous psychological disorders.

She described herself as being both Nyctophobic and Ablutophobic, both stemming from her traumatic childhood. The latter of which explains her...poor hygiene.

She’s been subject to continuous physical and psychological abuse from her family, as well as years of bullying from her peers, both of which began from a very early age.

Yeah, she told me about that too. She said that there was a time in third grade when she was accused of stealing another kid’s lunch money, which somehow wound up in her desk.

The other kids blamed her and tied her to the jungle gym with a garden hose.

Oh my...

I got bullied as a kid too, but...never like that.

Do you think this could’ve lead to her developing DID? I’m...not very knowledgeable in the area, I admit.

Unquestionably. But I’d like to stress that, despite what you see in popular fiction, cases of people with dissociative disorders becoming killers are extraordinarily rare. The rates are statistically no higher that those of the general population.

In fact, Fukawa-san is the first case I’ve ever heard of, much less seen in person.

What can I tell you, in a general sense, is that dissociative identity disorder is rather more common than you may think, affecting around 1.5% of the population. It emerges in response to trauma or difficult circumstances in early childhood; the brain’s defense mechanism is to create what’s called an alter.

Of course, due to a wide variety of genetic, environmental, psychological, and cultural factors, the formation of alters varies considerably. They are, in essence, whatever the brain believes it needs in order to survive a given situation.

Are there different types of alters?

Oh yes. They can vary in role, age, gender, have their own names or no name at all, have different preferences for food or clothing, different attitudes, and may even identify as non-human animals or objects, robots, ghosts, demons, etc.

And from a biopsychological angle, different alters also reflect different brain and body states. These manifest as detectable variations in MRI and PET scans, changes in regional cerebral blood flow, inexplicable changes in eyesight, sudden shifts in handedness, and even an alter having an allergic response the main identity doesn’t.

It can be easy to to dismiss this from an outsider’s perspective, but medical testing has shown that alters aren’t merely delusions. The body treats them as very real, separate identities in the same body. Therefor, I consider them real people.

That’s really interesting. A little hard to envision it though.

Hmm...alright, let’s say, in a hypothetical scenario, Sora-san was an alter for Taira-san.

Sora-san could be real, with her own name, age, personality, memories, and view of the world. She could even identify herself as a machine or artificial intelligence depending on the circumstances.

And considering Sora-san’s relationship with her, I’d say she’d qualify as a caretaker alter. One designed to act as a positive support if Taira-san’s brain believed that’s what she’d need.

Definitely sounds like Sora.

So, can alters talk with their main identity? Are they aware of each other?

It varies considerably, but it’s possible. It often takes time for people to become aware of their alters, sometimes remaining unaware of them until their teens or even into adulthood.

Which is what puzzles me about Fukawa-san.

What do you mean?

It’s certainly not impossible for a person to have only a single alter, but it’s unusual. The majority of cases of Dissociative Identity Disorder I’ve observed involve multiple alters, sometimes stretching into the hundreds or even more.

There’s no templates or general roles that they exhibit, and they may only exist as fragments; serving limited roles and having limited emotions and memories. But that brings me back to my prior point.

It’s possible, likely even, that Syo is not the only alter Fukawa-san possesses

[stoplookingatmeblog]

twenty-one

1.

It was around that time that all my friends went to work in different chapters of what you can call ‘the filming industry’. P-G shot beer adverts which used some kinds of robotics to get the right shot, flip the bottle right, and then slept with this girl who offered him a paid internship in managing pretty much everything on sets of a bunch of movies, ads and whatnot. My own mother, finally getting out of the convenient but unemancipated housewife life, got a job in supervising the shoot - making sure the costumes were right, the scenography, all that stuff. It was pretty much, you could call it, the time of Life On Set Then - everywhere you went, ads, movies, Netflix series, all of it wrapped up in fake police ‘do not cross’ kind of tape, horses and knights from our beer-bottles riding the streets, and the catering busses with food that was (mother told me) ‘absolute horeshit’. Whatever. The time was of living in a reality created for money, by money, with money, because of money, giant heaps of money, distributed unequally (of course) to all my student friends who didn’t even need the money except for that feel of ‘life on their own’.

I didn’t have a job. Before not working, I worked a couple of cafes, restaurants and the like. That was the vibe. I hated it. Each time I began working in one of these places, I ended up sleeping with someone (first time a guy, and then a girl or woman that was honestly too old for me) and that I hoped marked the end of relationship with gastronomy for me. So I didn’t work, deciding not to decide what to do next, not putting myself on the road to one kind of future or another. I didn’t want life to go anywhere directed. I thought about writing but then I thought about the seriousness and stiffness of writing, whether or not it’s a purely natural act, all that, and decided on trying to squeeze the last drops of childhood (it was adolescence, but adolescence is really a final sigh of childhood) and live what was left of the kid-life to the fullest.

I was twenty-one years old. 

A group of friends convinced me to go with them surfing (on my parents’ money), to Victoria, a place which location doesn’t really matter, except that I thought, and still do, that the spot is an actual a piece of heaven on earth. A nearly imaginary point on the increasingly smaller map of this melting planet. My age, too, was melting away like icecream - not having a job and surfing in Victoria, like a teenage pimple, some place that popped up and presented itself in its complete and vulgar form and purpose that you initially didn’t believe and then wept after at that airport because you could never come back. It was an actual speck of heaven on the map. 

Even though everyone was younger than us - four of us, me, P-G, J, and Stone (the last one, a tired intellectual I could never get tired of, except you could see he was really both bored and exhausted by being born and living as himself. And his nickname surprisingly not derived from the astronomical amounts of weed he smoked but his actual god-given surname (which he thought of changing, because of his father) - even though everyone who came to Victoria was younger than us by something like three or four years, we surprisingly didn’t have trouble at least getting along, and at most sleeping with girls there. It was even more grand in that way, even if absolutely not true, when you saw yourself in their eyes as someone older and somehow experienced, who somehow kept going on, and somehow knew what was going on. The same lie made most of us, (excluding me, as I mentioned) get a job around that time. In movies and advertisements, with no creative input or control, but like actors that nobody knew about, playing their own invented parts backstage.

I was twenty-one years old and completely aware of both how small and how big that was. I knew about the kinds of things I probably should be doing and that’s why I sometimes did them, for a minute putting my feet into that creek too, but most of the time staying at the bank and just watching. I knew what being twenty-one meant, so I decided to sit back and watch it.

My friends all surfed a lot, which would normally bother me because I did it only for the first week of our month-long stay, but quickly dropped it and decided to stay at the beach and read, and drink and look at some really beautiful girls who passed me by, and for once enjoy that stranger-life. By the second week, after seeing in a restaurant a shirt with a ‘SeXsurfing ‘00’ inscription on it (‘00 being the year we were born, which made us inspect our parents’ lifelines to check for the possibility that at that time some of them were in Victoria), and in the twenty-one-year-old drunk epiphanius inspiration, all four of us decided that we would lead the ‘SeXsurfing ‘21’ lifestyle, not thinking about the ‘42 and the ‘63 and all that shit. 

I wasn’t the most successful one when it came to girls, but I can say that the stories I had with them were the most absurd and worthy of telling. Even though it was J who (and he too asked himself why in the world that was) was able to talk with someone new every evening, somehow perhaps betraying my unwanted by nonetheless existing monogamous attachment, I slept with only one girl over the course of the last week, picking her up (or perhaps her picking me up) through a conversation about our shared borderline-sociopathic or rebellious outlook on reality. That was very twenty-one. 

Our first meeting (like every meeting since) was going to one of the three tourist shops on the beach and stealing something. And that too was very twenty-one. We were rich enough (our parents were) and far away from home enough to do all that. And we were both young and beautiful enough to want a mugshot we could keep from an arrest by a Victoria Police County Jail or whatever it might have been called. We were never caught but we did steal something every day, and then get drunk in the evening, and then fuck in the night. While my friends had these singular, although beautiful, encounters I would drunkenly burst into the closed restaurant with my temporary girl-friend, steal absolutely vile icecream from the fridge, and then play chess with her on the hotel rooftop at four AM. 

The four of us were twenty-one years old and born in the year 2000 which in the same way made sense - our lives were easy to calculate, clearly-definededly started, and even if they had to end with no thing coming back or being repeated, the twenty-one points we scored didn’t mean anything except the joyride and experiment, and meaningless game that it was. We were taking our shot at living, taking our shot at playing, and even when we didn’t win, it still didn’t mean anything. We lived on our parents’ money, or on advertisement money, or cafe-sleep-with-someone-there-and-then-leave-because-you-don’t-need-money money, all of it a mystification, but that those twenty-one years led to nothing we suddenly did not care. 

Well, and then being woken up by the police, although surprisingly not because of the icecream dream but for the crime of sleeping in a hammock on the dunes which (I learned) was territory of both the military and part of some natural park.

What made me go home with something in the end were the conversations we had at that time, and in particular the conversations with Stone. Like me, Stone had a feeling of injustice done to him by his family, not having a real father and hanging down on the tired gray hair of our housewife mothers and all, and it made us connect on a level we didn’t with either P-G or J, who were most often busy surfing or thinking about the jobs they had or would one day have, and the girls they met that weren’t my girls so I didn’t care that much.

Stone kept affirming that both of us (although him in particular) were in possession of superior intelligence, which I instinctively tried to discourage him from saying (because I didn’t like sucking my own dick like that), but nonetheless accepted as at least potentially or partially true. In my case, it was not intelligence that me connect with Stone but some kind of a shared understanding of what was going on, that we were twenty-one and what that meant, like a filthy two-pigeon flock of pigeons flying above the waves, knowing the fact of the creature swimming underneath the surface. I thought, and still do, it had to do largely with coming from an unhappy or non-existent family, which really makes you understand that all you do, with even the most meaningful and beautiful things, is just this game that you play but holds no particular meaning beyond it. That and that love, no matter how beautiful or true, can slip away from you like shit. 

‘It is completely lonely’, he said one night as we chugged down the bottles of beer drunk rich kids left behind running away from the police - bottles half-empty to me and I think half-full for him, but I still haven’t quite figured that one out, ‘Because you never really see things the way the rest of them do, and each conversation almost the same, you begin to think the only way to be is to be alone’

I agreed. I usually did, being aware that he was slightly more intelligent than me.

‘Back when I was in the Institute, they told me I would have problems with getting out of relationships with people what other people get from other people because what I want is to be understood and that is problematic when you think you want it but also think it’s impossible to ever understand anything’

I too thought you could never understand anything, but had a sense he perhaps only said it to keep me on the same page. Stone chugged down another half-full beer and kept talking. I stayed silent, in part because I would probably say the same things he did.

‘When I was seventeen and worked in a factory, I gained a sort of awareness of how my life would look like’

‘What kind of a factory?’, I asked

‘A cake factory, I would work in the hot section and pull out cakes out of the oven and then fill some of them with cherry, and some of them with apple-cinnamon. And then, because I was seventeen and my work was fundamentally illegal you could say, they’d let me work in the cold section in the night, and I applied sugar coating on these doughnuts, you know’

‘Yeah’

‘And then wrap them up in plastic covering, you know’

‘Yeah, yeah’

‘when the coating was dry, and send them to another section of the factory. And so over and over.’

‘So, what does your life look like because of that, do you think?’

‘I don’t know…’, he took a puff from one of the cigarette butts we found that night in the ashtray, ‘... I guess working in the factory was a kind of almost psychedelic experience that really made me aware what my attitude towards suicide is. You’re young, and you step into that thing, and you do those things because you want to, you don’t need to. Well, you might need to but the need is still your choice, it isn’t honed into your life like… Like I recognised at some point that each cake I filled with the stuffing or coated was an expression of the same kind of thing I did when I smoked weed (a lot), or drunk (a lot) or had sex. That, ultimately, I would never be able to not think about it.’ 

‘I mean, I think the position we are in - if I understand you correctly - of being relatively well-off - I mean our parents - would make you unable to really plunge into anything that you’re doing, right? Because you ultimately don’t have to do anything, like, really, like here, you always sort of treat it as a game’

‘Not even a game’, he said, and the sun was already slowly creeping up the mountain in front of the shop where we were sitting, ‘But just not a challenge. Because of our intellect, both yours and mine, the only challenge you really face is whether to continue being or not, and the rest is just, you know, stuffing these cakes. But that decision, you know The Myth of The Sisyphus?’

I did.

‘Yeah, so that decision you have to and always will have to make fundamentally alone. And so either go and work - work in any kind of way and do those things and hand them over to others to complete them and you don’t really ask questions (but we can’t do that, neither you nor I) or you step out of the factory and face the living sun, like you’re definitely going to feel after we leave this place, and decide whether you’re more happy alone or with others, or whether you want to keep on handing things to others or not, and all that.’

‘I mean this is the reason I think people shouldn’t have children - I’ve written a piece about it, you should definitely read it - because it’s kind of like juggling with a hot potato and handing it to someone else, so that they have to confront these questions, instead of you, but what you really do is give up.’

At that point I don’t think I understood his cake factory metaphor or didn’t want to believe that I did in the fear that it wasn’t very profound.

‘So what do you think you’d like to actually do?, if you could pick anything at all?’

‘I don’t know’, again inhaling another cigarette butt and handing one to me. And the sun almost rolled its own boulderous weight to the top of the mountain. ‘I think I would like to have a family, especially since meeting May (he was the only one of out SeXsurfing quartet with a girlfriend), I started thinking that maybe I can, and I’m recognising this, give someone something that my father never gave me, hoping to do it right this time’

‘Yeah, I mean that’s literally the ending of my book - have I told you already I’ve written a book? - that the main character thinks he can do it right this time and he of course fucks it up, but I don’t know if I still think that. You know, life is sometimes surprising.’

‘Exactly’, he exalted the smoke, and the sun, previously rolling up the mountain to sunrise, seemed to have fallen back again to the bottom of the mountain, and began its journey anew. 

‘I mean, when I was seventeen I worked in a factory…’

‘What kind of a factory?’

‘A psychedelic cake factory’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I worked in this factory and I worked in the hot section and my job was to take the cakes out of the oven and then pump them full of acid, or pot, or sex, or anything you could get your hands on. I guess it was illegal, but then again I was seventeen so my work was all fundamentally illegal.’

‘Where did the cakes later go?’

‘Later? Well in the factory I sent them to another section that I never really saw, but later later to homes, parties, rich people who really wanted to try the kind of stuff their kids were taking, I guess’, he chuckled, ‘It’s interesting, I wonder if my father ever tried one. Maybe in some alternative universe or something. Maybe he ate it and became like me, and dropped everything and went to work in a factory and in that reality they stuffed the cakes with shit like cherry and coated them with sugar, you know, maybe that was the right reality, and later he dropped that job, and went outside of the factory, and made the choice and threw himself under a bus or something.’

‘The right reality. 

Maybe.’

2. 

Lou from the restaurant (the SeXsufring tshirt we found was in that restaurant) was the kind of man you’d always want to be. We travelled to him for dinner hitchhiking from the beach, in twos, usually P-G and J, and then me and Stone, around seven, or all together if we could sit in the trunk of the car when we travelled in one of the rich-kid rented cabrios, and you would feel the day (same day, every day) a winding road under our feet (like gods, treading on forever) cutting through the mountains and the sunset rolling his boulder somewhere and when you finished eating you’d lie down on the warm good night asphalt with a can and listen to music on one of our phones and wait for someone to take you back to the beach. 

But gods that we were, Lou from the restaurant was the kind of man you’d always want to be. It was always a show, too. He would come by people’s tables (our table in particular, because he knew and we knew), this enormous older man dressed in a white sweaty shirt with eyes that looked blind but saw everything, and told us stories about all that he knew, which was pretty much the town, and the town hall, and the restaurant, and everything. And the girls also came there to eat, and everyone too. And everyone knew Lou from the restaurant.

I always ordered things I could not afford because P-G and J were always happy to lend me money, so I ate octopuses and steaks, and everything was everything you’d ever want to eat. There were half-blind, strangely-speckled cats that roamed under the tables, not even expecting guests’ dinner cat-food enjoying the company, like we did, and there were kid cats and mother cats and they would fight on the backdrop of the white-painted summer trees, and some girls would say the cats’ were really poor and imply their lives were wretched and miserable to which I would reply with something like natural selection and they would say that’s a horrible thing to say and then all of us would bite into the steaks that Lou brought us. 

After P-G  asked him to tell us his version of the legends we heard of from the girls, about his old restaurant, and how someone ruined it and how the paradise moved from Victoria to this new town (I don’t know the name, but it was simply Lou’s town), and it seemed like god himself was telling us the story, dusting it off, driving away the spiders and the snakes, an old book or a chapter in a book that everyone on the beach talked about but it seemed nobody actually heard. Except the four of us.

‘Well so you know I’m really electrician’, he began, ‘but at one moment I tell my wife - let’s build restaurant. So I go to the town hall, here’, and he pointed to a building not ten meters away, ‘and the auction close at 12, I go in at 11:56 and the price is 12000 and I go in and say 60000. So I get the restaurant and everyone crazy and angry at me but I have it.’, I cut out the portion of the steak and chewed on it orgasmically. Everything Lou cooked was good as hell. ‘So I build restaurant…’

‘But not here, right, on the beach?’, P-G, who heard most versions of the story interrupted

‘Yes, the beach. So I build restaurant and first year I make so much money I put it in…’, his broken eyes and mad half-blind english were both looking for the word, ‘like bags, plastic bags, trash bags, and it is so much I count it then in winter, because I have no time in summer. So it is good, so much money, going great. And then in year two thousand and… two thousand just, maybe, I go away for holiday and they call me “your restaurant is destroyed”, I say “no you’re kidding me”, and they say “no, no, they burn restaurant down, come back”. So I come back, and true, the restaurant is destroyed, and you cannot build it again because the law that was there changed so you cannot build now.’, as he was telling the story, Lou’s eyes stayed monotonously bland, bright and staring somewhere beyond. A true restaurateur, he never stopped looking at what was going on at the other tables so at that point he stood up, saying ‘I finish the story in moment’, and went to take care of something in the kitchen.

Then when he finally came back, he said:

‘So where was I now tell me.’

‘Your restaurant was burned down when you were out of the country’, I reminded him

‘Yes. So I move here and build new restaurant, and it is small but people come like before and they even fight for to eat, and they ask “you finished already, let us eat”, and my restaurant again now is doing well, very well, and people come, and still I don’t have space, but people come’

‘And is it going better or worse than in the previous location?’, P-G asked

‘No, there there was more money but here is good. Very good.’, he waved his grubby big hand at all the tables packed with people, girls, others like us. And he laughed with his tongue flying up and down in his mouth in a way some people find repulsive, but to us it was Lou from the restaurant, and Lou from the restaurant could honestly laugh in whichever goddamn way he pleased. 

‘Ok, I’m sorry but I have to go again, the people’, he pointed to the kitchen, ‘don’t know what they do’

Our twenty-one year old quartet replied ‘of course, of course’, in unison and for a while we sat there chewing our steaks, and fish and octopus, and another steak, silently, only saying a couple of words of admiration for Lou from the restaurant, the man you’d always want to be.

‘There are snakes and scorpions here’, P-G told me one time we went to the more rocky part of the dunes near where our tent was pitched. ‘So we have to be super careful, especially during the day. In the night they sleep in their wretched little caves or among the rocks, they won’t bother us in our sleep.’ 

But they will bother us when we’re awake, or when we think we are, but are someplace else, like Lou from the restaurant who went for holidays. You stop paying attention to what is slithering or crawling in the sand and one time as you are looking for a nice and fresh cigarette butt lost in the sand, BAM, and you are dead, like that (Lou’s grubby old hand falling down on the wooden table with a thud).

We were twenty-one years young and on holidays from either a job in advertising or not yet having a job in advertising, and there were girls and waves, and sand, and scorpions, and it was all a joyride so we didn’t really think about that. Well, to be honest, not much could go wrong - another day, like groundhog day, would be more or less the same, always better and better and better. And the shrinking, melting map - warmer and warmer and warmer. 

The worst that could happen, we knew, was the police coming in and chasing us away from the dunes (because it was both military grounds and a national park at the same time). But that wasn’t that bad, after all, it was police in paradise, and we felt so much love for them as we did for the scorpios and the snakes and it was just impossible for them to not love us back.

Well, hen one day it happened. It was after I woke up with her, for the first time in two weeks sleeping in an actual bed, but more importantly for the first time in perhaps a year sleeping with a warm body next to my heart, next to me, in my hands, falling asleep with my lip still in her teeth. I woke up in the morning and having the bare level of awareness of my state, that I must stink and will not be fun to be around in the morning (although the fresh air made hangovers impossible - what can I say, it was paradise), I decided to go back to the our camp on the dunes and sleep off the night in a hammock I usually inhabited. 

There were usually some locals (working in restaurants and the shops I stole flip-flops from) who like devils crawled out in the night and tried to party with the twenty-one year old us, drinking our booze and smoking our smokes, so when the white-poloed guy woke me up like bad sunrise saying ‘Police, wake up, police’, in sly english and a broken smile, my instinctive reaction was to reply with a classic ‘Shut the fuck up, you’re not police’, but after seeing one of them who definitely was police, with a uniform and gun and all, I complied with their request for my ID and let them write me a pink slip of paper demanding a fine so astronomic that none of them could not possibly believe I’d actually pay it. A younger policeman (also not uniformed) asked me what happened to my neck and, explaining a bruise that could only look like a love bite (and indeed it was), I replied that I was bitten by a wild animal (and indeed I was). He said that with that bruise-like love bite and a half-unbuttoned shirt I looked like a ‘star, rock star, you know’, and we both laughed, and I decided none of it was that bad after all. He looked like a ‘star, rock star, you know’, as well, slightly unfashionable but at the same time completely incredible in bluish sunglasses, a pink polo shirt and slightly silver but naturally black hair. In Victoria, the snake, too, was quite handsome, and what he ruined, at the end of the day, was only an hour of my sleep.

I met Lou from the restaurant - he saw some creature, and its wretched work, destroying his restaurant, but his bright, half-blind, all-seeing eyes burned with nothing but love. And mine, slowly but surely, started to shimmer with it too. The days, or the same day, grew brighter and brighter, and the nights drunker and drunker and the driving drunk on the beach got faster and faster, and more and more people fitting into one car, with no winding-road end in sight.

3. 

There was no hangover in Victoria, but going anywhere in the morning was especially difficult, as if the gravitational force doubled, or thriced, or quadrupled.

Stone, who had an admirable ability to make contact with any kind of an alien species of a person (that I really envied), found himself one night in a conversation with a russian maths student (the Russian started university well before the usual age, he was like 17), and when the next day we asked what the two talked about Stone only said ‘I think we are a week away from merging the theory of relativity with quantum mechanics. But give me another bottle and it will be one day.’

The Russian, Stone told us, was one of the ‘exceptionally intelligent’ ones (which Stone, had the habit of identifying and cataloguing into his set of people ‘worth talking to’). The Russian was younger than us - perhaps sixteen or seventeen, as I mentioned which really gave everything he said an additional benefit of seemingly prodigy-like, but also made Stone wonder whether he was a kind of a father-figure to the exceptionally intelligent maths student, that considering leading Stone to the two days later declaration that it was undoable, stemming from Stone’s own desire to redeem his father’s abusive absence et cetera et cetera. 

The Russian was so socially inept, that even I was doing quite well (it was not superior intelligence, that barred me from connecting with others, as Stone asserted). A prodigy, the Russian spoke not just maths and Einstein, but quite good english, french (from my limited knowledge I could confirm also quite good), spanish and bulgarian (which I had absolutely no idea about but he sounded possessed and speaking in tongues when he presented his abilities to us). He could play giftedly most instruments you could think of, but playing, he said, never really excited him. He was one of those kids who know and can do so much they would really rather not do it at all.

Because of our groups’ incidental and unexpected but intense interactions with girls, the Russian treated us with an unjustified reverence, but it was not any kind of envy, with a mind like that you don’t really envy anything except being able to rest from what’s in your head and for once have a good night’s sleep. There is a scene in the movie Beautiful Mind where the main character, a schizophrenic, lays out to a girl he likes, very systematically, astrophysically like, why she should sleep with him. I bet that’s what the Russian would do too in the future.

There is another scene in a movie - Interstellar where a group of astronauts looking for humanity’s potential new home (the map contracting, the world getting small since the year ‘00, now twenty-one, then ‘42 then ‘63, warmer and warmer and warmer), the group of astronauts lands on a planet, of constant, unending sea, sees in the distance what they think is the great mountains of a new found land. After a couple of minutes of advancing towards the mountains, Matthew Mcconaughey says in hollywood style ‘these are not mountains. These are waves’ and the four astronauts have to flee the slowly approaching catastrophic demise of the wave, which, due to a fucked-up gravity on the planet, rose to that catastrophic height. 

At six AM, after one of the exceptionally drunk nights, with the sun already in full swing, and the alcoholic gravity fucked-up in their heads, Stone and J went to catch a wave bigger than at any time of the day. 

While I was sleeping off the night in the hammock, with God knows what dreams, or maybe even no dreams at all, and P-G tossing and turning in the tent, and Stone and J surfing the morning wave, the Russian sat solemnly and alone on the sunrise beach and looked up at the starless sky, wiped clean by one gigantic white star which at that point (he knew, we didn’t know) was so big and close to the contracting map that it sucked out some of the time and some of the space from the air, making the tide rise more than at any time of the day. He knew why that was and we didn’t know but we were looking at the same thing, the earth getting warmer and warmer and warmer, and the wave growing higher and higher and 

And we would sometimes go away from Victoria, to a nearby town where the waves were always bigger and we marvelled at how they whip-cracked, splash-fell and rocked against the concrete-lined shore and drowned the air underneath with all their might, worked it into white foam. He knew and we didn’t, and while we lay down with girls looking into the stars and talking about constellations (only to then laugh about how drunk and absurd it is to think three stars can possibly represent the shape of a great bear or big dipper or any kind of stupid shit like that), The Russian tried to crack the code written in the stars. Looking for a new home for us. The four of us walked the shore and wondered about the origin of colorful pebbles spat out by the lapping magnificent waves, and he could probably tell us everything about each of them, trace lines from each falling star to each stone we cast mindlessly into the sea.

He could explain the shifting realities when the morning came, and why, at seventeen, you have to do certain things and not the others, and now, too, why we did all those things, why we worked in psychedelic factories and sung our hearts out to the bass of the speaker. Why we ran after girls beach-length and back, why we hitchhiked to Lou’s restaurant, why we came to Victoria in the first place, why we had jobs in advertising, why we were twenty-one, but Stone was right about one thing - the Russian was ‘fundamentally alone’

There is another scene in Interstellar, the next one after the giant wave, where Matthew Mcconaughey comes back to the spaceship waiting in the orbit of a water-mountain-these-are-not-mountains planet, discovers that time, tied with an invisible string to the fucked-up gravity) passes differently on the surface of the planet, in its orbit, and in general completely differently back on the contracting earth’s map where he left his children. How old were at the time he left in that movie - I can’t remember, let’s say twenty-one. Having spent only half an hour on the surface, he now plays the received messages from back home and sees his children’s lifetimes growing older and older and older and finally sees them surpassing them in age. He breaks down in tears and I suppose you could say he, too, was ‘fundamentally alone’

The Russian, Stone told us, was taught privately by a tutor who’s line of mathematical origin could be traced all the way to Gauss or someone. He could speak Einstein, french and spanish, and although his tongue got tied in human conversations, one day, as we drank beer on a small patch of grass in front of the local hotel, he proclaimed there was something very important we wanted to tell us. Concluding that the Russian was most definitely possessed by something (you could tell when he spoke bulgarian), we all decided listening would do no harm but at worst would be so incredible that we would not believe it. 

‘You guys are now young and strong and you surf and all, but seriously, you have to do sports’, he began, ‘I don’t mean just any sport but something that really puts weight on your muscles. Like rowing or pumping on the bench, you have to train and now prepare for the rest of your life. And cardio, too, it will save you from heart disease and such.’ - and you can imagine mine, our surprise and feeling of absurdity that a being like that was uttering sentences such as these at that moment. 

And that was it, the only normal set of words he ever uttered in front of us, which in his mouth was not normal at all - this man, trained by Gauss himself, had one recommendation to us and it was to do sports because it will help us to stay healthy in the future. 

In space, the state of weightlessness makes the unused muscles grow weak, and the astronauts have to use the special gym machines installed on their spaceship so that their bodies don’t entropy, and heart is a muscle, too, I think, and I wondered, briefly, after what the Russian told us, if it too can die with no gravity. And it seems that time is a muscle too. It contracts and then it unfolds, it squeezes and releases and lets you breathe and suffocates, and ultimately things seem neither good nor bad but just what they ended up being. Time can definitely die away and fall from you like a dead leaf. Or it can end up a pretty stone under the feet of a giant wave. You don’t feel how it squeezes and unfolds, how it lays you down in a warm bed in the arms of someone you didn’t ever know but who reminds you of everything. 

Matthew Mcconaughey - seeing messages from the future, past, present, now, never, always, and breaking down into tears, his heart breaking from weightlessness.

I was twenty one and I knew what it meant. 

And in a year I would be twenty two, and in another year twenty three, and in three years twenty four. And the astrology girls, going with us skinny dipping in the midnight water, they will disappear somewhere under the waves and start slowly fading away from our lives like an unused muscle.

J loved quoting this one scene from Matthew Mcconaughey's first movie: 

‘You know what I love most about college girls? I get older - they stay the sameeeee age’

And each time he said it, he laughed with the greatest, purest laughter you could find on this now planet.

4. 

‘And I got caught one time’

‘For what?’

‘Well, maybe two, but only one time involved the police. Second time. And that was me trying to steal an album, well, it was called Steal This Album’ - I was lying, although I did also steal that album, but having trouble with the police was for an attempted theft of headphones though that didn’t sound as sexy. And for some reason which made me feel real good I was flirting with the most beautiful girl under the good sun by us recounting our thefts both real or invented.

We both quickly settled that we had some borderline immoral thread running through our veins but drew the line at actually killing someone. We were rich and young enough to say those things and be all sexy about it. We knew we didn’t have to steal but arranged we should do it together and some point (‘ok, why not tomorrow?’) and it was beer first, and then flip flops the next and then another day a pink swimming mattress from the backseat of some rich and young and abandoned rented cabrio. And we took it swimming, drunkenly in the night. Rich and young, and full of stars.

We stepped into the calm sea, small waves, shallow, and took off our clothes, most of them, and took our pink stolen mattress against the waves, her covering small breasts with only her hands, our sociopathic personalities meeting somewhere under ridiculous notions of astrology. We kissed, and that was that. 

The mattress lay once again abandoned (has someone left the rented cabrio just as we left the shore?) where our friends would say it was ridiculous to steal it. We only stopped kissing when she said we have to look for the damn pink abandoned thing (apparently it was rented by one of her friends) after which we dived deep into the shallow sea.

I remembered all those things other than sex best. The kiss in the sea. The conversation about stealing shit, the hand covering breasts. And after sex, the interruptions of it by my taking sips from a big bottle of booze, and playing chess on the rooftop of the place we stole from. 

‘And I got caught one time’

‘For what?’ 

‘Stealing mattresses, and flip flops, and beer, but it was good, the time I did treated me well’

‘How long were you in for?’

‘Hmm I don’t know, around eight decades’

‘Woah, how old were you when you got caught?’

‘Like, twenty-one’

‘Shit, but you say it was good?’

‘Yeah. It was good life’