#(Screen caps are the easiest to make on short notice)

[koushirouizumi]

Me, adding Yet More of my DigiAdvs rare-pair Queer ships to my "things I need to cap" list: Anyway,,,,,

[hoarderofliterature]

being indian-american and also very Gender is hilarious, a vignette

i think the easiest term for what my gender is, or sometimes isn't, is genderfluid. i don't think i've ever truly been able to understand the concept of gender, or how it's ever applied to me. but i'm not completely agender, either.

some people might argue that calling gender a performance can be a bullet in favor of bigots, who wish to treat trans people as just "disillusioned kids playing dress-up", as a teacher i once met in high school so succinctly put it. but gender is something i feel more tangibly in terms of performance, and i can't really put it in other words that make sense.

i find myself at odds with who i was, ten years ago. when gender felt like something out of my hands, an understanding waiting to be reached within my brain, hoping that one day it might solidify into something on a binary side, or at the very least, leave me with nothing at all to worry about.

(and when that didn't end up happening, a firm resolve to at least learn to deal with the constant dysphoria, await the supposedly masculine or feminine shifts in perspective the same way i anticipated and dealt with blood work results.)

i find myself at odds with that because gender to me now, and the way i feel it, is wholly performance. perspective, perception, their resulting behaviors and viewpoints, are all so fluid. and the way my gender shifts, flows into another, is still not something i am entirely in control of like the way i once wished, but something i can wield in the environment or situation in which i find myself, regardless of how it shows itself at that time.

anyway.

the way i dress most days is androgynous, so that if gender taps me on the shoulder and asks to be my skin for a few hours, i can work with it. but today was more masculine, and i was going downtown, so i decided to wear something to reflect that - an open floral shirt over a t-shirt with a golden chain, jeans, sneakers, and of course, a backwards baseball cap. which is about as southern california dude/butch of an outfit you can get without wearing swim shorts and a tank top.

and on the way back, i had to stop by an indian cultural event because a family friend was participating.

indian culture is very strict to the gender binary. this opposes some parts of vedic philosophy, in which the body is a mere shell for the soul, and so the soul is inherently without the idea or limitation of gender. it also renders gods as genderless, though we have the separation between gods and goddesses in mythology. many hindus haven't followed the true meaning of the scripture for a long time. but that's besides the point.

indian men tend to gather, standing or sitting, in groups while their wives shop, and not to talk- to steadfastly stare in opposite directions, and if they do talk, it's about politics. or the latest moon mission. indian women hover, stall to stall, either staring fearfully at their husbands or cheerfully talking with store owners, or silently comparing prices while taking stock of the different languages within nine square feet of them.

my experience of the indian american performance of gender, outside of what bollywood puts on screen, is, in a word, careful. everyone wants someone else to know, to notice, that the way they are dressed or the volume of their voice is deliberate. that the gold earrings they're wearing are 24K and they got them on their last trip to India over the summer. that they will fit in with the rest of their half of the crowd if they lower their voice, speak less, speak more, laugh louder, eat pani puri or samosas any more or less delicately than the man or woman next to them.

standards of being an indian man or woman are trained into us as young children, so that we grow up with a clear idea of what that looks like. how to dress (within american standards, but also indian standards, but also gender standards), how to talk, what topics to discuss, how to stand diminutively to avoid attracting attention, what to say to make others stay within their own gender boundaries, and let them recognize that we're doing the same.

great how that turned out, huh.

so when they're confronted with someone who doesn't fit any of those standards, who doesn't want to, who simply wants to exist in a culture that thrives on conformity and oneupmanship, they don't know what to do.

and standing with my father in this event market crowd was interesting. because i was deliberately performing masculinity in my clothing and stature, and people were thrown off. nearly every woman was in a chudidar or a dress or wearing makeup, staring at me and my long hair and my decidedly non-feminine presentation, trying to reconcile those. trying to figure out exactly why my mother let me leave the house dressed like this, because you can't escape your indian parents' clutches even as an adult. trying to know exactly what i was, failing, and turning back to the other women with one eye on the merchandise and one eye on me.

and it wasn't the fact that i wasn't in indian dress- there were plenty of people in western clothing- but rather that i stood by my father, equally silently, in a crowd of men looking like they'd rather be anywhere but there, holding on to gender not as a bargaining tool or a tenet, but as a rippling, nebulous key.

[fangirlingincamouflage]

Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini​ (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months.  He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All  I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

[littlesliceofmarvel]

manipulating a god | chpt. seven

Synopsis: Trying to break the information out of Loki during the attack of 2012 wasn’t exactly the easiest task, but it was a challenge you were willing to take head on. So, what happened when a master manipulator tried to get information from the God of Mischief?

Series warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, gore

Pairings: Stark!Reader x Loki

A/N: so!!! i am sorry this is late once again but holy crap. i binge watched all the marvel films and am now flowing with ideas!! hope you enjoy the next part of this series! :)

series masterlist

———————

“He — what?”

Tony’s face contorted into confusion as he processed what you told him. He placed down the piece of technology he had been working on and put all of his attention on you, eyebrows furrowed and lips curved down into a slight frown.

“I’m telling you, he’s going to get to Banner,” you repeated angrily, grabbing a swivel chair and sitting down harshly. You were honestly surprised the chair hadn’t slid out from under you with the intensity that you had sat down with.

Tony shook his head, “Why would he go after Banner?”

Shrugging, not really having an answer for him, you tried your best to find a decent reason, “Maybe because Banner can break him out? I don’t know. Maybe because if Banner were to Hulk-out, all of our safety would be compromised.”

You could tell by the look Tony was giving you that he didn’t fully believe you were going down the right path with your assumption. Honestly, you had been a little doubtful about yourself at first. But it somehow made sense.

If Banner turned into the Hulk, he’d cause a distraction. A disaster. Thousands of feet up in the air, where Loki could easily plan an escape if he was somehow in contact with his ‘flying monkeys’ hidden somewhere down below.

If Hulk got to Loki and set him free, you’d honestly have no way to track him. And you’d been in a deep pile of shit.

“Look, it’s not a lot to go off of, I know that,” you sighed, standing up and kicking the chair away, “But can you just keep an eye out on him? Make sure he’s just... not stressed? That’s the last thing we need.”

Tony seemed to think over your words for a good while before he nodded his head and pursed his lips, “I’ll keep an eye on Banner.”

Relief flooding over your body, you pulled him in for a quick hug, “Thank you.”

But before you could pull away and leave the room, he narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at you, “How are you handling this whole Loki thing? Is he getting in your head?”

Had he?

Loki wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, this was no secret. But you had never found yourself feeling unsafe or invaded while in his presence.

“No, actually,” you replied truthfully, finding no reason to lie, “He’s actually been fine. Throws tantrums, yes, and he acts like a toddler at times, but no. Not in my head.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, looking you up and down, “If you say so.”

Pursing your lips and nodding, you walked out of the room. Yes, you had a strong feeling that Loki was going to use the Hulk. It only made sense. But why did it seem like Tony wasn’t believing you?

Was Loki getting into your head? Making you believe things you couldn’t possibly prove? Was it possible he was just trying to get you to believe the Hulk theory while he was actually planning another escape?

You shook your head, attempting to clear your thoughts as you stepped into the main control room, the large windows and bright skies up ahead captivating your attention as you sat down on another swivel chair, leaning your elbows on the table and resting your head in your hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a voice from next to you caused you to spin around, facing a solemn Steve Rogers.

“That’s an old expression, Captain,” you smirked, turning back towards the windows as he chuckled.

“Thought I’d bring a bit of tradition to the team.”

You turned back to face him, an amused smile on your face, “I think the fact that you’re nearly a hundred years old is traditional enough.”

He tossed his head back, laughter bubbling and his eyes crinkled, “Decent point.”

You turned away from him and stared at your hands, which were now leaving little smudges on Fury’s spotless glass table. You tried wiping at the smudges with your sleeve, only making it worse.

“But really, though,” Steve interrupted your lame cleaning attempt, “What’s wrong?”

Sighing, you faced him once more, “I have a hunch about something but I might be wrong.”

He nodded, “What’s the hunch?”

You shrugged, pursing your lips and scrunching your nose, deciding for change the topic, “Did you ever find out more about—” you lowered your voice, “—Fury using the sceptre for secret weapons?”

Steve seemed a little taken aback by your change in topic but decided against pressing it, “I believe so. I’m going to go check out my own personal hunch shortly.”

“Ah,” you nodded, “So Tony was right once again.” Why Fury would need to use such a powerful gamma radiated intergalactic weapon was behind you. Fury didn’t know you guys were onto him, though, so until you guys could prove it, it was probably best to stay out of his way.

Silence filled the space and you tried to focus on what was going on around you — the intercom voices, the computers beeping, the clouds whizzing by, the smell of sanitizer and metal.

Despite how heavy and intense everything felt, you somehow still questioned whether you were in a dream or not. Things just seemed so surreal in that moment.

“Y/N,” a smooth voice from behind you caused you to spin around on the chair, eyebrows raised as you faced a tense Tony. As you came back to your senses, you realized Steve was gone from next to you. Probably off to investigate his own hunch.

“Yep?”

“We need to talk,” he motioned his head in the direction he came from, so you stood up and followed him down the hallway. His walk was quick, his body tense — you knew something was up. It was rare Tony was this quiet.

As the two of you walked into the lab, you nodded a hello to Bruce sitting in the corner and followed Tony to a computer.

“What’s this?” you asked, looking over to him. Before he could answer, Fury marched into the room, clear anger and frustration laced into his features and his boots rather loud against the metallic floor.

“What are you doing, Stark?” his voice boomed.

Tony shrugged, “Kind of wondering the same thing about you.”

You looked back and forth between the two, leaning back onto the desk behind you to avoid friendly fire. Tony had a way of getting under people’s skin, but it was always with good intention. Fury just had a short fuse.

“You’re supposed to be locating the Tesseract,” Fury demanded, staring your brother down.

“We are,” Bruce piped up, “the model’s locked and we’re sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit, we’ll get the location within half a mile.” He pointed to a screen on the opposite side of the room, Fury turning around on the spot to check it.

“What’s going on?” you leaned in to Tony, keeping your voice low.

He ignored you, “Yeah, then you get your cube back. No muss, no fuss.” he peered over at the screen in front of him and furrowed his eyebrows, “What is Phase 2?”

You hadn’t noticed Steve walk into the room, which is why you almost jumped when he slammed a large gun down on the table, “Phase 2 is Shield used the cube to make weapons.”

“Holy shit,” you gaped, looking away from the gun and eyeing Fury before turning back to Steve, rather impressed, “Nice hunch, Cap.”

“Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract, this does not mean that we’re—,”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Tony piped up, turning his screen around, showing off the diagram of a powerful nuclear weapon, “What were you lying?”

Your eyes were wide as you stared down Fury. You had a nasty feeling he might have been hiding something, but the blow of realization felt powerful. You had trusted him.

He, however, didn’t seem fazed by the accusations being thrown his way.

Natasha and Thor walked into the room as Steve spoke up, “I was wrong, Director. The world hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Did you two know about this?” Bruce asked the newcomers.

You sat up at the sound of his voice, your arms crossed, “Wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, Banner? I have a feeling—,”

Bruce chuckled humourlessly, “I was in Calcutta. I was pretty well removed.” He shot a look in Natasha’s direction before facing you again, his body language showing that he was fed up, “I’d like to know why Shield is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction.”

“That’s something all of us would like to know, actually,” you raised an eyebrow and stood your ground. The room felt tense, still, and angry. You had a looming feeling something was going to go wrong — but when didn’t you, really?

“Because of him,” Fury sighed, pointing his finger to Thor.

“Me?” he asked, baffled, pointing a finger to himself and narrowing his eyes.

“Last year Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town,” Fury walked over to him, unfazed by the accusations being thrown at him, “We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously, outgunned.”

You sighed, tossing your head back. Even though you wanted to be mad at Fury for hiding his plan, you thought it made sense. There was no way you humans could fight back against the forces that came from outer space.

“My people want nothing but peace with your planet,” Thor defender, uncrossing his arms.

“Tell that to Loki,” you muttered under your breath, Tony turning to face you with a stern look. Luckily no one except him had heard the comment.

Fury nodded, “But you’re not the only people out there, are you? And you’re not the only threat. The world’s filling up with people who can’t be matched — that can’t be controlled.”

“Like you try and control the cube?” you asked, placing your hands on your hips.

“Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it. And his allies,” Thor’s voice was laced with anger as he stepped towards Fury, “It is a signal to all the realms that Earth is ready for a higher form of war.”

A shiver went down your spine at his words. You couldn’t fathom how bad things could get if other planets, other species, found out about the weapons that Shield could possess with the Tesseract.

“You forced our hand,” Fury sighed again, “We had to come up with something.”

“A nuclear deterrent,” Tony spoke up, “Because that always calms everything right down.”

You wanted to speak up and mention that using nuclear weapons was how the two of you made your money, but Fury beat you to it.

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?”

“Hol’ up,” you waved your hands, disbelief on your face, “How is this now about us? We had nothing to do with Fury’s plan. Yes, we used to make weapons, but don’t drag us into this. This is a whole different ballpark.”

Thor scoffed, “I thought humans were more evolved than this.”

“I’m sorry — did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?” Fury asked rhetorically, voice laced with sarcasm.

You could barely understand another word as the crowd around you burst into argument, Fury squabbling with Thor and Natasha, Tony and Steve going at each other’s throats, and Bruce standing by with his arms crossed.

“I was serious,” you turned to him, “You should think about leaving. It’s not safe for you.”

He rolled his eyes, turning to bite back at something Natasha said, her eyes filled with rage.

You couldn’t even understand what anyone was saying; the words all became jumbled and mushed together. All you could think about was the fact that the team was falling apart and that would only make you guys weaker.

“Tony,” you sighed, placing your hand on his shoulder, “Can we all just chill the fuck out?”

“You speak of control, yet you court chaos,” Thor spoke, silencing the rest of the group.

“I mean, what are we? A team?” Bruce took the attention of the room, “No, we’re a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We’re... we’re a time bomb.”

“Hey, what did I do?” you raised your arms defensively, eyes narrowed at the doctor. You were the one trying to worm your way through Loki’s mind.

“You need to step away,” Fury turned around, glaring at Bruce. Finally, someone was on your side.

Tony scoffed and uncrossed his arms, “Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?”

“You know damn well why — back off,” Steve quipped back. You had never seen the super soldier look so vexed. Not that you’ve know him long, but nonetheless.

Tony stared him down, “I’m starting to want you to make me.”

“Okay, boys,” you placed your hands on each of their shoulders, preparing to pry them apart from each other, “Let’s just—,”

Steve brushed you off forcefully, “Yeah, big man in a suit of armour. Take that off and what are you?”

Without missing a beat, Tony replied, “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

You nodded your head, impressed by how quickly he had quipped back.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you,” Steve said lowly, getting closer to Tony by the second, “I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself.”

“Hey,” you placed your hand on Steve’s chest, “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“You’re wrong,” Tony glared him down, “I fight for her too.”

Steve chuckled dryly, “Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

Previously unbothered by Steve, you couldn’t help the bubbling anger.

“A hero? Like you?” Tony furrowed his eyebrows, “You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.”

Steve’s lips curved upwards, “Put on the suit. Let’s go a few rounds.”

You threw your head back with a groan, “Oh, come on. You guys are behaving like children.”

“I have to agree with the better Stark,” Thor said, pointing his finger at you, causing you to shoot a quick smile his way as he laughed, “You people are so petty. And tiny.”

Bruce scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the desk, “Yeah, this is a team.”

“Agent Romanoff,” Fury’s voice overtook the room once more, “Would you escort Dr Banner back to his—,”

“Where?” Bruce crossed his arms, “You rented my room.”

You let out another sigh, raising your hand and pinching the spot between your eyebrows in frustration. This was not going well in the slightest.

“The cell was just in case—,”

“—in case you needed to kill me,” Bruce interrupted Fury again, “But you can’t. I know. I tried.”

You dropped your hand, staring at the doctor with wide eyes and your mouth slightly agape, “Oh, Bruce...”

Silence filled the room at his statement. Which was both good and bad, really. The arguing finally stopped, but Bruce’s temper seemed to be seething through, his hands balled into fists at his sides and the veins on his neck growing. If he didn’t calm down soon, this wouldn’t end well.

“I got low,” Bruce continued, “I didn’t see an end. So I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out.”

As worried as you were in the moment, you couldn’t help but feel for him. You couldn’t imagine how difficult his life must have been. Transforming at random, needing to control your emotions in order to avoid causing irreversible damage.

“So I moved on,” he continued softly, slowly walking backwards, “I focused on helping other people. I was good. Until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk.”

As if unaware he was even doing it, Bruce picked up the sceptre from behind him and gripped it tightly in his hand, his eyes locked on Natasha, “You wanna know much secret, agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?”

You took a step back, Tony and Steve doing the same, their eyes also locked on Bruce’s sceptre-wielding hand.

Fury placed one hand on his gun as Steve spoke up, “Dr Banner, put down the sceptre.”

Taglist

(message me or comment if you want to be added/removed. If you are in bold it is because I am unable to tag you.)

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[raventhekittycat]

Akai’s cellphone: a short study

So I noticed something while looking through the clash of red in black in the manga.

This is Akai’s cell phone, before he and Conan come up with the plan, when he’s looking at the text from Akemi.

This is the one when he’s in contact with Kir:

It’s subtle but they are different. If you look at the hinge mechanism you can see that the hinges are different on both of them. Also if you look arrow key pad the first one is square and the second one is round. The on screen options change as on both as well the first having two options the second having none, though this may be the difference of the first screen being a received message and the second being a sent message. However that is unlikely considering cellphones of that age tended to have options (that sometimes change depending on what was on screen) or none at all in this manner. Since both of them are decidedly featured on each of their respective pages it would be improper to consider the difference an error. (Also as Gosho is highlighting that Akai is unnaturally using his right hand here.) Gosho tends to be a stickler for small details like these.

Counter arguments, more differences, more analysis, and explanation of importance under the cut.

Now you might argue that he is using James’s phone to send the message to Kir since James is there with him in that moment and to that I present counter evidence.

(I apologize for the watermark but it was easiest to grab the caps I needed off of mangareader.) James’s cellphone is a light color. And it’s not light as a means of contrast either as we see Akai holding his own phone earlier on the page and it is black.

You can actually see another even subtler difference at this point which is possible to disregard as too small to matter. But if you compare the small screen here to the first one:

You can see that the screen is set differently in the small window and that there is a camera or logo in the window of his first cell phone and none in the second one he has later. The screens are also spaced differently in the window on of them being fairly centered and the other being offset from the center to accommodate the camera/logo.

So why is this important? It means that knowing he was going to fake his own death at some point in the midst of everything else that is going on he swapped cell phones. Or alternatively the first cell phone is his old cell phone and he was using the second one while holding onto the first one at the same time. As he’s largely practical, it seems more likely that he swapped them and wasn’t carrying two. But why did he go to the extra trouble of swapping phones? They’re running around on limited time, to the point where he isn’t sleeping much, as evidenced by falling asleep in his truck in this scene, so why? It’s because of the text from Akemi. He took the time to look at it earlier, and still hasn’t deleted it. It clearly is very important to him no matter whether you think he loves her or not. Because of this knowing that he had to make his death believable and wouldn’t really be able to hide anything when the time came he chose to swap phones so he wouldn’t lose that text from her. It likely was the simplest way at the time to hold onto the text rather than swapping sim cards or something else. Maybe not very important to the overall plot but it is an interesting insight into his character.

[strawberryjeonginnie]

Instagram//Kim Seungmin

Genre: fluff

Additional: college au, instagrammer(?) seungmin, lowkey coffee shop au, gender-neutral reader, oneshot

Word Count: 2,147

Warnings: a lot of blushing and disgusting fluff

Summary: @ ksm_00 has followed you!

A/N: this fic was inspired by instagram by dean. 

Kim Seungmin was quite possibly one of the most attractive boys you had ever laid eyes upon; your local college sweetheart who spent his free time in a quiet corner of a coffee shop with a book in hand and round glasses slowly slipping off his nose. Except, there was something that set him apart from all the other college sweethearts who spent their free time in a corner of a coffee shop — Seungmin was Instagram famous. Sure, Instagram famous does sound a little ridiculous, but he was popular for a good reason. He had the voice of an angel and posted short little covers of songs in between selfies and cute aesthetics. He had gained quite the fan base and even some admirers. You were one of them.

You weren’t typically the type to fawn over anyone, but you couldn’t help yourself. As soon as you laid eyes on his page back in your sophomore year of high school, you had been completely whipped. When you first saw him on your campus your freshman year at your university, you had to do a double take. It felt even weirder when you ended up having classes with him. Now, in your sophomore year in college, you still couldn’t get over seeing him in real life. It was like you were permanently star-struck. What made things worse? You worked at the cafe he frequented. Needless to say — sometimes you got a little distracted on the job.

“Excuse me–“ A shy voice snapped you out of your daze and you quickly turned your attention to the customer in front of you. To your horror, it was Kim Seungmin himself. Of course, he had to catch you spacing off.

“S-sorry! What could I get for you, sir?” You stuttered out, pink dusting your cheeks from embarrassment. “Could I just get a medium iced vanilla coffee?” he asked, fishing out a ten from his back pocket. “Of course! Your total is four fifty.”

He handed you the bill and you quickly made out change and handed it back to him. Smiling, he put it into the tip bucket and shyly looked back up at you before going to find a place to sit while he waited for his drink. Your heart fluttered and you smiled dreamily. Your coworker, Jisung, quirked his eyebrow at you, making you turn and start to make the coffee to hide your red face.

While scooping ice into the plastic cup, you suddenly felt a presence next to you. You jumped, looking up to see who it was. You let out a sigh of relief seeing that it was only Jisung — but you quickly became confused seeing the smug look on his face.

“What?” you questioned, only to be met with him wiggling his eyebrows at you. Suddenly understanding, you became defensive. “No,” you said sternly, turning back to what you were doing.

“Oh come on — it’s so obvious,” he whined. You shook your head. “Keep your voice down, he’ll hear us. Besides, I don’t like him like that,” you whispered, glancing over at Seungmin to make sure he didn’t hear. Thankfully, Seungmin was on his phone, most likely scrolling through Instagram. Jisung smiled wider, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I never said you do. You’re assuming that’s what I meant and that must mean you do like him,” he whispered back, making you groan and go back to making the drink. Finishing up, you turned around and pushed past Jisung. Sucking in a breath, you approached Seungmin.

“Here’s your drink, sir!” You smiled. Seungmin looked up from his phone and gave you one of his dazzling smiles. “Thank you,” he said lightly. You swore there were hearts in your eyes. You nodded and quickly turned back around to keep him from seeing the blush that was making its way to your face. You walked back to the counter, only to be met with a very smug-faced Jisung.

“So you don’t like him, huh?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, embarrassed that you outed yourself so easily.

“Don’t worry. He seems to like you too.” Jisung nodded his head, gesturing behind you. Glancing in the direction, you awkwardly lock eyes with Seungmin. You snapped your head back to Jisung, who seemed satisfied with whatever work he thought he was doing. 

“He’s been looking at you every chance he's gotten,” Jisung whispered, making you shake your head in disagreement. “He’s probably looking at the menu or something,” you say, trying to come up with some other logical reason. 

“The menu isn’t taped to your name tag, (Y/n),” he laughed out, amused at how persistent you were being. Suddenly, Jisung’s expression changed, signaling that he was struck with an idea. He took a napkin off the counter and pulled a pen out of his apron pocket, quickly scribbling your Instagram handle onto the piece of paper.

“W-What are you doing?” You stuttered out, knowing all too well what he was about to do. “You’ll thank me later.” Jisung smiled, a mischievous tone to his voice. Before you could stop him, Jisung was already standing in front of Seungmin.

“Excuse me, but my coworker over there thinks you’re cute. I’ve noticed you checking them out, so I’ve taken the liberty upon myself to give you their Instagram.”Seungmin’s face flushed pink and you wanted to die where you were standing, you were so embarrassed. Jisung walked back to you with a big smile plastered across his face. 

“You’re welcome!”

--

Finally, your shift had ended and you were home. You flopped down onto your bed, sighing in relief as you felt the pressure of standing all day leave your body. You rolled on to your back, fishing your phone out of your back pocket. Clicking on the power button, you were met with notifications from your social media from throughout the day. You quickly scrolled through, stopping to see who followed you.

Instagram, 11:36 am: @ ksm_00 has started following you!

Your eyes widened and you clicked the notification, making sure that it was really Seungmin and not someone else. Sure enough, it was really him. Throwing your phone down next to you, you grabbed your pillow and screamed into it. Once that little moment was over, you picked your phone back up and quickly texted Jisung a thank you. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you thought about what you should do next. Should you message him? Would that be weird? Sucking in a deep breath, you decided to just go for it. Opening up your DMs, you were surprised to see a message already there.

‘hey, sorry if this is weird, but ive been going to the coffee shop you work at for a while and i think youre really cute’

You kept re-reading the message over and over again. You were convinced you didn’t read right. Once you went over it for the fifth time, you started to freak out. Kim Seungmin — the Kim Seungmin — thought you were cute. Your hands started to shake a little as you typed out your response and you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way when he messaged you.

‘haha, no, i dont find it weird at all. its kind of cute. if you wanna meet at my work tomorrow at 11 maybe we could talk and get to know each other more? the coffee is on me’

You were thankful that Seungmin seemed to be a quick texter, as it only took him a few moments to respond, saving you the anxiety of waiting for a reply.

‘are you sure i wouldn’t be distracting you from your job?’

‘no no its fine! i actually have tomorrow off but i figured it would be the easiest place to meet’

‘ok! consider it a date ;)’

Key smashing in all caps would be the best way to describe how you felt at that moment. You put a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm your racing heart — but to no avail. Putting up your phone, you worried about tomorrow. What if you fucked up? What if Seungmin was just trying to be nice? What if you were thinking way too much about everything? The last one was 100 percent likely, but you chose to do it anyway.

You couldn’t help worrying, though — you had spent enough time following him and his friends on Instagram. To put it simply; you weren’t like them. They all were the type to constantly look good, have flawless skin, and confidently show off their talents. You, on the other hand, tended to have days where you were imperfect and not as confident. Seeing them perhaps made you feel a little insecure about what you could be worth to Seungmin.

--

The next morning you woke up, dreading your meeting with Seungmin. Groggily, you grabbed your phone and clicked the home button. Rubbing your eyes, you squinted at your screen.

‘10:27 AM’

A jolt of panic struck through you and you shot out of your bed, hurrying to get ready to meet Seungmin. You wanted to look good and your work was about a 15-minute drive from your apartment, leaving you around 15 minutes to get ready so you could be a little early. You ran into your bathroom and quickly brushed your hair and teeth. Rushing into your room, you threw open your closet in hopes to find a decent outfit. Scanning over your clothes, you caught sight of your favorite sweater and sighed in relief, silently thanking your past self for washing clothes.

You arrived at the cafe five minutes before you and Seungmin agreed to meet up and you were glad to see that he wasn’t there yet. You were even more thankful to see Changbin and Minho behind the counter today and not Jisung. You knew he would give you hell at work if he saw you on your date.

“Hey, (Y/n), odd to see you here on your day off. What’s up?” Changbin asked. Hearing your name, Minho perked up from behind the cash register and smiled happily.

“(Y/n)! My favorite co-worker!” He laughed, earning a light punch on the shoulder from Changbin. Suddenly, the door chimed, signaling someone had walked in. Turning around, you saw Seungmin awkwardly standing in the doorway. Seeing you, he walked over and gave you an awkward, lopsided smile, like he was unsure what to do with himself. For the first time, it felt like you were seeing an awkward nineteen-year-old and not some internet celebrity.

The start of the date was tense, to say the least. Since the two of you were the only customers, it felt more open and awkward than you felt like it should.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward yesterday... I’m not really good a flirting.” Seungmin laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. You cracked a smile and laughed, making Seungmin’s face burn red with embarrassment.

“W-What? Why are you laughing?” He stuttered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. You’re just being cute.”

Your own words honestly surprised you and you tried to look like you weren’t panicking. Thankfully, Seungmin grinned, bashfully looking down at the cup between his hands. Slowly, the conversation between the two of you started and before you knew it, three hours had passed.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s already 2:00!” You and Seungmin walked out of the coffee shop and decided to take a walk together in the park nearby. 

“I know! I really haven’t talked to someone for that long in a while! You’re really fun to talk to,” he said. You blushed, happy that he enjoyed your company.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you quipped. Seungmin laughed and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

The two of you walked peacefully through the park, shoulder-to-shoulder. While you were admiring some of the pretty hydrangeas, you felt a hand brush against your own. Looking over at Seungmin, you saw that he was looking at your hand, his face dusted a light pink. Smiling, you shyly held his hand. The two of you continued walking in comfortable silence, only really speaking when one of you spotted something to point out to the other. About an hour had passed before you decided you needed to get home since you had a class the next day.

“I had a lot of fun today. Could we... could we maybe do it again?” Seungmin asked. There was a nervous twinge to his voice, making you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

“Of course! I had a lot of fun today,” you said. There was a pause and Seungmin looked like he was contemplating something. Taking in a deep breath, he placed a quick kiss on your cheek.

“How about a movie tomorrow after class?”

[dedalvs]

Övüsi: The Elvish Language from Bright

The Elves in Bright run the world. They’re literally in charge of everything, and they look down on everyone else. They’ve always been around (which is another way of saying I’ve now forgotten where geographically they were supposed to have originated), and though their language has changed, the Elves have prevented borrowings from other languages from “tainting” the “purity” of theirs.

The language itself has changed over the centuries, but older words have been preserved in their original forms for use in magic. Both modern Elvish and a couple of words of older Elvish appear in the film. The name of the language is Övüsi Kieru, which literally means “Elvish Tongue”, and despite having 9 vowel qualities, it does not have vowel harmony. The language is SOV and strongly head-final with thirteen cases and a verb system which is weird (I honestly still don’t get it).

Remember previously when I said I designed the Castithan language from Defiance to be spoken quickly—and how I failed? This time I tried to do it right—and I think I succeeded. You can really pick up some speed speaking this language, and the tongue twisters are minimal.

The orthography is a bit of a story. I created it to be excessively indulgent, and I think I succeed in that. When I showed the art department, though, they said it wasn’t excessively indulgent enough. They wanted more stuff about. So I had to take what, to my mind, was already a ridiculously gaudy writing system and make it gaudier. The result is, in my opinion, just silly in places. I suppose it’s in keeping with the Elves’ style of dress, but some of its excesses really tax credulity. You’ll see.

Below is the phonology and orthography of Övüsi:

Couple things here. First, you’ll notice long vowels for everything but mid vowels. This is my “Don’t make actors pronounce ee as anything other than [i]” sound change. Old long mid vowels broke, becoming a high vowel followed by a mid vowel, as in Finnish (so ie, üö, ïë, and uo).

You’ll also notice some unrounded back vowels. I was nervous about trying to do unrounded back vowels, but I figured since I was going to have constant access to the actors, I’d give it a shot. Turns out I had nothing to worry about. Those unrounded vowels are super easy for English speakers to pronounce. Basically I just said, “These are pronounced like this”, and then they said, “Oh”, and did them right every time. The front rounded vowels still caused problems, but the back unrounded vowels did not. I used diereses to indicate the unrounded back vowels for parallelism. It seems to have worked.

As a final note, the long opposite-rounding vowels have no separate form. This is because though the long vowels are phonemic (in that there are places where you must pronounce, e.g., üü as opposed to ü), there’s actually no way to write them in the orthography. Everything else that has a distinguishable form (as you’ll see) is either a form that was a licit long vowel at one time, or was (or currently is) a licit diphthong. That left nothing for the long opposite rounding vowels.

Here are the aforementioned diphthongs:

If you look at the forms for ie and uo, they should look rather familiar. That’s because these used to be the forms for *ee and *oo, and they’re simply read differently now. You’ll also notice that the forms for üö and ïë are identical to the forms for ö and ë, respectively. That’s because there’s no way to indicate the long form for these vowels, and those are the readings of the long forms of those vowels.

As you look at these, by the way, most of the extra lines and weird swooshes you see were added by request.

The consonantal base forms are as follows:

You can ignore the blue box; that was my bad there (screen cap). So like...stuff happened here. Basically, the short forms of stops became fricatives, but then there already was a *th, so all those words just got respelled. So the form with the three asterisks is usually pronounced [s] before [i], and elsewhere it’s [θ], but it’s not used word-initially, unless it’s before [i]. The form with four asterisks is an old consonant that’s no longer pronounced (it’s just regular [h] now), and so there are two [h]’s in this thing.

I added those ridiculous half moons because most stuff was wanted. Also, I thought r was fine on its own, but they wanted the bottom part to extend, so I extended it, along with l. Same extension happened with the word-initial flourish on f and v and like forms. I’m just looking at this now, and I’m like...seems unnecessary...

Anyway, the system is an abugida, which means there’s an inherent vowel, and modifications are added for other vowels. The inherent vowel in this system is short e. This is a fully executed consonant that’s hopefully large enough that you can see it:

You can also see the “capital” versions that occur for some consonant/vowel combinations above. Basically, when one of these occurs as the first character of a word, there’s an extra flourish. Where there are two glyphs above, the first has the flourish, and so is an initial form, and the other would appear elsewhere in the word. I had a lot of fun coming up with these, but now looking at the extra half moons, the extra loops, the extra double lines on bö... It’s just all too extra for me. But I know what it originally looked like, so I always have something to compare it to in my mind.

Now for the sake of completeness, though it’s going to make this really long, here is the fully executed version of every glyph split into two tables. Here’s table one:

And here’s table two:

Huh. Weird error in the rei cell... Included one two many r’s it appears... The character’s still there, though. (By the way, the keystrokes are written on the left there. This is for the font. What’s “z” there is the weird old *t sound that’s become [θ] and [s].)

There’s also a geminate marker that, when you see it, you’ll be able to recognize as a reference to Castithan. I’ll show it to you in an example later.

Nouns in Övüsi have a bunch of different declensions. It’s all based on whether the original form ended in a vowel of some kind or a consonant. At this stage of the language, no word can end in a consonant, and the only codas are reserved for the first member of a geminate, so lots of different things happened to these consonant-final forms. There’s no room to show every declension, but I can at least give you one, and give you a sense of the cases themselves. Here they are (singular/plural):

NOMINATIVE:  thuoke/thuoki “bird(s)”

ACCUSATIVE: thuokie/thuokii “bird(s) (direct object)”

GENITIVE: thuoka/thuokai “bird’s/birds’”

INSTRUMENTAL: thuoku/thuokï “with the bird(s)”

LOCATIVE: thuokö/thuokü “near the bird(s)”

ABLATIVE: thuokau/thuokavi “away from the bird(s)”

ALLATIVE: thuokaalou/thuokaalli “towards the bird(s)”

INESSIVE: thuokannö/thuokannü “inside the bird(s)”

ILLATIVE: thuokou/thuokoli “into the bird(s)”

ELATIVE: thuokannau/thuokannavi “out of the bird(s)”

PERLATIVE: thuokausu/thuokausï “by way of the bird(s)”

AVERSIVE: thuokasshu/thuokasshï “avoiding the bird(s)”

VOCATIVE: thuokuo/thuokorii “O, bird(s)!”

If you look at these cases, you can probably recognize some of my favorite sound changes, and guess how some of them evolved (and in what order). The nice thing about having a nice big case system like that is it’s just there for you, like your best friend. You don’t really need to fuss about how to say stuff. Your best friend just says, “Shh, shh... Let me show you my cases.” And you take one and you’re good. Like hot cocoa in winter.

Now the verbs...

On a macro level, verbs agree with their subjects in person and number in the first person and sometimes the imperative, and just in person otherwise. Each verb has three stems: the imperfect, the perfect, and the future. Then, depending on whether the verb is dynamic or stative, there are three modes: the indicative, the passive, and the potential (statives lack the passive mode). A copula is used for emphasis, negation, and equation.

It’s best to see an example, and with verbs, the easiest to tease apart are the vowel-final ones. Here’s a table to consider:

This is the verb mikaa, which means “to say” (most of the time the infinitive ends in -ie; it’s just non-e V-final stems that are different). As you can see, the stem part here is probably -i for imperfect; -has for perfect; and, of all things, bare for future. Then there are some more or less predictable suffixes added in the three modes. To those can be added agreement affixes, but they can also be left off. Depending on whether or not they’re added the end of the form changes. The first items in each pair are how the form ends if nothing is added. I’ll show you each in a sec here. First, here’s the agreement paradigm:

Now that you’ve got that, here are two examples (and I’ll show you the orthographic forms, too):

That’s Kenie mikaithorï super large, apparently. Kenie is the third person pronoun in the accusative. Mikaithorï has a third person subject, and is in the potential indicative. Now if you use the emphatic copula instead...

That’s Kenie mikaithou shï! which is “I must say it!” Now, of course there’s nothing in here anywhere that corresponds to “must”: It’s simply the interpretation. These examples show how you use the form with the agreement suffix and without.

(Also, see the geminate thingy in there? The spelling in this one is weird.)

That’s a basic intro to this thing. It was actually a pain in the butt to use, but fun to speak. All in all pretty good. Though weird.

This is a piece the art department put together for Édgar Ramírez’s Kandomere to wear. I thought it looked pretty boss:

Looks pretty cool, until you realize it says the following...

And he’s one of the good Elves! lol This was one of my favorite pieces. That art department was amazing.

So that was what I was up to this time last year. Again, if you get a chance to see the movie, I hope you enjoy it! Süvorii!

[47pictures]

“Dandelion” [PT. I]

Link to original r/nosleep story here:

https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/o7tj7w/dandelion_part_1/

I’d never participated in a group study of any kind before, so for it being my first, I felt like I was actually contributing something useful to the world of science. Some students around campus said there may even be some money involved, mainly just mentioned as an incentive to join in the first place, of course. I volunteered specifically for this one due to the subject matter that its research was geared towards, one that I found a bit fascinating.

Dreams… or, so they advertised. More so the study of how the subconscious works in correlation to our deep-rooted memories.

Dr. Ramirez, young and beautiful, and probably in her mid to late-twenties, explained it all just perfectly, and perhaps in the easiest way it could be.

In the room just ahead of the lab, she gave me a quick rundown of how exactly the machine was going to work. On a dry-erase board, she drew one big near-perfect circle, and inside of it drew another smaller circle. She then pointed at the smaller circle with her marker.

“Let’s say this is the Earth,” she started. I nodded, following along. “And this,” she went on, as she motioned around the bigger circle, “is space and beyond. Everything outside of here is full of endless possibilities, right? You’ve got your other planets, asteroids, comets, satellites, stars, and so on.”

I nodded again, a bit amused with her analogy, wherever it was pointing to.

She continued. “Now, can you imagine where I might be going with this?” she asked with a skittish smile.

I know she didn’t expect me to give her an even remotely correct answer.

“You’re gonna send me to space?” I dryly remarked.

She laughed. “Not quite, but I like your sense of humor.” At least she had one, I thought to myself.

Dr. Ramirez went on to further explain as she drew words over the top rim of each circle, labeling them. She started with the smaller circle.

“This is you, essentially,” she explained while simultaneously writing the word “conscious” over the top rim. She then moved over to the bigger circle. “And this is also you, but the vaster and more mysterious ‘you’, if that makes sense.”

She proceeded to write the word “Subconscious” on top of the larger one.

Thankfully she was a visual demonstrator and I was a visual learner. I remembered a decent bit of this when I took AP Psych back in high school, but then again, I barely passed AP Psych. Had a great teacher, though.

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘as above, so below’?” she asked me.

I suggestively tilted my head. “Here or there, maybe once or twice,” I answered.

“Well, the reason I ask is because I like to compare that exact same expression to how the subconscious and conscious works,” the doctor went on as she pointed at both words with her marker appropriately. “They are both one and the same, however, they like to work in different ways. As you may already know or at least have some sort of grasp on the topic, your subconscious stores most of your long-term data, you know, those memories that can go further back, or even some as recent as yesterday that your brain just decided to lock away in the back. These things don’t require your ‘conscious awareness’ or immediate focus, right?”

From what I noticed about her so far, Dr. Ramirez liked to talk with her hands, but I must say, she made it work for her. It was rather intriguing.

“Whether it’s driving a car, riding a bike, or playing the piano,” she continued. “Or heck, even learning a new language. At some point, you had to learn these things for the first time, and they required a great deal of conscious effort, yes?” I nodded. “So, thankfully, our brains have been blessed with the ability to ‘learn’.” She let out a short laugh. “And so, these memories are stored in our subconscious, where it basically becomes second nature to do these sorts of tasks. You with me so far?”

I nodded again to reassure her. My sandpaper-dry personality probably wasn’t helping, but she really did have my full attention whether she realized it or not. I hope she knew that I wouldn’t have volunteered otherwise.

“Now,” she started again, but this time drew another medium-sized circle just around the “Conscious”-labeled one, “Our understanding of dreams has always been sort of a mystery to science. Many say they’re just random jumbles that our brain picks from our subconscious, whereas some say they’re a state of mind that acts independently on its own. Well now, we’ve learned that both of those answers are… well, sort of correct.” She then labeled the circle that surrounded “Consciousness” under the name of “Dream State”. The entire diagram was starting to look like a big target, with “Consciousness” in the center, “Dream State” being the inner rim, and “Subconscious” as the outer rim.

“Think of our dreams as the Earth’s atmosphere,” she said. “Any sort of debris that enters the atmosphere at high speed, such as a meteor or fallen satellite, gets broken up into little pieces before it can cause some serious damage to all of us down below, right? I’m assuming you were awake for science class in middle school?”

“Eh,” I joked. She took it with a laugh, but if only she knew I used to have an issue falling asleep in school as a kid. “So, our dreams protect us from our subconscious, is that what I’m hearing?”

“Ooh, I like the way you think,” the doctor remarked. “I’d like to think of it more like, in a less catastrophic example, that our dreams ‘filter’ what our subconscious throws at us. Now, there’s still debate on whether or not our subconscious actively tries to communicate with us or our dreams are the ones pulling from our subconscious, but that’s beside the point. What we’ve come to learn, in the midst of all the chaos in our dream state, from being able to fly, seeing the sky turn a different color, seeing giant chickens cross the road, and whatever other crazy things people have mustered from their imagination is that dreams are no longer the barrier that stands between understanding our subconscious. We’ve now developed a way to essentially enter our subconscious state, unfiltered and uninterrupted.”

And that was where she threw me for a loop. I stammered to try and find the words to even begin questioning something so bizarre, but with no luck. I could tell she was amused by my bewilderment from the smile on her face. We'd come so far in technology and scientific advances - was this it? Is this what the future held all this time?

“So, Mr. Thompson,” Dr. Ramirez spoke. “Are you ready to explore space?”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She led me to the lab room where we would be doing our first session of the experiment. I was expecting something more intricate or complex. In reality, the setup was quite minimal. An operating stool sat in the center as expected, and next to it stood a monitor that I assumed was for checking my pulse. Along the wall was the real sight to behold. Large screens displaying all sorts of numbers and diagrams in which I couldn’t even comprehend their meaning. Though, from what I could probably guess, it looked like some sort of EEG setup. I’d seen it in movies and documentaries (and back in AP Psych class), but never in person.

“Now before we start, I have to ask if you’ve eaten in the past 8 hours?” Dr. Ramirez asked. “It’s a precaution we take for all of our test subjects due to the side effect of leaving the hub.”

“Uh, just a protein bar,” I said. “Did you say ‘hub’?”

“Oh, yes, that’s sort of the nickname we came up with for what’s basically the ‘subconscious state’.”

“Oh…”

“So that’s good that you’ve had some form of sugar and carbs at least today. Sometimes people report feeling a bit lightheaded or lethargic after the session, and the first thing they’ll usually want is a coffee or a soda. We have a vending machine for soda, snacks, or coffee - whichever you prefer - across the hall if you need them afterwards.”

All this time we had discussed going from point A to B, but not how. Looking around the room, seeing all the tech being used, I couldn’t imagine the funding that must’ve been poured into this project.

“I’m sure you’ll get to it soon enough, but how exactly does this work?” I finally asked, doing my best not to sound impatient. Dr. Ramirez, however, seemed more than happy to explain.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied. “Well let me just give you a basic rundown of what this all does and how it’s going to affect you.”

She picked up a small lightweight device from the table that clearly looked like some sort of headset, much akin to a VR one. However, it had a sort of synthetic material cap attached to it, with multiple white dot-like pieces carefully placed. It certainly looked like an EEG device for scanning the brain, as I'd guessed earlier.

“This is why we’re here today,” said Ramirez, pointing at the device with her free hand. “This little guy here is called the Cadacus.”

I cocked a brow.

“Supposedly it’s derivative of Hermes’ staff, you know, in mythology, the symbol used for ambulances and medical-related stuff?”

“Mmm,” I understandingly nodded.

“I tried to tell them that one, it’s spelled wrong, and two, it’s not even pronounced correctly,” she said, rather annoyed. “It’s supposed to be ‘Ca-doo-she-us’, but, then again, I’m not the one who invented it, so Dr. Lockhardt gets the final say on that.”

She then handed me the set for me to get a feel for it and analyze it for myself. Nifty, needless to say. As she had explained, the device was capable of not (and she greatly stressed) recording your dreams, per se, but instead taking you into your ‘subconscious’ world. Dreams are merely the barrier blocking us from seeing our subconscious thoughts and memories uninterrupted. In dreams, situations and objects might change sporadically at any given time without warning. One of the greatest struggles, she explained, when testing the Cadacus was trying to find the breakthrough in how exactly to bypass the REM cycle, which is when most of our dreaming occurs. But she explained that as well…

“In the world of science and medicine, or rather human innovation as a whole, we’ve learned how to basically pick certain parts of our brain and utilize them how we see fit, and not the other way around,” she preached. “Not have them decide for us. Essentially, Cadacus allows us to hack certain parts of the brain that are responsible for letting us take a peek inside our deepest embedded memories. I like to tell people the closest thing we have to a time machine is our own brain. In it lies a whole world of events and moments that you may have forgotten, or choose to have forgotten.”

“So what’s to stop it from peeking into memories that are… I don’t know, better left forgotten?” I proposed. Of course, she had an answer for that as well.

“Great question. So the beauty of Cadacus is that just like I mentioned, you now have the utmost control over what you decide to see… or, at least we’re testing to make sure things stay that way.”

And there it was. That was the catch. After all, nothing was ever perfect.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask, how many people have you tested this thing on?” I boldly inquired. Ramirez seemed unbothered by the question, though. In fact, nothing seemed to bother her with everything I asked. To me, it conveyed confidence in the things she spoke on, which I hoped also equated to her being sincere.

She chuckled. “Honest answer? About twenty-four so far. Now I’m sure the real reason you’re asking is because you want to know how many of those tests turned out successful or not, yeah?”

I answered with a guilty smirk. Absolutely that’s why I asked.

“Well you have nothing to worry about, Mr. Thompson,” she reassured. “All of the people who’ve participated so far haven’t reported any negative side effects, other than the low energy blunder right after the exiting the hub. So you're not gonna have to worry about spazzing out or going 'mental' in any sort of fashion. And keep in mind, these tests were done over the course of weeks, and some even months, depending on whether or not we came across more interesting findings during the sessions.”

She really didn't back down from a fight. Ramirez stuck to her facts, despite how truthful or not they were, unbeknownst to me. I took in a short tense breath, then exhaled.

“All right, but you have to promise me one thing,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Call me Travis. If I’m supposed to trust you with handling my brain, we oughta start getting to know each other a little better, don’t you agree?”

She smiled and nodded. “Fair enough,” she replied. “In that case, you may call me Jennifer.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Cadacus was now all set, and we were ready to start. The headset over my eyes, electrodes covering my scalp, and the HRM hooked to my wrist and chest were all properly configured. Jennifer also had everything she needed set up on her giant monitor, where she could now see my full brain, able to pinpoint any changes in activity. From my perspective, the Cadacus headset made everything in the room look like I was peering through a fish-eye lens scope. It was all blurred and a bit disorienting, but it wouldn’t be for long once I entered the hub, Jennifer informed me.

“You ready?” she asked, sounding more excited than I was.

“Sure,” I answered, lying through my teeth.

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause from the looks of it, you seem pretty nervous.”

I knew she had to be looking at my heartbeat to know that.

“It’s okay, everyone experiences the same thing,” she added before I could say anything. “Just try to relax. Remember, it’s not like a dream where you have no sort of control over what happens to you. You’ll have control over the things you experience just like you would in the comfort of your own home, based on the words that I give you. You don’t have to see something scary if you won’t want to. Remember that, okay?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I complied.

“Good.” She gave me a pat on the shoulder and walked back over to her desk by her computer and giant monitor. “Alright, so what I’m gonna do is I’m gonna have you count down to 'one', starting from 'five' when I say so. Sound good?”

“Ready when you are,” I answered.

“Alright…”

I couldn’t see her really from the corner of my goggles, but I could hear her hit a few keys on her computer, along with two clicks of her mouse.

“Okay...” she started.

And with one final click of her mouse, a high-pitched whirring sound began to emit from the Cadacus and straight into both of my ears. It reminded me of the times I had to get a hearing test done, and all those high-frequency noises sounding from left to right.

“Go ahead and countdown for me,” she said.

“Five,” I began. “Four. Three. Two-”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I’m not sure how quickly it all happened, but the next thing I knew, I was suddenly standing alone in the center of some vast blackness of space, as I opened my eyes. The only light came from above in the form of what looked to be a stage spotlight, which shined down on me. I didn’t have the sensation that I was dreaming, though. I felt fully present and aware of the fact that I didn’t even finish my countdown. Just moments ago, I thought, the last number I was on was ‘two’. And now this is where I was. Not laying in the chair of the lab room, no headset or goggles covering my face...

Then a faint, echoey voice sounded from no particular direction. It seemed to come from everywhere.

“Travis, can you hear me?” it spoke. “This is Jennifer. If you can hear me, just go ahead and say something.”

Amazing. She wasn’t kidding. It’s as if she were God herself.

“Yeah…” I answered unsurely. “Can you hear me?”

“Perfect, I hear you just fine,” Jennifer spoke back from the ‘beyond’.

This was a bit too trippy for me. I really didn’t know what to expect, but this exceeded anything I could’ve possibly rehearsed prior in my head.

“You never did count to one,” she joked.

“Oh yeah, um… one,” I remarked. I could even hear her laugh just the same as if she were right next to me. Her voice began to sound more and more clear as she kept talking.

“There we go. Now tell me, right now, what is it that you see?”

Not a damn thing, I wanted to say. But I gave her what I could.

“Well…” I began, looking all around me, still under the spotlight, “I’m standing in… what I think is a stage, and there’s like…” I looked directly up, “... a spotlight right over me.”

“Interesting,” I heard Jennifer say. “That’s a new one for me.”

“Where am I?” I asked.

“So, you’re actually in ‘the hub’ as we speak. This is just your interpretation of it.”

“My interpretation?”

“Uh-huh. So what happens is that basically, our own subconscious mind presents itself to us through its own unique layout, or environment, if you will. For instance, every time I went through it, I was always standing in a giant ocean of shallow water, and a bright blue sky with no sun in sight. Others see a never-ending field of grass, a barren desert, or maybe even an empty warehouse, in some cases.”

“Huh…” I quietly mumbled.

“So for you, your subconscious presents itself in the form of an unlit stage, probably waiting to be filled.”

I expected to be more afraid, given that there was basically a never-ending plain of darkness beyond the spotlight, but to my own surprise, I found it a bit peaceful. It also helped that Jennifer was still with me.

“Your vitals appear to be in great shape, which is good. Means your body is responding well to the Cadacus so far. And on that note, I’m gonna begin going down our list of ‘sensory triggers’.

I wish she had picked a less threatening word than ‘triggers’, especially when I’m in a place so foreign to me (ironic, given that it is me).

“How this is going to work is that I’m going to give you a word, and with that word, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate as much as you can on connecting that word to a specific thought or memory, okay? It sounds odd, I know, but trust me, you’ll see pretty soon. Don't overthink it.”

“Well, I trusted you this far, haven’t I?” I remarked.

“Yes, indeed you have, and I’m thankful for that. Okay, so the first word I’m going to give you is… golf.”

“Okay,” I spoke under my breath, as I began to close my eyes.

I visualized everything that I possibly could relating to golf, all the way from a golf ball, to Tiger Woods, to a golf club, then to a field of low-cut grass, to a golf cart, and so on…

I did this for about five seconds before opening my eyes again. When I opened them, I was met with what I could only describe as the piece of a house set design. It truly was like I was on the stage for a film studio or theater. The set design only showed an open door and small portions of the perimeters of the walls of the structure. It was as if someone cut a portion of the house like a slice of cake, particularly the front door, and placed it in front of me.

“Do you see anything?” Jennifer’s voice asked.

I saw something, alright. The problem was, I didn’t exactly know what. Obviously, it was a house, but an incomplete one.

“Uh, I see… a part of a house,” I said. “Like, it sorts of looks like those half-built set houses that you see on film sets, you know, like for shows or movies?”

“Oh, I see. Interesting… Your subconscious mind must be very, hmm… imaginative? Or strongly connected to the cinematic or theatrical.”

“Hmmm... it's a theory.”

“Hey, no one knows you better than yourself, right?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"I'm not trying to intrude or anything, this is just me taking notes to see if there’s perhaps a correlation between your own personal awareness and how your subconscious views itself, does that make sense?”

“Yep.” Sort of, anyway.

“Okay, so go ahead and do me a favor and try to describe the house to me. Or what you can of it, at least.”

“Well, the door is open,” I started.

“What’s the door look like?”

I shrugged. “I mean… it’s just a regular door. Brown, wooden, has a peephole and everything. Nothing too unordinary.”

“Okay… what else?”

From the brief pauses in between her sentences, I could tell she was taking notes.

“Um, from the portion of the house that I can see,” I continued, “it’s made out of wood instead of brick. Light-blue wood, to be exact. I can see a small little porch light perched in the corner, like just before the wall cut off.”

There was a brief awkward silence in between, which I assumed was my cue to keep talking while Jennifer kept taking notes.

“And…” I started again, this time trying to peer into the house through the open door. Oddly, I could see that there was an abundant amount of space between the open ‘stage’ and the inside of the set design house. From where I was standing just several feet away, there appeared to be stairs leading up to a second floor, and a bit to the right was a living room with a couch and perhaps other furniture hidden from view, and beyond, a small hallway leading to what looked to be a kitchen, and maybe even a backyard door and other rooms.

Physically, it didn’t actually make sense. There was no way for there to be all that space in between here and there. It was like looking through a portal, essentially, where the space in which I stood didn’t proportionally match the one in which I was viewing. I liked to call it the ‘small house, big space’ phenomenon. But this was something else entirely...

“It looks like I can go inside the house,” I finished.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Jennifer replied. “Do you want to?”

I didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go, so it seemed to be my only real option. I went ahead and walked towards the open door, my view of the inside space growing more and more visible. Once I made it inside, an overwhelming sensation that I couldn’t quite put my finger on began to overtake me. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t joy, it wasn’t sadness… yet, in a strange way, it was almost all three of those things at once.

The house was well-lit in all spaces and corners, quite impossibly, given that there wasn’t enough light on the ceilings to emit such radiance. In fact, there didn’t seem to be a real source for light at all, as the one on the ceiling wasn’t even on. The house just emitted a sort of white luminescence, the kind I’d normally see from white plasma beam lights in bathrooms at gas station stops, and I could practically hear that low endless buzzing noise that filled the space.

But this time, I didn’t hear a noise at all. Silence filled the house instead. Pure silence. That was the only unnerving thing. Even odder, I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat or breathing. Only the sound of my footsteps emerged here and there whenever I made a move across the wooden floor, leaving behind a faint echo, but that was it.

Taking in the overall atmosphere and setup of the house, for some reason, I felt as though I could guess, or even most certainly knew the time period in which the interior currently reflected. Perhaps late nineties to early 2000s. Maybe even pre-9/11. I wasn’t exactly sure on the year, but I just had that strange certitude of that particular era. Beige walls, carpeted flooring, and brown wooden kitchen cabinets all in a very particular layout that just seemed 'dated'.

“See anything interesting?” Jennifer asked.

“Well, if that’s the word you wanna use to describe this,” I muttered.

“Just say the first thing that’s on your mind.”

I looked around, trying to find the first thing I could to catch my eye. But something was extremely off about the house apart from its age. It’s as if I knew this place, but yet I couldn’t understand how. The smell even brought about a strange sense of familiarity. A faint scent of-

“Lavender,” I said. “It smells like lavender.”

There was a brief pause. Then Jennifer finally spoke. “Tell me, does the lavender scent mean anything to you? Maybe, bring you back to a certain time or place?”

“I… I think so. I’m not sure how, though.”

“What else can you tell me about the house?”

I glanced about again.

“There’s a corded phone sitting on a stand, next to a lamp and a recliner,” I said.

“Corded, huh?”

“Yeah, corded.”

“Does the house seem a bit… outdated? Or from a different time than present-day?”

Now it was as if she could read my mind.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” I concurred. “You know how some houses just look old? Like houses they just don't make anymore?”

I heard Jennifer let out a small chortle. “I know exactly what you mean.”

I shook my head confusingly. “But it’s like I know this place somehow,” I added.

“Well Travis, even though you nor myself know exactly where it is you are, I can tell you this. What you’re standing in right now is likely an old memory you’ve long forgotten, stored into the far reaches of your subconscious. You have been to this place before. This is your subconscious’s best replication and rendering - if you will - of the memory in a way that makes sense to you.” And yet, it didn’t make sense at the same time. “Can you see any pictures posted along the walls or perhaps over a fireplace anywhere?”

There actually was a fireplace in the living room, and plenty of picture frames. But there were no pictures. Not a single one in any of the big, small, and portrait-sized frames set throughout the house. Yet, they were all carefully positioned as though there were supposed to be photos within the frames for people to see.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I answered, puzzled.

“I see,” Jennifer responded. “So as odd as that may seem, it’s actually a common thing people who’ve used the Cadacus report about seeing in ‘the hub’, or I guess I should say ‘not see’, in this case. Faces and actual people are a bit more difficult to render and replicate from stored memory banks. Over time, you forget exactly how someone’s face actually looks. You have an idea of how they appear, but you can’t actually remember all the fine details, such as exact facial structure, moles, size between the eyes, you name it. That’s why dreams tend to do a better job at showing you people you’ve seen more recently in your everyday life.”

It was a bit uncanny, if I’m being honest. The least my imagination could do was make up some pictures, I would think, at least just to fill the void. This was just flat out strange…

“Why can’t my subconscious substitute something, like how my dreams do?” I asked.

“Great question. This is where I have to break it to most people. Your imagination is practically meaningless in the hub. Scientists, psychologists and other researchers all over have started to come to the understanding that dreams and the imagination have more in common with each other than our subconscious and the imagination. The subconscious is more concrete and based on what actually happened, whereas dreams and the imagination focus on what could be, and possibly what can happen. So if the subconscious can’t actually remember something, it won’t be able to render it in the hub. That’s often why most subjects just see places and certain structures rather than actual people. Those things are easier for the mind to pick up on and remember to the best of detail.”

The longer I stood in this place, the more it gradually began feeling as though I were standing in a vacuum of space, with no real sense of time or reality. Where was I? How did this all come to be just from the word ‘golf’?

“Try exploring the house a bit more,” Jennifer suggested. “See if that does anything.”

I headed upstairs. Plastered along the walls leading up the stairs and beyond was a fully encompassing floral-design wallpaper. It was a very particular floral design, enough to bring back that sensation I felt earlier when I first stepped in the house...

“I’ve seen this wallpaper before,” I whispered, as I dragged my palm across the walls going up the stairs.

When I got to the top, I saw that the upstairs room was set up to be used for a gameroom. Oddly, the contrast in this room stood out from the downstairs. Small and ever-so-dim corners and shadows placed about the room reminded me of old photos that people used to take on those polaroid cameras from the 80s and 90s. It had a grainy look to it, as well as an uneven exposure. This time, though, it seemed as if I were in one of those pictures.

The space was almost entirely bare, except for a small entertainment system which stood against the wall (this one not being covered in floral design), accompanied by a bulky 30 to 35-inch CRT TV, and a Nintendo 64, with a game cartridge sticking up from inside that I couldn’t distinguish from this far. My mouth dropped open, astonished, and that excited feeling of electricity, the kind you get when you experience an ‘ah-ha’ moment, now replaced any other notion of uncertainty that I may have had before.

“Oh my god,” I spoke under my breath.

“Travis?” Jennifer’s voice sounded.

I let out a short, scoff-like chuckle as I clasped my hands over my head.

“This is my aunt’s old house,” I exclaimed. “My Aunt Deborah - this is her old house.”

"Now we're getting somewhere," Jennifer spoke in a proud tone.

I let out another laugh. “This is insane,” I commented. “I remember we visited here one time. A long time ago. And…”

I stepped towards the entertainment center, and bent over to get a closer peak at the N64. I now clearly saw what cartridge was inserted into the console, and a smile drew over my face.

“Good ol’ country club golf,” I finished. “Wow…”

“Country club golf?” Jennifer asked.

“One of the games we used to play on the ‘64 was Waialae Country Club. ‘True Classics’, to be exact.”

“Ah…”

“That’s insane...” I whispered under my breath.

“I told you you’d see where I was going with this, huh?” Jennifer teased.

I stammered, shaking my head, trying to contemplate what I was experiencing. This was something beyond any other thing I’ve done before. This was bigger than VR or AR. This was something else entirely. It knew my deepest memories and had made a place inside my own brain.

Jennifer continued. “You see, these words that I’m giving you is just a small example of what your subconscious can act with, based on just a single word that can trace back to countless other thoughts stored in your memory bank. We now are starting to understand why we dream something related to a conversation we might’ve had earlier that same day, and why our brains decided to cling onto that specific conversation or even a single word that was said. Cadacus allows us to do that exact same thing but on our own terms.”

Jennifer allowed me to explore the house a bit more. I tried checking out the other rooms, but each time I was met with nearly empty spaces. I’m not sure how my subconscious mind was trying to interpret the house, but it was the equivalent to a bad buffer, or loading bar that never quite finished. Some rooms had little furniture, and for the furniture that did exist, they were weirdly vague.

In different parts of the rooms, it was like a Picasso drawing come to life, just a little neater and more organized. At least I could tell it was furniture and decor for different sections of the house, yet, I couldn’t exactly describe what I was looking at. Some things looked like a chair, others like a lamp, maybe even some jewelry lying about, and other sorts of bathroom accessories like a towel or soap made sense here and there, but overall, when you looked at them altogether, the house was a huge enigma.

“Jennifer, why is everything so…” I began, trying to find the word.

“Disorganized? Jumbled?” she finished for me.

“Exactly.”

“So, remember what I told you, just like with the pictures, the hub can only render and replicate what it knows, or the best idea of what it ‘thinks’ it knows. What is it in your dream - I’m sorry, subconscious state - that looks disorienting to you?”

I let out a short burst laugh. “I wouldn’t exactly know how to describe it, you know? It’s so confusing to me.”

“Do things sort of look like, for example, like they’re pieces of furniture or specific objects, yet, they somehow don’t at the same time?”

Bingo. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s like. I don’t understand it, though.”

“Well, that’s what these studies are for, right? What you’re doing right now is a huge help to getting us to better understand how our subconscious minds continue to work in mysterious ways. It seems a common testimony in all the people who’ve participated report the same thing of not being able to completely interpret specific objects. It’s a known fact that over time, our brains will remember things much differently than how they actually occurred, and certain memories will slowly fade over the years.”

“So I can still remember the basic layout of the house, but not what was in it specifically?” I said.

“Mm-hmm. You got it. So… would you like to continue on to a different word?” I obliged. “Very well then. Just like before, when I say the word, you’re gonna close your eyes and just focus on every single thing you can related to that word alone. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Okay… ‘summer’.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I opened my eyes and was no longer inside. I was outdoors, the sky was clear blue, and it was bright and warm out. Looking down at my feet, I saw that I was standing on grass, and when I looked back up around me, in the distance there were fields of trees that led to deep woods. Not too far to my left lied a small timber bridge just over a tiny creek with a bed full of rocks. It had to be in some sort of park. A summer camp, maybe? Or just perhaps a regular community park I may have visited some time ago.

I walked around to try and see what other things might pop up to spark something inside. As I turned a corner around a field of tall bushes, the scene beyond abruptly changed to that of what looked to be the grounds of a fare or some sort of carnival. A carousel, stuffed prizes, empty concessions, and other sorts of festivities lined up. I remembered a place like this once, I thought.

I told Jennifer all of this, and we both began trying to dig for clues as to what this particular memory was about. However, this one was a lot easier than my Aunt Deborah’s house, since I actually can recall this day. Or, at least the fact that we showed up. The only other moments I can maybe remember having on this day were playing tag with some friends, strangers, or even cousins, and us throwing this small toy shovel at a couple of wasp nests just under the timber bridge I’d seen earlier, then running like hell later to escape their fury. Funny how that thought decided to resurface the longer I stayed here, just goes to show how big of assholes kids could be, and I was no exception. I could never imagine doing something so cruel nowadays.

“Hmm, looks like your mood changed a bit,” Jennifer pointed out, more than likely reading my vitals again from where she was. “You seem relaxed. And the parts of your brain that are lighting up more seem to indicate a sense of joy and happiness. Sounds about right?”

“I miss my childhood,” I replied. “Sometimes it’d be great to just relive a time where I didn’t have to be an adult, you know?”

“Oh, I hear you. Why don’t you say it louder for the people in the back.”

I chuckled. But then I stopped as a thought occurred to me.

“Speaking of which, is it normal to not see anybody at all?” I questioned. “In the hub, I mean?”

“Yes, it’s very normal. In very few cases, we’ve had some people report seeing long-lost family members or even some friends of theirs. When we talked about it after, all of them said that the people they saw in the hub had a strong relationship with them, which tells us that the stronger the bond we share with people in our lives, the longer we hold onto those memories, allowing us to paint a better picture of how they looked through the Cadacus.”

“I guess I don’t love anyone as much as I thought,” I dryly remarked.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jennifer said, knowing good and well that I was joking. “It’s gonna be different for everyone else. The words that another host or myself gives to you or others won’t come up with the same results, obviously because you all have different life experiences and memories unique to you.”

It was time to move on to a different ‘trigger word’, as Jennifer called them. Still wish she would’ve picked a different name for it, but I digress.

“Alright, you ready?” she started as usual.

“Ready when you are,” I replied.

“Good. Okay… ‘dandelion’.”

As before, I closed, then opened my eyes.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I found myself standing in a vast lobby of some sort. There was some light, but very little to illuminate the entire space. The floor was a red-colored carpet, the same one you’d see in some movie theaters still. As I looked around at the barely visible walls, an artificial tree standing in a pot in the corner, and another obscure, jumbled rendering of an object that looked gold, I was beginning to think that I actually was in a theater.

I walked forward to explore, and found myself feeling, for the first time since I initially started, rather uneasy. But I didn’t know why…

The area was spacious, and from my perspective, the theater felt as if it could fit hundreds of people. I couldn’t tell if I had shrunk a little or if the design of the place was just that large, but everything felt so gigantic. Unnecessarily gigantic, I should add.

As I kept walking, in the distance I saw a faint shimmer of light grow more and more visible. With each step, I began to realize that it was an overlight, or a sort of spotlight, rather. Underneath the light was a random dinner table, perfectly arranged and set up for guests. But why here? It was so strange and out of place. Yet, I began to notice something else even stranger that I didn’t acknowledge until now. I didn’t hear Jennifer’s voice this time.

“Jennifer?” I called out.

No response. There was no hiding it now. I was nervous. Not just nervous that the Cadacus might have malfunctioned, but nervous because I was alone…

“Jennifer?” I called again.

Still nothing. That uncomfortable silence that filled the hub was louder than anything. I could hear my own heartbeat frantically pounding between my ears.

“Yes?” Jennifer’s voice called back to me. “Travis, can you hear me?”

It was an out-of-body experience to feel much-needed relief after nearly losing it, like being thrown in an icy pool of water just to be pulled back out and doused in warm water. Whether it was a simple mishap in the machine or not, it was fucked up.

“You had me worried there for a sec, Jennifer,” I spoke as I let out a breathy chuckle of relief.

“Yeah, that was kinda strange. Nothing seemed to show interference on my end… I’m not sure what happened. I was calling to you but I couldn’t hear anything back.”

And let’s add that to the list of ‘mistakes’ this test run was supposed to catch while we’re at it.

“Do you see anything interesting - well, I guess I should ask what do you see*?”*

I told her about the theater, at least it was what I thought to be a theater, as well as the obscurity of the dinner table. She of course tried to tie this back with the ‘theatrical’ theme I had going on in my subconscious mind, which I still thought might be a bit of a stretch. For now, she insisted that I kept exploring to see what else I could find that may explain things.

Near the end of the hallway, a door remained a jar, and a bit of a light projected from the room in a wedge shape. I’d have to keep walking further to see what was inside, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly more uneased. Something didn’t feel right about this place. None of the other ones gave me this same sensation.

I carefully stepped into the room with the open door, and was confused by what I saw. The scene had changed yet again, this time to what looked to be a party room of some sort. Long tables were aligned with chairs pushed in and spaced apart from each other. Plastic colored cups, paper plates, napkins, and birthday party hats were neatly stacked and perfectly organized along each row. The floor also had a retro-patterned carpet design like the ones I’d see in other theaters or arcades, making me feel like I was going to space.

The lighting in here was different as well. It was a dimly-lit blue ambiance, almost like a night light. I found it rather calming compared to the outside in the theater lobby.

Then from behind me, the deafening sound of the door slamming shut filled the room, and filled me with dread as I jumped.

“Travis, are you okay?” Jennifer’s voice sounded. “Your heartbeat’s escalating really fast. Is everything all right?”

I almost forgot how to breathe.

“I-I don’t know what just happened,” I stammered. “The door shut.”

“The door? What door?”

“The one to the party room. I’m inside the party room and the door just slammed. Am I alone? I-Is someone here with me?” I was panicking.

“Travis, remember what we discussed. You do not have to see anything scary if you don’t want to. You hear me? You do not have to be afraid. Just take a deep breath, close your eyes, and count to three, okay?”

That was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to yell at her to get me out of the damn thing. I was now getting the feeling that I maybe wasn’t alone after all in the hub. I hadn’t seen a single figure yet, and the first signs of anyone else being here with me began to seem more alarming than I once thought.

I closed my eyes and did what she said. I counted.

“1… 2… 3.”

I opened my eyes again, and this time, I was still in the party room, but the calming blue luminescence was now replaced with an unsettling crimson color instead. The place had turned into a red room. I didn’t tell Jennifer, but I hated the color red. It was a lot of people’s favorite color, but I never liked it. It made me feel sick, and now I was drowned by it.

I looked around and noticed other horrifying features of the room. Streaks of what I could only assume was blood were randomly plastered across different parts of the room. What kind of memory was this?

Anxiety returned. I found it hard to breathe yet again. I needed to get out of here.

“Jennifer, get me out!” I yelled. “You hear me? Jennifer, please get me out!”

This time, she didn’t respond. Fuck. It was malfunctioning again. This was not a good time to start fucking up now.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Shit, shit, shit…”

Panicked, I stood huddled in a corner of the room, not sure where to go, but definitely not wanting to leave myself exposed to whatever may be out there. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be stuck here, maybe forever for all I knew. But right now wasn’t the time to think of any of that. I had to get the fuck away from this place. Whatever positive mental tricks Jennifer tried to preach clearly wasn’t working. I had to be brave, I told myself. It was just my own subconscious. I tried to tell myself that to give me some sort of comfort.

I crept over to the door with nothing to defend myself with. Jennifer wasn’t here to accompany me now. I was alone.

When I got to the door, I hesitated to place my hand on the knob. But I slowly raised and positioned it over, and was just about to grasp the knob until I realized something. There was now a window framed onto this door, unlike the first time…

I looked up, and right before my eyes, a child, a small boy, slammed his hands onto the window from the other side, screaming at the top of his lungs. To this day, I have yet to witness something as bone-chilling and hair-raising, and something so fear-inducing as to make me feel as if my own soul left my body.

I jumped back, so frightened that I fell to the floor. I kept my eyes fixed on the child, though, and he continued beating on the window, screaming for help. He was the first person I’d seen in the hub, and he was so real. So vivid. The fear in his eyes, the franticness… I wanted to help him.

But before I could do anything, something, or someone snatched him away and disappeared from the other side of the door.

“No!” I gasped.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Before I knew it, I was back in the lab room with Jennifer right next to me, frantically removing the Cadacus from off of me. The sterile whiteness of the room blinded me as she removed the headset from my eyes.

[foxpainting155]

Microsoft Editor For Mac

Now that you have taken excellent aerial shots of, for example, the snow-capped mountain peaks, it is time to edit the DJI drone footage and share it over social media. This is exactly where a DJI video editing software can come to your rescue by transforming the captured frames into pure magic. This article rounds up the best 5 video editors in 2020 for you to enhance the action camera videos. We break down the issue by answering these questions:

Microsoft Equation Editor For Mac

Microsoft Video Editor For Mac

Bing Ads Editor For Mac

Start quickly with the most recent versions of Word, Excel, PowerPoint, Outlook, OneNote and OneDrive —combining the familiarity of Office and the unique Mac features you love. Work online or offline, on your own or with others in real time—whatever works for what you’re doing. Microsoft Editor runs in Word for Microsoft 365 to analyze your document and offer suggestions for spelling, grammar, and stylistic issues, like making sentences more concise, choosing simpler words, or writing with more formality. To use Editor, on the Home tab choose Editor. Reviewing suggestions. Visual Studio dev tools & services make app development easy for any platform & language. Try our Mac & Windows code editor, IDE, or Azure DevOps for free. Sublime Text is probably one of the most famous text editors available for Mac. The languages that you use in a document can affect how your Office program checks and presents readability scores. If you set up Word to check the spelling and grammar of text in other languages, and a document contains text in multiple languages, Word displays readability statistics for text in the last language that was checked.

1. Does DJI Have a Video Editor?

2. Edit DJI Video on PC vs on Mobile, What's In for Us?

3. What Are the Top 5 Video Editing Software for DJI Drone Videos?

4. How to Edit DJI Video Footages Easily on Windows/Mac?

5. DJI Video Edting Tips: What to Do with Drone Videos

Does DJI Have a Video Editor?

Yes, DJI users mostly bank on its default application, DJI GO 4 for shooting, editing and sharing videos on their mobile devices. But it doesn’t have any PC version. It could be increasingly difficult for people who prefer to edit video on a bigger screen with more functions.

Edit DJI Video on PC vs on Mobile, What's In for Us?

DJI GO 4 app runs on a mobile, and it is a nice choice to edit drone videos on-the-go. That said, there are some pitfalls that could make your mobile editing a nightmare:

• DJI videos are saved in cached versions in the DJI GO app. Thus, if you wish to edit and save it at high definition, i.e., better image quality, you will have to download its copy from the SD card of your drone to the computer. Then why not proceed to edit on PC with more flexibility?

• Working on a PC also makes things seem easier as you get to operate on a wider interface where everything can be navigated to without having to break any sweat.

• Smartphones usually are not equipped with adequate memory which is necessary for saving large 4K DJI footages.

• Action camera and drones use highly compressed codec to store video files, by so doing, they are able to capture videos at 1080p/4k and higher resolutions while keeping the file size small. However, decoding the highly compressed codec requires more computing power, and may cause problems such as iPhone overheating or app crashing.

Every now and then, you will find yourself search for the best DJI video editing software on Windows or Mac, and all the above annoyance would gone for good with the right tool.

The Top 5 Video Editing Software for DJI Drone Videos

#1. VideoProc (Fastest and Easiest for Processing 4K HEVC DJI Videos)

What are the challenges you will be meeting in DJI video editing? We notice there are complaining such as: software too complex to learn, not enough format support, low-spec computer stutters and freezes during editing, or it takes forever to export a short video.

All your headache ends with VideoProc. This lightweight video processing software can help you to cut videos without learning curve, with nice filters, advanced stabilization algorithm, and powerful GPU acceleration for fast rendering and exporting.

Key Features:

• Process 1080p, 4k, 8k videos without glitches or high CPU usage

• Speed up or slow down drone videos to highlight a moment

• Convert highly compressed DJI video format to editing-friendly codec

• Stabilize video with advanced deshake algorithm

• Cut videos, add filters, adjust brightness, color, add subtitles, etc.

#2. Adobe Premiere Pro (Best for Backing Up HEVC DJI Videos Data through Adobe Creative Cloud)

Microsoft Equation Editor For Mac

This industry-leading video editing software can serve you well while trying to edit the footages captured through your DJI Drone. It can be used as a DJI drone video editor that is powered to the core by Adobe Sensei which helps in crafting polished footages having a professional appeal.

Features:

• Has the ability of exporting videos in a variety of formats.

• All the data gets backed up automatically in Apple Cloud.

• Comes with enhanced tracking as well as masking capabilities.

• Footages can be edited in all formats ranging from 8K to virtual reality.

#3. Cyberlink Power Director (Best Choice for 360-Degree Drone Camera Users)

If you have a 360-degree drone camera, then you are bound to feel benefitted from using the Cyberlink Power Director. This versatile tool can proceed with synchronized editing of footages captured using multiple cameras. You can use it as a DJI drone video editing software.

Features: • Vector shapes can be both applied and edited using precise keyframe controls and auto-fit text. • Motion graphic elements can be merged with the titles of videos to impart a stylish look. • 18 transition effects can add a professional touch to your captured footages. • Supports multi-GPU acceleration and OpenCL for editing 4K clips as well as videos without succumbing to system lag.

#4. Davinci Resolve (Free Choice for Easing Out the Post-Production Process)

This software has gained a lot of popularity amongst professional video editors who make use of the same in free post-production process. A unique thing about Davinci Resolve is that it can handle parallel engines for enhancing the color grading process as well as quality.

Features: • Supports real-time video editing in 2K resolution. • Offers powerful new features like speed wrap, facial recognition etc. • Both effects and grades can be applied to clips. • End projects can be directly uploaded to Vimeo and YouTube.

#5. iMovie (Built-in Mac Tool for Amateur Users)

This tool comes built-in to every Mac system and even features an easy learning curve making it ideal for amateur users. iMovie can serve you well if you wish to undertake basic editing work on footages. It features an intuitive design and simple accompanying instructions which can enhance your knowledge about the same.

Features: • Can be used on your iPhone and iPad apart from Mac laptops or PCs. • Support 4K video editing without suffering quality loss. • Animated titles and credits can be added to the footages from the dozens of available styles. • 10 high fidelity video filters can impart a professional look to your movie.

How to Edit DJI Video Footages Easily on Windows/Mac?

It becomes extremely easy to transcode, tweak and adjust (4K/large) videos captured using DJI cameras through VideoProc. Once you have added the video, you will be presented with an array of options which can guide you through the processing part. This also holds true for amateur users who are trying our video processing for the very first time.

1. Convert: You can convert videos by first importing the source video and next selecting the target format before the transcoding process.

2. Cut: You can cut or trim DJI videos by selecting the tool from the Edit toolbar and specifying the position by dragging the dual green knobs.

3. Split: Choose the Split option from the Toolbox and select the parts you wish to keep by moving the dual green knobs.

4. Stabilize/Deshake: DJI's in-camera stabilization won't work in certain resolutions, and that's where post-production comes to your aid. Videos can be stabilized by selecting the Deshake option from the Toolbox and trimming the shaky segments by moving the green cursors.

5. Reduce Noise: Drone audio noise can be reduced or removed by selecting the Denoise option from the Toolbox tab and making your selection by moving the green cursors.

6. Merge: Videos can be merged by first loading your preferred clips and clicking on the Merge button appearing on the main interface.

7. Remove Fisheye: Clicking on the Fisheye option from the Toolbox tab can provide you with access to lens correction controls. You can trim the segments having fisheye effect by simply moving the green cursors.

8. Adjust Speed: The feature of playback speed adjusting is somewhat hidden in the DJI video editor. Click any option on the Toobbox of VideoProc, switch to the first option – Audio & Video, glide left or right the control bar and adjust the playback speed from 0.10x to 16x.

The Level-3 Hardware Acceleration Technology helps VideoProc in processing videos 47 times faster than its peer tools. All of this is done by diminishing CPU usage for enhancing the longevity of your computer.

DJI Video Edting Tips: What to Do with Drone Videos

• Split/Cut: remove any unwanted clips, such as crash from the last flight.

• Correct color/brightness: keep the frames protected from under or over exposure which becomes extremely necessary when the sun is around.

• Stabilize shaky video: remove all signs of shakiness from the captured frames.

• Change speed: creates slow-mo as well as time-lapse videos which are currently in rage amongst media professionals.

• Zoom: as it doesn’t always become possible to fly very close to the target object.

• Mute or reduce noise: remove the interference caused by wind as well as the device itself.

• Some other popular demands on DJI drone video editing are color grading, intra-frame coding, D-log setting, video compression, barrel distortion removal, time remapping, 4K video rendering, tilt shift, camera tracking, overlay, motion tracking etc.

DJI videos usually have high bit depth, high frame rate, ultra-high resolution (such as 4K), high bitrate, etc. The common video editing tools available in the market are inadequate to handle the same and usually succumb to quality degradation as well as crash. This in turn creates the requirement of a professional video editing software which we have listed down below.

Microsoft Video Editor For Mac

Final Words

Bing Ads Editor For Mac

We hope our todays discussion could add value to your knowledge about best DJI video editing software. Although each one of them come with their own set of bells and whistles, VideoProc stands out from its peers with its versatile functionality which can help you undertake holistic video processing functions irrespective of your skill level.

[seenashwrite]

The Nail: August 2017

The Nail isn’t about perfection. It isn’t about award-level contenders. It’s about seeing focus and effort and hard work radiate off of the screen.

And The Nail’s purpose isn’t to highlight genres of fics or specific ships or pieces written during a certain time frame - the sole focus is quality.

Character dimension. Writing with clever readers in mind. Solid world-building. Tension through boundaries. Crazy crisp dialogue. Incredibly tight plotting. Big emotion.

And though yours truly - nice to meet you, new folks, I’m Nash! - is editor of the list, the goal is for YOU to curate the content.

Read more about how all this came to be, find past editions, see what factors are considered when constructing the list, and how to get your recommendations in/be a curator HERE.

Hey, ramblers? Let’s get ramblin’.

For your reblogging convenience, here’s The Nail Master Post of Editions!

Quickie Nash Note:

As this project evolves, I'm still determining the best way to present it for easiest reader use.

And so, faithful followers of The Nail, you'll notice a touch of a categorization change-up. The lengths are still the m.o. vs. type ["angst", "fluff", etc.], but are now listed in order of word count, low to high. The rest of the categories remain the same, plus a new one that may or may not appear on every edition [you'll see why!].

I've also put a new page on my blog, mainly for authors, with explanation for things they may question regarding this format - things I’ve mentioned prior, but it takes up too much space. Some of the current FAQs are....

- Why did someone make up a summary/why didn't you use my summary? - Why did someone make up a title for my story/poem? - What are those Q comments? - Is Nash actually reading all of this?

One last thing: The Nail is meant to go out the first full week of each month, and was mostly ready this weekend, however I just wasn't in a jovial, woo-hoo mood, I made a brief post why, I've no doubt each and every one of you understand, but you have my apologies nonetheless as poor time allocation on my part meant this wasn't out at some point during the past week.

XO - Nash.

* ~ * ALL FROM THE WORLD OF "SUPERNATURAL” UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED * ~ *

- SUPERNATURAL SUPERSTARS - Organized by length.

THE BOY KING'S DEMONS  -   @rex-daemoniorum / @vengeuse WORD COUNT - 279

Sam understands that there are exceptions to even his own rules. 

Q: Nice detail, pertinents given painted the picture effectively/no belaboring; through-line present of Sam's ability to relate without spelling it out/written for intelligent readers; complexity of situation related in short amount of space

[Nash Note: Additional shout-out to @azazelsocks, who provided a high-quality prompt, as - if your humble editor may be blunt - most fic prompts are beyond lame. Well done, 'Socks.]

--> I cannot tag these folks, if someone could kindly let them know or give it a go in your reblog

CIRCUMSTANCES -  @jessmoorechesters WORD COUNT - 347 words As years pass, the Moores have often found their thoughts turning to Sam.

Q: While perhaps started as headcanon, reads third-person omniscient; emotional, rambling, almost panicked cadence/style/lack of caps/punctuation absolutely works for this subject matter; nice full-stop short sentence toward end; inclusion of poignant details/no unneeded detail

[Nash Note: I already had this on the list, had a couple informal suggestions to check it out, spotted it more than once in my feed - overall, this resonated with many of you, and rightfully so.]

DESIGNATED DUTIES  -  @fanforfanatic  WORD COUNT - 412

A tale about the seemingly ordinary things we do for one another.

Q: Moves at a crisp clip; heartfelt without bending sappy; several great lines/points of humor, prevents getting too heavy given the short length/action in question; nice cap-off/prompts reader to use imagination while not ending on a proverbial cliffhanger

HELLO, DARLING  -  @whispersandwhiskerburn  WORD COUNT - 789

Crowley and Billie have a little chat.

Q: Excellent use of vocab in descriptions; quick, crisp dialogue; spot-on characterization; kept story moving/pacing well done; didn't waste time on explaining things/rehashing things readers already know from watching the show/written for clever readers

SHAPE OF YOU  -  @winchester-family-business WORD COUNT - 1K [minus song lyrics]

In which Dean walks into a bar, has a drink, meets a woman, and whether it's for now or forever, it's definitely meaningful.

Q: A get-in-and-get-out in the opener, setting the scene with just enough information and moving on to the actual story/no wasting time with a long set-up; excellent use of a "gimmick", re: initial communication; nicely fleshed-out protag who has her own thing going on, which he respects, which is in line with the character we know; took a commonly used set-up and took it to a thoughtful but not belabored/shmoopy place

GOOD NIGHT, LITTLE KING  -  @moonlightcas WORD COUNT - 1.6K

At the age of six, Sam is visited by Lucifer.

Q: in medias res; excellent pacing; perfectly plausible in canon; slightly chilling and pressing and foreboding without being suffocating; timing of the name reveal is Absolutely. Spot. On.

ONE, TWO, THREE  -  @kathaswings  WORD COUNT - 3.4K

A trip to a bookstore turns out to be more than you - or Sam - could have imagined.

Q:  in medias res; structure that would please any screenwriter; meet-cute without being immature/shmoopy/saccharine, specifically - protag didn't turn into a pile of weepies or gigglies/displayed strength; nice choice to include action; solid ending/author knew when to step away from the keyboard

[Nash Note: author's inspiration is revealed post-story, however they kept a light hand/did not merely re-hash source material bit-by-bit & just throw SPN atop it, instead made it their own - points and gold stars for this, always]

SUNDOWN, SUNDOWN  -  @thayerkerbasy  WORD COUNT - 6.2K 

"Crowley was done. After hundreds of years and one last sacrifice, he was done. Except, somehow, he wasn't."

Q: in medias res; spot-on characterization; tackled character departure in unique manner that could have easily gone shmoopy/author demonstrated restraint in walking the emotional line/kept that slightly off-kilter tone; moved at quick clip/efficient structure/fluid; touched on things/events seen in show but did not belabor/used as tool vs. crutch; phenomenal end dialogue/last line

- POEMS & POETICAL PROSE - Mostly quick reads, these are actual poems of any structure & short [< 2K] stories that have a poetic feel to the narrative with appropriate use of poetic verbiage given the subject matter and / or setting; pieces in the less-than-300 words neighborhood are considered quality in their entirety, therefore no "Q" notations; organized by length.

SECOND FALLING  -  @vintagesam  WORD COUNT - 135

"Despite the silence in the church, the earth is deafening."

INTOXICATION  -  @copbydayfangirlbynight  WORD COUNT - 199

"Out of nowhere, these two guys you’ve never seen show up and slip onto the bar stools next to you."

THE LEGEND  -  @quailpower  WORD COUNT - approx. 300 words

Exploring the costs of immortality, and what one angel chooses to do with his time.

JULIET  -  @roxy-davenport  WORD COUNT - 1.7K [minus song lyrics]

A night in the life of Crowley's beloved hellhound.

Q:  HERE [Nash Note: Short version? Knowing when it is appropriate to inject "flowery" verbiage into a narrative. Hint: fits the time period and/or character, is kept crisp, to-the-point, and used sparingly, regardless]  

- MULTI-PARTERS - Stories with a minimum of 2 parts, max of 3-to-4, with modestly sized [1-to-2K] chapters; completed as of this list; organized alphabetically by title. 

None this time! [but I’ve got a couple bookmarked whose wrap-ups appear to be en route]

- SERIES SPOTLIGHT : SUPERNATURAL & SPN CROSS-OVERS - Works that are completed series, as well as ongoing / in progress series, with at least 3 parts published as of/prior to the edition of The Nail in question; unfinished series must have been updated within roughly 6 months of this post;  these are lengthier than multi-parters, getting into a 5K+ range per chapter; organized alphabetically by title.

MISE EN PLACE  -  @sp-oops  

A look inside the ways you  - and the rest of the family - help Dean deal with the effects of the Mark of Cain.

Q: in medias res; quick, crisp dialogue & pace; no heavy-handed/laborious descriptors of setting/emotions, whether internal or verbal; nice character development/casual, easy feel to character interactions; sex fit into plot organically/didn't feel forced; plausible reactions by Dean/Sam/protag regarding the complexities of the residual impacts of the mark; witty humor throughout; nice cap-off/author knew when to step away from the keyboard  

Curated by @smi727 , who said: "Stumbled upon this little beauty of a series recently. I was seriously blown away by the plot, the writing, the reader’s personality, everything! Please Nash, share this wonderful writer with the world!"

- RANDOM FANDOMS -   All types, all lengths, all the things that aren’t SPN but are still pretty damn super; organized alphabetically by title.

AGENT 15  [series in progress]  -  @bellamysgirl

[MARVEL - AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D.]

"Agent 15 was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents - that all changed when a mission went terribly wrong... but Coulson found a way to drag her back."

Q: in medias res; moves at a quick clip/no time wasted on extraneous detail; well-done characterization of both known/O.C.; reads as if watching episodes/movie; nice format/use of time flip vs. heavy exposition telling another character about those events; keeps intensity while splashing in moments of camaraderie

VERY MUCH FAEBLOODED [drabble]  -  @mickeyrowan

[POTTERVERSE]

"She knows she’s different. She’s always been different... No place lets her forget this."

Q: Introspective without taking the reader on a deep, angst-filled dive; even-handed character portrayal; tone consistent; nice choice of event highlighting vs. a traditional narrative; well done on complementary kick-off/wrap-up

WHO YOU ARE [one-shot]  -  @blackcaptainrogers

[MARVEL - AVENGERS]

Bucky knows showing love takes on a variety of forms.

Q:  HERE

[Nash Note: Short version? Your audience consists of such variety, it’ll take your breath away. And, well...]

On that piece of white paper, Sam wrote, "Write about me sometime." And I typed something back to her, standing right there in her bedroom. I just typed, "I will.”  ― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower  

- ORIGINAL WORKS - Anything from haiku to novella; pieces in the less-than-300 words neighborhood are considered quality in their entirety, therefore no "Q" notations; organized by length.

IT IS SO TIRING TO BE DIVINE  -  @mythaelogy WORD COUNT - 52

"The architecture of your bones was built by conquerors."

MYSTERY GIRL  -  @inkskinned WORD COUNT - 111

"[A] girl who convinces you of magic, who flickers just a little on the edge of reality..."

I HAVEN'T LOOKED AT THE STARS IN A MONTH  - @poemsforpersephone  WORD COUNT - 125

"It’s an easy thing, to open a window, to step outside."

A TRADITION  -   @wakor-rising / @wakor  &  @sonatagreen   WORD COUNT - 189

"In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short."

--> I cannot tag these folks, if someone could kindly let them know or give it a go in your reblog

NEW YORK CITY TO RICHMOND  -  @haleyincarnate  WORD COUNT - 269

"I wonder if he knows that I can see the trying part of him..."

THE HOUSE OF GRUMLY  -  @erinnightwalker  WORD COUNT - 553

"Everyone knew that the Widow Grumly’s granddaughter was a werewolf."

Q: Sharp start with a phenomenal choice of an opening sentence; took a "historical fact", ran with it, and created a captivating world / plot in an incredibly short span of time; formatting, flow, verbiage crisp; nice & layered/written with a clever audience in mind

THE ADVENTURES OF ROXY AND JUJU   - @wheresthekillswitch  WORD COUNT - 2.4K  [part one/series in progress]

"JuJu finally relents and hands over the car keys to Roxy. It couldn’t possibly go more wrong than it did the last time Roxy drove…. right?"

Q: in medias res; crisp dialogue; absolutely engaging, witty characters developed in a short amount of space; vivid descriptors without being heavy-handed; leans into a vignette [character study] feel vs. hashing out a distinct plot; nice intro/kick-off for a series, though if author opts not to proceed, works just fine as stand-a-lone...

[...which is why I broke my own damn series criteria rule, so sue me. -N.]

- STUFF SO CREATIVE & UNIQUE, IT JUST CAN'T BE CATEGORIZED - What it says, organized alphabetically by title.

ENTRIES  - @cardinaleyes

An inside look into the journals of Team Free Will:

DEAN

SAM

CASTIEL

Q: an ongoing pseudo-series with a creative concept; keeps distinct style for each; bonus points regarding convenience for the reader by having a "home" for each character vs. all together in one blog

JEOPARDY

In which Team Free Will plays a game.

It began with a piece of fanart by @lastlabyrinth  ....

....which got some dialogue by @phantomrose96  ....

.... which got a follow-up by @casonly, and a nice wrap-up from  @guntheramvs 

Q: Written with sharp, quick-witted audience in mind; spit-take worthy humor; great characterization, spot-on in fact regarding our host for the evening; crisp, fun dialogue; excellent collaboration by all involved

[h/t  @waywardafbabygirl ]

JOURNAL OF A MAN OF LETTERS  -  @petite-madame

From the creator: "[This is] a diary in first-person narrative written from Sam's point of view. Once a week, I post an art and a ficlet inspired by an episode or a scene. I'm following the show timeline as close as I can but I'm taking liberty with canon here and there."

Q: Extraordinary, above-and-beyond, clearly evident care, devotion, countless hours put into this project, and it has paid off many times over - there is some of the most beautiful art you'll ever see, there are stories [have a sample] that will hit you right in the feels, there are moments ranging from light-hearted to introspection, and you even have an option of platform - go HERE for the LiveJournal headquarters. Phenomenal, top-to-bottom. I am not over-selling this.

TWO AGENTS MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD - @bohoartist & @piecesofscully

[THE X-FILES]

Two agents are missing - follow the twists and turns as clues are examined, leads are followed, and information is exchanged.

Q: The planning and execution throughout was nothing short of excellent; written/developed with smart audience in mind; methodology of storytelling unique and, more importantly, appropriate for how the authors chose to unfold the plot; format/use of images was spot-on; clear through-line and tone; mystery that was engaging, teasing but not frustrating  

[h/t @itssteaksauce ]

*~* Shameless Self-Promotion *~*

Happy Reading!  XO - Nash.

* Authors, I encourage you to express your appreciation to your curator(s). Readers, if you enjoy curator selections & found them to be of quality, I encourage you to not only give the authors feedback, but also thank the curator(s) for bringing the story/series to your attention. I suspect they’ll dig it. *

[wordsturnintostories]

11/ Remnants of Time

Chapter 10 | Glue | ... | Chapter 12

Masterlist

Word Count: 9.580 Song Choice: Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Lorde, Greeting The Menace by Zack Hemsey (for those who are wondering, I’ll always mark the first and the last song choice of the respective chapter if there are more than 2 songs, just so you have some orientation when checking out the playlist) Special a/n: A long one! Woop. Make sure you’re buckled in before reading. Let me warn you, this is a chapter full of violence, pain, and fear. Please make sure you stop whenever it gets too much for you. Have a good time! :)

The German Museum of Technology and Science stood on an island in the middle of the Isar, a mighty complex of old architecture and modern structures. Two bridges connected the island with the rest of the city and created a pathway for the hundreds of tourists that enjoyed the warmth of this sunny day. Disguised with baseball caps and leather jackets, Steve, Bucky, and Sam crossed the street that led to the island in the middle of the river. Sam really hoped no one would recognize them, aware that a baseball cap really wasn’t that great for disguise, but Steve insisted he’d had a fair share of missions like this that all went well. Sam just nodded, taking another gulp of his water bottle. Surely, Steve knew what he was doing. He had, after all, been an SSR and a SHIELD agent and if he opted for baseball cap and denim jacket, well, he probably had his reasons. There was one thing the pararescue couldn’t shake, however. “Are you really sure we should take Rebecca with us, man? I mean, if we catch her. We might be the only ones who can help, yeah. But I doubt she wants to come with us. No offense“, he sent a quick look over to Bucky, “but Barnes ran after DC. Although, if he’d seen Romanoff, I bet he would’ve stayed.” Of course, that had been a joke, but Steve frowned. Bad timing. “Natasha is on a different page than us, so leave her. And yes, Sam, we’ll take Rebecca with us. She’s his sister, we can’t just let her run around like a homeless person.” Sam nodded, sensing that Steve didn’t want to discuss anything right now. He didn’t like it, this anger that brewed within the blond, but he doubted he’d behave differently after a betrayal like this one. If it was a betrayal. Yes, Sam’s mind had been hazed by pain and numbed by alcohol, but he didn’t believe Natasha would’ve left them in her apartment while taking care of business that would somehow oppose Steve’s plan.  Maybe Steve was just in pain, maybe he was just exhausted, Sam thought. They all were, the Remnant had tired them out mentally and physically. We shouldn’t be here, Sam realized when a shiver of discomfort ran over his back and predicted doom. Damn Steve and his reckless ass.

Mr. Lomawu smiled. Right now, his eyes were completely focused on the screen on the other side of this locked conference room that belonged to the Museum of Technology and Science. The screen relayed everything that happened the basement below. Well. Everything that his asset, the Remnant pointed the hidden camera in the collar of her suit at. Lawrence didn’t dare to tear his gaze from the dark room that was in focus now, with all the obstacles on the ground, old museum inventory, and the apparatus with Zola’s new body in there. Nothing was happening at this moment, but he knew the Captain and the Soldier were in the room already, past the guards just like Lawrence had expected.

His agents on the roof had noticed the trio first. Rogers and Barnes were accompanied by Wilson, but Lomawu knew that wouldn’t pose a problem. Rogers was the easiest to take down, even with the Wakandan advancements to his suit. In fact, the suit would be the main cause as to why he was easy to take down - Hydra’s agents would not waste his abilities by making him enter the basement with them. They listened to Lomawu’s orders and Lawrence knew Steve Rogers was a strategist. He’d position the Falcon in the air or on the roof. Also, there was a chance the winged man was not too fond of meeting Zola or the Remnant again, given the nerve-rattling meet and greet they’d had a day ago. But the Remnant hadn’t moved then, she’d stayed in the conference room with her handler. She had chosen to wait, revealing one of her many precious attributes, her astonishing patience that Lomawu considered admirable and scary at the same time. The calm behavior paired with the cunning instinct that led her every movement at precisely the right moment was just one more thing that pointed at the term “assassin”. But unlike other handlers would have in their single-dimensional thinking, Mr. Lomawu had not interfered. He had heard Zola marvel about this asset’s potential and during the last weeks, the Wakandan had not once regretted reactivating her from her cryostasis. Even the lead scientist had warned him about the orders he was supposed to give to her. Never underestimate her. She will follow your orders, but she will find her own way. Don’t mess it up while she’s at it. Considering the degree of seriousness he faced, Lomawu guessed that other handlers hadn’t been that considerate and, in turn, paid with their lives. He had to admit, he was rather impressed with what she had accomplished so far. While his own thought had circled around Wakanda and the CIA at the same time, she’d performed perfectly in front of the Avengers on the run and the local police, and therefore, drawn all the attention away from his persona. Wakanda and the CIA had no clue what he was really doing. Henderson had bothered him, she and her smart assistant were figuring his game out. But Henderson had been cleared off the playing board and Neesa was taken care of too. This Hydra asset was special, Lomawu was sure. She’d left him and he could only admire the smoothness of her movements. He had placed his success into her hands and so far, she had exceeded his expectations. Because whatever orders he gave, Lawrence understood that right then, the execution depended on her own mind. It was scrambled, yes, and conditioned to obey, but in the end, it was still filled with innumerable mechanized movement patterns and intuitional knowledge about people and terrain. She knew exactly what to do. The team of scientists had worked overtime to get her ready and prep her for maximum performance. She just needed a goal. And for now, the biggest goal was retrieving the Winter Soldier. Arnim Zola’s biggest masterpiece. Also, the Asset was Lomawu’s personal guarantee for a top spot in Hydra’s upper positions, right underneath Zola’s wings, where he belonged.

The whole game had started when Rogers and Barnes entered the foyer of the museum. The Remnant was there, out of sight for the two men. The Soldier was wary, his eyes flitted around the room, but his focus was mainly on the area behind the foyer’s windows. When both men had purchased their tickets, like the upstanding citizens they were, they walked over into the exhibition. Old planes and ships greeted them, but the real treasure waited in the basement. Of course, Lomawu knew about his enemies’ intentions. The Winter Soldier and the Remnant were family. The Captain was the unwavering, uncompromising best friend who had most likely sworn an oath to protect his loved ones. The situation was easy to read, but the characters in it were forced to make the hardest decisions. Some men, Lomawu thought bitterly, broke under that burden, but some would only see the pain of others and carry more than they could without breaking. Lomawu looked into the mirror and sighed. Steve Rogers would carry it, without doubt, so that was exactly what he could count on. It meant that Rogers would try to steal the Remnant. And that was the reason Maximoff and Lang were one of the many aces Lomawu had not pulled out of his sleeve yet. They had sat in prison for Steve Rogers before, but would they do it again? Would they for yet another killer? Would they for a helpless case? Would the city walls once again scream ‘Fascista’ in red at the faces of these ex-Avengers? Steve still thought the Remnant was like his beloved Bucky, but boy, he was wrong.

Proof of that was already established three minutes later when the two men returned to the foyer. The desk lady had been called out by a colleague and therefore, the foyer was empty, providing the perfect opportunity to sneak past the ‘staff-only’ sign at the staircase and into the basement. The Remnant had disappeared, but the surveillance camera captured the Soldier’s face perfectly. Only he had noticed the tiny detail that had changed in the room during their short absence. It had only been a subtle variation, but his eyes spotted the little Russian toffee in the front desk’s candy bowl. He stiffened and his eyes shot upwards, searching in the right place at the wrong time. Of course, the Remnant was gone already, but the little, seemingly insignificant gesture had provided a lingering feeling of uncertainty. She is here, the lips of the brunet spelled out. Let’s hurry, replied the blond.

And the two soldiers didn’t waste any time. As expected, they dealt with the two guards behind the basement door quickly, gaining access to a hallway with one room that only staff provided with the right key cards could enter. The Soldier pulled both guards with him while the Captain wanted to take care of the lock with one of those ridiculous pans he carried around in his backpack. It was another advantage Lomawu had found with joy: the absence of the Captain’s shield. Not that he was helpless without it, but it did cause a lot of damage and this way, Hydra’s victory sped up significantly. Rogers had slammed his pan into the lock, but it didn’t give in yet. However, the little light turned green all of the sudden and the door clicked open. Both men held their breaths for a second, but nothing happened. “It’s gotta be a trap”, the hoarse voice of the brunet sounded wary through the speakers Lomawu listened to. Carefully, they passed the door. The guards on the inside reacted as fast as they could, but they didn’t pose a lasting obstacle against the super soldiers. Both Hydra agents sank to the ground, their blood invisible in the darkness of the basement room. Lomawu smiled. Everything as predicted. As long as all his agents followed their orders, he would be fine. Even with the overwhelming physicality of both war veterans, Lomawu still had the upper hand. They could punch and kick all they wanted, as long as he held their minds caged in fear and uncertainty, victory was his. The Remnant was in position.

The first thing Steve saw when entering the basement room had been fists and feet that came at him, but when they were down, his eyes flung to the other side of the room. A machine stood in the darkness, emitting a soft white light. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, Bucky’s breath, and the humming of that machine. Steve’s fingers grazed the wall until he found the light switch. Suddenly, Bucky grabbed his arm. “Wait. The electric set-up could be tied to the machine. I don’t want to mess this up.” The brunet pulled out a flashlight, “this should work.” The two men walked through the room that clearly resembled the ambient from that one horror film Sam had made Steve watch after losing a bet against his winged friend who was just outside, in the sky. He couldn’t remember the name of the production, but the spider webs, the old desks and museum objects certainly screamed horror film. Or had it been a tv show? He shrugged, telling himself to focus on the task. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake today.

One big pillar stood in the center of the room, holding up the ceiling that was additionally stabilized by various beams. In general, Steve was surprised the ceiling was up so high. He could stand on the tip of his toes and still not touch the cold stones above him. Bucky pointed at something on the other side. The light fell on some kind of chair that was covered by a blanket. The terrified expression on the brunet’s face made Steve realize which instrument of torture he was looking at. “Is this…?” “Yeah. Let’s just get to Zola. Let’s finish the war.” Steve nodded. He knew the feeling. He knew the war was still raging, maybe less so with soldiers shooting at each other, bombs dropping from planes or bureaus full of people attempting to decipher enemies' codes. But all the more with the thoughts in his head, where all his fears remained, just like the old mechanisms he'd learned on and off the battlefield, to train every day to maintain shape for an unexpected attack, to subconsciously deny himself deep sleep because enemies could still attack every minute. Even his dreams, the menacingly realistic ones, with booming noises crashing through his skull and lights striking him out of nowhere. The war had never been over. “I’m with you, Buck.” The men patted each others’ shoulders. All of this they had survived until now. Until this moment, in which they could finish off Zola, the root of the misery Hydra had brought to so many places, to so many hearts. Together, the two soldiers would free the world from its fate as collateral damage to the Red Skull’s legacy. The war had started without them, but it would end through them.

Steve and Bucky walked past old desks and dirty piles of fabric. The shiny glow the machine emitted increased the closer the men came. A Stark Industries- tag praised the construction of the steel and glass container right next to the red Hydra sign sprayed onto the outward cover. It looked like a big rectangle aquarium with abnormal amounts of wiring and tubing. The single glass wall was the one on top and it was covered by a half-transparent foil on the glass. The silhouette of a body was discernible, but a message that had been scratched into the foil caught the men’s direct attention. “Complete transferral at 1630.” “That’s in thirty minutes”, Bucky mumbled and pulled his handgun out. The booming shot creaked over the glass surface. It didn’t break. “Great. Bulletproof.” A featherlight hue of air strafed Steve’s neck. He was sure it must’ve come from the door. Suddenly, Bucky’s flashlight hit the ground. Steve jumped to turn around, but strong hands fixated his shoulders. She’s here. A knee crashed against his groin. Steve toppled. Pain spread through his body. He groaned involuntarily. Not now. Get up again. The enemy used his hesitation to land a hefty kick in the back of his knees. He couldn’t hold himself. Steve stumbled forward. Not again. All the pain of the last days came back in one wave. His hands clung to the machine before him. Stabilize yourself. You’ve fought off worse. Another kick in the lower back. A rough cry erupted out of his throat, he was helpless. The other person grabbed his neck tightly. The fingers were cold and strong. Steve tried to free his head, but it was useless. This time, she’d kill him. She had his neck. Suddenly, Steve’s mind blanked. He went back to last night, to those moments of helplessness. When he realized she wanted to kill him. Panic overcame him. Steve was panting, his eyes wide open. His throat hurt even more than yesterday. Her hands tightened and it made him choke. No air! There’s- no air! His body went limp. Suddenly, she shoved him forward with all force like a sack of potatoes. The hard steel of the machine and the cracks in some of his fingers were the last things Steve felt before black overtook his sight.

Steve was down. That wasn’t good. That it had happened faster than Bucky could look proved this was serious. Steve was the strongest man Bucky knew. The blond was stronger than an ox. Even as a sick skin-and-bones stick-person, Steve had overcome death a couple of times. He’d fought labs full of Nazi troops and an elevator full of STRIKE unit hunks, and he’d fought Bucky, twice, and Tony the traitor, and now he was out on the floor. Bucky frowned. It had taken Becca only a few seconds to accomplish that. The last time Bucky had seen her fight, she hadn’t been that strong. Sure, she was clever and quick, but to take down Steve like he was a paper waiting to be folded? They must’ve put her through an immense training phase. Or they were testing new combat stuff. He wasn’t sure, though, if they’d do that with her. She was valuable, she was the only Winter Soldier- second who’d survived the first three missions with him.

Rebecca moved fast. Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to do. Of course, he knew he had to fight Rebecca, but could he hurt his sister? How had Steve broken his arm on that helicarrier over DC? How long had it taken him to forgive himself? He needed a way out before this situation could turn into a matter of life-and-death. For her. Because Hydra wouldn’t dare to kill their precious Winter Soldier, Bucky was sure they wouldn't risk losing him. Maybe that was the only comfort Hydra granted him. But it was still dark. Bucky knew he’d have to get the light back on. Because the darkness was not his comfort zone, even if he could operate in it perfectly. The Remnant was superior in the dark. So Bucky quickly grabbed the flashlight and turned around. He knew where they’d come from. The light switch was right next to the door. Would he hit the switch if he threw the flashlight? Probably not. In a matter of seconds, Bucky started to move towards the wall next to him. He slid along it, finally reaching the chair of despair. For once, it gave him cover. Good. He stopped to listen into the dark. It was quiet. Bucky could only make out his own heartbeat and that worried him. Usually, his enemies were loud, walking with heavy steps, but this time, he faced someone who moved with the sound of a shadow - none. The perfect predator. Not if he could make her remember, if he could pull her out. One drop of water was enough to make the entire surface break, he knew how easy it was. He just hoped he would survive her irritation should he succeed.

Recalling his first walk through the room, he calculated how many steps it would take to get to the switch. Ten at most. After another second of thick silence, he started to run. At the third step, something collided with him. The sudden weight smashed Bucky into the dusty floor. He landed on his back. All his air was gone. His lungs screamed and Bucky gasped desperately. Like a fish out of water. A hand went for his face. Bucky slapped it away and threw a punch at the darkness. His fingers hit only air but at least he knew she was somewhere close. So he kicked. And hit a shin. A low groan came from his side and Bucky took in a deep breath. He recovered fast, making it possible to jump up and run for the light switch. When all the lamps turned on, Bucky looked around. She was gone. The room seemed empty. She was a master in hiding, the soldier knew that, but she wouldn’t hide forever. Bucky was about to move when suddenly, he noticed the tip of a shoe standing over the side of a beam in the ceiling. She was up there. Good to know. So Bucky ran towards Steve. His only option was Steve. If the blond woke up, he’d need Bucky to defend him. Also, Bucky couldn’t feel any of his weapons in the sheaths of his suit anymore. She’d taken them all, the knives and the guns. So thank God for Steve’s clear-mindedness. She hadn’t taken his backpack that held all the pans. Bucky prayed that this new Teflon-technology was as good as the company had promised on the package. As durable. Well, shit. They all lied nowadays. He still had his arm. But he didn’t know if he really wanted to use it to hurt his twin sister. Maybe he’d have to. But he still hated the idea. Bucky bent down to open the backpack and was lucky to reach a panhandle because, in the same moment, she attacked. Bucky swung the handle around, making the whole backpack follow. The pans rattled as they clanked together. Becca’s cheek and head were bleeding from this one hit. Bucky scanned his surroundings. There wasn’t much else to use. He’d stick to his pan then. While the Remnant charged at him, moving fast to tire him out, Sam’s voice rang through the comms. “Steve, the guards are all down. What do you want me to do now?” Bucky couldn’t answer Sam. The Remnant held one of his knives and went for his ribs. He, in turn, targeted her feet while trying to defend his torso. Sam sounded more irritated now as if sensing that something was wrong. “Steve? Come in! Steve?” Bucky managed to stick his leg between hers and pull it to the side harshly. She lost balance and Bucky used the pan. “Steve, are you there? Do you copy?” “Steve’s down. Whatever you do, Sam”, Bucky was a little out of breath, “don’t come in here, okay?” “Are you alright, man? You sound…” Sam faded when the Remnant attacked again, more fierce than before. Bucky dogged her, but the knife’s sharp blade cut into the flesh of his other arm. The brunet cried out and hit Rebecca’s back with the pan, eliciting a howl. She pulled it away, out of his hands and Bucky stood before her with nothing. I can do this. I will win. This time, I will win. I am stronger than Hydra.

Bucky was ready to go into the fist fight. He knew her weaknesses. Her arms. Her legs were stronger than his own. Her footwork was ridiculously coordinated. He needed to do some damage to it or he’d be in trouble. Shit. Her advantage was that she didn’t need to think about how to hit him. She followed her instincts, used raw force, they’d put her through her prepping, drowned her inhibitions. Bucky watched her eyes. They were cold and focused. Whenever they met his’, a little shiver ran over his body. Not a trace of sadness or joy was visible in the blue. The only thing in them was pure determination and aggressiveness. Like I taught her. He searched for a hunch of panic, of the numbing realization of not being in control. Suddenly, Bucky stumbled a step back. Her eyes changed. Her whole face changed. Every inch of skin that was visible on her, even her hand, it changed. When Bucky looked into her face again he gasped. That’s me. She is… me. Bucky closed his eyes. Don’t let her get into your head, he told himself. This is everything I told Steve she did. Psychological warfare. This is just a trick. It’s that weapon they made for her, SecondSkin™. Don’t let yourself fall for the illusion, Bucky. But when he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t help but muster the person he was looking at right now. The clean-shaved face, the insecure eyes, the mouth, it was everything he had looked like when he was under Hydra. Strangely, the person before him looked like a healthier version than the one he’d seen in the rear-view mirror earlier today. This person looked... good. Orderly. Healthy. Strong and confident. Handsome, even, with that jawline and those bright eyes. He shuddered when the Remnant began to speak. His own deep, clear voice chased shivers down his back. Every little hair on his body stood up. He prayed he could end this. “Sergeant. The only person you’re fighting is yourself.” Bucky shook his head like he wanted to fight a nightmare off. This was downright creepy. He grabbed a chair next to him and threw it at his imitator, who just caught it easily with his metal hand. It was bizarre how it actually made an accurate sound when metal met wood. “Why do you keep fighting, soldier? Haven’t you realized that the world doesn’t want you?” “Steve wants me. Natasha wants me. That’s enough.” “They won’t survive this. Even if, where would you go? This is the only place where you’re welcome.” “This is the only place I don’t want to be.” “But you do belong here. You belong to Hydra.” Flashbacks started to hit Bucky, attacked him, pressed the air out of his lungs until he gasped and coughed for air. Baghdad, Madrid, Canberra, Ljubljana. A strong hand held him, stabilized him, rubbed his back. A woman in a green dress, a man in a rocking chair, a prince in his nightgown, a - a newborn in the hospital, in its mother’s arms. He watched his own fingers on a different person touch his body and he jerked back, his eyes watering from the memories that pressed back into his consciousness. You belong to Hydra. You wake, execute and forget, Soldat. “I belong to myself.” The other Bucky shook his head. He smiled a lopsided smile that could’ve looked nice everywhere else. In a strange way, Bucky hoped that one day, he could look like that again. “Hydra saved you. They made you. They fed you. Without them, you’d be dead. Like most other people your age. We’re just here to pick up what is Hydra’s.” “I am my own. I belong to myself, no one else!” “Oh, but you belong to your family. We are family. And family sticks together, we never let go.” Bucky was surprised there was so much emotion behind these words. He wondered if she really knew that they were family, if she understood what it meant. If she knew who she was to him or if they’d just given this information to her as mission intel. Whether this was part of the illusion, part of the imitation, it sounded too real to be true. Bucky had learned that some dark facility in Siberia; the things feeling most true to his mind were the fake ones until he couldn’t tell anything apart anymore. Hundreds of memories. Feelings. Pictures. People. Blood. Death. Bodies. Confusion threatened to slip back into Bucky’s mind. Nonetheless, there was only one thing he could reply with. Even if it felt like he was just talking to a mirror, as if he was trying to convince himself of whatever was on his mind. It’s an illusion and this is my sister. “That’s why I’ll get you out of here.”

Bucky had thought his next movements through very carefully. From the corner of his eye, he had spotted an old carpet that was covered by a thick layer of dust. Perfect. He grabbed it with his right arm and swung it through the air. The dust flew everywhere. The Remnant started to cough, to get away from the stuffy dryness of the air. Bucky used his little advantage and kicked the Remnant against the next wall. His body pressed into hers, well his own basically, but he made sure she couldn’t get away. Of course, she resisted and tried to get off the wall, but no, Bucky had her cornered and he wouldn’t let go. He twisted her right wrist so she was forced to release her weapon. Bucky grabbed the knife before it could fall. The blade was a little red, his own blood had turned sticky on it. He grabbed her other wrist, the solid metal wrist, in his own, and fixated it on the height of his thigh. His knee pressed her against the wall. She couldn’t escape him. Next, he put the blade to her throat. “One wrong move and the knife is in your throat”, he warned. Something unexpected happened right then. Instead of answering, Becca used her pointer finger to tap a rhythm into Bucky’s skin. At first, he didn’t realize, but his brain determined it to be Morse. It deciphered the code right away. “You wouldn’t hurt me.” The second Bucky smiled about the familiarity in their communication, his imitator’s face - his own face- turned back into a woman’s. Into a softer version of his own, he realized. Even their skin tone was almost the same. But he hated this expression on her face. This expression of dominance. Like she still had the upper hand, even though she was squished between him and the wall with no chance of getting away. He hated that she wasn’t afraid of him at all, even when he held a knife to her throat. Just then, a memory tugged on his mind and he realized they’d stood in this exact position various times before, in training, during missions, whenever something had triggered his memory. She wasn’t afraid because this proximity was normal. Bucky tried to keep his expression straight and menacing. “Why not?” “Because if you did, your Steve would die.” Her blue eyes wandered to a figure behind Bucky. Bucky followed her gaze and froze. A tall man in a uniform stood over Steve and held a gun to his temple. Bucky recognized the man, they had met in Wakanda. He was the head of their secret intelligence apparatus. Mr. Lomawu. An ally. “Hello, Sergeant. Good to see you again.”

All of the sudden, Bucky felt an overwhelming weakness overcome him like someone pressed him to his knees. His body didn’t hold him anymore, no matter how hard he clung to the Remnant right in front of him. No! What was going on? What did they do? Bucky frantically searched his body for hidden drugs, for any sign of an administered sedative, but nothing. When he sent a look to Steve and that Wakandan traitor, he realized Mr. Lomawu was holding something familiar in his hand. A little blue music player. And only then Bucky noticed the melody that was coursing through the room. A piano played a soft line of chords, accompanied by a lonely violin and a harp that gave the melody the nostalgic touch of a lullaby. In his head, the music sounded like honey, sweet and thick and Bucky could feel a stickiness invading his memories and thoughts. Thinking became so much harder in an instant, almost ... impossible. His thoughts began to echo, fading into a black hole. He whined. Why? What is going… was going on? Come… on, B…Bucky, fight it. You…you can st…st…still win… you…y… “See, soldier? Just like your friend down here, you cannot get rid of us. But for you, that’s because this”, he pointed at the chair and Bucky just nodded slowly, but wasn’t sure if he could really comprehend any of the words the man had just said, “this is what you are. Your fate. Your destiny. You’re our Winter Soldier.” The man waited, watching the brunet fall apart from the inside out. Bucky only heard Winter Soldier echo through his head over and over. He couldn’t move. He just wished for the man to stop. But the voice started to speak again. “Behold, your summer has passed. May the world see your true face again.”

With a nod, the man ordered the Remnant to carry, or rather, drag the brunet, who still tried to fight the lure of the soft tunes that absorbed his mind, towards the wiping chair. She looked at him. Conditioning was the cause of his mental state at this moment. The melody affected him greatly, she’d seen the Soldier like this before. Many more things could affect him to a certain degree, but this was one of their handlers’ favorites for him. Because it worked faster than a number of the other methods, she guessed. Because all force left him, the melody turned this unpredictable assassin into a harmless puppet. The Remnant fixated his wrists and shins and stepped away from the chair. She then walked over to fulfill her next order: chaining up target: Captain America to the big pillar in the middle of the room. The cuffs clicked and she nodded, earning a “well done, soldier” from her handler. Mr. Lomawu turned the music off to call in the two scientists he’d brought with him. They carried all that was necessary for this very quick and very unprotocol-like wiping. One of them quickly inserted a sterile cannula into the main vein in the Asset’s forearm, the other pulled out a special repair kit to fix anything out of order in the metal arm. They must’ve had forgotten or overlooked the earpiece still sitting in Bucky’s ear, because all of a sudden, Sam’s voice called through it and ripped Barnes from his confusion.

The soldier lashed out immediately, panic directing his every limb. He felt the chair, he knew what was happening. The metal arm swung and a loud crack sounded through the room when it connected with the scientist’s head. The skinny man slumped together. Blood spilled on the ground. But the Asset wasn’t done yet, he wasn’t free yet, he needed to get out, get away and he needed to right now. The Remnant sped over in an instant. She held the thrashing man’s legs down and growled at him as menacingly as she could. He just stared at her. Then, with his metal hand, Bucky slapped her face as hard as possible. Crushed the side that was already bleeding. The force slammed her to the side, but she held on with an iron grip. Panic, fear, and anger mixed into a lunatic’s potion and Bucky hit her cheek again and again. The furious soldier didn’t see any people anymore, it was all a blur, he just knew he would destroy what was in his way. He was breathing in hard gasps. Another hit to bloody flesh wound that had been a cheek once. He could already see the Remnant’s cheekbone behind the raw, peeling flesh. Blood pooled in his lap. Soaked his pants. Still, the Remnant held on. Her grip was like steel and Bucky felt something sharp ripping into his legs. He didn’t care. The burning didn’t stop him from trying to escape. An elbow hit his nose like a hammer and Bucky heard a crunch. He gasped, hesitated. A second too long, because the second scientist pressed a needle into the Asset’s bulging veins with all his might. Finally, the wide-eyed brunet in the chair calmed down, thanks to the overwhelming rush of a dozen sedatives. The Asset’s eyes fluttered and everyone in the room tried to get their breaths back under control. This incident had cost them one scientist and precious time.

Mr. Lomawu stepped forward, pleased to see the Asset subdued. He had hoped for a quicker, less chaotic situation, but a glance at his watch told him that they were still operating in their timeframe. Excellent. “Sergeant”, he started. “Why do you struggle? You will arise stronger, without fear and with a purpose. Are you really considering to let the world haunt you any further?” Bucky was weak, but he felt like his thoughts were coming back to him. And even if all he had left was a whisper, he felt he needed to say these words. Just for the sake of having said them. He wished Steve could hear him. “I’m more than that puppet behind the mask. It took them twenty years to get me there the first time, do you really think you can do this in half an hour now? Erase the past three years?” Bucky forced a grin that was supposed to help sell his bluff. He knew he failed when Lomawu’s smile didn’t cease from the man’s dark lips. He suddenly felt tiny in this cold chair that would fry his brain in a few moments. He prayed he could stall the wiping, though. Not so much for his own good, but at least until Steve woke up. Little Steve, who carried the hope of the whole team, of the entirety of America's secret agencies on his shoulders. And they didn’t even know it yet. “The world only sees the mask and the guns. The explosions and the corpses in your wake. It’s time to return to the truth, soldier. Your mission-“, Lomawu already had his finger on the buttons and the scientist held the regulatory mouthpiece before Bucky’s tear-stained face, but the brunet interrupted him, desperation flooding his body. One thought, one question. “Why did Hydra take her?”, he whispered, motioning over to the Remnant. “They? Oh Sergeant, don’t you remember? That was you alone.”

Steve woke up and he was scared. Not because of the pain that ignited certain spots of his body as if they were on fire. Not even because of the firm steel cuffs that wrapped around his wrists in a grip too tight for a person with healthy physical abilities. Not the blood that stained the thick layer of dust around his feet, blood that hopefully wasn’t his own. No. Steve usually thought himself a pretty bold guy, without much fear, he’d overcome his fears a lot of times by now, but right now, Steve was scared. It wasn’t something, it was the absence of something, or rather, someone, that put him into this state. He’d woken up without Bucky next to him. And in a basement Zola was in, the mastermind behind all Hydra cruelty, a missing person could mean a lot, but only bad things.

Steve’s cautious eyes told him details about the moments that had passed while he was gone, before the world had turned black in his eyes. Besides the not unsuspicious amount of blood on the floor, he noticed a dent in one of these walls, a broken flashlight somewhere on his right and wood in splinters and sharp remains. Even a knife lay on the ground, but too far away for Steve to grab. The blonde could also spot the machine he’d tried to destroy earlier, but it still looked exactly the same as before, which somehow caused new hope to bloom in the Captain’s chest. Maybe they still had a chance. Maybe Zola hadn’t succeeded. He smiled, recalling knowledge that Hydra might not have won. As he’d mentioned, a transfer of consciousness was something that - despite its rarity - the old soldier had witnessed before (and that he had added to his growing list of things that made him wonder what humans were not capable of). To his surprise, it had worked, but only with the help of his mighty friend from the vast lands of space, the only man (thankfully), who could wield lightning. He prayed Hydra hadn't corrupted Thor.

Quiet whispers from the other side of the room reached Steve’s ear. He could not make out anything except a determined “Go again”. A shiver crept up Steve’s spine because he had not expected to hear that voice right here, in this basement. Mr. Lomawu. Why was he here? Had Bucky’s suspicion been true, the one that he’d mentioned back in the car? That the Wakandan was Hydra? But how? The questions circling in the Captain’s head were quickly put to an end when someone started to scream. Loud whirring echoed through the room and something muffled the sound, but after a second Steve was very sure. The screams sounded raw and husky, worn out, but the agony behind the screams, he’d heard it before, one damn time. Steve’s stomach revolted and nausea occupied every thought of the blonde’s mind. Bucky. What were they doing to him? He wanted to scream himself, but his throat remained silent. Steve was out of words. So he just listened and prayed the same prayer over and over again. Please, let them stop. Let it all stop. The screams were relentless. Steve was sure he would not get them out of his head for weeks. They’d haunt him in his dreams, they’d press him to his knees and make him wake up covered in sweat. Steve knew that. He’d heard his best friend scream once before. Back then, the brunet had been falling, out of Steve’s grasp and into the unknown. Steve was not sure if there was a difference, really, between back then and now. He just prayed that this time, he could stop this horror somehow. A thought occurred to him. A quick look through the room told him that indeed, just like he’d hoped so desperately, his other friend, Sam, was still somewhere else, maybe awaiting a command. “Sam?” Steve didn’t hear a direct reply, so he repeated the call. “Sam, do you copy? Can you hear me? Sam?”

A door opened, Steve could hear that much through the screams. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to endure them without doing anything. It pained him greatly to witness this loss. He couldn’t quite bring himself to send a look towards that chair that his friend had pointed out to him when they entered this room. Back then, it had caused images to rise to his mind, but he’d pushed them away. Now, those exact images reappeared, only they were tangible. It was all real, and Bucky was half naked, sticky with sweat and dried blood and in a reclined position. His arms and legs were as fixated as his head and Steve swore he’d trash this machine the first second he’d get the chance to. He forced his eyes off his friend, against the will of his heart that urged him to take part of this suffering onto his own shoulders, to bear it together with his best friend. But a person entered the room, a female, the Remnant, Bucky's twin, and she dragged in a man with a lifeless body and a little, taunting dart sticking out of his right thigh. Sam. Steve hit his head against the pillar he was tied to. Dammit, he cursed inwardly. He had led all his friends into the lion’s den and hadn’t even seen the lioness roaring at him. Because of him, Bucky who had trusted him deepest was again turned into a helpless, dangling puppet to Steve’s enemy, the one Steve had thought dead long ago. And because of him, the other friend, Sam, was lying in the dust, with broken wings and chained up hands. He, as well, had put his faith into Steve, had believed in his promises and would now pay for that. Steve closed his eyes. Maybe those screams that made him want to rip his ears off and his eyes out were his payment. The torture he deserved.

Suddenly, legs appeared in his line of vision. “Awake to see all the fun, hm”, the man in the uniform, the traitor, Lomawu said. The Remnant remained quiet in the background. Steve guessed she had no orders right now. “You’re a traitor”, Steve replied, using what power he had left. The power of truth. “You abandoned your king and your nation. T’Challa will be on your heels forever.” The man seemed to dislike that notion. His face pulled into a snarl. “Wrong. Wakanda abandoned me. This is their fault, turning away their own people. They should not ask why the outcasts are repaying the favor now. T’Challa is only as good as everyone else. He’s not worthy of the Panther’s mantle, yet he took it without hesitation. Who is left out there without the fault of straying from their destiny?” Steve didn’t care for the poetic rambling, but he could sense the pain in the man’s eyes. Lomawu had been hurt, he had been left and now, those emotions had turned into an avalanche that would bury the whole valley at the foot of the mountain. “Hydra will never return to what it was”, Steve stated. Zola would not come out of this machine as another person, but Lomawu didn’t know that yet. Steve did. “No, the past cannot return to us no matter how badly our hearts ache for it”, Lomawu nodded. Bucky was still screaming, but the noises of his throat had turned hoarse by now. It raised the hairs on Steve’s arms even higher. “But the future, oh, what a lovely garden full of opportunities”, Lomawu smiled. “Hydra will rise again, Captain Rogers.” He sent a look to his watch. “In only a few minutes, Dr. Zola will awaken.” Bucky’s screams had subsided now, an eerie silence hung in the air after Mr. Lomawu’s last words. Steve was bold enough to break it. “He won’t. You’d need a bolt of lightning for him to rise. And here you are, standing in a basement.” “I do admire your wit, Captain. But you have not been as perceptive as usual. Besides Dr. Zola’s wishes, I have chosen this museum for its exhibition. Did you know that this is the only place in Germany that can create artificial lightning? We are standing right underneath the high voltage demonstration. 1.2 Million Volts will be more than sufficient to do the job.” Steve’s heart sunk to the ground right then. Every advantage he’d believed to have in his hands had vanished in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, another pair of legs entered his sight. They were clad in a highly durable pair of combat pants. On top of these legs sat the torso and the head of his best friend. “Bucky!”, Steve cried out in one uncontrollable wave of bursting desperation. But Bucky just stood there, eyes fixed on the tall Wakandan man, his posture that of a tense soldier. As if he hadn’t even heard the voice of the man in chains. “Ready to comply”, the brunet stated with in an emotionless voice, never losing his focus or his posture. “Good”, the Lomawu said and gave a nod towards the Remnant, who stuffed a gag into the protesting blond’s mouth. “Sergeant. Protect Dr. Zola at all costs. The world’s safety is in his hands. Eliminate any opposition. You’re going to bring the world closer to peace, soldier. But first, give him a good view on Project Awakening.”

The soldier nodded, with that cold expression on his face that started a deep seething hate inside of Steve but turned towards the Remnant first. She held a mask in her hands, the same one covering her face, and he took it, still not doing what Steve was hoping for so foolishly; that he would just use his metal arm to punch Lomawu and Rebecca unconscious and get Steve and Sam out of here. Instead, the Asset approached Steve and with a rather tight grip and harsh shove, pushed him up onto his feet. Steve almost stumbled, his legs rather prickly after his static position, but the assassin beside him didn’t seem to care. He stood, tense and body pointing at the machine. Steve tried to wriggle this gag out of his mouth, but it didn’t move much. When it did, due to all the Captain’s efforts, he turned his head towards his friend. “Bucky?” For that, he received a hard slap in the face, one laced with metal, one that wasn’t enough to shut him up. Never if it’s the truth I gotta say. “Bucky, listen. I’m with you t-”, another slap and a thick, bloody lip for the blonde. The metal hand shoved the gag back into his mouth and those clear blue eyes spoke of warnings and violence. This was the most murderous glare Steve had seen. He could’ve cried right then, but his mind wouldn’t let him alone in that moment. It still tried to generate just any idea that would lead to escape and freedom. But all Steve felt, standing there in the brooding coldness of the Winter Soldier’s grip that had meant death to so many men before, was this unending guilt. He knew it was his fault Bucky had screamed so desperately. He knew it was his fault that Lomawu had won and that Zola would arise.

A little beep ripped him from his thoughts. Right then, one of the cables in the room lit up with a white kind of fire, an electric impulse that moved from the ceiling towards the machine standing to their left. Steve didn’t know what to do, but he something had to be done, so he just threw himself to the side. The Soldier was as strong as an ox himself but hadn’t expected the sudden, strong pull. For a second, his grip loosened, but he kneed the blond troublemaker in the genitals, earned a deep groan and re-established his firm grip on the captive. The air smelled like burnt plastic and rubber now, but suddenly, the dazzling white light was gone and another beep sounded in a repeating pattern and decreasing intervals. Steve helplessly watched Lomawu go and open the glass door of this machine that silently bore the mark of a friend. Stark Industries. A woman stepped out of the tube, much to Steve’s surprise, and took in her surroundings. When her gaze fell upon Steve, his skin tingled suspiciously and he felt a shiver invading his entire back. “Steven Grant Rogers”, she said with a melodic voice, but Steve could only look at her eyes. He saw so much more in them than merely their brown irises. In a very unexplainable way, he felt like staring right into another person’s soul. Into a - an old man’s old soul, both burdened and lifted by the corpses of a million people. It didn’t matter that Zola was wrapped into this new body, with dark skin and a kind face, Steve recognized the presence of that small man with his round glasses, the man he’d met around eighty years ago. “What a surprise to meet you again. I see you took good care of my yet greatest achievement, Captain. How is Natalia doing?” Steve only grumbled, rather grateful for his gag that prevented him from saying anything. “Your steadfastness is admirable, Captain. Dr. Erskine was an intelligent man. Maybe choosing you saved all of Hydra. He and that British officer thought you a good man”, she paused, stepping one step closer to put her hands on the Captain’s wide shoulders, which disgusted him, “but we both know you’re as broken as it gets.” He shook Zola off with a deep glare. She smiled and turned towards Mr. Lomawu. “Well done, my friend. I suspect Miss Maximoff and Mr. Lang are still awaiting us along with my CIA task force?” “Yes. Neesa Dhawan needed to get some peace after her friend and superior Janet Henderson was shot in the office yesterday. All fingers still point at the Black Widow for committing the murder, no one suspects the Remnant to have a hand in this. She still is a mere shadow in the wide dark of the night.” “I am glad we could prevent her from spilling all this intel she gathered about us like you had assumed. I can access Neesa’s mind. She and her friend Janet had it all figured out. London, Cologne, Munich, even Miami. But they still hadn’t dared to connect those dots. What about Mr. Whittaker?” “Colin is not on our side anymore, apparently the loss of his sister has hit him deeper than we assumed. He will, however, still cooperate with me as his friend.” “Hydra is grateful for your sacrifices, Lawrence.” “Thank you, Dr. Zola. I expect Neesa to be honored and given full responsibility for the task force unit. As she will step into Mrs. Henderson’s shoes, the unit is yours. The world expects Hydra to be dead. It will never suspect us to return with such a boldness as to take over their intelligence agencies.”

The woman with the dark hair nodded and signaled for the Asset to put the blond soldier back down to where he had sat before. Back into the dust of a basement where the world didn’t hide any treasures. Until now. “Our last conversation was ended quite abruptly, but I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time later”, the woman said to the Captain, who didn’t comply with the pressure applied to his body. In a split second, he decided to go all or nothing. He kicked the Winter Soldier’s legs away and jumped back up, dodging a punch, but delivering a hard kick to Zola’s chest. The female figure stumbled backward. A body rushed between them. The next moment, a metal hand pressed into Steve’s throat. Also, Steve’s feet were dangling inches above the ground. Never had someone lifted him up with such ease as the Asset did now. “You are lucky, Captain”, Zola said, giving a signal for Bucky to let Steve down. “Your precious blood saves you, but you need to understand that even you are not able to save everyone. We will come back for you, don’t worry. Until then, I need you to stay still.” Steve shook his head, no. Even if the world wouldn’t believe him if he released all these secrets about Zola, he’d tell them again and again. They would believe. They had to. Captain America didn’t lie. And he never gave up. Not when it was his fault that this happened. He swore to himself that he would make it up. “Well, it seems you just need the right motivation, Captain. Just know that your friends are in my hand.” The woman sent a nod towards the Remnant, who stood behind Steve’s back. Suddenly, a shot rang through the air and the boom made Steve feel dizzy. He noticed the four figures leaving the room. Only one thought jumped to his mind. Sam!

Steve couldn’t turn around much or wriggle free, but enough to catch the blood on Sam’s chest. The bullet had ripped a hole into the Falcon’s shoulder and blood oozed over the straps of his exosuit. The whole front of his shirt was soaked after a few minutes. For a moment, Steve couldn’t tell if his friend was conscious or even alive. The blonde struggled with his gag for a few minutes, but eventually, it gave way. “Sam?”, he croaked and received a groan that was more or less encouraging, given the situation. Crap. Well. At least, Sam was alive. But Steve knew very well how bullet wounds worked: the bullet would go in, tear through flesh and tendons and exit on the other side, ripping an even bigger hole there. Steve prayed the bullet was still stuck in Sam’s shoulder. Without any emergency kit, Sam would be best off with the bullet locked in the flesh, where it would block the blood flow. Rogers did a couple of calculations, but he came back to the same estimation every time: he guessed that, considered the amount of blood on the floor and on the gray shirt Sam wore, the injured man would still have about half an hour before bleeding out. If there was no exit wound. And only if Steve could not find a way to get out of these damn chains. His shoulders slumped. This was never supposed to happen. Bucky and him, they had been so close to finally being unchained.

He turned his body around, sitting on his knees. Sadly, there weren’t that many options. The first idea to cross Steve’s mind was one involving a lot of luck and energy. Just pull these damn chains out of the wall. How deep can they be anchored in that pillar? Upon investigation, Steve discovered that no, the chains weren’t even anchored in the stone of the pillar, but merely wound around it. He was basically tied to himself. Sure, he could pull forward and break the pillar with it. But breaking the ceiling and hurting all the people standing in the museum right above him was a risk Steve couldn’t take. Innocent people. The blonde scratched that option off his list without hesitation. Instead, he started looking around for tools. All he could find was his broken flashlight and Bucky’s knife, but the latter was too far away to snatch and definitely not sterile. Steve really didn’t want to do more damage to Sam’s body. But he couldn’t just wait for his friend to die or Zola to get back. Helplessness crashed over Steve like a storm captivating a fisher boat on the open sea, throwing him around until nausea made him taste his bile in his mouth. When he sought shelter in the darkness behind his eyelids, his mind bombarded him with bolts of blazing lightning, each enough to scorch his heart. What if Zola planned on turning Sam into another asset, like Bucky? What if all they needed was Steve’s blood? And now they had it, he was sitting in their trap. Helpless. Zola had mentioned Wanda and Scott. He knew about them. What if Zola contacted them, to come and save Steve? Would they understand what was going on? What if they fell for it? What if Zola would use them? Could they stop Zola if they wanted to? What if Steve himself would return to experimentation in the labs of scientists? Would Tony come and save him? Tony was so vulnerable. What if…? Steve was so occupied with the dark shredding his mind that he didn’t notice how his friend croaked the blond’s name. “Steve…” His head whipped around. Sam? Was he okay? Was he…? “Steve…” “Yeah, Sam. Are you alright? Just hold on, okay, just-” “Steve, I’m sorry.” “Nah, buddy, it’s fine. Whatever it is, you can tell me when we’re out of this. I just need to, um, find a way and-” Steve rambled on until Sam cried out. “Steve! Listen, man. I’m sorry, but you gotta let me tell you why I want to apologize! This is not how it works, okay? I know this isn’t a film, but I’m the one potentially dying and you have to listen to me or you’ll regret it until you’re old and wrinkly.” Steve wasn’t sure how Sam did it, but he felt the darkness fade the more his friend spoke. “Wrinkly? I’ve crossed the 90 already, pal. I think I’m too old for wrinkles now”, Steve watched Sam grin weakly, “But please, pour your heart out.” Sam smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, Cap. I disobeyed your orders. I trust you and support you as a team member. But I’m also your friend and friends don’t give each other orders. They give advice.” “What did you do?” “I called Tasha.”

Masterlist

Please tell me all about your reactions! Thank you so much for reading! :D And one more thing, please never believe that your opinion and feedback and your giggles and sighs and gasps and everything don’t matter to me. That’s just not true. I put a lot of work into this because this is important to me (btw, it took me an entire afternoon just to edit this one chapter. think about that.) When you read my stuff and my fics, never be too shy to tell me what you thought, okay? I want to be there with you every step of the way because you are super important to me as well. sending much love, Xx -Sophia

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[darkpoolgirl]

_dpg’s guide to making money for individual traders

Intro: Why?

Writers say they write because they just can’t do anything else. Not because it’s easy or profitable. I believe that. Traders often say the same thing. They want to ‘eat what they kill’ because that makes their lives feel more authentic or something. I totally get it. Corporate refugee here… an office is a terrible place to spend a life but then I don’t want to be a miserable artist or a hunter-gatherer either.

To me trading is a game. Not something I need to do but something I want to play and win. It gives me a childish excitement, and the idea that I can do this instead of a ‘real job’ is great. But because this isn’t a ‘lifestyle’ or one of those situations where ‘the journey is a goal’ (wtf?), there has to be an actual way to win or else playing the game is stupid. My ‘win’ is $5mm liquid, which I figure is enough to ‘buy my freedom’ and be able to sit under a shade tree with my dog or on a beach somewhere with a guaranteed income and to sip as many umbrella drinks as I want. If that sounds corny you’re just jaded (understandable, but weak). I will actually stop trading when I win. I’m embarrassed to say that I am right now under 10% of the way there (Roth IRA gets traded aggressively [for tax benefit] but I keep several years of expenses totally untouched in after-tax accts. that I do not consider part of gambling “bankroll” so my total liquid net worth is not in trading accounts).

The game has been hard so far. Obviously. I’m writing this after a 43% portfolio drawdown (due to stupidity) and then recovering the whole thing and biting my nails the whole time. You work harder when you lose money and you find ways to make yourself accountable so it doesn’t happen again, so I wrote the following rules, which were things I knew already but had trouble following. Some of you will recognize that these are not ‘investor’ rules or even ‘trader’ rules, these are ‘gambler’ rules. Because this game is about gambling, and if you don’t know that already then you need to start thinking like a gambler. Odds, probabilities.

I’m sharing this because other people helped me get here and I want to share like they did, and because despite what some people think, we individual traders are not competing against each other. We could all suck up $1 billion from an overgrown, mismanaged fund somewhere and nobody would even notice.

One last thing: If you’re playing for sub-2x annual gains or if you’re accountable to investors, this really isn’t for you. I’m playing to grow my bankroll across retirement and taxable accounts at a high enough rate to actually meet a goal and everything below is stuff that I think you have to do in order to ‘win’ this game. With that said, you might be playing a different game but still find this helpful and that’s fine.

***

A. The three things you need
 1. CONVEXITY. you can probably make 20% a year with different types of “short volatility” (dip buying with cash acct., selling ATM cash covered index puts, small short VXX position or selling VXX call spreads, etc.) just like every big fund manager… and because you’re more nimble you can probably do it better. But this is a good return for a pension fund, not an individual. You can also make 100%+ a year by gluing yourself to your screen and trading a few smaller niche products. Some gamer-types will be able to succeed at this but it’s a lot like a pro sport. You’ll burn out fast. To NOT burn out and to make 1000% a year, you NEED a lot of small, smart, uncorrelated bets, each of which has a convex payout. This means buying calls and puts (ATM/OTM) on mid- and large-cap stocks (these options are liquid enough).

2. EDGE. Your edge is always going to come from your size and the fact that you don’t have an investment committee breathing down your neck. All the people with PHDs and supercomputers have $20 bil in AUM and an army of lawyers and can’t play the same game that you are, because your $1 million account can go lots of places they can’t and because they have clients who have a specific equity curve in mind (hint: 20% drawdowns are unacceptable) and won’t accept risk. One of the places your account can go is in stock options (stuff smaller than AAPL, BAC, AMZN etc.). The guys with the PHDs think they can make money by arbitraging the difference between option prices (implied volatility) and realized volatility. (You know that they make 20% a year by doing this.) You, meanwhile, make 1000% a year by taking directional, convex bets on something that would be really hard to justify to an investment committee but that is still a real source of edge. They act smart, but you’re smarter.

3. RISK MANAGEMENT. The rest is always worthless if you don’t understand fractional Kelly betting and how to honestly assess your edge. Betting too much will destroy your account. Betting too little means you make 50% a year instead of 1000%. These numbers are brutal, but true. You need to come face to face with this. Do some simulations. Hire a coder if you need to. Quantify your edge, even if it’s fuzzy. Hold yourself accountable for following a sizing system and don’t deviate from it. Kelly or fractional Kelly is the answer, and consistently executing is essential.

OK? You need each of these three things.

Without CONVEXITY, you’re wasting your time. CONVEXITY multiplies the profit of every right move you make, but doesn’t multiply the downside of your wrong moves (fixed risk). If you can be right 50% of the time and get a 2:1 payout, you are minting money.

Without EDGE, you will bleed chips over time. It is impossible to make money without edge. Luckily, individual traders have this a thousand times easier, as long as they have…

RISK MANAGEMENT. This requires you to be humble and always follow your rules. Your edge never gives you a 100% chance of winning on a trade (if you think it does, then you’re wrong). You need to devise a system and stick with it completely.

If and only if you have each of these things, you will always be in control, you will never lose a lot of money unexpectedly, and you will make money over time. Of course you will have big drawdowns, but they will be totally quantifiable. Being long options gives you limited risk, and makes capturing your EDGE and executing with your RISK MANAGEMENT possible. It is tempting to learn from books written by institutional traders, and to adapt their methods to your situation (this is what 99% of individual traders try to do) but it is a huge mistake. You don’t have to accept the risks that big traders have to accept (short convexity), and at the same time you can accept the kinds of portfolio risk that would get finance guys fired. This is a huge advantage.

Financial institutions are conservative. They are full of people who are trying to keep their jobs… contrary to the idea that Wall Street people take big risks all the time. This is always where your edge will come from. You can take the risks that bankers are afraid will make them look stupid. Stuff with slightly lower probability of profit. Stuff that the investment committee would laugh at.

Your job is to make money, not impress your boss. If you totally internalize this fact and accomplish these three requirements (CONVEXITY, EDGE, RISK MANAGEMENT), you will succeed.

B. About CONVEXITY (Difficulty: Easy)

CONVEXITY is the property of something ‘convex’. In betting terms, something is convex if it can make a lot more money than it can lose.

Some people will argue that a concave bet (one that can lose way more than it can ever make) can also be a good bet, and that it all depends on the price and the expected value. This is true but meaningless. When you have a risk of unknown losses, you can’t put as much money on the line. When you can’t put as much money on the line, you can’t make as much money. More succinctly, you cannot ever make a lot of money if you take concave bets. You can only ever make a lot of money if you take convex bets. We want to make lots of money. We have to make convex bets.

But…

This means that we have to accept, for every bet, a lower probability of profit, because we will buy options that only have something like a 25% probability of making money (ATM/OTM). If you don’t like that, well that sucks. You have to get over it or you have to be ok with mediocre returns and get a job as a corporate drone.

C. About EDGE (Difficulty: Average)

Your edge comes from being small, but your edge isn’t just “being small.” You as a small trader have a role in the trading ecosystem, and that’s to take money that someone else is leaving on the table. Big fish leave a lot of money on the table because it’s impossible not to, and because they tend to want “price improvement” and other stuff like that. They are fiduciaries and don’t want to get sued. You need a signal to help see how and where this money is moving.

The easiest money being left on the table always comes from  simply following other people. Coming up with your own “ideas” is an ego trip and is a waste of time and money. Your job is to trade and make money for yourself. Find and take the handouts.

Most signals are garbage at finding this. If it was popular in the 1980s, it’s trash. The market fundamentally changes every ten years (and if you’re thinking, “but human psychology doesn’t change,” then just stop… human psychology isn’t a signal). In today’s market, the best signals come from big fish moving money into or out of stocks anticipating they’ll go up or down, and those big fish move money in over-the-counter (OTC) trades through their brokers and other liquidity providers. These trades never touch the public exchanges, and so they have less impact on price. (The sqzme “dark pool” data lets us take educated guesses at whether the big fish are buying or selling, and how much.)

Usually, if someone “knows something,” they buy at the ask and push the price up or down, and if you try to follow them, you get a much worse price in the following minutes, hours, and days. But if someone knows something and buys slowly and passively in OTC/dark, you can have plenty of time to join before price goes up or down. (And again, you only have to be ‘right’ less than half of the time, because you’re taking convex bets with options.) Everyone wins.

And it gets even better, because it’s not just the big fish investors who leave money on the table for you… the option dealers are helping you too.

Aside: Everyone seems to think that when you buy an option, someone else is taking the opposite side of the trade. This is false. The guy who sells you an option is hedging it and takes no directional risk at all. He doesn’t care if he sells you a call and the market goes up, because he’s hedged against that.

So for example if you believe that a stock is likely to rally, the price that the option dealer gives you has nothing to do with how likely he thinks a rally is. In fact, you can buy a call from a dealer and BOTH of you can make tons of money (specifically if the stock slowly moves up). Again, everyone wins.

Point is: You’re not competing and it’s not a zero sum game. You’re a small fish. They are big fish. You follow and you eat some scraps, using convex instruments to leverage your signal. If you’re right more than half the time, you’re killing it.

D. About RISK MANAGEMENT (Difficulty: Hard)

This is the hardest part, because it requires you to be actually humble. And most people who try to trade for themselves are not humble by nature.

So here’s the thing: If all the probabilities were known, it’d be easy, but they’re not. Most people use this as an excuse to not attempt to measure probabilities at all. Most people also fail at trading for themselves.

At the most basic level, an at-the-money (ATM) option will have a delta (probability of ending in-the-money) around 0.50 (50%). If you’re taking a directional bet on a stock, you already disagree with this “implied probability” (because you think up or down is more likely than 50%) … so you may decide to buy the option (or a spread) because you believe it has a positive expected value.

But the difference between incredible success and total failure in being an individual trader is whether you buy 3 contracts or 4 contracts. Not exaggerating. Your edge will not save you from bad position sizing, and you have to accept that.

So first let’s limit our discussion to an ATM bullish call spread and look at the probabilities:

Stock XYZ trades at $100. It was recently $105, but it fell over the course of the last week. Last time it fell to $100  (two months ago) there were lots of dark pool buyers, and then price recovered over the next month. Back at $100 again, there are just as many dark pool buyers as before. With all of this in mind, you guess that there’s a >50% chance that the stock will go up over the next month, and you even think it’s pretty likely to return to $105 (though it might have a hard time getting above that).

So you look at the delta of the $100-strike and $105-strike call for next month. The deltas are 0.50 and 0.20, respectively. That means the market is pricing a 50% chance of being above $100 and a 20% chance of being above 105 in a month. So you decide to buy the 100/105 bull vertical, because you believe there’s a >50% chance of XYZ being above $100 in a month, and either a 20% chance, or <20% chance, of being above $105. The spread costs $1.65 ($165)  per contract.

You believe that, out of all the possibilities, the average  price of XYZ in a month is likely to be $102.50. Yes it could go down to $95, or up to $110, but on average you think $102.50 is likely. This means you believe that the 100/105 call spread is actually worth $2.50 ($250) per contract. This puts your average anticipated profit at $0.85 ($85), because that’s the difference between the market’s price and your expected value.

So, in your mind, you’re risking $165 to make $85. 85/165 = 0.5152. In “odds,” that’s 0.5152-to-1 odds. Remember CONVEXITY? In betting terms, something is convex if it can make a lot more money than it can lose.

Your bet is already non-convex, since you’re risking “1” to make “0.5152.” You don’t really want that, but whatever, you keep going anyway.

Now, at this point, you’re thinking, “I conservatively bet there’s a 60% chance of XYZ going up from here.” So you go to an online Kelly Strategy Calculator (or your own) and you punch in 0.5152 odds and 60% chance of winning, and you get:

The odds are against you - you should not bet.

So you type in a 65% chance of it going up, and you get:

The odds are against you - you should not bet.

And now you’re really wondering if this is a good idea. You type in a 70% chance of it going up, and finally:

Your optimal bet is about 11.77% of your capital.

But you literally have to believe that this stock has a 70% chance of going up before that 100/105 bull spread becomes a potentially profitable bet for you. How confident are you in that?

Going through this process made you realize that not only are you breaking your rules (CONVEXITY) by trying this trade, but you also can’t get a good price for the probabilities that you believe in. You might have an EDGE here, but once you ran it through RISK MANAGEMENT, you stopped feeling so good about it.

…

So now you’re going to look for something that you think can really move, and you find ABC, a utility company that’s been going slowly up and to the right for months. But this whole time there’s been an undercurrent of tons of dark pool selling, and you think that at any time, it could break to the downside.

ABC trades at $50, but it was $42 just two months ago. This ramp has been crazy, and you think it could totally get back to $45 or lower within the next month. The 45-strike put a month out costs $0.12 ($12). You think there’s at least a 20% chance that ABC will end up below $45, and you think it’s equally likely for it to end up at $45, $42, or anywhere in between (at an average price of $43.5). This means you believe the 45-strike put has a 20% chance of being worth $1.50 (45 - 43.5).

So you’re risking $0.12 ($12) to make $1.50 ($150), which is 150/12 odds (12.5 to 1). This is CONVEX.

Now back to the Kelly calculator: Type in 12.5 odds and 20% probability:

Your optimal bet is about 13.6% of your capital.

Now what if you’re wrong about the probabilities? Just to be safe, try entering 10% instead of 20%:

Your optimal bet is about 2.8% of your capital.

It’s a really good sign that the odds are still worth it, but it’s obviously going to be hard to calibrate an optimal bet since even small changes in your expected probability or expected value have a huge effect on what’s optimal.

And here’s where you have to exercise some extra humility, and admit that your self-assessed probabilities of unlikely events are crap, so you need to assert a fixed bet size of something like 2.5% of portfolio per trade, and to have a hard limit on how many trades you can have going at once.

That hard limit on how many trades you can have should be a function of the your average optimal bet size of each of those positions. So for example if you have six positions right now (each is 2.5% of portfolio, making a total of 15% of your portfolio in options positions), and the average optimal Kelly size of those trades is 13.6%, then you’re over your limit by one position (get rid of one 2.5% position and you’ll be at 12.5%, which is under 13.6%).

The incentive is to choose as many high-quality trades as possible, and to only scale up your total exposure with the quality of your current positions.

In this way, RISK MANAGEMENT is a delicate balancing act between the other rules, CONVEXITY and EDGE. You want to have as much EDGE as possible in your portfolio, and with as much CONVEXITY as you can handle, but you must must must adjust to the reality that the best positions are lower probability bets, and this means getting position sizing right. There is no other way to capture EDGE+CONVEXITY.

Also, by using Kelly as your guide, you keep yourself accountable to these limits, and you actually incentivize yourself to find bets with more EDGE instead of being lazy.

Know that it is not possible to mentally keep your portfolio within the bounds of EDGE-based optimal bet sizes if you don’t use Kelly. Again, you have to be humble. Your brain can’t handle this, and you will absolutely fail without this attention to RISK MANAGEMENT.

If I were actually writing a book I would go into detail on why Kelly is necessary but if you’re skeptical I hope that the decades of betting math papers and books that talk about Kelly sizing will convince you. It’s mathematically optimal and it’s the basis for all aggressive betting and risk taking.

E. Example

Here’s some stuff I’m in right now and why.

This is MU.

[IMAGE POSTED AFTER]

Dark pool buying is relatively high. Last time that happened, the stock went up.

Also, long term trends (five year chart) in MU obey trends in dark pool buying.

[IMAGE POSTED AFTER]

This is our EDGE. Some institutionals are clearly buyers probably because they have a good valuation model or because they have good information. So we follow.

One week ago I ran this through RISK MANAGEMENT because I had taken profit on something earlier in the week and had room for a new position (also if I determined that this trade would be obviously better than a current position I would close that position and replace it with this one).

Price was around $47. I evaluated that in a month there would be a very good possibility of achieving $55+. I put that probability at 20% then I looked at option prices.

$55 call for Jun26 (1 month) was available for $0.29 ($29). Delta (implied probability of ending up above 55) around 11. That’s a good start because in my world it should be 20.

I’m guessing it can’t get past $60 in the next month, though, and I don’t quite think it’ll do that. If it were to get above $55, I think the average place for it to settle would be $56.50 (if I thought there was an equal probability of ending at $55 as $60, then I’d say the average settle would be $57.50).

That means I think the $55 call is worth $1.50 * 0.2, which is $0.30. This is not good, because the market thinks it’s worth $0.29.

I reached for too much convexity. To make buying the $55 strike worthwhile, I’d need to believe the stock had a higher chance of getting way above $55. So let’s scale it back.

I look at the 52.5 strike. It’s $0.60 ($60). I’d guess there’s a 40% chance of ending above this, with an average settle of $55. So, the option, in my mind, has a 40% chance of being worth $2.50. 2.50 * 0.4 = $1.00.

Risking $0.60 to make $1.00 doesn’t directly violate the CONVEXITY rule, because it still can make a lot more than it loses. But usually if I risk $0.60 I want to try to make  an average of $1.20 or more (I want my EDGE to say that I will double my money, on average). So I try moving the strike up a bit more. Lucky for me there’s a 53.5 strike.

The 53.5 looks like it can be bought for $0.45 ($45). I think there’s something like a 30% chance of ending above. I think the average settle if that happens might be something like $56. So, 30% chance of option being worth $2.50. 0.3 * 2.50 = $0.75. Pay 0.45 for opportunity to return 0.75 is getting real close to enough EDGE for me, but I need a bit more.

Remember how I don’t think MU can get over $60? That means that none of my guesses for the values for the options above have any settles above $60 considered. So how about I sell a $60 call? Looks like I can easily get better than $0.05 ($5) for that and probably actually $0.10 ($10).

So, a 53.5/60 call spread that I think is worth $0.75 can be bought for $0.35 or $0.40. That gives me the EDGE I want.

See how I bounced around to find a bet that I think offers enough CONVEXITY and EDGE? Now to do the Kelly part, I look at the probability of moneyness (30% probability MU ends above 53.5) and the average value of the option in the event that happens ($2.50) versus the cost ($0.40 to be conservative).

Average value of a win is $2.50. Cost is $0.40. That’s 6.25:1 odds. With a 30% probability of moneyness that gives me an optimal Kelly bet of 18.8% of capital.

As a general rule, if Kelly tells you to bet more than 20% of your capital on something, then you probably don’t have enough convexity. For something with a 30% chance of not totally losing, a ~20% allocation is huge… which means this is a good bet.

Now I buy enough 53.5/60 call spreads in MU to satisfy the 2.5% limit on how much of my account can be in a bet. Also, because the highest Kelly size of any other bet I have in my portfolio right now is in the 17%s, I can slightly raise my limit on how many positions I can have (though not enough to actually add another position). If another one of my bets loses a ton of value tomorrow, I may be able to add another bet if 18.8% - [total % of bankroll in use] is >= 2.5%.

… So this whole thing is what I went through on Thursday night, and on Friday I bought the position. Today (the following Thursday, almost a week later), MU closed at $51.22.

The 53.5/60 which cost $0.40 ($40) per spread is now worth something like $1.26 ($126). Has anything changed in my outlook? No. My original thesis stands. Even if something had changed a bit, I’d be very reluctant to change the position. Recall that I’m trying to 10x my money, not take small winners. That means doing my DD up front, getting myself CONVEXITY and an EDGE, and letting the chips fall.

If I stick to this, I am confident that even if I do not win more than 50% of the time, I will make wayyy more than enough money on my wins to make up for the fixed-risk losses. On this MU bet I am specifically betting on a 70% chance of losing the whole bet. The hardest thing is when the stock moves up to a huge profit then falls back down.

That happens. But you have to suck it up. Because again, you’re here to make real money, not to impress people with your PHD in hindsight bias.

F. That’s it

Execute. Log your risk. Follow these three rules:

CONVEXITY EDGE RISK MANAGEMENT

Have a caipirinha.

Wrote this in a week. By no means is this the 100% best way to do it, but it’s many years of thought and a lot of help from other really generous people online and especially sqzme, which is the source of edge that really informed the way I see the market.

P.S. Forgot the mention that the reason I circled the purple line on the above charts is because that’s implied volatility, and when it’s low, options are cheaper, and when options are cheaper you’re more likely to find a good bet whether you’re betting on upside or downside.

[chemistryinthekitchen]

Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery Hack Tutorial For New Player

The sorcerer's scene eventually became portable with Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery for Android and iOS devices. You now have access to the RPG experience of the Play Store and you have just collected more than 1 million downloads of simple mussels.

Although we have seen many diversions in the Harry Potter universe over the years except the wonderful variety of Lego, it is generally losing, but Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery Hack is the main pleasure for downloading under Warner Portos Games from Bros. Pennant, with the wizard Unite wizard of Pokémon Go Niantic, can not succeed.

After he ignoring the many names of the institution, boys with the perfect opportunity for you, another substitute for wonderful school of sorcery and magic, to pull your exam books, take the lead and use the pet device.

In this guide you will discover clues and basic tricks to overcome expectations in the classroom, increase your skills and resume the tournament room approach in the final title of Jam City victory.

Instructions to get more vitality without spending jewelery

One thing that you will see in just a few minutes of the Harry Potter contest: Hogwarts Mystery is that it is openly acknowledged to play the game, where any major activity together in history depletes the vitality of his character to play (indicated by blue bar in the higher ideal with a radius).

At any time without vitality, you have the opportunity to fill the kitchen counter by burning 55 beads, seemingly excellent, pleasant money. Surprising for players who hope to keep their money, these pink jewelry is rare and they have to buy the best clothing and flyers for their symbol.

The easiest way to restore vitality is to reduce pleasure and pause. You have fun with a more extreme Top 24 energy and a one-time unit takes four minutes to continue, regardless of whether you close the application or not. This means that it takes a little more than 90 minutes to complete your vitality bar.

Instead of just playing with your thumbs, there are some ways to regain vitality while playing. The first is to reach another level and complete your vitality bar. Take advantage of this if you see that the level bar counts (it appears in your profile menu in the top left corner) that uses most of your vitality first.

You will also receive vitality supplements to carry out certain breeds at an early stage of your business. In the same way you will occasionally notice that vitality is a discretionary paid movement. Just choose vitality in this situation if you are completely nervous, of course, there are of course better rewards. We will come back to why later later.

The last method to fill your vitality bar requires a detective. In your movements around Hogwarts you will see many patterns that decorate the corridors of the school and the characters who treat the things of enchantment. What you do not know is that touching specific elements will give a small energy boost.

Be careful with the images, the books, the lights, the images and everything that looks strange and take care of it. The same applies to the house elves, who will accidentally appear in the fort and reliably relieve a modest energy group. It is important that these items are restarted regularly, so make sure they are visited throughout the day.

Finally, you can build your maximum vitality by completing pilot lessons. In your first school year you will only have three lessons, although they will be opened later in the following years.

Step by step instructions to earn home points and win the home team

So you put the old caps on your head and determine the house you need to talk to (which is not the way to work in the Harry Potter universe, but you use it). Today, as a new individual from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, person (best) or Slibberin, it is tempted to earn points and succeed transcendence in your roommates take home the prestigious cup home.

There are two ways to ensure these valuable approaches, but most will come from the basic stories and completion lessons. Make sure you organize your programs in general, we will see it in a very short time and try to get the extra number of stars you can afford in the middle of the lessons.

You must know, however, that it is much easier to lose Huispunte than to get it. Although you may be tempted to start a class by tapping the next story mission, never go to class unless you know you can complete it.

The lessons are given in units of one, three or eight hours, with the extension of the rewards. To complete each lesson, you need to go vitality to complete the experience bar and reach the required number of stars. Although it can attract great prices, you will be marked in the house if you neglect the basic requirements.

If you only ask for inaccurate questions, you can also launch some approaches, however, if you are in doubt, do not be angry if your coaches go to you of course!

Nails show and become a double expert

Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery is an experiment based on the story you spend most of your time searching and revealing confidential information, but some parts of the game require a touch of activity and fitness.

The primary you will execute is displayed. It will manifest itself in the middle of the lessons by spelling, mixing elixirs, and it is just the beginning and they come in two main flavors. One is an elementary trick to follow a particular example without leaving the rules. It is incredibly simple and should not be a problem for many players.

Some exhibitions will mix a bit with a reflex test where the screen must be printed when one circle coordinates the other. Again, it is very simple, but fun is a very bad activity to guide you. Take the necessary time and everything will be fine.

The other main game contains the twist, which consists only of paper scissors with papsticks. Sneaky shots, aggressive defenses, stealthy defense. Basic things

A decent and adapted replacement

No RPG is complete without character traits and Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery is not a special case.

Your character has three characteristics: daring, compassion and information. Everyone will go up if you have fun as a prize to complete the story and racing across the road.

If you like Gryffindor now, like your house, you may be tempted to collect the most details of your data boldly, bravely than Harry Potter himself. Unfortunately, if you do, you also miss an excellent opportunity to receive other first-class awards.

Gradually, as you read history, you will discover brainiaks, scary cats and subtle Slibberin who do nothing with you, to be treated in different ways. From time to time you will see that discretionary trade rules are closed behind a level of functionality.

These comments give you the best rewards, but you have to reinforce this specific function so far. In essence, make sure that you strengthen each quality or that you are caught taking reactions and losing fundamental rewards.

Make companions

Speaking of rewards: with these features you can also restore your pet bonds with your witches and related wizards.

If you do not try to reveal the mystery of your brother's disappearance or go to class, you can go to a character Pack, which is also open during the story.

From time to time these characters have a handshake symbol on their heads, indicating that they are ready to go out. It costs you a small number of coins. In addition to the purchase of new bathrobes, costumes and extras, these pieces are in general really useless, so spend!

These collaborations depend on the above properties. If your data does not match the requirements prior to the start of the promotion, you can come back later. You also get additional approaches to strengthen your brothers if you have excellent qualities.

As far as the game is concerned, listen carefully to what your friend says and choose an appropriate answer based on a decision of three answers. One of them will be inside and outside the base. The other two are actually both correct, but the ones that best suit the situation, you pay more attention.

You can determine which answer is best by evaluating the character of the sign, which corresponds to one of the three characteristics.

For example, if you talk to Ben, the resident of Hogwarts, you have to avoid the courageous reactions, otherwise you will drive him away. Similarly, she can escape her classmate Rowan with "instructive" answers, because she is an "all-round expert."

Choose diamonds (or attributes) as a reward without interruption

If you actually pick up a trip or get a reward in the middle of an action, you can choose from three prizes, which can be coins, jewelery, vitality or quality lifts.

Beads can be a throbbing lifeline if you need a very late recovery of vitality and unless you like to spend cash, the ideal way for a more social opportunity is to save those extra rewards.

If the pearls are not accessible, my recommendation is to search for typical lifts. Vitality and currency are really normal rewards for fun and you'll get more with real estate rewards anyway. Unless you need a few pieces to get that stylish tunic you want, these beads and lifts start!

Do you have tips and tricks to give to your Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery Worshiping Companions? At this point, love in the comments!