#1992 is a weird year

[void-sand-cat]

Screw continuing the timeline into the future or expanding on the start of the franchise, I want Steel Wool to elaborate on what happened between FNaF 1 & 3.

We have a 23 – 30 year gap where we have NO IDEA what happens. Fazbear still exists and is doing alright; Pizza Sim & everything after doesn't function without that being true, as Henry dissolves the company, but it was still profitable for someone to bring it back.

Serously, what was happening with Freddy's between 1993/1992 and 2015/2017/2023? (We don't even know how long the time period is. We have been given nothing)

SL might be in that time period, but it's not like we have any confirmation on that. And SL is the only thing we even have the possibility of existing.

I don't want anything big, just a line somewhere mentioning what the company is doing. Even something like "Fazbear started franchising in 20XX, and a few new locations opened up — most closed in a few years. Rarely you hear rumors of nightguards disappearing, but no one believes any of them"

Boom! Now we got SOMETHING. Nightguards kept dying, and Fazbear kept making enough money to exist, but not a whole lot. We even have a reason why Fazbear Fright opened — Fazbear Entertainment was trying to dispel rumors about the nightguard position being dangerous/exploit those rumors for money (and a reason for the FNaF 3 nightguard to be part of the attraction)

Optimally, we would get more than that — I know a lot of us would LOVE to know what Henry was up to in those 23 – 30 years, or even a mention of Mike's existence beyond 1 monolog — but anything is better than the complete silence we have now.

Please, Steelwool, although the beginning and the future of Freddy's are fascinating, there's a massive gap in the middle of the timeline that we know NOTHING about.

[yes-i-have-thoughts]

Blood and Roses (FAITH AU)

1

2

3

4

“Whatcha doin’, Mark?”

Sarah’s voice snapped her brother out of his thoughts. The ten-year-old stared at him, her eyes still full of wonder for her “cool older brother” even at the age where she should start detesting the adults around her.

“Nothing, Srook.” Mark flipped the booklet in front of him closed and ruffled his sister’s short blonde hair. “Just making note of something.”

Sarah batted her brother’s hands away from her hair and gave him a playful glare. He shook his head with a small smile.

“Sarah, stop bothering your brother and get ready for soccer.” The two’s mother flicked her spoon at them like she was wagging her finger. “Mark, finish your writing. And stop distracting your sister.”

“Wh–I’m just sitting here!”

“I don’t wanna go to soccer,” Sarah whined over her brother’s arguing.

“You are going to play soccer whether you like it or not, young lady.” Their mom stood up, dumped out her bowl of now flavoured milk and put it beside the sink. “I won’t have you being lazy all summer like your brother.”

“I’m going to look for a job!”

“Uh huh. Sarah, upstairs, now!”

Sarah whined again as she started up the stairs. Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, mom, I am going to start looking.”

“It took you a year to get your driver’s licence. Who’s to say a job will be any easier for you?”

He bristled. “That’s not fair–”

“You’re a slow learner. I’ve heard it all before. Do you know what your problem really is?”

Mark rolled his eyes. Here we go. “I’m lazy.”

“Sloth is a sin, Mark Healthcliff.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And yet you laze about anyway.”

“I’m not–love of god.”

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain.”

He was starting to lose his patience. “Mom, I promise, I’m not trying to be lazy. I’m doing my best with school and stuff, okay?”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man!”

Mark winced and hunched his shoulders, mumbling an apology. His mom crossed her arms and pinned him with a glare before going to the stairwell. “Sarah, are you ready yet?!”

“I’m COMING!!”

“I gotta start getting that girl up early,” their mother whispered to Mark. Still bristling internally, Mark didn’t respond.

Sarah was bouncing down the stairs a few minutes later, dragging a large red bag behind her. “Mom, can Mark drive me to soccer practice today? Pretty please?”

“No, I’m taking you. He’s job hunting today.”

“What? But moooom!”

“She’s right, for once.” Mark leaned back in his chair, meeting his sister’s eyes. “I’m trying to get an interview somewhere.”

Sarah grumbled something under her breath, then smiled brightly at her mother when she gave her a suspicious look. She ditched her red bag to dart over and give her brother a quick hug before heading out the door. Their mother left some last-minute orders before she left: wash the dishes, do your laundry and clean your room if you’re not going to be on the phone all day.

Mark drummed his fingers on the table until they left, then grabbed the book he’d been writing in and headed to his room. The dishes and everything else could wait. Something more important was nagging at his mind.

He was up late last night, waiting for Cesar to return from whatever had scared him. He’d been incredibly vague about it, which wasn’t like him at all. He’d put the phone down somewhere, likely speaker-down; and then it’d been hung up without a word. Maybe he thought that since he had been away for so long that Mark hung up first? Should he have said something?

In any case, he should’ve called him back. Here’s hoping it’s not too late.

Calling the phone in Cesar’s room got him nothing, so he tried the house phone. His mother picked up almost instantly. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Torres, it’s Mark. Is Cesar around?”

Cesar’s mother hesitated for a moment. “No, I…Haven’t seen him since last night. He’s not at your house?”

“No, but he called me last night.”

“What did he say to you?”

Oh man. From the tone of her voice, either Cesar was in big trouble or he was about to be if Mark said too much. “Not a whole lot, just that he was going to check on something. He asked me not to hang up on him.”

Cesar’s mother’s voice broke when she spoke next. “Oh my god.”

“What’s going on?”

“Mark, he hasn’t been home since he came back from the graduation party. He was acting so odd, but he said it was because the others were smoking something…”

There was a long silence between them. There was a soft sniff from the other end before Cesar’s mom hung up the phone. Mark uneasily put his own down.

Cesar has either been kidnapped or ran away, and he was the last one to hear from him. But what he heard wasn’t going to be the slightest bit helpful.

What had happened to him? How was he supposed to help any investigation? If Cesar did take off, why call Mark and then never respond?

The phone ringing again startled him out of his thoughts and he picked it up, hoping against logical reason that Cesar was somehow on the other end. “Hello?”

“Greetings, Mark Heathcliff. I heard that you had been job hunting. Well, we have a job for you. Come to this address…”

–

"House cleaning pays well," Summer said. "I had that as a job last summer."

"I guess." Mark hunched his shoulders, feeling a little foolish about complaining now. "But I just…I don't know. I feel weird about this."

"So they knew your name and phone number! Big deal! God, you're so paranoid sometimes."

Ruby swatted the back of her older sister's head. "Lay off, Summer."

"What, Cesar's not here to defend him anymore so now you're doing it?"

"Shut up!"

Summer laughed and raised her hands to get away from the redhead's onslaught. "Alright, Jesus! I'll stop!"

"Where are they sending you, anyway?”  Ruby asked, turning to Mark.

He shrugged. “Some place on the edge of the county, I think. I’ve never heard the address before.”

“How much will you be making?”

“Ten bucks an hour.”

“Well over minimum wage, then!” Summer grinned. “Good for you! Hey, maybe I should track down this person myself and try to get the job.”

“Great idea! Then you can get lured out to the edge of town and get murdered too.”

Summer laughed. “That probably would happen, yeah. A pretty young thing like me?”

A well-loved red van pulled up to the sidewalk the three were standing at. Summer waved at the driver and turned to Mark. “Well, I’m off to check out the campus. Good luck with your job.”

“Tell your sister I said–HI!”

Ruby squeaked when her sister yanked on her arm, dragging her towards the back door of the van. The two had a small playfight before Summer ran around the back of the van to the passenger side door and jumped in when the van driver opened the door for her.

The van tore off in a cloud of gravel dirt. Mark shook his head before turning back towards home.

His mind kept turning, cycling through two different points. Cesar up and vanishing and his upcoming job at a very strange address. Were the two points connected, or was he overthinking it?

God, he wanted to figure it out with someone. But the person he usually calls about overthinking moments is gone.

[intravenous-agnostic]

finished my library book time to focus completely on everything

[jolikmc]

Nobuo Uematsu, Unsigned Artist The Final Battle (FFIV, FFV) (Mashup, "zerodoh" Version) Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy V (1991, 1992, Unknown Year) Square Co, Ltd.

Imagine waking up in the morning… and having this play right out of the gate.

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Metallica - Enter Sandman 1991

"Enter Sandman" is a song by American heavy metal band Metallica. It is the opening track and lead single from their self-titled fifth album, released in 1991. It evolved from a guitar riff that guitarist Kirk Hammett wrote, after being inspired by Soundgarden's 1989 album Louder Than Love. The title is a reference to the Sandman, a character from Western folklore who makes children sleep.

The single was released on July 29, 1991, two weeks before the release of Metallica. The album debuted at number 1 on the Billboard 200 in the US and nine other countries, and sold over 22 million copies worldwide, allowing "Enter Sandman" to become "one of the most recognizable songs of all time in rock". The single peaked at number 16 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and at number 5 on the UK Singles Chart. In addition to the nominations received by the album as a whole, the song was nominated for Best Rock Song at the 34th Grammy Awards in 1992. It was voted Song of the Year in Metal Edge's 1991 Readers Choice Awards. The music video won Best Hard Rock Video at the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards and was nominated for Best Cinematography and Best Editing.

Motörhead covered "Enter Sandman" in 1998, and received a nomination for the Grammy Award for Best Metal Performance at the 42nd Annual Grammy Awards. "Enter Sandman" is used in the polka melody "Polka Your Eyes Out" for "Weird Al" Yankovic's 1992 album Off the Deep End. The song was also sampled by British electronic duo Utah Saints and American rapper Chuck D on their track "Power to the Beats". It was covered by Weezer as part of The Metallica Blacklist tribute album. It was also used by NASA mission control CAPCOM B. Alvin Drew to wake up space shuttle astronauts aboard STS-123. The song was selected for Mission Specialist Robert L. Behnken by his fiancé.

"Enter Sandman" received a total of 81,1% yes votes!

[nortsauce]

Miles Edgeworth Investigations 3: The 7 Cases of Corruption (1992)

Over the 7 years Phoenix was disbarred, Edgeworth constantly asked him to fly over to Europe to “help with difficult cases” and “provide a different perspective.” In reality he was just helping Phoenix get out of the house we all been knew lol. Anyways weird girl assistant Phoenix time AGAIN.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[rapunzelbro]

The Act of Stealing a Loved One |1| (Stanley Pines x Reader)

This is a beginning of a prompt I wrote. Please don't expect chapters quickly. Enjoy!

Story guide

Being the wife of a man who went missing was hard. Many told you it was time to move on, many told you he was dead, and hell maybe you should just move on. But if they knew what happened that night, what actually happened to the man you loved, they would know why you couldn't exactly give up hope. You told him to shut it down, to stop what he was doing, hell Stan even did, but none of that would matter.

When he got trapped in the portal, it was the day you shut yourself out from everyone, you moved back to the small town home you two had bought before moving to Gravity Falls, you couldn’t take living in the house he went missing in. Stan kept living in his brothers’ home, turning it into some ‘Mystery Shack’ tourist attraction after a few weeks, which you wanted no part of. And after that, it was just radio silence. You didn’t hear anything from Stanley, nothing about your husband, it was just silence.

10 years went by. You still had hope that he was going to walk in that door and embrace you, telling you about the crazy things he saw while he was away, promising to never leave your side. It was now August 1992. He was smart, he knew about this sort of thing, so he was going to be back in your small home in New Jersey any minute now. That was going to happen… Right?

Another 10 years went by. You were grasping at straws trying to keep the memories you had with him in your mind. It was February 2002. The ring on your finger was a reminder of the love you two had, your hope was beginning to slip away. You stared down at your phone. Some weird new portable phone you finally decided on getting after debating. You should call Stan…

You never ended up calling him.

10 years later you had a car packed, a for sale sign was up in your town home you once lived in. It was now June 2012. Your wedding ring was no longer on your finger, you put it back in its box years ago. He wasn’t coming back, it's been 29 years. You were headed back to Gravity Falls, Oregon. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you didn't know what to think. How would Stan react?

Shit. Stan. You had to call him.

After starting your car, you scroll through your contacts before landing on your brother-in-law, Stan Pines. The contact photo was an old photo of him from your wedding, he was being chased around by some smaller kids who were there tormenting him, thinking it was hilarious, you obviously had the photographer take a photo of it. Looking back on it gave you hope that he was willing to forgive your absence. You dialed his number before you started driving, praying he hasn’t changed it after all these years.

It was on its final ring before someone finally answered “.. kids don't do anything stupid! Ugh…Hello?” he sounded the same as you remember, almost identical to your Stanford. “Hello? If this is some telemarketer im not interested” he said again, you realized you did say anything “Hi! Uh Hi sorry. Stan.. Is that really you?” you heard him spit his water out before coughing, then clearing his throat “Y/n.. it’s you. Um, geez sorry not good at this, why are you calling me? It's been 29 years..” He sounded off put by you calling him. “I’m heading back to Gravity Falls Stan, I was hoping I could see you? Unless you don't want to then-” “Quit rambling.. You're sure you want to see me after all these years? I did uh, take over your old home” Stan muttered into the phone “That wasn’t my home Stan, and yes I'm sure. I'm driving so it'll be a couple days until I arrive. I have a place already so don't worry” You sigh slightly

“Grunkle Stan who are you talking to! Is it a girl?” you can hear a younger girl on the other side of the line, you must be on speaker. “Who’s that?” you ponder “It's no one” Stan quickly replies, hearing the girl gasp “Y/n Pines?! Grunkle Stan! You’re married?! DIPPER YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS” She had to have seen the caller ID. Guess he just added you as a contact “Mabel you get back here! Shit, Y/n I gotta go, I’ll get it sorted out. I can’t wait to see you” Stan grumbles before hanging up. You slightly smile at the interaction.

You marrying Stanley? Hard pass.

Taglist: @cherryblom @leo4242564

[pixelsandpins]

On Eddie's and Venom's Children/Offspring

As a local Venom Expert (TM), let me explain this very important bit of Venom lore.

Venom's species, the Klyntar, reproduce asexually. They spawn "once a generation", feel a threat to the hive, or otherwise feel as though they need to increase their numbers due to an upcoming catastrophe (the comics have wiggled this reasoning a little through the years).

Venom has produced seven spawn: Carnage, Scream, Agony, Lasher, Phage, Riot, and Sleeper.

They also have a son together with Anne named Dylan.

Carnage spawned while Eddie was locked up in prison with Cletus Kassady. The spawn occurred during their jailbreak, and Eddie had no idea it was even happening. The other doesn't tell him. Everyone is a bit surprised. All this is revealed in The Amazing Spider-Man #360-362 (1992)

*****

The Life Foundation Symbiotes (Scream, Agony, Lasher, Riot, and Phage) were artificially gestated by the Life Foundation. They captured Eddie and Venom and pulled "seeds" from Venom's body, then grew the spawn in another part of the facility. This is Lethal Protector #4 (1993).

*****

Sleeper is, first of all, the fucking GOAT. Let's get that out of the way. Sleeper is spawned "naturally" however this occurs well after Eddie and Venom have properly bonded and gone through the trauma of having seeds stolen. Eddie, then, senses the birth approaching and feels child-birth related pain. They actually separate during the birth because they're concerned about Eddie's organs shutting down. The symbiote, unfortunately, delivers what they believe to be a stillbirth (this is written SUPER weird in the comics themselves, tbh). The conversation around this birth reveals a lot of complex feelings on Venom's part around their "babies." This happens in Venom #164-165 (2016-2018) which are the last two issues of the Costa run.

Sleeper comes into their own during Venom: First Host (Costa, 2018). Venom is kidnapped, and for the rescue mission Sleeper bonds with Eddie. Previous to this, Sleeper had been tended to regularly by Eddie and Venom together while living in an Alchemex facility.

*****

Dylan Brock is a sight bit more complicated. He's introduced during the Cates run, 2018, and proceeds to be a main character and major narrative pivot for both that run and the current Ewing run (featuring the Venom War event).

SPOILERS FOR CURRENT VENOM

Dylan is the human incarnation of the symbiote codex embedded into Anne. She conceived the child while bonded to the Venom symbiote using DNA transferred over from Eddie (via the symbiote). She had Dylan, then left him to be raised by Eddie's dad, which is where Eddie meets him. So Dylan is the combined child of Eddie, Anne, and Venom, designed by the symbiotes to take out Knull. Dylan's story is still developing and changing.

Edited to add in response to a comment:

Ignore if you want to develop your own interpretation of events around the birth of Dylan Brock. CW: conversation around suicide and mental health

Anne commits suicide not long after leaving Dylan with Eddie's dad. The suicide was written back in the 90s, however, well before any of this newer narrative was conceived. When she's first written as ending her life, it's because she can't live with the guilt of the murders she committed while hosting Venom and experiences an extreme fear and paranoia reaction to symbiotes (rightly so).

When Cates added Dylan, this all got WAY more complicated in terms of determining narrative intent. Namely, was the conception and birth of Dylan a contributing factor to her suicide?

When they do the multiverse thing, they meet an Anne who was the permanent host of Venom because Eddie successfully committed his own suicide. She does not go through the same acute traumatic event that Anne Prime did. When she realizes she's pregnant with Venom's baby, she has a very neutral-positive reaction to it. Even after the introduction of Dylan, the story only ever attributes Anne's suicide to guilt over the murders she commits and subsequent mental break.

When she leaves Dylan with Brock Sr., it's clear she deeply cares for him, yet can't take care of him. She says she'll come back for him when she gets her head right, and does not want Eddie ever knowing Dylan exists. She didn't leave Dylan in a safe baby box or a dumpster or just in his crib while she ended her life. Even though she didn't pick the best caregiver, she left Dylan in a place she knew she could come back to. Where she could see him again. Where he wouldn't be lost in the system. This all implies to me a woman who loved her baby. Who, in some part of her, thought she would come back to get him but unfortunately succumbed to her mental health crisis.

This altogether, the story does not want you to see Dylan's conception and birth as a contributing factor to her suicide. He never shoulders that narrative responsibility. The story wants you to "blame," so to speak, the guilt and paranoia.

This is all analysis, however, and that's going to be heavily influenced by personal interpretation, experiences, and familiarity with the canon. This is the reason why I didn't include it in the original informative section of the post. I didn't want to create bias in a new reader, so I was trying to keep things as neutral as possible (except for Sleeper being The Best. That's simply a FACT /j). But I figured including the additional analysis would create some clarification on a very complex narrative event.

Now I hope that covers enough. Feel free to ask questions or get clarification on anything. I'm literally wallowing in information and no one to share it with.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

iirc ramshackle might be older than nrc? pomefiore's the oldest dorm, and snow white is the oldest disney movie, so we can assume that the dorms were founded in the order their respective movies were released. but the thru the mirror short is older than snow white

Yes, I mentioned Pomefiore's age in this post! Though it has yet to be confirmed in official materials, if we assume that the release date of the associated Disney animation represents the age of each dorm, that means the dorms, in order of youngest to oldest would be:

Ignihyde (Hercules, 1997)

Savanaclaw (The Lion King, 1994)

Scarabia (Aladdin, 1992)

Octavinelle (The Little Mermaid, 1989)

Heartslabyul (Alice in Wonderland, 1961)

Diasomnia (Sleeping Beauty, 1959)

Pomefiore (Snow White, 1937)

Ramshackle (Thru the Mirror, 1936)

What’s weird is that TWST tells us very explicitly that Pomefiore is the oldest dorm, even though Ramshackle is also said to be a dorm (there’s dialogue implying students used to be housed there). This results in a contradiction because if we assume the year the animation came out indicates how old the dorm is, Ramshackle should be considered the oldest, not Pomefiore.

So… either the animation year = age of the dorm assumption is incorrect (because, to be fair, this is a theory and not confirmed by the game), or there is a technicality in-universe which strikes Ramshackle from the running. Maybe Ramshackle didn’t start off as a dorm and only became one further down the line after Pomefiore was already established?? Or maybe since it fell into ruin it’s no longer a dorm to be compared to the other “active” 7??? There’s still a lot we don’t know about Ramshackle, so any of these ideas are equally as likely.

[brucewaynehater101]

Ghost Batfam AU:

Basically, I wanted to explain the weird age/timeline shit of DC. I got these years online, so let me know if they are inaccurate

Bruce Wanye dies at the age of ten with his parents. He never found out why, but Bruce never vanished. Despite a few peculiar new biology symptoms (such as not having a heartbeat), Bruce was practical alive. Others can see him, and he interacts with the real world. He wasn't declared dead or even injured that day. It takes a few months for Alfred to realize Bruce doesn't have a heartbeat. They keep this a secret.

Dick Grayson dies in 1940 with his parents. Unlike Bruce, however, Dick Grayson's aging seems to have slowed down. He finally becomes an adult and Nightwing in 1984. Bruce and several other characters seem to age at a similar rate to Dick. No one notices this is strange due to universe magic bullshit.

Jason dies in 1983 due to him not surviving the streets. When he steals Batman's tires, Bruce realizes Jason is like them. This is what prompts him to immediately kidnap Jason. In 1988, the Joker banishes Jason's soul effectively "killing" him.

Tim dies in 1989. We can either fo fanon reasons for his death (died trying to stalk the Bats or from parental neligence) or a more canon one (his boarding school sucked and let him die). Here's where we can also diverge. Either Bruce immediately knows Tim's one of them, or he only finds out when he realizes Tim isn't aging (Bruce forgot how normal humans are supposed to age).

Steph dies in 1992 when she is Spoiler. This doesn't stop her from continuing her actions, though. This is why Bruce chooses her as Robin as well. In 2004, Black Mask uses a special device said to banish people's souls. It temporarily caused her to disappear, but Leslie is able to quickly bring her back (due to the device being shitty). It still caused immense damage to Steph's soul, so Leslie took her away for recovery.

Damian is a mix of Bruce's weirdness ghost shit, so he is born in 1987. He reaches Wanye Manor in 2006 at ten years old.

Cass dies in 1999 right before meeting Bruce.

Barbara dies in 1966 before she becomes Batgirl. In 1988, Joker uses the same device he uses on Jason on Babs. Instead of killing her, it permanently damages her spirit and ability to walk.

Duke dies in 2013 but, due to magic time travel shit, also saved Bruce before Robin was on the scene. No clue how.

Alfred is immortal. He breathes, but everyone is too scared to ask what exactly he is. They just leave it be.

Basically, other characters are affected by the Bats' status, but not necessarily each other. This causes the age gaps between Bat members to widen or shorten at times.

[oneforthemunny]

I'd imagine that every time Halloween rolls around, Rockstar!Eddie and Nepo Baby are on the cover of at least one magazine with a spooky Halloween photoshoot. I'm seeing a werewolf eating (out) a fair maiden. Or a pregnant Nepo Baby tied to a table and a Rockstar!Eddie getting ready to sacrifice her. Or them recreating a scene from the biggest horror movie of the year.

Only over the years, as the kids accumulate, it goes from Playboy to Parade. And instead of tits with fang punctures, you've got a line of tots in skeleton pajamas.

(This was originally meant to be a blurb prompt and I got carried away so now I think it's more just a Spooky Thought I had to share with you. Whatever, Happy First Day of Fall! 😂)

oneforthemunny's spooky stories: rockstar!eddie x reader's time warp

or how halloween looks through the years for rockstar!eddie and nepo baby!reader :) ps pics below are for inspo that i used not specific more of just how the photos looked or what the idea was based off of!

October 31st, 1992

“Look at you.” Eddie grinned, dimples and shining eyes when they rolled over your frame. “My bride.” 

That you were, both in and out of costume. It was the only recognizable part of yourself right now, your engagement ring. Your skin had been tinged a pale green, the SFX artist made your ‘gashes’ and ‘stitches’ look far too real for your liking. Tonight, you were the bride of Frankenstein, instead of Munson. 

“Look at you.” You pouted, eyes rolling over his costume. Not Frankenstein, but… a vampire? “What-What are you wearing?” You huff, throwing an arm out at his costume. “We’re supposed to be Frankenstein and-” 

“-Technically, it’s Frankenstein’s monster.” Eddie grinned, fake fangs making his smile more sinister looking. “I had a last minute change. Dracula and Bride of Frankenstein together? That’s scandalous. So much better, baby, believe me. No one’s done this before.” 

You rolled your eyes, shifting the torn white dress to cover yourself. “When did you change your mind? While I was in makeup for six hours?” 

Eddie laughed, hands running down your skin. “I like your hair.” He muttered. “Think you should do this more often. Pretty metal look for you, baby.” 

“Yeah?” You hum, running a hand lightly over the electrified updo. “Too bad it’s a wig. Maybe I’ll keep it. Put it in the dungeon for you, when you want to get really weird and freaky.” 

“I always wanna get really weird and freaky with you.” Eddie growled, a low rasp in his tone that had your knees shaking. His lips ducked down towards yours, the fake blood around his mouth making your stomach turn. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Get these pictures first, then you can kiss me. I’m not sitting in makeup again, Munson, my ass was falling asleep. I was sitting there for so long.” 

“I can help you with that.” Eddie growled, a playful smack to your barely covered backside that had you shrilling, glaring at him through white contacts. 

October 31st, 1993

“You can barely even see the bump.” You huff, cradling your bare stomach in the mirror. “It just looks like I’m bloated.” 

“You’re out of your mind.” Eddie shook his head, inked hands cradling your torso. “You look so pretty.” 

Your lips settle in a pout, turning to the side, pushing your stomach out further in the pink, frilly lingerie from the 60’s. The sheer robe tied at your collarbones, flowing over your frame beautifully, parting so your belly could poke out. It wasn’t the pregnancy announcement you expected to have, but a fun one, regardless. One that would leave a shocking impression when it was sent to the press. 

Eddie’s ‘costume’ hung around his waist, arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. You grinned at the green, scaly suit- designed to subtly resemble Creature From The Black Lagoon’s monster. 

You smirked to yourself, looking at Eddie through the mirror. “My parents are going to hate this.” You grin, nearly proud. It made Eddie’s heart skip. 

“Good.” Eddie snorted with an eye roll. “Not their baby. Not their choice.” He shrugged, hands roaming protectively over your soft, stretched skin. “Victor shouldn’t hate it too much, right? It’s a movie reference, at least.” 

You laughed lightly. “True, and I’m… more covered than last time, right?” You grin, smoothing your hand over your exposed skin. 

“Definitely, much more reserved than last time.” Eddie grinned, chin hooking over your shoulder. “We have to be more appropriate, Button, now that we’re going to be parents.” Eddie mocked your father’s posh, droning tone, quoting what Victor nagged about over the last brunch you had together- a month ago when you told them you were expecting. 

Eddie’s lips pursed at the pinch still unfaltering in your brows, hands still smoothing over your belly. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie rasped, hand cradling your jaw gently, pulling your eyes to meet his. Those soft eyes that made your heart skip a beat every time you found yourself in their gaze. 

“Fuck ‘em, alright? This isn’t their baby, it’s our baby.” Eddie muttered. “You wanna do this? We don’t have to. I’ll tell them all to go fuck off if you want me to. Or we can do something different. Do the Mummy things if you want to. Just say the word. Your call-” 

“Ed.” The smile he’d been looking for graced your face finally. “I still want to do the photos. I’m just… I’m having a moment. I’m hormonal, and-and I’m just having a moment.” 

Eddie grinned, plush lips pressing a kiss to your nose. “Have a moment. You look hot, though.” 

“Thanks.” You muttered, eyes fluttering to look up at him through the strip of false lashes. “Not bloated?” 

Eddie snorted. “Definitely not. Very pregnant. Very, very hot.” 

October 31st, 1994 

“Ed, is she looking?” You say through a smile, eyes still trained on the camera. 

“No, she keeps looking at you.” Eddie huffed, lowering the camera. “Looking at your webs.” 

No crew this time, oh no, Eddie wanted to do it all on his own. The set up wasn’t elaborate, but your costume was. The Black Widow, finished with webs that attached to your dress, hung around you for the perfect dramatic effect Eddie was looking for. In your arms, your little itsy bitsy spider, Persephone. 

“Sephy,” Eddie cooed. “Fuck, babe, where’s the rattle thing? The lamb?” 

“I grabbed it. Look behind you.” You nodded, cradling Persephone closely, her little hands reaching for you and pulling the fake spider arms with her. “You’re just a pretty little spider, aren’t you? The cutest little spider!” 

“Found it!” The camera bounced on Eddie’s chest, shooting you a dimpled grin that had you flushing. “Look at me, Sephy! Look at Daddy!” 

You fixed her in your arms, cradling her to your side. “Is she looking?” 

“Yes, she is!” Eddie lilted in that babbling baby talk that had your heart swelling. “Look at my little spider. That’s so good, look at Daddy!” 

“You sure you don’t want to be in this one?” You asked, hoisting Sephy up higher into your arms, swaying her lightly. 

“Nah,” Eddie shook his head, looking down at the camera, pulling out the film. “Just wanna look at you, baby.” He winked. 

October 31st, 1999

“Kensie,” You coo, looking down at the red faced four year old, desperately trying to keep her from tearing off her ears, two fuzzy clips that mimicked a cute werewolf. “We just need to take a couple of photos, and then we can change and go Trick-or-Treating, I promise.” 

“I wanna go no-o-ow!” Kensie wailed, a piercing sob that had you cringing, the twins stirring in their black bassinet prop. 

“Kensington,” Eddie grit, adjusting Persephone’s cape. “Trick-or-Treating hasn’t even started. There’s nothing out there right now. No candy.” 

You glared at him lightly, though Kensie’s sniffles did ease. “No?” She asked, head tilting to the side sweetly. 

Eddie shook his head, green painted frown softening lightly. “No, baby. Doesn’t start until six. We have plenty of time.” 

“Better quit frowning, baby.” You hum, tapping your finger on Eddie’s creasing forehead paint. 

This year's theme was a take on the classic, creepy show from the 60’s. What better way to celebrate your still growing family than this? Everyone else was favoring the Addams Family this year, but not the Munson’s- Munster’s. 

“Are you ready, Mrs. Munson?” Phil asked, looking up from his camera at you. 

You nodded, fixing your dress while you stood next to Eddie, one hand on the bassinet. “You think they can tell?” You grit through your smile, your dress snug when you turn towards him. 

“No.” Eddie gritted back, eyes flickering down to your abdomen, just starting to swell with baby number five. “You look good, baby, always do.”

[u2fangirlie-blog]

Spock's World Inspired Holiday Card circa 1992

December 1992. Spock's World was among my favorite novels. I had just turned 19 years old that month. In keeping with the tradition of making holiday cards, that year I drew artwork inspired by a scene in Spock's World, the Star Trek novel by Diane Duane.

No computer. No printer. This was 1992. I drew it in pencil and darkened it with ink. The message was all hand lettered. My dad made copies of the artwork at his office. Each copy was colored by hand with colored pencils and crayons.

The image centers on the IDIC symbol, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination, a concept central to Vulcan philosophy. Diane Duane wrote the most beautiful passage in Spock's World that simply explained the meaning of IDIC. I copied the passage for the message inside the card. The IDIC symbol was surrounded by animals, plants, and other organisms representing the biodiversity of Earth.

The passage from Spock's World was from a scene where Surak was in the desert and saw the giant sandworm-like creature, referred to as the Underlier (called A'kweth or Tcha'besheh). Both beings paused and beheld one another, the Underlier and the Vulcan, in the vast desert under the light of T'Khut (called The Watcher), Vulcan's sister planet.

"How delightful to be so different from something. No need to understand them, particularly; that might come with time and would be an added delight. But it was enough to accept their difference, to celebrate just that without anything added. Creation, in itself, was joy, the difference was joy, the celebration of it was joy."

Front of card. Star Trek inspired greeting card artwork. Based on the novel Spock's World. Image features the Vulcan IDIC symbol and cartoon drawings of animals representing diversity. Created in 1992.

Inside of card. Star Trek inspired greeting card artwork. Based on the novel Spock's World. Image features a quotation from the novel representing diversity and the IDIC philosophy. Created in 1992.

Front and back of card. Star Trek inspired greeting card artwork. Based on the novel Spock's World. Image features the Vulcan IDIC symbol and cartoon drawings of animals representing diversity. Created in 1992. (Copyright Myers Cards 1992.)

The passage in the novel continued:

"There was nothing that could stand against that joy: sooner or later it would triumph. All evil, all death, was a tiny, fretting, posturing thing that knew its own defeat was coming, and it might rage and destroy as it liked. It was doomed. Celebration would win, was winning, had won now. Everything was one moment, and the moment was nothing but triumph and joy."

This resonated with my 18/19 year old self. This still resonates with me today. Oh, my heart! I cry for joy! Such beautiful ideas and words to live by!

Regretfully, I didn't credit the author on the card at the time. I assumed friends and family wouldn't care. It was yet another weird, cheap, homemade holiday card from their weirdo sister / niece / daughter / student / friend.

I hope you enjoy the amateur artwork and Diane Duane's message. Enjoy the diversity and differences. Embrace and embody IDIC.

Thank you, @dduane.

Peace and long life,

Amy

[vinylshifting]

Introducing my hogwarts dr

Im Zephyra Mørkvik, im from norway. My mother was a witch and my father was a vampire, My father works for the Mythical creatures and Wizards Alliance, he works as head vampire relations officer. My mom believes in traditional and pure-blood values, which is weird because why would she go off and marry a vampire- anyways. Im 15, almost 16, years old. And i was born October 4th, 1976

I went to durmstrang for the first four years of school, then my family moved to britian, to be closer to my mothers family and also for my fathers work. So i ended up transferring to Hogwarts, which is nice. Durmstrang was way too strict anyways. But having to go up with all the first years while being a fifth year to get sorted was a bit embarrasing…

Is say im pretty good at school, generally, not AMAZING, but good. But im especially great at Astromomy and also music! I play the Harp and Piano, and sometimes the violin. Im also pretty good at potions and divination.

I have three pets(shhh dont tell anyone i brought three instead of one). My owl, a great horned owl, Valkyn. My pet black cat, Blackberry. And my pet snake, a fer-de-lance named Aspen.

Im not romantically interested in anyone, yet. But im besties with snape (he hates my guts), but hes twin fr! All seriousness im friends with my roomate Lirael, but also Pansy and Tracy.

The one thing that shocked me most when i transferred to hogwarts was the attitude towards the dark arts. Yes i know not to do three three unforgivable curses. But a little legilimency dosent hurt anyone! And Yes, The dark arts were taught in durmstrang.

Year; 1992-1993

House; Slytherin

Year; 5th year (15-16 years old)

[sapphic-coded]

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Language that Cap wouldn't approve of. Reader is a messed up assassin. Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: Welp. Here's my first fanfic on tumblr. I only have one chapter written, but I'm hoping my muse will stick with me so I can turn this into a series. This is lightly edited. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you come across (and you most likely will). Minors, please do not interact. Please do not copy/steal my work. Enjoy!

Chapter One: I Thought You Died Alone A Long, Long Time Ago

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1992

The silence that filled the car wielded a tension you were all too familiar with. Your father’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel he gripped. A deep frown pulled at his lips while his cold, steel gray eyes stared straight ahead behind a pair of thick, dark framed glasses. His usual tamed black hair was a mess with strands of hair shooting out in random directions. 

Sitting next to your father, up in the front passenger’s seat, was your older brother. He was a tall, skinny boy who had just embarked into his teens. His blonde hair was parted down the middle of his head and reached the tips of his ears. His navy blue eyes stared out the passenger’s window. His lips were pressed tight. There was so much he wanted to say. If you guys were anywhere else, perhaps he wouldn’t hold back. 

Sitting next to you in the backseat of your father’s station wagon was your older sister. She was a year younger than your brother with her long brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her head was bowed, and her brown eyes were glued to the pages of her book. She was skinny like your brother, but her body was already beginning to shift into adulthood. She had started growing breasts last summer. 

You were the youngest. You had recently celebrated your tenth birthday. You were skinny like your siblings, but still very much a child. Your green camo jacket felt heavy. You were all dressed alike: green camo jackets, dark green shirts, green hunting fatigues, and heavy brown boots. It was the outfit you always wore during your hunting trips with your father.  

Your brother reached toward the car’s radio. Your father’s hand released its vice-like grip on the steering wheel and slapped down on your brother’s hand. You heard the loud smack, and your brother quickly snatched his hand back.

“I’ve had enough of your nonsense.” Your father’s voice rode a current of anger that popped the tense bubble of silence. 

“I just wanted to listen to music,” your brother shot back. “Sitting here in silence is boring.” 

Just like that another argument between your father and brother started up. You looked over at your sister. She was very much focused on her book. Your attention drifted over to your window. You did your best to tune out the argument happening up front while you watched the scenery of trees roll by. Eventually your gaze dropped to your lap. You stared at the dried blood caked around your fingernails. 

“...pointless and–”

“You are cowardly and weak!”

You can’t believe the weekend is almost over. You had spent the whole weekend out hunting with your family. Your father had parked his station wagon in a lot and marched you all out into the woods. You all had spent the whole weekend laying in the cold mud. It was your brother’s hunt. You were all following his lead. Which meant mostly laying in the mud and following tracks every so often. This weekend was supposed to end with your brother’s first kill. Instead, it ended differently. 

The engine of your father’s car stopped as you reached your house. The argument between your brother and father had ended, but you cannot recall when. You undid your seatbelt and opened the car door. The moment you stepped out onto your driveway, your attention landed on a moving truck parked across the street. A man and a woman were busy unloading boxes out of the truck and carrying them into the house. 

You noticed something else. A girl around your age with blue hair came out of the house and walked down the driveway towards the moving truck. Her pace slowed as she noticed you. You lifted your hand in a small, friendly wave. A smile had started to curl at your lips when your father’s voice called out to you. You turned away from your new neighbors and found your father standing in the garage with his hunting rifle hanging from his shoulder. You made your way up into the garage where you felt your father’s hand fall gently onto your shoulder. 

Amsterdam – 2010

You hate these jobs. Long relentless days spent circling your target. Never able to strike just yet. You had to put on a show first. Pretend to be their friend, or a business partner, or their lover. You had to act as if your target was important in some flimsy life you threw together. Your kills were always messy at the end of these jobs. You can’t help it. You just want the stupid job to be over. 

And it almost is. You have spent the past four days pretending to be your target’s bodyguard. Four days spent following your target around. You dealt with their problems and waited for the day all your targets would be together in the same room. Because the job wasn't just to kill the target you were pretending to protect. Your target and their friends had messed up. They had pissed off the wrong people. You were there to clean up the mess. 

Your target had set the long awaited meeting to take place in a fancy hotel in the middle of the day. The guest list for this meeting would be short. It included your target and you, his business partners, and their private security. The meeting wasn’t scheduled to take long. It was supposed to be a simple transaction. An easy exchange of goods and money. The details of that particular transaction did not interest you. Your interest lingers on your plan to take out all your targets. 

The dark brown shoulder holster that you wore over your white, button-up, collared shirt held one of your favorite guns. There was nothing overly special about it. It was a standard, black 9mm Beretta handgun. It was reliable in nearly all your jobs. It was your favorite because it had been your first gun. A present from your father. It marked the end of your training and the beginning of the rest of your life. If your job was to take out just the one target you had been following around, then the choice would have been easy. But the job required the elimination of all your targets. Since the other targets were bringing their own private security, once you made your move you would need to finish the job quickly. 

But the job didn’t specify that the kills had to be quiet. 

You pull on your gray suit coat. Your shoulder holster disappears from view as you stand before the mirror and button the coat. Matching gray trousers cover your legs and the black flats you wear bring a smile to your face. This job was almost over and soon you would be busy getting yourself as far away from here as possible. Hence why you chose the flats over heels. You run your hands down the length of your suit coat to smooth out any wrinkles. Your hair is pulled back into a professional, tight bun. Your right hand dips into one of the suit pockets. The pad of your finger brushes against the small, round marble nestled within. 

When your target is ready, you follow him out of the hotel room he rented and down into the hotel lobby. You follow him across the spacious lobby and into a large boardroom. As the door clicks shut behind you, your eyes survey the room. A long mahogany table commands most of the space within the room. Situated around the table were identical black office chairs. Far more than necessary for this meeting. Sitting in four of the chairs were your four other targets. Standing behind each of your targets were their own bodyguards. Sunlight poured into the room from the floor to ceiling glass windows that ran along one side of the room. 

You follow your target over to one of the chairs. He takes a seat and you stand behind him. Your gaze briefly returns to the other bodyguards. All tall, imposing looking men. They stand as still as statues, and you wonder how they do it. Do they enjoy following around power addicted fools? You spent four days with your target, and you can’t wait to kill him. 

“Where’s Tyler?” your target asks as he settles into his seat. 

“Running late,” your other target answers. 

You tune out the insults your targets direct towards the currently absent Tyler. Instead, you wonder what this peaceful boardroom will look like in the next ten minutes. Or however long it takes for Tyler to show up. There will definitely be blood. Broken glass was also a given. You doubt the chairs will make it. The hotel will definitely need to buy a new table. But you wonder if you’ll get a chance to see their faces. Just one. It’s the part that fascinates you the most. Your target’s last moment etched across their face. It reveals so much. 

The door to the boardroom opens and the conversation shared between your targets dies into an awkward silence. You turn in time with everyone else as Tyler steps into the room alone. The first thing you notice is that he is sweating. A lot. In his shaking hand he holds the handle of a briefcase. His free hand raises up and he runs his fingers through a disheveled mop of dark hair. 

“Sorry about the wait,” Tyler says. 

“Jesus, Tyler,” your original target replies. “You look like shit. Let’s just get this over with so we can all go home.” 

Tyler nods and hurries over to the table. He sets the briefcase down and opens it. One of your other targets reaches into their coat pocket and pulls out a brown wrapped parcel. The size and shape of the parcel is clearly money. With everyone’s attention on Tyler and his suitcase, you causally unbutton your gray suit jacket. 

“Just so everything is clear,” your original target addresses the others. “You give us that.” He gestures to the suitcase. “You take the money, and we don’t hear from you ever again. You don’t mention us and we don’t know you. You don’t come looking for this because it doesn’t exist.”

Tyler nods. 

“We still haven’t discussed how we are dividing our profits,” another target says. 

“We’ll discuss it later,” your original target replies. 

As the conversation shifts into another argument, you decide that this is as good a time as any to wrap things up. All your targets are in place with a few bonus players. It is time to put these boring four days behind you. As your hand moves towards your pocket, you spot one of the other bodyguards quickly lowering his head. His hand lifts up to press against his ear. You still your movements as you watch the other bodyguard. 

“We just lost our comms,” the bodyguard’s voice cuts through the argument. 

Your hand abandons its journey towards your pocket as your original target turns around in their seat to look at you. The question written plain across their face is one you can’t answer. Maybe if you had any comms to worry about then you could make a solid guess as to why they are suddenly down. But you don’t. And while you have no interest in who the new mysterious player is, you do get the sense that maybe you really should wrap this up. Quickly. 

You mimic the other bodyguards as you reach for your gun. Your fingers manage to brush against the holster’s leather before a faint beeping sound pulls your attention over towards the door. Something small and metallic rolls out from underneath the door. It rolls across the floor towards you and your gathered targets. You can barely make out what it is from where you are standing, but the quickening frequency of the faint beeping causes you to turn away from it. 

The white light that explodes from the weird object swallows up the entire boardroom. You close your eyes as the explosion drowns out the shouts from the other bodyguards. Your ears are ringing when you open your eyes. The shouts from your targets are muffled as they all scramble from their seats. The wall of glass windows shatters as men in black tactical gear attached to wires swing into the boardroom. The bodyguards who had managed to pull out their guns immediately exchange gunfire with the uninvited tactical team while your targets scramble to avoid getting hit. 

Well, you hadn’t planned to end this job on a neat and tidy note. Things were about to get really messy. 

You pull your gun from its holster and aim it at the first tactical newcomer that pointed their gun at you. Your finger squeezes the trigger, and you watch with satisfaction as their head snaps back from the bullet barreling through their forehead. Their body goes limp and drops. You spy one bodyguard already dead with their chest riddled with bullet holes. 

A second tactically geared newcomer turns their attention to you and is quick to fire. You quickly duck underneath the fancy boardroom table. Bullets from your enemy’s gun rips through the wood above you. You take aim at the guy’s leg and fire. The guy’s cry comes through crystal clear as he drops to his knee. You can’t fight back the smile that curls your lips as you maneuver your way out from underneath the table and fire off another round where you’re almost certain his mouth is. 

Another bodyguard has joined the other dead one on the floor while the others corral your targets behind them as they continue to exchange gunfire with the uninvited guests. Except, Tyler darts out from behind the weakening wall of bodyguards and rushes towards the bullet ridden table. He snatches up the briefcase and hurries towards the door. The other targets hurl curses his way as you lift your gun and aim at the back of his head. You are about to pull the trigger when the door Tyler reaches flies open into him. Tyler stumbles backwards, trips over his clumsy feet, and falls backwards. The briefcase slips from his grasp and slides across the floor and stops at your feet. 

Your attention, however, is not on the briefcase. It’s not even on Tyler who is groaning and still alive. Your eyes are glued to the person who steps through the doorway and into the room. You recognise her face immediately despite her red hair. It’s long and tied back away from her face in an intricate braid. The black catsuit she wears bears the symbol of SHIELD on her shoulders. The identity of the tactical newcomers pales in comparison to the way her olive green eyes widen slightly in recognition. Old memories, so long buried that you are shocked you can even remember them, creep in. The gun in your hand never wavers as you find your old friend at the business end of it. 

“Y/N.” 

If there were any doubts, her voice banished them. It’s her. 

“Put down the gun.” 

It’s as if a floodgate has opened. The memories are countless despite the fact that it had only been three years. So old and forgotten that they feel new. They smother the job that has taken up residence within your mind. You’re here to kill your targets, but all you can think about is the last time you saw her. How abrupt her departure had been. You remember your father’s rants about her family. 

Slowly, you lower your gun. She takes a step forward. Tyler’s groans stop, and he lifts his head up. He reaches for the briefcase at your feet. You point your lowered gun down towards Tyler’s head and pull the trigger. Your friend’s advance stops as blood and pieces of Tyler’s brain paint the floor and the briefcase red. One target down. 

The smoke pours from your gun as you gauge her reaction. The recognition you saw earlier is gone. Her face is a mask, and the frustration you feel is so familiar. 

The last of the bodyguards drop and your remaining targets are completely exposed. The remaining tactical guests close in on your targets except for one who breaks off and starts towards you. You ignore the orders the man shouts at you. Instead, you kick the blood and brain matter stained briefcase underneath the ruined table. You start to raise your gun, but the tactical guest already has his finger on the trigger. He fires and you are quick to dodge out of the way. The bullets dig holes into the wall behind you. You kick one of the office chairs at the man. It collides into him and he stumbles back. You raise your gun again but the moment you squeeze the trigger, your legs are swept out from underneath you. The bullet you fired finds a home in the ceiling as your back collides with the ground. 

Before you can move, a weight settles on you. Hands pin down yours. Strong legs straddle you as your friend’s face fills your vision. 

“Stop, Y/N.” There’s more force behind her words this time. “Don’t make me hurt you.” 

You almost laugh. Almost. Maybe if your job was done then you could have spared a moment or two to revel in your friend’s joke. But you were dangerously close to losing control of this job. You pull your legs up and manage to throw your friend off of you. You roll onto your knees and go to stand when the man you had kicked the chair at slams the butt of his gun into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and blood fills your mouth. 

The childhood memories that have been distracting you vanish as you spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. The man turns his gun back around to point the barrel at you. Your hold on your own gun remains firm as you look over your shoulder towards your friend. She’s on her knees as well, but that is all you are able to make out as you quickly drop back down towards the floor. A small, short bluish bolt flies barely an inch over your head and lands on the guy who hit you. Blue strings of electricity wrap around his chest as he drops with a shout. 

You scramble to your feet and head for the door. Your hand digs into your suit pocket and your fingers close around the small marble. You can hear your friend catching up to you as you pull the marble from your pocket. Your thumb presses down on the miniscule button barely noticeable to the eye. As you quickly near the door, you drop the marble. It rolls towards your remaining targets. The moment you make it out of the boardroom and into the lobby, you feel her hand close around yours. You yank your hand hard from her grip and turn quickly while raising your gun. 

You find yourself staring down the barrel of her gun. A smile creeps onto your face as you hold your gun steady. Unfortunately, your friend doesn’t find this amusing. 

“Put down the gun.”

“You first, Nat,” you reply. 

Her gun stays pointed at you when it finally happens. The boardroom explodes into a hot, blazing ball of destruction. The force of the explosion sends both of you flying further into the spacious lobby. You both hit a fancy looking pillar before dropping with a hard thud to the ground. Despite your body’s screams of protest, you are the first to climb back onto your feet. You look down as your friend starts to move. Still alive. Your gun feels heavy in your hand as that single thought runs laps through your mind. For the first time in a long time, you feel excited. 

“Sorry, Nat,” you say as you slide your gun back into its holster. “Gotta run.” 

You leave her there and make your escape. Slipping away from the scene that has now drawn a crowd is as easy as breathing. You hardly think about it. And with nobody chasing you, it’s almost painfully easy. But the further away you get, you know that’s not entirely true. She isn’t chasing after you now, but she will. You hope so. You miss your only friend.