#Yes he is watching the ants run out of the log and to their deaths as they catch on fire

[jtl-fics]

more importantly how would riko fit into camping setting this man never touched grass

LMAO Shoulda known this would be the follow-up ask from you my dear.

I know we talked about Riko and stars but I'm gonna write a lil bit about it. So more under the cut.

There was a time where the car that is taking Riko from place to place, media event to media event breaks down in the middle of the road. There's no cell service and it's just him and a driver. The driver heads off, swearing to be back with a tow truck or whatever assistance they need.

Riko sits in that backseat arms crossed and PISSED about what's going on. He's going to miss his media engagement, it's going to be a whole damn thing. Who knows how Master will react. He can't do anything because he needs his suit to be perfect for when he shows up fashionably late to the engagement and the interview.

Then an hour passes, maybe two, maybe three, and it's dark. He can no longer entertain himself by counting the stitches in the fine Italian leather seats like he'd been doing when he ran out of Exy strategies to think about and funny excuses to give to people who might not even know he's not there.

He climbs out of the car figuring he can count a few stars, make exy plays out of their formations if nothing else. It'll get boring just like the few times he and Kevin snuck up to the top of the stadium and looked at the muted stars. Staring up at the stars won't ruin his suit.

He looks up and the universe is greeting him.

He gets back in the car suddenly feeling overwhelmed by what he had just seen. Sits and tries to count the stitches (finite, with an end) just by touch but he keeps getting different numbers since his fingers aren't that sensitive anymore.

He takes a breath and climbs out of the car again and looks up. The universe greets him again and it's endless. He can't possibly count what is up there, it's bigger than him. He looks at his suit and knows that he's not going to be going to make it and he can think up a good story about why he's dirty.

He settles on the hood of the car staring up into the sky and he feels small. A car passes him and he doesn't even try to stop it too transfixed by the heavens above him.

A few more hours pass like this and he wonders if his driver just legged it fearing the repercussions of improper maintenance of a Moriyama vehicle. He wonders if he lives here now.

The car is kind of uncomfortable he looks to the side and thinks about laying on the grass and thinks about insects and worms and things beneath him. Small things that can be destroyed by him so easily right under his polished shoes. He's above them, high above them.

He looks up at the stars again and finds himself laying with the bugs in the grass.

It's nice.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (June 24-25/2021) - Cow Quackity / S.U.S. Toll Company

After Quackity turns into a cow and Wilbur eats him on Bad’s chill stream, the two make a hit song together.

Later, George joins in and things become even more chaotic.

The next day, while working on “L’Wallburg” to compete with Bad’s apartment in the same area, Foolish has the idea to join forces with Bad instead of competing all the time. The two get together with Ponk to create their new tollbooth company: 

Super Umbrella Scheme

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

BadBoyHalo

-

Foolish

Captain Puffy

[Foolish’s second VOD was deleted]

---

---

JUNE 24

---

- Ponk, dressed up as Robin, notices Sam AFK by the bank. They try to get some Pillagers to attack Sam, but it doesn’t work

- Instead, Ponk pushes Sam into the spider spawner, then releases the spiders and watches Sam get eaten alive

- With Sam dead, Ponk puts his things in a chest and takes the Netherite set, leaving everything else. He goes to hide it

- Later, Ponk meets Foolish at the Community House as Robin and Batman. They go down into the basement to discuss. They may need new identities. Their crime-fighting days are over

- Ponk tells him that they are going to be Sherlock Holmes and Watson. That’s the extent of the report, so the two of them part ways

- Back at the valley, Ponk puts up a giant Foolsamponk picture and a photo of a rice cooker

- Bad and Wilbur log on. Bad notices a new structure built where the L’Sandburg tollgate used to be and wonders who’s behind it. Bad has been building up L’Sandburg’s walls in the meantime

- As Bad searches around for Wilbur in Las Nevadas, Quackity joins VC and gets a cow as a stand-in. Bad spots Wilbur nearby

- Bad tells Wilbur that the cow is Quackity and puts a leash on him, explaining that a witch turned him into one similar to how George was turned into a pig

- Wilbur asks where he can find food around here, and Bad tells him he can kill the cows in the pen. Bad tries to explain to Quackity how he is a cow. Wilbur asks Bad to tell Quackity that Wilbur wants to eat him

- Wilbur sets Quackity on fire, but Bad puts him out with water. Wilbur says Quackity looks tasty. Bad throws him bread and steak, but Wilbur refuses

Wilbur: not as succulent as him

- Bad leads Quackity over to the Eiffel Tower away from Wilbur. Wilbur opens Bad’s stream to find them

- Wilbur joins VC and Quackity asks if it’s true that Wilbur wants to eat him. They start discussing lactose intolerance

- Wilbur sets off TNT, then lights cow Quackity on fire. Bad is unable to save him and the Quackity cow drops a piece of steak. Wilbur asks for the meat 

- Meanwhile, Quackity as a human has come over to Las Nevadas. They set off more TNT

- Wilbur holds a piece of steak and munches on it, telling Quackity that it’s his meat. Quackity asks how he tastes and Wilbur begins describing it in great detail

- Quackity asks him to describe the texture and Wilbur does, again, in great detail. (I'm not going to transcribe this)

- Wilbur then walks over to DogChamp, saying he would kill the dog for another bite. They quickly stop him. Wilbur tells Bad to get him more Quackity meat. He then turns to Quackity and tells him to turn into a cow so that Wilbur can cook him up and eat his meat

- Quackity goes over to the cow pen to be with the other cows so that he can become one and starts mooing

- Wilbur kills another cow. Quackity has taken off his clothes and continues mooing

- Wilbur takes the initiative to end the bit

- They swim over to Eret’s pyramid with Wilbur repeating everything Quackity says in an American accent. They discuss what animal Wilbur would be. Perhaps a sheep. Bad finds a cod in the ocean and decides on that

- They go up to Ponk’s base and look at the photos. They notice that Sam is crossed out in one of them but don���t know why

Quackity: “Do you wanna have sex in this room?”

- Bad goes to tell him “language” and Quackity scolds him for walking in on them. Wilbur considers it, then mines the floor out from under Quackity, who falls to his death

Quackity: “Is that a yes?”

Wilbur: “I like a man who can take kinetic energy.”

- Bad gets a crossbow. Quackity has an announcement: the wine stream is still happening!

- Quackity gets back to the pyramid and falls to his death again. While they retrieve his items, they chat about fan interactions

- Quackity wants to adopt the dog that played Beethoven in the Beethoven movie and Wilbur breaks the news to him that the dog is probably dead. Quackity doesn’t want Tom Arnold on a leash, and they find out that during the filming the filmmakers apparently used a “mechanical dog-dog suit”

- Wilbur explores the Beethoven fandom Wiki

- They talk about music they’ve been working on. Bad says if Quackity keeps swearing, he will “break out the hammer”

- Quackity shows his recent project. Wilbur says it’s “bloody-muffin-fucking great”

- Wilbur and Quackity work on the song together. The sound is...beyond words

- When they are finished, Quackity says that he thinks Wilbur is giving him too much credit, and he should instead be on the feature list. He wants Wilbur to have this song

- Wilbur declines, saying he would be honored if Quackity didn’t put Wilbur’s name on the song

- Quackity thinks Wilbur should feature it as a Lovejoy song. Wilbur has joined a new band to release the song called “Placeholder,” after which he will immediately disband the band

- Quackity tells him that the song is Wilbur’s baby and he really wants Wilbur to have it. Wilbur tells Quackity that he loves him and that Quackity should have the song. Quackity says he would die for Wilbur, and that Wilbur should have the song

- Wilbur says he will name his firstborn "Quackity,” and he thinks Quackity should have the song. Quackity says he will name all his future family members “Wilbur Soot” (pronounced ‘suit’)

- Wilbur then says he will kill endangered animals for Quackity

Bad: “That’s not something you should do!”

Wilbur: “I will do it for love.”

- Bad asks if he can have the song. Quackity doesn’t say his next bit aloud

- Wilbur understands that Quackity would do that, but he would physically drown for Quackity to have the song

- Quackity says that he will get an astrophysics license, fly a rocket into the moon to get in a national story so that when they find the notepad on his phone, Quackity’s one will would be for Wilbur to have the song and release it under his name without any credit to Quackity

- Wilbur understands this, but says that he would invent a Doomsday device the likes of which the world has never seen and will never see again with which he would hold the world hostage with one message: to tell the world that this song is written solely by Quackity

Wilbur: “That’s what I’d do for you.”

Quackity: “...Okay!”

Wilbur: “Cool, alright, now we’re settled. Hey, Bad, how’re you doing man.”

Bad: “Hi! I’m so perplexed.”

Wilbur: “I’ve got a Doomsday device to make.”

- Bad befriends a pig and names it George. He leads the pig and the red sheep away from Las Nevadas. They continue chatting for a while at the Punzo Chunk

- Later on, George, “master of lore,” joins in 

- Bad shows them the heads he got from DreamXD and offers to trade Karl’s to get Ant’s, Sam’s and Puffy’s from Foolish. Wilbur asks how one gets heads, and Bad tells the story of DreamXD logging on

- Bad gives George his own head and George logs off. Bad offers Karl’s head and George returns, so Bad kills him and gets his head back. George drops a stack of nametags, a stack of TNT and a stack of levers

- Bad repeatedly murders George and sees a squid that flies

- George chases after Quackity trying to kill him with a bone. Quackity runs, setting everything on fire behind him. Bad follows and tries to put everything out. George eventually kills Quackity, then Bad kills George

- Bad accuses George of abusing his op powers to get Netherite armor as George chases him down

- Wilbur sings the Drake and Josh theme song in an American accent while George attempts to murder Bad in a pit

- George accuses Bad of turning the server off, but Bad says it’s a scheduled restart

- George kicks them from the server and un-whitelists them both

- Quackity gets back on and slays George

- The three of them continue to spar some more for fun

---

JUNE 25

---

- While Foolish works on building a room by the Punzo Chunk to compete with Bad’s, Bad logs on and drops by

- Bad tells him he’s building in Bad’s apartment. Foolish tells him he’s just making L’Wallburg

- Bad says he will charge Foolish rent to live here, but Foolish declines

- They argue back and forth about whose place it is as they work on the walls

- Foolish has the idea to join forces

Foolish: Bad what if we are landlords together

Bad: o_o

Foolish: we have been fighting for afar too long

Foolish: What if we put are talkents togerth

Bad: o_o

- Bad says he’s charging rent. Foolish asks what if he charges Bad rent. They argue about charging rent on each other

- Bad charges Foolish 850 diamonds. Foolish tells him that Bad has been on his property for five minutes, which means he must pay 9,000 diamonds

- Again, Foolish suggests they instead work together. Bad brings up the idea of taking over a central location like the community Nether portal that they can charge people for. Foolish likes the idea

- They work on the apartment some more and start bickering over who’s caused more problems in their rivalry. Foolish attempts to explain it metaphorically

Foolish: “There was once a shiny rock, okay? And this shiny rock was just trying to go to the ocean and have a good time and lay there in peace. But then, this crusty old seaweed came along to the seashore and just got up all in the shiny rock’s business. And then the shiny rock became a little more dull with the weight of death looming, Bad.”

- Bad takes offense to this and also claims that he made Foolish’s build much better by adding a tollgate to it

- They negotiate percentages of the profits and head off to the Nether portal. Foolish asks if Bad has a suit. Bad replies that not only does he look very dashing already, but the last time he wore a suit, he tried to kill a lot of people

- Foolish suggests they call it the Ratgate. They wall off the portal

- While visiting the summer home, Foolish finds out about the new building on the path. The two suspect a third party may be at play

- Foolish tells Bad about how they have a tollgate set up in Las Nevadas. Bad is offended that Foolish made him take down his tollgate but set one up elsewhere. They start arguing again over who had rightful claim to the path

- They admire their work on the new tollbooth. If people don’t pay the toll, they die

- They rehearse it. Foolish switches personas and becomes a L’manburg Llama who asks Bad where L’manburg is -- he heard they needed his help a few months ago

- Foolish critiques Bad’s performance, as Bad didn’t ask for the toll. Bad said he still got something out of it -- a nice compliment

- They rehearse it a second time, this time with Foolish as Palpatine. It ends with Bad attempting to kill him

- As they discuss how the second rehearsal went, Ponk logs on and walks through the portal while they’re distracted

- They go through after him to seek him down. If they let him get away, they would be the laughing stock of the tolling community. Foolish wonders if they’re dealing with Ponk or Robin

- They find her at the summer home. Ponk runs into his shack and they knock on the door

- Ponk comes out of the shack and they tell him that they’re vacuum salesmen. Once inside the shack, they confront him about the toll

- Ponk doesn’t buy their claims and they go back to the tollbooth. They tell them to pay with compliments

- Ponk retrieves a book from his Ender Chest and goes up one of the tollbooth towers to place a piece of TNT. He tells them that he has claimed the tower

- Ponk starts running, placing TNT all over while the two chase after to attack

- After “the Battle of the Nether Portal” subsides, Ponk gives them the compliments

Ponk: “Bad, is your nickname ‘Google?’ Because you’re all I’m searching for.”

...

Ponk: “Did you get your suit at Dollar General, Foolish?”

- Because Foolish takes some offense to this, Ponk throws him some Netherite ingots. Bad wants that compliment

- Ponk and Bad go up into Ponk’s tower to whisper amongst themselves. Ponk is going to record this and use it as part of the lore suit against Bad. Bad already has ten lawyers

- They go back down and Ponk tells Foolish that Bad said the toll doesn’t have to be paid. Bad is confused, and Foolish pulls Bad aside for a meeting behind a wall of TNT to whisper amongst themselves

- Foolish points out that they could use a third person for the tolling business, and Ponk’s the most trustworthy person Foolish knows

- They go back to Ponk with the business proposal. Foolish says if Ponk makes enough money, they’ll give Ponk a Supreme car at the end of the year

- Ponk becomes sad at this, because Bad destroyed the Supreme Fridge and that’s why Ponk is suing him and Puffy

- Bad says that Foolish allowed them to demolish it. Foolish quickly denies this, but Bad claims he has a written document signed by Foolish. Upset, Ponk asks if this is true. Bad says Puffy has it

- Ponk isn’t sure who to believe anymore

- After they spot Bad lurking beneath the rainbow, they hold him at knifepoint asking for his pot of gold

- Foolish suggests the three of them forget everything that’s happened and just run their tollbooth together. Ponk proposes they tear down Bad’s house instead

- As they explain a potential plot to toll everyone further, though, Ponk starts to come around to the idea. Foolish wonders if they should toll the prison. Bad says they should toll everything

- The next place they decide to toll is the Community House, and they start setting up gateways there. Foolish asks Bad who he would hypothetically be in an alternate Batman universe. Bad would be Alfred

- They decide on a name for their tollbooth company: 

“Super Umbrella Scheme,” or S.U.S. 

- They do another rehearsal at the Community House gate. It goes very well

- They go to the spider spawner. Bad has to leave, and Ponk speaks with Foolish one-on-one, leading him down the tunnel to the Eggpire cloak room to search through the chests. Foolish hesitantly peeks around the corner into the Egg Room...

- Ponk tells him they’ve got their next disguises as Watson and Holmes. Sam has mentioned that he’s missing a sword and wants to hire them to find it

- With that said, they say their goodbyes and leave

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: To The Place I Belong

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

Evelyn ripped around the Recruit; the endless stream of energy the kid displayed was a thing of envy. She was an old soldier indeed- growing exhausted from just watching the child play about excitedly. Once she swore never to become that person, but it had progressed subconsciously. It was far more than a physical tired; emotionally and mentally, she was a strange form of exhaustion that taxed her brain to move on a typical day- on the worst days, it was immobilizing. "Please, just one more lift," the mousy-haired girl begged. "You're going to get me in trouble again." Evelyn pouted, "she's not watching right now. Plus, Rahna said she isn't mad it just makes her sad, which makes her act mad." "So you want to make her sad?" "No," but there was still a little bit of defiance in the utterance. "Plus, don't you want some of that energy for Pater?" "Ugh, we won't be there for  forever ."

"You could try napping in the Mako," Jane retreated as the kid threw her a cross look, "or you could write another log." The kid was precocious, but Jane liked that about her. She was only privy to the existence of the log because of her Spectre status. Evelyn had believed what all others would take as a lie at face value. Claiming a secret mission, the kid was more than onboard to keep mum about the existence of a previous life. Though Evelyn may begrudge her later, Jane hadn't utterly lied to her. "But, you're doing dangerous things," Evelyn whined. Super dangerous if they allowed the seven-year-old to bother her, no doubt, "I suppose I am. How about you help me keep an eye out for any baddies?" It kept her entertained for a while, at least until Jane started to recognize some of the roads again. Her detail was ornamental at this point the route had been quiet. Who would disturb a company of Makos and Kodiak shuttles? Having boots on the ground was only required because of the state of chaos the city was under from reasons that ran from collapsed structures to faulty ordinances. The medical equipment was worth far more than creds; it was a step toward rebuilding. Jane paused once the building crested the horizon, the corpse of Harbinger in rest behind it. Her hand raised, bringing the caravan to an immediate halt. "What's the holdup?" the 2nd lieutenant buzzed over her comm. "I want a scan of this area, "Jane couldn't quite place the exact threat, it was an absurd tingle that whispered caution, "get behind me." The woman's demeanor bid the child to comply. "Mec-" Jane's pistol fired a split second before the comm's warning, blasting the processing 'head' clean off the LOKI unit. "Woah, Woah, Woah," a figure shouted from between the buildings, the white-haired figure raised his hands, "just mechs, Recruit." "Pater!" Evelyn cried, running from her side without a hint of caution. Half tackling the man with the ferocity of her joy, but he recovered quickly, spinning the girl around before setting her down. Holding her hand for the rest of the trip to the convoy. Roy's forehead knocked against her's, hands holding her face, "fucking hell, Recruit." "LT." "Jane, you-" his voice quivered before it left, pushing her aside with unintended belligerence. His steps were wobbly as he approached the short woman wearing a sour expression. They stared at one another. He stopped just out of arms reach from the woman. "I'm not going to smack you, you old geezer." The LT muttered something unintelligible as he swept the woman up into his arms. Cue the crying and all the grotesque cuteness one could endure from the scene. Jane had to look away; it was like watching her parents kiss. It was something better left unimagined and unseen, and sure it happened just somewhere else. The pang of envy was also unbearable, despite how happy she felt for them. It was time to look for an exit. Apparently, after trouble ran into her- "It's nice to see some of the Alenko family reunited." "Is this a joke to you?" envy helped pull a simmering anger into a seething mass of it. Rahna remained gentle, undaunted, "it would be good for all of you to have some closure." Logic bid that Strawberry couldn't have known that her Roy was the Major's father. While she knew who Helen was, Jane hadn't been exactly willing to spend any time with another person during her recovery. It all seemed obvious now if she hadn't been so clouded with grief and self-gratifying misery. "Please, let me go," Jane begged. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Harbinger's warm (for London) breath collided around her form. They sat in a prolonged stalemate of silence, the Reaper judging the creature before him. What was a flawed creature of flesh compared to a collective intelligence? This ant was pathetic, hardly able to pose a threat to itself. Yet here it sat, thinking it was worthy of words. But it wasn't without pithy for the small things. "Death wouldn't claim you." Why would it? The real punishment was surviving. Reliving the guilt without a

barrier to stop the whole barrage of the tide. While she fought and campaigned against forces that seemed impossible, she had a way to hold back the pain. A reason to forget, a goal that kept her focused on what was forward and not on the past. The failure of losing one homeworld seemed small compared to the loss of all advanced life in the Milky Way. But now, with time, without a goal to keep her focus forward the weight of Thessia, Earth, The Citadel, Palavan, and countless untold colonies compounded together. Her personal failures insult to the injury. If only she could have provided more evidence about the Reaper threat. If she had tried harder, been louder, would they have listened to her? Was it a mistake to abandon Cerebrus? They were evil, no doubt, but could those resources have made the difference? If they had managed to find the Catalyst earlier, the galaxy would have suffered less loss. Instead of the Illusive Man needing to make her an enemy, would her compliance have stopped the indoctrination of the organization? Had she pushed them to that extreme? Was it a mistake to not take the Dalatrass's deal and fool the krogan? Even if for a short while. Was her moral qualm worth the lives and time it took? There was always more she could have given. Her repentance must be witnessing the Galaxy struggle to rebuild after what she had brought upon it. "Who would believe you were Shepard?" Just another facet she wanted to forget. How could she face his parents? Was it wrong to stick around? Helen was a nominal presence in her life, but the LT... him she couldn't forsake. Roy's company brought her peace, likely out of familiarity, a brief reprieve from the current of guilt that swept her under. Guilt she didn't want to bring into their relationship, shame that her attempt to save his son had failed. She wasn't ready to talk about Kaidan or the Normandy. It was still too much of a burden, the force petrifying her humanity. What would it change between them? Or the way everyone looked at her? Would they shun her for what she could no longer be? Couldn't she steal a little light? At the time, she hadn't saved the man for Kaidan, but at least she could protect them now. Or try her damnedest as Jane, as much would not be expected from her. "I see we found Harold again," a graveled voice chided disapprovingly. Jane flinched at the physical contact, finding her words to come out in a tumbling mess, "shouldn't you be shacking up with your old lady?" "Who's to say I haven't." Now, this was super gross, "you picked a fun one." His eyebrow raised, but he otherwise ignored the undertone of Jane's statement, "Alenko men always pick a partner far out of their league. I think my son really took the cake, though." Jane tensed, waiting for the inevitable. He knew. He had to. Rahna wouldn't keep quiet, not now. Why else would he leave his wife? Nearly two years' absence was nothing compared to a stranger disappearing for a month. "A Spectre is a Spectre, and never for an arbitrary reason," she retorted defensively, no longer waiting for the blow to come. It was also a little personal- she loathed whenever someone implied Kaidan simply rode her coattails. Yes, he was monumentally important in her crusade, but the man was his own force to be reckoned with. He was capable, intelligent, level-headed, and most of all kind. It was rare to have someone never ask anything of her, as he had. Rarer to not be put on a pedestal, the Major had always seen her as human. As a person and not the title. Despite how challenging the distance between them had been, she would always respect that he never wavered on his choice to act independently from her. "Heh, did someone have a celebrity crush?" Roy shook his head, "I didn't come here to reminisce. I wanted to speak with you about something." "Okay, let's have it." He took in a deep breath, folding his arms in a manner that made her question how she had missed the resemblance, "about that day, the raid. Look, I appreciate what you were trying to do for me, but never do

that again." "I can't promise that," she returned flatly. "You know," he drew in a steadying breath, his tenor turning into a heartbreaking rumble, "it's possible you have people out there that care about you. You're a stubborn shit, but you're becoming like one of my own. Maybe you can't imagine someone coming back for you, but one day someone's going to thank me for keeping your sorry ass alive for them." "You can lecture me all you like then," she quipped, but the hot tears slipping out from the corners of her eyes betraying her true feelings. Roy's hand returned to her shoulder, letting the woman release in complete silence. He waited a few minutes after her shaking had stopped to speak again. "But you should come inside, there may or may not be a banner with your name on it awaiting you," he said wryly, "while I think Evelyn may not mind all the attention on her, she does not need that much cake."

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 4

Warnings: Language

A/N: I know this is going up late this week. I had a death in my family, which drastically affected my schedule. Due to this and the changes in my schedule, I will be updating this on Saturday's and Wild One will be on hiatus for now. I hope everyone will understand.

As always if you would like to be tagged let me know.

Tags: @whosaidididthat​

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Tony called the Avengers to the labs the next morning. The main six were joined by five others including Iloa. “Thanks for coming in you guys. Banner here discovered that we have a problem developing in Russia.”

Banner stepped forward adjusting his glasses nervously, “Thank you, Tony. As you can see on the screen we have a number of locations in Moscow that are producing large amounts of radiation. We sent in reconnaissance to confirm the presence of nuclear weapons.”

Iloa had been part of that team along with Natasha and Clint. It had been an easy in and out assignment at all five locations. No hiccups, no contact. It was also the mission that, at least in part, was why she and Loki weren't speaking at the moment. She glanced across the room at him. He was standing against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, apart from the group but at least he was paying attention. She forced her eyes back to the three men in front, trying her best to pay attention again.

Steve stepped up, “Our mission is to get into each of these locations, retrieve the nuclear material and get out without being seen. We will be dividing into five groups of two, to hit each facility simultaneously.”

Iloa gulped, and balled her hands into fists at her side, trying to keep them from shaking. Please don't put me with Loki. Please. Please. She inwardly prayed, the two of them alone would just be too awkward at this moment.

Snatching up a clipboard, Tony slid in front of Steve, “Here we go. Honey bear, you're with me. Cap and Sam, Point Break you have Pissant, Natasha you're with Legalos, and that just leaves Teeny and Rock of Ages.” He looked up with a self satisfied grin.

Iloa wasn't the only confused face in the bunch. Tony had way too many nick names for everyone, and she, Thor, Loki and Scott were standing around like bumps on a log as the others grouped up. She cleared her throat, “Care to run that by me again?” she asked, gesturing around the room to the other three that were just as confused as she.

“Oh sorry, princess,” he stated apathetically and she rolled her eyes at him. “Let me try that again for the children in the room, Thor you are with the ant over there,” he nodded between the two, “And you dear Teeny,” he added taking a few steps closer to whisper loudly in her face, “You are with the other so called God.”

Loki growled from behind her, “I heard that.” She jumped at the sound of his voice behind her. When had he moved?

Tony stood up rounding Iloa and patting Loki on the shoulder, “I meant for you too.”

Iloa looked up over her shoulder at the scowling man standing there. He wasn't looking at her but at Tony, which only provided her with a very small amount of relief. Her fears had come true though, being paired with him. She couldn't be grouped with him, not alone. She and Loki weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. She could see far to many ways this mission could go south if they were alone together.

She reached out grabbing Tony's arm and dragging him slightly away from the others, “Why would you put me with him?” she asked nervously.

“Well, princess, that would be because I can.” He glanced down at the clipboard in his hands, bringing it up over his face, seeming genuinely disinterested. “Why, is there a problem I should know about?” He tipped the clipboard down peering out over it so she could only see his eyes.

That brought her up short, she stuttered trying to explain herself, “I. . . I. . .” Then blew out of her lips in exasperation, blowing her hair away from her face. “Can't he go with Thor instead?”

He let out a small snort, “Thor hasn't exactly been reliable when it comes to controlling his brother. You really think I am going to leave that responsibility to him?” He quirked his eyebrows in question and Iloa couldn't stop the amused grin that quirked the corner of her lips.

She huffed crossing her arms and glaring back at those eyes, “And how exactly do you expect me to control him?”

“You sing, dear Teeny,” he dropped the clipboard then, grasping her shoulder gently. “You sing.” His voice was soft and fatherly, if she was honest with herself he had kind of become a father figure to her during her time here. He was a guide when she needed it, caring when she needed comfort and hard on her when he was pushing her to grow in her training.

He laid the clipboard down on one of the lab tables, gripping both of her shoulders. “Listen Iloa, I wouldn't ask you, but I can't trust anyone else with this. You are the only person that can and will put him out if he gets out of control.”

Iloa dipped her head, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow. When he put it like that, she could not argue. “Fine,” she hissed through her teeth. She might not be able to deny his request but that didn't mean she had to like it.

“Good girl,” he shook her shoulders lightly, before dropping his hands. “Now get you things Short Stack or you will get left behind,” he added, waving his hand above her head, directing her attention to the now empty room.

An hour later, everyone was climbing into the Quinjet ready to leave. Iloa sat next to Loki, dressed in his green and black leathers with gold accents, horned helmet atop his head. He was nothing less than a God as he sat there in all his splendor. Iloa in her simple black sleeveless leather suit, with her Kunai belt hanging across her hips and her thick leather boots, she felt inadequate to even think of having feelings for him. But as he fiddled with his belt straps, trying to get himself strapped in, she couldn't see him as anything more than adorable.

“Where is Bruce?” Natasha asked strapping into her chair as pilot.

Steve flipped switches preparing for flight as co-pilot, “He isn't coming this time.”

Tony piped up from his seat right behind Steve, “No, enormous green rage monster this time?”

Steve glared over his shoulder, and Tony just grinned.

During this exchange, Loki was still attempting to get himself strapped in. He couldn't quite figure out the harness system and if he threw his elbow into Iloa's shoulder one more time she was going to get a bruise and she was going to scream.

Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled herself and reached over snatching the harness from him, “Please let me, before you break my arm.”

Loki yanked his hands away, trying desperately not to touch her. His breathing became labored, as her nimble fingers worked the belts expertly. He silently prayed to the Gods that she couldn't hear his heightened heartbeat. She was so close, he could smell the familiar scent of the ocean on her. He couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over her well-fitted leathers. The curve of her backside far to tempting with her close proximity. His hands twitched as he scanned up further. She had far to much exposed skin and that was just the back of her suit. The v of flesh across her back, exposing flawless tanned skin. Her bare shoulders, one of which was pressed against his chest as she worked. If he wanted he could reach out and run his fingers through those crimson locks, that curtained down both sides of her face. He gulped loudly when she finished fastening him in and looked up at him through her lashes. She was the picture of beauty as she grinned shyly.

This gave him a better view of the front of her, and had his breathing becoming even more erratic, the neck of her suit mimicking the back, dipping just below her breasts. Loki licked his now dry lips, pulling his gaze back to her eyes, hoping she hadn't noticed his roaming gaze.

Iloa had to do some praying of her own, willing her fingers not to tremble. She pulled away as quickly as she could, before the scent of leather, spice, and seiðr could hypnotize her. Looking up at him, she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and was momentarily mesmerized by it. She grinned, watching his eyes roam down her body and leaned away, quickly fastening her harness. Clearing her throat, “That should do it.” His gaze hadn't made her uncomfortable, but it was a dangerous road to travel down at the moment. She had to stay focused on the mission but try as she might she couldn't pull her eyes from his.

His eyes went dark, “Yes, right,” his voice was thick and husky. He heard her inhale sharply and cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind of the current indecent thoughts racing through it, as well. He sat back worrying his hands together, uncontrollably. He couldn't pull his eyes away from those deep blue pools of hers. As the jet began to rise, they gazed into each others eyes, until the jet jostled violently and Iloa looked up to the cockpit, breaking the spell that had been cast over the two. He dropped his hands to the bench seat, attempting to cover up his nerves.

“Sorry,” Nat called back into the bay.

“I know I piss you off but you don't have to kill everyone else over it,” Tony just couldn't keep his mouth shut. There was a consensual groan from the group and Tony crossed his arms and grinned like the cat that caught the canary.

“Tony,” Steve warned, as he helped Natasha level out the jet. “Not helping.”

“It's fine,” Natasha snarled at Steve and flinched at herself. “Sorry.”

Steve chuckled lightly, that wonder boy smile plastered across his face, “It's ok,” he said trying to calm her down. “You know if you need to talk,” he added in a whisper, “I can listen. I know you aren't thrilled about the way Banner has been acting lately. I don't think any of us are but I know you are taking it the hardest.”

“Thanks for your concern but I am fine,” Nat responded, “Let's just focus on the mission.”

Steve nodded, refocusing on the controls.

Iloa had a death grip on the seat, she didn't like flying. She understood the necessity of it, it was faster than any other way across the ocean, especially in the jet. But in all her years of travel she had never been on a plane, until she had been recruited by the Avengers.

She gulped in lung fulls of air, trying to fight her nerves. It wasn't as bad as the first time she had gone up in the jet but she still didn't like it. Back then she had completely wigged out on Natasha. She ended up having a full blown, hyperventilating, panic attack, that had almost torn the jet apart.

She lowered her head and closed her eyes, gripping the seat as tight as she could without hurting her hands. Her legs began bouncing, beyond her control.

“Teen,” Tony's voice sounded across the bay, he was sitting directly across from her. He reached out a tentative hand.

“Don't,” she bit out, snapping her head up to glare at him. She wasn't trying to be mean, she just knew if he touched her, it would only make her nerves worse.

He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I know. Just checking on you.”

“It's fine, I'm fine,” she grit her teeth, “We're fine.”

He nodded, “I know.”

She dropped her head again, trying to still her legs and calm her breathing. They hit a patch of turbulence at that moment and instinctively she reached for the thing that could give her comfort. That thing just happened to be Loki's hand which was sitting on the bench next to her. She wrapped her fingers across the top of his hand. Clinging to the electricity that shot through her veins and the warmth that instantly calmed her addled nerves.

Suddenly realizing what she had done, she looked up at Loki. He was looking down at her, appearing anguished but he didn't remove his hand from her grasp. Instead he inhaled sharply, running his thumb across her fingers.

She closed her eyes, fighting the moan that threatened to escape her throat.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding completely indifferent.

She opened her eyes again, “I. . . I don't like. . .” she swallowed thickly, trying to quell the hunger she suddenly felt for him, “Flying,” she finished on an exhale.

He quirked an eyebrow, “I can tell,” he stated, looking down at there hands and glancing up through his lashes at her, as if to say 'Duh.'

She moved her hand away from his, back to gripping the bench, “Sorry,” she said, looking down at the floor. She could feel her cheeks coloring.

Loki frowned as he watched her remove her hand and apologize. Something churned in his stomach at the lose of contact. He wanted to reach out and take her hand back but he was afraid that would make things worse.

Fear. That was the ruling force in his world now. He was falling for this woman, he couldn't deny it, at least not to himself. But the fear of losing her made him keep her at arms length. It was better this way, for both of them. She didn't even know who, or rather what, he really was anyway. If she did, Loki was certain she wouldn't want to be around him anymore. He didn't want to be around himself most of the time but he could keep her from the fate he couldn't escape. He couldn't lose anyone else and only by keeping his distance would he be able keep it that way. She was a mortal, they didn't love the way his kind did. They didn't live as long as his kind did. She would move on with enough distance and he would be alone for the rest of his days. He could live with that, if it meant she could be happy.

He shook his head free from those thoughts. Glancing over at her trembling figure, his heart ached. She needed comfort, and if only for right now, he would provide it. He had to.

Iloa inhaled sharply when Loki laid his hand atop hers. The familiar tingles and heat creeping up her arm. He squeezed it gently, then just let it lay there. She wanted to cry. Was he reaching out to her? She looked up to him but he was staring straight ahead, his face completely impassive. Ducking her head and allowing her hair to cover her face. A single tear fell from her eye, dropping to the metal floor silently. Of course, it was too much to hope that he cared for her. He was probably just annoyed that she was shaking the bench.

They sat silently for the rest of the journey, him squeezing her hand gently when the plane rattled. Her heart breaking a little more each time he did.

[burnouts3s3]

Avengers: Endgame, a spoiler review

(Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit unprofessional blog post written by an unprofessional blog poster. All purported facts and statement are little more than the subjective, biased opinion of said blog poster. In other words, don’t take anything I say too seriously. Just the facts 'Cause you're in a Hurry! Ticket Price: Will Vary Theater to Theater How much I paid: Nothing. A friend took me to a screening. Rated: PG-13 for sequences of sci-fi violence and action and some language Running time: 181 minutes (3 Hours and 1 Minute) 3-D: Yes, but I didn't see it in 3-D. Post-Credits Sequences: None at my screening. (Rumor there are Post-credits sequences in other screenings). My Personal Biases: I like Superheroes. I like superhero movies. I like the DCEU and I have a disposable amount of income that means going to see an overpriced movie means nothing to me. Sorry if you were looking for someone harsher. Wait, is Brie Larson as Captain Marvel in this: Yes, but she’s barely in the movie. If you want a metric, Ant-man has more screentime than she does. My Verdict: Go see it already. Even if you hate the Marvel Cinematic Universe and hate giant plot holes, the fact that there’s this large of a cast and this scope of a story told at all is an accomplishment in of itself. Besides, don’t you want to know what to talk about when you do your Youtube video on why the movie sucks? A/N: I am going to SPOIL Avengers: Endgame. Unless you don’t want to get SPOILED, do not proceed below. Avengers: Endgame, a spoiler review

It seems like a lifetime ago when the first Iron Man hit theaters and started off the phenomenon that would be known as the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Say what you will about the light-hearted tone and constant joking the MCU does, every studio has been attempting to ape the formula and replicate it (to varying degrees of success). Now, we come to the end of Phase 3 and might say goodbye to the original team of Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Hulk, Black Widow and Hawkeye. Let’s finish it off with this review of “Avengers: Endgame”.   I am going to spoil the movie just so I can discuss what I liked and what I didn’t like. This is your last chance.

-The Avengers go and try to reverse the damage but find the Infinity Stones were destroyed by Thanos after the snap. Outraged, Thor beheads Thanos. -5 years pass and the Avengers changed. Steve becomes a counselor, Tony and Pepper have a daughter, Morgan, Hulk merges with his psyche and becomes Professor Hulk and Thor gets fat (Thorlax). Ant-man comes, stating that 5 hours for him in the quantum realm has been 5 years. The Avengers come up with a plan to go back to the past and take the Infinity Stones and make their own Infinity Gauntlet. However, they need to use Pym Particles, of which there are a limited supply. This is called "Operation Time Heist”. -Thor goes back to the timeline of “The Dark World” and meets his mother. She knows she will die but chooses to go to her death and tells Thor she’s proud of him. Thor grabs Mjolnir that was has yet to be destroyed in “Thor: Ragnorok” and takes it back with him. -Black Widow sacrifices herself so they can obtain the Soul Gem, much to Hawkeye’s remorse. She dies. -Hulk uses the Snap to bring people back. They are not retroactively brought back but come back as if they’ve been missing for 5 years. -Past Thanos finds out about the plan and destroys Avengers headquarters and attacks Earth. Thor, Captain America and Iron Man fight him but are quickly overwhelmed. -Captain America Wields Mjolnir (And it’s FUCKING awesome!) and beats the crap out of Thanos before he calls his giant army to attack Earth. -Doctor Strange comes in and summons all of the Avengers from the previous movies and they gather for a massive army battle. (But none from the Netflix series, and no Deadpool and no X-men). -Thanos takes the Infinity Gauntlet made by Iron Man and snaps. He looks to find the Infinity Stones are gone. Tony has the stones and does the Snap. Thanos’ army and Thanos all turn to dust. -Gamora isn’t Gamora but is instead a version of Gamora from 5 years ago and is confused that she fell in love with Peter Quill. -Tony Stark dies from using the Snap. There is a funeral held in his name with all the Avengers gathered. -Thor chooses to give up the throne and let Valkyrie rule Asgard. He chooses to hang out with the Guardians of the Galaxy. (Heh. The ‘Asgardians of the Galaxy’). -To keep the Timeline stable, Captain America has to go back to the past and return the Stones and Mjilonir to their original places. When they try to bring Captain America back, they cannot but see someone sitting on a log. It’s an old Steve Rogers, stating he chose to stay in the past and live out the rest of his life with Peggy Carter. He gives the shield to Falcon. -The film’s final shot is Steve dancing with Peggy in a house they own. Obviously, this is going to cause a SHIT TON of controversy because when you’re dealing with time travel in a comic book movie, expect plotholes the size of Giant Ant-man. For example, a lot of fans decried the ending in which Steve chooses to stay behind in the past and have that dance with Peggy Carter because it creates an inconsistency in The Winter Soldier and the Agent Carter spin-off TV show. I think even the producers are aware of this. Very early on, one of the characters says “That’s not how quantum physics work”. Clearly, the traveling back to the past mechanic is used so that each of the Avengers has some type of closure. Tony talks with Howard Stark, now having the ability to relate to him as a father (though, Howard says jokingly, “Nothing that can’t be fixed with a belt”), Steve sees Peggy through a window and Thor talks with his mother. It wouldn’t surprise me if Marvel were to pursue the diversity route by having Riri Williams (or possibly even Morgan Stark) take on the Iron Man / Iron Heart mantle and America Chavez take on the Captain America mantle after Falcon. (I believe Kevin Feige already announced a Ms. Marvel project with Kamala Khan would be in the works). I actually heard a fan theory that Shuri might take on the mantle of Iron Man since it’s established she’s the tech expert of Wakanda. For the most part, I enjoyed the movie and I enjoyed watching this group of actors work together. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Marvel Cinematic Universe were to divert focus towards the upcoming Disney Plus streaming service since several characters from the MCU, such as the Scarlet Witch, Falcon, Vision and Loki already have TV shows announced. For now, let’s just relax and enjoy the ride. CAVEAT: Avengers: Endgame is sure to stir up the classic “fans vs critics” debate because of the plot inconsistencies and, to a large degree of the fanbase, mischaracterization of various individuals. But, the fact we’re getting a film on the scope of something like Endgame is an accomplishment of itself. And while that final battle is something comic book fans dream of, the highlights of the film were watching as subtle and intimate as watching Thor talk with his mother or Tony chatting with Howard about being a father. Just go see it already. If nothing else, you’ll have plenty of ammunition to use when you make your Youtube review. Verdict: Full Price!

[pcttrailsidereader]

A True Story of Life and Death on the Trail

About 50 miles of the 165-mile long Tahoe Rim Trail utilize the PCT high above the west side of the Lake Tahoe Basin. Mountain bikes are permitted on about half of the trail (NOT the PCT portion).  The trail ranges in elevation from 6,240 feet at the outlet of Lake Tahoe to 10,338 feet at Relay Peak in Nevada. Renee’s story, now just two weeks old, took place near the southern intersection of the Tahoe Rim Trail and the PCT.

Renee is the Executive Director of the Siskiyou Land Trust in Mt. Shasta City. She comes from a Shasta Valley ranching family and is a life-long Siskiyou County resident. 

By Renee Casterline

In early September I headed out on my longest solo backpacking trip to date: the 170-mile Tahoe Rim Trail. I spent two months reading, researching, planning, packing, watching weather forecasts, reading water availability reports and being super excited. Come September 5th, I was ready.

When I set off that first day, I was filled with wonder: What would happen on this journey? What would I experience and learn? How would it change me? And, when it was over, what would I want to do next?

It took several days to get into a groove. I had to adjust to the elevation, hiking 14-20 miles a day, setting up my small camp, often in the haze of dusk. By day 5 I was starting to settle in – I’d picked up my resupply box, hiked through most of the dry sections, started to develop a rhythm in setting up and breaking down camp.

Day 6 was long and late into camp, I’d left town mid-morning and took a break on the climb out of Kingsbury to chat with a couple who had just started their thru-hike. The whole day the terrain was stunning, from the narrow granite-lined section after climbing out of Heavenly, pretty views of Nevada farm country, the cheerful sound of a stream flowing, and the enormous tree at mile 82. Monument Pass offered a view of the mountains to come to the south and west, and a gentle traverse. It was uphill into the bowl of Star Lake, its shoreline shaded in the afternoon and chilly in the breeze. The trail up to the pass was the littered with gleaming quartz – pure, white faces, warm roses and dusty orange – that slowed my hike as I scanned the ground around my feet. Coming down out of the saddle between Freel and Trimmer Peaks, I was looking forward to heading toward Desolation Wilderness the next day. Finding water and a campsite were all that was on my mind as the afternoon faded.

When day 7 started, I had decided to slow down for my final five days and make them more relaxed, less driven by miles and hours. I’d look around more, take more breaks, get into camp earlier. I’d be patient and present. At this point in the trip, the challenges were more mental than physical. I wanted a hike I could be proud of, not just for the thru-hiking achievement, but also for my state of mind.

During my lunch break, while drying my socks in the sun and enjoying the ketchup from my resupply that fancied up my tortilla, cheese and salami, I chatted with a friend. It was downhill the rest of the way to the crossing at Luther Pass, then a bit of a climb to Round Lake for the night. Yes, I still had a bunch of miles to go, but I was going to take it easy, let the hiking go by smooth and pleasurable.

Coming downhill off a small knob after Freel Meadows, I saw something strange in the trail. My eyes and brain sought to make meaning of it. What was that? As I got closer, I realized it was legs and my first thought was that a hiker was napping in the trail (I’ve seen it before). Not wanting to startle the man, I clicked my hiking poles together to warn him of my approach. When he didn’t respond I started talking – “hiker coming up behind you.” Still no movement. A small black dog appeared at my knee from along side the trail, then ran to the man.

I slowed my approach, my gut starting to roil. He was laying on his side in a pool of sunlight, his back to me. When I shook his shoulder his skin was warm, but he didn’t respond. He was arched back a bit, the curve of his neck exposed. I lay my fingers there, but there was nothing to feel. When I walked around to see his face everything broke down: This man was clearly dead.

It hit me like physical blow and I staggered back up the trail, bent over and struggling to breath. I dropped my pack and called my husband.

“There’s a dead man in the trail. There’s a dead man in the trail. There’s a dead man in the trail.”

Coming to grips with what I was saying, Vinnie tried to calm me. But my rational mind was gone and some reptilian part was in charge. There’s a dead man in the trail! For one minute on the phone with my husband, I fell apart. Then I hung up and dialed 911. After a few questions and pulling my location from my cell phone signal, the 911 operator transferred me over an El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department deputy.

“Renee, tell me where you are.”

The deputy’s voice was steady, no spike of adrenaline to my ears, even though I was freaking out. I gave him my location and the details of where I’d started my hike that day, how far I’d come, which trail crossings I’d passed. My Guthook app had failed me, showing my location in South Lake, so I couldn’t give him an exact trail mileage. Satisfied with that, he moved on.

“How do you know he’s dead?”

How? Because he’s not breathing or moving. Because he won’t respond to me. Because there is no movement in his abdomen. Because his face is splotchy blue and white with flecks of spittle dried on his lips. Because ants are crawling over him. This man is dead. The words raced through my mind, but I tried for a composed response. I don’t remember what I actually said to him.

“Have you tried for a pulse?”

I laid my fingers on his exposed neck again. I told the deputy that my heart was pounding so hard and loud I wouldn’t have felt a pulse if he’d had one.

He kept on in his calm manner, telling me they’d be coming in a helicopter, that it would be 45 minutes before they arrived. He asked me to look for an open place where they might land, even though the wind was picking up.

“I want you to stay put and wait for me.”

For at least a half hour I was alone with the dead man and his dog. I didn’t know how long they’d been there, so I gave the dog water and some of my lunch. My heart was racing and my breathing was shallow, but cell service was good. I called my husband again to give him an update. He’d been in touch with a friend of ours who is a retired police officer, the same friend I’d talked to during my lunch break, so I called her back. She delivered the first piece of advice that helped get me though: walk away from the body. Stop looking at him.

It was surprisingly hard to do: I had to repack a few things and it seemed an overly large task. Finally I loaded up and moved away.

“Good. And you’re not looking at him?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Look away.”

I had to walk a bit farther up the trail so that I didn’t have a line of sight. Somehow, I had become tied to this man that I had never seen before. At some point while I waited, a passing hiker told me that I didn’t have to stay, that I had done enough by calling 911, that I could keep hiking. Leaving wasn’t an option I could contemplate. My mind was still spiraling between panic and numbness. I told the deputy I would wait. He’d asked me to take part in getting the helicopter close for the recovery. I couldn’t leave this man, with his tanned legs spanning the trail, dirt pushed up by his boots when he fell. I certainly couldn’t leave his dog.

I called another friend, this one part of our local Search and Rescue team.

“What are you doing calling me? Aren’t you on the trail?”

I gave her the quick run down of what happened. “I need you to answer two questions and I need you to do it quick, I don’t have much time before the helicopter arrives. I need to know how to get my breathing under control and how to get them to put me on that helicopter.”

“Ok, this is like yoga,” she said. “You want your out breath to be longer than your in breath.”

“Thanks, I can work with that,” I told, my breathing still sharp and shallow.

It was nearly two hours between the time I called 911 to the time that the deputy and Search and Rescue team members arrived. During that time, 8 people came by on the trail. The first few times the exchange was the same:

“This man’s dead!”

“Yes, he is. I’ve called 911, a recovery team is on the way.”

Then word passed up and down the trail, so that the next group of folks who came through had already heard. Some were helpful, others passed through quickly, unwilling to make this part of their day. I was focusing on my breathing, I told a couple of mountain bikers. They assured me that I was doing a good thing, then gave me their gatorade and shot blocks. Their brief presence was amazingly soothing.

I was up on the knob when two Search and Rescue members arrived from a fast hike in. One of them stayed with me while the other went out beyond the body in the other direction to reroute anyone coming up the trail. Not long after, the deputy and another SAR member, who had been dropped off by the helicopter somewhere nearby, arrived on the scene. The first thing he did was give me a hug, then he told me I’d done a good thing.

He went to work at the scene, while I stayed well away, willing myself not to look, not to ask what he was doing. A short time later, they loaded the man into a thick, blue vinyl bag with wide handles down its length and began the task of carrying him out. As we started down the trail, his dog ran back to the spot he had fallen. After that, we put her on a leash and I hiked with her. After only a 100 yards on the trail, the team of 4 decided that the best route to the waiting helicopter was off-trail and they headed overland.

I’m not sure how long I followed them over rocks and logs, through tangles of limbs. Their team work and grit were admirable. Here were four people doing the hard work it took to bring this man home to his family. At one point, when they had sat the bag down for a break, a phone rang.

“That’s you.”

“No, it’s you.”

“No,” we all looked down, “it’s him.” Someone was calling this man.

They carried him for a bit less than a mile to an open hillside where a CHP helicopter waited. The man was loaded into the helicopter, along with the pilots and deputy. The Search and Rescue team, me and the dog, headed downhill over ground that crumbled underfoot for all the mole holes. After 15 minutes or so, we wove through a stand of trees and emerged on the trail. Another mile and a half and we were out at the Highway 89 trailhead, cars whipping by in the evening gloom with a speed and noise I hadn’t heard for days.

It’s been over a week now since I left the Tahoe Rim Trail after finding that man. I’ve heard from the deputy that he was 65 years old, but nothing about the cause of death. To my eyes, it looked like he died mid-stride, out on a beautiful sunny day with his dog. I prefer to think of it that way. He’s been returned to his wife and family, and his sweet dog was reunited with them, too. Early on during that event, a friend told me that I didn’t have to stay out on the trail if I didn’t want to, that I should think about it. Not staying on the trail was an easy decision: my mind was numb, minimally functioning, and there are simply too many decisions to make on a solo hike to go out in that condition.

Initially, it was difficult for me to describe this event: it wasn’t negative, even though it was traumatic. Neither would I call it positive, even though a friend said that was I did was an act of service to the man’s family. It is something so outside of ordinary life that only one person has said to me, yes, that happened to me, too. In the days that have followed, I’ve had really helpful, caring conversations, naps and acupuncture. I followed up with each one of the four ladies I called on while I was standing beside that trail. My husband and I have found our way through those fragile days with love and tears and some laughter. I’ve reached out and found that I have a large, remarkable, diverse group of folks who support me. The biggest turning point in my recovery came on the day, exactly one week later, when I told my Rotary club about the event. The hugs and conversations that followed have helped soften the sharp edges of this tale.

It’s natural to want to assign some meaning to this, to draw out a lesson. In this past week, I’ve tried so many ways to try to give this some context. All of that is slow in coming, but that’s alright – I’d been practicing patience on the trail that day, and it seems to have stuck with me. I’ve been hiking, writing, thinking back. Next week I’ll head out on a five day backpacking trip for a work hitch on the Oregon Desert Trail at Steens Mountain. I’m not worried about whether or not I’ll be back out on a solo trip: I know that I will ��� soon. And I’ll be back on the Tahoe Rim Trail, too. It’s at the top of my list for next summer. I’m certain that as I retrace my steps, memories and lessons will come to me, and I’m equally certain that I’ll know that exact spot on the trail when I reach it.

[mechagalaxy]

John T Mainer 28840:  Click Yes for Chaos

Click Yes for Chaos I drank the Cruel-Aid to accept Chaos and I expected changes. I didn’t see what was coming though, I mean who could. The icon came up when I logged into the gate the fifteenth time while pirate hunting (still digging out of the Faction War hole in levelling my mecha up). Are you a Robot This time something was different. There was a yes option. I felt the chaos inside me rising to a boil as I keyed my implants to select yes. Yes. I am a robot? What was I saying. I mean I had the same implants as anyone else……who had survived past three hundred level, with all the development that goes with it. Maybe a few extra bits for data processing, some reflex boosts, some damage inhibitors, nano reserves, Drake did grow me a second liver because Clan leadership and drinking are like mutual for survival. I hit the gate, hunting Tory. A message came up, it was Tory. “You have bothered me for the last time. There is a virus introduced into your system through the gate code. You think fire is the worst I can do to you? Little child, fire is Chaos written in matter, now I will write chaos into your matter. Your implants are rewriting themselves now. Your auto repair system is even now expanding your implants with new technology, new imperatives. Have fun with your new friends." Oh crap. I could feel the transformation. New implants were growing on my face, new data feeds, new encryption protocols, new imperatives. I overrode those almost without thinking. I mean get real, I run a clan, if you can do a cyber hack on implants and you have three daughters who rate in the genius level of code hackers you have seen it all. A new icon appeared. “Activate Plausible Deniability” I mean, who doesn’t like plausible deniability. I clicked it. A new set of icons listed. New codes, new IFF, new gate addresses. I followed, and new blue icons appeared. Friendlies. Gary Muenzel 467, Dexter Berry 466, Jaime Beltran 416, Joe Kump 396 (ex Bunny), Bob Schlomer 276, Andy Morris 231, Richard Kotomski 216. Each of them bore strange and disturbing facial implants and body work. As one we exchanged a blast of binaric cant through IR receivers, and out loud we said in scary harmony. “We are Borg” Just like that. We were borg. The collective. Prepare to be assimilated. These were hard core players. Some I had fought, some I had fought beside. We had taken the chaos into ourselves, we had let our aggression and boredom lead us into riding the storm. The gate address lead us to a war world, chaos tore the sky in showers of rainbow. The airwaves sang odd songs of fury and madness, like Vupa on a bad night, but pretty with it. Beneath it all, there was a familiar pulse, pulse, pulse. A beacon, the Division One beacon. We were at war. I ran before the formation. Riding Suicide King with my Red Ant Mafia, Richard Kotomski covered the other wing in a wave of scarlet killing machines. Andy Morris rode his killer spiders for mid tonnage terrain, while Joe Kump mounted his Raven’s Watch, 80 ton specialists that proved dangerous to anyone used to fighting unlimited and who had forgotten the ways of the heavy mecha that so many of us cast aside when the super heavies became possible. We were Borg, we read the terrain around the beacon, the lava flows would not take anything over 55 tons, so Andy Morris swarmed it with machine precision. The lava tubes promised access all over the battlefield, so Richard and I disappeared into the holes to fight the rat bastard battles in the dark, little mecha fighting dirty little wars in the dark below the field of war. Sirius was rising, their star marked mecha descended upon the Borg like a bolt from the heavens. Sal rode his Novums with Commissars behind. Bob Geotz and Scott Teare dove into the tunnels after us. I tore through Scott down in the dark where no songs will be sung we exchanged coherent light and hate in the screaming dark, and I came out the other side. Bob was waiting, and his last line kicked my last Ant aside and boiled up to war with the Borg. Sal was a storm over the lava flows, their 55 tonner was a clan mate of mine, but the Borg implant didn’t care. His 55 tonners were savage, but I knew his every move, it felt like murder, but that is what we do. We were Borg. We fought with the precision of the machine spirit, the fury of pilots who had lived and died by rage and instincts so long we knew nothing else, needed nothing else, wanted nothing else. Bob could not be shaken. Beneath the machine code, his was the mind of a trained killer, an artist in metal and violence. His directions flowed in a stream of machine code that conveyed calm ferocity equally. The war in the dark was a stalemate. I boiled up into light to see Gary, Dexter and Jaimie were a sight to see. Striding like titans of war, their machines spat howling streams of binaric cant, machine code challenges to any and all war machine that dared take the field against them. Sirius rose to challenge, and war as fought by masters of the craft broke out. There was a purity to it, our allegiance no longer mattered, who we were, why we fought. Tonight there was only the purity of Chaos, and in that chaos, masters of war pushed machines that had been developed to a point and power their designers could never dream of. That night was a blur of madness and fire, the power unleashed had set the noble gases of the atmosphere ablaze in bleed over shield energy. Halos of heavenly fire surrounded the god machines as they wrote epics of purity, war for its own purpose. War as an elemental force. War as an end not a means. War as the only true thing in a universe of deception and lies. I will remember, Gary, Dexter, and Jamie, fire bleeding from their machines like blood. Dragging shattered limbs as they raised their guns to the sky and screamed their victory. I will remember Richard in the dark tunnels, lit only by the light of his lasers and the burning wreckage of Red Ants. Golden Nephillax and silver Wargs dancing death upon the lava flows. Bob Goetz followed me down into the tunnels, and Suicide King wrote his revenge in laser light as we evened our personal tally at one and one, each of us defending for a win. He would keep his tunnels, and I mine it seemed. Night had fallen, and with it Sirius. We are the Borg. We will not be stopped. John T Mainer 28840

[inkandblade]

13. [Prompt Abandoned]

But, here, have some fic that happened anyway. Prompt was “Cathedral”. Stiles only realized he’d lost his shoes when he stopped running. The ground under him wasn’t painful to stand on, but there was dirt and grass and heaven knew what other kind of shit all over his feet, and it stung like hell as his skin healed over with it all caught in the wounds.

He focused on the pinch and burn of it and let it bring his mind back to the moment. He’d zoned out as he ran. He patted his pockets and realized he must have left his phone behind. The last time he’d looked at the clock it had been just after midday. Stiles stretched his neck, and let his head hang back and looked through the spaces in the canopy. The sun was far from straight overhead; he must have run for hours.

He should probably be worried that he had no phone, no shoes or jacket, and no idea of which direction home was in. He huffed out at breathe at the absurdity and realized that it was the loudest sound around him. The tops of the trees above him were rippling in wind, but other than that, and him, there was silence. He breathed in and out again and this time it was a sigh of relief that he heard.

He’d wanted quiet. It wasn’t just that everything was louder now— louder and sharper and harder and stronger. It was that he was fighting himself every moment he was around the rest of the Pack. He couldn’t be what he was supposed to be. He didn’t think anyone had noticed it yet, and for that he was very glad, but they would soon. He had full control of the shift, and had gotten through his first moon without incident. That meant there were only so many times he could have a post-Bite breakdown before people started telling him to get over it.

He’d always thought he’d say no to the change, but when it came time and his dad was looking at him with hopeful eyes, and Scott and Derek and Lydia and… He knows it wasn’t all a mistake, but there are things that are certainly not right.

He can’t bend his neck to Scott. He can’t bring himself to do it. Even when Scott roared him down the couple of times in the first few days after Stiles woke up from his injuries? Stiles hadn’t backed off as far as he knew he should. He’d seen it happen with different wolves and different situations and different Alphas, and the cowed wolves had offered their jugulars and flashed their eyes and sometimes ended up curled in a ball and trembling.

When Scott had commanded him, Stiles had pulled his fangs in, let his eyes fade, and flipped off the Alpha off. Twice.

And that was why he'd run from the meeting today. He’d wanted away from the stink of that many people and hiss of so many breaths being taken at once and the constant buzz of the chattering and phones vibrating and.

And the ever present question in the back of his brain. Why do none of the others challenge Scott? Physically, of course, there’s an easy answer: Scott would rip any them to pieces without raising much of a sweat. Stiles hasn’t been able to reconcile that sensible knowledge with the growing desire, the building need he has to see Scott dipping his chin and baring his throat.

The others all did it so easily.

Stiles was a shitty person: Scott had grown into a good Alpha and was decent person all round.

Stiles was an even shittier wolf: Scott, the Alpha, and friend, who’d snatched him from the hands of death, would never, ever have his true submission.

Stiles sank to his knees and brought his arm to his face and bit down on his flesh to stop himself from howling. He had no idea where he was, and no idea if anyone had followed him, but he didn’t want to give them an easy to follow sign.

The pain in his feet was long gone, but his skin and muscle protesting jagged cuts he’d just left in his own wrist pulled him back into the moment. He watched the blood drip on the ground and decided it must be a trick of the fading afternoon light that it seemed to melt into the grass rather than stain the stems and leaves.

He looked up. He’d stopped in what you might call a clearing, except the space above was covered by the branches of the trees around it, so it looked more like a room with formidably tall walls and a towering ceiling. The floor was strangely clear of leaf letter considering the foliage around it, and there were a few fallen logs but nothing more. Stiles wanted to tell himself it had to be as wide across as a house was long, but that couldn’t be right. The branches from the trees around it wouldn’t reach in to cover the space all the way to the centre if that was the case.

He breathed in and smelled trees and grass and ants and peace. He felt more grounded here than he had in weeks.

“It’s something to do with the laylines.”

Stiles jumped and twisted and shifted. He bared his fangs and realized they were still blunt, human teeth.

Derek smiled, but didn’t laugh. “That’s also because of the energy here. It’s probably why you stopped running, too.”

Derek was not who he’d expected to follow him. He’d been distant since the Bite. Stiles had missed the time they’d been beginning to spend with each other before.

Stiles dropped his shoulders and dropped back down to the ground, this time sitting on his ass with his legs folded like he was in elementary school. His sniffed, loud and obvious, and found he could still smell Derek. He realized he’d been able to move at his new-normal speed, too.

“It only half blocks the shift?”

Derek stepped out from beneath the trees and dropped his duffel bag before he sat too. “It blocks aggression. You stank of it before you left the meeting. Whatever it is that’s been pissing you off for the last few weeks had you run close to forty miles, over rocks and through trees and streams, in just over two hours.”

Stiles shook his head. He leaned back and rested his weight on one arm stretched behind him. “Bullshit. The fastest marathon ever recorded was just over two hours. 26 miles on nice flat roads.”

“The fastest human marathon ever recorded. You’re not human, Stiles.” Derek tucked his legs under himself. “But that’s not what’s got you angry, is it?”

Stiles closed his eyes and turned his head. He dug his fingers into the ground behind him, then opened his eyes and found an ant to focus on in the grass. “Is it that obvious?”

“No.” Derek reached forward and ran his hand, palm down and fingers spread, over the forest floor. “Your dad can see it because he’s hyper-focused on what’s happened to you since the bite. Lydia can see it because she feels emotions more than the rest of us. I can see it because,” he pulled his hand back, “I’m watching out for you like your dad is, too. I want to help, if you want help.”

Stiles rubbed his lips together then pushed his lower teeth out and dragged them back into his mouth against the skin of his top lip. “I can’t.” He looked back up at Derek, sitting cross-legged and calm and looking like there was no place he’d rather be than in the woods waiting for a newly-turned wolf to spill his proverbial guts. “I don’t…” He couldn’t form the words.

“You do, and you can. You know what’s eating you, and you know you can trust me. You can hear my heart and smell my intent and you know that I will keep my promise when I tell you that I won’t judge you, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.”

Derek wasn’t lying. Stiles was good at the sniffing and the listening things. He’d taken to being a wolf like a natural, apparently. Chris Argent thought it was because he’d spent so long running with the Pack, dealing with the Pack, and wrangling the Pack that he simply knew how to be a wolf as well as he knew how to be a human. No one, not even Lydia or Derek or the other couple of born wolves who’d joined them, had disagreed.

“I think I’m going to have to leave Beacon Hills. I need to find another Pack.” Stiles watched and listened and breathed in all he could to parse Derek’s reaction. There was none. He just waited. “I can’t bring myself to submit to Scott.”

Derek scented the air between them, but otherwise didn’t move. “I think you’re right on two of three counts.” He sniffed again, pushing his nostrils down to draw them out wide. “Are you sadder about not submitting or leaving?”

Stiles wasn’t saddened by the fact that he couldn’t submit. He was embarrassed and annoyed and upset, but not sad. The idea of leaving his dad, and everyone else important to him, threatened to bring tears to his eyes. “Leaving.”

“Then don’t leave.”

All the air rushed out of Stiles lungs with the sound that he made. He pulled his hands to his face and folded himself over his lap, covered his eyes with his palms. He sat up slowly but left his hands where they were as he spoke. “You and I both know that’s not gonna fly.”

Stiles heard Derek move, then felt his fingers slip under Stiles’ palms and pull his hands down from his face. “It works for me, and it can for you. I can’t bend my neck to him, either. I won’t. He’s a good Alpha, but he’s not my Alpha, and never will be.” Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek kept talking. “You owe him nothing for turning you. He did it because he wanted to save his best friend.”

“But—”

“Yes, there’s usually a link between the Bitten and the Biter, but you know full well it varies in strength. Your wolf-side has zero attachment to Scott, but your human-side still considers him your brother. That’s why it’s eating you up inside, and also the reason you haven’t stepped up and physically challenged him.”

Stiles really, really wanted to growl at that, but whatever it was in the ground and the trees stopped it from forming in his throat. “No, I haven’t physically challenged him because I’m A, not an idiot, and B, not an asshole.”

Derek laughed. It was quiet, but it made his t-shirt shift up and down his chest. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t want him to bend his neck to you? That you wouldn’t want to take his power if he offered it?”

Stiles swallowed hard but didn’t shake his head. “You’d hear me lie.” He looked down and realized Derek hadn’t let go of his hands. Stiles’ were now as smooth as Derek’s and it was strange to hold a man’s hand when everything about the grip was soft. There were some things about being a werewolf that still gave him pause.

“You’re too close to him, as a human and a brother, to let Scott be your Alpha. And you’re too close to being an Alpha in your own right.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek and Derek huffed. “No, I don’t mean you’ll spontaneously develop into one, too. Though if there were going to be two True Alphas in one town, I don’t think anyone would be surprised if it happened in Beacon Hills.” He grinned a little until Stiles half-smiled back, then his voice was serious again. “If you’d been born a wolf you’d have been one of the Alphas in succession, no matter if you were the reigning Alpha’s child or not.”

“That doesn’t solve my problem. I can’t be in Scott’s Pack.”

“We’ll be Omegas together. You’re a stable wolf in a stable territory, it’s possible. Not feeling obligated to attend Pack meetings might make them less of a chore. It’ll reduce your stress, and your dad’s, and Scott’s too. He might not have cottoned on to what you’ve been going through, but he’s not stupid. He knows something’s going on.” He squeezed both of Stiles’ hands a little. “We can come back to The Grove as often as you want if you feel your control slipping the way you did today.”

It was so very tempting, but, “It’ll break Scott’s heart.”

“For a few moments, yes. But you’ll both deal with it. He’d be worse if you left. He’d never stop blaming himself.” He dropped one of Stiles’ hands and reached out to drag his duffel closer. He drew back the zipper and pulled out a couple of tin camping-mugs. “There’s a creek a few yards from the other side of the clearing. We can head back in the morning. I’ve got protein bars, clean clothes, a couple of blankets, and,” he rummaged around inside what Stiles now realized was a really big bag and pulled.

He’d brought Stiles’ other sneakers, a pair of socks tucked into the top of one.

“I.” The tears were actually coming now. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

The tips of Derek’s ears were pink, and Stiles sniffed and. Oh. That’s why Derek had been avoiding him. Stiles took the offered shoes and put them on the ground beside them.

He reached up and pushed a few strands of Derek’s hair behind his ear. He lifted his fingers slowly, then dragged them down Derek’s face and over his beard and before he could move them off, Derek pushed his cheek into Stiles’ hand.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

♠

Prompt… Abandoned. But this is what happened when I tried to sit down and write about a sacred space. It’s a failure to fulfill, but I’m glad I wrote it.

[dmmowers]

A Family Resemblance: On Sainthood

A Family Resemblance: On Sainthood A sermon for Trinity Episcopal Church, Baraboo, Wis. and St. John the Baptist Episcopal Church, Baraboo, Wis. All Saints’ Snday | November 5, 2017 Revelation 7:9-17 | Psalm 34:1-10, 22 | I John 3:1-3 | Matthew 5:1-10 At my uncle's house, the Sam's Club size jar of Jif sits on the kitchen table. If you walked by and saw it sitting there, you'd think it had gotten left out, like someone had put peanut butter on something at breakfast and then put away everything else except the jar of peanut butter. The Jif has sat there, morning, noon and night, for as long as I can remember. It lives on the kitchen table. But the better question is, "Why?" Well, at least once a day, and more often when I was younger, I would watch my uncle walk by the table, pause and turn into the kitchen. He'd grab a spoon, come back to the jar of Jif, take one spoonful out and eat it, and then he'd throw the spoon into the sink and go back to doing what he was doing. It may not surprise you to learn that this little problem with peanut butter runs in the Mowers family. I am a creature of habit when it comes to breakfast, known to eat the very same breakfast every day for years on end before I change and then eat that breakfast every day for years on end. Currently, I'm on about a six-month run of a slice of toast with lots of peanut butter and a little jam. Growing up, we put peanut butter on everything. Pancakes? Done. French toast? Youbetcha. On a plate so that you could dip your banana in it? Absolutely. On celery sticks and topped with raisins? Ants on a log is the best! A while back, I was in my brother's apartment and I saw a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen table, and I didn't even ask. I knew what it was there for. Last week we took M trick or treating for the first time - and there was a revelation when she discovered that some M&Ms have peanut butter in them! We expect traits like that to run in families. It's nice when those traits are endearing, like my uncle's little problem with peanut butter, rather than destructive, like alcoholism or mental illness or child abuse, though those things tend to run in families too. The impact that our parents have on us as we grow up is indelible, and they form us in ways that we cannot have expected and in many cases, would not have chosen. This morning we observe All Saints' Day. We observe it every year on November 1 or the Sunday following, and it's a celebration to remember all the saints: all of the people throughout church history who had this family resemblance to Jesus - whose lives, though imperfect, showed us the face of God. All Saints is followed each year, the very next day, by All Souls' Day, which is a day where we remember all of those who have died, saintly or not, and ask that God would finally make good for all of us the victory that Jesus has won over death and raise them and all of us from the dead. It's a time where we remember that death is temporary. We also remember at Holy Communion on All Saints that we gather around the table of the Lord surrounded by all the company of heaven, and that the barrier between the living and the dead is made paper-thin as we celebrate Communion together. [SJBonly: In a few moments, as we celebrate Communion today, I will invite all of you who have had a significant loss this last year, or any of you who are particularly burdened by any death in the past, to join me at the table as I celebrate this morning so that, as we remember Jesus' death and resurrection together, you can be as close to your remembered loved one as we can get in this life]. Most of us have people we remember and treasure who have died. Maybe they were saintly, maybe they weren't. It resonates with me, and with lots of us, I think, to remember those people at All Saints' each year. If you're like me though, remembering the official saints is a little more foreign. I mean, I think about people that we remember and their impact on me - folks like St. Paul, and St. John, and even more modern saints, people like Martin Luther King or Mother Teresa. When we remember them, they don't seem as relatable as the people I remember. Mother Teresa moved from Macedonia clear around the world to care for the poorest of the poor for 50 years. St. Paul was on a trip to jail and harass Christians when Jesus Christ himself showed up on the road and blinded him. Even Martin Luther King, born just 60 years before me, made sacrifices and became virtuous in ways I can only dream about. I preach to two smallish congregations, do lots to help those churches be healthy and embody the gospel, and change a lot of diapers. In the face of the saints, that story seems a little small. In our New Testament reading this morning from I John, the author writes, "See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will be has not yet be revealed. What we do know is this: When he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is." When we think about the sacrifices that some of the saints we remember have made, or when we look at their images in stained glass around us, or when we ask for their prayers on our behalf, we might think that they aren't much like us. But God has given us the same love that he gave to each of them. God has adopted us: God has called us his children, and that is what we are. So no matter what our lives look like: whether we work in a job we don't love so that we can pay the bills, whether we spend a lot of days by ourselves at home, whether we go to school or do anything else that we might not think of as saintly, God has made us his children. Children sometimes have a family resemblance to their parents and to the rest of their family. If you have a special uncle who leaves his peanut butter in the middle of the table, you might find yourself with a peanut butter problem. When God poured his love out on us in calling us children of God, and when we begin to respond to that love, sometimes we can begin to notice that the peanut butter problem is spreading. And, even if we don't notice ourselves growing in our love for God, or in the ways that we might make decisions differently because of God's love working in our lives, even if we can't see much continuity between our own lives and the lives of the saints, we need not fear: "We are God's children now," John writes. "What we will be has not yet been revealed." For of the saints, the example of love for God and neighbor did not come about because they were something special on their own. It came because the love of God had been poured out on them to make them children of God. In many of the saints, their lives were dramatically changed through an encounter with the love of God revealed in Jesus. For others, the change was much more gradual, much less dramatic. For all of us, the saintly and the not-so-saintly, what we are now only shows a glimpse of the family resemblance that will be revealed later on. We are God's children now, John writes. We have received this love and it is at work in our hearts. In those moments where we think we've failed, in those moments where we think we are far from God, God has made us his children. God doesn't stop loving his children when they fail, or make bad decisions, or miss church or lose patience with their children. God continues to draw us to love Jesus and to center our lives around him, and to love us in ways that will get us to break down our defenses. We might fail now, but what we will be one day has not yet been revealed. When Jesus returns to bring heaven to earth and to restore all creation to wholeness and completeness, and to destroy death and all the works of the devil, we who are children of God will be like him, because seeing Jesus as he is will change us. That's not just true at the end of time either. When we see Jesus as he is in the midst of our present lives, we will begin to be like him in this life. We might worry that this change might change us into a person we don't recognize, that the love of God might make us really sensitive when people swear and turn us into a real-life Ned Flanders. We might think that turning into a saint means that we can't use sarcastic humor any longer, or that we suddenly start praying out loud using lots of thees and thous to make ourselves sound holy. But that's not how it works. God made us as his very good, beloved creation, and God doesn't want us to be other than what we are, he wants us to be more of what we are. When we get familiar with the words and actions of Jesus in the New Testament, we realize that we have been made children of God, that we each individually have been called to follow Jesus, and that in following Jesus we become more like ourselves, not less. We find ourselves changed by the story of Jesus, yes, but changed in this way: that we are set free from doubt, set free from the need to posture to make others approve of us, set free from the need to justify ourselves, set free from the need to hide who we really are, because the love of God has been given to us in Christ Jesus. This is the same love that made such an impact in the lives of the saints. It's the love that turned St. Paul from a murdering persecutor of Christians is the same love that has been poured out on us. When we are around that difficult coworker everyone tries to avoid, the Father gives us that same love to be able to look past that person's words, look past their actions, and see their need. that The love that turned St. Peter from a doubting denier of Jesus with no faith at all into a powerful and compelling leader of the early church is the same love that has been given to us. It's the same love that take us from doubting that God exists half the time to a person who loves Jesus and who centers their life around growing deeper in Jesus and around serving the world in his name. The love that drove so many saints to be martyred instead of recant their faith is the same love that is with us in moments where love must be tough, those moments where we help a loved one get treatment for substance abuse, where we show a teenager that we love them no matter how bad their behavior is, where we care for the physical needs of a difficult older person. When Jesus shows himself as he is, we will be made like him. On this All Saints' Day, as we remember all who have died, and all the saints who have shown us the love of God, may God show us the love that he has for us in Jesus. May God give us us this love so that we can be like him, not only in the next life, but in this one. May God give us this love so that we can be more like ourselves, more like the children of God that we are, so that we can resemble Jesus in all of our relationships. May God work in us a peanut butter problem, helping us to resemble Jesus, and may he bring us, together with all the Saints, to that glorious last day when he will be revealed, and we will be made like him.