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[william-scott77]

Cap Up Chocolate Bar

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[scottwellsmagic]

803: John McLaughlin -The Intersection Between Spy Craft and the Craft of Magic

It was a hot and muggy night in Warsaw, unusual for this time of the year. Sitting at the bar was a man nursing a beer. No one noticed his unkempt appearance or the bulge in his jacket pocket. As the bartender rang up another transaction, a young man wearing a ball cap swung open the door. A quick sideways glance was given to the stranger who strode over to take a seat at the bar. The young man ordered a beer then turned and quietly said, “Erdnase.” After a few uneasy moments that seemed like an eternity, the man reached into his pocket. He pulled out a deck of cards and suddenly…it was magic time.

That could have gone in a completely different direction and oftentimes it does in the world of spy craft. This week we chat with the former Acting Director of the Central Intelligence Agency (C.I.A.), John McLaughlin. There is an overlap and kinship in the keeping of secrets both as spies and as magicians, though one doesn’t control the balance of life and death in their hands. John is an American Intelligence Officer who served as Deputy Director of the C.I.A. under President Bill Clinton and then briefly as the Acting Director of the C.I.A. under President G.W. Bush then retired in 2004. McLaughlin currently serves as a Senior Fellow and Distinguished Practitioner-in-Residence at the Philip Merrill Center for Strategic Studies at the Johns Hopkins University Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies (SAIS) in Washington, D.C

While attending the 2023 S.A.M. convention in New Orleans, John and I had a chance to have a long conversation about some of the declassified operations in the C.I.A., “Project Mincemeat”, the “War Magician” (Jasper Maskelyne), the similarities between spies and magicians, and the local magic scene in Washington, D.C.

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[crowtrinkets]

Eyes, Lips, Face

Word Count: 2,322

When you get thrown into a different world, you kinda forget to mention that the wig and contacts you're wearing are not your natural color, or that you're cosplaying their knightly order because this is actually a video game and shouldn't be real. But at least you get to share makeup with your new-found buddies.

I tried to keep this fic as reader/gender-neutral as possible. Ty to @alexaplaysgames for giving me pointers! Ya'll should check out their fics ;)

---

I let out a stretch as Anisa walks back into her office, carrying more than enough blankets for my one person. I spy Felix swatting Sage’s hands away from ruffling his hair as they walk out the door to find sleeping accommodations. What a wild day. I never really wore a costume that required more physical activity other than walking around a convention for a few hours. I never intended to get into a bar fight while wearing a wig, contacts, and a decked-out costume I spent months on. Then again I never intended to be transported into the world of my favorite video game...

“Here are some blankets to keep you warm,” Anisa plants the blankets on the couch that would be my bed for tonight. I sigh with exhaustion at the thought of falling asleep, I heard Felix and Sage still echoing in the halls as they left. I thanked Anisa for the hundredth time that day and she left me alone to sleep. Alone yes. I yawn, taking in the room. At least there's a fire going, I wouldn’t be able to see without it. And thank god my backpack made the trip with me I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn't have somewhere to put my cosplay supplies. I reach into my bag and pull out a contact lens case. I thought it would be cool if my eyes had a more alluring color for this costume, hoping the color of the embroidery on my costume would be brought out because of them. Carefully removing my contacts I placed them into their case and tossed them back into my bag. I then reached up and unpinned the seemingly endless amount of hairpins I placed in this wig so it would stay put. It stayed in place in the Saucy Gull so I must’ve done something right. I remove my wig and wince a little when I realize it’s just going to become tangled in my backpack. Oh well, what can you do? After removing my wig caps and giving my scalp a much-needed massage from being confined all day, I go to remove parts of my costume. Thankfully the base of my costume is comfortable and inconspicuous enough to not draw attention to the fact that I'm an outsider. I keep my costumed cloak out, in case I get cold. I do wish I had better shoes however, $20 Amazon boots probably won't last out here.

After removing said shoes I plop down into the couch and pull some makeup wipes from my backpack. I never go without these, and I am especially glad to have them after the day I had. I remove my makeup, allowing the cool damp cloth to soothe my tired face. I’ve been running around all day, going through portals, being told I have a magical relic inside me, being flirted with by a cat boy. What I wouldn’t give for a year-long nap, or maybe just some coffee. After cleaning my face and putting my items away I take one look in my compact mirror, yup just my plain old self. Tossing the mirror away I get comfortable and lull into a dreamless sleep.

—-

I can feel the bitter cold outside the warmth of my many blankets, stirring a little I snuggle into them, nuzzling my face in the fabric to warm my cold nose. I’m half awake but can’t be bothered to open my eyes. Five more minutes. But then I hear... whispering?

“Oh my god, they moved,” Anisa’s voice.

“Relax Annie; if something happens, I can banish it,” Felix, sounds slightly shaken while trying to put on a brave front. Wait did he say banish. I decide that I’m now too awake to fall back asleep. I sit up, eyes blurry from sleep, and look at the two indistinct figures who I am assuming are Felix and Anisa.

“Good morn-” Suddenly I hear the sound of Anisa’s sword come unsheathed, and, I think, it’s pointing at me, for the second time. I blink trying to will my eyes to adjust, then rubbing them to reveal that Anisa is definitely pointing her sword at me, with Felix behind her, arms up in defense.

“A-Anisa, what are you doing?” It's too early for this, my voice is scraggly from sleep.

“What are you some kind of Changeling? Poor job imitating in my opinion, MC doesn't even look like that!” Felix states approaching me, a flurry of green flames forming in his palms. Oh shit.

“What? It's me!” I raise my hands in defense. I clear my throat trying to sound convincing. I’ve barely been here for 24 hours and I have been in more life-threatening situations than my entire life combined.

“Then how do you explain your changed appearance?” Anisa says accusingly. Changed appearance? Oh!

“I was wearing cosplay! You don't think I actually looked like that do you?” I lower my arms slightly, laughing awkwardly. I know Sage has weird eyes and hair but why would someone from Earth look like an anime character? Both faces before me twist in confusion.

“Cosplay?” They question in unison. I nod reaching for my backpack slowly. Anisa flicks her sword and I pull away.

“I-if you look in my bag there's a wig and contacts, and other stuff. I was wearing a costume and I thought it would be more fun if I didn’t look like myself,” I point to my backpack. Anisa nods at Felix who approaches my backpack, kneeling down to open it. He pulls out my surprisingly untangled wig, and yelps dropping it in my lap. I lift to wig onto my head poorly fitting it.

“See?” I then remove the wig and place it in my lap. Anisa's eyes go wide, she sheaths her sword and approaches me.

“Oh MC! I am terribly sorry!” She shoots Felix a look who flinches. “Felix had me convinced woodland creates replaced you with a clone,” she turns her attention back to me and Felix blushes with embarrassment.

“Clone?” I question. Felix stands.

“N-no matter, we both apologize for waking you with such an unsettling greeting,” I nod in response. I unwrap myself from my blankets and run a hand through my hair trying to look a little more presentable. Letting out a sigh, as I put the wig back in my bag.

"I-it's alright, I guess I should have said something earlier," I shrug innocently. Anisa looks down at my bag and then back at me.

"Do many people on Earth change their appearance like this?" Anisa looks at me, eager for information.

"Um not usually, well I guess it depends. I just did it for my costume, I thought it would look more interesting," I shrug.

"You said you were wearing a costume? Then why dress as a Starsworn knight?" Anisa questions. I am about to answer her but I hesitate. How am I supposed to explain that on Earth none of this is real? That this is a video game?

"Uhhhhm," is all I can muster to say but my train of thought is interrupted.

"Gods Anisa! Why did you insist on us being here so dammed early in the mor-“ they stop in the doorway. “Who is that?" It's Sage. He burst into the room without even so much as a knock.

"It's MC, apparently they were wearing a wig and other cosmetic adornments to alter their appearance," Felix chimes in. I suddenly feel insecure about how plain I look. At least Felix looks somewhat normal, well from the neck up. I just wave awkwardly in response.

"But I could've sworn their eyes were a different color, and why do they look so tired did they not get enough sleep?" Sage walks over leaning over the back of the couch. I cringe at his comments.

"No, I was wearing a costume, so naturally I wanted to look less... Natural," I attempt to explain. Who knew cosplay was such a foreign concept here.

"Why were you wearing a costume?" Sage squints at me. Oh god this question again, but just like last time, I am interrupted.

“Ouch! Hells,” I look over to see Felix with his finger in his mouth. He takes it out to speak. “Why do you have needles in your bag?”

“Oh! Sewing needles,” I reach into the bag and pull out a container of needles and the spare thread. “I uh, I packed these in case a bit of my costume came undone, sorry Felix,” a thought then occurs to me. “Why were you rummaging through my bag?” Felix suddenly flushes and avoids the eyes of everyone in the room.

"I um, was merely curious about your items," I decide to brush it off as I put my "items" back, I would probably want to examine inter-dimensional foreign objects as well.

“Snooping through MC's bag aye Felix? What were you tryna find?” Sage’s eyebrows waggle.

“Nothing! Nothing in particular I just… saw something that looked interesting,” Felix looks like he's pouting now, to save his dignity I ignore it. I reach into my bag and pull out the even smaller bag full of makeup. I don’t have much with me, just the ones I used for my cosplay in case I needed a touch-up.

“Was it this?” I hold up the clear plastic sachet. Felix nods in response. “This is just some makeup,” I open the bag and pull out a compact blush and hand it to Felix, then I pull out two eyeshadow palettes and hand them to Anisa and Sage, who has now joined me on the couch. Felix and Anisa sit on the floor and observe the items I handed to them. Felix opens the compact and eyes it curious, he runs a finger along the powder and rubs it between his fingers inspecting it. Anisa knocks on the closed eyeshadow palette.

“What is this material? And why have they spelled “elf” so terribly wrong?” She almost looks insulted. I hold back my laugh.

“It’s plastic, lots of stuff on Earth is made from it. It's cheaper than metal and sturdier than cardboard or wood,” I decide to not bring up how problematic plastic can be, no need to bring up the fact that the Earth is slowly dying.

“Sage that looks terrible,” Felix remarks. I look over to Sage who has rubbed bright blue eyeshadow all over his eyelids. Oh, that is SO not his color. I reach into the bag and pull out a brush.

“May I?” I ask, Sage looks at me suspiciously and nods. “Close your eyes,” I run the brush over his eyelids and blend the color out a little more, it’s difficult with all of his squintings but I manage to finish. Pulling back, I hand Sage a mirror.

“Oh… I look terrible in blue!” Sage laughs. But he continues to admire himself in the mirror. Anisa laughs as she watches Sage tilt his face in the mirror staring at himself. From the corner of my eye I catch Felix looking at me, I turn to him and he has an almost, hopeful look in his eyes.

“Do you want me to do your makeup?” I ask, as innocently as possible. Felix flushes and looks away.

“I-if you insist,” he mumbles out. I chuckle and slide off the couch to sit in front of Felix, I grab a large brush and the compact from his hand.

“Do you mind if I?” I hold my other hand close to Felix’s face, his eyes go wide as he nods slowly. I grab his chin gently and apply blush to his face. It's hard to tell just how much I am putting on considering Felix’s face is about as hot as a fried egg on asphalt, but I make do with what I got. I finally finish and pull back.

“Oh, Felix you look adorable!” Anisa chimes in with a laugh.

“You look like a baby,” Sage teases. Felix snatches the mirror from him, grumbling, and inspects his face, his eyebrows are furrowed.

“I think I look like I've had too many drinks, why is it on my nose?” He looks up at me, I half-shrug.

“That’s what's popular on Earth,” I try not to tease too hard, but Felix really does look much younger with his cheeks pink and rosy. Anisa taps my arm, I guess she wants a turn. I give her a nod and allow her to pick a color she likes. She chooses a nice purple and I apply it on her lids as well. She sits perfectly stoic and still allowing me to apply it gently. Once I finish with her I hand her the mirror and she smiles brightly.

“Oh thank you, MC! I say you did a very fine job,” she gives me a nod and goes back to admiring her eyes.

For a good few hours we end up swatching a lot of the makeup, Sage proceeds to put on the absolute worst colors for his complexion, yellows, oranges, and greens which I didn’t even know I had. Felix keeps his blush on for longer than I thought he would. Anisa asks to do my makeup and she does a surprisingly good job at blending. Eventually, everyone has to go back to business and I hand out makeup wipes to each of them. Anisa is a little amazed at how they work. Sage decides to keep his disgustingly green shade on much to our dismay. Felix cleans off his face carefully but his real blush remains for a while. Everyone eventually leaves me to actually get myself ready for the day. It’s when I'm folding my blankets up that I realize.

I just did the makeup for characters in my favorite video game franchise, this really feels like a fever dream. I laugh to myself, I will remember this day fondly.

[thecrownnet]

TVLine’s annual advocacy period known as Dream Emmy season has arrived! As per tradition, we’re kicking things off with the Outstanding Drama Series race and this burning question: Are the Royals unbeatable?

Without question, Netflix’s The Crown — riding a wave of well-deserved acclaim for its Charles and Diana-themed fourth season — is not only a shoo-in for a nomination but the odds-on favorite to take home the top drama prize (especially considering last year’s victor, HBO’s Succession, is not in the running this year). And, for our money, the sumptuous period drama should be among the seven series in contention.

Scroll through the list below to see which series are joining The Crown on our Dream Emmy short list (remember, these aren’t predictions; it’s a wish list) and then tell us if our picks warrant a “Hell, yes!,” “Um, no” or “How could you leave off so-and-so?!”

For the record, 2021 Emmy nominations will be voted on from June 17-28, and unveiled on July 13. The 73rd Primetime Emmy Awards ceremony is scheduled to air on Sunday, Sept. 19 on CBS.

THE BOYS

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: Amazon Prime’s gritty superhero series truly came into its own in Season 2 as the storytelling took political and social commentary to the next level. With the introduction of a social media-savvy Nazi supe, the comic book tale evolved into an eerily prescient reflection on our own society — but with super abilities. At the same time, The Boys never lost its twisted sense of humor or gruff heart, even under the weight of its heavy themes, making for a smart, thrilling sophomore run.

BRIDGERTON

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: Sexy and sumptuous, Shonda Rhimes’ first scripted Netflix series never failed to leave viewers as hungry for more of it as its tempestuous lovers were for more of each other. But what catapulted the period drama into the category of “incomparable” wasn’t merely that it was pretty and hot. Its writing was saber-sharp, its acting as thrilling as its central romance, and its racially integrated reimagining of Regency-era London as bold and brilliant as any of Queen Charlotte’s wigs.

THE CROWN

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: Season 4 of Netflix’s addictive royal drama was actually its most consistently compelling season yet, thanks to a pair of towering performances. A nearly unrecognizable Gillian Anderson wowed us with her uncanny portrayal of embattled U.K. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, revealing the wounded soul behind the Iron Lady. But the true standout was Emma Corrin’s heart-wrenching turn as Princess Diana, whose volatile courtship with Josh O’Connor’s Prince Charles gave The Crown a jagged dose of reality to cut through all the pomp and glamour.

FOR ALL MANKIND

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: The Apple TV+ gem is a veritable jack of all trades — and a master of them all. Equal parts political thriller, sci-fi adventure, horror show, family drama and love story, the alternate universe astronaut series not only defied the dreaded sophomore slump gravitational pull in its second season, but it exceeded the incredibly high bar set by Season 1. Apologies for the ubiquitous pun, but the show is out of this world.

INDUSTRY

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: The debut season of HBO’s workplace drama hooked us with its delicious blend of high-stakes financial crises and soapy indulgences. The young, diverse cast was a breath of fresh air as a group of graduates wheeling and dealing in messy office politics and savage betrayals, all in hopes of securing their desks at an international investment bank. Seeing them navigate romance, drugs and unrelenting stress in such a taxing, toxic environment was one roller coaster of a watch — and we didn’t want to get off the ride.

THE MANDALORIAN

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: Not one to rest on the laurels of the adorable meme that is The Child, Season 2 of Disney+’s flagship series served up indelible imagery (the skittering ice spiders still give us chills!), perfectly brought Ahsoka Tano and other animated canon to life, and to cap a thrilling finale, lifted the hood on one of the small screen’s best-kept secrets ever. This is the way… you follow up a freshman run.

SNOWFALL

WHY IT DESERVES A NOD: Snowfall‘s thoughtful writers, and the actors who bring their words to life, brought even higher stakes and authenticity to the FX drama in Season 4. From humanizing crack addiction to tracking how the accidental shooting death of a child rips apart not only the victim’s family but her shooter’s, Snowfall dug deep beneath the glamour of crack slinging to expose the relatable aspirations, hypocrisies and fears of the buyers, sellers, CIA suppliers and everyone in between.

[utterlyinevitable]

The Conference (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.9k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing  Summary: Rebecca reminisces about the night she finally pushed Ethan away. 

Author’s Note: ngl the last part with the ryan arc was 100% self indulgent. it was also the first thing i wrote and built the series around. have ya ever had a friend/lover/someone you never got a proper goodbye with and carried with you everything you wish you��d said? yeah. that’s what that was. it also is the perfect contrast to mc x ethan’s relationship.

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys​ @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog

________________________________________

I finally walked into the foreign and dimly lit tavern after wasting the beginning hours of my day off scrolling through Bumble, scouring the app for a good distraction. Eventually I found one - a legal assistant named Cameron. He was cute and his choice of profession gave me the feeling he could carry an intelligent conversation with minimal sexual advances. His tone was friendly enough and a little awkward at times but harmless. We messaged back and forth for like an hour and a half before agreeing to a date across town. 

I made sure to put on my best face, watching youtube tutorials for the perfect date night eye to accompany my black cap sleeved maxi dress - you know that one with the high slit. A little bit of sultry but not enough to give him the assumption he could take me home. 

I’d never been to The Happenstance tavern before. Hell, I barely had any time to explore parts of the city that weren’t directly surrounding Edenbrook. I was pumped with adrenaline for my first actual date in god knows how long. Thus for once in my life I was fifteen minutes early and decided to sit at the bar to calm my nerves. 

I’m meeting a stranger I’ve had half a conversation with an hour ago! In a part of the city I’ve never been to! What am I doing!? 

I didn’t even have a chance to flag down the bartender before my name was called over my shoulder. 

“Rebecca,” my name fell expertly off his lips and I turned towards the velvety voice fully thinking my date was nervous enough to arrive early too.

There he was, only a footfall away. My eyes quickly and involuntarily trailed over him. His slate gray slimming slacks elongating his legs and outlining the curvature of his manhood, a navy blue polo tucked in with the two top buttons undone and form fitting to hide the taut muscles underneath but accentuating the uncertain look in his eyes. 

The hair stood at the back of my neck and I swear goosebumps coated my skin. 

Nope. No. Nope!

Immediately I turned right back around on my stool. 

Not happening! 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking the empty seat and motioning to the bartender for two more of whatever he had earlier. 

I had been ignoring Ethan, as best I could given our close workplace dynamic. We’d only talk about patients and pertinent information to the caseload. No hello’s, how are yous or see you tomorrows. Nope. Those little accolades were reserved for friends - someone you actually give a damn about. 

It had been nearly twelve weeks since we spent that last night of heated passion in my apartment; 12 weeks since I thought it was the start of something new, the start of us. As surely as he promised me we would make a future work, he took it all right back. Running all the way to the fucking Amazon. But I forgave him the moment he came back and our eyes locked in the beer garden of Donohue’s. I trusted him above all else - his reason for leaving was probably justified. Oh how wrong I was. I kissed him and he - he did nothing. He reset us without my knowledge. He made the executive decision for my heart. 

That was the final straw. 

He couldn’t keep toying with me and my emotions. No. No more push and pull. That’s not a lover that’s… that’s... I’m not quite sure what that was but it certainly isn’t the actions of a respected partner. He knew where I stood and I needed to take my own stand - to continue living my life as if I never experienced him. 

I chose to push him away. 

To move on from chasing the notion of wholly and completely loving The Ethan Ramsey. Finally. 

“If you must know, I have a date,” I said with the most nonchalant malice I could muster.  

There was a thick and uncomfortable silence taking up the small foot of space between our seats. 

I was staring dead ahead at the bottles meticulously placed behind the bar but out the corner of my eye I could see Ethan’s eyes fell from me to the two tumblers now sitting in front of us. 

I reached out for my drink, letting the cold glass soothe my boiling blood. “At least someone wants to date me.” I muttered it mostly to myself, but secretly hoping the words would hit him where it hurts the most. 

Take the hint and leave, Ethan.  

His voice was even and the words melted off his tongue like butter, “It has nothing to do with want, you know that.” It was a truth he came to know. 

My eyes now fixated on the decorative mirror behind the bar as I took a drag of the scotch, hoping to take a peek at how my words affected him. With a thick roll of my eyes I shrugged, “Want, can’t, what’s the difference?” 

“The difference is your professional development and our jobs,” his voice was straight as he repeated his same rationale over and over again. “Once you’re an attending -” 

That’s a new additive. What -? 

The last words took me by surprise. He’d never added them into the mix of rejections before - he never added a glimmer of hope into the mix before… 

Don’t let him suck you back in, Bec. 

I shook my head dismissively to myself. “You’ll find other excuses to push me away.” I brought the liquid to my lips as I took a moment to let myself turn enough to see his full body language. He was at the edge of his seat, body angled towards me, one arm leaning on the bar and the other tightly gripping his thigh, his scotch untouched and forgotten. An onlooker would assume he was a casual man but to me he looked distraught; the careful ridges in his daily features had fallen.  

Good. 

My glass hovered just above my lips and I could feel the heat from Ethan’s gaze boring into my cheek. With a little bit of courage and a sly smirk I added, “Either way you’ve made your choice and I'm moving on, don’t worry.”  

I checked the time on my phone, downed the rest of the scotch in my glass and slipped off the stool gathering my things into my bag, preparing to head to the back where I agreed to meet Cameron at a reserved table.  

My feet fled all of two steps before there was pressure on my forearm grounding me back towards the bar. I whipped around to finally see him face to face, my heels bringing me to his level. 

We were close. Much too close. In the simplest of movements his body could be flush against mine. 

Stop, Rebecca, don't go there. Don’t think about it - don’t think about his lips or… 

I was acutely aware of his firm yet gentle hold. His shoulders once stiff and rigid fell with vulnerability. His soft and supple lips were parted and begging to be bitten.

Pull yourself together, woman! 

 ��Rookie,” his grip on the back of my arm tightened, lighting every nerve in my body on fire. “Rebecca,” he breathed, “Please.” Ethan’s stormy blue eyes were pleading, conveying all he wished he had the strength to say.  

I tried to coax it out of him, “Say it.”

“I -”

Even now. Even with me visibly moving to put us in the past like he instructed and the shattered heart he must have had, he doesn’t have the balls to tell me. 

If he can’t say it he can’t have me.  

“Say it and I’ll stop,” I taunted. “I’ll squash this right now.”

Our eyes locked in showdown. Enraged brown overtaking conflicted icy blue. Standing my ground with a tightened jaw I internally gave him just three seconds before I pulled away once and for all. 

Three... 

His grip on my arm loosened. 

Two... 

His eyes squeezed closed and he shook his head.  

O- 

I was being pulled towards the exit by my hand. 

“Lets go,” Ethan said gruffly as he laced out fingers together in a tight hold.   

My heart fluttered, Good enough.

I wish I was stronger. God, do I wish I was strong enough to pull away from the black hole that is Ethan Ramsey but I couldn’t. His gravitational pull was too strong. I was and will forever be sucked in. I had a probably perfectly nice boy waiting for me in the other room with a promise of mutual affection. And what did I do? 

I got into Ethan’s car. 

On the drive we sat in silence, Ethan’s hand never freeing mine except to start the car. The purple and pink evening Boston sky passed by the window. I smiled at the people out the window who were still going about their day and, for the first time in months, I was content. Content with my feelings that never seemed to fade away no matter how hard I tried. Content that he feels the same way. Content that this is an actionable promise that we can be something. 

I noticed Edenbrook pass in the distance. My eyebrows furrowed as I realized we were getting further from his apartment complex. The other all-too-familiar street now coming into view.

“Ethan, what the fuck. You’re taking me home?” 

He said nothing.

“I thought…” I trailed off, mentally chastising myself for thinking he’d actually give in and let ourselves be happy. I huffed, “So I can’t have fun and I can’t have you. That seems fair…” I tried to free my hand but he held onto me tighter.  

A few moments of time passed in the dead silence of his car. Ethan was focused on the road ahead and I was trapped in limbo. Again.  

“Are you gonna say anything?” I bit, clearly needing an explanation for this round of betrayal.   

He opened his mouth slightly but nothing came out. My unencumbered rage started bubbling over like an active volcano. 

WHAT THE FUCK!!!

“Let me out, Ethan.” I said sternly and yanked my hand out of his. His hand now left palm up on the center console as he kept driving. 

And he wasn’t slowing down. 

I rose my voice through gritted teeth, “Let me out of the fucking car right now.” 

Still the side streets passed behind us at a steady pace. Surely he was ignoring me. 

My red hot anger reached my ears when I yelled, “Doctor! Ramsey!” 

Ethan jumped bringing both hands securely on the steering wheel. Within thirty seconds he pulled the car over. Panic set in and I needed to use all my strength to control my breathing. 

Not again. He’s not doing this to me again.  

As soon as the car stopped at the curb I unbuckled my seat-belt.

Still staring out the windshield and white knuckles gripping the wheel he begged, “Please let me get you home safely.” 

I scoffed, “I can take care of myself.” 

What the fuck does he want from me? 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed, “I know.”

I looked over at him completely dumbfounded. If we weren’t going to be anything he should just let me move the hell on.  

“I’m not your responsibility,” I said honestly through my rage as I moved to get out of the car. “I know deep down you want to help but you’re not. You’re making things worse.” I looked over at him. His fingers left his nose and he started to sit up straighter at my words. “You - You…” 

I wanted to tell him he’s broken my heart over and over again. I wanted to tell him how much I missed him and that if he just promised me we’d give us a proper try I’d forgive him. But I didn’t, because saying those words out loud wouldn’t change a thing. Everything with Ethan was inevitably complicated. 

He looked over at me for the first time since the tavern. The whites of his eyes were starting to go red and my chest began to ache at the sight. He shakily asked, “I… what?” 

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? 

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Furiously I pulled the door handle and jumped out of the car as best as my dress would allow. The air in the car was suffocating. 

Behind me I heard the car shut off and a loud slam of the door. There were two beeps alerting me that Ethan did indeed leave his car in the no parking zone. Heavy footfalls caught up to me on the sidewalk accompanied by the uneven huffs of breath from the brisk jog. 

“Let me walk with you. Please.” 

We were only a 10 minutes walk away from my place. As mad as I was at Ethan for the false pretenses, I was angrier at myself for falling for it. For letting him have me unconditionally. The thought of going through this same old cycle with him again and again made me nauseous.  

I can’t do this anymore. 

“Stop,” we both ceased our movements at my definitive tone. Turning to Ethan I saw the storm brewing within. Frankly, I didn’t give a damn. “You’re not listening to me.” 

His eyes widened like that of a scolded child. 

My next words were frank and to the point, “I cannot do this anymore. You cannot turn up and pretend you care when it’s convenient for you.”  

“I do -”  

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re self-serving,” the words fell quickly off my expert lips. “Choose me or lose me, Ramsey. You don’t get both.” 

I paused my rant for a brief second expecting the rebuttal that never came. 

“I’m confused enough as it is,” I continued. “Jus - Just get back in your car and find me when you figure your shit out.” I bit my lip before harshly saying, “I’ll be fine without you.”  

There on the narrow street on a Tuesday evening in Boston my chest tightened as I took one final look at the man I once trusted above all else. His hair windswept, cheeks flush, shoulders slumped in defeat and...

His hand twitched at his side beginning to reach out for mine. But I was quicker on my heels, turning around and storming off.

The last thing I heard as I sauntered off with a heavy heart was the unlocking of a car.  

“Hey, I thought you had a date tonight?” Sienna asked from the kitchen when she saw me cross the threshold of our apartment. 

“It didn’t happen,” I said flatly.   

“Oh no!” My dearest friend started moving around the kitchen, pulling out all the comfort food we had on tap - a pint of ice cream, cookies she had made earlier that evening, a bag of popcorn - all because she thought I was stood up. 

“I…” Fuck, how do I tell her? “didn’t make it.”  

Sienna stopped in her tracks and her light brown eyes looked up in confusion, “Huh?”  

I shouldn’t feel guilty but I do. Sienna’s the only person who would understand, she did catch him sneaking out of my room that last morning. She’s also the only person whose opinion matters most to me. My stomach tied in knots as I sighed, “Ethan…” 

“What!” she practically shouted. Luckily the others were in their rooms for the night otherwise it would have been a very awkward conversation between us. Having to tell Aurora about Ethan is another certain kind of hell I’d rather not deal with any time soon.   

“He was at the bar,” I began to explain in complete exasperation. “Of course he was at the bar, of all the bars in Boston he had to choose this one tonight.” I threw my hands in the air for dramatic effect. The irony isn’t lost on me; I agreed to The Happenstance because I knew I wouldn’t run into anyone I know and yet the one person I absolutely never would have wanted to see was already there. “He stopped me before I could meet the guy.”  

There was a hopeful gleam in Sienna’s eyes, “And?”  

“And he had the audacity to drive me home.” I made a ‘here I am’ motion with my arms. 

“That’s it?” she pouted, obviously wanting this story to have a happy ending.  

I leaned my arms on the counter and rested my head in my hands, trying to rub the evening out of my eyes and the weight of what I’d said finally sinking in. 

“I told him to leave me alone until he got his shit straight. I’m done with him,” my voice cracked at the end and I hoped Sienna didn’t hear it.  

If she did, she didn’t let on because her next question was, “Then… why don’t you call that guy and tell him something came up at the hospital?” 

Why wasn’t I going to call Cameron? Well for starters I was embarrassed for standing him up - no fake medical emergency could blow that over. I also never wanted to set foot in another bar again - Ethan can set claim to every bar in the state for all I care. I don’t want to see him outside of work ever again. 

If you don’t want anything to do with him why do you feel so guilty?  

With a weighted sigh I said, “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

And that’s the story of how I pushed the man I loved away.

___________________

A/N: becca is literally the most unreliable narrator, she’s so problematic 😔 also sorry for this chapter, it’s not the best thing i’ve written :/ fun fact: this scene started out as a one shot called ‘good enough’ 

comment/reblog bc i need the validation

[charlotte-sloane-writes]

1 - A Wicked Little Thing

It’s finally here! Chapter 1 of this Zatanna Zatara x John Constantine fic has killed me for nearly a year. If you love it as much as I do, please reblog and comment. If you want to be added to the tags then send me a message, reblog, comment, just let me know! The chapter is under the cut, the taglist at the very end. Much love, Charlie.

“Anna,” Buddy called over to the young woman dressed in yesterday’s work uniform.

“Hm?” Anna turned her head and brushed out the earbud nestled to the side of her head, flicking a few strands of her black hair behind her to size up her boss who decided whatever he was about to say was more important than ‘We Will Rock You’ on its 3rd consecutive play.

Buddy recentered his balance on one hip and tilted his chin up, an unkempt not-quite salt-and-pepper eyebrow raised as he asked, “That thing ever run out of battery?”

“Trust me, Buddy, you’d know if it did.” Anna flashed him a saccharine smile and shoved the earbud back into her brain, moving on to the next room that needed cleaning, her cleaning cart’s loose wheel squeaking for mercy unheard over Anna’s playlist. 

Buddy scoffed behind her back, another attempt to connect with the twenty-something-year-old failed rather spectacularly on his end. He shoved the tickets to the local college’s ‘Battle of the Bands’ show back into his pocket and whistled to make himself feel like the exchange was done in total nonchalance with zero premeditation. Lifting his ‘Lagheur’ watch to his chest, he noticed the ticking needles of the ripoff luxury watch in a slight delay, taking maybe a half time longer than an actual second. Buddy once saw a movie where this happened to show time slowing down. He couldn’t place the actual scene anywhere, but it seemed funny enough to him that the science fiction promises of his childhood were echoed through the cheap realities of his adulthood. 

“Regina,” Buddy threw over his shoulder an aging rainjacket, once clear now yellowing around folds and stitches. Regina at the counter, a recent retiree with all the looks to take to Boca Raton but none of the self-awareness to stop working looked up at her boss from the dusty concierge seat. 

“Boss?”

“I’m out for a smoke, I’ll be back in ten. Anyone calls for me, take a message.”

“Sure, sure, if anyone calls.” Regina looked down at the answering machine behind her counter, fixing her coke-bottle glasses back up on the ridge of her boney nose. It was new twenty years ago when she last checked in at the hotel, sleepy and dazed children in tow, asking where their mother was. She’d never seen the light even flicker on that machine. 

Buddy walked across the populated lounge, tourists, and locals alike crowding the hotel to get out of the rain and have a drink. Some of them might get rooms by the look of it, though none seemed too eager to book one. Unlit cigarette stuck between his teeth, Buddy pulled his cap up over his head and walked out onto the back terrace. On stiller nights, the courtyard was a beautiful display of soft city nature and twinkling lights. Hopefully, he thought to himself, Anna will have remembered to cover up the sound system speakers hidden in some of the bushes. He wasn’t ready to shell out another grand to replace them. 

The lighter Buddy took out from his jacket pocket should’ve been replaced a week and a half ago. Swishing lighter fluid gradually making a crack in the plastic casing just a little wider didn’t bode well for Buddy’s innate flammability. The wrong swipe of a finger while lighting his cigarette opened up his thumb and Buddy- as he took the first draw of his cigarette- watched blood prick up from the fat pad of his digit, little globes of red sprouting along a visceral ley line down to the crux of the first joint. He’ll have to remind himself to throw this lighter out and get a new one when he gets the chance again. 

“You know,” He spoke to himself, more than aware he was alone on the creaky back patio “this place used to be the gem of Palo Alto, before Jobs and Wozniak, Amazon and Google. This place...I sound like my great grandfather. How did that happen?” Buddy scoffed and took a step forward, leaning against a beam at the top of the small stairs giving way to the waterlogged marsh of a luncheon garden. Before he could even take notice, the roaring gutter above his head flipped on itself, bringing forth a cascade of rainwater and grime down onto Buddy’s head. He didn’t even have it in him to curse. He just shook his head, bit the inside of his lip raw and flicked his dead cigarette into the rain.

__________

John Constantine wasn’t often seen in the kitchen for actual food, an old tome tucked under his arm with blue lettering of an ancient language only slightly obscured by the wrinkled sleeve of his dress shirt.

“Woah, careful, Johnny. You need help?” A young and dashing mop of black hair named Behrad Tomaz bounded into the kitchen with open arms.

John slightly wavered, eyes darting around as his cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat “I’m fine-,”

“-Dude,” Behrad took the wine bottle Constantine had been balancing on a multi-sectioned plate of what looked like saltine crackers, a hard-boiled egg, some fresh smelling garnishes, a small cup of applesauce, a mug of brothy soup with something bobbing in it, and a jar with pieces of fish floating around it. “I’m impressed you got this far with all this stuff.” Behrad looked at the wine label, wanting to discern a year but couldn’t read the letters on the label. He shook it off, blaming his dyslexia for the mess of shapes on the label “You heading to your room with this stuff?”

“Yeah.” John nodded, quieter than usual as he gave Behrad the gefilte fish jar and placed the plastic cup he had taken upside down on to the neck of the wine bottle.

“This stuff looks good.” Behrad looked over at John’s plate as they walked down the austere corridors of the Waverider, immune to the shock of the odd clicks and clangs.

“You don’t have to lie.” John scoffed a laugh, biting his top lip.

“Is it for a spell?” “Not really.”

“Munchies?” John turned to face Behrad, those innocent puppy dog eyes peering over John’s exclusively hard stare. “Thanks for helping me, mate. Cheers.” He managed to balance everything back into his arms and moved into his room, locking the door behind him.

Behrad stood there, perhaps a little too perplexed for his own good “Have a good time!” He called out, making his way back to the kitchen.

Sara Lance wasn’t expecting to have to get into John Constantine’s business again, but the idea of the mage acting shifty didn’t sit very well with The Captain. “What was that?” She asked Behrad, intercepting him before he reached the kitchen.

“What was what?” Behrad shrugged, crossing his arms with a dopey smile “I was just helping John get his food to his room.” “Uh huh.” Sara’s light blue eyes narrowed, nodding along with Behrad “What was he carrying?”

“I don’t know. Some fish, crackers, wine. Had this old book under his arm. You know John, can’t read if it’s not totally silent. He must’ve gotten hungry.”

“Yeah.” Sara nodded, the truth dawning on her with a small, easy smile “Okay, let’s make sure to leave him alone today. He’s clearly got something important to do.”

John took his time lighting every candle he had in his room, turning the lights off and letting the little flickering flames set just the right reverential mood he was feeling. There was stirring between his ribs. He got the feeling every time he took out the Haggadah. Opening the musty book brought back memories, ones he kept reenacting every Pessach. As beautiful as the book was, ancient binding and intricate hand-printed text, it would never replace the one he found when he was twelve in his father’s attic. He remembered climbing up the cobwebbed ladder, his older sister whispering a word of caution behind him. Cheryl never really understood it, why he climbed that ladder. She never understood why he would intentionally lock himself up there for hours among the beetles and dead pigeons. Among that pestilence and dust was a box marked ‘Mary Anne - Beth-Tikvah, LON’ in big block letters. When John’s father, a big burly man whose accent was the only thing thicker than his eyebrows, found him wearing his great uncle’s kippah with the edges clumsily touching his brow while he read his mother’s old ‘Elementary Hebrew’ workbook, tracing the lines of his mother’s juvenile scripture, Thomas left welts on the young boy’s thighs that didn’t abate until the next month. 

Thomas had thought he’d burned everything in that box that very day. He didn’t suspect or know to look for a pocketbook the size of a theater playbook, with flimsy blue binding and doubled text in every page. One side in English, the other in Hebrew. The one thing John managed to keep from that little book was the page-marker. A picture of his mother at her younger brother’s Bar Mitzvah. She looked to be about 16 years-old with boundless ringlets in her hair and a face-splitting grin. John felt it in his throat every time he looked down at that picture. He’d sob repeatedly, from the chest out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He’d bang his fists, palm-upwards, towards his head as he let the remorse of a stolen childhood shudder his lungs with a force only a soul in desperate need of rest could offer. 

“Hi, mum.” John now whispered, taking the bookmark out of his over-compensatory Haggadah, letting it rest against two candlestick pillars. “Thought I’d read to you out loud this time.” His voice felt raw and crackling on his tongue like those lungs on anti-smoking adverts. “Happy Passover.”

Taglist: @golden-rosezz​ @smol-flower-kiddo​ @beepbeepyabitch @angel-hunter-winchester​ @groovinomicon​ @zatara-zatannas​ @fandomneeds​ @interstellarflare​ @eliotsbambimargo​ @aliypop​ @themanthemyth-thelegend​ @superrezzy00​ @fanficy-imagines​ @toomanystoriestoolittletime @starsscribble​ @addicted-to-dc​ @arkhamsdarkestknight​ @narnian-neverlander​ @thefastarrow​ @tgwltw​ @theliveshipparagon​ @deirdre-queen​ @writing-doesnt-discriminate​  @a-really-bi-girl​ @interstellarflare​ @soarocks​ 

[shirtlesssammy]

7x13: The Slice Girls

Welcome to our last episode before hiatus is over. We’re knocking out another Buckleming episode. Natasha has some strong words at the end. Buckleming are the worst.

Then:

Oh, yeah, Bobby died, and I never watched that episode again

Now:

A white man™ sits quietly at his computer at home one night. He hears a noise and suddenly he’s getting sliced and diced in good old cold open fashion.

Sam and Dean are on the road. Sam’s driving so Dean can indulge in his “coping through season 7 juice”. He saved Bobby’s flask and we all know ghosts can’t inhabit personal items, *cough* *cough*. Anyway, Dean’s drinking his way through his grief and Sam’s working cases his way through his grief. 

They head to the coroner that holds the cold open victim. AND, I’m sorry, but is Dean flirting with the coroner? I rarely rewatch Buckleming so when I find these forgotten moments in the wild I’m taken aback. I thought I knew the full extent of Dean’s little world, but wow, apparently not.

They learn that all the victims are male and there’s weird ritualistic mutilation with the bodies after they are dead. And any DNA from potential suspects doesn’t match anything human. 

After the morgue, Sam wants to do more research, and Dean needs to blow off some steam. He decides to go undercover. 

Later at a bar (It’s a fancy bar and Dean’s wearing his suit, so not like Dean), he chitchats with a woman (he’s an investment banker who speaks minimal Japanese) and she’s into it so she invites him back to her place.

While Dean works through his coroner frustration, the show intercuts it with another man’s murder. Bravo on the editing. 

The next morning, the brothers head to the latest crime scene. Dean asks Sam if he made any headway on the symbol. “We’re gonna need an expert.” “Expert? Our expert’s dead.” OMG. OUCH. 

At the crime scene, a friend of the victim’s stops by and Sam asks him some questions. It turns out the victim cheated on his wife a couple nights prior. The neighbor insists the wife wouldn’t have harmed her husband though. Also, whoever has been killing these men were big and strong.

It’s at this moment that Dean realizes that he forgot his flask at Lydia’s (his workout buddy from the prior night). He calls her but she hasn’t seen the flask and she hangs up. 

She’s pretty busy at the moment --being really pregnant! 

Cut to later at a very dangerous birthing session (way too many candles), Lydia is told that the “pain is an honor” and I’m not a mother but that is SOME bullshit there. Anyway, she has a healthy 3-4 month old baby she’s told to name Emma. 

Sam and Dean head to interview the mayor of Sunnydale a professor with some knowledge on the sigil carved on the men. He wants money before he’ll talk. They pull the FBI card and tell him that they’ll put in a good word with the IRS and they want answers by tomorrow. 

Dean is missing Bobby after that little exchange so he decides to head to Lydia’s to get his flask.

Lydia’s surprised to see him. Dean really needs that flask. She goes to get it and he follows her inside. He finds a baby (at least 12 months old?) and Lydia admits that it’s hers. Dean Bean goes into the room to see the baby closer (brb, off to read a few hundred domestic Destiel AUs to fill this giant hole my heart.) 

Dean’s phone rings and it’s Sam. While he’s on the phone with him, Dean hears the baby and Lydia talk. Uh…

Sam heads to inspect the latest vic alone. He finds out a lot of the victims visited the same bar Dean was at a couple nights ago. 

Dean’s staking out Lydia’s place, and watches as the women present at Emma’s birth arrive. 

Sam calls and gives him grief for obsessing over the woman. Dean thinks there’s something strange going on and he’ll tell Sam when he figures it out. Sam tells him about the bar but Dean hangs up on him as Lydia’s door opens again. The women all emerge with what appears to be a 8 year old girl. Dean can’t believe what he’s seeing. “I hate when this happens.” Yes, fathering a monster baby is a bitch, Dean. He follows the women into a back alley warehouse. 

Dean prowls down an alley, following the car full of women. (Hey, that sentence came out really creepy.) The women disappear into an unmarked building.

Later, Dean briefs Sam on the situation. There was nothing that screamed “baby” to him when he was at Lydia’s earlier. Now, Emma’s an elementary-school-aged kid, to all appearances. He’s suspicious.

Sam thoroughly mocks Dean for feeling like something’s off with Lydia and Emma. The professor calls, interrupting their conversation. He’s got info!

At their mysterious destination, five young (but slightly older) girls are offered pieces of raw (presumably) human meat and big ol’ glasses of milk. Yum! They’re instructed to complete their “blood missions.” Emma is hesitant to eat the meat. (And who can blame her? Blech.)

At the university, the “I’m super busy don’t talk to me” professor has managed to create a whole slideshow for the boys, who settle into one of the middle rows to watch.

The symbol is Greek. It’s a combination that symbolizes Harmonia and Eres, a goddess and god who begat the Amazons. The professor disparages the cartoon version of Amazons: Wonder Woman (them’s fightin’ words!). He describes Amazons as having little use for men. They procreate, then kill the male, cutting off several body parts.

Elsewhere, the head detective holds a hissing phone call with the head Amazon. It turns out that they’re buddies. They know that Dean and Sam are giant fakers and more than that, they suspect they’re hunters. 

Back at their current hotel HQ, Dean digs through Bobby’s dusty old books and drinks from his flask. Sam info-dumps more lore. The Amazons were nearly decimated and bargained for Harmonia’s gift to grow their ranks. She made it so they mate, give birth in a few days, and then the child is mature in just a handful more. Dean realizes that he’s now a father, just as Sam grasps that as well. Use birth control, kids!

Back with the Amazons in training, they’re lectured about joining the ranks of the other women and branded with the symbol on their wrist. 

Sam summarizes all their victims as rich, successful businessmen - perfect for the Amazons’ gene pool. (REALLY is that the mark of “good” DNA? Really??? Fuck that. There’s so much wrong here I could write a whole damn book on it.) Sam wants to know why Dean got picked. Dean confesses that he pretended to be an investment banker. While Sam judges Dean heavily, papers move mysteriously in the room, exposing a single sheet. Sam pulls out the EMF and it wails at him. Skeptic Sammy points out power lines and a breezy window. Dean thinks it’s Bobby’s ghost. 

Sam picks up the exposed paper, written in Greek, and brings it to the professor to read. Meanwhile, Dean stays where he is, holed up in their room when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Emma! She tells him that she needs his help and that she knows she can trust him because he’s her father. 

Dean’s on guard, but Emma says that she was trapped with the rest of the Amazons and ordered to do terrible things. There are tears in her eyes as she describes getting branded. Dean quietly lets her in.

Emma asks for Dean’s help to leave town. “I know you don’t want me,” she tells him. (I throw a rotten banana at the screen. How DARE this show.) She begs for his help in finding normalcy. 

The professor - who is doing some really LATE office hours - excitedly tells Sam that the Amazon child is meant to kill the father, not the mothers.

As Sam leaves the university, the detective from earlier stops him with a single, very strong hand. He notices her Amazon brand and she calls him by name - she knows she’s a hunter. She hurls Sam down the stairs and pulls out a sword, but Sam whips out his gun and shoots her in the chest before she can kill him. So apparently a bullet works just fine.

Emma continues to make a case for freedom. When she says she’s hungry, Dean heads over to check out the fridge.

Emma pulls out her Amazon blade while Dean’s back is turned and Dean whirls around and confronts her with a gun. Emma argues that it’s her place to kill him. Furthermore, she calls Dean on his hesitation - he won’t kill her. “You haven’t killed anybody yet, Emma. Walk away,” Dean pleads. 

Emma says she doesn’t have a choice just before Sam breaks in and points a gun at Emma. She flashes him a shine of smug monster-face before pleading with Dean, one more time, to help her. Sam shoots her and kills her while Dean looks on in horror. 

A little while later, Dean and Sam sneak into the old building Dean tracked the Amazons to. It’s abandoned. 

They drive away to the next case. Dean acts optimistic: they’ll find those sneaky Amazons and kill ‘em dead next time. Instead of rallying, Sam goes off on Dean, shouting at him about his hesitation in killing Emma. “She was not yours. Not really.” 

Dean smiles mirthlessly. She was his child, even if she wasn’t his daughter. 

Sam (in a thoroughly OOC way, in my opinion) blows right past this enormous minefield of emotion to tell Dean that he’s off his game. First losing Cas, then Bobby have sent Dean into a tailspin. Sam caps off his inspiring speech with “Don’t get killed.” Thanks, Sam. Good talk.

Natasha: Hi, hello, I HATE this episode. Dean’s lost Cas and Bobby and then this show has the GALL to lob a child at Dean and then CHIDE HIM for not wanting to kill her. Meanwhile, Sam belittles Dean’s hesitation and parallels it to the necessity of his friend Amy’s death. Do you know how dirty and awful I feel every time I think about Amy’s death? DO YOU? And she’d actually killed multiple people by then. We never talk about that one time Dean accidentally fathered a child and Sam killed her mid-conversation, and I can only assume this remains a deep and terrible scar on their souls. I’d forgotten the “breeding” detail but that paired with casting choices make this episode a big pile of YUCK for me.

______________________________

Quotazons:

“Didn’t match anything human” usually seals the deal for me

Nice decor. Very early slaughterhouse

It's a flask, not the holy grail

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[theliterateape]

Muscling Past the Pain to Get to the Other Side

By Don Hall

I cracked a permanent molar on the right side of my mouth when I was eight years old. I slipped on an icy sidewalk, landed on my chin, received three stitches and a gold cap. The dentist didn't want to remove the tooth because my head was still long before being fully developed. A cap it was.

For a long time I never thought about it again. I couldn't see it, so why would I care?

By the time I was marching with the Razorback Band in college, the gold had worn thin and my head was much bigger. One afternoon I was chomping down on one of those jumbo-sized Tootsie Rolls® and it pulled the cap completely off. I almost swallowed it. It hurt like hell but I had stuff—you know, college stuff—to do and had developed a twenty-year distrust of doctors of all stripes. I elected to let it be until it drove me crazy with pain and I would finally relent to getting another cap.

I decided to muscle through it.

The result of this was that I had a throbbing headache for the next two years. Given that I drank far too much in college, the blackout drinking was perhaps a response to this nagging tooth. It may have contributed to a few random bar fights and the generally held opinion that I was a really angry young man. Untreated pain can be a catalyst for unrepentant assholery.

My senior year, my girlfriend convinced me to get my tooth fixed. I relented and the headache went away like a roommate crashing on your couch rent-free for a couple of years finally getting the boot. I can tell the story but the memory of the actual pain is long gone. The resulting Denis Leary sort of thumping fury lasted far longer than the toothache. I was always dramatic as a kid but the muscling through this pointless pain had changed my personality slightly into being an avatar for the angry young man, the enraged drunk, the caustic provoker.

Muscling through the pain has a price. The pain finds a way to express itself like the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park find a way to terrorize Jeff Goldblum.

The first Christmas visit with my third wife—the one I proposed to after the third date, the one whom my family fell in love with as well, the quirky, funny, devil-may-care pixie whom I was suddenly married but just getting to know—a strange thing happened. Mom took us to the mall (remember the mall? That place of gathering to shop for stuff for purchase? Think Amazon but offline.) and wanted to get her a coat. Part of my mother's love-language is buy stuff for the people she loves and my wife's coat was typically DIY, possibly found somewhere, and Mom thought she could use something nicer.

We walked around, looking at this coat and that, when my wife turned on a dime, headed to the changing room, and commenced to sobbing like she'd just realized they shot Old Yeller. Loud. Wailing. Overwrought. My mom just looked at me with shock. I had no answers and assumed I'd done something wrong because, you know, husband. We are always on the hook for something we fucked up.

Later she claimed she was just overwhelmed by gifts. By the thought of new stuff. By my mother's generosity. Made sense.

Over the years of our marriage, this happened in tandem with what I'll call white-trash outbursts of unreasoning rage, so caustic and hateful I'd just leave the apartment and walk around until the storm passed. She explained it away as she just needed to “let that stuff out.” It was healthy to cry uncontrollably, she'd say. It was a sign of mental health to pry open her psyche and let those demons out.

She was muscling through the pain. It turns out that she married me out of a sense of escape, an opportunity to evade the kinds of scumbags she was so often attracted to who fetishized her as a depository for kink, a way out. She confessed later that she was never in love with me yet married me anyway. She was living two realities like a trumpet player with an exposed cracked tooth doing his level best to function past the pain. So she drank too much, bottled up the pain of her double life, and let that stuff out once in awhile to survive the consequences of her duplicity.

That stuff finds a way to pop up and out because muscling through the pain has limits.

"Dude. I don't how you're even sitting here, eating lunch, cracking jokes. If I were in your shoes, I'd be in a fetal position with a gun in my mouth. How are you Okay?"

My friend was among the first I'd told the tale of my third divorce. It was fresh, maybe two weeks from the reveal of her third and fourth lives she'd adopted since coming to Vegas. It was a story that seemed so surreal, so outsized and nearly comical, it would have been as ridiculous if she had confessed to being a space alien or a person from the future. Infidelity is common; this was not common. This was insane.

"Well, first, I don't own a gun."

I muscle through it.

I had, in the first nights alone in my apartment (formerly our apartment), to let that stuff out. I pounded whiskey and laid on the floor sobbing like an Italian widow. I cried so much and so hard my face resembled the puffy redness of a recent plastic surgery patient or the recipient of a severe beating. For three days and nights I hid from the world and wept.

Then I got up, took a shower, and started muscling past it.

The pain finds its way to creep out but never in front of others. As much as my friends and family let me know that it's fine if I lose my shit, let's be honest, no one wants to deal with a GenX man wallowing in his grief. In the brief hundred years between the divorce and my leaving Las Vegas at the end of August, I've become a hermit. I keep to myself for the most part and muscle past it.

I recognize that it's still right there, waiting to leap out and crush my chest. I'm bingeing on Manifest—a Netflix science fiction show—and find myself bawling like a baby at any sort of grief-oriented storyline. No one would call the show a sentimental vehicle. No one watching it cries. But this show has me weeping like I'm bingeing on Pixar.

It's cool. I find myself watching random gameshows and sobbing when someone wins big money, too.

Muscling past it.

Soon enough (but not soon enough at all) this pain will be like my tooth. I won't feel the pain but will remember it in abstract. I know that if I live long enough, the devastation becomes a story to tell. We are all just an amalgamation of stories. I'd rather tell one that involves getting up after a punch in the soul than one that simply can't muscle past the pain.

Hopefully, unlike the tooth, it won't seep in more assholery. I mean, how much more of an asshole can one be?

[imaginationstimulation]

He cupped the two halves of my tush and spoke directly to them. “Run away with me, girls,” he whispered. “She doesn’t understand our love.”

I lay still, staring out the window, letting them have their time together. If I protested, I’d only make his case stronger: I’m less fun than my own butt. Which is not untrue. In my essence, I am a stone, unmoving for ten thousand years, unless picked up and moved. It’s not just sex; I find this whole experience—life—gratuitously slow and drawn out. See it crawl, second by fucking second. If I’m a workaholic, it’s only because I hate work so much that I’m trying to finish it, all of it, once and for all. So I can just ride out the rest of my life in some kind of internal trance state. Not a coma but, like, a step above that.

Our son, Sam, trotted in sleepily, and I warned him not to get in the bed: “It’s all bloody.” Alex quietly removed his hands from my body; he hadn’t noticed that I was bleeding. Sam pulled back the sheets and studied the mess, smiling giddily. “You got your period.”

“Yes.”

“You said it was coming soon and you were right!”

“Yep.”

This new generation of men has been taught (by me) to feel excited about the menstrual cycle. It’s like tadpoles turning into frogs or the moon that follows them wherever they go. I’ve been waiting a long time to have my period cheered on. More and more women my age have given up on our men and are getting together with millennials, youngsters raised by women who were born in the sixties, rather than the forties. I hear it’s great. Not a lot of hangups. But that isn’t an option for me because I need a man with a historical perspective that encompasses my whole lifetime. If anything, I regret not having met Alex sooner. If we had met at my birth and I had been able to assess how narcissistic my parents were, I could have left the hospital with Alex and got started on our relationship immediately. He would have been eight years old—young, but not too young to keep me alive. I need that in a man.

Sometimes my love for him is so intense that I want to crawl inside his body. I want him to be pregnant with me and never give birth, just hold me in. At other times, I wonder, Who is that guy? And why is he in my house? When I get that look on my face, he sticks out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Alex. Your husband.”

Sam used his small pointing finger to tap each old bloodstain on the sheet; they dated back more than a decade, a disgusting constellation. It was one of those things you didn’t notice until suddenly you did. Like ants. Like everything.

I dressed and brushed my teeth. If I went to the mall immediately and got a new sheet, then the chore wouldn’t have time to gather weight. Once a task goes on the to-do list it settles in, grows roots—the trick is to preëmpt that. I could get a tent light while I was there. We were going camping the next weekend with another family, although unfortunately I wasn’t sure I would be able to join. Too much work to do.

“I can get new sheets,” Alex said, slowly climbing out of bed, limb by limb. Sam asked if we would be watching TV today, yes or no.

“Not sheets—just one fitted sheet. There’s only one place that sells Cariloha-brand California-king sheets individually. What is it?”

“Macy’s?”

“Nope.”

“Amazon?”

“Definitely no. I told you about my bad experience—”

“You did. I forgot.”

Bedding is an unregulated corner of Amazon, where companies charge radically different prices for the same bad sheets. You can’t even get nicer sheets by paying more—money has no meaning there. And don’t bother typing in words like “Egyptian cotton” or “thread count”—you’re just offering them more precise ways to bamboozle you. Get up, find your keys and your purse, and go outside. I hate it as much as anyone, but sometimes you just have to.

My plan was to park on the street and walk into the mall, get the sheet, and go. By not parking in the parking garage, I would outwit the psychology of the mall designers who wanted you to sever ties with the outside world. But walking in off the street was disorienting. I entered through Bloomingdale’s and had to wade through the store; it was like pushing through coats to enter Narnia. Once I made it into the mall, I had no idea where I was. It took me a long time even to find a map, then I traced my finger back and forth between You Are Here and the Low Cost Luxury Sheets Kiosk to memorize my path. The man standing next to me took a picture of the map and then trekked on, studying his phone. Pretty clever. As I walked, I glanced sideways at his tan, brawny body and floppy brown hair, just to confirm. Yes. He was a famous person. An actor. Or maybe a hotelier. Maybe this was André Balazs or whatever his name was. No, an actor. Electricity revved through my veins for no particular reason, just as a courtesy to his stature. I kept an eye on him as I walked toward the sheet kiosk, bracing myself for the moment when he would peel off in another direction. But he didn’t; we continued walking alongside each other, and I began to feel that we were together. And he kept looking at me, out of the corner of his eye. This couldn’t be true but it was. Somewhere between BabyGap and Lady Foot Locker the tables had turned. Now he recognized me.

I was twenty-two when the video was shot. I needed quick money so I could get out of a bad relationship—not a lot, just first and last and a security deposit. I couldn’t admit my plight to my parents, because I had already done this and they had written me a check, with great relief, and that was what my quasi-abusive boyfriend and I had been living off for the past six months. He had come up with the ploy.

“Make it sound bad but not too bad. Don’t say I hit you. Say I threw a chair at you or something.”

“You did throw a chair at me.”

“Obviously I wasn’t fully serious when I did that.”

I felt obligated to stay until my parents’ money ran out, since asking for it had been his idea. Then he punched not my face but the wall right next to my face and I had to move very quickly from terror to concern and rush him to the emergency room, where a young, temporary doctor said that we could either wait four hours for the real doctor to arrive and fix the bone in my boyfriend’s hand or let him “have a go.” The temporary doctor high-fived me after he’d popped the bone back in.

The next morning, I woke up early and walked down to the cluster of newspaper boxes in front of the old people’s bar, and discreetly pulled out the sex-themed paper. I’d always known that this option would be there for me if I really needed it. Just as my parents were there if I really needed them, except for this one time.

I chose the job that seemed to offer the most money for a one-time deal. I thought that they would shoot it in a hotel but it happened in an apartment, on an old couch. I wasn’t directed so much as given a series of props to make my way through, like an obstacle course. A turquoise Teddy bear, a pillow, an empty beer bottle, a metal bowl. Not everything was clear to me (the bowl), but I was too nervous to speak; I just laughed again and again to demonstrate consent. My biggest fear was that one of these men, the man with the lights or the cameraman, would misinterpret my nervousness and halt everything, shutting down the set on the ground that I was being objectified against my will. At that age, I assumed that everyone, deep down, was a feminist. So one had to be careful not to trigger feminism where one didn’t want it.

I was waiting for a costume, something black and sexy or pink and trashy that would help catapult me out of myself. Instead, a man with a baseball cap, who was maybe the director, just said, “O.K., we’re rolling.” I was in shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. I looked down at my shirt. It was from a sushi restaurant in my home town, but if you just glanced at it you might think it was racist, because of the fake Asian lettering. I imagined thousands of viewers waiting for this racist girl to get herself off. I quickly undressed and made a scissors gesture to the camera to indicate that this first part, the part with the racist shirt, should be cut. No one acknowledged this suggestion, so I rubbed against the Teddy bear, and rode the big pillow. I held the bowl, uncertain, and then set it aside. I put the beer bottle into my vagina. With all this moving around, it was impossible to become even slightly turned on—back then I had to shut my eyes and make my body completely stiff to generate any feeling. But no one said anything until after I had heaved my last fake orgasmic sigh.

“O.K., we got that,” a woman with a clipboard said. The man in the baseball cap gave me a firm nod, like a satisfied coach. I understood then that the five-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee was not the price of my beauty or my sex appeal; it was my naïveté that I’d sold. Every person, no matter how plain, has one great erotic performance in her—the one in which she doesn’t know what she’s doing and is desperately trying to save her life. A second performance would be a copy of the first, which would require skills I didn’t have.

My face wasn’t anywhere you could see it unless you entered a credit-card number and clicked past dozens of professionals—“college beauties,” “hot Korean girl,” and so on. But a few people made it through the gauntlet. The first time I was recognized was at a healthy-Mexican restaurant; a pale man in gym clothes stared at me for a long time before making a scissors gesture in the air. It was electrifying, as if all my clothes had fallen off at once. I looked away but there was no denying our intimacy; he’d come while watching me. The next one was a father with his family; he scissored his fingers down low, surreptitiously. The last was a butch lesbian teen-ager; she just walked right up to me and asked. Each time, I’d hurry home and enter my credit-card number, clicking quickly past the college beauties and the hot Korean girl. Though I’d felt nothing at the time, seeing myself through these people’s eyes was profound and overwhelming. I’d cry out with abandon; my body would shake and shiver as I came. Then I’d sleep, immediately, for at least two hours.

The video shoot became the central sexual experience of my life; to this day, I can’t orgasm unless I imagine that I’m the pale man, the dad, or the young lesbian watching it, sometimes all of them together, crowded around one computer screen. I’m them, I’m me, I’m them, I’m me, I come. I showed it to each boyfriend I had after that, to blow their minds but also to explain my sexual orientation; I was oriented around myself in that video and anyone who’d seen it. There was only one boyfriend I didn’t tell. He was a very classy man, emotionally speaking, and I didn’t want to give him any indication of basket-casery. After I married him, I kept meaning to bring it up, to draw him into the fold of my sexuality, such as it was. But I waited too long; we were so close now. And after the butch lesbian there was a lull, a seventeen-year lull, in which no one recognized me.

I arrived at the Luxury Sheets Kiosk and the brawny man with floppy brown hair idled a few feet away, trying to decide what to do. The scissoring gesture didn’t seem to occur to him. I ran my hand over the sheets while the cashier rang up a tall woman who kept adding one more thing. His eyes met mine, and I gave him a secret little smile. Truth is, I wanted to collapse with relief. Though a lot had happened in the past seventeen years—marriage, a child, my career—it was suddenly clear to me that I’d only been going through the motions, an exhausting simulation. I wasn’t a stone. I was one of life’s biggest fans, the best example of a living thing. The amateur sex video was like a seed I had planted in my youth; it would always sustain me. Not financially but by sending me these messengers when I was most in need. My blood moved around in my body; I felt the purpose of every muscle. I was ready to dance. And just then a beat began, so I rocked my hips and pressed my wrists together, swinging them like a girl in bondage who nonetheless wanted to party. The beat ended abruptly; it was the tall woman’s ringtone.

“Hello?” she answered impatiently; she had enough going on with all these sheets. I couldn’t believe I’d danced to her ringtone. Maybe it was O.K. Who knows? Who can really see themselves? He was approaching. He was nearly beside me, his face open with surprise. I opened myself, too.

“You’re my neighbor,” he said.

“In what sense?” I said, my eyes twinkling.

“Well, in the sense that I live in the house next door to yours.”

“The house on the corner?”

“Yeah, it’s a duplex. We live in the apartment that faces Amador Street.”

“Oh. Do you park on Amador?” I was bringing up parking just to hurt myself. I hated this conversation.

“I park on Amador and my wife parks in the garage,” he said. “Although lately we’ve been trying to ride our scooters more. I’m Joel.”

I thought about bringing up my husband, tit for tat, but I was too tired. The previous few seconds had taken everything out of me. We parted, saying that we would definitely see each other soon, ha-ha.

I drove the long way around the block to avoid Amador Street on my way home. I parked and turned off the car. It was hot but I left my seat belt on, folded my hands in my lap, and took some slow breaths. Before Joel, I had still believed I could be recognized. Now I knew I was too old. How do you mourn that kind of loss? It just pulls your whole life down. My phone rang: Alex.

“Are you home?”

“Yes. I’m in the driveway.”

“Yeah, we heard you drive up. You coming in?”

“In a sec. I need to pour my heart out to someone so I can be empty and unburdened when I come inside.”

I waited for him to say, “You can pour your heart out to me,” but he was quiet and we got off the phone. He never takes the bait. Which is good. It teaches me to be more direct in asking for what I need. Or does it? So far it hadn’t.

We’d been tunnelling toward each other for years. It was hard work, but the assumption was that eventually our two tunnels would connect. We’d break through—Hallelujah! Clay-encrusted hands finally seizing each other!—and we would be together, really together, for the remaining time that we were alive. So long as we both dug as hard and as fast as we could, everything would work out. But, of course, neither of us knew for sure how the other person’s digging was going. One of us might have been doggedly tunnelling toward the other person, while the other person was curling away in another direction. That person might not even have been aware of how off course he or she was. One of us might have tunnelled straight down for a few weeks, in anger, and then tried to get back on track, but now honestly had no idea where to go. We might break through—Hallelujah!—only to find that we were seizing the dirty hands of a stranger. What to do then? Or we might simply get tired, and stop digging, decide that here was good enough. All the while saying things like “We must be getting close!” and “I can’t wait until the day finally comes!” We might never meet up at all; we might die before it happened. Or worse: maybe there had never been any hope of our meeting up, because what was that even a metaphor for? Oneness? A child’s dream of love? I got out of the car and went inside, carrying the new fitted sheet and the tent light.

The next weekend, I was unfortunately not able to go on the camping trip. I stood in the driveway and waved goodbye to Alex and Sam, tearful for no reason. Then I went inside and walked around the house, room by room, looking at all our stuff through the judgmental eyes of a monk or a nun. I did my work, very slowly, over the course of the day. At 8 p.m. I started watching TV and at 2 a.m. I turned out the light. Then the earthquake happened.

I flew out of bed and moved down the hallway like a person on a wobbly rope bridge. I lurched out the back door and along the side of the house to the sidewalk. The shaking stopped. The street lights were off, no moon. Car alarms were beeping in syncopation. A huge branch was draped across my car. Someone was standing on the corner, waving. It was Joel. I had successfully avoided interaction all week. Now I ran to him through the dark.

“I didn’t get my shoes!” I yelled dumbly, as the pavement trembled again.

Joel thought it was safest to stay outside; I thought so, too—less stuff to be trapped under if it fell. He called his wife, who was in Sun Valley, Idaho. I didn’t call Alex, since I was safe and a middle-of-the-night call is always alarming. Joel’s earthquake-survival kit was more elaborate than ours; we spread out high-tech blankets and pillows on the lawn on his side of the duplex and lay down, waiting for dawn.

Once the car alarms had been silenced, the night was strangely quiet. The freeways were almost empty. Without the lights or the hum of cars, the sky took its place as the foremost thing. Joel and I stared up at it—an enormous gray arena we could fly around in just by lying there.

“Looking at the sky should be a ride at Disneyland,” Joel said.

This was such an accurate way to describe it. I thought about the accuracy for two or three minutes and then said, “Yeah.” We squinted at our houses in the dark and saw that they were leaning; they had shifted. I thought we’d probably move, rather than repair ours; Joel’s was a rental, so he said they’d move for sure. Maybe to Ireland. I said we’d probably move to Ireland, too. The chances seemed high that we would be neighbors again, in Ireland. We scooted toward each other, for warmth, and when I turned on my side Joel spooned me, very innocently. All bodies were good, I realized. Joel’s stocky form beside me was unfamiliar, but good. Hugging. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Hugging was so moving, so basic. Why had I ever taken pride in not being a “hugger”? Two people embracing was the very building block of life.

“Hugging is the building block of life,” I whispered. Joel was quiet and this was exactly right; more words would just take away. I pressed my hand against the lawn, palming the whole earth like a gigantic basketball. Warm tears ran into the hair at my temple, one after another after another. Hello, stranger, I thought. And by “stranger” I meant not Joel but myself. My blood moved around in my body. I felt the purpose of every muscle. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen the video.

When I awoke, it was light out and I was lying with the next-door neighbor on his lawn. I could tell right away that our houses were fine. It took only fifteen minutes to straighten up the books and the dishes that had fallen. The earthquake had been big, but no one was saying that it was “the big one.” When Alex and Sam got home, I told a story about hiding under the dining-room table. Our earthquake, the one that Joel and I had survived, was private. I friended him on Facebook the next day and we started e-mailing. Mostly we wrote about details from that night—the silence, the sky, how time had seemed to stretch out. I didn’t have any specific or adulterous plans; I was just wholly open. I saw us going on a road trip. Or maybe taking ayahuasca and throwing up in buckets. His penis was moving in and out of me most of the time. Sometimes I made it very small, like a finger, so that it wouldn’t distract me too much as I worked or emptied the dishwasher. Just a little thrusting tick-tock that drowned out the real sound of time: 7 a.m., 4 p.m., 6 p.m., the most brutal of time’s representatives, but hardly the whole battalion.

I was waiting for Joel’s response to my last e-mail when Alex and I stumbled on him, almost literally. We were coming home from a date night; Joel and his wife were lying on their lawn, staring up at the evening sky. They’d brought out the same pillows and blankets, and a bottle of wine. It was adorable in a way that people like us find cloying, so Alex raised his eyebrows at me before calling out to them.

“Sorry! We usually park farther up but the trash cans are out.”

“No, no,” Joel said, rising to his feet. “We’re good.” He swept his hand toward their reënactment. “It’s a lot more fun without all the shaking!” His wife raised her glass toward me and smiled; she knew the whole story. Alex nodded, cocking his head curiously in my direction. I stared at the familiar blue geometric pattern of the pillowcases. Joel had taken the exquisite energy of our experience and plowed it back into his marriage. How wise. This option had never occurred to me. I had always detonated each thing in the very place where I found it.

Even after I acknowledged that I hadn’t hidden under the dining-room table as I said I had, Alex was still confused. We’d been reading in bed for less than thirty seconds when he started up with the questions again.

“It’s just so unlike you. You hate camping.”

“I know. It was an extreme situation.”

“And you’ve never once said hi to the neighbors.”

“And I still don’t want to! Joel is a completely uninteresting person.” This was now true again.

I turned out my light. He left his light on and lay next to me, waiting. Leaving a space for my confession. I had done nothing. Nothing! My heart pounded nonetheless, the dumb beast. Just as I started to roll over, Alex turned to me and used his big hands to pull all my hair back, stretching my face into surprise. He held me like this, studying my posture of alarm, then let go abruptly and fell onto his back in frustration. We embarked on a silence. It grew and grew until it was a sort of god that we could only submit to. After fifteen or twenty minutes I almost giggled—somebody say something!—and then I realized with horror that he was probably asleep. This wasn’t our silence; it was mine alone. I lay paralyzed as it hollowed and darkened, expanding in every direction with a familiar cruelty. Hello, stranger. Once, many years ago, Alex had saved me from this black hole with the kind of understanding that makes everything else in life possible. Even ingratitude.

He shifted under the covers and I held my breath. If he was awake, I would try. If he was asleep, I would sleep, too, and probably forget to try, or forget that it mattered, or what I meant by try. Try to be brave.

“Are you awake?” I whispered.

“Wide awake.”

I sat up and told the story of the video, starting with my quasi-abusive boyfriend and ending with meeting the neighbor twice. Alex was mostly quiet, only asking a few questions (“What was the bowl for?”). I left out the hugging and the e-mailing and the tick-tocking tiny penis, but, still, when I was finished he silently walked out of the room. I took a breath and held it. I had made a terrible mistake. Why had I done this? My mind stopped, poised to shatter.

Then he came back, holding his computer. He solemnly opened it in front of me, like a violin case before a maestro. I typed in the URL. The Web site looked a little different, but the major landmarks were still there.

“You need a credit card to get to it.”

He left and came back with his wallet. He typed in his credit-card number and I clicked around. I wasn’t sure where to go because the college beauties and the hot Korean girl were gone. It was all new girls. They looked extremely young. I scrolled in a daze. Brunette. Underage. Small tits. I stopped clicking.

“When was the last time you saw it?” Alex said quietly.

“I don’t know. I have it pretty memorized so I don’t need to. . . . Not since we’ve been together.”

“Oh. I think they update . . . you know, just . . . for the viewers.”

It seemed obvious now that they wouldn’t still have a video from the nineties.

“Yeah, of course. I just thought maybe they had a section for . . . alumni or . . . I don’t know.”

I shut the computer. It was too bad. Really too bad. How bad? The consequences would be enormous, I felt.

Alex was in the kitchen now, opening cupboards.

He came back with a Teddy bear, an empty beer bottle, and a bowl. He picked up his pillow and pulled the comforter aside, arranging everything along the foot of the stripped bed.

“I can’t re-create it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was true amateur porn, not fake.”

“I understand—the real deal.”

“The people who saw it . . . they were really overcome by it. It was their top video to watch, porn-wise.”

As we talked, Alex seemed to be riding the pillow slightly, maybe unconsciously.

“You’re talking about the pale man—”

“The pale man, the dad, and the butch girl. Yes.”

Now he was rubbing the Teddy bear against his crotch. He slid off his boxer shorts. Well. Well, now. I sat back. He was very much an amateur. He didn’t know what he was doing and he was desperately trying to save his life. I’d never seen him move his hips like that. It was funny, or no, actually not funny, just disorienting, slightly grotesque. He picked up the beer bottle, and, after a moment of honest hesitation, sucked its mouth and then—I reached under my nightgown—began slowly working it into himself. I had never wanted to see this, but I came immediately, and hard. He brought himself to the end of the show, manually. I held my breath, waiting for him to come on the new sheet. I’d have to wash it again. Who cares? I do. Just a little. Just enough to ruin each day. And then, with a swift and professional gesture, he grabbed the bowl and came into it. That was what the bowl was for. ♦

Published in the print edition of the

September 4, 2017

, issue.

Miranda July

is a filmmaker, an artist, and the author of five books. Her latest movie, “Kajillionaire,” will be released in September.

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

Editors Note: Another guest contribution from R.Ann Parris to The Prepper Journal. As always, if you have information for Preppers that you would like to share and be entered into the Prepper Writing Contest with a chance to win one of three Amazon Gift Cards  with the top prize being a $300 card to purchase your own prepping supplies, then enter today!

One of the challenges when we get into preparing for disaster is keeping everything neat and organized. In some cases, we’re trying to maintain our own or a spouse’s sanity and keep some of our preparations neat, tidy and organized without being in plain sight while short on space, either square footage or because we rarely allow something to leave our grasp. Beyond the ease in counts and condition checks, and avoiding a hoarder’s larder, organization can help us with both rotating supplies and in some cases even rationing our supplies should we fall on hard times.

Happily, there’s lots of stuff out there that can help us. Repurposing some items that are inexpensive, commonly found curbside and at flea markets or yard sales, or that we might already have laying around can help us maintain that organization without breaking the bank.

Maps & Rolls

Keeping our wrapping paper neat and tidy might not appeal to preppers, but we can steal some of the ideas out there for keeping our maps, charts, and our property plats accessible and tidy. There’s one where you take an old wire shelf and affix it vertically to a wall or door instead of horizontally. The 250ml wine boxes are ideal for keeping both maps and wrapping paper contained and neat, and most alcohol retailers are simply delighted to let you have boxes.

Cutting the bottoms out of hanging shoe organizers lets us customize height. That one has added benefits because you can leave pouches intact to keep map pens, sprays, and dry erase markers and erasers right there with them. It also allows some mobility, so they can be re-hung by a work board, in a radio or control room, or at the desk and table where you do your planning.

Hanging Shoe Organizers

You have to watch the weight in these guys, but otherwise, the sky is the limit. They can hook us up in pretty much all wedges of our preparedness “health” wheels. I’ve got some in use for “daily” life, too.

One’s in the kitchen keeping small packets of instant cereal and snack foods and the last bar of one kind or another from either getting lost in the abyss or from having the boxes continue to eat up space. One’s for winter, and keeps hats, scarves, and gloves neat and organized. The bottom row holds some quick slip-on slippers for household members and the dogs’ various booties. There’s another set up with each person’s preferred garden and yard work sets of gloves and pocket detritus.

For preppers, the value goes up further. With stick-on labels or clothespins, we can use them to track dates for at-a-glance organization. We can also take a space where we would be limited to boxes or shelves and turn it into basically a rack for them. A couple of freebie curbside-pickup filing cabinets, a bar or two to go across the top, and we can string our organizers on dowels or sturdy branch/sapling trimmings.

The filing cabinets here are actually reading nooks, but it gives you an idea of how the addition of a plank (freebie-pickup shipping pallets, walls/shelves from curbside bookshelves) and a curtain (surviving sheet from a wrecked bedding set) can keep it from being “ugly” even if it’s out in a home where somebody cares. If appearance is less of a concern, some suit hangers and any ol’ pole can be hung in sheds, basements or a storage room to accomplish the same – a flip or slide-through storage area for small items.

Those items can be anything. It can be a great way to keep veggie seeds separated by planting/growing season and year. We can use them for sewing supplies or art supplies. Instant drink packets, seasoning packets and shakers, granola bars, little packets of vitamin-rich gummy treats, boxes and packets of pudding or gelatin mixes, and other kitchen items fit easily. We can arrange them to be a general category like snacks or spices, or we can set each up by expiration or best-by date.

Educational goodies, supplies for the radio room or office, entertainment items, hygiene items, and especially first-aid and medical items that do start separating or losing efficiency are all other options for storing someplace we can find and see them easily and check those dates without pawing through boxes.

We can use hanging closet organizers much the same way to buy some extra space, although they’re not as handy for the tiny little items and still have the weight restrictions.

We can also use them to help us ration, just like we can with canning jars. We can pack each with a week, a month, or a quarter’s “goodies”. That can be seasonings or instant helpers like gravy or dressing mix. It can also be things like chocolate chips, tea bags or a brick of coffee, smaller packets of cookie, edible cake decorations, or Slim Jim’s. Some of the shoe organizers are big enough we could even seed them with fresh games like Qwixx or Dog Bites Man, new decks of cards, some specialty feel-good lotion or chap stick, or something seasonal to brighten the mood.

Another option is to use a shoe organizer as a pre-staging area. Rather than those things that jump in buggies getting tossed in a box or drawer for a while, they can get slotted by category. It can also help with those items that seems like a great idea but then hide when we want them. That can be everything from eyeglass repair kits and those mini sewing kits, to things like outlet and light-switch wall plates, overhead pull cords, and those plastic twisty-cap wire connectors that like to multiply in drawers and tool rooms.

Curtain Rods

While we’re hanging things to improve our organization, we can keep an eye out for curtain rods. With some rings and-or big S-hooks, they can help us in all kinds of spaces. We can mount them in our bathrooms – and our outdoor camping/solar showers – to drape bathroom organizers and avoid having stuff sit on ledges and floors. With hooks affixed to light baskets and tubs, what we can hang for easy access increases even further.  Those baskets can easily be the bathroom organizers or oddball dishwasher or silverware baskets that show up here and there or wire or plastic bins form the dollar store, and get used for school and office supplies, kitchen spices, each individual’s hankies and bandanas, or anything else we like.

We can arrange them under cabinets or against walls to keep items like spools of thread, bungee cords, and weed-eater wire accessible. With hooks or loops, we can add our extension cords, gloves, and tools. By our doors, they’re another easy way to keep hats and gloves organized, and the airflow they’ll get will let them dry faster.

While I specified curtain rods, be flexible while we’re upcycling and repurposing. I see swingsets and bed frames on freebie listings and by the curb on a regular basis. Tree trimmings can yield nice, straight pieces. The scrap guys in town will let us have pretty much whatever we want at about a halfway between their cost and sale price. Be flexible.

  Garage & Shed Storage

We can use all kinds of oddball wrecked, found, used, or inexpensive items for storage, although the garage and shed where we don’t have to hear anything from family members really shines. We can use coat hangers and hooks with a piece of looped rope, chain, or bungee cord to keep heavy extension cords, hoses, and heavy rope neatly coiled and off the flat surfaces. A wrecked binder offers three rings that can hold anything, from our bungee cords to cleaned cans with a hole punched that can then hold our paint brushes, garden pruners, gloves, or safety glasses.

You have to pretty much murder somebody to find them now, but a plastic 2L soda bottle is awesome for allowing us to stack and move bottles and for keeping stuff in a pickup or van right where you want it. They can also be screwed flat to a wall to use the holes as shallow storage nodes, but they’re too shallow to have much value for me there. Instead, see if a plumbing outfitter or company has PVC scrap. It’s usually deeper and you can cobble that into a honeycomb with some screws and get a lot more use out of it.

Throw-Aways

All kinds of things that hit our recycling and trash have other uses, particularly in keeping our storage neat and tidy. The cardboard boxes that soda comes in get a lot of play for upcycling into soup and veggie can organizers, but we can also just slit the top off entirely. Swiffer pad tubs are awesome for stacking and labeling the sides, but really only for lightweight stuff. Old-school laundry detergent boxes with the flip-up lid and the little plastic handle are sturdy, stackable, and you can hook that handle around a screwdriver on your belt or a carabiner for hands-free carrying. Plastic coffee cans, jugs, powdered parmesan shakers, and creamer tubs are hugely versatile.

Indoors or out, they can help us organize absolutely anything. Arrange packets of Lipton and Knorr sides, seeds, Heartgard and Frontline, or spice blends. Keep extension cords, tow cables, tie-down straps, or Christmas lights neat and tidy, and ready to deploy again (which buys time and space for other stuff). They can also help us keep kits of commonly replaced items together.

The plastic options can help us keep pests out of dry pantry goods and little packets of drinks or boxes of pudding. Those plastic bottles are also handy for rationing out things like brown and white sugar that last forever in storage, or once we bust into bulk bags or buckets of snack foods and dry goods.

Drink bottles get a lot of play for organizing wire, ribbon, and cord. If you have access to wide-mouth juice or sports drink bottles, those make excellent ways to keep some ammo in a bag nice and dry – but don’t try it with narrow-neck water and soda bottles, not even with .22 LR. There’s nothing wrong with using them for beans or grains, either, since they stack up like cordwood well.

Mostly, though, I think people seriously underestimate how much water they need. I may be the only person affected by Uncle Murphy on a regular basis, but you need water stored even with a well, because you need time to hunt down the problem and repair it if the pump goes down. So, for the most part, I’d rather see soda bottles get used to store water, everywhere, in homes and in vehicles.

Organizing Preparedness Supplies

The time spent in organizing not only makes maintaining our storage a little less daunting and time consuming, but also allows us to better visualize gaps. The sanity boost from neatness and not being overwhelmed by our piles o’ stuff can’t really be overstated, either, and less-involved family is less likely to add to our stresses when they’re not overwhelmed by it all, too. Since there’s so many items out there that we can scrounge for free or little outlay and repurpose, we really don’t have any excuse not to keep our storage organized.

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from The Prepper Journal Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[orbemnews]

Double-Dip Recession Predicted for Europe’s Economy: Live Updates Here’s what you need to know: The city center in Milan during a lockdown in December. The eurozone economy fell in the October-December period, reflecting an economic malaise as European leaders struggle to vaccinate their citizens.Credit…Matteo Corner/EPA, via Shutterstock The eurozone economy shrank in the last three months of 2020 as European countries closed shops and restaurants and restricted travel to try to contain the coronavirus. Economic output in the 19 countries that belong to the eurozone fell 0.7 percent in the fourth quarter compared with the previous quarter, according to a preliminary estimate by the European Union’s official statistics agency said. For the full year, overall output fell 5.1 percent. Economists expect the economy to shrink again in the first quarter of 2021, leading to a double-dip recession. The bloc’s economy also shrank during the first half of 2020. The decline capped a roller coaster year for the eurozone economy. In the second quarter, gross domestic product fell 11.7 percent as the pandemic took hold, then rebounded 12.4 percent in the third quarter as lockdowns eased and firms adjusted to the crisis. The latest data reflects the malaise that has taken hold as European leaders struggle to vaccinate their citizens, a project that has moved more slowly on the continent than in Britain or the United States. “The short-term prospects for the European economy remain clouded by a challenging health situation in several countries and an underwhelming start of the vaccination rollout,” Nicola Nobile, lead eurozone economist at Oxford Economics, said in a note to clients. European factories have largely adapted to the pandemic and are operating almost normally, but stores, restaurants and hotels continue to suffer. More than half of Germans who work in hotels or restaurants, about 600,000 people, are on government-subsidized furloughs and effectively unemployed, according to the Ifo Institute in Munich, a research organization. Growth figures for all the eurozone members are not yet available, but among the countries that have reported so far, Austria, Italy and France suffered declines in output in the quarter while Germany, Spain and most other countries managed modest growth. Including countries like Poland, Hungary and Sweden that are members of the European Union but not the eurozone, output in the bloc fell 0.5 percent in the October-December period. The price of silver futures reached an eight-year high on Monday, but has fallen since then.Credit…Peter Andrews/Reuters U.S. markets Futures on Wall Street were set to open higher on Tuesday, following gains in Asian and European stock markets, as the retail trading frenzy that gripped market watchers for the past week appeared to die down and the price of silver dropped. The S&P 500 was expected to extend gains from Monday ahead of a flurry of earnings reports. Among the companies reporting are Alibaba, Exxon Mobil, Amazon and Alphabet, Google’s parent company. On Monday, the Congressional Budget Office said it expected the United States economy to return to its pre-pandemic size by the middle of this year, even if Congress does not approve any more federal money to aid the recovery. It was an encouraging signal on the economic outlook as the pandemic drags on. but could potentially complicate President Biden’s efforts to pass a large spending package. GameStop and AMC GameStop shares dropped more than 20 percent in premarket trading, after plummeting 31 percent on Monday. Still, the shares of the video game retailer were up 1,000 percent on the year. There were signs that efforts to squeeze funds that had bet against the stock were working. Short interest in the stock has fallen by more than half, and some hedge funds have reported losses. Shares in AMC Entertainment declined 20 percent in premarket trading. It ended Monday unchanged after surging 18 percent earlier in the day. Robinhood loosened its limits on the buying of securities of GameStop, AMC and six other companies. Trading volumes for both companies were lower on Monday than any day in the previous week. Silver Futures in silver fell 5 percent on Tuesday to $27.90 an ounce, pulling back from an eight-year high reached on Monday. Over the weekend, online chatter encouraged retail investors to buy silver in an effort to create a “silver squeeze” as attention seemed to move away from the meme stocks of last week. After websites that sold silver coins and bars reported a surge in demand and the largest exchange-traded product tracking the metal reported record inflows, silver futures rose 9 percent on Monday. Europe In equity markets, the Stoxx Europe 600 rose 0.9 percent, the biggest single-day increase in nearly four weeks. The eurozone economy contracted 0.7 percent in the fourth quarter, data published Tuesday showed, putting the region on track for a double-dip recession as it struggles to ramp up its vaccination program. That said, the economic decline at the end of last year was slightly smaller than economists forecast. Asia A Bolt factory in Lake Orion, Mich., in 2018. G.M. plans to spend $27 billion to introduce 30 electric vehicle models by 2025.Credit…Rebecca Cook/Reuters Automakers are searching for the right response to General Motors’s announcement that it will aim to sell only zero-emission cars and trucks by 2035. The reaction from automakers and oil and gas companies has so far been muted. But Washington is abuzz with corporate lobbyists complaining in private about what they saw as a calculated move to burnish the reputations of G.M. and its chief executive, Mary T Barra, even as the industry negotiates a new fuel-economy deal with the Biden administration, Neal E. Boudette and Coral Davenport report for The New York Times. No other large automakers have set a target date for selling only electric vehicles, but many have moved in that direction. Ford is spending billions to introduce battery-powered models. Customer deliveries of the first of them, the Mustang Mach E sport utility vehicle, started last month. Volkswagen said last year that it planned to spend 73 billion euros, or $88 billion, on electric vehicles over the next five years. The industry is afraid of losing market share to Tesla, the dominant electric carmaker, which is growing rapidly. Wall Street values Tesla at about $752 billion, about 10 times as much as G.M. Several start-ups, like Rivian and Lucid Motors, are hoping to follow Tesla’s footsteps this year. And China’s decision late last year to require that most vehicles sold there be electric by 2035 is also critical because G.M. sells more cars in that country through its joint ventures than in the United States. And Britain, Ireland and the Netherlands have said they will ban sales of new gasoline and diesel cars starting in 2030. Broadly, of course, the industry had been quietly gearing up for months for a possible change in the White House. Representative Debbie Dingell, Democrat of Michigan and a former G.M. executive, said in an interview, “I had been saying to all the autos: ‘When Joe Biden gets elected, your world will turn upside down. You’ve got to be at the table or else this thing gets jammed down your throat.’” A senior G.M. executive, Dane Parker, said the company was not seeking to curry favor with the new administration. Its decision, he said, was based on a fundamental, dollars-and-cents analysis of where the auto industry is headed and the cars that it expects to become best sellers in the future. A restaurant was boarded up in Austin, Texas, last spring. Congress created the Paycheck Protection Program in March amid a surge in layoffs in the pandemic’s early weeks.Credit…Tamir Kalifa for The New York Times Academic economists who have studied the Paycheck Protection Program have concluded that it has saved relatively few jobs and that, at a cost of more than half a trillion dollars, it has been far less efficient than other government efforts to help the economy. David Autor, an M.I.T. economist, says the Paycheck Protection Program saved 1.4 million to 3.2 million jobs, Ben Casselman and Jim Tankersley report for The New York Times. Other researchers have offered broadly similar estimates, even as Treasury economists said in December that the program might have saved nearly 19 million jobs. Given the program’s cost, saving jobs on the scale of a few million jobs doesn’t necessarily qualify as a success. Unemployment benefits also provide income, at far less expense, and programs like food assistance and aid to state and local governments pack a larger economic punch, according to many assessments. “It’s just a really inefficient use of funds,” said Eric Zwick, an economist at the University of Chicago’s business school who has studied the program. Many policy experts on Wall Street and in Washington say the program’s merits should be assessed instead on what it did to save businesses. On that basis, they say, it helped prevent a greater calamity and fostered economic healing. “A major goal was to keep these businesses alive so that when the economy started to recover and then the economy reopened, there would be businesses around to hire unemployed workers,” said Michael R. Strain, an economist at the American Enterprise Institute, a conservative think tank. Preliminary evidence suggests that the program has succeeded by that metric, he said. The debate over the program’s merits could shape the next round of aid. President Biden’s $1.9 trillion pandemic relief plan includes billions for small businesses, but no new money for the program. His aides are weighing what to do about funds already allocated. Robinhood decreased the number of companies with trading restrictions to eight from 50.Credit…Ian C. Bates for The New York Times Silver briefly replaced GameStop as the breakout focus. Over the weekend, the precious metal experienced a surge of interest along with an uptick in online chatter about the chances for generating the kind of price increases that grabbed the world’s attention last week. On Monday, the price of silver jumped as much as 11.5 percent in early trading — to the highest level in eight years — but gave up some of its early gains, and ended the day at about $29 per ounce, a 7 percent increase. That was still around its highest level since early 2013. It fell on Tuesday. Shares of GameStop fell about 31 percent on Monday, and was set to fall further on Tuesday. Short interest in GameStop, a measure of the volume of bets against the stock, fell by more than half last week, according to the market-data firm S3 Partners, suggesting that the gambit to inflict financial pain on Wall Street institutions by creating a so-called short squeeze may have worked. Robinhood decreased the number of companies with trading restrictions to eight from 50, according to an update on its website. Robinhood raised an additional $2.4 billion over the weekend, adding to the $1 billion it had to seek from its investors earlier last week. On Thursday, an arm of the Depository Trust and Clearing Corporation, Wall Street’s main clearinghouse for stock trades, demanded $3 billion in additional collateral from Robinhood, to cover risky trades by its customers, according to Vladimir Tenev, the brokerage firm’s chief executive. That demand was later reduced to about $700 million. Melvin Capital Management, one of the hedge funds pilloried on social media message boards for its short-selling bets that GameStop shares would fall, lost 53 percent on its portfolio in January, a person familiar with the matter said. A principal reason was the huge losses the firm suffered when small investors bid up the stock of GameStop. Source link Orbem News #DoubleDip #Economy #Europes #Live #predicted #Recession #Updates

[dipulb3]

Corporate America pulls the plug on President Trump

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/corporate-america-pulls-the-plug-on-president-trump/

Corporate America pulls the plug on President Trump

Facing an unprecedented threat to US democracy, companies appear to be recalculating the benefits and risks of being associated with Trump.

My Appradab Business colleague Matt Egan points out that the Business Roundtable cheered on the CEO president after his election in 2016, applauding his tax plans and appointment of Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin, a former Goldman Sachs banker.

Last week, the influential business lobby struck a very different tone, slamming US politicians for spreading the “fiction of a fraudulent 2020 presidential election.”

“After the unconscionable and tragic events we witnessed, it could not be clearer that it is time for the nation and lawmakers to unite around President-elect Biden and Vice President-elect Harris,” the group, which is chaired by Walmart CEO Doug McMillon, said in a statement.

Business leaders that previously supported Trump have also taken public steps to distance themselves from the president. Take Blackstone CEO Stephen Schwarzman, who had been one of Trump’s most ardent corporate backers. In a statement last week, Schwarzman called the siege of the Capitol “appalling,” adding that “the outcome of the election is very clear and there must be a peaceful transition of power.”

Yet the latest moves go beyond strongly worded statements.

After years of hesitating to moderate Trump’s social media accounts — arguing that the president should be given more slack as a powerful public official — Twitter has barred the president from its platform for good, while Facebook has blocked Trump from posting for the remainder of his term.

It’s a reminder that when companies want to move swiftly, they can. But investors seem to be worried about the business consequences, sending Twitter (TWTR) shares down nearly 7% in premarket trading. Facebook’s shares are off 1.6%.

The direction of travel has been set, however.

Other tech giants also entered the fray this weekend, banning Parler, the alternative social media platform gaining traction among some of the president’s supporters. The company now finds itself virtually homeless on the internet after Amazon, Apple and Google have all booted it from their platforms in a span of a little more than 24 hours.

“[Amazon Web Services] provides technology and services to customers across the political spectrum, and we continue to respect Parler’s right to determine for itself what content it will allow on its site,” AWS said in a letter to Parler, which had utilized its cloud hosting service. “However, we cannot provide services to a customer that is unable to effectively identify and remove content that encourages or incites violence against others.”

All the jobs lost in December were held by women

US employers cut 140,000 jobs in December, signaling that the economic recovery from the coronavirus pandemic is in reverse.

A deeper look at the data also reveals a shocking gender gap: Women accounted for all the job losses, losing 156,000 jobs, while men gained 16,000, my Appradab Business colleague Annalyn Kurtz reports.

These are net numbers, which can mask some of the underlying churn in the labor market. Many men, of course, lost their jobs in December, too — but when taken together as a group, they came out ahead, whereas women fell behind.

Big picture: Economists often warn against reading too much into a single month. But December’s job losses capped off an already awful year for working women.

Women are still down 5.4 million jobs from February, before the pandemic began, compared to 4.4 million job losses for men. They started 2020 on roughly equal footing, with women holding 50.03% of jobs, but ended it holding 860,000 fewer jobs than their male peers.

The situation has been particularly dire for Black and Latina women, who disproportionately work in sectors that have been hit hardest by the pandemic, and often in roles that lack paid sick leave and the ability to work from home. As schools and day cares closed, many were forced to make hard trade-offs between work and parenting.

“Those sectors are less likely to have flexibility, so when employers are inflexible or women can’t come to work because of caregiving responsibilities — they have to exit the workforce,” said C. Nicole Mason, president and CEO of the Institute for Women’s Policy Research.

Among women, Latinas currently have the highest unemployment rate at 9.1%, followed by Black women at 8.4%. White women have the lowest unemployment rate at 5.7%.

Bitcoin’s massive rally comes to a halt

Bitcoin has been on a huge tear at the start of 2021. But over the weekend, some investors appeared to have second thoughts.

The latest: The cryptocurrency has plunged since Saturday to just below $35,000. That’s still more than 150% above where Bitcoin stood at the beginning of November, but well below highs near $42,000 reached late last week.

One driver could be the rise in US Treasury yields. The yield on the benchmark 10-year note is now above 1.1%, its highest level since last March. That puts pressure on assets that don’t generate extra income for investors.

A reminder: As Bitcoin investment goes mainstream, with greater interest from institutional investors like pension funds, regulators are warning it’s still an incredibly risky enterprise.

In a statement Monday, Britain’s Financial Conduct Authority said that investing in cryptocurrencies or related assets “generally involves taking very high risks with investors’ money.”

“If consumers invest in these types of product, they should be prepared to lose all their money,” the watchdog said.

Up next

The Consumer Electronics Show kicks off — all virtual this year, of course.

Coming tomorrow: Data on small business optimism could provide clues on how vulnerable firms view the latest wave of US Covid cases.

[jaremmywade]

The best Minecraft mods

What are the best Minecraft mods? It's an inquiry that has been posed for ages – since a youthful Plato endeavored to change his game at the knee of Socrates. Or on the other hand something. As new Minecraft mods have been consistently streaming out since the game's first open delivery, there are an entire pile to browse.

Minecraft is a blocky wonder. It's the simply game to actually exist that permits you to build a manor the tallness of Jack's renowned beanstalk and fall through an inexorably testing pit forever – yet it could do with some Minecraft mods to improve things. From interface changes to apparatuses to help your long stretches of investigation, you have the alternative to make Mojang's exemplary surprisingly better on PC.

The accompanying rundown orders probably the best Minecraft mods out there this moment. All are separated into areas, contingent upon what you need to do with the game – from straightforward changes to profound, many-sided Minecraft mods you can lose all sense of direction in for quite a long time.

These are the best Minecraft mods:

Optifine

Journeymap

Not Enough Items

WAILA

Stock Tweaks

Playable Minecraft in a Chest

Controlling

Etch 2

Woodworker's Blocks

Decocraft

Bibliocraft

Pig Manure

Microscopic organisms Mod

Pam's Harvestcraft

Biomes O'Plenty

LotsOMobs

CandyCraft

The Twilight Forest

Galacticraft

BetterPortals

Quiverbow

Rope Bridge Mod

Caterpillar

Reformist Automation

Applied Energistics 2

Enormous Reactors

ComputerCraft and RFTools

Draconic Evolution

Thaumcraft

Basically Jetpacks

Blood Magic

Minefactory Reloaded

BuildCraft

Caps

PneumaticCraft

HOW DO I INSTALL MINECRAFT MODS?

Each Minecraft mod on this rundown accompanies its own establishment directions that you ought to follow intently, and you'll probably additionally need to minimize your Minecraft variant for a large number of them – as a rule, rendition 1.7.10 works best. To assist with that, you can attempt MultiMC–a valuable piece of programming that allows you to deal with different Minecraft mod introduces.

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On the other hand, in the event that faffing around in dark envelopes isn't some tea, at that point get a modpack all things being equal – which accompanies everything preinstalled and preconfigured. We suggest either Feed The Beast's Direwolf20 1.7.10 pack (which accompanies a YouTube arrangement that will show you how to utilize a considerable lot of the included mods), the Tekkit Pack, or making your own modpack with Curse Voice. In the event that you experience difficulty with any of them Google is likely a decent wagered.

Will we dive into our rundown of the best Minecraft mods?

YouTube Thumbnail

MINECRAFT INTERFACE MODS

At the point when you have bunches of Minecraft mods introduced you'll likely find that Minecraft's default UI doesn't cut it any more. The accompanying downloads make playing modded Minecraft a more lovely encounter.

Minecraft mods - Optifine

OPTIFINE/FASTCRAFT

Got a meaty PC? Make Minecraft look staggering with Optifine, which adds uphold for HD surfaces and more authority over graphical choices. Then again, in case you're playing on a potato, snatch Fastcraft–it essentially improves execution on lower-end machines, especially with bunches of Minecraft mods introduced.

Minecraft mods - Journeymap

JOURNEYMAP

Everybody likes to realize where they're going. Journeymap maps your reality as you investigate, lets you mark waypoints of premium, and can even caution you when hordes are sneaking up behind you. View the subsequent guide in-game as a minimap, or in fullscreen, or even in an outside internet browser.

Minecraft mods - Not Enough Items

NOT ENOUGH ITEMS

In the event that you need a counteractant to the torment of alt-selecting to a wiki while playing Minecraft at that point go to Not Enough Items (or NEI). It allows you to look into the formula for any thing from any introduced Minecraft mod through a clever interface on Minecraft's stock screen.

WAILA

WAILA means "What Am I Looking At," and it's a gift from heaven when you have heaps of mods introduced. Essentially point your crosshair at a square, and it'll mention to you what it is, and which mod it comes from. With more up to date mods, it can likewise enlighten you concerning the condition of that block – how full a tank of water is, for instance, or the charge level on a battery. You'll require NEI to run it.

Stock TWEAKS

Introduce Inventory Tweaks and you'll before long can't help thinking about how you lived without it. Instruments that run out of strength are consequently supplanted in your hotbar, piles of squares are naturally topped off, and a basic center snap will sort your chests and stock. It's additionally unendingly customisable.

Minecraft playable minecraft chest mod

PLAYABLE MINECRAFT IN A CHEST

Smaller than normal Minecraft, a playable variant of Minecraft contracted down to the size of a chest. Client SethBling posted a video of the mod in real life on YouTube with a connection to download it in the depiction. This mod has in no way different highlights as the first game, aside from it's you can handle the entire thing through the interface of a Minecraft chest. At the point when you leave the chest you'll see your activities spread out before you as though you'd been working in 2D the entire time.

CONTROLLING

This is a wonderfully straightforward mod that will make overseeing controls when you have other Minecraft mods introduced a lot simpler. With this interface mod you can essentially pull up an inquiry bar and type in the control you're searching for to perceive what the keybinding is. You can even channel it so it just banners up covering keybindings so you can fix them in a jiffy.

MINECRAFT CREATIVE MODS

For some, individuals, making spectacular structures is what is the issue here. The accompanying mods will drastically extend your innovative alternatives, from new sorts of wood to appropriate furnishings.

Etch 2

Minecraft just has one cobblestone surface. Etch 2 has 24. Indeed, it adds elective surfaces to countless the game's default obstructs just as squares that accompany different mods in this rundown – allowing you to make any stylistic layout you want in your in-game developments.

Minecraft mods - Carpenter's Blocks

CARPENTER'S BLOCKS

3D squares are incredible and all, yet incidentally you need an incline, right?Carpenter's Blocks conveys those slants, close by beds, catches, entryways, vases, lights, and the sky is the limit from there, which can all be tweaked with the surface of some other square. Ever needed a netherrack stepping stool? This is the mod that will do it.

DECOCRAFT

On the off chance that you'd like a touch more assortment with regards to improving your reality, Decocraft is the mod for you. It adds craftable seats, tables, bowls, bottles, lights, stuffed toys, brew barrels, and even a kitchen sink. The full rundown is practically interminable, so jump into the Wiki to see the full scope of alternatives.

BIBLIOCRAFT

Bibliocraft additionally offers a lot of tastefully satisfying squares, yet these ones accompany their own usefulness. Show cases and retires let you flaunt your prizes, while a print machine allows you to duplicate in-game books. It even adds a monocle for the recognized honorable men among you.

PIG MANURE

On the off chance that Minecraft can be blamed for lacking a certain something, it's crap. This humble Minecraft mod takes care of that issue easily, not simply making it so your pigs drop a steaming heap of the notorious occasionally, yet rather giving you another asset to dominate in Minecraft. Gather the droppings and you can utilize them rather than bone supper to prepare your harvests. On the other hand, you can fire them in a heater and produce blocks that you can use to assemble a house – simply don't utilize them with white fleece.

Microscopic organisms MOD

Microscopic organisms essentially never leaves style, so it's about time Mincraft modders carried it into the imaginative sandbox. This mod allows you to develop a scope of various microscopic organisms, every one of which will perform various errands – ruinous or imaginative – and set them free on the world. Simply make certain to contain it appropriately, particularly in case you're testing in your own base.

PAM'S HARVESTCRAFT

Carry some genuine variety to your Minecraft diet with this produce-loaded mod that adds more than 1,100 new nourishments and things, including 60 harvests, 17 sorts of fish, tofu for veggie lover and vegetarian dishes, and 36 natural product or thing bearing trees. The final product is a Minecraft diet that is equivalent amounts of sumptuous and adjusted. In the event that you need to make this a need instead of simply a great augmentation to vanilla Minecraft, use it close by Hunger Overhaul and The Spice of Life, which both rebuff your helpless dietary patterns.

Obviously, in the event that you have supplies of food, at that point you'll need to ensure your concocting is to scratch. The Cooking for Blockheads mod adds five new squares that structure a multiblock kitchen structure. Engaged with that are a cooking table, stove, sink, instrument rack, and ice chest – consider it like Minecraft as a cooking game. The mod was made in view of Pam's Harvestcraft, so the two go very well together we figure – the cooking prospects are near perpetual.

MINECRAFT EXPLORATION MODS

A few people favor the life of a migrant to that of a developer. The accompanying mods either flavor up world age, add new universes to investigate, or give you the apparatuses you'll have to investigate them. To the Far Lands, and past!

BIOMES O'PLENTY

We should begin with the Overworld. Biomes O'Plenty adds an absurd 80 new biomes and 12 sub-biomes to Minecraft – from Alps to Wasteland. It likewise changes up instruments, protection, food, shading, and adds a couple of additional squares to work with.

Minecraft mods - LotsOMobs

LOTSOMOBS

Working similarly as Biomes O Plenty, LotsOMobs adds a stunning 25 new hordes to additionally enhance your Minecraft world and make your biomes that bit mor

[dccomicsnews]

DC Comics News has compiled a list of DC Comics titles and collectibles shipping to comic shops for November 29, 2017.

Check back every Friday with the DC Comics News Pull Box to see all the cool new DC Comics titles and collectibles that will be available at your favorite local comic shop! So, what titles or collectibles will you be picking up this Wednesday? You can sound off in the comments section below! Click on Comic shop Locator to find the comic shop nearest to you!

COMICS

AQUAMAN ANNUAL #1 $4.99 BATMAN ANNUAL #2 $4.99 BATMAN CREATURE OF THE NIGHT #1 (OF 4) $5.99 BATMAN THE DEVASTATOR #1 METAL 2ND PTG $3.99 BATMAN THE RED DEATH #1 METAL 3RD PTG $3.99 DARK DAYS THE FORGE & THE CASTING DIRECTORS CUT #1 $7.99 GREEN ARROW ANNUAL #1 $4.99 HAL JORDAN AND THE GREEN LANTERN CORPS #33 $2.99 INJUSTICE 2 ANNUAL #1 $4.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA ANNUAL #1 $4.99 MYSTIK U #1 (OF 3) $5.99 NEW TALENT SHOWCASE 2017 #1 $7.99 SUPER SONS ANNUAL #1 $4.99

DCN Pull Box Triple Spotlight

BATMAN CREATURE OF THE NIGHT #1 (OF 4) $5.99

Kurt Busiek (A/CA) John Paul Leon

Young Bruce Wainwright lost his parents in a violent crime…and in the real world, no superheroes exist to save the day. But as grief and rage builds inside Bruce until he feels he can’t keep it inside anymore, something strange starts taking wing in the Gotham night! Perhaps Bruce’s grief isn’t inside him after all? Modern masters Kurt Busiek and John Paul Leon unite for the spiritual companion to the beloved SUPERMAN: SECRET IDENTITY, putting a new spin you’ve never seen before on the legend of Batman-and the dark emotions that drive him!

MYSTIK U #1 (OF 3) $5.99

Alisa Kwitney (A) Mike Norton (CA) Julian Totino Tedesco

Leave the world of the mundane behind and step through the magical doors of Mystik U! After a tragic accident, a young Zatanna Zatara, under the guidance of Rose Psychic, enrolls in a mysterious university that teaches its students how to master their unique brands of magic. Will Zatanna fit in with her new classmates (Enchantress, Sargon the Sorcerer, Faust and more!) and unlock her true potential? Find out in this exciting bimonthly miniseries from novelist Alisa Kwitney (DESTINY) and Mike Norton (Revival, Runaways)!

INJUSTICE 2 ANNUAL #1 $4.99

Tom Taylor, M. K. Perker, Brian Buccellato (A) Marco Santucci, Marco Santucci, Jamal Campbell, David Yardin, Pop Mhan (CA) Bruno Redondo, Juan Albarran

“Paradise Lost.” Ever since the overthrow of Superman’s regime, Wonder Woman – his most trusted ally – has been held a prisoner on her native Themyscira. How did she come to this low point? What is it about the Wonder Woman of this world that made her so very different from any other incarnation and susceptible to Superman’s brutal, world- conquering vision? When was love lost and when did the greatest heart harden? The tragic story is told here. Also includes a new backup story written by Brian Buccellato with art by Pop Mhan.

Variant Covers

Note: Variant Prices To Be Determined By Retailer

HAL JORDAN AND THE GREEN LANTERN CORPS #33 (Barry Kitson variant) $2.99

GRAPHIC NOVEL

FLASH BY GEOFF JOHNS TP BOOK 04 $29.99 GOTHAM ACADEMY SECOND SEMESTER VOL 02 BALLAD OF OLIVE $14.99 INVISIBLES TP BOOK 02 $24.99 ODYSSEY OF THE AMAZONS TP $16.99 SUPERMAN TP VOL 04 BLACK DAWN (REBIRTH) $16.99 SUPERWOMAN TP VOL 02 REDISCOVERY (REBIRTH) $14.99

BOOKS

BIG BOOK OF BATMAN HC $16.99 BIG BOOK OF SUPERMAN HC $16.99 BIG BOOK OF WONDER WOMAN HC $16.99 INCREDIBUILDS WONDER WOMAN DLX MODEL W BOOK $19.99

MERCHANDISE/COLLECTIBLES

ARROW SEASON FOUR T/C BINDER $29.99 DC COMICS HARLEY QUINN SUIT UP LANYARD $8.99 DC COMICS WONDER WOMAN ARM PARTY BRACELET SET $17.99 DC COMICS WONDER WOMAN PACKABLE TOTE-BAG $21.99 FIGPIN JUSTICE LEAGUE ENAMEL FIGURE PIN 9PC ASST $14.99 HP HOGWARTS ACCEPTANCE LETTER ZIP AROUND WALLET $35.99 HP HOGWARTS ALUMNI UTILITY BAG CONVERTIBLE BACKPACK $75.99

ACTION FIGURES/STATUES

BATMAN TAS 25TH ANNIV HARLEY QUINN DLX PVC FIG $60.00 DC CINEMATIC WONDER WOMAN Q-FIG MAX FIGURE $29.95 DORBZ DC BOMBSHELLS BATGIRL VINYL FIGURE $7.99 HARRY POTTER NIMBUS 2000 PROP REPLICA $34.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE BIG FIGS 201N AF ASST WV2 $24.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE MOVIE AQUAMAN VINIMATE $9.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE MOVIE CYBORG VINIMATE $9.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE MOVIE SUPERMAN VINIMATE $9.99 PREACHER TITANS MINI FIG 18PC BMB DS $9.99 VYNL MOTU HE-MAN AND TRAP JAW VINYL FIGURE 2PK $14.99 WW MOVIE 5.5IN BENDABLE FIGURE 3PC SET $43.99 WW MOVIE WONDER WOMAN 5.5IN BENDABLE FIGURE $16.99

CLOTHING

DC BATMAN BAT LOGO SILVER TIE BAR $36.00 DC BATMAN COMIC BLACK TIE $55.00 DC MOVIE WONDER WOMAN ANKLE SOCK 3PK $14.99 DC MOVIE WONDER WOMAN JRS WARRIOR WHITE TANK LG $24.99 DC MOVIE WONDER WOMAN JRS WARRIOR WHITE TANK MED $24.99 DC MOVIE WONDER WOMAN JRS WARRIOR WHITE TANK SM $24.99 DC MOVIE WONDER WOMAN JRS WARRIOR WHITE TANK XL $24.99 DC MOVIE WONDER WOMAN WARRIOR VICTORY ADJUSTABLE HAT $24.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE AQUAMAN 5950 FITTED CAP 7 1/8 $55.00 JUSTICE LEAGUE AQUAMAN 5950 FITTED CAP 7 3/8 $55.00 JUSTICE LEAGUE AQUAMAN 5950 FITTED CAP 7 5/8 $55.00 JUSTICE LEAGUE LOGOS STACKED BLACK T/S LG $16.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE LOGOS STACKED BLACK T/S MED $16.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE LOGOS STACKED BLACK T/S SM $16.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE LOGOS STACKED BLACK T/S XL $16.99 JUSTICE LEAGUE LOGOS STACKED BLACK T/S XXL $18.99

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DC Comics Pull Box For 11-22-17 (New Comics and Merchandise) DC Comics News has compiled a list of DC Comics titles and collectibles shipping to comic shops for November 29, 2017.

[agilenano]

Agilenano - News: Luxurious Small Suction Cups

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Agilenano - News from Agilenano from shopsnetwork (4 sites) https://agilenano.com/blogs/news/luxurious-small-suction-cups

[bullymagnet]

submission: kabaedactyl

i originally planned for this to be a stress-relief ficlet for aged up bullmag but 3k words later this happened so..here u go…i also took some material from this blog, which are all linked: this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, and this. There’s also a voltron comic reference that's here. - dactyl

🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺

Max and Johnny started dating in middle school.

It was an awkward, bumpy start. They never called themselves ’boyfriends’ in middle school, it was unheard of, you’d never tactical friendship fuse with your boyfriend — that’s another subject. If you did it with your boyfriend, you’d tactical boyfriend fuse, which was another day’s work. So, at first, they didn’t call themselves boyfriends. They called themselves best friends. They were best friends who, in late, ungodly hours of the night, watched Slenderman and Bigfoot documentaries and have conspiracy theories about whether or not they’re real. They were best friends who tested out the point to their spectral abilities, including biting literal pieces of wood and metal and trying to lift trains just because it was attracted to your metal, magnetic bat.

Throughout their years in Mayview middle school, they never counted themselves as boyfriends. They were best friends, through thick and thin.

They were plenty of summers that included Mayview’s lakes and ponds and public ditches large enough to jump in. One summer, their first summer as not-boyfriends-but-best-friends, Max got so fast at changing into bathing suits by just hearing Johnny’s voice and the tuptuptUPTUP of his feet that he could discard all of his clothes and get into a bathing suit quicker than Johnny could get to him. Johnny, consequently, got much faster that summer. (Did you know that Johhny’s natural hair is black? It’s darker than Max’s. Max was so surprised his soul left this dimension.)

That summer, Johnny also found out that Max unapologetically and horrifically, without fail, bit into every single ice cream cone he got. Not only does he do it more than once but once he figured out that Johnny is physically disturbed by it he did it more often. Every chance he got. He bit into popsicles, ice cream, ice, literally anything cold that would send chills up someone’s spine if you bit into it. He did it. His will was more powerful than anything Johnny had ever seen.

The first Halloween they spent together they dressed up as each other. Max got his father to buy all the crappy, dirt-cheap red dye he could get, and dyed his entire head red. He stole Johnny’s shirts. Despite Max’s epic parkour core strength, Johnny has way more muscles, and it hung loose around him. Johnny stole every single cap Max owned and put them all on at once, including ‘borrowing’ Max’s father’s insolent children shirt. (Everyone knew Max’s shirt wouldn’t fit him, after all.) Once they saw each other that Halloween, in their ridiculous get-ups, they both cried with laughter. They were the most ridiculous goofballs anyone had ever seen.

The school years and summers after included epic fights and slime monsters and big wolves with spectral abilities. It included researching mediums and putting “No, Google, I am not asking for Amazon t-shirts I’m talking about GHOSTS” into search bars at late, late hours of the night. It also includes weird trips into Mayview’s woods (but not far enough to the barrier) trying out weird tests of their spectral abilities. It’s also good to test their strength — Johnny can bench press Max easily, but can he bench press Max and about fifty other indistinguishable pieces of metal lying around? (Yes.)

🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺

At the very end of middle school, they became boyfriends. It was a very quick change but it didn’t impact their dynamic. At fourteen, they were completely done with beating around the bush about their boyfriend-y-ness.

They can thank Suzy and Isabel’s relationship for that.

Isabel never backed down from a challenge and calling Suzy her girlfriend was certainly one challenge she never could have backed down from. Suzy, ever the devoted journalist, referenced Isabel as her girlfriend whenever possible. Dimitri and Colin had no problem with it. They weren’t going to let their newspaper be exclusive for anybody. They were going to be an all inclusive, pro-lesbian middle school newspaper.

They were stuck in this eternal war with Suzy and Isabel and their own competitive feelings. Suzy loved being a public affectionate monster with Isabel, much like Johnny was to Max. Isabel and Max were stuck in an indefinite war about which boyfriend/girlfriend was better to cuddle with and better to wrestle with. Suzy was a tangle of limbs and too much energy to vent out, so she won the title of Cuddle Master Champion. But Johnny was a beast in wrestle-and-smooch matches, so he won the title of Wrestle Kiss Master Champion.

Finally, one day in Mayview’s own local high school, Suzy had demanded what they called themselves. “This isn’t a middle school newspaper anymore,” she had said to them while they passed each other in between classes. “This is serious Business with a capital B, boys! What is your relationship?”

Johnny and Max looked at one another for a solid second before resignedly nodding and turning back to the two girls. “Boyfriends.” they said at once, smiling.

🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺

High school was no less messy than middle school was. Though, Johnny and Max got acquainted with each others’ ghosts. Scrapdragon had a superiority complex, apparently, and liked to shove Max into the heightened state of perception and then talk through his body. It scared Johnny out of his mind the first few times it happened, which involved lightning-fast talking and a few kicks to the stomach. After a while, Scrapdragon became a nuisance, and Johnny responded in whatever he could muster in the language it spoke, depending on its tone. More often than not, Scrapdragon was sarcastic, and Johnny was teasing.

Forge was a much weirder case. Despite his standoffish nature, he was intelligent, which often butted heads against Max. Forge only forcibly pulled Johnny into the heightened state of perception during battles, when Johnny got distracted by Max, in order to keep him safe. During the early parts of high school, Forge took up the majority of Johnny’s concentration, since he kept asking questions about human culture, their methods of education, and questions about Max and Scrapdragon. (“What is… a Scrapdragon?” “How am I s'posed t'know?)

Now older, they had a fairly good idea on mediums and tools and the differences between them and, sometimes, when they saw a spooked kid on the way to Mayview middle school they made sure to say hello and make sure to tell them that ghosts aren’t scary, if you know how to handle them right. Most of the kids were being taught by Mr. Spender, who taught history, and the wonder duo made sure to tell them he was a pretty good guy to talk to about ghosts. He knew all about ghosts and all their business. Then, when they had to go to school, Johnny and Max would wave bye and head to school, as well.

The two of them got noticed early on as the couple who were six feet into the world of ghosts. Not only that, but Max’s house — which was conveniently the upper story of the convenience store down the block — would get visited by kids who liked to confirm rumors. Max and his family and Johnny and his family all came up with various stories and tangents and hour long theatrical acts to get the kids to leave them alone.

Max did his best impression from the woman from Long Island Medium, telling people weird, half-truths. Johnny struggled to keep a straight face whenever Max did things like that, at first. After a while, Johnny joined his boyfriend. They both would cry and sob and be so melodramatic people couldn’t maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

There were some doting moments, as well. Max had become a monster about affection, especially alone. He also lost his filter, over the next couple of years. It included him practically clinging to Johnny’s waist and mumbling things like warmer into his chest, which made happiness bubble in Johnny’s gut as he, cooperatively, warmed up his body. He had gotten better at the whole 'I-have-a-ghost-made-out-of-fire’ thing and could control the fire that now inhabited his body at will. When he got rowdier, however, he tended to breathe out smoke after a particularly epic stunt. Max thought it was cool.

They got more clever as they got older. They stayed doting and devoted, just as bigger, busier boys. They were still the twelve-year-old boys in bigger, taller, lankier bodies. Johnny was rowdy and kind-hearted and talked too loud during class and did arts-n-crafts during English. He got nearly all As during high school, though. Despite his rowdiness during class he was an excellent note-taker when people talked to him about classes and teachers and subjects — something god knows Max did often. Max mumbled and ranted and went on long-winded tangents to help his brain digest information and Johnny took that information and made good notes and got good grades.

They went through ridiculous montages of chasing after ghosts and going through terrible, terrible plans. Johnny has said, “wait, watch this.” one too many times to make Max worry — each and every time Johnny did them, he would be fine. Each and every time he did that, after every stunt fail and every success, after every triumphant leap of faith and roundhouse kick to a ghost’s face, Max always made sure to compliment Johnny on his talents. "You know, Johnny, I’ve known you for six years now and you still somehow don’t fail to amaze me.”

The whole Activity Club was sparking with life along with the wonder duo, even as young adults. Isaac was still as emotionally constipated as ever, but he got way cooler looking. Scars ran up his arms and neck and whenever he used his spectral abilities, they glowed with an electric sky blue. Isabel was lovingly nicknamed the Tool Minute Dater because she could only stick with a tool for like, two months. Whatever she did, she did fantastically, and did it with her bullheaded force. She became broad and tough and was the perfect bodyguard to her small, curious, and invasive no-filter girlfriend. Ed’s tool stayed with him, getting bigger, and he’s much broader and much more agile than he was in middle school. He’s still Isabel’s best friend, he’s just as obnoxious about video games as he was, but he is one heck of a real fighter.

Spender was less and less seen, as a Mayview middle school teacher, but he was on missions occasionally. Each and every mission he was one brought chaos to the team. He’ll stuff every single member into his little tiny gray Hybrid car and they would get a move on to whatever dangerous activity they were on to next. Isabel sat in the passenger seat, Johnny would double up with Max, Ed would be squished in the middle, and Isaac would be on the other side. Johnny and Isabel’s bright red spectral energy would butt heads against the spectral energy of Isaac, which was just as lively. Isaac’s energy, like lightning, would spark and bubble at sporadic times. Max’s black energy would grow as time went on as his embarrassment grew. Ed’s green energy and Spender’s bright yellow energy never stood a chance.

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At eighteen, the wonder duo became legends. After graduating from high school, they both got arrested and went to jail for a night. It was a beautiful moment when two ghost-chasing eighteen-year-olds got arrested. It was for trespassing and loitering and unlawful entry. The ghost was volatile and going to hurt someone, Max would have reasoned, but ghosts don’t make sense to police. Not when Max and Johhny’s clothing is torn, their hair is disheveled, their faces are flushed, seen in an empty, abandoned building in the middle of the night, closer to two am than midnight. If Johnny had said they were ghost hunting, Max wasn’t sure he could stomach the embarrassment.

It didn’t stop the police from asking, though. “So, why were you two in there?” His tone ran dry when he said there and Max grimaced. The ride there was intolerable to begin with, they didn’t need to interrogate them to make it worse. Max’s tiredness was creeping up on him and he wasn’t sure he could give them a coherent answer. Luckily, Johnny noticed, and stepped in.

“Someone said online that this place was s'posed t'be haunted. 'N it kinda was, doors openin’ an’ closin’ without anybody bein’ there. Some mo—uh, wails, an’ stuff comin’ from the walls. We couldn’t figure out what was happenin’, then y'all showed up.” Johnny offered his hand to Max, who gladly accepted it, and they both gave each other a reassuring squeeze.

“Ghost hunting? Like those tv shows?” Said the driver, who was slightly broader than his partner. He had a rather obnoxious worm ghost clinging to his hands, slinking back and forth. It left an intangible slime trail that Max and Johnny couldn’t help but make faces at.

“Just like those shows,” Max said. He blinked, like he was forgetting something, before he added another word, “Sir.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed as nonchalantly as possible, “Sir.”

They were only in jail for the night. They didn’t do anything bad in the building. They didn’t break any fences or do anything to the private-owned property. They didn’t put up any graffiti. When they got their items back and left the police station, they quickly told the group chat.

[ 10:01 ] max 👻 guys guess who got arrested

[ 10:01 ] isabel 🔪 im telling suzy

[ 10:01 ] ed burgz details??????

[ 10:01 ] isaaaaaac Do we even want to know.

[ 10:01 ] here comes johnny it was SO COOL

[ 10:02 ] here comes johnny boom bam POW THWIP SHA-BANG KA-POW

[ 10:02 ] here comes johnny then we were in jail

[ 10:03 ] isabel 🔪 suzy says johnnys text isnt sufficient

[ 10:03 ] max 👻 tell her thats all shes getting

[ 10:04 ] isabel 🔪 she says she hates the both of you

[ 10:10 ] isabel 🔪 in college, i will not be so lenient!!! i will have ALL the details, you will soon know your fate!!!!!! -suzy

Suzy did not get all the details. She ended up getting all the stories, but it was like a comedy trope in Fast & Furious. Every time Johnny or Max opened their mouth to tell the story, out came completely different, completely contradictory, completely riduculous stories. She also got jokes. She got hours of Max’s tearful tangents about how hard it is to be dating a criminal. It’s even worse when he accidentally went on a tangent about wanting to be married to a criminal, or wanting to propose to a criminal — she regretted ever asking.

And when she didn’t ask, they alluded to it anyway. They would vaguely reference the Night or the Incident. The Activity Club got to know it as the Night but there were several instances where it was referenced with a variety of different names. The Day, the Building, the Fight with the Man, the Argument with the Two Men. It sounded like a twelve year old’s horror story on fanfic.net and it drove all of the others up the wall.

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When they turned twenty-one, it kind of became unbearable to just be boyfriends. Nine years, now, nine years of being boyfriends and best friends and each other’s support and fighting partners. Nine years is a lot of time to be dating and nine years is enough time to look at someone who you’ve been dating non-stop and say, yeah, that’s him. (The love of one’s life.)

Johnny and Max are sappy, affectionate boyfriends. They always had been, even during their friendship fuses fighting against each other in deadly dodge ball matches and fighting slime monsters. It was almost tooth-rottingly sweet. Their many shenanigans could have been listed off as a Halsey song or a surreal 80s love song with the right instrumental. They rode on the back of Target carts during sunsets when Target didn’t have a lot of people in their parking lots. They found the Karaoke places with the nicest people working there and the dumbest, sweetest 80s love songs they could. They bought Wiis and Just Dance and Rock Band just to jam out together. You bet your butt when Johnny and Max found out that electric ukuleles were a thing they bought one as soon as they could find one. Their relationship was mesmerizing and they didn’t stop for anyone.

Johnny and Max, at age twenty-one, were comfortable with one another; they were both on their brand new apartment’s couch, exhausted, half-dead, and ready to sleep for thirty years, but it was comfortable. This new thing to them was comfortable. This new thing should be overwhelming and strange and new but since they were twelve they’ve been doing this. At Max’s house, they slept together, one top of one another, half-dead and entirely brain-dead. At Johnny’s house, they slept, ready to become the next Sleeping Beauties. On the bleachers or under them, in their high school, sleeping, because they couldn’t make it to P.E. because last night was so exhausting. Suzy would snap pictures from her terrible antique polaroid camera that would blind them for long enough to let her get away, but they were furious, and chased after her for days. The pictures always ended up on the high school newspaper, though, despite their best efforts. They would sit on Johnny’s motorcycle that he got for his twentieth birthday and it included a lecture from one of his moms, who was chewing him out for using her motorcycle for years and without a license.

But it’s in their apartment, half-asleep and doting, when Johnny piped up. “Muxxy, will you marry me?”

And it’s half-asleep Max, who said, “Of course. This was goin’ t'be permanent t'begin with, wasinnit?”

Johnny smiled at that, that kind of butterfly-squeezing-gut-bubbling happiness that seized you and every bit of you. The kind that gave you shivers despite feeling warm all over. “Yea, 'course it was. Go back t'sleep.”

Max nodded off. “Y'too, Johnny.”

Johnny nodded off, too, with a soft “I love you, Max,” leaving him as he fell back to sleep. Though, he swore he heard it returned.

🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺 — 🌺

That night, they took everything seriously. They got the rings. They told everyone. They told Suzy over the phone and as soon as they said the word marriage they could hear Discord’s dial tone and Colin and Dimitri’s voices as she translated every last detail. They’re running their own independent paper and blog called Mayview News Now! and they report everything that happens locally. Johnny and Max were going to outdo Mulan’s off-screen wedding and invite the whole of Mayview and they were going to get awesome wedding gifts.

They were going to talk to every single contact they know. They were the famous wonder duo of Mayview and gods and ghosts alike will know that their determination doesn’t lack in any amount. They’re going to get the biggest, prettiest venue possible and have the most wonderful wedding and do it Johnny-Max style. They’re going to have the funniest wedding and no one in Mayview — no one in the world is going to be able to top it.

The wedding reception is beyond what anyone could have thought. It might be labeled as a catastrophe, with both of the grooms’ suits trashed beyond repair and all the pent up strength they’ve been giving to ghosts who can barely feel anything at all were now all over each other. Johnny and Max specifically and insistently requested no glasses in this event. No glass cups, no glass punch bowls, replace the windows with plastic or aluminum foil or wooden screens, just not glass. And they were right to be persistent.

The wedding had delved into a food fight.

Johnny threw the first hit. Of course he did. It was a small one-bite snack and it had nailed Isabel in her face. Suzy took a sharp intake of breath before she gave her girlfriend, — bride to be — two bite-sized snacks and then smiled devilishly at the newly wed couple. Isabel’s spectral energy lit aflame which only egged on Johnny and then they were head-to-head, with every other guest and waiter getting in the crossfire.

Not only was that something to witness, Ed threw something at Max. The no-good biased capital g Gamer had thrown the second throw. Max vaulted a counter with ease and grabbed a discarded crab leg. He then smiled and it was war from then on.

It became a mess of food and laughter and surprisingly calm wait staff. There were really amazing and drastic and dramatic measures taken, tactical formations and a lot of people on the catwalks, people with the capability to jump onto a counter, then grab onto a wall, then hoist themselves onto the catwalks above with nothing more but calloused hands and freewill. Despite the discord that was all around them, it was fun, and the only thing regrettable was the trashed suits and fancy dresses that people wore, despite the wedding’s formality only being casual-wear.

At the end of it, in the trashed interior, with the wait staff patiently behind the counters with the ice chests full of soda and cold sweet tea and orange juice and energy drinks; with the people hiding behind walls with fairy lights dangling from the ceilings and on the walls in dazzling formations; with the people laying flat on catwalks with trashed, mushed food in their hands; with the wonder duo in a tactical husband formation standing in the midst of it all, in their trashed suits and funny grins and shaking hands because of pure adrenaline; and then they laugh.

It’s roaring. It’s thunderous. They’re all laughing. At twenty-one, Johnny and Max are married, newly wed ghost-hunting partners, and they just had a food fight for their wedding reception. And they love this experience and each other so much.