#and just causally moving the hammer at one point

[littlehollyleaf]

So mcu loki is at the heart of a/the world tree now... isn't making a sacrifice and spending time inside the world tree something Odin (and Thor?) is famous for doing? To learn the secrets of the universe and/or as a rite of passage to becoming king or such?

(my Norse mythology is v limited sorry!)

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - CHAPTER IV

Summary-> Gus is healing and moving about. However, nothing is sunshine around the house.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Chapters-> I II III

Warnings-> PG-13: Language, Deception, References to WWII

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“You told our father what?” Edmund barked, as you met him outside the cottage, the next morning.

You had peeked out the window for him, ever since you woke.

“Well,” You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “It was Gus that thought on his feet and told Papa that he was working with you on things around the house.” You repeat yourself, licking your lips. “We had to tell him something, when he found Gus coming out of the bathroom, after his shower.”

Edmund carded a hand through his hair and paced on the small porch. “So, you told him that Gus was a carpenter from another village, who's come over to help me put up shelves in the basement and do repairs around the cottage?”

“Yes.” You nodded, fidgeting. “What else were we to tell him, Eddie? I just opened the front door and grabbed some random man off the street, who looked as if he needed a shower?” You huffed, a tad frustrated.

“No.” He sighed, waving his hand, a tired expression coming over his face. “No, the two of you did the right thing. I suppose it's just as good an excuse to explain him to Pops than any other.” He exhaled again and stopped pacing. “Right well, is the man handy with a hammer or saw?”

“I haven't the slightest clue.”

“I'll find out.” Edmund replied, motioning you both inside and found Gus sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee and reading his book.

Edmund looked at you with a lifted brow and you gave him a look that said, why not, since your father knew he was there, making your brother roll his eyes.

“Good morning, Edmund.” Gus greeted him, setting his book down.

“Morning.” He answered, narrowing his eyes at the other man, sitting nonchalantly at the table. “Are you ready to work today?” He asked, squaring his shoulders.

“I am.” Gus answered, taking a gulp of his coffee, unphased.

“Not before the two of you eat breakfast.” You spoke up, pulling your apron on. “So, park yourself at the table.” You ordered Edmund, pointing to the chair across from Gus, defusing the brewing cloud of male bravado.

Sighing, Edmund pulled the chair out and plopped into it, giving you a short nod as you set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him. Blowing gently on it, he stared across at Gus, who had returned to his book, but felt the other man's eyes on him and lifted a brow over the top of his page. Edmund cocked a brow back at him.

“So, Gus.” Your father called out from the sitting room, having kept his own eye on him since Gus appeared upstairs.

“Yes, sir?” Gus answered, respectfully setting his book down again and tilting slightly to the side to give Mael his attention.

“Why aren't you fighting in the War?”

“Papa!” You gasped, head jerking in his direction, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “That's rude.” You whined at him, frowning.

“It's all right.” Gus replied, smiling sweetly at you. “I don't mind.” He assured you, then looked back at Mael. “I'm a Conscientious Objector, being Evangelical.” He explained to him, causally.

Mael stared at Gus for a long while, fluttering and tapping the pencil between his fingers against his map. The sizzle of hotcake batter on the red-hot griddle and the bubble of the percolator on the counter filling the quiet space, as no one spoke. Finally, Edmund grunted, shrugging his shoulders and taking another sip of his coffee, putting the atmosphere back into some reasonable balance.

“At least, he's not a deserter or a Nazi.” Edmund commented, putting his coffee cup down and picking up the newspaper you'd set on the table.

“Exactly.” You trumpeted, nodding your head, a tingle of relief running through you, turning back to the griddle to flip the hotcakes. “How many cakes do you want, Papa?” You asked, shoveling the steaming rounds onto a serving plate.

“Three, Peanut.” He answered, still tapping his pencil, but his eyes had shifted to the uneven hardwood floor.

Nodding, you shifted three over onto his plate, before taking up a knife and cutting another in half, adding one half with his three, knowing sometimes three weren't enough, but four could be too much for him.

“Boys?” You called over your shoulder, cracking an egg onto the griddle, beside the two fresh pools of batter.

“Four, please.” Gus chimed, turning a page.

“Same.” Edmund replied, squinting at the small print of the article he was trying to read.

Humming to yourself, you finished cooking up the batter and made everyone an egg, before doling out plates. Everyone had just dug in, when a knock sounded on the door. You and Edmund tensed, eyeing each other, a silent conversation going between you.

“Don't be rude!” Mael huffed around a mouthful of food.

Sighing, you stood up and answered it, finding Dr. Tremblay on your doorstep, black bag in hand, a flood of relief washing over you.

“Oh! Good morning, Dr. Tremblay.” You greeted him, glancing behind you to Gus and Edmund.

“Good morning, mon chéri.” Tremblay smiled at you, kissing your cheek and glancing into the house and spotting Gus at the table, enjoying his breakfast. “I see my patient is feeling better.” He commented, lifting a bushy white brow.

“He is.” You nodded, stepping to the side. “Please, come in. Would you like some coffee or tea?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

“Tea would be nice, oui.” Dr. Tremblay answered, setting his bag on the table.

Edmund looked at the respected senior and cocked a brow over his shoulder to his father, hoping to indicate not speaking of Gus's injury and real purpose in the house. Tremblay returned a squinty eyed glare, just as you set down his cup of tea, making you chuckle at the two of them.

“What's brought you over so early, Sacha?” Mael asked, forking a hotcake into his mouth, but his eyes were cast over the table.

“Oh,” Tremblay waved his hand dismissively, before reaching out for the sugar pot in the center of the table, dropping two granular, ivory cubes into his teacup. “I came to check up on Edmund.” He replied, looking at your brother with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Heard from Thom that he might need a new pair of glasses. So, I've come to take some measurements.” He said, patting his bag, still sitting on the table.

“You didn't mention anything about that, Ed.” Your father croaked, looking a bit alarmed.

“I didn't want to burden you with it, Pops.” Edmund answered, squeezing the handle of his fork. “No worries though. Doc has it under control.” He grunted, eyes shifting over to Gus.

Everyone finished their breakfast and Edmund showed Tremblay upstairs, under the guise of looking at his eyes in privacy, while Gus excused himself to the bathroom, following the two of them upstairs. You fret a little bit, picking up the dishes from the table and putting them in the sink, the feeling anxious of not knowing if Gus's wound was healing right or if he needed the antibiotics anymore. You wanted to go upstairs and join them. But knew if you did, your father would likely get more suspicious.

“Are we going to take our usual Sunday afternoon stroll around the garden today, Papa?” You asked, putting a plate on the drying rack.

“I'll see how I feel come time, Peanut.” Mael replied, leaning against the arm of his chair to catch every word the radio presenter was saying.

Nodding, you pulled out the mop bucket and carried it out to the garden, using the garden hose to fill it. Leaning against the wall beside the door, you looked up at the morning sky, steely with angry looking, iron-gray clouds drifting by overhead. You drew in a deep breath, filling your nostrils with the cool and salty scent of the sea, but it also had the faint snap of the ozone, the possible threat of chubby raindrops.

“Well, it looks like my nurse took excellent care of me.” Gus's voice chimed in your ear, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Your wound is all right?” You asked, casting your eyes up to his.

“Yes, ma'am.” He smiled, filling the doorway. “Healing nicely and should have the stitches out in no time.” He assured you, lifting his jumper a little to show you. “I also don't need any more shots! Which I am thankful for!” He chuckled, but looked at you quickly. “Not that you weren't good at administering them!”

“Oh no!” You giggled, cheeks warm with embarrassment and relief. “I'm just as glad as you are! I would have much preferred Dr. Tremblay make you take the antibiotic by mouth! The idea of sticking you, or anyone, with a needle is frightening. I'm surprised I didn't wound you further in the process.”

Gus smirked, glancing down at his boots. “I doubt you could have. I have thighs the size of tree trunks.” He remarked, biting his lip for a moment. “Your bucket!” He gasped, catching sight of the water spilling over the side.

“Oh shoot!” You snapped, twisting the nozzle off and letting out a sigh.

“I'm sorry, I distracted you.” Gus apologized, watching you tip the bucket slightly to let out the excess water.

“It's all right. I should have been paying attention.” You shrugged, grabbing the handle.

“Here, I'll carry it in for you.” He offered, replacing your hand with his at the handle.

You brushed a loose lock of hair behind your ear and watched him take it inside, before shaking your head, as if to snap yourself out of something, and followed him back inside. “You can put it right there.” You instructed him, going under the sink to grab the bottle of fairy liquid. “Are you going to help my brother?” You asked in a hushed voice, pouring some of the washing up solution in the water, while glancing over at your father, who had dozed off.

“I don't know.” Gus replied, a crease forming between his brows. “I'm not sure your brother is too fond of me.”

“Edmund is...” You sighed, resting your hands on your hips. “Edmund tends to be guarded. Many relationships in his life haven't panned out. With our mother leaving us and his wife—well, Willa has big dreams. She feels have been held back and blames him for that, by keeping them here in Saint-Thurney. So, sometimes, even when he does like someone, he gives them the cold shoulder.”

“He's waiting for the boot to drop.” He nodded, understanding.

“Exactly.” You hummed, grabbing the mop and dripping it into the soapy bucket. “Now, you need to skitter off my kitchen floor, so I can wash it.” You ordered, shooing him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Gus laughed, swiping his book off the kitchen table, gave you a grinning salute and made for the basement, casting one more look back at you, smirking as you started scrubbing the floor. “Do you want any help?” He asked, finding Edmund framing up the shelves against the cellar wall.

Edmund paused, a nail clamped between his lips, bracing his elbow against the board he was nailing, he took the one out of his mouth, answering. “Are you any good at building things?”

“I find my way around a saw, hammer and a nail.” Gus replied, looking around at Edmund's spread-out supplies. “Just tell me what you want done with them.”

“All right.” Edmund nodded, cocking a brow at him. “I need a few more boards cut. I already have them marked to length. You can do that for me.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” Gus replied, going into his makeshift room to set his book down. “What?” He asked the other man's look, lifting one of the pre-marked boards onto the sawhorses, finding the pencil measurements and grabbing the saw that rested against the leg beside him.

“Don't call me that.” Edmund growled, an angry glare in his eyes.

Gus held his gaze for a moment, a faint smirk on his lips. “My apologies.”

The two of them nodded at each other, then turned back to their work.

There was no afternoon walk to be had, the dark clouds from that morning broke open and saturated everything outside, shutting in the residents of Saint-Thurney. Your father continued to doze in his chair, unbothered by the weather pattering the roof like a percussion symphony. Gus and Edmund were still down in the basement, hard at work, coming up periodically for bathroom breaks and refreshments, and you sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and getting lost in the world of Oliver Twist.

You paused, bringing your teacup to your lips and cast your eyes to the window by the door, sure you had heard something outside, above the rain and carpentry. But saw nothing and shrugged, taking your sip and set the cup down, returning to your sentence. However, a few moments later, you swore you heard it again; putting you on edge.

“Edmund!” You called out, slowly setting your book down, the hairs at the back of your neck began to stand up. You gasped, seeing three men flash by the window. “Edmund!” You shouted, startling your father awake, his eyes wide with panicked alarm.

A thunder of furious pounding sounded on the front door accompanied Edmund and Gus's boots stomping up the basement stairs, frantic and confused. You had rushed over to your father, in an attempt to calm him before he slipped into an episode of shock.

“It's the Patrol!” You cried, rubbing your father's back, eyes trained on the vibrating door, a stream of German demands now being shouted with their banging, mixed with accented French and English.

“Damn my eyes.” Edmund growled, gritting his teeth. “They must be doing random searches, thinking they can catch everyone inside with the weather.” He huffed, wiping at his sweaty brow and glancing at Gus, who seemed startling calm, but tense.

“We have to let them in!” You urged your brother, not liking how angry the Patrol sounded and knowing the longer you waited, the worse it would be.

“I know!” Edmund barked sharply, the gears in his brain spinning for a split second longer, before he took a long step forward and yanked the door open. “What's the meaning of this!? Are you trying to wake the dead?” He demanded, looking the three German Patrol officers over, the Sturmführer was red faced, and all of them were dripping from being forced to wait so long in the rain, for an answer.

“Inspections!” He snapped in Edmund's face, a small bit of spit hanging from his bottom lip.

“Yes, fine!” Edmund replied, rolling his eyes and shoving the door open.

No one moved as the three officers entered the cozy cottage. Your hand shook as it rested on your father's shoulder, periodically massaging it when you felt him tremble, still on the edge of a possible attack from his Shell Shock. Edmund eyed them from his place by the door, sweaty hands clenched into fists as he watched them conduct their inspections. More like a path of intrusive destruction. They yanked books off shelves, opened cabinets and tossed out their contents, pushed over furniture for amusement.

Even nicked things, when they thought the owners weren't looking.

Mael leaned forward slightly, mumbling to himself, causing you to frown. You tried to kneel down to bring your ear close to his mouth and listen to what he was saying, worried for him, but were stopped by one of the officers. He grabbed you roughly by the arm and yanked you up, barking something at you in German that you didn't understand.

“Please, he's not well!” You protested, tugging against him, desperate to care for your father before he slipped too far.

“Nein, bleib, Hexe!” He barked at you, making you cry out, his grasp tightening.

Before Edmund could blink, Gus was halfway across the kitchen, trained on the German holding you, like a bull seeing red. Snarling, with nostrils flaring, Gus twisted his fist in the officer's uniform and yanked them together. Forcing the other man up onto the tip-toes of his black polished boots in the process.

“Let her go!” He barked, giving him a good shake, for effect.

Startled, he let go, you tumbled to the floor at their feet, and rubbed at the burning handprint that was left behind. The air in the cottage thickened dramatically. One of the officer's comrades came rushing in from the garden, hearing the commotion, and fumbled for his sidearm. While their leader came flying downstairs.

“What is this!” The commanding officer demanded, glaring at Gus as he continued to hold his subordinate. “Put my officer down! At once!” He ordered, when Gus didn't move, showing no fear or reluctance towards the three of them, unlike you, Edmund or your father. “Who is this man?” He barked, looking between your brother and father.

“Answer me, at once!” He screamed, face turning red again. “Or I'll have him shot!”

“No!” You cried out, frightened. “Gus, let him go!” You begged him, pulling on his pant leg, desperately. “I'm fine, please!”

“Answer!” The officer growled at the lot of you, his limited patience wearing thin. “Oswin!” He hissed at his officer, who was now pointing his Walther p38 at Gus. “Shoot him!” He ordered, with a hard jerk of his head.

“He's my sister's fiancé!” Edmund blurted out, as Oswin pulled the pistol's slide back, his eyes wild in the heat of the moment, before collecting himself and saying more calmly. “He's just my sister's fiancé.” He gulped, meeting your eye as you looked up at him, stunned, and caught off guard by the omission.

“What man wouldn't protect his betrothed?” He asked the Storm Leader, moving his eyes to Gus.

“A lesser man.” Gus replied, taking the cue, then looked at the commanding officer. “And I'm not a lesser man, to have your filthy runt put his hands on my girl.” He growled, shoving the man away.

“Why have we not seen you before?” He demanded, looking Gus over.

“He was serving, but just returned home, after being wounded.” You explained to him, looking up at Gus. It was the easiest bit of information to give, for them to believe, Gus could show them his wound.

“Is that so?” The officer asked, cocking a brow.

“It is.” Gus answered, pulling up his jumper to show them his bullet wound. “I was wounded in Belgium and discharged. So, I came here to be with her and recover.”

“Can anyone other than those here confirm your story?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at the lot of you.

“Yes.” Edmund chimed in, feeling like the situation was on decent grounds. “Dr. Sacha Tremblay. He's been doctoring his wound since he's been back.”

“I will be checking and informing the Director General.” The Storm Leader warned the three of you, and the look in his eyes hinted at his misgiving, waiting for one of you to crack.

“Very well.” Edmund answered, his tone bland, shrugging one shoulder.

The senior officer stared the three of you down for a second longer, before looking to his men, inquiring in German if they had found anything. But the two replied in the negative. There was no contraband or anything that could get any of you in trouble as collaborators to the French Resistance or Allied Powers. Despite Gus standing right there in front of them, plain as day.

Whether they knew that or thought they had enough evidence to take you in, was another story entirely.

[jodiie-leighanne]

"Randomly wrote this, it's not that great. Angst, angst and more angst.

Draco love could you come to the bedroom"

Fuck yes. Shucking off my jacket, shows kicked somewhere in the hall as her angelic voice calls me. What man doesn't want to be summoned upstairs seductively after a busy day working?

Skipping a step at a time eager to get to her,  palms on the door frame, that's when I see her. 

Oh, fuck no.

The lights dipped to a demonic claret. Perched on a chaise by the window, concealing something in the shadows.

"What's wrong with your face darling not happy to see me?"

She stands doused in crimson silk, matching painted lips. Probably easier to mask the blood she is going to bleed from my veins. I'm aroused and terrified because in her left hand as the moon light hits it, is a file I've been desperately trying to conceal.

"Who's Mary-Beth?" 

There it is. Think up an explanation, fast. 

Blank. Cheers brain. 

"Who?" I smirk, trying to humour the situation. Bad move, she charges at me shoving the folder into my chest and my spine against a wall. 

"Mary-Beth, you know the slut from the 4th floor of your building, average looking about 5ft 7inches voice like a raked chalkboard", She has a fair point. "Fair sized bust" Again, she aint lying. "Oh come on Draco you know the one youve fucking frquently at the Beaumont.." I'm dead, mum if you read this I'm probably fish food by now. If you find my body well I hope you're not squeamish because this crazy cow is about to castrate me, then force feed it to me. 

"Or was that Larissa? Jasmine?.." 

"Ok ok, listen baby.." A searing sting fills my cheek with warmth. As she squeaks in frustration, dropping the evidence she held to the floor, her once stark green irises have turned venomous.

"No you listen, whilst i've been at home recovering from birthing your big headed baby" Bit mean "Stitches down to my arsshole magic or not that shit fucking hurts. I can't even shit Draco" Good lord. Each speech spat, I'm jabbed in the pectoral with a digit.

"Then the little bastard had the absolute audacity to be the mirror image of his father" Grinning slightly at the thought of my beautiful blonde boy, that thought disappears as her daggers pierce through. "Little bastard sucks my tits raw daily. I keep him nourished, clean and safe. Yet he is your doppelganger" 

"Lucky kid", Her hand lifts to strike me again. Managing to grip her wrist mid air, causing her to squirm away. Backing acrossing the room. 

"Dove come on", wind whips my face as a hardback novel hammers towards me. 

"Dont you fucking dove me", Followed by another, and a another. 

"Shit, Hope stop fuck throwing books at me, looney bitch"

"It's the least you deserve", Upgrading to a vase. 

"Bit of pansy move don't you think could have at least thrown.. I was joking, god damn woman", shifting out the way as my desk chair hurtled towards my form.

Deeply chuckling she hauls out her wand, conjuring a basket of blades into her arm throwing them fast paced. Causally launching them as I remain unshielded. 

Sometimes I fucking hate magic. 

"Are you trying to kill me ?", I scream. Trying to get closer to her to stop the madness.

"Yes"

She sprints at me again, knife in hand. With no mercy she slammed me into the draws. A Mirror any surface that may bruise, cut or mane me. I was thrown against it. Shards of glass, wooden splinters and blood decorated the floor joining to mix with petals, water and scarlet from her shredded bare feet. 

Leaping she knocks me onto the bed, I may have let out a girlish scream as the wind knocked out my lungs. Her petite forearm locking my chest down as she straddles me dominantly. Sharp side of that blade she wields to my jugular. Fuck she looks good like this, sweat claiming her forehead, panting ferociously. 

My dick hardens underneath her core, I'm a sucker for Hope Malfoy always have been.

"You just couldn't keep your pathetic little cock in your pants could you"

"Woah there little?" 

"Miniature" She scoffs in disgust, she is testing my patience. 

"That's just cruel and a lie", I retorted, smirking once more, which just angered the fired brunette. 

"I only speak the truth", Right enough of this, in one swift move I push her off me as she tumbles over the edge of the bed to hit the ground. Grunting as she makes contact, dropping to join her I now mount her. Sides tucked in between my knees as I point to my very obvious erection straining my slacks. 

"Does that look small to you baby? I believe you've screamed that it's too big for your tight little cunt have you not?"

"Perhaps I did" She shrugs from her laid position, rolling my eyes at her childish ways. "And no your right it's massive", Knew she would cave for me. "Makes a pretty good target actually", Her fist raises to connect with my family jewels.

"Woman, stop trying to hurt me"

Pinning her arms, we are nose to nose now. Breathing the same ragged air. I catch her leaning in to either kiss me or headbutt me, I'll go for the seconds. Completely caught off guard when she actually captures my lips with her own. 

Somehow, that fighting got us both immensely turned on which lead to a few rounds of hate fucking, we are now naked under the sheets. Slowly coming down from our highs, covered in bruises and scratches. 

"You can leave now"

"Wait what?"

"Get out" She points to the door, swinging her legs round to get up. But I pull her back into me. 

"But we just.." Usually we fuck and its all over. We are happy again. 

"So you thought I forgave you?" She struggles out my grasp, tears rimming her eyes. Time to come clean. 

"Baby listen I'll explain.." Shifting to lean my back against the headboard, I summon the folder to my palm. 

"Five minutes go.." Hope eyes stay on her nails as she picks the skin around them, trying to distract herself.

"Larissa is an estate agent", Her hues briefly flick to mine as I opened the paperwork to back up what I was saying. "Mary-Beth's husband is an interior designer, i met them both at the Beaumont for a meal to discuss decor" Placing blueprints in front of her, daring to hold her tiny hands in my own. "Also, i don't know a Jasmine"

"I know, it was a test" She smiled faintly. 

"I bought us a house, just the three of us"

"A house?" There's that light in her face, I love so much. 

"Yes, I would never cheat on you silly girl", Warming up to me, her arms clinging to my neck, mumbled 'sorrys' left her lips as she scattered kisses. 

"Well it's a good thing because we've fucked the room up..  I-I fucked the room up", Chuckling at earlier events. 

"It comes furnished", My turn to kiss her now. 

"Perfect, I'm sorry I doubted you love"

"That's ok" 

Later that evening, married life was back to normal. Affection every moment we could. 

Myself and my wife were sitting around the dining table eating a meal she made as an apology. Our small son cradled in my arms as I rocked him, whilst trying to eat. 

Multi tasking is no joke. 

"Hey draco?" Hope quips out of nowhere. 

"Yeah?"

"Don't drive the range rover for a while, take a different car", Hiding a devilish grin behind her wine glass.

"Cut the brakes?" I ask nonchalantly, popping a chip in my mouth. 

"Planted a bomb to designate when the engine turns on", My eyes widened as the food got lodged in my throat, from how dry it went.  

"Your insane"

"Mhmm only for you"

[uhhhhhhhhhsblogyea]

This is a surprise!

cw, attack, killing, slight demspey x richtofen, and religion, theres a good bit of that in there

[i wrote this awhile ago so theres not much of shipping material in this i was just like oh yeah this sounds cool]

[ 1 ] chapter 1 ; bump in the road 

Demspey hums a song to himself, something he heard while going through the teleporter awhile back. He wasn't sure what the name was or the lyrics, it was just a catchy tune. If he had to guess, it came from the future. The sounds in it were definitely not from the 1930's.

Rictofen laughs and looks at Dempsey, "Dempsey, what does LMG stand for?" Dempsey smirks at this, turning to look at the doctor. He knew what to say, thanks to training the recruits. Maybe he could punch Richtofen for being stupid, just like he did to the recruits. 

While Dempsey gives a minute of silence while looking over at the German, who takes out the summoning key, counting over his items before summoning the rift to their next place. “You sure you want to know?” He chuckles. 

“Why of course! Why, I wouldn’t of asked if I knew already.” Richtofen hums, confused by the American’s laughter.

"If you say so. It stands for Lick My Gibblets." Dempsey struggles to hold back his smile, knowing his foreign teammate wouldn't really understand what he meant - not to mention he’d look stupid for not knowing what it really meant. What a funny thing. 

While the two were conversing, Nikolai and Takeo had stepped into the rift, Dempsey following suit before Richtofen grabs him, "I am certain you were lying. What does it really mean?" He demands.  

Dempsey grunts, pulling Richtofen off him while saying. "Let me go, dumbass!" Dempsey sighs, walking through the portal between worlds.

Richtofen failed to specify where exactly, but, at this point the American wasn't surprised though he wasn't any less annoyed. 

"I wasn't aware it was LMGD..." The German ponders before following the bunch with a chuckle.

Tank steps out of the rift, meeting the other two, but it takes him to realize he stepped out into something he didn't expect. "What the fuck?" Dempsey is surprised, not prepared for the foot of snow on the ground. Pine trees of many kinds surround the area, being in a secluded area. Everything is covered in snow, pretty much abandoned. 

"Oh my, this is quite the surprise." Richtofen speaks up, making his presence known as the blue rift crackles and closes. 

"I wasn't prepared for this myself." Nikolai speaks up now, giving a slight shrug. "German," he addresses, "with the time traveling I'm sure you'd know where we are." He doesn't believe the legitimacy of Richtofen's surprise, Dempsey can understand why. 

Takeo chooses not to speak, fixing his pants to go over his boots so no snow falls inside of them while Dempsey watches the Russian and German grow tension.

Takeo stands upright. "Let us talk with honor." He looks at the both of them and nods.

Richtofen looks at Takeo, sighing before nodding. "If we came here there is something we need, so let's go look for it. We'll have to hurry up and find a spot to 'bunker down' before the next wave arises." The German man had done air quotes before pointing a lanky arm towards the large gothic church a-ways ahead of them.

The front of the quite beautiful church is a triangular shaped building, much like a house or meeting hall that extends into a tower that looks very much similar to a clock tower with a bell, considering there's a clock on the front.

 There's other rooms on the side of it but a lot of wires and metal rods are sticking out on the top of the tower. There's designs in the stone, stained glass of religious figures. Such a shame the full beauty was lost when the glass is cracked and broken in areas, boards nailed over any thought of entrance. 

Something's off about it though.

As they trudge through the snow, Dempsey notices the metal rods. He looks to his left to see Nikolai, the man who seems unbothered by this cold.  "Hey Nik, maybe Richtofen's right about something being here. As much as I hate to give him the benefit of a doubt, the wires and rods on the clocktower gives me the idea something's here." 

Dempsey raises his hand and points at the clock tower briefly, giving Nikolai enough time to glance it over. The Russian man follows Dempsey's hand, taking a second before seeing the same. "Perhaps, American. You do have a point." 

[ 2 ] chapter 2 ; welcome to hell, american

There's a blue beam of light, signifying the existence of the mystery box inside the church. Demspey hums, quite happy about that at least. Hopefully Samantha was nice enough to spawn some hidden ammo stashes for when they ran out or get low – he was quite notorious for being trigger happy and running out of ammo quickly. 

Hey, at least he took care of his gun when he had the time to.

They continued to make their way through the snow, had it only being less than ten minutes of arrival. Dempsey noticed that Takeo and Richtofen were colder due to not having jackets or long sleeves like he and Nikolai had. Richtofen seemed extremely cold although, compared to the headstrong Japanese man who refused to admit he was cold. Tank sighed heavily, taking off his jacket and holding it out to Richtofen. 

"Dempsey? Why are you giving me your jacket? You're-" Dempsey held up his hand, making Richtofen take it. "Doc, you're shivering more than any of us. You're also the one we have to follow here, I don't want to hear you whine about wanting some soup and your nose being stuffy." The American rolls his eyes, forcing a shiver from surfacing. 

Richtofen thanked him and put on the marine's coat. It was warm from his body heat, and quite soft on the inside. Dempsey wasn't going to lie, Richtofen looked quite cute in his coat. 

"Oh focus Tank!" He shakes his head, yelling at himself in his mind. Dempsey powered through the cold the best he could, not wanting to really show how cold he did feel in just a t-shirt. His pride wouldn't let him.

Eventually they reached the entrance, wooden planks nailed over the two doors to the church. Nikolai takes his hammer from his belt and starts to pry the nails out of the boards. Dempsey helps without speaking, pulling the bloodied planks off and stack them aside. It was kind of nice how they silently agreed for once.

Unfortunately for them, it took a good bit to clear the entrance to the church which means they had to sit in the snow and cold wind longer than they wished. Things were placed behind the doors, benches and heavy boxes filled with bibles and books, being barricaded from the inside. They moved into the hallway after forcing those things aside, Takeo giving a shiver. 

"I expected it to be... warmer." His nose wrinkles as he breathes in the stale air, looking to the side to one of his friends. Dempsey had to agree, but he took a step forward, walking down the carpeted hallway to double doors that were once barricaded. Emphasis on once. 

The items that blocked the doors were knocked and spread all over, blood that seemed old and semi-recent splattered on the ground and walls. He hummed, why was there new blood? To be honest he never saw any zombies openly bleeding and spilling their guts out randomly unless they were shot or killed. 

This was the room people would come to pray and listen to someone speak about religion, sitting on the wooden benches. 

Dempsey suspects that someone or something is here, and he's not sure what. Maybe he's not as dumb as the others say he is.

At this point, Dempsey couldn't give a damn about how Christian churches worked after contemplating it. He just wanted out. 

"Scan over this area, I'm gonna take upstairs." He says to the three who had gone and caught up with him, to which the others nod. He goes to walk towards the stairs, placing his hand on the metal railing. He halts at the third step to turn back to the group. "Richtofen." He calls. 

The German seems a bit startled at first, "Yes, Dempsey?" He strides over to Demspey on the stairs. "How about you come with me, we'll do two and two. That way none of us die for good." Demspey offers, though it sounds more like a command. 

Richtofen hums, tapping a finger on his chin before saying. "Fine Dempsey! Let's go take a look around, shall we?" Demspey nods, heading up the stairs with Richtofen behind him.

"Take that room, I'll be over here." He points to a random room on the left, it looks like a storage room. Dempsey walks down the hall a bit, getting a gut feeling to draw his pistol so he does. He pushes the door open to a room with furniture, sheets placed on top of them. 

"Right out of the horror films," He laughs a bit. He walks around the room, looking for crates, chests, anything that looks like it would stash ammo. 

There's soft footsteps behind him as he's rummaging through a box. He notices them as they stop, getting up and turning around to see who he thought was Richtofen. "Did you f-" 

Dempsey couldn't finish the sentence before getting attacked by an old woman, but she wasn't a zombie. He falls to the ground, his pistol clattering against the wooden floor. "Get off of-" Something sharp sinks into his shoulder near his neck. Her fucking teeth. 

He starts to reach for his pistol while fighting against her grip, eventually grabbing ahold of the gun and shooting the lady in the head. God, he hoped she wasn't someone important.

He begins to sit up, her blood spilled all over his shirt. He grunts, throwing her body off. Richtofen comes running in, "Dempsey! What happened?" He looks at him, getting up. 

"I'm fine Doc, I killed it. She must've just got affected by the 115, that's all." He reassures him. 

"Why don't you help me look around in here? Take these sheets and use them for bedding, might be good." Dempsey causally changes topics, stepping over the corpse and taking an already dirtied sheet to clean the blood off himself. 

Now that he thinks about it, he feels a little weird. There’s tingling around where she had bit him. Dempsey knows that isn’t a good sign, especially in his book. 

______

sorry if its super long, im on mobile !!

[noah-moth-cursed-chaos]

Trilby felt this heist was almost *too* easy. But hey if someone wanted to drop all his dreams into the palm of his hand he was certainly not one to say no. He quietly mumbled to himself his checklist as he lowered himself to the gorgeous ruby, making sure he’d done everything he needed. Alarms disabled, phones and cameras deactivated, all sensors and traps accounted, the warning system neutralized. He really had thought of everything. Except one thing.

“Hoy! What’s your game?!” A tall man with messy red hair turned to face him, reaching into a trench coat. Trilby froze, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s always one more thing to do.” He sighed to himself irritably.

The man demanded to know who Trilby was, he rambled off his usual rant, blah blah blah shadows blah blah blah nobody.

“Geez, I didn’t need your life story you pasty faced weirdo.”

Trilby repeated the man’s description to himself, confused, before realizing, “I FORGOT MY F^CKING MASK!”

Shockingly, the man did not shoot him, didn’t take a picture, or any of that in response to the realization that Trilby was most certainly a robber. Trilby was *going* to just grab the ruby and go but. Gosh this man had no smarts to him, it’d be a bit unfair to the poor moron wouldn’t it? He sighed as he just stood by the ruby, waiting. Might as well give the man a fair chance.

When he returned he expressed his surprise that Trilby had actually taken the time to wait, to which the cat burglar rolled his eyes, “Oh no problem. It’s just that I’m really not comfortable outwitting idiots. Makes me feel guilty.”

“Hey, I’m not an idiot!” The guard seemed rather annoyed with the other’s referral to him as such. Trilby smirked at that response, well then it’d be no skin off his nose to just grab the gem and run would it?

Chris cursed to himself, why didn’t he just take the easy job?! He booked it after the man, shouting some impressive insults and profanities. Despite his best efforts however, the cat burglar was faster and far more graceful than Chris. At one point the man turned to face Chris, tossing something at him. Before he knew it the entire room was filled with thick smoke and the robber was nowhere to be seen. “... sh^t.” He was so getting fired for this.

Well maybe.

“Where’s the way out?” He turned to see the man peaking his head around a corner, clearly trying to hide his own embarrassment at the question. Why would Chris tell him that?! No, he simply continued to chase the man. At one point it was really just for fun, he’d realized he wouldn’t be catching the burglar, but hey he was bored and drunk on the job, and this was something to do.

Trilby was more than frustrated with this ‘guard’. Despite not even doing his job, he still seemed more than stubborn when it came to pursuing him. Finally he stopped, maybe if he explained exactly *who* he was the idiot would either back down or take this more seriously. Instead-

“Tag you’re it!”

Trilby stared after in disbelief, “.. what a strange child.” Nonetheless: got the man out of his way. He strolled causally to the front door, ready to walk right through when someone grabbed his wrists with one hand and put him in a chokehold with the other, just barely loose enough to not *actually* be choking him.

“Did you really think I’d just let you walk out?”

Ah curses. Trilby really did need to stop underestimating people... “Look. You don’t seem particularly fond of this job.” He was searching his head for how to get the other to let him go, just sort of talking out his ^ss now.

“True, but I would be pretty fond of the reward to get you put behind bars mate.” Trilby paused, did he smell.. alcohol on the other? A lot of it too. How did this man have such a firm grip while straight up hammered?

“Well, what if instead we uh.. compromised? I mean I’m sure there’s *something* you’d like from me? Something worth letting me go?” The thief really did *not* expect the man to respond the way he did.

The guard released his hold on Trilby, “Wanna see a movie?”

Chris didn’t know why of all things he asked for a date with the man. Let alone a movie date. He also didn’t know why he took him out to dinner after, but he had fun and was thoroughly content with his night. The two were now walking down an empty street, Trilby was looking up at the stars, his hands in his pockets as he walked. He looked like the type of man who didn’t have a care in the world, who believed he could face everything. Chris was more than aware that it was foolish but he was already becoming quite enamored, the man’s way of speaking and holding himself, his confident air, the fact that he’d ran circles around the demonslayer for a full two hours and then agreed to go on a date with him when he likely could have just ran off.

“Well, as lovely and.. odd as this night has been, I do believe I have to go.” Chris was suddenly aware they’d stopped, and that Trilby had noticed the other staring at him all goo goo eyes like for a good three minutes.

“Already?” Chris felt heat rise to his cheek as his mouth moved before his brain, get yourself together, you just met this guy tonight! Besides you don’t even like men... right? “I mean uh-maybe we can meet up again sometime, yeah?”

The thief smirked at the response and Chris wondered what it’d be like to kiss his lips, and how he’d fallen so fast for someone he should be putting in jail. “Perhaps, perhaps not.” Trilby closed the space between them with a kiss that left Chris’ head spinning to the point where it took him a moment to realize that the other had used that umbrella thing to swing off to the roofs, likely disappearing forever. “Wait-I.. I didn’t even get your number.”

Trilby hid being an ac unit on a roof, peaking quietly at the man standing dazed on the street below. What an idiot. He didn’t think he’d ever played someone so thoroughly. He was sure he’d be in Chris’ head for months, maybe years, and for Trilby? Well the night would be nothing but amusing. He’d never seen someone fall so fast, the guard had totally forgot what he should have been doing, too busy paying Trilby compliments and making attempts at flirting. He chuckled to himself, pulling out the ruby and admiring his prize, before disappearing into the night, likely never to see Chris Quinn again.

Figured I’d write their first meeting since I haven’t been able to update the fanfic yet, give y’all some content at least. Trilby just straight up played him. Just straight stole his heart and booked it man. Rip Chris.

[benchgenderstudies]

Iliopsoas Strains, Side Stitches and Testicle Turmoil.

//As written to the NATA News. (National Athletic Training Association). 

Dear Editor

The exact cause of sidestitches during running has long eluded the profession. What has been agreed on are ways to subdue the discomfort. A letter to The Physician and Sports Medicine suggested  “bending forward pressing ones fist up into the ribcage and against the liver and run 10 to 15 steps like this.” (Duncan). Less severe methods by this contributor (in order) include 1)try belly breathing rather than shallow chest breathing, 2)exhale when the foot opposite the side stitch strikes the ground, and (3) run with your hands over your head while breathing deeply. The uncomfortable circumstance seems local to endurance runners, especially novices.

Chris Webb of Moonjoggers.com echoes nearly identical advice. With a jpeg of all the muscles of the abdomini and obliques family shown on his website, Webb goes on to join the viewpoint blaming the transverse abdominus for exercise-related transient abdominal pain (ETAP)(Webb). With that in mind, make concern of two different forms of advice to 1)raise ones arms over their head. 2)concentrate on exhaling when the opposite foot of the stitch contacts the ground.  The effect of each of these strategies brings passive attention to the gait. The runner is forced to concentrate on moving their footstrikes underneath them rather than behind or in such a way that their running gait is mechanically swayback.

It would be first wrong to only focus on the anterior face of the body (trunk flexors) to narrow down the culprits.  The posterior zone of core stabilization includes Psoas major and iliacus (iliopsoas), longissimus thoracis, serratus anterior, latissimus dorsi, erector spinae and many others. In fact, the American public's issues with low back pain mirror sports medicine's and orthopaedic disinterest in the low back musculature as individual components.  

Webb added that stopping a run to stretch trunk musculature (inclusive of the pectoralis major) could somehow relieve the ETAP pain. An athlete of enough experience to know what DOMS feels like would readily realize the pectoralis major and diaphragm could not be culprits to a side stitch. Either the stitch would replicate shooting pain down the arm or breathing would be entirely altered. Worry of a heart attack should certainly end a run. Webb and Duncan give us our clues what the underlying cause is: its deep, deep as the liver (seemingly). They suggest pressing on the point to relieve pain. We in sportsmedicine already use this method to defeat tennis elbow and patellar tendonitis: reducing the range of motion of the muscle/tendon to ease strain on the attachments with chopat straps The psoas major is a clear victim of conditioning neglect and the root of  ETAP. What is the cause: bad form favoring hip hyperextension which strains the muscle while the runner already has it in a stretched position (standing upright). The psoas group is tasked with both core stabilization and run form performance posture. The iliopsoas's relaxed position occurs while sitting. A stitch is condition of a muscle under tension not yet acclimated to the jarring of running and aiding inefficient run mechanics. Whether these elements are alone painful or result in a spasm existing as a 'standing wave” are yet to be decided.  

This discussion doesn't yet explain why the stitch only occurs on one side of the body. The immediate answer is ;no matter how perfect in attempt; all sports gaits are somehow assymetric. I do not choose that particular hill for my professional career to have a momentus death(or celebrity status). Instead, I favor a causal notion behind assymetry: ergonomic and physiological mechanisms of energy conservation. When two muscles occupy a redundant function, its my hypothesis the brain sends only one message and at certain times there is a dominant muscle of the pair and a subdominant. The subdominant follows the dominant.  Õunpuu and Winter's EMG study confirms higher activity in  dominant side plantar flexors. Their abstract directly states: “an assumption of symmetry is not valid for individual subjects” and bilaterial differences are hidden in pooled data. (Õunpuu). As early as 1989, the potential for muscles of a pair to act differently opened the door to evaluate ETAP correctly.

Side stitches are not the only difficulty an injured or strained iliopsoas/psoas can deal out. For males, a strained iliopsoas can leave one doubled over and cursing at all family members and every barking neighborhood dog. Pain is far surpassed by worry; surgical intervention worries. Do I have a varocele, testicular torsion, a hernia; what is a matter? The onset of a psoas major strain is often a long time coming. The tightness in an upper side quadrant of the abdomen is often written off as resistance exercise DOMS or a nuisance.  Graduate school coursework circa 1998 had conflicting views whether stretching actually reduced potential for injury when before exercise. Sprinters and weightlifters should always expect to stretch regardless of research debating maximum muscle tendon and force. The endurance runners face a dicier gamble. I prefer to believe their best routine is stretching after a preliminary portion of their run has warmed them up to deliver preformance goals in their daily workout; when they are ready to drop the hammer on more challenging hills or paces.  Othewise they should always stretch after the run or keep their goals section limited to stretch directly after and follow with a cool down run element.

For musicians/percussionists the strain will casually take place by whichever side the toms are arranged for fills while playing the drum kit. From high tom to floor tom; the daily enthusiasm to rockout first and stretch later sets a stage for serious pain radiating from the trunk down through the scrotum.  Even actively trying to stretch the trunk muscles can leave an athlete or percussionist vulnerable to series of events that trigger the strain.

The trigger of a moderate iliopsoas strain (as experienced by the author) came to fruition while trying to stretch the muscle. Lying in a supine position on a press bench (at the gym) and allowing the legs to hang off each side edge while not touching the ground, the iliopsoas was put under extreme tension. That instant of posture was a rest period between doing raised-straight-leg crunches.  Giving no warning to the body for a not-gradual mode of extreme tension, the psoas muscle group became insulted. The effect was not pronounced until three hours after. The effect also included an hour of elliptical cardio including a crossramp of the whole leg focus before returning home.

The sharp large-area pain of an iliopsoas strain can cause male athletes to be very concerned of testicular conditions. The pull on the inguinal ligament, internal and external oblique insertions along the pelvis floor raise due worry of conditions that require surgery. The threat of surgery amidst a condition having very little literature can compound individual sensitivity to pain. The pained area will comprise just below the pectoralis major down to the epididymis of the testicle on the same side, some central discomfort in the central low abdomen exists as well. The acute injury can be handled with rest, ice on both the epididymis, crotch, iliopsoas bursa and pained side of the abdomen. Most pain will subside in three days.  Latent effects or warning symptoms include hypersensitivity to the edges of seats when the rear of the testicle brushes against them, slight oddity in latent fluid sensation at the end of the penis following ejaculation and some urinations is also telltale.  These are not sensations of burning or pain nor should urination or ejaculation be painful, Otherwise you may be dealing with another situation entirely. There is a change in the chemical composition of the fluid denoting some form of stress or small scale inflammatory response.

If the athlete returns to resistance exercise before the injury is healed, they risk a slightly less painful experience providing their gym routine was unchanged and they guarded against painful postures and excessive weight. Squats were unaffected; both for quadriceps and gluteal focus. Running is also not painful nor did it result in ETAP. The author is an experienced runner so his posture may not have the quirks that would raise a disabling condition to novices with an iliopsoas strain.  In this experience a few tests of the leg and abdomen were evaluated. Step sign was negative. Step sign was followed by a hip flexor test which was also negative but resulted in an internal 'snapping syndrome' sensation near the ASIS. The snapping sensation was not painful as it moved from external to internal, nor did it radiate pain to the offended/engaged testicle of the condition. General soreness following workouts did require further icing in all regions.  

A test for this strain is as follows: lying supine in a resting position of yoga's bridge; begin with a wide stance with feet planted on the ground and knees at a comfortable maximum distance apart. Rotate each foot inward to about 30-40 degrees. At this point the clinician should ask the athlete to begin spreading their knees as far as possible. The motion will cause mild discomfort on the iliopsoas-pelvic pathway and can send stress down to the rear of the testicle.The athlete may notice significant details about the attachment location of the pelvic fascia to the testicle and its unlike the vas deferens.

A return to rest position will clarify if impact to the strain has been achieved by discomfort in the upper psoas major region.   In no way should the discussion of an iliopsoas strain deter visiting a general physician or a urologist for concerns of genital injury.  Having done extensive research it appears the misdiagnosis of this ailment has resulted in excessive and unneeded antibiotic medication, invasive testicular modifications, the false diagnosis of repeat bouts of epididymitis, routine torsion protocols, testicular removal and many wild guesses.  Even well trained professionals utilizing the Arnheim & Prentice “Principles of Athletic Training”(8th Ed) undergraduate text or even the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons “Athletic Training and Sportsmedicine” (2nd Ed) text would not be able to differentiate a posterior stabilizer induced discomfort from a testicular complication from the mid 1990s research absence in the area. Urologists and orthopaedic doctors should also take heed.

(Now I'm going to get back to my sore tummy and my sore man-ball).

Michael Bench graduated East Stroudsburg University's Movement Studies Program with honors and concentration in Athletic Training SportsMedicine in 1998. He was NATABOC certified in 1999 while completing a Masters Degree in Exercise Physiology and Graduate Certificate in Gender Studies; (#GoDucks) specializing in body dysmorphia.  His further experiences in body modification scenes and independent work in competitive endurance (amateur) athletics, gate control theory, percussion coordination and body composition have enabled the perspective on this elusive malady. He has published two books, “This Device of Reason” and “Native Supremacy”; and many unpublished papers ranging from economics to anorexia nervosa. His current edition of research “External Motivators of Anorexia Nervosa and Anorexic Self Abuse” is available free on request.

Duncan LA (2001) Unraveling Side Stitches, The Physician and Sportsmedicine, 29:4, 66, DOI: 10.3810/psm.2001.04.733

Mole JL, Bird ML, Fell JW. (2013)The effect of transversus abdominis activation on exercise-related transient abdominal pain. J Sci Med Sport. 2013 Jul 10. pii: S1440-2440(13)00144-8. doi: 10.1016/j.jsams.2013.05.018. [Epub ahead of print]

Õunpuu S, Winter DA(1989)Bilateral electromyographical analysis of the lower limbs during walking in normal adults,Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology,Vol 72 (5), 429-438,ISSN 0013-4694,

https://doi.org/10.1016/0013-4694(89)90048-5.

Webb, C. (2013. Nov 21) Rocking on the Roads: Stitches. https://www.moonjoggers.com/rocking-roads-stiches/

[whirlybirbs]

⋆    —–   CARHOP COOL, 3 and a 1/2.

summary: it’s time for a two day vacation to the beach, aka lake tippecanoe. pairing: steve harrington x reader, au!post season three word count: 1.8k, mostly world building a/n: have some good ol’ establishing-the-au fic! and billy! and steve’s mom! things are gonna get a little freaky up at the lake. here’s a filler chapter. 

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Steve’s driveway is crowded.

Tippecanoe, two hours North from Hawkins, was home to the Harrington family’s lakehouse. His mom had asked, earlier in the summer, if Steve would be willing to ride up and make sure everything was alright between rentals -- she’d cheerily added, “Go up for a day or two. Bring Dustin, Robin, whoever -- you kids need a vacation after everything that happened, y’know?”

(Janine Harrington had, in recent weeks, become infinitely closer with her son -- when men in suits had brought a bloodied Steve home that night in early July, priding him as a hero, a lot of things changed. He’d opened up about everything in the days following, spurring Janine to reach out to Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Byers and even Hopper, whom her husband couldn’t stand, with kind words and promises that their children were allowed over anytime -- they were bound together now, by Government NDA’s.

It was a nice change, though, between her and Steve -- there was a lot more trust now.)

His mom is chatting happily with Mrs. Byers by the mailbox as Will grabs his towel and cooler, loading the stuff into the Wheeler family hatchback. Nancy unlocks it for him between chatting with Jonathan. Mike helps, grin turning upwards as Dustin arrives with Lucas on his heels, bikes dropped by the mailbox as the boys laugh and launch into one another’s arm.

“Vacation, baby!”

Steve, carrying his own towel over his shoulder, laughs when Dustin finally calls out, sneakers pounding across the hot asphalt of the Harrington home’s driveway.

They both meet half-way.

“Steve!” he gets a toothless grin, “It’s vacay time!”

“Oh, you know --” the handshake is quick, calculated, and well-practiced, “We’re gonna get our tan on --”

The roar of a Camaro startles the group from their laughter.

Billy Hargrove rolls around the cul-de-sac, pulling up behind the Byer’s car and the mailbox before promptly cutting the engine and the Judas Priest track.

Max, with dueling, flaming red braids, hops from the front seat with a beaming smile.

The boys give a victorious cry.

“Zoomer!”

Billy’s slow to exit the car, aviators perched on his nose. The Def Leppard shirt’s sleeves has been chopped off, really hammering home the whole ‘suns out, guns out’ motto the lifeguard seems to be living by this summer. 

After the Battle of Starcourt, a lot of things changed. 

The biggest change, though, seemed to be in Billy Hargrove -- post Mind Flayer, he’d been exposed to the world the Upside Down created, the world his sister and everyone else had been living in for the last year; he’d come out of the haze, out of the flayed, and cried into Max and Eleven’s arms, nothing but apologies on his mouth in the wake of the destruction.

Steve remembers seeing him in the back of one of the ambulances, holding Max’s hand, talking. 

Not fighting, not screaming, not... being Billy.

Steve and Billy shared a look, then. Truce was what it meant. 

At first, Billy tried to pretend the whole ‘Mind Flayer’ thing never happened. 

But pretending didn’t get rid of the nightmares. And soon, Billy Hargrove was knocking on Will Byer’s door mid-D&D game looking for help, for someone to talk to.

The apology had come a few days later.

Billy had strolled up the Family Video, scaring the shit out of Steve, before offering his hand and a genuine apology. Robin watched on, a bit slack-jawed.

“I was a fucking asshole,” the blonde said slowly, “I’m sorry, man.”

Steve blinked at his hand.

After a moment, he shook it.

“It’s cool, dude,” Steve said before he could stop himself, “You didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t excuse the fact I was a dick, though.”

A look of surprise fleeted across Steve’s face. “Fair.”

Billy smiled, then, different from every other time he’d seen it. It wasn’t for show. It was... real. When Billy left, Robin had made a sound of pure shock before asking what the hell that was about.

“He beat the shit out of me,” Steve said, watching him drive away, “Tried to beat up Lucas, all while we were being hunted by Demogorgans... Just, y’know, was a genuine shit-bag.”

“Seems like he’s changed.”

“No kidding.”

“Trauma,” Robin chirps as she moves to sort the VHS’s, “is a hell of a thing.”

The malice that was there before the Fourth of July is gone. Instead, Billy smiles as he hauls Max’s cooler from the trunk of the navy sports car, offering Lucas a causal knuckle-touch before clapping Steve on the back.

“Hey man.”

“Hey Billy,” Steve chirps, “Nice outfit.”

“It’s hot out, alright,” he battles back, clearly amused, “I gotta work on my tan.”

“You coming with?” Steve asks, lips pulled into a smirk as he crosses his arms and shifts from foot to foot. His white converse are stark against the dark driveway, “We’ve got room.”

“Naw,” Billy breathes, crossing his arms, “I gotta shift at the pool -- thanks for the invite, though.”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, “It’s cool -- You’re one of the gang now.”

Billy’s lips quirk. Steve can tell that means something to him. Another clap on the back. Billy begins heading to his car, calling out to Max as he does. 

“See ya, kid -- be safe, alright?” he waves his finger across the group, “All a’ you.”

She gives her brother a grin. “’Kay, loser.”

“‘Kay, brat,” he snaps his gum, shoots her a smile, and falls into the driver’s seat.

As Billy leaves, the familiar rumble of Chief Hopper’s Blazer arrives to the drop-off point. Jim makes the small-talk quick, thank god, he’s terrifying, citing that he’s late for work and Mrs. Johnson has already called the station three times about her cat getting out, but makes a point to shake Steve’s hand as he leaves, telling him to look out for El.

Eleven has her dad’s pair of aviators on and an old baseball cap. She’s grinning.

“Vacation,” she says.

Steve’s got his hands on his hips, eyeing the growing party, when Dustin speaks.

“Hey,” he says slowly, looking around, “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Steve stammers. “She’s not --”

“Robin?” Mike asks, confused.

“No, not Robin --” Steve makes a face. “That’s gross.”

“Ohhhh,” says Lucas, pointing, “The one with the hair.”

Will makes a face of genuine frustration. “With the hair?”

“Real specific, Lucas,” jabs Max.

“Y’know,” he waves his hands, “Roll-o girl!”

The group exhales “oooohhhhh” at once. Steve’s face is in his hands. 

He’s just glad Nancy didn’t over the conversation -- she’s too busy with Jonathan, chatting with his mom and saying good-bye. 

(Though things were fine between them, it was still awkward -- the break-up was a one-sided-sort-of-rough, especially with the Jonathan being thrown into the mix. But, Nancy was happy and that was really all Steve cared about -- she was nice and smart and kind and she deserved to be happy especially after everything, and despite the wound it had created in Steve’s chest, he couldn’t hold the break-up against her. 

That was a weird time... things were weird. Things sometimes are still weird, but to her credit, she still treats him like a good friend and he tries to do the same. Just... sometimes it’a a lot. Especially when Jonathan is around.

Steve just opts to keep a polite distance, y’know?)

“Can I just say, one,” Steve raises a finger, “She is not my girlfriend --”

“But, you like her, right?” says Dustin, completely serious, “She’s cool, she’s cute, she can rollerblade, all great traits in a girlfriend --”

Steve narrows his eyes, finger still in the air. “I’m talking right now, Dustin, okay, I’m talking.”

“Right, sorry.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he repeats, hissing, “And two --”

Steve doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the blaring of Duran Duran’s Girls on Film fills the entire neighborhood as you pull into the cul-de-sac. Robin is in the passenger’s seat, sunglasses pulled down her nose as she dances and mouths the words into her suntan lotion. You’re driving, snorting at her moves as you park the car and pop the trunk, mimicking Robin as you get out of the car -- you can barely do it you’re laughing so hard.

The cabbage patch dance move has never looked worse. You don’t really care. 

Mostly because you see Steve and he’s grinning. You wave. He mirrors.

“She is cute,” says Max, leaning against Lucas and watching the exchange, “Your girlfriend’s cute, Harrington.”

“Shut up, Max.”

She mimics a zipping motion over her lips with her hand as Steve strides by. She tosses the imaginary key.

You move to cut the engine, spurring Robin to move up the driveway with a smile -- she’s quick to greet Steve’s mom with a hug. 

You’re quickly swept into a handshake by the older woman in question.

She looks like Steve -- they have the smile doe-eyes and dark hair, same nose and same excited demeanor -- and you can’t say you’re surprised when you give her your name and she sweeps you in a hug. 

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says warmly, “Steve’s told me so much about you!”

You’ve seen Janine Harrington around before at baseball games and after-school functions. Back then, though, you were dodging any interaction you could with her son. Now, you’re excited to him idle up beside his mom with a grin. He rocks back on his heels. 

“Ready?”

You nod. Robin pats your back, holding onto your arm before turning on her text-book parent charm. “Mrs. Harrington, is it alright if she drives, as well? We figured it might be better than all packing into Nancy’s car -- safer, too.”

“Of course,” she says with a smile, “Steve knows the way, he’s been going up there with us since he was a little baby --”

“Yep,” he chirps, cutting that off quick, “I’ll just, uh, I’ll ride with you -- Nancy can follow us.”

“Cool kid mobile, assemble,” Robin calls out, breaking from Steve, yourself and his mom, “We call Dustin!”

“Drive safe,” Mrs. Harrington offers as the group splits into the separate hatchbacks, “Call when you get there!”

“Alright, mom!”

“Bye, Mrs. Harrington!”

Robin shoves Steve into the passenger side of your car, winking, as you clamber into the driver’s seat. Robin happily sits between Dustin and Will, mirroring Steve as she drops her sunglasses down from her hair. 

The other car, quickly named The Couples Car, holds the rest of the party -- Lucas, Max, Mike, Eleven, Jonathan and Nancy.

It’s 10am by the time you all hit the road, ready for a night over at Tippecanoe.

Steve nudges your elbow.

You blink over at him.

“Radio?”

“Hit it, Harrington.”

GIRLS ON FILM!

[myriadimagines]

Headcanons for being a fem teen avenger. She’s bubbly and just cheerful, and basically calls all the avengers her parents and one day she just causally picks up Thor’s hammer not at all realizing the significance of it and is just really innocent about it while the others are shocked?

Being a teenage Avenger who’s bubbly and cheerful, and picking up Thor’s hammer one day:

All the Avengers are incredibly protective of you

Mainly because of how young you are in comparison to the rest of the team, but also because you have such a precious personality it’s hard for anyone to not want to protect you

Seeing the Avengers like a family

A very, very chaotic one

Natasha being rather protective of you in particular, and you’re arguably the closest to her, just because the two of you are the only female Avengers

Getting into all sorts of mischief with Clint, who practically acts like a teenager himself when he’s around you

Always bringing a smile to Thor’s face, even though it isn’t that hard, and the both of you together is like sunshine personified

“y/n is my favorite Avenger!” “You’re my favorite Avenger, Thor!” 

All of the Avengers appreciating the endless optimism and positive energy you bring to the team, especially when there’s a particularly hard mission or there’s tension between the Avengers themselves

The Avengers almost relying on you to boost team morale, which you never fail to do

Tony always making new inventions for you to help you in combat, and tagging along with him in the lab sometimes to help out

Becoming close friends with Peter when Tony introduces the two of you, which Tony quickly regrets since you always get all of Peter’s pop culture references and the two of you just egg each other on

“I swear you kids aren’t speaking English at this point.” 

Just casually cleaning around the Avengers compound common area when you notice Thor had left his hammer on the coffee table, right on top of your books

Clint is the only one in the room, and he almost chokes on his drink when you pick up the hammer to get your books

“Holy- y/n, don’t move.” “What?”

Clint rushes out of the room to grab everyone as you’re just standing with Thor’s hammer in hand, patiently waiting for Clint to return

“Look, look! And you guys didn’t believe me!” 

All the Avengers just staring at you in shock, and you’re not quite sure what’s going on

Bruce is trying to come with a rational explanation in his head, as are the rest of the Avengers sans Thor -- they all tried to pick it up themselves, and failed horribly

With the slight exception of Steve, of course

After a long silence, Thor breaks it, a huge smile on his face

“Well, I always knew there was a reason why I liked y/n the best! She is worthy, while the rest of you are not!” 

tags: @proudchocolateaddict / @myfriendmagislit / @fire--pheonix / @sheridans-dynamos / @beautifulbows924 / @writinqss / @woah-imagines / @steve-rogersirl / @musicallisto / @gofandomsandotherstuff / @melannchoholic / @diskateatscake / @just-shuri / @bru-spanner / @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @fairytalesforever↳ want to be added to the tag list?

[mythopoeticreality]

The Road Goes Ever On- Chapter 2

Ayyy! New Chapter!^^ I have to admit, I got a bit excited and couldn’t really help myself. xD Ah well! Hope y’all enjoy, things are starting to get iiinteresting now... >D

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22900423/chapters/54832213

Chapter 2

The forest fell silent at the sound of their approach. From the haunting questions asked by the owls, to the all-too-human screams of yowling foxes, to the skittering of leaves throughout the undergrowth stirred up by wandering voles and mice, all turned to sudden stillness with the first edges of the low-pitched rumble that shook across the forest floor. It was instinct. By the time the braying of the Hunt’s horn echoed through the trees, by the time the wild whoops and laughter danced, darting over the night air, the forest itself might as well have been barren. Dead.

They were a shining company, a blaze even through the Silvery light of Telperion which fell like a mist across Valinor. A blur of light and motion and the thunder of horse's hooves. A sight that was never meant to be seen. 

On other worlds, where they were remembered -- even on this world, in the regions beyond the sea and Grinding Ice, where the Powers’ might were not so focused, were the protection the Elder King placed over the Children of this realm was as naught -- none would venture out on this night. Here there were signs written on the air itself, a singing silence, a taste of wild herbs and distant mountainsides stirring in the cold. A sense of Magic that was as much a warning as the ringing of the Hunt’s horns. This was a night for the Oromandi, for the Tavari and the Orrosi. A night for those born before the world and older than its oldest. A night for those who were not of the world, but laughed at it much, and saw it as for the most part a play and a game for their own amusement.

And out here, on this night, a family slept peacefully beneath the stars. 

“You were quite right, cousin, they are such beautiful things…”

Two figures stood at  the edge of the glade, broken off from the rest of the Hunt, men tall and lean, who moved with all of the causal grace of  forest cats. Their hair stirred about them, spinning drifting tendrils that encircled them and obscured their faces, as though a wind whispered through the trees, yet if a wind did blow past, it touched at nothing else.

“Indeed, is it any wonder they were brought here, far from all harm?”

A light chuckle escaped from one, leaning back against a nearby tree. “Oh, no, no! Why, I would do much the same thing were they in my charge…” He stood, creeping nearer a pair of the sleeping elves, a father, who’s son was curled up upon his chest. Kneeling down, he casually brushed aside a strand of hair falling in front of the boy’s face. Blank staring eyes fluttered suddenly back to life as the child lifted his head, blinking curiously at this new stranger. The man smiled down at the boy.

“It is a good thing then,” He said, turning to glance back over to his companion, “That we mean them no harm at all, isn’t it?” 

~*~

“How much of this forest do you know?” 

“Isn’t that something you should have considered before taking me on as guide?” 

“Yet you took up the task willingly.”

Fëanáro shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I know it well enough, having come here before.” 

“Is there a break in the undergrowth anywhere near by? An overgrown track perhaps? The ruins of an old road?”

There was a pause, as Fëanáro thought. A road? Out here? To be used by who? Yet, he did remember something… “This way.” he grunted, leading the stranger along 

For a long while they moved in silence, picking their way through tangling briers and ducking beneath low lying tree-limbs. It was Fëanáro who finally broke it:“Those hunters, they meant ill with their purpose.” It was a pointed statement, his voice hard as he spoke it. 

The Stranger turned a glance to Fëanáro, just long enough to meet his eyes, before simply drawing his attention back out amongst the trees that surrounded them, breathing out a soft snort. 

The muscles in Fëanáro’s jaw tensed, teeth sliding across themselves as he gritted them. His nails bit deep into his palms, but he chose to allow for that rather than for his words to bite at the Stranger -- for now, atleast. Instead, somehow managing to keep his tone even, he continued on, “You knew those hunters. They regarded you as a guest.”

The words, and wherever he meant to lead with them were answered only by further silence however. It was the crooked, crossing shapes made by the branches across the sky that the Stranger was more concerned with, tracing them with his eyes as though they were words on a page. Somewhere nearby, an owl’s call echoed. The Stranger’s gaze fell upon the creature as they passed, and he nodded to the beast almost as if in greeting!

If he was any frame of mind to notice, Fëanáro might have been unnerved by just how intent and aware the bird’s gaze was as it watched the two.

As it stood, he only fixed the man with a flat look. “And must I too begin hooting like some wild bird in order to receive acknowledgement? ”

The stranger sighed. He paused for a moment in the road, his eyes narrowing, his head canting to the side as he continued to stare at the crossing tree-limbs above. “You are wondering if you have any reason to trust me.” The man said it as though he were making some observation about the weather.

“And?” Fëanáro pressed.

The Stranger took a step back, letting his gaze fall from the forest canopy and settled his eyes  finally on Fëanáro, “I never said you did.”

He didn’t know which was worse, the words themselves, or that bloody matter-of-fact  calm  that he continued on speaking to him with! As though it mattered not one wit how it was  Fëanáro thought of him! Either way, he would have no more of it.“The only reason we now talk is because you made no mention of me to those friends of yours!” The elf snapped, “Because you held me at a disadvantage and chose for some reason to simply release me. You were the one to say you wanted a guide, and yet you do not seem to care if I believe you might somehow still turn around and prove yourself some spy or servant of Melkor’s?”

The stranger blinked. “Melkor?” 

Fëanáro opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it a moment later, falling silent. His lips pressed into a pale, hard line, a long sigh escaping him. After some moments he finally found his voice again.“Do not think to mock me, now.” 

“I am not.” 

The elf gave a sharp snort, “Come off it! How can you not know of the very source of all evil in the world?”

“I am from Elsewhere. That is why you are here as my guide.” The words were spoken so simply, and even as they were still being voiced the man was already starting off again, waving for Fëanáro to come along.

“‘Elsewhere’” The elf scoffed, “and where would ‘Elsewhere’ be? The shores of Cuiviénen? Beyond the very spheres of the Earth?”

And the stranger still said nothing, simply shutting his eyes and lifting his shoulders in another one of those bloody shrugs again!

“No….” Fëanáro murmured… “No, that could not possibly…”

“Do you really think your world could be all that there is?” The stranger asked.

But  Fëanáro did not answer. Whatever it was that he thought of the man, there was something to the way he’s asked the question, to the way he spoke of it, as if it  could be so simple, that seemed genuine.

And it was, the Noldorin Prince had to admit, intriguing. Worlds beyond his own to explore and discover? Vast places full of knowledge still outside his reach? Despite himself, he found he wanted to believe this stranger…

“If you are from this ‘Elsewhere,’ then tell me,” Fëanáro asked, “How did you find your way here?”

A spark of something familiar lit the Stranger’s eyes when Fëanáro asked. He recognized it, had felt that particular kind of pride that came whenever he was asked of his own projects.

“I built a Road,” The man replied. 

~*~

Horns, or the echoes of them. They called to Tyelcormo from the edges of his dreams. He turned in his sleep, twitching at the sound. "Not now...a few more moments..." came the words, soft and slurred.

The Horns sounded again.

He awoke on instinct as much as anything. When the horns sounded, you got up -- so it was, riding in Oromë’s company. So, slowly, the silver-haired elf stretched, a low groan escaping him and his eyes blinking blearily open as he pressed his hands over his face. Tyelcormo dug in his elbow beneath him, pushing himself upright. Memory -- where he was, that he was with his family, that he could actually sleep in for a time -- filtered back in slowly. The Horns must have been a dream...

Still half-asleep he blinked in Telperion’s light, his gaze absently scanning over the clearing.

And then he tuned to Curvo.

“Ilúvatar in--fucking shit!” He’d lept up half-way through the phrase and was already shaking his brother awake. “Curvo, Curvo!”

Still on the ground, Curufinwë swatted his brother back, in his sleep. “Continue Tyelco, and you will  loose your hands.'' His words were a near growl.

“It’s not my hands you should bloody well be worrying about, eejit!”  Another low curse escaped Tyelco, and he was on his feet once more, pacing now to the edge of the glade.

“What are you--” Curvo murmured, beginning to push himself upright. He froze. His eyes widened. The realization clubbed him over the head like a hammer in the forge. The weight that had been resting on his chest all night, the warm little bundle that had slept so peacefully curled up in his arms? Gone. 

A strangled sound came cracking out of Curvo’s throat.  “My son.”  He breathed, “My-- Tyelco!”

Tyelcormo snapped his head up from the earth he crouched over, gaze darting towards his brother, now on his feet as well and coming towards him fast.

“Where is my son?” The words were soft, as Curvo ground them out, yet there were swords that would seem dull in comparison.

“I don’t know.” Tyelcormo murmured, heaving himself back up off of the forest floor. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders, looking him in the eye “But we are going to find out.” And with those words he gestured out, along the ground, in the direction where the broken, disturbed undergrowth left a track.

Curufinwë said no more, only sliding the hunting knife on his belt free from it’s scabbard, before setting off.

[the-digimon-tamer]

Chapter 38 - Data Processing is out now on FanFiction.Net and ArchiveOfOurOwn! Check them out with the links or find it after the break!

Title: The Tamer v2.0 - In HIs Name

Fandom: Digimon

Rating: T

Synopsis: In the next adventure of the Digimon Tamer, the lives of Juri, Rika, and Henry change forever when digimon begin crossing over into the human world. But it’s all just a story, right? Just a book series by an author no one has seen in a long time. Why are they here and can they save their world before something worse follows the digimon?

Juri sat inside the train car - or rather watched herself inside the train car. It was the strangest perception as she had no present control over her own body, but she was still able to see with her own eyes. Smell the rusted metal of the train car with her nose. Hear the sounds coming from outside. It was a horrifying sensation to not be in control, helplessly watching as whatever was controlling her used her body to do who knew what. How could this happen? Why was it happening to her? What did she do to deserve...no, she knew what she did to deserve this. It was destiny, after all. Like her partner Leomon. Like the real Takato. Like her mother. This was punishment, wasn’t it?

“Agents have been deployed throughout the area for observation. Juri. Your cooperation is demanded. Please, assist with the identification of the objects so that they can be further understood,” she heard herself say. The voice in her head. The one that was using her body as it saw fit. Before she could reply, her brain was racked with images. Hundreds of images all at once - all of different places, people, and things around Tokyo. It was too fast. She could barely make sense of it and she wanted to scream in agony as the images continued to fly by. It was like someone was hitting her in the head with a hammer repeatedly. Each image was another painful blow that made her feel like she was going to pass out.

“Juri. Your cooperation is demanded,” the voice said again, its voice carrying heavy disapproval. That was just what she needed - to hear herself be disappointed in her. But that thought barely lasted with the pain of each image flying through her head.

“It’s too much. It hurts! Please make it stop!” she thought to herself.

“Pain noted. Adjusting flow of information to accommodate human limitation,” the voice answered. The images still flashed through her mind. So fast and so quick that she could feel her head about to split open from the pain. She screamed. Or tried to anyway. 

“Life form identified as Juri. Material is being processed at a rate of one hundred images per millisecond. You will begin identification,” the voice commanded. Her head hurt from the unbearable pain she was enduring. The images started flashing again, too fast for her to even get a good look at any of them.  She just wanted it to stop. Why wouldn’t it stop the pain? 

“It’s too fast,” she whimpered again, “It hurts. It’s too much. Please stop! Please!”

The voice was unamused and growled, “The frailty of your mind is noted, along with its limited processing abilities. Image processing is currently running at one percent efficiency. Reducing to zero point zero zero zero one percent efficiency. Begin identification. Now.”

The images came again, this time slowly and deliberately. She wanted this pace to remain so she began naming things out of fear of earning its ire, “A motorcycle. A car. An oak tree. The Japanese flag. A police officer. Some office worker.”

Was this her life now? Was this what it was like for Tamerkato? No, Tamerkato was at least able to fight off the angry motorcycle. He was able to retain some modicum of control. And she wasn’t anything like him - not if even one of those stories were true. No, of course they were true. She had seen for herself how dangerous he could be first hand. She was nothing like that. So she resigned herself to her fate of identifying every image that came through her mind. At least it wasn’t painful.

“Juri, why do you continue to focus on this concept of fate and destiny?” the voice asked again. Juri was unsure how to answer the question. The voice pressed, “Since you relinquished control of your body, your mind has spent approximately eighty percent of its non-vital functions ruminating on the concept of fate and destiny. Is there a reason to this?”

She supposed she did. But then what did it matter to the voice? Why would it care what she was? After she was silent, the voice pressed, “Are you by chance a fatalist?”

“Fatalist?” Juri repeated stupidly. The voice was losing its patience as it asked, “Fatalists ascribe to the doctrine of determinism - the notion that all events and actions are linked together by the causal chain of destiny or fate. Is this the reason for your obsession?”

“I...no,” Juri would’ve shook her head if she were able to.

“And yet your mind continues to focus heavily on destiny and fate. Why is that?”

She fumbled out an answer as she spoke, “I…I’m just not sure if this was always going to happen. Ever since…I just don’t know how much control I really have over anything I do. Not since…”

She paused again, trying to gather her thoughts amid the headaches and confusion. The voice spoke again and this time began by addressing, “Your thoughts have shifted to another. An older female. Perhaps an older version of yourself? No. That’s incorrect, the probability is unlikely to be the root cause. A paternal figure? Yes, a paternal figure. Your mother…she passed away when you were young.”

Juri didn’t want to think about this. She didn’t want to dwell on this subject. She didn’t want to be reminded of her deceased mother or the possibility that her death was unavoidable. The world around her went dark - descending into a cold abyss until she found herself in a dim, white room that smelled of antiseptic. The room seemed so large…no, she was small. She looked down at her hands and found that they were moving under her control. She was in control again. How? How was this possible? And why was she so small?

“What is this?” she murmured, looking around the room. The curtains were drawn to block out the light, but she could still make out the vague outline of someone there. Her father? Yes, her father - standing somberly over a bed. A hospital bed. Juri’s blood froze, her heart stopping in her chest, and the fear came back, “What’s happening? How am I here?”

“This is a memory,” the voice replied, “We are examining your memories carefully to determine the source of your fatalist attitude.”

“No!” Juri shrieked out loud. She didn’t want to relive this. Not this. Not this day. She didn’t want to relive this horrible moment. Anything but this.

“Mommy’s not coming home, sweetheart,” her father said quietly, without looking away from the person lying on the bed. It was then that Juri noticed the arm hanging limply from under the sheets. She’d forgotten about it - how cold and lifeless it seemed to be. She’d been too busy dreading the other parts of this memory - and it only served to make it worse. She wanted to plead with him, to stop this memory from continuing, “Dad, please don’t.”

“I’m sorry, Juri,” her dad said, putting a hand on her head. In any other situation, it would’ve been comforting. But here. It just made her feel patronized - her father wasn’t thinking about her in his grief. His apology was hollow - he was just talking to keep himself from collapsing into tears and breaking down further. Her father added, “Maybe that’s just how things were meant to be. Maybe that was her destiny. She just wasn’t strong enough.”

“Destiny?” she repeated from memory. Her father answered, “Destiny is something no one can run from. It catches up to us in the end. And it’s the destiny of all things to die. It was just her time. Her destiny to die.”

“There is truth to your father’s words,” the voice spoke, “Death is a fact of life.”

Juri shivered, “I don’t want to remember this.”

“Your mother died. What part of that bothers you?” the voice demanded, “It would seem your fixation on destiny could be due to the realization of your own mortality - a subject matter that often afflicts life forms with feelings of intense distress. It would appear that the reason for this fixation is that you never properly learned to deal with this distress and therefore fixated on destiny or fate as a rationalization. However your rationalization only served to hinder you from achieving your true potential.”

Juri tried to tune this all out. She didn’t want to hear this anymore. She didn’t want to be a part of this. Her father turned to face her. She remembered the stoic look on his face trying to hold back tears and emotion. He didn’t have that this time. He didn’t have anything. It was just a horrifically blank face. Then the skin began to tear itself apart where its mouth would’ve been - and inside was an endless sea of horribly misshapen eyes that spoke to her in her own voice, “It is fact, Juri. All things will die. You were born to die. That is your ultimate fate. There is no reason to fear it. You may even find liberation in accepting that!”

She could think of several reasons right now why she should be very afraid of what was in front of her. The inhuman movements of the mouthlike hole wasn’t helping anything, “Rejoice in your mortality. There is no reason to cling to life. Instead, use your life in service to a greater good. Serve your purpose, Juri. Death is your destiny, regardless. But you are not there yet. There is still time to do some good with your life.”

This thing was not good at making compelling arguments. In fact, she couldn’t focus on anything it was saying because of how terrified she was. All she wanted was for all of this to stop.

“Let us resume,” its voice echoed.

...

Cyberdramon, Rapidmon, and Taomon attacked the bird creatures with everything they had but none of it mattered. The damn things moved too quickly to hit and the ones they could hit barely seemed affected by their attacks. Even with the relevant upgrades to their speed and strength, all they were really managing to do was just barely keep up with them. And worst of all was the fact that they were endless. 

The soldiers below still held their ground, firing skyward into the flocks although it was anyone’s guess if they were actually hitting anything. Military vehicles came in to reinforce their line: tanks fired their cannons into the sky while gunners emptied their machine guns. However, the attacks were accomplishing nothing against the endless flock of bird creatures soaring out of the mess. The few hits that made their mark weren’t doing any good.

“What are these dumb things even doing? They’re not attacking!” Rapidmon pointed out angrily, frustrated that their efforts were pointless and beginning to think their passivity was mocking in nature. Taomon gestured at a few of them that were sitting idly and explained, “They’re scouts. Spies gathering information for that...thing. Once it has what it needs, it’ll attack us with everything it has.”

“Oh great. Because these guys being tough to hurt wasn’t bad enough,” Rapidmon groaned, still firing his barrage endlessly. Cyberdramon latched onto one of the birds and dragged it across the side of the building - managing to at least scratch the surface layer of its body but otherwise barely hurting it, “Less lip! More hit!”

Once he ran out of building, he threw the bird with all his might straight into another bird, only to watch them bounce off each other and continue on like nothing happened. Cyberdramon growled, “Why isn’t this working? Why won’t they break? WHY WON’T THEY DIE!? KILL! KILL! KILL!”

...

“Hey Ryo! You’re not stewing in your anger again, are you?” Henry called out to him. Ryo’s fists tightened as he grumbled, “Sorry, it’s just...I know that Tamer is involved in this somehow! I just know he’s responsible. Either he knew and he let it happen, or he caused it.”

“We don’t know that for sure!” Henry reasoned with him, “And even if he is responsible, getting angry won’t do us any good unless you plan on letting Cyberdramon run around on a rampage throughout the city!” 

Rika punched him in the shoulder, “He’s right! So calm down, Ryo!”

“Right, right,” he nodded sheepishly, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down but knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to let go of the fact that this was all Tamer’s fault. He needed to calm down. Calm down. Just breathe. 

BOOM!

While he’d been trying to calm himself, a tank rolled up beside them and fired its cannon up at the flock of birds. It missed of course, the shell soaring through the air and hitting the red mass where it exploded loudly. It was hard to calm down when guns were firing away all around them. Soldiers ran past them with guns, firing away at the flock of birds and one of them shouted, “Hey! You kids get out of here! Itami! Get these kids out of here!”

A young man ran up to them and tried ushering them back, “You heard him kids. Scram! Come on!”

“Are you kidding? We just had this discussion!” Rika groaned in disbelief, “Why can’t you guys just let us do our thing? Hell, we’re doing a better job than you guys are! Those are our partners up there fighting that damn thing and you want us to leave?”

The soldier looked down at her with wide eyed surprise, shaking his head as he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, “I’m sure. Now let’s go!”

He grabbed a hold of Henry before he had time to protest and he tried to carry them away from the fighting. Thinking quickly, Ryo kicked the soldier in the shin so that he dropped both of them, “Run!”

The soldier cursed as he massaged his leg, barking for help from the other soldiers in his unit. Realizing the trouble they were in, Rika and Henry raced after Ryo down the street with some soldiers running after them. Henry had a small chance to look up at their partners and shout, “Guys! There’s too many soldiers here! We have to go!”

“I am a warrior! I do not retreat!” Cyberdramon howled back at the top of his lungs, “They run from me! I will make them fear me!”

“Hostile! Incoming! Ten o’clock high!” one of the soldiers shouted, raising his rifle to target the digimon. Ryo shouted out at him, “Cyberdramon! We need to go! Now!”

“I can do this!” Cyberdramon roared back. The first few shots were fired and hit the Ultimate in the back. He roared in anger and turned on the soldiers. Ryo pleases with him again, “Don't attack! Cyberdramon! We need to go! Don’t make it worse and attack humans!”

“Attack them!? They’re attacking me!” the ultimate level dragon protested in anger at being ignored. There was no time. He wasn’t going to listen. Taomon wasted no time and slammed her brush against the dragon’s head - not quite knocking him out but giving him some context for their situation. He growled in agreement, “Fine! We’ll go!”

The soldiers continued to fire upon the digimon until Taomon descended and used her brush to draw a magical field around - creating a bubble that lifted them up into the air and away from the fighting. They fled from the fighting, retreating across the city and away from soldiers charging into battle as citizens ran in terror. And ever direction they looked was filled with those bird things flying in every conceivable direction to block every route of escape. Eventually, Rika pointed out a clear alley, “There!”

“Going!” Taomon agreed, setting them in the alley. The moment they were free, Ryo groaned and kicked over a garbage can, “This is a mess. How can we stop this thing if every new soldier that shows up starts shooting at us?”

“Well what else are we supposed to do? We’ll just have to keep explaining that we’re there to help and hope we don’t keep getting dragged away,” Henry reasoned. Rapidmon sighed, “Yeah, easy for you to say when you’re not the one getting shot at.”

“Excuse me…are you kids…uh, what was it again?” 

They looked off to the side to see a young woman with short brown hair wearing a black suit. She was young, possibly in her mid twenties, and didn’t look at all like any of the government agents they’d become used to seeing in the last few days. However, she did have a gun holstered on her belt and they could see a red armband with a leaf symbol around her left shoulder. She reach into her coat pocket to retrieve a notepad and read aloud from it, “Found it. Are you guys Jiangliang…Lee…Ruki…Izumi? Wait, I mean Makino! No, it’s Nonaka!? Man, my handwriting really does suck. Forget that.  And…Ryo Akiyama. Well, at least one of you has a normal name. Anyway, are you them?”

They looked between each other and this strange woman dressed in a her formal black suit. She dressed like the government agents but she didn’t carry herself like one. Hell, she was probably barely older than their teacher. Henry raised an eyebrow, “That depends. Who are you?”

“Let’s see: cautious, orange vest, skeptical…that would make you Jiangliang,” the woman rattled off. Rapidmon leaned into his partner, “Wow, she’s got your number.”

“Yeah, and I bet the giant green robot rabbit didn’t have anything to do with it,” Henry fired back. The woman flicked closed her notebook, “Nah, it was completely the digimon. Which make you Ryo and you Ruki. Anyway, I need you all to come with me.”

“Go with you? You haven’t even told us who you are!” Ryo practically shouted at her. The woman snickered, “You’re right, I didn’t. My name’s not important. What is important is who I represent: Burnt Leaf. We’ve been keeping an eye on you kids for a while. Well, most of you. You’ve been missing for a while Mister Akiyama and we had a hell of a time tracking you down. Imagine our surprise when you showed up out of the blue one day. Or should I say flash of light?”

“Is it amazing how little that explains?” Taomon pointed out. The woman laughed, “You can address me as M if it means so much to you.”

“You’re from that organization,” Rika gasped, pointing at her arm band, “Burnt Leaf.”

“Yeah, I just said that,” M answered.

“You know who she is, Rika?” Ryo asked her. Rika nodded and went on, “They got mentioned once in that book. The unpopular one. Last time it was a guy named Hokage. So who are you?”

“He’s my boss. He’s kinda tied up with this mess so I’m here instead,” M explained, “We’ve been slowing down Hypnos’ attempts to track you kids and hindering them wherever we could. But we’re kind of in a tough spot at the moment. So I’m here to escort you back to the Hypnos Program.”

“Wait, if you’ve been hindering them - why are you taking us to them?” Taomon asked. M motioned for them to follow and said, “I’ll tell you on the way. And can you guys shrink down for crying out loud? You three stand out like sore thumbs.”

Cyberdramon looked ready to pounce but was held back by Taomon, though this didn’t stop Rapidmon from trying to throw a piece of garbage at the woman. Sadly, he missed by a mile and the woman kept on walking. 

Ryo looked at Rika for some kind of explanation, unsure if they could trust the new woman. It didn’t help that she looked just as weary of the new woman as he did. He scratched his head, “Well, Rika. You’re the expert on that book. Do we trust her?”

“Tamer did,” Rika folded her arms, “In the book, he trusted them…well…he was going to trust them. The book got trippy in that part - something about the future and the past and multiple meetings. It was weird.”

“Okay, but can we trust them?” Ryo repeated, trying to wrap his head around the explanation. Rika paused for a moment, putting her hand to her chin and becoming contemplative, “What choice do we have?” 

Ryo didn’t like that answer, “We have plenty of choices!”

Taomon patted Rika on the head, “I say we follow her. If The Digimon Tamer trusted them, then that’s enough for me.”

“You know we don’t share your optimism, right?” Rapidmon pointed out. Taomon stifled a laugh, “I suppose not. All the same, I’m going.”

“Wherever Taomon goes, I go,” Rika agreed. M called back, “If you’re coming, please shrink your partners down! They can’t fit in the SUV like this.”

…

Impmon ran all night, like he’d never fled before. He’d seen enough horrible things in the Digital World to know he didn’t want to be anywhere near that thing. Not after what he’d seen in the memory - a lifetime of knowing nothing he did would matter because he was simply a plaything for the universe at large. He knew it was the other guy’s memory, not his, but it blurred so seamlessly with his own memories that he wasn’t entirely sure of that fact. 

Was he even Impmon? Yes, of course he was. There was no doubt about that.

But again the memories came back to haunt him and he couldn’t drown them out. Not after he’d fought the last monster in a fit of rage and lost terribly. What frustrated him the most was knowing that all of his acquired strength and skill amounted to nothing. That big lummox wiped the floor with him and then the others had to step in to save him!

Why? Why wasn’t it enough? Was he just doomed to be a failure like this? He hated it. And he hated himself just as much. No he wasn’t a failure. He knew that much. 

It was Ai and Mako’s fault. Who else would it be? If they had just been better partners. If they would quit bickering for five minutes. None of this would’ve happened. Maybe things would have been different. They could have been different. Maybe dwelling on their memory was what brought him to their home - some kind of subconscious act . 

Unfortunately he didn’t realize where he was going until he was already there - at the tree just over their backyard where he could look down at them. They were busy playing without a care in the world. Did they even know what was going on in the city right now? Probably not. They were just kids after all - they couldn’t even understand the concept of sharing. 

They were playing with a stuffed teddy bear and going about their day like two loving siblings. That was odd. They weren’t fighting over the teddy bear. In fact, they were playing some kind of pretend space adventure game with the teddy bear playing the part of an evil space pirate. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Nope. It was real. They were sharing their toy. 

He should’ve been proud. He wanted to feel pride. But the only emotion welling up inside of him was anger. Jealousy. Rage that he hadn’t been treated with the same kindness. Now they were sharing? Now they were getting along!? What!? Was he not good enough? Did he not deserve that kindness!?

“Ai! Mako!” their mother called, “Come inside! It’s snack time!”

Yeah, they definitely didn’t know. Their mother was busy making them snacks. That definitely meant they had no idea what kind of danger they were in. They cheered and rushed back inside, giving him the opportunity to leap down over to where they’d left their teddy lying on the grass. Impmon examined it bitterly, annoyed that it had been treated with such respect and care. He wished he could’ve had that, and the anger welled up  inside until he found himself kicking the doll repeatedly in a fit of anger. Then he stopped, realizing how to stupid he was being. He almost had to laugh.

Was this what he was reduced to? Taking out his frustration on stuffed animals? It made him want to kick the doll again in anger. But that would just prove the point wouldn’t it? Still, he kicked the doll anyway. He wanted to have some control over his life. To feel like he wasn’t some play thing for the world to use as it pleased - jokes it seemed.

“Impmon?” Mako’s little voice called out. He looked up from the doll and saw the little boy standing at the sliding glass door with a half eaten banana in hand. His eyes widened with excitement, “Ai! Impmon’s back!”

Impmon wanted to run, but his legs refused to move - either from fear or from shock, he knew he was unable to leave. Then Ai, Mako’s slightly older sister poked her head out from behind the glass door - crumbs and chocolate smeared all over her face. Her face lit up with a smile and she cheered, “Impmon! It’s you! You're back! Just in time because we’re having snacks!”

She ran back inside and returned holding a bowl of assorted fruit slices, crackers, and chocolate cookies. Impmon looked at the bowl quietly, then back up at the two kids who seemed excited by the prospect that he had finally returned. He didn’t know what to say to them. He expected anger, anguish, sadness…something - hell, he’d even settle to listening to them argue for a few minutes over who would get to play with him first. But they didn’t. 

They must’ve noticed his unease because both of their faces turned grim. Ai sheepishly asked, “Are you still mad at us?”

He blinked, surprised that they’d even considered that. Mako nodded in agreement, “That’s why you ran away the first time, right? You were mad at us for always fighting and never getting along. That’s why you ran away.”

There was a lot to unpack there - the biggest thing was the fact that they’d realized it perfectly without him needing to spell it out for them. Ai set the bowl down on the ground in front of him, “We’re sorry Impmon. Please don’t be mad anymore.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to any of this. Mostly because this show of humility was completely foreign to him. Still, watching them apologize and practically ready to cry made him realize how guilty he felt. He didn’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone else - not even their feelings - so he quietly took one of the sliced apples and started munching. After he swallowed the first bite, he apologized, “I’m...sorry I left.”

“No, we’re sorry. It’s our fault,” Ai answered, hanging her head quietly, “We didn’t mean to make you run away. We just wanted to play with you. And we scared you away. We’re sorry.”

“We promise we won’t fight anymore so please don’t leave again!” Mako added pleadingly. Impmon continued to quietly eat the apple. He didn’t want to promise that. What if he had to leave? What if they started fighting again? He couldn’t bring himself to be responsible for hurting anyone else. But he also didn’t want to leave - not when he knew what was out there. And if he left...what would happen to Mako and Ai? These two kids all the way on the edge of the city, far away from everything that was going on. The world was ending just a few miles away and they probably had no idea. Hell, their parents had probably avoided telling them just to keep them from panicking. 

The thought of their scared, crying faces compelled him to answer, “Okay.”

He didn’t want to agree to stay, but right now he didn’t care. All he wanted was to forget about the past, forget about all his problems…to start over. He picked up the bowl of snacks and offered it back to the two kids.

...

Takeru and the rest of the digimon made their way up the hill, listening to the loud noise on the other side. It was like a roar of thunder, accompanied by strong winds and dark clouds swirling overhead. They weren’t sure what the commotion was - all they knew was that whole sections of the Digital World were abandoned - as if everyone had left. And then the noise came in the distance, like a low distant rumble accompanied by flashes of light in the distance. 

As the reached the top of the hill, they found themselves looking over what could only be called a massive battlefield occupied by countless digimon. It was crazy enough when they saw the mega level MetalSeadramon and WarGreymon in the mix, but then they saw hundreds of them. Countless MetalSeadramon and WarGreymon among a sea of mega level digimon fighting some amorphous red blob that covered the Digital World.

And the red blob was winning. It didn’t matter how many digimon threw their strongest attacks at it - the red mass would either eat the attack or retaliate with a blast of red fire. It was like trying to fight a rising tide of a blazing fire - everything they could do either did nothing or made it stronger.

Takeru’s heart sank at the sight of it. No, that wasn’t right. It froze - stopped in terror. This…this was not something he’d ever thought to be prepared for. This was something years of experience could not prepare him for. All the other enemies they had faced in the past could at least be understood - Apocalymon, Myotismon, Devimon. This…this was like a force of nature.

He wanted to help. He needed to help. But this…this was beyond him. He’d never seen so much death, despair, and carnage in one place. He froze as he realized he didn’t know what to do. The other digimon seemed just as lost and scared by the sight before them. After all, there were countless mega level digimon fighting and they were doing nothing against it. What good would a few more do? How could they save the Digital World when the only thing they had to offer was just a drop of water in a bucket that was failing.

He would have to be like The Digimon Tamer. He would need to be unpredictable. But how could he outwit or outthink something that was so alien, he wasn’t even sure it was alive? As he tried to process what he was looking at, a flash of light beside him alerted him to the arrival of a more than welcome sight, “TK!”

“Tamer!” he called out, still trying to make sense of what was going on, “What the hell is going on?”

Tamer took one look around them and answered grimly, “You just answered your own question there, Takeru.”

“Tamer! What is all this?” Gatomon demanded angrily. Tamer sighed and gestured around them, “Death. And hell is following it. That’s not hyperbole either - that thing is death! Literally! It exists to destroy Digital Life!”

“So are you just going to talk all pretentious or are you going to do anything helpful?” Gomamon asked, “Seriously...your talk is more obnoxious that Izzy!”

“Take that back!” Tentomon smacked him across the back of the head. Gomamon groaned in pain until Palmon lifted them both up into the air, “Focus guys! Tamer’s here! That means trouble! Pay attention! I want to see Mimi!”

“First he’s got to drop the metaphors!” Gatomon complained.

“That wasn’t a metaphor,” Tamer pointed at the red mass the countless digimon were fighting, “That thing...the Ancients had a couple of names for it. Death was one of them. Found out it’s name is the D-Reaper…kinda anti-climactic really. Sorry, lost focus. Back to the subject! This thing. It’s in the Real World now.”

“How? You need a digivice to travel between worlds!” Takeru asked in disbelief, holding up his digivice to emphasize his point. Tamer waved a finger, “There’s more than one wat to cross the boundary. And I think this one might be my fault.”

“Because of course it is,” Gatomon threw up her hands in disgust. Tamer’s shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his head sheepishly, “Yeah. Anyway, the human World is in trouble. More trouble than the Digital World. The Digital World has all powerful digimon. The human world doesn’t...I...look, they need your help.”

“Deal!” Veemon spurted our quickly, until he was pulled back by both Gatomon and Palmon, “Are you crazy?”

“I’m in too!” Wormmon nodded. Now he was the one getting looks as Gomamon turned his head, “Really?”

“Yeah, I figured you guys would put up more of a fight that,” Tamer admitted sheepishly. Veemon wriggled free enough to add, “We all know what you’re going to shay. You need ush to go back to the human world and help shave it. I’m in. I want to shee Davish again!”

“I...Huh...anyone object?” Tamer stumbled, obviously taken aback by the sudden change of heart of the digimon. Takeru watched the remaining digimon confer quietly amongst themselves until Gomamon asked, “And this isn’t a trick?”

“No...why would it be?” Tamer shook his head, offended by the accusation. 

“You do have a habit of using us,” Gomamon said accusingly. He had a point there and Tamer didn’t seem to know how to answer that one, “You have a point. I’m not going to force any of you to do something you don’t want to-”

Takeru cut him off, “No, I think it’s time we headed back. If the others are in trouble then it’s time I was there with them. That we were there with them. Before it’s too late.”

“By the way, what’s going on with the other guys? Those kids you were with?” Armadillomon asked. Tamer raised up his digivice, “Yeah…we’re not exactly talking right now. Which is kinda the reason I’m getting you guys.”

“Oh, did they finally smarten up?” Gatomon hissed. Tamer’s shoulders slumped, “Truth is…everything I touch has a habit of going from bad to worse. But they need help. I don’t want to get involved because what if it ends up hurting them? But you guys? Not only could you help them, they’d probably love the chance to fight alongside you!”

“We’re more interested in seeing our partners,” Armadillomon pointed out, earning a cavalcade of nods from the other digimon. Wormmon added, “Besides, it sounds like you just want to use us.”

“That’s not it!” Tamer insisted, pausing again to take a breath, “Look, how about this? I’ll just bring you guys to your partners in the Real World. If you guys don’t want to fight, you’re free to choose not to. You can just be with your partners. Deal?”

The digimon looked between themselves and nodded in agreement, “Alright!”

“Okay,” Tamer held out his digivice, “Next stop! The Human World! Digiport Open!”

[atamascolily]

Avengers: Endgame review

TL;DR: This is not a terrible movie, especially given how many characters and story arcs the creators are juggling. That said, its success make its missteps all the more frustrating for me.

I like the opening scene, because it's so mundane. Instead of monsters and aliens and fighting, it's just a family picnic in the American Midwest. Even though it feels like Hollywood only knows one way to shoot family/domestic scenes, I like that Clint is teaching his daughter to shoot a bow instead of one of the boys.

I like how quickly the Snap happens, how silent and quiet it is. One minute, everything is fine, and then... Clint looks around and they are gone. He knows right away something is up. There's no place they could have gone. This scene is so short - less than three minutes out of a three hour movie - but the audience already sees where Clint is going next.

This scene also emphasizes how Rapture-like the Snap is - to the point where people online started calling it the Snapture. The film doesn't focus much on post-Snap life, but I'm sure religions would have a lot to say about this. In some ways, exploring life in this scared new world is more interesting to me than more predictable arc of getting it back...

I like Tony and Nebula playing paper football. How intense Nebula is, how into it she gets, how Tony lets her win. Wiki says those scenes were improvised and I approve. The message he leaves for Pepper with his helmet is pure Tony Stark--glib, audacious and yet charming all at once. I can’t decide whether I want to punch him or hug him for it. Maybe both.

I like that Captain Marvel's arrival is so angelic. She's glowing. It's a miracle. Was she sent to find him, or did she just stumble across the ship by chance?  We never find out.

I like how the Avengers are able to locate Thanos, only to discover he's destroyed the stones. I like how using the stones has consequences: Thanos is able to use them, but at great personal and physical cost; it's nice foreshadowing for the end.

Thanos is so chill about dying; it makes me suspect he's got something up his sleeve, but apparently, he's okay with dying now that his Crazy Apocalyptic Death Cult has achieved its goal. He manages to break Nebula's heart even more before Thor murders him. It's hard to say who's more surprised in that moment: Thor or Nebula.

Time skip. There's only one real plot reason for a five-year gap, and that's so Tony Stark can have a kid and an excuse to be selfish that doesn't render him completely unsympathetic to the audience. Morgan is cute, and all, but I'm not a fan of what she represents, nor of the stock Hollywood way of portraying children. Tony lives in a log cabin in what is obviously Georgia, and doesn't use his wealth to fix the world or anything. Granted, he's got extreme PTSD, but he's chosen to become a hermit. I guess we should be glad he's not drinking, doing drugs, or screwing journalists, like he did in the first Iron Man movie.

Steve running the support group is poignant, especially since that was always Sam's gig. I wonder if it's his way of honoring Sam. Sob. Marvel claims the gay man in the support group is historic, but I can't help but note it's something that can be easily edited for release in China.

I have not seen the Ant-Man movies, but I like Scott Lang. He is an optimist who soldiers on despite the fact that he is the Butt Monkey of all the jokes. I like how he extricates himself from the storage locker--though the fact that the van is still in storage five years out speaks VOLUMES to how messed up the world is five years later.

I think Scott walks past his house first--then goes to the wall, then to his house and knocks on the door? Or is that just a random house in the background when he first asks the kid on the bike what's wrong? I don't know why the kid doesn't answer him, except to add an aura of mystery to the whole thing.

The stones on Crissy Field are intense. Scott running around in a panic is spot-on--and his confusion when his name is on there, and his relief that Cassie's isn't. He knocks on the door of his house and a now-teenaged daughter greets her father. Again, I'm not sure I buy how Hollywood portrays these kinds of reunions, but it's very moving.

I love Nat and her peanut butter sandwiches, her rapport with Steve. I love these two as friends and I also ship them, and nothing in this scene proves me wrong. I love that Nat is basically in charge of the world now, and that she's the one keeping everything running smoothly --even when, as Okoye puts it, some things like undersea earthquakes don't require any action on her part. I also like her hair - I wasn't a huge fan of her Infinity War look, so I'm glad she's gone back to long/red-dish hair again.  

There's also the first stirrings of what Clint is up to, and while I don't like this subplot, I have to say it's set up very well. I can admire skillful plot devices even when I dislike their contents.

Scott showing up is priceless. I love his babbling to the security camera and Steve and Nat's reactions. Also, he drove the van all the way from California to wherever-the-hell-the-Avengers-Institute is located--I think it's supposed to be New York, but the filming location is a car headquarters in Georgia, so I think of it as Georgia.

I like that Bruce and the Hulk have come to an understanding. I wonder what Nat thinks about this. This movie makes it pretty clear Bruce is still into her, even though Nat isn't into him (and most of us are pretending that little subplot in Age of Ultron never happened).  

Same with Thor. It hurts to see him so clearly stuck, but Korg is amazing, as always, even if he is an enabler. I don't know why Valkyrie hasn't kicked Thor's ass yet. Maybe she's too busy running things. I wonder if Valkyrie and Nat are talking. I bet they are. I bet they respect each other.

I also like how fanon says that noobmaster69 is really Loki trolling Thor via videogames. Otherwise, the idea of the God of Thunder threatening a teenager is terrible, not funny. It's much better for everyone if it's Loki.

I'm not sure how they get from quantum stuff to time travel, except Plot. I think it would have been less confusing if they'd called it traveling to parallel universes from the get-go, instead of time travel that happens to create parallel universes, because it doesn't act like the standard time travel narrative. There's some meta about this in the film, but I don't think that's enough to compensate. Anyway, timey-wimey-magic-science-plot ball.

Cut to Clint Barton murdering yakuza in Tokyo. I do not like anything about this scene, or Clint. Vigilante justice is not a healthy coping mechanism. Clint pulling back his mask in the rain while Natasha is behind him with an umbrella is beautiful, and I love it. I appreciate the callbacks to Clint reaching out to Natasha when she was brainwashed by the Russians, even though I don't like where this story arc is going.

I love that everyone finally puts their heads together and realizes that the Infinity Stones have all spent an improbably large amount of time on Earth in recent years.

You can hear the smile in Nat's voice when she says "Be right back," and my heart breaks because Oh, Irony.

Tilda Swinton as the Ancient One is a treat, even though I'm mad they whitewashed the character because China complained about making the character a Tibetan (as in the comics). I like how easily she is able to separate Bruce from the Hulk, and how Bruce just sighs and tries to negotiate. Strange giving up the Time Stone is one of the weirdest parts of the last movie, and I'm glad everyone else thinks so too.

(Also, Dr. Strange is in the middle of surgery while the Chitauri are attacking New York? WOW.)

The Captain America vs. Captain America fight is great fun, if painful to watch. Also, that callback to the Elevator scene in The Winter Soldier is great, as is watching all the secret!Hydra agents file in, and Scott says what we're all thinking: "How could you give the stone to them? They LOOK evil!"

Loki getting away with the Space Stone is a wild card, and I don't know what they're going to do with it. Going to Camp Lehigh in the '70s is great on a plot level: Tony gets a chance to chat with his father, and Steve gets more magic particles to further the rest of the plot. And they get the stone, too. Right.  

Thor having one last conversation with his mother, oh my heart. Also, he stole his hammer from his past/other self... isn't that going to cause plot problems? Who cares, when we can have TWO flying hammer things in the final battle?

Peter Quill's internal monologue never looks as good from the outside. The directors seem to loath him as much as I do, meaning he is the other Butt Monkey of the party along with Scott. Rhody is genre-savvy and I approve; Nebula is an android and indifferent to personal danger.

The android bit makes things complicated when 2014!Nebula starts spilling bits of 2019!Nebula's memories. 2014!Thanos correctly identifies this as time-travelers from the future/parallel universes trying to prevent him from success. He gets to see the whole thing from 2019!Nebula's POV. I like that even though Thanos is dead in the main timeline/original universe, a different version of him rises up to take his place.

God, Clint and Natasha go to Vormir and it's terrible. Red Skull is appropriately creepy, but the whole premise pisses me off so much. Natasha and Clint fight about who gets to jump; Natasha "wins," causing Clint and everyone else much angst. I hated this in Infinity War, and I hate it even more now. I hate that the movie goes out of its way multiple times to explain there's no way to bring her back, even as it violates causality to replace Gamora. I hate that the only way to get the Soul Stone is to play the stupid game. There ought to be a way to beat it without sacrificing someone, and even if there isn't, why is it always the female characters who get sacrificed for manpain? I knew this was coming, so it wasn't as bad as it would have been otherwise, but I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

Anyway, so they all come back, and mourn Nat. Continuous emphasis on how she's gone forever. Fuck you all, writers.

Bruce snaps to bring everybody back. He can tolerate gamma radiation. I love the line "It's like I was made for this". Bruce, honey, you're a rock star.

Tony is so freakin' specific about "bring everybody back but don't erase the last five years" because he loves his baby girl so much and cant bear that he have to lose someone himself. All kinds of logistical problems are going to happen as a result, but does he care? No! It would have been just as easy--probably easier--to snap Thanos out of existence right before the Snapture, or to allow Thor to slice off Thanos's head in time. That would also create continuity issues, but I think it would be a Stable Time Loop--and honestly, there are already so many continuity issues, I'm not sure why that would stop the writers. Anyway, I think we can all agree it would have been better if there HADN'T BEEN A FIVE YEAR TIME SKIP and maybe like six months or something, that would have been more manageable for everyone.

(and also if just Thanos is dusted and not the stones, the stones would still exist, although maybe it's for the best that they've been destroyed??)

But evil!Nebula has infiltrated the group, and opens the time machine to bring 2014!Thanos forward right after Bruce's snap brings all the dusted back. How she does this, I'm not sure exactly; is it even explained? Whatever. Plot demands it, so she does. They get Pym particles from somewhere. I don't know.

Anyway, so the Georgia car headquarters is blown to smithereens by an alien spaceship. The lake starts falling into the crater. Clint has the gauntlet with all the stones and is chased by space wolves. Thank goodness he still has exploding arrows.

Good!Nebula manages to convince new!Gamora to betray Thanos (it doesn't take much, tbh), but has to kill her evil!self. Ow. Poor Nebula gets traumatized AGAIN.

Steve wielding Mjolnir is not only a continuation of a brick joke from several movies ago, but also a Crowning Moment of Awesome. So is Dr. Strange opening the portals for everyone to show up and fight. Huge CGI battle ensures. There's no blood and everything's a mess and it's hard to keep track of everything, but man, those Chitauri bone-whale spaceships are cool. Carol Danvers knows how to make an entrance. Peter Parker is awkward and endearing, as per usual. Instant Kill Mode gets a workout.

Wanda attacking Thanos is heartbreaking. "I don't know you." "You took everything from me." HEY TONY, UNDOING THE SNAP THE WAY YOU INSISTED THEY DO IT MEANS VISION IS NEVER COMING BACK! Poor Wanda. I liked Vision. I'm sorry he's gone.

Thanos’s remark that next time he’ll make it so nobody remembers the horror of the Snap and they’ll be grateful to him and stop fighting it is truly horrifying. The Thanos in the first part seemed really resigned to dying, and it’s such a contrast. Thanos is right, of course--he would have gotten away with it “if it weren’t for those meddling kids” and the best way to prevent that is to re-write the universe to Make It So. 

Thanos is such a smug, priveleged dudebro. Have I mentioned I hate him? I fucking hate him. He’s like the epitome of Smug Male Privilege crossed with Galactic Warlord. In some ways he’s the galactic foil to Tony Stark, which makes it all the more fitting that Stark is the one to take him down. Thanos is willing to sacrifice his loved ones for his vision of reality, and Tony fights to preserve them, even when it would be “better” not to. (I put “better” in quotes because I freely admit it’s a moral grey area with the whole “five year time skip” thing.) Stark starts off alone, and then dies surrounded by friends and loved ones; Thanos starts off with an army and a family and dies defeated and alone, twice over.

Stephen Strange holding back the waterfall--and gesturing to Tony across the battlefield--both great. "If I tell you, it won't happen." Anti-self-fullfilling prophecy, which amuses me. When all hope is lost, Tony reveals he has the stones and delivers the ultimate one-line--"I am Iron Man" before he snaps. Tony could have snapped for <i>anything</i>, he had ultimate power in that moment, but all he does is turn Thanos and his army into dust. Of course, Thanos is the last one to go, because it's more Dramatic that way.

Tony dies. Pepper gently but firmly pushes Peter out of the way. Peter Quill meets Gamora and Gamora kicks him in the nuts, unimpressed. I know she and Quill will probably get back together in later movies and it will annoy me then just as much as it did before, because he's so much cooler than he is. I had to stop watching the first GotG film because of all the ass shots of Gamora; ugh.  

Everyone is appropriately sad and Tony's funeral at the Georgia lakehouse is very well attended in neatly thematic groupings. Nick Fury watches from the porch.

Have I mentioned how much I hate the "posthumous letter from emotionally constipated father figure that makes the audience and his loved ones cry, but which absolves him from any actual emotional development or growth" trope? It happens in the Stranger Things S3 finale and it happens here. Thanks, I hate it. Morgan Stark is cute and sad. God, Happy annoys me so much. I've hated him ever since he was so fucking condescending to "Natalie Rushman"--Natasha's alter ego in Iron Man 2. GOD. There is no justice here.

Steve volunteers to fulfill Bruce's promise to the Ancient One by returning all the stones. (It’s sweet how earnest Bruce is about this. I mean, Bruce has always cared about preserving the universe, even ones he doesn’t necessarily live in, but still. I find it endearing.) The movie doesn't say, but judging from the looks that Bucky and Steve give each other before Steve leaves, Bucky already knows what Steve is planning - to go the long way home and to give the shield to Sam. Bucky also knows where to look for Steve - on the bench by the lake. Still in Georgia; they got lots of tax credits for filming in Georgia, I will never be able to see this place as anywhere but Georgia.

Sam taking the shield breaks my heart, but in a good way. Nice set up for Falcon and Winter Soldier, I see what you did there, Disney.

The movie did an okay job of reminding people that Peggy existed by having Steve gaze longingly at her portrait in the locket and by staring at her through the window when he was at Camp Lehigh in the 1970s. Still, I don't blame fans for forgetting about her, given that she hasn't been a major character since The First Avenger, and died in Civil War. Both Bucky/Steve and Steve/Nat interactions are fresher in audience's minds - even Steve/Agent 13, although I guess that was just a side plot that didn't go anywhere.

Steve staying on through time the long way would make a LOT more sense if the time travel in this film worked like other time travel movies, but it's not, so it's just kind of weird. Literally, if it weren't for this ONE THING, I think the writers could have gotten away with "parallel universes" instead of time travel--especially since there's a 2014!version of Gamora around! How did Thanos do the snap the first time if his 2014!self jumped forward to 2019 and got killed there "before" he did the snap? It makes NO SENSE unless you assume the Quantum Realm takes you to identical-but-parallel universes instead of the past of the original universe.

(Yes, I KNOW Bruce says time travel doesn't work like you think it does--but I'm not sure it works the way this MOVIE thinks it does, either. Like I said, parallel universes all the way, except for the Steve 'n' Peggy bit.)

Also, I know Peggy gets married, but we never learn her husband’s name/see his face as far as I know, so it’s entirely possible Steve DID create a stable time loop by traveling back to the 1940s after his ship went down in the ice, and married Peggy and stayed out of the historical record to avoid Breaking Time any further.

So, while I can't say Steve's decision to go back for that dance wasn't foreshadowed enough, or is inconsistent with one version of his character arc, it pains me from a shipping perspective. I like Steve/Peggy, but I really love Steve/Nat, and there's no reason Steve couldn't have gone back in time and gotten together with Nat in the same way it's implied he got together with Peggy. The fact that he doesn't mention her name just makes it easier for my shipper heart to believe. (Because if he says Nat, Sam's going to make fun of him.)

Also: Steve meets Red Skull on Vormir. Please. I know there are fics about this, but still. I know the movie is three hours long, but this seems like a terrible omission, even so. Just saying. Maybe a special extra bonus scene??

AND WHY CAN'T STEVE BRING NAT BACK IF HE RETURNS THE SOUL STONE?? Over and over again, they say "A soul for a soul"-- so if Steve returns the Soul Stone he should get a soul back, am I right, am I right? COULD YOU FUCKING BE CONSISTENT, WRITERS?

(Can you tell I'm bitter? No? No? Let me shout some more then.) 

I’m also not sure how the super-soldier serum works with aging, but I’m willing to buy that it doesn’t make Steve immune to normal aging - or at least gave him a lifespan twice that of most people, unless you want to chalk the first fifty years or so up to the ice or whatever. But that’s a minor world-building quibble at best.

Okay, so that was Avengers: Endgame. Glad I didn't see this in theaters -- I would have gotten too angry and too long for me to watch in one sitting without having to get up to pee. I think I would describe it as "adequate" --covered all the major beats, followed the standard scriptwriter format, some fun character moments. Very Obviously Written By Men based on its portrayal of family life and treatment of female characters, and the time travel makes no sense if you look closely at it.

But let's face it, it made bajillions of dollars, so as far as Disney's concerned, it was a home run.

So would I watch more Marvel films? The answer is, yes, maybe, but I feel so "meh" about the MCU now that Nat is dead. I'll make decisions on a case by case basis about what movies I watch on DVD after their release, but I'm not getting my hopes up I'll feel excited. There's always fic and fandom; I just don't know if canon has anything to say that interests me anymore. (Kinda how I feel about new Star Wars to be honest.)

[itsbenedict]

Rendering the Incomprehensible Comprehensible

I am confused by the state of the art of psychiatric medicine.

Now, I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm a guy what makes computers is be do videogames, and I haven't taken a chemistry class since freshman year of college or a biology class since high school. Pretty much the extent of my knowledge of the field is that I read Slate Star Codex a lot. So, the questions I'm asking here are ones I have to assume actual professionals in the area have answers to.

That question being... why is it made of drugs?

I don't mean in an “oh, these are social problems and we must solve society and overthrow [racism/capitalism/millenialism/makesworldwrong] instead of medicating our free spirits” way. I mean in a... how do drugs work at all, kind of way? It makes sense they work for killing pathogens- all you have to do is come up with a poison that works on what you're trying to kill but not on the host. But for fixing the brain? What?

My model of drug discovery works something like this: 

- Scientists poke around at the brain and see a ton of hyper-complicated chemical processes happening in there, and make some educated guesses about what they're doing, based on measurements of levels of certain chemicals in certain places during certain mental states. They've got some vague ideas about what these chemicals are doing, but these are mostly statistical inferences and not detailed causal models. They look at these brain chemicals and how they move around, and infer that if they make some other chemicals that are shaped in specific ways, those chemicals will interfere with these other chemicals and make there be more or less of them under certain conditions. - Armed with these guesses, they go to the lab and synthesize these chemicals, and then spend billions of dollars running gigantic clinical trials to see if, maybe, putting a bunch of these new chemicals in the bloodstream will actually have anything like the desired effect. - Most of the time they don't, because these were just educated guesses based on simplified models, but with enough billions poured into running more trials, they'll eventually find a chemical they can p-hack into looking like it does something, and then exploit FDA regulations to get doctors to prescribe it for a thousand dollars a pill. Sometimes, if they're extremely lucky, they'll find something that has a positive effect that they don't need to statistically mutilate to show, and then we have a groundbreaking discovery.

I may just be super underinformed, but as I understand it... this process weirds me the hell out.

In my current job, I spend a lot of time fixing bugs in old websites. These websites are sometimes large and labyrinthine, full of old uncommented code some contractor wrote years ago before dropping off the face of the earth. This is, ignoring for a moment a completely unignorable difference in degree of complexity, kind of like trying to fix problems with the brain.

When I go in to fix a bug in a website, there's a lot of things I can do. I can look at the page's elements in the browser's dev tools. I can run the debugger and step through the code, looking at all the data and its values at any given point in time. I can go to the git repo and look back through previous versions of the code, to see what changes were made and when, in conjunction with Jira tickets describing what issue those changes were made to fix. And once I've figured out what's happening, I can go into the code, make changes, and see what effect they had.

Now, I can try to imagine what my job would be like if I had to do things like psychopharmacologists did.

First off, no making changes to the code. The code is compiled and minified and obfuscated and still three billion lines long. Even if I did figure out how to make desirable changes, that would be "digital eugenics" and I'd get fired.

Second, commit history only goes like three or four commits back, if I'm lucky. Previous commits have been deleted, since they're set to auto-recycle after a while and nobody knows how to turn that off.

Thirdly, no dev tools. I only have the rendered webpage itself, and when something goes wrong I have to kind of guess at whether it's a styling issue or a data issue or a connectivity issue or what.

What can I do, exactly? Well, I actually do have access to one of the dev tools, kind of: the Network tab. I can see the requests being made to the back-end API. Unfortunately, there is no API documentation, and the requests are just as obfuscated as the code. But I've also got Postman, and what I can kind of do is make my own requests to the API, to see what the output is and how it affects the system.

So, uh... hm, okay, I see a request being made to https://serotonin.presynapticneurone.neural.net. The data payload is gibberish, but I notice that when there's a lot of these requests happening, the webpage renders a little faster, and when there's not as many, it slows down. Maybe if I just copy the gibberish data and fake a bunch of my own requests, it'll go faster? ...Hm, okay, that kind of works on some pages but not others. Still, better than nothing- we have some users complaining about the site being slow, so let's just tell them to-

Oh, shit, wait, users don't know how computers work, I can't just tell them to spam Postman requests to the API endpoint. Um, okay, I'll write a little phone app that automatically spams the requests, and release that to users. Except- oh, for fuck's sake, I need to wait for FDApple to approve it for the app store, and they want us to prove that it works and doesn't contain malware. Except even I don't know if that works, so... okay, it's fine, we'll hire a bunch of testers and do a study that shows that overall it speeds things up, and doesn't kill anyone's machines. Good thing I work for a huge company that can afford to do that.

Aaaaaand here come the results, and- oh, god damn it, the study didn't achieve significance. Let me go get Steve, he can probably fudge the numbers here so the damn app store will let us release the fucking thing, we spent millions on those tests (and the tests of all the other interventions that turned out to do nothing because we didn't have enough information and guessed wrong), and we need to recoup our investment.

Sigh.

So... I'm hearing that the ROI on drug discovery is dropping, and that drug companies have pretty much given up on trying to fix things and have started repackaging the handful of blind hacky API spam tricks that miraculously have a consistent effect. This isn't surprising to me. I would not be surprised if, like, after decades of people banging their heads against a massively overcomplicated system, hitting it with differently-shaped hammers in hopes of getting anything to work... they've found most of the differently-shaped hammers that do anything.

At some point, someone has to invent developer tools, right? Find some way to actually figure out what the hell they're doing?

The big question: given the blatant inadequacy of the existing paradigm, why is the industry still trying to wring blood out of this dried-out stone? At some point, we're going to have to actually figure out what the brain is doing, but it seems like cognitive neuroscience is still in its infancy. "We don't know how this thing works" seems like the big obstacle to getting anything done, but most of the effort in this area still seems to be focused on finding new drugs to throw at the thing-we-don't-know-how-it-works. 

I know I’m not the first person to ask this question. I’m sure everyone who’s ever had to grapple with psychiatry in any detail is lamenting the same issue, and I’m sure there are people who are working very hard to try and solve the problem. It just... doesn’t seem like those people are getting very much done. The most I hear about is pop science articles claiming that Science Has Discovered The Part Of The Brain That Makes You Love Kittens, which inevitably turn out to be irresponsible reporting of extremely modest correlational findings. 

(Maybe AI will help? Maybe the brain is just too complicated to be reduced to something humans can understand on an engineering/problem-solving level, and we need something with a higher understanding-capacity? Except... most of the recent advances in AI are with neural nets that explicitly don't actually understand anything, nor do the researchers growing them.)

Where are we at with this? Are we getting anywhere? Is there encouraging progress in the field of learning-things-about-the-brain? Is the second derivative of that curve non-zero? Metacognitive revolution when?

[spinels-best-friend]

The Question Man Chronicles: Entrapta

The flame on the torch Entrapta had been using stopped.  This is not to say that it fizzled out, or suddenly extinguished; No, it stopped.  The greenish blue flame simply stopped it’s forward momentum, the end of it remained curved against the piece of metal she’d been welding but the sparks it had been throwing had similarly frozen mid-flight.  When she pulled it back the end remained curved.    

“Well, that’s curious.” She said flipping her mask up to get a better look.  She shook the torch several times but nothing about the flame changed.   Looking around she saw this was not an isolated event, lights she knew should be cycling through colors were static, and a droplet from a leaking pipe hung in the air nearby.  She reached for her recorder and depressed the record button.  “Anomalous event number three, something seems to be effecting the very laws of physics around me.  Falling objects remain suspended, as do thermal reactions.”  Looking down at the torch once more.  “Initial hypothesis is that something halted. . .no I’m still breathing and seeing, so light and air are still moving.  Something has significantly slowed the forward momentum of time, fascinating.   Though if this is correct my voice on this recording is going to be unintelligible.”  She sighed and depressed the stop button, and pocketed the recorder once again.  

“A reasonable hypothesis.”  Entrapta’s head swung to the source of the new voice.  There she found the form of a man tall enough to dwarf Hordak.  He wore a simple black robe that extended down below his feet, the hood was pulled back exposing an utterly ordinary face, as if someone had taken an average of the faces seen in any given crowd and distilled it down to one person.  His hair was brown, short straight and unstyled.  His skin was pale and listless, only his plain chocolate eyes seemed to possess any real spark of life, a spark the princess recognized:  Curiosity.  “Before you ask, yes I am the one who has slowed the flow of time, and I will not explain to you how.”  Entrapta, finger raised and mouth open to pose questions shifted into a pout, prehensile hair crossing her body.  

“Fine.”  She said drawing a finger to her chin in thought. “Well if I can’t have how, then at least tell me why?”  The odd figure’s callow lips parted into a smile.  

“The question is the answer.  I have done this to ask; Why?”  Entrapta approached utterly unconcerned at his stature or clear display of power.  

“Why what?”  His smile remained as he leaned down to face her properly.

“I am the question man, I come to worlds I have observed, to people I have observed to ask them about choices they’ve made, their motivations, and to show them the causal effects of those choices.  If I am scientist, then my field of study is stories, and choices are the math of those stories, the more data I have, the better I understand.”  When he put it like that Entrapta understood perfectly.  

“So I’m today’s test subject, sounds intriguing!  Ask away.”  The figure nodded and seemed to shrink coming eye to eye with her.

“Why did you join the horde?”  Entrapta raised an eyebrow at that.  

“Are we starting with the easy ones or something?  Look at all this great stuff!”  She said motioning to the lab in general.  “I have more resources, and opportunities to study first one’s tech here than I ever did back in my castle.”  The Question man’s smile grew wider, and just a shade cruel.  

“That is why you stay with the horde, why did you join the horde?”  He asked and suddenly they were no longer in her lab, rather they were in a familiar room, and against one wall she saw herself, surrounded by Catra and Scorpia, time appeared to be moving once again.

. . .Seems to be correct, they’re not coming back for me.”  Entrapta felt the tear that was rolling down her counterpart’s cheek on her own.  

“You joined the horde because you thought you’d been abandoned, because you felt alone, and sad.”  Entrapta sniffled and the scene blurred, resolving into a scene from days before, the door sealing in front of her, and green fire erupting all around, only a quick response from Emily breaking down an air vent saving her.  “Tell me scientist, if you were on the other side of that door.” He said pointing to where her friends had just vanished from sight.  “You saw it sealed and purging green flames erupting within, what would you hypothesize would be the fate of an organic life form inside.”  They were outside suddenly, and the door slammed down, though now she could see the reactions of her friends.  The despair, the disbelief, the sorrow.  In those very early days, she had imagined them making a calculated choice, bring out glimmer and bow, accomplish the mission only losing her, and after all she was the weird one.  She had never been angry about it just sad, but now. . .

“Given the information available. . .and the urgency of the situation I would likely conclude that someone inside that chamber would have perished.  They thought I was dead, well at least that explains that.”  She tried to affect her usual aire of aloof interest.  “Hypotheses are made to be disproved.”  The figure shook his head.

“You’re failing to extrapolate out, in your initial model you were abandoned, uncared for no one, terribly bothered at the loss.”  Then she did extrapolate, the looks of sadness on their faces rippling out to the rest of Etheria.  In the next moment they were in a garden, Perfume weeping as she extended her powers out, vines forming a topiary of her, gone again, Adora fighting as images flashed around her, her regrets made manifest, one of herself tapping away.  “I wonder what weapon you were augmenting for the horde on this day.”  Entrapta watched, something breaking inside, past her curiosity and drive for discovery that had always offered a buffer between her and the deeper currents of her emotions were completely swallowed.  “They mourned you, hated themselves for you, and you built things to slaughter them, why?” He asked again like a hammer blow, but her answer fell harder.

“For the fun of it.” She sniffled. “Not because I was mad or anything like that, I just thought we’d gone our separate ways.”  The question man sighed.

“Oh I know.” The scenery changed again.  Bow and Glimmer rushing to her rescue, concern and guilt plain on their faces.  Then her conversation with Bow through the communicator, though this time Catra couldn’t simply end communications, and she watched her heartbroken friends fight for their lives.  “Why, I ask again Entrapta did you join the horde.  Her head fell and her hair curled around her like embracing arms.  

“Because it was easier, easier than feeling abandoned, easier than being the odd princess out.  Easier to assume I wouldn’t be missed because then I could do my work with all the resources I could ever want.  It was just easier.

She was alone again, torch in her hand, mask over her face, and time ticked onward.

[faketextstuff]

The Arrangement Part 2 - The Introduction.

Summary:: You've never imagined yourself being a sugar baby but because of some playful friends and a stroke of luck, you find yourself with a man who is apparently willing to give you the moon and stars. The only problem is, no strings attached. Don't catch feelings, don't fall for a man who thinks money can solve all your issues and doesn't want commitment.

Warnings: None this chapter. Sensitive issues, Eventual Smut, Cursing.

You felt your heart hammering away against your rib cage after reading the last few text from your best friend. Your phone dropped to your lap and you swore your palms were going to start sweating.

A part of you wanted to get up and run for the exit. You almost didn't want to believe the texts from your friend who said the man approaching you was in fact, good looking. Do good looking men need a site to find willing sugar babies? Fuck, did you even want to be a sugar baby? No! You mentally screamed. This was just coffee.

Even though you keep telling yourself that you would never be a man's play thing, the idea of having someone "spoil" you was mighty intriguing. In all of your relationships you never once had a man spoil you or buy you anything nice. You were always the giver that ended up cheated on, verbally abused and left mentally drained. Maybe for one this would be a nice change. To let someone else take care of you in ways you had never known.

However you were not one to freely give up you were not one to give up your body for a few fancy things. Your morals were in conflict with your mind. You were so lost in thought that you didn't even notice the chair across from you being pulled out and occupied.

"You're thinking about running, aren't you?" A deep voice pulled you from your thoughts causing you to jump back in your seat, your eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as you gawked at the man across from you.

Your jaw fell a bit slack as you drank in the sight before you. This couldn't be him could it? He had to be no more than early to mid twenties, he had what seemed to be, dyed white-ish silver hair, with a very boyish yet handsome face. His dark eyes were shadowed by the baseball hat that sat pulled down lowly on his head.

A black mask sat nestled right below his chin and his attire was completely different from that of what you had pictured. He was dressed in casual clothes, a black leather jacket that matched your own, a loose fitting white shirt under it, and dark blue jeans. Hell, his style actually made it look like the two of you planned a couple's outfit. He was beautiful. There was no doubt to that. This couldn't be him! No way in hell!

As you gaped in shock, his lips curled up into a small cute gummy smile. "What?" He asked knocking you right out of your own thoughts.

"I'm sorry." You blushed while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You hadn't meant to stare but you just couldn't help it. "I'm waiting for someone." You spoke up in a soft polite manner.

The man's smile widened as he leaned his elbows against the wood table top. "I'm the one you're waiting for, Babygirl." He whispered in a soft voice, giving you a wink. "I have to say, Your profile picture on the site didn't do you proper justice, you're much more beautiful in person, Y/N."

Holy shit! You mentally screamed. This was him! How could a man this young possibly need with a sugar baby!? "Y-You're the one who messaged me?" You blinked a few times.

"Yup. I'm obviously not what you were expecting, judging by that look." He chuckled lightly before leaning back in his seat, his arms crossing loosely over his chest. "I can't tell by your expression if this a good surprise or bad surprise."

"It's a good surprise." You found yourself blurting out, "I mean...you're a lot younger than I was imagining." Your face had to be as red as an apple by this point. You were almost ashamed by your confession.

Chuckling once more the man shook his head, cocking it slightly to the side. "I get it, most women think all Sugar Daddies are old men looking for a hot young thing they can play with. They give the rest of us a bad rep." He shrugged casually.

"Why are you on a Sugar Daddy site to begin with?" You found your voice, eyebrow shooting up and giving a head tilt of your own towards the man in front of you.

"It's simple," he stated, his tone causal and nonchalant as he spoke coolly, "I'm a very busy business owner who travels all over the world at the drop of a hat. I'm stupid rich and have no problem spending my money on people or things I want too. I don't need a clingy girlfriend who is going to hang on my every move. I don't want a woman who will try to entrap me by marrying her. My love is my job and I don't know about you, but I don't see a lot of girls taking kindly to being number two in a relationship." He explained carefully.

You did understand that, as a woman if you were in a committed relationship you would had to know you're always going to number two and will never have your love's full attention. "I get that."

"Even if I don't want the commitment that a full relationship brings, I do miss companionship and the physical aspect of being with another person. I need a professional at my side, a person who is willing to be on my arm at big work events that wont expose me or my dirty secrets to the media. As a professional I treat this like a business deal. A girl on my arm and on the rare occasion "in my arms" in exchange for a lavish lifestyle and everything she could ever need."

Unable to stop yourself, your nose crinkled at the mention of "in my arms". "I don't think I'm your girl, sir." You sighed shaking your head. "It sounds, amazing, if I'm honest. I mean who wouldn't want a lavish lifestyle and be on the arm of a handsome man like you, but I don't do sex for money. I'm sorry."

At your comment, his smile returned and he leaned across the table, reaching out to take your hand. "That's why your my ideal girl. I'm so busy, sex is far off and not very often. Like a said, I love to spoil people. Also for some reason, the fact that you're not eager to jump into it makes you more appealing. I've had a few girls who didn't even hesitate before signing the contract not realizing I wouldn't be at their beck and call every hour. While I want to spoil you and treat you like the queen you are, I need a girl who wont be upset that I'm not at her feet twenty-four-seven. A woman who can be independent while being at my beck and call. When I call, you answer." His hand gave yours a gentle squeeze that caused your stomach to do flips.

"I still don't see how I can help you. Being at your beck and call, I have a life too." You sighed, gently pulling your hand from his grasp. "It's a tempting offer, believe me but I'm not a sugar baby, I don't know the first thing about big business or fancy galas. I'm a waitress at a shit hole restaurant who lives one step away from poverty. While I'd love to actually be spoiled for once in my life and not be the one taking care of everyone else, I couldn't sleep at night knowing you were paying me to do everything a friend could do. Plus you haven't even given me your name. How do I know you're not a scam artist who pulls innocent young girls into a web of lies and false hopes?"

"Call me Suga." He spoke up, his dark eyes boring into yours.

"Suga? Really?" You bit back a chuckle of amusement. "Well, no matter what, I'm not your girl. I'm sorry you wasted your time on a dead end like me." You sighed with a shake of your head. "This just isn't me." You added as you grabbed for your small black purse and went to rise from your seat.

"Give me a week." Suga stood up along with you. Clearly he wasn't one to take no for an answer. "Give me one week to show you the life I'm offering. Let me spoil you for one week and if this still isn't your thing I'll leave you alone for good."

"I just gave you coffee, well--almost gave you coffee, you said coffee and that's it if I say no." A huff escaped your lips before you turned to leave, your head held high as you were determined to stick to your morals. "So we can order some coffee and go our separate ways."

Suga bit back a smirk as he watched you make your way towards the counter to make good on your coffee promise. No wasting any time he followed you confidently. He had never had a woman flat out refuse him the way you just did after he made the offer, this was refreshing to him and only made him more determined to break down your resolve.

Before you could even make it to the counter he stopped you by grabbing your wrist gently. "What do you have to lose for just one week if you're so close to poverty, like you said? Sign a contract with me for one week of dinner, dates, and the work event I mentioned. No sex, just a simple contract."

"Why would I need a contract?" You frowned.

"It's mostly to protect my business and fellow employees. We can't afford a scandal, and it's to protect you."

You jerked your wrist away and placed your hands firmly on your hips. "Fuck, you're persistent." You sighed with a roll of your eyes. "Protect me from what?"

Suga placed a hand on your shoulder and lead you up against the wall and away from anyone who dared to listen in on your conversation. "Former girls who didn't take it well when I ended the arrangement, other men who would try to get company secrets from you unknowingly, protect you from me forcing you to pay back every dime I spent on you. My lawyer is very thorough when it comes to protecting both of us."

It did make sense. You couldn't imagine having to pay a rich person back for even a cup of ramen, your bank account was close to pocket change, and you hadn't been able to pay your bills in a month, no matter how many extra shifts you took up at the restaurant. "If I agree to this now, what if I change my mind later?"

You almost smiled as Suga's eyes lit up with a spark of hope. "Come to my office and read over the contract. You can see for yourself. You can edit and revise things that aren't yo your liking if you see fit. I don't know why, but you stood out above all the other girls I saw. I want to take a chance on you. A week is all I'm asking to get to know you. Seven days and if you don't like what I'm offering, you'll never hear from me again."

You fell silent for a moment, his words playing in your mind like a broken record. One week, seven days. What could seven days hurt? Hell, you knew you could sorely use the money. We're your morals more important than your lively hood? Of course! However, no sexual favors had to be preformed, no strings attached. Just date him for seven days and get paid hopefully enough to pay your rent for another month. "Where's your office?"

[diiagnose]

“the wedding singer” musical sentence meme: act one

not  the  film  !   trigger  warnings  for  alcohol  ,   sexual  content  ,   suicidal  ideation  ,   &  mentions  of  drugs  !   change  pronouns  as  needed  !      ACT  TWO  .

IT’S  YOUR  WEDDING  DAY  .

❛    i  wrote  a  song  six  years  ago  .    ❜ ❛    the  band  &  i  are  in  demand  .    ❜ ❛    i  can  guarantee  that  love  will  find  you  .    ❜ ❛    when  it’s  your  wedding  day  ,   all  the  problems  melt  away  .    ❜ ❛    love  is  what  i  do  .    ❜ ❛    we’re  like  a  finely  tuned  machine  .    ❜ ❛    he’ll  invite  me  over  for  christmas  eve  .    ❜ ❛    bang  your  head  !    ❜ ❛    i’ll  dance  your  mom  all  around  the  room  .    ❜

SOMEDAY  .

❛    did  you  see  the  bride  ?    ❜ ❛    don’t  you  hate  her  ?    ❜ ❛    she’s  so  happy  !    ❜ ❛    the  lights  are  dim  ,   there’s  a  smoky  haze  .   ❜ ❛    it’s  a  moment  built  to  save  .    ❜ ❛    it’s  so  romantic  i  could  die  right  here  &  now  .    ❜ ❛    it’s  gonna  be  that  way  for  us  .    ❜ ❛    someday  when  it’s  me  ,   i’ll  know  our  love  was  meant  to  be  .    ❜ ❛    all  you’ll  need  is  me  &  all  i’ll  need  is  you  .    ❜ ❛    take  that  veil  off  !    ❜ ❛    i’m  so  jealous  i  could  cry  .    ❜ ❛    i  know  not  every  marriage  lasts  when  things  go  bad  .    ❜ ❛    soon  you’ll  take  my  hand  &  pledge  your  love  to  me  .    ❜ ❛    i’ll  just  get  married  vicariously  .    ❜

A  NOTE  FROM  LINDA  .

❛    i  think  we  need  some  space  .    ❜ ❛    smiley  face  !    ❜ ❛    i  woke  this  morning  ,   prepared  to  walk  on  air  .    ❜ ❛    i  realized  that  you  cramped  my  style  as  i  crimped  my  hair  .    ❜ ❛    you’re  just  not  that  same  person  .    ❜ ❛    you  sing  while  people  chew  !    ❜ ❛    you  live  in  your  grandma’s  basement  !    ❜ ❛    deep  down  you  weren’t  in  love  with  me  ,   you  were  just  in  love  with  love  .    ❜ ❛    it’s  best  we  end  this  before  we  start  .    ❜ ❛    the  ‘ i ‘  is  dotted  with  a  broken  heart  .    ❜

POP  !

❛    every  five  seconds  a  girl  gets  engaged  according  to  cosmo’s  latest  quiz  .    ❜ ❛    it’s  a  challenge  that  every  woman  faces  .    ❜ ❛    let’s  make  sure  that  we’ve  covered  our  bases  .    ❜ ❛    you’ve  lived  off  tab  &  lean  cuisine  .    ❜ ❛    you’re  minty  fresh  &  zestfully  clean  .    ❜ ❛    he’s  gonna  pop  the  question  .    ❜ ❛    there’s  no  reason  to  stop  &  question  his  love  .    ❜ ❛    oh  my  god  !  she’s  like  cinderella  !    ❜ ❛    i’m  like  her  fairy  godmother  ,   only  slutty  !    ❜ ❛    is  someone  a  catch  if  they  can’t  be  caught  ?    ❜ ❛    could  it  be  the  guy  has  just  outgrown  me  ?    ❜ ❛    i’ll  die  alone  in  socks  &  flats    —    the  lady  with  the  fifty  cats  .    ❜ ❛    he’ll  never  pop  the  question  .    ❜ ❛    you’re  gonna  be  fine  .   just  breathe  .    ❜ ❛    hey  ,   baby  .    ❜ ❛    you  look  hot  .   ❜ ❛    let’s  eat  .    ❜ ❛    we’re  going  round  in  circles  here  .    ❜ ❛    it’s  as  if  all  resolves  around  him  .    ❜ ❛    everybody’s  having  champagne  .   you  don’t  want  any  ,   do  you  ?    ❜ ❛    if  one  more  couple  gets  engaged  or  i  hear  one  more  cork  ,   it’s  hari  kari  with  this  fancy  little  salad  fork  .    ❜ ❛    this  is  the  end  ,   right  ?    ❜ ❛    i  want  us  to  be  husband  &  wife  .    ❜ ❛    he  totally  popped  the  question  .    ❜

SOMEBODY  KILL  ME  .

❛    you  don’t  know  how  much  i  need  you  .    ❜ ❛    while  you’re  near  me  ,   i  don’t  feel  blue  .    ❜ ❛    when  we  kiss  i  know  you  need  me  ,   too  .    ❜ ❛    i  can’t  believe  i  found  a  love  that’s  so  pure  &  true  .    ❜ ❛    it  was  all  bullshit  !   it  was  a  goddamn  joke  !    ❜ ❛    i  hope  you  fuckin’  choke  !    ❜ ❛    i  hope  you’re  glad  with  what  you’ve  done  to  me  !    ❜ ❛    i  lay  in  bed  all  day  long  feeling  melancholy  !    ❜ ❛    you  left  here  all  alone  .    ❜ ❛    somebody  kill  me  please  !    ❜ ❛    i  want  to  die  !    ❜ ❛    put  a  bullet  in  my  head  !    ❜

A  NOTE  FROM  GRANDMA  .

❛    i  know  you’re  feeling  low  .    ❜ ❛    though  things  might  seem  dismal  ,   there’s  one  thing  you  need  to  know  .    ❜ ❛    you’ll  find  someone  who  loves  you  ,   sure  as  waves  will  find  the  shore  .    ❜

CAUSALITY  OF  LOVE  .

❛    i  thought  i  had  the  kind  of  love  you  find  in  fairy tales  .    ❜ ❛    my  girl  ripped  out  my  heart  with  her  plastic  press  -  on  nails  .    ❜ ❛    i’m  a  causality  of  love  .    ❜ ❛    i  put  a  top  hat  on  my  cat  then  asked  him  to  my  prom  .    ❜ ❛    i  was  stood  up  by  my  date  &  by  date  i  mean  my  mom  .    ❜ ❛    each  night  i  open  up  my  mouth  &  give  those  twinkies  a  shove  .    ❜ ❛    we’re  from  different  walks  of  life  &  different  points  of  view  .    ❜ ❛    love’s  a  hoax  ,  love’s  a  tease  ,  love’s  a  piñata  full  of  bees  .    ❜ ❛    love’s  a  wound  ,   watch  it  bleed  .    ❜ ❛    you’ll  end  up  just  like  this  .    ❜ ❛    trust  me  ,   love  always  ends  .    ❜ ❛    you’ll  be  fat  ,   divorced  ,   &  broke  while  she  has  sex  with  all  your  friends  .    ❜

COME  OUT  OF  THE  DUMPSTER  .

❛    tonight  you  made  some  mistakes  .   i’ll  admit  you  hit  a  few  bumps  .    ❜ ❛    i  hate  to  see  you  like  this    —    down  on  your  luck  ,   down  in  the  dumps  .    ❜ ❛    though  hope  might  seem  in  short  supply  ,   you  have  to  move  on  .   you  have  to  try  .    ❜ ❛    don’t  leave  me  standing  here  .    ❜ ❛    come  out  of  the  dumpster  ,   it’s  okay  .   the  coast  is  clear  .    ❜ ❛    the  cop  cars  are  leaving  .   channel  live’s  packed  up  its  crew  .    ❜ ❛    i’ll  be  right  here  waiting  for  you  .    ❜ ❛    ..  so  ,   you’re  back  in  the  dumpster  .    ❜ ❛    everyone  has  a  dumpster  ,   a  stumbling  block  they  can’t  ignore  .    ❜ ❛    to  fight  it  makes  you  stronger  &  next  time  you  might  stand  .    ❜ ❛    here  ,   take  a  hold  of  my  hand  .    ❜ ❛    your  first  day  back  wasn’t  all  you  anticipated  .    ❜ ❛    i  bit  the  best  man  .    ❜ ❛    the  bride  had  to  be  sedated  .    ❜ ❛    this  sort  of  thing  happens  all  the  time  .    ❜ ❛    when  life  gives  you  garbage  ,   use  it  to  climb  .    ❜ ❛    look  ,   you’re  out  of  the  dumpster  !    ❜ ❛    was  that  so  hard  after  all  ?    ❜ ❛    from  here  it  looks  so  small  .    ❜ ❛    you’re  back  where  you  started  on  your  way  to  success  .    ❜ ❛    will  you  sing  at  my  wedding  ?    ❜

TODAY  YOU  ARE  A  MAN  .

❛    there’s  a  gift  from  every  guest  .    ❜ ❛    today  you  are  a  man  .    ❜ ❛    your  goyim  friends  have  been  agog  since  they  left  the  synagogue  .    ❜ ❛    drunk  on  schnapps  &  in  a  fog  &  speaking  hebrew  best  they  can  .    ❜ ❛    there’s  a  waitress dressed  up  like  a  go  -  go  .    ❜ ❛    shiksas  are  a  no  -  no  !    ❜ ❛    at  least  it’s  not  your  bris  .    ❜ ❛    today  you  are  a  boy  .    ❜

NOT  THAT  KIND  OF  THING  .

❛    it’s  a  tricky  situation    —    first  fight  .    ❜ ❛    why  not  tell  yourself  you’re  both  wrong  ,   both  right  .    ❜ ❛    we’re  sister  &  brother  .    ❜ ❛    tell  the  stars  in  the  heavens  they’ve  been  misaligned  ,   ‘cause  it’s  not  that  kind  of  thing  .    ❜ ❛    you  get  stuck  with  them  for  better  or  worse  .    ❜ ❛    it’s  emasculating  holding  a  purse  &  it  doesn’t  match  my  jacket  .    ❜ ❛    your  evil  scheme  has  worked  out  just  as  you  planned  it  .    ❜ ❛    i’ve  shopped  ,   you’ve  carried  .    ❜ ❛    you’re  scary  .    ❜ ❛    there  are  times  when  her  eyes  meet  mine  &  linger  there  maybe  a  bit  too  long  .    ❜ ❛    i  wonder  ..  is  there  something  hidden  in  this  stare  ?    ❜ ❛    no  ,   i  couldn’t  be  more  wrong  !    ❜

SATURDAY  NIGHT  IN  THE  CITY  .

❛    my  favorite  club’ll  always  double  my  vodka  shots  .    ❜ ❛    tonight  we’re  gonna  party  like  it’s  1986  !    ❜ ❛    it’s  saturday  night  in  the  city  !    ❜ ❛    the  dance  floor  smoke  ,   a  bump  of  coke  ,   &  everything  taboo  .    ❜ ❛    i  gotta  pair  of  parachute  pants  that  grandma  bought  me  to  wear  .    ❜ ❛    new  york  is  reserved  for  the  rich  &  proud  .    ❜ ❛    hoping  sunday  morning  you’ll  have  sins  to  confess  .    ❜ ❛    everybody’s  equal  when  they’re  thrashing  on  the  floor  .    ❜ ❛    why  would  anything  be  wrong  ?   let’s  get  drunk  !    ❜ ❛    i’m  not  tipsy  ..  i’m hammered  !    ❜ ❛    my  body’s  an  amusement  park  ,   the  first  ride’s  on  me  .    ❜ ❛    don’t  stop  to  question  if  you’re  gonna  score  .    ❜ ❛    being  young  &  stupid  is  what  saturday  is  for  !    ❜ ❛    tell  yourself  that  you  must  have  been  out  of  your  mind  ..    ❜

[studyinglogic]

Dennett’s unapologetically reductive understanding of life, consciousness, intelligence, and culture. This reductionism has two main aspects. First, Dennett holds that the behavior of complex systems, including living ones, is generated entirely from the interactions between their parts. Second, except in the special case where humans or other animals act as the “intelligent designers” of our tools or cultural artifacts, he also describes the evolution of complexity and intelligence in an entirely bottom-up way—as the result of blind selection pressures acting on simpler and less intelligent systems. Dennett explains the latter idea with a pair of images that are familiar from his other books: instead of “skyhooks”—mythical devices that hang from the sky in order to move things to new heights—nature makes use of cranes, which lift things from the ground up. Reductive explanations of the first sort mean that we don’t need souls or other distinctively higher-order principles to explain what happens in nature. Explanations of the second sort mean that no appeal to God or other supernatural powers is required to explain why things are the way they are.

Things are not quite so simple as that. For as Dennett acknowledges, there is more than one kind of explanation. Suppose, for example, that I ask you for an explanation of Donald Trump’s election to the presidency. One way to answer this request would be with an account of the causal factors that contributed to Trump’s victory. Such an account might discuss the role of the Electoral College in granting disproportionate power to rural states, the deteriorating economic situation of white working-class men, the effects of immigration, the influence of the conservative media, and the ways that misogyny and xenophobia may have made Trump and his policies popular. This account addresses the question “Why did so many voters choose Trump?”—where “Why?” is understood to mean “How come?” It is an attempt to explain what brought it about that so many Americans (enough, though not a majority) voted for Trump.

A second way to explain the same outcome would be in terms of the goals of Trump’s supporters, or their purpose in settling on him as their preferred candidate. There will likely be some contact between this sort of explanation and the previous one: Trump supporters wanted to restrict immigration, to improve the situation of white working-class men, and so on. But now these factors are treated not just as forces that made it likely Trump would win—as, for example, the structure of the Electoral College made this likely by giving more influence to the average Trump supporter than to his average opponent. As Dennett puts it, instead of answering the question “How come?” an explanation in terms of goal or purpose speaks to our desire to know “What for?” And the possibility of giving a how-come explanation of something in terms of impersonal, bottom-up forces doesn’t mean that the same thing can’t also be explained in terms of purposes or goals.

To illustrate this point, consider how we understand the growth of a tree. To explain how come a tree grows in a certain way, we might need to appeal only to factors like the genetic information in its cells, the nutrients in the soil, the chemical reactions involved in processes like photosynthesis, and so on. But the possibility of giving such a mechanistic, bottom-up explanation of the tree’s growth doesn’t mean that we can’t also appeal to goals or purposes in explaining what certain aspects of the tree’s metabolism or anatomy are for. The purpose of growing leaves, for example, is to help absorb energy from sunlight; the purpose of roots is to collect water from the ground; and so on. Just as we understand Trump’s election better when we appreciate the goals that motivated his supporters, this purposive or “teleological” explanation (from telos, the Greek word for “end” or “purpose”) of the tree’s growth captures something important that is not conveyed by a description of the cellular and genetic mechanisms that underlie this process.

For some scientists and philosophers who try to be especially hardheaded in their reductionism, talk of the purpose of roots or leaves is either foolish anthropomorphism (how can a mindless organism have goals of its own?) or involves a covert appeal to an intelligent designer whose purposes these are (e.g., perhaps God made trees have leaves because he wanted them to have a way to absorb energy from sunlight). To his credit, Dennett does not hold that teleological, what-for explanations of natural phenomena are all illusory or second-rate. He rejects the assumption that even mindless nature is necessarily bereft of purpose. There are, he says, purposes or “free-floating rationales” throughout the living world, and explanation in the biological sciences makes constant appeal to this natural teleology.

For Dennett, what makes the rationale of a process like photosynthesis or a structure like the roots of a tree free-floating is that this rationale does not need to be grasped or represented by anyone in order for it to be part of what explains a given phenomenon. In this respect, teleological explanation in biology is different from the explanation of human behaviors and artifacts in terms of our purposes or goals. Why did Jane go to the store? Suppose it was to get some milk: this explanation presumes that Jane believed that there was milk at the store, and that going to the store was a good way to get it. Why do hammers have flat heads? Because this is part of a clever design—our design—for driving in nails. But why do the roots of a tree grow outward? If it is in order to bring in more water, this need not be because the tree understands that an extensive root system will have this effect, nor because someone designed trees to be effective in finding nutrition. Rather, it just happens that roots are an effective way of absorbing water from the soil, thereby increasing the lifespan and improving the reproductive fitness of certain species of plants. For this reason, a process of natural selection that favors reproductive fitness was likely to lead to the spread of organisms that possess this favorable trait. This kind of rationale can exist whether or not there are beings like us with the capacity to comprehend it. The rationale for roots existed at least as soon as roots did—and long before human beings discovered what it was.