#anyway i believe at one point they shared a lab/workshop

[peachykeenmomster]

2.4.23

my sons first birthday and a quick school and work update.

Hello and happy Saturday! I hope everyone is having a productive and meaningful weekend thus far. I did not intend to go two weeks between posts. It’s a good thing I decided not to hold myself to a schedule when I started posting over here, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stick to it. Anyways, I feel like there has been much that has taken place since my introductory post.

First, my son turned one. I truly cannot believe that he is already a year old. I know everyone says time is a thief and not to blink, but until you have your own children and see for yourself, you won’t understand just how fast the newborn phase passes. Now that my little boy is entering toddlerhood, my goal for parenthood in this season as I help him learn and explore the world around him and gain just the tiniest amount of independence, is to not get overly wrapped up in my frustrations and not to wish the days away. Surely if the newborn stage passed so quickly, the stages that follow are sure to do the same. I want to be present in the moment and appreciative of where we are at. That is not to say that I won’t allow myself to be frustrated or to have days where I’m counting down until nap time or bedtime. I think it’s important to allow yourself the grace to feel those negative emotions. But, on those days, I hope I will also take a step back to breathe and remember just how quickly time has proven to pass.

On my sons birthday this year, a new family tradition was born. If you aren’t familiar with Build-A-Bear Workshop’s birthday bear, it is a bear that is available during your child’s birthday month and you can get it at the price of the age your child is turning. So we got our boy a bear for $1 this year! Then we had lunch at The Cheesecake Factory, where he had some delicious pasta and cheesecake! Check out the pictures below!

We had an actual party planned for him with all our family and friends a few days after his actual birthday, that we unfortunately had to cancel last minute the day of due to a run in with strep that affected both me and my boy. We have since recovered and have rescheduled the party for next weekend! Hopefully all will go according to (backup) plan. A lot of time and energy has gone into putting this birthday party together, so I have high expectations for it. I can’t wait to share some fun memories made there in the next post.

Before I put an end to this blog post, I feel it necessary to give a quick update as far as work and school goes. Due to being sick, I had to call into work two days for myself while I had strep and one day to keep my son home from daycare when he came down with it. During that time, I also did not get a lot of studying, or homework done. My lab kit came in the mail though and now I have a rat, a cows eye and a pigs brain along with all my lab essentials- goggles, sterile gloves and dissection tool stored away in my closet. I’m nervous as to completing the dissection labs from home. I’ve never taken an online class up until this point, so to be in one with an accompanying lab class that I’m also tackling from home is a major step outside of my comfort zone. However, I had my first lecture exam this morning. It was 80 question and I had 95 minutes to complete it. I scored a 92.5% on it. After getting 75% on the first two quizzes, I definitely seized the opportunity to redeem myself and I’m still pulling an A in this class! In a couple of months I will be adding a CNA class to my already extremely busy schedule. I will keep you guys updated on that as well as everything else.

Until next time. ✌🏻

[sonknuxadow]

why does sonic prime talk like everyone has lived in green hill zone this whole time.. sure sonic is seen there a lot, but hes never been stated to LIVE there.. neither have any of the characters that were seen there in the show as far as i know. like i can believe tails having a workshop set up in green hill but i Cant believe knuckles and big who are already established to live in other places live in green hill. and people keep saying sonic prime is supposed to be canon to the games and thats literally the only reason this is bugging me if sonic prime is really supposed to be set in the game universe why would they do this. i know restricting it to green hill is probably to save time and money but surely they could have come up with other excuses for the characters being in green hill a lot that arent just. saying everybody lives there when they dont

[enrychan]

Burakovsky fanfiction recs

ok so I read every single Burakovsky fanfic on AO3 (no, really) and I started thinking about writing down a list of those I particularly appreciate. because the Patho fandom is tiny, and the Burakovsky fandom is even tinier, but there are a lot of incredible talents in it, and they deserve all the recognition we can muster.

I apologize to those who did not make it into this list, unfortunately I can’t read Russian (for now... that might change in the future😏) AND I have very specific tastes. Which is why some authors are repeated more than once (sorry!). Also I’m following at least a couple of beautiful fanfics that are currently unfinished, and I’m probably gonna include those in the next list.

You’re all extremely talented though, and I hope to read more of your works very soon (do I refresh the Burakovsky tag each day? yes I do)

anyway here’s my list, in no particular order! Enjoy all the love, hate, death and philosophy!🥰

In Vivo by meradorm. After a long silence, the Haruspex travels to the capital to seek out his old companion.

Arguably the best fanfics in the Patho fandom; and one of the best fanfics I’ve ever read. The writing style simulates the first translation of Patho Classic, which was weird and sometimes almost incomprehensible, but somehow it enhanced the odd, alien experience of the first game. Using this particular and sometimes difficult language, this fanfic gives the impression of being an integral part of the original story. The characters and the love story are beautiful and raw, sweet and cruel, and the ending is so... so perfectly Pathologic it makes me angry. Prepare lots&lots of tissues because you’re gonna cry your eyes out!

How cleverly the trap is made by Modlisznik. "My apologies." Daniil clears his throat. "Usually I reserve views like this for at least fourth, maybe fifth date."

Ok yes I’m going to recommend a lot of fanfics by Modlisznik, I just really really like their style. This is one of my favorites because Daniil is so in character, trying his best to appear strong even while in pain and almost blind with one of his migraines... and I’m always weak for Artemy being sweet and caring for Daniil. Just *chef’s kiss* excellent

Of the Town and the Steppe by Modlisznik. Artemy wonders how Daniil feels about this vastness, autumnal grass as far as the eye can see, the sky so clear, hanging so low, so close you can almost touch it, you can almost get swallowed whole. Insignificant, a little speckle on the face of Earth. Daniil is a creature of the city, Artemy thinks, of clear boundaries, of walls to hide behind, of places to be alone in. He must feel exposed. I'm a bad host, Artemy thinks.

Just a romantic, intimate moment between our two idiots out in the steppe. Daniil imagining all the places in the Capital he would like to show Artemy is so unbearably sweet I think I’ve cavities now. Totally worth it though.

All about Blood by Modlisznik. Daniil is aware that Isidor has been murdered just a few days ago. That his memory is still fresh, his touch lingers in this place. That Daniil, an intruder, shouldn't come down here to Isidor’s workshop - his laboratory - his sanctum - and most certainly, he shouldn't be here to fuck Isidor’s son. Even less, to use the elder Burakh's table for that purpose. He's aware of that. He also doesn't care.

Hot damn. This fanfics pushes all my buttons at once and then dances on the keyboard just to be sure. Artemy/Daniil kinky sex? Check. On the stone table in Artemy’s lab? Check. Subtle power games between the two? Check. Artemy marking Daniil with his blood? Check. A sprinkle of bondage just to spice things up a bit? Check. Um... is it just me or it’s kind of hot in here?

The Line of Red by Modlisznik. Bachelor Dankovsky does not believe in luck. Artemy wants him to understand, that the charm he's offering will protect him - just not in the way Daniil thinks it does.

Another sweet moment brought to you by or Official Sweetheart Artemy Burakh: Artemy wants to give Daniil something to remind him that he’s not alone, even in his darkest moments, that Artemy is his tagloor. Daniil doesn’t understand all that steppe folklore, but recognizes a precious gift when he’s given one.

Something old, something new by Modlisznik. In which Artemy considers the importance of not being watched, and Murky's doll needs urgent medical attention.

Just an adorable fanfic and a joy to read from start to finish. Artemy is best dad, Murky is best daughter, Daniil is back with a new title, and I’m always ready for some teary-eyed happy reunions.

Bloodflood by Xyloto. A flood of blood to the heart.

Artemy is used to be on top, and the relative new experience of being on the receiving end doesn’t start particularly well for him, but he is determined to let Daniil have what he wants. Daniil has other ideas on the matter. I have a thing for “top that bottoms for his bottom”, and especially in this case because this fanfic is written beautifully. It keeps all the more abrasive traits of Artemy’s personality&speech, while remaining very sweet and romantic somehow.

A Curse Befalls Your Heart by CurrieBelle. Daniil Dankovsky suffers from a Steppe curse. Burakh performs triage.

Speaking of sweet and romantic, are you ready for a good bucket of literal honey? This is my comfort fanfic, the one I return to every once in a while when I need something soft and lovely to shut off my brain. Not only that, but the story is awesome too, because it is based on an actual canon curse in the Patho lore. Remember when Anna Angel was cursed with the “returning heart” in Patho 2? What if something similar happened to Daniil? Luckily, Artemy is there to help.

Ode to the Body by kylee. In which Bachelor and Haruspex flatter each other shamelessly.

The Powers That Be have always destroyed Daniil’s self esteem by reducing him to a list of failures. Artemy wants him to understand that he’s not just his failures, nor his accomplishments, but so much more. Sex ensues. Praise kink anyone??? (yes please)

life overflowing by Yellow. Artemy needs someone to look at what he's done, to see he's done well, to take over for him, his head and his heart. just for a little while.

This is both lovely and kind of heartbreaking, with some suicidal tendencies/ideation? I feel it is completely appropriate after all Artemy has gone through by this point in the story. But Daniil doesn’t have any intention of letting him go.

Vae Soli by Adoxography. Daniil becomes Artemy's unwilling caretaker when Artemy is infected with the Sand Pest and is forced to take a Shmowder to cure himself, or die in the attempt.

There are a lot of sick fics in the Patho fandom (obviously), but I particularly love this one because it doesn’t embellish the pitiful state of Artemy, caught between two terrible ailments, nor makes Daniil appear too soft and generous. There is rivalry between the two idiots (as it should be), but also trust and even some attraction on Daniil’s part. In other words, it rings true and believable!

sub derma by Jagged. Dankovsky takes to the Town better than he thinks, but less than he'd like. Artemy would know.

Super sexy fanfic! dom!Daniil turns Artemy on with some pain play which Artemy is only too happy to be subjected to. I just love the power dynamic between the two, it’s visceral and even a little bit cruel at times, but the absolute trust they have in each other makes everything weirdly romantic.

foreign bodies by hoverbun. They have some time to themselves between dissections and the sharing of alms.

So it turns out that I also have a Thing for fics about shaving. apparently??? Artemy has some free time and a beard to get rid of. He asks Daniil for help with that. And everyone knows there are few things sexier than a hot doctor with a very sharp blade pointed at your throat!

I hope you blink before I do by vespirus. Maybe he was fated to gravitate towards men like these; the men with loose morals, the men who understood what it meant to be an arbiter of life and death decisions, the men who felt the weight of the future on their shoulders. Or maybe he just had an inescapable interest in the macabre.

AU fanfic about Daniil as an unscrupulous researcher and Artemy as a medical undergraduate willing to kill to make enough money to keep living and studying in the Capital. In other words they are both horrible people, and the tension between them is so thick you could slice it with a knife. There also a sequel, but it’s a death fic and I personally don’t like that. I hope the author will write an alternative ending where they become an awesome couple of gay criminals in love sooner or later!

[docfuture]

Princess, part 8

     [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly–going to try to get the next one out by mid-March.]

Previous: Part 7

      Journeyman ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as he looked at the picture Flicker sent to his handcomp.       "Yep, that's her," he said.  "Dr. Reinhart has a rep of knowing a lot about how minds are put together--and how to take them apart.  She seems to be effectively immune to mental influence and hostile probability manipulation--no, I don't know how she manages that--and I've heard enough complaints to believe that she can mess up Diviners and Seers just by being near what they're trying to see.  Not sure about Oracles.  Also, she's hard to kill.  If she's willing to help you, I doubt she'd be a weak point."       "That sounds good.  Except that the Database says her specialty is mind control.  But I guess she concentrates on defense?  That part wasn't clear."       "A lot about her isn't clear," said Journeyman.  "She is very good at using fear, though.  General opinions I hear about her are mixed.  I have connections, and while I keep them private, the general idea isn't a secret--I swap gossip, assistance, and so forth, move things around, and link people with what they need, all fairly quietly.  Dr. Reinhart clearly has connections, but nobody knows how they work.  She can show up somewhere, have coffee with a few folks, and sometimes everything stays quiet, and sometimes all hell breaks loose.  Odd accidents, fits of madness, sudden unexplained deaths from no obvious cause, and occasionally 'Blood--blood everywhere!'  And afterwards the details of what happened don't always add up.  Except usually some grim entrenched problem has disappeared.  That part is acknowledged, but she still really puts people on edge.  Oh, and there are rumors that she's seriously annoyed several intelligence agencies, but they're still trying to hire or co-opt her.  Jumping Spider would know more about that than me."       "Well, I needed to talk to Jumping Spider anyway."  Flicker frowned.  "Anything else?"       "I don't doubt Dr Reinhart's competence to advise you about social interaction."  Journeyman looked down.  "Motivation, methods, side effects?  That's over my head, but I would expect some warnings from your AI."       "Why?  Just her reputation?"       "Well... I know Doc is twitchy about mind control, and Dr. Reinhart apparently has issues with his methods.  And the spy stuff."       "She has a negative threat index--that means she's helping.  Doc is pragmatic about that."       "Up to a point."  Journeyman spread his hands.  "Anyway, that's what I can tell you.  Hope it helps."       "Yes."  Flicker sped up to virtual type a response to Dr. Reinhart, then slowed back down again.  "There.  She's traveling, and pretty inflexible about privacy, so it will be at least a few days before I can meet her, regardless."       She stood up from the high speed interface station and glided over to stop in front of Journeyman where he sat on the couch.  He watched her warily.       "Thank you," she said, and paused.  "I'm willing to at least consider rescheduling Speedtest, but I don't want to argue about it right now.   You don't feel safe here and you probably need sleep.  How much did you get last night?"       He shrugged.  "A few hours before you woke me up.  None since."       "Then get sleep, consult your Diviners or whatever, and we can talk more tomorrow."       "Might take a while to find anybody.  If I even can.  Tracking down Diviners is rarely easy."  He looked away.  "And Flicker?  I don't want to argue about it at all.  I'll send what I find to the Database.  Argue with Doc, or Jumping Spider, or Jetgirl, or whoever you need to.  Not me."       "I don't..."  Flicker stopped and swallowed.  "Argue isn't the right word.  It's just the one that sounded human to me.  And my anger isn't really at you, that's just where I attach it.  I think there's something wrong with my human emulation."       Journeyman shook his head.  "No.  Humans make mistakes, and they get angry, and no one should expect anything different.  Least of all me.  This isn't something we can solve.  Sometimes you can't get from where you are to where you want to be."       "And what I want is the problem."       He waved his arms.  "No!  I'm the problem.  I thought I could still finesse a way through, despite everything stacked against it, and I. Was. Wrong.  And that's why I have to go."       "Partner..."  She stopped again.  "Damn.  Having an emotional reaction to that word."       "...Yeah."  He blinked then raised his hand.  "I'm sorry I don't have any magic words for you.  Primum non nocere is all I've got left."       Flicker pulled off her glove and reached out to complete their fingertip touch.       "Take care," he said.       She couldn't find anything to say.  So she just nodded.  Journeyman took a deep breath and teleported out.       A faint whirl of disturbed air, then nothing.       Flicker looked around the room.  It felt far emptier than was reasonable.       *****       Evening back home, pre-dawn in Kenya.  Flicker didn't want to wake up Jonathan or his family, but Chaser was awake and running to greet her as soon as she slowed down.  Flying tackle and friend bites and his ridiculously tiny meow, and they played chase dance and dangle the fuzzy toy the way he liked.  Then he flopped down on her feet and purred as she held him.       Chaser wasn't her cat.  He wasn't anyone's cat.  He was his own cheetah.  But Flicker had rescued him as a kitten, taken him far away from the lions that had killed his siblings.  It wasn't clear what had killed their mother, but life was full of perils for cheetahs, especially when they had to share shrinking habitat with lions.  He stayed with the family of a park ranger, on land Flicker had purchased next to a wildlife reserve.  Extravagant?  Maybe, but it wasn't hard to figure out why she'd identified so hard with an orphan who had social problems with other cheetahs.       Time zones made visits awkward, and they still hoped to reintroduce him back to the wild someday, but in the meantime she could hold him close, and whisper that he was a good cat.  He purred and didn't mind her tears from trying to accept a present that had crumbled unexpectedly, and a hoped for future that had been a mirage.  He didn't judge, didn't care whether she was human or not; she was just his fast friend.       An hour under a slowly brightening sky made the world a slightly better place.  Still not good, but better.       *****       Later evening.  Ghosting through the darkness at 500 kilometers per second.  Flicker was moving fast enough to be effectively invisible, but slow enough to leave no traces behind her.  It fit her mood--she didn't particularly want to be anywhere.  But there was someone she needed to talk to at Doc's.       Superhuman speed implied a superhuman ability to interrupt.  So Flicker and Doc had worked out a protocol that allowed for degrees of urgency and desire to avoid disruption.  'Open door' had a particular implication because of Flicker's dislike of them.  It was a way for Doc to indicate that she could join a meeting in progress, but it would be polite to wait and listen quietly until an appropriate pause, absent an emergency.       At Doc's.  Flicker entered the recovery room next to one of the med labs, sat in one of the chairs, and slowed down.  She didn't say anything.       Jumping Spider was sitting up with her left leg extended.  Something complicated covered the knee--it looked like one of Doc's support and monitoring minibots.  Doc was frowning at a large display showing... Not her leg.  Her left jump boot.  Which wasn't in the room, though her spare pair was.  A quick Database check showed her main boots were down in one of the big fabbers in Doc's workshop being repaired.       "...crash cushioning cells seem to have handled the landing fine," Doc was saying, "and at least blunted the impact. Still..."       "They did the job," said Jumping Spider.  "Sometimes a gust of wind hits you at just the wrong time, and one did, right after I'd hopped off the roof."       "The fourth story roof.  Over icy concrete.  In a blizzard."       "Yeah, it was Tuesday.  Wednesdays are overpasses.  Hi Flicker."       "Hello.  What happened?"       "Nothing major.  I banged up my knee a little yesterday and used the crash guards on my left boot.  Doc's going to give the boots a checkup, recalibrate the jump jets, and--" She turned her head to look at Doc. "Not stay up all night making minor improvements.  Right?"       Doc raised an eyebrow.  "I am most definitely going to run unit tests after the tuneup and the data updates."       "That will only take an hour or two.  And Flicker wants to talk to me anyway."       Flicker didn't understand how Doc's relationship with Jumping Spider worked, except that it did.  It was close, but they usually saw each other only a few times a month.  Jetgirl described it as 'co-conspirators with benefits.'  There had to be more than that after almost two decades, but Flicker didn't get how most more typical relationships functioned either.       "All right," said Doc.  He nodded to Flicker.  "I'll give the two of you privacy, then."       "Thank you," said Flicker.       Doc must have read her expression--or more likely her 'No personal small talk currently welcome' Database flag--and left the room without further comment.  Jumping Spider pulled the swivel arm table with a Database interface over so she could use it.       "We're secure--privacy locked," she said.  "Yes, from Doc too.  Check."       DASI was insistent on leaving up the warning flag on Flicker's visor about limiting Doc's access in his own HQ, but she confirmed the privacy lock.       "Verified," said Flicker.       "Now we can talk," said Jumping Spider.  "My knee isn't much worse than usual.  But I heard you are.  Doc says you seem determined to push a hazardous test series on short notice and you don't look happy.  Did Journeyman just turn you down or did you manage something stupider?"       Jumping Spider could be tactful.  She usually chose to be blunt with Flicker.  They weren't friends, but Flicker tried to listen to her advice, because she was right far too often to ignore.       "Both," said Flicker.  "I don't think I have a partner anymore."       "You don't think?  Want to tell me what happened?"       "No.  But I should.  I'd been pushing patrols for a while and was off duty yesterday when I got an alert that Hermes was back..."       Flicker summarized the mess of the last two days, with a pause while Jumping Spider watched the vid of the handover of Hermes at the Box.  It was even less pleasant to explain than she'd expected.  She had to bounce up to speed mind several times to maintain her composure while staying on track.  Jumping Spider said she would save any questions for later, which was just as well.       "...and after he ported out," Flicker finished, "I did memory assimilation work, then visited with Chaser until the Database told me you were available.  It's been a long day."       "It sure has," said Jumping Spider.  "The Database security AI called me for help.  It needed a human other than Doc with the right clearance level bad.  You ignored warnings, bypassed the blocks, and managed to set off a cross-domain priority conflict and a legacy conflict this afternoon.  Why settle for one crisis at a time when you can have more?"       "Um.  Those were for something that actually helped."       "A book that flaunts that it's full of traps in the dedication and you're sure it helped?"       "Well... I'm running sims."       "Yeah.  You do that."  Jumping Spider smiled sardonically.       "Why was the cross-domain priority conflict so bad, anyway?"       "Because the AI was forbidden from telling Doc about something in one domain, and required to tell him in another--and he's normally the one that resolves those conflicts.  And you were no help, because you were causing it.  So it had to call me, because I was the next person in line with clearance.  I figured I'd better drop what I was doing to deal with what you stirred up.  Doc was already on the way to get me when you sent your message about Dr. Reinhart--his flying car does come in handy sometimes.  And I have heard of her.  But I need to do some Database poking before I'm willing to make a judgement, so are you up for doing some tedious but necessary work to help me fill in a few holes?  It would make up for what I had to drop, and let me test something."       "Depends.  What kind of work?"       "Spying.  Under the direction of someone who knows what she's doing.  That's why most of it will be boring.  But it will also involve a lot of purposeful running around, which I'm guessing you could use.  You've amply demonstrated how fast you go stir-crazy.  I want to double check some clues to whatever was wrong at the Box that they didn't want you to see, and have you take a quick look in some other places.  I expect a lot of verification of negatives, or whatever is in the Database, but I have a nasty suspicious mind and suspiciously nasty things have been happening."       "...Yeah.  Okay.  It'll be slower in the dark, though."       "Oh, some parts will be in daylight."       Flicker waited a moment, and the Database projected the outline of a list that was far too long to fit on her visor display.  It started with a survey of just who was staking out the home of the magician she'd talked to at the Box, and included whole sets of vehicles and buildings associated with spy agencies and less identifiable groups.       "All right," she said, and headed out.       *****       Flicker settled into a rhythm.  Slow down, take action, verify, speed up, move on.  And consider her life, while she moved.       Human--for some value of human that was possible for her--was part of what she wanted to be.  Speed and motion were a much bigger part of who and what she already was.  Human was an illusion, an emulation.  A load bearing one.  Maybe even a necessary one, in the long term.  But she wasn't good enough yet.  If the last few days had proved anything, it was this.       She'd read various versions of a joke about how many people stopped growing up and just started faking it after about age fourteen.  Even humans sometimes had to fake being adult humans.  And that went to the essence of what she thought Journeyman had been trying to say.  For her to connect, to feel, to be the person she wanted to be, meant being socially human.  But to relate as an equal, as a full partner, as... well there weren't proper words, but to connect fully with him meant being a responsible adult.       And Flicker couldn't manage both at the same time.  Not yet.  She could fake it for a while, but push too hard?  Add the stress that came with being who she was in the world she lived in?  Her emulation broke down.  Humans used age as a proxy for responsibility, and she'd been fixated on the unfairness of that.  But all the advice, the common wisdom, assumed you were human.  And social support was centered on 'normal' human, for an extensive and arbitrary set of dimensions of normal.       But if she gave up on human, if she fully accepted that there was no one like her, that she was alien to this world of odd bipeds, she risked finding the breaking point of the fragile thread of empathy that connected her to that world.  Because they could be so foolish, so cruel to one another, so ignorant, so blind.  Doc had always been very clear about the danger in that.  And the Volunteer had spent a whole day talking her down from the edge, after her big fight with Doc, when she'd wanted to act, to treat the world like a dysfunctional terrarium that cried out for intervention to stop the evil, the oppression, the war, the starvation and brutality and shortsightedness and indifference, all the so very unnecessary pain, outside the narrow range of actions allowed for a superhero.       The most frightening part of that day had been seeing the edges of some of the Volunteer's load-bearing illusions.  The ideals that let him help the things he could, as an alien in a world of humans.  But those illusions couldn't be hers.  Because she was more alien?  She didn't know.  She did know they'd broken others who had tried.       She needed to find her own way.  While she could still care.  Because if she stopped caring, it would be way too easy for her to go over any one of several edges.       Maybe Dr. Reinhart could help Flicker find better ways to connect to humans.  But she also needed to learn more about who, and what, she already was.  The limits and idiosyncrasies of her power and being.  Doc hadn't stopped her experiments because they'd reached any firm conclusions.  He'd stopped them because they'd become too dangerous to continue on Earth.       How fast was she, really?  What new realms of sense and ability were beyond the limits she needed to maintain on Earth?  The aim of Speedtest was to find out.  It was the only thing she looked forward to now that was truly hers.  It was past time.       *****       More than an hour and numerous additions to the list later, Flicker was finally done.  She'd spent a lot of the extra time following up discrepancies in Italy.  There was a messy but still relatively quiet political crisis going on there, triggered by some combination of Hermes' rampage in Rome, the identity and contacts of the now dead magician who had summoned him, recriminations over the botched response that had resulted in his death, and a long-simmering conflict over the reasons that Italy didn't currently have any resident superheroes.       She'd taken a brief moment to ghost over to the shop in Florence where she'd gotten takeout gelato with Journeyman to celebrate first becoming partners.  It was still closed in the first hint of dawn light.       Sentimental human indulgence.  Was there a point?  Maybe there would be again, someday, a time when it would mean more than something she'd thought she'd lost, but never really had.  But for now, it was closure.  Acceptance.       She headed back to Doc's HQ and decided against speeding up.  Speedtest would be soon enough, and there was no point in leaving a bright plasma trail that could set off alarms for satellite watchers who might wonder why she was hurrying across the Atlantic at night.       *****       "I recommend that you agree to Dr. Reinhart's conditions," said Jumping Spider.  She sipped from her coffee cup and eyed the Database display in front of her with mild disapproval.  "She's right about the amount of inconvenience adjusting her work around advising you will be."       "You think she's safe?" asked Flicker.       "Heh.  No.  I think she's followed consistent goals, and she's functional, competent, as expert as you're going to get, skilled at error recovery, and very smart.  Smart enough to understand just how vital and risky giving you psych advice will be.  But don't try spying on her.  She didn't think much of your failure to consider the consequences of stalking Journeyman."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I talked to her while you were gone."       Jumping Spider paused, waiting to see if Flicker would ask a question.  She sped up.  Her human emotion emulator indicated her nominal reaction would be anger or irritation.  Human emotions weren't serving her very well lately, so she ignored it.  It would be a drop in the bucket compared to everything else, anyway.       DASI?  Anything security relevant that I need to know about Jumping Spider contacting Dr. Reinhart?       No.       Well, that was unambiguous.  She'd asked Jumping Spider for her professional assessment as an intelligence expert, and it was clear she was testing Flicker's self-control, too.  She slowed back down.       "Go on."       "It was an illuminating conversation.  She referenced some of my more subtle tradecraft tricks like an academic being careful about citation footnotes.  If you focus on her advice rather than trying to emulate her, respect boundaries, and maintain a healthy level of skepticism about untested theory, I think her aid will help you.  Once she's ready to meet--it will be at least a week."       "Good to know.  Thank you.  Was the information I verified for you helpful?"       "I don't know yet for most of it.  But your performance was technically adequate while under direct supervision."       Jumping Spider had no qualms about hammering at a point or reminder until she was sure it got through--in this case that Flicker was still bad at the judgement part of spying, however technically skilled she might be.       Flicker nodded.  "Any other suggestions or comments?"       "Do you want my assessment of what happened to Journeyman?  It's speculative, and you may find it upsetting."       "I don't ask for your opinions because I think I'll like them."       A snorted laugh.  "Okay.  I think Hermes' arrival was part of an op, and was deliberately timed to coincide with whatever Journeyman did just before exfiltrating.  I also think we're unlikely to ever get enough evidence to prove that.  From an operations viewpoint, I think Journeyman got entangled and dragooned into something far more dangerous than he'd ever voluntarily agree to, but all sides--and I definitely think there were more than two--in the conflict that might have wanted him dead knew he had your backup, and that's why he lived.  Tell me.  If demons had killed him in some dimension you could get to, what would have been your first impulse?"       "Burn it to the ground, then burn the ground," said Flicker.       "That's the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  But since he came back alive, you're much less inclined to do anything disproportionate, right?  Because attribution is much tougher, even if an attack is aimed at you or Doc.  And there will be probably be completely uninvolved people living in the same place even if you do know who is responsible."       "...Yes."       "That's also the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  I also think that whoever Journeyman believes is your mother is part of one of the sides, and that an opposition tactic that he fears is a framing attempt to deflect any retaliation onto her.  And he got dragged deep into the wilderness of mirrors, no longer fully trusts his own judgement, and didn't want to drag you there, too.  I'll give him credit for that."       Flicker sped up to consult the Database.  'Wilderness of mirrors' was an intelligence term for living in a state of perpetual uncertainty about a messy mix of hard to attribute hostile action and coincidence.  Just the sort of thing she hated.       "Great.  So, was he being deceptive about--No. There's no point it getting angry about any of it again until I can talk to Dr. Reinhart."       "You're learning.  And you stopped Hermes without killing him or anyone else, Journeyman got back alive, you didn't lose it when he disengaged--which was inevitable--and it's much harder to attack someone who's in a different dimension.  And you know who is at home in the wilderness of mirrors?"       "You?"       "Dr. Reinhart.  I do all right, but I suspect you'll get along better with her."       "Okay.  Thank you for your assessment.  Do you think I should delay Speedtest because of Journeyman's warning?"       "Because of his warning?  Are willing to put it off indefinitely?"       "No."       "Then no, because he didn't tell you anything actionable.  But whether it's a good idea at all is not my call.  Talk to Doc."       "I will," said Flicker.  "Jumping Spider?"       "Yes?"       "This was... less unpleasant than talking to you usually is."       She smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll make it up to you next time."       Flicker shook her head, but felt her mouth want to twitch in response.  Human wasn't something you could just turn on and off...       She headed out to find Doc.

Next: Part 9

[littlemonstersau-blog]

The Feels Awaken Part 1: Return of the Memori

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

PART I (you are here)  - PART II

———————————————————————————————–

The lone wolf sat and watched, and that was an excellent development; the creature was learning to wait patiently, even though it was a wild, apex predator and doubtlessly could have ripped the dead squirrel from the hands of a teenage boy with ease (under normal circumstances, at least). Of course, since Bill was only wearing the clone of a teenage boy, he probably had an advantage in training the lone wolf. It could sense him—the real him—inside the clonesuit, and therefore was wary of making any aggressive moves … Animals always were around Demons, unlike most humans. Another instance when instinct trumped intellect …

So, instead, the lone wolf sat and watched patiently while Bill swung the dead squirrel around by its tail. Sat and waited for Bill’s conversational monologue to end.

“You’re prob’ly wondering why I haven’t eaten your soul like I did Chatterface McBurymynuts right here. And why I’ve taken to feeding you the soulless carcasses of my victims in person instead of just leaving them out for you. Well, I got three reasons. One: I like your aesthetic; you’re nearly all triangles in shape—really angular all over your body—and I really dig that. You’re relatably triangular, and I wanna see more of that in the world. Two: you’re endangered; if I let you live, there will be more wolves (so more angular creatures) in the world … and also more werewolves, which would be weird and awesome. And three …” Here, with a grin, Bill tossed the dead squirrel high and watched as the lone wolf snatched it out of the air. “Yeah, that’s right, wolf it down—heh heh! The third reason is, I’m gonna partially domesticate you and train you to pull me around in a sweet-ass chariot! Doesn’t that sound rad?!”

Having swallowed the last of the squirrel, the lone wolf turned and padded away into the woods.

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk more about how awesome my idea is later!” Bill called after him. “Just think a bit about what a fair exchange it would be! Actually, it’s a great deal for you! Tasty treats just for letting me occasionally ride you into battle like a chaotic, Norse deity! We can workshop ideas about the chariot’s design next time!”

On a nearby branch, a bird chirped.

“No, I think the wolf’s gonna seriously consider my offer,” Bill replied optimistically. “This is all just part of the deal-making game, which you’d understand if you weren’t a dumbass robin.”

The bird chirped again, then flew away.

“… Welp, that killed some time. Guess I’d better go back to the Shack and find some other activity to pass away the seemingly endless seconds until I get to skyelp with my Dipper …”

While he was tromping back through the woods, however, Bill was distracted by an unusual, yet strangely familiar sound. Juddering and throaty, then sharp and quick, then juddering and throaty again. Repetitive, too, though intermingled with a soft noise almost like keening or … no, exactly like whimpering. Then it clicked for Bill, even though he hadn’t heard that sound in over thirty years. It was the sound of a grown man sobbing. And not just any man, either, but Ford.

Softly, Bill crept towards him, eventually looking through bushes to the stump of a felled tree. Ford sat on it, hunched over and alone, crying as though he couldn’t hold back his own tears … as though he were too weary to hold them back anymore … That was probably why he’d come all the way out here in the woods, Bill suspected, where no one could see his moment of emotional vulnerability. Or so he had believed, at any rate, not knowing Bill was out here …

On Ford’s lap was an open book with brightly—even garishly—colored pages. One of the many scrapbooks Mabel had made. In between bouts of sobs, he slowly turned the pages and murmured things like, “Can’t believe she came b-back with a whole handful of it … So t-tough, even though always so sweet …” and “Terrified, but he f-faced it down anyway … for me … And I was s-so … so proud …” and “Heh! That f-fashion show she put together for Pacifica, made us all t-take part in … Can’t remember when I laughed so h-hard …” and “Oh, here’s that Jack o’Mellon he carved like the Gremloblin … from m-memory … So t-talented … And then they went trick-or-treating together both as the protagonist from that one game series—Myth of Hilda, or something like that?—Moses, it was adorable …” to himself. With each turn of a page, he was reminiscing about something different from the past summers: family game nights, hikes and fishing, short roadtrips, and on and on and on … Ford himself summed it up succinctly when he finally closed the scrapbook, buried his face in his hands, and whimpered, “Damn, I m-miss those kids!”

For a moment, a spark of bitter satisfaction flared up in Bill (“Good. Let that asshole suffer.”). And yet, it was soon doused by empathetic pity and sorrow (“I feel the same, though—we all feel the same … We all miss those kids …”). Then came a splash of feeling surprised, because of all the pity and sorrow; they were still such strange emotions for him as to be almost foreign. Following that, a bit of meta-emotional introspection at realizing he was feeling about feelings. Fortunately, before Bill could become too confused and horrified by the idea that he had become so human as to have feelings about having feelings, Ford stood and slowly trudged back home. After a safe amount of time had elapsed, Bill did the same.

Inside the Shack, sitting on the card table in the living room, was the scrapbook (no doubt left there by Ford on his way down to his lab). Along with several more of them. Picking up the most recent one, Bill began to flip slowly through its colorful pages filled with photos, stickers, notes, and miscellaneous memorabilia.

And as he did, he began to flip slowly through his own memories …

****

Terrified screams as he burst forth from his prison of a stone statue, rose up over them out of his shell (“Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me!”), and tried to … tried to …

Bill shuddered to think of what he had almost done—what he surely would have done, if he had had enough power at the time. “Thank all the Gods that ever were or will be that that failed …” he muttered to himself.

Making little overtures of friendship—or at least not-malice—to Mabel until he got her to listen to his spiel about wanting to understand how he lost to them and to change and blah blah blah. Ford’s utter disbelief that the others could be so easily suckered. Entering a clone that first time and devouring that delicious little bit of soul in it (“Yum! Tastes just like mangoes and fear!”).

“They shouldn’t have. Ford was right that I was plotting their doom back then … Not anymore, but they all took a huge and stupid gamble, and just happened to get lucky … We all did …”

Steel slicing through paper and ink, dumping the scraps of bodies left, right, and center and relishing the screams of surprise (“Hehehehehe! What, you didn’t like my joke? You wanna … piece of me? Hahaha! Well, take your pick, there are plenty of pieces of me there on the floor!”). Sharpening his teeth to fine points to chomp at people. Gouging out his own eye. So much edge and shock at play, cold and hot at the same time, hilarious ticklings of pain.

“Such a waste of clonesuits,” Bill sighed. “And … all for the sake of just shocking them? Taking advantage of their love of Dipper? Stupid—can’t believe I thought that was funny at the time … So much time wasted during those first few weeks of the summer. Don’t wanna remember that, not anymore … wanna remember something else, something happier …”

Jokes so bad they made everyone groan, which made everyone laugh. Fireworks made of lasers. Taking part in an impromptu fashion show for the newest line of summer sweaters. Watermelons carved into jolly grotesqueries, lit with candles, and eventually tossed from the roof to splat. Making muffins with apple and cinnamon. Uncontrollable laughter at a rock shaped like a dong and after arcs of water accidentally melted another clonesuit. Wonderous eyes aglow with uncontainable excitement and the soft light of an everadiant crystal. Warmth of a shared blanket and the fun betrayal of an ambush of tickling underneath them. Kisses snuck around corners, behind doors, within shadows, inside the safety of a Nice Place.

“Heh …” Bill couldn’t help but smile to himself. ��Even when I start out with all the others, too, it always comes back to him … But maybe I should focus more, not just look at the flashes and snapshots of memory? Delve in deeper to some memories? After all, what’s the point of perfect recall if I hardly ever use it? But, um …” Looking around the currently empty (though perhaps not for long) living room, he closed the scrapbooks and stood up. “Maybe up in the attic, where there’s a little more privacy …”

****

It was one specific memory that detoured his chain of thoughts, as memories tend to do.

Dipper. Sitting on a couch with Ford standing behind him, reaching over the couch to him. Flushed with simple happiness as Ford tousled his hair and praised his monster hunting work from that day. “Good boy, m’work! Er, I mean, good work, m’boy!” he had said, making Dipper smile so big and bright that the room had practically glowed with it. Bill’s insides certainly had.

Déjà vu, though, he had felt it then, too, remembering it. Almost exactly déjà vu … So Bill decided to follow the tangential thread of it now.

A young Ford, seventeen or eighteen, maybe—not yet out of high school. Sitting on the couch of his childhood home. A young Stan standing behind him, reaching over the couch to him.

“Oh, yeah … That’s why it’s so familiar; I watched it in Sixer’s memory and then more or less reenacted it for him. With him. Whatever, twice. Back when we were still working together, back when we were still friends …”

A young Ford flushed with simple happiness as Stan tousled his hair and praised his shipbuilding from that day. “You’re such a good cabin boy! Good work, me ol’ cabin boy!” he had said, making Ford smile so big and bright that—here the déjà vu ended and became simple memory— (“Pff! Why am I the cabin boy?” “Duh. ‘cause I’m the captain!” “Why do you get to be captain?” “Heh. ‘cause I can do this!”) Stan had swung over the top of the couch to drape himself across Ford. Pinning Ford down, while both brothers trashtalked and giggled and squirmed … and then gradually began to kiss …

“Was this the first time Sixer and me …? Ha! Yeah, it totally was! The very first time I set Sixer’s mindscape stage and played a part for him to work out some of his many, many issues. First of many … How’d it go, anyway? How’d we even get to this point? Need to rewind …”

Bill blinked, and the scene formed. Ford’s mindscape as it once had been: an endless field of strange but beautiful flower blossoms stretched to the horizon in every direction, with gleaming structures like the lovechildren of marble-cut temples and glass-and-steel skyscrapers rising in the distance-yet-closeness-of-thought like the aspirations of some new deity of science-fiction-becoming-science-fact, bold and untainted by the conformist conventions of old; swirling slowly overhead, so close one could have climbed up and touched, was a vault of stars, galaxies, quasars far larger than they appeared from earth and blazing so brightly that the field below them was as illuminated as a comfortable reading room; stairways made of books and journals ascended high to viewing platforms made of solid theories, equations, and blueprints all like shining neon signs.

Bill blinked again, and he saw himself chattering away about whatever had been their project. There was Ford, a late-twenties man and cutting-edge weirdologist in a weatherworn trenchcoat. Unusually subdued that day, though … Normally nigh manic with energy and enthusiasm, overflowing with ideas and theories and observations and cornball jokes to contribute to or even to drive the conversation … but not that day … No, that day, he barely listened to Bill or looked at the images and organizing visual aids Bill had mentally conjured for their brainstorm together. And when Bill turned to see why, he found Ford’s back was to him as he gazed away out across a sentimentally altered portion of the mindscape: salty sand strewn with bits of trash at the edge of a turbulent sea, all under clouds that were dusky and dusty from reflecting the dying daylight, and a sailboat at the center of Ford’s attention and therefore of his mind … listing and sinking into dark waters, the name on the prow all but lost to the waves—“Stan o’ War” now just “Stan”.

Bill watched the rest of what had happened as one might watch oneself on camera.

“Oh boy … I smell emotional issues …” he muttered before floating up beside Ford’s shoulder. “Got something on your mind, Fordsy ol’ buddy? Besides me, that is.”

“S-sorry, I just, um, got distracted,” Ford stammered apologetically. “I’ll try harder to focus. Won’t happen aga—”

“Because of your brother? It’s the anniversary of the day he got kicked out of the family, right?”

Ford gaped in shock for a moment. “… You … You know about that? But how?”

“For one thing, all the trash ‘round here is crumpled or torn up calendar pages for the same date. For another, I’m your Muse,” Bill replied, as though it should have been obvious. “I’m literally inside your head with all your memories at my fingertips, looking for anything I can use to help inspire your success.”

Blanching white, Ford asked, “All of them? You can s-see … all my memories?”

“Yep times a thousand! So I know you and your brother were—heh—close before that incident.”

Ford blushed.

“So no wonder you get distracted thinking about him today. Wasn’t that the last time you ever saw him?” Bill continued conversationally.

“Um, I … Maybe I m-might’ve seen him once after that. During my college graduation, but … Don’t know, honestly,” Ford admitted sadly. “Might’ve just imagined him being in the crowd.”

“Wishful thinking? ‘cause you got some stuff to get out of your system with him?” Bill waggled his eyebrow, making Ford blush a second time. Before he could respond, though, Bill suggested, “Y’know, I could help you unpack some of that emotional baggage you’re lugging around. Which’d help us get back to productive work sooner—get you from distracted back to tracted.”

“First of all, that’s not a word—”

“It is now that I’ve used it! Tracted, adjective, the state of being that comes after one has been distracted but is focusing once again.”

“Second of all … How could you help with that?”

“Why, with a little bit of roleplay. I know how much you love to roleplay, Fordsy ol’ pal.”

“I don’t know …” Ford said uncertainly. “This isn’t exactly a D&D&MoreD campaign. Besides, this is hardly an appropriate setting, and … well, no offense, but your voice and mannerisms aren’t exactly reminiscent of Stan (or most humans, for that matter). I doubt I could get into it.”

“Heh. You’re just saying that ‘cause you ain’t never seen what a good actor I can be. Goes with the territory of being a MASTER OF THE MIND! Watch this!” Bill clapped once, then suddenly multiplied into a dozen more Bills.

“Whoa! What the—”

From nowhere, the original Bill pulled a megaphone, a chair with the words “Director” and “Leading … Well, Not ‘Man’ Per Se, But Close Enough” on its back, and a thick script. “OKAY, YOU SUPER SNAZZY STAGECREW,” he projected through the megaphone. “LET’S GET THIS STAGE CLEARED AND READY FOR A NEW SCENE! LET’S MOVE! AND SOMEONE GET ME A TWO-CREAMS-ONE-SUGAR COFFEE AND A MAPLE LOG! What about you, Fordsy? You want anything? Same thing, yeah? DOUBLE THAT ORDER! ONE FOR ME, ONE FOR MY COSTAR!”

Slack jawed at all the activity flurrying around him—one Bill pulled a rope from nowhere, causing the seascape (while waves continued to toss, clouds continued to billow, and the ship continued to sink) to part down the middle like a theater curtain and swish away; another Bill pulled a massive pushbroom from nowhere and cleared away all of the beach (sand, trash, and salty odor) to leave a hardwood platform beneath; several other Bills were now wheeling away the endless fields of flowers that stretched to the horizon (plus the phantasmagorical buildings standing among them) like scenery backdrops painted on squeaky canvas frames—Ford could only mumble, “Costar?”

“Well, duh, Fordsy ol’ chum. We’ll be centerstage, you and me, and in the spotlight together—me as Stanly, you as yourself. If that doesn’t make us costars, I don’t know what does!”

“BOOOOOO!” another Bill shouted from behind them, seated in a newly revealed spectator section with boxes of popcorn. “Directors shouldn’t play parts in their own productions! That’s a crass and masturbatory act of egotism that invariably cheapens the production! BOOOOOO!”

“Just ignore heckling critic me,” the original Bill told Ford. “Now, speaking of the spotlight … LET’S GET THE LIGHTING AND SOUNDCHECKS DONE, MES! TIME IS MONEY! AND WHERE’S OUR COFFEE AND DONUTS ALREADY?! WHAT AM I PAING YOU FOR?!”

Yet another Bill came trundling up with a long rack of costumes that looked exactly like the contents of Ford and Stan’s old bedroom closet. While going through them, he pointed out, “You’re not paying us for anything, babygorgeous, because we don’t actually exist. We’re just visual constructs you conjured to represent the complex yet entirely abstract process of manipulating a mindscape into a specific scenario Stanford can experience (or reexperience in the case of actual memories) so it feels to him as if it was entirely real. This whole setting is, too. Also because you’re extremely melodramatic, overly theatrical, and crave being the center of someone’s awed attention, sugardumpling.”

“One more smart-alecky remark like that, and you’re fired!” the original Bill snapped.

“No! Please, angelpie, I need this job! I need the money, or they’re gonna break my legs!”

“Fine. Just go get the makeup equipment already. AND WHERE ARE WE ON THE LIGHTS?!”

Ford looked up to see a span of catwalks and electrical equipment overhead. The Bill up there gave a thumbs up. “Good to go, boss! Same with sound, too!”

A new Bill came running up with a platter. “Here’s your coffee and donuts, sir!”

“Freakin’ finally!” the original Bill exclaimed, passing over one of each to Ford before snatching the others for himself. “I’d have you dragged into the alley behind this soundstage and shot for taking so long, except we’re not actually in a soundstage and you’re just too darn cute to kill.”

“Oh, sir, you’re gonna make me blush!”

Taking a bite out of his maple log with his eyelid, the original Bill snapped, “Stop being so cute and go find something useful to do.” Then, turning back to Ford, he continued lightly, “Yep, costars, you and me! Collaborators! Partners in … What? There something on my face?”

With a gulp, Ford asked, “Is … Is that how you eat? With your eye?”

Bill smiled despite not having a mouth. “Only when I’m in polite company.” Then he took a sip of his coffee—a long, slow sip while looking right at his weirdologist friend (who spazzed reflexively at the sight of coffee washing into sclera). “But now that mes have cleared the stage, we should really pick the scene we’re gonna roleplay. So what you wanna do, Fordsy ol’ mate? Relive a memory, act out a hypothetical conversation/argument to get some words off your chest, or experience a fantasy in real-body-stimulating intensity? Whatever you want, I can do for ya.”

“I, um …” Shaking his head, Ford admitted, “There’s just … so much. When I think about him. About everything that happened then. And before. And after. And I … I just … can’t process it enough to … y’know, make sense of how I feel about it all? Gah! Can you understand that, Bill? The only thing I know for sure right now is … is I miss him … even if I don’t know what I’d do if I saw him right now …”

Bill blinked a bite off his maple log, then chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the other Bills (“Hey, guys, wanna see something funny? MacBeth!” “Don’t say that! It’s bad lu—” A sandbag smashed into that Bill from above. “Hehehehehehe! I got more!” Then he whistled sharply. “Argh! You can’t do that either, it’s also bad lu—” A light fixture exploded, blasting the Bill on the catwalk off so that he kersplatted onto the platform. “Hahahahaha! How about this one? Good luck during the performance!” “No, you fool, you’ll kill us all if you say—” “Guys, you think this pyrotechnic equipment still works?” a different, oblivious Bill asked right before pushing a button. The bad luck would’ve been spectacular had anyone paid attention.) now milling about the visual construct of an empty stage which represented a mindscape ready for shaping. Eventually, he suggested, “Tell you what, Fordsy ol’ comrade, let me choose for you this time. I think I know what you need right now to feel better, and it’ll be an actual memory of a good time you two had together. Something … positive and fun and a little whacky to help you get out of this slump. Whaddya say? Trust me enough to follow my lead in the roleplay?”

A glum shrug. A passive affirmation. “Sure, why not?”

And then original Bill was broadcasting through his loudspeaker, “OKAY, LOOK ALIVE, TRIANGULAR TROOP! LET’S GET THE STAGE SET FOR SCENE #618: ‘CABIN BOY AND CAPTAIN NOBEARD, THE COUCH PIRATE’!”

Ford blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I WANT IT READY TO PERFORM IN—”

“BOOOOOO!” the spectating Bill suddenly shouted, spraying popcorn everywhere. “That choice is a cliché and uninspired piece of saccharine hackery! Also, it’s practically meta-theater, which always sucks because only self-inflating, pomposity-spewing fartbags think it’s clever to make plays that are ham-fistedly obvious metaphors for making plays! BOOOOOO!”

“So it’s perfect for our director,” one of the Bills stage whispered, making the others giggle.

“I HEARD THAT!” the original Bill snapped. “DON’T YOU HAVE PROPS TO SET UP?! ACTION IN FIVE, MES! AND WHERE’S THE ME FOR COSTUME AND MAKEUP?!”

“Right here, angeldoll! And ready to get Starford suited up!” That Bill wheeled a vanity piled high with brushes, pencils, and cosmetics right to them. He then pulled an outfit off the rack, scrutinized it, put it back, pulled out another, nodded his approval, and zoomed over to slap it onto Stanford’s body. Right before assaulting his face with a blur of all the cosmetic products—powder, rouge, eyeliner, etc. All of it happened so fast Stanford didn’t even have time to protest, and when the air cleared and he stopped coughing, that particular Bill was adjusting a mirror before his face. “What do you think, honeydear? Don’t you just look divine?”

Breathless with astonishment, Ford touched first the mirror’s surface … then his own face … “Incredible!” he breathed. “I look seventeen!”

“If I did my job right, teddypearl, you don’t just look seventeen. Your whole body (or astral form dream body, technically, sweetiedumpling) should be seventeen down to the smallest of details. Now, if you want, I could also do your nails and hair so you look even more divine than you did at seventeen, darlingpeaches.”

“Nope, we want his ratio of divineness to undivineness to be exactly as it was then, thank you,” the original Bill dictated abruptly. “Now let’s get me suited up for—oh, Azathoth’samygdala!” Snatching up the megaphone, he bawled, “TVS GO IN FRONT OF COUCHES, NOT BEHIND, YOU IDIOTS! AND YOU’VE GOT THE BACKDROPS MIXED UP! C’MON, YOU MES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE MORE PROFESSIONAL THAN THIS!”

Ford tore his eyes from the mirror and looked onstage. The living room of his parents’ house was being formed by a bunch of Bills pushing frames of painted canvas (reproductions of the walls) and setting up prop after prop (a couch, a rabbit-eared TV, old chairs, side tables with doilies, framed photos, knickknacks, bric-a-brac, that hideous lamp with the more hideous curtain shade he had always wanted to smash to bits, etc.); it looked exactly as he remembered … No, it looked more accurate than he remembered … He could even smell the dusty, musty carpeting and hear the tacky windchimes outside the window …

“There, treasurebear, you look ready for your big part. And divine, too! Simply divine!”

“Thanks, me. Looks like you won’t be fired today,” the original Bill decided.

“I can’t believe you could recreate the old place. Every little detail—” Ford turned to Bill, then felt his knees buckled beneath him; he had to grab onto a corner of the vanity not to fall over. Standing before him in a dissipating cloud of face powder was the seventeen-year-old version of his twin brother. “… St-Stan?”

Bill grinned with Stanly’s cocky, crooked grin. “Or close enough. Oh, sorry.” Clearing his throat, he then repeated in Stanly’s husky voice, “Or close enough. Right, Sixer?”

Stepping forward, Ford laid his hands on the shoulders of the boy in front of him. They felt real. Solid and strong through the t-shirt, with the kind of ropey muscles regular boxing gave a person. Same for the arms and the chest, although there was a little pudge on top of the muscles there (just like Stan had … or had had the last time Ford had seen him for certain) thanks to a nervous tendency to overeat … It all felt so real … so achingly real …

“Done feelin’ up the merchandise yet, Sixer?” Bill-Stan teased. “I could flex for ya, if ya want.”

“How … How are you doing this?” Ford whispered, his voice almost trembling.

As one, all of the Bills dropped what they were doing and turned to face him, then clapped and spread their hands. A rainbow spread between every set of palms. “THROUGH THE POWER OF IMAGINATION, FORDSY OL’ COMPADRE! AFTER ALL, I AM YOUR MUSE!”

Fingers clenching into the fabric of the t-shirt, throat constricting, Ford said, “Stan, I … I …”

“You’re not gonna start blubberin’ on me, are ya, Sixer?” Bill-Stan asked coaxingly. “Not before all the fun even starts?”

“N-no … No, I’m in c-control. Ahem! Of myself.” Ford composed himself, feigned brushing some dust off his clothes, then resumed, “So, um, you said something about following your lead in a roleplay?”

Grinning more widely than before, Bill-Stan took him by the hand (sending a jolt of long ignored and even half-forgotten emotions through the weirdologist) and led him onstage …

The thing about a person’s mindscape (or about a person’s dreams, since they’re the same thing, essentially) is they’re completely immersive. To the brain, they’re almost as real as reality itself; every ganglia involved in processing sensory input for the one is equally involved with the other. Which explains why dreams usually feel real enough that a person can forget they’re dreaming. Which explains why a true master of the mind can manipulate a person’s mindscape enough that, with just the right triggering image (such as walking through a conjured doorway or stepping onto a conjured theater stage), the person can believe what they’re experiencing is real, and even actually find traces of the mental experience on their physical body afterwards.

Especially if the person really wants to dream, to believe, to be manipulated by the master …

That was why Ford knew with certainty that he was sweaty and dirty after hours of working on the Stan o’ War, knew with certainty he was trudging into the living room of his family home, and collapsed onto what he knew with certainty was a sagging couch likely as old as he was (seventeen years). He also knew with certainty that he heard the jangling of the house phone in the hallway, and then the voice of who he knew with certainty was his twin brother answering it. That knowing certainty was manifest in every gesture he made; it even shone in his eyes.

A moment later, Stan was leaning over the top of the couch. Sweaty and dirty, too, since he’d been working on the Stan o’ War, too. “Heh. You look beat, Sixer. But if anyone’s got the right, it’s you. I mean, after all that hard work today? And figuring out the waterproofin’ stuff, too?” Then Stan reached over the couch and tousled his brother’s hair. “I guess what I’m saying is … You’re such a good cabin boy! Good work, me ol’ cabin boy!”

Ford beamed with pleasure at the praise and the loving gesture, yet still retorted (because having a brother means living in a perpetual argument, at the very least as a matter of principle), “Pff! Why am I the cabin boy?”

“Duh. ‘cause I’m the captain!”

“Why do you get to be captain?”

“Heh. ‘cause I can do this!” And then Stan swung himself over the top of the couch and dropped down onto his brother, draping himself over his brother like a heavy, sweaty, noogying blanket. “How do you like it, cabin boy? Huh? I said how do you like it, nerd? No, wait, cabin nerd!”

“Ghaha! Get off me—haha!—you’re gross from the beach!” Ford half-spewed and half-laughed beneath his twin. He was pinned against the cushions now, squirming but unable to get free.

“Heh heh! You don’t get to give the captain orders, cabin nerd! That’s not how it works aboard this ship!”

“W-we’re—hehehe!—not even on a ship!”

“Sure we are! The S.S. Couch, and I just boarded it! And you!”

“You did not have permission to come aboard!” Ford giggled, still squirming, now trying to push his twin back with his hands.

But Stan caught them both at the wrists and pinned them against the armrest, too, bearing down with his whole body. “That’s ‘cause I’m a pirate captain! Arrrrr, me matey!”

“Pff! W-what do they call you?! Nobeard?!”

“That’s ‘Captain Nobeard’ to you, cabin nerd! And I’m gonna be lootin’ yer booty!”

Ford threw his head back and laughed at so corny a line. But the laugh turned to a surprised gasp when he suddenly felt his brother (on an impulse) press his lips against Ford’s throat. It was like being hit by a single raindrop right before a spark of lightning—a single spot of warm, wet skin, then an electric jolt through his brain and body that left him rigid. Or perhaps made him realize he had been rigid already? And that his brother’s counter-squirming had taken on a decidedly grinding motion … Or had it been a grinding motion already? Ford moaned, “Aaah, St-Stan …”

“I told you, that’s ‘Captain’ to you, me ol’ cabin nerd,” Stan countered into his twin’s neck. “And I’m gonna shiver yer timber.” With that, he gave an extra hard grind, groin against groin.

“Mmmmoses! Oh … B-but, wait … What if … Dad and Mom walk in on us … like this?” 

“Heh. You can be pretty dumb for a nerd, sometimes,” Stan teased. “They went to Grandma’s today, remember? And that was them on the phone just now, callin’ to say they made it there. Even if they head home right now, it’ll be at least two hours afore they get back. So relax, okay? Just … follow my lead …”

“Y-yeah, I can … Wait.” All at once, Ford stopped, because that phrase … He suddenly didn’t know with certainty what was really going on here, nor where he really was, nor even how old he really was. Intently, he peered at the face of the boy on top of him. Was there a golden gleam in his irises, where there should only have been brown? A twinkle in the eyes, but different than the twinkle normally there. He thought he could remember who this boy actually was. “… Bill?”

Stan grinned. “Only if you’d prefer havin’ a triangle in a tophat grind against you instead of your brother.”

Ford looked around, and remembered he was on a stage. A stage that had been set by multiple copies of Bill, and that he was now pinned beneath the original Bill who was mimicking his twin down to his cornball double-entendres, the smell of his sweat … and the exact length and girth of his hardon, currently pressing down on Ford’s own hardon (the thought of which made him blush a shade deeper than he already had been—did he really remember his twin’s member that well?). In the spectators’ seating, there was another Bill now distantly shouting, “Boooooo! You ruined the flow and the affect of the whole scene! The momentum’s gone and can never be gotten back! Boooooo!” and Ford found he desperately hoped that was not the case.

“You okay, Sixer?” Stan asked. No, not Stan. Bill. Bill mimicking Stan’s voice and manerisms. Bill mimicking Stan’s body so they could …

Ford cleared his throat. “Y-yes, I am. But, er, I just want to… to make sure that you are. This, uh, scenario doesn’t … doesn’t bother you? At all?”

“What? Why would … Oh!” Stan-Bill exclaimed suddenly. “You mean ‘cause we’re not just crossin’ a bunch of taboo lines in your meatbag culture, but went a mile past ‘em and are now buildin’ a small but charmingly perverted, summer cabin we can visit at our leisure?”

“I, um … suppose that’s one way of putting it …”

“Heh heh! It’s funny how awkward you are about this!” But before Ford could get defensive, Stan-Bill continued, “Sixer, I’m not human. I’m a Muse, here to inspire you to break through arbitrary human conventions (like the restrictive barriers they are) to something higher, purer, and truer. So all the arbitrary moral codes you meatbags make for yourselves, especially where sex is concerned? Don’t apply to me, don’t affect me. Whatever you desire, whoever you desire, however you desire (no matter how weird, complex, or how many parts it needs performed) I can play out for you here in your mindscape so well it will feel real. I can give you the psychological or sexual release you need to get tracted again on our oh so important work!”

Though overwhelmed by the possibilities, Ford still maintained, “That’s not a real word …”

“Like I said before, Sixer, if you wanna relive a memory, act out a hypothetical conversation or an argument with someone (like your brother or your parents or an ex or that one bald professor you loathed), or experience a completely new fantasy altogether … I’m down. Let’s do ‘em all.”

Ford gulped. “Y-you’re sure … it doesn’t bother you? At all? I mean, this is … er …”

Stan-Bill sighed in almost-exasperation. “Look, Fordsy ol’ friend, my true form doesn’t even have sex organs. Not that you’ll be able to tell when I change shape in your mindscape and go to town with pleasurin’ you, ‘cause I’m just that good an actor—can act like I’ve always had ‘em and got tons of experience usin’ ‘em to turn people specifically named Stanford Filbrick Pines into puddles of contented, post-coital bliss—and always happy to put on a show for a friend.”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on he was having a hard time breathing regularly.

“Plus, I come from a species that has roughly millions of genders, so homosexuality doesn’t bother me in the least. If anything, it radically simplifies things. You wanna get it on with a guy? I can do that. Two guys? Ditto. A guy and a gal at the same time? No prob. An entire roomful of different people? Sure, it’ll be a nice stretch of my talents. Something or somethings that aren’t remotely human? Well, if either of us can imagine it, I can make it in here for you to fuck.”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on that he was practically vibrating with excitement.

“And as for what you meatbags call ‘incest’, well,” Bill-Stan shrugged. “Far from the weirdest kink floatin’ around in the collective unconsciousness of humanity. But it is just weird enough, luckily, to keep me invested in any—heh heh—boldly transgressive or unapologetically perverse theatrical performances you might want to try here on the mindscape stage. So c’mon, brother,” he added emphatically, positively dripping Stanness now. “Just follow my lead … We got hours ‘til Dad and Mom get home …”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on that he was sorta surprised the couch hadn’t caught fire around the two of them. Another low moan escaped his lips as he felt Stan-Bill’s lips press against his throat again … as he felt Stan-Bill grind against his bulge again … as he felt Stan-Bill carry him back into a more fulfilling moment than the present reality could ever hope to offer …

“You like that, cabin nerd? Huh? You like when I do that to ya? Go on, say ‘Aye-aye, Captain’.”

Though his hands were still pinned against the armrest of the couch and his body born down into the cushions, Ford arched his hips into the grind.

“C’mon, cabin nerd, go ahead and say it … Become a part of my couch pirate crew …”

Giggling, Ford turned and offered himself up for a kiss. It was long and warm and wet and deep, and so very, very sweet. It left him breathlessly whimpering, “Mmm, Stan … Bill …”

“Who’s this Bill?” Stan-Bill asked teasingly. Then, as if to punctuate every following sentence, he humped slow and hard at the end of it. “Someone I otta be jealous of? Someone I gotta go beat up? Someone who’s gotta learn that you’re mine … my brother … my lover … and no one else gets to touch ya but me?”

“Ah! Yes!” Ford cried out.

And, distantly, the Bill in the seats shouted, “Boooooo! Going off script like this is for amateurs! Improv in an established piece is for hacks who can’t remember their lines! Boooooo!”

That was when Bill (not the original Bill playing Stan, nor any of the copies playing stagehands, but the real Bill in a clonesuit stretched out on the bed in the attic) snapped out of his fascination and decided it was time to stop reviewing memories for a while. Especially this one in particular. Not because it wasn’t nostalgic or entertaining or sexually titillating for him (it was very much), not because he couldn’t remember what had happened next (his recall was still just as perfect as the rest of him—heh heh!), but because …

Because it just wasn’t worth watching the rest. Both in Ford’s memory of the actual event with his brother, and in the slightly altered reenactment Bill had performed with Ford, it hadn’t been more than another minute or two of cornball dialogue, couch grinding, and rough kissing before they climaxed. And why not? Ford and Stan had been horny, pent up teenagers way back then … and Ford had been a horny, pent up adult back then (what with his tons of emotional baggage and sexual frustration) …

“Not worth getting wound up over,” Bill muttered to the cabin ceiling. “Not when jerking off won’t be enough to take the edge off the horniness I’ll feel afterwards … And besides, if I want to feel wound up and horny, there are much wilder memories I could perfectly recall than that. With Dipper or with Sixer …”

His hand came up wearing a sock puppet Mabel had made to look like his true form—or, at least, as much like his true form as a sock with a hand shoved in it could, (though, honestly, it looked less like a dapper triangle and more like the bastard lovechild that would result from a wild night of passion between him and Kermit the Frog)—and said, “Funny how you didn’t even realize how good a thing you had with ol’ Fordsy, isn’t it?”

“How do you figure that?” Bill asked his sock puppet. “Working and hanging with him was a ton of fun, and I missed the 79 Hells outta it after he sided with this mudball … Still do, actually …”

“I mean all that wild, limitationless, mindscape sex you had with him. Back then, for you, it was just the fun of weird playacting (and manipulating a gullible meatbag); you didn’t appreciate any of the physical side of it.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Of course, y’know, I kinda couldn’t appreciate it back then.”

“The beginning of the summer was a lot like that, too, with Dipper and Mabel and all the others,” the sock puppet continued matter-of-factly. “You didn’t appreciate any of the emotional side of spending time with them, what with how full of hate and plans for vengeance you were.”

“… No, I didn’t,” Bill admitted.

“All that time spent with them, and you didn’t even realize how good a thing you had.”

“… I kinda couldn’t appreciate all that back then, either, in my defense.”

“You could now, y’know.”

“What, you mean … relive the memories? Actually, that could be a fun way to pass the time,” Bill mused to himself. “Might not feel quite so bored or lone … Cthulhu’s cartilaginous cranium, I could go through all my memories with Ford! Maybe there’s something I filed away in there—something I didn’t think was important at the time, something that could spark another thought—that could help get me past the bubble!” he exclaimed, bolting upright. “And back to my Dipper!”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant …” the sock puppet pointed out.

But it was rather futile; Bill was on a role now. “The bumblr crowd could even help with this … Them asking the right questions might give me some direction, instead of just prospecting—”

“HEY! LISTEN!” the sock puppet shrilled. “I meant you could be having a good thing right now with all the people here at the Shack. Emotionally and such. Enjoying it fully. But you’re not. Even though you want to.”

Looking away from the reproachful, googly-eyed gaze, Bill muttered, “Kinda hard to with Ford setting such a grim mood for everyone here any time he walks in on me and someone else.”

“You’re wasting time,” the sock puppet stated irrefutably. “Like at the beginning of the summer, when you were too busy being … being not nice—being mean—to everyone, especially Dipper. Now you’re wasting time being bitter at Ford.”

“He’s wasting time being just as bitter at me!” Bill countered defensively.

“And when was the last time you really tried to do anything about that? Huh? When you bought everybody gifts, maybe, a few months ago?”

“… Honestly? I guess so, yeah.”

“Go try again. You wanted to, anyway, since you saw him in the woods crying ‘bout how much he misses the Twins, too,” the sock puppet affirmed. “It’s the reason you turned away from remembering that time on the couch before the climax, too; you’re not in the mood for sexiness, not deep down, but for sappiness. You can appreciate that emotional side of things now, so stop wasting time not enjoying ‘em.”

“What if … What if he doesn’t want to stop being bitter? What if he doesn’t want to move on?”

“Then at least you’ll have tried. You won’t be wasting time being bitter. And you get to spend more time perfectly recalling individual memories to see if you can find something helpful to escape, so win-win for you.”

Bill sighed. “I’d argue with you, but you are me, so I know I won’t win … Well, let’s go …”

[crazynekochan]

Fake Marriage Soudam + Adoptive Child!Sonia AU

(Me: *tiredly scrolling through tumblr and sees this post*

Me: ...

Me: *jumps out of my bed to write an AU prompt, because f*ck sleep*)

(I will make this omegaverse so that I can make it a bit more fitting for one part of the story)

Gundham is a spy who began working for a secret government organisation when he was a teenager, after his mother was killed by an underground organisation and he was left with no one in his life. Despite his slightly intimidating appearance he is very skilled in blending in and taking on all kinds of identities, but his main talent lies in training multiple animals into assisting him with gathering informations

For his newest mission he ends up having to adopt a little child and have them enrol into Hope’s Peak Academy, one of the most prestigious private schools in the whole country, so that he can infiltrate the high security school and find out about and stop the hidden plans of the Steering Committee

After he gets his newest identity and gets a home for the time of his mission, Gundham then goes into a slightly shady orphanage to adopt a child that hopefully manages to enrol into Hope’s Peak. He is then introduced to a 6 year old child called Sonia who originally came from a tiny foreign European country that was almost wiped after some unexplained uprising and chaos among the people a year or two back

Despite being a foreigner, she speaks perfect Japanese among some other languages. Sonia is also very intelligent for her age and well behaved, which makes her perfect for the plan as only the highest elite are allowed to enrol into the school. However according to the orphanage owner and the staff Sonia is a bit weird, which they all push onto her being a foreigner. She has a serious interest in brutal horror and the occult. But what creeps everyone out the most is the fact that she always seems to know what they are thinking, which put off almost everyone who had been thinking about adopting her

Gundham of course ends up adopting her, because she is perfect and he himself also loves the occult, which he of course doesn’t tell the workers because he can’t share about his true personality. However what he doesn’t know is that Sonia is actually an esper who can read minds and who was created as an experiment in an underground lab in Novoselic. She also indirectly caused the chaos in Novoselic when she escaped. He is also unaware that Sonia knows that Gundham is a spy who is on a mission, and that she slightly influenced him into adopting her since he seemed to be a fun and nice dad to have. Because how cool would it be to have a real spy as a dad?!

Now Gundham has a daughter who fits all the criteria to enrol into Hope’s Peak and ensure that he can infiltrate it. But then he hears about a big problem from his informant. Sonia has to be accepted by the Steering Committee (who are all old men) who believe that a child has to have two parents or they are by default inferior. So Gundham now needs a dam as his fake mate as quickly as possible. Cue the cute and at the beginning highly awkward father and child bonding between Gundham and Child!Sonia, while Gundham tries to figure out where to find a dam to be his mate out of the blue

Now in the meantime:

Kazuichi is a professional hitman whose talent lies in killing his targets with his own inventions and as such making it impossible for anyone to trace him and his clients. But in his normal, non-hitman life, he is a serious cowards with anxiety who works as a mechanic in his family’s workshop. His father and only family member has no clue about his son’s real occupation and is frankly still a drunk dick. But since Kaz can use him so well as a cover he let‘s him live for now and simply often puts stuff into the other’s food and drinks to knock him out (and shut him up) while Kaz goes after his missions

That is until one day his father decides that he is sick of his still unmated son living at his place and “living on his dad’s money” and thus wants him out by finding him a mate to more or less marry him off to. Kazuichi really can’t use any sires who control him and he can only kill so many off without raising suspicion on himself, so he has a problem now. To buy time and stop any more possessive sires turning up he tells his father that he already is seeing an alpha for a while now and was planning to become their mate anyway. But his dad doesn’t buy it and so wants to meet this supposed alpha Kaz is dating. So now Kazuichi has to quickly find an alpha to fake date him, who won’t ask any questions and also hopefully take on the role of alibi like his dad did before

A short while later, while Gundham is out with Sonia to go shopping like a totally normal dad, and secretly trying to figure out his problems about finding a mate, Sonia is happily listening in and wants to make her new dad happy by helping him find a beautiful omega as her new mum (She might be able to read minds, but she is still a small child and is seriously naive and doesn’t really understand why Gundham wants one)

At the same time Kazuichi is out to quickly find a sire to fake date him, to show to his dad. And as fate wants it he happens to pass the two and Sonia can hear that Kazuichi is looking for an alpha as a mate. Which makes it even better is that Sonia also hears in his thoughts that Kaz is a hitman, and just how cool would that be to have a spy as her dad and a hitman as her mum?! So Sonia tricks both into meeting and gain the ultimate family of her own!

After them getting to know each other thanks to Sonia, they then decide to fake mate each other because Gundham needs a dam in his life so that his cute little daughter can go to Hope’s Peak (and give him access to the Steering Committee) and Kazuichi really needs to escape his abusive home life (and finally kill his dad off). In the end both have decided on the terms to not ask too many questions and pretend to be together for ages now, before quickly becoming mates and moving in together to start their cute domestic life together with a cute child while no one has any clue about anyone else’s secret identity aside from Sonia who doesn’t talk about it because it’s a secret

Now this possibly can't go wrong and end up with Gundham and Kazuichi falling deeply in love with each other and wanting to keep Sonia as their child no matter what

And each of their secret identities won’t end up biting them all in the arse at some point, with the Steering Committee fighting against Gundham, Sonia being followed by the underground experimentation facility she was created in, and Kazuichi having a hell of a lot of enemies for killing people in the underground. Bonus if Kazuichi ends up being contacted by the Steering Committee to kill the unknown person trying to stop them and this is how Kaz finds out that his mate is a spy

[sportyheroesimagines]

Can you do for Bakugou ' I'm not jealous" ? Like, s/o was talking with Bakusquad, but s/o's very friendly and happy, is like s/o can make friends so easy! Please! Sorry for some errors in my English, I'm brazillian and still learning! Love your blog!

The smell of grease and oil hangs in the air of the Support Class lab as it always does; though, the sounds of whirring tools and chattering students don’t accompany the familiar scent. Workspaces lay empty, devices and projects waiting for their owners to return from the lunchroom. Nineteen tables have their desk lamps off, but one stays on. The remaining light illuminates the back corner of the room where you and Bakugou are as you sit next to each other. He leans on your workshop table, propping his head up with a closed fist, watching you tinker with a new prototype of his Grenadier Bracers. Your fingers work deftly, like they know what to do all by themselves, while you listen to your boyfriend rant about Deku between bites of his lunch. 

This is how the two of you normally spent your lunch period. And Bakugou will never ever admit it aloud, but he enjoys every minute alone with you. Especially since he mistakenly introduced you to Kirishima. And Kirishima introduced you to Kaminari who introduced you to Sero who showed you to Ashido before the day was even over. Suddenly, Bakugou couldn’t just have you to himself; he had to share you with the idiots around him.

The conversation falls quiet as Bakugou chew on his lunch. You take a few bites of yours as well, then lift the bracer off of the table, holding it at eye-level and examining closely. He looks at your profile, and you catch him staring. Bakugou turns his attention back to his lunch, aggressively shoving more food into his mouth. 

“I still can’t believe you broke the last Bracer I made,” you tease with a smirk.

Bakugou swallows, pointing his chopsticks at you, “That’s what happens when you make them tiny as fuck.”

“I made them smaller and expandable to make rescuing people easier for you. Since a certain someone likes to get docked on rescue points,” you say.

“Watch it, brat. And, anyway, if you don’t want your shit to break, don’t make them so damn fragile then.”

 “I didn’t make the last one fragile. That’s why I can’t believe it. You really just go all out, don’t you?”

“There no other way to do it, babe.”

“Well, if you do this to your own equipment, I can’t imagine what kind of collateral damage you might do,” you say with a sigh, “What’ll become of our agency? The insurance bills will be out of control”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow, “Our agency?”

“Our agency. You’ll want to keep me around.”

“Oh, really? And why would I do something stupid like that?”

“You’ll need me. Who else is going to fix your messes,” you hold up the Bracer to emphasize your point.

“Fix my messes?” he says with snort, “Yeah, right. How’re you going to fix my fucking messes when you can’t even keep your face clean?”

You blink as Bakugou cups your chin, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb. His hand feels rough, calloused as it holds your face, but his touch is gentle, something that’s reserved for only you. You grin at him; your cheeks squish against his fingers. The blond tries to keep his face slightly annoyed, but you can see the hint of a smile twitching in the corner of his lips.

“(Surname)!” 

A quartet of voices shouts for you, ripping you and him from your little moment. Bakugou’s hand quickly retracts. He slides his seat away from you as Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido burst in the lab. They come up to you, bearing a piece of equipment you have modified for them. Their voices mix and mingle with each other as the four of them try to talk over one another. Bakugou grumbles to himself, stabbing at his lunch, but you don’t look nearly as pissed off. You never do, even thought those morons interrupted the two of you. 

“(Surname)!” Kirishima shouts, throwing his arm around your shoulder, “Those Battle Gauntlets you made are awesome!”

“Yeah,” Kaminari pumps his arm, “and my Earpiece signal reached two times the normal distance!”

You clap your hands joyfully, “That’s wonderful! See, Katsuki-kun, my equipment is durable, it’s just you who breaks them.”

Bakugou sucks his teeth, looking in the other direction; pink dusts their cheeks as you giggle at the ash blond boy. Kaminari rubs the back of his neck, but Kirishima continues to blurt out his praises a mile a minute. You hold your blushing face, soaking up his compliments and playfully batting Kirishima’s arm. The redhead grins, and your boyfriend grinds his teeth, the chopstick snapping with ease. He balls his hands into fists; small wisps of dark grey smoke seep through his spaces between his fingers. All he asks is for one period alone with you. Just one fucking hour. 

“Um, (Surname)-chan, would you mind making something for me too?” Sero asks, scratching the back of his head, “It’s okay if you can’t. You must be pretty busy.”

“What are you talking about, Sero-kun, I’d be happy to build something for you. Do you have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking about something to increase my attack power … but I don’t have any specific ideas, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Sero-kun. It’s my job to help with these types of things,” you say, jotting down the ideas already brewing in your mind, “We can meet later with your hero suit and brainstorm together.”

“R-Really?”

“Yep! You can get my number from Katsuki-kun then we can coordinate times.”

You beam at him, and the black-haired boy is almost taken aback at the brightness of your smile. He can’t keep the small blush from creeping up his neck. Sero looks at Kaminari and Kirishima. They nod knowingly, all three of them clenching their chest and thinking the same thing. So sweet! Bakugou’s eye twitches. Anger stoked by annoyance is bubbling in the pit of stomach like a cauldron threatening to spill over.

“(Name)-chan! (Name)-chan!” Ashido whines as she wraps her arms around your shoulders, pushing Kirishima away from you, “You didn’t forget about me, right?”

“Of course not, Mina-san.”

“Yay!” she cheers, “Oh, wait, (Name)-chan, will you have time to make all this?”

You nod, “I’m only officially assigned to Katsuki-kun, but my Quirk makes work go by quickly so I don’t mind at a—”

Your boyfriend stands abruptly, making the chair underneath him clatter loudly. All five of you stare at him. Bakugou glares at the four intruders who all try to hide behind you. He growls under his breath, cursing and packing up his bento furiously. He launches the small box into the trash can with one of his explosions. The door is closed with a brutal slam, nearly knocking the wood off the hinges. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido stare at the smoke billowing from the trashcan as if it was a chimney stack; they pale. You sigh; standing from your chair and collecting your bento, you bow at the quartet then you take off after your boyfriend.

Bakugou sits on the roof, resting his back against the fence around the perimeter. He watches the clouds slowly move across the sky in fluffy white packs. The air outside is fresh, nothing like the scent of lab where the two of you met. Strange, how the clean air clears his head, but makes his stomach swirl. He frowns, running his hands through his hair, mussing the locks. He groans, and his stomach grumbles. Bakugou sighs as he hangs his head down. That was so fucking lame of me. He thinks to himself.

“I thought I’d find you here,” you say, walking out onto the roof with your fingers laced behind your back, “Are you feeling better, Katsuki-kun?”

He looks away, face pink from embarrassment, “Fuck off.”

“Nope. You can’t make me.”

You walk over to him and make yourself comfortable right next to him. Opening your bento again, you munch on food quietly. Silence fills the air between you. Bakugou opens his mouth to say something, but he shuts his almost as quickly when his stomach roars for attention. You giggle, sliding your lunch over to him. Both of you just sit together, in peace, as you pick at your food. You finally speak up. 

“I didn’t think someone as confident as you would get so jealous.”

“I’m not fucking jealous.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You think I’m jealous of those four morons. Fat fucking chance. Dumbest shit I’ve heard all damn day.”

You pretend to think, “Is it? I looks like you got pretty mad at the guys for getting so close and so friendly—”

“They shouldn’t fucking touch something that isn’t theirs!” Bakugou interjects, palms sparking with emphasis. 

“So you consider me yours then?”

Bakugou blushes. 

“Hey,” you nudge his arm, “I’m still your mech, we’re still partners, and you’re still my hero. You don’t need to get so mad about things like this, Katsuki-kun. I’d never leave you.”

This time you cup his face and bring his lips to meet yours. Bakugou blushes furiously as he kisses you, sweat leaking from his palms. When you pull away, both of you stare at each other for a moment. You grin and he grumbles something under his breath. Leaning against him, you wrap Bakugou’s arm around you. He reflexively draws you closer. You can already feel him start to relax. 

“I’m not going anywhere. ‘(Surname) and Bakugou,’” you say dreamily, “I can hear it now.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re hearing because it’s ‘Bakugou and (Surname).’”

“Hm, no, ‘(Surname) and Bakugou’ sounds better.”

“No, it doesn’t, and what makes you think your name won’t be Bakugou by then anyway?”

You blink at his statement before laughing to yourself. You pretend to think for a moment, rubbing your chin in contemplation. 

“You know what? I think you’re right. ‘Bakugou and Bakugou’ does have a nice ring to it.”

[96flowers-writings]

The Real Endgame Chapter One

Alright y'all I will warn you now. ENDGAME SPOILERS! If you have not yet seen the movie turn away now. Hit that back button in the upper or lower right hand side of your screen. This has that ending battle as the first part of the first chapter soooooooooooo yeah.

This is my attempt at a I don't like that **** died and I want to possibly change that. This has been rattling around in my brain for awhile. actually before I even saw Endgame I had been playing around with a characters watch their movies story for MCU but I didn't have a good platform to do it with. After Endgame I finally had a more believable way of having it happen.

I don't own any of these characters.

Last chance to turn back: **ENDGAME SPOILERS BELOW****

The Final Battle Against Thanos

The battle raged across what had been the Avengers compound in northern New York. The sky was dark, filled with smoke from the ravaged earth. The Avengers, newly expanded, were fighting for their lives and the lives of half the universe, trying to prevent Thanos from getting the gauntlet once more.

Everything came to a stand still as he succeeded in taking the gauntlet and stones. He raised his hand, admiring the stones in the iron man gauntlet. Tony Stark was on the ground a few feet away, looking on in despair that they could have failed a second time after working so hard to fix everything. He glanced over at Doctor Strange who was holding back the water that was threatening to drown the battle field. Strange was looking right at him and met his eyes, he held up a single shaking finger and at that moment Tony knew what was to happen. The one scenario where they won, the only one out of 14 million.

With new understanding of what he had to do Tony got to his feet and launched himself at Thanos with a single-minded determination. They grappled for a moment and no one watching could tell really what Tony had been attempting before he was thrown away again.

Thanos holds his gauntleted hand up and simply says "I am inevitable." And he snaps his fingers like he did on that fateful day 5 years previously. Yet nothing happens. He turns his hand to find the stones missing.

Everyone turns to look at Tony who was kneeing on the ground holding his own hand up. As if drawn by cosmic force the stones were moving into position around the Ironman gauntlet. When they reached the proper places the surge of power raced up his arm burning him all down one side. Tony ended this the way he began everything all those years ago.

"I am Ironman," and snaps his fingers. There is a brilliant light and when it clears Thanos' army began to turn to dust. Thanos himself simply sat down on a piece of rubble in defeat and looked up as he too turned to dust.

It was over. They had won, but the cost?

Tony was on the ground, reclined against another piece of rubble struggling to breathe, to survive. Peter was the first to reach him, having been close to Lang's truck when the gauntlet had switched hands.

"Mr. Stark!" his voice was panicked as he kneeled in front of the man who had become his mentor, his father figure. "You did it, we won."

The sadness could be heard in his voice, he knew that it was too late to save him. He reached out and placed a hand on the man's uninjured shoulder. Tony met his eyes but couldn't speak, there was sadness in his gaze, but also relief at seeing the teenager in full health. Peter began to cry and he was pulled back by one of the other Avengers to allow for Pepper to see her husband.

"You did it Tony," Pepper said softly as she kneeled down in the mud. When she took in just how bad her husband looked she asked quietly. "Friday?"

The negative response that followed had tears filling her eyes. She met Tony's and saw the love and sadness in his gaze as the life slowly left him. She leaned forward and kissed him gently.

"It's okay, we'll be okay. It's time for you to rest," She said softly and the relief in his eyes said enough. If she had begged him to stay, not to dye he would have fought with what strength he had left. But she didn't, they both accepted what was to happen. And with the relief that she and Morgan would be left in capable and safe hands he let out his final breath.

There was silence on the field as everyone took in what had just happened. Pepper bowed her head and let her tears flow, Rhodey was behind her and pulled her into his arms as his own tears began to flow. Steve reached out his arm around the two as he bowed his own head. Peter was being held by Wanda as he let out a sob and turned around in her arms, she tightened her arms around him and let her own tears fall….

25 Years into the future

Morgan Stark was sitting at her desk at the Avengers headquarters going over designs for a new suit of armor for Harley. Harley Keener had taken on the role of Iron Lad after her father's passing when she was five. When he got older he took the name Ironman. He had worked along side her mother who had taken the name Rescue.

Morgan was exceedingly smart like her father and at the age of 10 had started working on upgrading and redesigning the suits of armor. Two years later she had become the Avengers tech girl and was upgrading weapons and suits for all the Avengers.

When she turned 18 her mother reluctantly passed on the torch of Rescue to her. She took it with pride, knowing she was following her father's footsteps.

The Avengers had changed a lot since that first meeting all those years ago. The only original member left active was Thor, and he was only a part time member as he had always been. The member roster now counted near 100 as there were heroes all over the world and the universe who could be called on in the time of need. (But that is a story for another time. Back to Morgan)

Morgan was quietly conversing with Friday as she configured the wires around an upgraded faceplate. The door behind her slid open with barley a sound but the screen in front of her showed that entrance had been granted to someone. She put down her stylus and turned to see Doctor Strange walking towards her. He looked the same as he ever did, the same as the day she met him years before. He explained once that when he took on the title of Sorcerer Supreme all aging stopped blah blah blah. She had stopped listening.

Anyway, he didn't often visit the Headquarters as he was only a *call if the world is ending and there is no hope* situation avenger. There had been a few of those over the years, and he sometimes just kind of shows up if he feels like it. No one really minds when he does, he really is a heavy hitter in a fight.

"Doctor Strange," Morgan said surprised. She stood to greet the man. "What can I do for you?"

"Miss Stark," the man greeted and looked at her. "I have an idea. I am not sure how to go about doing it and I need your help along with Miss Lang."

"Oh?" Morgan raised an eyebrow at the cryptic response. "An idea you say? Care to share."

"Hmm," the man hummed with a small smile. "When you collect Miss Lang I will explain. It is complicated and hard to believe. But if this is done successfully. I do believe we can save many lives."

"Okay," Morgan said slowly, pulling out her phone and shooting a text to Cassie to come to the workshop. "Now my interest is really quirked."

"I was hoping for that," The man said quietly as he looked around the room in interest. He was a medical man at heart, a man of science, and sometimes he truly did miss it. Morgan watched as the mystic user wandered around her workshop but didn't touch anything. There was silence for a few mins before the door slid open to reveal the form of Cassie Lang, known to the public as The Wasp. She was dressed in casual clothes, having likely been in her own lab.

"What's up kid," Cassie asked as she caught sight of Strange in the room.

"Doctor Strange said he needed both our help for something," Morgan said simply gesturing to the man who had come to stand beside her.

"Why don't we take a seat," Strange suggested pointing at the small sitting area in the corner. "This explanation could get lengthy."

The two heroines looked at each other and shrugged before making their way to the set of armchairs and coffee table. Morgan and Cassie sat side by side in chairs across from Strange who had taken the couch. Strange looked at them for a moment before he made a quick motion with his hands and the world around them changed and became crystalline. The two girls jumped slightly before shooting looks at the man. He grinned slightly before explaining.

"We are in the same place we were just in a slightly different world. They only way in and out is with a sling ring or someone who is using it. This will allow us complete privacy."

"Right," Cassie sighed slouching back in her chair slightly. She was still tired from her mission the day before and had just finished repairs on her suit when Morgan had sent the message. She had been hoping to have an early night. "Well, what is this idea if yours Doctor?"

"I am sure you both know the story of Thanos and how he won at first?" Stephen asked folding his hands in front of him.

"Yes?" Morgan asked with a frown. She didn't like thinking about Thanos and the chaos he caused. Even 25 years after everyone had been returned the world was still recovering. As much as they had hopped everything would just go back to normal it couldn't and things had to change.

"Were you told the story of our fight on Titan? When I used the Time Stone to see all possible outcomes?" Stephen asked the next question quietly.

"Yes," Morgan answered just as softly after looking at Cassie who was frowning at the line of questioning. "I was told by Peter several times growing up. You looked into the over 14 million possible futures, and of them only 1 outcome was where we won. That outcome came to pass 5 years later when my father stole the stones from Thanos and used them to kill Thanos and his army. At the cost of his own life."

"Yes that is true," Strange sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "But I never told anyone everything I saw. The timeline where we won, I watched it for a while to see how everything had paned out. I saw this moment here and I stopped after this conversation. Why? Because this timeline then no longer truly existed."

"What?" Cassie asked quickly sitting up. "How?"

"Because I want to change the past," Stephen said simply. The two girls blinked at him and he elaborated. "I want to change the past, I want to send someone back to just after that first battle as a team. Back just before Thor and Loki take the tesseract back to Asgard."

"What do you want to accomplish exactly?" Morgan asked. She had crossed her arms in front of her in a clearly defensive way. She was unsure of his intentions, Strange realized. He sighed and waved his hands again and on the coffee table something appeared.

Cassie reached forward and pulled the chest towards her. On the top of the metal box was the Avengers A surrounded by the symbols of the original six members and the SHEILD logo. She popped open the lid and inside were 22 slots. Each slot had an old-fashioned DVD case.

The two girls exchanged looks again before Morgan reached in and pulled out the first movie. The front had a picture of a man she remembered fondly if only vaguely, the title read Captain America: The First Avenger.

"Uh What?" Morgan asked bewildered. She handed it to Cassie and pulled out the next one. This one was labeled Captain Marvel. She looked at the sorcerer for an explanation.

"What do I want to accomplish? Have the Avengers sit and watch these films," Strange said gesturing to the box. "They will start in the past, with the back story for some of them. Then it will go into their future and show them what they accomplish and what they lose. With these films they will learn more about each other and become a better team. They will also learn what to do to prevent many lives from being lost. Those in Sacovia, Asgard and other places. Hopefully this will also save Vision, Natasha and Tony from early death."

"Oh," Morgan breathed as she listened to the man. She was still looking through the chest, she had pulled out a few more, including her father's. She glanced up and nodded her head. "I'll help."

"So will I," Cassie said as she pulled her own father's movies out.

"Good." Strange declared.

[bigherosixfeels]

Small Hiro One REVIEW

In which the classic volcano project becomes incredibly useful. 

The episode begins at night with Hiro and Baymax on a mission by themselves because someone has stolen some nickel titanium. As the duo gets inside, Baymax suggests to alert the others, but Hiro insists it's fine. Baymax then suggests to go with him, but Hiro goes off on his own. There are some high-tech bots scanning around to make sure no one else is around, but Hiro ultimately gets caught. The man behind the stolen shipment is none other than Yama. Yama recognizes Hiro, but luckily not as his true identity. To make sure he doesn't find out, Hiro puts on a deep voice and tells him to return the stolen alloy. Yama then delivers the alloy which has now been turned into Mega Yama! Hiro tells Baymax he will need back up. Mega Yama starts to attack and Hiro dodges his every move. At some point, Hiro accidentally hits a button on Yama's crane machine and he goes flying, but Baymax catches him just in time. He also holds him in a position that's meant to be calming, but Yama is the opposite of calm. Hiro asks if anyone is on backup, and the nerd gang arrives on scene. Gogo is surprised to see a giant robot, but Fred can't believe they're just now facing against one. Despite good attempts to stop Mega Yama, it's Gogo who spins around it until the giant bot falls. Baymax lets go of Yama and catches Mega Yama before they can fall. Unfortuantely, Yama gets back in his crane and turns off the lights. When they come back on, he's gone. The team decides to call it night because they have a big day ahead of them tomorrow. We cut to the next day at SFIT where everyone at the school is lined up to attend an inventors workshop with Trevor Trengrove. Everyone is really excited to meet him. Honey Lemon describes him as a "science rockstar" and according to Hiro, Tadashi idolized him and if it wasn't for Trevor, there would be no Baymax. Hiro wants Trevor to sign Tadashi's copy of his thesis (my heart!) Honey has heard that Trevor sometimes picks students to work with one-on-one. Karmi feels very confident in it being her, but Hiro also feels the same way. Trever is taking photos with some other students and asks who's "jazzed" from some science. Wasabi shows off his high enthusiasm. Trevor walks over to Hiro and asks his name. Hiro tells him and expresses that he's a big fan. Trevor gives him a sports drink with his face on the can and signs the copy of his thesis...to Kiro. Professor Granville opens the door and begins distributing wristbands for entry. Sadly for Hiro, Dr. Trengrove has requested an age cutoff for his presentation which will only allow 16+ to attend. This satisfies Karmi, who enters the building with a sassy hairflip. Hiro feels this is unfair since he's an SFIT student like everyone else. Granville has arranged for Hiro to assist at an "equally prestigious workshop" in the Sciencetorium. This is where we meet Wendy Wower! She's entertaining a group of little kids (and Fred). They're all singing along to the Woweroo song which does not entertain Hiro in the slighest. Before the Trengrove workshop begins, Honey takes a selfie with Wasabi and Gogo (and Karmi who didn't mean to walk in on the photo). Honey sends this photo to Hiro and finds Karmi with the Snapchat Puppy Filter™ amusing. Wendy's first activity for everyone is to make gloop which they're all excited about. Hiro being the special helper (who also has to wear a 'Wower Power!' hat) has to help pass out the "gloop 'gredients." I really like that Wendy makes science so fun for kids with experiments they can make. There's also this uh...interesting kid in the group that apparently fears nothing. He seems fun! Hiro asks why Fred is there and he says he's a long-time Woweroo. He used to watch "Wendy Wower Science Hour" after his favorite show "Bright Lights, Loud Noises". Baymax accidentally throws gloop at Hiro's face. Meanwhile at the workshop, Trevor seems pretty impressed with the students attending. He goes on to talk about how he wouldn't have his career if it wasn't for SFIT and everyone is aware of his 'Artifical Fun-telligence' thesis. With luck and "Trengrove magic", Trevor thinks the work they can do can carry any of the students to fame and fortune like himself. Karmi raises her hand to talk and asks how he'll selecting students for the hands-on portion of the workshop. When she tells him that she's a biotech major, he tells her that people with her major get first dibs on free ice cream in the lobby. When she exits the room, she instantly realizes she's been tricked, but it's too late. She's been kicked out. Back in Wendy's group, Fred is making gloop (and envies Brooke's perfect gloop). But Hermie is special in his own way. Wendy thanks Hiro for his help so far, but notices he's not really having fun. She asks him if he'd like Baymax to be her helper instead, but Hiro insists it's fine. Wendy knows Hiro wants to be at Trengrove's workshop and recalls him being a star way back when they both attended SFIT together. Back then, they were lab partners and had different ways of doing things. Baymax is having trouble getting the gloop off his hands and Wendy decides to assist him. After cleaning him off, Wendy is impressed with Baymax (noting his hyper-spectral cameras, carbon fiber skeleton, killer accuators and super capacitors). Turns out, Wendy was a robotics major. She begins to play her ukulele and sings about how nifty Baymax is. Hiro asks Wendy if it's okay for him and Baymax to explore the rest of the museum and she allows him to do so. Athe workshop, Trevor is timing everyone in a race to make an electric generator. It weirds Honey out, but Gogo doesn't think it's any less weird then them secretly being superheroes. Hiro and Baymax are passing through the Sciencetorium and he wants to find a way to sneak in to Trengrove's workshop. Hiro used to go there all the time as a kid, but Baymax notes that he still is a kid (physiologically speaking). Hiro disagrees and remembers that there's a periscope somewhere. When he finds it, he begins spying, only to see some fellow classmates outside disappointingly eating ice cream. Meanwhile, Trevor is continuing to kick out other students and it's completely based on their majors. Honey notices that the only people he's not kicking out are physics, engineering or chemistry majors. The three finish their generators and Trevor decides to kick everyone else out. He laughs for a suspicious amount of time before asking for Gogo, Wasabi and Honey's phones. Hiro is still trying to get a better look at what's going on at Trengrove's presentation. He then sees someone blowing up balloons and decides to blow up Baymax. He's holding him by a rope and Baymax is floating outside to get a better look. Baymax catches the sight of Trengrove taking their friends to another room. Also, Yama and a couple of his goons are standing outside the entrance. Wendy has another experiment for everyone which is the classic volcano project! I like that Fred thinks of Brooke as a rival even though she's done nothing wrong. With the baking soda and vinegar ready, it's time to put these volcanoes into action! Fred is incredibly impressed with how they work. Hiro rushes in and tells Fred that Yama is on campus. They're about to leave, but not before the blond boy tells Hiro he can "hear the tiny screams" in his volcano. Hiro sees all the volcanoes going off and gets an idea. He tells Wendy he'll need everyone's help and lots of volcanoes. You know that room Trevor took Gogo, Wasabi and Honey Lemon to? Yeah, he has them all in separate areas now and putting together things for him. He tells Wasabi he could show him what to do, but how would he learn? He tells Honey to think of it as "working by her selfie" since she loves selfies. He offers Gogo a sports drink, but she simply tells him no...and he leaves it with her anyway. The guy gets weirder by the second. Hiro's plan is starting to be put into action. Him, Baymax, Fred, Wendy and the group of kids are walking with their volcanoes. Karmi sees this and takes this as an opportunity to tease Hiro. He wonders what she's doing outside and Karmi tells him she's taking a break Trengrove's workshop, but the blond boy can tell she's lying. Karmi then tells Hiro the truth and he apologizes to her, which she thanks him for. They share a brief moment of getting along before realizing they were nice to each other and then gag. Oh yeah...they're gonna be at least friends someday. Trevor checks up on what Honey's doing and she tells him the schematics he gave him are for a lightweight protective exo-skeleton. It'd also weigh less and be more durable to use a colloid fluid as liquid armor. She demonstrates how it works with a pencil Dip it in slowly and it goes right through. Jam in it and the object will break. He's satisfied with these results that he totally understood every word of. He checks on Wasabi next, whose working on a fast-paced projectile system. Apparently, if you use plasma instead of the tradition projectiles, it makes the whole thing more powerful. Trevor digs it! He also checks on Gogo, but she immediately tells him to back off since she's in the zone. Outside of the room, it's revealed that he's in contact with Yama. He has one hour to deliver what's being made or something on a flash drive will go viral. He assures Yama it'll be ready. Wendy and the group of kids walk over to Yama and his goons to show off their volcanoes. Yama is not interested and with them all being distracted, Hiro, Baymax and Fred attempt to sneak in. Yama's goons seem to enjoy the volcanoes, but Yama looks over to see Hiro helping Fred up a window. Turns out, it was Yama who gave Trevor the instruction of keeping out "fourteen-year-old brats". With the other three being done with their workshop portions, they're waiting for them to be evaluated. Hiro, Fred and Baymax walk in and Hiro breaks the news that something is up. Trevor then walks in and notes that Hiro's not supposed to be there. Hiro assures they'll get him out safely and then Yama walks in telling Trengrove that his time is up. He asks for his robot, which confuses the gang. After Trevor tries to play it off, Mega Yama bursts through the wall and he's more powerful than ever. Yama had blackmailed Trevor and Trevor used half of Big Hero 6 to help make Mega Yama harder to beat. Yama and his goons get on Mega Yama and they burst through another wall and take off!   They're all disapointed that Trevor worked for Yama, but he explains that he was being blackmailed. He thinks that makes it okay, but Honey tells him it wasn't since they were tricked in helping him build a weapon. And now they have to go against it. As they fly through the city, Big Hero 6 is right behind them. They feel awful for helping upgrading him even if they didn't know they were being tricked. Wasabi wonders what blackmail Yama had on Trengrove. Gogo suggests that it could be the fact that his sports drinks taste like dumpster juice (which doesn't seem to bother Fred). The team continues to chase after Mega Yama until they're on the docks. Once they've caught up, Yama exclaims that Mega Yama is ready for a rematch! The team takes down Yama's goons with ease, but Mega Yama proves to be a mega threat. Honey almost gets blasted by plasma, but Gogo saves her and gets the flash drive in the process. They try to get away, but Mega Yama blocks their attempts. Gogo's magnetic levetation system really comes in handy for the bot, but not so much for them. The plasma launcher blasts away Wasabi's plasma blades. Baymax launches his rocket fist, but Honey's colloid fluid completely blocks the attack. Oh and it's also fire proof too. As Fred falls, his volcano goes down too (because he brought it with him). Mega Yama blasts Baymax down, causing both him and Hiro to fall. Mega Yama is about to take another hit on Hiro, but Baymax gets up to push him away. This gives Hiro enough time to think of a plan based on Fred's volcano. Hiro asks Honey for two chem-balls which will make baking soda and vinegar. She tosses them to Fred, who grabs them and puts them into Mega Yama's blasters. The chemicals overload his system and he exploads the volcanoes. This causes Yama to fall into the water. He swims away in defeat. Fred wishes Brooke could have been there to see the volcanic Mega Yama. Speaking of the kids, Karmi is playing Wendy's ukulele and singing all the kids a song about agriculture with is adorable. The blond kid likes it too. When her song is over, Trevor is exiting the building and he's surprised to see Wendy again. He sadly walks over to her as Big Hero 6 shows up (which excites Karmi). She's fangirling seeing Big Hero 6 Hiro who says hey to her and tells her to be nicer to people "like that genius kid". She's just happy that he knows her name. If only you knew the truth, Karmi. Hiro returns the flash drive to Trevor who confesses that it's proof of his thesis actually being hers. He stole it from her and based his entire career off of it. Wendy didn't expect this, only wanting to say it was good to see him, but she's happy that he admitted it after all these years. He hasn't felt great about what he did and he apologizes to her. He wants to make things right and let the world know the truth. The kids are surrounded by Fred, who tells a very dramatic version of his origin story which involves volcanoes and being birthed through flames. But Brooke knows it's just a guy in a suit which disappoints him. Later on in the evening, Hiro is walking around campus with Wendy. He can't believe he had it so wrong about who the real genius was. She wants to know how much SFIT has changed since she left. There's the robotics lab which has Tadashi Hamada Hall (THEY INCLUDED IT IN THE SHOW!) Wendy talks about how special the school is to her. She learned how to believe in herself and all the thanks goes to Professor Granville. Hiro is in shock by this, thinking that Granville just began teaching this year, but nope. She was there twenty years ago. Our last scene is Hiro looking for proof himself in the library. He finds an old yearbook where he discovers a photo of a younger Granville with a student. Hiro questions why she never said anything about it. And that's how it ends!

Overall, I enjoyed this episode! 

I gotta talk about Wendy. I love Wendy! She’s just such a good person. She knew that her thesis had been stolen, but she was never bitter about it. She could have easily been a villain who wanted revenge to get it back, but she wasn’t. Instead, she continues to teach children how fun and exciting science can be. She has such a good heart and I would love to see her again sometime. I also really love her character design too! It’s so unique! And if it wasn’t for her, Baymax wouldn’t have been made. 

Trevor was...interesting. It was kinda obvious from the beginning that he wasn’t all who he was cracked up to be. He enjoys the fame and fortune he’s gotten from the thesis he didn’t even come up with and of course him working with Yama (even if it was due to blackmail) was disappointing for our main characters. I’m starting to feel bad for them. First the had Professor Callaghan who mentored them and they idolized and we all know how that worked out. Then they had to find out Trevor was a fraud. *cough* #IdolizeWendy2K18 *cough* 

Mega Yama is definitely a lethal villain. I really like that it’s a villain that was hard for them to defeat since Gogo, Wasabi and Honey Lemon all unknowingly worked on portions of his upgrades. I get the feeling we haven’t seen the last of him (as well as Yama of course). 

I felt so bad for Hiro! He really wanted to go to the workshop (even if it did turn out to be for blackmail reasons). He really wasn’t into Wendy’s Woweroo stuff, but I like that they formed a really sweet friendship. 

Fred’s small rivalry with Brooke was hysterical. I love that Fred has rivalries with kids (Richardson and now Brooke). 

And of course that ending scene. We all know that kid is a younger Obake. This definitely explains Granville’s linked history with him and I’m very curious as to what both of their pasts hold. 

On a scale of one to ten...I’d give Small Hiro One an 8.5!

[lesbrarians]

I’ve been exploring Junkertown and taking tons of screenshots, and here are some thoughts. I am so sorry for the massiveness of this post omg, please feel free to blacklist #long post if you need to!

The Queen of Junkertown is a BABE and I’m in love with her and also very gay. Also the flag of Junkertown is bomb, and I adore looking at all the various signage, it adds so much flavor to the map

Even a lawless society has to have a few rules, and those rules basically amount to: start shit, get hit

Junkrat and Roadhog really are hated by everyone, oh my god. Shoot them on sight. I love it.

“Watch your step!” Perhaps where Junkrat got his singsong line every time he lays a trap that someone triggers?

Base notes:

It looks like they’ve got a hatch in the floor there. (Edit: It’s been confirmed that it’s a pressure plate!! There’s two of them, if two people stand on them, it opens up a hidden treasure room!)

They have an entire fucking vending machine of pachimari, this is the most extra thing I’ve ever seen, I’m crying

Roadhog makes his own hogdrogen, and it looks like it starts out as a yellow sloshy liquid.

There’s a fish head in their kitchen area – I’ve always believed that Roadhog’s a vegetarian because of his anti-meat patches. Maybe he’s a pescatarian? Or maybe it’s just Junkrat who’s eating the fish?

Lots of chains hanging from the ceiling, probably to refill Roadhog’s chain hook

Everyone’s already pointed out that there’s only one bed in Junkrat and Roadhog’s base. Things Roadhog needs to sleep: an oxygen tank, a fan, and food. Look at all those dirty dishes. Someone pointed out that Junkrat has his own place to sleep and argued that this proves the base is only Roadhog’s house and thus they’re not sleeping together. Which is. Such a reach, why are you so vehemently against the implications that these two are together. Anyways, Junkrat does have a couch set up in his workshop with a blanket and a pillow and a fridge and a sink, but I don’t buy for a second that he actually lives there full time. He has too much of an established presence in the base for it to be just Roadhog’s house – he’s got those grenades and spray cans everywhere, and I’m pretty sure he’s the one chugging those soft drinks by the cooler. And these assholes eat their meals together like a married couple. Junkrat’s got the tiny bowl and the normal-ish chair and the entire pot of coffee, Roadhog’s got the big bowl and the tire-seat chair and the sensible single cup of coffee (Edit: I can’t believe I didn’t notice this until someone pointed it out – they stole Roadhog’s chair from the takeaway, look!). What domestic little shits. No, Junkrat’s workshop is just a workshop with some amenities, bc the man absolutely loses track of time when he’s tinkering and it’s easier to crash in his mad lab than go back to sleep with Roadhog, imo.

THE PLAN: Junkrat’s boundless enthusiasm makes me smile.

They have two chairs on their front porch with a cooler and some drinks in between them. Imagine these two just. Sitting on the porch together and sharing a drink. They’re so married, I’m l i v i n g for this domestic shit. 

On the subject of Junkrat’s workshop: he actually does play cricket! Or he at least owns a cricket paddle (okay, cricket BAT, you fucking animals, i know shit about sports, just humor me w my lack of sports knowledge here)

Junkrat has a safe that’s covered in DANGER, NO ENTRY, GO BACK signs and that’s hilarious to me. Also hilarious: his “NO TRESPASSING“ sign over a door that’s boarded up from the inside.

It looks like both Junkrat and Roadhog got their tattoos at Swagman’s Needlepoint! Roadhog’s Wild Hog Power design is marked as sold. Junkrat’s bicep tattoo is also up on the wall!

I guess there’s?? A thriving music scene in Junkertown?? Where is the Mad Max flamethrower guitarist

[drlauramccoy]

(set in the verse with @masterfulxrhythm )

It’s morning coffee - both the McCoys are taking it black and strong and silent until they’ve finished at least half their cup. This has become a kind of tradition now: Jack and Koschei come to her room once they’re up, help her get dressed and brushed (though she’s needing their help less and less, she still enjoys the attention), then Koschei goes off to his workshop and Jack gets the coffee.

The location always changes, as Laura wants to see as many to see as many rooms of the TARDIS as she can before settling on her favourite. Right now, they’re in a room with a waterfall, a lovely shallow, little lagoon pooling at the base of it with tendrils of soft pink flowers curling up the cliff. She can see the line of little bottles and jars on a rock ledge, and can guess it’s used as a shower by at least one of her boys. It makes her smile, these little hints of their domestic life, and as she sets her mug down, she decides it’s time to chat.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Jack nearly chokes on his coffee. “That’s... a little complicated.”

Laura just looks expectantly at him.

“Timing was bad,” he puts delicately. “We were both hung up on the same guy and... well, we both did things we’re not exactly proud of.”

Now she looks incredibly intrigued.

“It’s in the past,” Jack insists. “We can’t change it, so we moved on from it.”

“So then what changed?” She can’t help but wonder just how dark or shameful it must be if her son is shifting the issue so insistently. But maybe it’s best left buried, something that goes against at least half her instincts as an archaeologist.

Now it’s Jack’s turn to silent.

“I don’t know,” he says at last. “It was little by little. We met up again, years and years later, and we were both very different people. We realised we had a lot more in common than we ever wanted to admit and started travelling together.” He pauses, a chagrined smile on his face. “I’ve never felt more like myself when he’s around. When I realised that, everything changed.”

Laura looks satisfied with that answer, though she’s still certain that her son is concealing far more than he’s sharing.

But she also knows him, knows how jealously he guards secrets and especially his own. Prodding will only make him dig his heels in and calm up even harder. Patience and time is what he needs most times - or she’ll just ask Koschei for the juicy details later and see his reaction. She might not get the full story but she’ll be better able to see if this really is a story better left untold, or if Sam is just embarrassed to tell his mother.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your father and I met?”

“NO!” Jack perks right up at that, laughing and turning a mischievously wicked grin on her. “I need to know all the details.”

Laura laughs at how easily he can bounce back from the small cloud of remorse - though she’s a little saddened he’s ever had to develop that skill.

“It was my first dig,” she starts, taking a sip of her coffee and setting it aside to tell her story. “I’d done mostly lab work and desk-based assessment work up until that point, but I’d always been itching to get out there into the field. The company I was with at the time sent me to an excavation on Lachter Seven’s moon. It was an old monastery, some order that never really spread, and this was the only known place they’d built a monastery rather than converting it, so it was a pretty big deal. Anyway, halfway through the dig, this film crew came in to grab some footage of us but also start to film a documentary about this order. And your father was the host.”

“No!” Jack nearly cackles, trying to imagine his father as some stoic, boring academic narrator - the image doesn’t come easily. “I can’t believe Dad did that! Doesn’t really seem his style.”

“Oh, I’m using ‘documentary’ in the loosest sense of the word. His whole persona was a bit more Indiana Jones, exploring ruins and climbing mountains and that whole lot. On principle, I hated the whole idea. When I met him, though, it was a completely different story.”

Jack looks intrigued. 

“He was so soft-spoken, completely different than the character they were making him out to be. He was funny, too, and charming and intelligent and oh my goodness, gorgeous.”

“Mum!”

“He was! I had a crush on him immediately - and let me tell you, after spending three months with the same twenty people, he was a breath of fresh air, too. Almost everyone in the camp fell for him, but only ever when he was... well, I guess performing is the best way to describe it. He could turn on the charm and have people falling at his feet, but when he turned it off, it was almost like a cloaking shield. He’d be in the middle of a crowd, and if he wasn’t ‘on,’ no one noticed.”

“No one but you.”

“Of course,” she grins slyly. “His crew was there for a week, and after the second day, I noticed the pattern. If he wasn’t the life of the party, he’d stick to the edges of the group. Still there, but not really. He was especially like that at lunch. People were generally too busy shovelling down food to notice, so I started having lunch with him. Really casual conversations that soon would keep going until someone came to fetch one of us, usually him, and we both went back to work. The last couple days, we’d eat breakfast and dinner too, and just talk away like old friends.”

She pauses and looks at Jack, and he’s hanging on her every word.

“The last night, we climbed to the top of the cliff that overlooked the dig site to watch the stars. I kissed him as we watched the planet rise and as perfect as that week was, I never in a million years thought a one-night stand would ever be more than that.”

Jack has an almost dreamy look as she finishes, happy to have finally heard that story. “What changed?”

“We met again, years later,” she says a little cheekily. “At a conference. He’d ditched the film career idea, but he’d specialised in experimental archaeology. That was one of the driving ideas behind our time at Boeshane, trying to recreate how we thought they lived back then. Your dad was a battlefield specialist, and-” She abruptly cuts herself off there, realising she’s headed down a dangerous path she has no desire to visit right now. “Anyway, I was starting to make a name for myself, and he came up to me after a paper I presented, asked if I remembered him - of course I had - and asked me out to coffee. We started dating, trying to get on the same excavations, which wasn’t difficult when I started running then, and got married just after I won the funding for Boeshane. And there you have it.”

[dasssneha4]

Why We Dental Surgeons Should Raise Our Treatment Charges?

If we want to raise charges, first we have to accept that we are cheaper. But have we tried to find anytime that why we are cheaper ? I would like to elaborate points:

1. We are really cheaper.

If we want to raise charges, first of all, we have to accept that we are cheaper. But have we tried to find any time that why we are cheaper?

Here are some reasons.

a) Everyone amongst us had decided our treatment charges on the basis of charges taken by dentists of our area whenever we opened a clinic. We never calculate and to gain more patients we actually we're a little bit reasonable than senior dentists. If we are taking optimum charges then our next generation will never blame us.

b) Any dental treatment charge should be according to our Investment on education (applicable to current decade of dentists), investment on dental clinic equipment, materials, technologies, maintenance, furniture, laboratory charge etc

                                         +

Most important is TIME (Your actual income per hour)

                                         +

SKILL Charge if you really wanted to add but none of us are counting treatment charges in this way.

What we are currently taking only fulfills our maintenance and depreciation. No profits.

c) We always count charge according to laboratory charge or material charge.

Friends, we are a skillful person, not a trader. Whatever is your lab or material charge but you should always charge for your expertise, skill, efficiency and your mastery for your predictable results.

Have calculations and then decide treatment charges.

2. The scenario of all 3 decades is different.

a) Before 10 years Dentistry was simple and was much cost effective than today.

b) Today you must have a wonderful clinic in a good complex, good interior, good equipment, latest technologies, latest materials and good payable staff and doctors. So your net income actually falls if you count all these.

c) After 10 years we all need more fancy gadgets and equipment or materials. Might be everyone have to buy OPG or CBCT in group or CAD-CAM scanner which will again add drastic cost in your liabilities.

Keep in Mind

3. Inflation.

Everything adds 6-7% per year in itself and till we actually realize it, one more wave of 6-7% have been added. Only we don't bother to add it. The moment you open your eyes in bed and again at the end of a day you close it everything becomes costlier. Milk, newspaper, breakfast, petrol, car, maintenance, clinic staff salary, materials, equipment, lab charge, restaurant bills, shopping,  school fees, groceries bla.. bla… Only we are humble and we don't raise per year.

4. Professional Hazards.

Those who don't have professional Hazards like Neck lesion or Back lesion after 10-15 years of practice, either they don't have practice or they are lying. Friends, once you will suffer from any professional Hazards in your body then you have to compromise your clinic by anyway. Till that time if you don't save enough money to expense for your future then you will be finished.

If you are thinking that after doing any management courses you will be able to manage your clinic in your absence, you are wrong. Others can never run your clinic more powerful than you. Save for future or emergency.

5. Be prepared for more number of dentists coming in next 10 years.

Today we are talking about competition but friends believe me competition is yet to come. 26000 dentists will share patients with us every year and so many of them will be consultants or experts in some field. Patients will choose their dentists wisely in next decades. Hold firmly your position otherwise, you will have to blame your luck.

6. Dentistry is the only branch in the medical field where we have daily maintenance.

Most of the other branches in the medical field have only one-time investment on hospitals and equipment and then they only earn, no major expenses.

We have daily bills and daily expenses added day by day and month by month. Till you buy one equipment or material, on next day something more beneficial will come and you need to struggle to buy that.

We need to attend repeatedly conferences, lectures; seminars and workshops or courses to learn new techniques or methods and believe me none of them are economical. Earn more to spend more and still, you are at same level unless you add more on earning side.

7. We have our inside enemies like Corporate Clinics, Trusts, Dental Chains.

Still, they are not that much but there will be lots and lots more to come and to make us cheaper and cheaper. Be unite and fight for survival.

8. To fulfill our family and our own expectations in life.

Everyone has some expectations in life like our parents, spouse, and kids and nothing is cheaper actually. If we don't earn we can't fulfill their expectations. Still, we have to fulfill our own expectations and don't forget we are living in the 21st Century where everything is becoming costlier day by day.

Start earning decent money and enjoy the life fully.

9. Dentistry has limited life span.

We have a life span of 25 years and only few survive till the end. Most of them achieve fantastic growth initially followed by sustain maintenance for few years and ups and downs in the last phase except only few branded clinic and I am sure this message is not for them.

So catch that decade wisely and save a lot for future.

10. Achieve your Dreams.

I have some calculations: (Actually, I Love Calculations.)

Any dentist in any city of India has some dreams. We assume that we do practice for 25 years and in this 25 years we need following things.

A.   2 BHK flat: 60 lakhs

B.   Furniture in that flat: 40 lakhs (we need two times furniture in 25 years)

C.   One small clinic in city: 40 lakhs

D.   Furniture and basic equipped clinic: 40 lakhs (twice in 25 years)

E.   Car expense: 30 lakhs (we assume we change basic car of 6 lakhs 5 times in career)

F.    Child Education fees for one kid: 20 lakhs (we only count school and basic college fees, no donation in any major branch)

So total is 2.30 Crore.

If we count that everything is provided today on loan of average 10 percent for 25 years, means you don't need to buy anything in 25 years still your

Equated Monthly Installment (EMI) is 209000 and to earn a Net profit of 2.09 lakh you need to earn grossly 350000 INR month by month.

And still you have only basic property.

No fancy dream home.

No fancy dream clinic.

No higher education for kids.

No fancy shopping.

No fancy holidays or leisures.

No Jewellery.

No fancy Cars.

This is not to make anyone depressed but to realize that you have to earn more if you really wants to enjoy life.

So raise your charge to pay fancy EMI.

(Above Calculations are good cities of Gujarat only and you can count according to living standard and property expense of the respective city of India and EMI will be according to that.)

Friends lastly I would like to point out some outstanding benefits of dentistry.

1. Dentistry is highest paying profession across the world. Somehow it is lacking it's interest in India because we don't value it actually.

2. We are skillful people and we can earn a lot if we really understand the real value of dentistry.

3. India is booming in next 20 years in terms of living standard and per head income along with paying capacity of individuals. The way we are developing if we really think something creative we will be a millionaire in coming years.

4. Esthetics and smile designing is really a very well revenue generating branch and we can earn a lot out of it. All major cities have demanding clients for that.

5. Implantology has really made dentistry a bit revolutionary revenue generating branch and I am sure in next 10 years all of us will be implantologist.

Advice for seniors.

My sincere advice to seniors that please raise your charges first as after few years of experience we have a big client base and in fact, they will be happy to pay us more provided we charge more. We have to look for juniors also as we were also juniors at one time.

Till we don't raise our charges how they can take initiative?

So let's take advantage of seniority for patients and also take initiative for wonderful future of dentistry.

Advise for juniors.

You have a wonderful span of 20+ years and if you learn from our mistakes you can easily make more money out of it. Learn new technologies, new systems and try to work in a more predictable and different way and earn more. We didn't guide by others. You have some wonderful seniors to guide you.

Be different and grab the opportunity.

Friends,

We just need to hold hands of each other and should grow together and need to think about why we didn't raise our charges.

Still, we have a wonderful time for future.

Please be unite, arrange some meetings in your area or city, discuss points and decide some minimum charges for all dental treatments with keeping everything in mind and earn together.

LET'S UNITE AND RAISE THE BAR OF DENTISTRY AND LET'S MAKE EVERY DENTAL SURGEON MILLIONARE..!

Tried to motivate you all and still in some points I may be right or less right.

Thanks,

Source:Dental portal

[apexart-journal]

Matheus Rocha Pitta - Days 17 to 20

“For Mallarmè not only our acts but language itself is sick” (Roberto Bolaño, Literature and Illness)

It’s Friday morning and the artist is in bed, self medicated for a sore throat, writing this blog and trying to sort out his state of mind into words. On one hand he feels very proud to share a condition common to all of his favourite writers (some had a very delicate health and eventually experienced premature death while others spent years handwriting from bed). On the other hand, probably the right one, he wants badly to smoke a cigarette. However that would make his throat even worse and despite the joys of low fever and skipping the schedule, it’s a condition he expects to be transient and ephemeral, like his heroes immune system or the life of atheists and dinosaurs on earth or even earth itself.

He was supposed to spent his morning hours volunteering in a association in Brooklyn for compost left overs. Machines aren’t used for hard work because they emit carbon. Humans are not very different from machines in that sense – even in the innocent act of sleep and eventually dream we’re breathing, and therefore, contributing for global warming.  Yet unlike machines, humans are able to feel glorious guilty, moral meltdowns, spiralling paranoia, peaks of narcissist remorse so they need to do something. But our artist cannot do it anything besides writing – things get even worse as he feel frustrate he cannot give a true account on that matter, since he did not follow the schedule. His illness prevents him from acting, from doing something that would allegedly makes things better. Hmmm, is sickness a form of escapism from duty? Or is it duty itself, the imperative of doing something, a refined way of scape reality?

He reminds exactly a week ago attending a conference on Green Bonds, where a banker, a investor a finance minister were introducing and explaining the audience how to profit with sustainable projects. The meaning of their words went unnoticed to the artist, yet their elegance, one would even say grace, not. Yes we can save the world and make more money with it – isn’t that graceful? Graceful as a circle of vultures mistaking Prometheu’s liver for a moribund elephant dying from dehydration but being kept alive by his predators so its abundant flesh would not rot fast, at least that was the idea of grace that flashed the artist mind, but before forming a clear image his thoughts were interrupted by a question from the audience. “Please introduce yourself and to which company you belong to” said the panel moderator. “ I am just a common citizen interested in these matters. I came from a state where all the transport infrastructure was ruined after being privatised because it was not profitable, so I would like to know from you how can profit and sustainability and social well being can reconcile?” . “I guess that’s not what we’re discussing here”, replied the moderator. What a relief for the artist! He’s not even a common citizen, so there’s nothing in this event for him.

Some days later another conference showed less apocalyptic overtones but a great variety of moral hues. Activism in Academia presented works of students and teachers involved in making a better world – something whose meaning everyone knew beforehand and went undisputed. However, one presentation was on Opera – it was not about the activist, but on the problematic of “correcting” opera’s language ¬¬– and caught the attention of our artist.

Among the many projects the artist plans not to realize is a futuristic opera called X Gattapardx, loosely based on Tomaso da Lampedusa book and Visconti’s masterpiece. It’s about purity vs the entropic end of the world. The sky is falling and humanity has lost the coordinates that use to hold heaven from earth apart (and earth from hell). No one knows anymore where one is, yet no one is desperate because everyone believes one is an Angel. So is our heroine/hero, who spends the three acts (the libretto main’s reference is Dante’s Divina Comedia partition in Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso) looking for his/her identity. Gattapardx’s origins are mixed to the point of being untraceable. Her/his complex sexuality would turn the LGBTQI acronym into an apocryphal gospel. The One Thousand One Nights are not enough for Gattapardx’s love adventures, to fully grasp it should be corrected into Two Thousand One : an Xdissx in Xpacx. Anyway after being rejected by all the most various Angels guilds, Gattapardx goes to Bavaria to join the neofascists Der Wurgeengels, who unsurprisingly accepts its new member, only to torture (will be the most beautiful aria), kill and make tasty wurst with Gattapardx impure flesh.

At the following morning the artist goes to a NYU tech lab, only to grab more ideas that will make his opera even more impossible to realize, a true Gesamtkunstwerk. It should be impossible to ignore the Opera, he thinks, by turning the phone on or even going to the toilets. The audience’s cellphones will be hacked. If one is bored and turns on twitter or instagram, one will find only a feed of images of angels, psalms, prophecies and excommunications. The toilets will be occupied by live broadcast holograms and leaving the theatre will be an epic effort, once 3D images of a huge abyss will, at best, make one miss your seat.

It’s cloudy and cold, just like the constant weather in the futuristic Opera. The artist is enjoying his walk in Prospect Park, unaware that the wind might be one of the causes of his coming sore throat. Seated under the the Camperdown Elm tree branches, he meditates on the last week of his adventures. He feels exhausted and longing for an involuntary memory workshop (the voluntary has gone already). It will take two more days to realise that no magic madeleine will bring his memory back, there’s no antidote for his irremediable condition but illness itself.  

[shetoldherstory]

Once upon a time

Back to where we first met. It was a Saturday morning when we revisited our school Dunman which held a history of our happiest days. It was sunny and everything felt so bright and cheery. It was then when our photog friend Munn asked us, “How did you guys meet?” It was a story that was long forgotten, but as we walked down memory lane, we recollected plenty of beautiful moments in which we’ll share through a series of photos documented by the ever so talented Munn!

He was a year my senior. Interestingly, both of us did not realise each other’s existence till nearing our graduating year back in 2009. Perhaps we might’ve walked past each other during the morning assembly or queued up in front of each other in the school canteen, but I guess we never really paid attention.

Dunman life was already amazing before we met each other. We had our own set of friends, we were surrounded by an army of dedicated teachers and we were occupied with fun-filled occasions. It’s pretty fascinating how we actually see, listen and experience similar things every day, but we never actually had a chance to look at each other till much later.

Being in the era of the newly born social media back then, Facebook was the in thing after Friendster ended hence we added each other on that platform. He said I added him first - but in my defense, being the social butterfly that I was (emceeing events was quite a hobby!), I added just anyone as long as they are Dunmanites 😂 We talked over the comment section of his profile picture and later continued our conversation on MSN, the world of emoticons, nudges and animations!

We talked over MSN frequently every time we were both online. I must say, our personalities might be very different yet we clicked almost instantly. It was the year-end holidays, I was in Sec 3 going on Sec 4 while he was waiting for his promotion to Sec 5. On the day of the results, I asked him how he fared for his papers. He lied that he wasn’t able to pursue O’s, making me rather sad since our friendship had just kicked off and I wouldn’t be able to see him in school the following year. So glad it was all a lie though! In our graduating year, as if it was meant to be, our classrooms were located on the same level just two units away. Hence we crossed paths often and get to wave and say ‘hey’! Also, he ended up asking me for my number over MSN using ‘going out’ as an excuse 😜

It was real nice seeing and bumping into each other in school. We never really had direct contact often since we both come from different class, but I actually found myself looking forward to glance at him during recess time. Or even when his class walked past by my classroom to get to the science lab 😝 There was just a sense of familiarity which I felt whenever we smiled at each other. We continued being friends and texted each other almost every day. Just random stuffs, like what happened in school earlier in the day, what we ate during recess or simply getting assistance in solving a math question. As we chatted over time, our conversation got deeper and we eventually found out that we used to live just one block away before my house shifted down the street. As if it was all meant to be, he actually turned out to be my childhood playground friend when I was little - what are the odds!

My batch was the first batch of pure science students who were offered D&T as an O’ level subject, hence I took it up and became quite a queen at it. On the contrary, Isk took up F&N while a huge portion of his friends were in D&T. Though his friends and I had different teachers, my portfolio was often used as a teaching tool to set a certain standard for the exam, so it was impossible not to know me. Besides, the D&T block was too small to miss anyone so eventually, we all made friends! They frequently stayed back after school and joined my study sessions at my favourite bench right outside my 4C classroom. Isk joined us once in a while too. A reliable source told me that he even offered to help his friends out in the D&T workshop as an excuse to steal a glance at me 😂 Anyway, since the graduating batch had freezing cold aircon classrooms, Isk borrowed me his oversized Arsenal jacket which I wore during class often. It was then when they found out that Isk and I have been in contact with each other, and although we were nothing more than just friends, they teased us - A LOT.

I guess the endless teasing kinda worked and we slowly begun developing feelings for each other. It was wonderful to have a companion, someone I felt comfortable with and someone whom I can simply share about the happenings of my day. Though it was unsaid, we both knew that we were more than just friends but never really acknowledged it. Even the rumour of us being together got to the staff room and teachers knew about it. And they too, joined in the fun. We had the same English and A Math teacher and since I was the chairperson, they made me carry stacks of worksheets to his class often 😂 They weren’t too heavy and the distance was only two classrooms away okay!

We just went with the flow and we got comfortable around each other so casual texts, eventually became intimate phone calls which involved me falling asleep 99.9% of the time. Our relationship status was clearly more than just friends, but it still remained unknown. Besides, we were too young, too carefree and too busy to really care. Since we were both in our graduating year, dating was entirely out of the question. Besides, I had a tiger mum too! 😜 Back then, the nerd that I was, never really wanted to be in a relationship till I was 20. I thought it was pretty useless to have one at such a young age since we won’t be able to get married anytime soon anyway 😂 Regardless, we remained that status hence we made it a point to revise for O’s together, had meals from the nearby 7-Eleven or at the bubble-tea shop after school but that was basically it. More often than not, it was rarely just the two of us - we were always surrounded by the company of our mutual friends which was actually enjoyable since study sessions became really fun amidst all the exam stress though I was technically the tutor!

Even up till today, he has never asked me to be his girlfriend. When people asked us how it all started, we’ll simply reply “It just happened.” There was no anniversary date so we pretty much made one up and decided that May 2010 was the month we both begun developing feelings for each other 😂 I still cringe at the word ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’, so for the past eight years, I’ve never used it. I referred him as a friend often. I guess fiancé became a more comfortable term since we are now engaged since February, but I have only two months left to call him that!

Studying for O’s, we envisioned where we would be in the near future. I was set on going to a JC and he was set on going to a Poly. We knew for sure, that we were going on separate ways, with our own personal goals for the future. We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was 🎶 But as companions, we were determined to make things work out. On the day of our O’level results, we were both really anxious. We queued at our respective classes and upon receiving our certs, we ran across the hall to look for each other in the crowd. Overall, we both fared well! I even remembered him thanking me for pushing him to study hard for O’s while walking out the school 😂 Eventually as expected, we went to separate ways as I enrolled myself into Anderson JC while he pursued chemical engineering in Singapore Poly.

Eight years passed by in the flash. Many asked us the secret to our long term relationship which never involved breakups or fights in between. For me, I’ve never believed in breaking up over a disagreement. I mean if it was a marriage, would you have asked for a divorce instead? We were young and careless, but we never fail to work things out together. I was determined that I did not need a third parent so I never had to report everything I did to him 😁 We rarely got to meet as my A’level days were such a stressful and busy period for me but when we talked over the phone, we simply casually shared the happenings of our day and constantly rant when times get tough. We always strive to be better for each other, for a comfortable future together. All in all, the key was not to act like a married couple before getting engaged or married. Lead your own life knowing that you have a companion with you and one day when the time is ripe (and when God permits), you’ll eventually be walking on the same path together.

Above a long term relationship, we were faced with a long distance one. It’s yet another chapter with a lengthy post to share, but perhaps done next time instead 😂 It was such a meaningful period for us and the best one yet thus far. After going through it, we came to a realisation that if two hearts are meant to be together, no matter how long it takes, how far they go, how tough it seems, love will bring them together to share their love forever. We came so far, Iskandar. From the wave of emotions to a comfortable silence, I can never ask for better.

The beauty of being childhood friends and high school sweethearts, was that we were able to applaud each other for every milestone we had achieved. From our O’level results, to my A’level one, to his Poly graduation, to my enrolment to uni, to his army enrolment, to the setting up of my business, to his national service parade, to my Maqayla events, to his enrolment to the overseas uni, to my expansion of business, to his graduation, to my awards, to his first job and the list is simply endless. Through thick and thin, laughters and tears, we’ll be summing up our eight-year journey on our wedding day just two months away, surrounded by people we love and people who love us. With that, with sincere hearts, please do keep us in your prayers always ❤️