#chuck the commies out

[beardedmrbean]

Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro is vying for a third term in Sunday’s presidential election after being in power for more than a decade. But weakened by economic crisis and a deteriorating security situation, Hugo Chavez's chosen successor is trailing in polls against opposition candidate Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia, who is looking to open a new chapter in Venezuela’s history. 

A quarter-century after Hugo Chavez came to power, his hand-picked successor, Nicolas Maduro, is looking to secure a third term. But a decade of economic crisis that has plunged the country into poverty – and fuelled the exodus of several million Venezuelans – is proving a difficult legacy to overcome, and Venezuela may be on the cusp of rejecting decades of state-centric Chavismo policies.  

Opposition challenger Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia, a former ambassador to Argentina and Algeria, is generating real enthusiasm, considering that his candidacy was somewhat improvised. Urrutia replaced opposition leader Maria Corina Machado on the ballot after Maduro’s Supreme Court controversially invalidated her candidacy. 

The soft-spoken grandfather is now leading in polls, and may be the opposition’s best hope yet of unseating Maduro.  

Maduro, for his part, has toughened his tone in the run-up to the vote, claiming that a victory for the opposition could plunge the country into “a fratricidal civil war provoked by fascists” and warning of a “bloodbath”.

To get a sense of what is at stake in the election and the chances for change, FRANCE 24 spoke with Fabrice Andréani, a Venezuela expert and doctoral student at Université Lumière Lyon 2, as well as co-author of a study on Venezuelan state violence.

What are the chances for an opposition victory, given that it seems to be doing well?

At this stage there seems to be a real possibility that the opposition will win, driven largely by the popularity of Maria Corina Machado. Despite the government's attempts to prevent her from campaigning, she managed to crisscross the country to support her replacement candidate, Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia, and sparked real enthusiasm – comparable to that surrounding Chavez before his first election in 1998.

We must remain cautious, however, because Maduro retains control over elections. After the opposition victory in the 2015 legislative vote, the president continued to manipulate the justice system – by deciding which parties can run but also by delaying or bringing forward elections. For now, the opposition is in a position of strength, but a last-minute move that might shift the current dynamic cannot be ruled out. 

Is Maduro at risk of defeat due to the past decade’s economic crises?

Maduro's rhetoric – in which he paints himself as protector of the people and national interests in the face of a "radical" right led by foreigners – is definitely languishing. The country suffered from the 2014 fall in oil prices, then from the embargo imposed by the United States. But the economic crisis is primarily the result of a lack of government investment in this crucial sector, which represented 80 percent of foreign exchange and 30 percent of GDP. Over the past decade, production has collapsed, falling from 2.5 million barrels of crude per day to less than 500,000 at the height of the crisis, before struggling to rise again to 1 million. 

At the same time, the illegal economy, and in particular drug trafficking, has replaced the formal economy – with the complicity of the government and the army – and the population has fallen into poverty. 

There is also a desire to reboot Venezuelan democracy; the population is well aware of Maduro's control over the political sphere. The president is officially supported by the United Socialist Party of Venezuela and 12 other parties, some of which have simply been bought or are otherwise state-controlled.

While more than 7 million Venezuelans left the country, only 100,000 were able to register to vote – something that again demonstrates an attempt to subvert the popular will.

How might the vote be affected by the security situation, which has deteriorated with the economic collapse?

The situation has rather improved in recent years, but not for the right reasons. The drop in crime and homicide in the capital is partly explained by widespread impoverishment; extortion and kidnapping have become less profitable. Some gangs have capitalised on the massive wave of migration to pivot to more lucrative activities, notably human trafficking.

Today, most homicides are due to the settling of scores or the actions of the police themselves, accounting for more than a third of the total. While he has arguably lost control of the country, Maduro pretends to fight against a lack of security by recruiting and sending poorly trained police officers to working-class neighborhoods, which has led to thousands of extrajudicial executions. 

Maduro bolstered the political influence of the army. How might the military establishment view a possible victory by the opposition?

Maduro was a former trade union leader who became Chavez's foreign minister. When he came to power, he lacked credibility in the eyes of the army, unlike Chavez himself or other possible successors who had military backgrounds. So he had to offer assurances by continuing, and even accelerating, the rise of the army in the spheres of power. If the opposition wins this election, Maduro has spoken of the risk of a "bloodbath". This risk does not come from the opposition side but rather from the powers that be. And if they continue to act against the will of the people, they expose themselves to possibly seeing a wave of massive protests that they will then have to silence.  

The army seems reluctant to face such a scenario, or at least less so than in the past, for several reasons. In 2014 and even more so in 2017, the government repressed anti-government demonstrations in an unprecedented way, painting students and young people from the working classes as violent putschists. But today, with the exodus continuing, it is women who are most often at the forefront of pro-opposition rallies – including single mothers and the elderly, who are demanding reforms so that their loved ones can come back home. This would make it that much more difficult to justify any repression of a mass popular movement.

The army's wait-and-see stance is also due to its own discontent and internal divisions. Some have seen their privileges diminish due to the economic crisis. Others, particularly the high-ranking officers, have suffered from foreign sanctions – in particular, the freezing of their assets abroad. It should also be noted that the army's support for Maduro has never been total: among the approximately 300 political prisoners in the country, half are military personnel. Everything, therefore, seems to indicate that the military is considering scenarios besides Nicolas Maduro remaining in power. 

[foxtrot-broadcasts]

Limbus Company Sinners, but it’s just all the stupid things/nicknames I like to call them/came up rn-

Might update this in the future, but don’t hold me on that

Yi Sang: Emo boy, wet beast, bird guy, crow guy, guy who needs sleep to sleep for 72 hours, sleepy guy, strangely sweet and nice, sweet fella, the most sopping wet beast in all the land, autistic creature

Faust: Fau, Faufau, Faustie, mystery lady, holder of all the secrets, mad scientist, scientist who would probably play god if she could, pale white creature

Don Quixote: Don, Don Don, Donny Boy, Donqui, happy little fella, squishable, autistic beast, adhd creature, audhd creature, gal who’s hiding so much, honorary part of the boys, friend

Ryoshu: Shu, Shushu, Ryo, Arsonist, problem child, artist who did nothing wrong, fellow artist, artist that was just feeling a bit silly, walking smoke cloud, Sinclair’s new art teacher(probably not a good thing)

Meursault: Mr.Salt, salt man, brick wall of a man, brick shithouse, dorito, reverse triangle, square man, nothing but simple shapes

Hong Lu: Lulu, Lucy, happy blue fella, pretty boy, rich boy, boy who will probably wreck me emotionally when his chapter comes, boy who is probably holding so much family trauma

Heathcliff: Heath, Heathy, cliff bar, purple, purple guy, bnuuy, bunbun, rabbit man, Peter Cottontail, romantic, secret brain cell holder, touch starved probably, unexpected favorite

Ishmael: Ishy, Ish, Fish, Fishmael, Yuri warrior, yuri supplier, fakeout brain cell holder, girl who thinks she’s the straight man (absolutely not in any sense of the word), gal who needs a 72 hour fishing trip with no issues, sea creature, buoyant, sailor, orange glob of hair and anger

Rodion/Rodya: Ro, Rody, girlie, girlfailure, fellow commie, girl who deserves to kill capitalists with axes, girl who did nothing and everything wrong, holder of so much potential and emotions

Sinclair: Sin, Sinny Boy, Clair, eclair, egg, egg boy, eggy, birdie, bird guy 2, angry chihuahua, polite man with so much rage, man who deserves to rip and tear things with his bare teeth, tired college student who doesn’t get paid enough, muffin

Outis: Oat, Oats, Oatmeal, Oatmeal Raisin, old hag (affectionate), old man (also affectionate), meemaw, Judas, strangely handsome, military gal, suck up (suspicious)

Gregor: Greg, Greggy, Greg guy, good guy, nice guy, walking smoke cloud 2, old man (still affectionate) guy that makes me sad when thinking for too long, Cappuccino Cookie, guy I would hang out and listen to, guy I would give a blanket to (when feeling nice), guy I would chuck apples at (when feeling evil)

[fatsamsgrandslamspeakeasy]

Here's a big slap in the face to all honest decent Americans, especially those who have served, or are currently serving in the US military and/or law enforcement, as well as those who perished in 9/11 and other terrorist-sponsored attacks. In Brooklyn, NY.....my native hometown..... a scumbag Muslim family living in Brighton Beach (on Brighton 5th Street) are proudly displaying the Palestinian (hawk, ptui!) flag along with a terrorist Taliban flag! At least they were called out by Councilwoman Inna Vernikov (R-Brooklyn), whose district these pieces of shit happen to habitate. Of course, the assholes who live here are claiming ignorance of the terrorist flag, not knowing what it stood for, but if you are dumb enough to believe that, I have a slightly used bridge in Brooklyn that I'd like to sell you! A great big FUCK YOU to Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, Alejandro Mayorkas, Chuck Schumer, AOC and the rest of the commie Demmunist douchebags, and all you dumb mother-fucking supporters of such, whose open border policies allowed for this kind of trash and terrorist scum to be brought to our beloved country. 🇺🇸

[muninnhuginn]

Top 5 Ace Attorney characters and why, including spin offs!!

1. Miles Edgeworth

2. Phoenix Wright

3. Mia Fey

4. Ema Skye

Couldn’t decide who to pick for 5th so just did top four.

Went slightly overboard with my reasons so I’ve chucked them below the cut.

Miles Edgeworth

I probably don’t show it too much nowadays but he is one of my all time blorbos ngl. His character arc is just so well done over the trilogy and then tied off with a bow in the Investigations games.

So, like, with Edgeworth the thing is that his dad was a defence lawyer and that one aspect plays out into the first trilogy pretty strongly. Phoenix becomes defence before of Edgeworth whilst Edgeworth is pushed into the role of prosecution because of von Karma. If not for DL-6, the trajectory of both of their lives would have been so different. And it’s not until von Karma is gone that Edgeworth is free to explore what he himself wants his role to be.

Of course, being... not the most emotionally aware or communicative he takes a long route about it (“accidentally implied I committed suicide” is an original detour, I’ll give him that :V). But as of 3-5, he’s in the position where he takes on Phoenix’s role and is therefore able to see what could have been if he had grown up to be a defence lawyer instead of being forced into prosecution. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s super important character-wise that he has that opportunity and it forces him to consider his own role as prosecution/defence. And tbh I would've been happy if they'd finished it there with him, but then we have the Investigations games which actually tie off the stuff with his dad and take him to his final decision. Even though he was initially forced into it, he is now proud to be a prosecutor. That’s the role he wants to take.

I’ve barely even said anything about DL-6 either but the first game actually does a lot of heavy lifting in terms of his character because it’s there that he takes his first step and chooses not to head down the path he was straying towards (evidence forgery, lack of belief in defence attorneys in general). Instead, he takes on the view that defence and prosecution working together will get to the complete solution and they both have to trust in each other and try their hardest to get there. But honestly, Edgeworth’s character develops in every single game pre-time skip even if it’s clearly not easy for him. And speaking of not easy for him, I really like how his fear of earthquakes is kept up throughout and never diminished. It was a refreshing treatment when I’m used to a lot of series introducing a phobia just for it to be overcome and never mentioned again.

Anyway, on top of all the stuff above, I like him because it feels like you really have to earn it as the player before he has his first breakthrough? And even once he's had that he's still fairly abrasive/arrogant/lowkey socially oblivious (which makes his interactions with characters like Gumshoe hilarious) but there’s now an understanding underlying his interactions with Phoenix. (Also, even before he mellows out it’s fun to see him going full fan about Steel Samurai)

Phoenix Wright

I know people who say player characters have no real personality because they exist to be projected onto and whilst I can see why that comes about I don’t actually find it an issue with Phoenix? Probably helps we get peeks at him from other POV characters at times, but honestly his inner monologue is just incredibly entertaining. And the disconnect between what he’s thinking (read: snarking or panicking about) vs what he actually says and does is a great source of humour tbh.

My main issue with him comes from the way that in aa4 he gets this alternate characterisation and then come aa5 that’s just... entirely wiped? I’m under the impression there was a load of rewriting/re-steering the series and aa4/5 fell victim to this, but I can’t help but feel if you’re going to overhaul a character like that you should at least try and commit to it? Carry over some more poker references or ways of acting so it doesn’t just become some bizarre aside. Show that even if Phoenix has mostly returned to “normal” that that entire saga (which in canon lasted years) has had an effect.

But like, even despite that, he’s one of my faves. He’s impulsive and doesn’t have his brain screwed on at times but once you’ve earnt his loyalty you have it for life. Mainly though, he’s hilarious.

Mia Fey

Honestly I was pretty neutral on her until aa3 and then her arc there is actually what won me over. Mia as a rookie especially was really humanising? For the first two games most of what we saw of her was this mentor figure who would guide Phoenix but mainly existed as a mentor before anything else. And then third game comes along and we get to see she bluffs it just as much as Phoenix and also she has terrible taste in men. She gets annoyed with terrible defendants (Phoenix), terrible prosecutors (Edgeworth), and just like Phoenix later on, she’s determined not to give up despite setbacks.

And I do really like her connections because that’s where her role shines. She’s Maya’s sister, she’s Phoenix’s mentor, Godot ostensibly killed to save Maya for Mia. Something something that post about haunting the narrative. That’s Mia, affecting the story long after her death. And she drags herself back into the story to get her closure, protect Maya, and pass the torch onto Phoenix. She gets the closest thing to a happy ending she can get. And then she’s gone. For real, this time.

Ema Skye

This is probably my scientist bias I cri. But she's one of the few characters you actually get to see grow up because of the age she is in the first trilogy/investigations vs second trilogy. So you can kinda compare and contrast how bubbly she is initially vs her later “done with everything” self but with the excitement still peeking through. It’s surprisingly realistic how she changes and is much better handled than Phoenix’s equivalent personality shifts imo.

I'll freely admit there are characters with much more to them but eh. Her theme is catchy, she’s a scientist, she likes chocolate fingers, I’m a simple person.

Misc

I have some characters I suspect would make this list from dgs if I could just make myself finish the games >_< (I've been stalled mid game 1 case 3 for months now). I don't want to put anyone from that there until I've finished.

Also shout out to Apollo and Maya who both have plenty of good writing behind them but just don't click as the type of personality I'm interested in :pensive:.

Bonus worst characters round: Hotti, toothbrush guy, the Badgers.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Red Scorpion (Zito, 1988)

This is probably most notable for being produced by right wing lobbyist and convicted felon Jack Abramoff, with funding from a think tank run by the South African apartheid government. So obviously this is gonna have some pretty bad politics, and in depicting the Angolan Civil War, it conveniently leaves out the fact that the anticommunist rebels are backed by the apartheid regime. This probably makes it more palatable to watch now and may have made it less offensive as propaganda back in the day, but is also kind of a pussy ass move when it comes down to it. You can compare this to The Wild Geese, which was also produced in South Africa under the apartheid regime, and that movie at least owns up to having no morals, outside of one bizarre scene in which an inveterate racist is cured of his hatred. (It's a guilty pleasure, please don't judge. Hilariously, both actors in the aforementioned scene took their roles because they expected a serious message movie about conflict in the African continent.)

The movie's staunch anticommunist viewpoint is conveyed not just through Soviet atrocities committed against the rebels, but foregrounded by the reporter played by M. Emmet Walsh. Now, if I were an American journalist imprisoned while reporting from behind enemy lines, I would likely not call my captors a bunch of Commie pigs right to their faces. I would also likely not go up to the guy in the corner of the cell who was twice my size and call him a piece of shit with zero provocation. One can admire in theory that he has the courage of his convictions, but one would also find it hard to believe that a character this incapable of keeping his yap shut managed to survive this long in a war zone. Of course, Walsh is always fun to watch, even if he rattles off his lines at a rate that suggests he was trying to wrap up filming ahead of schedule. He provides the bulk of comic relief: examples include his attempt to spread American values to Angola by blasting Little Richard during a truck chase, and the bemused reaction that meets one of his many tirades. "He is a very emotional man."

That line is delivered in perfect deadpan by Dolph Lundgren, who plays a Rambo-like Spetznaz officer who defects to the rebels out of the goodness of his heart. The movie takes a good deal of inspiration from the Rambo series, particularly the early jail and truck chase scenes pulled from First Blood, but I think the movie makes a good case for Lundgren's particular brand of low key charisma. While cast for his He-Man stature, Lundgren manages to convey some level of vulnerability and uncertainty, and often relies on the help of his allies. So there is a level of challenge for him in the proceedings, meaning that this works better as an action movie than earlier Joseph Zito efforts like Missing in Action, where Chuck Norris sneaks up without cover on Viet Cong who never bother to turn their heads, and Invasion U.S.A., with its endless scenes of innocent civilians being gunned down and Norris blowing away hordes of Cuban invaders with ease. While both stars are low key, you can see how Lundgren invites some empathy while Norris remains completely wooden in these films. And while Lundgren's physique brings to mind certain other stars from the decade, he one ups them in one respect. Arnie and Sly usually showed off only their torsos. Dolph wears cutoffs, baring his well sculpted gams for the entire third act.

This also has the kind of clean, sturdy action that seemed so common in the '80s but is much rarer now, and benefits from the appealingly harsh African desert milieu. And the cinematography by Joao Fernandes finds moments of unexpected artfulness, like the abstracted searchlight of a helicopter scanning sand dunes in pitch black night, or the shot of an incoming helicopter framed through a burning bush, or the messianic encirclement of Lundgren's character as he returns to the rebels for the climax.

[ms-boogie-man]

No… wrong

However, George Clooney is a CIA operative … true story. His aunt Rosemary also worked for in a government agency… that is how he got in and how he got his career. Clooney is a shill for commies, and I am not even finished researching this smug, arrogant, moron lib-turd.

Speaking of the CIA and the like, did you know that all these government 'alphabet' agencies are Democrat spawned and part of a fascist bureaucracy that was not approved by We the People? Did you know that these agencies are designed to never be abolished, and that positions within those agencies are intended and designed to never be removed? Did you know that Democrats went behind closed doors in DC to pass this garbage, and have bribed, coerced and blackmailed any non-complicit Dems, as well as Republicans? Are people like Ghislaine Maxwell and her lapdog, Jeffrey Epstein, beginning to make more sense now? Did you know that Ghislaine's father, Robert Maxwell, directed designing of the framework for the internet as we know it today? This was done for surveillance purposes. Using a private browser does not hide you on the net, neither does a VPN, anymore. Still like the Dems? Yes? Well, here is some more yo…

Do you think Democrats are telling you the truth and support you when they claim to support your sexuality community?? Your so-called marginalization? How much division would you like with that 'marginalization-burger'??!! How fucking gullible are you — How fucking dumb are you — *those questions are rhetorical… not actually asking *I felt the need to mention that as you believe Democrats

How divided do you want to be from your neighbors? I am a 19-century old daughter of Rome. I am of the House of the Julii Before Rome's legions ever donned a helmet, ever picked up a broad sword, ever formed a column… they went amongst those they wished to conquer and worked to divide them. Pick up an apple, squeeze it. You cannot shmoosh it, no matter how hard you try. Now remove the dagger from the scabbard on your hip, where it should always be, and cut the apple into at least 6 pieces. Now you are ready to do some shmooshing yo… no problem.

But keep listening to divisive Democrats. They were and still are slave owners, and will tell you whatever you want to hear that you will support them. And when they are finished with you, they will chuck you down the ni**er hole just like the story from Django Unchained… just like Josef Stalin did to his people, just Mao Zedong did to his people. And Che Guevara … you should hear what that left-wing monster did to gay men during his reign of terror in Cuba. Fuck him too

"But Angie, the Democrats are not left-wing or far left"

Yes, they most certainly are yo. Ever notice how many hits they keep making on our Constitution? They hate our Constitution. Our Constitution, when adhered to, makes us all equal. Period dot, the end Dems have spent the last 150 years, since signing the Act of 1871… behind closed doors in DC I might add … infringing free speech, gun rights, and the right to peace, freedom and the American way Bring up mass shootings, I have many answers for that Bring up hate speech, I have many, many answers for that Try and debate me on anythingy the Democrats ever do, and I will have a reasonable, logical and common sense answer for you

I am finished here… for now You want to put out garbage on the internet, I will speak my mind in response to it… and do not dare try to cancel or censor me in anyway, or you will have proven my point about the fascism and tyranny of the left. 1st Amendment; freedom of speech, remember —

Angie/Maddie🦇❥✝︎🇺🇸

#george clooney is caca #fauci is caca #Joe Biden always was a knuckle-dragging thug bully #start thinking for yourself

[eddswrold-fandicc]

TomTord Smut

"A-Ah, fuck, Thomas~!" Tord cried out, his hands tied behind his back.

Tom had tied him up while they were fighting, but soon saw how much it turned Tord on. So he decided to take it upon himself to make the commie go crazy.

He started off by gently teasing Tord's cock through his thin shorts. He was running his finger tips along the outline of his erection. Tom went further when he noticed Tord biting his lip.

He leaned in the crook of Tord's neck and started planting kisses up and down his skin, eventually making it to his lips. As he passionately kissed him, he grabbed and squeezed Tord's cock, causing the boy to gasp and moan in the kiss.

Tom took this as a chance to slip his tongue in and glide it within Tord's walls.

Tord groaned as he bucked his hips forward, wanting more. He was desperate for the skin to skin contact.

Tord pulled away from Tom's passionate kiss and kicked his head back, groaning in desperation.

"Tom, please," he panted, bucking his hips forward again.

"I never knew you'd be the bottom type," Tom chucked as he grinded his hand on Tord once more.

"You-You've been teasing me, and tied me up! If I were untied, you'd be the one screaming my na-oh~!"

Tord was cut off by Tom sucking his sensitive nipple. He used his hand to tweak at the other one as he pulled down Tord's shorts.

He pulled off and admired his view. A flustered Tord, leaking precum from his needy cock, looking at Tom with an embarrassment.

Tom hummed lowly as he took the length in his hand. Tord sighed in relief as he was getting what he wanted.

Tom slowly pumped his fist. Knowing Tord likes things fast and rough, he was going slow and teasing. Driving him to the edge.

He felt the smaller man squirm under his touch. He knew he was getting impatient.

Tom took his cock in his mouth, coating it with his saliva, before ever so slowly taking it to the back of his throat.

Tord moaned, sounding impatient. He tried to buck his hips forward, but Tom held him back.

"Fffffffff- Tom, please..." Tord whispered.

The top of the two took the bottom's balls in his hand, gently massaging them, as he continued to deep throat the cock in his mouth.

Tord let his head roll back as he suppressed a moan. He started to imagine the things Tom could do to him, and boy was it doing it's works.

His thoughts were stopped when he felt Tom pull off, "Do you want to cum?"

Tord looked at him, "Yes."

"Then you better start begging." Tom winked and kissed the tip of Tord's cock, making the young man shiver.

"I... fuck- Thomas... please?"

Tom raised an eyebrow as he started tonguing the head. He knew where to find the sensitivity.

Tord lightly gasped, "Fuck, Tom, please. Please make me cum! Do what you want to me, please~!"

Tord bit his lip as he waited for Tom's response, trying not to whine.

Tom was secretly loving this. He was thinking that maybe he should top more.

He slowly went down on Tord again, this time going at a fast pace. He used his tongue to play with sensitive areas, listening to Tord moan and squirm.

"Ah, shit, Tom~!"

He felt Tord tense up and his breathing hitch. He quickly pulled off and quickly jerked his cock as Tord came all over his face and chest.

Tom wanted him to see the view.

Tom pumped his fist as Tord moaned out his orgasm, rolling his hips and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Mmm, you look good like this." Tom licked up the remaining cum leaking from Tord's dick.

"I'm tired," Tord breathed.

Tom hummed in response, reaching around to untie the man. Tord rubbed his wrists, looking at Tom with tired eyes.

"Shower?"

"Shower."

[dont-bee-shy]

frypan’s beignets

submission for the glader cup 2022, day 3, frypan’s kitchen

“What’s the first thing you cooked when you arrived here?”

Frypan loves this question. Somehow, all the greenies end up asking this exact thing. Thomas is a lucky one; it’s bonfire night. He’s going to get to taste the answer instead of just hearing it.

“Here,” he tells the greenie as he hands him a large bowl filled with diamond-shaped pastries. 

Fry doesn’t really know where he remembers this recipe from. It was the first thing that came to his mind when he stepped into the kitchens of the Glade on his first day as a greenie. He told Newt right away he didn’t need to try the other jobs. This one was made for him.

“Prove it,” Newt had teased him, and that’s exactly what he did.

He was the newbie, had only been here for a day at best, but he ordered everyone around. “Grab me this” and “give me that”, always preceded by a please and followed by a thank you and a genuine smile. The kitchen turned into a small factory as all his newly-found commis chef spurred into action, diligently piling up on the table  everything they could find in the pantry.

Instinctively, Frypan knew all the ingredients and measurements. 40 grams of yeast, the one they used for the bread would do. 125 millilitres of milk to activate it. Warm it up slightly, never let it boil. 1 kilogram of flour, 120 grams of sugar, and just a pinch of salt. Eggs, too. Four in total. And butter. Don’t forget the butter, 100 grams of it. Orange blossom water, for the taste.

“We don't have any,” Newt said. “But we can put it on the list for the creators, for next time.”

For next time.

He already has the job.

Kneading the dough was a pain in the ass, though. Newt helped him and so did Jack. They put all their strength into it until their foreheads went moist from the sweat, and soon enough, Frypan’s preparation morphed into a nice smooth ball.

“Now what?” Newt asked.

"Now, we wait.”

And so, they waited. They let it rest for over an hour, and in the meantime, they cleaned the dishes, a heap of dirty pots and plates that the teenage boys were too lazy to wash up.

Frypan wouldn’t say he is pernickety about cleanliness, but listen, you can cook anything good in a dirty saucepan now, can you? So he took it on himself to save those poor teenage boys from the food poisoning that was, at that rate, luring upon them, and he cleaned.

He got so caught in his dishwashing that he didn’t even hear the voices that called after him.

“Hey, newbie!” Newt called out without causing any response. “Hey greenie?”

“Hey, you with the frying pan!” Another boy tried, unsuccessfully.

“HEY FRYPAN!” Jack shouted at him, and he turned around, a frying pan covered in dish soap in hand.

“Sorry…what?”

“The dough has risen.”

And so, they rolled the dough. They used the largest surface they had, a nice wooden table built by Gally and his men a while back. They rolled it flat, and they cut diamond shapes in it, in all sizes. Big ones for those who like to take bites, small ones for those who like to swallow it all in one go. 

They filled a large saucepan with sunflower oil and dipped handfuls of pastries after the other, let them fry for a couple minutes before taking them out, their golden crusts making all the boys in the kitchen drool in anticipation.

“Tell me you have powdered sugar at least?” Fry asked Newt.

They did, miraculously. It was Alby who came to pour the sugar, attracted by the mysterious smell that was slowly invading the whole glade. 

Nowadays, Frypan lets Chuck powder them with sugar. He says it’s snow, and it makes Frypan smile. He hopes Chuck gets to see real snow one day. 

Quickly, Frypan’s beignet became the go-to pastries of bonfire nights. Many of the happiest moments the Glade has known involved the little pastries, one way or another.

When the creators are kind enough to send them chocolate, they make it melt and dip Frypan’s beignets in it. When they aren’t that lucky, there’s always some honey to cover them in. Sometimes, Fry and Zart even get together to make some jam with whatever fruit Zart has grown, and they dip the pastries in it. It's Fry’s favourite way of eating them. 

One time, the yeast didn’t rise and the pastries fell flat, and Fry almost cried from how disappointed he was. He didn’t even bother to fry them, and kept the diamonds of dough waiting on the table. Food is so precious in the Glade. They don’t have much ressources and it keeps getting harder to feed everyone. Wasting them on doing his fancy pastries had been foolish and selfish of him, he thought in that moment. He should be cooking something more nourishing, like bread or pasta. Something useful. Not stupid beignets.

Jack didn’t agree. He took the beignets and fried them, and in the end, even if they looked a little odd and wobbly, they still tasted the same joyous taste they always did. So Jack and Fry  ate the whole batch in secret, hidden in a corner of the kitchen in the middle of the night, with chocolate and honey and jam and way too much icing sugar. Their tummies ached for a whole week after that, but the sugar high had been worth it. They had danced around the kitchen and sang improvised songs using wooden spoons as microphones, and that night, Frypan had fallen asleep happy.

It’s his mother’s recipe. He doesn’t remember her, what her name was or what she looked like, but when he bites into the pastry, he knows. it’s his mama’s recipe, and it makes him think — maybe reminds him — of streets filled with music and houses painted in bright colours, of people laughing loudly, white teeth all out to mock the world.

Frypan remembered his name after two days. Siggy.

But he never told the others. Your name is given to you by your family, and they were his family now. They had called him Frypan, so he shall be Frypan from now on. 

He thinks it’s quite fitting.

“They’re delicious,” Thomas says, his mouth full with his fourth beignet.

When the Box came up with Thomas in it, somewhere in one of the crates, there was a small bottle of orange blossom water. In Frypan’s two years of living in the Glade, two years of requesting it, the Creators had never been kind enough to send him some. He thinks, this time, someone took the trouble of making sure the Box would send him exactly what he needed. 

Frypan likes to believe in signs. He notices changes, tiny details. They always mean something. To him, the orange flavour of his beignets can only mean one thing.

Things are about to change.

Frypan’s beignets

1kg flour

120g sugar

100g butter 

40g fresh yeast

125ml milk 

4 eggs 

1tsp orange blossom water

1 pinch of salt

powder sugar 

sunflower oil

Warm the milk without letting it boil. Pour it over the yeast and wait 10 to 15 minutes.

In a separate bowl, mix the flour, the sugar and the salt. Dig a well and break the eggs one by one in it, mix after each egg. Add the butter. Pour the milk/yeast preparation over it. Add the orange blossom water. Mix and knead the dough until smooth and malleable. Let it rest for an hour and a half in a warm spot.

Flatten the dough using a rolling pin and cut diamond shapes in it. Fill up a saucepan with sunflower oil and let it boil. Fry the pastries in handfuls of five of six for a couple minutes until they go brown. Dry them with a paper towel and cover them in icing sugar. 

Frypan’s advice: change your beignets with the seasons! Replace the orange blossom water with cinnamon in the winter, with lemon juice in the summer. It’s hard enough to keep track of time in the Glade, so let your pastries be your fellow gladers’ new calendar! 

[3days-ofbread]

Heavy x Soldier hcs?

Ohohooooh.... A ship I've never heard of! Here goes--

-Heavy likes the raccoons a surprising amount. He probably pet bears up in Russia or whatever, a SMALL animal is a nice change of pace.

-okay. Hear me out. Heavy just chucking Soldier. Just a full on overhand throw. Just a full power Russian yeet. Why? Who knows. Soldier loves it and Heavy's willing.

-"this is Soldier. he has brain damage but I care for him."

-"THIS IS HEAVY AND WHILE HE A COMMIE I LOVE HIM LIKE THE CAPITALIST AMERICAN I KNOW HE REALLY IS DEEP INSIDE"

-(Heavy is not American deep inside. Russian to the core.)

(this was certainly an odd ask-- literally never heard of heavy/soldier. An interesting take, tho!)

[weepylucifer]

Ulixes looks very stern and buttoned up at first glance, and firsties are scared of him. Grades very strictly, once returned a term paper to a student with a bite taken out of it. But if you take a couple of his lectures and learn how to get him going, you can witness him go on very entertaining rants about whatever research he's currently doing or about what cretins his colleagues are (there will be graphic threats of violence against his academic enemies!). He'll casually drop in references to his husband at all times, about how great he is, mostly. He'll never drop a name, but his students can discern that this dreamboat of a husband is some kind of academic also, is a communist or researching communism, possibly fought in the Return (???), and is, according to Ulixes, the most intelligent, erudite, altruistic, talented, gorgeous, charismatic, and all around awe-inspiring person in the world. Furthermore he cooks, raises houseplants, likes poetry, stress-cleans, stargazes, doesn't like cat hair on his clothes, and talks in his sleep. Now, Ulixes will clam up when asked directly about his personal life, but his older students know how to lead him up to it organically.

Steban is the easy-going nice prof who sits on the desk and chucks the textbook in the trash on day one of the semester and whose office door is (genuinely) always open to his students. Firsties adore him, grad students pray at his altar, everyone wants him as a thesis advisor (he actually gets really overworked bc he can't bring himself to tell anyone no, so his desk is constantly flooded with everyone's theses). As beloved as he is by students, they eventually do notice that they know Nothing about his personal life. At all. He might be in a relationship. With. Someone??? But nobody has any information on that, and he always somehow laughs and deflects when asked

Eventually, some of the grad students might figure out that they're commie-married To Each Other

In a scenario where older Steban and Ulixes are both lecturers at the same university, i want them to be the classic Professor Brick Wall and Professor Overshare, and it would surprise you which is which

[gcldfanged]

@shotgun-blonde

The restaurant was converted from a building that was once an older style of housing- The type meant for poor people with run down, paper covered windows fluttering in the breeze and creaky steps. That evening, the windows were flung wide open, hinges squeaking not from airflow (which didn’t exist at all) but under the tension of old rot and humidity. Place looked like a dump, but it was sheltered, protected from the elements, and far cleaner than some of the alleyways Jae-hyo had the misfortune of camping out in during their wayward youth. Small luxuries like not waking up to the sinus-burning, acrid stench of urine were things that most normal, well-off people rarely- if ever- considered.

Waterfalls of chintzy beaded curtains tinkled in each doorway while a rather impressive (for the surroundings, anyway) aquarium cast an eerie blueish glow over the tables of chairs filled with a veritable gauntlet of old people- all lounging around and fanning themselves as they clipped their toenails and played mah jong.

The Commis was hacking away at a none too small pile of. Well, by the looks of it- Some kind of meat. That in itself wasn’t out of the realm of normal, but the irritated bob and bounce of a lit cigarette between their lips spoke otherwise.

“Jian dresses like a fat walrus covered in shit and I make more gil a week than he sees in an entire year. I don’t care what he offered you, you made a deal with me,” they enunciate with a few extra hard slams of the enormous cleaver in their hand into the juicy, oozing pile of what was starting to look less like a flesh brunoise and more like bloodied paste.

“Trying to stir up trouble now’ll just land you in jail. It’s not a good place. The food’s terrible and if I’m the one saying that, you know it’s bad.”

The chime of bells strung all over the backs of the double doors of the entryway made them turn their head, a dark brow arching when Freyja walked in with a disgustingly smug expression. That meant something was going down and as much as their suspicions disliked that, their ears were practically burning for some new gossip. Or work, whichever came first.

“Yeah, you do that! Fucking chump,” Yoon growled in parting, near chucking the PHS out the kitchen window.

A cracked porcelain plate laden with snowy pillows of flour-dusted dumplings was slid across the pass to the other agent.

“Okay, you look way too happy. Spill it.”

[rwprincess]

Room For One More: Chapter 8

Previous

Masterlist

Next (Chapter 9)

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark Reader-Insert

Word Count: 1.3K

Synopsis: It’s the day after Halloween and Tommy is missing, which should be a blessing, but what does it really mean for your group?

CW: Swearing, Child missing/missing person, hauntings

November 1st, 1968

Stella tugged on your sleeve while you were at your locker. “Meet in the auditorium, after 4th.” She whispered to you. In light of the news that Tommy Milner never made it home last night, she was calling you all together for an emergency meeting. The back of the auditorium was a good place to lay low, particularly because they were preparing for this weekend’s production of Bye Bye Birdie, so all of the attention was focused on the stage rather than the four of you lurking in the shadows of the back rows. She produced the withered book she had found in the Bellows’ basement last night from her knapsack. You and Chuck jumped back at the sight of it, but Auggie rolled his eyes, clearly over this whole situation.

“What the? Stella, why do you have that?” You asked incredulously even though you knew no answer would be good enough for you. 

“I wanted to read it. You know, her scary stories, but… a new one appeared last night.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Chuck asked, and she handed him the book, open to a page with a story titled Harold. He sat down in one of the seats and you took the one on his left while Auggie sat on his right, looking in disbelief at the dark reddish brown writing on the page. Stella dropped into a seat in the row in front of you, turning sideways and backwards to face you and Chuck as he examined the book. 

“It wasn’t there before. The writing was wet. It--it did feel like blood, thicker than ink.” 

“How could you eat that?” Auggie ignored Stella and asked Chuck, who was stress-eating some Halloween candy. “Do you know how many body parts are in there? Seven.” Chuck looked at him for a beat, still chewing, and then back to the story in his lap. Auggie turned to Stella, “I read it in a magazine.”

“Ooh. He turns into a scarecrow? Fresh twist!” Chuck wasn’t taking Stella seriously either. He clearly thought it was another one of her stories, but you’d edited enough of her work to know her handwriting and this scrawl was completely different from her own. Stella leaned forward, impressing that she was telling the truth.

“Okay, it’s not a twist.” Chuck looked up, mid-chew, and you leaned forward towards Stella together. “I told you. The story...i-it just appeared. Tommy didn’t even show up to school. It’s like he just…” She looked around shiftily, “disappeared.”

Ever-rational Auggie gave a small sigh, “Everyone knew he was eager to go shoot some Commies.” He stood up out of his seat, removing himself from the conversation mentally and physically. “Maybe he just, I don’t know. Left early?” Auggie distanced himself from you three and leaned against the wall near the door, shifting and smoothening the sleeves on his white-collared gray sweater. 

“There was that room,” Chuck began, closing the book. You knew what he meant. He had told you more about it when it was just the two of you, walking to your house after dropping off Ruth at theirs. 

“Just drop it,” Auggie suggested from behind you and Chuck rolled his eyes at the lack of support, but also shook his head as if he didn’t believe himself, even.

“No, tell me,” Stella insisted.

“In the house, when I was hiding,” Chuck slid the book back over the seats to Stella, “the room was old, I mean new, perfect. Like when they lived there.” He started gesticulating wildly and stood up, no longer able to contain his nervous energy. "And I saw this--this old lady and this dog and they were staring at me with this--” He was pacing in the aisle now, but looked up when Auggie cut him off.

“Listen to yourselves; nothing happened to us in that house except what Tommy did to us. If he’s gone? Good riddance. We should never have gone there. You should never have taken the book; we let a...ghost story get in our heads. That’s all it is.” You wanted to be reassured by his words, you really did. Auggie was usually well-informed and usually right, but it still did nothing to assuage your fears. You could tell Chuck felt the same way. He was still looking around wide-eyed and panicked, reliving his experience from last night. Auggie excused himself and darted out of the theater quickly stating he’d missed enough class as it was and that this was ridiculous. Stella stayed in her seat and kept tracing her fingers over the cover and its closed pages. You stood up, going to reassure Chuck who was still pacing in the aisle, making small movements and muttering to himself while he chewed on his thumbnail.

“Are you okay? Should we leave?” You asked him, but he shook his head. He was still processing the situation. Stella announced that she was going to leave, to go off-campus and try to find out more information...and to return the book where it belonged. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can’t go alone.”  If what Stella said was true, if the story really just appeared and Tommy was in it and now he was gone...you didn’t want to risk her disappearing, too. 

“I won’t. I’ll go home, get Ramon. I’m sure he’ll come with me.” You nodded and she slunk out of the auditorium as well.

“Chuck!” You hissed, interrupting him and his movements, “You’re starting to freak me out. Are you okay?” 

“No, look!” He put his hands on your upper arms and led you back to the seats, compelling you to sit down with him. However, he couldn’t stay still and started bouncing his knee, looking around hastily. “I know what I saw. It was real. How could I dream that? I don’t dream wide-awake, hiding in a closet, Y/N. It was real. It was bright. I saw them so clearly, and then...then they weren’t there.” He had taken his hands off you to talk with his hands, gesturing erratically. He looked at you with those dark, pleading eyes, and your fear only grew. You knew he was serious, his traumatized expression told you that he believed every word he said.

“I believe you.” You said softly, not breaking eye contact so he would know it was true, that you wholeheartedly offered your support. He nodded in acknowledgement, then continued speaking.

“If...if what Stella says is true, what if something awful happens to all of us? The old lady and the dog were real, I know it. And the way they just stared at me...I--it was like they could see into my soul. Even if they didn’t exist out of that moment. Man, I think that house really is haunted. I mean, how do you explain us getting out of a locked door with no one on the other side?” You placed what you hoped was a reassuring hand on his still-bouncing knee in an attempt to calm him, even though he was making his panic spread to you like some sort of contagious disease. He looked up, into your face and wet his dry lips. “What are we going to do?” His eyes searched yours for a plan.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll think of something. Stella said she’s going to return the book, right? If a ghost is pissed that you stole their stuff, getting it back should solve it, right?”

“I don’t think this works like it does in the movies.” He whispered fearfully to you. You didn’t want to admit that you agreed, even though his words left a shiver up your spine. 

Next (Chapter 9)

[mst3kproject]

602: Invasion USA

 This is not the 1985 movie with Chuck Norris.  I suppose I should watch that one someday as an Episode that Never Was, but for now we have this.  Its basic purpose is the same as that of Rocket Attack USA, to scare the audience into patriotic loyalty, and it shockingly manages to be even worse at it.

A bunch of people are sitting around in a bar talking about the universal draft when an unnamed country suddenly declares war on the United States, and… well, that’s it, really.  Stock footage of anti-aircraft guns fires on stock footage of planes. Stock footage of atom bombs is dropped on stock footage of cities.  Stock footage of warships crosses stock footage of oceans.  All while the so-called characters watch it happening on television and remark on how they can’t believe this is real… no wonder, since none of it is happening in the same dimension they’re in.

I refuse to call Invasion USA a movie.  It doesn’t qualify.  It’s more like four newsreels in a trench coat and a fake beard, trying to pretend they’re a narrative.  Take, for example, the part where Boulder Dam is destroyed.  We see stock footage of the planes.  We see stock footage of the dam.  We see stock footage of a mushroom cloud.  And then stock footage of a flood.  The closest this comes to interacting with the characters fleeing from it is that we see the flood footage back-projected behind their car, and then the camera rolls over and we cut to some of their possessions which have been tossed into a river.  It’s all so obviously a juxtaposition rather than a series of events.  You can’t help but roll your eyes.

The nearest this comes to being interesting or exciting is some of the stuff we see in the military stock footage.  The audience doesn’t exactly feel involved in this – it’s just film of random Things Happening so it doesn’t tell a story, except in retrospect when the TV news anchor tells us what’s supposed to be going on, but there are some spectacular plane crashes and so forth.  Of course, then you remember that none of this is special effects.  You’re watching real human beings die gruesome deaths.  That sucks the fun out of it pretty fast.

It’s not until the last twelve minutes that we get anything that might be called a special effect.  The bad guys nuke New York, and while what we see looks nothing like the aftermath of an atomic bombing, there is an actual miniature building that falls apart, dumping Styrofoam boulders on our heroes.  This is followed by a mediocre matte paining, but one that still does the job its meant to do.  It’s actually kind of a shock, since up until now the war has seemed to go on all around this room but never to enter it.

That’s one halfway-effective moment out of an entire seventy-three minutes of film, however, and the rest is all garbage. Not only is there the endless stock footage, there’s also the bad guys.  They’re never identified as Soviets, though they speak with Russian accents, because the film-makers didn’t want Invasion USA to be a self-fulfilling prophecy (thus making them more sensible than the people who made The Interview).  Much is made of the fact that they’re wearing American uniforms, but the one time they try to make a plot point out of it, a guard sees through the ruse immediately. The real reason is once again to avoid mentioning a country, and so they can use the stock footage of American soldiers to represent both sides.

The baddies espouse ideals of equality, freedom, and peace, but the only ones we actually meet are a couple of bullying, alcoholic rapists. This serves its purpose but the writers apparently see no contradiction between portraying ‘bad’ characters as drunks and having the ‘good’ characters sitting around drinking for half the run time.  I guess whether alcohol is good or bad depends on how nicely you’re dressed and what shape of glass you’re drinking it from. Not to mention that the psychic who can be seen as a bully and a rapist based on what he does to the other characters’ minds, but I’ll get back to that.

How long the whole war takes to happen I have no idea.  A few days must have passed, since a guy drives from San Francisco to somewhere in Arizona, and somebody makes a reference to ‘months’, but the way we keep cutting back to the same people in the same bar gives the impression that the invasion of America happens in about twenty minutes.  Maybe this is intentional, since the story, of course, ends with the revelation that it was alllll a dreeeeeeam.  Or maybe everybody was just too incompetent to show us time passing.

The ending attempts to work on multiple levels and is shit on all of them.  First, there’s the ending to the narrative we’ve been watching.  This isn’t really a story, since there’s no plot as such, merely things happening that the characters cannot possibly do anything about. They’re powerless in the face of these overwhelming events, and once the factory owner is shot after refusing to build tanks for the invaders, it doesn’t take the audience long to realize that this fate will be pretty universal.  Sure enough! The rancher is drowned when the flood from the broken dam sweeps him away, along with his wife and kids to make it extra-tragic.  The politician is killed in the attack on Washington.  The reporter is shot for picking a fight with a bad guy, and his girlfriend leaps out the window to her death.

Then of course they wake up back in the bar, and learn that it was all a dream, or rather a vision, instilled in their minds by a psychic who hypnotized them with swirling whiskey!  I’m inclined to be slightly more forgiving of this than I normally would be, since it was sort of set up and at this point there’s really nowhere else to go.  It’s still an obnoxious way to end a story and there’s a reason your high school English teacher told you not to do it.  Some dialogue establishes they all had the same vision, and then the psychic informs them that this is what the future will be if they don’t take steps to avoid it.

Uh, excuse me, what?  Nothing we’ve just seen suggests that any of these five people were in a particular position to save the world.  They can do small things – the woman goes to get a job at the blood bank, the factory owner decides to make tank parts instead of tractors, and so on (are tractors not important?  Call me a commie but I’d rather my tax money be spent on feeding people than on blowing them up).  But none of this will prevent the invasion we saw and could only make the slightest of differences in its outcome.  Are the five of them somehow crucial in a way the narrative didn’t bother to make clear?

Of course, that’s not actually the point here.  The real moral of the story is that we all need to do what we can to grease the wheels of the war machine, or we’re gonna end up calling each other Comrade.  So… what was the psychic’s goal, here?  Did he just decide to scare the pants off these people because he was annoyed by their opinions about the draft?  Or is he going from bar to bar, instilling this vision of the future in every person he meets one at a time?  And of course we have only his word for it that it is the future. The bartender does call him a con man, and for all we know he made the whole thing up.

What about the woman and the reporter, who saw themselves falling in love and then being tragically separated?  They didn’t consent to that.  The illusion of the relationship, with all its emotional, psychological, and sexual consequences, was forced upon them by an outside influence.  They decide to use this second chance to pursue it in a situation where it might not end in tragedy, but who’s to say it’ll work without that background?  They would have every right to object to this violation of their minds… as would the others, who saw their families die and their homes destroyed.

The final shot gives us a quote from George Washington: to prepare for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace.  I don’t know if Washington ever said that but if he did he stole it.  Si vis pacem, para bellum is a Latin adage, first attested in Vegetius, although versions also appear in Plato and Sima Qian.  It’s as old as humanity, and attributing it to Washington is just one more attempt to tug on the patriotic heartstrings.  Of course, if you consider the Romans, the Athenians, and the ancient Chinese… yep, this is something said by empire builders.

You know what movies like this have taught me?  That propaganda film-making is really hard.  If you want to deliver a message without annoying the audience then it has to emerge naturally from the story being told, rather than being imposed upon it like, say, the save-the-oceans message in Gamera vs Zigra. Then the story also has to make sense outside of that message, it has to feel like it would be worth telling even if the moral weren’t attached – Pacific Rim has a moral about working together, but it’s also just enjoyable to watch.  Invasion USA is not like that.  It exists only to shove its message down our throats and it isn’t even any good at it.  Fuck this stock footage montage pretending to be a movie.

[chucksnerdthoughts]

Thoughts on, “Alien Commies from the Future!” (Agents of Shield)

Wow! I did a complete 180 on this season. I went from not caring about any of this, to completely loving it! This episode completely renewed my excitement! 

1. I do want to real quick point out that when they hear the radio ad for a new 1955 car, Daisy says that they’re in 1955. Car models are always the next year. So they’re actually in 1954. Its just a little thing and its really not important, but it still stood out to me. 

2. But I loved the 1955 setting. That opening was incredible! I miss stargazing in truck beds. 

3. Simmons pretending to be Peggy was great! I wish it wasn’t spoiled on their official Instagram, but it happens. It was still wonderful! And then having Sousa show up and call her out was perfect. It was just really nice to see him. Its been awhile. I’m really excited to see what they do with him.

4. I loved the emotions test. That was hilarious! The Blade Runner turtle on its back story was the best one!

5. I really did hate the racist guy they kidnapped but it was all worth it when they convinced him he was kidnapped by aliens. That was legit satisfying. 

Last thing I want to say is that Simmons is so adorable! Really I love everyone in these period costumes. But Simmons really stands out. I mean, I do love her the most, so there is a bias. But still!!

-Chuck

[wwoww-au]

Wizards Aren’t Witches

A week had gone by since Dark had healed enough to get back to work, and they were itching to get back on the case. Thankfully, an old document recently found had given a lead as to where Warfstache was: a small town in northern England, 1620. They rubbed at the faded bruises on their wrists as they sped through the halls of Crime Department headquarters, nimbly avoiding obstacles. They stopped when they reached an unassuming door adorned with a shining gold plaque, a simple image of an hourglass carved into it. They took a deep breath and opened the door.

They had been in the room what felt like a thousand times before, the place where Time wizards opened portals for WC employees to jump through history. The room was large and circular, with a high vaulted ceiling that seemingly went on for miles. Various clocks, hourglasses, watches, and sundials of all kinds hung from the walls, each displaying a different time. The muted sounds of ticking and chimes echoed off the marble floors. To the right of the door stood a faded couch next to an old wooden wardrobe, always filled with clothing appropriate to whatever period they would be travelling to. Across the room stood a man in a blue suit and hat, checking the time on an ornate gold pocket watch. They recognized him as Jameson Jackson, or JJ as he liked to be called, one of the Committee’s go-to Time cores for jobs like this.

Dark cleared their throat to get Jameson’s attention. “I’m sorry I’m late,” they said bluntly.

“Don’t be. According to me you’re right on time, and I’m sure to someone else you’re early.” He closed the watch and tucked it into his pockets with a leisurely smile. He was normally a very quiet man, but when he did speak he always said the strangest things. Typical for a Time wizard.

“Can we just get this over with?” Dark tapped their foot impatiently. As eager as they were to get on the case, they hated this part. Time travel wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience, leaving anyone not naturally Time cored with a feeling of discomfort and slight nausea. Jameson gave a simple nod, and pointed towards the wardrobe. He opened his mouth to speak before Dark interrupted. “For the last time, I’m not changing into some silly costume. I look fine.” They tugged at their trenchcoat as they stepped towards the center of the room.

Jameson stood opposite of him. Eyes closed, he held his hands out in front of him, dark blue energy radiating off the fingertips. A small ring of blue and gold sparks formed in the very center of the room, slowly growing in size until it was a few feet in diameter. The clocks on the walls began to change the shown time, moving backwards at various speeds and stopping at 4:31. The marble tile of the floor faded away and became a small drop to a patch of dirt covered in dead leaves and twigs. The clocks began to chime in unison, the sound reverberating off of every surface in the room as more and more joined in. Jameson kept his eyes shut, anything to keep him from breaking his concentration.

Dark called out across the portal, raising their voice to be heard over the cacophony of bells and chimes. “I’ll send you a communication when I need extraction.” The gripped their cane as if to brace for impact, and hopped into the portal.

As soon as they were through, the ring closed and the floor returned to normal. Jameson’s eyes snapped open and he fell forward onto his knees, the fatigue of using all that energy to open a time portal hitting him all at once. The clocks stopped their incessant chiming, falling back to their dull, rhythmic ticking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Time marched on.

.

.

.

Dark landed roughly on the leaf covered floor, stumbling and placing a hand on a nearby tree until the time-travel dizziness went away. They glanced up to see a few gold and blue sparks fizzle out of existence. As soon as their stomach settled, they took a look around at their surroundings.

They were in a lightly forested wood, surrounded by tall thin beech trees. The ground was covered in a mushy mixture of mulchy leaves and dirty snow, soaking the ground underfoot. It was very cold, and they could see their breath billowing in the air. As the dizziness subsided they spotted some faint smoke off in the distance- probably coming from a settlement of some kind. It would be best if they could avoid civilization for as long as possible. They’d learned it was inconvenient to mess with the locals, especially ones as finicky about magic as those in this time period.

The first thing they had to do was locate Wilford. This was usually pretty easy, as he preferred to be near loud parties, and if there weren’t any he would start one. They didn’t expect him to be too hard to find, but as they looked around they couldn’t see any signs of a party. The woods were quiet aside from the occasional bird call, and they couldn’t see anything that screamed “time travelling madman”.

That is, until the serene stillness of the forest was interrupted by a blaring boombox falling from the sky a mere foot in front of them. They jumped back, frantically looking up to see a dissipating spiral of gold sparks and pink bubbles, similar to the portal they just came through. They rushed forward and turned off the boombox, hoping that no one from the nearby town heard it.

“Ah, you found my music! Now I can start getting the rest of the party together!” a familiar voice called behind them. They whipped around to see Wilford trotting out from behind one of the trees, a dopey smile on his face and a few dead leaves stuck in his wild pink hair. Dark gained their composure and pointed an accusing finger at the man before them.

“Wilford Warfstache, you’re under arrest for stealing the Time Wand from the Wizard Commi-” they firmly stated with utmost confidence before getting interrupted by the criminal shushing them.

“Boring… just like the rest of this drab time period. Let’s talk about that later. Now is the time for a party.” He pulled the ancient wand from the holster on his belt. He waved it with a flick of his wrist, producing a small bubbly portal next to his hand and pulling out a martini glass full of a fizzing green liquid.

“That is one of the most important artifacts to wizardkind, will you stop waving it around like it’s a toy!” Dark said as loud as they could, letting their anger build up into a ball of red and blue magic forming around their clenched fist. “You’re coming with me, thief!” They raised their fist and launched the spell at the criminal, only for Wilford to take a nonchalant step to the side. The magic flew passed him and burned a hole in the tree a few feet behind him instead. Wilford turned to look at the smoldering tree.

“Good job with that one, you almost hit me that time!” He smiled and turned around, giving them a thumbs up.

“God DAMN IT!” Dark yelled in frustration, ignoring the pain yelling caused their throat. They knew they couldn’t waste anymore time trying to use magic they could barely control, so they picked up a rock instead. They chucked it at Wilford as hard as they could; in response the madman flicked the wand in his hand, opening another small portal in front of him. Dark barely had enough time to react when the other end appeared behind them, the rock beaning them in the back of the head.

Wilford began to space out as the other started screaming a string of obscenities at him. This felt familiar. He would end up in some new place, a new time, left with nothing to do but wander around looking for something that would clear the fog that clouded his mind. Nothing but a blur of abstract shapes and colors that almost became clear, but as soon as he reached out to touch them, they vanished. The only constant was the one person who always came back to try to put an end to the fun.

He stared at the ground for a moment, forgetting his train of thought completely as a small, blue beetle scurried across his shoe. He smiled at it, little things like this always cheered him up when he got lost in unpleasant memories, or lack thereof. “Hello there, little friend,” he cooed, bending down to pick up the beetle and holding it up to get a better look at the blue shine of its shell. He smiled, and tucked it into his pocket. “What was I doing? Ah yes, a party.”

Dark quit their frustrated yelling as soon he spoke again. “No!” they shouted. They stomped forward, trying to snatch the wand out of Will’s nimble hands. “Hand over that wand right now!”

Wilford held it above his head, just out of reach of the short detective. “But I still need it, the fun is only just beginning!” he giggled, twirling his wand to open yet another portal, this time resulting in several large multicolored streamers to rain down onto Dark’s head, leaving them momentarily stunned. Wilford leaned his arm on their shoulder as they tried to tear off the streamers, but they shoved him away violently and backed up.

“Enough of this nonsense, thief! Hand over the wand or I’ll-”

“Witch!”

The two wizards turned to face a young girl, pointing at them with a fearful and accusatory look. The town must have been closer than they’d thought. A couple more townsfolk stood behind her, mumbling and looking at the odd pair with frightened stares. Dark took a cautious step away, but Wilford stayed put.

“No, no, no, there’s been a misunderstanding!” Wilford said, pocketing the wand. “We’re not witches, we’re wizards. There’s a difference you see…”

“You’re not helping,” Dark spoke through gritted teeth, eyes darting between the small mob of angry townspeople that had gathered in front of them. They muttered amongst each other, and Dark was just barely able to pick up words like “witch” and “the devil”. Wilford turned to face the worried detective, confident smile never wavering.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll talk us out of this. Everything will be just fine.”

.

.

.

“Everything will be just fine,” Dark said in a sarcastic tone, struggling against the ropes that bound them to the stake, back to back with Wilford. The town had had a stake set up already for a previously scheduled burning, but had decided that the “devil and the witch” were more important targets. Wilford had tried to explain to them that he knew Satan and that he was neither of them, which only caused a shudder to run up Dark’s spine and did not help their situation at all.

“Well I thought they’d be more reasonable!” Wilford huffed. “Turns out there’s just no reasoning with people in Halloween costumes.” The criminal made no effort to get loose from the bonds. Dark continued their struggle, pulling at the ropes as hard as they could. At the very least they still had their cane with them, lying at their feet to burn with them.

“Can you please focus?! Can’t you open a portal and get us out of here?!” Dark exclaimed, panic growing as the town’s judge began to list off the charges.

“I can’t,” Wilford said, unphased by the growing severity of the situation.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“What- you just summoned all that party crap back there!”

“It’s different. People portals are different than thing portals. I need more time to be able to open another one.”

“I hate that that makes sense…” Dark thrashed against the ropes, their struggle only getting more frantic as a few townsfolk near the front of the crowd began lighting torches.

“…and shall burn for their crimes,” finished the judge. He hadn’t been reading from an actual list, as they hadn’t taken the time to make one, but instead he’d been reading excerpts from the Bible and adding in some connecting wording of his own.

“Come on, hurry it up!” Dark hissed. They’d gotten their bindings loose just enough to try and unknot them, but there wouldn’t be enough time and they wouldn’t be able to simply run past the mob surrounding them.

“No need to be so impatient, work on getting these stupid bindings off first. Not that I’m not into it, but they’re so restrictive,” Warfstache said calmly while attempting to take a sip from the martini in his hands. He couldn’t quite reach it due to the ropes hindering his movement, and one of the more brave townsfolk snatched it out of his hand and smashed it onto the pire before jumping back. Wilford’s face fell in shock. “Hey, I was using that!”

They were out of time, the townsfolk bearing torches marched forward, lighting the pyre. The flames quickly grew, spreading closer to the two wizards. Dark’s breathing picked up as they peddled their feet, trying to move away from the  encroaching flames.

“No!” they screamed. A shockwave of energy flew out around them, knocking a few of the surrounding townsfolk back. They felt the ropes fall from their around them. They looked at their hands in shock, seeing a dissolving red mist fading around their fingertips.

“This has been a fun party, but you took my drink so we’re going to get going now!” Wilford shouted to the angry crowd. He grabbed Dark by the arm and lifted the wand, a firm smile on his face. “Time to go!” With a flick of his wrist, a portal opened below them.

Dark landed on the snowy forest floor with a dull thud, head spinning from the sudden teleportation. They only had a brief moment to rest before half of the stake they were just tied to fell through the portal. They rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging the heavy piece of wood as it crashed to the ground just before the portal closed. They stood up on shaking legs, brushing the dirt and ash off of their coat and quickly snatching up their cane where it had landed undamaged.

Wilford appeared next to them sporting a goofy smile, as if he hadn’t just made an escape from a fiery death. “Not my best escape, but that was fun! Hey, what was that thing you did back there? Normally you suck at magic!”

Dark shot him a dirty look. “Your coat is on fire.”

Wilford glanced down, unphased by the small flame gathering at the bottom of his trenchcoat. “Huh, it seems it is.”

Dark opened their mouth to retort, but was silenced by the growing volume of distant shouts. Through the trees, the could see a few far off figures, angry townsfolk who must have figured they’d escaped into the forest. They rustled around in their pockets, but it seemed they had lost their standard issue magic handcuffs in the scuffle, which would be a problem when Warfstache tried to escape. “Come on,” they grumbled. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Well, yeah,” Wilford scoffed. “We are still in the woods.”

“That’s not what I-  whatever.” Not about to lose him now, they grabbed Wilford by the back of his coat. Dragging the thief behind them, they hurried as fast as they could deeper into the forest. It was a difficult to go very fast since Will refused to move faster than a walk, but they kept their fist clamped in place and soldiered onwards.

They could hear the people behind them. It sounded like they had sent out search parties, which meant they didn’t have very long.

“Ooh, search parties! Gosh, I just love me a party! A shame they don’t have any silvery light balls,” Wilford mused.

“Yeah yeah, just stay right there and don’t you dare move,” Dark ordered, letting go of Wilford temporarily. They needed to focus to get the spell right, and their window of escape was closing fast.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wilford said, already walking in a circle.

Dark shot him a dirty look before turning their concentration elsewhere. They pushed back one of the sleeves of their trench coat to reveal the old silver watch they wore. Holding their other hand over it, they recalled the special communicator spell Jameson had taught them when they first started travelling through time. They gritted their teeth as the face of the watch started to flash between hues of red and blue, finally settling on a dark shade of blue.

“JJ, I need extraction right now. There was a run in with some of the locals, they’re hostile. I have Warfstache with me- hey! I told you not to move!” They took their eyes off the glowing watch to see Wilford slowly making his way away from them. “Open the portal to 6:42.”

With those final words, the light flickered away. Dark exhaled, unaware they had been holding their breath.

“Well that was anticlimactic. I was expecting something, you know, more exciting, instead of just a simple communication spell. I’m disappointed in you, Dark.” Wilford gave a little “tut tut” and shook his head, patting the top of Dark’s hair in a sort of classic disappointed father way. Dark reeled back and slapped his hand away, glaring at him in frustrated anger. They could hear the townspeople growing closer.

Dark heard the muffled sound of dozens upon dozens of clocks chiming all at once just before a blue and gold portal opened up a few feet away. They straightened up, sliding their sleeve back over their wristwatch before turning to face the criminal.

“Alright, Warfstache, go through the portal now, and no funny business,” Dark said, using their cane to gesture him towards it. They were so tense, they could feel their body shaking. They were this close to finally bringing in the criminal they’d been hunting for forever now. This close.

“Aww, what’s the fun in that? But alright, if you insist!” And before they could blink, Warfstache had fallen through a bubbly portal that closed up behind him.

Dark stood there, stunned, for approximately two seconds before letting out an ear shattering scream.

“FUUUUUUCKKKK!!! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!!!” they shouted, grabbing a rock and throwing it against a tree in anger.They had him! They had him right there and he just slipped through their fingers! They continued to yell obscenities as they stomped through the portal and back into JJ’s office. “FUCK,” they yelled again as they collapsed into the pile of pillows on the faded couch, voice quickly devolving into a coughing fit.

Jameson simply looked on in quiet understanding. This had happened so many times he could barely keep track. Every week or so they would go out to catch Warfstache, only to return more frustrated than the last time. With every passing day their hopes of catching the criminal dwindled. Soon Dark’s coughing subsided and they rose from the couch, clearing their throat.

“I’ll go make my report to Abe, tell him I lost him again. I’ll be back as soon as I find another lead,” they grumbled hoarsely. And with that, they turned on their heel and left the room, coat trailing behind them. Even after all this time, they were still determined to find Warfstache. They would not rest until they brought him to justice, no matter how long it took.

[emmabodt]

Mission Success: Chapter 18

Brother! Brother! Wake up, Brother!"

Bertholdt groggily blinked open his green eyes to see another pair staring down at him. Mae was sitting on her knees on his stomach, giggling. When she saw he was awake, she started giggling even more.

"You sleep funny, Brother! What are you doing with your head on the floor and your feet in the air?!"

Bertholdt blinked at her before realizing that he was laying on the couch, his feet resting on top of it while his head was on the floor, his arms eagle spread.

"I was wondering the same thing," said a gravelly voice. Bertholdt looked in front of him to see his father watching him with an amused cocked eyebrow-upside down. Bertholdt chucked half heartedly.

"I don't know... It just happens. You can ask Reiner to tell you all about how he wakes up with my foot in his face, if you want."

His old man chuckled." I most certainly will. Anyway, you should get out of that bizarre position and get to the table. Your mother made breakfast."

Bertholdt smiled as he easily sat up, pulling his legs down to the floor, letting Mae fall back into the couch cushions as she giggled. When he finished righting himself, Mae wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and started bouncing on the couch.

"Will you carry me, Brother? Please!?"

Henry smiled at the two of them as Bertholdt hoisted his little sister onto his shoulders, making sure her head wouldn't hit the ceiling. It was good to have his son home again.

Bertholdt carefully carried his sister to the table just as his mother began to set out the food. Seeing them put a smile on her face as she placed a tray of quiche in the middle of the table.

"Good morning, Bertholdt. How did you sleep?"

Bertholdt grinned as he gently put his sister in a chair." I slept really well, despite my...unique pose," he said, eyeing the quiche. It had bacon, peppers, and onions- just the way he liked it.

Janette chuckled as she went to a nearby cabinet and pulled out plates.

"Yes, I did notice that earlier. Seems like your late night wiggling evolved into something greater," she said, putting the plates in front of them. Bertholdt shook his head as he plopped a piece of the quiche on his plate.

"Yeah...Sometimes people liked to see if my positions could predict the weather."

Mae tilted her head a little as their mother put some quiche in front of her." You know what the weather is?"

"Well, no, not really. It was just a game people liked to play. Certain poses mean different things," said Bertholdt, digging into his food. It was perfect.

"What would today's weather be, then?" his mother asked, passing him a coffee and Mae milk. Bertholdt took a sip before answering.

"If I remember correctly...upside down means clouds, and eagle spread is sunny....so maybe it will be partly cloudy?... Usually everyone was wrong."

His mother giggled and shook her head, sitting down to enjoy her own breakfast.

.................................................................................................................

About half an hour later, Bertholdt stood in the foyer, giving his parents hugs. Mae was hanging tightly to one of his legs as he pulled on his coat. As much as Bertholdt wanted to stay, he knew he had to meet up with Reiner and get back to H.Q. before noon. His family didn't want to him to leave either.

"When is your next off day?" Janette asked, fussing with the buttons on his coat.

"Uh... I don't know. I'll have to ask Commander Magath when I get  back," said Bertholdt, absently mussing up his sister's hair.

"Well, next time you come home, we'll go hunting. It's been too long since we've gone to the hills," said Henry. Bertholdt smiled and nodded.

"Then I'll be able to bag my own deer. See you soon," he said turning around to face the door. Mae clutched onto his pants with an iron grip.

"Don't go, Brother. Don't go away again," she whimpered, looking up at him with tears in her small green eyes. Bertholdt blinked before giving her a soft smile.

"Don't worry, Mae. I won't be gone for long this time. I promise."

Big green eyes blinked sadly at him as he looked down at his sister. Mae looked like she was going to cry.

"Come on, Mae, Bertholdt has to go to work. He'll be back soon," Janette coaxed, kneeling to pry the little girl off his leg.

The green eyed giant looked down at Mae, an idea in his head." Mother? Could Mae walk with me? We're only going to the square, and I'll have Gabi walk her back."

Janette blinked." How do you know that Gabi is coming?"

Bertholdt smiled." Because Reiner is like her big brother, and she will probably stick to his heel the whole time he's home."

Henry chuckled." I don't doubt that. Mae can go with you. It'll be good for her to meet Reiner and Gabi."

"Yay!" Mae squealed and jumped up, releasing her brother's leg and tugging on his hand.

" Brother! Can I ride on your shoulders!? Please?"

"Of course," said Bertholdt, easily lifting her and placing her on his shoulders. When he was sure that Mae wouldn't fall off, he turned to his parents.

"Bye..."

"We'll see you soon, hopefully," said Janette.

Henry smiled." Keep up your good work, Bertholdt. That way we can go hunting more often."

Bertholdt smiled." I will, Father. Take care." Then he practically scooted out the door on his knees, much to his parents amusement.

..........................................................................................................

"Ughhh....Reiner, where is he? Isn't he supposed to be here by now?" Gabi whined, leaning against the fountain. Next to her stood Reiner, who was eagerly looking for his really tall friend.

"I don't know. Bertl isn't this late unless he's being held up. We'll wait another ten minutes, then I guess I'll have to walk alone."

Gabi pouted." I could walk with you to the gate."

Reiner shook his head." Nope. Sorry, Gabs, I promised your parents I wouldn't take you any farther than the fountain."

Gabi grouched at the ground in front of her, mumbling things she probably shouldn't be saying, when a familiar voice called out.

"Reiner! And Gabi! Sorry I'm late," said Bertholdt as he approached the two. Gabi immediately popped up and stood on the fountain edge.

" There you are!"

Reiner gave him a smile." It's about time you- what the hell?!"

Reiner found himself staring at two pairs of green eyes-Bertholdt's familiar orbs, and...a tiny little pair on his head. The tiny pair blinked at him before hiding themselves in his friend's black hair. Bertholdt noticed his friend's baffled expression and smiled.

"Oh, right...Mae? Want to meet my friend and his cousin?"

There was a tiny pause before an even tinier voice whispered," Yeah..."

Two little arms that Reiner somehow missed unwound themselves from Bertholdt as he carefully lifted a little person off his shoulders and placed them on the ground. It was a little girl, and she was the spitting image of a tiny, girly Bertholdt.

"Mae, this is Reiner. He's my best friend. And that girl is his cousin, Gabi."

The little girl blinked up at Reiner before dashing around and hiding behind Bertholdt, who rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Mae is a little shy..."

Reiner blinked." She is the spitting image of you. What is she exactly?..."

Bertholdt's smile got a little bigger." She's my little sister."

Reiner was pretty sure his jaw hit the cobblestone below his feet." She's your little sister!?"

Bertholdt nodded as Mae stuck her head out to observe the blonde giant talking to her big Brother.

"Yeah... You could say I was pleasantly surprised when I got home," said Bertholdt. Reiner nodded and smiled before bending his knees, dropping to Mae's eye level.

"Hi, Mae. I'm Reiner," he said, holding out his hand. Mae looked at it for a minute before stretching out a tiny hand from between the legs she was hiding behind. Reiner gently shook it and looked up at Bertholdt.

"She's shy, just like you, and just plain cute. You are really lucky, Bertl."

"Hey! I'm cute too, you know!" Gabi whined good naturedly. Mae swiveled her head to Gabi and watched with owlish eyes as the girl walked up to her and held out her own hand.

"I'm Gabi, your new best friend."

Mae blinked before gently taking Gabi's hand and giving it a gentle shake." We're friends now?..."

"Yep. Best friends. Cause, you know, Reiner is your brother's best friend, so I'm gonna be yours. Sounds good, right?"

Mae tilted her head, thinking about it before nodding." Okay. Brother, Gabi is my new best friend."

Bertholdt blinked at the two girls before meeting Reiner's eyes." Well...that escalated quickly."

Reiner chuckled." Alright girls, we big boys need to get going. We'll see you again soon."

"Gabi! Will you walk Mae home? Ple-" Bertholdt didn't get to finish his sentence.

"Sure! Bye guys! Come back soon," Gabi yelled, waving her hand at them. Mae also waved, moving her fingers more than her hand. Bertholdt waved back, trying to walk forward and look back at the same time. When the crowd of people took them from his sight, he rushed forward to catch up with Reiner, who was grinning.

"I can't believe it. My best friend is a brother. I'm so proud of you, Bertl."

"Thanks, Reiner." Bertholdt fiddled with his hair." She waited for me to come home. She even opened the door for me when I got home."

Reiner chuckled." Mae's adorable. She's like a mini version of you! When I first saw you, I thought you had grown another pair of eyes."

Bertholdt laughed." That explains the 'what the hell?!' bit."

Reiner laughed and smacked him on the back." So, now that we've been here a week and have visited home... When do you think we start training again?"

Bertholdt visibly deflated with a groan." I don't wanna know."

............................................................................................................................

"You're late."

Porco was scowling at them as they climbed the stairs to H.Q.. Well, mostly scowling at Reiner.

"Sorry. The gatekeepers held us up." Reiner easily brushed past the brooding bronze haired man with Bertholdt on his heels." Why were you-"

"Magath called a meeting with all the Warriors. Something about an upcoming experiment," said Porco, not letting him finish." He needs us there as soon as possible. And I was sent to be your welcome committee. Yay." Porco pulled up to the boys, putting the green eyed giant between him and Reiner. Bertholdt could practically feel the tension between the Warriors. Sure, Reiner felt guilty about Marcel's death, but he could only handle so much of Porco's abrasive sarcasm.

"An upcoming experiment?" he asked, hoping to diffuse the tension a little. Porco looked up at him with an indifferent expression.

"I don't really know...but it has something to do with Titan inheritance, and that freckled girl-her name was Ymir, right?"

Bertholdt hummed, thinking deeply about this new information. Reiner crossed his arms.

"Titan inheritance? What about it?"

Porco sighed." Something about changing how it's done. I think she thinks she figured out a way to change it."

"She?" Reiner was confused. Porco just rolled his eyes.

"You'll see if you shut your mouth and follow me," he said pushing ahead of the tall boys and leading them up a staircase. He lead them through various hallways and through a couple staircases before leading them through one final door. In this room was a large, lavish table with seven chairs around it. Those chairs held Zeke, Magath, Pieck, and a woman that looked familiar to Bertholdt and Reiner.

"I've brought the slackers. Let's get this over with." Porco immediately went and slumped into the chair next to Pieck.

The woman stood and smiled at the still standing boys. She had quite a pretty smile, and when she stood, her long, loose dirty blonde hair moved with her.

"Hello, Reiner, Bertholdt. It's been a while since we last met. I'm Sienna Alchuwitz," she said, inclining her head in greeting.

Bertholdt and Reiner both stared at her for a minute before a light went off in Bertl's head.

"Oh! You're Zeke's girl!" A moment of silence grew heavy as the giant began to sweat.

"S-Sorry! I always saw you two hanging out together so I always assumed you were friends and Zeke didn't really have any girl friends, you know like friend girl friend, so I just always called you Zeke's girl-"

"Bertholdt! Please, it's okay! I know, you're not the first to call me that!" Sienna was clutching her stomach as she erupted into laughter, her grey eyes sparkling with mirth. Zeke was also chuckling.

"Yes, Sienna is a good, old friend of mine from when we were in the Program. Now, she is one of the best researchers at the T.B.R.A.. And please, sit down. We have a lot to discuss."

"Right," said Sienna, clearing her throat and sitting down, Reiner and Bertholdt quickly following her.

"Now that we're all here, it's time I told you all about a certain experiment I've been wanting to test out," Sienna began, folding her hands neatly on the table." I think I may have found a way to change the way Eldians inherit the Nine Titans."

Around the table, heads nodded silently, telling her to go on.

"The usual way to inherit a Titan is to be turned into one and eat their predecessor after their thirteenth years is over. However, I had a thought." Sienna stood up and walked around to Zeke's chair.

"It came to me when I was extracting some of this hairy monkey's spinal fluid," she said, circling her fingers around his nape. Zeke grumbled a little about being called a monkey as she continued.

"If I can pull the fluid out of the Titan...why couldn't I pull the Titan out of the human? Whenever I pull the fluid out of Zeke, I barely enter the spine, just enough to pull the goods out. What if I went deeper and pulled the Titan power out as well?" She poked Zeke one last time before walking back to her chair and sitting down in her previous position.

"It has been confirmed that the power itself lies in the fluid of the spine, and therefore the power is also a fluid that clumps in the spine after ingestion, much like oil and water after you mix them. If we were able to pull out that power, we would be able to save the predecessor and spare the inheritor any trauma from turning into a man eating monster. Any questions?"

"I've got one...how do you know the predecessor won't die?" Reiner asked. Sienna bit her lip.

"Well...we don't. It's a guess. I mean, the power has to be sheltered in something, and it kills it's host after thirteen years, much like a parasite. So if we take out the parasite, we should be able live, right?"

Reiner nodded slowly." That's makes sense..."

Bertholdt sat up a bit straighter." How do you know the Titan is clumped together in one spot in our spines?"

Sienna smiled." The Titan power that the Nine possess is...alive. How else would a little bit of fluid remember the lives of the hosts who sheltered it? And all living beings will protect themselves, so the power would surround itself with the spinal fluid like a cushiony shield."

Magath hummed, nodding his head." So a Titan power is a parasite living off an Eldian, giving the holder certain powers to keep it alive. I do not envy you guys. That sounds like hell."

"No kidding," Reiner grimaced.

Porco cocked an eyebrow at the muddy haired scientist.

"Let me get this straight; you wanna stick a needle in Ymir's neck, pull out the Jaw, and inject it into me. Am I wrong?"

Sienna smiled cheekily at him." Nope. You are correct, Porco."

"How do you know that I won't die when you shove the needle in my neck?"

"Don't worry, Pock. You wouldn't die. Think about it; the Titan is a parasitic life form. The moment it gets inside your spine, it will take any and all precautions to keep you and itself alive. In other words, it won't let you die."

Sienna snapped her fingers." That's exactly right, Pieck. As expected of a girl with a good head on her shoulders."

Pieck smiled as Porco stared down at his feet with a huff. Zeke, who had been deep in thought, looked at Sienna.

"So... All those years ago...our ancestor Ymir...made a parasite-like being that gave her subjects the ability to turn into a Titan...only to be killed off by the power."

Sienna coyly put a finger on her lips." Yep. And I might've found the way to keep our Warriors alive until they grow old. You know, have a life. Just picture it; let's say after Porco and Pieck get their Titans removed after their thirteen years...then they move in together..."

"OI! What the hell are you talking about, woman!?"

Sienna busted out in giggles, leaving Zeke to continue embarrassing the hopeless boy.

"Yes... They would move in together...in a nice house full of couches, books, and house plants...and maybe a cat."

Poor Porco was getting redder by the the second as everyone around the table, Pieck included, started to laugh.

"Hey! Knock it off! It isn't-"

"And about two years down the line...OOP! There will be a little baby with red hair and blue eyes!" Sienna cackled.

"Wait! They aren't going to get married first?!" Reiner asked, his head hidden in his arms as he tried to laugh quietly. Porco stood up and huffed out of the room with a loud," YOU ARE ALL SHITHEADS, YOU KNOW THAT?!"

Pieck followed him soon after, leaving everyone in the room breathless with laughter with a smile on her face.

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Word Count: 2972

It is out! My dear readers, I have finished this chapter!

The wonderful Sienna Alchuwitz, top T.B.R.A. researcher, was created by @DianaZhg225 on Wattpad! All credit for this wonderful character goes to her!

Next Chapter: Reiner and Bertholdt give the news to Ymir, Krista, and Eren.