#i mean let's be clear here no president is gonna attempt to be progressive ever again within my lifetime

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[lovemesomerafael]

Destroying The Planet To Save It   Chapter 16:  Subtle Is For Amateurs

                             Chapters 1-15          Read It On AO3

Sometime during the afternoon, several additional team members arrived at Stark Tower.  The whole team hadn’t assembled, however. Thor, for one, was completely occupied fighting for the survival of Asgard.  He had been briefly interested in the fact that the enemy appeared to be able to control weather, asking with affronted ire, “Who dares to usurp my throne as God of Thunder!”, only to instantly deflate and lose interest when he learned that the phenomena weren’t natural.  Dr. Strange hadn’t even taken Steve’s call, instead assigning a functionary to apologize profusely (and to lie entirely unconvincingly), saying that Dr. Strange was currently off-world.   Nobody, including Tony, currently knew where Rhodey was.  And for whatever reason, Tony wouldn’t even hear of calling on Peter Parker.  Steve wasn’t entirely disappointed; that kid really needed to learn to shut up during a fight.  

Bucky wasn’t surprised to see Clint Barton come bounding into the training room with Wanda Maximoff walking sedately behind him.

“Barnes, quit aiming that rubber gun at her.  I want to introduce Joss to Wanda.”

Bucky was surprised, as always, by how young Wanda was.  Given her abilities and accomplishments, he didn’t really think of her as a kid, but that’s what she was.  This time, though, she seemed to have a little more… self-assurance than she’d had the last time Bucky had seen her.  Her time away from the team, alone with Vision, was apparently good for her.

“You know this idiot,” Clint said, pulling Wanda past Bucky as she breathed a hurried, “Hi” to him.

“This is Joss.  This is who I wanted you to meet.  Well, actually, I wanted her to meet you.  She’s just learning to use her ability.”

Wanda smiled at Joss.  “He says you’re telekinetic?”

Joss flushed a little, clearly uncomfortable. “Nothing like you.  I’m just a – I can move stuff, that’s it.  And only what I’d be able to move physically.  I hear you throw trucks.”

“Only when necessary,” Wanda chuckled.  

“Actually, Joss can do more than just move stuff,” Bucky added.  “You guys wanna see something?”

Clint and Wanda stepped together, curiosity evident in their expressions.  

Bucky took a stance a few feet from them, while Joss walked about ten feet across the room, then turned to face him.  He held the rubber AR-15 up, as though aiming it at her.  For a few moments, nothing happened.  Then, suddenly, the weapon twisted itself out of Bucky’s grip and flew to Joss, who caught it.  

“Awesome!”  Clint cried.

“He was barely holding it,” Joss said, returning to the group.  “We’re still working on that move.”

Bucky clapped Joss on the shoulder.  “But we’ll get there.”

Seemingly apropos of nothing, Joss looked at Wanda and said, “I can���t aim.”

“I remember that,” Wanda responded, apparently understanding completely.  “There’s a trick to it.”  

Joss smiled, encouraged, and Wanda turned to Bucky and Clint.  “How about you guys give us some time to get to know each other?”

Bucky and Clint looked at one another, surprised and a little disappointed, but didn’t argue.  Shuffling out of the gym, they climbed the stairs to the residences side by side.

“Looks like you guys made some good progress today.”

“Yeah, more than I would’ve guessed,” Bucky agreed. “She’s a good student, which surprises me.   I kinda expected her to fight me.  She really hates being a mutant.”

“Can’t say I blame her.  Lotta assholes out there.”

Bucky sighed in response, opening the door from the stairway to the elevator lobby for Clint.

“So, I got some weird vibes from you two this morning.  Something happen?”

“Not like what happened with you and Natasha,” Bucky responded, smirking.

“Who says anything happened with me and Tasha?”

“Yeah, right.”

Clint’s smile lit his whole body.  “I’m in love, bro.”

“That ain’t new.”

“No, but she wants to give it a real try. She’s ready now, and it’s…”  Clint could only smile more widely (a little idiotically, Bucky thought, but he let it go), and make a vague gesture that ended with his hand over his heart.  

“Happy for you, dude.  Both of you.  Maybe tell her to watch it with the teeth, if you’re trying to be subtle about it,” Bucky grinned, pointing to a large bruise with a definite bite mark in it where Clint’s neck and shoulder met.  

“Fuck that,” Clint laughed.  “Subtle is for amateurs.”

Bucky passed through the lounge area and into the kitchen.  He briefly greeted Scott Lang, who was standing hunched over in the open doors of the large refrigerator, peering into the back.  When it became clear he wasn’t going to move, Bucky reached around him for a bottle of water.  He held it up to Clint, who nodded from where he’d sprawled out on a couch.

Bucky grabbed another bottle and, re-crossing the room, handed it to Clint.  “Better hydrate,” he said.  “Between you and Natasha, I’m thinkin’ we’re not talking tame or infrequent.”

“You’d be right about that,” Clint answered, toasting Bucky cockily with the bottle before taking a drink.  “But you didn’t answer my question.  What’s up with you and Joss?”

Bucky frowned.  “She hates me.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious from the way she can’t take her eyes off you.”

“Whatever.  Not gonna happen, so…”

“I don’t get it.  And if you’re not gonna go for it with her, then…”

“Do you have any idea how many ways Natasha knows to kill you?”

“Hah!  You’re jealous.  So spill. Dr. Hawkeye is in.  Vat seems to be ze problem?”  He asked, with the worst attempt at a German accent ever.

“Ze problem is that we’re – you know, the team – we’re in magazines and shit.  And she says all of this,” he gestured around, “is, and I’m quoting here, above her pay grade.”

A look of genuine concern came over Clint’s handsome features.  “Yeah. I can see that.”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that stuff, you know that.”

“’Course I do.  But look at it from her perspective.  What if you were still Bucky from Brooklyn, and you got a shot with some movie babe?  They had movies back then, didn’t they?  Electricity? Light?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky grinned.

“Well?  You’re such a cocky fucker, maybe it wouldn’t be a problem for you.  But, I mean, everything we do is news of one kind of another.  Either we’re savin’ the world, or blowing shit up, or takin’ out some nest of bad guys. And you?  You’re so disgustingly handsome, you’re news when you fucking breathe. You could have hot and cold running babes, if you wanted.  I never seen you take advantage of that, but you could.  A lot of normal people are intimidated by all that.  We’re…  You’re… a lot, dude.”

“She hangs out with the damn President!  You’re tellin’ me he’s not news?”

“He’s her job.  You’re talking about her life. Her heart.  Whole different thing, man.”

“Well, since I seem to be stuck with you assholes, and this face, I guess that’s that.”

“Not necessarily.  Give her time.  She’s only been around this shit for, what, like a week?”

Bucky grunted, slouched in the big, soft chair. For a while, they drank their water in silence before Scott, empty-handed despite his extended fridge recon, came and sat with them.  After that, conversation turned to other topics, although Bucky was still mulling over what Clint had said.

*****

Steve spent much of the day stewing.  There simply wasn’t much for him to do when the work was all in the hands of those more competent to perform it.  Once there was an enemy, a force to stop, Steve would be in his element.  But right now, there was little he could do.  

With that thought came a familiar, immense, monstrous weight.  Steve took a huge breath through his nose and let it out as slowly and steadily as he possibly could.  Sometimes that helped.  Not today. He glanced across the table at Sharon, who was scowling at a series of printouts, translations of the notes Clint and Natasha had found in the underground bunker in Washington, D.C. Her beautiful face, usually so serenely confident and sunny, now looked as troubled and exhausted as he felt.  

Steve stood, using every ounce of energy he could to appear nonchalant as he scooted his chair back from the table and strode from the conference room.  He tried to be quiet as he pushed open the door to the stairwell, then set off to run the ten floors to the roof.  

Exercise usually soothed him, gave him a focus and an outlet for whatever he happened to be feeling.   In fact, that morning, he’d channeled quite a bit of his anxiety over whatever Jarman Arias – or whoever – was up to, into a punishing upper-body workout with weights, followed by an hour with the punching bag.  Well, punching bags.  He’d gone through two.  Even Bucky had laughingly commented that he was unusually enthusiastic about their sparring.  When Steve had told him why, Bucky had simply shrugged, grinned, and retaken his defensive stance.

“Then bring it, punk.  You can take it out on me.  Just don’t expect me to go easy on you, either.”  

When he arrived on the roof, Steve was barely breathing hard, and felt only the slightest dampness at his hairline. Still, the fresh air, and the wind this high up above the city, were refreshing.  He stretched his arms as far over his head as he could, face up toward the sun, breathing in the outdoor air.  The roar of the city was soothing in a way he felt no need to explain to himself.

He put his hands on the railing surrounding the roof and looked out over Manhattan.  So many people.  So many people in the boroughs hidden from sight in the hazy air obscuring the horizon. So many people in other cities, across the country, across the oceans, around the globe.  And he was responsible for all of them.  He looked down to see the endless line of people hurrying along the sidewalk below, minds focused on their own errands, their own problems and cares, secure in the knowledge that they were safe from invasion or attack, because Captain America was on the job.  Well, guess what, Citizens of Earth?  Captain America needed a fucking vacation.  

To his annoyance, Steve heard the door from the stairway open and close, and steps scuffing along the rough, pebbly surface of the roof.  He sighed deeply and turned his head as whoever it was approached, and was shocked to see Phil Coulson, Director of the new S.H.I.E.L.D., standing next to him.  Coulson reached into the jacket of his ubiquitous navy blue suit and pulled out the last thing Steve would have expected: a pack of cigarettes.  

“You’re kidding,” Steve grinned in amused surprise.

Coulson merely shook out a cigarette and handed Steve the pack.  

“I don’t smoke,” Steve said.

“You were in the Army in World War II,” Coulson replied around the cigarette he was lighting.  “You smoke.”

Steve surprised himself by shaking a cigarette out and trading the pack for Coulson’s expensive-looking monogrammed silver lighter. “Nice,” Steve muttered as he flicked the flame to life.

“It’s supermagnetic if you know how to activate the switch.  It’ll attract and stop a bullet.  Hurts like a motherfucker and leaves a perfectly rectangular bruise, but you know. Beats getting shot.”

Steve nodded.  “Guess you’ve had to use it?”

Coulson shrugged and let out a stream of smoke. “Some parts of my job suck.”

“Yeah.  Same.”

“That’s what I came early to talk to you about, actually.”

“Oh?”  Steve asked as they stood shoulder to shoulder, smoking and looking out over the city.  

“You look like shit, Rogers.  You sound like shit.  Carter tells me you sleep like shit.”

Steve shook his head disgustedly.  “Shoulda known you’d have her reporting back to you on me.”

Coulson’s mirthless guffaw surprised Steve.  “You think even I could get her to do that? But I can read between the lines, and I’m very observant.  I also notice you’re not denying it.”

“No,” Steve sighed.  “I’m not denying it.”

Coulson nodded and they smoked in silence for a while before he asked, “Do you know how many employees S.H.I.E.L.D. has?”

“No.”

Coulson blinked.  “OK, actually, neither do I, but it’s a lot.  A whole building full, in fact, not to mention all the ones out in the field.  There are a whole team of avengers, in addition to a number of other members of your team. My point is, you’re not exactly a sole proprietor, Captain Rogers.”

“Never said I was.”

“Really.  Huh. Must’ve misheard you, then.” Coulson crushed out the butt of his cigarette and turned to go back inside the building.

“What about you?”  Steve called to him.

He stopped and turned around.  “What about me?”

“How do you sleep?”

“I sleep like a baby.  You know why?  Because I know I can’t save the world on my own.  So I don’t worry about trying.  I recruit the best people I can find, and I make sure they stay clean and loyal.  Rumor has it I’m somewhat of a dick about that. A rumor I started, by the way.”  

“What’s your point?”

“What’s my point?  I should think that’s rather obvious.  Either you trust your team, in which case you’re wasting valuable energy worrying, or you don’t, in which case you need a new team.  This idea you have that you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders?  It’s bunk. And it’s destroying you.”  

Again, Coulson turned around and headed for the stairway down into the Tower.  He stopped just as he reached the door.  “Oh, and one more thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Figure things out with Stark.  You need each other.  You balance each other out.  This break with him, it’s part of the reason you’re in trouble.”

With that, Director Coulson went through the door, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts, staring out over the city from the roof of Stark Tower.

*****

Sam had thought Anita was special from the moment he laid eyes on her during an operation to rescue a group of physicists who’d been kidnapped by a would-be supervillain.  She had a swagger about her, earned through several years of increasingly more difficult missions.  Of course, she was also beautiful, with her long, black hair and almond-shaped, deep brown eyes fringed by ridiculously long lashes.  More attractive even than her looks was the sense of adventure that bubbled just beneath the surface.  

Today, he was learning quite a bit more about her. Their work at Arias’s villa had proven her to be clever and fearless, but the analysis she’d done of the records from Arias’s bunker was even more impressive.  She’d taken about fifteen minutes to crack the code in which the records were written. Once she explained how it worked, it was obvious that it had taken some serious brainpower to figure it out at all, let alone so quickly.  Of course, it helped that she was a native Spanish speaker, so there was no added difficulty from the fact that the records were in Spanish.  But that didn’t at all diminish the difficulty of what she’d done, and she’d done it seemingly effortlessly.

She had spent the afternoon scouring the records for every mention of something referred to simply as the “resource.”  The more she’d worked on it, the more convinced she had become that this “resource,” whatever it was, was the missing link between the energy-creating machines and the destructive phenomena they caused.  All afternoon, she had typed furiously on her laptop, taking notes and systematically developing and exploring theories in a systematic way that finally resulted in a series of ranked hypotheses about what the “resource” might be.  

Whatever it was, it was consumed in the process of creating one of the phenomena.  Which changed the analysis considerably.  Vision had been almost comically animated when she’d delivered her work product to him.  Vision would be testing it against all the scientific data the team had gathered.  

They still had over an hour left before the team dinner.

“So, what would you like to do with that hour?” Sam asked, trying his best not to look wolfish.  Because he felt wolfish.  

“Actually, I have a great idea,” she answered, and she looked unabashedly wolfish.

Sam gave her a suggestive, crooked smile.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Stark says there’s a firing range.”

Firing range.  Not what Sam was hoping for.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, there is.  It’s on the lowest level of the building, below the underground garage.  You want me to take you there?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Like everything else at Stark Tower, the firing range was state of the art.  Sam was curious to see what Anita could do.  He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were required to be able to handle multiple types of firearms, and pass stringent quarterly skills testing, but he wanted to watch Anita firing her weapon.  He was attracted to talent and skill, and something about the athletic way she moved, and the way he’d seen her she handle her sidearm, suggested that he was going to enjoy this.  

He had no idea.

Sam’s Steyr SPPs were semiautomatic only, he couldn’t very well use them for target practice.  For that, he used his Beretta 92FS Inox. He’d noticed that Anita wore a H & K P30, which he had some thoughts about, but wasn’t about to voice them.  Not unless she asked.  

He helped her get fitted out with ear and eye protection, and showed her to a firing lane.

“Is it messed up that I think you look hot as hell right this minute?”  He asked, grinning mischeviously.

“Probably.  But I gotta tell you, I’m struggling with my baser urges right now, too.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “You tryin’ to get me all worked up, throw off my aim?”

“How’s it workin’?” Anita smirked.

Sam just shook his head and took his place in the adjacent lane.

Anita smoked him. Absolutely smoked him.  Sam was a pretty good shot, but it wasn’t even close. Being competitive, he was initially determined to beat her, then grew tense as she consistently shot exactly what she was aiming at, regardless of distance or complicating factors they threw in. Sam did pretty well when they did a “turn and fire”, because he was always having to aim on the move.  But regardless of what they named as the target – center mass, any quadrant, any point level – that’s where Anita sent a bullet.  After a while, Sam got over being competitive and just settled into being very, very impressed.

Which, in turn, resulted in Sam becoming very, very turned on.  He was immensely grateful that Friday was willing to lock the doors and turn off monitoring when he asked.  It really would have been awkward to have someone come in while he was behind Anita in her shooting booth, thrusting into her while occasionally glancing up at the target she’d last used.

 *****

Bruce was a little amused by Catherine’s reaction to Vision.  She was absolutely fascinated by him.  From the time he’d entered Bruce’s lab, she had been asking him an endless list of increasingly detailed and – in Bruce’s mind - intrusive questions.  Vision, however, didn’t seem to object.  In fact, Bruce thought, he seemed to be as intrigued by himself as Catherine was.  

Beyond his amusement, though, Catherine’s intense curiosity enchanted Bruce.  The enthusiastic glow in her startling green eyes, the heightened color in her cheeks, had Bruce as enthralled with Catherine as she was with Vision.  More than that, her questions were brilliant, and displayed her ability to follow Vision’s explanations of some pretty damned esoteric concepts, and extrapolate from them.  Catherine’s genius had always excited Bruce.  For at least an hour, while he tried to pretend he wasn’t hanging on every word of their conversation, Tony was the only one getting any work done.  

“Yeah, OK, show and tell is over,” Tony finally announced, when he noticed.  “Let’s get some damn science-ing done here, all right?  Vision, what we need from you is an analysis of what the missing link could be between these machines and the phenomena.  How’s the energy being directed?”

Vision nodded and stepped to a worktable where he pulled up his own display and began to work through materials at a pace too fast for any of the humans to even follow the screens as he scrolled through them. Bruce quickly stopped trying; it was giving him motion sickness.  

Instead, he watched Catherine.  Her demeanor since they’d reached the lab this morning had been entirely professional, entirely collegial.  Even at lunch, which they should probably have eaten in the lab for all the attention they paid to anyone else at the table, she had her head together with him and Tony discussing their near-complete assessment of the machines, the energy, and the phenomena.  Her manner toward Bruce was identical to the way she spoke to Tony.  Since breakfast, there’d been no hint in her behavior that she and Bruce had spent the large majority of the previous night fucking each other senseless.  

He realized he was half-hard and didn’t need the deep ache in his balls to tell him he’d been that way for most of the day. No surprise there; the last woman he’d been with had been Catherine.  He couldn’t blame the poor, starved little guy for wanting more of the first real sex he’d had in over two years.  And what sex it had been.  He really needed to stop replaying and replaying moments from the night before in his head; it was not helping his current condition.  He could still taste her.  Her cries of love as she came still echoed in his head.  

If it had just been sex, if he was following his own rules, he would probably have found an excuse to pull her away from the lab long enough to pin her against a wall somewhere, or maybe lay her across a desk. Yeah, he really needed to stop thinking about that.  The thing was, he wasn’t following his own rules.  He replayed her voice telling him she loved him much more often than he replayed her shouting in ecstasy, or growling filthy instructions and praise in his ear. He felt, over and over again, the warm thrill that had filled his chest as he reached for her and she melted into him, murmuring his name in her sleep.  

Two hours later, when evening was falling and it was almost time to the assembled team for dinner, Bruce noticed Catherine hanging back as Tony and Vision left his lab, heads together talking about something even Bruce couldn’t follow.  He was shocked to see her sitting on her tall stool, looking at him as though he was made of the Belgian chocolate she couldn’t get enough of.  Irresistibly drawn to her as if by some compulsion she was consciously exerting on him, he began to move slowly, tentatively, toward her, stepping faster as he got closer and saw the need in her eyes.  

She slid her hands up his upper arms as he embraced her, spreading her thighs and pulling him in so their bodies were pressed together.  A surge of something powerful hit Bruce when he felt her hook her feet around his calves, like she used to do when they’d worked together at Oxford.  

It was weeks later that Bruce understood this was the moment he lost the battle.  All he knew at the time was that he needed Catherine’s mouth under his, her arms and legs holding him, like he needed air.  More, because he paid no attention to trying to breathe; all he cared about was the way her lips felt on his and the sweet, coffee-tinged taste of her mouth.  He didn’t even know he was rubbing his cock against her through their clothes, because he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and they were both mumbling I love you’s into each other’s mouths, and it was so good and so necessary and so stupendously, irresistibly right that he refused to consider ever leaving this moment, even to come. Which, as it turned out, he didn’t.

She came first, surprising the hell out of him in his blissed-out, love-drunk state.  But when she did, he was stunned to realize that he was right there with her. So he simply kept on thrusting against her, kisses so wide-open and invasive there was saliva coating his chin, until he, too, climaxed with a hissed rush of barely-comprehensible endearments.  

Having taken the edge off with that first orgasm, they were able to take a bit of care with one another’s clothing once he led her by the hand to the oversized couch to one side of the lab.  Bruce thought, in an indecent corner of his mind, of the other times he’d had sex on this couch – alone and driven by pent-up need – and felt a tremor go through him when he considered that he would be able to look back at this moment at such times in the future, and maybe feel just a bit less lonely.  

Once he had Catherine completely nude, he pulled her down on his lap and wrapped her in his arms.  

“I’ve been hard for you all day.  You have no idea…”

“Like hell I don’t – I was getting ready to knock you down and bonk you on the floor.”

Bruce laughed breathily as he lifted Catherine by her hips and she reached for his cock, positioning them so that he slid easily into her, hot and slick.  They cried out together with the long-delayed feeling they’d both been craving all day. Bruce had just enough mental capacity left to remember to call out to Friday, asking her to lock the door and stop monitoring his lab.  

They were gloriously entwined, Catherine lying on the couch with Bruce above her, both sweaty and oversensitive, but still going, when Friday politely interrupted.

“Excuse me, doctors, but I’ve been asked to inform you that you are late for the team dinner.”

Bruce and Catherine both groaned in protest.  

“The boss says to tell you that, quote, he will turn on the monitors and project whatever they see in your lab onto the dining room wall in five minutes, and that you should act accordingly.”

“Right wanker, isn’t he?”  Catherine muttered.  

“When Pepper’s out of town?”  Bruce answered.  “Always.”

[snacc-noir]

Kim Week, Day 2: Hero/Villain

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

(This is a continuation to my random-as story ‘Oblivious’ on Ao3, where basically Alix has a tantrum to Max and Kim about Marinette and Adrien not dating, so Kim suggests they try to set them up being quote: ‘shipping superheroes’. I had no idea what else to do for this prompt so here)

Three pints of ginger beer from the Kubdel’s pantry, a shambolically filled-up notebook of ideas and two exhausted teens lying on a pile of skater gear later and Alix and Kim were finished their game plan.

Unlike Alya and Marinette’s complicated ‘Operation: Secret Garden’-type schemes to make ‘Adrinette’ happen, the pair opted for creating a plan most defiantly quick and easy—that they were sure was going to work by the end of the day—as both had had enough viewing of slow-burn to last them a lifetime.

“Our class is going to love us,” Kim during his sleepy drowse murmured to the wearied pile before him. After discussing few ideas at Max’s the previous day, their scheming expanded into a sleepover (with zero sleeping) at Alix’s. “I told you this ‘shipping-superheroes’ idea was a good one.”

Her half-lidded eyes blinked up at him behind pink tuffs. “I still think the ‘superhero’ thing is a weird a title.”

The hoarseness whirring in her voice was so clear Kim would’ve mocked her about it if not his own voice were identical. “It’s the biggest ‘heroic’ thing we’ll ever do for our class, so let me have this.��

Alix closed her eyes and hummed in response.

…

The pair were so beat the following Monday morning that the commotion of the latest akuma attack was a mere buzz in their ears.

Kim only caught something about, ‘Gabriel akumatized again’, ‘Carapace, Queen Bee and Rena Rouge joining’, ‘LB and Chat leaving halfway to come back blushing messes’, and that the battle was ‘really long’.

At least whatever happened during the disastrous battle wasn’t going to affect their success in setting up Marinette and Adrien.

“You’re on phase one, remember?”

Alix couldn’t care less about yesterday’s kerfuffle if it distracted her from her task at hand. She’d waited enough months taking part in pointless operations that she wasn’t going to allow one bigger-than-normal akuma delay her plan, especially when her eyes fell like falling out from exhaust and arteries to burst from ginger beer over-consumption.

“Um, yeah.” Kim peered around the classroom to see Adrien slumped in his desk and without his usual bright smile. Only Alya was seated behind him. “I don’t think Marinette’s arrived yet, though.”

Alix planted her fists in the curves of her waist and glared at the class president’s vacant desk. “I’m astonished.”

“Do you think I should wait a bit, too? Adrien looks sorta out of it.”

She shot him a look that said her answer enough for him. “I’m not waiting any longer for the oblivious punks to make-out. Phase one happens as soon as Marinette walks through that door.”

Kim turned to scrutinise the entryway. Ivan and Mylène were sauntering in wearing smiles as they exchanged pleasantries with animated hand gestures.

“And if she doesn’t come until during homeroom?”

“Then do it as we’re walking to our next class.”

He nodded and moved off the stairs to take his place, as she did the same. Max was already performing calculations at his desk and didn’t address the pair in his usual form. Instead, he sighed as the two instantaneously began confirming details about their scheme again the moment they sat down.

“Are you two still doing the Marinette and Adrien plan? Or was the probability of success too low for you to proceed?”

Alix leant her weight on the wall behind to stare hopelessly at the door Marinette had yet to stumble through during her mad flap. “We’re still doing it. And we’re sure it’s gonna work.”

Kim drew out his tablet and slid it on his desk. “We figured out the phases and stuff last night. We’re going straight for the homerun instead of gradually easing them to get together, since there’s been enough time for that. By the end of today, our mission as shipping superheroes will be complete!”

Alix pulled a face. “Superhero thing’s still weird.”

“Certain, huh?” Max pushed his glasses up with a forefinger, smirking sideways at Kim. “You’re sure your need of force will have the appropriate impact you want it to have on their relationship?”

“Well, yeah—”

Kim cut himself off when hearing a, “Gah!” holler from nearby. He searched for the noise and was delighted to see the notorious sight of Marinette tripping headfirst through the doorway, only to catch herself in an odd position at the last minute.

He didn’t need Alix to tell him what to do next.

Whilst Kim ambled down the classroom’s staircase—attempting to do so as nonchalant as ever—he failed to see the way Marinette took one glance in Adrien’s direction and turned into a blue-headed fire hydrant, nor did he see how the model quickly resembled the same after his sight caught her.

When he headed to initiate phase one, he didn’t expect to see two furiously blushing teens in front of him.

Though the surprise wasn’t great enough to cloud Alix’s whispers of, “Go.”

“Whoops!” Kim blurted as he frantically stumbled away from Marinette—the same Marinette who he had just shoved bumped on his way down the stairs, leaving her ‘unfortunately’ in the lap of a wide-eyed and pink as a pig Adrien Agreste.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette.” He pressed a hand on his heart and looked at her earnestly for good measure. Alix’s wide grin behind him was almost palpable to sense. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Her awkward smile stretched beyond her crimson cheeks and her pupils were still frazzled. “Uh—um, it’s—it’s okay, Kim. I’m sure you didn’t mean it.”

Then, as if she’d just realised her position, Marinette gasped and flipping leapt off of paralysed Adrien and faced him with one of the most mortified expressions he’d ever seen.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry Cha—Adrien! Adrien. The model. Yeah. That’s you!” She took a deep breath but it didn’t calm her. “I’m, uh—” It was only right to say she squeaked halfway through her sentence and bolted past him to her seat, while all Adrien could do was turn himself to stare stupidly at the front of the classroom.

Kim and Alix shared a victorious thumbs up across the room.

…

Phase two, in their opinion, went even better.

After a mad race of downing their food before even reaching their lunch table and finding their assigned idiot to corner, the pair had gained information only the class’s girls could dream of having.

When Kim discovered Adrien tossing a popper in the trash during a mission to ask him about Marinette and his love life, he did not expect a bottle of emotions to be flooded out to him during an extemporaneous therapy session.

“I love her—I really do love her,” Adrien had blabbered on, raking a hand through his blond tresses as they sat in the corner of the cafeteria, “but I know she doesn’t love me.”

Kim could’ve sworn he heard Adrien mutter, “anymore…” under his breath a second later.

Alix’s situation went likewise, and she reported that Marinette almost said the exact same thing during their private talk under the stairs, confirming their un-doubtful suspicions that good-old mutual pinning was involved in their set-up plan.

During excited bubbles of laughter after the story exchange, they declared ‘phase three’ to commence.

…

Phase three was the last and furthermost challenging aspect of their scheme. The risks of getting detention or even loss of friends, they decided, were totally worth it for the high chance of progression in Marinette and Adrien’s intimacy levels.

The girls in the class had spent hours constructing plans to set the two up on dates that always ended up in failure. Kim and Alix studied the approaches and realised its failure was because of A: spontaneous akumas. B: the time it would’ve taken Adrien to figure out it wasn’t a ‘friend date’. And C: how both teens had the sovereignty to flee the set-up scene whenever they wanted.

Hence why forcing Adrien and Marinette to be together without a chance to escape was to be the most successful idea.

In other words, locking them in empty room was the mission’s clincher.

…

“I cannot believe you just did that.”

Kim wiped his hands on his sweatpants to remove the imaginary lint, only glimpsing up to give Alix a smirk. “You better believe it. It was your idea anyway.”

“My one-hundred-percent joking idea.” She shot a nervous look to the boiler room’s door, barricaded with excessive amounts of stolen desks and chairs.

She could only hope her and Kim’s crouched place in the corner of the vacant hall was enough of a hiding spot for Adrien and Marinette not to hear their conversing. “How long are we giving them? The guilt’s eating me already.”

Kim rolled his eyes and shuffled up next to her. “There’s plenty of space in the boiler for them to sit twenty meters apart. It’s not like we went for the closet idea.”

Alix wondered if the closet idea would’ve even been easier. Luring Marinette to the boiler (‘Oh, I accidently left my spray cans there. Can you please get them while I help Kim with this thing?’) to leave her wandering on a wild goose-chase for invisible paint cans was difficult enough, but getting Adrien to stay there—Alix was surprised he even bought Kim’s, ‘You wanna meet up in the boiler to talk more about your Marinette situation and stuff? Just a warning; the door sticks. But I’ll come anyway if that happens.’

When they heard gasps of names inside the boiler after Adrien had stumbled in, Kim moved the desks to obstruct the door.

Alix hugged her knees. “That’s ‘cause our school doesn’t have a closet.”

“Whatever.” He tipped his head back to lean against the dim-lit wall. “Either they’re emotionally confessing to each other, trying to find a way to break the door, or making-out.” He slipped her a sidelong grin. “See? Nothing to feel guilty over.”

Her features pressed into a frown as she salvaged her phone from her shorts pocket. “You’re lucky Max prohibited me to punch you.” The illumination of her screen was a contrast to the dusky hall-light they’d been enduring for three minutes. She noticed she’d received two messages. “Nate’s in the art room for our free period. Everyone’s wondering where the art desks are.”

They simultaneously looked at the blockage items securing the boiler door’s lock.

“Um…” Kim trailed. “Say you and I are going for a hunt for them.”

“On it.”

…

Ten or so minutes past before Kim and Alix returned the desk and chairs to their original places, claiming they found them in the woodwork room (everyone bought it). The former revisited the boiler alone and burst out apologies to Adrien (‘Alix was helping me with this thing so I couldn’t come in time—by the way Marinette, she found her cans.’) to which Adrien responded positively; beaming at Kim with a ‘no worries’ and tightening his grip on Marinette’s hand as she discreetly wiped away—were those tears?

At Kim’s offer to continue talking about the Marinette problem, he was more than elated to hear the response: “We’ve worked it all out”.

Alix was more than elated too.

…

“So they’re totally together? Like together, together?” Alix practically squealed in question, trying to no avail to stifle her excitement as she bounced up and down on the school’s entry steps.

Kim stood with arms akimbo, smiling down at her. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “Operation: Shipping superheroes was a success.”

She halted her bouncing to shoot him a look. “You know, for someone who as an akumatized villain had the aim of destroying love, I find it quite ironic you claim to be a ‘set-up superhero’ for Marinette and Adrien.”

He frowned. “I couldn’t help it; Hawkmoth’s fault. Besides, I was a villain tearing apart Ladybug and Chat Noir. Now, I’m a hero setting up Marinette and Adrien—different position, completely different people.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

He grinned and leant downward (goodness how she hated that) to be closer to her eyelevel. “Can you believe we actually did it, Kubdel? Like, us. We were the ones who set up Marinette and Adrien. It was all our influence and doing.”

Alix chuckled and pushed his face away. “Gaining ten pounds from sugar in ginger beer and waking up with your quiff in my mouth was worth it.” She released a sigh of contentment. “The two idiots are actually dati—”

She paused. Her eyes sparkled.

Kim gave her a questioning look. “What?”

“Does this mean we can do phase 4?”

His face dropped.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“If you dare—”

“Dare? Kim’s daring me to do something? Okay.”

He stepped forward. “Alix Kubdel you know that is not what I meant—”

“La la la, I can’t hear you!” she sing-songed in an unnaturally high pitch, bouncing around him with hands pressed on her ears and smiling giddily. “My senses don’t register rubbish!”

He huffed and glared at her twirling figure. “You were totally joking with phase four. We are not doing it.”

“Oh? Is that so?” she asked dubiously. “I thought I was totally joking with phase three, but we did that anyway. Guess we’re doing this too.”

Kim inhaled with frustration and tipped his head back, casting a defeated look to the sky. The girl was a nightmare.

“They’re gonna hate us forever.”

She retracted her hands from the sides of her head. “I’ll just mention what our plan did for them then. You could even speak at their wedding.”

Kim began to mutter something along the longs of, “Oh, so you heard that?”, but Alix’s jovial yelp cut his grumbling to a close.

“There they are!”

He glanced in the direction of her outstretched finger, smirking instantly at the love-sickening sight he’d usually cringe at.

Adrien was ambling out of the school’s bulky entry doors, a smiling Marinette attached on the side by the wrap of his arm, both seeming to be submerged in a world of pure bliss.

The perfect couple, it looked like.

So of course Alix just had to initiate phase four.

“Oi Agreste!” She cuffed her hands around her lips, and Kim was pretty sure his heart tripped out of existence at her bellow. “Hurry up and shove that tongue of yours in her mouth!”

To her astonishment and Kim’s—well to be fair his was more gaping horror—Adrien smirked at the incongruous demand as Marinette let out an incredulous squawk. Then, not only that, but it was another stilling moment of silence before the girl was swooped in a bow with famous Agreste lips planted on hers.

...

Kim and Alix walked out of school feeling like heroes.

[megacircuit9universe]

Shades of 2008

FRI MAR 13 2020

So, today Trump declared a national emergency... which is quite warranted under the circumstances, but also kinda scary... as that’s a technical step closer to martial law, god forbid.*

Meanwhile, today was another historical first for the markets... the first time ever that all US bonds, regardless of their length, fell below 1%.  It makes that inverted yield curve from last year look like a little walk in the park.**

At his press conference today, Trump had on hand, not only health officials, but leaders of different corporations... attempting to convince them, and get them to convince us, that the economy’s gonna be just fine.

But it also broke today that the reason why Covid19 testing is so scarce and so impossible to get is... by Presidential order.  No testing... no rise in the number of infections.  And while this is still hearsay... it’s perfectly in character for this callous criminal President, and we all know it’s true.

...which is why the markets aren’t gonna rally back, no matter how many speeches he makes, or what governmental levers he pulls to try and stimulate the markets.

I normally go shopping for groceries every two weeks, and I go after work, which is  midnight, to a 24 hour grocery store which is normally nearly empty except for stockers hard at work in the aisles.

I’d been hearing about people making runs on the supermarkets this week, hoarding toilet paper, and other paper products, thanks to a rumor that we may run out of such stuff because it all comes from China.

But I didn’t think I’d actually see it here, where I live.  That kinda stuff only happens in big cities far away, but not around these parts.

Yet, lo and behold, when I got to my store tonight, at midnight, the parking lot was full, and a long train of people were rolling out the front doors with shopping carts overfilled with food and... bulk paper products.

They were being forced out of the store and nobody else, including me, was being allowed in.  This 24 hour supermarket, that I’ve been shopping at for twelve years, was closed.

The guy at the door told me they still had plenty of product in the stock room but had to close in order to actually restock the shelves overnight.

I asked him if it tomorrow night would be better.

With a bit of a laugh, he said, “Tomorrow night?  Right now, we’re just taking it hour by hour.”

I drove to the only other 24 hour store in town... the big chain drug store on the main strip.  They have a small section for groceries.  They were open, thank goodness, but their toilet paper section was stripped bare.  Nothing at all... just like all the pictures I’d seen online today from other parts of the country.

Thankfully, I wasn’t here for toilet paper... my main concern was cat food... and thankfully they did have a 12 pack of Fancy feast, cat litter, and milk.  As far as paper products, they still had facial tissue, so I bought three boxes of that, just in case there’s still no toilet paper next week.

I said a few entries ago that the panic was worse than the virus, and this was firsthand evidence of how true that is. 

I’ve only seen this kind of thing a couple other times, when a big blizzard is approaching... the old bread and milk thing... when people panic about being stuck at home for several days.  But that’s always a local thing.

This is a nationwide panic, that isn’t just clearing the supermarket shelves of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, but crashing the stock and bond markets.

It’s difficult to imagine how such a visceral experience, for every citizen on the ground this week... does not affect the voting on Tuesday. 

Last Tuesday, the fear of the virus was there, but daily life was going on as usual. There were groceries on the shelves.  The President hadn’t declared a state of emergency.  Schools were in session.  TV shows had studio audiences. Sports were doing their normal thing. 

Last Tuesday it was, “wash your hands, everybody, and... by the way, Biden’s the guy for the job, so vote Biden.”

It’s only three days later (!)  and the fucking world is ending because of a public health crisis. 

Now it’s two days until the debate between, “Good Time’s Joe,” and “FDR of Health Care.”  What do you think the focus of that debate is gonna be about on Sunday night?  And who do you think is gonna have better answers about how to deal with a global pandemic?

My guess is that Bernie is gonna crush Joe in such a debate, no matter how early in the morning they do it, and no matter how many uppers they give Biden beforehand to keep him lucid enough to speak in full, connected sentences.

The asshole already said if a Medicare for All bill ever came across his desk as President, he’d veto it.  How’s he gonna backpedal on that when half the viewers at home are down to their last roll of toilet paper, terrified to go out in public for fear of Covid19?

Then it’s gonna be two more long days of pandemic hysteria before we actually go to the polls... so... as I said in the last entry... if this does not turn the tide to Bernie... nothing ever will.

That said, It’s worth reviewing that all of this panic not only stems from Trump’s fundamental inability to deal with a global pandemic... but also the terrifying realization that Biden may be even LESS competent to deal with it, or any other existential threat that may be waiting in the wings for us.

The latter, as evidenced by the market’s downturn beginning immediately after Super Tuesday... when the media was attempting to coronate Biden as the Democratic nominee.

Rich people and Corporations may not like the idea of having to pay their fair share of taxes, but they are a little bit more allergic to the specter of a global economic collapse... which last reared it’s ghoulish face into the skies back in 2008.

This does, to me... now feel more like 2008, than any other Presidential election in modern history. 

That time around, it began with the housing bust in early 2007, which brought on a recession, and inevitably lead to the near banking collapse of 2008.  

That year, Hillary Clinton was, around this time in March, presumed to be the Democratic nominee, with her only opponent, Barack Obama, starting to be treated as an, “also ran,” in the mainstream media.

But the scarier things got, the better Obama did... not only winning the nomination... but then going on to win the  Presidency... taking over from GWB in one of the darkest hours this country has seen since 1929.

Rich people and Corporations knew then, what they must still know now... Republican governments are great for letting everybody have fun on the playground, amassing mountains of wealth at the expense of the lower classes...

...but, when they break the game... as they always do... Democrats must be called in to fix it, before all of civilization collapses.  And in such a case, the more progressive the better... hence, Barack over Hillary.

And fix things, Obama did, over his eight years.

Fixed the economy so good, it was now a self driving money machine that could not be crashed even if you had the worst, most drunken driver at the wheel.

That meant a big green light for Republican government!  And this time... permanently!  No more Democrats necessary ever again!  Trump 2016.  Trump 2020.  Trump 2024, 28, 32, 36... impeachment means nothing.  Senators can be bought.  DOJ can be fixed.  No more regulations.  Hahahaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

And then a pandemic plague came out of China... like they always do.  Like they’ve been doing since the Black Plague of old. 

And this one just happens to be hitting the upper class the hardest... because it’s hardest on the elderly, in this historical moment of peak elderly power.  And it’s hardest on those who travel the world, and love to hang out in huge crowds... as the powerful elderly love to do...

...cruise ships... jet setting... political rallies... awards events... back room meetings... shaking hands with every motherfucker they see all day long.

For them, Covid19 doesn’t just threaten their lives directly... but their huge piles of money, if it triggers the collapse of the dreaded, “everything bubble,” economists have been warning us about for a few years now... in the few venues where their voices have not been stifled completely.

This week, they are beginning to realize... they’ve crashed the self driving economy.  And they did it in only four years of Republican government.

Only an FDR can save this.

Only an FDR can halt the collapse of the everything bubble, and save them from dying of a pandemic disease for which there is currently no cure.

I’m sure they’re not happy about that.

But... as the TikTok meme goes... “it is what it is.”

I’m going to bed.

* I’ve learned the day after writing that marital law is not on the table here because it can only happen in a time of war.. and only when the judicial branch no longer exists? 

Neither of those scenarios are coming down as the result of this current pandemic... which is no threat to babies, children, teens, or young adults at all.

Yes, it may be a threat to the boomer voter base... but they do not have the power to enforce anything close to martial law. 

**Let us not forget the Pronunciation Book warning about Dalton (Donal T):

“...He is rich.  He is strong.  And he is going to crash the stock market. Sidewalks crack, and streets go dark.  Ten Thousand bankers shake and scream for Dalton’s pyramid.”

The last video on the channel, published on September 24th, 2013... six years prior to the date that Pelosi would announce formal impeachment hearings.

And even though he made it through that... boasting about the great economy the whole time... here we are.