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themonkeycabal · 4 years ago

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The Falcon and the Winter Soldier ep 2

Spoilers!

Last week Bucky was a terrible patient and his new BFF is the father of a guy he killed while he was the Winter Soldier (so super healthy), Sam gave up Cap's shield and returned home to try to help salvage the family business (that went poorly), and some — I guess he must be from the Defense Department — dick made a big speech about needing heroes and he gave the shield to some goober (John Walker, but he'll always be Goober to me) in a Cap suit who strongly reminded me of Langly from the Lone Gunmen. (I'm not familiar with the actor, so I don't know what he actually looks like, but the helmet and the camera angle did him no favors at all, I'm just saying. Super punchable.)

Oh, and Sam has an adorable little minion named Lt. Torres who is getting himself into trouble with some weirdass terrorist group who like to slap red handprints on everything.

Zemo's out there lurking, too, but we haven't seen him yet.

I'm still slightly dazed that this show is real and we get to watch it.

Ep2: The Star-Spangled Man

Weird slow-mo opening shot of a close up of somebody unzipping their jacket. I mean. Okay. (Ohhh, it's the garment bag the Cap suit is in.)

And then we're on to Goober, he's wearing BDUs and he's in a football locker room (maybe high school?), fondling the lockers. He peels a name sticker off one, and underneath it says JW 10. A woman comes in and asks if he's reliving his glory days. They yada yada I don't care.

Now I guess they're talking about him becoming Captain America. "Everybody in the world expects me to be … something. And I don't want to fail them." She tells him to be himself and that they're gonna love him. Well, I've already decided he's a goober. I mean, he might not be, but he's got a hill to climb with me.

He spends a few seconds trying out his Captain America voice, then his buddy Hoskins comes in to talk him through it and give us some exposition. "Two weeks ago we were prepping for a special ops mission to Chile and now this."

Goober whines about how it's been handshakes and meetings and senators and whatnot and he just wants to get to it. But his buddy is all, that's part of the job man. Gotta glad-hand, too. You big baby (he doesn't say that part).

"You can't just punch your way out of problems anymore." Well, I mean, I think that was Steve's MO, mostly. That and 'hit it with the shield until it stops moving'.

Nu Cap is making a big showy thing at a rally at his old high school (Custer's Grove HS, GA) stadium for Good Morning America. He's still looking punchable in that helmet. But, they do bring out a kicking marching band, so there's that. It's a boring GMA interview. I don't care.

"John Walker, first person in American history to receive three Medals of Honor. Ran RS-One missions in counter-terrorism and hostage rescue. The government did a study of your body at MIT and you tested off the charts in every measurable category — speed, endurance, intelligence." (I legit laughed out loud. Lookit Captain Gary Stu over here)

Blah blah super humble yada yada. Just wants to make people feel safe, he has sooooo much respect for Steve Rogers, yada. Look, he could be a great guy and maybe I'll warm to him. But not yet!

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky's watching this and his face is all "No! No? What the shit is this? NO! NO? WHU NO?! No." Also, Bucky, I know you have a couch, why are you sitting on the floor? Love yourself just a little bit, dude.

In Louisiana Sam is in an Air Force hanger, staring at a garish 'Cap is Back' poster and looking a little queasy. Rhodey told you, subtly and not really directly, to not give up the shield, buddy. I hope when Bucky gets there the first thing he says is "He gave the shield to *you*, dummy. Not Captain Gary Poppins over there."

Torres says Nu Cap seems like a good guy. Sam's like, uh-huh, sure, so anyway. There's another "cap is back" poster and Sam's like 'ugh'. And they're off to Munich. I guess for the Flag Bros. Hey! There's Bucky! Finally, they're in the same scene. It's been nearly sixty minutes of screen time to get to this moment, Marvel. No, I wasn't counting.

"Shouldn't have given up the shield." lol. Hi Bucky! You forgot to call him a dummy.

Sam's like I haven't got time for this. And Bucky points to the umpteenth Cap is Back poster (seriously? Good lord.) "You didn't know that was going to happen?"

Sam did not know that was going to happen. "You think it didn't break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?"

Bucky will not let this go. "You had no right to give up the shield, Sam." You tell him!

But, Sam's kind of not in the mood. Look, I get it Sam, you didn't feel equal to the shield, but Steve gave it to you because he knows, my dude. Trust him. Come on.

But, he's feeling very raw about this, right now. "This is what you're not gonna do. You're not gonna come here in your overextended life and tell me about my rights." Well, ouch.

He says he's got bigger things to worry about, but that seems unpossible to Bucky "What could be bigger than this?" Terrorist douchebags wearing funny masks in Eastern and Central Europe. Well, fine, Sam; be all puts-things-in-perspective guy.

Redwing traced the far-too-strong maybe leader to a place in Munich. For some reason Bucky does not have good feelings about Redwing. Uh-oh, Bucky, you're going to extra hurt Sam's feelings.

Oh lol, it's the "Big Three" convo. "What big three?" "Androids, aliens, and wizards." Still funny. Sam's so proud of himself.

"I'm coming with you." "No, you're not." Bucky went with him.

Did they glare at each other the whole way to Munich? lol. I love this show so much already.

"Enjoy the ride, Buck." "No, you can't call me that." "Why not? That's what Steve called you." "Steve knew me longer. And Steve had a plan." lol, Steve Rogers never had a plan a day in his life.

Bucky wants a chute, but Torres who wisely stayed out of all of that, is like we're way too low for a chute. "I don't need it anyway." Then Bucky drama school bitch rips off the left sleeve of his jacket and jumps out while yelling like the dumbass he is. And he hits every branch of the dumbass tree on his way to the ground.

"I have all of that on camera, you know that right?" And Redwing zooms by to hovers over Bucky. So, maybe it's not a mystery why he doesn't like Redwing. lol.

Bucky and Sam meet up at a dilapidated warehouse in the middle of the forest. Only good things ever happen in dilapidated warehouses in forests. Like extra shady weapons smuggling. Bucky's gonna stalk after them. Sam messes with him a bit.

"Look at you all stealthy. A little time in Wakanda and you come out White Panther." lol. ilu Sam. "It's actually White Wolf." "Huh?" heh. What he won’t tell you, Sam, is that he earned the name from the kids near his goat farm who liked to spy on and giggle at the grumpy growly white guy.

"Hello. How are you?" "Great. What did I miss?" They're a delightful disaster! And they bicker and bicker and ahh, finally.

Also the people they're stalking are hella strong. And then these two idiots knock into an old bit of metal and make some noise. The shady people stop for a mo' but then move on. Sam scans one of the trucks the shady folks were loading (there are two), there's a figure sitting in the back. "There's an eighth person. I think they have a hostage." And Bucky zooms off! And Sam after him.

Bucky jumps onto the lead truck and then just like wanders around inside. I'm pretty sure the truck behind you noticed you, dummy. Anyway, it's loaded with crates marked "keep frozen." "They're stealing medicine. Vaccines." Those utter bastards. He spots a girl peeking out between containers. "Hi." lol, idiot.

He thinks it's the hostage, but I'm waiting for her to kick his butt out the door. She's not, you know, tied up in anyway. So … Also, again, does the second truck not have a radio to the first truck? Like was the driver texting while Bucky climbed up the back of the truck right in front of him? Now he's strangely incurious about the open door?

And, then she smiles at him and kicks him out the door, he hits the windshield of the second truck (maybe they've finally noticed you, Bucky!) and she puts on a mask with a red handprint. As you do. Two guys on the roof of truck 2, pull Bucky up ready to beat him silly.

Super strong girl, jumps over to truck two and punches Bucky some more. The Redwing zooms over and she jumps up, grabs it, and smashes it over her knee.

"I always wanted to do that," Bucky says, sad he didn't get the chance.

Sam shows up, there are more guys on the roof of the other truck. And there's fighting and fighting and then Sam is pinned down and the bad guy gets plonked with the shield and here comes Captain Poppins dropping down out of a helicopter. What timing. The CGI and green screen for this whole sequence are pretty dire. I'm sorry but it's true.

Captain Poppins is joined by his buddy Hoskins. "Sam. John Walker, Captain America." They know who you are, goober. Though, pausing to introduce yourself in the middle of the fight is a very Steve Rogers move, so points for that, Goober.

Lol, the look on Bucky's face when he catches the shield and Goober takes it from him. He's like 'rule two, rule two, rule two, remember rule two.'

Lots of fighting lots of fighting. Bucky is knocked off the side of the truck, he digs in and sort of zippers down the side, and then hangs off the bottom, his head inches from a tire, clinging to the underside by his vibranium arm. A bad guy stomps on it. Um, it's vibranium, guy. Like … though, somehow it works? and Bucky's arm sort of flops onto the road, sending up sparks. Sam does a neat little move, flies under the two trucks, grabbing Bucky as he goes, and knocking them both free. None of that worked out particularly well, guys.

"Could have used that shield," Bucky says helpfully. lol. "Those were all super soldiers, Sam." Well, bummer.

Back on the trucks, I think Hoskins is in trouble. Cap Goober is pulling himself back up. Hoskins is thrown from the truck, but Cap Goober tosses the shield and Hoskins lands on that. Now Goober squares off against super soldier chick. He does not fare well. And he's thrown from the truck to land on the windshield of a following car. You know, if I'm driving down the road and I see people fighting on a pair of big rigs, I don't follow close. You know what I'm saying? I maybe pull over and let them get way far away from me. Anyway, sorry for your body damage.

Bucky and Sam walk along the road, a pair of sad sad heroes who did not have a plan.

"I'm sorry about Redwing." "No, you're not."

Cap Goober turns up in a sorry looking vehicle of some sort. "So that didn't go as planned." Bucky and Sam keep walking. lol

So Goober's vehicle keeps pace with the disaster duo. "We're pretty sure it's one of the Big Three."

Bucky: "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS WIZARDS!" That's his hill, he'll die on it.

Since it's super soldiers, and that's bad news, Cap Goober thinks they should work together. Sam's quiet but not thrilled. Bucky is not quiet. "Just 'cause you carry that shield, it doesn't mean you're Captain America."

Cap Goober has apparently jumped on a grenade 4 times. "It's a thing I do with my helmet. It's reinforced." Okay, I laughed.

He persuades them to ride with him, because it's like 20 miles to the airport. It's probably for the best, since I'm pretty sure they might try to strangle each other in five.

"They (Flag Haters Anonymous) say their mission is to get things back to the way they were during the blip." This group's goals are so hazy and weird.

oh, lol. Sam wanted to know how they tracked the Flag Smashers, and Hoskins is like, um, actually, we tracked redwing. "It's not exactly hacking," Captain Goober explains, "it's government property. We're kind of the government." Not winning any points, Goober.

Bucky's just glaring at him. "Does he always just stare like that?" lol

We get a bit of exposition about a group called the GRC, the Global Repatriation Council, which is tasked with helping the previously blipped reintegrate. Sam's like, okay, and? Hoskins explains "they provide the resources, and we keep things stable." The GRC sounds even more make believe than super soldiers, to be honest. But, whatever. Not here to analyze the bizarre and unlikely geopolitics of the MCU. Cap Goober makes a pitch for Sam and Bucky to sign up but Bucky is very firm about his "No".

Hoskins insists he has mad respect for them, but they were getting their asses kicked until he and goober showed up. Um, Hoskins, my dude, you also got your ass kicked.

Bucky stares for a second. "Who are you?" "Lamar Hoskins." Sam insists he needs more than that. "I'm Battlestar. John's partner."

Bucky says Mm hmm. Stop the car. And he's gone.

Cap Goober gives a pitch to Sam about how he's not trying to be Steve, or replace him, he's just trying to do his best and be the best Captain America he can, and it'd be great to have Cap's 'wingmen' on his side. I sense sincerity, but you're still punchable, goober. And Sam isn't buying it either. He shakes his head and laughs bitterly, "It's always that last line." He hops out and follows Bucky.

Elsewhere, the super terrorists have reached a safe house with a way too chatty dude who is trying to make them at home in his dicey looking shopfront. He rattles on about how they're becoming legends and the people love them because they're pushing back! Against … the GRC? I guess?

Super soldier girl (Karli) gets a hate text. "You took what is mine. I'm going to find you and kill you." Well, sleep tight, sister!

One of the other guys has already logged into a computer system and he starts hacking and wiping their info off the internets and interpol, I guess.

"Six months ago would you have imagined people supporting a cause like this?" I'm still very unclear on what your cause is.

Maybe I'm overthinking the silly superhero universe, but I can't imagine the blip world was wonderful. You're missing half the people. So half of everybody who'd do various jobs. So half of the knowledge base of humanity on earth. Half of the experience base of humanity on earth. Half of the farmers, half of the engineers, half of the doctors, half of the people who maintain any system you can imagine, half of the people who build those systems, half of the teachers, half of the factory workers, half of the grandparents who pass down stories and community knowledge, half of the animals, half of the fish, half of the insects and so half of the plants. Ecosystems could easily collapse. Certainly infrastructure did, with half of the people needed to maintain it gone. Cities would have started to crumble, since half of the sources of goods, food, and services were gone. (we did have something of a real-world equivalent in Europe during the Black Death. Things were not nice for quite a long while after the worst years of the plague.)

I'm sure there would be areas that did better than others. But, half of any government gone, half of any police, half of any military. There would be power vacuums and probably shitheads to fill them. I don't see any particular utopia in a blip-ified world.

And that's not even taking into account the psychological damage to all the unblipped. The pure existential horror of half of everything suddenly gone.

But, that aside. I like genuinely do not know what they're trying to achieve.

"We're not playing no more," announces Karli. "We can't let the same assholes who were put back in power after the Blip win." Literally do not know what that means. "The GRC care more about the people who came back than the ones who never left." I mean … isn't that literally what they're for? "We got a glimpse of how things could be." Chaotic and apocalyptic? In fairness, I guess if you could carve out your own thing in that, and maybe it could even be good, then you'd be bitter if everybody came back all of a sudden and messed that up. I'm sure the power struggles are real.

"One world! One people!" Okaly-dokaly. Fascinated to see how you eight will achieve that.

Bucky's brooding on a plane, Sam's trying to sleep but the brooding is too much to ignore.

"You alright?" "Let's take the shield, Sam. Let's take the shield and do this ourselves." He's using his almost scary Winter Soldier voice. And staring into the void. Sam, call his doctor. She needs to remind him of rules one and two. "We can't just run up on a man, beat him up, and take it." Good point, Sam. For real, call Bucky's doctor. He's going to the scary illegal place.

"Do you remember what happened the last time we stole it?" "Maybe." lol such a petulant little grumpus you are, Bucky. "I'll help you in case you forgot. Sharon was branded an enemy of the state and Steve and I were on the run for two years." Not everybody was lucky enough to have a goat farm during all that, Bucky. That's what the man's saying.

"We just got our ass handed to us by super soldiers and we got nothing." "That's not entirely true," Bucky says mysteriously. And he jumps down off his brooding crate to go sit next to Sam. "There is someone that you should meet."

Baltimore, Maryland

Sam has a cute aside with a neighborhood kid, then Bucky leads him up to a house that has seen better days. Somebody answers the door and Bucky says they're there to see Isaiah. But, the young guy who answers the door insists there's no Isaiah there. He's not very welcoming. Bucky says "tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here." The things you got up to, Bucky. I do wonder. "We had a skirmish during the Korean war." oh, lol. I mean, I'm sure it's a horrible story, but lol, Bucky you disaster.

Oh hey, Carl Lumbly! Gosh, I haven't seen him in an age. I almost didn't recognize him.

"He was a hero. One of the ones that Hydra feared the most. Like Steve. We met in '51." "If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah." lol

Isaiah says he took part of Bucky's arm in Goyang and he just wanted to see if it grew back. And if Bucky was there to kill him. Bucky says he's not a killer anymore.

"You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?" Well, sure. "It doesn't work like that." Oh, but it must, or else what's the point? Isaiah has a lot of reasons to be bitter, though.

"Isaiah, the reason we're here, is because there's more of you and me out there. And we need to know how."

This does not please Isaiah, who doesn't want to talk and throws a can of sardines (or something, I don't know what that was) through the wall. Old but still super solidery.

"You know what they did to me for being a hero? They put my ass in jail for 30 years." Um, wow. "People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren't done with me." Well, that's deeply uncool. He very much wants his unwelcome guests to GFO, and I can't say I blame him.

Sam is super pissed once they get out onto the street. "Why didn't you tell me about Isaiah?" Bucky doesn't answer. "I asked you a question, Bucky." Yikes.

And no, Steve never knew, because Bucky never told him. "So you're telling me there was a black super soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?" I guess so.

And we're interrupted by a bizarre random encounter with presumably racist cops. They stop them in the street, get weird about asking for ID, and then ask Bucky, "is this guy bothering you?" And Bucky's like what in the actual fuck, he looks like a high school chem teacher and I look like the muscle for a loan shark, "no he's not bothering me. Do you know who he is?" Oh to be the Winter Soldier again for just a moment, eh? Anyway, one of the dipshits recognizes Sam and they get all dipshitty apologetic. "oh, Mr. Wilson, we're so sorry."

Oh, lol, they're going to arrest Bucky. There's a warrant out for him, because he missed his therapy session. I told somebody to call his therapist! I want to know which of those dipshits ran Sam and Bucky for wants. Because that’s not automatic or some shit, somebody’s got to call it in.

Sam's like 'well that took a weird turn.'

Sam and Dr Raynor meet at whatever facility they’re holding Bucky. "Thanks for getting him out." "That was not me," the doctor assures him. Nope, it was Captain Goober, who greets the doctor with a wave. "Christina! It's great to see you again." lol. And Sam's day gets worse.

"I heard you were working with Bucky and thought I'd step in. Bucky's not going to be working on a strict schedule any longer."

She's like, uh what? Says who? And he points at himself. okay, again, lol. Though, it’s weird to me how he insists on calling Bucky ‘Bucky’, like they’re buddies. They’re not buddies. Bucky's going to punch him in the face.

"He's too valuable an asset to have him tied up. So just do whatever you've got to do with him, then send him off to me." Will Bucky turn around and go right back into his holding cell?

Dr's not going to let him. "James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam." "That's okay. I'll be out here with…" "That wasn't a request." Poor Sam. He has had THE WORST DAY.

I love Bucky slouching against the sergeant's desk all surly, like a 16 year old who got busted for boosting his grandmother's car.

Dr Raynor settles them all in what I assume is an interrogation room. She tells Bucky she just wants to help him get over whatever is eating at him. I guess she figures Sam could help with that, too?

"We're going to do an exercise. It's something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what kind of life they want to build together." lol. but of course. a million fic writers deliriously rush to their keyboards.

"Are you familiar with the miracle question?" "Absolutely not." "Of course not." heh "Okay, it goes like this. Suppose that while you're sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?"

Bucky says his miracle would be Sam talking less. Sam says that's what he was going to say. Dr Raynor is writing fic of her own. "You guys are leaving me no choice. It's time for the soul-gazing exercise." This is the weirdest therapy session ever.

Bucky is very on board. Sam's like 'what have you done? staring? that's his thing!'

"Let's do it. Let's stare. This is a good exercise. Thanks, doc." Bucky, you little asshole. lol

How many takes to do this scene? I can tell they're trying not to laugh. "Take 57. It's 1:30 am, guys. Please, can we get it this time?"

"Wait, what are you doing? Are you having a staring contest?" What about these two men's attitudes walking into the room suggested they were going to be at all mature about this, Doc?

"James, why does Sam aggravate you? And don't say something childish." She knows you too well, Buck.

Oh, Bucky. He wants to know why Sam gave up the shield, because Steve believed in him, gave him the shield for a reason. But, maybe Steve was wrong about Sam and if he was wrong about Sam, then he was wrong about Bucky.

Sam, has his reasons. He says maybe Bucky and Steve can't understand, but he wants to know if Bucky can accept that he did what he thought was right. Poor Sam.

And Sam's had enough. He says they've got bigger shit going on and he'll put whatever this issue is aside for now, and they'll go take care of that, and then he and Bucky can never see each other again. "Thanks doc, for making it weird. I feel much better."

She's like, well shit.

Bucky leaves as well, but she stops him. "I know that look. What's wrong?" "What was rule two again?" "Don't hurt anyone." "Goodbye, doc."

I think maybe she miscalculated a tiny bit.

"I feel better," Sam grumbles. "I feel awful," Bucky sighs.

And down the street Captain Goober and Hoskins starts chirping a police siren at them and they wave them over. "Gentlemen!" I really want Bucky to punch him just once.

Goober wants them to join forces. They're tracking Karli through various displaced communities in Europe. She's the flag stompers leader, I guess? She's like … 16. DOUBT.

Anyway, she's do-goodering by stealing medicine and taking it to the displaced camps. I'm confused. So, post-blip, people who'd not blipped are now suddenly being displaced? I thought the displaced where the blipped trying to reintegrate. But, she was mad at the GRC for only caring about the blipped not the unblipped (which, again is the GRC's raison d'être, so yes?). I feel like I'm missing something.

Bucky snarks at Goober a bit. He's not a fan at all. "Things are really intense for you, aren't they, Walker?"

Sam's like okay, let's all simmer down. "It is imperative that we find them and stop them." But, also, though, he and Bucky are free agents, so they're more flexible than mister "i'm the government" over there.

Captain Goober doesn't care for that. "Word of advice, then. Stay the hell out of my way." Don't push your luck, goober.

Bratislava, Slovakia

Flag Stompers loading a small plane. Uh oh, they've been found out! Karli asks how much time they have. "None. It's the Power Broker's men." The Power Broker. See, that's the kind of jackassery you get in a Blip scenario. That's what I'm talking about. Did you steal super soldier serum from this guy, Karli? Hmmm? One noble Flag Stomper offers to stay behind and hold them off while they make their escape, for One World! One People! Dream big, kid.

He knocks down a power pole to block the road but then he runs at the badder guys? And gets himself shot a zillionty times. I … he'd already blocked the road? Why not just … you know what? Never mind.

Back to Bucky and Sam and Bucky with an idea that might just be worse than the self-sacrificing Flag Stomper's run-at-the-badder-guys-for-great-justice idea. He suggests that perhaps somebody who knows all of Hydra's secrets can give them the answers they need.

"So you're just going to go sit in a room with this guy?" "Ye-… yes," Bucky says, absolutely oozing with confidence.

Off to see Zemo! I'm sure that will go terribly! Can't wait!

And Credits!

Not gonna lie. I'm not sure how I feel about this episode. It felt a little disjointed.

I don't get the Flag Munchers, but I'm thinking they're just a red herring. Because they're basically utopian idealist twelve-year olds with nice but vague goals and vague iffy means to achieve those goals. I don't feel they're a whole lot more than some misguided kids who grew up in a blipped world and change is difficult and scary (and I’m sure it’s probably managed poorly. I can’t think of anything less efficient than a global council for anything. you could have a global council for dirt and it would be a bureaucratic nightmare). And they probably stole super soldier serum from somebody way scarier. Dummies. I think they're going to need to be rescued at some point. Probably soonish.

As for that other guy. There's moments where I like John Walker a little bit, and moments where I find him really aggravating. I get they want to make him the super-duper bestest perfectest hero, or that’s why he was chosen by the DoD or whatever, but part of Steve's charm was he wasn't perfect. He wasn't Captain America because he won a million awards, he was Cap because he had a good heart. That's the point. THAT'S WHY YOU SHOULD BE CAP, SAM!

Also, I don't like hard feelings between Sam and Bucky. Though, nothing about their history would suggest an easy friendship (one time Sam was driving in his car and Bucky ripped the damn steering wheel out), so that's not a complaint, it just makes me sad. They really only have a connection because of Steve and he's gone. Be friends, guys!

And finally, when will Sharon Carter return from being an enemy of the state?

#tfatws #tfatws spoilers #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier spoilers #tfatws liveblog

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musicnoots · 5 years ago

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Ice Cream and Aliens - Storming Area 51 (3/3)

Band of Brothers

A/N: The final part. Enjoy I’m tired

Synopsis: After the successful raid on Area 51, the boys head out to eat ice cream and reflect on their adventure.

Part 1 Part 2

Tags: @gottapenny @croatianbagudna @higgles123 @wexhappyxfew @dustyjjumpwings @bandofmarvels @medievalfangirl @curraheev @those-dusty-jump-wings

After the guys stormed Area 51 successfully, the first place they headed to was to the nearest ice cream parlor. Dick wanted to go home, but then Ron said that he could just walk home while the others went to get ice cream, so he complied.

The escape from the highly classified area was very hectic, for most people. Buck’s group ended up leaving first because they got bored looking at all of the shiny scrap metal being displayed on the shelves, but the real reason was because Joe tried to fight the guards for Web. After thirty minutes of him complaining about missing Web and how they shouldn’t have sacrificed him like that, he made a run for it while Buck and Harry were busy taking things and shoving them into their pockets. Joe really didn’t make it that far—he started screaming at the first guard he saw and threaten to punch him as Buck tried to pry the man off the guard’s face. However, not too far behind them, Web was sitting on the floor, being useless while detained by the guards and when Joe saw that, he ran for him, and that was the end of it.

For the other group, their escape wasn’t the smoothest, but at least they left before the guards and security could arrest them. It was after Lewis’ sixteenth photo with the alien specimen that they decided to leave, pockets full of alien stickers and keychains for their friends back home. A lot of them were for George because they felt bad for not inviting him to the trip. They also tried to find an alien toothbrush for Perconte but to no avail. Unfortunately, the group left when Liebgott was dragging Web back to the exit by his hair with Buck and Harry following close behind, screaming Hi-ho silver bitches! Web, c’mon! We’re getting out of here! Bill and Joe followed in pursuit, wanting to leave as soon as possible while Lewis tried to get Ron out of here. The thing is—Ron locked the vault door, so he could have some meditation with the aliens surrounding him, to become one with the aliens.

The boys came sprinting back into the car, filing in like high schoolers trying to get into the lunch line thirty seconds after the bell rang. Lipton took a quick count of the boys, his hand on the wheel and foot on the gas before realizing that Ron hadn’t come back with them.

Fifteen seconds later, they all saw Ron run out of the facility with an alien. An alien. A full grown extraterrestrial that was running side-to-side with Ron as he was its mother.

He didn’t say anything about it when he got inside the car, demanding that Dick get in the backseat because he wanted to sit in the front. Lip floored it out of there, but not driving that fast because he still wanted to obey the speed limit there. He doesn’t want to get a parking ticket.

It was ten minutes on their journey back home that Lip asked Ron what he brought back, and he simply said Alien and that was the end of the conversation.

Now, the men were sitting at three conjoined tables at the nearest ice cream parlor for a small snack after their alien hunting adventure in the scorching Nevada heat. Lipton originally asked everyone to share two big sundaes, but then everyone decided on their own single scoop orders, so he paid for all of them because he didn’t want anyone to feel left out. The most expensive of those orders was Bill who decided it was a good idea to get a deluxe banana split sundae with extra whipped cream.

“I can’t believe you ate all of it,” Buck said to Bill, who was still scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon even though there was literally nothing else. “So I take that you guys had a helluva time there?”

“Pfft, I wish. We got aliens in jars, but Nixon wouldn’t stop talkin’ ‘bout his boyfriend,” Joe said, and they looked at Lewis, who was currently showing Dick every photo he took and going in depth about each one while the red-haired major mixed his mango sorbet with his spoon while nodding and mumbling Yes, Nix, that sounds wonderful over and over again.

“At least you got something interesting. All we got was random metal scraps and Lieb complaining about us leavin’ Web. I mean, we had to leave him! He wouldn’t have done anything!”

“I’m right here,” Web, who was sitting right next to Buck said.

“Yeah, and you should know that you would have been useless in that situation.”

“I’m not useless! I graduated from Harvard!”

“Boy, you literally thought we were going to the beach,” Buck said, focusing on his ice cream again before leaning over to Web’s ear. “And I graduated from UCLA, you smart ass bitch.”

Lieb patted his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Web, don’t listen to him. He probably pours milk before the cereal.”

Web shrugged him off in annoyance. “How does that make me feel better? You make me feel like an idiot!”

“I know, but you’re my idiot. Also, you did think we were going to the beach, you dumb.”

Webster flail his arms in the air. “You were the one who told me that!”

Ever since they got Webster back, Liebgott has been all over him like never before. The last time this happened was when Web was gone for a couple of months to finish his education at Harvard, and when he came back, Joe would not let him go. Literally. He wouldn’t let Web leave the house without him, turn on the stove without adult supervision, or talk to strangers because stranger danger.

His attachment to the Harvard graduate was not as extreme as Ron’s attachment to his new alien.

“Do you like strawberry? Is that what you got?” he asked the alien, and it nodded. Yes, even the alien got a scoop of ice cream. The alien’s ice cream was actually on the house because when the cashier asked for it to pay, Ron simple flicked open his pocket knife on the counter as a threat. “That’s great. I think strawberry is a bit too sweet for my tastes, but I the rocky road is really good, too.”

It was really uncomfortable whenever Ron spoke to the alien, let alone the alien’s presence. When he said that he was going to get an alien and bring it home, everyone was scared. Even Dick feared for the worse. But Ron did get the alien like he said was going to, and it was the best thing that ever happened to him. He has won the game of life. He can retire peacefully knowing that he accomplished something no one can ever.

“Do I need to get the guest room ready when we get back home?” Lip asked.

Ron nodded, eyes still fixated on the alien eating the ice cream. “Yes, please. Also, can you bake cinnamon rolls when we get back?”

Lipton sighed. It wasn’t the alien that stressed him out, it was the cinnamon rolls. They’re just too damn hard to make. “Of course, Ron. Does your friend want any? Should I bake extra?”

“Are we just going to sit here and not acknowledge the fact that Speirs brought a freakin’ alien back?” Web yelled, gathering everyone's attention.

“Web, lower your voice,” Dick warned. He knew Ron too well to know what was going to happen. Guns blazing. Knives on the dining table. Police cars in the front. It was all too familiar, unfortunately. “We’re in a public place.”

However, Web would not shut his trap. He almost stood up, for Christ’s sake. “Wha—How in the world did I get sacrificed for this? You all saw Speirs push me into the guards just to distract them, didn’t you? He didn’t even go with you guys! He went his own way!”

“Well, Speirs is actually helpful, unlike you,” Harry said, mouth full of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“Oh, you like mint chocolate chip ice cream—what do you know?”

“Pipe the fuck down, nerd,” Bill popped in, almost ready to lash out and beat up the poor kid. “Ron did something none of us could have done, and you have the fuckin’ audacity to even open your pothole? Trick ass bitch—how dare you? He came and conquered, and you got detained and did nothing about it.”

“I am a child of the law.”

“Nerd!”

“Pfft. Whatever. Aliens aren’t real anyways. Ron probably got a mechanical alien.”

That was the breaking point. Ron had enough of hearing this nonsense coming from someone who wasn’t even present to see all of the wonders or Area 51, someone who was much more interested in sharks rather than the glorious creature that are aliens.

Everyone was silent for a brief moment. Dick was waiting for the guns to come out—thank God Chuck didn’t come, or else he’ll have the big guns. Lip was getting ready to restrain Ron, and Buck was unusually nervous which is impossible. He can’t be nervous, he’s Buck Compton!

Ron reached over and slapped Web’s cup of ice cream off the table and onto the floor, the ice cream spilling out of the cup and onto the floor.

“No cinnamon rolls for you,” he said and sat back down.

Web froze. He was dumbfounded, mouth open waiting for the flies to come. It was like his entire world fell apart with that ice cream cup, and all he could feel was Joe’s hand rubbing pentagons on his back, telling him It’s okay, you deserved it, but it’s okay. No one’s perfect.

Meanwhile, Lewis was still trying to explain every photo he took in the facility to Dick. Each photo took him five to twenty-seven minutes to explain because Lewis wanted to go in depth and tell Dick about the background, how he felt, what it’d feel like if he was physically there, and how annoying Bill and Joe were in that moment.

“See, here—” he leaned closer to show him the photo on the camera, “I took a photo with this jar of alien specimen. It looks the same as the last one, but it’s not! This one had more alien juice, and you could see Joe’s thumb in the corner because he clearly doesn’t know how to use a camera and—hello? Dick?” He snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey! You’re not paying attention! Pay attention to me!”

Dick was mesmerized by the presence of an alien in the same room as him. He was a nonbeliever, but after seeing it in the flesh eating ice cream, he’s not even sure if he can trust himself! I mean, Ron’s wiping the alien’s mouth of ice cream as they speak. This was the weirdest moment in his life, and he’s not sure if he likes it or not. He’s too scared to answer that.

“Dick!”

He snapped out of his trance when Lewis violently shook his shoulders. “Huh? Oh, sorry...just looking at the...alien.”

“Oh, so the alien is more interesting than me?”

“Well, if you put it that way...” he hesistantly nodded, “yeah. Yeah, Nix, it is.”

Lewis frowned, heartbroken and shocked because he never thought Dick would say that. He thought he was the most interesting thing in Dick’s life. “Oh...okay. But can I keep showing you the pictures I took?”

Dick sighed. “Nix, all fhe photos you showed me are the same—do you have any photos with the aliens themselves?”

“No.”

Dick almost choked on air, and he wishes he did. He stared at Nix like he was a crazed man, like he was a big fat liar that dragged him all the way to Nevada for an alien hunting party but came back with pictures of aliens but not the damn alien itself! “So you’re telling me that you kidnapped me and dragged me to the middle of Nevada for the aliens but didn’t actually meet or touch an actual alien?”

Lewis smiled sweetly.

“I am leaving,” Dick groaned before Lewis pounced on him, keeping him from escaping.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Don’t leave! If you wanted an alien for yourself, you could have just told me instead of acting mad.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—“

“Lip, start the car! We’re going back to Area 51 just for Dick!”

This time, Lewis made sure to take Dick with him to see the aliens.

#band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #joe liebgott #david webster #dick winters #richard winters #lewis nixon #buck compton #harry welsh #bill guarnere #joe toye #ron speirs #ronald speirs

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hamethyst · 7 years ago

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Depth

Summary: If the halls are equivalent to a sea’s shallows, the bridge is an ocean’s deep, dark blue on darker.

In which Shiro seeks something and finds someone seeking the same. Or: the Black Paladin and the princess meet...again.

Rating: G

Character(s): Shiro, Allura

Also available on AO3.

He didn’t think he had much naiveté left. At thirteen, he clung to his parents’ shoulders as they shared see-you-soon’s in the center of the Galaxy Garrison’s entrance hall. That first night in his new bunk, he thought about the sky he used to study from his window and longed for the lens of his sticker-tatted telescope and the cheap green-glow stars stuck to his bedroom ceiling back home.

Of course they knew. In the side pocket of his carry-on, he found a pack of those stars and a message from his mother. Keep shooting. He stuck the molds to the bottom of the top bunk under which he slept, and went to sleep with the feeling that home was a little bit closer.

Those stars remained until he graduated, little points of light to guide his hand through messages to family and friends, to provide company through late-night workouts on the floor. By the time he received his first official badge, they still glowed a dull green, brightest when the darkness was deep enough.

He almost took some on the mission to Kerberos, for old times’ sake, as a childish symbol of good luck. Bought a packet and ultimately left them in his desk drawer, with plans to give them away to some new homesick recruit maybe, after they returned to Earth.

He could’ve used some, he thinks now with a wry smile, during his…time with the Galra. The ones in his old bunk, maybe; deep as that darkness had been, they would’ve glowed good as new, and maybe made that seemingly endless night a little shorter.

At least this ship isn’t lacking for light. As he traverses yet another hallway, it follows his footsteps as much as it guides them, subtle as it bounces off the metal walls and floor in hues he’s only ever seen in sea shallows. It’s comforting, in its own small way, a gift he didn’t think he’d need at this age, as he is now. Nevertheless, he can’t deny the admittedly fragile calm that overtakes him as he goes from hall to hall, past door after door, and never encounters a corner dark enough for his mind to manipulate.

Perhaps that small boy in him hasn’t left entirely. He still follows the light patterns on the floor, after all, the length of his strides altering to find them, catch them beneath his boot as if they might scurry away. He still finds curiosity taking hold with each chamber he passes, flesh fingers itching to press against a door in the hopes it’ll open and reveal.

And when he finds himself inadvertently entering the castle-ship’s bridge (and he feels a residual stir of excitement at the idea. A real castle, just like in the fairytales Ma sometimes read to him), his heart still tut-tut-tutters a rhythm of wonder against his ribcage as he catches sight of the one thing his ten, sixteen, twenty-one-year-old self knew to be true, long before the evidence ever presented itself.

He pauses just inside the huge, arching threshold, quiet but not quiet enough. With a sharp whip of her head, the extraterrestrial princess to his newly-christened Paladin captures his gaze and holds it.

“Sir Shirogane?” she asks, her head tilting, voice lilting, growing already familiar to his eyes and ears.

“Princess…” he murmurs. Allura, his memory supplies. He starts and finally comprehends his whereabouts, glances down the hall from which he came. “Uh, wow. Didn’t realize I’d come this far.” He turns back, eyes catching on the high ceiling, windows looking out to the foreign world beyond. He shrugs, trying for a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the surprise.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Princess Allura smiles, her stance (protective, obviously born of practice, he can’t help but notice) relaxing with the lift of her brows. “A bit of a start, is all it was. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be awake at this time.”

“Same here.” Stuffing down a mild case of curiosity, Shiro meets her smile with a small one of his own, and prepares himself to return to the halls. “I’ll, uh…leave you to your business, then.”

“Oh, it wasn’t business.” Her words make him pause. With a rustle of her gown, the princess turns and takes a step away from her pilot’s stand. “Well, no urgent business. Just some simple maintenance.”

“Oh,” he echoes. He still preps himself to leave. “Well, I still don’t want to get in your way. I’ll just–”

“Sir Shirogane, you’re fine,” she interrupts, firm yet polite as she smiles again. “You’re not intruding,” she continues. “This room – as well as all within the castle’s perimeter – are yours to peruse as you and the other Paladins wish.” Her smile widens. “You are welcome here.”

Certainly more welcome than you were last time you chanced upon an alien ship, a part of him thinks absently, half-amusedly. “Uh…thank you, Princess.”

Maybe the halls can wait a few minutes.

Still a touch self-conscious, he steps past the threshold and onto the bridge, steps seeming louder somehow, perhaps in comparison to the princess’ barely-heard tread. He hesitates, unsure where, exactly, to go, before he settles against the Black Paladin’s – his – designated bridge seat. “So, you said you were doing maintenance?” A perhaps poor topic of conversation. How does one make small talk with royalty?

“Yes,” the princess answers easily, returning to her stand; settling against the side of his seat, he watches as her fingers fly over the holograph. “Mostly tests of internal systems.” She surprises him with a half-teasing grin. “Well, the quiet ones, anyway.”

He chuckles. “It is pretty late, isn’t it?”

“Far later than I assumed. I imagine morning’s not far off.” With a final swipe of her palm, she steps back once more from her stand, her blue gaze curious. “Which begs the question, Sir Shirogane: what has brought you here so late in the cycle? I imagine the past quintant has been quite trying for you all.”

“Understatement, Princess,” Shiro says with a humored smile; he overlooks the strange term she uses. “But we’re managing.”

The princess’ brows lift. “Do humans not need as much recuperation after a significant loss of energy?”

He blinks. “Uh, no, we need it.” He shifts slightly. “Some more than others.” With a slightly self-deprecating smirk and shrug, he looks out the large, arcing windows. “I guess I’m ‘others’.”

“I see.” He thinks she doesn’t; he’s not entirely sure himself, after all. Too much to process, too many thoughts that, with too much introspection, could lead to feelings and images and memories he’s just not prepared to face. Not yet.

Silence, almost pregnant, if he thinks about their shared space too much. If the halls are equivalent to a sea’s shallows, the bridge is an ocean’s deep, dark blue on darker. He remembers the star map illuminating it like a thousand bioluminescent little creatures, like a thousand of his tacky star stickers, all so seemingly inconsequential.

And now they represent everything my – our lives have become.

It’s almost a relief that the only stars he sees now are those beyond the bridge’s massive glass panes. They shimmer on the like-silk of the princess’ gown as she moves, and that’s when he decides to say something. “Princess?”

She looks to him with a simple smile. “Yes?”

“Where did you learn my last name?”

The princess blinks in surprise, momentarily lost with the sudden subject change before his question seems to click. “Oh! The other Paladins told me. They enlightened me as to your reputable station on Earth. As a well-ranked member of your ‘Galaxy Garrison’, it was only appropriate that proper respects be paid.” Her smile turns slightly sheepish as she offers him a small incline of her head. “I do hope that our previous interactions were not cause for offense. I can assure you, from here on, that such oversights will not occur.”

He wants to laugh. Or sigh. Or roll his eyes. Maybe even channel his seniority and scold his fellow Earthlings for what they obviously considered to be quite the gag.

He does half. A breathy chuckle as he shakes his head and smiles at the young woman watching him so curiously. “Sir Shirogane?” she inquires, and he smiles wider.

“It’s just Shiro, Your Highness.”

The princess blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

Somehow, he’s thinking that this – clearing up misunderstandings, both intentional and not, between these so different parties – will quickly become a thing for him to do. “The others were…” he pauses, weighing his options, “accurate enough about my position in the Garrison. It was one I took great pride in, and on Earth, it might even still hold weight. But…”

He pauses again, and recalls, once more, those thousand small solar systems. “Out here, amidst all this, it isn’t so important.” ‘Paladin’ is far more important, these days, than ‘pilot’.

“Perhaps,” the princess says, and for an impossible second or tick or whatever, he thinks he maybe spoke his thoughts aloud. Can (could) the Alteans read minds, sense brainwaves and interpret the emotions behind them? Farfetched as it sounds, he’s already had his mind blown at least four times today. Once more really wouldn’t be all that strange. He’s still wondering when she continues. “Regardless, however, I would still seek to learn. Is there a title – or name by which you would feel most comfortable in our referring to you?”

“Shiro,” he repeats immediately. Protocol is nice, when simplicity and efficiency is needed, and if she insists (he’s starting to think she seems the type, when she feels it’s necessary), he knows he’ll adapt to the sudden surge of ‘Sirs’, ‘Shiroganes’, and ‘Black Paladins’ that come his way. But he’s always been the casual sort; a nickname does the job as well as any title, and if he has the privilege to choose, he chooses the former.

The princess blinks. “I see. As the other Paladins call you?” He nods.

“It’s simpler than anything else. It’s my preference, at least.”

She only hesitates another moment before nodding. “Very well. ‘Sir Shiro’, it is, then.”

He chuckles again, a solid sound that echoes in the space between them. In hindsight, it surprises him. “Just ‘Shiro’, Princess, if you would. No formality needed.”

“Oh,” she says, eyebrows lifting again, higher. “My apologies. Exactly as the other Paladins call you, then.”

He smiles, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “We’re all in this together, after all.”

The smile she returns is somewhat bittersweet. “That, we are.” A companionably silent moment, and then a chime, like the tinkling of bells. “Ah,” the princess sounds, and with a wave of her hand, regains access to the ship’s systems. “Diagnostics are complete.”

“Fast,” he replies, for lack of anything better to say. It doesn’t bother him so much this time.

“Yes,” she agrees, and perhaps it’s the acoustics of the room but the word to him sounds...off. He can’t help but recognize something in it, an echo of inflection he usually hears in his own voice, not often in another’s. And he realizes…

He wasn’t the only one seeking distraction tonight. Maybe the princess does see, after all.

“Well,” she announces, before he can say…what? “I suppose the rest can wait ‘til later. I’ll need Coran’s assistance, anyway, and he’ll be as cross as a kard’iel if I try to wake him now.” She makes a gesture, a tapping and swiping of fingers, and something in the belly of the ship seems to quiet. “I suppose it would be prudent for the two of us to achieve some form of rest, hm?”

He nods with a small chuckle around the clench of his gut. She’s right, of course. It would do little good for either of them to continue forgoing sleep now, only to be the weak links come tomorrow, when so much of this will finally solidify into reality, when guides will be needed to navigate through this encompassing blue. He rises from his seat, his hand running along the smooth metal as he goes, and follows the princess as she retreats from the bridge to the hallway. “Well, um…good night, Princess.” He looks to her, small smile still etched across his mouth. She returns it with a small incline of her head.

“Thank you for your company tonight.” She lifts her head, and her smile makes his own widen. “However unexpected, it was appreciated.” She lifts her hand into a small wave. “Rest well.”

“You, too.” He doesn’t get a chance to stumble through a ‘thank you’ of his own; with a final parting smile, she turns her back and departs, her steps as light and even as they were on the bridge.

He is thankful, though. It’s become so normal for him to spend his restless hours alone; he even prefers it that way, if only because it means he’s maybe the only one experiencing them. It was nice to have company, if only this one time, and he basks in the feeling until the guilt and doubt (you shouldn’t have bothered her, you should’ve tried harder to sleep, you’re just a soldier, you had no business taking up the time of someone so important) inevitably begin to gnaw at his bones. Before they overwhelm him, out of a little more of the same cautious curiosity that led him here, he tosses a glance over his shoulder.

Earlier that ‘evening’, as they all departed for their new respective quarters, he remembers Coran insisting on escorting the princess to hers. If he recalls correctly, the path would require she turn down another incoming hallway.

Shiro watches as she bypasses it entirely, her steps purposeful. He sighs silently, and returns to his own path in the opposite direction.

It’s just as well. If she were paying attention, she’d have noticed him missing his own junction.

His resumed journey eventually brings him to the combat arena. With a bit of fumbling at the controls, the activation of his arm, heat and artificial life awakening with a hum, he sets the course for the remainder of his night.

Only one thing manages to grab his attention beyond the pull of adrenaline and the push of his opponent. The information listed on the holographic screen that chimes into being with his first victory. Script that must be Altean, and script he recognizes, a title.

Sir Shirogane.

He doesn’t deserve it; not the title, nor the standing that clearly comes with it. But he has to admit, however wryly, that from her, the princess – Princess Allura of planet Altea, pilot of the castle-ship that houses the universe’s greatest defense…it certainly does sound impressive

#shiro #takashi shirogane #allura #princess allura #shallura #or not however you wanna see it #hey first fic up just in time for shiro's kinda b-day!#storytime

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magpiewords · 7 years ago

Text

Sugar and Snow

This was way too much fun to write. Text-talk style is my guilty pleasure. The title isn’t my best, but half the story is about a ski trip and half of it is about sufganiyot.

It was the sixth night and no one was home. Steve shouldn’t have been surprised, they were all busy people. The fact that nothing alien or super powered had threatened the world in the past few weeks was a miracle all on it’s own. He was grateful for the peaceful days they had together, but he was left wanting more as he stood alone in the kitchen, mading a single sandwich out of leftover brisket. There weren’t even any latkas left to heat up, and he really didn’t feel like making more if he was just by himself.

He was on the last bites of his sandwich when his phone buzzed. A lone text message from Tony. [check snapchat]

Steve was just happy with was in actual English instead of whatever amalgamation of emojis the genius was prone to communicate with. Bucky had picked up on that new language fast enough, which seemed to give everyone else clearance to speak solely in pictures on the team group text. They were having so much fun and Steve didn’t have the heart to tell them he felt left out.

Snapchat wasn’t as bad. It took him a little longer than everyone else to figure out, but once he did, he loved it. It was still more pictures than words, but it was pictures of real life. Usually it was selfies or sneaky pictures of Clint asleep at a stakeout. The stickers were really fun and everyone seemed to enjoy the drawings Steve could create after Natasha had given him a stylus.

He opened the app, noticing several notifications waiting for him on the team thread. A video of Sam walking past some birds on his way to meet with an advisor for his master’s degree, a series of photos in which Bucky braided Thor’s hair, and finally, one photo from Tony.

The geo-filter said Los Angeles in a fancy type, and the image was of a giant donut sign above a building. The caption must have been what he wanted Steve to see.

[THEY MAKE SUFGANIYOT AND IM SCREAMING want some???]

The rest of the picture was filled with heart-eye emojis and what looked like water droplets. Steve chuckled to himself and snapped a photo of his open palm. It only took a minute to doodle a cartoon donut on the image.

[I would love one.]

Tony didn’t reply for a while, but Steve had already put his phone away and made himself comfortable in the living room. Everyone else had missions and meetings and “Thor’s never been skiing so we’re going upstate for the day”, but Steve had things to do too. Important things like…

Well, he had his sketch book and some podcasts. That was fine.

It could have been five minutes or a few hours, but Steve’s phone turned on and didn’t seem to stop. He scrambled to pull it out of his pocket; it would only go off like this if he was getting a phone call which probably meant villainy had finally stopped taking a vacation. If that was the case, though, wouldn’t Jarvis be alerting him too?

Instead of a phone call, he was rapidly getting a string of text messages.

TStark: buck how could u fail us like this???

Bucky: wut im skiing i literally did nothing

Widow: winter soldier sucks at winter sports btw

Bucky: fuck off

Hawkeye: haha i want pics

TStark: no shut up

TStark: steve’s never had Sigmund Freud

TStark: i mean stuff and yaks

TStark: autocorrect bullshit i cant do this while flying

Col.Rhodes: DON’T TEXT AND FLY

Col.Rhodes: We talked about this

TStark: S U F G A N I Y O T

Widow: omg bucky how could u

Steve had barely caught up with the string of texts when his snapchat notified him again. It was from Natasha’s account, but someone else was filming. Likely Thor, if the camera half being covered by a thumb was anything to go by. The video featured Natasha and Bucky, both on skis at the bottom of a slope they must have just come down. With one solid shove, she pushed him into a snow bank. There was shouting and laughter before the video cut out.

Bucky: tony i need a new phone tash got snow in mine

TStark: haha nice

TStark: but seriously

TStark: every1 get home asap so we can eat these

Hawkeye: dont u have an AM meeting tomorrow?

Col.Rhodes: Pepper is not going to be happy about this.

Another snapchat notification, this time with a photo taken from the Iron Man armor’s outside cameras. Tony didn’t just have a box of donuts, he had a crate, carrying it on the suit’s shoulders like he would carry building materials. The photo was surrounded by thumbs up emojis and a small bit of text in the corner. Steve leaned in, just barely reading it before the image timed out.

[I told Sir that I do not approve]

Steve chuckled again, glancing up at the ceiling. “He giving you too much trouble, Jarvis?”

“At least I got him to stop texting and flying. The trade off is I have to type his messages for him. And he is very particular about the placement of those emoticons.” The AI sounded the closest Steve had ever heard him to exhausted.

Another video came in, this time from Sam. The camera was facing him as he walked across campus.

“I was in a meeting,” He sounded furious, but it was too over the top. Steve knew what a truly angry Sam sounded like, so this must be played up for a joke. “In a meeting with my graduate advisor and my phone sounds like the end of the world. She asks me if it’s Avengers business and I have to look her dead in the eye, with all you still texting me, and tell her to ignore it.” The camera rapidly moved as Sam seemed to throw up his hands. “Now she thinks I value my studies over saving the world and you know what, right now I think I do!”

The video ended, followed with a short text message.

Falcon: You guys suck

The rest of the team replied with a series of different emojis, ranging from laughing symbols to something with birds that was probably a Falcon related joke Steve didn’t quite get.

Falcon: T I want those donuts when I get home

TStark: what’s that birdy? i should go faster??

Jarvis: Sir is already breaking several interstate flight regulations, please do not encourage him.

Col.Rhodes: damnit sam

Widow: save some for us!

��Iron Man should be landing at the tower in fifteen minutes.” Jarvis reported. Steve could hear the coffee machine in the kitchen start to power up. “Mr. Wilson will be arriving in twenty. Agent Romanoff, Sergeant Barnes, and Thor are leaving the ski lodge and are due home in just under two hours.”

“You work way too hard, Jarvis.” Steve slid his phone to silent, knowing Jarvis would tell him if there was anything important, and went back to sketching.

“Captain, you have no idea.”

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Tony was on the landing platform outside the tower windows. He all but dragged the crate into the kitchen, opening it and pulling out smaller cardboard boxes. He walked into the living room with a spring in his step, pastry in one hand, cell phone in the other.

“Those don’t look like your usual donuts, Tony.” Steve said. It looked more like a small cake with powdered sugar on top.

Tony didn’t say a word, just kept the camera on Steve as he shoved the pastry in the soldier’s face. Steve took a bite, jelly gushing around the sides as flavor overwhelmed his senses. His eyes must have been comically wide as Tony started laughing before lowering his phone. A few seconds later, as Steve was cradling the donut to prevent any jelly or crumbs from getting on the couch, his own phone went off. He let out a sigh, half annoyed despite the something warm curling inside him, knowing the rest of the team would get to share the moment of his first sufganiyot with him.

#hanukkahprompts2017 #happymcuavengers #Avengers #team as family #Steve Rogers #jarvis #an embarrassing amount of text-talk #food #Holidays

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remember-wim-faros · 7 years ago

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Episode 1 - Are You Listening?

[voice echoing] When a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it,

it makes a sound!

[birds chirping] Ladies and gentlemen. We have found the music! It had been lost, as so many things are lost. Missing, disappeared, misplaced, vanished. Every day, what falls into obscurity without anybody noticing? Without anybody paying attention. What is locked in the attic?

I mean, let’s talk about some things that have been found in an attic, or spaces like attics. Did you know that Van Gogh’s “Sunset at Montmajour”, that beautiful painting, was found in an attic? Or that the original handwritten manuscript of “Huckleberry Finn” was found in an attic? The “Venus de Milo” was, well no it’s no-not an attic but, buried in a farmer’s field, unearthed by a peasant who came across some stubborn soil.

Did you know that the only copy of the pilot of “I Love Lucy” lay under the bed of Pepino the clown for 30 years, until it was swept out by his widow when she finally cleaned up around the place and taught to herself, this is pretty funny.

All these masterpieces just a broom sweep away from history’s dustbins.

And today, today! Recovered from a neglected attic of a suburban townhouse, one cassette tape destined to be sold in a garage sale, containing what is likely to be the first recorded concert of Wim Faros.

So.. who is listening? Hello? I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I welcome you to my new show. “It Makes a Sound”. [thumping, windchimes] It’s the first and only show in the nation dedicated to Wim Faros, native son of our Rosemary Hills. Where together, we’ll be part of a musical legacy. We will prepare to receive the genius that is Wim Faros. And to return him, like a prodigal son, to this deprived land. I will be the one to provide you up to the minute news and information about the artist, as I discover it. The name – Wim Faros. The subject – genius. And its location? Where us extraordinariness, I ask myself, don’t you? Don’t you ask yourself that? Extra..ordinariness, where I it today? Where are the truly exceptional ones who, out of our sheer proximity to them allow us to glimpse the intersection of our little lives, with the profound? Who walks among us? Is there anyone? Who walks among -us-, all the little uses? [chuckles] Uses… eh, eh, rolling lint off our pants. Uses, squeezing avocados in the grocery store and never picking the ripe one. Uses um, driving up and down the side streets to work because highway frightens uses. Uses um, drinking chamomile, attempting inverted yoga poses, popping melatonin and crossing our fingers as we slink into bed for the night. Where can we look here, in this vast wearied landscape of Rosemary Hills? Where our weathered old water tower reminds us in fading letters of past town mottos. Such as “golf capital”. Or “Rosemary Hills is alive with the whirr of commerce.” Or “Let’s tee in the hills.” But where now, the best boast we can master is “easy access to the highway”.

Well. Here, amidst the now abandoned golf course and its neglected grass, amidst the shuttered strip malls and these potholed streets, the extraordinary has tread. And the footprints, they linger. If you know how to look for them. And I think I do.

My fellow people of Rosemary Hills, citizens of the world, what have you forgotten? What treasures have we hidden under cobwebs and dust? What beauty awaits us on the other side of that drywall, as we wrestle fitfully in our sleep? What life lingers on these old fairways? What wonders just passed us by, as we bowed our head towards.. uh, a brightened 3-inch screen? Our necks hurt, our brains are zapped from too much screentime, our souls ache, and suddenly decades have past us by. Like poof. What are we missing?

Do we remember what used to be held in the delicate folds of our heart? Do we remember how things used to sound? Smell. Feel. Taste. I want to.

It’s time to unpack the attic! Today, we have a mind-boggling discovery. A confirmed to be authentic tape containing what is known to be Wim Faros’ debut public musical appearance here in Rosemary Hills, in the year 1992. And so we are not going to rush this moment, like we rush everything. We’re gonna slow down, we’re gonna savor. We are going to consider the tremendous significance of this relic. In order to fully appreciate it.

And thus, it is my privilege on this day of days to hold in my hands this freshly discovered tape. It’s an ordinary-looking cassette tape. But.. it’s possible some of you have never held a cassette tape. I will explain. Because, though it contains the stuff of wonder, to the human eye it is just a 3,5 by 2-inch clear plastic rectangle with two holes in the middle. And these holes, they have six little black teeth. Non-threatening teeth, so that you could feasibly uh, insert a pencil or a pinky finger, should sometime go [wry] [0:10:09]. Like if the delicate tape needs your manual assistance.

Now that tape is a very thing, translucent gray strip, of course containing some magnet um, magnetic properties. So and it’s spooled around the left hole, and as the tape plays in the cassette tape player, the tape will run along the bottom edge of the rectangle across a tiny magnetic strip. And the magnets pull the music out, with magnetic force, until it is fully spooled around the right hole, which means the tape is finished and you have heard the music. And that’s how a cassette tape works.

I’m Deirdre Gardner. This is “It Makes a Sound”. I am describing a cassette tape. Perhaps the most important cassette tape there ever was.

No won this particular model, we have a yellow sticker that covers the smooth section of the cassette. Nad written on that cover in purple felt tip pen, in bubble letters, is “Wim Fa”, but a waterspot has obscured the “ros”, leaving a purply pink splotch. It’s very pretty, like a watercolor. And underneath, with that same pen and font: “1992”. Crudely drawn stars in uh, multiple colors of pen, speckle the entire sticker. I mean… it’s great. it’s really incredible that one small object can capture so much of an entire era, even just aesthetically. We all seek the soundtrack of our lives, don’t we? And we wish to be privy to the voices of our generation. Yet it its a profound rarity that an artist like Wim Faros crosses into your limited sphere of existence. It’s like an alien prophet touching down on a ordinary Tuesday afternoon in a chain store called The Last Topper. Suddenly making the universe crack open to reveal infinite shards of meaning barely comprehensible to you. Standing there in cargo shorts, holding a casserole dish. Yes, yes. it’s hard to determine the full effect on Wim Faros’s music on this simple town of Rosemay Hills in the early-to-mid 90’s. it’s difficult to quantify the extent of – sacred devotion he inspired in his earliest fanbase.

How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? That was a time without social media and its um, incessant public proclamations to hashtag, trending desires of the moment. Yesterday’s youth had to be more – intuitively united in our common affections. Had to keep the faith that even in a friendless existence, for instance as an example, living in an inherited furnished townhouse on the edge of Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community, there were kindred souls somewhere underneath that same blue sky, wishing and waiting for a connection, just like you. Though perhaps at times to love in solitude, from afar, in the most generic of settings, was lonely and painful. That melancholy was trumped by a feeling of purpose. The purpose that comes from knowing that if someone out there could so perfectly capture the nuanced secrets of your soul, there must be greatness and solace in this universe indeed. isn’t that why we listen to the music? Isn’t that why we listen to the music?

We must ready ourselves to listen to the music. But I will say, even without the ease and benefit of cached fan pages or blogs serving as testimony to the early Wim Faros effect, the artist did manage to be a catalyst of cultural awakening in the town zeigeist. If a town can have a zeitgeist, can – sure. And there is archival evidence of the first reactions to Faros’s artistry. In fact… I happen to be in possession of documents from a Rosemary Hills resident who encountered Wim Faros in his earliest musical phase. Now, some of these pages are enclosed within a purple velveteen diary that I now have in front of me. The writing appears to be by the0 hand of a 12-year-old, I would estimate. And the paper is white ruled. And I seem to have come across a lengty series of haiku. Perhaps I sould share just a few of thes with you, for the sake of research. it’s a segment.. [rummages around] We’ll call it – the poetry of a little us.

[bangs a cong] You have changed my life by allowing me to see even thought you don’t see me.

[cong] I am hard to see in a golf community with many sand traps.

[cong]

You have a blind spot for almost nothing. But one in the size of me.

[cong]

I am the catcher you are a rare butterfly that I cannot grasp.

[cong]

Butterflies upclose freak me out. But you fly free, beautiful and free.

[cong]

I catch butterflies, yes, but I am afraid too. A contradiction.

[cong]

Faithfully you come to the window of my dreams singing: la la la.

[cong]

What is this music? Like, I never heard music before you played it.

[cong]

Now, those are just a few haikus and there are lots more, [chuckles] written here in Rosemary Hills circa 1991-1992. Likely dedicated to one Wim Faros.

[pause] If you’re just tuning in, hello. Welcome. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and this is the first episode of my show, “It Makes a Sound”. A discovery has been made in the attic. it’s Wim Faro’s first live album. It’s the real deal, it’s not a hoax, and it’s so rare that he only known copy exists, recorded from some distance, on a cassette tape. There is nowhere else in the entire universe where you will be able to hear a 16-year-old Wim Faros shaping what comes to be known as the sound – of an epoch. E-P-O-C-H. Stay with me and you will hear it here first, folks, because I have the tape and you’re gonna get exclusive access.

So we’re discussing Wim Faros’ formative teenage years as a musician, right here in Rosemary Hills. We’ve just begun working towards a fuller understanding of the human behind the mu-

[static] [hoarse voice] Who’s there? Who?

Deirdre: Oh, Jesus..

[static] I know, I know.. I know you! I knew!

Deirdre: Are you asleep?

[static, snoring]

Deirdre: Are you? Who’s that? (It’s something). OK. OK.

OK. Everything is good. I’m back. And i’m excited to introduce a new oral history segment of the show, based on town legend and lore around Wim Faros. It’s called – a portrait of the artist as a young man.

[music box plays] A light in the window of the second floor. The only window on the second floor, means Wim Faros is in his bedroom. And almost always when he is in his bedroom, he is drawing on the wall. What was on that wall? Everything was on that wall. The winds of change blew on that wall. The.. unfettered scrawl of technicolor wonders. The rainbow, a paltry container for the variety of colors applied to that wall. New color names would have to be invented. The ongoing overlapping shifting images and symbols, muraled, frescoed, appliqued, on that wall. All these ideas spewing forth from the eclectic multitudes of a single creative mind. In a blue and tan flannel shirt, his right arm braced against the drywall in an L-shape above his head. The bottom of his sleeve ripped and hanging down, he looks like he’s whispering secrets in a confessional. But he is drawing. There’s a lava lamp somewhere, out of view of the window, and it casts blobby spots that climb up and down the room, catching Wim’s distorted shadow when he’s out of view of the window frame. His left hand moves delicately or scribbles furiously. He is left-handed, as statistics prove that most geniuses are. If you’ve been watching, over the course of several months, you would have seen – his fantastic mural take shape.

In the center, a five-foot tall octopus, with the uncannily rendered face of Diane Sawyer. Her arms spread open, Christ-like, with magnolia blossoms and spiders dripping from her fingers. A flock of owls flying over a forest of pine trees. Each face of the moon, paired with a pizza pie of different toppings. Eight personalized pan pizzas, for eight different moons. A ninja army battling a family of squirrels throwing sharp acorns. Pages falling from a Gutenberg Bible into the gaping mouth of a Native American chief. Snoop Dogg. Scully riding a Mulder centaur as Ross Perot hoverboards over their heads! He was getting political.

As the seasons pass, the wall incrementally becomes and intricate map of his fertal, fertal inner life. Repetitions of hummingbirds and starfish, cans of beans, nunchucks. Later, peacocks. A dragon breathing fire, melting the iceberg just before it sinks the Titanic, which passes into clear skies. Dracula playing video games in front of a television set, flickering with an image of outrage from the Rodney King riots. And toaster strudels flying out of toasters into the rings of Saturn! Kurt Cobain offering an origami swan to a sobbing River Phoenix. And hundreds of other elegantly drawn details, too small to make out from a distance, that create a constellation of.. enlightened connectivity across the peeling beige wall.

And almost every night, after all the lights in the windows of the bungalow go dark, if you cared enough to pay attention, you would see the single beam of a flashlight splice a path behind the house, pointed towards a lopsided shed some 40 yards away. And if you were standing right up against the fence that separates Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community from the unincorporated land that stretched out behind the scattered houses on Chamelia Road… you would hear a soulful strum of guitar, and a crescend of drums. Because in that decaying shed, surrounded by the loneliest darkness that is suburban darkness, is where young Wim Faros made the music. It was that music that pulsed through this town, permeated the air, pumped through the water.

Did everyone hearken to the call? No. If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it wall, does it make a sound? Well. I’m here to tell you: trees have fallen. Trees are falling. And you may listen, but do you hear?

People of Rosemary Hills, it is time to hear. It is time to hearken. Hearken. I believe in your ears. Wim Faros sang for you. You didn’t know, but he will sing for you again. He has been lost in the attic, but now he is found. And maybe, [sighs] I don’t know. Maybe… maybe you’ve been lost in the attic too. There was greatness in our midst, transcendence, eccentricity, nuance. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I believe that when a tree falls in a forest, it makes a sound. And i’m inviting you to try, to truly hear, and to remember. So stay tuned for my next episode when that music, lost but now found, will be born again straight into your ears. When you hear the first track from Wim Faros’ debut concert. The first track, perhaps, of the rest of your life.

This has been the inaugural episode of the first and only show in the nation dedicated to the music and legacy of Wim Faros. Thank you for listening. If you have any information about Wim Faros that you think should be shared with our listeners, or if you own a working cassette tape player, do not hesitate to contact me. Um, I, I guess for now you shoud just ca- um email me at ddg at.. no let’s not do that um, i’ll create, I’ll create a new, yes you can contact me at wimfaros@aol… Actually no. please contact [email protected]. Thank you. I’m Deirdre Gardner. Til next time.

[windchime]

“It Makes a Sound” is created and written by Jacquelyn Landgraf. Co-directed by Jacquelyn Landgraf and Anya Saffir. Sound design and engineering by me, Vincent Cacchione. Original music Nate Weida. With Jacquelyn Landgraf as Deirdre Gardner and featuring Annie Golden as the voice from downstairs. It Makes a Sound is a Night Vale Presents production. For more information on this show and other Night Vale podcasts, go to nightvalepresents.com. We hope you’ll rate and review “It Makes a Sound” on Apple Podcasts, and that you’ll tell your friends and all sorts of other humans to listen to the show, to hearken to the trees. And remember Wim Faros.

#it makes a sound #night vale presents #episode 1 #are you listening

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cafephan · 8 years ago

Text

dan vs phil - dumb ways to die: a summary

i squealed when i saw they did this game like it was my life at one point "DanandPhilGames beans" // "i thought you were going to say dummies" // "i wouldn't be mean to them!" // "DUMBARSES" "you're our tiny beans that need to be protected" phil your biffle is trying to impress you with a full-out performance here just humour him pls dan gives up just as phil looks at him wow savage "that song has been stuck in my head for like a billion years" relatable as ever howell "we've never done it" who needs context "it's quick and impossible to bant over" i'm sure you'll give it a good go anyway "this should be a trainwreck from start to finish" this is their new branding, it fits well don't you think "i didn't know it was dangerous to put a fork in the toaster, like, i didn't know, so my mum just walked in on me going 'i'm just going to get my toast out' she was like what are you doing" see this is why i use a knife to get my toast out of the toaster i shouldn't be allowed near appliances should i "who's your daddy is an educational game" // "it is!" listen lads we all know you ain't talking about the game you played a while back we all know your interpretation "we've got to protect these beans from death" everyone reading every hunger games/apocalyptic au ever "that's getting worse every time" dan cuts phil off how rude before the action starts i want to give honourable mention to phil's fashion sense that high neck shirt is doing a lot for him and a black shirt at that is just helping everything no wonder dan is going out of his way not to look anyway on with the non-bants "who's going to go first?" // "you." // "me? but then you can learn the secrets" // "i know" why is this entire exchange literally the most domestic thing i've ever seen they're gross dan makes eye contact with the camera whilst doing that ever so suggestive hand movement like stop looking at me i don't want to be exposed to that dan just scissored phil on camera can you believe 2017 phan "i swear you're psychic" // "yep" *raises eyebrows* someone make phil singing alien into an audio post please and thank you i want it as my alarm tone "have we cracked this ipad?" // "what the-" *both dramatic gasp* // *we've cracked our ipad..." apple are 110% gonna send them a new one by next week i guarantee "that's my ipad... did you just say our ipad?" // "i said this ipad" // *that weird voice he does sometimes* "that is my personal ipad" // "you definitely dropped it" // "probably" it was definitely phil aka mister biter of controllers and spiller of ribena onto other controllers also dan going out of his way to say they have separate possessions like... you'd give the clothes off of your back if phil ran out of toilet paper don't make out you don't share legit everything "just don't touch my body." *dan looks momentarily gloomy* "you can talk but i don't want you to wobble it" phil lester, ever the professional king of words king of adjectives wobble in an attempt to make his dejection funny dan starts to sing which just amplifies it "fed the snek" two games in and dan is already subtly accusing him of cheating the amount of times phil's let you win on this channel,,, shut up man okay phil is atrocious though "okay i'm focusing. no banting." dan sarcastically claps phil's failure honestly same like pal you were awful i love you but you sucked at least on that round "best of three!" phil begs as dan takes the ipad without acknowledging what he said "let's see what happens with dan" me in every fic ever "okay this could be the shortest dan vs phil video ever" "yours are so much easier than mine!" they really aren't philly bobs... they really aren't "straight into the ambulance, check out that accuracy" *licks his lips* okay who's keeping the list of dans kinks because we've found another one "i'm a fast tapper" "get off the wiener!" again who needs context "shaking his private parts around" the stitchy stitch song is strangely catchy "like... you've already won" // "i'm a surgeon... i'm just amazing" someone try and find a dan vs phil video on this channel where dan doesn't call himself amazing does one even exist "we'll discuss this after, see how incredible i am" i think we got an insight into 2**9 just now i'm not sorry i thought he said mexican instead of hexagon i must have his tweet on the brain "frick you, you mother fricker" "connect the fucking wires you dildo" he just went from family friendly to full on dan in the space of ten seconds such a wholesome influence in so many people's lives phil looks silently pissed *phil puts his hand in front of dan's eyes* "nope. screw you." // *phil giggles and does it again* "i didn't touch you!" "you're getting extra practice from watching me do this, i think i'm setting the highest score of all time right now" phil's face lit up when dan failed the man has no shame and i love it "that looked painful..." // "right in the nads" "fuck that train one" honestly i bet he would of given the chance "right, i'm just going to say..." *dan sighs and says his score in what i can only presume is a breathy post-org*sm voice jumpcut what was phil just going to say though #letphilspeak2k17 "so i have an idea, phil. and it's not just letting you have another go, because you had your go" // "i had my go" he still looks pissed // "we're gonna do all or nothing" // "I DIDN'T SUGGEST IT, DAN SUGGESTED IT" *dan looks over fondly* // "we're going to take it in turns every level" // "sudden death?" // "and the first person to die once, never mind the three strikes, loses." shiiiit guys it's all going down here on a thursday evening are you holding on to the edge of your seat "and no holding the ipad. i'm going first." phil just lets dan have his way all the time doesn't he what a prince "what do you mean no holding the ipad?" phil honey it's self explanatory // "as in you have to give it to the other person when the level's over" dan looks off camera and tries not to laugh but fails "are you scared??" bring the fighting talk philly bring it the preparation editing and bird sounds just makes me focus on dan's crusty ass lips like for the love of all that's holy you can get a chopstick for like under a pound "this is a very edutational game" // "edutational?" PHIL THE SAVAGE RETURNS YES WELCOME BACK MY LOVE dan carries on what he's saying without bringing attention to phil's drag "hold up the ipad though, i need to be able to get it. that's a thing." "i don't know what the story of the moose and the man was there..." phil why do you suck so much at this game i had faith in you dan the ever subtle gloater "oh my contact lens has fallen out i got so excited" dans hysterical laugh returns yes my other love as deafening as you are it's a treat for the ears "let me see!" protective bf mode activated "hold your top eyelid and look down... i think it's just come down... yes it's peeling off and it's like going backwards into your brain" okay i take back what i said before, THIS is the most domestic thing i've ever seen "you need to go to the bathroom and you need to take it off right now" protective bf dan gets stricter *phil leaves the room, thank you for that beautiful leg shot* dan's little rant about contact lenses we get it you like phil's glasses so do we but he never listens to us please convince him to wear them more "imagine waking up and not being able to see until you put glasses on... i can't relate to that, my able-sighted privilege... it's checked, and because i don't have to worry about my contact lenses drifting backwards into my brain, um, i feel quite lucky." what the fuck just happened "build a bean... aw it kind of looks like me already! that's fun! i mean, i'm kind of orange, let's go there... i'm really tall, that's a skinny one... what hair do we have?? ah we don't have any coins... i mean i have eyebrows so i don't know about you... the smile, there we go... some sick shades, i mean that's not me is it... what is the skull there?? oooh, ah that's how he dies. well there we go, that is the- the dan bean." i feel like we just went on a journey there, that was more intimate than when they created dil and customised tweety "hi. i had to take out my contact lenses, something went horrifically wrong..." HELLO GLASSES PHIL MY LONG TIME LOVE also watch dans gaze as he watches phil sit down i am convinced love is real and it resides in that flat "what just happened?" // "basically my contact lens turned itself inside out within my eye. i don't know how that happened, i think it was the stress of this game. and tilting beans. and not dying." // "dumb ways to die?? playing this app and then getting your contact lens flipped inside your eyelid and going into your brain and murdering you." *phil points to himself flamboyantly* "that is a dumb way to die!" *dan gestures to phil in a way not entirely dissimilar to will smith does on that red carpet picture you know the one* phil please pay him some attention he can't make it anymore obvious "he's wearing glasses!" yes dan, yes he is, everyone is happy, everyone has a reason to live "why will you not get laser eye surgery" i'm sure dan would pay for it himself like phil wouldn't have to spend a penny *the award sticker ceremony* "here is my flaming bean" i said the same thing when the picture of dan with the black nail polish came out "majestic!" dan howell user of fine adjectives i approve "phil, i'm just saying, mine goes from top to bottom, and it's staring to fill horizontally..." // *phil starts speaking at the same time making this incredibly hard to quote ffs* "you're just stretching it out! you're just stretching it out." i said this last time but PLEASE TAKE IT IN TURNS AND LET EACH OTHER SPEAK they actually forgot to put the dvp switch sticker on the board... okay potential rematch?? "give us a tickle on the like button" // *phil overlaps him again i stg he's doing it to stress me out* "give us a little like, subscribe if you're still alive..." "don't do any of the things that happened in this video including wearing contact lenses apparently." beanisonfire AFlattenedPhil (the closest he'll ever be to being flat stanley)

#this video was fucking wild and so domestic #there wasn't much staring but it was still domestic #how do they do it

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alltheworldsrpg-blog · 7 years ago

Photo

WELCOME TO ROSEWELL, CAMERON!!

ADMIN CAMERON: This is where we’d put our little admin blurb about why we liked your character, giving you some positive feedback about your application and such. It’ll probably be a few lines long, just something simple.

You’ve been accepted as THE SCHRÖDINGER with the faceclaim of BOOBOO STEWART. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Cameron / he/him

AGE:

18.

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

EST / 5/10. I currently work part time and am moving in the coming months, so I can’t be on to do replies every day. Every two or three days is completely doable for me.

TRIGGERS:

Removed for privacy.

ANYTHING ELSE?:

What what I’m Cameron your very cool and very hip admin who knows all about the aesthetics. Pineapple on pizza is delish and I love Domino's so feel free to drag me for all of that.

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE:

The Schrodinger

FULL NAME:

JESSE / from the hebrew yishay, meaning gift. AMADEUS / from the latin ama, meaning love and the latin deus meaning god. GRISWALD / unknown origin, very rare

GENDER + PRONOUNS:

Cis male, he/him

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

Pansexual, Panromantic

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:

September 7th / 22 years of age

OCCUPATION:

Trust fund baby, though is currently attending university for architecture and urban planning.

FACECLAIM:

Booboo Stewart

BIOGRAPHY:

The Griswald pedigree is one prestige and honor, of hallowed halls and marble floors, mahogany bookcases filled to the ceiling with only the substantial literature and prominent authors. Surrounded by the best human lawyers, politicians and doctors, Jesse always felt cut from a different cloth. Like he didn’t belong, a jigsaw piece from another puzzle pushed into a spot it didn’t fit. His parents tried to placate him, saying that genetics made no difference, that being raised as a Griswald was enough. For whatever reason, it always rung a little hollow. Raised in the lap of luxury, with a personal staff at both of his family's large estates, Jesse was slated to become like the rest of the human upper class, conservative in their opinions and company. He was surrounded by talk of how distasteful extraterrestrials were, how they would never fully integrate with human ideals. Instead of soaking it up like a sponge, hanging on to every word they spoke, you instead became intrigued. What were these aliens even like? How different were they truly? It seemed none of his questions were acceptable to his mother and father, who simply tried to change the subject instead. As Jesse attended boarding school since he was small, clutching the bottom of his mother’s skirt begging her not to leave him, he had little opportunity to meet anyone non-human. The ornate halls of wood and stone he attended were simply not open to anyone without a famous human pedigree. Quiet through his primary schooling, Jesse was mostly noted as a dreamer and a shy child, who’d rather doodle over his textbooks or paint pictures of the sky than interact with others his age. His grades in the liberal arts were only mediocre, something his parents would be continually disappointed in. They never looked at the high praise from art class or how he had the highest grade in biology and botany. With his teenage years, Jesse soon met the first of many extraterrestrial friends, his shyness melting into a fierce, but quiet independence from all forms of authority. His first of many was an accident, he’d bumped into them while rushing to catch a train, covering the both of them with black coffee. As an apology, Jesse bought them coffee from a little cafe he frequented, sharing artistic visions over sips of warm mugs. It was the beginning of an entire young adulthood of meet ups, whether it was the stark white galleries and museums or the rich woods and reds of a library, Jesse had finally found his fit. He still felt the need to live a two-faced life, hiding his closest and dearest friends from his parents and sibling, for fear of rejection by the people who raised him. He lied to his friends about his name, the Griswald family well known as prominent advocates of human supremacy over extraterrestrials. Soon his web of lies and falsities became too much, strangling him slowly until it became impossible to tell what was real and fake. In the end, he just couldn’t take it. He cut himself off from all of his friendships, both the ones his family approved of and didn’t and spent most of his days locked inside his room, painting the night sky. The move was supposed to raise his spirits, the change in location shock him back into the person he once was. Though, after three years of attending the University of New Mexico, a lonely melancholy is all that surrounds Jesse Griswald. It’s all he can do, the memories of late night laughter around a trash fire too painful to even indulge in.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

i. Often restless and unable to sleep, Jesse tends to spend the wee hours of the morning at a local diner in Roswell, usually over a cup of coffee and some pancakes. Often he works on sketches or models, one time even bringing his glue-gun to finish up a project for of his urban planning classes. It’s his second home, watching the New Mexico purple sky rise as he sips luke-warm coffee is relaxing to him. Sometimes he’ll even take the trip out in the middle of his school day for lunch, just for a patty melt and a shake. Despite going so often, he’s yet to become friendly with any of the waitstaff.

ii. Back in New York, Jesse occasionally partook in graffiti, often painting dull bricks in vivid depictions of skies and stars, in a plethora of colors. Now, it’s Jesse’s main art fix, next to his work with architecture. If one walks around Roswell enough, they’ll find small cartoon alien heads, bright green with glowing eyes. Jesse even has a few full murals, mostly in abandoned junkyards or on the sides of dilapidated buildings. He’s quite shy about his work, therefore doesn’t claim most of it nor do any of his friends know about what he gets up to in the middle of the night.

iii. Jesse’s been slowly working on a garden of succulents, along with other plants more native to the area. Despite living in an apartment, he’s converted a large portion of his terrace and common area into a haven for plants, bright green and dots of other colors contrasting against the stark white. He’s always had a bit of a green thumb, ever since he was little, but in Roswell he’s really taken the hobby to an entirely new level. He even gets upset when a plant of his withers and dies, almost as if they were pets of some sort. He’d like to have a bigger and bigger space for his plants, but he’s running out of room unfortunately.

QUICKSHOTS:

i. Jesse has a tattoo on left arm, on the inside of his elbow. It’s an inverted triangle with various planets in the solar system.

ii. Cherry Coke is his favorite beverage after black coffee.

iii. Blue is his favorite color, next to black.

iv. If he wasn’t going into architecture he’d be a painter.

PLOTS:

ARC I - SHOW YOUR TRUE COLORS

Jesse has been hiding for years, from his friends and his family, living in this sort of inbetween state where he doesn’t have any sort of conviction. I’d like to see Jesse become more open, maybe be coaxed out of his mile-thick shell he’s built up, even if it’s just with a few people or a small group. I’d like to see him grow into more of the person he was prior, maybe more muted but gain back that spontaneity and friendliness he’s lost.

I think as a larger part of this, he needs to figure out exactly what he wants out of life too. Right now, Jesse is very aimless and sort of just going through the motions of going towards adulthood. I’d like to explore his own desires and passions, kind of pulling him out of his funk.

ARC II - BLOOD IS THICKER

Once Jesse gains some of his footing and sort of re-discovers his own identity, there’s going to be a lot of conflict with his family, as I’m pretty certain his beliefs don’t align with theirs. He’s probably going to lose a lot of support along with rising tension between him and his sibling, so it’ll put a lot of stress on Jesse to stand up and make himself known. He relies on his family for finances and for validation of a sort, so now he’s going to have to get that from somewhere else.

Along with that, I’d like to see Jesse become more political, maybe even rivaling his family or family friends. I think it’d be interesting to see where all of that drama would go, what sort of betrayal and backstabbing he’d get from his own family.

CONNECTIONS:

( trust nobody ) - You’re not just shy, you’re reserved and it’s for a reason. everyone who got close to you ended up leaving, rejecting the entire relationship you built from the ground up. They keep pushing, corner you when you least expect it. You used to have that spunk, the drive to keep working on cracking an impenetrable shell. They’ll probably leave too, the moment you begin to feel safe. So it’s just best to keep yourself closed, it’ll be better in the long run. Even if it hurts now.

( childhood dreams ) - You knew them once, long ago on cold New York streets and warm cafe’s in the evening. You aren’t sure if they’ve recognized you as you have them, but it’s clear they haven’t forgotten the pain humans caused them in your youth. Obviously, you avoid them, not wanting to dredge up things from you past, but you are curious. There’s a pull, the same pull you felt back then, but it’s best to make yourself scarce. You still remember what happened last time.

( sooner or later ) - You hurt, they help you forget. It was conceived late at night, after slipping whisky in your milkshake throughout a somewhat forced study session. They saw you and propositioned you, a no strings sort of attachment. Then it just kept happening, an easy bed to crawl into when loneliness overtook you and Gabriel wasn’t around to soothe you. It’s bad, you know how this sort of thing always ends. But you can’t stop, it’s like a drug. And so you keep going.

WRITING SAMPLE:

fam just read around the main, boom. writing samples, everywhere.

ETC:

Blog tag / pinterest / playlist

#accepted.#sample app.

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apairofcrepeswiththerarestape · 6 years ago

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I do not like sweets and other than the occasional creme brulee on my birthday I've never really gone in for dessert either (the childhood mnemonic that instructed one on the difference in spelling between dessert and desert never worked on me as two helpings of dessert sounds terrible). Usually sweets just make me feel gross and not in the way that like savory stuff makes me feel gross which is actually kind of enjoyable. I'm not into cookies or ice cream or cake (why eat boring ass cake when you could have pie) or candy bars or chocolate, I'm a salt dog through and through. There are A LOT of desserts in Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child though and some of them do not seem like nightmares that would leave me writhing in pain on my living room floor cursing myself for dancing once again with that cruel demon sugar. Many of them even feature fruits that are currently in season and require very little actual cooking which is nice because our tiny slanted apartment kitchen gets very hot. So this week I went into that sweet heart of darkness and made some dang dessert (I remember the spelling by thinking that dessert has two s's)! With some dang seasonal fruits! That dessert is called Peches Cardinal aka Compote of Fresh Peaches with Raspberry Puree which directly translates to Cardinal Sins! Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh this dessert is going to hell according to the teachings of religions that have been the excuse for centuries of violence! So naughty!

I shopped for this recipe according to the directions in Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child without reading them thoroughly. This was unwise as said recipe is for 10 people and my partner and I are only two people and extra dessert is, as I've said, gross. Also this recipe ended up being pretty expensive! So I ended up having way more food than I wanted AND paying a bunch of money for it! I AM VERY SMART! I really felt as if I had taken that mythical test where there was a direction to not answer any questions on the test and failed it. Did anyone else ever hear about this almost certainly apocryphal test while in school? I never saw the test with my own eyes but it existed like some sort of test boogieman that teachers talked about to scare you into reading directions. It is amazing how much teaching was based on fear when I was a child. ANYWAY I had to buy some fruit so I went to slightly fancier grocery store in my neighborhood and bought 10 peaches, a thing of vanilla extract, and a quart of raspberries. All these things cost more money than I expected them to, this was possibly due to me being unable to gauge how many raspberries were in a quart and so I bought a lot. I still made a face when I saw the total at the checkout counter, a face that I tried to hide immediately because jesus dude you saw the prices of things don't put that on a cashier. I took my sticker shock and my fruit home and got down to business.

Making this dessert took much longer than I thought it would, so long that I ended up not even tasting it till midnight, well after my partner had given up on having dessert and went to bed. There is a lot of sitting and chilling and cooling in this recipe that I should've been more aware of but I'm a go go New Yorker who's addicted to the rat race and has meetings with an anthropomorphic pizza slice on a delayed subway or whatever (actually I did not read thoroughly because I'm lazy and easily distracted). It started simple enough with me simmering 2 1/4 cups of granulated sugar and 2 tablespoons of vanilla extract in 6 cups of water till the sugar dissolved. I added my 10 peaches, I used the requisite 12 inch saucepan so there was lots of room and then brought it back up to simmer. I was then instructed to "maintain just below a simmer" for 8 minutes, I did not do this because it is impossible. Instead I kept is simmering for 8 more minutes and then turned off the heat and let those peaches sit in their syrup for 20 minutes and while it smelled great it looked kind of gross.

Next I had to make the raspberry puree and it was slightly more complicated than it sounded. I was pretty sure I'd just have to dump a bunch of raspberries in a blender and press the button that says puree, but guess what? IT WAS MORE WORK THAN THAT, which is kind of bulllllllllllllstuff! Like the blender says puree and this is a puree! Why are words lies! Wah wah wah! After I finished the fit that brought about these very petty thoughts I got down to that extra work which, guess what? TURNED OUT TO BE VERY SATISFYING! Forcing raspberries through a sieve using the bottom of a plastic bowl is very relaxing! Very messy but very relaxing! And the puree was very pleasing to look at! It had a great, um, raspberry color? That's really the best I've got when it comes to color naming, I understand that thing then the word color is not super descriptive but as I've said, I'm extremely lazy! I put my raspberry mess into a blender with 1 1/4 cup of granulated sugar, set it to "ice crush" (the highest setting which is weird because it doesn't seem like it should be), and blended the hell out of it for 2 minutes or so. What came out was a nearly too sweet for my sweetness averse palette raspberry puree. I celebrated my ability to not fudge this up completely by cornily singing Raspberry Puree to the tune of Raspberry Beret ("Raaaaaaaspberry Puree/The kind I made in our crappy blen-der") and then I put the puree in a bowl to chill in the fridge.

By the time I was done with emotional raspberry puree journey the peaches had soaked for their requisite 20 minutes and it was time to drain them and peel them which was, just as the words made it sound, very gross! The peaches were coated in their syrup and still pretty warm, placing them on a rack over my sink they looked pretty alien. The syrup had made the skin loose and and easy to peel except for the parts of the peach that were not submerged in the syrup, these parts of the peaches were extremely hard to skin! I felt like a real dolt about it! I did my best though to peel the peaches, which through that process became even more alien looking, and I then placed them into a long glass serving platter. Then they also had to chill in the fridge for a while. This was the point where my partner went to bed and I sat up up with my peaches and raspberry puree for another hour or so. When the peaches and raspberry puree were no longer hot and chilled respectively I combined them in the serving dish and let them cool together for a little while and get even more alien looking. I waited and hoped they wouldn't hatch.

Later, late into the night, I took one of the peaches out and put it in a bowl and poured some of the puree over it, it looked only slightly less like it was going to crack open and spawn something that would attach itself to my face, then I grabbed a spoon and dug in. It was pretty good. The next day, after leaving them in the fridge for around 24 hours, I ate two more and my partner had one and they were just as good. Not good enough for us to eat the other 6 peaches that are currently sitting in our fridge soaking in raspberry goo and perhaps spawning life, but good. If you were going to a party, perhaps one for an HR Giger fan, this would make for an excellent dessert to bring, don't just make it for yourself at home. THIS IS A PARTY DESSERT ONLY! So go make this for like a late summer BBQ for goths or something! See you next week!

PS If you enjoy these weird food ramblings, I'm hosting a comedy cooking show on Sunday August 12th at a gallery in Chinatown called Essex Flowers. It's called Everybody Gets Soup, starts at 7:30pm, and is free! So come by, see some comedy, and watch me sweat all over myself with fear!

#tdandjulia #pechescardinal #compoteoffreshpeacheswithraspberrypuree #cardinalsins #masteringtheartoffrenchcooking #juliachild #notoneforsweets#dessertsbyhrgiger #readllthedirectionsfirst #thepureesettingisamyth

#tdandjulia pechescardinal compoteoffreshpeacheswithraspberrypuree cardinalsins masteringtheartoffrenchcooking juliachild notoneforsweetsdess

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