Black Sails fic recs

Working titles: 12 fics for christmas? 12 days of ficmas? 12 fics none of which actually have anything to do with christmas?

OKAY, so I love nothing more than a fic rec post, and I’ve seen a few Black Sails rec posts floating around but they mostly seem to be a couple of years old and they all recommend a similar bunch of fics (and deservedly so! they are all amazing!). But I thought I would make one to highlight some newer or less shouted-about fics, because I may have only been here for a couple of months but jfc there is so much talent in this fandom and more of it deserves to be hyped. 

So, here are 12 of my favourite fics for the 12 days of christmas! (i.e. an excuse to put an arbitrary number cap on the list or we’d be here all day)

The majority of these are Silver/Flint and the ones that aren’t still all feature Silver prominently because that boy owns my soul, sorry for who I am as a person.

we should rip it straight out by minormendings

45K (Silver/Madi, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

Madi has always wondered if Silver understands what is between him and Flint as well as she. To her, it has always been obvious, from the way the two of them had fit together, had worried about each other, had acted as one. She had tried to bring it up with Silver back when they were together. But Silver had shaken her off, too enmired in the idea that he or Flint would prove each other’s downfall. Or perhaps just unwilling to open his eyes to the fact that he had loved Flint.

It was, unfortunately for the both of them, even more obvious after the thing between them had broken. Just as Silver had thrown away the war out of love for her, Flint had let Silver take away the war rather than kill him.

God. What a group the three of them were, showing love by betrayal.

Post-canon. Madi and Flint find their way back to Silver.

This fic diverges from canon right at the end of the 4x10; Silver has Flint held in a cell in Port Royal and Thomas delivered to him rather than taking him straight to the plantation. It is a BEAUTIFUL character study of how Flint and Madi could both come to forgive Silver, and has a great FlintMadi dynamic too. It also centres Madi’s struggle between wanting to provide for her people and wanting to experience the freedom of piracy, and fleshes out Julius’ character in a way the show never did. 

we can lose and call it living by I_wouldnt_be_one_of_them

31K (Silver/Flint/Thomas, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

It's been twelve years since everything fell apart, and John Silver is settled in New England. He has a nice house and a job he likes, and he's gotten used to the loneliness. It's a good life, he thinks, but of course that's cast into doubt when James Flint and Thomas Hamilton show up to find closure and, apparently, to see whether he's happy.

This is an inverse of the ‘silver arrives on flint and thomas’ doorstep’ trope and has Flint and Thomas instead being the ones to interrupt Silver, who is living a sad and lonely existence post-series. I love the ThomasSilver dynamic here. And this Silver feels so true to canon he makes me want to WEEP.

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more by Craftnarok

21K (Silver/Flint)

In the year 1725, or thereabouts, John Silver finds himself driven by a storm into an inconsequential little port town, barely a speck on any civilised map. Returned to the life of a drifter, tired and rough around the edges, he is resigned to waiting for the weather to pass before he can sail on again to the next town, and the next, and the next. That is until he overhears a conversation in the inn about a local fisherman, one Captain Barlow, and his tall tales of tempests and becalmings, devils and sharks, and Silver finds a new future opening up to him, haunted by the spectres of his past.

All of Craftnarok’s fics are amazing but I am particularly drawn to this one; it’s set 10 years post-series and is a delightfully angsty exploration of how Flint and Silver could find their way back to each other in a scenario in which Thomas wasn’t at the plantation. It doesn’t let Silver off easy and I love that.

armed with the past and the will by whimsicalimages

3K (Silver/Madi, Madi & Julius)

The language of winning and losing, this language that men favor – Madi can speak this language, though she disagrees with its precepts. Success takes different forms, and failing once does not mean failing forever. It does not even mean failing the next time.

Post-series, Julius teaches Madi how to fight. This fic is BEAUTIFUL - give me anything that centres Madi post-canon - and it explores Madi’s relationship with both Julius and Silver so well in so few words. 

Always In Season by mycapeisplaid

60K (Silver/Flint, past Flint/Thomas, past Silver/Madi)

Towering sand dunes, crystal-clear water, miles of forest, vineyards, orchards, and very spotty cellular service -- John Silver finds himself in a part of the state he's never been before and decides to take on seasonal work. Meanwhile, back from his yearly wintering in Florida, James Flint thinks that perhaps he'll take on a new business venture, even though it means he might have to interact with people other than his two close friends. Their summer employment fosters a friendship that could become something more. Like construction season in Michigan, the two must navigate through their own obstacles in order to seek an alternative route toward happiness.

This is an AU and so much fun!! Silver finds himself in Michigan and takes on some seasonal work at Guthrie Dunes. The whole cast features and the setting just WORKS SO WELL. And this Flint feels brilliantly in character despite the difference in setting.

to make a life by gone_girl

53K (Max/Anne, Max & Silver)

“What am I going to do with your name?” Max asks, a little incredulous.

“Whatever you want,” the salesman says. “Didn’t you want something real?”

Max heard a story once about the importance of answering questions like that carefully. If something emerges from the forest and asks for your name, don’t give it up, the story went. Offer only what you know you can live without. She’s never heard a story that tells her what to do when something emerges from the forest and offers its name to you.

I literally only finished this this morning but holy shit this fic is amazing, it’s a Max-centric AU set in Missouri the early 00s and it’s all about found family and building community and platonic love and it has a brilliant SilverMadi dynamic. And there just aren’t enough fics out there that focus on Max & Silver!! 

the straight walk home by vowelinthug

73K (Silver/Flint)

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez…

Obviously vowelinthug’s fics are recc’d all the time and rightly so as they are AMAZING, but one that I don’t see featured as often as the more prominent ones is this incredible Western!AU. It’s 73K guys!! It adapts the canon narrative into the Western setting SO well!! It has background Vane/Billy which I was not at all sure about going in but just WORKS!! Go read it.

The Truth about Eros by Aisalynn

21K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi, Flint/Thomas)

Silver understood one thing very well.

Being Fated did not mean you were safe.

It did not mean you were loved.

This one is hot off the press! I am not normally a fan of soulmate AUs but this is such an interesting take on the trope, and the world building fits around the polyamory theme of the show really effectively! And it is SO well written.

With Nothing on My Tongue by RosieTwiggs

13K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

"Silver thinks: Maybe God likes it when I fight with him.

He wonders now, whether he’s been playing into God’s plan all along. Because no matter how angry he gets, how defensive, how many “fuck you”s he flings to the heaven, isn’t it all just proof that he still believes God is there, despite it all?

Silver doesn’t know how to counter that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore."

An incredibly well written (and angsty! read the tags!) Jewish!Silver character study. This one has really stayed with me.

Maybe in Another Life by samedifference61

31K (Silver/Flint/Madi, Flint/Madi, Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

At the rail of a ship James doesn’t command, they stand shoulder to shoulder.

“John still thinks you’re dead,” James states, because it’s something that needs to be said aloud before they continue.

With eyes unblinking toward the rolling sea, Madi says, “And he still thinks you should be dead.”

James’ lip curls in anger. The wounds of betrayal are too fresh for either to say anymore.

Canon-divergent from 4x09, this is a brilliant MadiFlint centric fic exploring their relationship post Silver’s betrayal, and how he could find his way back to them both whilst acknowledging the weight of his actions.

in a vault of starlight by whimsicalimages

7K (Silver/Madi/Flint/Thomas)

The distance between Nassau and Savannah can be measured as: six hundred and thirteen nautical miles, five thousand pounds’ worth of pearls, or four extraordinary lifetimes.

Alternatively: in the aftermath, Madi writes her own story.

There aren’t enough Madi centric fics out there! This one is a lovely extension of canon with a great MadiSilver dynamic in particular.

the aftershocks remain by pdameron

31K (Silver & Miranda, Silver/Flint)

For as long as he can remember, John Silver has been able to see ghosts. He has no trouble keeping this secret from Flint - until Charlestown. Until Miranda.

Again all of pdameron’s fics are brilliant but I loooove this SilverMiranda centric one, plus who doesn’t love a ghost!au.

Day 12 febuwhump prompt. Spiked drink. This one is dark and comes with all the warnings. Mostly child abuse and non-consent.

Title: Recall

Prompt: spiked drink

Mike Stoker was a very observant man. That's why he's so quiet. His philosophy was 'keep the pie hole shut so the eye holes do their job'. Or rather, it was his grandfather's, a veteran of the Great War who never quite made it home.

So on that frigid rainy February night, when Mike spoke instead of backing Big Red into the bay, Hank, Marco and Chet knew shit was about to get serious.

"Cap," he said. "We have a situation with the guys in the squad. I think you need to go talk to them."

"Okay." Cap said, trusting his engineer fully. "You three stay here."

He looked sternly at Chet before climbing from the cab as Mike put it in park. Catching Mike’s eye, the understanding between the two was clear. Keep Chet away, even if it came down to sitting on him, until Cap gave them the all clear.

As he approached the squad the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. In a rare occurrence, Johnny sat behind the wheel. Curled around it more like, with his face buried in his arms. Roy was curled around Johnny, his cheek resting against his hair, a look of utter devastation on his face and in his unseeing eyes.

Hank could hear heart rending sobs as he tried to decide which door to approach. Choosing the drivers side he slowly opened the door, and discovered the source of the weeping.

"Hey Pal," he said gently. "What's going on?"

Receiving no response, he put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. The simultaneous results were immediate.

"Don't touch me!" A fearful shriek.

"Don't touch him!" A warning.

Roy pulled Johnny closer as his sobs turned to panic. Johnny turned instinctively to his partner, hiding his face against Roy's shoulder.

"I got you Johnny. I've got you. They won't hurt you anymore. I will kill them if they try. I've got you…" Roy repeated the words over and over again rocking Johnny gently.

Overcoming his initial shock at the violent response, Hank realized that neither of his paramedics were fully in the present. At a loss he looked for his engineer and was surprised to see the three men standing at the hood of the squad with expressions of mingled shock and fear.

"Sorry Cap, we heard the yell." Marco answered the look.

"Cap, what's wrong with Johnny?" Chet’s pigeon forever his priority.

Mike just watched, his usual expression given way to worry.

"I don't know. Should we call another squad?"

"Rampart." Mike said quietly.

Cap nodded and went into his office to make the call. Mike took his captain's place.

What happened to you two? You're two of the strongest people I know…

Captain Stanley had been lucky when he called, catching Kel Brackett as he was headed off duty, and Joe Early as he was coming on. Both doctors left the ER in the hands of a pair of interns and arrived at the station twenty minutes later.

Johnny was quiet and the pair still now. But neither man moved or acknowledged the others. The doctors chose to approach the protector.

"Roy? Roy, it's Kel- ah, Dr. Brackett. Joe's here with me. We'd like to talk to you."

"Roy." Joe continued. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Roy twitched like he was trying to shoo away an irritating fly.

"Okay. How about I start." Kel continued. "You brought a patient in shortly after midnight. A female, aged twenty two. She was unconscious with depressed respiration. Suspected drug overdose. Her date-"

"Shhh.." Roy hushed as he wrapped both arms tighter around his partner. "Shhh."

"Roy." Joe said gently, "Roy did something like that happen to someone you or Johnny know?"

Roy turned a face that had aged considerably in the last hour to the doctors, the expression in his eyes indescribable.

"He was just a kid, Doc. Same age as my son. His foster parents traded him for drugs and it was the only way he'd cooperate."

His voice was quiet, but every man in that bay heard the words and was heartsick.

Roy's burning eyes gave way as he turned and rested his cheek against Johnny’s hair. He tightened his already vice-like grip around his partner.

"I'll keep you safe, Junior. I swear it."

Outside of the squad, the six other men exchanged a look, making their own pact between them.

Hiraeth wa Tabiji no Hate 05 - Impressions

The last chapter of the first volume! A quiet chapter this time, so hopefully my summary will actually be quick for once. (lol nevermind)

Summary, manga caps, and impressions below. As always, let me know if you want help purchasing a digital copy of this chapter to support Kamatani’s work!

Summary:

(content warning for ongoing suicide ideation, talk about past deaths/grief)

Mika flees from her startling confrontation with Kami last chapter, running to find Hibino so she can leave. She find him at a small shrine (?) (I believe the same one that we met Michino at in chapter 3 but I didn’t go back to check), and tells him that she didn’t know Kami could manipulate people’s death.

Hibino corrects her, saying that Kami doesn’t control death, only oversees it. Mika doesn’t like this, saying it’s wrong to just watch people die and be fine with it. Hibino acknowledges that Kami doesn’t have good intentions but states he also doesn’t have any bad intentions. He’s simply a god looking down on humans.

Mika asks Hibino about the notebook he carries. He says it’s for record-keeping and shows her his notation about Michino’s recent death. He writes down the names of the people he meets and is parted with through death, noting that when you are immortal, everyone you befriend dies eventually. He’s used to loss, but he still feels something when he loses people.

Mika is a bit surprised, since she had the impression that Hibino didn’t care one way or another like Kami. Hibino notes that he thinks of death as natural and inevitable, but even so he wants to ensure that peoples’ names don’t fade. That’s how he faces death.

Mika wonders if she’s the weird one for wanting to meet someone even if it kills her. But Hibino tells her he doesn’t think it’s weird. This is a breakthrough moment for Mika, and for the first time she tells him the name of the friend she lost: Mitsuha. 

She remembers a day that Mitsuha came to watch her practice for track. Mika says that Mitsuha should go home since her head was hurting, but she says watching Mika run makes her feel better. Looking back on it, Mika regrets not pushing for Mitsuha to go to the hospital.

Mika tells Hibino that everyone talks about today or tomorrow, but she wants yesterday. She feared that if said Mitsuha’s name, “yesterday” would fade away. Now though...for the first time, she weeps in front of other people, wholeheartedly, repeating Mitsuha’s name.

Exhausted, she collapses, Kami appearing just in time to catch her. Hibino notes that she hasn’t slept in a while, not since “yesterday.”

Later, Mika reflects that she doesn’t know what the answer is, but she needs to figure it out on her own, so she’s continuing on the journey. She writes a postcard to her mother, saying that she’s staying with a sempai from track and not to worry.

Hibino says there is a wake for Michino tonight, but Mika is not ready to face it. So they all depart. Hibino and Mika are wearing the beadwork brooches they received from Michino; Kami doesn’t really get the reasoning behind doing so and isn’t wearing his.

Mika declares that she is going to call Kami “Hani” from now on (the nickname Michino tried to give him in chapter 4* and he rejected.) Hani agrees that it’s fine, since he wants to get along with Mika.

*from hanitsuchi, a clod of dirt and the word Kami used when he said he will return to the earth

As they depart, a flock of birds take flight and form into a dragon, a local deity that Hani visited, come to see them off. Hani spells his beadwork brooch to take flight and join the dragon.

Meanwhile, a woman (with a dog!) is on the phone; she says she is about to start her fieldwork on the topic of “Are the legends of immortality real?”

Impressions:

This was mostly a wrap up chapter, but the things that stand out:

1) I wondered before what it would take for Mika’s “everything’s fine!” facade to collapse in front of the others, and here it is.

2) The mystery of Hibino’s notebook revealed! It feels a bit like Kamatani is circling back to the ideas they expressed in Nabari no Ou about immortality but with a new outlook.

3) I’m still wondering whether Mitsuha was aware or not about the possibility of dying soon. This chapter made it seem more like she died suddenly/unexpectedly from some manner of physical illness (stroke? brain aneurysm?) but prior memories of her indicated a preoccupation with life after death...

4) Hani joins the ranks of Kamatani characters with acquired names. (Think: Yoite, Someone-san.) I’m interested to see how this plays out, especially since this chapter put an emphasis on speaking people’s names.

5) Still wondering whether Mika’s mom will actually show up in the story.

6) Mysterious new lady??? Who is some sort of...researcher? Author? IDK. I wonder if she has a prior connection with Hibino or has heard about him somehow. Her dog is cute.

And that’s volume 1! It goes on sale in late April, so I’m looking forward to the unveiling of the cover art in the coming weeks. I’ll be ordering it, but I really hope this series gets licensed for an English release!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 

Grief

My father died February 11th, 2021. That, in and of itself, is a weird sentence for me to write. To acknowledge. To me, the reality of this situation that I find myself in has not quite sunk in. I feel it in waves, rocking me like a boat beating against a storm. There are times when the boat has a leak and I scramble on deck to patch it together, desperately holding my hands over the holes while water rushes in. There are times where other boats come near to try and salvage my wreckage, but the captain goes down with their own ship and whatnot. I have always been one for bad metaphors. Amidst all of this, there are times of calm and quiet waters as well, where the ocean seems endless and empty. My father is dead. He is gone. He will not come back.

I check my Facebook messenger and look at his icon to see if he is there or not. He is not. He will not be ever again. I feel a lump forming in my throat. I scroll through the messages we have shared for the past several years and question every conversation. Did I contact him enough? Why didn’t I respond to that one message he sent? Was I too short with him? Did he know that I loved him? I look back and analyze every photo he was in. Why did I make that face? Why didn’t I take more photos with him? Did he know that I loved him? Why didn’t I show that I loved him more? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?

Attempting to live my life normally is a joke, and a bad one at that. Everything reminds me of him and the memories we made while growing up. I had malt o meal for breakfast. I cried. He loved malt o meal, with a large amount of sugar and a small amount of milk. Just enough that it was “liquid but not runny” like he said. I remember just two weeks ago when he had eaten only one bite of malt o meal and turned it away due to being nauseous. I thoughtlessly plopped the spoon in my mouth. We all laughed at the realization that he had just had chemo and we were not supposed to swap bodily fluids due to the poisonous chemicals. It was not funny. It was. God, I hate malt o meal. Why did he like this stuff?

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When my eyes are closed, I see the same scenes playing out in my head that have resided there for the past several weeks. They plague my sleep and leave me restless. He had always had a cheery and rounded face, but those final weeks his eyes sunk in between mountains of cheekbones and gaunt skin. His mouth hangs open like he cannot get enough oxygen for all the air in the room. Maybe he wants to speak. But he doesn’t. He is silent at the end, except when in pain. His eyes are also open, halfway and drooping. His eyes are open, and he is searching but he is not seeing me. At one point, when he could still speak, he mutters about bugs crawling on the walls and a girl on the ceiling. We joke about how scary that sounds to make it less uncomfortable. Could he see us there, beside him?  

Curly hair was his best feature, he always said. People from all over complimented him on his natural hair all the time. We had a hairdresser once who fawned over it. He acted embarrassed but I think he liked the attention. Those same locks of hair now lay disheveled and unkempt around him like a halo. My mother sprays them with water and tries to keep them clean. I was glad, at least, the one chemo treatment had not stolen that from him. We cut a lock of hair to keep. It is the only thing of his person that will not face or be burned when he is cremated. What would he think of that?

My mother and I are caregiver to him, and we drain fluid from his chest as it builds up to an unbearable amount. At first it is an alien procedure to me, with a series of steps and protocols and cleaning routines. Put on two sets of gloves, touching only the wrist. Clean the cap with an alcohol swab. Make sure the clamp is fastened before you attach the bag below. Don’t drain too much or his blood pressure will drop, and you will kill him even faster than the cancer. After a few times, it is normal and just another thing we do to help him. Towards the end, it is tinged red. So is his urine. So is everything else. He stirs at one point in his confusion and tells me “I’ve leaked, I see red everywhere”.  There was none, he was hallucinating. At least that time. Is he in pain?

Our fingers intertwine periodically when I sit beside him. When he was still conscious, he would occasionally reach out for whoever was closest. This was the smallest of comforts we could offer him. He always liked to sleep with his arms above his head, but the atrophied muscles would not allow this for him. We moved him into position like a broken marionette throughout the day. His hands are placed on his chest after he passed. They were so yellow, cold, and frail. There was no strength left in his ragged fingers. I held one of his hands in mine and I took a photo. The yellow skin glares at me like the sun and I squint, suddenly nauseous. I change the photo to black and white. As I stare at that photo now, it seems morbid to me but at the time gave me something to keep of him. What will it be like to never touch him again?

The sounds amplify the hell I experience. After his first round of chemo, he was awake and aware of us for two days. During that time, we made mostly small talk. He was quiet and introspective. At one point, I sat across from him and worked on readings assigned from my graduate school classes. He broke the silence to say he was proud of me. I told him that I was sad he would not see me graduate. He was the reason, after all, I had pursued this path. This is the only time I saw him cry in front of me. We held each other and I listened to his heartbeat in his chest while he told me that regardless of his death, he would be there for me. I realize now that I never asked him things like what his favorite color was, which tv shows he liked now, what hobbies he wished he had done when he had the time. As he is in and out of sleep, my mother and sister tell him “it’s okay, you don’t have to fight, let go”. I cannot speak these words. I do not want to. On his last day, I had exhausted myself to the point I needed to rest. My head had barely hit the pillow before I hear a sound across the vast distance of the house that raised the hairs on my arm. It’s someone in pain. I rush back to his bedside as his head turns this way and that. His mouth now opens only to say “help” in a strangled, garbled voice. He is soothed with morphine until his whimpering subsides. That was the last thing he spoke to us. I never really said “goodbye” to him. Was there more I should have said?

For weeks I sat beside his bed at night and watched over him while the hum of his breathing machine aligned with the nervous fluttering of my heart. His gasping breaths... In for a few seconds, quickly out, then held for an eternity, then in again. Every pause between his breathing caused me to hold my air in my throat. Every pause could have been the last one, but it wasn’t. Until it was. My mother calls out to us, after he expressed pain, and we gather around his bedside. My sister, my mother, my grandmother, and me. My mother holds his hands and weeps. His breathing is different, not the beat I have grown accustomed to. It is quick, jagged, and quiet. At some point, it stops. There is an eerie silence, followed by the sounds a body releases shortly after death. It startles me, and an undeniable signal of the horrible event that has just unfolded in front of us. I can’t believe it. I reach over to his throat to feel a pulse. There isn’t one. I dry heave into the trash can nearby before I break the silence with a loud scream. As I browse Facebook now, I wonder how I can hear him again. Are there videos of him speaking? Why didn’t I record any videos of him speaking? Is his voicemail still on his phone? I am scared to call it. Why am I scared to call it?

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Reliving these events, the weight now completely crushes my chest. It caves in my ribcage, plows through my heart, and drops me somewhere against the cold of the floor below. I am paralyzed in this position, barely breathing. I am scared. If I am too loud, if I cry, if I talk, I am acknowledging this new reality I am forced to live in. I don’t want to live it. I don’t want to be a part of it. I reject this world, body and soul. I am scared. Frantically, my mind races to those who are still present. I have not spent enough time with them. I have not said all the things I wanted, asked them what their favorite color is, or recorded enough photos and videos. When will I lose someone else? How will I lose them? I am scared. My breath begins to catch in my chest, and I feel the room shrink around me. I will never hear him again. I will never see him again. I will never touch him again. I will never play Fallout (which he loved) with him or watch Alien Covenant (which he hated) with him again. I will never be able to fall into his arms and cry about something stressing me out again. I will never hear him tell me he is proud of me again. I will never see him smile after he tells a bad joke again. My father is dead. How do I grieve this loss?

I don’t have a title for this... but yay Cosette!

Cosette traipsed down the hall of the house she shared with her Papa, the usual lightness to her step dull and dark. The fresh, newly-laundered white sheets weighed in her arms despite not weighing much all. Marius had woken only two days ago and was practically unreachable for those two days. He’d spent most of the day lying in bed, eyes glazed over with tears budding in their corners, not moving even to eat or drink.

 It hurt Cosette to see him like this. She herself didn’t know what had transpired on the barricades only that it was terribly tragic. She had gone out to market yesterday and several girls were weeping loudly in the square. Cosette knew most of it was superficial, that they probably didn’t know anyone at the barricades personally, for as she passed them by they were whispering amongst themselves of the supposed beauty of all the boys that were lost. The name ‘Courfeyrac’ caught her ear, familiar sounding, perhaps Marius had mentioned him at some point? She did see one young woman, one who had the unfortunate task of mopping the not-yet-dried blood from the cobblestone streets. Her face was worn and tear-streaked and she kept murmuring to herself. She seemed about Cosette’s age.

 Her Papa seemed to know more about what happened at the barricades than he seemed inclined to disclose, and while Cosette was slightly bitter about that, she was used to him keeping secrets from her.

 Cosette stepped into the room Marius was resting in, fully expecting to see him still on the bed, and gasped.

 He was standing, leaning on a chair for support and looking skyward, not even acknowledging that Cosette was there.

 “Marius?” she murmured, barely a whisper. She walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, noticing he had a sort of cap clutched to his chest. He flinched at her touch at first but then relaxed into it. He still did not speak to her.

 “Marius, you shouldn’t be walking on that leg yet, come sit down.” She gently tugged him towards the bed, pulling him down with her. He offered no resistance and instead lay his head down on her shoulder, beginning to sob. Soon he was convulsing with tears and clutching onto her hand as if he let go, he could never find his way back.

 After a while, Cosette heard him speak, or rather croak. “I shouldn’t be here… it shouldn’t have been me…”

 Cosette turned to him, training her baby blue eyes on his soft hazel ones. “What do you mean?” she whispered, already fearing the answer.

 He laughed mirthlessly. “They never needed me… I was always useless. Courfeyrac only kept inviting me to meetings because he pitied me. None of them wanted me around…”

 Cosette clasped his hand tighter, unsure of how to comfort him like this.

 Marius kept talking, his voice breaking. “And Eponine… I failed her too. I failed them all. She risked everything, she got shot… for me… why for me? Why did she think I was worth her love? I’m not…”

 Eponine. That was a name Cosette knew well. Her mind briefly drifted to the Thenardier Inn, her curled up in the corner, the coarse fabric on her back not enough to keep out the chill. She remembered waking in the middle of the night to a voice.

 “Hello?” she’d murmured.

 “Hush, you’ll wake Mother!” came the fierce reply.

 Then a blanket was being tossed to her and the voice was gone. She’d always known it was Eponine, the only Thenardier to have ever shown her some kindness. Surely though, this could not be the same one?

 Then she remembered, the lone figure standing awkwardly to the side, bitterness and sorrow clouding her eyes. Cosette was too drunk with love to acknowledge her then, but a memory stirred of Marius saying a name: ‘Ponine.

 Cosette set her jaw firmly and spoke in the clearest voice she could muster. “Papa says, ‘to love another person is to see the face of God’, Marius. Eponine is in heaven now, because of the goodness in her heart. The goodness you reawakened in her.”

 Marius looked up at her, doubt still clouding his face.

 Cosette pressed her forehead to his and cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Your friends may not be here in this world with us, but their spirit lives on. Through you. It is your purpose, to continue their fight! You are alive for a reason. Your time is not yet here.”

 Something shifted in Marius’s face, a ghost of a smile sat upon his lips.

 Cosette smiled at this. “And do not think for a moment that you shall be alone in this.” She pressed the palm of his hand to her cheek. “I shall be with you through every trial, to assist you… and to make sure you don’t mess up, of course!”

 Marius softened further. “I love you, Cosette. More than you know. You’re so strong and compassionate, how do you do it?”

 Cosette thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s because I was not treated with kindness as a child, and was raised by unkind people. Papa showed me that there is goodness in the world, you just have to look hard enough. I think it would be a waste of living if I didn’t at least try to make that goodness a bit easier to find, don’t you?”

 Marius nodded, his eyes slowly lulling before closing shut. Cosette smiled once again and tilted his head so that he was laying on her lap. She then proceeded to sift her fingers through his chestnut hair, whispering an ‘I love you’ in his ear before staring out the translucent window.

 It was true what she told him. She’d always strived to bring goodness to others, for no one knows the baggage another person might be carrying. A dark thought had been crossing her mind these past few days though. What if she’d failed to bring goodness into her own home? And that was ahy her father was so melancholy and why Marius could barely look her in the eye.

 I must try harder, she chided herself angrily. Then she looked at her Marius’s sleeping face, for the first time peaceful and thought only one word:

 Tomorrow.

Revisiting Journey and Abzu, I Found Myself More Depressed About Our World’s Future

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As the days go by, it’s become easier and easier to lose hope. I don’t want to sound like a fatalist, but it’s true. Scientists say that climate change will be irreversible in 11 years. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it seems that human civilization will crumble by 2050. Every day the world seems to be shrieking in anguish. It has become harder and harder to ignore her cries, or to know how to help. 

It’s also become more common in my present day to revisit old pieces of art and media only to find that their exaggerated, absurd, or apocalyptic scenarios are simply regular, everyday life for us now in these turbulent times. My most recent experience of this was when I revisited 2 of my favorite games, Journey and Abzu. As I returned to these games with the intent of figuring out what I wanted to write about, I found myself often struck by the distinct scenarios one finds themself in when playing these games, and how much they feel like premonitions.

Journey and Abzu were released in 2012 and 2016, respectively. While neither are old games by any means, they both were released just before the moment we are currently in where we all collectively feel that nothing could possibly get worse, and then it does. Climate change has been talked about for decades now, but the painting of an apocalyptic future scientists have warned us about has been getting less and less impressionistic since 2016. Both of these games were developed and out in the world well before this moment of maximum capacity. The conversation these games have with our current culture should theoretically be over, yet upon revisiting them, I found a representation more accurate than ever before. 

Let me begin with Journey, the older sibling of the two, a game praised for its music, emotional impact, and finding power in simplicity. In this game, a player controls a robed figure in a massive desert, with the goal of traveling towards a mountain in the distance. As you travel through the desert, you find relics from a once thriving civilization. Art covers the walls of ancient buildings that depict the rise and fall of the civilization that your character belongs to, which also parallels the journey of the character. The main enemies of the game that you must avoid are massive flying automatons that are left over from a war that ended the civilization.

As I finished yet another playthrough of the game, I found myself once again moved to tears. This time however, it was for very different reasons. I could not have predicted before booting up this game again in 2019 that I would be hit with such an impact upon realizing just how much this game is a potential self portrait of humanity’s future. The desert setting certainly isn’t far off from what a world ravaged by climate catastrophe might look like. What hit home for me the most was the fact that the automatons are the last thing remaining in this world after ending the civilization. The idea of military technology being our downfall doesn’t seem so fictional when the United States military is Earth’s biggest polluter. After feeling emotionally ruined in my playthrough, I went on to replay Abzu, and then fell into another emotional sinkhole. I did not know that the rug could be pulled out from under me again. 

The game Abzu follows the journey of a female diver in a vast ocean. As you play the game, you explore various underwater environments, interact with sea life, and reanimate the ocean using magical springs. The story and design of the game take inspiration from Sumerian mythology and Middle Eastern culture. In the game, there are pyramid shaped devices that are harvesting energy from the ocean. It is clear that these devices are what are upsetting the ecosystem and are what caused the destruction of this game’s civilization. As you progress through the game, it is revealed that the diver is a mechanical being whose existence actually comes from the pyramid like structures that are destroying the ocean. The diver ends up teaming up with a great white shark to bring life back to the oceans, and revitalizes the world. 

While the water based setting of Abzu is in stark contrast to the desert of Journey, they both seem equally accurate as potential apocalyptic futures. As the temperatures rise and the ice caps melt, it seems like we will all be living underwater very soon. Once again like in Journey, the downfall of Abzu’s civilization is due to the machinery that was created. All that’s left of the cultures in both games are the evil machines they fashioned, mindlessly continuing the uncaring and violent mechanisms they were made for. 

None of this sounds hopeful, but reality never seems to be either. I do think however it would be a disservice to both of these beautiful games if I tried to argue that the main message at their cores was pessimism towards our future. Both of these games, while dystopian in nature, carry the seeds of hope within them. Journey and Abzu are both stories of sacrifice and perseverance. In Journey, you are on an emotional ride that borders on religious experience. Your character is willing to sacrifice their life for their people, their mission, and their beliefs. One of the major points of gameplay in Journey is that you can play with another player online anonymously. While this may seem like a random or inconsequential gimmick, it actually adds a comforting reality to the story: you are not alone. You are not the last of your people. There are others, and you can help one another to bring about a better future for the both of you. Your existence in the game brings a beautiful red color back to cloth based beings that help you progress through your journey as you interact with them. There is still a future and each being in the game can help you towards a good one, anonymous or not. While all of us may feel powerless in the current state of the world, none of us have to suffer in it by ourselves. By the time you reach that mountain, you are no longer the person you once were. You and your character have been reborn, for the better. 

While Journey focuses mostly on what is needed for an individual, Abzu is a great companion in that the center is much more about the collective and the environment. The sacrifice your character makes in Abzu is for the greater good of the world itself. After the diver realizes that they themselves are a member of the very civilization that is responsible for the destruction of the ocean, they forego their connection to that history for the sake of a better collective future. Your character acknowledges their sins, and decides to make right with the world rather than continue down the path history laid out for them. There is a beautiful twist that occurs as you progress through the game. At first, it seems that the great white shark is one of your major enemies. You quickly realize however that the machinery you are a part of is the actual enemy, while the shark and the other natural creatures of the ocean are your true allies and friends. As you finish the game and the credits roll, you can control the diver in a pristine and beautiful ocean while swimming alongside the great white shark. The cycle of violence is broken, and the ocean is clean and teeming with life once again. I wanted to weep at the thought of a future like that, a world without something like the Great Pacific garbage patch. 

It is clear to me now that the future of our planet depends on our willingness to forego everything we once knew. In both Journey and Abzu, a hopeful and utopian future only came after the destruction of a flawed present, and the depressing period thereafter. The downfall of entire civilizations in these games also meant the ending of the violent systems that had been pushing towards calamity. We must be willing to acknowledge our wrongdoings, both as individuals and as a collective. The characters you play as are all fundamentally changed by the end of the story in these 2 games. We will all have to make sacrifices, whether they be personal, political, technological, or otherwise, and learn from our past and the cultures within it. Much of the inspiration for Journey and Abzu come from non-white, non-western, and indigenous cultures, whose practices and histories are inextricable from environmental justice and liberation. War and colonialism are massive factors of climate catastrophe both in these games and in real life. 

It appears to me now that we must all go on our respective journeys, to find ourselves and what our relationship to the world and one another must be. None of us will be able to come out of it clean, for none of us live in a world that is. The end of human civilization as we currently know it might just be the only option ahead of us. Perhaps though, there is a much needed future in collapse, and glory in rebirth. I pray that we all find it, if not for our own sake then for the world that comes after we are all gone. 

Mistaken Chapter Five

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Word Count: 2721 (this actually comprises chapters 7 and 8 on Ao3)

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: Lol updating within a few hours after weeks of not updating at all? It’s more likely than you think. HOnestly, not my finest work but I’m so tired and I feel so bad about not getting anything out there sooner. I want to change bits and pieces of this story but my goodness, yeah. So if you’d like to Beta read shit for me, y’all would be much appreciated.

Warnings: honestly idk, if I missed something besides language hmu friends

Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four

I ran. There was no stopping me. I stole a cowl from a closet and drifted into the shadows, just long enough to leap from the window.

I materialized and flitted down back alleys until I hit Park Ave. I didn’t know much about this area of New York, but every borough has their drinking holes, right?

Minutes later, I was staggering into a quaint little bar that wasn’t quite the dive that I was looking for, but it would do. This was probably better in any case, fewer leering eyes and a hefty, red-haired, Irish woman who kept my drink full and men away.

Hydra was just one of the many skeletons rattling around in my closet, but they were the Rosetta Stone to my trauma in a lot of ways. Not the foundation, but the guide.

Two more glasses of Lagavulin and those pressing thoughts were kicked to the wayside.

Behind me, the grandfather clock chimed five o’clock. Just call me Jimmy Buffet and saddle me up with a margarita.

What no amount of alcohol could do, unfortunately, was erase the people I’d… met with Hydra. Or lost with them. Most of all, I could never forget my sister.

Brave and stupid drunk, I left my drinking post and headed down Park Avenue rather aimlessly. It felt like I was being drawn in a certain direction, meant to be there, which is absolutely absurd, but I was just drunk enough to believe it.

My feet halted half an hour later outside of a quaint little tattoo parlor. I’d always wanted a tattoo but I’d never had the time nor the money to get one. Fortunately, as a runaway Avenger-in-Training, I had both of those in spades now.

And, as fate would have it, the shop was advertising that they were available for walk-ins today.

Whipping out my new cell phone, I pulled up a picture of what exactly I wanted. My sister and I had always fancied we'd get matching ones someday.

The overly muscled and extremely tattooed man just nodded his ascent and began freehanding a design for the Phoenix on my right side. I was decently numbed from the booze, but as time passed, the more my sides protested in pain. Occasionally, I would feel a quick rush of air push cold wind over my aching skin and nearly groan in pleasure.

Finally, three hours later, I was gingerly easing my shirt back on, sides to be kept wrapped for the next hour or so, in case they started bleeding or weeping plasma and ink.

I stood, signed my name along the dotted line for the payment and stepped out on the street to find none other than Pietro standing, back resting against the side of the building with his arms crossed, obviously waiting for me.

Rather than acknowledge his presence, I moved to hail a taxi. He took that moment to wrap his arms around my middle, sending bolts of pain shooting from my fresh tattoos, and bolted down the street.

Fate, should it exist, obviously had a sense of humor. Minutes later, we were standing in the lobby of Avengers Tower.

Hesitantly, I moved for the elevator doors, wincing with every step as it pulled along my aching muscles, both from the walking and the movement of inked flesh. Pietro followed loosely behind me, as I anticipated. Once he had retrieved me, he certainly wasn’t going to let me escape. He was perhaps the one Avenger I couldn’t simply evade or trick, his eyes caught things as though they were moving half the speed they actually were.

An uncomfortable silence ensued as Pietro pressed the button to take us up to the Penthouse, the de facto floor for team meetings.

Despite receiving an equal number of concerned and suspicious glances, most of the team paid me little to no mind.

Peter gestured to Pietro, eyes questioning, and nods were exchanged. What I wouldn’t give to be able to hear what they were thinking. And maybe it was vain of me to assume that they’d been communicating about me, but I was almost positive.

Lost in my reverie, I almost missed the command Cap gave to Wanda to put me under. I hadn’t even taken a step by the time I was falling to the ground, unconscious, caught in lean arms.

It would be the best rest I’d get for weeks to come.

________________________________________________________________

I woke up in my own rooms, restrained to the bed. What had happened was fairly obvious, considering the only person who was in my rooms besides me was Tony. And he had an Iron Gauntlet trained on me as I came to. I hacked to clear my throat before speaking. “Seems like a bit of overkill Grandpa.”

Tony just glared down at me, not moving a single inch or softening in any way.

I tried again. “So I take it Witchy rummaged around in my head and found some… Not so savory things. Perhaps my stint as a Hydra assassin. Maybe the length of my kill list even. Let me guess, you’re currently prepping a room for me at whatever new and improved raft you built to keep Thanos locked up and never coming back. Fair warning, I’ll never go willingly and I can put up one hell of a fight.”

“Fortunately for you, that decision’s not up to me and would require the input of the feds, which, knowing what we do now, I can fairly certainly say, you’d prefer if they stayed out of it. 12 US government officials assassinated in less than three months by yours truly. Wow. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Were I not a better man, I’d shoot you right now.”

“So why are you here Tony, if not to kill me?” I snarled back at him. “What good does me being alive do? To anyone.” That startled him a little bit, shell shocked enough to look up and into my eyes, where I saw my own feral irises reflected.

But he steeled himself again within moments. And then, out of the breast pocket of his blue blazer, he grabbed a sheet of paper.

Not a sheet of paper I realized as he folded it out for me. A picture of a skinny redheaded woman. One I recognized intimately. “Target 17. What do you need to know?” I questioned coldly, unfeeling. That made him jerk backward in his seat and hastily stand, panting and heaving, murderous intent glinting in his brown eyes.

“Her name was Pepper. And she was killed three days before our wedding, carrying my child. So I’d like to know. Was it-,“ he spat out like the words were physically fighting to escape from his body.

“Was it me? No. I was in the wind with my sister for a few months after our covers were almost blown taking out a diplomat in Indonesia. For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry Tony. Especially,” I said, voice dropping to a whisper, “about your son.”

“Excuse me, my what?” Fists clenched, he strode up to the side of my bed, closer to my head. I shied away from him as he bent down and got into my face. “What did you just say to me?”

Fuck. He didn’t know and I just made it ten times worse. The sound of his repulsor charging broke the most pregnant silence I’d ever heard. Before he could fire, though, Thor and Steve burst through the door and caught him as he collapsed in anguish, taking him away, leaving me alone. They knew everything about my time with Hydra. The evil I’d done and the evil I’d allowed to happen. I was the enemy. And I had no backup.

So back to normal.

Hours later, I gave in to my bone-deep weariness and collapsed into sleep. Dream after fever dream encased my drained mind, ephemeral and diaphanous. Most images were forgotten immediately, flighty and fragile as a butterfly’s wing. Others though, others stuck like mosquitos stuck in amber. Flashes.

Light, blood, destruction. Tattooed stars and deep, harrowing scars on ragged faces. Sobbing little boys with green eyes and silky hair.

Despite the intense lunacy and deep feeling of realness, I felt while dreaming, I was aware of a deep, striking pain within myself. It settled in my chest, buried deep, as though I’d replaced my stomach with Mjolnir. The ache was both sharp and dull, full and waning. It signaled that a harsh reality awaited me in the waking world. When I was dreaming it was like the pain had no anchor, no reason for tormenting me, as hapless and defenseless as a newly hatched bird.

When I’m half-awake, like I am now, I know why the pain is here, understand the presence of gut-wrenching guilt and searing hot shame and thus can accept them. I’m not sure which is worse to experience.

Sometimes I’m fully awake, being handed crackers or grapes or bottles of water by a person whose name I don’t know because I’m never cognizant long enough to catalog their face. Seconds later, I’m again drowning, pulled into the depths of my dreamscape.

My reality blurs and the cycle continues, vicious unto the end. And every time I wake, my cheeks are embarrassingly wet. It feels like weeks before I’m awake long enough to realize I’m not alone. That every time I wake, a new face is staring back at me from a different chair in my room.

I come to recognize them again in time. Wanda, Pietro, Bucky, Steve, Vision, even Peter. But never Tony.

I sit up for the first time after what feels like a month, though the limited aching emanating from my bones tells me, logically, that it’s only been a fraction of that time. One either side of my bed is a Maximoff. Wanda looks more concerned than wary. Pietro looks like a lion who caught the scent of an enemy pride.

“Go slowly Kaida,” Wanda urges, “you must be weak. It’s been a few days since you rejoined the land of the living. Her continued inquiries and entreaties fall on deaf ears. As vulgar as it now sounds in retrospect, I knew I had to move or else an accident would occur. I stumbled into my en suite, knowing even without needing to look that they would have removed anything that would have made a suitable weapon.

I also know that, should my biology betray any sign of shifting to make use of my abilities, F.R.I.D.A.Y. would alert the others and the full might of the Avengers would fall upon my head. And Wanda would have me back out in seconds. What couldn’t be stopped of measured for, of course, were things such as my superhuman hearing, that was currently picking up on the muffled conversation the twins were having in my bedroom on the other side of the bedroom door.

“Why are you blocking FRIDAY, we should be alerting the others that the prisoner is awake and ready for their attention.”

“Pietro! She’s not our prisoner,” Wanda reprimanded. “Besides, I wish to have a moment alone with the girl. Even if she is not a child of Strucker, she is what Hydra made her to be, somehow. I just… I’d like for her to have a sympathetic listener at first. We never got the benefit of the doubt. If you remember we weren’t exactly unwilling in our crusade against the Avengers.”

Pietro just grunted in agreement but remained tense at his sister's side. I quickly twisted off the faucet and reentered the bedroom. Rather than speak, Wanda simply patted the seat of the chair across from hers, indicating that I should take a seat. It was the gentlest command ever issued. I slid back until my shoulders brushed the high back of the chair.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with a gesture of my hands. I leaned forward, extending my head towards her.

“Just look, let my mind answer your questions. I don’t know that I’d have the strength to or that we’d have the time before the others come charging in. If I’m going to die, I need at least one person to know and believe the truth. Maybe help persuade Captain Rogers to end my life swiftly. It’s more than I deserve.”

With that Wanda, eyes shining, placed her hands on my temples and breathed deeply as we were both transported to an infinitely darker place, many years ago.

Sinking through my memories was like drifting uncontrollably through a minefield. Tiny bursts of anguish shot through my mind as Wanda relived my upbringing with my sister, the house of horrors that was our home, being tapped to join Hydra and agreeing without ‘persuasion'. The missions, targets and our downfall. My sister's son. And finally, the mission that sent us both running for the hills...

The time since then. One dead-end job to another, sisters working to support each other, all while looking for the last remaining piece of our family. And, then that day had come. The snap and dust. Guilt flooding me and overwhelming a sense of horror as time passed.

Homeless until my… boyfriend. The horror that home turned into, one that I do still feel as though I deserved. Until one night he went too far and I left. The night Peter found me. Of course in the midst of all this, you had my ‘heroics' that mostly consisted of helping women out of situations I understood all too well. And that damned school. So Peter was looking for me at the behest of the Avengers after the most recent event had even landed on the front page of the New York Times.

My deeply buried need to have somewhere to call home, to have not just someone on my six but to have a family. All the emotions that Hydra and I, through my conditioning at their hands, thought of as compromising and weak.

I had agreed, understanding that I could play the role of Asset for the good guys for once, maybe correct some of the horrific circumstances I had had a hand in creating. My mission would be protecting others for the first time. Only in my wildest dreams had I imagined I'd ever have a family again, but they had begun to feel like home, in spite of the secrets I kept. Now that was ruined. That was inevitable, I reminded myself. Because of who I am, I could never have a family. I didn't deserve one.

“No,” Wanda said, interrupting our shared stream of thoughts, "not ruined, just a little, broken. They accepted us in time." Pietro nodded, eyes alighting on his sister and then on me. Curiosity burned in his soul-deep gaze. He leaned forward and used his abnormally large hand and rough fingers to cover his sister's hand, which I just realized was now twined in mine.

Connected like this, I felt the smallest flicker of hope come to life in me, setting my heart aflutter. Understanding and acceptance filled their eyes and I did tear up a little. I never expected this.

“You are not the monster your parents created. Nor the asset that Hydra trained. You are more than that Kaida. Let us help you find it. Find yourself.”

I nodded, leaning into her embrace as she gripped me by the shoulders and kissed my cheek.

At Wanda’s urging, I stepped into the shower, running my hand through my hair as nearly a week’s worth of grime was stripped off my body. I think it was safe to say that I’d never felt more confused and well, vulnerable in my life.

For the time being, I didn’t have a mission or a purpose. My handler, or the surrogate my mind had appointed was questionable at best now that all had been revealed. I didn’t like being left to my own mind and devices. Too many thoughts would rattle around inside my head. After a few hours, the twins left again, gentle eyes and kind reassurances.

Later and not seconds after my stomach rumbled with a fierceness I had forgotten it had, my door opened and a tray of food entered, held by Bucky, the Winter Soldier.

A/N: I’m uploading another chapter tonight that I am formatting and scheduling right flipping now so I don’t flake again. Really pumped for the new fic I’m starting though!

taglist: @peeterparkr @laurfangirl424 @private-bucky-barnes

“You have a heart of gold. Don’t let them take it from you.” (zetta. she might be drunk but she means it)

That’s how he knows she’s had too much.  Zetta doesn’t say things like that, not to him, not often.  They’re too alike, too like a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment, nestled in a crate of nitroglycerin.  Too eager to feed off of each other’s anger, if he wants to call it what it is.  Sure, that anger works in different ways, but at the end of the day they both have to deal with the heavy weight they’re carrying around in ways other people just aren’t.

So it’s how he knows, logically, he should take that bottle away from her.  It’d start a fight, he’s pretty sure, and things they may mean in the heat of the moment will get said, but that won’t be true once they’ve both sobered up and mornings comes.  It may even last longer than that, for all he knows, him ending up on one side of the Commonwealth and her on the other and both of them not acknowledging the other exists but...But nothing.

He’s not going to take her bottle like he should, and she’s going to paint him with a brush he doesn’t deserve, and they’ll probably both sleep uneasy despite whiskey aged too long, because it’s what people like them do.  Like there are other people like them to begin with.

He turns his empty glass slowly on its base where it sits in front of him.  He’s debating another, knows he shouldn’t have it, knows he should probably leave and fall face first into bed, if not now, very soon, with the turn the conversation has taken.  There’s a fifty-fifty split on whether he’ll actually be smart and do it.

“Yeah, that hazy and murky they.”  A corner of his mouth quirks slightly.  “Hell if I’ve figured out who it’s supposed to be.  What, the wasters?  You don’t do any of this because you expect a thank you.  The Institute?  Brotherhood of Dicks?  Big fish in a little pond, both of ‘em.”

He taps his fingers on the rim of the glass, before settling back into his chair.  It’s a rickety affair - an old folding chair he’d scrounged up from somewhere with one of those pads that tie on, for chairs without padding.  It’s uncomfortable as hell, but it’s better than sitting in the dirt, or on the floor.

There are so many options for ‘they’.  But he knows.  He knows exactly which they he thinks of.  It’s not he wastelanders, it’s not the raiders.  It’s not a bunch of neo-fascists in clunky metal power armor (where he knows his own suit would make them weep openly with envy - if they ever got the chance to see it).  It’s not weird science gone wrong living in a whole in the ground.  It’s not the Gunners or the vault dwellers or the skeletons littering the ground like confetti after a parade.  

No, the they he means are the ghosts.  Not the literal kind - not the kind Stephen frets over here and there, causing all kinds of spiritual sickness he happens to be the only one qualified to treat.  But the kind that take root in the mind and use voices from the past to twist things.  And he knows, on some level, it’s a mutation of intention and occurrence, but it’s easy to listen to those voices when they belong to someone he loved.  Those are the ones that drag him down and keep him up at night, that have him pacing the floors of the kitchen at all hours as silently as he can until he can’t take being hemmed in between four walls anymore and breaks his own rules, perched on some overpass that’s long ago lost the overhead road that’s connected it to the rest of what was once the interstate system.  

It’s not as bad as it used to be.  Not now, not with...Not with everyone else around these days.  When he’d first come to the Commonwealth his head had literally swam with what was and should be with what actually is, and the ghosts from that past had come for him, metaphorical claws aimed for his throat.  Now it’s just a slow grinding down, of the horrifying reality that no matter how many steps forward he takes, it’s never going to be enough.  He can’t fix the world, not like he wants to.  He can design purifiers and recommend plants for radiation removal and build generators for the next however long the arc reactor’s going to let him keep breathing, keep his heart beating, keep the shrapnel held still and from chewing through his heart like a wet paper bag.  In the end, it doesn’t fix what’s wrong with people.  Most folks, he admits, are decent.  Different, but decent.  But you can’t crush out the raiders and the militant groups like the Gunners, or the upper stands group in Diamond City that make their caps on the misery and exploitation of others.  You just can’t.

That’s the horrifying truth that’s hit him recently, like a ton of bricks.  He can offer every opportunity he can conceive and create for better, and in the end there will be those that won’t look twice at it, because there’s no monetary gain for them.

It sounds funny, coming from him.  He’d had more money than he honestly knew what to do with it, had spent so much of it on building a personal armory that could rival any military and still never drove himself into the ground.  But these days if he’s got enough to make it from one settlement to another, to buy a stimpak or two or afford a bed in one of the bigger settlements, it’s a good day.  And he prefers it that way.

“I’m gonna keep doing what I do.  It’s all I can do.”  He can’t change the world.  He thought he could.  Once upon a time, he might have been able to manage it.  He’s got things...Well.  He’s got things here now that make that dream even more overly ambitious and impossible.  He’s just him, just a man in a can with the know how to build and repair.  He doesn’t have magic, like Stephen.  He’s not a god, like Thor and Loki.  He’s just a guy.  A guy with a family to look after now, including kids - and.  He still can’t wrap his head around it.  “You ever...You ever think maybe we’re just wasting our time?  I mean...The world’s starting to straighten itself out.  I know, I’ve watched it but.  There’s no really fixing things, is there?  I’m-”

Wasting time.  Wasting time with the people he shouldn’t be, now that he has them.

“You know what, forget it.  You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.  I got this.  I’ll...Figure it out.  Always do.”

raw quotes starters : accepting : @gwinnetts

“ Yes, I have Drunk from that devil’s bane and I barely survived. Barely got out with my life. “Shame shame”he’s screaming at me. “Shame shame! thinking I’ll let you leave.”

“ don’t mix with him. It will kill you one day. I’m coming cap in hand, begging you to listen.”

“ she said, ‘I am hurt.’

“ you don’t need to stay broken. Break this chain of pain. “

“We could join forces: hearing voices. And we did.”

“ she’s thinking, ‘how did I get here?’ And wondering why. “

“ go your own way.”(this song plays all the time, and merits a note. In case it’s not obvious, I thought jakk was my person. He mentioned in a text about if we got married once, and would joke about how he would explain me to his neighbors: oh that’s just my soulmate. Obviously we live in a culture that your worth is often determined by a wedding ring and your work credentials. To me this was the spirits trying to get it through my thick skull that maybe we had different paths to walk. he wasn’t catching up. My whole life had been deeply a myriad of spiritual lessons that forced me into growth. This playing at 11:11 is sort of an acknowledgment that my path was demanding that I shrug off my former expectations for my life.)

“ New York, watch me burn ya down.”

“ away from the big city where a man cannot be free of all the evils in this town.”

“ we laugh at all the talk.”

“ i’ll stay by you.”

“ running out of room in my little tomb.”

“ this came up wilted and looks like you because it never grew. You are the most beautiful thing. Flower of life, bird of spring. Locus flower – – grow out of the underground.”

” don’t punish me with brutality. Talk to me.”

“ we made a promise we swore we’d always remember.”

“ can’t think about the last time that I text you.”

“ when you get here, there will be tears.”

“ Love is the answer.”

“ nothing is for free.”

“ bridges burned, all across the board. Destroyed, but what for?”

“ Blue eyed devil with a fat ass monkey. Married to the game and a bad bitch chose.”

“straight from the CIA.”

“ and why they like to talk about you.”

“ I can’t see her letting him go.”

“ told me stay at home. Told me you were not alone.”

“of our elaborate plans, the end.”

“I can’t stand it anymore.”

“ when things start getting bad I just play my music louder.”

“guardians of a loveless isle.”

“Wondrous beings chained to life.”

“Powers weird by mystics taught where sad eyed mermen tossed in slumbers.”

“ don’t want to weep for you, don’t want to know.”

“ well it’s you I’ve waited my life to see. It’s you I’ve search so hard for.”(this has to do what I was shown this week about a past lifetime.)

“Time to escape!”

“ we’re a band of brothers and sisters and whatever on a mission to break all the rules.”

“ you can’t tell me what to do.”

“ where are the best friends insisting that the world keep turning our way.”

“I will grieve and ‘member thee.”

“ you think I’m lying but I’m not.”

“ The time to hesitate is through.”

“ if you get in trouble that just mean you fucking up.”

“ she sucked my dormant will. Mother, she blew my brain, I will go back again. then she took my head and smashed it up.”

“ it takes a good friend to say you’ve got your head up your ass. And it takes an enemy to help you get out of bed.”

“ and I’m told that wounds are where the light gets in.”

“ I don’t have a key for downstairs.”

“ I feel like writing you a letter. I feel so fucking angry.”

“ they told me everything was guaranteed. Somebody, somewhere, must’ve lied to me.”

“ I can’t explain it any other way.”

“ so much going on I just can’t hear.”

“ common sense may tell you that the ending will be sad.”

“ while people have cheered on the awful mess we’ve made through storms of red roses we’ve exited the stage.”

“ I can make grown men cry.”

“ I have only one request of your life: that you spend it all with me.”

“ hypocrite Reader, my double, my brother.”

“Sneaking out the windows now.”

“ Love is the thing that has nipped them and it looks like Nathan is just another victim. When you spot a John waiting out in the rain chances are he’s insane as only a John can be for a Jane.”

“ we have lost our dear old mama.”

“ how can you blame yourself when I did everything I wanted to?”

“ here is my report from the edge. What I saw through the blinds you could say that I’m insane in phenomenal lies. I am the cause. This too will haunt me through the war.”

“ restless nights.”

“ i’m not Persephone. She’s in New York somewhere checking her accounts.”

“ thoughts you thought you’d never tell.”

“ you hurried to a spot that’s just a dot on the map. You’re hooked, you’re cooked, you’re caught.”

“I’ve got a message for you and your twisted hell. You better turn around and blow your kiss goodbye to life eternal.”

“ calm down everyone, we’ve heard! For tonight leave the crime window closed.”

“ you put this change in me. It’s you who’s breaking all the rules.”

“ just kick her in the head and rearrange her.”

“ what she’s done to me is making me crazy.”

“ he can’t marry her.”

“ I heard through the grapevine that great love, it takes time. Sex shapes the body, truth shapes the mind.”

“Don’t let me fall, always remember us.”

“ it comes down to reality and it’s fine with me, because I’ve let it slide.”

“ find the foe you hate the most and go further down the road. screams in the back.”

“ all I want is for you to take a ride.”

“ I see the driver in the glass.”

“ and when they find out who he is, her eyes were sorry.”

“ The entire body twisted.”

“ The bully grabs at my hair and punches. Tells me gonna get me now. The driver pushes the gas. The bully’s schemes caught fast. He hits the brakes and we slide and her head hits the side and she screams out.

It’s a shame to hear the sound when the penny hit the ground.”

“ well all the odds are, they’re in my favor. Somethings bound to begin. Maybe this time I’ll win.”

“ We just got to turn ourselves in.”

“ he’s left with loving what he lost more than what he has.”

“And if you fall as Lucifer fell, you fall in flames.”

“That I may see them Safe behind bars..I will never rest til then, this i swear..this I swear by the stars.”

“I’m not Immune I love this tune.”

“It’s in my mouth, it’s in my hair.”

Speaking of the poison, why don’t you just tell me what I’m ingesting? And why every time I put my glasses on the top of my head they’re covered with a film.

“ all my time and space compressed in the low pressure of the proceedings, and they beat against the sides of my life, and the roads all lied behind me. So I wrap the wheel around me, and I go out. There’s a river in my head.”

“ when everyone believes ya… What’s that like?”

“ so, it’s OK that I’m mad.”

(It was just 10:58, so i thought id include these. )

“ if I ever was myself, I wasn’t that night. I was buried in sound, ambulances were driving me around.”

“ oh well, I look at my watch it says 925 and I think “oh God I’m still alive.”





(Other songs: she shook me cold, wildflower wildfire, good friend, mojo pen live, the silence, take the box, devils bane, pay it back, The System only dreams in darkness, commotion, what’s the use of wondering, Jesus saves i spend, cheap Queen, what are you doing the rest of your life, speaking in tongues, guys and dolls, Alabama song, available, birth in reverse, lullaby, Pandoras aquarium 333, love is the tender trap, 333, eternal life live, the crime window, she’s real, wagon wheel, take a fall for me, New York’s state of mind, what is a killer like you going to do here?, Youth, Penny dreadful‘s, maybe this time, inside out, courtship, stars, five fathoms, the man, handshake drugs, and time. )

Trump Departs Vowing, ‘We Will Be Back in Some Form’

JOINT BASE ANDREWS, Md. — President Donald J. Trump left Washington aboard Air Force One for a final time on Wednesday, the iconic plane creeping along the runway so the liftoff was timed to the closing strains of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.”

In many ways, Mr. Trump’s last hours as president were a bookend to the kickoff of his presidential campaign in June 2015. As he did then, he tossed aside prepared remarks that aides had helped draft and spoke off the cuff, having them take down teleprompters they had set up. As he did then, he spent hours focused on the visual aspects of the scene where he would speak at the end of a calamitous final three months that capped a tumultuous term.

Before departing for Florida, Mr. Trump — defeated at the polls, twice impeached, silenced by social media platforms and facing an array of legal and financial problems — laid down a marker about his future, telling the roughly 300 supporters who greeted him on the windy tarmac, several holding American flags, that they had not seen the last of him.

“Goodbye, we love you, we will be back in some form,” Mr. Trump vowed, with the first lady, Melania Trump, by his side in sunglasses and a black outfit. He has yet to say what that form will take, but people who know him said he remained bitter that congressional Republicans had joined in rebuke of his speech at a Jan. 6 rally that incited his supporters to storm the Capitol.

Mr. Pence and the two Republican leaders in Congress skipped Mr. Trump’s departure and later attended Mr. Biden’s inaugural. Mr. Trump did not mention Mr. Biden, but for the first time he wished “great luck and great success”to the incoming administration. (A draft of Mr. Trump’s prepared remarks had included a space suggesting he acknowledge Mr. Biden, but were bracketed in case he did not, according to a person who saw them.)

He did find time to note his own vote total.

And he tried to claim credit for what he suggested would be a string of strong economic news in the coming months. “Remember us when you see these things happening, if you would,” he said.

He similarly sought to promote his record in helping accelerate development of vaccines for the coronavirus. “It really is a great achievement,” he said.

At different points, Mr. Trump seemed as close to becoming emotional as he had throughout his four years in office. He talked about the families who had suffered from the coronavirus throughout the last year.

It was the first time in two weeks that Mr. Trump had addressed the public in person. He stayed mostly out of sight since election night, save for the incendiary speech he delivered to supporters on Jan. 6 urging them to march on the Capitol in an effort to deny Mr. Biden’s victory.

His remarks were riddled with falsehoods and factual errors, boasts about his time in office and demands for credit, including his oft-repeated but exaggerated claim that he had rescued veterans from poor treatment.

He offered a less acid version of his brand of partisanship, save for a few moments. “I hope they don’t raise your taxes,” he said, “but if they do, I told you so.”

He praised his family and said people did not understand “how hard” they worked.

Before the sun rose, officials had constructed a stage adorned with stars-and-stripes bunting, a lectern and a microphone for the president. A military band rehearsed “Hail to the Chief” shortly after 7 a.m.

For several minutes, military aides measured the precise length of the red carpet that Mr. Trump was set to walk to the steps connecting to Air Force One, which was brought out around 6:30. Aides hoisted garment bags filled with the first family’s belongings into the forward cabin.

A large space was built for an audience that the White House had invited to see the president off. But for a man obsessed with crowd size, only about 300 people showed up, filling roughly a third of the standing area.

For several days, aides had tried to corral officials to come to the departure, and to bring guests. But several who remained working until the president’s final day in office said they were worn out and deeply angry over his behavior since Election Day, as he spread falsehoods about the race being stolen from him, overshadowing whatever substantive achievements they might remember. Some of his aides who had been with him the longest said they did not even watch the send-off on television.

Others wanted to steer clear of Washington in its current quasi-militarized state. And still others left the city before the new administration came in, returning to their home states.

Mr. Trump, who often thought about winning but never truly contemplated the presidency before Nov. 8, 2016, began the morning telling advisers he wanted to add one last pardon to the lengthy list of clemency grants he had issued early Wednesday morning. This one was for Albert J. Pirro Jr., the former husband of an old friend, Jeanine Pirro, a Fox News host.

To the surprise of some of his own aides, he left a note for Mr. Biden in the Oval Office, although its contents remained undisclosed. Mr. Trump left the White House for a final time around 8:20 a.m., stopping briefly to talk to reporters before stepping onto Marine One. He described the presidency as the “honor” of his life.

Then he and the first lady boarded the helicopter, taking their last ride as the rest of the Trump family met them at the send-off. The helicopter diverted from its normal route and circled around the Capitol, where two weeks earlier his supporters had chanted about hanging Mr. Pence, vowed to help Mr. Trump remain in office and set off chaos and violence that led to his second impeachment.

When he arrived at the air base, a military band played “Hail to the Chief” and he was given a 21-gun salute, lending his farewell the militaristic patina he craved throughout his presidency. But during the event, his typical rally soundtrack played. When he finished his remarks, he stepped off the stage to the Village People’s “Y.M.C.A.” before heading to the red carpet leading to Air Force One.

The plane then crept along the runway to “My Way,” a cinematic departure for a president who once wanted to be a Hollywood producer. On the flight, Mr. Trump stayed cloistered at the front of the plane with his family, who, like him, have never experienced the effect of a political loss.

When the plane touched down in Palm Beach, Fla., a crowd of about 20 supporters greeted the president. He waved, but did not stop to talk to anyone before climbing into an S.U.V.

The route from the airport to his private club, Mar-a-Lago, was lined with people waving flags, some weeping as he passed. Around 11:30 a.m., Mr. Trump was whisked inside the gates of the Mar-a-Lago compound, leaving behind the press corps that was assigned to cover him for four years. Mr. Pirro’s pardon was announced around that time.

Mr. Trump had another 30 minutes left of his presidency, but he had said all he was going to say.

Patricia Mazzei contributed reporting from Palm Beach, Fla.

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #157: A GHOST of STONE!

March, 1977

I’ve commented not infrequently on Lil’ Vision up on the logo but its actually interesting to consider that Vision was treated as the kind of face of the Avengers book around this time.

Because that is very much not the case anymore. Heck, he’s not even a mainstay anymore. But once upon a time, apparently his fits of melancholy paired with decrying about his lack of emotions were the bee’s knees. As was using the phrase ‘bee’s knees.’

Anyway, the Avengers all lying in yon heap around a mysterious, unexpected villain of all. I like the touch that Scarlet Witch managed to fall unconscious touching Vision’s shin. That’s some casual affection.

But lets get the ball rolling.

Last time: There was this whole kerfuffle involving Attuma and Doom, right after the kerfuffle with the Serpent Crown and the Squadron Supreme, right after a kerfuffle involving Toad imitating a Stranger, right after a kerfuffle involving Mantis’ marriage.

The Avengers have had a pretty packed last couple vague time frames. Just from one crisis to another. And now all they’re hoping for is just some downtime for Christmas.

So of course (This time:) someone immediately smashes through the wall.

The Avengers can’t have nice things.

The present assemblers (Beast, Iron Man, and Yellowjacket) deal with the shrapnel pretty handily but a mysterious shadowy figure, likely the titular Ghost of Stone, punches Beast.

And while Beast is stunned, Iron Man tries to stop the Ghost of Stone with his repulsors to no effect. And then is taken out with a torn power cable.

Damn. Iron Man keeps getting worfed lately. He’s supposed to be one of the stronger Avengers. He needs to farraday his armor or something. And also to not put the glaring weakpoint in front.

Beast comes to and kicks the guy but just gets smacked aside again.

Yellowjacket goes teeny and flies around zapping to no effect (and now you know how Wasp feels) but then the Ghost (of Stone) somehow catches Yellowjacket and squeezes him unconscious (I take it back. NOW you know how Wasp feels).

The Stone of Ghost is disappointed. He really expected better of his old battle buds.

Wait... Could it be?

THE BLACK KNIGHT?!

But he was turned into stone by the Enchantress and then he bodyjacked his ancestor to have fun hanging around in Marvel’s version of the Crusades!

Hang on. Is this the Black Knight statue that was left over from all that?

Yes. Yes it is.

Comics!

But here’s how it happened.

Do you remember how the Black Knight statue had a place of honor in Strange’s study, to remind him to never stop trying to fix his one-issue comrade. But when the Defenders learned that Black Knight was just joyriding in history, he just stuck the statue in a dusty storeroom.

Because now its just a cool statue and not an obligation.

But then something inexplicable happens. And by inexplicable I mean it is never explained.

A rift in space and perhaps time opens besides the statue. This apparently goes entirely unnoticed by Dr Strange because his mystical defenses aren’t shit. And through that rift a metal hand reaches, touches the statue, and imbues it with a kind of psuedo-life.

This is implied to be Ultron. How he got the ability to create a stitch in time or animate stone statues is not explained.

Since I don’t think it is ever explained, I choose to believe that this is an alternate reality Ultron from where he was the Sorcerer Supreme. The robotiest wizard of all. And why do it? Maybe he is also Pygmalion in addition to being a robot wizard.

ANYWAY, that’s just the cause. Let’s get back to the effect.

On his way into the mansion, Black Knight smashed the alarm system because the Avengers apparently NEVER UPDATE THE DAMN THING so even reanimated statue Black Knight knows how to circumvent it.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen of avengeance, Wasp and Jarvis are squabbling over how to cook plum pudding while Cap smirks from the sidelines. Jarvis is at his most passive aggressive butlery about it too.

And then Black Knight OH YEAHS through the door.

Somehow, despite being a large man made of stone, Captain America notices it is Black Knight way before he notices that it is a stone man.

Which is probably why he gets his ears boxed unconscious without putting up much of a fight.

Roll better perception checks, Cap.

Janet van Wasp meanwhile believes that Statue Knight is an imposter because the real Black Knight would never attack them. She also thinks the looking like stone is just costume and makeup. Just because Cap shouted “What? Stone --?” before being bludgeoned doesn’t mean it means anything.

So Statue Knight snags her out of midair, like he did to Yellowjacket, and squeezes her unconscious. Although instead of directly squeezing her, he traps her in his closed fist until she runs out of air because sure.

Got to mix things up when you’re beating up everyone for thus far unexplained reasons.

Then we get a full page flashback of the Avengers and Defenders pausing their War to hash things out.

AND THE STATUE WAS THERE EAVESDROPPING!

OOOOOOOOOOO PARANOIA!

... Nope, sorry, Dane Whitman Statue. You’re just not on the level of the Weeping Angels.

Anyway, Statue Knight is pissed because from his point of view, the Avengers (and Defenders) left him as a stone statue. Although it is really more the Defenders fault. And Dr Strange more specifically. And he does acknowledge that he’s pissed at the Defenders. So why trek all the way from Dr Strange’s house to the Avengers’ house to beat them up and presumably then turn around and go beat up Dr Strange.

You’re a mysterious fellow, Statue Knight.

I don’t think we’re supposed to think too deeply about this.

Meanwhile, out of the mansion, Scarlet Witch and Wonder Man are going Christmas shopping together.

And Wonder Man, aka Simon Williams, is adjusting well to being a man out of time. Too well.

There’s a lot of opportunity with him to recapitalize some of that man out of time stuff from Captain America with a new dude. AND get some character beats out of Cap who can help guide someone who is living a similar situation.

Although in the Avengers book at least, the man out of time angsting was infrequent. There was never much culture shock.

So maybe see it as an opportunity to do it again but better.

But Simon just rattles off some events he missed in the years he was ‘dead’ and then goes ‘but what really bothers me is that Vision won’t talk to me. We’re practically brothers!’

Better rethink how you were going to end that sentence, Simon.

Oh. Then there’s a runaway bus and the two work together to stop it and save people. Because that’s what heroes do.

The onlooking crowd somewhat loses their shit because HEROICS HECK YEAH so Simon and Wanda Witch escape into a cab back to the mansion.

And Wonder Simon finds some culture shock finally.

Wonder Man: “Two-fifty from midtown to here? Incredible!”

Oh and then Statue Knight punches through the front door and knocks out Scarlet Witch.

Because she’d have mopped the floor with him otherwise, if you think about it.

But now he’s confused who Wonder Man is. Which has to be mutual.

And now I’m a little confused. I mean, for the most part, the Avengers have been taken out so quickly that we didn’t have to consider that for example, Iron Man’s repulsors have knocked down buildings before.

Yes, a walking statue man would hit like a ton of bricks and be like punching a wall.

But the Avengers habitually punch through walls to make dramatic entrances. Heck, Wonder Man frequently boasts that his punches have nearly the impact of Mjolnir.

But here he punches statuary ineffectually. And is knocked unconscious by being thrown into a mailbox.

So okay. Lets assume that whatever the process Wizard Ultron used to bring Statue Knight to life made him stronger and more durable than his materials would suggest. He’s able to move around, after all. There’s some sweet sciency magic going on all up in here.

Still, Scarlet Witch would have kicked his ass.

Anyway, with Scarlet Witch taken prisoner, Statue Knight now has three of the seven Avengers he perceives as having betrayed him. Mantis is honeymooning in space. Thor has vanished, dealing with stuff in his own book, no doubt. And Black Panther is in Wakanda and Statue Knight doesn’t want to deal with the nightmare that getting a plane ticket will involve. So that leaves the Vision.

And the Vision arrives just as Statue Knight finishes stacking up the unconscious bodies in yon heap, sort of like what we saw on the cover.

And of course, he arrives by walking through the walls because Vision.

And honestly. He kind of wants to know what the deal is.

And Statue Knight explains

WITH HIS FISTS

Why isn’t this working?

Because intangibility. Oh Vision, you never fail to delight.

So once more. What’s you deal, anyway? Do you remember how you became stone?

And of course Statue Knight does. Its a day that is scarred on his mind for ALL ETERNITY!

Okay. But if you are Dane Whitman, there’s a very important detail that you must remember. Do you remember the very instant you were turned to stone?

And then Statue Knight does. And here’s the thing. Remember, Dane Whitman’s spirit didn’t reside in the statue. It escaped to Limbo (not that one... or that one either). And just chilled there. And inadvertently sparked the Avengers/Defenders War. And then was pulled back to the England of King Richard.

Vision: “Then you are but a memory masquerading as the man. A ghost of stone... claiming a soul you cannot possess.”

Statue Knight does not handle this identity crisis well. And he doesn’t handle this well the same way he’s not handled his problems so far. By punching them.

Except it is now as futile for stone Black Knight to punch diamond-hard Vision as it was for anyone else to punch stone Black Knight.

More futile.

He smashes first one hand then the other trying to punch Vision.

Vision realizes that someone must be behind this and that Statue Knight is a pawn but he’s in no mood to share.

Without any arms, he decides he’ll headbutt Vision to death.

And he does.

His own, that is. Not Vision’s.

Leaving nothing but crumbled stone and Vision in the midst of another fit of robo-angst because he is drawing mad parallels between the Statue Knight’s plight and his own life.

He too might just be a memory masquerading as a man claiming a soul that he does not possess.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, AVENGERS.

Okay. So. This issue really struck me when I first read it and it did so again this time.

‘Whatever happened to the statue of Black Knight?’ is not something I considered would ever need to be addressed. I just figured Dr Strange was using it as a hat rack.

And using the deluded statue man to reflect Vision’s own angst was a pretty nice touch, right off the resurrection of Wonder Man as it was.

Because, yes, it was obvious what Vision’s problem was. And sitting down and talking about it is out of the question because Ultron programmed him with toxic masculinity so he needs to go out of the room to have a good cry and has difficulty owning his emotions.

The best we were going to get was a stone reflection punching itself to death on Vision’s pecs.

And that works.

Comics is a visual medium where you need to have a robot man sadly watch a statue man kill himself sometimes.

And statue man makes for a good threat for the Avengers, even if some of it didn’t make sense. But this wasn’t their stone cross to bear. It was Vision’s.

But yeah. A man that punches and takes punches like a rock and also self-hatred is basically the Thing in a nutshell so its a proven concept.

This is one that sticks with me. Partially the absurdity of the ending. But also because it manages to be kind of sad.

Damn you, Wizard Ultron!

Follow @essential-avengers for this and more like this. Ask me questions and I’ll words at you.

Flower

Kenma woke up to a heavy body on top of his successfully trapping his body on the bed while simultaneously providing him the heat that he needed for early spring. He looked at the mess of hair on his chest and the pillow blocking the face of its owner.

He’s going to suffocate. He thought as he tried to remove the pillow without disturbing the sleeping guy.

When Kenma has successfully taken the pillow away and set it beside him, the face scrunched the other curled farther into his chest. Kenma’s arms wound around the others body then kissed his head.

Looking around there was barely any sun shining through the curtains. His eyes finding the clock, he finds that it wasn’t even seven am. His gaze lingering longer, he finds the button near his phone and beside that the accursed ring.

He remembers how his best friend changed his life with a few words.

===============

It was finally here, a time high school students were waiting for, graduation. As a spectator Kenma stood with his underclassmen as the ceremony draws to a close. With a final congratulations and a few ending and parting remarks, it was over. The volleyball club (or what has remained of it) goes outside of the auditorium to wait by the gym.

The volleyball team had planned it before they even went to nationals, Kenma would even go as far as to say that it was planned before Inter High itself. Sitting down near the door, he took his game out and began playing knowing full well that the confessions to his seniors will take fairly long.

He had already cleared three levels when someone sat down beside him.

“You’re not even going to congratulate me, vice-cap?” Tetsurou asked.

“You don’t need my congratulations.”

“You know you could be nice to me every once in a while Kenma.” He said while resting his chin on my shoulder.

“It would only do to your head, we don’t need you to have a bigger ego.” Kenma told his friend and the other only drew himself closer.

“Kuro, if you keep doing that I’ll lose.” He only grumbled and continued his cuddle attack.

“Kuro.” Kenma groaned.

“Come with me outside.” Tetsurou said finally creating some distance between them.

“Why? Isn’t the party gonna start yet?”

“No, we’re still waiting for Fukurodani. Please, Ken.” He said his gaze shifting nervously albeit fondly as he looked into the cat-like eyes of Kozume Kenma.

Able to sense the shift in his best friend, Kenma wordlessly stood up then waited for Tetsurou to do the same. Tetsurou called out that they would be back warranting him a few “Good luck”‘s and knowing smirks. Confused, Kenma looked to Tetsurou for an explanation only to find that he was shifting nervously. Odd. He thought, he was about to ask what it was about when they were stopped by a girl walking up to them blushing and near tripping on her own feet.

“Kuroo-san, congratulations.” she said.

She’s pretty. Kenma thought. With her wavy black hair reaching her waist, her curves, her almond-like eyes, pink lips and make-up perfectly done to complement every asset that she had. He knew where this was going and he didn’t know why Tetsurou had to drag him here to witness this.

“Ah, thank you, Hana-san.” He replied. What a fitting name.

“Uhm, Kuroo-san, it’s our last day here and I keep hearing that you haven’t given you button to anyone yet.” she said. What? Kenma thought surprised.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve yet to be alone with my special person.” Tetsurou said while scratching the back of his head.

“I know this is highly unlikely, but I’d just want to tell you before we part, but...” She bowed at her waist while holding out a letter. “I like you Kuroo-san.”

Oh, did he really take me here to accept a confession in front of me? Was I supposed to be witness of some sort? Kenma thought bitterly. She’s perfect for him, beautiful, caring and smart from what I’ve heard.

“I’m sorry Hana-san, but I’ve already have someone special to me. I really hope you find the one for you.” Tetsurou said smiling sadly. He’s turning her down.

“I know Kuroo-san.” She smiled back. “I’m just letting you know, I’ve been your classmate for three years after all.” She then winked then pushed the letter to his hands.

“I’m not asking for anything but for you to read this, I guess, it’s the thought of every girl that has taken way too much interest in you.” She said walking away.

“I know he feels the same, but...” She paused and looked at Kenma. Kenma staring at her in surprise and confusion for even acknowledging him. “Good luck anyway, be brave Kuroo-san, you’ve had longer than I did to confess.” Tetsurou laughs and nods waving as she turns the corner.

“You haven’t given you button to anyone?” asked Kenma when Tetsurou pulled him to the other side of the building, the side near the fence and far from the people who want to go to the gym. They stop before Tetsurou answers him.

“No, like I said, I haven’t had the chance.”

“Is it someone from Fukurodani?” Kenma asked.

“Uh, also no.” he then started fidgeting. Kenma was confused, the last time Tetsurou was with nervous when it came to him was when they first met.

“Oh.” said Kenma. Good going, Kenma. He though to himself.

“Is that all you’re gonna say?” Tetsurou laughed.

“What do you want me to say?” Kenma countered.

“Let’s leave that at that.” Tetsurou said then wiped his hands on his slacks then puts both his hands inside his pockets.

“Can you be honest with me?” He asked Kenma.

Kenma could only nod, confused and a little anxious. He was scared, he was always so good at reading Tetsurou, what made this any different?

“Please tell me you’ll listen, that you’ll let me finish, that you won’t run away?” Tetsurou near pleaded. Kenma nodded one more time.

“Please say it.” He said. It’s been so long since Kenma has seen him this vulnerable.

“I’ll listen, I’ll let you finish, I won’t run away. But you need to calm down Kuro.” Kenma told him in a soft voice, afraid to scare him further.

Tetsurou breathed out a laugh and straightened his body.

“Kozume Kenma, Kenma, Ken, my best friend, my other half. I’ve been hiding something from you...” He paused.

“I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want anything to come in between us. I wanted to be with you for the entirety of our lives. When you met Chibi, all I could think of was your face whenever you played him. How you were positively ecstatic when you looked at him. All I could think of was why couldn’t I have made you feel like that? It’s been so long since I met you but not once have I seen you react like that to me...” Kuroo smiled in the same way that Hana did.

Kenma wanted more than to stop him, to tell him he had always made him feel like that. That he didn’t need volleyball to make Kenma feel happy. That volleyball was trivial when it came to how much Tetsurou made him happy.

“But seeing you grow, it made me so happy Ken. To see you happy without me, to see you excited about something that I didn’t force you into. It made me so happy yet I kept wishing that was me that made you smile, that it was me that made you feel that way...”

You’ve always been, Kuro, Tetsu, it’s always been you.

“I was ready to surrender when you collapsed and said that volleyball was fun. When you thanked me for getting you into volleyball, I was happy yes, but mostly, I felt resigned. I resigned the fact that outside of being the annoying guy next door, I was nothing to you...”

How dare you say that?

“I hid my feelings for you for so long it’s become a second nature to me, but even I couldn’t help but feel hurt when you went after Chibi in the match with Kamomedai. I finally realized then that I had lost and it was Hinata that I lost to...”

You haven’t lost me Tetsu, I’m still here. Tetsurou took his hands out of his pockets and bowed, he held out both hands as it enclosed around something.

“I’m sorry to put all this unnecessary pressure on you Ken, I promised myself that. But please, at least accept this.” He said, his voice cracking by the end of it.

The wind blew and Kenma stood there shell-shocked. Tetsurou remained in his position until Kenma put his hand on top of the other’s.

Tetsurou slowly loosened his grip on whatever it was he was holding. It was a button. The second button of his uniform. The button closest to the heart. Kenma was speechless, Kuroo Tetsurou, his Kuro, his Tetsurou, had saved it for him. Only when he has taken the button did Tetsurou stood straight again.

Looking at him now, Kenma was reminded on how Tetsurou clutched his father’s pants in an attempt to hide from him.

Then Kenma hugged him, he hugged him until Tetsurou hugged back, until the other’s heartbeat returned to normal, until he can feel the other’s tears soaking his uniform, until his Tetsurou whispered a very soft I love you that was almost lost to the wind. Only then did he pull away, only then did he whisper his own I love you back while staring into the other’s eyes.

Tetsurou froze and stared at him, he then fell to his knees taking Kenma with him. He began weeping harder and holding Kenma closer and tighter to him. Finally calming down he spoke up.

“I thought you’d reject me.”

“Why would I? Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that?” Kenma said. Tetsurou hugged him tighter.

“I have one more thing to tell you...” he paused then pulled away leaving them kneeling in front of each other.

“I don’t know what I did in my past lives that the gods have warranted me such a reward as our co-existence, but I’ll gladly take it. To think that you reciprocated my feelings is one of the best think that I’ve heard. I want to give you something, to confess with I guess.” Tetsurou takes out a small black velvet box and Kenma feels his heart speed up.

“It’s not a proposal, I swear, I just wanted to give you something, it’s actually for the two of us.” Tetsurou opens the box and there inside were two rings, he takes out the smaller of the two and takes Kenma’s hand. Before the ring was slipped into his finger, he saw something engraved and lined with black on the inside.

“What’s engraved on it?” he asked.

“相棒 (aibou), to remind you that before I loved you, you were my friend, my partner, the one that helped me out of my shell.” Tetsurou told him as he slipped the ring on his ring finger.

“Tetsu.” said Kenma. Tetsurou was moving to put the ring on his own finger when he took it from him. He took the other’s left and and slipped the ring into the other’s finger. before letting go, Kenma pressed a kiss to the ring then the knuckle of his ring finger.

Kenma looks up to Tetsurou’s face only to find him staring at him in shock with a blush tinting his cheeks. Tetsurou held the other’s face in his hands and leaned in to touch their foreheads together.

“Can I kiss you?” Tetsurou whispered. Kenma nodded in reply.

They eased into the kiss, it wasn’t fluffy, it wasn’t heavy, it didn’t cause sparks to fly. For them, it felt familiar, it wasn’t puppy love, it wasn’t searching for the one, it didn’t feel like a teenage dream. It was real, it was them.

And the Best MCU Film is...

by Captain

Admit it. When the leaked footage of the Avengers: Infinity War trailer came out, you did one of four things:

1. Weep like a baby when Peter said “I’m sorry” to Tony; 2. Scream your lungs out when Steve (beard and all) came out; 3. Let out a big “oooohhhh” when Thanos hurled down that planet; 4. All of the above

As a crossover of 10 years’ worth of cinematic storylines, this mega-event of a movie is unprecedented. Before Infinity War drops next May (which is just 7 months away, but it SURE feels like an eternity away), let’s tackle a question that will trigger debates, challenge friendships, and even put marriages (!) to the test.

What is the best film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe?

Before you blast this blog away with a Jericho missile (hats off to you if you got that reference), the writer would like to set a few parameters.

First, I’ll make it a top 5 list for better chances of acknowledging your favorite. Okay? Y’all happy?

Second, this article will cover only the first 16 MCU films—that is, the ones that have already been released at the time that this article has been published. Unfortunately, I have no Ancient One-like powers to look into the future. My list might very well be obliterated by upcoming flicks like Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther (watch out for the reviews! ☺). Also, I won’t be factoring in TV and Netflix content like Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Defenders series. Different medium, different criteria.

Lastly, and speaking of criteria, allow me to declare my standards for film quality. (Feel free to argue with my rubrics in the comments section, but this is my list, so tough luck.) My biggest considerations are plot and characterization. As in, how good is the story that unfolds in the film? How developed are the character arcs and motivations, and why should I care about them? I also care about effectiveness of acting, visual spectacle, quality of shots and editing, and impact of auditory effects.

With that out of the way...

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Captain America: Civil War (epic airport scene vs. wildly impossible coincidences); Avengers: Age of Ultron (messy in places, but it’s just a special thing when Avengers assemble); the first Thor film (an underrated movie...shout-out to Tom and Kenneth)

Raise your right hand if you knew who Star-Lord and Gamora were three years ago. Raise your left hand if you were also aware that they were not in the original Guardians line-up in the comics. No hands raised? Then you’re just like the thousands of moviegoers who were pleasantly surprised by this franchise in 2014. With the careful handling of director James Gunn, this movie featuring C-list Marvel heroes captured the hearts of comic book die-hards and casual MCU fans alike. Guardians’ strongest suit is its comedy—Rocket Racoon’s unstoppable mouth, Drax the Destroyer’s dry humor (made special by wrestler-turned-actor Dave Bautista), and Peter Quill’s dancing-out-of-nowhere in the movie’s climax. And of course...I am Groot, ‘nuff said.

Throw in the brilliance of the film’s color palette and the soundtrack known as “Awesome Mix Vol. 1,” and you could say that it’s hard to find fault with this flick. But I do have (gasp!) a minor gripe. The film’s third act is all about the Guardians protecting the planet of Xandar from Ronan the Accuser, who wields the might of the destructive Power Stone. Problem is, the Xandarians weren’t given quite enough screen time. Every time I watch the film, I think to myself, “Who are these guys?” Sure, there are images of Xandarian families and children scurrying for their lives, but I just wish the development of these ‘sympathetic’ figures had been better.

That, frankly, is my only problem with an otherwise colorful, highly lovable film. As you’ll see, the next film did not commit the Xandar mistake.

#4: ANT-MAN (2015)

“So I’m at this art museum with my cousin Ignacio, right? And there was this, like, abstract impressionism exhibit. But you know me, I’m more like a Neo-Cubist kind of guy...”

Impossible as it sounds, these lines managed to make people laugh. Thanks, Michael Peña! Just like Guardians, the 2015 flick Ant-Man proved that Marvel Studios can do comedy effectively. Beyond its penchant for humor—as well as its dazzling array of museum-worthy visual effects—Ant-Man also got story-telling right. Any human being can relate to Scott Lang’s quest for redemption after his three-year prison sentence. The film tugs at your heartstrings every time Scott interacts with his daughter Cassie. And the film makes you hold your breath during the climax, when Scott sacrifices himself to save Cassie from the villain Yellowjacket. (Spoiler: Scott survived.)

Yellowjacket, however, is a testament to the widely discussed “MCU villain problem.” For all the wonderful heroes that Marvel Studios has brought to life, there is also a legion of antagonists that the MCU films have failed to maximize. In Ant-Man, Darren Cross is a rather menacing jerk (thanks to a great performance by actor Corey Stoll). But his screen time as Ant-Man’s evil counterpart could have been fleshed out and extended. As it was, Yellowjacket became just another dispensable villain to join the likes of Ultron, Ronan the Accuser, and Malekith.

But Ant-Man still succeeds because it makes you care greatly about Scott and Cassie. And it is precisely because of this that this film is ranked above Guardians. When you compare the two films, it’s easier to care for a human father and his innocent little daughter than an entire planet of unknown, unfamiliar beings.

#3: SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING (2017)

I have to be honest: the subtitle did not work out for me at first. When Marvel and Sony announced that they would be sharing Spidey’s film rights (hallelujah), I was hoping for a comic book-inspired title. Like Sensational Spider-Man or Peter Parker: Spider-Man. I know that the term “Homecoming” has several connotations (such as the Spider-Man character being welcomed back to the fold of Marvel Studios), but it just isn’t fierce enough for a superhero film.

Trust me, that’s about as much I’ll complain about this movie. Because everything else was...amazing.

To begin with, Tom Holland is the perfect actor for the title role. He brought a more youthful vibe to the Peter Parker persona than Tobey Maguire. And he embodied a more light-hearted, wittier Spider-Man than Andrew Garfield. As remarkable as young Mr. Holland’s performance was, the film’s showstopper was veteran actor Michael Keaton. Finally, a well-rounded villain! Keaton brought emotional depth to the role of Adrian Toomes/Vulture, who is effectively portrayed as a blue-collar worker wronged by society’s elite. The rest of the crew is just as outstanding. Robert Downey Jr. (Tony Stark/Iron Man) is used in just enough doses as the hero’s mentor. Jacob Batalon is hilarious as Ned, the techie best friend; while Zendaya is quirky as the mysterious Michelle persona (eventually revealed to be...wait for it...MJ).

Distinguishing itself as a teen movie, Homecoming is a refreshing selection among the grittier grown-ups of the MCU. Take your pick of adolescent drama: Peter’s fixations on his crush, the thrills and frills of weekend parties, the suspense of inter-school competitions. Indeed, this film offers a new flavor among the political thrillers and world-ending catastrophes of Captain America and Thor. The plot keeps you on the edge of your seats from beginning to end (though the climactic battle could have been more, um, climactic). Even the mid-credits scene keeps you fascinated in what happens next (hello, Sinister Six).

This is how good Homecoming is: up until earlier this year, I had a different top 5 list. Captain America: Civil War was on it. When Homecoming came out, Spider-Man swung all the way into my top 3. Tom Holland and co. were so good that there are only two films that they did not displace in my nerdy Marvel heart.

#2: AVENGERS (2012)

Assemble.

This might be more of a sentimental pick—I know that several critics would have Guardians at this spot—but I’m listening to my nerdy heart. In Avengers, several effective elements come together. The best part, of course, is the unprecedented, seamless merging of characters and plot lines. Marvel heroes from a 3-year period of films come together to protect humanity from intergalactic threats. If you faithfully watched the solo Marvel films before viewing Avengers, you were duly rewarded with a satisfying conclusion to Phase 1. If you watched Avengers in isolation, you would still be captivated with the colorful adventure of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

And oh boy, how the sparks fly! Even before a single fist landed on a Chitauri cheekbone, the in-fighting among the heroes was fun to watch. The verbal showdown between Cap and Iron Man was fascinating—enough to get everyone excited for a possible Civil War (which happened). Thor vs. Hulk and Thor vs. Tony were exciting heavyweight fights, and the mind-controlled exploits of Hawkeye (who eventually turned into a protagonist) added an extra layer of conflict.

Speaking of conflict, the plot’s intensity keeps the audience hooked from start to finish. The film opens with a car-blowing, Tesseract-grabbing heist perpetuated by Loki, the best MCU villain to date. The action sequences that follow—which include the forest duel and the Helicarrier fiasco—are visual stunners. The climactic Battle of New York is made even more hearstopping when the Avengers have to deal with the alien invasion and the nuclear missile out of nowhere. By the time Mr. Stark wakes up after his heroic sacrifice (with Hulk’s thunderous voice as the alarm clock), the viewer smiles ear-to-ear, satisfied that the good guys prevailed.

We haven’t even touched on the excellent cast—from Downey to Evans, Hiddleston to Ruffalo—as well as the fantastic effects and brilliant musical score. My only nitpick would be the slowing down of the film’s pace during certain expository parts. Perhaps Natasha’s conversation with Dr. Banner could have been just a tad shorter. Other than this, though, I am satisfied with Joss Whedon’s work to the point of considering Avengers a top-of-the-mountain film.

But not the top film.

#1: CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

I will argue all day, any day with anyone who disagrees.

The second Captain America installment is second to none in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Directed by Joe and Anthony Russo, The Winter Soldier is the MCU’s standard-bearer for film quality.

Perhaps the greatest accomplishment of this film is its realistic approach. All the elements of The Winter Soldier make you believe that a “super soldier”—the stuff of comic book lore—can actually trade fists and save lives in a true-to-life episode of political espionage. Chris Evans gives justice to a highly conflicted Cap, who finds his classic American ideals challenged by 21st century US military “values.”

The action sequences are exquisite. The moment you see Cap deliver a spinning heel kick to a pirate (hello, Georges St-Pierre!), you know it’s going to be special. My favorite scene in the entire film was the elevator scene, in which Steve fights about a dozen Hydra henchmen by himself...and wins. The final act of the film is packed with suspense as Cap attempts to deactivate Hydra’s three Helicarriers designed for mass eliminations. But standing in his way—literally, they stood face-to-face on a very narrow passage—is the Winter Soldier, who is revealed to be Steve’s best friend Bucky. Cheesy as it may have been, the line “I’m with you till the end of the line” was a nice touch to the Cap/Steve vs. Winter Soldier/Bucky plotline.

Comrade Barnes may have been the cybernetically-enhanced villain, but Alexander Pierce was a great antagonist as well in the role of the slimy, intelligent bureaucrat. Robert Redford (God bless his kindred soul) proved in this film that he can out-act any performer that Hollywood has to offer. Memorable performances also came from Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury, Scarlett Johannson as Black Widow, and Anthony Mackie as Sam Wilson.

As garnish, the Russo brothers added touches of humor and cleverness. Like the running joke of Steve telling Sam “I’m on your left,” or the subtle graveyard reference to Samuel L. Jackson’s role in the cult classic Pulp Fiction, or Steve’s list of pop culture items (Star Wars and Star Trek, anyone?). Indeed, Messieurs Joe and Anthony deserved the call to direct Civil War and the Infinity films.

I can only hope that Infinity War and its sequel (Gauntlet, perhaps?) will live up to their gargantuan hype. But don’t get me wrong: I am highly confident because the directors proved how excellent an MCU film can be when they made Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Dear readers, what’s your top 5 list? Do you agree or disagree with the list presented above? Let us know in the comments below!

Pariah (2011) dir. Dee Rees

“I’m Not Running, I’m Choosing”: ‘Pariah’ and Gender Performance

“Who do you become if you can’t be yourself?” Pariah, my absolute favorite film of 2011, tackles that question.

Written and directed by Dee Rees and produced by Nekisa Cooper, the powerful, award-winning Pariah tells the story of Alike (Adepero Oduye in an astounding performance), a 17-year-old black lesbian in Brooklyn. Studious, artistic and sensitive, Alike is a writer who knows who she is but hides her sexuality from her family. We so rarely see positive portrayals of black women and queer women on-screen. Here, we have the privilege to see both. With subtlety and grace, it’s an exquisite and achingly beautiful female-centric coming-of-age film about a young woman discovering her sexuality and asserting her identity.

Carrie Nelson already wrote an articulate and intelligent review of the award-winning film. You should seriously go read it! But I want to touch on a few points that particularly struck me while watching, particularly about gender performance and identity. Most films don’t address teenage sexuality. Sure they may objectify women or poke fun at raging hormones. But they don’t often explore how teens’ discover their sexuality, especially women’s sexuality, people of color’s sexuality, or queer sexuality.

Throughout the film, we receive visual cues to Alike’s gender performance. When we first see Alike in a club, she’s wearing a loose men’s jersey, baggy jeans, and a baseball cap. She’s emulating her butch best friend Laura (Pernell Walker). On the bus home, Alike removes her hat and shirt, revealing a form-fitting top. She puts on earrings. All for her overprotective, lonely and overbearing mother Audrey (Kim Wayans). When she’s around her mom, Alike wears stereotypically feminine clothing. Flouncy skirts, dresses, snug blouses – all clothing that “shows off her figure” like her mother wants. form-fitting tops. Her mother buys her these clothes, knowing full well that Alike abhors wearing them. Yet refusing to accept her daughter, trying to orchestrate her daughter’s identity.

Alike’s mother can’t handle the fact that her daughter is a lesbian. Audrey shows a colleague at lunch a fuchsia sweater she bought for Alike. She tells Arthur (Charles Parnell), Alike’s father, that she’s “tired of this tomboy thing she’s doing.” Yet Alike tries to express herself, telling her parents that the sweater “isn’t me.” Alike’s identity contradicts her vision of her daughter that she imposed on Alike. Alike’s father is more protective of her as she’s a “daddy’s girl.” Yet he refuses to admit or see the signs that Alike might be a lesbian. Between the two is Alike’s sister Sharonda (Sahra Mellesse) who knows about her sexuality and loves her regardless.

Whenever Alike leaves home, she transforms herself into the identity she chooses. At school, we see her rush to the girls’ bathroom to change. She adopts a more masculine appearance to coincide with her gender non-conformity. Laura buys Alike a strap-on to have sex with a woman. But Alike’s uncomfortable wearing it (it’s white, it pinches her) and ends up throwing it away.

For Alike, both sets of clothing – the hyper-masculine and hyper-feminine – are a costume. She rebels from the princess wardrobe her mother wants for her by going to the other extreme, exploring if it’s who she is. But neither appearance encapsulates Alike. Both the butch and the femme identities are disconnected from her personality.

In an interview, Rees, an out lesbian herself, said Pariah is about identity and finding your place in the world:

“Alike’s a woman who knows she loves women and is sure in that, but her struggle is how to be. Her struggle is a more nuanced struggle of gender identity within the queer community. She’s not the same person that (her friend) Laura is, neither is she this pink princess that her mother wants her to be. She falls somewhere in between. Finding the courage to carve out that space is her journey.”

Audrey suspects her daughter is a lesbian or at the very least is attracted to women. But she tries to derail Alike’s sexuality. Audrey forces Alike and the charismatic Bina (Aasha Davis), the daughter of a work colleague and one of Alike’s classmates, to spend time together in a vain attempt to separate Alike from hanging out with Laura, whose own mother has disowned her for being a lesbian. Alike tells her mother that nothing is going to change, Audrey replies, “God doesn’t make mistakes,” as if homosexuality is a mistake. But Audrey’s plan backfires as Alike and Bina bond over music and share a growing attraction to one another.

Drawn to one another, Alike and Bina have sex. Despite their shared intimacy, Bina rejects Alike. Breaking Alike’s heart and devastating her, Bina tells her she’s not “gay-gay” and asks her to keep their encounter secret. We see that Bina possesses sexual fluidity yet is afraid to commit to a woman, perhaps due to society’s heteronormative standards. Or maybe she doesn’t want to commit to anyone, male or female. Or maybe she’s an insensitive asshole.

Whatever Bina’s motivations, Alike’s heartbreak ushers in her refusal to bury her identity any longer. Amidst a huge fight between her parents, Audrey angrily tells Arthur, “Your daughter is turning into a damn man right before your eyes.” Alike tells her parents she’s a lesbian, which enrages her mother. Audrey hits her repeatedly, her father trying to restrain her, after Alike finally confirms what her mother already knew.

Alike turns to Laura (who tries again to reach out to her mother after she earns her GED) for solace and support. Both women are able to commiserate as friends and as lesbians rejected by their mothers’ gendered expectations.

By the end of the film, we see Alike’s clothing change again. Adopting some of Bina’s style fused with her own – perhaps to convey that she’s learned from her heartache or it may be her acknowledgment of her sexual transformation – she wears scarves and earrings with jeans. No longer shadowing Laura and no longer conforming to her mother’s gender binary, Alike rejects the gender binary of butch and femme, a symbolic balance of her identity, a unison of femininity and masculinity.

Alike divulges her feelings through spoken word. Her poem at the end of Pariah is hauntingly stunning (making me weep uncontrollably), echoing her painful yet ultimately freeing journey towards self-acceptance:

“Heartbreak opens onto the sunrise for even breaking is opening and I am broken, I am open. Broken into the new life without pushing in, open to the possibilities within, pushing out. See the love shine in through my cracks? See the light shine out through me? I am broken, I am open, I am broken open. See the love light shining through me, shining through my cracks, through the gaps. My spirit takes journey, my spirit takes flight, could not have risen otherwise and I am not running, I am choosing. Running is not a choice from the breaking. Breaking is freeing, broken is freedom. I am not broken, I am free.”

Pariah shattered my heart with its aching beauty, uplifting my soul. We are allowed a window to witness her journey and self-discovery. Through her wardrobe and poetry, Alike eventually expresses herself as a lesbian in the way that she wishes. Alike insists she’s not running, she’s choosing. While she means this literally, there’s meaning beneath the surface. No longer running from who she is, Alike chooses to embrace her identity. Watching Alike discover and assert herself is beauty, poetry in motion.

http://www.btchflcks.com/2012/06/lgbtqi-week-im-not-running-im-choosing-pariah-and-gender-performance.html#.XKJ2c-tKiu4

The Last Goodbye (a KND fanfic: One Shot)

> ___________________________ “We really sorry. If you need anything, please…” She could barely hear the words of the soldier, why would she? For people keep remembering her misfortune? She was always frenetic, impulsive, sometimes even crazy, but this time where it would be justifiable to explode because of sadness and despair... she did nothing. Her body could not respond, only placed both hands in her mouth to stifle her agony. By touching her cheeks felt were soaked with sweat, a cold and inexplicable sweat that only could get her limbs trembling without reason. Was it seriously what was happening to her? Would not it be better just were a bad dream? Why? Why her? Why him? What went wrong? What happened? Why no one answered her questions? Could anyone take this enormous weight felt in all his being? When she wanted to get off the couch her body did not react in time and fell to her knees. At that time her mother ran to meet to hold her, she gave in and grabbed her mother's body with great force. The two soldiers who give her the bad news broke when they heard Betty’s weeping she mingled with screams, moans and tears; many tears that dampened Lidia’s clothing, who was aware that the only thing she could do at that moment was hug her daughter. Her body still shaking, her face slightly flushed, her eyes bulged, and her breath hitched; an indescribable pain increased as crying more intensely. “Why? Why my Hoagie?” she said with sobs There was someone else who watched the whole scene, though it was unfair that his young age something like this to happen. With only four years he could not understand all things. What he did know was that when a person crying meant that was sad. Does his mom was sad? He found confusing since a few days ago his mother radiated joy when they announced on television that his father would soon return home. Maybe when he came back she was glad to see him again. One of the soldiers noticed the presence of the child, who, afraid because they had discovered, he tried to hide behind the wall of the kitchen door. He decided to approach him; while most watched and walked better, he became convinced that he was the spitting image of his father, as if he were seeing thumbnails. The child saw him with curious eyes and raised his head up high; it was a huge soldier in his opinion. The man kneels down to his size to look carefully. “What would happen in his little mind?” thought the cadet with great sorrow. “He has a big head” reasoned little Hoagie. He brushed his messy hair and stretched out his hand against the boy, revealing all the medals he had been given. Hoagie was pretty exciting to see what he forgot for a moment the grief of his mother, he fixed his gaze on the uniform of the man, he was amazed; it was just as it looked in the movies. The man looked like a superhero, tall and strong, ready to save the world. Like his father. He longed to have him back soon, wanted to see his wonderful uniform and countless medals. X-X-X-X-X Little Hoagie was sitting on the lawn with a red rose in his hand. The chair was given was so big that he could not touch the ground, swinging his legs back and forth with some boredom, but felt more intrigued. Why everyone was dressed in black like him? What was telling Mr. Soldier over there in front? All he could distinguish was that all mention of his father, his plans, his achievements; He never imagined that his father was so famous, but that it seemed incredible. After all, his father was a hero, his hero and people dressed in black it was acknowledging. However, if this was a day that reminded everyone why he was not present? Among thoughts he felt his mother carrying him and taking him to a big box where everyone left white roses. As he approached, Betty showed a smile to her child. “Say goodbye to your daddy, honey” she said. Goodbye? He misunderstood this sentence. If he had not even seen him! He noticed the roses; all were white except the red that he and his mother were in their hands Do these flowers were just for his dad? That would be great! So he would know that there were people who wanted to see him and missed him. Hopefully flowers arrived intact to his hands. The small waved his arm hard. “Bye, daddy” Both left their roses on the coffin. Betty placed his son on the floor, gently stroked her cheek and smiled so warmly that the child does not hesitate to embrace. X-X-X-X-X Three days. It had been three days since the people remember his father, and he had not yet arrived. Perhaps it appeared one last very important mission only he could solve. But does it take so long? His mother was sad and he wants his brother knew his dad better. He looked up and saw his mother in the kitchen, preparing lunch. That’s what she always does; prepare delicious food, but it was something different, perhaps her eyes. It was a bit scruffy, tired. If his dad was delayed in coming, he should do something about it! His little mind made a small idea. He immediately got up from the ground taking his toy plane and went to his room. Betty felt her baby went at full speed. But she did not pay much attention to it. In fact, lately, she would not pay attention to anything. It's only been three days and she still can’t believe what happen. What will she do now that she is alone? How will she keep her two children and her aged mother? And when presented problems who would help her fix them? “Mommy!” Immediately, she looked up, startled. She ran to the living room with a knife in hand, looking frantically everywhere. When she glanced down, she dropped the knife. His son had a aviator cap on his head and a yellow googles eyes; both were huge for him. “I'm an airman. As my daddy.” He took his little plane and started making engine noises with his mouth, ran in circles while blew his toy. With every move toward the small, he saw his mom. Because he did it all with one purpose: to see her happy again, as it has always been and now wants to be. And he did. He saw her laugh, loud, outrageous, as he had always heard. She simply could not be retained, he was too cute not to show it. The laughter of his mother caused the infant forms a smile, which she noticed because it was the only thing visible on his face. “Well then to fly!” She loaded it and turned it nonstop. Hoagie laughed as he stretched his arms in the style of a superhero. Finally, she released him on the couch, both laughing nonstop. When she calmed down, she stared at him. The pain was still there, probably never will, but what can be sure was that she will never be alone. She hugged her son tightly. “You're my favorite aviator” she said to him. “I thought dad was your favorite aviator” replied the boy. When Betty heard those words, her smile faltered a bit; just remember and cannot help but let the tears. But she should not be broken again; her child will not have to see it as well. She raised his hat a little to show some of his forehead and kissed him. “Now you are”. The infant smiled triumphantly and felt his mom hug again. Her favorite flyer? Yes! Now there's a way to make her mother happy as his father did. And he knows that he will do when he comes home. But meanwhile, he considered his best replacement. _____________________________

The Hiatus And What Passed

In typical overly rambly Child style, here’s more or less what happened while I was away from social media. Under the cut because Child doesn’t know the meaning of brevity.

I have watched

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. The second half is trash, read the book. If you never read the book, the second half is still trash (twins could have solved EVERYTHING in the first few minutes ARRRRRGH)

Storks. So excessively dumb, cliche, and ridiculous that it knew it was excessively dumb, cliche, and ridiculous and therefore was kind of enjoyable.

Collateral Beauty. Beautiful. 10/10 recommend.

Minions Movie. I went in expecting stupid. I was not disappointed. I need to delete this movie from my brain by repeated watchings of Despicable Me 1 & 2…

Five episodes of Miraculous Ladybug. Finally checked it out. Conclusion: While Ladybug and Chat Noir are now an OTP for me, the series is just too cheesy and repetitive for me to really sink into it.

I have read

(2/3 of) Codependent No More. I needed this book. I needed it so much.

(started) The Problem of Pain by CS Lewis.

Pendragon by Stephen Lawhead.

(started) Grail by Stephen Lawhead.

A friend’s manuscript

Runaways, an MSA fic by Tyigra that I meant to read MONTHS ago… (SCREEEEEECHES over how good it is)

I have made

Two stained-glass wire flower crowns

A beaded heart

One more wire tree

Three paintings (all commissions are now caught up)

A new twist on the usual cookies I make for work (such that from now on when I make cookies for work I have to make TWO batches because both are a hit)

A recording of a song I wrote for my boyfriend’s Christmas present

The beginnings of another blanket

I have written

Half a metaphorical children’s story about Codependency

Several pages in my journal

3 chapters of Torn Apart

I got an unusually excessive amount of crafting materials. I went for a ride in a surrey with my boyfriend. I walked (and sat and slept) in the Getty, both gardens and grounds. I met @humming-fly. I reconnected with another childhood friend I hadn’t caught up with for years.

I cried out to God in pain. I soaked in His presence in the times the pain broke. I thought about never coming back online again. I thought about coming back online and continuing exactly as I had before.

I recognized certain behaviors I’m not able to change when in depression, at least by myself, because the will to do so myself is a broken tool right now. I recognized that, when possible, I need to return to therapy. I lost a lot of my left eyebrow to pulling. I thought about medication. I finished watching Gravity Falls with Bonnie, my middle sister.

I acknowledged that I absolutely despise my novel and deeply resent the current protagonist for hijacking my story. I admired her strength and beauty as a character, next to her friend, and hoped I could get over my resentment enough to watch where she goes.

I realized which friendships in my life were healthy and which ones were mostly healthy and which ones I had allowed myself to become too much the rescuer while mitigating my own hurts and pains in relation to the person, an unhealthy dynamic that has repeatedly been my part in past failed friendships (I am not taking all responsibility for the failure of the friendships, only that this was my part in them, repeatedly, because this is my pattern).

Realized I will probably never stop flailing and that so long as I own a Tumblr, that Tumblr will be primarily a record of me flailing, so I might as well accept it and stop fighting. Realized I’d probably try to fight it anyway because it’s one of the things I just do.

If I didn’t feel I had the time or energy to do something I’d planned to, I let it go because I actually felt I would have the time to do them the next day, instead of my stuff getting pushed off for several days at a time if I didn’t get it done right away. I wondered if I’d ever write anything good again, as I deleted several thousand words of fanfiction I didn’t deem good enough to save. I bookmarked several free psychology lecture series online thinking maybe I could learn something academic for a change. I began tracking my swings on my calendar again with a line that looks like a heart monitor from day to day.

Decided that I should probably only spend two days a week on social media. Bought myself Invader Zim volumes 1 & 2 (encompassing the first ten issues) as an early birthday present. Almost bought an MSA Arthur keychain only to find it was OUT OF STOCK (weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth ensued). Purged a buildup of over 300 emails and drafts from my webmail. I vacuumed carpets and swept floors and organized chunks of the apartment.

Realized I’m very, very tired of being keelhauled by my emotional state on a regular basis. That I feel less able, less competent, and less able to change things because I have a mental illness. That it feels like all I’m able to do is exist from moment to moment because anything I set my hand to do long term, if it’s for myself, most often ends in flaming failure. And yet, still, somehow, I hope this constant in-the-moment-don’t-know-how-to-get-out-of-it flailing is good enough. Acceptable. Dare I say it, seen and commended, somehow, because I’m trying. I think. I think I’m trying. Sometimes I can’t tell what’s trying.

Firmly decided to filter politics from my Tumblr feed, not by unfriending, but by utilizing blacklist. I cannot descend into the morass of despair that has shown up on my feed in recent months--not that I cannot speak to people one on one, but I cannot watch it wash over my feed on a regular basis. I. Will. Drown. And I refuse to drown if I know how to stop it. In similar news, decided that two days a week on social media is a good cap that will balance me spending time in the communities I enjoy, talking with my friends, and attending to other things in my life (including myself). Tumblr App has been uninstalled from my phone.

I took my sisters to a Broadway singing pizza parlor called Miceli’s and it was fabulous. I blew through the three Kung Fu Panda movies with my boyfriend. Generally spent time doing things that made me very happy or, if not happy, allowed me to heal. I am in no way saying that I am completely healed. I tend to go in cycles of highs and lows. But this low lasted much longer than usual, and drastic measures were required. And a few more measures I have put in place, as seen threaded throughout the last few paragraphs, will remain. Specifically, Social Media is only 2 days a week, and I can no longer be reached through Tumblr except when I am HOME in range of my laptop. There will be no more communication from me through Tumblr when I am out. Other things I am working on align more with what I am reading in Co-Dependent No More but I will have to see how things play out before I talk much about that. So... that is that.

I have a lot of things I will be posting tomorrow, mostly art things and completed chapters, but I won’t be talking much until Tuesday most likely. But, on a sporadic basis, I am more or less contact-able again.