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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

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The MLA(/PLF) Headcanon Post (1/2)

In response to this nice ask about whether I have any headcanon or thoughts about the current members of the MLA/PLF, I spent two weeks blithering 16.5K words of exactly that into a Word file, because when it comes to underappreciated characters I love, I do not understand restraint. This post and its follow-up will cover all ranked ex-MLA members of the PLF, as well as Original Flavor Destro and Curious, since I wasn't going to leave them out of a project like this even if they aren't "current."

The ask only mentioned having previously read The Lore Post, the last exercise in ridiculousness that I wrote at the tail end of MLA Week, so I wrote this to summarize everything that doesn't appear there—which is to say that a lot of the material in these two posts will look familiar to anyone who's read my fanfic about the MLA cast. There’s still plenty of new material to go around too, though!

So, I don't have much in the vein of askblog-style headcanons where I can randomly tell you stray trivia about a character’s favorite foods or their love languages or what have you; that stuff either comes up when I'm writing fanfic or it doesn't. That said, below, please find a mix of thoughts I keep in mind when writing characters, facts that have only turned up in my fanfic/notes so far and not the Lore Post meta, and a selection of lightning round headcanon provided by cross-referencing a random number generator with some old questionnaires I keep around for OCs and tabletop characters.

In this post: Destro, Re-Destro and his advisors, and Geten.

Destro—

General Thoughts The whole "revolutionary leader" thing came very naturally to him. He was committed, charismatic, very willing to risk his life and safety for the cause, and he cared about his people. All that said, he absolutely had a pompous, prideful streak, especially where it came to his justification for terrorism. You only have to read his own words to see that. Still, he was in large part reacting to the world he lived in, one of greater violence and danger than the current day.

I like to think that—because he was genuine in wanting freedom for all—he would not approve of what became of his Army. He'd be able to see how they got there, and he would probably have made much the same choices if he'd been there with them, but while he would have agreed that his role should be remembered—that's just Due Credit—he would never have wanted to become the nigh-on religious figure his followers turned him into. Continuing to fight the good fight for his ideals is one thing, but secret salutes and isolated villages and being raised from infancy to know your life has only as much worth as it can contribute to Liberation… Well, it's just not what he would have wanted for his people, much less his descendants.

Family Situation Chikara was only around 7 when his mother was killed, the event that would shape the rest of his life. He wasn't hiding in the closet from the mob, either; he was kicking and punching and biting, his motivation to save her overflowing—but he was still only 7, and eventually overwhelmed. His own life might well have ended there with hers, but for a group of neighborhood vigilante types (at least one of whom probably went on to a career as a hero, after legalization).

He went most of his adolescence without getting involved with anything more sinister than student newspapers, founding a secret meta-rights "club," and attending the odd larger protest, but when the government started talking about passing laws restricting the use of meta-abilities, he started getting very radical very quickly, and when some absolute snake started to use his martyred mother's words to bang the drum for banning quirk use outside the home outright, he went off the deep end.

Lightning Round (Randomly Selected Headcanons)

Favorite book genre? Memoirs and biographies—he wouldn't have written his own if he didn't appreciate their value. The intimacy of the personal juxtaposed against the broad scope of history appeals to both his regard for individuality and his revolutionary mindset.

Most prized possession? Thoughts on material possessions in general? He doesn’t generally prize material possessions—in fact, he’s something of a skinflint. His most prized possession is an old pair of gloves that belonged to his mother, which he'd been wearing at the time of her murder. He didn't come from money to begin with, but his mother’s story made enough of a splash that his financial situation was improved by well-meaning sorts sending along donations and contributions and the like, as well as government officials knowing they needed to be sure that he wound up somewhere at least semi-reasonable lest they court further outrage by mishandling the son of a martyred woman. The money all went towards school and living expenses, though, leaving him quite experienced at balancing a budget, which would come in handy for that whole ‘leading a violent uprising against the state’ thing later on.

Academic Background: Got all the way through college! Was involved in student groups as far back as middle school, and only got moreso the further in school he got. Majored in Human Development; he was intending to go into the public health and policy sphere before the appropriation of his mother's language pissed him off so much he got into terrorism instead.

THE MODERN MLA

Re-Destro—

General Thoughts A huge amount of the way I write him is influenced by one single thing—his characterization as described in the second data book. His personality is summed up there as "sokoshirenai yami"—bottomless darkness, or, as a friend translated it for me, "unfathomable gloominess." That really, really stuck with me, because on the one hand, it's so opposed to virtually all of what we see of him on the page, where he's being cheerful or scornful or sycophantic; the closest he ever gets are his brief tears for Miyashita, Curious, and his other followers.

On the other hand, it makes so much sense that the man we see—the man who talks about the heavy burdens of his legacy, who was handed that legacy when he couldn't possibly have been any older than 6 or so, who willingly straps on a self-designed torture device to wring out more power, who all but worships the ground Shigaraki walks on even though Shigaraki is the reason Re-Destro no longer has legs to walk that same ground with—should be "unfathomably gloomy." Of course he's gloomy! He was never allowed to be his own person! He has never in his life known true freedom, only existed as a vessel to bring that freedom to others! And he can't really even talk to his closest friends about it, because his closest friends are still his followers, and he wouldn't want to weigh them down!

With that context, it makes all the sense in the world that he'd be so devoted to the man who relieved him of that burden.

Family Situation He loved his mother Yukie a great deal, despite knowing from early on that he was carrying the weight of the title because she believed she couldn’t. (Perhaps growing up hearing about the martyrdom of Destro’s mother left him wanting to ensure the happiness of his own, for her happiness was very rare.) He was 10 when she was killed in a Villain attack; she’d been on a daytrip over to a neighboring city to visit some of her erstwhile school friends. The requisite mourning period was 49 days, and as the only surviving family member, quite a lot fell to him even before considerations of his role as Re-Destro. it was perceived as better—for both the Army’s morale and for his own stability—for him to be involved with as much of the work of transition as possible, but obviously he couldn’t do it completely alone, nor should he. Thus, for two months after Yukie’s death, the previous generation's Sanctum[i] stayed with him in his family home. Afterward, he moved in with Anchor (one of his grandfather's advisors), where he would spend the rest of his young adulthood until moving away for college.

Claustrophobia The name of that literal-iron-maiden deathtrap he brings to bear against Shigaraki is no coincidence: Rikiya developed claustrophobia over the course of a stint of abusive training when he was thirteen. He generally has a pretty good handle on disguising it, thanks to a combination of people being unwilling to ask him questions they don’t actually want the answers to and the fact that he had to learn how to operate through it in order to complete the training at all. He has never told anyone, largely because he’s never been able to recognize that it was abuse, and so his abuser remains a figure of some influence.

Education He was largely taught by private tutors, in his home and in theirs, rather than attending school, but I think he probably wasn't completely home-schooled. Particularly once he'd decided that he did want to attend university—and not just some little local technical program, but a major school in a proper city—he probably attended classes a few times a week at his local high school just to get a feel for being around other people his own age. He'd been friends with Koku for several years by that point, otherwise he probably would have been pretty hopeless, but he was still a pretty odd duck by the time he got to university.

This, incidentally, is why he never pushed Geten too hard about school—his own experience of it was so weird and piecemeal that he mostly thinks of school as relevant only for the education it provides, and less so the crash course in social dynamics. Since Geten doesn't care about getting an education (nor, indeed, about learning how not to be a rude little troll), and has a strong enough quirk that he'll never lack for a position in the Army even without a formal education, Rikiya is perfectly happy to let Geten have his way and just be minimally learnèd.

Stress His powers operate by infusing his body with the characteristic black matter of his manifested stress; he can increase his size with this (his so-called Liberated Form isn't just armored up; he becomes physically taller and bulkier), as well as throw handfuls of the materialized power. A side effect of this is that his stress can also infuse itself into his bodily fluids. The stress matter is a highly dense particulate, so if Rikiya is not in proper control of himself, his proverbial blood, sweat and tears can be literally heavy with the weight of his power.

The Value of Life He cares very much about the lives of his followers, but those genuine feelings are filtered through both the mental compartmentalization required by an emotion-based quirk, and an upbringing that taught him to care about his underlings in the same way one would rare goods. Valuable goods, certainly, goods worth being proud of, goods to be maintained with care, but still, ultimately, things that can be sold or traded or bartered off as necessary to further one's goals. Even his own life, while "objectively" the most valuable of them all, isn't an exception to that policy—the Great Cause is more important than any individual life, up to and including his own.

On a Personal Note He’s something of an obvious weirdo to outsiders—his enthusiasm comes off as strident, his smiles overly polished—but despite that, he's bizarrely hard to dislike once they start spending real time with him. He's not anywhere near as prideful about himself as he is the legacy of the MLA, for a start; he's actually pretty self-deprecating when he's not performing the whole Heir of Destro's Great Bloodline routine at people. He's also happy to go along with other people sharing their hobbies (because he doesn't have any of his own). The more you get to know him, the more obvious it becomes that he's a total basket case, but “total basket case” is still an improvement over “self-absorbed 1%-er CEO” that people like Spinner come in expecting.

What Are Boundaries? He has very little understanding of how to enforce boundaries around his private life, or, indeed, of why such boundaries might ever be necessary. Oh, he can do the double life thing, keep the CEO of Detnerat separate from the Grand Commander of the Metahuman Liberation Army, but when it comes to the MLA itself, he's so groomed to devote himself to the cause that he doesn't really distinguish between the responsibilities of Re-Destro and the needs of Yotsubashi Rikiya. Rather than being the egomaniac you might expect of a man with the absolute power over others he has, he instead struggles to assert himself as his own person at all.

Issues with boundaries are not uncommon with the MLA—they're all raised to see themselves as warriors to advance the cause before they are, like, “human beings”—but Rikiya’s are particularly exacerbated because he was raised by adults who were getting pretty paranoid about his bloodline's tendency to die young, and thus were always checking in on how he was doing, dictating his schedule, weighing in on his plans, and so on. He just wasn’t raised with reasonable expectations for privacy. Even as an adult, he'll give his apartment door code to pretty much anyone in the MLA who has even a semi-plausible reason to want it—certainly quite a few of the elders know it! And it isn’t only the elders, either; Rikiya's phone and several of his accessories carry tracking chips courtesy of Skeptic, which Rikiya knows about and doesn't think is at all untoward.

While his experience dating Koku definitely taught him some hard lessons about how much he could allow himself to ask of people who would obey him without question (they broke up over Rikiya’s realization that Koku would never deny him anything, thanks to a cracked rib Koku didn’t see fit to tell Rikiya about until Rikiya hugged him a little too hard), he never learned how to value his own autonomy in turn. Oh, he's the Grand Commander, and everyone around him has been raised to venerate his bloodline, so most of them would never even think about trying to take advantage of him as such, but it's absolutely the case that people who are bold or familiar enough to try can basically run right over him with minimal efforts made at obscuring the fact. His life is full of people who do and have done exactly that, some to a net positive effect, and some—well. See again the entry about his claustrophobia.

The abjectly terrible state of his sense of self-worth is also the reason the Claustro exists. While he was relatively capable of trying to work around his phobia when he was younger, the older he got, the more it started to feel like leaving doors cracked behind him or only working in offices with big spacious floor plans and oversized windows was, in some way, Letting Down The Cause by allowing his fear to control him, rather than embracing it so he could properly stockpile it for later use. A dinnertime chat with Curious about turning one’s trauma into a weapon for the good of others catalyzed this, leading to the development of the “burden-enhancing steel pressure mechanism,” Claustro.

(It also means the clone of him made by Twice to handle Detnerat after Deika is bizarrely okay with its circumstances, which I will almost certainly write more about one of these days, but I’m still kind of reeling from that reveal, so more on that another time.)

Lightning Round

Religion? He doesn't identify as being of a religious faith, but he was brought up in the same peaceful marriage of Shinto and Buddhism that the majority of Japanese people are, and like many, he adheres to a number of traditional practices more out of habit than devout faith. There are two celebrations that demand significant emotional investment from him. First comes the New Year's celebrations, important because the MLA prides itself on looking to a brighter, freer future, and it's a period when he can let himself think that maybe he'll be just that little bit closer to Liberation by the end of the year than he was at the start. Second is Obon, a summer festival for honoring one's departed ancestors. Since his authority and his life's work derive entirely from his bloodline, he's obligated to care about this one, though in practice, he tends to shy away from thinking much about Destro (who he has very twisted-up feelings about indeed) in favor of less emotionally fraught waters.

What did he dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true? He never really had a significant period where he thought about being e.g. an astronaut or a doctor or a hero; in fact, it came as something of a surprise to him the first time Koku asked him what he was planning to do when he grew up. He always just had the nebulous expectation of, "Be the Grand Commander," and the elders were happy to leave it at that until he brought it up on his own.[ii]

How does he behave around children? He likes kids! He’s wistful about the freedom enjoyed by happy children while also being sympathetic to ones that seem overly burdened. He’s not the most natural person in the world with them, but most of them can tell that the awkwardness comes from a well-intentioned place, and will treat him as a funny-looking man who’ll let them bother him at length without getting mean. It turns out he’s actually pretty good with them, then, if only by virtue of being easily bullied. (This, notably, goes for non-MLA-affiliated children. Everything’s much more formal within the cult, though it didn’t Geten long to suss out the “easily-bullied” part, either.)

Trumpet—

General Thoughts The largest factor in how I write Koku is, of course, the headcanon that he and Rikiya are ex-lovers, and neither of them is 100% over it even all these years later. Beyond that, though, Koku is the most temperate of the group, the one with the most easy charisma (MLA members are more swayed by Re-Destro, but Koku does better with outsiders who aren't predisposed to hanging on Rikiya's every word). He strives to come off as The Sensible One, and given the extremes the rest of the inner circle are capable of, it's not hard for him to maintain that title. He's as messed up as any of them, though, second only to Rikiya in levels of childhood grooming. He thinks of himself as a practical man, but he is deeply indoctrinated, the boundaries of his expectations very much defined by his upbringing, so he never really sees it coming when he gets clobbered by something from out of left field.

Family Situation: Koku has the largest family of the identified members. Aside from his grandfather (called Old Man Hanabata, the founder of the Hearts & Minds Party, and passed away by the canon era), Koku has cousins, nieces, nephews and more, courtesy of his uncle, his older sister and her husband, and other extended family.

He’s also the member most accustomed to wealth, power and influence. He's from a rural area, certainly, but being in a family of hereditary politicians (and with that family not suffering a string of untimely deaths and disappearances like Rikiya's did), he was raised from the start with ready access to money and nice things. Still, for all his family's sway in a major branch of the MLA's operations, they're not First Families, and thus don't have any elders in their ranks, making them still somewhat subordinate to said elders when it comes to orders about the Great Cause. (He’s working on it.)

Meeting Re-Destro Koku and Rikiya met at 12 and 10 respectively, when Koku tagged along with Old Man Hanabata for a meeting RD was likewise accompanying Anchor for. It had been the better part of a year since Rikiya's mother passed away, but he was still strikingly melancholy for a boy that age, which—along with all the weight given to the importance of the meeting—left quite an impression on Koku. Koku thus became Rikiya's first real friend in his own age group, a friendship heartily encouraged by everyone around them. Koku was well-behaved, intelligent, a little older but not too much so, and set to become influential without a danger of becoming too influential; he was seen as a good choice for a friend.[iii]

The Break-Up Painful as it was at the time, there was a silver lining to his and RD's post-college break-up: it got Koku out of the elders' pocket. He’s been groomed for one thing or another all his life, but after he became friends with Rikiya, he was always getting leaned on to report back to the First Families about how Re-Destro was doing, and to try to influence him towards actions the First Families approved of. In a very real sense, Koku was part of the apparatus keeping Rikiya from any real freedom. Their break-up and subsequent estrangement meant that the elders had far less to breathe down Koku's neck about, and by the time they reconciled, Trumpet had gotten his feet under him, as had Re-Destro, and they were both better able to fend off such background meddling.

This doesn't mean Trumpet's not still carrying a torch, however. He thought he was handling his long-banked feelings pretty well—being Professional, being the advisor Re-Destro needed and as much a friend as Rikiya would allow—right up until Rikiya scared the life out of him by nearly dying in Deika. He's all but glued himself to Rikiya since, as much as he can get away with given their respective responsibilities.

As an Advisor Other than leading the HMP, he does some work with internal politics and reputation. It's not, strictly speaking, his actual job as advisor—Re-Destro or the elders would probably be sought for more formal or critical mediations—but he and the people who report directly to him do enough travelling around to see constituents that they're often in a position to field those tensions before they get big enough to require attention from higher up. Koku's happy to do so, in fact—not because he just loves handling petty arguments about resources, but because the HMP is a faction of the MLA in and of itself, and mediating is a boost to that faction's standing and autonomy. (Also, it's that much less on Rikiya's ever-overburdened plate.)

Lightning Round

What would he do if he needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?Ahahahahaha, “make dinner but the kitchen was busy,” please. Any time there could feasibly be someone else occupying a kitchen he has any business being in himself, it would be a housekeeper, and s/he would be making food for him/his family. It’s not as though Trumpet has never cooked—he did live alone for some years after school—but outside of a scant few years in university, there’s never really been a time that kitchen use overlap would have been a problem for him.

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging. Probably gourmet cuisine, especially imported stuff. He’s had tailored clothes all his life; they’re just part of the job. Expensive alcohol also doesn’t wow him; it wouldn’t be strange to find some sake maker whose family has been doing it for sixteen generations in the village he grew up in. It’s a lot harder to cultivate a true gourmand’s palate out in the sticks, though, no matter how rich your family is. Living in actual civilization affords a great deal more variety—and anyway, nice dinners are one of the few things he can reliably tempt Rikiya into accepting. As to his feelings about indulging in general, he’s broadly For It. He works very hard, he seldom gets real time off, and it doesn’t help the Great Cause for him to deny himself nice things, unlike some people. (He’s maybe a bit bitter.)

Does he like to be the center of attention all of the time? Not especially. Oh, he’s very good at it, certainly, and he doesn’t dislike it, but being the center of attention is practically always going to be tied up in The Great Work, so he desperately needs to get out of the spotlight from time to time, if only to be able to turn off the persona.

Curious—

General Thoughts There are two main factors in how I write Chitose: her practicality and her rapaciousness. I write her as having an appreciation for good moral character in other people, especially when it makes a good story, but not considering herself particularly bound by conventional morality: her moral compass is Liberation, and she follows it unswervingly. I also write her as predatory, lusty about a lot of things, often to the point of overstepping. It doesn't hurt anyone that she likes hearty foods and strong alcohol, but she also doesn't have much regard for peoples' boundaries, and even less so when she thinks they have something to offer the Great Cause.

While that trait isn't without its benefits, it can get pretty ugly, too, as we see in how she treats, and talks to, Toga. Even with Rikiya, the only person she thinks of as 'above' her in any meaningful sense, she's not at all above manipulation. She's respectful of him, but knows him too well to always take him at his word. He plainly can't always see what's best for him, but what's best for him is best for Liberation, and therefore, as a Liberation warrior, it's her responsibility to sometimes make decisions for him. He'll appreciate it in the long run—he always does. (Skeptic and Geten have similar views—Rikiya makes it easy.)

Family Situation She probably has the best actual relationship with her family of the group—her mothers are removed enough from the heart of MLA politics that her relationship with Rikiya doesn't color her family life the way Koku's does his, and she's much more sociable than Skeptic or Geten. She doesn't get home much—just the major holidays, work permitting—but she's in frequent enough communication for a grown woman, and chats with her younger sister more often than that.

Meeting Re-Destro She met Rikiya properly when they were 21 and 27 respectively. They were living in the same city at the time (him running Detnerat, her in university), so of course she'd seen him at the odd MLA event he turned up at, but when she landed an internship in her junior year, she cheekily turned up one day in her reporter capacity to interview him as “a local rising star of industry.” It was the first chance they'd had to talk one-on-one, and would not be the last, as she frankly elbowed her way into his life and gradually sussed out that here was a man with Problems. He and Koku were still in a distant patch at the time; she is largely responsible for getting them back on friendly terms as a way of showing her Pure Intentions.

The fact that her Pure Intentions both land her a square position as one of RD's advisors herself and get Rikiya to a better place emotionally is calculated, but not, therefore, untrue. Ironically, while she was concerned about looking like a gold-digger, the MLA elders were probably thrilled and relieved to hear rumors that Rikiya was getting romantically involved again. And with a lovely young MLA woman! They wouldn't even need to worry about surrogacy arrangements! (Not having grown up around the Yotsubashis, Chitose is unaware of exactly how pointed an interest the elders take in the matter of securing that bloodline.)

Feelings Today She loves Rikiya dearly, and prizes his regard more highly than anything in her life, but has not devoted much thought to the idea of being in love with him. She's married to her work, as they say, but she's also keenly aware that Rikiya would, for a great many reasons, be a lot of work to be in love with. She's decided it's generally better for his mental well-being, and therefore also better for the Great Cause (she’s much more capable of reading that relationship reciprocally than Rikiya is), to make sure he's eating at least one good meal a week and getting some proper socialization in outside of MLA meet-and-greets.

As an Advisor She handles external politics and reputation--it's her job to prime Japan culturally for the Liberation agenda in ways more wide-reaching than Trumpet (he's head of a political party, and that's not nothing, but that party is still a small minority on the floor of the Diet). She pulls attention to stories that benefit the MLA, and diverts attention from stories that don't. This is far broader than just publishing Destro's memoir; it also means poking holes in the broader Hero Society narrative. She does this by providing as broad a platform possible for stories about the tragedies of excessive regulation, the evils of quirk-related bias, the abuses of power heroes are capable of, and so on.

Lightning Round

Does she remember names or faces easier? She’s quite good with both, actually, but I’d give names the advantage because she works primarily with written rather than visual mediums. (Also, BNHA names being the ridiculous puns that they are, you can probably tell more about a person in HeroAca Land by analyzing their name than their face anyway.)

Is she more concerned with defending her honor, or protecting her status? Her status, absolutely. Impugning her honor hurts no one but her; she can laugh that off because honor is a silly social construct anyway. Threatening her status is a much more dangerous prospect—her status is long-cultivated to enable the advancement of Liberation ideology; it lets her keep an eye on Re-Destro, who needs as many people looking out for him as he can get; it’s what she’s worked for all her life. Curious will fuck you up if you threaten her status.

In what situation was she the most afraid she’d ever been? The time she got in trouble for nearly exploding some dude’s face off for stealing her purse. She was 17, had spent very little time in non-Liberated territory before, and was not raised to wait on heroes to solve her problems. She wasn’t afraid of the thief or the hero, really, but she was completely terrified that she might have just blown over half a century of secrecy by not performing Helpless Civilian well enough. The terror was pretty convincing to the police interviewing her about it, anyway. On the whole, it was a very valuable learning experience!

Skeptic—

General Thoughts Tomoyasu is a character I haven't written extensively yet, but what I think is most interesting about him so far is the contrast of his hyper-modern methods with the bone-deep zealotry for the cause. See, Rikiya, Koku and Chitose all grew up in the sticks; Rikiya and Koku had money from a young age, but it was old money, tied up in trusts. (Geten didn't have any of those, but Geten's a different story for other reasons.) Tomoyasu grew up in a major city from the start; he was a technological prodigy from practically as soon as he could hold a tablet. He has very little respect for the old ways of doing things when he knows there are newer, better ways of advancing the Cause. However, none of that makes him more likely to break from the MLA's ranks—if anything, his idiosyncratic approach just causes him to approach Liberation in really weird ways, ways no one else would ever come up with.

Pressganging Bubaigawara Jin based on a plan to clone Re-Destro? Who else would that ever even occur to, much less such that it became the basis for an elaborate psychological assault? But that's Skeptic in a nutshell—respect the old for what it did at the time, but don't think that means you have to use the same methods they did forever as you pick up the torch to carry it forward.

Family Situation He has an amicable but not intimate relationship with his family. His parents are very proud of what he's done for the cause and how he won the confidence of Re-Destro, but they don't make much claim to understand how his mind works. In turn, he recognizes the value of their support over the years—he certainly made a lot of waves with his unabashed venom for the MLA leadership's hidebound traditionalism, and his parents' staunch backing meant a lot for him being able to take the stands he did—but is not very emotionally close with them. Might find himself with an older brother, if I ever occasion to write about his family situation in more depth.

Education He graduated a four-year university program for getting his computer science degree in two very intense years, during which he did virtually nothing for the Great Cause, his intention being to better position himself for maximum ability to advance Liberation afterward. See above re: battles his parents fought for him while he was busy modernizing.

Meeting Re-Destro He met Re-Destro via Curious. He was 22, just a year out of university and already climbing the chain of command at a young telecommunications company. Rikiya was 33, working on the Claustro, and needed proprietary comms built to a higher standard of security than Detnerat was focused on. Curious, who was always better positioned to be keeping up with the local personalities, introduced them.

Tomoyasu attempted to keep a civil tongue in his head the first few times he and RD met, but he'd been running on bile and energy drinks for years by that point and was hard-pressed to stop just because he was meeting his Grand Commander. If anything, finding out that Rikiya was okay with his direction and his mouth eventually helped him chill the fuck out, marginally.

On that note, Skeptic is absolutely the advisor most willing to backtalk Rikiya right to his face. (Rikiya loves him for it.) Oh, he'll still accede to Rikiya's wishes, and Re-Destro's orders are his highest priority, but that doesn't mean he feels obligated to be diffident about it. Like Curious, he has a highly developed sense of, "It's fine if it's for the greater good," which will and has led to him taking things into his own hands when he thinks he knows best (which is always). He's not going to explicitly disobey orders, but he will creatively interpret them if he feels strongly about them, and he will try to "anticipate" orders before anyone has time to give him specific ones, the better to tailor his efforts towards proving his methods and goals correct rather than being stuck with orders he hates.

On Names I’ve definitely evolved some in my approach on this since I started writing the MLA cast, but at current, Skeptic and Geten are the only ones I consistently write as using and thinking mainly in terms of code names rather than given names. Trumpet is too familiar with the public/private divide, and has too much intimate history with Rikya-the-person, to default to Re-Destro; Curious is too trained to look for The Human Heart of the Story. Re-Destro himself, ever since breaking up with Koku, has always tried to use code names for people (himself excluded, because he has enormous self-confidence issues about measuring himself up to the original Destro), but can slip into given names when he’s vulnerable. To Skeptic and Geten, though, the code name is the real name, for all intents and purposes. The cover identity is a fake; the whole point of the code name is that you’re proving yourself worthy of taking up your proper place in the Army. Of course the name you win for yourself is the name that counts.

Lightning Round

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? You’d pretty much have to lock him in a room with nothing but paper and pencil in it for that to be his first resort rather than whatever item of personal electronics he’d otherwise have on his person. But assuming some actual plausible scenario—couldn’t bring his electronics into a government building, let’s say—he would find trying to do something productive on paper and pencil rather beneath him, and he’s an inveterate fidgeter. I mostly see him folding that ludicrously tall frame of his into a chair and setting to using the pencil to poke about three hundred holes in the sheet of paper, meticulous and orderly, while muttering complaints to himself the whole time until something annoys him a bit too much and he jabs the whole pencil through the page.

Who does he see as his best friend? His worst enemy? I headcanon him having a very reasonable, functional, productive relationship with his No. 1 advisor, Red, and being reasonable, functional, and productive probably goes a lot farther on making you Skeptic’s “friend” than any amount of emotional intimacy. But “best friend” is not really the kind of language Skeptic uses for his relationships; if you were to ask him who his best friend is, he’d probably tell you, “Iced coffee.” As to his worst enemy, that’s just whoever is annoying him most on any given day, from difficult clients, to people annoying Re-Destro, stodgy elders, that hero grinning like a tool, that couple walking too slow in front of him on the sidewalk, etc. And Skeptic is pretty proactive about dealing with enemies, as much as he can be.

Has he ever been bitten by an animal? How was he affected (or unaffected)? lol he is a city boy and always has been. He probably tried to pet a stray cat once out of curiosity, and because it seemed like the sort of thing people did, and then has never forgiven Animals In General when it bit him and then ran off.

Geten—

General Thoughts Another one I haven’t written a great deal about yet, particularly in the present day, though I’m looking for that to change soonish. One thing I’d like to explore is Geten when he’s not seething with rage and shame because he failed to bring Re-Destro a victory in Deika. The fandom tends to write Geten as an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer, and that’s fair—ever since we got the face reveal, ever since the MLA’s defeat at Shigaraki’s hands, Geten has been an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer.

But if you look at Geten from before we knew what was under the hood, you find a different story. “Chilly and angry all the time” is not at all how he acted when he was fighting Dabi! At that point, he was talkative, even chatty. He engaged in a lot of snide smack-talk; he was obviously confident in himself and he spoke very proudly of the MLA as a collective.

He was still quiet at the dinner he attended with Rikiya and his advisors, yes, so I don’t think Geten’s done some kind of full 180 on characterization. I do, however, think that Geten has a sense of humor in there, has a sense of camaraderie with the MLA rooted in more than just his relationship with Re-Destro, even if Re-Destro is obviously his most important person. I don’t know if we’ll ever see that in the manga proper, given everything that’s happened, but it’s worth remembering in terms of what Geten is like when he’s solely among allies.

Family Situation Orphaned at a young age, and a problem child from then on. He passed through a series of foster parents and state facilities before eventually crossing paths with the leader of the local MLA branch in Kesseru, Beacon (more on him next time). This encounter would lead to him being sent to a group home with a reputation for being good with such difficult cases, giving them Structure and Companionship and Meaningful Work. (Spoilers: It’s Liberation.)

Despite evening out considerably after a significant meeting with Re-Destro when he was 7[iv], Geten never got particularly close to his adopted family/the other kids at the group home. He's very favored by the Grand Commander, for one thing, and he has the strongest quirk in the home for another—and since he learned the quirk supremacist stuff from them, that’s a pretty significant part of the dynamic! Both of these factors mean there's some distance between him and the rest. Still, he's not on bad terms with them—indeed, his foster parents are quite proud of him—and he would probably tear out someone's throat with his teeth for threatening them, if only as a matter of pride.

There are 4-6 other kids there at any given time; for the bulk of his young adulthood, there were two older than him, the others younger. He doesn't have much time for Big Brother Pastimes, but is not completely immune to them, either, particularly where the youngest kids are concerned. His tolerance for Little Brother Antics, however, is nonexistent—if the older kids think they can ruffle his hair and treat him like a kid, they can square the fuck up; he is Number One around here and don’t forget it.

Education Geten never went to school, but he's not completely uneducated. He had some tutoring in the group home, some more from Re-Destro personally, and has a pile of books he keeps at his bedside, mostly strategic in nature. He finds them vexing at times, but is slowly reading through them anyway because Re-Destro asked him to. He’s been a bit more diligent about it since he was made a regiment leader, because lord knows Dabi isn't contributing much.

On Re-Destro Re-Destro became fond of Geten for the same reason he became fond of Skeptic and Curious—Geten was willing to push back. He really did make some attempts early on to keep Geten at a proper distance, mindful of anything that would look too much like favoritism. And Geten knew, in the hard-headed way of a child, that Re-Destro was being a grown-up about things, trying to be mature, trying to be impartial. Geten just didn’t care about any of those things. Every time, he would listen very seriously to the things Rikiya told him, nod attentively, repeat back what he’d been told, and then go on about doing his own thing anyway. And his own thing was, typically, to keep coming back.

Of course, if there’s anything we can tell about Re-Destro from the way he treats Shigaraki, it’s that Re-Destro loves people who take the choice away from him.

Eventually, of course, Geten grew up (mostly; I peg him at 19 now), joined the MLA officially, and had to settle into the structure of the Army. It began to lead to trouble for Re-Destro, when Geten blatantly disobeyed him; it stopped being cute. Still, the sense that he Knows What’s Best lingers, so Geten works himself very, very hard to be everything Re-Destro needs him to be and more, so that maybe Re-Destro’s burden will be just that little bit lighter.

On Quirk Supremacy (and Re-Destro, still) Here’s the thing about Geten and the whole, “A life without a strong meta-ability has no value,” line, and this continues to drive me mad because of how people getting it wrong influences the bad takes on the MLA in this fandom: Geten is not a reliable witness. He is not one of the leaders of the MLA, nor does he speak for its rank and file. Even if you assume the absolute worst about his implications there, far worse than is justified by the text, Geten’s very name, Apocrypha, means that he cannot be presumed to be aligned with MLA orthodoxy.

The only one of the people close to Re-Destro who wasn't born and raised MLA, he still manages to come off, in some ways, as the most zealous of the lot of them. But really, it’s very noticeable that Geten—unlike Re-Destro himself, and unlike even Re-Destro’s close cohort—never talks about the original Destro, never even mentions him. When he thinks about his leader, he only ever thinks about Rikiya. Geten doesn’t follow Re-Destro because of his bloodline, because of the tenets; he follows Re-Destro because of personal loyalty.[v]

So how best to do that? Well, think about it: Geten is not terribly intelligent, nor wealthy, nor well-connected. He and Trumpet are the ones most influenced by the quirk supremacist line of thought, Trumpet because his relatively weak quirk comes off as exponentially stronger the more he can surround himself in people it works on, and Geten because his strong quirk lets him mentally justify Re-Destro's investment in him despite his other insufficiencies.

Compare this with Re-Destro, who only ever talks about quirks in terms of freedom. Even more prominently, look at Skeptic and Curious, who are not at all defined by their quirks and how strong or weak said quirks may be. Indeed, those two devote scarcely a thought to the matter because they contribute to the cause in much more important ways and seem to be perfectly comfortable with where that leaves them.

Geten may not be very smart or influential, but he’s very capable of looking at what strengths he does have and focusing hard on those. That, I think, is what really lead to his embracing quirk supremacy, even in the face of evidence that he doesn’t have the whole picture: the search for a way to measure himself up to the movers and shakers Rikiya is otherwise surrounded with, and not come up drastically wanting.

“Apocrypha” Geten has been Geten for a long time, since long before the MLA types usually take up their code names. He’s also an outlier in the MLA for having a name in Japanese instead of in English—the only one who does! My headcanon, unless and until we get some other members with Japanese code names, is that he got the name directly from Re-Destro—possibly even in the conversation that lead to him imprinting so hard on the man when he was 7—and insisted on keeping it before any other code name that was suggested to him in later years.

But yes, he does have a normal Japanese name on file at the group home, which he’s obligated to answer to on the rare occasions that someone from Child Services is checking in or he and Re-Destro are out in public. I don’t plan to bother coming up with it unless I need to, as I expect we’ll get it in a character profile one of these days.

His Quirk While a lot of people like the vibe of Geten and Dabi being somewhat equivalently vulnerable to their own quirks, and I agree it makes for good fanart, in truth, Geten is only as vulnerable to his ice as Endeavor is his flames. Which is to say, he isn't immune, but he's certainly more resistant to it than the average person would be! There’s already plenty of good material to contrast Dabi and Geten without pretending their quirks are more mirrored than is actually the case.

Lightning Round

How does he treat people in service jobs? He doesn’t, because he’s never in a position to interact with people in service jobs. There have been times he’s gone out with Re-Destro, but in those cases he’s mostly let Re-Destro handle the human interaction.

What does he dislike in other people? Laziness; the lack of a higher purpose of some kind. (It’s possible he’d thaw out on his disdain for Dabi considerably if he knew more about Dabi’s plans to undermine the whole of the Hero System than Dabi is inclined to tell him.)

Is he always there for a friend in need? Sure, as long as by “friend” you mean “fellow Liberation warrior” and by “need” you mean “in need of an icicle punched through one of someone else’s desperately fleshy body parts.”

Footnotes

[i] Sanctum II's tastes being what they are, this probably means Rikiya is the MLA member most likely to be able to perform traditional Japanese tea ceremony.

[ii] And there were elders who would have been happy to leave it at that permanently, I'm sure. There are always going to be those regents who have trouble relinquishing power back to the boy prince when he grows up and becomes king, you know?

[iii] And, when it eventually got out that they were dating, a relatively solid match, give or take the surrogacy arrangements that would eventually need to be made.

[iv] I’m hoping canon gives us some details on this eventually, so I’m not planning to iron out more headcanon on the matter unless I absolutely have to.

[v] This, incidentally, is a large part of why Rikiya does keep him around—it’s soothing to have someone around who never brings up his ancestor. Anyway, after Geten evolved his quirk, people stopped complaining so much, even though RD never did get around to, like, giving Geten any formal responsibilities. Geten, who knows very well that Re-Destro’s real advisors have real jobs, mostly took this as reason to be all the stronger, in hopes that he’d eventually be given one.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #yotsubashi chikara #yotsubashi rikiya #hanabata koku #kizuki chitose #chikazoku tomoyasu #geten #destro bnha #re-destro #trumpet bnha #curious bnha #skeptic bnha #meta liberation army #my writing

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rune-writes · 4 years ago

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Dear Zack... (I'll be here)

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

@zerith-week » Day 3: Letters

Word Count: 1916

Rating: G

Summary: What did Aerith write to Zack in the four years he was missing?

Note: this is my first time trying out this format. I hope you enjoy it :)

Chapter 3 of Of Wishes and Promises: Zerith Week 2021

Read on AO3.

Dear Zack,

How are you? It's me, Aerith. Sorry to send you a letter out of the blue. You haven't been answering your PHS lately. Tseng said you're busy, that your last assignment took you to the western continent and it'd be a while before you can return. So I figured I could send you letters instead. Mom said she used to do this with her husband when he went to the war. Isn't it nice? Exchanging letters like the old couples in stories. Tseng also offered to personally send this to you, so I'm sure you'll get this. Besides, I don't have a PHS, and I'm not going to borrow the Turks' all the time. I know they'll want something in return for letting me use their stuff. Anyway, how is work? Knowing you, you’re probably doing a great job at it, right? How is it like there? I heard you went to the mountains? Is the air as nice and fresh as they say? I hope you can take some time off between your work to enjoy the scenery. I'm sure it's beautiful. Maybe take a picture for me? I'd love to see the places you've been to. I’m fine here, by the way. So is Mom. Don’t worry about me okay and just focus on finishing your job. Take care, Zack. And stay safe.

Sincerely, Aerith

***

Dear Zack,

How are you? Are you still on the mountains? I still haven't heard back from you yet. But no pressure! I know how busy you must be! I can wait hehe. In return, I hope you don't mind me sending you all these letters. I hope they give you some sort of respite, no matter how small. The flowers bloomed especially brilliant today. I brought them around to decorate Leaf House and the community center. The elders all loved it. Are there any flowers blooming where you are, Zack? If there are, what kind? Our flower business is also gaining traction recently. More and more people come to visit our flower wagon. I have the kids to thank for that, I guess. They’ve been telling everyone that I’m on a mission to have flowers bloom all around Midgar. I hope everything is alright on your side, Zack. Stay safe.

Sincerely, Aerith

***

Dear Zack,

The Protection Squad is now well under way, and it seems it’s very well-received. Miss Livy from Leaf House (she’s the headteacher, if you don’t remember) said that since the orphanage operates thanks to everyone's donations, it’s only right for them to return the favor. So the kids have been going around patrolling the areas. Yep, that’s what they call it. They run errands and help people. They’re really turning out more and more like you. Which is a nice thing, actually. Some almost went as far as to accompany me to the playground. Because of the monsters, they said. Someone needed to protect me while you’re away. I appreciated it of course, but I couldn’t let them actually meet monsters, could I? The teachers would kill me if the children had all gone so far to a different reactor. Playing with me at the church is one thing, but going to Sector 6? I would say I could protect them—and I could, mind you—and I always take the safest road there too, but when you have six children under your care then three flying beasts come at you… I’d rather not take that chance. Anyway, enough about me. How is it going for you, Zack? It's been months since we last spoke. I hope everything’s alright there? Are you okay? Are you safe? I hope you get a lot of rest between your jobs. And meals. Some good healthy meals once in a while will do wonders. But I wonder if you can get those in the front lines. I would send you something, but… it’d probably go stale once it reaches you, I think. I pray for your safety, Zack.

Love, Aerith

***

Hi Zack,

Are you still busy? Tseng says you are. Sadly I don’t have anyone else to ask, so I guess he’s the only one I can trust. But sometimes, I wonder if he’s keeping things from me. Won’t be the first… won’t be the last either. You know, I had the most surprising guest today. Some girls visited me at the church, and from the accessories they were wearing, I think they’re your fan club. It’s funny to think you have a fan club. I’m not jealous, though! I just never thought SOLDIERs had fan clubs. I wonder if the other members have one too? That reminds me, I never asked how many of you there are, have I? It was nothing important though. They asked me if I knew you, and when I said I did, they asked what I thought of you. And if I had any messages for you. Weird, huh? It's not like I can't tell you that in person. Well, not now, maybe, but later when you come back. What's weirder is that they all looked so somber. I wonder what happened… Hey, Zack. Did something happen? I… overheard something… They were talking and I heard… It's not true, right? Tseng won't tell me anything, let alone the other Turks. They only said that you're fine. Just super busy that you barely have time to reply. And having bad reception. I can trust them, right? Please talk to me, Zack. I'll wait for you, however long it takes.

Yours, Aerith

***

Zack…

I can't stop thinking something might've happened to you. I don't know who to trust. I don't know who I can talk to. Tseng says you're fine. People say you might've gone missing. I don't even know if these letters are reaching you. Maybe Tseng's been lying to me from the start. Maybe something happened to you that day I couldn't reach you. Do you remember? That afternoon you called me all those months ago? You have no idea how happy that had made me feel. I was so afraid I'd been imposing on you when you’d been so busy at work, so when I received your call, my heart had almost burst! You told me that we could talk the next day, that I could call you if I wanted, and I did, but I couldn't reach… Zack, where are you? Tell me you're alright. Please.

***

Dear Zack,

I'm sorry for being so emotional in my last letter. I asked Tseng to give the letter back, but he said he'd already sent it to you. I'm not sure if I believe him now. I had another surprise guest today. A friend of yours. He said his name was Kunsel. Actually, he's been visiting me for a while now. Kind of regularly. Checking up on me, he said. On your behalf. That's sweet. You have such sweet friends. We talked, then took a walk outside. The weather was really nice this morning. I remember you talking about him a few times, but I didn't realize you were so close. Friends since your early SOLDIER days, he said. I'm… I'm holding onto hope, Zack. I know you're out there. Somewhere. I don't believe what they say. I don't believe what Tseng says. I only believe that you're still alive somewhere. So I'll be here. Always.

Forever yours, Aerith

***

Dear Zack,

I spotted wildflowers today. Just outside Sector 5. Funny, I never noticed them before. I never thought flowers grow anywhere outside the church, or my garden. I stared at them for so long, the people who saw me asked if I was alright. I was fine, of course. Mostly. I miss you, Zack. I wonder if this is the Planet’s way of telling me you’re alive somewhere. You know how wildflowers are, right? They’re small, but no matter how much people trample them, no matter how much the weather beats them down, they always persist. They endure, and survive, and I know that you’re going to pull through whatever ordeal you’re going through right now. I believe in you, Zack. I’m sending a pressed flower I did of one of them. They’re not much, but I hope they give you strength. I… don’t know if these are going to reach you, but I hope the Planet hears my pleas and sends my prayers to you.

Sending you all my love, Aerith

***

Dear Zack,

The sky was really bright today. I find myself looking at it more and more now. You're right. It's not as scary as I thought. I told you the reason I'm scared of it, but that's not all there is. I never did tell you about my mom, did I? Not Elmyra. My other mom. My real mom… She died when I was young, before Elmyra took me in. She died, and I saw her rise to the sky. As if it was sucking her in. I… never saw the sky growing up. You'd think that's why I fear it. But on the contrary, listening to Mom's tales about the outside world, seeing the big, open blue depicted in picture books… I couldn't help but be curious. But then Mom died, and the sky sucked her in. But I'm alright now. I think. Mostly. Because… I need to see if it'd sucked you in too. I want to know if you're still here.

Aerith

***

Dear Zack…

Lately, it feels like I’m just talking to myself here, with these letters. I don't know why I'm still writing these. They’re probably not reaching you anyway. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Maybe it's become a habit by now. Maybe writing to you gives me some sort of solace, some sort of notion that you’re still here. That you’re not gone and I can still see you. I had a dream. You were standing at the edge of a precipice in a landscape of white. It was warm and cold. I tried calling for you, but my voice wouldn’t come out. I chased after you, but the distance between us only grew. Is it my fault, somehow? Were you not supposed to have met me? The Planet is not answering my prayers and even in my dreams, you refused to see me. I hate this. I don’t want this. You’re still out there, I know it, but my heart grows heavy with each passing day. I didn’t realize waiting was so hard. I wonder how Mom endured it, standing on that train platform all day everyday, hoping against hope that her husband would return. Give me strength, Zack. I want to see you. I want to wait for you. I want to believe you'll come back. I don’t want to lose you.

***

Zack…

Where are you?

Come home

***

Dear Zack…

I feel like I should apologize. We promised to sell the flowers under the sky together, but this morning, I braved myself to take the train to the upper plate. It was daunting, to say the least. But I know what you mean now. The sky really opens up when you don't have steel plates covering it. It's… really not scary at all. Though I'd be lying if I didn't keep my head down half of the time. But it's a step forward, right? Now I can look up at the sky even if I don't have you with me... It's really beautiful, Zack. I wish you could see it with me.

Aerith

~ END ~

#zerithweek #zerithweek2021 #aerith gainsborough #zack fair #zerith #final fantasy #final fantasy vii #ff7 #ffvii #ff7r #ff7 crisis core #fanfiction #ff fanfic #ff7 fanfic

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hitchell-mope · 4 years ago

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What I think my six hsm faves would be up to now

Troy decided to not play basketball professionally. He’s instead the youngest drama teacher East High has ever had. Specifically recommended by Ms Darbus. Who is now the principal of the school. He’s not as austere or bombastic as her. But he’s fun and easy to talk to. Which is why the kids love him. He realised that he and Gabriella weren’t very compatible and were better off as friends. So they amicably split up, this time for good. It’s not so bad for him though. He and Ryan reconnected at the ten year reunion. And as of December last year they’re officially living together. He’s written a moderately successful self help book/autobiography (Scream: My Story). And the graduating class of 2018 was said to have put on one of the best productions of grease 2 that Albuquerque had ever seen.

Ryan is one away from an official egot. He would’ve won the Tony already but he kinda got blacklisted for a while after he spoke up about the gender wage gap. He spent that time setting up a program he liked to call the second fiddle workshop (officially the Evans Scholarship Trust). It reaches out to kids who don’t feel appreciated, second borns, sidekicks, kids who don’t cause trouble in class, that sort of thing and it gives them a kick start in what ever field they feel best suited for, and not just the theatre. He’s not heard from his sister since he won his first Emmy and she gained minor notoriety for screaming at a shoes salesperson until the poor girl cried back in 2014. Unlike Troy he still talks to both his parents, his father less often then his mother but still. Mrs Bolton loves him. He’s the only one who will unbegrudgingly sing show tunes with her in the car

Kelsi is now a full time music teacher who’s working towards a teaching position at Juilliard. She had cut off all contact with most of the others except for Troy, they were roommates, but kept in contact with Martha. They grew closer. And their second wedding anniversary is next June. Troy officiated and Ryan walked them down the aisle. They’re now in the early stages of the adoption process. Troy’s self help book is partly dedicated to her and partly dedicated to Ryan. She was actually the catalyst that convinced Troy to become a drama teacher, she knows how well he works with kids and suggested he could find a way to give a little something back.

Martha still break dances and she still loves hip hop. She works with Ryan at the workshop as a dance instructor. They both donated an insanely generous amount of money to tne scholls arts program. She keeps in contact with Gabriella. Troy sometimes ask how she’s doing. Not often though. She’s launched a few dance tutorial videos. And was credited with choreography in Ryan’s first Emmy award winning performance acceptance speech. He actually took her to the ceremony.

Zeke is now the basketball coach at East High. He also runs a baking club after school. Technically it’s only for freshmen. But he welcomes anyone who wants to try. He finally got over Sharpay after he watched the notoriety video. It only took ten years. But he got over her. Like with Troy and Ryan above he reconnected with Tiara at the ten year reunion. He’s currently considering starting a baking show. He’s got a lot of time to think now so he’s giving it all the due process it deserves

Tiara man’s the British branch of the workshop though she still operates out of Albuquerque. She’d be lying if she said the notoriety video didn’t make her cackle like a banshee. She still acts from time to time. Most recently as Maureen in an open air production of rent back in August 2019. She takes great pride in the fact she’s basically taken Sharpay’s career away from her, not that Sharpay deserved it anyway. She’s currently engaged in talks to play Shelby in a brand new Broadway adaptation of Steel Magnolias

All six are currently sequestered in one of the Evans’s country houses. They were having a weekend party for Ryan’s 30 birthday when the lockdown went into effect. Ryan’s just grateful that the only good thing to happen out of his family’s 2016 stupidity was his dad having an extension built for the house along with an above garage apartment. So at least everyone has some measure of privacy

#high school musical #troy bolton #ryan evans #tryan #kelsi nielsen #martha cox #melsi #zeke baylor #tiara gold #ziara

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fideleluc · 4 years ago

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introducing lucien montel, the graduate chair

“ for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard ” (2 peter 2:8)

hey hey! my name’s tays, i use she/her pronouns, and i live in melbourne, australia, and thus the aest (soon to be aedt) timezone. it’s been a little while since i’ve rped, but this group was just utterly irresistible so here we are! if you’re interested in plotting you can hit me up on here or discord (mightay morphin power ranger#9316) without any further ado, here’s luc montel!

stats.

full name: lucien henri montel known as: luc montel age: 25 dob: january 13, 1995 gender: cis male nationality: french religion: roman catholic course: currently studying a masters of social work, graduated a year prior with a bachelor of arts majoring in theology

bio.

( luc’s original bio ended up being i don’t even know how many words long so this is a very much summarised version, but if you have a bit more time on your hands you can read the full thing here! )

luc’s mother first learned she was pregnant not long after she graduated from highschool. she wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have told him - all of her friends, likely him included, had a pretty huge falling out near the end of their exams, and she was still too proud to turn to them for help, even after her own father kicked her out once he heard the news. she’d been working hard and saving up for years to get a shot at getting into a good school, something no one else from her area really saw as a likely prospect, but all her savings ended up getting funnelled into hotels and food while she tried to support herself on her own in the city.

the only way she could really pass time was to go for walks, and on these walks she ended up going past a church that seemed to be drawing her in - it was purely by chance that the priest, father pascal, was outside one time and was able to notice her hesitating, long enough for him to actually invite her inside. she had given up on religion after her mother left her and her dad, but still, when she was invited to their next mass, she ended up going - and she never really stopped. the congregation ended up being her entire support system while she was pregnant, getting her a well-paying job doing after school care for a catholic school and helping her find a cheap place to stay.

luc was born on a chilly january morning, and got baptised a week later. there was no question of whether or not he’d be raised as part of the church - the only time he was able to sit still was when he was listening to father pascal’s sermons, and he took his first steps just outside in the garden. he was taught, essentially, to do good, to be accepting and generous and kind - and he never questioned it. his mother, who’d started on a teaching degree, was careful to teach him about other religions, and though his own devotion to catholicism never wavered, it still fascinated him.

although he and his mother were better off than she had been only a few years earlier, they didn’t have a ton of money they could give - so they made good on their weekly promises to help the world with their time. luc was especially passionate about it - learning to cook so he could make things for bake sales, riding along with other members of his congregation to help out in food kitchens, doorknocking for any sort of donations people in his neighbourhood would want to give without hesitation or embarrassment.

even when he got older and his friends had moved on to more entertaining hobbies, he continued on with attending mass and keeping up with his charity work, brushing off his friend’s accusations that he was being forced into it. truly, their own interests mostly bored him - he never really had a long enough attention span for tv or movies, and he couldn��t engage in video games like they could. one thing he could join in on, though, was football - if he wasn’t doing something for the church or indulging in his also newlyfound passion for cooking, he was out on the oval.

when his friends moved on further still to getting girlfriends and drinking, luc, again, couldn’t find himself as engaged in it as they were. though he’d happily drink with them, for the most part, he put his hand up to be the designated driver and was perfectly content staying their lookout when they got close to making scenes in public. he had a few girlfriends in highschool, but the relationships never lasted long - and again, he didn’t mind. at times he’d worry that he was missing out, but it was never a concern that lasted long, especially when he saw how desperately his friends needed someone to shepherd them at times.

although he’d never been a hugely academic kid in the past, when it came time to think about university, he felt that, out of an obligation to his mother more than anything else, that he had to work just as hard as she had when she was his age to make up for the opportunity she’d missed for his sake. st margaret mary’s hadn’t been a realistic dream, but he’d figured he may as well apply - when he actually got in, with an offer of a scholarship on the side, he was almost tempted to throw it away thanks to his own doubts, but his mother quickly put an end to it. before he knew it, he was heading off across the city to the old building - a theology major.

despite his devotion to the church, he hadn’t initially planned to join chastity club, if for no other reason that is just seemed a bit extreme for him - but when he came to a meeting out of a mix of boredom and curiosity only to find that something was distinctly wrong, he couldn’t stop it from becoming the major focus of his mind for the next few weeks until he could figure out what was really going on. when he was finally able to piece together the truth, he was conflicted - on the one hand, these were people using his faith to cover up criminal activity, bringing as much shame to the church as the people who twisted the lord’s words into messages of hatred, but on the other, it could be what these people depended on, and to have that taken away from them could be disastrous. instead of being angry like he knew he should’ve been, luc was overcome with a familiar urge to help - and so he did just that.

he went to another meeting, and before they could say anything, he told them how easy it had been for him to find them out, how if he, someone with no connection to any of them, could discover the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before the staff would be following in his footsteps. he told them that, so long as a cut of any fundraiser went to an actual charity, he’d be happy to give them an actual, believable cover.

he hadn’t actually thought they’d take him on. before he knew it, though, his actual studies were being pushed to the side in favour of planning, organisation, research - though he was sure to carve out a few hours a week to catch up on his actual work, most of his time was going towards the chastity club, and not just because he wanted to help them. even if it was just a cover to the rest of the club, to him, those cuts he got from the fundraisers were the only thing that mattered - he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, what he was taught to devote himself to all his life. helping people.

as time went on, the idea of turning in the club became more and more impossible - not only was he actually able to make some wider good come out of it, but truly, the people he was surrounding himself with were like family, even if he had to turn a blind eye to half of what they got up to. he’d convinced himself that turning them in would be a far worse action than letting them stay running, and it’s a belief he’s held onto like a lifeline - but at the same time, he can’t ignore a worry that’s been growing louder and louder in the back of his mind. he never sees the consequences of the dealing. he doesn’t actually know if they’re doing more good than harm. he’s relying solely on faith, the same faith he has in god and that god, he believes, has in him.

he can only pray it’s well placed.

personality.

luc is nothing if not passionate. although it may take him a while to make up his mind about getting involved or starting a task, once he does, he’ll put his absolute all into it without turning back. no matter the exact motivation, whether it be his religion, his friends, or just a desire to do something, he works and believes with his entire heart, and once he’s dedicated to something, it’ll be almost impossible to tear him away from it.

since he was a kid, luc has always been generous. whether it’s with his possessions or even just his time, he’s one of those people who’ll throw their jacket around you if you mention it’s just a bit chilly and then refuse to ever take it back no matter how much you insist. the only way his mother eleanor was able to survive when she was pregnant and virtually homeless was through the generosity of what would end up being his parish’s churchgoers, so the first idea luc was ever taught to embrace was the idea of giving, something enforced by both her and the church itself.

part of what makes luc so convincing for the school board is that he’s an unfalteringly polite person. unless he has good reason to be angry at someone, he’ll try to greet everyone with a smile and see them off with a wish for them to have a good day, treating them like a friend even if they’re written in the first pages of his bad books. he’s always willing to listen to someone else chat and support them when they’re feeling down, no matter what mood he’s in or what’s at stake, and his consistently gentle, patient manner make essentially any lie he tells convincing.

although he was never known for his academic prowess, luc has never not been curious. once an idea intrigues him, he’ll do whatever he can to learn more, and rarely feels as if he ever has enough knowledge about the subjects that interest him, still willing to add more or take different perspectives.

luc has never been known for his spontaneity - though he’ll commit with his whole heart once he’d decided to do something, he’s very careful in making those decisions. he’ll often spend nights lying awake contemplating ideas, throwing himself different scenarios and seeing if they change his views, trying to look at things from every possible angle before making a call on something. though something he does may be stupid and may be risky, he’ll only take that risk if he’s absolutely sure it will pay off. his caution even comes through in the way he speaks, each word carefully chosen to keep things as civil as possible.

though luc is known to many as being gentle and polite, usually because he just is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of nothing less than being purely furious. though it usually comes from a place of love and devotion, often in response to some injustice or cruelty and rarely occurring at the drop of a hat, when something does anger him, he has no problem speaking his mind if he feels something could be done about whatever’s happened. he just can’t fathom the idea of people sitting by and letting bad things happen, and couldn’t live with himself if he just sat back and watched while someone got hurt. he has a lot of faith in people, and when people let him down, it cuts him deep.

luc was always a restless child, and that’s something that’s continued into the present day. he doesn’t often make it known - but that’s just because he’s always desperate to find something to occupy his time. whether he’s keeping himself busy by studying, planning a fundraiser, cooking, or even just going for a walk, he can’t just sit still and do nothing. the only exception to this is when he’s learning or listening to something, such as when he’s in class or church, but if he has no interest, all he’ll be focused on is how badly he wants to get up and move around again. he simply can’t relax until something that needs to be done is done.

as sociable and polite he is when in church or running fundraisers, luc is truly independent. as much as he enjoys the company of others, he’s equally comfortable in his own company, and much prefers to go over problems in his own head rather than voice them to someone else. although he’ll passionately speak out to help others, he rarely voices a concern if something has to do with him alone - it’s not that he doesn’t want people to worry, but he just figures he has everything under control as far as he’s concerned. he has no problem working on his own, and despite his own insistence when he gets a chance to assist others, he often refuses help for himself, no matter how big or small the problem is.

headcanons.

luc isn’t too sure how he went from being lucien to just luc when he was a baby, but it’s still what he introduces himself as now.

luc has never once had a moment of doubt about god’s existence, but he doesn’t think he really has much say in what happens on earth - he was taught by his childhood parish’s priest father pascal that humans were given free will because god trusted them, specifically trusted them to do good and take care of one another, and that’s a trust luc has always tried to uphold. even so, he does still think he’s always watching and may be able to give some signs, but he mostly turns towards asking saints when he needs specific help with something.

he still follow’s his mother’s belief that all gods from all religions are just aspect of the same spiritual belief of there being something bigger, and learning about those other religions still fascinates him, hence why he majored in theology when he was still studying for his bachelors - he’s still happy to follow his own god, though.

although he would never force any of his atheist friends to come to church or believe what he does, the idea that anyone would choose to believe there’s nothing over believing there’s something does baffle him somewhat.

he still goes to mass every sunday, but he doesn’t hang around the church as long as he did when he was younger - it’s partly a matter of time, partly a matter of the congregation. they’re lovely people, don’t get him wrong - but even after so many years, it’s still not his parish.

luc isn’t all that much of a tv or movies person - unless it’s about something he’s interested in, he struggles to sit down for long enough to care about what’s happening even for just an episode, let alone a whole series or film. he may have a comedy or just something light on in the background while he cooks, but he doesn’t go out of his way to watch much.

although he’s studying for a masters in social work and does want to do something to help disadvantaged people in his country, he has genuinely considered becoming a priest.

although he hasn’t played since he was in school, he does still love football - he doesn’t often watch it, but if he gets a chance to go out on the oval, he’ll take it without hesitation.

the only language he’s fluent in is french, but he does know enough english to get by and did try to learn some latin from father pascal for certain bible passages - it didn’t really stick.

even though much of his free time is spent studying or organising the chastity club’s cover, he will still try to take a few hours every so often to go and help out in some soup kitchen or another.

he’s deadly afraid of insects - moths especially freak him out

when he was young, he’d often fall asleep with the sound of his mother’s radio coming through the wall, and still now when he’s struggling to sleep he’ll find some radio stream on his phone and listen to it until he nods off.

as much as he tries, he can’t keep a plant alive - he’s made many attempts to grow his own herbs or fruit trees, but to absolutely no avail.

when he’s studying he’ll chew on the ends of his pens, and if he doesn’t have a pen, he’ll bite at his bottom lip - if one were to look closely, they’d notice a patch of it is faintly scarred.

luc has so, so much love in his heart, but despite his few brief relationships, he’s hardly been able to turn any of that love into romance - not yet, anyway.

as willing as he is to help cover up the chastity club’s true nature to the school board or anyone he feels should be hidden from the truth, he doesn’t go to any of the parties they sell at, and hasn’t ever tried any of the product. it’s just not his thing.

he stayed in student housing until he came back to get his masters, and now rents a small place a short walk from the school - when he was furnishing it, he made sure to get a pull-out couch instead of just a regular one, just in case anyone ever needed a place to crash.

he still has the same copy of the bible he poured over as a kid, though out of fear over how worn it’s gotten he mainly keeps it safely in a drawer of his bedside table.

luc is very optimistic and has a lot of faith in others - though he does think things through thoroughly just in case something can go wrong, and is constantly aware of that possibility, he has a lot of hope on his side.

misc.

pinterest starsign: capricorn sun, gemini moon myers-briggs type: isfj-t enneagram: type 2 (the helper) hogwarts house: hufflepuff alignment: neutral good aesthetics: sun coming through a stained-glass window, rainbow dappled on skin. a voice lost in a chorus. a borrowed coat on a chilly morning. the ever-present smell of something cooking, always making enough for plenty of leftovers. restless legs, restless mind. faith that keeps your heart beating, fury that boils your blood. a tongue bitten so frequently it bleeds. unwavering eye contact, no matter how elaborate the lie. burying your head in the sand. murmured passages from a book with worn pages. doing all you can, but still lying awake, wondering if you could be doing more.

#st:intro #( about. )#- took a genuine million years to find a decent gif for this which isn't a brilliant sign going forward #- turns out his fc is a lot more villainy than i'd first thought! ah well. probably too late for a change. we can live with it

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fernwehbookworm · 5 years ago

Text

Woke The F*ck Up- Chapter 23

April 26th, 2018

Instead of flying back to London, Lena books her and Kara first class tickets back to National City. Kara was probably the best distraction Lena could have right now. They were able to settle in the large chairs and have breakfast while everyone else was boarding. Kara quested a movie on their private viewing screens. Kara was shocked to learn Lena had never seen Fight Club. Kara excitedly started explaining the plot and then quoting lines along with the actors. About halfway through Lena leans over and whispers in the ear that Kara doesn't have the earbud in.

“Is this even realistic? I mean, who would start something like that? And then it just spirals into crazier and crazier things.”

Kara shifts slightly in her seat before clearing her throat. Nervously, she rubs her hand on her jeans and makes a face. Lena watches her fidget and raises an eyebrow at her and that seems to make Kara settle.

“I actually, may have, slightly, joined a Fight Club-like thing.” Kara says softly, not to be overheard by the wandering flight attendants or the other passengers.

“You what?!” Lena says a little too loudly, causing heads to turn.

“You what?” She whispers harshly.

“I...I was in a pretty dark place, Lee. I mean I know you didn’t cope with the break up well, and you know I started drinking. It was just something stupid I did. Most of the money I didn’t need for bills went to charities.” Kara pleads with Lena to understand. Lena sits there and stares blankly at the movie.

“You, the vigilante superhero, went to underground fight clubs, for money,” Lena says slowly. Kara bites her lip and nods.

“Wow… I mean… wow. I don’t really know what to say. That’s… wow. Were you good? I mean of course, you were good. I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do with this information.” Lena sits back in her sit and furrows her brow. Kara chuckles softly.

“I was very good. Undefeated, in fact. But Alex found out and flipped, then she dragged me to therapy and I never went back.”

“Aren’t you afraid of repercussions. I mean those things are like really illegal. The people who run them don’t like people just walking away.”

“Nah, I was careful. I always wore a mask. Not the Powergirl one. This one covered the lower half of my face like a ski mask.” Kara pops some more cashews in her mouth, relieved to get that off her chest.

“I never got jokes about airplane food. I mean I guess I never had it before you but this is great!” Kara pops some cut fruit in her mouth and hums contentedly.

“Darling, it’s first class. Of course, the food is good. Are we really just blowing past the illegal fight club?”

“There’s really not much else to say. I mean I did it, won a lot, then I quit. Did you need to talk about it more? Sorry, that wasn’t supposed to sound sarcastic. Really, if you need to talk about it more then please let me know. I just promised I wouldn’t keep secrets anymore so I thought you should know.”

“No, you’re right. I guess there really isn’t anything to talk about. It was just a shock I guess. And you’re sure no one will know?” “I’m positive.” Kara settles back in her seat to watch the end of her movie. Lena just stares blankly as she processes this new information. Somehow it all made sense in all the crazy that had become Lena’s life. Lena flags down the flight attendant for a whiskey and a pen and paper. She had to clear her head in the best way she knew how.

Once back on the ground it was easy for the pair to grab their carry-ons and Lena to rent a car. In no time they were at the nearest five-star hotel and Lena was checking in under an assumed name. Kara immediately crashes on the couch, complaining of jet lag, and Lena gathers some stuff to take a shower. By the time she finishes, Kara is snoring softly on the couch. Lena smiles softly at the sight before grabbing an extra blanket from the closet and draping it over Kara. The bed calls her away from the peaceful sight as her eyelids grow heavy.

The next thing Lena is aware of is Kara gently shaking her shoulder. She’s still dressed in the clothes from the day before. Lena peers at the alarm clock on the nightstand and groans as it reads four-fifteen.

“Hey, Lee. I’m going to take a Lift to the gym, I have to teach a class. Also, there is a tournament tonight that I have to finish getting ready. Just text me later.” Kara whispers softly. Lena can barely register the words but nods and grunts. She’s already falling back asleep when she thinks she feels Kara’s lips pressed to her forehead but she can’t even be sure or react before she’s deeply buried into sleep again.

Lena doesn't rouse until nearly eleven. Her new assistant had sent a personal shopper out to get Lena clothes for her and her impromptu trip after Lena had asked Eve to book the tickets. The sharp knocking woke her and she stumbled to the door to let the preppy blonde in. She dropped the arm full of bags while Lena went to grab cash to tip her.

“Is there workout clothes in there?” Lena asks.

“Yes, Miss Luthor. Miss Tessmacher mentioned that you have been frequenting The Power House when in National City.”

“Perfect. Thank you…”

“Haley” The woman supplies.

“Thank you, Haley. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

“Anything Miss Luthor. I am a huge fan.” Lena smiles and nods as she goes through her normal reactions to those statements.

“Thank you. Oh, but Haley, please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

“Of course Miss Luthor, we all sign non-disclosures due to who we shop for.”

“Good to know.” Lena waits and her eyes flick from Haley to the door and back.

“Oh, right. Yes. Goodbye Miss Luthor. Let me know if you need anything.”

Haley disappears back out the door and Lena begins to sort through the clothing. Lena made a mental note to send another tip to the girl because she did a wonderful job. Lena sends a text off to Kara that she’s up and then begins to get dressed. She receives an enthusiastic reply to come to the gym when she's ready. Lena just laughs and shakes her head at the absurd amount of emojis, and how much she missed seeing them on her screen.

In twenty-five minutes Lena is walking in the front door to the Power House and it is chaos. Very few people are actually working out. Most stand in groups talking and laughing. It looks like the crowd is spilling out from The Box. Through the doors, Lena can glimpse a boxing ring set up.

“Hey Miss Luthor,” the girl at the desk says. Lena recognizes her from last time.

“Hi, Taylor. Where’s Kara?”

“I went ahead and checked you in and Coach K is through all that trying to get the tournament started. Good Luck.” Taylor waves Lena through the crowd and Lena groans. Taylor just laughs and then helps the next person check in.

Lena struggles through the growing crowd of hot, sweating bodies to reach The Box. It takes a good five minutes to reach the door and another five to reach Kara. She stands on a raised platform with a table and a giant bracket behind her, concentrating hard and sending her employees scattering to one task or another. Lena smiles as she watches Kara just be in her element. She also feels slightly aroused at the way Kara commands the chaos around her. Bright blue eyes lock on Lena and it steals her breath away. Then Kara smiles and Lena’s feet carry her forward.

“This is insane!” Lena yells over the chatter.

“Yeah! But it’s great! We hit our fundraising goal an hour ago and we haven't even started yet.” Kara shouts back.

“That’s great! But what is all this for? You never told me?”

“Oh, right!” Kara hops off the platform to stand next to Lena instead of leaning over her. Kara stands closer than normal so she doesn't have to shout but it makes Lena’s breathing a little shallow.

“This is an Ameture fighting tournament. We are raising money for a scholarship to send a student in need to college, full ride, to Nation City University. Winner still gets five-thousand dollars. We already made enough for the yet-to-be-determined student’s first year. That was the goal and now we have a head start on the second year. Tomorrow the applications open up and Winn and I will be working with a couple of admissions officers to sort through them.”

“Wow Kara, that is amazing!”

“I know, I am so pumped. The winner also gets a chance to fight me At the end. But now, I need to get things started. You can go sit with Winn if you want or in the bleachers. If your hungry there are concessions being sold in that corner. Enjoy the show.” Maybe it was adrenaline, or a lapse in judgment, or something, but Kara kissed Lena on the cheek before disappearing into the crowd and climbing into the ring, pulling a mic from her back pocket and turning it on. Lena is frozen in shock and she gets light headed as she forgets to breathe.

“Lena! Come on, have a seat. It’s one of the best in the house.” Winn calls to her from where he reclines in his own seat. Lena swallows hard and nods.

“Actually, I’m going to go grab a hat from Kara’s office. I’ll be right back.” Lena weaves her way back through the crowd, Listening as Kara begins her announcements.

“Welcome Ladies and Gentleman and Everyone in between!” A loud roar makes Kara pause. Lena slips into the office and grabs one of the Power House ball caps Kara keeps in there and makes her way back after pulling it snug over her head.

“I would like to personally welcome you all to the Power House!” Another roar.

“Before I get us started, I want you to all know, we have reached this year's goal but please do not stop you from donating! We are want to continue to build this scholarship up!” Stamping feet join the cacophony of noise. Lena jumps up next to Winn on the scoreboard platform.

“Now, without further ado, our first match up! Okay, I’m sorry, a little further ado, just for the general public knowledge. There are no Men’s and Women’s categories today. Points are based on form and execution, not hits. Not knockouts. This is an educational gym and these are first time fighters. So please take it, easy folks, this is a charity event. Now our first fighters. Jumpin’ Judy in the red corner is squaring up against Slammin’ Sara in the blue. Let’s make some noise!” Kara grins so wide Lena thinks it must hurt. Kara leaves the ring and the referee takes her place and the two women take their corners. Kara takes a seat next to Lena.

“Don’t you have to judge or whatever?” Lena asks.

“Nah, see over there,” Kara points to a table on the other side of the room that Lena had missed, “Those are my four of my coaches. They are doing the scoring. I get too invested sometimes. Best if I don’t judge.”

The bell dings and cuts off any further conversation. Lena watches as Kara is immediately absorbed into the fight. Lena watches as her eyes focus intently and she sits forward. Kara is in her element. After one particular hit Kara turns to Len to share her excitement and sees the raven-haired woman staring at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Lena shakes her head. “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. The more I learn about you the more I realize how shallow our relationship was.” Kara’s expression softens.

“We just had limitations before, that’s all. It’s like one of those Zero Entry pools. We walked in but didn’t get much past our knees before the whistle was blown for a break. Now we have a chance to actually go swimming when we’re ready.”

“Right. When We are ready.” Lena confirms, a cheer erupts and Kara refocuses on the match.

The rest of the day is filled with Kara cheering for both sides of every match, the noise becomes a constant buzz as Lena listens to Kara’s sideline coaching. Lena cheers with the crowd and makes idle chatter with Winn as Kara is constantly out of her seat to put out one fire or another.

“All right, this is the last match. Then I fight the winner. I need to go change but sit tight.” Kara bounces back over in giddy excitement that makes Lena smile.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lena says in a voice just the right side of sultry. Kara blushes and nods before bouncing away again.

“So, when is the elephant in the room going to be addressed?” Winn asks.

“It’s been addressed, but we are just leaving it there for now. We are taking it slow this time.” The bell rings and the final match begins. Somehow the room grows even louder. All of it is hard to follow for Lena. Punches fly and most land in one shade or another. Both the competitors are on their fourth match and the weariness shows. Blocks are sluggish and the footwork looks less sure. But that is just the big stuff that Lena has picked up from hearing Kara talk all day. At the end of the three minutes, the bell rings and the final score is tallied. The judges tell the referee and Kara arrives back on stage, changed into an outfit similar to the one she wore in the first fight Lena watched. Lena’s breath catches at the sight of those abs and the pure confidence oozing off of her. Lena tries to subtly cross her legs to ease the feeling shooting through her. The ref holds up the hand of winner, a small but fierce woman named Addison. Kara had told Lena earlier that she was on the police force but loved coming here. Kara took ten percent off her membership every month, she did the same for the rest of the firemen and police who came here to work out.

“Congratulations Addison! You are today’s champion. Now, you can walk away now, or, take a thirty-minute break and take on me! If you get just one successful hit, you and a person of your choosing get a free year-long membership. What do you say?” Kara holds a hand out to Addison for her to shake, the woman takes it.

“You’re on Coach K.,” she says a little out of breath.

Lena resigns herself to at least another forty-five minutes sitting in a plastic chair, but then Kara is in front of her and pulls her away from the platform and Lena quickly forgets the small annoyance of discomfort. Kara laces her fingers in Lena’s and pulls her through the crowd and into her office.

“What are we doing?” Lena laughs.

“I need to warm up, and if I know you at all, you need some quiet.” Kara opens her secret entrance and descends down.

“Kara I’m fine. I am used to loud venues, you know.” Lena laughs but follows anyway.

“Yes, but then you like to hide in your dressing room until the ringing in your ears fades.”

Lena doesn't have a comeback for that. Except that it used to be accompanied by drinking and maybe something more to take the edge off. Instead this time she settles for grabbing water from Kara’s fridge and sitting at Winn’s central command and watching Kara. She starts with a series of stretching, reminding Lena just how flexible the Maiden of Might is. Kara seems oblivious to what she is doing to Lena and engages her in idle conversation.

“So I was thinking we could go get dinner after this, maybe a movie. Something quite. I mean, I’m a social person but this has been a lot today. I just need to relax.”

“Um, yeah. Sure. Or order in and just watch a movie at my hotel? We can get that Chinese place you love and extra pot stickers.” Kara started to jog around the room.

“Sounds perfect.” Kara starts short sprints bending and touching each line of the five evenly spaced out on one side of the room before sprinting back to the first.

“Is this even a fair fight? I mean you are a professional.” Kara drops to do push-ups, sweat starting to bead on her skin. Lena takes a long drink of water.

“Hey, I’m not heartless, she’ll get her free membership. But it’s good publicity for the gym.” Kara grabs a jump rope and begins a fast-paced rhythm. Lena averts her eyes, this was doing nothing for the rational part of her brain saying to take things slow this time. Luckily, Kara hangs up the rope as Lena finishes the water.

“Ready?” Kara asks.

“Uh, yeah. If you are.”

“I was born Ready,” Kara says with a wink before gesturing for Lena to go back up the stairs.

Some of the crowd has dissipated but it’s still very crowded. People still make way for Kara as she approaches the ring. Lena resumes her perch next to Winn and Kara takes the mic into the ring.

“All right everybody! This is it! I encourage you to record this and share it with friends. This May be Atomic Addy’s debut fight! Here she is, the Winner of the First Annual Power House Power Racket! Atomic Addy!” The woman hops up next to Kara, still slightly flushed but mostly recovered from her previous fight.

Kara hands the mic off to one of her judges and shakes Addison’s hand before the separate to their corners. The referee counts them down before the bell rings.

Addison is wary of Kara, slowly shuffling forwards with her arms in a guard like Kara had taught her. Kara bounces from foot to foot and looks like she’s just talking to Addison, encouraging her, coaching her. But Lena can’t hear through the noise of the crowd. She does see phones held up as people record.

Addison throws one punch that Kara dodges with ease. Kara says something and Addison squares her shoulders more.

Addison begins a quick series of punches, not going for power anymore, just a quick tap. Kara must have reminded her that she doesn't have to go for a knockout, just one hit. Kara dodges most and deflects the last. Kara takes a slow swing at the other woman’s head and she ducks it. Addison sends an uppercut towards Kara’s stomach but Kara jumps back enough to avoid it. The two women square off again. Kara says one more thing and Addison nods her head in confirmation of something. Lena thinks Kara says something like ‘Give it everything,’ but she can’t be sure. At least until Addison begins firing punch after punch at Kara, each faster than the last, Kara managing to block every one, until a block glances off her hand and hits her shoulder, spinning Kara away and too off balance to block the punch already following to hit her ribs. Kara is quick to recover, hardly phased by the impact, but both fighters still. It’s over. Addison stands painting, hands still up in a guard. Kara drops hers with a laugh and holds out a hand to shake. Addison grins and shakes it to the cheers of the room. As soon as the cheering stops the adrenaline of the day seems to fade and Lena is exhausted. She gets Kara’s attention and points to her office. Kara nods and Lena retreats there. She collapses in Kara’s leather rolling chair and sighs into the quiet.

After a few minutes, she calls the Chinese restaurant so that hopefully it won’t take it too long to get there after they leave, but she left instructions to leave it with the front desk just in case. After another ten minutes, Kara peeks in with a small smile, changed into sweats.

“Ready?” Kara asks.

“Yes, food is ordered.”

“Good, ride is out front.” Kara tosses Lena a helmet, which she just barely manages to catch.

“Don’t you have to clean up?” Lena asks, replacing her hat with the helmet.

“Nah, I promised Scott, Zach, Valerie, and Susan overtime pay to do the cleanup and next Friday off.”

“Oooo, look at you. Delegating like a champ.”

“Hey, I can afford it now. Which is something I don’t think I ever thought possible but between the gym and my art I can pay time and a half to my employees to clean up. And I can go eat food and hang out with my… friend.” Kara hesitates on the term but Lena decides to let it go. For now.

“Sounds great. I’m proud of how far you’ve come, even if you are still basically homeless.” Lena teases.

“Hey! I like it down there, and it is very convenient.” Kara holds the door open for Lena.

“I’m sure it is.” Lena lets Kara get on the bike then climbs on behind her.

“I hear the sarcasm but I’m ignoring it. I have potstickers on my mind.”

“Potstickers? I thought you said Kale.” Lena teases and Kara gasps.

“Don’t tease me, Lena. You ordered potstickers, right? Right?!” Lena just shrugs at Kara’s pleading.

“Maybe, maybe not. You’ll just have to see when we get there.”

“You better hold on then.”

Kara flicks down her visor and kicks the bike into gear. Lena squeals and tightens her arms around Kara’s center. She feels Kara chuckle as she weaves through the traffic.

“Yes, ma’am. I am sure. That is Andromeda. The fighting style matches the little footage we still have of her. Plus Kara Danvers has the background to do it.”

“Excellent. Miss Danvers needs to be taught a lesson. No one just walks away from my fight club.” Roulette sneers. Either the fighters left too broken to continue or moved up in her service. Personal bodyguards, hired hitman, escorts, and the like. Andromeda just disappearing after the amount of money she had taken was like spitting on Roulette's pride. It would not be tolerated.

“Find out where she lives, find out her routine. She will not be easy. Make sure all my best men are available for this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man nods his head and exits the room. Roulette settles in her padded chair in the dark back room of the fight club. Everything has to go perfect. Andromeda must be taken by surprise.

April 27th, 2018

Alex was nervous. Her palms were sweating and her stomach was fluttering. Her mouth was dry and she was very aware of her tongue and how it didn’t seem to quite fit between her teeth. She couldn’t believe the text message she received this morning. She paced for about half an hour thinking about how to respond and after responding she went for a very long run just to do something. The day had seemed to stretch out before her like an endless maw until just this moment as she stared at the handle of the bar door. Now the day seemed to collapse in on itself and shrink to the small point of the threshold.

Sam waited on the other side of that door. The woman Alex had a major crush on and hadn’t seen since Lena’s rescue. They did live on different continents and all. But they had texted and called their conversations always edged on the flirty side of suggestive. Well they had slept together once too. And that may be the problem. Alex knew what lay hidden under Sam’s expensive clothes. She had spent hours mapping out her skin with kisses and tracing patterns in a trail of goosebumps. Because Alex knew what that was like she couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she couldn’t stop thinking about why Sam was suddenly in National City.

With a deep breath, Alex squares her shoulders and runs a hand through her hair. She tucks her helmet under her arm and opens the door. Alex scans the room for the woman she came here to meet and finds her in a back corner booth, sipping red wine. As if feeling Alex’s eyes on her, Sam looks up. When their eyes lock, Alex’s breath catches. Then Sam’s lips curl softly in a small smile and Alex is gliding across the room to sit across from her.

“Hello, Alex,” Sam says as she slides into the booth.

“Hey, Sam.” Alex sets her helmet on the seat beside her.

“Aren’t you Danvers sisters a gay dream. With motorcycles and leather jackets. Makes me wonder what’s in the water of that small town you come from.” Sam sips her wine and Alex’s mouth goes dry. Thankfully she is saved from responding by a waitress asking for her drink.

“Whiskey, neat. Thanks.” Alex says and shrugs off Sam’s raised eyebrow.

“So what brings you back to National City?” Alex asks Sam.

“No small talk huh? Well, Ruby is at a two-week long summer camp and Lena was supposed to come home but I received a text yesterday that she had decided to come here instead after the trial. I figured I might as well use up some of my vacation time and come be with my best friend. I also thought I would stop in to see the woman I can’t seem to get out of my head.” Sam says very plainly as she shifts to cross her legs. Alex almost jumps at the feel of a foot stroking her calf under the table. Thankfully, the waitress drops of Alex’s whiskey just in time for her to take a big gulp of the burning liquid.

“Is Lena expecting you anytime soon?” Sam shakes her head slowly.

“No, she doesn't even know I’m here yet.”

“Want to get out of here?” Alex asks.

“Very much so.” Both women polish off their drinks and Alex leaves plenty of cash on the table before grabbing Sam’s hand and eagerly pulling her towards the exit, all her earlier nerves forgotten now that she knows Sam wants her too.

“I think I was too hard on the two of them. Especially Kara.” Sam whispers, her finger tracing patterns on Alex’s stomach, using her chest as a pillow. Alex has one arm wrapped around her while using the other to prop up her own head.

“What do you mean?” Alex feels Sam take a deep breath.

“Back before I met Kara, when she kept canceling on Lena, before we knew what she was doing, I said some not nice things to Lena. About Kara.” Sam pauses and Alex waits patiently for her to continue.

“I said that Kara was just using her for the fame and the free trips and then was bailing because she had her fill of it. I wasn’t supportive at all.” Alex is quite a moment.

“I don’t blame you. You hadn’t met Kara. All you saw was your friend being hurt, over and over. And with Lena’s fame, I’m sure there are probably plenty of people who would do just that. You had to protect her. Do you still feel that way?”

“A little I guess. I mean, I’ve met her now and she's like this ray of sunshine. But I still worry that she’ll build Lena up again to tear it all away again. Maybe its the mother in me. I don’t know. I want to support them. I do. But that doesn't stop the worrying.”

“I constantly worry about Kara. It never stops. She went to a dark place after everything with Lena. She’s had the darkness buried deep in her for a long time, since her parents, and then my dad, she buried it deep. Now I worry it’s too close to the surface. My only comfort is that they are doing it right this time. Taking it slow and getting help from Kara’s therapist.”

“That is true. But the way Lena has been talking, I think they will snap soon. Like pulling a rubber band further apart until it either breaks or springs back together. Hopefully, it’s the springing back together.” Sam’s hand has been slowly tracing lower and lower as she and Alex spoke, unaware of the fact until she feels Alex’s breath shorten and feels the soft tufts of hair just peeking out from the sheet.

“Can we...umm… stop talking about my sister now?” Alex swallows hard.

“Hmmm, thinking of ways we can spring together?” Sam teases. Alex rolls over and immediately begins to kiss her way downwards.

“You have no idea,” Alex growls out.

“Show me.”

April 28th, 2018

“Babe, hurry up! We are supposed to meet Kara and Lena in ten minutes!” Sam calls from the kitchen island, waiting for Alex to choose the right leather jacket to go with her all black outfit, something Sam had already teased her about.

“D-did you just call me babe?” Alex peeks her head out from her closet.

“Suppose I did. Is that a problem?”

“N-n-no. No, of course not. Just seems like a couple-y thing to do. Something maybe we should talk about?” Alex pulls a jacket from the closet and walks toward the woman who is looking fantastic in borrowed clothes.

“Maybe, but I also am not ready to have a conversation like that. But your reaction to ‘Babe’ is too good to pass up on.”

“Is it the same at how turned on I am to you in my shirt?”

“Probably.” Sam settles her arms on Alex’s shoulders as Alex’s settle on her hips. Alex leans in for a kiss, only to be stopped by a hand on her chest.

“We are going to be so late if I let you kiss me,” Sam whispers.

“Ugh, fine. But I will try and bring you home with me tonight.”

“Well, Miss Danvers, I don’t just go home with anyone.”

“Oh, you want to be wooed? I can woo. Us Danvers are natural charmers.”

“Now that, I can believe. Come on. Let’s go. Lena is going to kill me for being late.”

Lena did not kill Sam for being late. She was too engrossed in how Kara stood behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding her hand, as Kara showed her how to throw darts. Lena is trying to pay attention to Kara’s words, she really is, but Kara’s breath on the back of her neck raises goosebumps and makes Lena shiver.

“That was great!” Kara exclaims and a spattering of clapping pulls Lena’s attention away from the joy in Kara’s eyes.

“Well done, you just may be able to beat me next time.” Sam teases.

“Sam!” Lena rushes to hug her friend, Sam laughs and squeezes her back.

“It’s good to see you too Lena.”

“I’m so glad you came.”

“Me too.”

“Okay- you, me, shots.” Lena drags Sam towards the bar to catch up with her best friend. Tonight they had no worries about tomorrow and Lena was going to take advantage. Alex watches Sam walk away, eyes raking over her from head to toe. Kara nudges her.

“So Sam is in town.”

“Yup.”

“And she’s been here since yesterday.”

“Yup.”

“And didn’t text Lena until this afternoon.”

“Yup.”

“And is wearing your clothes.”

“Kara… leave it be.”

“Leave what be? I’m just pointing out facts. And I haven't seen a grin that big since after your first date with Maggie.” Kara says innocently as she sips her club soda. Alex groans.

“Look, don’t make this a big deal. We are just enjoying each other's company. We still live on different continents.”

“I won’t. I won’t. I’m just glad you are doing something besides working.” Kara takes another sip before her eyes bulge out at Alex’s laugh, realizing what she said.

“Yup, doing something besides work. That is for sure.”

“Alex!”

“Hey, you started it. Oh yes, Sam brought me alcohol.” Alex excitedly reaches for the glass in Sam’s hand and Sam deposits it in her hand with a kiss on the cheek. Sam ignores Lena eyeing the action and elbowing Kara in the process.

“Okay, so what’s the plan tonight?” Sam asks the table.

“Darts here, pool at the next bar, then the Karaoke bar.” Kara excitedly explains.

“Great, so I can be plenty drunk for karaoke,” Alex grumbles.

“Exactly.” Kara ignores her sister’s negativity.

“But not too drunk for after karaoke.” Sam whispers in Alex’s ear, sending shivers down her spine. Alex glances at her sister but Kara is already distracted again as she helps Lena at the dart board.

Kara may be the sober one tonight, but that would not stop her from singing the opening song to High School Musical as a duet with Lena, who was not so sober. But Kara was having a great time. Alex seemed to be having a better one as Kara tried to ignore where her sister’s and Sam’s hands were in the dark of their booth.

Now who'd have ever thought that

We'd both be here tonight

And the world looks so much brighter

With you by my side

I know that something has changed

Never felt this way

I know it for real

This could be the start of something new

Kara saw Lena’s eye twinkling with happiness and what Kara distinctly remembers as lust. It makes Kara’s skin heat all over in a way she knows is not from the stage lights. Lena sings in perfect harmony with Kara and Kara is in awe of her talent, as always.

And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart

That it's the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you

And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart

The start of something new (The start of something new)

The start of something new

A late night spattering of drunken applause follows their last note. The pair bounce back to the bar to get more drinks then back to the booth. Sam and Alex break apart from their lip lock to acknowledge Lena and Kara’s wonderful performance. They leave shortly after that and Kara does not ask questions. Lena finishes her drink before asking Kara to leave as well. Lena orders a Lift on the way to the door. The stand outside and a slight chill in the air makes Lena shiver.

“Oh, I left my jacket at the table,” Lena says as she rubs her arms.

“I’ll get it. Stay close to the door and don't get in the car before I get back. Can’t have you getting lost.” Kara teases as she guides Lena to lean against the wall next to the door, Kara glances up and sees the little red light on the security camera over the main entrance.

Kara wonders back inside towards the booth they had been sitting in. It’s already occupied by new patrons who hadn’t seen the jacket. Kara tries the bartender who directs her towards a back hallway where the manager's office is. She knocks but there is no answer so she tries the handle. It twists and opens. Lena’s jacket is hanging on the back of the chair and Kara steps inside to grab it when she feels a prick in her neck. Too late she registers the squeak of floorboards. Too late she notices the looming presence behind the door. Too late she turns to swing a punch at the person drugging her. Too late she sees the face that looks almost familiar before darkness descends.

#Supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #singer #Vigilante #au #fanfiction #WTFU

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scarletcedar · 5 years ago

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SHIPPER.

NAME: Scarlet Langley AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 27 & December 6, 1991 GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Female & She/Her SPECIES: Human (Bitten) OCCUPATION: Bookseller at Topping & Co. Books

HISTORY:

Their lives are made up of stories; of cruel witches desperate for children, of foolish girls cursed to dance without rest, of clever men tricking creatures out of their riches. They cut you out of your Mama, like Red Riding Hood emerging from the wolf, Gram would say every time Scarlet reintroduced herself. Gram may have lost pieces of her own history, but recalled each fable with crystal clarity. Those stories are immortal, passed down from generation to generation, surviving wars and financial hardships and illnesses even when the storytellers could not. Scarlet collects them like precious jewels from anyone who’ll offer them to her, writes them down so they’re never forgotten by history.

The stories were meant to be lessons about the dangers that lurked in the dark corners of their small world. But little Scarlet didn’t interpret them as Gram had intended, instead taking out pieces of what she found interesting and constructing her own narrative. The woods were explored thoroughly in search of enchanted candy houses, and even now most of her shoes are red and thickets of thorns grow outside her windows. She always carries a switchblade in her purse, never knowing when she might get eaten whole.

Bright yellow eyes haunt her, but Scarlet’s not sure if it’s a memory or if her childhood imagination filled in the gaps of that day. The corpse in the Square reeked of decay and musk and wet leaves and dried blood; the whiff of it brought back childhood nightmares of golden-eyed beasts chasing her through the mountains. Her parents recalled that day in horror, and Scarlet always wished she could remember it fully so she knew what to be afraid of. But even without her memories, the wolf still haunts her along with all the other ghosts she carries. Needless to say, she’s not much of a dog person.

Got her job after getting into an argument with the manager about their dystopian novel window display. The most “dystopian” part of Brave New World is Huxley’s rampant misogyny. You’re promoting THIS but completely left out The Iron Heel? That’s practically the foundation of modern dystopian literature, and far more relevant today than Huxley’s creepy baby orgies. The manager invited her over to create new displays the following week, and in the midst of that she began to offer recommendations to customers and took it upon herself to reorganize the shelves to have more front-facing, eye-catching book covers. At some point during, she got her own name tag and the rest is history.

CAR CRASH TW There was her Mama and there was her Mom, and neither one went gently; Langley women never do. They’re artists, Scarlet boasted with pride whenever someone asked what her parents did. The Langley women were their own tribe, always welcoming strangers into their warm hearth and gifting locals with unusual handmade artifacts. Their death was untimely and unexpected, a tragedy about young lovers but not the kind they write plays about. They became another statistic, a cautionary tale for those driving through Montana during a snowstorm.

CAR CRASH TW The news reported that Scarlet was the only one in the car to survive, that she was hypothermic by the time they uncovered her from the wreckage. But it was the locals who spoke about how she lost herself in her grief, how she’s only recently been able to drive again without having a panic attack on the road, how she still only knows how to make enough food for three people, how she’s only able to sleep with the TV on at night because she can’t stand how quiet her house has become. Scarlet tries to keep all the uglier parts of her grief hidden from the town’s prying eyes, unable to acknowledge how not fine she is even to herself.

An artist like her parents. Scribbles intricate doodles within the pages of second-hand novels; writes poetry on her arms; threads colorful, dainty flowers over the holes in her sweaters. Waves and vines and stars are painted on every wall in her home, and the empty space is filled with photographs she’s taken of loved ones. Makes a little bit of side money off of commissions, which she desperately needs. Her parents didn’t leave much when they passed, and she’s burning through her meager savings in order to hold onto her childhood home. She’s lost so much and she can’t lose this, too, even if it means being tied to Blackrock forever.

PERSONALITY:

Pretty clingy with her actual friends; almost obsessively takes photographs and grows anxious if they don’t text back when they say they will. Is desperately trying to hold on tightly to those closest to her, unable to vocalize her newfound fear of losing more loved ones. A traitorous voice in her mind says they’ll one day be taken from her as well, and she can’t silence it even though she knows it’s irrational.

People affectionately called her “Scar” until The Attack, ultimately deciding it was too inappropriate. She forgets that the scar is there most of the time, even though it’s often the first thing people notice whenever she wears short sleeves. Most are too polite to ask about it, but those who have the balls will get treated to one of the many outlandish tales she’s come up with. Crashed my car in a drag race — at least I won. Some jerk at Last Drop stabbed me because I queued “Two Doors Down” on the jukebox 27 times. The government sticks trackers in our arms when we’re born but I managed to carve mine out.

Is something of a cryptid-maniac; a lifetime of absorbing myths and legends has made her the expert on the weird and paranormal. It’s not that Scarlet necessarily believes in everything she reads, but she also can’t deny that the world is full of mysteries. There’s always something new being discovered, she’d insist whenever someone tried to argue that these monsters only exist in fairy tales. She’s not crazy, really — just open-minded. Still, if someone asked her if she believes in werewolves, she’d dismiss them as mere storybook creatures, despite her haunting dreams. Her reasoning is that it’s been many uneventful full moons since she was bitten by a wild wolf. I’m clearly still human, aren’t I? Now selkies, on the other hand...

One of Scarlet’s favorite parts of her job is recommending books to people. The whole process is gratifying — from learning about what they’re already interested in, to scouring through shelves for The Perfect Book. When she’s off the clock, she doesn’t wait for permission to offer recommendations, often handing off books to people unexpectedly with a simple, “This made me think of you.” Doesn’t mind loaning out books from her personal collection, believing books don’t belong on shelves but are meant to be read as often as possible. Her second favorite part is sorting through the second-hand books because there’s always some interesting piece of history stuck between pages of used books. She keeps a box at work filled with all the little treasures she’s collected from donations: boarding passes from far off places, handwritten notes, antique bookmarks, and even torn out pages from other books. In her free time, she’ll secretly slip in her own little unsigned notes between the pages of the secondhand books she’s read before. Be sure to have tissues on hand. These characters will make you believe in true love. It’s okay if you don’t understand the ending.

LOW-EFFORT CONNECTIONS:

exes who ended on good terms

unrequited crushes

friends with benefits

childhood friends

book club buddies

CONNECTIONS I ACTUALLY PUT SOME THOUGHT INTO:

THE LOCAL → Someone(s) who knows everything about Scarlet, despite her best efforts. In return, Scarlet knows more about them than they’d want to know — Blackrock is too small for secrets, after all. They get into each other’s business, and it’s annoying but it’s been this way for so long that it’s hard to imagine it any other way.

THE BROKEN HEART → Someone Scarlet saw frequently before her parents died, romantically or platonically! Their relationship completely fractured with the death of her parents. Scarlet could’ve either driven them away in her grief, too hurt to care for them. Or maybe she smothered them with her consistent presence out of a fear of losing them, too.

THE DIVIDED → Their families never got along, a local feud that has lasted for so long that Scarlet can’t remember what started it to begin with. She purposefully puts up a front with every member of the opposing family, holding onto a longstanding grudge in the name of her mothers. But perhaps she’ll discover that it’s best to put the feud to rest, too overwhelmed by other aspects of life to find the energy for it.

THE COMPANION → Simply put, a friend. Someone who doesn’t brush off Scarlet’s conspiracy theories, offers themself as a model for her art, is willing to drive Scarlet around when she’s not up to it herself.

#car crash tw

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the-uptake · 5 years ago

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Medical waste and its real role in our lives

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 7. Go to previous. Go to next. Augen, you, ah. Doin’ okay there, buddy?

________________________________

Augen took ‘Choly for a smoothie, then the two pressed on to locate a geek bar where the two would sit and eat. Equal parts cafe and specialty grocer’s, the lighting there did not wash out or overwhelm like that of a typical grocery store, but it still had better lighting than a restaurant such as Finnegan’s. In the wake of the events the day before, the gamut of hybrids who had gathered in the establishment seemed terse and agitated despite many of them forcing a genial demeanor. As the lamprey finger-swiped his order at their small digital table near the front, ‘Choly squared up the wheelchair, and ended up folding back the right footrest in order to give Augen sufficient leg clearance beneath the table.

“You… sure it’s okay for me to be here?” ‘Choly glanced about and absently sucked at his straw. The world around him still largely a blur, he couldn’t identify the species of most patrons, let alone what they were eating. “Slag, can’t even see the TV up at the bar.”

“I’m sure it’s just more of the same news we’ve seen for hours at the HP. As long as you behave yourself, hybrids don’t typically mind mixed company. We come places like this not just for a meal, but for a safe space.” Augen pulled out his reader in its waterproof case and set it beside ‘Choly’s on the charge pad panel on the side of the round table nearest the wall. “It shouldn’t take long here to get juiced up. Fuel, energy, a bit of spirit. The necessities.”

The waitperson, a tiger hybrid in a two-piece suit with rolled sleeves, brought out a bag of blood, a pint glass, and a double shot of vodka for each of them, and left directing a brief stifled stink-eye at ‘Choly. Augen unfastened a necklace from beneath his shirt and unfolded the sheath of the pendant to produce a small barber’s notched razor, which he then used to snip the neck of the blood bag and pour it into the glass. Once he’d emptied its contents into the glass, he snapped the pendant back together and returned it to hang under his shirt. He slouched back in his chair a bit and wrapped his lips around roughly half of the mouth of the glass to drink at it.

“Trying to look the part of etiquette, I’m assuming.” ‘Choly tacitly popped the lid off his smoothie to add his vodka to his drink, and Augen choked a bit in nuisance of such commentary. “I know your mouth’s big enough to fit the whole thing in.”

“You know how I am with ritual,” the vampire mumbled, setting down the food a moment in favor of the liquor. “Besides, I’m not here to give anyone a proto-Vek show of it.”

“I just realized. Uh. Until today, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat.” ‘Choly put the lid back on and stirred it with his straw, and Augen struggled to read the way the dreg squinted at him in thought. He sucked at the doctored smoothie. “What’s it like? Eating meat. Real meat.”

“I haven’t taken you out like this yet, have I? I don’t really eat meat. I eat blood. My metabolism’s better than most sanguinarians in the same position as myself. Only got to make a full meal of it once or twice a week. Can’t keep stocked where I’m staying, since it can’t stay fresh without… specific equipment.” Augen fell heavy lidded at the notion of what it took to draw, keep, and store food-grade blood. “I stick to geek bars these days. Repeat donors are expensive and difficult to find, but most geek bars have hashed out contracts with blood clinics. They do a community service, doing the hard part for hybrids. We’re more civilized and rational than most of us will give credit for.”

‘Choly craned across the table to shoot a cataract-glazed glare at the fish.

“You could have fooled me, with how things went yesterday.” He chewed at his straw a minute, shaking, and steadied himself on the tabletop. “I asked about the meat, because I didn’t know how the hybrid side of the conflict panned out when the TIP scandal hit the fan. I was in my teens during the global shift to insect meat. Hybrids can’t eat TIP.”

The two of them both jumped when the whole place burst into an enthusiastic commotion before trickling back down to an energetic simmer.

“A misconception. Though initially true, TIP’s improved. Various texturizing agents help it imitate the mouthfeel of non-insect meats, but the FDA’s gotten more conscientious about including certain amino acids to complete the imitation to full nutritional effect. Just off the top of my head, feline hybrids can go blind without enough taurine, for example, so now there’s a particular food-grade maggot that’s been bred to have naturally high taurine levels. And they’ve got to list the specific amino acids on TIP packaging now.” Augen set down his pint glass and his eyes fell distant on ‘Choly’s cup. “I don’t even remember the changeover. I’m, what, six years younger than you? After the TIP scandal, I was obsessed with the ritual of finding real meat. I wasted so much cred on rat and pigeon meat as a teen. I was convinced that my deficit was in my food source, not in my own body. Turns out, it’s just that I was born with the wrong digestive tract.”

“…So you said blood clinic. It’s real blood? Insects don’t bleed, do they?“

“Of what’s donated, clinics sell a portion to third parties like geek bars. It’s real blood. Human, even.” The fish grinned dopily, ear-to-ear, and returned to his glass in a mock toast. “The day they can texturize something insect-based to simulate the taste, feel, and value of blood is the day true FDA blasphemy has gone too far.”

“There’s a joke to be had over the trade secret for convincing stage blood, but.” ‘Choly let out an odd chuckle and followed the gesture in agreement, not sure how else to respond. His hand sank as he sucked down more of his smoothie, and his features slacked in thought as his head got lost in the chilled warmth of the vodka amid the different blended fruit-like slush. “Come to think of it… I don’t think I recall hybrids with grafting from cows, or pigs, or any of that. Is that an ideological coincidence, or a scarcity thing? Do you think… the average hybrid would consider that kind of grafting weird? To be partly something that non-hybrids once considered food? Slag, I hope people don’t like. Try to–”

Augen slouched across the table in an instant, nose to nose, eye-to-eye.

“Anyone’s food, if you’re not a coward,” he whispered a little too heavily, his eyes wild. He softened after a moment and nipped at ‘Choly’s earlobe with a tiny playful lick. “In the least platonic sense, of course.” He sat back to douse his throat with his canteen.

The dreg shivered head to toe and bit at his labret. Not a topic for the setting. I get it. "For how much I’ve gone clubbing in the past, I’ll admit I’ve never stepped foot in a geek bar personally. It felt weird, is all. I should be glad, I guess, that they’re not frustrated that I’ve got outside food, all things considered. It never really dawned on me that hybrids go grocery shopping just like non-hybrids.”

“We don’t go out for every meal. At least, most of us don’t. Contrary to the colloquialism of these places, most hybrids are relatively private with their eating habits, and don’t like to be gawked at. There are a lot of geek bars that have a no ‘non-hybrids’ policy because they have that rampant an issue with that brand of voyeurism. One of those, if you’re here to watch, find a mixer club mentalities.”

“Cecil and I met at a mixer club,” ‘Choly smiled. “Funny that we were both cruising, and ended up hooking up with each other instead.”

“I remember you mentioning you’re both in that way.” Augen chuckled at a low click. “Though, it’s a peculiar comfort that you seemed to find what I used to look like even half as attractive as you find the real me.” Squinting in craving, he fell quiet and leaned in to whisper again. “…It’s surprisingly next to impossible to get my hands on more therapy serum. The people who have it don’t tend to want to even come into contact with hybrids, let alone sell to them. Fuck, there’s nothing else that can measure up to it.”

“I can only imagine,” ‘Choly humored again, still unable to quite process what had happened at the table at Finnegan’s the day before. “I used to subscribe to onset video channels. I’m sure you’re pretty unique in terms of not only having a use for the stuff, but finding a deranged pleasure in it. Sure, it makes you human again, but it sounds so… dehumanizing.”

“I consider it… a sort of negative space that offsets the delirium. There’s a reason hybrids often get hooked on grafting. Vekarix is an experience.”

“How lucky for you, then, that you’ve found a way to keep that experience alive for you every day,” ‘Choly sugar-coated, unsure if any hybrid patrons within earshot might find objection in the topic. He raised an eyebrow, able to tell from the furtive glaze in Augen’s eyes that he’d said something that clicked in the vampire’s head. His reader chirped out a string of notifications, indicating it had reached a full charge and regained a server connection. He picked it up to look at it, only to set down his drink and use both hands to reply with a tense jaw. “–My parents, shit.”

“They–”

“–Moved to Trenton before the quarantine. My mom says the blackout caused a brownout throughout the state. They’re both safe and with power, but they don’t have a full Web connection.” Hastily replying the best he could, he swallowed despite how the abrupt stressor had dried out his mouth, and coughed.

|| We’re alive. I had the day off yesterday. Cecil was in the explosion. Rev escorted me to Premier so we could see him in the hospital. I haven’t slept since yesterday. I’ll call you guys once I’ve rested and catch up. We love you. ||

“Letting them know you’re all right?” Augen’s head fell slightly askew as he polished off the glass. Too convenient to be a mirroring behavior, he’d also picked up his reader and been texting someone.

“Yeah. I can’t get caught up talking to them right now, though. I’ll call later.” They’ll ask if I’m okay, and I’m a terrible liar. “What’s that about?”

Augen tucked his reader into an apron pocket and stood. He was about to wave his cred-card at the pad, but the tiger hybrid was rushing up and waved away his hand with a delirium.

“No, no, no! On the house. Today we celebrate.”

Augen and ‘Choly stared at them, confused.

“April Fool’s… was yesterday,” ‘Choly started. “What are we…”

“–Oh, I’m sure you’re not celebrating, but we are. The Mid-Atlantic Hybrid Registry is down for the count because of… what happened yesterday. Permanently. There were magnet pulses involved. Tri-City Central’s whole server’s dead.” They grinned and purred, copper eyes wide as saucers. “Not to speak ill of the sacrifice, but gods bless whoever’s responsible. That thing was the single biggest civil rights violation in the country since they tried to make queer identities illegal in 2024!”

Augen couldn’t possibly have paled more, and he did his best to steel his demeanor by putting a hand to the tiger’s shoulder in camaraderie.

“My god. We’re… we’re free. But at what… cost…?”

“Augen, you okay?” Sweating, ‘Choly nudged at his free hand. “Buddy?”

“It doesn’t matter when you were made, brother.” The tiger took both Augen’s hands in their paws. “We’re free. All of us.”

“I… I have to go. My friend, we’re– we’re late for his appointment. Thank you.”

“I–”

‘Choly nodded in frenetic approval, and let Augen push him, but he didn’t remember to fold his footrest back forward until it loudly grazed the door frame of the establishment on their way out. He nearly dropped his smoothie in embarrassment, scrambling to right the problem.

“–I, THANK YOU!”

He took another sip as they strolled purposefully through the neon streets. “…I don’t know if I can get used to this thing, man. I’m glad you’re pushing me. I feel better after getting something nutritional in me, though. You feel better too?”

“I’ll feel better once I can fix my ribs. It’s getting to be too much to ignore.”

‘Choly looked up and back at him in interested confusion.

“You know of a doctor like Bell in Premier?”

“No. We’re going to Linnaeus’s old parlor.”

‘Choly nearly spat out his drink.

“–Fuck, Augen. I’ve had enough verbot shit in the past twenty-four hours to last me a whole year.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“Like fuck I don’t. You promised y’wouldn’t leave me alone ‘til I had eyes again.”

“I could take you back to the hospital room, so you could stay with Cecil.”

“They’d probably just run me out again.” He realized that Augen’s texts must have been to Cecil’s brother, and his jaw slacked a bit. “Why are we looking for this place? Isn’t it abandoned?”

“I need to jog my healing response. Pretty much any metagenic exposure will work, and his parlor seems like the most convenient option considering we’re a bit stranded in Premier. I asked Linnaeus if his stuff is still in there, and he said that they repossessed the whole property, stock, equipment, and all–but that he doesn’t know exactly what’s left. He wasn’t allowed to take anything with him, but a new owner hasn’t bought it yet, and last he checked, it hasn’t been cleaned out, either. There’s got to be some Vek doses left. …You don’t need to worry. I know this part of town.”

“The part of town isn’t what I’m worried about…” ‘Choly built the nerve. “You don’t think Linnaeus did it, do you? You’re so fucking freaked out right now.”

“Not in a million years.” A stuttered near hyperventilation fell out of Augen as he started pushing faster, kicking into a wheelie and escalating into a forceful chiropteran chitter that made ‘Choly flinch and tremble. “Not. In a million years.”

“StinkfaACE WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO DRIVE–” The blood suffused ‘Choly’s inebriated skull as the chair rattled beneath him. Unable to unclench, he considered the very real chance that Central might permanently be destroyed, as the tiger had described, and he sublimated to derangement.

Nothing’s illegal if it can’t be regulated, and with the plug pulled, law and order in Tri-City had ceased yesterday. The crime rate was about to drop to zero.

Augen could only laugh and propel the two of them faster.

After taking a toll-free mass public lift up to Level 12, they navigated the sidewalks of the commercial district, and they entered a large multi-story office building with a decent amount of foot traffic. Augen drew his shawl over his head again and avoided eye contact with passersby. ‘Choly pointed vaguely at the directory map while they waited for the elevator, and Augen nodded once he’d skimmed and located an empty placard slot. He tossed ‘Choly’s empty cup for him in time for the elevator car to arrive and let off its passengers. A few others needed to ride with them, and they let ‘Choly get in first and tuck into the corner with Augen before they got in with them. When asked for a floor, Augen told them the fifteenth floor. Once they’d ridden all the way to the twenty-second floor, they descended back to the seventh and exited free of anyone who’d seen them enter.

The seventh floor hall had bright orange low-pile carpet, and far less traffic than the first floor. From the looks of the placards outside each establishment, this was chiefly a medical floor, but after Linnaeus’s parlor had closed, much of it had pulled out. They turned right at the end of the hallway, and located the large clinic-like commercial space. The Lazarus Hall. Welded rivets boarded up the doors, along with a trespassing warning and a for lease sign. Augen didn’t even hesitate to keep walking down the hall, and turned left down a small side-hall at the end of the way. ‘Choly knew to keep quiet, but it wasn’t until they turned left again and got to a false door which Augen slid aside to expose a passcoded door, that ‘Choly understood how simple it would be for them to gain access. Augen double-checked his texts to Linnaeus for the sequence, and while he slid the false door back in place, he had ‘Choly hold open the door with the wheel of his chair.

“It’s a good thing they boarded up all the windows and doors on the front face,” Augen quipped, using his reader’s flashlight to illuminate the office space. Disengaging pushing ‘Choly, he took a canteen break to re-moisturize and investigate the place for himself. “It’ll give us away to the building owners if we turn on anything, but no one will see our reader light.”

“This place is huge,” ‘Choly awed, puttering along close behind him by the handrims with his drink between his legs. “Just how many people do you think he saw every day, back when it was at its peak?”

“On a slow day, The Lazarus Hall probably saw easily a hundred patients. Busy days, in the thousands. There were about a dozen Vek artists running the place. I’d say a solid one in five of Tri-City’s hybrids got their work done right here, and probably one in three of Manhattan Premier’s. It’s a piece of history. Maybe one day, they’ll reopen its doors.”

“I’m just shocked the security isn’t better, considering Vek is a Schedule 2 chemical.” The moved into the consultation room halls, and he followed as Augen went room to room to assess what remained. “The layout’s a lot like the All’s Well Clinic. I don’t think you’re likely t’find anything useful in the patient rooms, ‘less y'want me t’get a good look in those ears an’ nose. They’ve gotta have a pharmacy where all the meds and truck’s stored.”

“If it’s so much like All’s Well, then where is that room?”

“Hopefully on the first floor,” ‘Choly mumbled in distraction, noticing an elevator door and a stairwell beside it. “I repeat. This place is huge.”

“You know, they didn’t just shut down The Lazarus Hall to make an example of Linnaeus and his associates as prominent Vek artists. This is where they started researching cross-branch grafting. Vek specialists still think it’s possible to graft animal genetics into non-animals, but that the other way’s impossible. They didn’t even used to think mammals could receive grafting from non-mammals–”

“–You remember how badly I wanted insect grafting,” the dreg snipped in lament.

“–They didn’t think it was possible. The staff here was on the brink of proving that wrong. He couldn’t save any of the equipment or materials, but he managed to get a copy of his research data. Together with the other three artists that escaped and fell off the grid, they finished out that research on their own.”

“What about the other artists? You said there was, like, a dozen of ‘em.”

“Those they captured didn’t have the choice between documentation or therapy serum. They were forced to comply with both.”

“…They must resent Linnaeus.”

“He managed to keep three of his staff members safe. That’s all I know. The four of them still work down the street from me, heh. From what I understand, they were the only ones who took the rumors seriously when the staff was warned to get out while they could.”

“Whoever had that hidden back door installed must have known long in advance things could go South fast.”

“I’m almost positive that’s the exact purpose of that door. The only other exit I can think of would be a treadless dock, and on an upper story of Level 12, they couldn’t have just run out the back way, unless there’d been a vehicle waiting for them.”

“A piece of history,” ‘Choly repeated. “Huh.”

They located a different arrangement of rooms halfway down into The Lazarus Hall, and found the pharmaceutical storage close to the reception and waiting room at the front. ‘Choly frowned, sharing Augen’s agitation that the shelves lay largely bare.

“So what are we looking for, anyway?”

“–The dock zone, then. I guess. Slaggit.”

The vampire grabbed the handlebars again and took control of the wheelchair again to match his pace.

“You think they left a shipment in tact without unloading it? All these years?”

“No. I’m just banking on the likelihood they didn’t pick up on trash day.”

The dock lay in the back far corner of the first floor, and Augen’s boots echoed between the metal walls and concrete floor. ‘Choly swept the area with his reader flashlight, and his jaw popped in dread at the mere sight of it. Goosebumps subsumed him head to toe as he shivered. Palette after palette of bright orange drums were stacked as many as seven high, and abandon knew how deep. Even without glasses, he could discern the unmistakable biohazard trefoils on every single one.

His breath ragged, ‘Choly separated from Augen to propel himself by one handrim and the shuffle of one foot, and took pictures of the scenery for souvenirs. Up close, he could read that every drum was labeled BF Meehl. After a mote of dissociation tried its luck, he bothered to pop his jaw back in place, and he sniveled in distrust.

“I don’t think these drums were here before the property was locked down,” ‘Choly started, mentally winded.

When he looked to Augen, the fish had freed the lever-lock ring of one of the drums on an unstacked palette, and straightened to his full length to stare down its contents.

“No shit.”

“What’s even in them?” ‘Choly stayed put, too unnerved with Augen’s demeanor to get any nearer. “They don’t look like they have any labels.”

“Probably mixed waste drums. Composite waste. It’s all dumped together. Sheisse, it’s perfect.” Augen coiled back down to his common posture, to rest his hands to either side of the drum rim, only to withdraw completely from the palette to disrobe. Without explanation, he approached ‘Choly and tucked his belongings ‘Choly’s lap. With a tepid swallow, the dreg’s eyes followed those cave-pale buttocks back to the open drum. “Most of these drums are probably grafting byproduct. To be honest, I don’t know where this kind of stuff was usually disposed of, even back when human grafting was legal. They’re all BF Meehl drums, aren’t they? As far as I know, Linnaeus was the owner. …Makes you wonder if Meehl has a sanitation subsidiary or something?”

“…Do we need to double back to the pharmacy stock room for some needles?” ‘Choly clapped a hand over his mouth in recognition of what was happening, and he writhed in place as his voice broke. “Wait. Holy fUCK. You’re just gonna shoot up whatever’s in that mess–? What if it’s not–”

“One better.”

“–Vek.”

And with that, Augen dunked his head face-first into the drum, and shoved himself down past his shoulders such that the contents overflowed and splattered. ‘Choly’s heart ratcheted to a near halt as he could do little else but look on in rapturous dismay. Years ago, the lamprey hybrid had put on a show for him, to demonstrate that he could expose himself to metagenic compounds and undergo their side effects, only for his genetically engineered immune system to reject the mutations and revert them back to the hybrid state his body understood as the default. But then, that had been Ketonamil exposure. He’d simply grown enormous from his endocrine system going haywire, and later sloughed flesh until he returned to normal dimensions. But ‘Choly didn’t think even Augen knew exactly what all was in this drum–if it was even Vek in the first place. Even if it were entirely Vekarix preparations, there was no way to tell what genetic donors would come from the exposure.

What if that wasn’t Vekarix. What if it’s not metagenic, and it just poisons him. What if he dies here. I can’t get back out of here on my own. I shouldn’t have come. They’re gonna catch us in here. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuc–

Augen came up for air, and his pleuric external gills flared out as he heaved.

“That’s the stuff.” His voice had thickened significantly, tremulous and viscous. “FUCK! I love that my skin is part of my respiratory system. Shit just soaks right into my bloodstream.”

“–So, so it was Vek?” he squeaked, sweating even worse.

Augen looked to him, and the reader flashlight reflected back more than two eyes. ‘Choly’s legs seized up, and his heart snagged on his ribs again.

“Doesn’t matter either way. What’s done’s done.” Drip drying rapidly along the way, he walked coolly to grip the wheelchair armrests and lean over ‘Choly. “Save your reader battery. Just let this be pure sound, smell, and touch. The light’s… really hurting somehow.”

“You fucker, you brought me with so I’d have to watch.”

Augen seemed to lurch at him, so he scrambled to comply with the request with a broken whine. After an impossible silence, the hybrid spasmed and tried to steady himself on the armrests with a stuttered, deflating groan. Breathless and desperate, he slumped into ‘Choly’s lap shoving his belongings to either side of ‘Choly’s hips, and trembling and twitching in what the dreg could only understand to be a seizure. Tears burning down his cheeks in an instant, 'Choly grabbed his friend’s bare, clammy, serpentine body to do his best to keep either of them from falling over, and exclaimed Augen’s name repeatedly with desperate finality.

The intensity with which Augen’s body shook seemed to peak with a crunching lurch, to which the hybrid gurgled a scream, equal parts agony and ecstasy. The The subsequent tremors softened to a shakiness, but ‘Choly couldn’t believe the force of that one motion hadn’t knocked the both of them back in the wheelchair. It wasn’t until the squelching sound of too-soft flesh shifting, that ‘Choly’s terrified hand wandered up Augen’s side, and met a membrane. Following the shoulder, he couldn’t reach the elbow. The hybrid lolled back his head and let out a bat-screech, and the dreg beneath him could tell that the arch in his elongated back could only serve the purpose of applying friction against his lap. With his other hand, Augen breathlessly guided ‘Choly to reach around to fondle him. Neither of them could process the tangle of flesh in their fingers as it seemed to nearly grope back at them.

“…What the fuck did you DO,” ‘Choly demand-defended, unable to take his hand back.

“It– hurts. Ohh god–” Augen seized up again. His flesh shivered wetly before another bony crunch echoed in the metallic space, and the musculature of his shoulders mashed back into ‘Choly’s face. “GhhaAH–”

‘Choly turned his head so he could breathe, but could do nothing about the amount of skin contact against his face. The chair lurched forward, and he slammed down his bare right foot to try to keep them from rolling too far forward in the dark. In the continued forward momentum he realized Augen’s arms were now at least as long as he was long, dragging back behind them as he tried to stretch his full limb span. 'Choly’s free hand found itself trying to make sense of the texture forming on what seemed to be Augen’s entire body, and his fingers traced what felt like hundreds of divots. With the clammy, tepid flesh pressed against him, the hyper-sweet chemical stink of whatever now tormented his friend nearly made him retch. Revulsion shifted to fixation, and his lower lip dragged in ragged repetition along the rim of the divots he could reach with his mouth as they formed deep macro-pores. He stuttered in arousal when one requited the osculation.

“Are you– making out with– my shHOULD– er–”

“God what the fuck,” ‘Choly uttered, intoxicated with overstimulation. After a few minutes of alternating to spread the attention around, he could tell Augen’s skin was rasping. His hair froze upright. He tried and failed to swallow. “You’re just as scared as I am, aren’t you.”

A phlegmy, nasal sound clicked and clicked and clicked in futility from Augen’s throat and flesh, like some kind of fetid orphic hairball. The body atop ‘Choly spasmed into rigor, and every orifice suffused a viscous, smacking exudate. The dreg squirmed to get away from the stuff, getting drenched head to toe as he was pinned in place by a creature that weighed at least three times more than him. He groaned pathetically as the stuff soaked into his pants and sweater, his mouth pursed tightly shut. Once Augen’s body slacked in his lap again, he put a nervous tongue tip to the mess slathering his friend’s mutated flesh, finding the stuff overwhelmingly musky and salty, and he flinched in frightened revulsion.

“Fuck-Me-in-the-Mouth, did you just. Did you just cum?”

“Out of everything. I never want t– uhhhhg I just… it’s not over, fuck.” The hybrid slid weakly down out of ‘Choly’s lap and onto the floor. “I didn’t think there was anything worse than puking. That was. NnnhOT. Pleasant.”

‘Choly had hit his limit and struggled despite his leg brace to join Augen on the polished concrete. He pulled off his diamond bag, sweater, and shirt and put them in the chair seat, then dragged the fish’s clothing down with him. He tucked the vest and pants under his head for a pillow, and used the shirt to wipe off his face and hair. He remembered to retrieve his reader from his bag and tucked it under his makeshift pillow after checking it still had decent reception and charge.

“Some of us just get to have all the fun, now, don’t we?” ‘Choly ribbed in total exhaustion, doing his best to cover himself with the shawl. “You started this day at one end of an extreme, and ended it flippin’ it to the other. SLAG! what a shitty end to a shitty day. I want a shower.”

“Just… don’t fucking turn on any lights.” Augen simmered, failing to entirely resist writhing as the metagen continued working his flesh into a tangled clusterfuck. “…Get some rest. Tomorrow’s the first day of the rest of our lawless, godawful lives.”

“Here’s hoping you’re still just one mouth to feed when we get out of here.”

Go to Next »»»

#cyberpunk #biopunk #mutant #terato #anthro #lemony goodness #trypo tw #the uptake #amaurophilia #wssi #with symbiotic self indulgence #melanochro kara #august ritter #medical waste and its real role in our lives

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rayadraws · 7 years ago

Text

Hero FB adventures

This is the result of me, @jenny-opm, @shorthairsonic, @dibujos-de-la-orilla and @criscura talking about the concept of our boys (and their friends) using Facebook and what that might lead to... It led to a really fun discussion, so I’ve collected it as points here for anyone curious. It’s about 2.6k long so I’ll put it behind a Read More. Enjoy XD

Dr. Kuseno, being a technical genius, takes to Facebook like a duck to water, having no trouble navigating the site. However, he still acts like a stereotypical grandpa on there - when Genos posts a status along the lines of “Rainy day, perfect for a movie” Kuseno comments with “Indeed my boy, try not to catch a cold and send Saitama my regards. Kuseno.” He occasionally also teases Genos, such as sending him a photo of an electric whisk with the caption “your next upgrade is ready.” (In a misplaced attempt at being kind he tags Saitama in all ads for hair growth treatment he comes across… but at least he also tags him when he finds an unusually good sale)

It is actually thanks for a birthday post from Kuseno that Saitama learns when Genos’ birthday is the first time! He catches the borg sitting and smiling while looking a his phone, which is unusual - usually if he’s on the phone it's something from the HA, which normally has him frowning.

Neither Saitama nor Genos have a lot of friends on FB (to start with, at least). It’s mostly their closest friends such as King and Mumen. Genos also has Metal Bat added, who gives him (good natured) crap on near everything he posts.

Bang is the hopelessly confused Facebook grandpa, struggling to understand how it works. Poor Charanko does his best to help him… “How do I search here?” “You have to go to the search bar… No, that’s where you write your status” “My what?”

Once he does get the hang of it, Bang comments every time someone posts about themselves doing any sort of sporty activity with “Looking good! Ever think about coming by the dojo?” (It gets to the point that FB warns him for posting the same thing over and over and everyone is starting to suspect that his account has been hacked by a virus that just keeps promoting his dojo - poor Charanko is accused of setting it up)

Metal Bat SPAMS FB with videos of Zenko’s piano shows. Everyone knows about her recitals a week in advance because he keeps hyping it up. He also has a soft spot for posting glamour selfies.

Saitama posts a lot of blurry cat photos with no caption and sometimes food pictures. He posts at all kinds of random hours of the day, almost never answers anyone, his photos are low quality and he posts a lot of odd YouTube links.

Genos likes every photo of Saitama and uploads his own - somehow, Saitama always looks far less derpy in Genos’ photos (he’s studied all his best angles).

Genos has no shame and starts liking all photos of Saitama, going through every tag ever - meaning once in a while someone who went to high school with Saitama suddenly gets a like from Demon Cyborg on a photo taken 12 years ago. Unsurprisingly, people are SHOCKED at this and it takes them a while to figure out why - until they notice how he keeps tagging Saitama on his page. This is the only kind of interaction they get online with Demon Cyborg and people start tagging Saitama in photos in the hope of getting response from him. They slyly get photos of him in public and post and tag him in the hope of a response. As long as he’s awake (he’s a heavy sleeper) Genos likes them instantly, unknowingly rewarding his fans for their behaviour.

Genos never accepts friend requests from any non-heroes but Saitama sometimes does because “maybe that name’s familiar idk whatever” and some of Genos’ fangirls manage to befriend him on Facebook, consequently seeing his photos… causing them to just about spontaneously combust - “Did you SEE that photo of Demon Cyborg in an apron?!”

Genos notices this and tells Saitama that he is NOT to post his 124 bedhead pics of Genos to Facebook. Saitama forgets(?) and posts 53 of them anyway before he remembers he wasn’t supposed to. He tries to cheer Genos up - “But look at how many likes and shares they’re getting! This doesn’t even happen with the cat pictures!” Genos is not impressed to see his groggy-ass self on a million message boards (and tells Saitama that “...to be fair, Sensei, sometimes it’s hard to tell if they’re cat pictures.”)

Saitama is enjoying this game (not quite realizing the scope of this all) - sneaks a pair of cat ears on Genos, takes a photo and uploads, enjoying the storm afterwards.

Facebook suggests that Saitama upload a photo album that is just the same photo of Genos doing the dishes at slightly different angles and he’s like “why not” and posts that as well. This is followed up by a little video of him singing quietly and dancing a little while washing the dishes.

One day they come across a group of Demon Cyborg fans on the street who come up to them and ask if Genos could sign their photo books - they’ve printed a bunch of pictures from their FBs, full of like bedhead and apron pics (“Mr. Demon Cyborg sir I LOVED that video of you dancing with the mop!”). Genos can’t even process what’s happening and signs them with a stunned expression, while Sai takes one of the books, looking through it and pointing out his favourites. “Hey, I remember this one! Aw, dude, where’s this shirt? You look nice in it, I haven’t seen it in a while.” (“Mr Demon Cyborg I didn’t know you had feet slippers!” - a small part of Genos dies)

Saitama starts getting bombarded with requests on Facebook. “Get him sleeping!” “Get him laughing!” “Can you get him to pose in that white shirt, maybe with the ripped jeans?”

Saitama starts uploading little videos, such as himself telling Genos a bunch of puns as they go through a store. Eventually he figures out how to cut videos into clips and bombards Genos for two days to get “material”. It does get a bit overwhelming in the end however, so he tells the fans that he can’t take more pictures because his phone ran out of memory. To his despair, this leads to fans sending them shipments of memory cards, cameras and gift cards for even more stuff and it’s all very unnecessary. He even receives a brand new phone from “a fan”.

(The good side is, with all this training he is getting progressively better at taking pictures)

One day, the daily picture he uploads is very sad - just an empty chair with the caption “He’s at repairs” :(

Another day however, Saitama goes to upload a photo of Genos in his apron, but it’s… the wrong apron picture. He accidentally uploads a naughty pic, oops. It’s not the most obviously naughty one, not enough to get them banned from FB (and Genos has no nipples, anyway…) but it’s pretty obviously not meant for the public.

Genos is at first (rightfully) mad at Saitama… until they get like a million really nice apron lingerie sets in the mail. To get back at the other, he uploads a photo of a bare-chested Saitama - not at all prepared for the onslaught of “HOLY SHIT” responses, growing possessive instead of mad when the fans start screaming for more.

Saitama tries to take a good shot of himself but eventually Genos, even through being annoyed, takes the camera from him and gets a good picture. Fans ask for even more and a bewildered Saitama replies with “Um, sure?” uploading a half-naked bathroom selfie, where he’s still wet with a towel wrapped around himself. People go wild. (Genos can’t decide if he wants to delete the picture or share it so it’s on his wall as well. He is… conflicted.) (A less successful picture shows Saitama absolutely ripped, but unfortunately with a prominent double chin, like that time he played video games at the HA - selfies are hard…) (“Mr Saitama, can I request the ripped jeans again, but this time with you wearing them..?”

Unfortunately their shenanigans do not go unnoticed at they get called in to HA’s Public Relations for the umpteenth time. Their attempts at getting the heroes to take it down a few notches is made more difficult by them referring to Amai’s latest “I’m about to have sex” album cover as proof they aren’t out of line.

Amai Mask, in his defence, maintains that his pictures are “classy” and “done professionally”. Saitama responds with gesturing to a photo of Naked Apron Genos frying eggs - “This is classy!”. They continue with pointing out that more than likely, if they stopped, people would complain to the HA and they’d have to explain it was the HA who stopped them in the first place... (And really, the HA shouldn’t complain, Saitama and Genos are earning them so many donations….) "THEY CURED MY CANCER AND WATERED MY CROPS AND BLESSED MY CAT HERE'S MONEY" - “They did what now?!” - the HA representatives don’t even understand what this means but eventually lets it all slide. (The only one who understands the references is their intern managing the official HA twitter, but no one cares about their opinion…)

With all this material, Genos’ fan club is getting a lot more activity than Amai Mask’s, which doesn’t go unnoticed. Amai tries to upload “accidental photos” too in an attempt to become the centre of attention, but they are all obviously fake, such as “I woke up like this” pictures of him with perfect hair and makeup, nothing like Demon Cyborg’s messy hair and squinting eyes.

Amai tries again - “Oh no guys you won't believe this but, i was doing my make up right and omg my cat walked on top of my phone and took this photo of me lol” - someone digs up an old interview where Amai states that he’s allergic to cats (that someone is Genos). He also uploads a photo of a cup from Starbucks which has “To the prettiest guy I’ll see today” written on it and claims he got it (until someone points out that’s a photo from Google).

Meanwhile on Saitama’s FB page, a new video of an unaware Genos twitching in his sleep has just been uploaded, caption “look he’s dreaming shhh”

Saitama just happens to be awake late that evening and passes the time surfing FB, commenting “y’all never go to bed huh” when he sees the immediate responses - given how big Genos’ fanclub is, there’s always someone who’s awake. In fact, this video is more than likely to wake a number of fans up to scream over it. Saitama makes a little livestream showing off their cups as he brews himself some tea (“this is my cup. That one’s Genos’. We found it in a thrift store after he accidentally dropped the last one.” He finishes with showing Genos sleeping again and saying “see he’s sleeping now you all go to bed too”.

One day he posts a still picture of the sleeping borg, with the caption being just “I love him”.

It takes a while, but once the fans understand that their love is real and not changing, some of them start to (not always so) subtly suggest he should propose, such as tagging Saitama whenever a jewellery store has a good offer (they’ve picked up on his love for sales).

One day everything is quiet, then Saitama posts simply “He said yes” (or perhaps it’s just a picture of their hands wearing the rings) and FB EXPLODES. People ask for photos and Saitama replies with “All I got is him ugly crying oil everywhere” and the fans go “POST IT.”

After they’ve gotten engaged things get a bit more quiet, with Saitama just posting the occasional update like “he’s going to marry me” and “he’s going to be my husband”. “I want the date to be on his birthday but that’s too long of a wait” ,“he loves me”.

Fast-forward a bit. It’s been quiet for a while. Genos has barely posted anything but one day Saitama’s FB friends see that he’s been tagged in a picture that turns out to be a photo where Saitama appears to be passed out on the futon, drooling in his sleep and surrounded by empty pizza cartons. Caption “my husband to be”. (The picture completely blows up on FB)

Fans start speculating on their outfits, causing Saitama to sweat - he hadn’t planned that far ahead. He asks for suggestions and they end up covering the entire colour spectrum. He even enquires a little bit to hear if there’s anyone who’s a real actual wedding planner among their fans, it might work out…

In the end, they decide on a small private wedding, but Saitama does suggest he might be able to livestream it. He gives no date or anything to go by, however. In an attempt to keep it hidden, they end up hosting it at the dojo, hoping the stairs might also deter some potential invaders. (Bang is more than happy to host - maybe he can convince some people to join the dojo. The stairs aren’t a problem for the heroes, mostly - King does text Saitama with “I’m here can you pick me up” once he arrives at the bottom whereas Mumen handles them himself - but makes sure to arrive very early so he’ll have time for a shower before the ceremony. Saitama suddenly starts the livestream out of the blue on FB, writing “k its happenin!” and a bunch of fans tune in. (Hopefully Bang won’t hear about the livestream or he’ll start advertising on it, too…)

They get married!!

(Back to where we started - how does Kuseno react to all this FB shenanigans? Well, more than likely he doesn’t spend too much time on FB, but he does check periodically, probably catching at least a couple of the pictures of Genos sleeping and in his apron and whatnot. As always, he replies good naturedly - “glad you’re getting your rest son”.

Kuseno also has a habit of going full-on Geek and writing very long explanations regarding Genos’ body sometimes - such as explaining why he twitches in his sleep, or an explanation on how his cooling systems work in response to someone writing “WAAAHHH WHY IS HE SO COOOL” on one picture. Unfortunately, Kuseno doesn’t realize that his FB is set to friends only, so only Saitama and Genos see these comments…)

Bonus: Saitama occasionally tags Genos in pictures he takes of cheap bootleg Demon Cyborg merch he comes across, disappointing fans hoping to see a new photo of him, only to be met by his asymmetrical poorly painted face on an action figure. “It’s not even official merch…”

Saitama has a habit of buying the especially poorly made ones because “they’re funny”.

One fan asks one day if Demon Cyborg owns any merch and Sai uploads a photo of all the stuff he keeps in the apartment with the caption “And even more stuff at his docs”.

The fans are stunned - but some are also like “ok but where do I get these things?!”

"says he special ordered them or w/e" "oh this other one was from HA" "oh... he says it's out of stock" "he has the stock" ”Maybe if you ask him real nice. Doubt he’ll let go tho he only has like 278 of them” ”...he informs me he has 289”

The fans try to barter with Genos, such as offering to draw a NEW Caped Baldy posted in return for one of those charms. At this point Saitama is starting to wonder why he has to be the bridge between fans wanting Caped Baldy merch and Genos. Genos doesn’t seem to want to talk directly to his fans, but eventually agrees to use Saitama’s account, basically pretending to be him - the fans do eventually get their merch, but are confused as to why Saitama suddenly seems to turn a lot more serious and formal whenever it comes to merch talk (and is that 10 page terms of service really necessary?!) but at least in the end they get a super rare piece of merch not available anywhere else (because Genos bought them all).

#gosh #well there you have it #this was such a fun discussion I enjoyed it a lot XD <3333 #thanks guys you're the best #to anyone who read the whole thing (woah good job) I hope you liked it too!#all for fun ofc #genos #saitama #genosai #saigenos

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 5 years ago

Text

I snatched my children from Sun Myung Moon

▲ Nansook Hong, 32, has found refuge with her five children (as seen in the photos on the table) in this house in New England.

Translated from French to English

________________________________________

Paris Match 2579 29 October 1998 pages 108-110

Interviewed by Romain Clergeat Photos by Yann Gamblin

She thought she had married the son of God on earth. Instead, Nansook Hong tied her destiny, at the age of 15, with Reverend Moon’s eldest son, a violent, drunken, and drug addicted youth with whom she had five children. Now divorced, the young Korean woman evokes her ordeal in a book recounting her story. “In the Shadow of the Moons” is published by Editions1. She wrote it “to assure my protection,” she admitted to Paris Match. Nansook Hong reveals the hidden face of the Moon empire: the brutality of her husband, Hyo Jin Moon, the hypocrisy of her parents in-law, but also the reverend’s scheming, the diversion of money, the blindness of the faithful ... It is a story of a dive into a Unification Church hell on earth.

From 15 to 29 years of age, Nansook Hong dedicated her life to the famous Reverend and married one of his sons. Now she straightens the record. For the Unification Church it is a shattering book.

Paris Match. Your departure from the Moon sect three years ago provoked the Reverend’s wrath. Things seem to have gradually calmed down. Why have you put fuel on the fire with this book?

Nansook Hong. When I left, I immediately thought about telling my story. I felt a kind of moral obligation towards those who were still in the organization. I would be happy if my experience could “enlighten” even one person. I spent a part of my life, from 15 to 29, in the Unification Church. For my mental equilibrium, I absolutely needed to make sense of what I had lived through. I also wrote this book for battered women and those who live in fear. I want to let them know that one can always get out of even the worst situations.

P.M. Your parents are members of the sect. In a sense they “gave” you to Reverend Moon to marry to Hyo Jin, his son. Do you feel bitter towards them about that?

N.H. No, not for a second. They had dedicated their lives to the Unification Church. For them it was an honor that their child had been chosen by Reverend Moon.

P.M. During the years of your marriage, did you talk with your parents about what you discovered each day in the sect?

N.H. I never told them that my husband was beating me. It would have “devastated” them. To endure, I very early on considered my marriage as a mission that I had been given by God. I could not complain. On the other hand, when I began to understand that Reverend Moon was not adhering to the principles he preached, I talked to my parents about it. But we felt stuck. For a while, I naively thought that I could change all that from the inside. That, of course, was an illusion. So I concentrated on educating my children; I wanted to raise them in a good way.

P.M. When did your husband, Hyo Jin, start drinking and taking cocaine?

N.H. He was doing that from the start of our marriage, when he was 19 years old. He was doing it in rebellion against his father. He felt immeasurable resentment against him. He blamed his father for not raising him.

▲ The young Korean Nansook married Hyo Jin, Reverend Moon’s eldest son, in January 1982, at the age of 15. In the foreground, her divine in-laws.

P.M. Did you try to reason with him?

N.H. At the beginning, yes. But he quickly became addicted to coke. That said, the only times he spoke was when he took it ... but soon his words did not make sense. He had a very Asian concept of the role of women, and considered them to be subordinate, and certainly not meant to help him solve his problems. In the evenings when he was particularly angry, he said that it was all my fault ... Then he started to hit me, which seemed quite normal to him since his father boasted of doing the same thing with a female church member.

P.M. Do you think he would be capable of taking over the leadership from his father?

N.H. I heard it said that the Reverend Moon had designated his successor. It will be one of Hyo Jin’s brothers. When the Reverend disappears there will be a bloody battle.

P.M. Why did you wait fourteen years before leaving?

N.H. I have asked myself that for a long time. If I had been 20 years old at the time of my marriage, I do not think I would have stayed more than a year. I was 15 years old and I was very naive. As time passed things got more complicated, above all because of my children. Besides, I was very religious and Reverend Moon was the embodiment of the Chosen One. It took me a long time to break that image. It was a long and painful journey. When I decided to leave, at 29, it was, in a sense, totally unrealistic. I was the mother of five children, living in unbelievable luxury, and I was going to find myself living without any money and all alone. And a lot of people were going to hate me eternally.

▲ It was already hell. In 1993, two years before fleeing, Nansook with Hyo Jin and four of their five children. Photographed at a Moon property in Irvington.

P.M. How long passed from the moment you decided to leave the Church to the day you actually did?

N.H. In January 1995 I felt that I had to leave. The beating sessions became more and more frequent and I knew that it would worsen, and that he would attack my children. I did not want to wait until it reached that extreme situation. It would have ended up with him killing all of us. I remember one evening watching my husband get dressed to go to a strip-tease club or to the bars. I had like a revelation: God authorized me to leave. Since I had deep faith, I needed this spiritual permission. It was a kind of grace. It was the best day of my life. I felt liberated. All the same it took me eight months to realize what I had felt so intensely.

P.M. How did you escape?

N.H. First of all I secured custody of my children. Without money and caught off guard, I could not fight against the financial power of the Moons. I consulted lawyers. I rented a house and, bit by bit, I took my things to a storage place. Fortunately, my husband, under the influence of drugs and alcohol, did not notice anything. Within the Church, no one thought that I would leave such a luxurious life. This was my chance.

P.M. Isn’t it surprising, despite suspicions, that no one, starting with the Moons, reacted?

N.H. It did happen. When I went to New York to see the lawyers, several people recognized me and then made their reports. Following that there were times when I was told off, but I repeat, no one thought that I would really leave.

P.M. Have you received any threats?

N.H. Of course. But I had taken care to obtain legal measures that forbade my husband to approach us by less than 50 meters. That did not stop him from hiring people to track me down. In the end they did find me. Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Moon prevented their son from doing something stupid. That said, again these days, people come around to the house, call us on the phone and scare my children. I still fear them – and even more so my husband who is a dangerous man. I was scared, but the publication of this book and the publicity surrounding it will give me some protection. At least, I hope so.

P.M. Did the Moons try to buy you?

N.H. Of course. They tried everything from threats to propositions. Mrs. Moon sent me tapes in which she spoke about a reconciliation. She sent people to visit my parents, and my friends. They also wanted to buy my silence when they realized that I would not come back. I’m glad they did not offer me a huge amount of money when I was weaker; I would have probably accepted.

P.M. Do you remember the first incident that made you understand that Reverend Moon was surely not the Messiah he claimed to be?

N.H. I understood that something was wrong when I realized that he thought he was God. It was a shock to me. He took himself to be the master of the universe. And these days how can a person conquer the world if not with money? He spoke as much about money as he did about God. But I do not know to what extent he has not gone mad, he has not convinced himself that he is really the all powerful Messiah.

NANSOOK HONG “Sometimes the Moons gave $1 million in cash to my husband. It was for him to “recycle” in the Korean businesses of New York.”

P.M. How does the collection of money work in the Church?

N.H. At first, to become a member, it was very simple: you had to give all your money. Today, it’s more fuzzy. Moon still always wants more members and has to “content” himself with substantial donations but not total ones. The main source of income for the Church comes from Japan which is the most flourishing branch of the Church. At regular intervals emissaries bring suitcases full of cash. The Japanese members are probably the most fanatical. They work until they are exhausted to fulfill the goals of the Church. In addition to the restaurants, hotels, and newspapers that Moon controls, the Church hides behind organizations such as The Women’s Federation for World Peace. Under the pretext of humanitarian work, they go knocking on the doors of the rich and extort incredible sums from them.

P.M. How does money laundering work?

N.H. Oh, it is very simple! The Moons sometimes gave $1 million in cash to their children, to the sons, who immediately make a trip to the family owned Korean restaurants in New York. It is a very easy way to recycle the money.

P.M. You say in your book that the true power of the sect is in fact held by Moon’s wife.

N.H. Reverend Moon had several extramarital affairs that he called “providential encounters, trials that God put on his path”. He and his wife had some sort of tacit agreement, a little bit like Hillary and Bill Clinton. Given power and a fortune, she closed her eyes. She is the mother of his thirteen children; she knows all his secrets. In traditional Asian societies, even if the man commands, in the shadows the woman is pulling the strings. If you had a favor to ask Reverend Moon, the best way to get it was to address his wife. Unfortunately for me, she never supported me. My husband beat me, but according to her I was one to blame. If I had lived up to my task, I should have changed him, she said. But how could I have transformed a violent manic-depressive when they themselves, who called themselves superior, had failed in their education of their own son? In their defense, my husband scared them. He is the only one in the family who answered back to his father.

P.M. Does Reverend Moon have illegitimate children inside the sect?

N.H. In the inner circle, it is known! But people are bound by the money and the desire to preserve their comfort.

P.M. You say Reverend Moon is able to give speeches to the members for fifteen hours. Does he use drugs to achieve such performances?

N.H. No, absolutely not. But these speeches are translated from Korean into English, which reduces his effective speaking time to seven hours; which is not bad.

P.M. What exactly does he talk about?

N.H. It’s a pretty incoherent jumble about God, family, purity and other nonsense ...

P.M. What are you living off these days?

N.H. Through my lawyers, I receive a pension from the Moons for the education of my children. That is my only source of income. I work at an association for battered women.

P.M. After being betrayed, do you now find it hard to trust your fellow men?

N.H. Not really. I find it hard believe the talk of religious people. In any case, I do not want to be under the control of anyone. ♦

________________________________________

Video : Hyo Jin de la “famille parfaite” Moon

________________________________________

J’ai arraché mes enfants à Moon – Nansook Hong

« L’ombre de Moon » par Nansook Hong

Les Moon sont entrés dans Paris 1990

_________________________

Nansook Hong, transcripts of three interviews, including ‘60 Minutes’

Nansook Hong interviewed by Herbert Rosedale

Nansook Hong – The Dark Side of the Moons

Nansook Hong In The Shadow Of The Moons

Sun Myung Moon: The Emperor of the Universe

The Moons entered Paris in 1990; Hyo Jin fled in a black Mercedes when the police arrived!

_________________________

Nansook Hong entrevistada en español

‘A la Sombra de los Moon’ por Nansook Hong

_________________________

Nansook Hong – Ich schaue nicht zurück

_________________________

TV番組「60分」で洪蘭淑インタビュー

わが父文鮮明の正体 – 洪蘭淑

文鮮明「聖家族」の仮面を剥ぐ – 洪蘭淑

#Nansook Hong #Sun Myung Moon #Hyo Jin Moon #cocaine

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elsewhereuniversity · 7 years ago

Text

To Be Favored (Part 3)

The first month went by without incident. The third week of school there was a sale, put on by the Metalworking club (which I had thought to be an odd club to exist, but it all makes sense now). They sold iron rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings and even piercings (not done by the school itself of course). It had seemed like the school had encouraged it, seeing as most, if not all the professors, were offering a bit of extra credit if the students showed proof of purchase, and the jewelry was unrealistically cheap. The club set up tents, and some of the pieces were beautifully crafted. Some were plain, others inlaid with (probably fake) gems, turquoise and diamonds. I went with Vector and I bought a few rings, studded with small pieces of ruby, and a necklace of iron chain that a clear crystal hung from.

When I asked Azriel why she hadn’t bought any, she explained that she much preferred gold over iron, and that it looked better on her anyway.

——

The first student was Taken in my second month of university.

He had been in my Intro to Environmental Engineering class. He hadn’t shown up for a few days, but I assumed he was simply sick. I hadn’t known him that well. The teacher would call his name and subsequently mark him absent, for the first few days. Then, after a week and a half, when it came time to call his name, he would pause for a moment before completely skipping it. At the time, I figured he had run away, or just dropped out. There was no bulletin for him, no announcement of death or speech by the Dean. It was as if he had stopped existing altogether. People had said he was killed, attacked by an animal, that his mother had died and he had to return home, even that he had decided to do porn instead of school (he had been very attractive, but come on).

He had gone by Michael, which I assume was his real name. Knowing what I know now, he was not one of the Smart Ones.

——

I hadn’t believed it at first, as I’m sure many hadn’t. In Them. The Gentry. The Fair Folk. But slowly, I had seen things that faded my disbelief.

For example, I had never been able to study in my room- and so I went somewhere I shouldn’t have. The Library. But, I was cautious- I took the trek in full daylight, arms pressed to my chest as I approached the drowsy building. I hadn’t come near it since my initial meeting with it, three months ago. As I stepped near its pillars I felt myself grow heavy, and I caught the quivering shadow behind the windowpanes of the door once again. I was too scared to go in until a boy walked out of the building, carrying a few books in his arms. He seemed completely unaffected by whatever I thought existed behind that door. He walked away unharmed. I pushed away whatever fears I had and walked towards the door, clinging to the handle for a moment before I swung it open.

I was faced with a completely normal library. Low lighting, maybe, but it smelled and looked familiar. There weren’t many people at the desks yet, but there was a librarian busily tidying books behind the desk. It was all so very mundane. I rolled my eyes at myself, and continued on my path through the stacks.

Time had passed so…oddly, in the library. I had found a desk in a fairly secluded area, and set up with my textbooks. The first hour had been fine, but time after that didn’t seem to flow as it normally did. After an hour and a half I had become so tired it was hard to focus-and I had made sure to drink plenty of caffeine beforehand. But, sleep never came. I flipped page after page, scribbling down notes with half-lidded eyes, until I had gone through 8 chapters of the textbook. My exam had only been over the first 4. Upon noticing this, I pulled my phone from my bag to check the time- surely to go through 8 relatively dense chapters would have taken hours. Time must have slipped by me. But it was dead. It had been on full charge when I had left my room.

I took a deep breath and furrowed my brows before slowly packing my things away. I had realized I had no idea what time it was- no clue as to how much time had passed or how exactly I had gone through 8 chapters. As I passed by the desk, I saw the librarian again, still sorting through books.

“Excuse me,” I had asked. I cleared my voice- my mouth was dry and my throat was drier. I had become suddenly aware of my intense thirst. “Can you tell me what time it is?”

She looked up at me. Her eyes were a shade of green I had never seen before. She was maybe mid-30’s, jet black hair tied in a bun. Her lips were thin, and the outside corners of her ears seemed sharper than normal.

“The time, please.” I repeated, voice croaking.

She sighed visibly and took irritated steps to a computer that sat at the desk. “You students should know the rules of the library by now. Either get an adjusted Iron-Watch from Cat-Eyes or run the risk of opening the door to a world you weren’t in before.” She said the words as she typed furiously on the computer, eyes trained on the screen.

“…Excuse me?” I asked, completely dumbfounded. She stopped her typing for a moment, darting her eyes at me.

“You’re a freshman, aren’t you?” She had asked.

“Uh-yes. I am.”

Her face had softened a little, and for a moment I thought I had seen her eyes flicker to a bright golden color. Then I blinked, and they were back to normal.

“Here. Take this.” She said, pulling out a pamphlet from the desk and holding it out in the air in front of her. I was a few steps away from her, and in my groggy state it took a moment for me to process what she wanted. She shook the paper at me, a non-verbal “hurry up” and I took a few quick steps towards her, taking the rather thick pamphlet. It was dark blue and titled “Library Services at Elsewhere University: A Guide and Compendium.” She went back to typing.

“Don’t read it now, but know that time is never promised here. Quick things though: avoid the seventh floor unless you are willing to risk the consequences. If a book is overdue, you can pay by cash, check, or by having blood drawn at the monthly blood donations. We don’t take credit cards. Keep your iron on you. Don’t write your name in any of the borrowing ledgers you might see. We don’t actually own any ledger books, all of our borrowing records are digital, so if you do, whatever happens is on you. If you hear singing, don’t follow it. If you hear a group of people far away, speaking in whispers in a language that sounds like Swedish, don’t follow it. If you hear a voice whispering your name, follow it if you wish, but no that we do not take liability for items, belongings, limbs, or personalities that are lost as a result. It will be easy to lose track of time in the languages section. The Slavic language section is particularly ruthless.” She was still typing as she spoke, and continued to do so after she finished, for at least five minutes more. I wanted to ask what anything she had said meant, but I was so tired. I just wanted to know the time.

“Is it… is it hard to find the time on that computer?”

“Calculations must be made accordingly.” She said matter-of-factly. After a few more moments and final flourishing click, she smiled softly. “Lucky for you, we’re still in the same day. Can’t say that happens for everyone. The time is 2:37 pm. Have a nice day.” With that, she stood and walked back to her books.

I thought for a moment. I had left my dorm at 2 pm sharp. How had I gone through eight chapters in 30 minutes? I stood considering it for a few more moments and walked away, slowly.

When I stepped into the sun, my lethargy dissipated. I was ravenous though, as if it truly had been hours since my last meal, instead of only 30 minutes. My stomach growled audibly.

I needed to go home.

——

Vector and I began to talk about the “Fair Folk” on campus that we had been hearing about. They called them other things- Fae, The Gentry, The Court. She was a stern disbeliever, and laughed at it all. I wish I had been as stubborn as her.

——

The first One I met was Jimothy. His gentle nature had been a blessing.

It had been almost dusk, and I was leaving the engineering building from a group project. I took a path I don’t usually take, but one that was still in the full light of the setting sun. It took me past a small courtyard populated by small trees that casted sparse shadows on the ground. Usually, there weren’t many people there, so I didn’t pay it much mind. But this time, there was a crowd of people in one of the corners of the courtyard. I stopped my hurried strides to look at what the commotion was about.

Something dark was in the corner, something large and black. There were students around it, laughing. They seemed happy. Curious, I took a few steps closer, until I was on the outside ring of people.

Once I had seen it clearly, I was much too frozen to scream.

It was a monster, is all I could call it back then. Now I know that while Jimothy may appear terrifying, he’s the farthest thing from a monster. Many humans are more monstrous than he is. But I didn’t know these things at the time.

He was big. And his spine was exactly that- jet black bones set in a sickening curve, held together by who-knows-what. The spine led to a pair of monstrously large things that seemed to be hooves. It’s body looked like it was made of stretched leather, a clear imprint of ribs where it’s chest should have been. It stood on all fours, it’s hooves and two long, thin arms that spindled into even thinner claws. It had a neck that was impossibly curved, and it led to a bald head that was completely devoid of eyes. It did have a mouth though, a yawning gaping maw that housed, from what I could see then, several rows of glistening, white canines. Even with all this, the most curious thing I saw was an abundance of what looked to beads that hung from his neck and around his claw-hands.

I saw a kid at the front hang some beads in front of the creature’s face. How the thing saw it, I didn’t know, but slowly, it raised one of its claws and plucked the beads from the student’s outstretched hands. It seemed to inspect them for a moment before it lifted them above its head and let it drop around neck, along with the others. It then reached inside of its own mouth and plucked away a tooth with the utmost ease, handing it to the kid who had given the beads.

“Thanks Jim!” The student had said, content. I stayed long enough to watch the process happen twice more, disbelief in my eyes, fear written in my throat. Then, with one quick movement, I turned and ran, all the way back to my dorm. I did not stop to breathe, or think, or talk.

I didn’t even stop long enough to see the three crows perched in a tree of the courtyard.

————–

“You saw one of them, didn’t you.” I heard Azriel’s voice say. I had returned to an empty room and pushed myself to my bed, face in the pillow, and hadn’t moved since. She had come into a dark room and hadn’t bothered to turn the lights back on.

I didn’t respond.

“Was it Jimothy? Big black thing, sharp teeth? Loves beads? He’s one of the only ones I can think of that would come out in such broad daylight.”

I lifted my head slightly to look at her. I looked a mess- hair tangled in front of my face, eyes red from the tears I had cried, shaking. “You know about them? They’re real?”

I saw her nod slowly.

“How?”

“I uh, had a brother that went here. He was Involved. More than he should have been. He taught me a lot.”

“In-involved? In what? Like, clubs?”

She smiled slightly, and I her eyes changed colors for a long time. I hadn’t doubted myself that time. I knew what I had seen. I didn’t bring it up though.

“Áurea, we have a lot to talk about.”

——

Halfway into the semester, I knew the Gentry. By then, I had mustered up the courage and traded beads with Jimothy. I had stumbled upon and subsequently avoided Anna Monday. I knew about the creature underneath the condemned building. I carried salt and sweets on my body at all times, and though I hadn’t had a reason to use it, I kept my iron on at all times. I was determined to not become Involved. Azriel and I had grown closer since that night- and I knew there was something off about her. Something not right. Something Else. I felt safe, though.

That would not be so for long.

-Oliver Scales

#aurea #azriel #the crows #to be favored #the library #jimothy my sweet child!#oliver scales #stories #submission

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soprano193 · 7 years ago

Text

100 Ways to Say... (43/100)

So this isn't even done... I had originally picked a different sentence, but here I am, 4,500 words in, and I am not even halfway done. The good news is, I am working on the second half, with a different sentence. I have it all planned out, actually! I don't know when it will be posted, because I am slowly working on it for camp nanowrimo. So it isn't done yet. BUT, I won't post anything else here until the second part is done, so I don't mess with continuity. Wit all that said and done, enjoy!

Next door neighbors in the suburbs AU.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.

Ricky Rogers had been in Katie’s life for as long as she could remember. From the moment she was born, Ricky was never too far away. His Mom, Martha, lived next door, and worked all the time, so Katie’s Mom used to watch him for free. It was like growing up with a slightly older brother.

Her first concrete memory is of him crying. He had spilled his milk all over his clothes. Her Mom had a lot, but she didn’t have a key to his house. It was the one day Martha didn’t pack extra clothes. So he was wearing her shirt, one with yellow sunflowers on it, crying about wanting his solar system shirt back. She tried to distract him by pulling him out to the sand pit in her backyard. “Sandcastle?” As she spoke she offered him the bucket. “Build here.” When he took the bucket, she kneeled down and started to dig the moat.

It took him some time to join her, but soon he was down in the dirt next to her. “Want help?”

“Yes please.” She filled his bucket with the excess sand from the moat. After a few moments of silence, she looked up, grinning at him. “You’re okay. Don’t be sad. Sandcastle.”

He turned the bucket over in response, the sand crumbling at the edges. “Thanks, Katie. I’m not sad anymore.” He poked some holes in the top of their sand mound, like windows, and grinned. “Who lives here?”

“Hmmmm.” Katie bit her lip as she thought. “A Princess and her Knight.”

At her words, he leapt up, his feet kicking sand into their moat. “Let’s play pretend! I’m a Knight.”

“I’m the Princess!” She joined in, standing with him. She only gave herself a moment to laugh before pointing at a tree behind him. “Help! Monster! Get it, Knight!”

“I’ll save you!” He shouted as he ran off, pretending to fight whatever imaginary creatures she came up with. He ran around so much, he didn’t even hear when Katie’s Mom yelled that his shirt was all done. Instead he spent his day rescuing his closest friend. A few of the monsters, Katie got herself. She loved teaching him the best way to defeat a porch monster and a garden ghoul. The swing monster almost got them both. Never once did she think that a Princess couldn’t save the day. Sometimes though, she needed help from her brave Knight.

Saturdays were the days she looked forward to most. Saturdays were Martha’s day off, which meant the roles were reversed. Katie’s Mom would go out and do the errands that she couldn’t do while Ricky was at the house. Katie’s Dad usually worked. Which meant that Katie got to go spend time at Ricky’s house.

His house was so cool. There were more musical instruments than Katie thought existed. Martha always let them play with each one, and she taught them the history behind them as they played. Also, Martha’s dress up trunk marveled any other one Katie had ever seen in her short life. But to top everything off, Ricky had a pretty amazing treehouse.

Katie never found out who built the treehouse. It had been there as long as she could remember. It was pretty high up in the tree, an old rope ladder the only way to get up. Once inside, they had a view of the forest that seemed to go on for miles. The cramped space was filled with books and art supplies that kept them busy for hours. Martha even let them color on its walls. They covered the inside of that treehouse with doodles and designs, and random splashes of color, as tall as they could reach.

Over time, they filled in that empty space at the top. Their hands grew steadier, the drawings more concrete. Once in a while, a math problem showed up whenever they ran out of scrap paper. Katie knew one day they would grow to be too tall to stand straight up. Ricky was already getting to the point where he had to hunch over. It started to amuse her, once she realized they had spent their whole lives there.

In school they sort of ran in separate circles. Ricky made friends who were other boys, who enjoyed playing King of the Rock and having races. Katie spent more time with the girls in her class, making clubs and playing make believe. It seemed like such a natural progression, she didn’t feel like she was missing anyone. She still saw him on the bus, when he sat next to her. On Saturdays she still went to his house, where Martha taught them duets on the piano and they played in his treehouse. On Sundays he came to her house for the sand pit and make believe, usually with a bouquet of hand-picked flowers in his hand for their table. He was still her best friend.

It was the summer before freshman year that he asked for help in the treehouse. “I need to get some of the junk out.”

She regarded him with a wary look. “Our crafts?”

His blue eyes grew wide as he vehemently shook his head. “Of course not! Those will stay forever as far as I am concerned. But there are toys and books up there that I haven’t looked at in years that need to come down. It will free up some space.”

It had been getting cramped, now that they both were almost full grown. Whoever built it had children in mind, and not the young adults that they had become. “I have some free time. I could come after dinner?”

He laughed, his eyes softening. “I think this will be a really long process. Can you stop by tomorrow?”

“Sure!” As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she realized she had no clue what the plans were, and she did need to double check with her parents. “At least, I’m pretty sure. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay. See you soon!” He hugged her at the point where their properties met, and she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. Before long they had parted ways, each going into their respective houses.

She headed over the next day, dressed in her cleaning clothes, a black bandana keeping her hair out of her eyes. She headed straight for the treehouse, the sound of him whistling drawing her nearer. She yelled to let him know she was there and not to climb down, and started climbing that old rope ladder up to meet him.

Inside she found him surrounded by piles and piles of books. “What are you doing?” She teased as she squeezed in next to him.

“I’m trying to separate them by age range.” The one he held in his hand was Goodnight Moon, a book she didn’t even realize was still up there. “We’ve never done this, and Mother doesn’t come up here, so there is lots of clutter.”

Looking around she could see he was right. A doll sat in the corner that she hadn’t touched since she was ten. And etch-a-sketch on the windowsill still had his sad attempt at a circle. The bins filled with matchbox cars and baseball cards were old too. She couldn’t remember the last time she had looked through those. She pulled the box of cards closer to her and pulled off the cover. “Can I have these? My Dad would like them.”

Ricky shrugged. “Most of them were yours anyway. I never liked baseball as much as you.”

She muttered out a thanks before scooching toward the door. But it was once she got there that she realized the problem. “Uh, Ricky? I don’t feel comfortable crawling down one handed.”

He didn’t look up as she spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how am I supposed to climb down this ladder with a box in my hands?”

This piqued his attention, and he put the books down and crawled over to her. “No, you won’t have to. See this?” He pointed to a pulley that was hanging below the door, something she had never noticed before. “Mother and I used it when we filled it the first time. She filled a box and lifted it, I unloaded it up here. We can do the same thing to clean it out.” He pointed to the one large box that was already in the treehouse. “We can use this to get everything down once we have it all together.

“And one of us can fill boxes on the ground and send the big empty one back up.” She finished for him, catching on to his plan. They shared a smile, the connection between them clear, and they both moved to different ends of the treehouse. Ricky stayed near the books while Katie started looking at the art supplies. Anything broken or dried out got thrown in a trash bag. She sorted the crayons, chalk, and markers into separate boxes. She got rid of paper product warped by water. And then she just crawled around collecting trash.

Between both of them, it took three days to clean all the stuff they didn’t want any more out. Martha took loads every day to the dumpster or to donation centers. With more room, they found themselves enjoying the treehouse again. Now that they were older, they enjoyed it in a different way. Ricky became Rick, and started writing short stories. He would sit up there with his head in his hands, the notebook on the side of him as he worked through writer’s block. Katie would read through and offer suggestions. She started bringing her own books up with her to read while he was stuck, sometimes reading out loud to give him ideas. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn’t. He let her do it all the same.

The week before starting freshman year, they watched the stars together through the little window. They sat against the wall, her head on his shoulder, while he pointed out constellations. He knew what he was talking about, and his confidence gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. So she stopped him by lifting her head from his shoulder to look in his eyes. “Will you bring girls up here on dates?” His eyebrows scrunched together as he narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out where her question came from. “Just because this would be, like, the perfect free date. And I just got this image of you up here with girls, and I don’t want to crawl up here to visit you just to find you kissing someone else.”

He laughed then, shaking his head. “What? No. That’s insane.”

“But it’s not insane! You have this space up here that is pretty private, your Mom never comes up here, and it would be the perfect place to bring a girl.”

He chuckled, the tiniest shake of his head calming her down. “No. It’s insane because I don’t bring anyone up here.”

Her mind went over their fourteen year friendship, as she racked her brain for a name. “Anyone?” She asked as she came up empty handed.

“Well. I don’t anymore. I tried once.” Whatever look she had on her face must have amused him, because he laughed. “Not a girl! I promise!” He leaned back against the wall. “No, not a girl. It was Dylan Cummings, in second grade. He came up and wanted to add some drawings to the wall. I wasn’t watching, he started to draw over your princess.” Her eyes drifted to the spot on the wall where her large Princess was, dressed in a blue dress, a spiky yellow crown on her head. “I stopped him, but I told him it was your picture. He didn’t care, he thought his was cooler. So I made him get out.” As he spoke, she resettled against his shoulder. “I decided this was our place. No one else needed to come up here.”

At his words, she smiled against his shoulder. “I like our place.” They stayed in relative silence for a bit, listening to the crickets.

It was Rick who broke the silence this time, shifting his weight so he could look down on her. “Did you get your class list yet?”

“No.” She lied. She already knew they didn’t have classes together. They’d been together every year with the exception of seventh grade. She didn’t like the idea of taking classes separate. “I think I’ll get it in the office on the first day.”

“What if we don’t have a class together?” His voice was softer, broken in a way, and it made her heart clench.

“We’ll have lunch. And weekends. I’ll still be next door.”

He resettled, his arms crossing over his chest. “You’re right. Nothing will change.

But it did change a little bit. They barely saw each other. Their classes had separate lunch periods. Their interests were different. Rick joined the school newspaper and creative writing club, while Kate took up track and field and model debate. They didn’t always take the bus home together, sitting side by side. Sometimes they skipped hanging out on weekends because they had too much homework. Of course, they were still friendly when they passed each other in the hallway. But every time he passed, Kate felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She found herself looking out her window at his treehouse and wondering if he was up there, working on his latest story.

It surprised her the week before school let out for the summer, when he approached her after his lunch period. “Hey, Kate, I have to tell you something.”

She hugged her books closer and pulled him to the side of the hallway, so he was out of the way. “Okay. Shoot.”

She could see him bite the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drifted down to the floor. “It’s just…” He fought to get the words out, his feet shuffling as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “The first day of summer vacation. Can we maybe do something? Just the two of us?”

Taking in his body language and awkward question, Kate’s mouth fell open. “Richard Rogers, are you asking me on a date?”

His head fell again and she couldn’t see his face. “Something like that, I guess.”

A million thoughts went through her head. First and foremost being that he was almost like a brother to her, and that was weird. But she also kept drifting back to the summer before, sitting up in that treehouse with him, resting on him, the jealousy she felt at even the idea of another girl up there with him. She didn’t want to ruin what they had. But she couldn’t see herself with anyone else. “Let’s do it.”

He looked up at her, nodding, but he didn’t seem as excited as she was. No, instead he looked nervous, his face paler than she’d ever seen it. “Okay. Great. I’ll meet you at your place.” His shoulders hunched up as he turned, running to his next class.

She didn’t see him again for that last week of school. He caught rides with some of his friends from the newspaper, she would get picked up by her mother. In a way, Kate liked that more. It built the anticipation.

He showed up at her house at four the day of their date. He was dressed in a nice button down shirt, a bouquet of hand-picked flowers in his hand. As Kate opened the door, he thrust his hand forward. “I picked these for your table.”

Kate could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, and she bit back the giant grin that was threatening to make her look like a fool. “Thank you.” She responded, taking them from him and leading him to the kitchen.

Her Mom met them in there. She was preparing dinner, her case files open on the counters as she tried to multi-task. As if she had eyes in the back of her head, she whirled around as they entered, a grin on her face that made Kate turn red from embarrassment. “Hello Ricky, it’s so nice to see you again! What are the plans for tonight?”

“Well, I was thinking of going to Anne’s for some ice cream, then a concert on the common, and maybe some stargazing.” At the word ‘stargazing,’ Kate’s heart began to flutter as she remembered that night almost a year before.

Johanna just nodded, leaning against the counter. “And she’ll be home by ten?”

He nodded once. “Yes ma’am.”

This caused her mother to laugh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed. “Please, Ricky, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’”

“Don’t call me ‘Ricky’ and I’ll drop the ‘ma’am’.”

Johanna reached for his hand and shook it firmly, her jaw set, but a smile creeping into the corners of her mouth. “Deal.” She looked at the clock before flicking a towel in their direction. “Now go! It’s getting late. Have fun!”

Kate locked hands with Rick as they ran out of the house. “Bye, Mom!” She called over her shoulder.

Anne’s was the best small town ice cream shop in the state. All the ice cream was made by hand, and they had all the staple toppings. The stand was small, with plenty of open field space to sit, along with a few tables and a fenced in area for especially buggy nights. They got theirs to go, choosing to walk with it to the downtown common.

Rick was uncharacteristically quiet. It made her uncomfortable. He had trouble meeting her eyes as she spoke, and the rare smiles he gave her held just the tiniest hint of sadness.

She didn't get the chance to ask him about it. Her words were cut off by the community band, a sweeping start to their opening number, including the trilling piccolos. This kind of stuff drew him in. Martha was a music teacher, and his house was almost never silent. He always knew every song the bands were playing without the aid of a program. He also had quite a bit of knowledge about musical theater. It was just one of those quirks about him that Kate had begun to find interesting.

On their walk back to his place, he talked about the final issue of the school newspaper, and what it was like to earn that coveted, and of the year interview with the Principal. When he began to talk about his creative writing club though, his face out up, more than it had all night. “Tell me about the story you're working on now.” Kate requested, hoping it would loosen him up.

It seemed to work. It was a high school story with a cheating scandal, where friendships were tested and strengthened. He grew more excited as he told her about the characters, continuing to look behind him to gauge her reactions as they walked through his backyard. “There’s Henry who is kind of like me. Creative and kind of a slacker, who would rather draw pictures in class than take notes.”

Kate called out to him as he climbed the ladder ahead of her. “Do you write stories during class?”

He leaned over the edge and smirked down at her as she climbed up. “I'm gonna plead the fifth on that, counselor.”

When she reached the top, she found him leaning against some pillows, his eyes trained on the sky through the window. Crawling over to him, she found the spot next to him set up just right so she could squish right into his side and still have plenty of room. Kate didn’t know anything about what she was looking at. She could find Orion, but so could everyone else. She loved doing this with Rick because he could identify more constellations than anyone she knew. He told their stories with such detail, no book ever did it the same way. Even Rick never told the same story the same way. It never felt like they were doing the same thing again.

Today Rick didn’t talk about the constellations. Instead, he talked about the character in his book that he based off of her. “Her name is Alison. Ali for short. She looks like you. I picture her looks on your face when I write her.” His arm tightened around her. “She and Henry have been friends since kindergarten. He tells her everything. She is his rock throughout this whole scandal. In fact, because she knows he didn’t cheat, she’s been helping to tutor him all along because she’s smart. She wants to be the first female Chief Justice just like you.”

Kate laughed, pulling her head off his shoulder. “So basically, you just put me in a book and changed my name?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that okay?”

She grinned. “I think it’s great. I’m honored to be a part of something so great.” She watched him as his eyes drifted from her eyes, down to her mouth, and back up again. Subconsciously, Kate pulled her lips between her teeth, her stomach filling with butterflies as she looked away from him. He seemed equally as uncomfortable, and switched the conversation to Cassiopeia. Which then shifted to the valiant rescue of Andromeda by Perseus.

Hearing him describe this rescue brought her back to the days of make believe in the sand pit. “You used to rescue me from monsters.”

He chuckled. “Plenty of times you rescued yourself. You didn’t need my help.”

“Yeah, but the sentiment was nice.”

They laughed together, and she saw his eyes again drift down to her mouth. It made her heart pound in her head, and her hands shake, but before long she was leaning forward, her mouth puckered and her eyes closing as she braced for impact.

He spoke before it happened. “I’m moving.”

It felt like the world had stopped. As she backed away from him, the butterflies in her stomach turned into emptiness. “Moving? To where?”

His shoulders slumped. “New York City. Mother got a part on Broadway.”

She moved so she wasn’t touching him, her arms dropping to her sides. A part on Broadway, that was what would take her best friend from her. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Martha went to auditions all the time. But for fifteen years she had been the town’s elementary school music teacher, and at some point, Kate stopped believing it could happen. “When?” It was all she could make sense of. Her head was screaming a million different questions.

“Two weeks.”

“So this wasn’t a date. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be a date.” She tried to hide the disdain in her voice, but it crept through anyway. “You let me think it was.”

“No! Well, yes, sort of, but no! I didn’t mean for it to go like this.” Under different circumstances, she would have laughed at him. The boy with the ability to string words together to tell stories she couldn’t even dream of was struggling to find them. “I wanted to tell you in the hall that day. But in the moment, I realized that this wasn’t news you dropped on your best friend in the middle of the day when we can’t talk about it. So I wanted to do it while we were alone.”

“On a date?”

“No! I didn't mean for this to be a date.” His words cut through her heart, and he must have seen her face crumple, because he started stammering all over again. “Wait, no, that's not what I meant! Can you let me explain?”

She scoffed, moving away from the spot he had set up for her, and sitting right under the window, so she could see him better, and get out easier if she needed to. “You better explain. Because I'm lost.”

His hands ran through his hair, and his eyes fixated on the sky above her as he planned out what he was trying to say. “Kate, I've wanted to ask you on a date since the last time we both sat up here together, stargazing. I was gathering the courage to.”

She watched as he shrunk, his shoulders sinking and his arms wrapping around his knees. “Why didn’t you?” She asked, her voice still accusatory.

“You started talking about me bringing other girls up here, like you and I weren’t even an option. And I started to doubt you saw me the same way I saw you. So I chickened out. Then we saw less of each other at school, and we didn’t get together every weekend like we used to. I didn’t think it was meant to be anymore.” He scratched the back of his head, and stretched out his muscles. “But then Mom got that part, and I realized how hard it was going to be, to live in a new place with you so far away. And I wanted to spend as much time as possible with you. When you suggested a date, I just went with it.”

She threw her head back until it thumped against the wall. “Worst first date ever. You didn’t even let me kiss you!” She chuckled, looking at him and shaking her head. “You’ve ruined me for boys for a bit.”

He laughed back, the corners of his mouth just starting to pull upwards. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t lie. Yeah you did.” He laughed then, and relief washed over her. The air cleared, she moved back over to her spot next to him. His arm wrapped around her, and he pulled her into his chest.

After a moment, he spoke. “We can still be friends, right? You can come visit me in the city whenever you want, Mother already agreed. And you can call me whenever. I’ll send a letter with my new number.”

This statement broke her a little, but she bit back her tears as she answered. “You’re my best friend. Always. You living in a different city won’t change that.” Even though it pained her that this would be nothing more, even she knew that long distance relationships never worked. Especially brand new ones.

“Good. I’m sorry about our date.”

“You would have had to tell me at some point.” They stayed there for only a few minutes more, until his watch beeped and told her it was time to go home.

The next day, she helped him move all of his things out of the treehouse, and helped box up his room. She returned almost every day for those two weeks to help. They never discussed their almost kiss. They didn’t talk about their failed date with anyone. He talked about the school he was going to in the city, she discussed joining the Model UN, and they both managed to avoid talking about their feelings.

The day he moved, he gave her a rough draft of his story, the one with the character based on her in it. He dedicated it to her, and put it in a binder so she could read it as many times as she wanted. He hugged her tight until it was time to leave. As he pulled away, Kate felt the ghost of his lips on the top of her head. She didn’t let the tears fall until the moving truck was out of sight.

#castle fanfic #Castle fanfiction #my fic #castle camp nano #100 ways to say #au #caskett #otp: under my skin

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seenashwrite · 8 years ago

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The Midwife: Part One

Status: Complete (1 of 4) Word Count: 3K Category: Mini-series; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Historical; Mystery; Teamwork; On-the-hunt Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Various O.C.s; References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: None Overall Summary: In the mid-1950s, a member of the New York City chapter of the Men of Letters is sent to the United Kingdom to assist with what appears to be another stack of cold case dead-ends, when he suddenly finds himself questioning one of his closest-held convictions.

*~* The Midwife : Master Post *~*

There was once a small pocket of unmoved time in Kansas, about half a century's worth, and it came to an end simply, no magic required. A turn of a key in a lock, two sets of steps across a threshold, then it was over, just like that. Simple maneuvers were in contrast with the Men of Letters' old hat routine but the new occupants of their abandoned shelter under Lebanon favored such actions when they had the option.

These legacies were not alone in that position, though they may have found the premise hard to swallow as the years went by, as their knowledge grew. Their encounters with a few of the more interesting members of their inherited fraternity would have done little to convince them otherwise. Seeing is believing, and what-have-you.

Proof. Tangibility. Something solid, something that could be held in the hand, studied, documented. Rumor meets research meets methodology. Hunter meets weapon meets monster. So, in that respect, more Men of Letters than not.

No one would have faulted the Winchester brothers for missing the typewriter at the very back of the lowest, farthest space, under the rotting table, inside the water-damaged and disintegrating box, completely covered by shadows and cobwebs in that brick-walled cellar of a storage room.

Perhaps some fault - they had lived there for years by the time the typewriter's keys began to move for the first time in decades - maybe that room should have long been discovered, its items sorted. The youngest would have found the books of value, slightly molded as they were. The eldest most assuredly would have found the vintage weaponry of interest, if not use.

Should they ever go hunting in their home, and should that hunt take them to the dark corner, and the box, and the rusted device, a yellowed paper wrapped on the roll, filled with words in faded ink would await them, though they'd need to be timely: things of such nature do eventually tend to fall to pieces.

Kendricks Academy, just outside London - 1956

I've heard it said that if you question your own sanity, then the thought in-and-of itself means you're not. Insane, that is. I found that reasonable, though I suspected many a lunatic had to have felt it creeping on, so reason, yes; comfort, no.

Burt flicked a tiny paper ball across the huge library table to get my attention, and I tilted my head slightly in his direction, met mischievous eyes with my own, ones I suspected were dull and glazed-over and a step shy of insanity. A small snicker was my confirmation, and it was quickly shifted into a mild throat-clearing when our monotone host glanced over his shoulder in our direction. Undeterred, the long, thin stick in his hand went back to pointing - poking, really - at the projected data on the wall, the droning getting right back on track.

This was how I'd die.

He was such a promising young man, they'd write. Twenty-four, taken long before his time, found still sitting up in the chair, his beloved research scattered around him. He is survived by an incredibly angry fiancée, bereft over the meticulously-yet-indecisively-planned wedding that shall never occur. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in his name to the Men of Letters, United Kingdom Headquarters, London. Please earmark as funding for booze-filled credenzas in all meeting rooms.

It wasn't just the London chapter - my home chapter in New York City was filled with fellows who could bore with the best of them, and though I loved my job, this assignment was working my nerves. I'd thought my breaks in the cold cases department - especially the last one - would send me into the more active areas of our duties. Active without action, for the most part, but I would've happily taken it.

Instead they’d sent the Lily Sunder investigation on without me, then sent me across the pond, a stack of ice-colds awaiting me in the United Kingdom. And, of course, the not-so-brief briefings delivered in succession by brethren who grew increasingly brain-numbing. Thank heavens for Burt.

Per usual, he seemed to take everything in stride, easygoing to a fault. He was only around five years my senior, though his somewhat girthy physique and heavily balding scalp made him look older. And while he supported me in my desire to see what else our secret society had to offer, he seemed perfectly content languishing with the cold cases.

Even the fact that we'd been boarded at the school didn't seem to faze him, thin mattresses and bland food be damned. His pockets were always filled with candy, a bit grandfatherly, but I found myself grateful. I'd taken to munching whenever he did, and after almost three weeks, my waistband had started to protest - made sense why Burt was perpetually suspendered. Still, I took the offered piece of wax-wrapped taffy as we walked back to the dormitory.

"No more bubblegum?" I asked, pulling the sticky wad in two before I stuck it in my mouth.

"Nah," Burt replied, talking around an entire piece of taffy settled into his cheek, where it was causing a giant bulge. "Got in my mustache the other day."

"Stop blowing bubbles."

"Then what's the point, Jacky?"

"Got me."

"Say, you heard anything from home?"

"Colleen changed her bouquet again."

"I meant Lily."

"No, lilies were three bouquets ago."

"The Sunder case, you moron."

"Ah. No. Last time I asked, Peterson said it was now 'eyes only'." I capped off my response with rolled eyes, then went ahead and stuffed the other half of the taffy in my mouth. Burt knew better. I hated talking about it.

"Still makes me mad," he replied in a sympathetic tone.

"Nothing makes you mad."

"Well, that did! Jack, you're the one that found the lead, confirmed the Canada sighting---"

I sighed. "Burt---"

"And for pity's sake, the Nephi---"

I hocked my taffy into a nearby bush before I stopped in my tracks, turned, gripped his forearm. "Burt!" I hissed, glancing up and down the walkway.

Smatterings of students were still lingering and walking about, most headed into the common areas or their next class. And though we were outside, I still couldn't believe he was speaking so loudly, so casually. Saying that word aloud at all.

Burt's brow creased slightly and those always-rosy cheeks pinked up a notch, but then he swallowed his taffy and grinned. "Wanna skip that lukewarm, eighty-percent-dough-shepherd's pie in the canteen, head to a pub? I know one that serves actual hot meals, overfill the pints...." He trailed off in a slightly sing-song voice, wiggled his eyebrows so much they almost hit the rim of his cap.

I sighed again, then shrugged my shoulders. "Why not?"

It wasn't simply that they'd taken what I'd come to consider my case away from me. It was the nagging feeling I had that despite the fact Sunder had caused no harm to civilians to our knowledge - well, excepting herself - the Men of Letters' continued interest in her was more than just loose-end tying. No reason but the pangs in my gut to think it was some kind of vendetta. Then they'd allowed more and more access to the files once my early, modest hypothesis showed promise, and I'd stumbled upon quite the reason during a fact-finding mission to the chapter house in Kansas.

House. Ha. Basement, more accurately, and the cold case guru there, Haggerty, was so excited to have company he would've let us redecorate the place in pastels if we'd asked nicely enough. Anything to keep me and Burt there longer, keep him occupied.

He was one of the more enthusiastic members, reminded me a lot of my father, truth be told. More into the metaphysical than I was, sure, but with a logical mindset. I understood why I'd been ordered to consult with him, given the nature of Sunder's appearance in the grainy photograph we'd obtained. The professor hadn't aged a day since the time she'd disappeared from what was left of her life, and our working theory was witchcraft.

Witchcraft didn't just mean magic in my business; it was one of several sub-classifications under the magical umbrella. And if you wanted the skinny on the workings of witches, you called on Haggerty. Even though he'd retired not long after we'd met, he never hesitated to get back in touch with any thoughts he had on the ideas I'd written to him about, the more far-fetched ones I'd want to bounce off of someone before writing them up for field work consideration. Besides Burt, he was the most open-minded member of our little club. At least, that I'd ever encountered.

Which was why I was glad it was just Haggerty in the room with me when I'd had to sit down due to my shock, right there on the concrete floor, deep in the bowels of that small-town basement, just to the front of the rickety file cabinet I'd been plundering.

"You okay, kid? What's that you got there?" he'd asked.

In reply, I'd simply held out the folder to him when he'd come over and stooped down beside me.

He'd let out a low whistle, went from a stoop to taking a knee as he flipped through the papers. "This must've come from your neck of the woods, you know," he'd said cautiously. "Not sure I know how an old northeast recruitment file would've ended up here."

I knew.

They'd chalk it up to a mistake if I'd asked, a clerical error fifty-some-odd years gone, that the documentation should've gone to storage with anything else not germane to the ongoing nature of our work. Besides, they would say, it doesn't matter to the case, didn’t change the goal. Lily Sunder needed to answer for her meddling in otherworldly affairs, she needed to be monitored, needed to be questioned on her intentions.

But the truth was obvious - to me, to Burt, to Haggerty - that the real reason the file had been sent away from the New York house all those years ago was because they were embarrassed.

Sunder had refused no less than fourteen separate invitations to join the Men of Letters before the turn of the century. They'd been after her research talents since she was barely into adulthood, based on her early work in apocalyptic studies. They got more aggressive once her teaching career took off, and - judging by the verbiage in the copies of the letters they'd sent and the documentation of multiple recruitment trips to Maine - they were practically salivating over the thought of having a bonafide angel expert in their ranks.

"I still think it's why the Moles sent us here," Burt was saying, using our pet name for the ancient, die-instead-of-retire administrators in the Men of Letters.

He took large swig of beer to wash down the meat-and-two veg he'd just polished off. The rationing from the war had ended in the not-so-distant past, and it seemed all the cooks in the land - excepting the ones back at Kendricks, that is - were excited to get to do things up right again. Not that I had much of an appetite, but if we'd had to be banished, it had come at an ideal time, at least in that respect.

"We weren't banished."

Oh. I must've said that part aloud.

"Eat your food."

Burt was channeling his mother then - I knew because of the full British accent on all three words. His father was an American Mole, while his mother was the daughter of a very well-respected professor at Kendricks, not to mention all the uncles and cousins on both sides. Their family visited London for several months each year, so between that and hearing his mother every day, he was good for the occasional drift from American English, though he’d let loose around me from the jump.

There was some beef that kicked up off-and-on between the American and British leadership, and I never got invested, but a few of the older members in New York would dole out side-eyes and huffs at Burt's sporadic "pints" at "pubs", "mash" and "chips". It was more than the accent thing, though.

He kept close to the vest in general. I think because they weren’t shy about their resentment - some odd contempt for him for not being more of a go-getter, double legacy and all. Though about all that pedigree garbage, Burt couldn't have cared less.

They didn’t know how hard he worked behind the scenes, how much Burt cared about our mission. Not how I knew. And I also knew how much he cared for me.

So I obeyed, eating a few bites of some of the best fish I'd probably ever had, and he went on.

"I'm telling you, them pulling us out here right after Sunder? It's not a coincidence. Tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

I set down my fork, wiped my mouth, then looked at him as seriously as I could manage. "If I think too much about it, I'm going to get mad. Besides, she's not out here, and they know it. She may've been, but it's not as if there's any way to determine it - she's been running since Zeppelins were all the rage. I don't know what it is, but it's not Sunder."

Burt pulled his small, leather-bound notebook from his inside pocket and untied the strings, ready to make his case. I started stuffing carrots I didn't want into my mouth so I wouldn't slip from my current irritation at his pressing into that anger I'd just warned him about. My best friend was an absolute mule.

"Wales: Llandudno - old Liddell summer home location - nothing. Cairnholm - what was left of the Peregrine house - mild trace. You know how many kilometers we covered in Wales, total?"

"No idea, but I bet you---"

"Nine-hundred eighty-seven-point-eight, Jacko. You know how many miles that is?"

"Burt, are you going to be arriving at a point anytime in the near---"

"Then here," he continued, flipping a page. "Bloomsbury - former home of the Darlings - mild trace. All those random train depots - all the tunnels, ALL of them, Jack---"

"I was there," I said, downing the last quarter of my pint quicker than I should've, mentally crossing my fingers that his end point would have an actual theory behind it this time.

"---and we only confirmed potential - just potential - trace on one."

"You do recall when they ponied up about already knowing all this? I wanted to punch that guy."

"The short fella, the white-haired gentleman, who likely would've died on the spot if you had done?"

"Yup, that’s the one," I shot back casually, then glanced around. I caught our waitress' eye and held up my empty mug with what I hoped was a somewhat genuine smile. Burt was still going.

"All-in-all, not a definitive sign of an active hidey-hole to be found."

"I hate when you call them that."

"Window, door, aperture, passage, thinning, portal - still a hole. I stand by it."

"Fine."

"Kirke estate - every single room - not even a hint of anything."

"I'm going to rescind your best man status if you keep this up."

"Colleen can’t stand me, she'd be thrilled. Hell, Jack, make it her wedding present for all I care."

I frowned. “Jeez, Burt. What is with you?”

Then he frowned. “I was actually listening to their briefings. Were you?”

"Barely," I replied honestly. "They're sending us on follow-up field trips that first year initiates should be handling, and I actually miss our office and the city and my family and even that stupid tiny room in that overcrowded chapter house."

"And your fiancée."

I gave him a look. "I'm tired of chasing down what have always been children's stories with bits of truth in them somewhere. Bedtime tales that have been around long enough - plenty long enough - that if there were anything important to them, the Moles would've sussed it out when they were initiates."

Thankfully the waitress brought over our next round then, and I set into mine like a man just crawling in from the Sahara.

Burt huffed at that, then said, "Tomorrow's the first time we're going somewhere that's not a rehash. You didn't notice anything new and different about the briefing today?"

"That it's the closest I've gotten to empathizing with the undead."

He flipped his notebook around to face me and planted a finger above several sets of numbers. "Exact latitudes and longitudes, exact area of square kilometers to cover." He flipped another page. “And here's the inns we'll be staying in. We're gonna be gone for a few weeks, and I know it's not just a hop-skip from here, but this shouldn't take more than four or five days, give-or-take.”

I set my mug down slowly, scanning over the notes quickly. He was right. I raised my eyes to his. He grinned when he saw he finally had my interest.

“I think they might've been testing us with all this other stuff, make sure we were accurate on the traces we'd found, see how thorough we were in following up with any living witnesses, how detailed we were in reports. I think this trip is why we're here. Because if I wanted to whip up a nice little spread, keep people away from my hidey-hole? This is exactly the type of place I'd put it.”

I stared at him for a few moments, my normally whirring, ever-processing mind at a complete standstill.

Now he leaned in closer. “And I think I have an idea about how it connects to the Sunder case - to your theory.”

Burt wisely didn't say the word - though the volume of the pub's patrons would've likely drowned it out anyway - and instead just kept studying my face.

“Spit it out,” he finally ordered.

I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath, glancing down at the scribbled locales, then back up, obeying Burt once more.

“What in damnation do they think is out on the moors?"

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