#+ pretty stupid to spend so much money and resources on a game of men chasing around a ball in the midst of a climate crisis

[utvarpcity]

do find it pretty silly when ppl on here attempt to be righteous and Woke about whatever team they’re rooting for… mate if you really were Woke you wouldn’t be watching at all

[littlemisswolfie]

Hope That You Fall In Love (And It Hurts So Bad)

Part II>

Somehow I never posted this here oops--

I’ve always loved @umisabaku ‘s Designation: Miracle fic series on Ao3, and I love to see a half-Canadian protagonist in anime because no one ever thinks being half-Canadian is cool, so I love Sk8: The Infinity, and I figured, hey! Why not combine them! And this happened.

TW for  mentions of child experimentation and torture, a scene where it is heavily implied Nanako trades sexual favors in exchange for custody of Langa, a few scenes where Langa has nightmares, a brief moment of Langa having a panic attack, non-graphic descriptions of Oliver developing liver cancer, discussions of death and funeral arrangements, a non-graphic scene of Oliver dying, and the beginnings of Langa's depression.

Ao3

Hasegawa Nanako didn’t quite know what she was getting into when she got contracted by a private company straight out of nursing school. She was young and trusting and desperate for money after her parents died and left her with their debts, and the recruiter from Teiko Industries handed her a quote that was three times the average pay for nurses, so she took the job. She signed the stacks of NDAs, went through with the extensive background checks and drug tests, and underwent a psych evaluation before she even stepped foot into the lab that would change her entire life.

She wants to quit as soon as she figures out what was really going on. Human experimentation, torture, training children to be assassins… the whole thing makes her skin crawl. But, again, she really needs the money. No other job she could get right out of school would pay enough to chip away at her parents’ debt and pay for her apartment and car and food. So, with a heavy heart, she shows up for her shift five nights a week, and she’s assigned to the hospital ward that cared for Generation Infinity.

They’re the youngest generation so far. Eight years younger than Generation Miracle, which, Nanako learns from a particularly chatty coworker, was the most successful Generation by far. “They’re almost all Successes,” the other nurse says, cheery, like they’re talking about some sports game or a litter of kittens instead of living, breathing children. “They just had to scrap O394, but the others are all still promising. Well, maybe not B452, but still. That’s six out of fourteen! Imagine that.”

Nanako doesn’t want to imagine that. The thought makes her stomach churn. The casual talk of killing children…

“Maybe Infinity will be even better!” the coworker chatters on. “If our Orange Three can actually fly… think they’d give us a raise?”

*

The Project she sees most often during her shift is GI-B423.

Nanako knows there isn’t much hope for him. He’s only two years old, but he’s barely developed even the slightest invisibility. He doesn’t even display any Latent Overflow, which was supposed to be inherent in every Project. The scientists still make him wear the shock bracelets (horrible things, Nanako wanted to rip them off of him with her bare hands) and still send him to that torture chamber they stole from Orwell, but he’s already a Failure in their eyes.

To Nanako, he’s a baby. He’s tall for his age, with curious eyes and an unfillable stomach and a wonderful smile when she could wrench one out of him. He winds up in the hospital ward so often because of his reckless behavior. He tries to copy everything the other Projects do, particularly GI-O376’s jumping and GI-B531’s speed, and even when he doesn’t hurt himself trying something stupid, his heart rate elevates and he gets shocked.

“You should be more careful,” she says to him one night as she patches up a scratch he got when he scraped  his arm on the wall of his cell trying to touch the ceiling. “I’d hate to see them hurt you for being reckless.”

Those eyes, too smart for a toddler, stare into her soul. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it. Even if she didn’t care too much about this child who will probably be killed by the time he’s ten years old, it would be cruel to deny caring for a boy this young. And maybe she’s selfish, for feeling like this about GI-B423 and not the other children, but the scientists care about them plenty. They are Successes.

GI-B423 will never be a Success. So she has to care about him, because no one else will.

*

Nanako quickly comes to realize she’s one of the only people in Teiko that thinks of the Projects as human. This lets her see things no one else does.

So, a few years after she starts working, she notices GM-B425 is planning something.

She’s sure he’s fooling the others. The scientists and doctors and contractors think of these children as weapons, unfeeling, unthinking save for their direct orders. The Miracle Projects are generally allowed free reign of the facility as long as they stay out of the private offices and labs, so Nanako will take her time at the vending machines to watch them, and she notices the way GM-B452 watches everyone else. He’s the closest thing to a Success a Black will ever be, Nanako has heard, but he’s still going to be scrapped soon.

Nanako knows what desperation looks like.

She makes a choice.

*

“Let me get this straight,” says Honda-san, the director of Generation Infinity. He’s an older man, probably pushing sixty, with graying black hair and dark, mean eyes. He’s watched her with a predatory gaze from the first time they met when she first started. Nanako’s always known she’s a pretty woman, one of the few things her mother gave her, so it wasn’t like she was unused to attention from old, greasy men. “You want to resign, and instead of a severance package, you want to take GI-B423 with you?”

“Yes, sir.” Nanako’s wearing her best dress (and if it’s cut just low enough to be flattering, well, that’s just a bonus) and she did her make-up and she is being as polite as she can possibly be. “I’ve made more than enough money here to pay off my parents’ debts, and I was never cut out for work like this in the first place, so I see no reason to continue in my current position when you could hire someone more suited for the role.” She’s been saving since the day she started working. She never eats out, she doesn’t go out drinking, and she takes five minute showers. She’s debt-free, with savings to spare.

“And GI-B423?” Honda-san leans forward on his hands, his wrinkled brow furrowing further. “What use could he have to you?”

Nanako inhales and brings a hand to her stomach. “I’ll never be able to have children,” she says, the truth burning her throat. “I had to get a hysterectomy due to my endometriosis. I’ve come to care for GI-B423 as my own child, and you know as well as I do that he’ll never be a Success. If anything, he’s more noticeable than the other members of his Generation. Why spend the resources continuing to believe he’ll develop the abilities you would need him to? Why dissect him as if anything about him could better future Projects?” The words sting, tasting sour in her mouth. She hates saying these things about GI-B423, but it’s what she needs to do. “If you can get him on my family register, that’s all I ask. We’ll leave the country, and you’ll never hear from us again.”

Honda-san makes a considering noise, and, after a moment, he places his hand on her bare knee. His wedding band glints in the overhead light. “I might be persuaded.”

Nanako tries to smile.

*

Later that night, as Nanako is slipping her dress back up over her shoulders in the room of the love hotel Honda-san rented for the evening, Honda-san says, “What name did you want for him?”

“Langa,” Nanako says. “His name is Hasegawa Langa.”

*

Langa is confused, at first. “Where are we going?” he asks Nanako when she loads him and his meager belongings into her car. He’s never been out on a mission, so this is probably the first time he’s ever seen a car. “Does R0132 know where I am? He’ll get mad if I’m not at training.” He rubs at his wrists, finally free of those awful shock bracelets, like he can’t believe they’re gone.

“I don’t work here anymore,” she tells him. “I quit. Do you know what adoption means? It means I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

“So… I don’t live here?”

“No. And you’ll never have to do training again, or wear your shock bracelets, or go to Room 101. You can eat as much as you want. And you have a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes. Your name is Hasegawa Langa. You’re my son, now, and I’m your mother, and that means I’ll love you and take care of you for the rest of your life.”

Langa blinks. Then, he says, “Okay,” and he lets her buckle him in.

*

Two days later, they’re on a plane to Canada.

*

A month after that, nestled in their new apartment in Squamish, Nanako holds Langa in her lap and they watch, together, as Generation Miracle escapes from Teiko.

“Will they come for us, Mom?” Langa asks.

She squeezes him around the middle, perhaps a little too tight. “No, honey. As long as we keep our secret a secret, we’ll be fine.”

 Nanako hopes she’s right.

*

The military never ends up knocking on their door, and Nanako thanks God for small mercies. She and Langa are doing everything they can to blend in, like normal immigrants. Nanako’s working at a nursing home, and Langa is enrolled at the local Catholic school, and they both attend Mass on Sundays and Wednesdays. Nanako makes friends with the other women in the apartment building and she tells them all that Langa’s father got her pregnant and walked out on her, so that’s why he’s not in the picture, and Langa dutifully goes along with the sentiment when asked. Langa isn’t making a lot of friends, and that would worry Nanako, but mostly she’s glad that it means there’s no danger of Langa accidentally telling a kindergartener with no filter about his time at Teiko.

He still gets nightmares, sometimes. Nanako never saw the inside of Room 101, and she wishes Langa never had, either. She never let him see the press images of how the JSDF found Teiko when they went hunting for the scientists, because that would only make the fear worse. Hell, she woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, catapulted out of a dream of fire and screaming, bloody children, guilty that she couldn’t save the rest of them, guilty that she only loved Langa and not the others, and she’ll never make Langa feel that, too. He has enough on his shoulders as it is.

Then, for Langa’s first Christmas outside of Teiko’s walls, Nanako uses up all the PTO she’s saved and they take a trip to a ski lodge, and there they meet Oliver Campbell.

*

Oliver, as it turns out, also lives in Squamish, as he tells Nanako one night over boozy hot chocolate after Langa has been put to bed. “I’m a firefighter,” he says, “though, when I was younger, I wanted to be a pro snowboarder.”

“I could never,” Nanako laughs. “That’s a little too dangerous for me.” Then, because the alcohol makes speaking secrets easier, she says, “Langa would probably love it, though. He’s always been an adrenaline junkie.”

Oliver looks surprised. “He seems like such a quiet kid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him when he was—when we still lived in Japan. Scrapes and broken bones everywhere.”

“Well, then, he’s lucky he had such an amazing mother to patch him up.”

Heat floods Nanako’s cheeks. “What good would my nursing license do if I couldn’t even take care of my own kid?”

“And… Langa’s father?”

“Not in the picture. It’s just the two of us.” Please don’t ask anymore, she begs. There’s something about Oliver that makes her want to be completely honest, and that could end very, very poorly.

“Ah,” he says, instead, “I’m sorry about that. Wherever he is, he’s really missing out.”

Nanako thinks of Honda-san, of his leer and his sweaty hands and his potbelly dragging against her back, and says, “We’re better off without him, trust me.”

*

The next day, Oliver starts teaching Langa how to snowboard. Just like Nanako thought, he takes to it like a fish to water, and even when he falls, the snow cushions his landing, so he just laughs and jumps right back up to try again. She watches from the sidelines and smiles, feeling warm, because this is what Langa deserves. He deserves to be a normal kid.

*

“When are you guys going home?” Oliver asks over dinner one night, a few days into their stay at the ski lodge. They’re having breakfast for dinner, a phenomenon Langa was very pleased to learn about, and Nanako ordered him three helpings of Eggs Benedict.

Langa is too busy shovelling peameal bacon into his mouth like he’s never eaten in his life to answer, so Nanako says, “Boxing Day. We don’t have any family in the area, so we’re just doing Christmas here.”

Oliver leans back in his chair. “That reminds me! Why did you guys move here, anyway? If you don’t have family here, I mean.”

Langa only barely doesn’t tense up, and Nanako promises to give him extra dessert for his restraint. “We needed a fresh start,” Nanako says. “I got pregnant with him while I was still in nursing school, and by the time I graduated, my parents had both died, and I got saddled with their debts. We stayed in Japan long enough to pay the debts off and save enough money to move, and we just… left. Where we went didn’t matter much, honestly, as long as it wasn’t Japan.”

“Your English is pretty good,” Oliver notes. He genuinely just sounds curious. “Both of you, actually. If I didn’t know you were immigrants, I would think English was Langa’s first language.”

Langa swallows a huge mouthful of English muffin and egg and says, “I know French, too! And some other languages.”

Nanako takes back her internal promise of extra dessert as Oliver’s eyebrows migrate up towards his hairline. “That’s very impressive,” he says. “Where’d you learn all those?”

Langa shrugs. “Around.”

“We learn English all throughout school, in Japan,” Nanako cuts in. “When I knew we were going to move abroad, I taught Langa, too. And he started teaching himself French when we decided on Canada. He’s a quick study when it comes to languages.” Oliver still looks a little unsure, so she rushes to change the subject. “When are you leaving the lodge, Oliver?”

“I’m checking out of my room on Christmas Eve. My parents always throw a big Christmas party at their cabin in Princeton every year, with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. It’s a riot, especially when we play Pass the Ace.”

“Pass the Ace?” Langa asks. “What’s that?”

A playful glint enters Oliver’s eye. “Oh, Langa, my boy, do you have any loonies on you?”

*

The three of them spend the next few days together. Langa wakes Nanako up as soon as the sun rises and they go downstairs to meet up with Oliver, who spends the rest of the morning teaching Langa how to snowboard. Then they go to the bunny slopes to toboggan, and at night, they eat dinner together, and Oliver and Nanako stay up long after Langa goes to bed to drink and talk.

Nanako’s surprised at how easy it feels to be around Oliver. Even before she started working at Teiko, her dating life wasn’t exactly active. Sure, she’d hooked up with a few guys in college, and she had a boyfriend in high school, but there was never a connection, not like this.

“Here,” he says, the night of the 23rd, “let me give you my number.”

“Really?” Nanako asks, even though she’s already pulling her phone out of her pocket.

Oliver gives her a confused look. “Yeah? I mean, unless you didn’t want to meet up back in Squamish—”

“No, I do!” Nanako rushes to correct. “I do. It’s just… I mean, with Langa…”

“Hey.” Oliver reaches across the table to take one of her hands. “Langa’s a great kid. Any guy who got scared away by him isn’t worth the time of day. I like you, and I like Langa, and I would love nothing more than to get to know the both of you better, if you would allow it.”

Nanako flushes again. She likes this feeling, like someone is looking at her and seeing her and still liking it. She knows she shouldn’t, that Langa’s secret could be in jeopardy if she gets too close to the wrong guy, but she can’t help it. “I think I will,” she says. “Langa would probably never forgive me if I took his snowboarding teacher from him.”

And Oliver laughs, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds she’s ever heard, right under Langa calling her “Mom.”

*

She and Oliver start officially dating not too long after Christmas. He’ll come to the nursing home with Tim Hortons when she’s working twelves, and he picks Langa up from school and helps him with his homework, and he invites the two of them over for dinner at least twice a week because he knows Nanako is often too busy to cook. When it comes time to celebrate Langa’s birthday, Oliver buys him a brand new snowboard, and Langa throws his arms around his neck and chants “thank you”s into his hair.

He brings them to his parents’ cabin for Victoria Day, and his family is just as kind as him. His nieces and nephews do their best to include Langa in their games, but they don’t push when she shies away and hangs out by the buffet table instead, and his mother, Barbara, hugs Nanako like she’s an old friend rather than a stranger.

“Hey, Langa, wanna swim?” Oliver’s dad, Ray, asks, gesturing to the small pond nearby. Some of the other kids are already splashing around in it, and it is getting warm, so it’s no wonder he’s suggesting it.

Nanako tenses, but Langa just shakes his head. “I don’t swim very often,” he says in that serious way of his, and she releases the breath she was holding. She’s never taken him swimming since she adopted him, because she can’t be certain no one will see the GI-B423 brand on his upper thigh. He doesn’t have many scars, other than the faint ones around his wrists he usually wears long-sleeved shirts to bulky bracelets to cover up, but that one in particular would be very hard to explain away.

Oliver gives her a curious look, but she just shrugs like she’s seen other parents do when their kids are acting weird, and he gives her that lopsided smile and everything is okay again.

*

A month later, Nanako terminates the lease on her and Langa’s apartment, and they move their things into the small house Oliver owns. Langa’s a little confused about why Nanako says he can’t sleep with her as often as he used to now that they’re living with Oliver, but he doesn’t complain. After her, Oliver is his favorite person in the whole world.

*

They go to the ski lodge again for Christmas, and Langa barely stays off the slopes the whole time. He’s only seven now, but he snowboards better than people three times his age and with a decade more experience.

“He’s a prodigy,” Oliver says, watching him jump a worryingly high way into the air. “He could go pro.”

Nanako hopes he doesn’t. She doesn’t want him to attract too much attention to himself. “Maybe,” she says. “But he’s a little too spacey for that, I think.” Oliver laughs and puts an arm around her waist, letting her melt into his side. “Maybe.”

*

That Christmas, surrounded by the Campbell clan, Oliver gets down on one knee and asks Nanako to be his wife. Nanako can see Langa over Oliver’s shoulder, bobbing his head up and down like a bobblehead, and she lets out a wet laugh and says “yes.”

*

It’s a quiet wedding, at the cabin in Princeton, with just Oliver’s family and some of Nanako’s friends from work. They include Langa in all of their wedding photos, and he hugs Oliver and calls him “Dad” and Oliver almost cries.

This is it, Nanako decides. This is all she needs. Her husband and their son and the life they’ve made for themselves.

As long as no one finds out about Teiko.

*

Langa’s been very good about keeping it all a secret. He never talks about Teiko, or his Generation, or the powers that should have developed but never did. He doesn’t take his bracelets off around anyone, even Oliver, and when he has his nightmares, he quietly wakes Nanako up so she can slip out of bed and comfort him until he falls back to sleep.

Things aren’t perfect, but they work.

Until Generation Miracle is put back into the spotlight.

*

Nanako studiously never brings up the Miracles. Sometimes people will ask if she has an opinion on them, and she always says no. If a news segment is playing and talking about them, she’ll change the channel or turn the TV off. It’s been harder to ignore all the media attention lately, since Teiko’s more insidious designs are suddenly being brought to light. She’s not sure who is suddenly talking, or why, but she’s more than happy to bury her head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t concern her.

Until one day, when she gets home from work, and sees Oliver and Langa sitting on the couch and watching as a teenage boy with light blue hair and a calm fury Nanako only ever saw in one person says, “All we have ever wanted to do is be free.”

Nanako lunges for the remote to change the channel. Oliver squawks in surprise, but she kneels in front of Langa, who’s sitting rigid, like a stone, and takes his hands and says, “Are you okay, sweetie?”

He nods robotically, and she winces. He’s retreating. That’s not good. “Hey, baby, breathe for me, okay? In for four, hold for five, out for six. Just like we used to.”

Langa sets about his breathing exercises, and Oliver stands up, looking more concerned than she’s ever seen him look. “What’s going on? He got all quiet as soon as that news segment started.”

“Oliver, it’s a long story—”

“If my son is having a—a panic attack, or something, I think I deserve to know why!”

This is what she’s always dreaded. She has to come up with something. If she brushes him off, he’s just going to keep digging, but if she says something too complicated, she won’t remember what she said later and it will bite her in the ass. I shouldn’t have gotten him involved, she thinks, mournfully, already picturing the divorce proceedings and custody battle and Langa missing the only father he’s ever known. I knew it was too risky.

“GI-B423.” Langa gasps, and Nanako whips her head up towards him.

“Langa—” she starts, panic rising in her chest, at the same time Oliver says, “What?”

“My designation,” Langa says, he’s still clearly upset. “GI-B423. The twenty-third Black Four Project in Generation Infinity. Failed experiment. GI-B423…” He continues muttering, clearly back in that awful place, and Nanako throws her arms around him.

“Shh, baby,” she coos, rocking him back and forth, feeling him tremble against her. “That’s not you anymore, remember? You’re Hasegawa Langa. You’re eight years old, you’re in year three, and you live with your mom and dad in Squamish, British Columbia.”

She repeats this mantra a few times, drowning out Langa’s, until he stops trembling so much. His little hands grip her scrub top like she’s a liferaft in the middle of the ocean. She’s no stranger to this feeling; most of his nightmares result in a similar embrace. Her neck is damp from his tears and snot, but she keeps on rocking him, letting him cry himself out until he falls asleep.

Throughout it all, Oliver watches, silent.

*

Nanako carries Langa to bed and tucks him in for an impromptu nap, and braces herself for the awful conversation she knows she has to have.

Oliver is still sitting on the couch, silent, staring at the wall behind the TV. “Well,” he says, before Nanako has a chance to say anything, “a few things make more sense now.”

“Oliver…”

He looks at her, meeting her worried gaze, and sighs, opening his arms. She falls into his embrace readily, collapsing against his side. In his arms, she feels safe, like nothing can touch her here. “Tell me your story,” he says, playing with her wedding band, and she does.

*

Nanako won’t say things are perfect after Oliver learns Langa’s secret, but they’re certainly easier.  

Now, when Langa has his nightmares, he can crawl into bed in between his parents and not have to worry about revealing anything he shouldn’t. Oliver’s always been better at calming him down, too, so having his help in soothing Langa’s nightmares is a huge deal. Nanako doesn’t have to be on the lookout for evil scientists or government agents all on her own anymore, now that Oliver is also keeping an eye out.

The three of them sit on the couch together to watch the coverage of the Special Diet, and when the Miracles are declared not dangerous, Nanako almost cries.

Maybe they can finally be free.

*

And so, the years pass.

Things are never perfect. They wouldn’t have been perfect if Langa wasn’t a genetically engineered child designed to be an assassin, but even then, things are a normal amount of imperfection. Langa still has trouble connecting with kids his own age, but not in a weird way, just a kid way. Nanako and Oliver have their odd disagreements, though they never go to bed angry. Oliver goes out drinking with his coworkers from the fire station more often than Nanako would like, but he never drives drunk and never gets angry or abusive, so she doesn’t try to make him stop. They get enough money to buy a larger house just outside of Squamish, and Nanako starts up a garden in the backyard in the spring and summer. In the winter, they spend more and more time on the mountain as Langa falls more in love with snowboarding.

And he does love snowboarding. He’s always pushing himself to go faster, jump higher, do more. Nanako is nervous that he might want to go pro, but he never brings the possibility up. He just wants to snowboard with his dad. He doesn’t care about the money or the glory or anything else. As long as he has his board and the snow and Oliver, he’s happy.

And then Oliver gets his diagnosis.

*

It starts small. He’s less hungry than he used to be, “But your food is as delicious as it’s always been!” he says with a flirty wink. The fifteen-year-old Langa rolls his eyes.

Then, he starts losing weight. He was always fit, with not a lot of fat on him, so when he starts losing weight, Nanako gets concerned. “You’re not trying to diet or anything, right?” she asks, staring at his narrower chest.

He shakes his head. “I’m probably just getting old, honey. We didn’t get to go on the slopes much this winter. I’ll start jogging to get my muscle mass back up, if that’ll make you happy.”

Langa goes on these runs with him. He’s always been an active kid, since Teiko was training them to be super soldiers, so he always has too much energy. The extra activity is good for him.

Oliver, on the other hand, doesn’t benefit as much from their daily jogs. He keeps losing weight, and every once in a while, he complains of abdominal pain. “No, Nanako, I’m not going to the doctor,” he says when she gives him a worried look. “It’s probably nothing.”

Then, on Canada Day, Nanako is woken up when Oliver bolts out of bed to be violently sick in their ensuite bathroom and notices his skin is jaundiced, and the next day she packs up him and Langa and they all go to the hospital together.

*

Liver cancer.

Stage 4.

Treatment options.

Life expectancy.

Langa shuts down.

*

Oliver deteriorates quickly after that.

He’s in the hospital more often than not, and when he’s admitted two weeks before Thanksgiving, everyone knows it’s for the last time. Nanako and Langa are there as often as they can be, sitting with him and holding his hand and desperately trying to pretend he’s not about to leave him forever. The nurses even buy Langa a cake when the three of them all collectively forget his sixteenth birthday.

When Langa is at school or sleeping in the waiting room, Nanako and Oliver go over his will. He’s leaving everything to Nanako, of course, but he says she should let his cousins come and take a look at family photos after she decides what she wants to keep. He also writes a letter for Langa, but doesn’t let Nanako read it. “It’s for him,” he says. “He should be the first one to read it.

“I don’t want a funeral,” he tells her, voice weak. “Don’t spend your money on that. Don’t make Langa go through that. Cremate me and bury me next to my grandparents, and go out to lunch after.”

“Okay,” she says.

“I wish this wasn’t happening.” For the first time since he got his diagnosis, Oliver starts to cry. “I don’t want to leave you and Langa. I want to see him grow up and fall in love. I want to see your hair turn gray.”

“I want that, too,” she says. She grips his hand tightly and lets her own tears roll down her cheeks. “How am I going to do this without you?”

He tries to crack one of his crooked grins. “You’re a smart lady. You’ll figure it out.”

*

A few nights later, Nanako and Langa are woken in the middle of the night, and they rush to the hospital. They get there in time for each of them to hold one of Oliver’s hands as he takes his last breath.

*

Like Oliver wanted, he’s cremated and buried in Princeton, next to his grandparents in the Campbell family plot. His parents take them out for lunch at a Swiss Chalet, and Langa barely eats. He has the letter Oliver wrote him clenched in his fist. He hasn’t read it yet; the envelope is still sealed.

Nanako won’t push. He’ll read it when he’s ready.

*

They go up the mountain that winter.

Langa stands at the top of the slope and stares down it. He does this for twenty minutes, and walks back to the lodge.

*

“We can’t stay here,” Nanako tells Barbara a few weeks after Christmas. “It’s—it’s killing Langa, being  here without Oliver. He’s not eating, he’s barely sleeping…” She chokes back a sob, and melts into the warm embrace her mother-in-law offers her.

“You’ll always be family,” Barbara assures her. “Do what you need to do. We’ll always be here if you need us.”

*

“I’m thinking we should move back to Japan,” Nanako says to Langa later that night. She doesn’t really want to go back to Japan, but Teiko is gone. For good, now that the Miracles thwarted their attempt to build a new one near Hawaii not long after the Special Diet. There’s no reason not to go there, when that’s where they came from and the country in the world most comfortable with mutant children.

Langa, still blank, says, “Okay,” and then nothing else for the rest of the night.

*

They sell the house, find an apartment in Okinawa, say goodbye to the Campbells, and get on a plane to the country they fled almost ten years ago.

I hope I’m doing the right thing, Oliver.

[mnchysmanuscripts]

Twenty Twenty

It’s that time of year again, waves of resolutions are washing across my timeline and a sense of self-improvement is in the air. If you think for a second I’m going to miss out on an opportunity for easy compliments and encouragement, you clearly don’t know me that well. But, I’m not a huge fan of New Year’s resolutions. Creating pass/fail goals over long stretches of time that necessitate radical changes to your lifestyle without accompanying radical changes to your lifestyle never seem to work out. I am a huge fan of yearly themes, however. In fact, I had one for 2019.

Last year was the Year of More. I knew that once I started college I wouldn’t have nearly as much temporal freedom as I once had to waste away and accomplish nothing of value, and so I resolved to branch out and expand my both literal and figurative palate as much as possible before school started. It’s hard to state exactly how successful the year was without concrete data, but I was able to accomplish a few of my goals. I picked up new skills that I use still routinely, I massively expanded my pool of artistic inspiration and intellectual stimuli, I tried a bunch of weird/scary foods, traveled to far off places without my mommy, and moved to a new city across the country. All of these are great victories, but the actual moment to moment of the year was pretty much how the moment to moment of my life had been before it. One of the main goals of the Year of the More was to finish creative projects I had always wanted to but never found the time or place for. That, obviously, didn’t pan out. As it turns out, you can’t do more things just by saying you’ll do more things. Productivity doesn’t really work like that.

Your brain loves crossing out items in a to-do list. There’s no greater feeling in the world than accomplishing your goals and seeing men cower at the sight. But, doing things is hard. It requires time and effort, both of which are limited resources. Not to mention, while your brain loves a completed project, it hates actually performing the actions necessary to complete them. If it’s a matter of life or death, your brain can compel you to do almost anything, but it will continuously try to weasel out of every other scenario until it reaches that point. Besides, your deadline isn’t that urgent. Maybe it won’t be a big deal if you don’t get started right away. You’ve been so good lately too, you deserve a break. You can always get it done tomorrow. It’s here, when your brain is confronted with ambiguity of necessity and genuinely plausible excuses, that it becomes all too easy to become distracted and procrastinate. The problem is multiplied when you have multiple projects you want to work on, because even the act of deciding what project to work on can trigger you to hesitate and become distracted. When you’re distracted, you’re not doing work and you aren’t really having fun either. It’s hard to not feel guilty booting up that video game when you know you should be working, but it’s equally as hard to pry yourself away from it once you start playing. You’re stuck in the middle, all because there was no clear decision to be made. In your hesitation, your brain defaulted to the path of least resistance and you’re paying for it. This sort of thing would happen to me nearly every day of my life. And it wasn’t just my laziness, there’s something else at play here too.

Across the nation, our best and brightest are being round up and employed at a handful of mega-corporations with a singular purpose: to find cool, new ways to sell things to you. This is not a conspiracy, this is not science fiction, this was cutting edge ten years ago and now it’s just taken for granted by everyone who thinks about it for more than a second. Your favorite social media is not a neutral platform that you come to socialize and consume content on. It is a business, and as a business it has the sole purpose of making money, and the way these business makes money is by selling ad space and by selling your data to advertisers. The longer you look and the more you refresh, the more advertisements you’ll see and the more data you’ll leave behind. All the while, that social media platform is making money. Many people I know, perhaps even you reading this sentence right now, get the vast majority of their social interaction and consume the vast majority of their media through these systems which have been designed with the sole purpose of maximizing the amount of time spent looking at advertisements. To accomplish this, social media platforms (and by extension the promoted user generated content on said platforms) intentionally make their websites as addicting as possible. They develop algorithms to show you the posts that will keep you the most engaged, for better or for worse, because they need to keep your attention for as long as possible. It doesn’t matter if you have AdBlock and aren’t literally seeing advertisements, the systems these websites are built on still affect you and are still extremely dangerous. We have become addicted to refreshing the page in the hopes that we will get to see and consume more and more content like pigs at a trough, all for the benefit of the pasty nerds and rich people. Just to be clear, I’m not above this. You aren’t stupid for closing that tab just to reopen it moments later. Like I said, our best and brightest are intentionally designing these systems for their job. They are preying on the mind’s easily exploitable ability to become distracted and using it for possibly the most evil goal fucking imaginable. Facebook broke your brain to spam you with pop-up ads.

And so, as a result of being a scatterbrained creative with too much time on my hands and a stable internet connection, I have the worst of both worlds. I’m pushed by my lack of severe lack of self-discipline and easily distractible set of hobbies, and pulled by algorithms designed by a team of the nation’s top scientists to be as addicting and time-consuming as possible, into becoming a strange being consisting only of wasted time and untapped potential.

But no more, I say. It’s time I take matters into my own hands. These distractions are like the brambles of a jungle-- chaotic and ever-growing. I must cleave through them with my machete and create the sort of life I want to live in. It’ll be a life without distractions, without addictions. It’ll be a life of intentionality, of clarity. I will conquer this jungle.

2020 is the Year of Conquest. I’m taking back my life and making sure I live as intentional of a life as I possibly can. What’s so painful about distractions is how they can eat away an afternoon or an entire day you promised yourself you would spend working. I’m not going to never play a video game ever again, quite the opposite. I’m simply going to clearly define times where I will work and times I will play, there can’t be anymore ambiguity. When I’m working, I’m working. When I’m playing, I’m playing. And, of course, I will try as hard as I can to wrestle with my addiction to social media. I’m not leaving the internet, obviously. I will still use social media but, again, in an intentional manner. I will not allow my tools to seduce me. My phone does not get to beckon me to it with notifications and interrupt my work. I will use it when and only when I choose to.

All this might sound a bit vague, but that’s how themes work best. The Year of Conquest is simply the prompt, the starting point for a whole roster of specific resolutions. I fully intend to get more specific and walkthrough my actual plans/goals for the year, but if I just start listing them all right now then I’ll get a dopamine rush that’ll satiate my self-improvement appetite and I’ll end up not actually doing them. In general though, I’m going to use a combination of incentivizes, disincentivizes, and structural lifestyle changes to try and lead a more intentional life. These carrots, sticks, and tracks definitely can and will be explained in a future post but again that’s a story for another time. Probably tomorrow, it’s my bedtime.

(Send me asks and give me some feedback. It makes me happy to know people are actually reading.)

[trcshpark]

introduction.

- ̗̀   ––  ( tom holland, twenty one, cismale, he/him. )  hey, is that alan myers over there?  rumor has it,  they’re one of those townies.   they’ve lived in erith springs for their whole life  &  are currently working as a bookshop clerk.  i’ve heard they’re pretty wayward,  it’s just too bad they’re also dull-witted.  they remind me of worn down combat boots,  the sun setting over a hushed trailer park,  late night gas station food.   ̖́ -

it’s fran here again!  &  this time i’m bringing you my much less than friendly,  borderline recluse,  idiot of a boy!  i’ll leave some potential connections below for you to take a peek at  &  maybe spark some inspiration for plotting as well as go over the basics.  i’m always available through ims or discord for those who ask for it!  this is going to be significantly shorter than elijah’s.

so,  alan is something else.  a piece of work if you want to be nice about it.  he’s not the best of people  &  he’s never claimed to be.  he’s harsh,  rude,  very insensitive to how others are feeling  ( often times the case is, he doesn’t know or he doesn’t care )  &  can overall be somewhat of an asshole.  but that’s mostly because he’s definitely not a people person.  he enjoys his own space,  the number of friends he has is slim to none,  people generally know not to approach him.

&  what’s the perfect job for someone who’s not a people person,  you might ask? a book store clerk, duh.  alan is definitely not thrilled about his job,  but he’s been working there for so long that the job is the last thing he complains about.

he works for a family owned book store that’s renown for it’s collection of comic books  &  graphic novels. it’s about the only book store in erith springs you can find such an impressive collection.  so,  naturally he has to deal with ‘nerds’ all day long.  he doesn’t see what the big deal is--  he doesn’t like comics himself.  or so he claims.  it’s not like he’s been reading them since he was a kid  ( not that anyone knows of ).  he doesn’t like to be associated with something so childish  &  ‘stupid’  as he likes to put it.

if it wasn’t obvious already,  alan was definitely the type to bully kids  &  take their lunch money in high school.  he didn’t have many friends by choice,  but it never helped that people were either afraid of him or just didn’t like him as a person. he got into fights. a lot. the amount suspensions he had rivaled his actual attendance.

he has a temper on him--  he’s very easily irked,  angered or annoyed.  but that can often be surprising for those who don’t know him by reputation.  at work he holds a generally stoic expression,  monotone voice  &  nonchalant disposition.  but of course,  if he does appear otherwise--  it’s usually a look of annoyance,  or a simple warning for someone to back off  &  leave him be.  either way,  he never looks like someone you want to be friends with.

he’s not all bad.  he’s just someone who holds a lot of anger in him  &  isn’t always sure how to express himself.  on that note, though...  his one outlet is  &  always has been working out.  he spends a lot of time jogging around town or working out on the beach.  or hogging the arcade punching bag at the amusement park. he’s just a big idiot.

his life is all work, fighting  &  hookups.  honestly.  he doesn’t sleep around half as much as people claim he does,  his reputation definitely argues otherwise,  but he’s at least somewhat selective.  depending on the day.  he can be charming when he wants to be.

alan lives with his parents in a trailer park across town. it’s a good while away from the center of the town  &  the beach,  but he walks to work every day.  he doesn’t bring people home with him.  partly because he’s never had anyone to really bring home--  &  partly because he’s embarrassed of where he comes from,  even though it’s common knowledge where he lives.  it’s been the topic of many fights over the years.

when it comes to his looks, he’s a very ‘baggy ripped jeans, worn down combat boots, low side tank tops’ kind of person. his hair is messy, he’s almost always got a bruise or cut lip  &  does give the overall vibe of someone you don’t want to piss off.  he’s got a few tattoos here  &  there too!

basically,  he’s a punk idiot whose self worth fluctuates more than the weather.  he’s also not the biggest fan of the amount of attraction the town gets,  especially around summer,  so that never helps anything.  fun fact:  he also goes by junior.  mostly.

CHARACTER ARCHETYPES.

50% the rebel ––   the rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind, &  bucking the system,  if that means getting their point across.

the warrior.  warriors are brave  &  attractive people who are willing to put themselves on the line regardless of consequences.

the wild man.  wild men  &  wild women are the most outrageous of rebels.  these are the people who are in touch with the side of themselves that doesn’t want to settle or be forced into any box.

the criminal.  because rebels by their nature push at boundaries,  they can easily go too far  &  break the law.

the fighter.  sometimes a rebel becomes too aggressive in their various pursuits,  &  turns into a fighter who won’t back down  &  won’t stop arguing.

the don juan.  charming,  fun,  well-mannered,   &  sexually attentive,  don juans make the game of seduction fun for women who have their own rich  &  romantic fantasy lives as well as self-confidence.

32% the royal  ––   when the royal walks into a room,  they command attention.  they are the one in charge,  &  they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

the brat.   because they are used to pampering  &  don’t know how to do things for themselves,  royals can exhibit childish behavior in the form of tantrums  &  unreasonable demands.

the vampire.   like bram stoker’s count dracula,  who fed on the lifeblood of others while living in a regal manner,  royals can be a drain on those around them.

the bully.   when it becomes so easy to take advantage of one’s position, it takes a certain amount of discipline to fight the urge to debase the reputation of self  &  family.

the destroyer.   the destroyer manifests in vindictiveness  &  an unchecked fascination with wreaking enormous destruction on enemies.

18% the athlete  ––  the athlete's focus  &  drive are unparalleled.  staying healthy  &  being fit are paramount to them ( as for winning,  that doesn't hurt,  either ).

the outdoorsman.   outdoorsmen (  &  women  )  are physically fit,  environmentally conscious  &  adventurous.  they are resourceful,  unmaterialistic,  &  appreciative of nature’s quiet beauty.

the bully.  the danger with living too much in your body is that you can end up using it to bad ends as well as good.

the tomboy.   tomboys don’t play games.  they are straightforward,  honest  &  concerned with getting things done in the most direct way possible.  they are also refreshingly lacking in vanity,  &  bring a freshness  &  vigor to socially formal situations.

CONNECTIONS.

friends.  i know, i know.  he doesn’t have many,  but he does love the ones he has!

ex - almost.  someone junior got close enough to ( somehow or another, whether that was because they quickly became friends or it was a ‘no strings’ hookup that quickly got tangled )  that they almost began dating,  only for junior to get scared  &  completely drop them without warning.

childhood friends.  someone who junior was best friends with as a kid  &  drifted apart from over the years.  not for any particular reason other than growing up--  or maybe not.

hookups.  pretty self explanatory!  they can be current,  old or in the making.

crushes.  unrequited from either side or completely mutual!  getting junior to admit he has feelings for someone is a long road,  but it’s not without a few pit stops along the way.  there’d be banter between the two as a result of it!  especially if someone has a crush on him  &  are infuriated because--  him, really?  of all people?  i have to like him?

[mmecolbert]

I'm spreading positivity, my fellow Rogan fan :) Name five things you love about Rory, five things you love about Logan, and five things you love about them as a couple!

nice, nice, nice, nice, nice :) :) :)  

here we go!

Rory

She’s forgiving. While Lorelai holds a grudge forever, Rory gives people chances over and over again. She sees the best in people and is willing to put her own needs and ego aside, to give people a second (and third and fourth and fifth) chance. It’s a rare and wonderful trait. And it’s a dominant one in Rory. 

She’s not vain. She doesn’t do anything for admiration, awards, accolades, or praise. She studies and learns and develops to be the best person she can be and to create things the best things she can create.  Rory purely and genuinely wants to do her best. 

She’s patient. Her anger fuse is insanely long. She can take on a ton of crazy around her and keep her cool. If I had a mother like Lorelai, I’d have lost my shit before I turned 10, because Lorelai is irrational and immature most of the time. But Rory is surrounded by crazy all the time (between Lorelai, SH, her grandparents) and she manages to keep her cool, get people to refocus, calm the situation, diffuse conflict, etc., without breaking a sweat. It’s awesome. 

She is so selfless, which makes her a grade A+++ friend to everyone. I mean I just watched an episode where she woke up at 2 am to watch Lane’s band perform some gig. She has bad moments, but she puts an admirable amount of time, energy, attention, patience, everything into trying to make the people around her happy and fulfilled.

She’s passionate. When Rory gets excited about something (e.g., books or school or a story or a boy), she gives it her all. It’s so genuine. I think everyone in the GG world is charmed by this in Rory. And so am I. 

I’ve always kinda felt that the reason why so many people dislike Rory and only focus on her bad qualities is because her good qualities are “quiet.” They’re not loud, in-your-face type of good qualities. Like…Lorelai speaks her mind. That’s a loud quality. Rory however walks around trying to create peace and harmony and make sure that everyone is happy. She’s agreeable. She’s a mediator. These aren’t fun or loud or obvious qualities. But they are so necessary for everyone to not be at war with each other. I feel like Rory carries the burden of making sure that everyone gets along and is happy, even to her own detriment. And I appreciate that because without people like her, the world would blow the fuck up. 

Logan

He’s self aware. He says so many throwaway lines that suggest that he’s intensely aware (and doesn’t appreciate) that how people treat him is 100% because of his last name, his money, and his power, not him (Rory being the exception, and he loves her for it). He knows that there are limits to his preordained life. He knows his flaws and attributes as a person and a partner. That’s a damn rare trait.  

He’s pretty much the only good communicator on the whole damn show. He’s not perfect, but overall he does express what is on his mind and invites Rory to do the same. He expresses his feelings and where he’s coming from. He always asks Rory what she’s feeling, thinking, and wanting. He asks for clarity in their relationship. Very good, Logan. Very. 

He’s fun. In a (GG) world that equates “good” men with surly, angry, cantankerous ones, Logan stands as one of the few who is good-natured and fun loving. He tries to seep in all the joy in the world and share that joy, happiness, laughter, and good time with the people around him. 

He’s generous. Logan will give anything (time, money, resources, energy, whatever) to please others. He’s always game for whatever anyone wants to do, and he is more than happy to help along the way. He’s very attentive to people’s needs and does all he can to meet them, it’s great.

He’s happy. While I do think there’s a well of sadness (thanks Mitchum) under the persona, Logan is overall a very positive, warm person. He’s just so smiley and seems to enjoy (or find joy) in any situation. He always shoots towards optimism and happiness. I just like people who try to see the best in the world and do their part in injecting it with good vibes. 

I feel like a lot of people see Logan’s enthusiastic, fun loving, confident personality as hedonism, immaturity, and arrogance. And I completely get that. But I personally have zero patience for serious, sulking, angry men. Just about all men that I meet in real life, literature, TV, whatever, I can only tolerate when they’re happy, fun, and good natured. When it comes to men, I don’t care how much they feel on the inside—if all I experience being around them is anger, pessimism, and general negativity, then I want nothing to do with them. Logan is the opposite—he exudes joy and fun and excitement. I love him. 

Logan/Rory

They really like each other. This is a big one for me. I love that they are both aware of each other’s flaws and attributes, and they get a kick out of them. They seem to really enjoy each other (and how different they are) and appreciate how one complements the other. To me it’s a relationship based on deep friendship and respect for who the other person is, and because of that they truly enjoy each other’s company. That, to me, is what long term relationships require: do you genuinely like and respect this other person? If yes, then you’ll enjoy being with them for the rest of your life. I think it’s a yes for Logan and Rory.

With that said, they do push each other to be their best selves. And importantly: they both respond well to the push. Logan brings Rory out of her shell, he helps her get out of her head and relax and have fun. His confidence helps her own confidence. And I think Rory needs to have people around her that push her this way (Lorelai and Paris are similar in that regard). In turn, Rory pushes Logan to focus and face his responsibilities. So Logan elevates Rory and Rory grounds Logan, which helps them both become their better selves. And neither ever struggles with that push—out of love or respect or deference, they both accept that the other is trying to help them and do whatever without struggle. 

They are very supportive of each other. Neither Rory nor Logan ever tells the other what to do. It’s an equal partnership. One fully supports the other, no questions asked. Rory decided to steal a boat? Stupid, but let’s do it. Rory decided to write a book? Have a house to write it in! Logan decided that LDB events should take up his whole intellectual capacity and energy? Have fun, but pls don’t die. Logan decided to accept his destiny? I will support you until you explicitly state you don’t want to do it. That is their relationship. Fully supportive. Ride or die. 

They (thanks to Logan) have some of the best communication of all the GG couples. I guess because Logan/Rory ran mostly parallel to Luke/Lorelai, I really saw the contrast in the couples’ communication and I enjoyed watching Logan coax Rory into sharing her thoughts and feelings with him. Logan likes clarity and communication, and Rory learned the value of that while with him (or, unlearn Lorelai’s bad example?). They ran into problems as soon as that broke down/Rory reverted to her old patterns. But when they were communicating openly and honestly, you could see just how solid their relationship is/could be. 

They’ve never been bored together! I love that they both said this to each other in AYITL because it’s so true and I feel like this is such an important necessity for both of them. They are both easy going, open minded, adventurous, and have seriously well developed imaginations. I think both of them need a partner who cannot bore them. And the two of them will never, ever run out of things to do together. As long as they are together, the do and will always create, find, and have fun. To me it’s such a joy to watch two people in love who, without a doubt in my mind, could spend every single day of their lives together in absolute thrill with one another.

ANSWERING THIS BROUGHT ME SO MUCH JOY. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS!!!!!!

[reformedkingsmanagent]

uhhh if you’re taking requests for more Charlie things what about further exploration of breathplay?

AN: This isn’t quite different from before, but I hope this is okay! I have been working on this for most of the winter break and I really hope you guys like it!

Prompt: Charlie and a choking kink? I suppose.

Pairing: Charlie x reader

Word Count: 8020

Warnings: Definitely nsfw, violence, language

Also: I tried doing a Kingsman-type moment where there’s music tied to a fight scene? It sounds silly now, but at the time I was super excited about it. I tried putting a link to the song on YouTube, but it put the video at the bottom which means you might get spoiled on your way down to press play so instead I’ll put the link here so you can open it in another tab. And if you don’t want to listen to it that’s totally fine too! I know it’s a bit much. (Also, I’m using an IPad to post this so embedding links doesn’t work so sorry that it’s going to look so ugly!)

Straight From the Heart - Irma Thomas

https://youtu.be/PZGPy3bvfKM

“Sleep on it,” Merlin demanded. “We don’t know enough yet. If I send you in there now, I could be sending you t’ your death. We are low on resources as it is, I don’t need to be losing agents when we haven’t even replaced them all.” Normally Merlin’s words were law, and that was it. But there was something in the back of your mind that was prompting you towards outright defiance.

“Go home.” Merlin fixed you with a severe gaze before he walked away, the quiet whirring of his mechanical legs dissipating the further down the hall he went.

You knew there was something about this intel that rang true. You needed to find out who had managed to escape Poppyland with enough pull to maintain her networks. The only person that came to mind based on the little intel that had been recovered was Charlie. Merlin knew about your connection with Charlie, but as you swore to him and to yourself, you had no feelings for him, not anymore. Besides, he was very much dead, and by Eggsy’s hand. It couldn’t be him.

With the fallout from the attack on Kingsman largely settled, you went from being a requisitions agent to a full-fledged Kingsman. You were promoted at Merlin’s request, and as you noted earlier, Merlin’s word was law.

Most of the time.

The music was loud, but you were able to tune it out. The lighting was dim, but all you needed to see was your target. People with no care for personal space kept bumping into you, hands brushing over you with no purpose. Though it bothered you, you didn’t let yourself think about it. You would get your information and get out. You didn’t have time for anything else. While Merlin sat on this information, the person who had taken over Poppy’s operations could slip away. You needed to capitalize on this chance while they were so close.

You weaved through the packed room, headed for a booth in the far corner. You pressed your hand to your side, feeling the outline of the knife in its holster beneath the dress you had hastily thrown on. You realized that the itch at your back was the tag, still on after changing in the fitting room of the store you stopped at on the way over. You told yourself to not forget to retrieve your suit from the bag stuffed in the dumpster around back.

You paused at the edge of the crowd, waiting for the right time to confront him. You kept a layer of people in front of you, effectively obscuring you from the keen eyes of the guards surrounding the booth. Marcus, the proof that Poppy’s supply lines remained intact, appeared to be the stereotypical young peddler of all things drug-related. He dressed nicely, too nicely to avoid notice, and he waved money around as if it had no meaning. Tonight it was in the form of a few bottles of Dom scattered across the table, one for each of his friends.

He motioned to a guard seated beside him that he needed to get up and the guard moved aside, standing back while Marcus shuffled out of the booth. He headed for the restrooms and the guard moved to follow, but thankfully Marcus urged him to remain with a relaxed pat on the shoulder. He would probably regret that in a few minutes.

You finally passed through the last few people in front of you and headed along the wall, keeping your distance. He made a left turn, his hands casually stuck in his pockets, not alert at all. He had a lightness to his step and you wondered if you were about to ruin his day. It couldn’t be helped.

You paused at the corner and waited until you heard the door shut behind him. Moving cautiously down the short hallway, you stopped outside the men’s room. Hearing laughter, you moved to the side of the door, waiting as the door opened and a tall man walked by. He didn’t notice you hiding in the shadows. It was interesting how unaware some people could be.

You allowed another few seconds to pass before you quietly pushed the door open with your foot, only just wide enough for you to slip through. You could see in the mirror that Marcus was standing in front of one of the few urinals, eyes focused on the tiled wall in front of him. You locked the main door with the deadbolt and he turned a little, noticing you standing there.

“Oh, hello!” He stepped away from the urinal and you heard a zip before he faced you, a smile on his face. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that,” he said, walking over to the sinks to wash his hands. He kept his eyes on yours through the reflection in the mirror. “What can I do for you?” He shot you a wink and you managed to hide your annoyance.

You moved over to the sinks and grabbed the back of his neck in a tight grip, forcing his face down into the porcelain bowl. The automatic faucet poured water continuously over the back of his head. He sputtered and brought his hands up to push off against the counter, but you were stronger. You tightened your hold on the back of his neck and he yelled something about letting him go, but that wasn’t in your plans.

You leaned down, the sound of the water muffling his struggles, and spoke clearly. “Who is running Poppy’s organization?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what you’re talking about—” You reached down and pulled the knife out of the holster at your thigh, pressing it lightly against the boy’s throat. He struggled a bit more, but a bit more pressure on the knife forced him to stop. “Fuck!”

“I’ll ask again. Poppy. Who is supplying you now that she’s gone?” You waited as he thought it over, no doubt wondering what the consequences would be if the new kingpin caught wind of this.

“W-well, it’s her partner,” he let out a shiver as the lukewarm water ran cold. “Tall, shaved head, sounds like Siri in a glass of water?” You found the description funny, but your frustration with him overrode any amusement. Charlie couldn’t have survived. Eggsy had snapped his neck. There was no coming back from that.

“I’m not playing games. Charlie is dead, I’m not stupid. Try again.” You pushed his head down further, feeling him struggle a bit as his nose touched the slowly-rising water.

“No! No! I’m not lying, it’s him! He’s at the Bulgari, I swear it! I just saw him yesterday! You have to believe me—” The water had risen enough to distract him. He flailed around a bit in your hold, but he wasn’t getting out of it. You could detect the desperation in his voice and you had to wonder if it could be true. You forced that small part of you that hoped it was back into the box at the bottom of your mind. You didn’t care if it was him or anyone else. They needed to be dealt with.

“If you’re wrong about this, I’ll be back for you.” You released your hold on him and he fell to the floor, hair dripping water all over. He rolled over and attempted to stand, but you already had your watch set to amnesia. You pressed the button on the side and the barbs hit him in the cheek. He frowned at you, reaching for the source of the sting and sluggishly knocking the barbs loose before his eyes fell closed and he slumped back down on his side beneath the sinks.

You approached the hotel, thinking about how to tackle this. The only information you had was that he was staying here. Not what room number or even what floor. You were sure there would be guards to contend with and they should give away the location of your target, but you didn’t want to spend all night canvassing each floor. You had to get the information another way.

You passed the doorman with a lazy smile, stumbling a bit as you passed him. “Y’ alright, miss?”

“Just fine, thank you!” You shot him a wink and continued through the lobby, approaching the long check-in counter and letting your phone fall out of your hands on the floor. You bent down to pick it up and when you stood up straight, an employee stood waiting on the other side, a polite but concerned smile on her face.

“How can we help you?” She looked you over and you made sure to lean onto the counter a bit more than was necessary.

“I need you to tell me which room number someone is in— he wrote it down for me, but I just— lost the paper!” You threw your hands up before leaning over. “Please, you’ve got to help me.” You reached across the counter to grab her wrist as she was typing. “I really want to see him again.”

She sent you an uncomfortable smile before shaking off your hand. “I’m very sorry, but we can’t give out that information. I hope you understand.”

“Oh, come on! Listen, how ‘bout I describe him? You tell me if you remember him?” She didn’t respond, but didn’t tell you to leave, so that was a start. “Uh, he’s pretty tall, has reaaaaaally short hair, super handsome…” She didn’t react.

Thinking of him brought back memories you didn’t want to think about right now. Thinking about him in any kind light wasn’t appropriate. You needed to focus. Maybe the boy had been wrong about it being Charlie. You needed to say something more specific. You remembered Charlie’s new features and figured they would be distinctive enough.

“He’s got something right here, I’m not sure what it’s for—” You pressed a finger to the base of your throat and you noticed her eyes widen. Bingo. “I really need your help, miss…” You made a show of reading her nametag. “…Emily.”

She looked at the screen in front of her, avoiding your pleading eyes. “I can’t help you, I’m sorry.” It looked like you would have to sneak up to another floor and try to find the room on your own.

“You know what? Fine. Thanks for nothing.” As you turned to leave, you felt a card slide under your fingers on the cold marble counter.

“As I said before, we can’t give out information concerning our guests. We take privacy very seriously here at the Bulgari.” She avoided eye contact, but withdrew her hand, leaving the card on the counter. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” You pulled it into your hand, turning back towards the counter.

“Well do you at least have a bathroom around here?” You asked. She pointed to the left. “Thanks.”

You headed to the left of the counter, relieved to see the elevators clear of personnel. You pushed the button and waited, stepping in as the doors slid open. You let the doors close before you looked down at the card in your hand.

1082.

You reviewed the buttons, counting ten floors. Pushing 10, you felt the elevator start to move. You leaned back against the wall and removed your shoes, opting for the silence of bare feet to surprise the guards that would no doubt be posted outside the room. You had the knife, and that was it. Maybe you should stop and come back with more firepower. It would be the responsible thing to do. But the thought of losing this lead made you decide to continue on. You had come this far on your own. You needed to see it through.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. You glanced around, not seeing anyone. You picked up your shoes in one hand and moved forward, sticking your phone down into the front of your dress to free your other hand.

You stepped into the carpeted hallway, glancing at the nearest room number. On the right was 1078, and on the left was 1077. You turned right and stepped quietly down the hallway, tense and alert. You reached a corner and paused before continuing, listening for any noise.

Leaning out, you scanned the hallway. You saw two guards leaning back against the wall, one of them spinning a large knife in their hands. You couldn’t see a way to sneak over to them without being seen. You could just make out the number on the door that was closed between them. 1082. This was it.

You sucked in a deep breath, tightening your grip on the shoes in your hand, before you stepped out and away from the wall. They noticed you immediately, but you avoided looking at them. You swayed a bit as you walked, keeping to the other side of the hallway to remain out of their reach. You knew they were watching your every move as you got closer.

“Goodnight,” you smiled, raising your shoes as if you were making a toast. You continued past them, noticing them relax a bit. The one twirling the knife in his hands stopped and stuck the blade back in a holster attached to his belt. You saw the flash of light on the metal of the pistol hidden against his side under the jacket.

Once you were past both of the men, you whipped around and slung your shoes up against the side of the closest man’s head, knocking him down quickly. You dropped the shoes and reached into his suit jacket. You pulled out the pistol and pointed it at the other guard. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. Not much of a guard.

You held the pistol with one hand as you quickly cycled through the options on the watch, opting again for the trusty amnesia darts. The guard fell quickly, his body relaxing almost immediately. You did the same to his partner, ensuring that they would have no memory of the person who knocked them out. You searched them for supplies, coming up with a second pistol and a couple clips of ammunition which you had no room for with your dress. You did take the large knife, however.

You recovered a keycard, heavy and made of metal painted black. It had the luxury hotel’s logo on it and you could only assume it was for the suite in front of you. You approached the door cautiously and tapped the metal card on the wireless reader, seeing the lights flash green. You opened the door, grimacing at the loud sound it made as the lock disengaged. You pushed the heavy door open enough for you to pass through, setting your shoes down just inside the doorway. You immediately scanned the room before letting the door shut behind you, worried the sound would have alerted the individual inside. There wasn’t anyone in sight. You quickly pulled your phone out and set it in one of the shoes, along with the keycard, before standing up straight.

You took in the sumptuous decor and spacious floor plan, noticing that it seemed to continue off to the right for a good distance. In front of you was a large living room, the only barrier separating it from the next room, a dining room, being an odd chrome structure in the middle of the room. It looked modern, and housed an unused fireplace near the base of it. Behind that was a long dining table set for six, and then there was a wall, the bedroom no doubt tucked away at the end of the hallway. If the current room was any indication, the bedroom would be just as opulent.

Not seeing or hearing anyone, you tiptoed down the hallway towards the bedroom. Before you could make it to the bedroom door it swung open and a groggy Charlie stepped into the hall. The screen of the iPad lit up his face. You froze, not expecting him to actually be there. You had managed to convince yourself that there must be someone else walking around with the same implant as him. He was dead. He should be dead. You had heard the snap of his neck through Eggsy’s glasses feed, which you had recovered despite Merlin’s attempts to hide it from you. You had mourned him, secretly. He was gone.

“Guys, I already told you to leave me alone for the night…” He paused, just as shocked to see you. His eyes widened as he took you in. He was dressed casually, wearing a plain shirt with some pajama bottoms, his feet bare. His metal arm supported the golden iPad against his chest. He looked the same as he had at Poppyland on that day. The only difference was that his neck wasn’t twisted around painfully.

You felt sick. Seeing him here, it felt like you were lost in a fever dream. You had hoped, despite everything, that you would get the chance to see him again, but this wasn’t a good feeling. You were rooted to the spot, unable to act despite having the advantage. The pistol in your hand felt heavy, and the knife felt uncertain, as if it were destined to never strike true.

“You…” the word left his mouth and you knew what he was thinking. He knew you were Kingsman, and if he was still up to no good, he would naturally be very concerned at your presence there. He knew it meant that Kingsman had found him yet again, and maybe this time he wouldn’t be able to get away. You assumed he thought nothing about his time spent with you. He had been gone for so long, had died twice…all without reaching out to you.

He scanned you finally, taking in the pistol and knife in each of your hands. His gaze hardened and he swapped the hand that was holding the tablet, freeing up the metal hand. Still, you couldn’t move. You could have shot at him ten times over by now. What would Merlin say if he knew you could be so weak? Remember your training.

Remember your training.

You saw his feet shift to better anchor himself and you felt awareness wash over you. Shoot him. Do something. Quit being sentimental. He wasn’t. You felt the feeling return to your fingers and you quickly squeezed the trigger on the borrowed gun, firing shot after shot towards Charlie. He had already brought the metal arm up to shield himself. The weapon clicked, empty. You tossed it aside and switched the long knife you had taken from the guard to your dominant hand, settling down into a fighting stance.

Charlie lunged at you with a yell and you moved out of his reach, back towards the dining room. You took advantage of him being off balance and brought the blade down. Metal fingers caught the blade and twisted it in your hand until you were forced to drop it.

While he disarmed you, you reached out and grabbed onto the tablet, pulling it from his arm. You remembered it controlling all sorts of weapons, and you were determined to prevent him from surprising you with anything like that. He fought with you for control of it, the screen lighting up as you both pressed different areas of it unintentionally. Finally, he wrenched it out of your grip and let it slide across the floor behind him. There was a moment of silence before the speaker in the living room started playing a song.

Do you need me, like I need you?Look at me, I’m crying from holding you

You put your hands out as he charged at you. He caught you around your waist and lifted you up on his shoulder before slamming you down on the long dining table, glasses and plates shattering underneath you and tumbling onto the plush rug. You smacked the back of your head on the edge of the table and you saw stars for a moment. You felt searing pain across your back and you struggled to regain your breath.

Make me forget the pain that you caused

You reached over and picked up a plate, throwing it at him. He ducked a bit to avoid it and it shattered on the wall. You kicked out at him, hard, and he was forced into the bar table behind him. The table smacked into the wall behind it and most of the bottles fell over. He reached down and grabbed a decanter of something, throwing it at you. You managed to roll back off of the table and duck down to avoid it. It hit the rug with a loud but muted thunk, intact.

Understanding is a great thingIf it comes from the heart

You stood on the opposite side of the table, using it as a barrier between the two of you. He made a move to walk around it and you maintained the distance, mirroring him. His chest was heaving and he was glaring at you. He was larger than you remembered. It had been a while since seeing him this close. He used the metal arm to lift the table up and flip it lengthwise, giving him a mostly clear path to you.

If time would stand stillWhile I’m thinking of you

He moved quickly over to you and lifted you up by your neck, the metal hand closing around your throat. He slammed you back into the chrome structure and you felt it dent a little around you, the air knocked out of you. You reached up for his hand, desperately trying to get him to let you go. You needed to breathe. You used your feet to kick at him, but he was solid, unmoving.

I’d think of all the things that I wanted of youTo make me forget the pain that you caused

The look in his eye frightened you a little. You didn’t know how he saw you, but he hadn’t held back yet. You needed to get out of this. You focused and aimed a kick to his knee with your heel, getting him to drop you to the floor as he tried to avoid a serious injury to his leg. You felt the small shards of glass prick the skin of your arm and bite through the thin material of your dress as you tried to get up.

Understanding is a great thingIf it comes from the heart

He regained his towering height and walked over to you where you were still struggling to get up, still feeling the way the air had been pushed out of your lungs. You kept trying to breathe, but you were overwhelmed with a feeling of nausea. Knowing he was about to grab you again, you reached over and grabbed his ankles, pulling his feet out from under him. He landed on his back with a pained grunt, giving you more time to recover.

Picking up the piecesOf my broken heart

He started to roll over so he could get up again. You managed to stand and reached out for one of the chairs, lifting it and bringing it down on him. He blocked most of it with the metal arm, but he fell back from the force of the impact. The chair broke into a few pieces, and you adjusted your grip on one of the legs, using it as a bat and bringing it down on him repeatedly.

It was real hardA fragile thing like lifeIt just don’t last so long

He sat up and wrenched the wooden leg out of your hands, tossing it across the room. You started punching at him, but you could feel the exhaustion in your limbs. The blows you did land were weak. He reached out and caught your wrists in his hands, bringing you down to your knees in his lap. You struggled against him, but he had a firm grip on you.

It could be for a minute or an hourOr then again, from now on

Your eyes widened as he moved both your wrists to his metal hand, using his left hand to smooth up the outside of your thigh, pushing up your dress and sending warmth flooding through you. You felt angry at your own reaction, feeling even sillier as he stopped over the small blade strapped to your leg. You had forgotten about it being there.

If time would stand stillWhile I’m thinking of you

He pulled the knife out of the holster and threw it across the room. You heard it stick in the wall. You had no other options so you headbutted him, moving quickly once he let you go. Your head was spinning. You reached beside you and picked up the large, heavy decanter from earlier, hoisting it over your head to bring it down on his.

I’d think of all the things that I wanted of youTo make me forget the pain that you caused

He caught it, wrestling it from your hands and tossing it away. It hit the wooden floor with a thick clatter and slid out of reach, somehow still intact, though the stopper was gone and the amber liquid was slowly pouring out. Before you could do anything else he grabbed your face roughly and pulled it to his, capturing your mouth in a kiss.

Understanding is a great thingIf it comes from the heartYes it is, if it comes from the heart

And just like that, the fight left you. You reached up to run your hands over his chest, eager to touch him, to prove he was real. You couldn’t believe it was him. You were exhausted from the fight, still struggling to breathe evenly, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

You told yourself this was a serious transgression but he was too good, too familiar to resist. He turned his head a bit more and you felt the warmth of his tongue as he explored you. You could feel desperation in the way he held your face, his fingers digging into your skin. You were pulled closer, the metal arm at the small of your back crushing you against his chest.

Before you knew what was happening he released your face and leaned forward, pulling you off to the side so he could reach out. He picked up the corner of the rug and tossed it across the room towards the remains of the table. You would have appreciated the cushion but you knew the rug was covered in glass and ceramic shards. Your hands reached up and gripped his cheeks, turning his face back towards yours. His gaze was intense as he centered you back in his lap.

You felt like you would give him anything, tell him anything he wanted to know if he kept looking at you like that. It was dangerous. This was not what you came here to do. You had told yourself that no matter what, you would take care of this. This was not ‘taking care of it’ by any interpretation.

His large hands slid up the outsides of your thighs, catching your dress and bringing it along as he moved up past your waist and over your sides. The dress was pulled up over your head and it too joined the remains of the dining table. Before you had time to think about how little you cared to stop him, his lips were traveling over every inch of skin, biting where he could, your own hands roaming over his chest.

He leaned you back slowly and you jumped as your back touched the cold floor. You gripped his forearms tightly, squeezing as his mouth moved higher up. You reached out to hold him but he sat up, instead pulling his shirt off over his head. You shamelessly watched his muscles flex. You felt your cheeks heat up as you noticed the slight smile on his face as he looked down at you.

He returned to your body, his mouth open, his lips dragging over you. It was torture. His hands smoothed up your arms, keeping them above your head as he moved his lips across your collarbone. You felt him slip the Kingsman watch off your wrist and toss it away. That was fair. You moved to use your own hands on yourself, to give yourself some sort of relief, but he kept them above your head, smiling into your skin.

“No.”

He punished you with a nip on your shoulder before leaning over you, covering your body with his. He was amazingly warm and you wrapped your legs around him, struggling against him to free your arms so you could touch him, hold him. He reached back to run a hand up over your leg, bringing it up around his waist. You felt him press against you and your hips bucked up towards him, desperate.

You had been in complete denial about how much you missed him. You had been telling yourself that you could do what you needed to do if you two ever crossed paths again. You had assured Merlin you could handle seeing Charlie again, that he wouldn’t affect you at all, but you were pitifully mistaken. You wanted nothing more than to stay there, tangled up with him forever.

He sat up and quickly pulled your underwear off, eyes lingering on the holster tightly fastened around your thigh. “What?” You asked, reaching down with your now-free hands to unbuckle the strap. His hands darted out and covered yours, stopping you.

“Let me.” You raised an eyebrow but moved your hands away from the strap anyway. He ran his hand up your leg, stopping at the band before unbuckling it and tossing it away. He smoothed his fingers over the indentations in your skin and you forced your legs together at the tingling sensation you felt, accidentally trapping his hand. He chuckled and met your eyes as he wiggled his fingers, getting closer and closer to your wet center. You were half-tempted to open your legs for him, but he seemed to be enjoying this. His long fingers brushed against you and you pushed yourself up towards his hand.

He withdrew his hand with a smile and laid back down over you, burying his face in your neck where you felt him pulling your skin in between his teeth. You were angry. You reached up and pressed your feet into his sides, pushing down his pajama pants as best as you could, eager to feel him inside you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want me to—” You were reminded that he was usually heavy on the foreplay, but you didn’t think you could wait any longer.

“No, please, just—”

He pressed his lips over yours, silencing you as you used your heels to hook around the backs of his thighs. You tried to pull his lower body closer, feeling his hard cock brush against you. He reached back to move your legs away, though he continued to rub against you, studying the blissful look on your face.

He let his chest press against yours and reached up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “What do you want?” He pressed small kisses over your face, to the corners of your lips, along your jaw. “What do you need?”

“Just fuck me already,” you begged, His eyes widened a bit but he moved his lips down to your pulse point.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He breathed into your neck, reaching down to align himself before slowly pushing into you. You grabbed at his shoulders, looping your arms around his neck as he filled you, stretching you. You felt your heart rate increase dramatically, your whole body throbbing. “Fuck,” he whined, keeping his face hidden in your neck.

You held onto him as he slowly pumped in and out of you, finding his rhythm again. Soon he was moving quickly, hips slamming down into yours roughly. He plunged into you so deeply that you would almost say it hurt. It was exactly what you wanted. His hands slid under your back as you arched up, angling your body so he was hitting that sweet, wonderful spot that made your legs shake. Without warning he picked you up in his arms and walked down the hall, gently kicking open the bedroom door. You reached up to smack his chest, a little frustrated that he stopped as you were getting close, but he grabbed your wrist and kissed you, leaving you wanting more of his lips.

He stopped next to the bed and threw you down, instantly grabbing your hips and turning you over on your stomach mid-bounce. You had a moment to process just how soft the mattress was before you felt his cock between your thighs. He pushed in easily, still slick, and laid down on top of you. He continued his thrusts, but at a slower pace. He pressed his lips along your spine, though you weren’t paying much attention. His metal hand was resting beside your head on the mattress and you had other interests. He knew what you liked, but you hadn’t seen him for years now, and the metal arm was very new. You reached over and wrapped your hand around the metal wrist, moving it closer to you. His head snapped up and his thrusts stopped as he waited to see what you were doing.

You abandoned the metal arm and reached back to push at his side. He got the hint and rolled onto his side, pulling you along with him. You wrapped your outer leg back around his and he cautiously continued to slide into you, his metal arm moving down to grip your waist. You felt him relax as he started pressing kisses into your shoulder so you again grabbed the metal arm, bringing it up between your breasts. He stopped there and wrapped the metal fingers around one, squeezing gently. You ran your hand lightly over the metal and turned your head to capture his mouth with yours. You distracted him with your tongue as you moved the metal hand up to your throat. He continued to squeeze lightly, his eyes still closed. You sighed.

“Hey—” He tried moving the arm away from your throat, but you held it there. You knew if he really wanted to move it he could. “I can’t feel anything, I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his lips moving over yours.

“You won’t,” you assured him, rubbing the fingers around your throat as if he could feel it. Something in his eyes changed and you felt the hand move, slowly tightening to a comfortable pressure. He kissed you, hard, and you felt a tightening in your abdomen as he snapped his hips up, reminding you of the tenderness you would be feeling afterwards.

You felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. The two of you had stopped kissing but kept your faces near, watching each other as his thrusts grew more erratic and your grip on his hip behind you tightened. You felt his hand squeeze around your neck and that was all you needed. Your eyes fell shut as you arched back against him, your body spasming, your walls clenching around him as he continued, though he had slowed significantly at this point. You felt his grip loosen.

“Oh, I’m—wait, I’m not—I didn’t—” You held onto his hip as he bucked up into you, his hand moving down to push back against your waist, trying to pull out as you two didn’t have this conversation.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, kissing him gently. He came, moaning into your shoulder, his muscles tensed.

He soon relaxed, lifting his head to look down towards where the two of you met. “Shit,” he mumbled, his lips red. He slid out of you and ran his hand down your side soothingly.

“Sorry,” you whispered, turning yourself around in his arms, smoothing your hand down the side of his face. His eyes darted up to meet yours and you felt a jolt pass through you. He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. You felt it finally sink in that he was really here, solid and warm under your hands. “I thought you were dead,” you both spoke at the same time.

“Why didn’t you ever look for me? Even before Poppy?” You asked. “I was here the whole time.” He looked pained.

“I didn’t want to drag you into all this— it’s a horrible business. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, and I didn’t want to see you hurt either. And then with the destruction of Kingsman, I just assumed she had targeted everyone…” He quickly moved on from that and you wondered if he had mourned you too. “I didn’t want this for myself but I had no other options. And when she died, I… If I didn’t take over then someone else would have, someone with less honorable intentions.”

“Honorable intentions? What about this is honorable?” You asked, suddenly reminded of your goal. Charlie sighed.

“When Poppy died, if her empire crumbled, if I didn’t step in to replace her, there would have been a power vacuum left in her wake and you couldn’t guarantee that whoever replaced her would be fair or reasonable. I knew everything about her business, regularly met with people so she didn’t have to leave the compound…there was no one else better. I keep things simple, and no one gets hurt.”

“You think people don’t get hurt? Are you crazy?” You sat up, leaning on your elbow as you frowned at him.

“I don’t put people in a fucking mincer, alright? I’m doing the best I can.” After a moment he relaxed. “This is a job for a whole team, but it’s just me. I don’t trust anyone else. I have to do this myself.”

“Kingsman could use your information…We could do a lot with your contacts.” If Kingsman were able to shut all of this down piece by piece, it could be a huge step in the right direction. And everyone would have Charlie to thank. Merlin could use more agents now, anyway. And Charlie was already trained.

“I am not going back to fucking Kingsman. Get that idea out of your head right now.” You ignored his words, imagining him as an agent in the field. He would have been fantastic. Maybe he still could be.

“I bet if I called Merlin, he would be able to come to some agreement on this—”

“Merlin would kill me,” Charlie interrupted. “I don’t belong there.”

“You’re wrong about that. He did train you, you know. He didn’t hate you,” you said, laying down on his shoulder.

“Maybe not, but if not him, then that pleb would shoot me dead if he knew I was here— Wait, how is he not here? And you, why are you in the field?” You couldn’t imagine what Eggsy would have to say if he found out Charlie had somehow survived.

“Don’t worry, Eggsy is away on a mission. I got promoted,” you shrugged. Charlie didn’t look relieved. “I came here alone. Merlin wanted to wait until we knew for sure what we were dealing with, but I…sort of disregarded that entirely.”

“You could have been hurt, or killed if it had been anyone else. You should listen to him,” Charlie scolded you.

“I mean, you did get me pretty good,” you smiled, rubbing the back of your head.

“That’s not funny.” Charlie brought his hands up to cradle your face. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“You have a lot to tell me about…a lot of time to account for.” You leaned over him and rested both your hands on his broad chest.

“As do you.”

He kept staring at you, his thumbs moving over your cheeks. The urgency from earlier was gone, replaced with a need for comfort and closeness. You both had been through so much. It was pure luck that you were here together. You didn’t want to let that go to waste.

“Charlie, I—”

“I know.” He smiled a little before bringing your face down to his, lips slowly meeting. He held you there for a while, not moving, and you hoped he knew what you were thinking, that you still weren’t sure if this was real, that you wanted him, no matter what. You needed him.

He ended the kiss with a smile, something that reminded you of how reckless but charming he had been during training. You could see a little flash in his eyes and it made you think of the young man who had looked for any reason to detour to your department. He had been sweet, deep down. Especially so once his “friends” had been kicked out.

“Here, help me up,” he asked. You stood, reaching out to lean against the edge of the bed once you felt the soreness in your lower abdomen. He raised an eyebrow and you just smiled at him. You reached out and he grabbed your hand so you could pull him up on his feet. He was tall, taller than you remembered. While you were busy studying him, he reached down and scooped you up into his arms. “Let’s clean up before we do anything else,” he smiled. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

He carried you into the huge bathroom, setting you on the wide counter beside one of the sinks. You watched him as he moved around the black-marble covered bathroom. He turned on the shower and laid out some towels. He soon came over and picked you up again, setting you on your feet outside the shower. He was extremely careful and gentle with you.

He left you there and tended to his arm, removing it so he could join you in the shower. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t notice you staring at him the whole time. “What?” He looked down at you, a slight smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

You blushed. “I just…I haven’t seen you in a while, and I’m…”

“Admiring me? Do I still tick off all the boxes on your mental list?” He got much closer to you.

“Of course you do.”

“Oh, so you admit it?” He grinned. You gently pushed him away, not succeeding at all. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just do that.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your waiting mouth.

“Charlie—” you managed to squeeze in between his kisses.

“Mmmhmm?” He mumbled against your lips.

“The water’s going to get cold,” you reminded him. You had to force him back, one of your hands holding his chin. He glanced down to where you were holding him before smiling.

“If you insist.” He followed you into the shower

“This is quite nice.” You moved further in and stood under the water.

“You can stay like that,” Charlie watched you, his lip pulled between his teeth. You reached out for him and pulled him under the water with you, a smile on both your faces. He took his time washing your body, and you did the same for him. He washed your hair for you, his long fingers giving you an excellent scalp massage. When you two were done you both wrapped up in the towels and sipped on the bottled water he pulled out of the fridge in the room. You both fell asleep not long after, still nude, tangled together.

“Mr. Hesketh, sir, are you alright?!” Charlie stirred, his arms tightening around you. “Sir?!” He sat up and squinted, spotting the two guards standing in the doorway to the bedroom, unarmed but in full alert mode. You groaned at the disruption.

“What are you talking about? I’m fine. Please leave.” He moved his legs under the covers to tangle further in yours before laying back down, resting his head on your chest. You lazily ran a hand over his hair.

“Sir, it looks like there was a fight out there— Are you hurt?”

Charlie groaned. “I’m fine! Have them send someone up to clean the room later. Leave us, please,” he sighed, covering his eyes with an arm. The blackout curtains kept the room dark despite the sun creeping in around the edges. They eyed you warily, but you knew they had no memory of what you had done to them. When they backed out of the room mumbling “yes sir” Charlie rolled completely on top of you, smoothing your hair out of your face.

“What did you do to them? They’re scared shitless.” You shrugged, doing your best to hide your smile. He chuckled, kissing you. He sat up, chin in his hand. “Don’t go back.” He got serious, the laughter gone from his face. “I can’t follow you there.”

Your heart ached. This all might as well have been a dream with how temporary it was. “Charlie, I have to go back.”

“Then I might not be able to see you like this again.” His tone was cold, and his light touches stopped.

“Come with me, I know we can work something out—”

“No.” You felt the silence roaring in your ears as a lump began to form in your throat.

You threw the covers back and left his warm embrace. He didn’t ask you to stay. You wandered around the hotel room, briefly surveying the damage the two of you had done as you picked up your clothes, slipping them on. You picked up your watch and put it on before grabbing your phone and the keycard tucked into your shoes. You threw the metal card across the room, hearing it hit the floor near the large windows. You put your shoes on and stood up straight, reaching for the handle.

You glanced over towards the bedroom and spotted him leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked angry, and you were sure you looked angry too. You didn’t have the strength to say anything else as you turned the handle and slipped out into the hallway. You were surprised by the two guards standing on either side of the door. You spotted their injuries and felt sorry for having caused them, though they wouldn’t have remembered. “Have a good day, miss.” You walked out of the hotel wishing you had never disobeyed Merlin’s orders.

Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, his phone pressed against his ear. “Yeah, I know, the screen on it is busted. I dropped it.”

“I’ll send you a replacement.” Merlin sighed. “Did she find you?”

“Yes. Yes, she did.” Charlie looked at his metal hand in his lap, studying it as he flexed the fingers.

“Then we need t’ pick up the pace. Make contact with some more people, see how far this web goes. I promise, as soon as we’ve got it all mapped out, I can pull you in and replace you with someone else.”

Charlie made a fist. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. In fact, you’re doin’ me a favor,” Merlin chuckled.

“How are the legs? Everything working out okay?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, they’ll do. You just keep up the good work out there. You’re valuable to Kingsman, Charlie. Just hang in there, it’ll be over soon.” Merlin ended the call. 

Charlie dropped the phone onto the bed and laid back, folding his arms behind his head. Soon he would get to see you again. Soon he could explain everything. Still, it hurt him to see you upset, even if he knew it would be temporary. He needed to work harder. He got up, thinking of who else he could flush out for Kingsman.

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 032121

21 March, 2021

Dear Dad--

Happy Sunday to you. I got the casino job! Well, I provisionally got the casino job! They’ve decided they’d like to “move forward,” and are now going to crawl up my butt with a microscope and make sure that I’m not someone with a shady past or nefarious intentions. I had to fill out a very long application to be a licensed gaming employee in the state, and I had to answer a question about whether I am a fugitive from justice! I will be fingerprinted at some point. I had to give a list of identifying scars and tattoos. I had to consult the internet to find my eye color because I don’t know what damn color my eyes are. (The internet indicated that my eyes are either blue, blue-gray, green, gray-green, blue-green, hazel, or gray, which I think is just about all of them.) I take it for granted that I may be working in the casino, or taking a break and sitting somewhere eating a sandwich, and someone might push a cart past me with a million dollars on it. Whenever that’s the case, I assume my employers will have real firm opinions about how money is handled, and security, and making sure the employees aren’t wanted felons, etc.

So I did okay on the phone interview, except for the question about Microsoft Excel, which is the industry standard for making spreadsheets. So I brushed up on Excel, to make sure I’d be able to answer the question if it came up again. He brought it up again, and I was able to answer the question correctly this time. This established that I am both conscientious and resourceful, dammit. They pointed out a few nice things about working there. Firstly, they have food events, where I can come and eat. Second, they have an enormous parking garage. This is mostly to benefit the customers, but it also means you won’t end a long day of work and have to remove a foot of snow from your car before you can go home. They also said that, if I was done working and it was snowing so hard that it wasn’t safe to go home, they could give me a room in the hotel for the night.

As I may have mentioned, this job is all about doing audits and other daily tasks to, I guess, make sure all the dollars are present and correct and law-abiding. I’m a compliance person! Assuming I sail through all the background stuff, I’ll help make sure the casino is in compliance with federal this and local that and state this and corporate that. They’ll train me. I predict several possible outcomes.

1. Within my first week, I have a heart attack while at work, causing me to fart loudly and repeatedly. It becomes known as Rick’s Fart Attack, and after recovering, I can never look anyone in the eye again, and I have to leave the company in shame. Also I’ll be unable to understand or remember anything they try to teach me. And they find out that I tried acid back in 1990.

2. I do okay, everyone is satisfied, I work there till I’m 70 and retire. No Nobel Prize for Compliance, but no fart attacks.

3. I do exceptionally well. I learn the stuff as quickly as they expect me to. I am able to achieve the accuracy they seek. They appreciate my pragmatism and my bourgeois sweaters. I become a valuable asset to them; they seem to like me. Next time my birthday comes around, at the cake cutting, no fewer than six people slip me folded pieces of paper saying they appreciate my work style, and my George Clooney salt and pepper hair, and would I like to visit the casino bar for a pre-coital alcoholic beverage, and then get a good hard auditing from Rick, the new compliance guy, just in case I’m interested.

I really don’t know what outcome I’m going to achieve here. Obviously, the work isn’t going to be too action-packed. It’s auditing, and I’m told to expect repetition. (That’s good; I take comfort in shit like that.) I just hope I don’t screw up anything I can’t fix, and they’re good at training, and that, in the end, I’ll have a workplace I don’t dread going to. I’ll like my coworkers, maybe make a new friend or two. I’ll make enough money that I can pay rent and not have to eat cat food.

I wonder how long it’s going to take them to figure out that I have no aptitude for either drinking or gambling, I make sports bets about as often as I fly in the space shuttle, and I have no idea at all how craps works. The last time I went into a casino, I got $20 in quarters from a cashier before I learned that none of the slot machines take quarters any more. They took money straight off your debit card! Then you carried a balance, and when you wanted to leave one slot machine, it would print a little ticket that you could feed into the next slot machine that kept track of your balance. I had to take all my quarters back to the cashier and explain that I was an idiot, and could you take all these stupid quarters back, pretty please? That was in the Snoqualmie Casino in Washington State. (Their motto: We don’t know how to pronounce your name, either, tough guy) I didn’t win shit, but Zach won about a hundred bucks.

I filled out all my paperwork, including the 30-page gaming application, and some similar online forms. I need to go back in to get my photo taken and to get fingerprinted, but they are going to wait until the background check is done, so I’m just in a holding pattern now. Making sure I can dress in business casual for five days in a row without repeating pants (I cannot! Must attempt to increase my rate of, you know, pants. Fortunately, Zach and I have the same waist size and he’s given me a couple of pairs of work slacks he no longer needs.) Also I keep waiting to throw up. I always experience my tension in my stomach. It seems to happen every time I’m nervous about something, so...any time, sweetheart. Perhaps my body is waiting for the morning of Day 1. I shall remain vigilant.

I have to say, I felt comfortable in the casino offices where I had my interviews and started the HR shit. Since it’s called the Hollywood Casino, the theme is movies, so all the walls have framed movie posters in them. I saw a poster for The Manchurian Candidate. The guy who interviewed me was named Rick, and was a doughy, bespectacled honky like myself. When I got the job at Penquis, and I went in for training, I was in a room with a dozen women and no other men. I’m fine with that in theory, but in practice, it leaves me feeling a bit like a stranger in a strange land. Everyone at the casino looked like me, in a way I found reassuring, whether younger, or older, or female. I just felt a bit more at home there. Hope that feeling lasts. Also this pays better than the Penquis job did.

Not sure what I’m going to do today. Because I’m about to start a new job, it should make my remaining hours at home more special, which usually results in me cleaning something that doesn’t get cleaned as often as it should, like the bathtub. Also, we keep getting overflown by bald eagles, and I’m determined to get a picture of one. This is going to end up being a lot more difficult than it was to photograph a hummingbird, even though the eagle is so much bigger and slower. Hummingbirds like to come to my hummingbird feeder and light for a few seconds, during which you can snap a few easy photographs. We’ve seen a dozen bald eagles, but they’re always flying past, on their way somewhere. Sometimes they’re being harassed by groups of other birds. I need an eagle to stop by for a visit and sit someplace, photogenically, for a minute before it leaves, so I can get a few pictures. Otherwise it’s just going to be a picture of a sky with a little black smudge in it. I’m leaving the camera by the living room window.

I think that having this new job, assuming I pass everything, is going to take a lot of my stress away. As is usual, a lot of my stress stems from the fact that I was never very good at making and holding onto money. But once I get a paycheck or two from the casino, I believe it will feel like I’ve finally completed moving to Maine. After living here for a year and a half, I think this will make the circle complete. I won’t just be here with all my stuff, but I’ll be financially self-sufficient again, not living off savings, a proper grownup again, for the first time in Maine. Perhaps this will enable me to spend a bit more time looking forward, and making plans. I’m already considering one plan: This job starts part time, but is expected to become full time, once things pick up from all the Covid bullshit. I’m not looking forward to 40 hour work weeks again, but once I’m doing that, I think I’d like to get a new car. I’ve never bought a brand new car. I think it’s time I did.

By the next time I write, I may have started working at the new job! Oh, I have already received one email from the company doing the background check asking me, “Do you also go by the following name, and/or is this you? Rick E. Weidmann.” So I guess they found you when doing my background check! I assured them that we were two different people, and they seemed satisfied with that.

All my love to you both!

[junker-town]

The Dead Baseball Boys of Brooklyn, Part 1

Visiting the early baseball pioneers of Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery

I live in a third-floor apartment of a small building in the southern part of Brooklyn’s Park Slope, and one of the reasons I like this particular apartment (of the seven I’ve lived in) is that if you look out any of the front windows, you’re greeted with a wonderful view of Green-Wood Cemetery. Well, what you’re first greeted with is the Con-Edison power substation directly across the street, looking like some sort of open-air Frankenstein laboratory. But, if you can ignore that and shift your gaze slightly upward to the block just beyond it, yes, sure, there it is: a wonderful view of the cemetery’s main entrance and the hills beyond it.

The entrance of Green-Wood, from afar

The actual view

I really enjoy living so close to Green-Wood. For one, most of your neighbors being dead means they tend to keep pretty quiet and there are very rarely any disturbances (those are usually on account of the living). But it’s also quite nice to be in the proximity of such elevated gentry and high-profile citizenry of yore. A lot of very cool (and uncool!) historical figures are found in Green-Wood. Basquiat! “Boss” Tweed! This charming bear! Hello, neigh-bear!

A little on-the-nose, if you ask me

I once went on a Halloween-night tour of the cemetery, which was a delight, but if you ever decide to go, I unfortunately have to recommend that you do not ask the tour guide if they’ve “encountered any spooks or ghouls lately.” Apparently, they do not like that. Even on Halloween! Anyway, this tragically humorless guide also introduced me to the fact that my backyard Famous Cemetery also had a lot of notable burial sites or memorials for important figures in baseball history, a group I’ve come to affectionately call The Dead Baseball Boys of Brooklyn.

The histories of New York, the Green-Wood Cemetery, and baseball are all deeply intertwined. As the city continued its explosive growth in 1800’s, baseball matured from a cornfield game into a legitimate sport. New York City served as an epicenter for innovation in the game, and the stars who made history would often end up interred at Green-Wood, where many famous New Yorkers of the late 19th century found themselves post-mortem.

I’ve made a habit of taking regular walks through Green-Wood during the pandemic. There’s something calming about escaping the threat of death by fleeing to a place where death is kind of a moot concept. And the locals there have been good neighbors. Green-Wood counts well over 200 early baseball pioneers as permanent residents, so I felt it appropriate to spend some time visiting the resting places of those folks during my jaunts and give them a proper hello.

I decided to begin with Henry Chadwick. Here’s how much baseball history is in Green-Wood — the cemetery has not one but several men who are credited as the “Father of Base Ball”. Chadwick is one of them, and he has as clear a right to that title as anybody. You might know him — he’s responsible for most of the modern rules of the game, the lingo, the concept of box scores, .etc.. As a newspaperman, he was also one of the sport’s earliest chroniclers, the prototypical baseball writer.

The Boston Globe sports section, just days after Chadwick’s death, proclaimed the need for an eternal memorial of the man:

“...Henry Chadwick was the American game’s most devoted champion. He well deserves a monument to his memory by the professional players of this country — a monument that will symbolize the rise of a simple recreation to the highest class of outdoor sports, by the pen of a man who could paint the ideal, and then struggle on to see his dream realized.”

And indeed, the baseball community stepped up. A committee chaired by Brooklyn baseball legend and eventual fellow Green-Wood resident Charles Ebbets raised money and installed this tribute to one of the early giants of the game.

Green-Wood was one of the area’s first “rural parks”, a prototype of the design that would eventually inspire the plans for Prospect Park. Given its size, I thought I’d be trekking deep into the cemetery to find Chadwick’s monument, but on a closer look, it ended up being located on the western edge of the grounds, just two blocks and a fence away from my own apartment.

The monument sticks out from the more classical ones surrounding it, which came as a shock to me given how many times I’ve passed by it without noticing. I’m roughly 6’6”, so my best guess is that the full structure stands to be about 7 feet tall, and topped with a giant granite orb. The orb is a Victorian symbol for eternity that shows up on quite a few graves at the cemetery, though I’d bet few of them have the baseball stitching carved into them like Chadwick’s does.

The four sides of the monument have plaques of various baseball symbology, and the plot itself is marked on the corners by three bases and a home plate made of granite (which is currently buried in a few inches of snow).

At its base, fans of the game leave balls of great sentimental value to honor Chadwick. Or, maybe they’re just foul balls caught at minor league games that the recipients realized they just didn’t want anymore. Here, it’s your stupid game, YOU take this. I don’t want this!

Chadwick so loved the game that on opening day in 1908, he attended the first game at the Polo Grounds in Upper Manhattan despite having a fever (remember, if you’re sick, stay home!). He came down with pneumonia and succumbed a few days later, but not before this rather tragic tidbit as outlined on Green-Wood’s history blog by the cemetery’s historian, Jeffrey Richman:

“...on April 20, 1908, Chadwick lay unconscious in his bed. When he regained consciousness, he asked which team had won the game that day between his beloved Brooklyn team and the New York Giants. Told that the Giants had won, Chadwick expressed his regrets and lapsed into an unconsciousness from which he never emerged.”

If the guy who practically invented baseball is lying on his deathbed and asking if his favorite team won their game that day … you say yes.

I look forward to visiting more of the Dead Baseball Boys in the coming weeks. If you live nearby and decide to join me, take along a copy of Peter Nash’s “Baseball Legends of Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery” and read Mr. Richman’s history blog, both of which have been indispensable resources for me. I’ll be checking in with more neighbors as the snow melts and opening day approaches (but I promise if I have a fever, I’ll stay home).

[sveasauvageon]

I can't go when you look this freaking beautiful || GW

☾♔; March 14, 2018 ☾♔; sotd: idk ☾♔; comedian otd: idk ☾♔; GW: Side Character Audition ☾♔; {G} https://goo.gl/XSTtMc ☾♔; mod(s): @themadmonarchist @maybones et moi  

FINALLY DONE WITH THIS

Me every time Russia sends a "love, love, peace, peace" type song to Eurovision: *rolls on the floor laughing my arse off and literally dying from the irony*

GW SIDE CHARACTER TEMPLATE

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ஜ۩۞۩ஜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀Viggo Asbjörn Rasmus Sauvageon, (21)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Un jour je suis prédateur ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Un jour je suis la proie ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Un jour j'ai chaud au cœur ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Un jour j'ai tellement froid ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀Au Coeur de moi - Amir

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ THE BASICS

Nickname: Vig, V/Vi, Vígi, storebror (Svea and Lili)   Gender: cis-male Date of Birth: December 24 Place of Birth: Lake Mälaren (it's in Enköping, and next to the Sauvageon estate. He was born in an underwater cave)   Nationality: Swedish Ethnicity: caucasian (swedish/frankish descent), also half-fish person.   Accent: Swedish Blood Status: half-blood/half-breed, he's half-merperson (hey, theoretically, it's possible in the wizarding world, plus, see; Shape of Water, The. 😛)  

Profession: Curse-Breaker for Rökstenen Wizarding Bank (the Swedish counterpart to Gringotts)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Mooms-mooms, I mean Måns Zelmerlöw

Hair: short, black, sometimes dark brown, soft

Eyes: brown, turn into a deep sea-green when he's angry or feeling like a huge surge of love (as in the emotion, don't be gross, also, not limited to romantic love, basically any love that would qualify for "save the world" level up's in anime characters)

Height: 1.74 m/5'7"-ish (he's so short, I mean, I can't really judge being a measly 5'2", but still)

Weight: idk

Body: slim, fit, super hot swede, wannabe James Bond tbh (did he dreaming of being bond as a child? Maybe.)

Any Scars/ Marks?: not scars exactly, but he has sort of scale-like cravings. Like groves in a stone wall, except on his skin and in the shape of scales. He has a large section on the right side of his rib cage, left shoulder blade going down in a slight diagonal angle to the right back of his hips (decreasing in amount as it moves down his back), left angle, and left wrist.

Any Tattoos/ Piercings?: n/a

Quirks/ Mannerisms: - not really a mannerism of his, but always ends up as a thing for Svea to lean on, since they're basically the same height, and in heels, she's taller than him.

Style: as "erratic" as his cousin's, but generally well-tailored, and figure-flattering. Likes wearing shirts that are a bit too tight (ala Marvel superhero tight), but generally walks around either in suits and ties, or a superhero shirt (as in the fit and not a graphic tee) and jeans. Favours Dolce & Gabbana, Ralph Lauren, Burberry, and Guess (because he's a fu.cking nerd).

Additional Information:

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ PERSONALITY:

Head cannon: Super dorky, super cute. Like Svea, he's super Swedish (ie liberal socialist), but he's a lot nicer and pleasant (well, she's not, not nice, but she's also not nice, ya feel?, less elitist is the phrase I'm looking for). Literally sunshine, he's pleasant and joyful and a lot of fun, somewhat reckless, quite a mess, very loveable. Tiny bit of a wh.o.re (manwhøre, yes, but why do men get a different word that doesn't really have a negative connotation), he's never single. He's always dating someone or "causally" seeing someone. The longest he's been single (since joining the dating game) is a week.

Personality (+ 5, - 5): dork, nerd, smarter than he looks/acts, playful, thrives in stressful situations, prefers to have leadership "thrust" upon rather than actively seek it out, sweet, thoughtful, bad at flirting (seriously, it's embarrassing), lazy magic user (like that stupid scene in fantastic beasts when Tina's sister used magic instead of just sliding her hands into the fu.cking robe herself, that's mooms-mooms. I mean Vig), more vain than he cares to admit (spends a surprising amount of time on his hair every morning), act first-think later type of idiot (will jump into a dark tomb for the # adventure without even checking for curses first), adventurous, reckless, silly, quick on his feet, adaptable, resourceful, loyal, protective (though, usually it's him getting protected, he's more of a sweet summer child with a somewhat hidden armour of steel, valyrian steel)  

Any mental health issues: - bursts into eurovision songs spontaneously, usually with Svea. Like, it's technically not an illness, but at this point, I'm pretty sure I've got it.

Favorite Quotes/ Sayings that your character would use: - "I am Thor, God of Hammers." (Probs Syn: You are Vígi, god of the losers) - "I miss when I had two feet of authority over you." (To Svea, also Syn tbh, pretty she and Svea are the same height) - "you wanna be my Waterloo?" (Vig, attempting to flirt. Tbh, Svea would say the same thing. They have a Eurovision problem) - "a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor" (someone off in the background: you're half-fish, and a curse-breaker)

Additional Information: - I was originally thinking of "Au coeur de moi" as his theme song, but it's so definitely "I can't go on" by Robin Bengtsson  

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ BIOGRAPHY

Relation to your OC: paternal cousin, like once removed? No, twice removed. he's the son of her grandfather's sister's son.

♣️ Family Background

:: House of Sauvageon ::

The Sauvageon's are a very family old wizarding family, they were originally French, and later immigrated to Sweden in the late 1700's. Unlike most ancient wizarding families (particularly the British ones), they have never shied away from breeding with muggles and muggleborns, often gaining the label of "blood traitor" from the British families, but they're Swedish, and blood density is irrelevant there. There are as liberal and socialist as their country. Despite being loathed by the blood purist-type families, they are still approached very few generations for marital matches, as they are exceedingly wealthy and when the aforementioned house runs out of options.  

One could say he's from a branch family, they're no longer the main family, technically, but are still closely related and also still have the same name. So it's more like a developing branch family. His grandmother (Frida) was Svea's grandfather's (Ludvig's) younger sister, so I think that makes them cousin's twice removed? Or is it three times? I don't know, this sht always confuses me (in my defense, I do have around 6000 cousins, and I don't know how I'm related to any of them. Not even joking about that tbh).

Sauvageon aesthetics (with a tiny bit about both Vig and Svea's maternal families, still editing it though): https://goo.gl/u4nRiU

--only father-side relations listed here-- ▪️ Father: Acke Bengt Adrian Sauvageon | Alex Jennings | 56 | former socialite (kind of missing, lives underwater)

▪️ Grandmother: Eira Katja Karita Sauvageon | n/a | deceased former politician (in the muggle world, rose to mayor of Enköping)

▪️ Grandfather: Danil Benjamin Sauvageon née Vengerbojrn | n/a | deceased (muggle businessman - ran KronLund, which specialized in developing luxury estates, hosting events, and owns far too many wineries. He changed his surname upon marrying Eira, half-Icelandic)  

▪️ Uncle (father's brother): Edvard Ragnvald Fritjof Sauvageon | n/a | missing, disappeared whilst exploring Geiranger Fjord in Norway

▪️ Cousin (closer than Svea and Lili, biologically): Frej Egil Fredrik Sauvageon Bernadotte, Duke of Västergötland | Matthew Goode | 36 | businessman/royal consort (took up control of KronLund after Danil's death, later married the crown princess of Sweden and added her house's name to his. All children of the marriage shall take the name of the royal house)

▪️ Cousin-in-law: Crown Princess Kristina Ulrika Viktoria Margareta of the House of Bernadotte, Duchess of Västergötland | Vanessa Kirby | 32 | heir apparent to the Swedish Throne

Main Sauvageon family/extended family: ▪️ Great-uncle: Ludvig Sauvageon | Patrick Stewart ▪️ Great-aunt-in-law: Linnéa Sauvageon | Judi Dench ▪️ Uncle: Petter Sauvageon | Colin Firth ▪️ Aunt-in-law: Iliana Drubetskaya | Lena Headey ▪️ Cousin: Svea Sauvageon | Cara Delevingne ▪️ Cousin: Lena Sauvageon | Dafne Keen ▪️ Aunt: Brigitta Sauvageon | Gillian Anderon ▪️ Uncle: Kåre Sauvageon | James D'Arcy

:: Maternal "family" :: A merwoman calling herself "Freyja", whilst he's visited his mother and her "family" many times, he's still not quite clear about which merpeople in the Lake he's related to, and which not, nor even how he was born (*cough* conceived but ew *cough*). They basically just sing and sht when he's underwater, and then he goes up, kind of in a haze and with a mild euphoric feeling, like he's been drugged.  

Although he doesn't know much about his mer-family, according to Swedish mermaid legends, they're known for helping lost sailors and are generally considered a friendly peoples. They largely help deal with the lake's grindylow population.

♣️ Family Affiliation: Swedish Ministry of Magic, Durmstrang Institute of Magic (not a happy association, but it's their homeschool, and most Sauvageon's have attended it, including Vig himself), House of Bernadotte, House of Châteaudun (and their successive houses), and the Riddarhuset (The House of Nobility in Sweden -- don't really have any power or special tax exemptions anymore, basically protection of historical titles and coat of arms), Rökstenen (that's more his personal affiliation though, since banks are seperate entites run by goblins who employ some humans)

♣️ Socio-economic status: meh. He technically has a lot of money via family, and earns quite a sum from Rökstenen, but he's one of those rich people who are oblivious to how much things cost (making him slightly disaffected, though, in his defense, he was rasied in palace, basically)

Quick facts: Vig was born underwater in Lake Mälaren to Acke Sauvageon and a merperson who calls herself "Freyja", they're still not sure if it's her real name. He was born with mostly the physical features of a regular human, so he was taken above water to be raised by the Sauvageon's, his father, however, remained underwater (originally he sustained himself via gilly weed and the bubble head charm, but eventually became an animagus and lives as a blue tang because Dory). Closest in age to Svea out of her generation of Savaugeon's, they essentially grew up as siblings, and even attended muggle school together for a time before it was time for him to go to Durmstrang. To say he did not like it there would be an understatement, he nearly flunked out of his dark arts classes out of pure protest, but later actually tried since the information would come in handy when he decided he wanted to be curse breaker. In his 6th year, he attempted to petition the school to change their rules and let muggle-borns in, but lacked support from his fellow students and was ultimately unsuccessful.  

Additional Information: n/a

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ HOGWARTS INFORMATION Hogwarts Stats: N/A

Whilst a (half-)wizard, Vig did not attend Hogwarts, but instead went to the Scandi homeschool; Durmstrang. Like the other Sauvageon's who attended Durmstrang (as well as Swedes in general, because JKR didn't even fu.cking google Sweden before making it the Scandi school, it's a socialist country, and unlike Denmark and Norway, isn't allergic to migrants!), anyway, like the other Sauvageon's and Swedes, he did not like the school, especially it's attitude towards muggles and muggle-borns (his own grandfather being a muggle). Despite his hatred of the school, he did well, earning the equivalents of Outstandings and Excellents in his exams. Svea jokes that he would've been an "uncool Hufflepuff" (probs would've been in Ravenclaw though, he's smarter than he looks. And acts).

Any Pets?: does Lili count? Not really, she'd reducto his as.s if he said to her face.

Reputation at Hogwarts: doesn't really have one, he only shows up to the events that open to non-students/family, and would really only interact with friends of Svea and/or the Lothbroks. I guess his rep would be "hot dude that sometimes shows up". Also, just to be clear, he literally has nothing to do with the Hogwarts social hierarchy (just in case anyone got confused).  

Additional Information:

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ INDIVIDUAL MAGIC

Wand: Rosewood Wand Core: Unicorn hair Wand Length: 10½" Wand Flexibility: Swishy Patronus: Arctic Fox   Boggart: drowning (appears as his almost-corpse, like pale and wet, but like seizing and struggling to breath) Amortentia: burning wood (like the scent that arises from a bonfire), cinnamon, sea salt Affinity to any particular magic?: not exactly, but he's naturally drawn towards water related spells and sea type plants. It's not super special, they were just the easiest for him to learn and work with when he was still in school, having completed his education, he's perfectly skilled with other stuff now too. Additional Information: - great singer both above and underwater, underwater it becomes more ethereal, known to occasionally leave listeners with an ecstatic, somewhat loopy feeling, like marijuana does to muggles - he's incapable of performing any of the unforgiveable curses.  

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Username: @drownedinmoonlight Activity Level (Scale 1-10): 8

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ OPTIONAL Playlist: Moodboard: Social Media (instagram, facebook, snapchat, twitter, etc) : Storyboard: Aesthetic Collection: Wardrobe/Style Collection: Plotting Set: Story:

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When you have completed the audition, please tag the mods: @.drownedinmoonlight @.themadmonarchist and @.maybones and use the hashtag #GWnpc

Also, don't forget to add it to the group. Happy character creation!

[squareallworthy]

As a bioethicist of the pro-human school, I denounce the dim-witted hand-wringing in this article.

And because this morning I am a rather crabby bioethicist, I am going to denounce it in detail. If you are a transhumanist, or if you ever even heard of transhumanism, there’s likely nothing in the article and nothing I’m going to say that’s new to you. So the rest is below the cut. I apologize in advance for wasting your time on this stupid article and my foul mood.

First, the lede:

In a 2011 New Yorker profile, Peter Thiel, tech-philanthropist and billionaire, surmised that “probably the most extreme form of inequality is between people who are alive and people who are dead”. While he may not be technically wrong, Thiel and other eccentric, wealthy tech-celebrities, such as Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg, have taken the next step to counteract that inequality – by embarking on a quest to live forever.

So, the big news that sparked this useless blather is -- nothing. If you thought maybe you missed some big news in longevity research, no, you didn’t. The writer of this piece, Sanjana Varghese, looked over the entire field of transhumanism and couldn’t find anything more compelling to kick off the lead paragraph than a six year old quote. Smashing journalism.

After opening with this damp squib, Varghese invites us to contemplate this horror:

Thiel and many like him have been investing in research on life extension, part of transhumanism. Drawing on fields as diverse as neurotechnology, artificial intelligence, biomedical engineering and philosophy, transhumanists believe that the limitations of the human body and mortality can be transcended by machines and technology. The ultimate aim is immortality. Some believe this is achievable by 2045.

Okay, so we should expect some argument about why this is bad, right? Well, what we get are these two complaints: 1) "transhumanism won't fix capitalism”, and 2) "I hope these people in particular die.”

It seems like if you could articulate those two simple ideas in a pretty strightforward way, right? Well, maybe you could, but let’s not. Instead, let’s first get confused about what the hell transhumanism even is, and who are the people involved in it.

The hows and whens of transhumanism are matters of debate. Some advocate the "Singularity" – a form of artificial super-intelligence which will encompass all of humanity's knowledge, that our brains will then be uploaded to.

Wow, sounds like a radical transformation of all of human civilization and society!

"Transhumanism doesn't have much to say about social questions. To the extent that they see the world changing, it's nearly always in a business-as-usual way – techno-capitalism continues to deliver its excellent bounties, and the people who benefit from the current social arrangement continue to benefit from it," says Mark O'Connell, the author of To be a Machine,

Oh, not so much then.

Musk has publicly declared that we have to merge with artificially intelligent machines that overtake humanity in order to survive.

Oh, survival of the species, that does sound like an important social question, though.

O'Connell points out that "you'd have to be coming from a particularly rarefied privilege to look at the world today and make the assessment, as someone like Thiel does, that the biggest problem we face as a species is the fact that people die of old age".

And we're back to "transhumanism is just overenthusiastic geriatric medicine."

But who are these transhumanists, anyway?

Of course, humans have long harnessed technology, from vaccinations to smartphones, to improve and extend our lives. But that doesn’t admit you into the transhumanist club. Wanting to live forever, and possessing vast sums of money and time to research, does. 

So transhumanists are typically billionaires, then. Like Thiel and Musk and Zuckerberg. Zuckerberg? He's mentioned as someone "embarking on a quest to live forever" in the first paragraph, and then never again in the article. I guess supporting one's contentions is too tranditional-journalisty for a progressive outfit like the New Statesman.

But also, transhumanism includes Ray Kurzweil, an engineer at (gasp) Google. Also a former candidtate for governor of California, Zoltan Istvan. Kursweil has some ideas about that "Singularity" thing, and Istvan has no ideas at all, apparently, since none appear in this article. But he does admit that billionaires are funding longevity research, so that's obviously sinister. 

But also, transhumanism includes white nationalists like Michael Anissimov. But also, they are not a fringe movement because DARPA is funding some projects. DARPA being a totally mainstream thing that everyone is always talking about, like Game of Thrones.

But also, 

It would be remiss to tar all transhumanists with one brush. [...] There are some prominent transhumanists who don’t fit into the Silicon Valley mould. Natasha Vita-More, the former Chairman of the Board of Directors of Humanity+ , the global transhumanist organisation, has spoken about the potential for a posthuman society to address issues of economic justice.

So transhumanists are evil billionaires, except when they are not, and they have no vision for the future of society, except when they do. So, we were going to learn about why they are bad, right?

On an even more basic level, a transhumanist society would undoubtedly be shaped by the ideals of those who created it and those who came before it. 

Unlike other societies we might have in the future, which would not be shaped by any sort of ideals, of course.

Immortality as defined by straight, white men could draw out cycles of oppression. 

PETER THIEL IS GAY, YOU DOLT! How can you even work in journalism and not know that he destroyed Gawker for outing him? You use a quote from Thiel to kick off your lousy excuse for an opinion piece and you don't even know this?  Did you even spend as much time writing your screed as I did writing this rant in response to it?

Without old attitudes dying off and replaced by the impatience of youth, social change might become impossible.

We need to kill off these transhumanists because they are stuck in old, hidebound ideas like this "upload all human minds into a global superintelligence" thing.

Artificial intelligence has already been shown to absorb the biases of its creators. Uploading someone’s brain into a clone of themselves doesn’t make them less likely to discriminate. 

Only technology that advances progressive ideals can be tolerated.

Thiel and Musk, for example, identify as libertarians and have frequently suggested that taxes are obsolete and that governmental military spending needs to be curbed (and put into life-enhancing technologies).

Progressive ideals like spending money on the military instead of on improving people's lives, that is!. Now, the New Statesman has been around for a long time, and what counts as progressive is as prone to drift as anything else in politics, but I did not realize they had come around to "bombs are more important than treating senlile dementia."

Okay, wrap it all up for us. What's the really real problem with people not suffering from old age as much as they do now?

If those who form society in the age of transhumanism are men like Musk and Thiel, it’s probable that this society will have few social safety nets. There will be an uneven rate of technological progress globally; even a post-human society can replicate the unequal global wealth distribution which we see today. In some cities and countries, inhabitants may live forever, while in others the residents die of malnutrition. If people don’t die off, the environmental consequences – from widespread natural resource devastation to unsustainable energy demands – would be widespread. 

So, three basic complaints. First, old people in the future will suddenly stop wanting social safety nets. Old people are kinda well known for their attachment to safety nets now, so why exactly do you expect that to change? Because Musk and Thiel funded medical technology, and thereby hypnotized nonagenarians into voting to end Medicaid and the National Health Service?

Second complaint: in the hideous transhuman future, we would still have problems with inequality. Well, I had raisin bran for breakfast, and that also did not solve global inequality. Am I next on Varghese's hit list? "You did not solve global inequality" is a pretty tough standard to meet, so I guess we can look forward to a long series of columns explaining why knitting, and ISO date formats, and hanging toilet paper the right way, and coffee, Taylor Swift's new album are all bad. Don't you know that if it doesn't solve this huge, complex problem that's been around forever, it's bad?

But worse, the second complaint is entirely unsupported, and the reverse may well be true. Cell phones used to be toys for the rich. Now they are commonplace, and they're doing quite a bit to benefit poor people, thank you. Could it be that research into human longevity will have positive consequences for people other than six billionaires in Silicon Valley? Like every broad-based area of technological research always has, ever? Could that be an interesting line of inquiry to write about in an opinion piece? Nah, not worth considering.

And complaint the third is that keeping people alive is just too expensive. It's phrased in tems of environmental costs, but that's just a way of tabulating the bill. Let me tabulate it this way: Varghese looks at a bunch of humans and a bunch of non-humans, and says, "Yeah, it's better if the humans die and the non-humans live." If you're aiming your dumb-ass opinon at oysters, that might be a good argument. Aimed at humans, not so much.

So there's the case against transhumanism. There's the case against basic medical research into aging and disease, including  Parkinson's, Alzheimer's,  cancer, heart disease, osteoporosis, arthritis, hearing loss, vision loss, and just generally feeling crappy when you get old. There's the argument against helping billions of people to live happier, more connected, more productive, more satisfying, and yes, longer lives. 

It's also the argument against fighting cholera, smallpox, and polio. It's the argument against human existence. And it's not progressive, it's not in favor of human dignity and autonomy, and it's not a position that helps the people Varghese claims to be concerned about. As someone who is in favor of human beings, I say fuck that.

[hotcocosharing]

Heads Or Tails Part 5 (KBTBB RP EISUKE x OC)

Eisuke is my least favorite but an OC to torture the guy is TO DIE FOR so if you enjoy ANGST and messing with the KING, read on :)

My Masterpost here for easier serch, ENJOY!

OC- Kumiko Mayumi ❣ Canon- Eisuke Ichinomiya Rated M for mature audiences as the roleplay progresses…

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

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Kumiko’s POV

"Now, is this more Ichinomiya for you? If not, feel free to spread your legs and we’ll get this over and done with.” If it was physically possible for the human body to overheat and start steaming; my temperature would have sky-rocketed off the charts; eyes bleeding from the smouldering fire which was building up uncomfortable in the pit of my stomach. Sighing whilst rolling my eyes to fill the silence which settles between Eisuke and I in the room as everyone piles into the elevator, I take a final sip from the tea cup resting daintily in-between my fingertips, uncrossing my legs before standing up. It’s a simple two strides across the room before I’m in range for a comment beneath my breath which I am hoping has more effect at sabotaging his ego than a willed person ever could. “Ha! You’re not an Ichinomiya - you’re a child with a endless bank account who got lucky to inherit the name after Mommy died and Daddy abandoned you.” I don’t bother waiting around to finish breakfast once everyone is escorted into a VIP room; the moment the now new bane of my existence is out of my life, I excuse myself conveniently - mother and sister too caught up in what’s happening and being offered to them and father not at all willing to even look in my general direction to notice that my presence is missing. Making myself known to a maid who I’ve seen Eisuke and his aquaintences have their eyes on; I explain that I’ve accidently left my phone upstairs in the penthouse suite and that I ‘must’ have it. It’s a quick and simple persuiasion tactic which gives me a few minutes alone back upstairs which is all I need. It’s a quick rummage of Eisuke’s desk which is out in the open and to me, fair game; snapping a few quick photographs of his planner for upcoming events before attempting to open any draw as far as the eye can see. Damn all locked. A near empty cheque book by the computer is easy enough to conceal on me and the USB which rests by the screen comes with me too. That has to have some kind of convicting evidence on it. Calling a cab as I leave through the delivery entrance which I saw behind a 'staff only’ section which I noticed on my way in to the hotel last night, it’s a wait of a few minutes for a driver which drags on and on until a sleek black cab rolls up to the sidewalk. Getting in, I ask the driver if he has a pen and begin to write myself a cheque out; wondering how much money I can get away with for someone not to notice immediately. Hmmm… - $100,000. That should be enough for a fun little shopping spree for a party I’m sure I noticed whilst flipping through Eisuke’s planner. From the hotel in the cab it’s a rush to a nearby bank which follows with a sob-story about how my 'husband’ is out of town on business and only left me with his cheque book before I blow the quickly acquired cash on a floor length red gown, pretty pair of unnecessary louboutins and perfect shade of crime scene red lipstick. Once I’m in the comfort of my own apartment - a spare key being hidden beneath the front door mat because let’s face it; it’s not like anyone is going to come looking for me here, I grab my laptop out and check the USB to find that all it has on it is folders and folders of women in lingerie and bikini’s. WHAT THE FUCK? Is it a fetish? Are they pictures encrypted with information? Either way, I need to get to the bottom of this and referring back to the planner picture I took I have until this friday - 8pm - there’s a gala dinner for a charity event which I’m already well aware my father has an invitation to which means it shouldn’t be hard to get one of my own. There’s an incoming call on my phone which shows up as Hiro’s number and I decline it without a second thought. That man was an idiot; undoubtedly, I was more than happy to play along with his stupidity because with he inheriting the family business because I’m considered 'incapable’ as a female; a short and sweet hit from a paid henchman would mean everything was mine after the legalities and bullshit of a wedding. Hearing a knock at the front door it’s not long before it swings open - men who I’ve never seen before stepping in. Sighing, I shut my laptop and purse my lips into a tight, forced smile. “Do I bother to ask who sent you?”

Eisuke’s POV

Today is a particularly long day, after an unpleasant family drama of the Mayumi Family, the meeting with Bucci only tortures me further while the mobster keeps setting up his hideous daughter with me. There is already so much for my mind to process as Kenzaki has only brought me worse news from the drama queen. Soryu has checked the security feed to see her sneaking back into my suite and left with major victory of snapping shots of my dairy and stealing a cheque book which of course led to spending them on my behalf. Clever, bold and manipulative. I would have let it go for a woman who’s proved to be resourceful and less dull but her words from this morning only linger in my mind like an endless curse which I know I just couldn’t leave things the way it is. ”…..You’re not an Ichinomiya - you’re a child ….. who got lucky to inherit the name after Mommy died and Daddy abandoned you.“ I’ll show her who I am and she shall be sorry to ever cross me after I have done her a massive favor- stupidity can’t be helped but when it comes to ungrateful bitches- I show no mercy. My phone ring interrupting my thoughts, "Eisuke, this is Matsumoto Mayumi.” Oh for fuck sake. Before my lips are parted to stumble over an unwilling apology, the greedy bastard continues. “Is Kumiko at your place?” “No, not that I’m aware of.” Good, so he isn’t calling about striking some kind of deal with me. “She hasn’t returned our calls,” He pauses, “And… we have received a ransom note. It might be a prank but…” The man pauses at the sound of his crying wife whispering from behind, “I know you’re well connected, Eisuke. Could you find her….” My mind react faster than I anticipate with dozen of reasons to reject this ungrateful family- mainly I want nothing to do with them, lending a favor to a family in debt is no interest of mine but the last word that stutters out of his mouth has me frozen, “please?” The damn word and my step father request are on replay, I get off the phone and could practically hear the veins on my temples throb as I massaging them. Fucking hell, I am not a babysitter! “Soryu, my toy is missing. Find her.” My text to Soryu has put my miserable day to an end, I need my street relief and I want it now. Scrolling my screen as my thumb stop at a name and demand her to be at my suite in 15 minutes, at least my booty call would satisfy me the way I want.

[cadysu]

tell me about your kokuyo gang headcanons pls and thanks

Let us talk about my children the Kokuyo Gang aka Mukuro, Ken, Chikusa, M.M., and the rest but not Chrome because Chrome is a member of the Vongola Family and was kicked out. :^) EDIT: NO FRAN BECAUSE THIS POST GOT TOO LONG GOMEN.  I’m going to do a paragraph or so segment for each character I think with some canon facts mixed into headcanon so have FUN!

Mukuro- Mukuro has a lot of canon info already so this is gonna be on the shorter part. Mukuro is a little shit kjasnd Mukuro enjoys reading of all types- from picking up a magazine to novels. He is also very spiritual- yes his powers have ties to the levels of Hell, but I can see religion and belief systems being topics of interest for him. He’s extremely up to date on politics (less in a “wow politics is interesting” and more as a study of people. He watches to see the corruption, lies, and abuse of power. And let’s make it pretty damn clear that if he had nothing better to do/ there was no effort to it, Mukuro would 10000% be okay murdering those people in cold blood because he can. I feel like a lot of people forget Mukuro is a villain (antihero but still a villain too). On a less serious side of everything though- Mukuro can also be very laid back and playful. He pampers himself (spa day with M.M., glass of wine FRUIT COCKTAIL, video games with the rest of the gang, etc.) As serious and scary as he can come across, he is still a teenager. A teenager that is fully aware of how bad the world can be, but also in a bit of a chuuni-bubble where he feels this one man illusionist wrecking machine can take over everything and his only obstacle atm is the Vongola Family. 

Also Mukuro strikes me as someone who would enjoy David Lynch movies. I mean I’m not projecting my love of Twin Peaks on him, but watching Twin Peaks made me think he’d enjoy it a fair amount. :T Or at least Fire Walk With Me.

Ken- SMELLY BOI. I love Ken. Ken may not be the smartest, but do not call him stupid! He just works things out differently. Ken can pick up on small things that many people miss due to his keen observation skills; his sense of smell, hearing, and vision are all heightened compared to a normal human being. He can almost “sniff” out illusions if they’re not very well done and he is a natural at catching someone in a lie. Ken canonically hates bathing but I can also see him being grubby in general- he doesn’t floss as much as he should or clean his ears, he has dirty nails, runs around barefoot a lot- stuff like that. Ken doesn’t eat his veggies either. He’s like that one tumblr post where Chikusa is the “Do you feel guilty when you dont eat vegetables/ only junk food for awhile and you need healthy food to feel better?” “Idk Kakipi I’ve only had soda and gushers for 3 days and I feel fine” “Ken...no...” That is Ken. Ken has a huge fear of doctors/dental offices in general, but I think one of the biggest things that he’s scared of is anesthesia and needles, even though these things are supposed to help. Seeing tanks of nitrous or the small plastic mask to go over one’s mouth and nose really drive up his anxiety. Only Chikusa and Mukuro can really calm him down and convince him everything will be okay. Even if the doctor is Verde/ someone he has developed a degree of trust, he still cannot control his PTSD. Ken hates wearing suits and he doesn’t really like getting new clothes either- not so much anything against new clothes, he just likes wearing the same smelly shirt 5 days out of the week if he can. Also, not a set in stone headcanon, but I can picture Ken being colorblind.

Chikusa- Chikusa is such an overlooked character aaah- Okay first off- Chikusa is not as smart as Mukuro, but smarter than Ken. He sometimes reads or peaks into the books that Mukuro is reading, and he does try to continue his education however way he can. There actually isn’t a subject he really dislikes, but Ken and M.M. tease him for still doing things like homework or reading the old textbooks they have despite none of them going to school. Chikusa is also one of the only few in the house to do chores: cleaning, cooking, making Ken take a bath, grocery shopping, etc. He can also do small sewing/stitches for mending holes and he learns small skills relatively quickly as long as they aren’t too complex. Despite his extreme loyalty to Mukuro and rarely seen without Ken tagging along, Chikusa is a very independent person. Introverted, but independent. He spends his time at home playing video games and listening to music, and when he needs to leave, he just goes out. Chikusa is a better functioning adult as a teenager than most adults LOL (minus the fact he has no bills to pay). Chikusa tries to save his allowance money but usually gives some to Ken for whatever small reason like a few extra tries in an arcade game, some junk food or comic, etc. He never brings it up or asks for money in return but sometimes sighs with reluctance. If he really doesn’t want to, he’ll say no, but there’s usually a reason (”Ken we need real groceries. I’m not eating gum for dinner.” “I need to replace my headphone cord” “I have a crack in my glasses” etc.) Opposite to Ken, Chikusa tries to have really good hygiene. The only thing that truly bothers him is that he can’t wash his hair as much as he’d like, but he covers it with his hat and possibly dry shampoo from M.M. if desperate.

Chikusa is ambidextrous. :v

ABOUT THE BARCODE- Okay so another person I rp’d with had the headcanon of Chikusa being a twin and the barcode being a way the Estraneo kept track of them, which I thought was fucking genius. Screencaps and manga scans show he didn’t have that tattoo as a kiddo/pre-Mukuro rampage, so technically it isn’t accurate, but it’s a thought nonetheless. I do consider the barcode a tattoo and not drawn on/temporary/birthmark/etc. I still like that idea as an honoring thing. Like if he had a twin who they marked but the twin died during an experiment so when they were out of there he did it as a we-will-never-be-apart thing.M.M. - MY DAUGHTERU. God M.M. is such a good character but people snub her because she’s a “bitch” and a woman (I say that because when Mammon is greedy it is cute but when M.M. is greedy she’s bad. Same with her attitude! If a male shounen character acted that way he’d be like, a princely type. So yeah I think a lot of M.M. hate comes from people who don’t respect women :T) 

ANYWAYS I genuinely love the idea of M.M.’s name/design/background having a small reference to the book series of Madeline. PROBLEM HERE IS I HAVE TWO HEADCANON BACKGROUNDS FOR HER AND I LIKE BOTH SO HERE THEY ARE: I headcanon her real name as Madeline, and the she was sent off to a wealthy all girl’s boarding school as a child. She lost her parents at a very young age and inherited a small fortune, but had nowhere to go. She would stay and live in the boarding school until school was out, and then stay with an estranged relative during the breaks. However, she quickly started staying at “friends” homes instead as her limited family did not look after her or have any interest in her actual well being. THE OTHER VERSION VERY SIMILAR BUT INSTEAD OF BEING WEALTHY SHE WAS VERY POOR AND SENT TO A WEALTHY SCHOOL. The idea of her either being a poor young girl who got a taste of riches and fucking took it or the idea of a young girl who grew up wealthy but was surrounded by people who wanted what she got made her be a lot harder and did a fuck you all I’m M.M. and I get what I want. I love both those ideas and I can see them both working as a background. Both M.M.s’ see how the capitalism really runs the world and the main difference is one just had to work a little more to get rich while the other had less of a struggle but equal amount of determination. M.M. learned quickly that she was rather “pretty” to men and with money, she wouldn’t have to run to anyone or need help from anyone.

To earn money, she started as a small petty thief and moved on to grander schemes quickly. M.M. was a talented shoplifter and would pick up on things she could sell off to the girl’s in school, and then for the big money she knows how to blackmail people and get dirt on anyone. A cheap disposable camera and risky photos can ruin a person’s life. A little bit of alcohol is all it really takes for someone to make a horrible mistake. Also a lot of alcohol can make someone pass out and lose all the money in their wallet. Although she never liked the business, I can see M.M. knowing the fastest cash she could make would be to sell drugs to other girls. A little coke here and there. Think of that post making fun of the group of white boys vs. hipsters with the caption “Who would pay more for weed?” M.M. knows who and knows how to convince them “this is some really rare good stuff that I stole from my parents~ Yknow it’s imported from Amsterdam~” or “Hey I heard you want to lose weight, yknow I know how you can be the thinnest girl in school~” M.M. is resourceful and cunning and she can and will prey on someone’s insecurities for money. M.M. has been arrested and does have a mugshot, but this was in the beginning of her thieving days and she was released later that night. She also may or may not have tried to seduce her guard(s). Also despite her flirting and knowing what she CAN do, she has never gone into sex work. She hasn’t met a man or woman who can afford her. She’s a virgin but she’ll lie about it/ leave it ambiguous just to see what pays more. :T

Now a lot of this all applies to her before she joined the Kokuyo gang. Mukuro had heard about M.M. when seeing her mugshot in a trashy gossip magazine. A young, pretty and precocious teenage girl with a natural talent of stealing? No family really known/ totally independent? Why not try and get her in your growing gang of misfits. She was hesitant at first, but Mukuro, in Verde’s own words, is extremely charismatic. Plus she finds him cute and really saw promise in his plans. She hates Kokuyo Land because of how dirty it is, and actually bothered to have her part of the hideout remodeled for her liking (a nice bed, a vanity in her room, a throw rug over the damaged floorboards, etc.) She managed to turn abandoned and run down into “shabby chic” but she’s hoping she can get it to a more Versailles tier one day. 

Not to bring up Twin Peaks again but after watching it I definitely get Audrey Horne vibes out of M.M.

M.M. has the highest education of the Kokuyo Gang and has actually has a very good understanding of chemistry. Her main passion though is music and she genuinely loves to play her clarinet in her room for fun. 

OTHER CHARACTERS!:

FUN “FACTS”:

M.M. is a Sephora VIB Rouge member and makes fun of people who have to shop at Ulta (except she does shop at Ulta when no one is looking.)

Each member of the Kokuyo Gang has a preferred fighting video game and main. (SIDE NOTE: I don’t play enough fighting games to be familiar with every character’s play styles in all games so these ideas can easily change) Mukuro- Mortal Kombat (I only played MK1 for genesis and MKX which I suck at but I can see him playing Scorpion and beating up Johnny Cage repeatedly), Ken- Tekken and probably mains Kuma (Ken can definitely tap the buttons fast enough for those combos), Chikusa- Street Fighter as Ryu/ he keeps things very classic (But usually he plays whatever Ken wants to play, so I can see him maybe playing a lot of Yoshimitsu),  and M.M. is Soul Calibur as Ivy, who is definitely 100% not overpowered. Also Fran plays Smash bros. and he’s probably a Mewtwo spamming lil shit. Or Metaknight.

Chikusa’s likes to go inside Tower Records and Mandarake stores, but rarely buys anything because of his limited finances.

They didn’t have cable until Verde moved in and would sometimes watch daytime television. Local news, daytime soaps, public tv anime, etc. Sometimes they rent videos for a night at home, or sneak into movie theaters with a little illusion help.

NONE OF THEM HAVE GONE TO A DOCTOR OR DENTIST (except M.M. and Fran when he was at his granny’s) because of their past trauma. When Team Verde was formed, Verde did a health assessment but has been unsuccessful at making any of them see a dentist. Especially Ken- but Ken does take better care of his channels.

i have so much more to type but oh fuck i went on sorry chi jkdsfnaksdfn

[josie158gaming-blog]

Responsible for a v bucks generator fortnite Price range? ten Terrible Approaches to Spend Your hard earned money

Players, young types anyway, don’t appear to notice these types of matters. They’re just after assault rifles (if possible the Legendary SCAR), pump shotguns, bolt-motion sniper rifles (the scope is really a boon), chug jugs, slurp juices, bandages, medkits, and defend potions. They see, and covet, skins that glance neat but don't have any bearing on video game Engage in; for 20 bucks, you'll be able to don the Leviathan or the Raven. Or they fixate on dance moves, the so-referred to as victory emotes you can have your avatar conduct, in the heat of struggle or after a destroy. The Floss, the Refreshing, the Squat Kick, the Wiggle—these have spilled out into the whole world. It's possible you'll observe people today all around you, or professional athletes on TV, breaking into Odd dances. The 1 often called Go ahead and take L is massive as of late in the Bundesliga and at Minute Maid Park.

V Bucks for Free Fortnite

An abundance of achieved avid gamers look down their noses at Fortnite, how, Maybe, that some jazz and blues diehards, in 1964, dismissed the Beatles. The dances, the alliterative spot-names, the dearth of true postapocalyptic menace: these can point out a lack of seriousness that to some would seem spell-breaking. A classmate of Gizzard Lizard’s, ZenoMachine, a gamer for longer than would seem plausible (he commenced enjoying Crew Fortress 2 in kindergarten and now develops his personal video games), will be the eighth quality’s resident Fortnite Scrooge. “Firstly, I’m not a supporter from the polygons,” ZenoMachine informed me. We ended up on the park bench, immediately after university—a uncommon strike of daylight. “It's a Hello-res texture but reduced-res polygons.” Gizzard Lizard had warned me that I wouldn’t fully grasp ZenoMachine, but I gathered that he was critiquing the game’s aesthetics. He favored a realer seem. He objected to particular inconsistencies. The pickaxe, one example is, which gamers use to demolish walls and buildings, brings about almost no damage to other players as a weapon. “How can that be?” he explained. “I see why a good deal of individuals like Fortnite. It targets players who aren’t expert. But it surely violates the legislation of regularity.” He claimed that The 1st time he played he gained—by hiding out right up until All people else experienced pretty much been killed off. This is recognized as camping, and is frowned upon by frequent gamers. “If a little something as simple as player preference influences the other players’ practical experience, you’ve acquired a layout flaw,” ZenoMachine stated.

ZenoMachine develops his individual video games employing a platform called the Unreal Engine. Fortnite, since it comes about, is developed to the Unreal Motor, too. The sport will be the generation of a firm called Epic Games, dependent outside Raleigh, North Carolina. In 1998, Epic produced a first-man or woman shooter identified as Unreal, which enjoyed only reasonable results but which, almost by chance, had an enduring impact on the evolution of online video games. Epic made use of Unreal’s underlying architecture, plus some of its sections, to create what came to become called the Unreal Motor, a fundamental platform that supports all manner of online games, be they shooters, brawlers, platformers, or sandbox R.P.G.s. It’s in essence a collection of resources that developers can use to style and design and Establish online games along with other simulations. As opposed to ranging from scratch in, say, C++, the popular graphic-coding language, independent builders and also other firms use the Unreal Motor for making their own personal games. (The licensing on the engine, consequently, presents Epic the money move to dedicate time and methods to the development of strike video games like Fortnite.) Each and every year, Epic works by using existing games, many of them all but overlooked, to soup up the Unreal Engine, to ensure that it could deal with an at any time a lot more complex assortment of calls for. Fortnite was the primary Unreal Motor four release. Amid other items, Epic needed to adapt the motor that will help its servers accommodate the huge degree of knowledge that has to be processed instantaneously when 100 players are competing in only one Struggle Royale spherical. The query of which steps have an effect on Other folks, and from what distance, on this vast storm-sieged island—the aged if-then trouble—is a lot more complex than it would seem.

“Visualize Fortnite as a visible method of media,” Jamin Warren, the editor of the lifestyle-and-gaming journal Destroy Monitor, explained to me. No matter what Fortnite’s allure to be a activity to Participate in, it is also seemingly one of the most beguiling a person to view. As video clip-video game spectatorship fills arenas, and siphons a generation clear of genuine sports activities, Fortnite is now the most considered game on YouTube—by March, there were Nearly a few billion views in the many sessions that players had uploaded—and the very best recreation on Twitch, the streaming platform. Observing isn’t only for spazzes any longer. “It’s developed A sort of worldwide arcade,” Warren explained. “As opposed to some Youngsters on the lookout around the shoulder of the hot-shot more mature brother or regardless of what, down within the mall, you've got many men and women observing, and the individual taking part in the game is actually a millionaire.”

The medium’s breakout star is named Ninja. He is a previous professional Halo player named Tyler Blevins, that has mentioned that he can make more than half 1,000,000 bucks a month by streaming his Fortnite sessions, and his cost-free-associative commentary, on Twitch (that's owned by Amazon). His YouTube channel has over ten million subscribers. Last month, he hosted a Fortnite Event in Las Vegas, within an e-sporting activities arena, and Nearly seven hundred thousand people tuned in to his Twitch stream. I’ve read a lot of teenagers refer to him as The usa’s most significant entertainer—which is not as hyperbolic as it Seems. In April, Ninja ranked increased than any athlete on earth in “social interactions,” a measure of social-media likes, comments, shares, and views. Cristiano Ronaldo was No. 2. In March, Ninja consented to a Fortnite session with Drake.

Blevins, who's twenty-6, comes from outdoors Detroit and lives near Chicago (he won’t say the place) with his spouse, who handles his small business affairs. He streams 10 to fourteen hrs daily, typically from about 9 A.M. to three P.M. after which you can from six P.M. right until Each time. All instructed, he logs about 300 hours per month. What 1 sees is his activity screen, with his avatar in whatever pores and skin he has selected, and, within an inset, a perpetual shot of Blevins himself. A ninja headband girds a Bieber-ish shock of hair that he dyes diverse hues: emerald eco-friendly, platinum, yellow. He’s a lean, boyish person who seems to make an work to take care of some semblance of the smile at all times. His spiel is goofy, caffeinated, and moderately cocky. He does impressions. In March, he was mumbling some rap lyrics as he performed, and by some means the phrase “indica” arrived out given that the N-word. Amid the backlash, he apologized, form of, and, when it came time for me to speak to him very last week, his supervisor’s one particular affliction was which i not check with him about it, as he’d already reported what there was to mention, which was, in part, “I assure that there was no mal intent (I wasn’t even wanting to say the term—I fumbled lyrics and got tongue-tied in the worst attainable way).” A scrupulous journalist may need referred to as from the job interview, but the teens I’d been speaking with about the activity were so amazed that I might talk with Ninja that I caved. At the final second, however, Ninja bailed, saying health issues. Burn! (“I’m very sure which was BS,” one of those teenagers texted me. “I think he was streaming currently.”) At any price, Ninja’s sensitivity is a sign that avid gamers like him are coming into the mainstream. They've got to view whatever they say.

Onscreen, the millionaire maintains the environs from the gamer boy. The digicam usually takes within an acoustic-tile ceiling, wall-to-wall carpeting, bare drywall, in addition to a fourposter bed. There’s a framed Detroit Lions poster propped towards a wall, together with a mini-fridge stocked with Pink Bull. Ninja can be a lifelong gamer, but he helps make a degree to remind his followers, lest they have the drop-every little thing bug, that he did perfectly at school, played soccer and various sporting activities, completed faculty even though holding down a job at Noodles & Corporation, and even appeared, along with his family, on “Household Feud.” The game skill is legit. He wins a little something like half of your numerous online games he performs every single 7 days, against all comers. He’s a crack shot and has a nose for the significant floor. As generally as not, It appears he’s rarely being attentive. He’s examining enthusiasts’ messages out loud, like a communicate-radio host, or jabbering with A further Fortnite star, which include Dr. Lupo or KingRichard, if they’ve teamed up to get a match or two: “The recoil on this detail is stupid”; “You said you experienced an entire protect, ass”; “So hold my dick”; “That dude was attempting to consume a chug jug. What a noob.” All accompanied by occasional bursts of gunfire. “To any person watching the stream, I hope you guys are having fun with the articles, man.”

Gizzard Lizard’s shoot-out in Tomato City happened on the final night time of April, which was the final night of Time 3. Anticipation was working higher. One of the ingenious improvements of Fortnite would be to introduce seasons of about two months, as on a cable-television collection, and to integrate new plot and game components. (Very last week, within a crossover masterstroke, Thanos, the indestructible villain of the new Avengers Film, dropped in on the game—that is certainly, gamers could adopt a Thanos pores and skin—and so, for quite a while, the Fortnite established gleefully schooled a variety of Thanoses in a method that the Avengers couldn't.) On April 30th, a comet that had been hovering over the island was alleged to strike right after midnight. For times, meteors had been showering the sport. Teasers—the most up-to-date becoming “brace for effect”—had influenced a raft of speculation and conspiracy theories. At the outset, persons expected the comet to strike the crowded urban setting generally known as Tilted Towers, but some clues led Some others to forecast, appropriately, the comet would wipe out Dusty Depot, which was thereafter being known as Dusty Divot.

It absolutely was not easy to do homework on a night such as this; Gizzard Lizard returned to the game. He performed over a Computer he’d designed at school. It didn’t Possess a graphics card. He’d under no circumstances been a major gamer—his mom and dad ended up pretty strict about screens and experienced by no means consented to an Xbox or even a Wii—however he’d performed Minecraft for quite a while. This standard of obsession was some thing new. He observed on his uncover-your-mates bar that lots of schoolmates were being enjoying, so he FaceTimed a person who goes by ism64. They teamed up and hit Blessed Landing. Gizzard Lizard wore an earbud beneath a set of earphones, to ensure he could speak with ism64 while listening for your sound of approaching enemies. From a length, it appeared that he was speaking to himself: “Permit’s just Make. Watch out, you’re gonna be trapped underneath my ramp. I’m hitting this John Wick. Oh my God, he just pumped me. Come revive me. Develop about me and are available revive me. Wait around, can I've that chug jug? Thank you.”

I’d been struck, watching Gizzard Lizard’s game titles for a couple of days, by how the spirit of collaboration, amid the urgency of mission and threat, appeared to deliver out anything approaching gentleness. He and his buddies did favors for each other, watched one another’s backs, supplied encouragement. This was something that I hadn’t observed Substantially of, say, down for the rink. 1 could argue the aged arcade, with the ever-existing menace of bullying and harassment as well as problem of proclaiming dibs, uncovered A child to the earth—it’s character-constructing!—but there was a thing for being explained for this type of refuge, even though it did include assault rifles and grenades.

And afterwards the John Wick was on him. “Oh God! Oh God!” Foiled once again.

A John Wick was an accomplished participant who had earned a pores and skin that bears a resemblance towards the character played by Keanu Reeves within the “John Wick” movies. (Officially, the pores and skin is called the Reaper, presumably to prevent licensing costs, but gamers call it John Wick.) It was available to anybody who experienced attained all hundred tiers of the game in Period three—a mix of achievement and practical experience which might have expected taking part in for concerning seventy-five and 100 and fifty hrs.

As the final several hours of Year three expired, gamers scrambled to reach Tier one hundred, and get their John Wick skins. Gizzard Lizard was nowhere close. He’d started off the year as a noob. Appear the following early morning, Working day One among Season 4, he experienced a plan to place from the several hours to have to Tier a hundred. It could get critical determination. For the first time, he procured a thousand Fortnite V-bucks, for $nine.ninety nine, with which to get skins. He went Along with the Carbide, a sleek one that introduced to mind a wetsuit. This was the first time he—or, far more to The purpose, his dad and mom—had at any time expended anything at all but quarters with a game.

[guppolopolis]

A collection of candid (and blunt) things I have on my mind that nobody asked for but I feel like expressing anyway

-People who didn’t recognize the terrible human being that is Donald Trump before the election honestly have no excuse. He has only been successful by stepping on everyone beneath him and finding loopholes and it’s a damn shame that I have colleagues and friends who justified it because they didn’t want Hillary to win. She’s not perfect, I know, and trust me I didn’t particularly want her either but I will not accept a single notion that she was less qualified than Trump

-Working with professional actors from NYC helped teach me that the people who shower fake kindness on everyone around them for no real reason will probably succeed over others in this field. Unfortunately, I’m in a profession where people who mind their own business tend to suffer, in a networking sense. I love what I do and I love the people I share the stage with but sometimes theater kids just need to calm the fuck down, and I don’t think “calm the fuck down” was ever said to some of these actors

-I’ve never been in love and while I don’t mention it or let it impede my progress as an individual, I’m pretty fucking pissed it’s taking as long as it’s been. Despite this, I have complete and utter faith that it will happen eventually

-I don’t respect people who don’t believe in climate change. I don’t respect people who believe in a young or flat earth. I don’t respect people who don’t respect the planet and our responsibility as the top of the animal kingdom

-I love the internet. It was my first home and internet humor is pretty much my shtick. That being said, I think our generation is going in a dangerous direction towards relying on social media far too much for validation. Once big tech companies realized the immense power on the psyche that likes, retweets, etc. have, the downward spiral began. I don’t know where my phone is right now and even though it’s 3 in the morning, not worrying about any of that feels kind of nice

-I brush it off because it’s not worth the patronization, but people who make fun of professional gaming bother me. They have no understanding just how much work some of these professionals put in to perfect their play. Besides, who the fuck is anyone to say what someone enjoys spending their time doing? On that subject though, the term e-sports is pretty stupid and trying to pass off gaming as this super cool badass thing is only a desperate attempt for validation from sports fans. We can be our own thing and still be taken seriously, we just need the narrative to shift

-As someone who primarily spends time with heterosexual men, I tend to observe toxic masculinity manifesting itself in a few different ways. For example, sharing feelings is just not done. Nobody told these perfectly good, yet flawed, men that they are allowed to have weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and it reveals itself through the massively increased suicide rate among males. I hope we get that figured out, because men deserve to know that their feelings are real and they’re not bad people for having them

-I love my friends very much

-I feel spiritually vindicated when I use my own characters to beat top-tier characters in any fighting game I play. This will never change because I think people who choose tier lists over their personal playstyle are either playing for money or just don’t want to put in the work to learn a more obscure character

-We learn the biggest lessons while in a bad place in our life and them’s just the facts and learning to accept that earlier in your life makes shitty times a lot more bearable

-I think everyone is terrified of blaming themselves for something but that’s how you improve. People always tell me I’m too hard on myself (and granted, I definitely am) but I do it with the intent of learning, not because I think I can’t do anything right. Recognizing mistakes and knowing not to do them later is how I grow as a person

-I hate grindr, and I hate the gay community’s obsession with labels. Restricting a human being to a term does nothing for them as a person, and grindr just exacerbates the problem with their “tribes.” Sadly, I understand how important something like grindr is. I just wish I didn’t have to use it

-I do sincerely wish I was better at asking for help, but it’s just so fuckin hard to feel like I can’t do something alone, even though I’m happy to help anyone else. I’m sure that’s just one totem in the pole that is my trust issues though, so I’m hoping the counseling will do something for that soon

-Sometimes I have random, sudden waves of bliss and comfort within my own body and mind. It occurred to me that, for a short time, I experienced what loving myself feels like. While that sounds sad, this is a big step in the grand scheme of things and I’m glad I have a memorable feeling to shoot for

-I’m comfortable talking about my mental illness because mental illnesses (anxiety and depression especially) flourish when someone is alone. It forces the victim to lose to themselves, and it’s a terrible feeling. Talking to others about it, while sometimes sounding like a fetch for attention, sheds light on the darkness and reminds others that having a mental illness does not have to be an isolating experience (this relates to my point about men not expressing themselves)

-While I really enjoy the love and respect I got from my department during college, I feel like the constant attention forced me into a people-pleasing caricature rather than a fully competent human being (relates to the point about fake happiness showering and all that). Then again, this isn’t a bad thing in the long run; it was just another opportunity to learn more about myself, and the boundaries were found

-I won’t feel like a full person until I get some kind of pet, but I definitely don’t have the resources for that kind of commitment right now, probably not until after grad school. It’s slowly killing me